Kiss Talent Agency Boxed Set (Books 1-6)

by Virna DePaul

  She raises an eyebrow. “Who says you’re driving?”

  I cock an eyebrow back at her. “I’m more than happy to let you continue driving. I’ll play DJ.” I ignore her sputtering about drivers choosing the tunes and head over to the passenger seat.

  Moments later, Kara hoists herself into the driver’s seat and cranks the engine. “And the band played on,” she mutters.

  I grin and pop a cassette into the player on her dash. The box is labeled “Mixed Tape”—so original—and instantly the Volkswagen fills with the sound of Tupac rapping. A few miles down the road “All Eyes on Me” fades away and “Super Trooper” by ABBA comes on.

  “Interesting combo,” I say.

  Kara flashes me a grin. “Tupac makes me think and gets me into a deeper, darker place, so I need a lift after I hear him. And nothing lifts me more than ABBA. I can’t help but smile.”

  Music’s more than in her blood, I think. It’s in her soul. And she’d kept her own voice silent for five years. Carter McCall had done that—had stifled who Kara really was.

  Anger flares up inside me, a desire to protect Kara, to kick McCall’s ass, but the beat in Super Trooper changes and I find Kara’s right—it’s kitschy as fuck and I can’t help but smile.

  As the miles roll by, I keep popping cassette tape after cassette tape into the dash. She’s got an eclectic collection of pop ballads, rock anthems, and hip hop classics, and we listen to everything from Biggie, Green Day, Whitney Houston, NSYNC, The Beatles, Bob Dylan, and Britney Spears. Kara is only too happy to sing along with “… Baby One More Time,” and I can’t get enough of listening to her sing.

  Britney fades away and Zendaya’s recent release comes on and I’m surprised something so new is on cassette. When I ask, Kara tells me she records the more recent releases off vinyl albums she buys, which is why she has so many mixed tapes—and has recent releases, too.

  After the last strains of Zendaya’s voice fades away and the tape ends with a click, I thumb through the few remaining tapes. One’s marked, “Me.” My eyebrows go straight to my hairline. Was this what I think it is? A cassette of Kara’s own work?

  I have to know, both if the tape is of her music and also what Kara would do if she heard her voice echo throughout the van. Would she tell me who she is?

  I slip the tape into the player and lean back, my eyes glued on Kara. When the first song starts, her eyes widen, but she doesn’t say anything.

  Neither do I. I know the song. Maybe almost as well as Kara does.

  She grips the steering wheel harder, and I have to admit, it’s interesting to see her try to act like this isn’t her singing while I know it is. Talk about a tangled web of lies. I sigh inwardly but don’t say anything.

  She clears her throat. “Like me, you seem to enjoy a wide range of music,” she finally says.

  “I do. Music is important to me. It’s gotten me through a lot of tough times in my life.” She’d gotten me through a particular tough time with this album, I think, but of course I don’t say that.

  “Music helps me through tough times, too. Do you want to tell me about some of yours?” She gives me a look. “You know, your tough times?”

  I hesitate, not because I don’t want to tell her but because Kara’s obviously as conflicted as I am. She’s made me promise not to tell her my secrets. My past. But her question suggests she can’t help wanting to know more about me. And I feel guilty, sharing parts of me, knowing she can’t fully share parts of her. But I want her to know me. I need her to.

  “My mom died,” I say, my throat tight. I hear her inhale a breath. “She was in a fatal car accident. Totally random. Hit black ice on a highway. Her car spun out of control and hit a tree. She died on impact.”

  I close my eyes as I remember getting the phone call from my father, who I’d rarely seen growing up because he worked so much. He and my mother had given me and my brothers a privileged childhood, but while I knew my father loved us, it was our mother who provided us the affection we needed. I was so angry at the world for taking her from us way too soon.

  Listening to Kara’s album had given me something tangible at that time. Her songs, full of life and hope, didn’t make me smile the way ABBA makes Kara smile, but the melodies, the lyrics, all worked together to get to a deep part of my brain and release that darkness that threatened to overwhelm my whole life. It’s like the music she made was a lifeline, a lighted path, a way through the darkness.

  “I’m so sorry.” She touches my arm, and I cover her fingers with my own for a moment.

  “It’s been over six years now. It still hurts, but nothing like those first few months. And music…” I shake my head then glance at her.

  I see a glimmer of tears in her eyes, but she wipes them away hastily.

  “Hey, it was a long time ago.” I try to lighten the mood, except we both know it doesn’t matter how long ago it’s been. Heartache is heartache and it never really goes away.

  We both fall silent as we listen to the rest of Kara’s album. My pain at losing my mother is still there, but alongside it is a certain peace and I know Kara is partially responsible, her music, yes, but most of all, her presence beside me. When the tape clicks to an end, Kara doesn’t say anything. Instead, she just tips her head at me and smiles.

  It’s a smile filled with trust, with love, with acceptance, with pride.

  When it starts to get dark, we find the nearest town. Kara’s set to sleep on the sand again, but I want to treat us right. I find the most expensive hotel in town and book us an ocean-view room.

  The room is freshly painted and filled with a dark walnut king-sized bed, a desk, a couple of easy chairs. What’s best is what’s on the far wall—French doors leading out to a patio overlooking the ocean. I stride over and open the doors wide, letting the sea air billow the white gauze curtains and fill the room with the fresh scent of the ocean.

  I turn to Kara, who gives me a sultry look. She follows the look with an exaggerated wink and a distinct nod to the bed. I’d laugh at her cheesy come-on but I’m already hard and my heart rate’s increasing. I want her, and I want her now.

  She’s like sunlight and music when I kiss her. The kiss stretches long and wide, lyrical almost, following a beat we create together.

  When we come up for air, I gaze into her eyes. Brushing her hair from her face, I say, “Thanks for coming for me.”

  “Thanks for saying yes.”

  We strip out of our clothes in record speed. By the time we’re both naked, we’re trembling with need. I kiss down her body, suckling at her nipples, and she runs her fingers through my hair. I love the feeling of her tugging on the strands, especially when I lave one nipple and blow cool air on it. She tugs harder, and the sensation goes straight to my cock.

  I want to plunge inside her, but I resist the impulse. I lick and taste her, loving how silky her skin is. I dip my tongue into her belly button, which makes her giggle. When I reach the prize between her legs, I have to close my eyes for a second to get control of myself. She’s already wet, and when I touch my tongue to her pussy, she moans. Long and loud. It makes my toes curl.

  I lick her until she’s begging me, until her back is bowed and I have to press her down onto the bed to keep her still. I push a finger inside her, crooking it, and that sets her off. She comes with a burst of wetness on my tongue, and I lap her up. She’s shivering so hard that it’s shaking the bed.

  She swears, which makes me smile. I kiss her. She kisses me desperately, and then she pushes me onto my back.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” I say.

  With her hair falling down around her shoulders, her skin flushed and creamy, and the heated look in her eyes? I’m a total goner.

  But Kara isn’t going to make things easy. Cupping her breasts, she watches my reaction as she plays with herself. My cock pulses, and when she smiles wider, I know she can feel it pressing against her ass. She pinches one nipple while her other hand trails down her torso, parting her folds.
Although she just came, I can tell by the look on her face that with just a few strokes of her fingers, she’d come again.

  I’m not about to let her come without me a second time. I turn over until she lands on her back with a breathless laugh. After I find a condom and put it on, I part her legs. She wraps her legs around my waist right before I plunge inside her.

  We both cry out at the feeling of being together again. As I thrust inside her silken depths, I don’t break eye contact. I love watching her come. Her breath hitches as her pussy tightens around my cock, and a deeper flush climbs from her breasts to her face.

  When her pupils widen, I know she’s close. I pick up the pace, pounding into her. I reach down and press against her swollen clit. “You coming for me, baby?” I stroke her clit with each thrust. “You close?”

  “I’m so close. Don’t stop.” She rolls her head from side to side as I send her up higher, higher, higher.

  Her eyes roll back in her head when she comes a second time. The tightening of her sheath around my cock is too much: my balls draw up and then I explode inside her. My rhythm is unsteady and hectic, but neither of us care.

  It takes me a while to come down from that high. I tremble over her, trying to keep from collapsing, until finally I do. I roll onto my back, get rid of the condom, and she curls up next to me. I turn so we’re spooning, my arms curved around her in a protective shield. I kiss her shoulder, the back of her neck. She falls asleep almost instantly, curled up in my arms, and I feel the intense pulsing of regret and joy intermingle, as if they were woven fabric and I could never separate the two.

  As the ocean breeze toys with the gauze fabric and brushes against our bodies, I know I should never have made that promise to Kara. I’d shared just a small part of myself today when I’d told her about my mother. I want to share more. I want to share everything, and have her do the same.

  And somehow, some way, I’m going to make that happen.

  14

  KARA

  We make love again as the sun rises. It’s intense, with us both slipping away from reality and investing completely in the moment. In each other. In the magic our bodies make together.

  Afterward, when Declan is showering and I’m still on the bed, my afterglow still quaking through my body, I make the decision: I’m going to tell him who I really am.

  Yesterday in the car, when he’d shoved the cassette with my first album into the player, I’d feared he’d somehow realize the woman on the tape was me. Instead, he’d shared how much music meant to him in general, how it had brought him out of that dark place caused by the death of his mother. To Declan, I wasn’t Kara Hester of the bleached blonde hair, the cowboy boots paired with calico dresses, the innocent young country singer, the world-famous musician. I was Kara of the tattoos, the wild black hair, the black combat boots, and the crazy nomadic lifestyle. I was the woman he could relax with. Share his deepest feelings. A virtual stranger yet a woman he was truly starting to care about.

  But he can’t truly care about me if he doesn’t know me, all of me.

  This is Declan we’re talking about. From the moment we met he’s just been trying to help me. Protect me. He’d never hurt me. It’s time to finally let him in.

  The thought of revealing my identity is terrifying, yet it feels right. My decision has given me a burst of energy, and I’m pacing the hotel room, waiting for Declan to emerge from the shower.

  He comes out in a cloud of steam, wearing nothing but a towel. The sight of his naked chest and how the towel hangs low on his hips sends thrills up my spine.

  Focus, Kara, I remind myself.

  “Shower’s yours. And I’m starving,” Declan says before I can open my mouth. “Want to go out to breakfast before we hit the road, or see what the hotel’s continental breakfast offers?”

  He dumps the contents of his backpack on the floor and rummages around before coming up with a pair of board shorts and a tee.

  I’d been about to blurt out the truth, but this isn’t the moment. Not when Declan’s distracted.

  “How about you go down and snag me a latte and some fruit while I shower?” I say.

  “Sure, but I’m making myself a couple of those waffles. You know, the ones you pour the batter into and then flip over halfway through?” He shakes his head but he’s grinning. “Best thing about hotel food for sure.” He kisses me, smelling like soap and shampoo and aftershave, then thumbs through the papers on the dresser. “I can’t find my keycard…”

  “No worries. I’ll be here, bedhead and all.”

  He steps into the hallway but before the door slams shut, he turns and catches it, giving me a slow and sexy grin. “Even with bedhead, you’re so beautiful you take my breath away.”

  After he shuts the door behind him, instead of jumping into the shower, I collapse onto the bed and let out a long, happy sigh. I feel like a teenage girl all over again, waiting to tell a guy I like him. Maybe...maybe even tell him I love him.

  I sit straight up, my heart suddenly pounding in my chest. Holy shit. I think I do. I mean, kind-of. It’s not like three days can give me enough about the man for my mind to make that decision, but my heart? Yeah, every one of Declan’s actions have shown my heart he’s the kind of guy who’s right for me.

  I take a super quick shower, dress, and start packing, but Declan’s still not back. I wonder what’s taking him so long. I eye his stuff--for a guy living out of a backpack, he’s got a lot. After I’m done packing my own things, I get to work on his stuff, too.

  I’m folding up a pair of his jeans when something falls out of a back pocket. I pick it up. It’s a business card, and I don’t think anything of it until I notice his name.

  I look at it more closely...and then my knees wobble.

  Declan Kiss

  KISS TALENT AGENCY

  Representing the best, and only the best.

  I stare at the card, confusion filling me, but dread heavy on its heels.

  Declan had said he was in marketing but he’d sure as hell never said he was a talent agent.

  An agent, like Carter McCall.

  I’ve been out of the scene for years, so the fact I’ve never heard of Kiss Talent Agency doesn’t mean anything. But this card… I flip it against my palm. The paper is heavy, the embossing real, the presentation classy. And Declan is obviously an owner. Hell, the agency bears his last name.

  I’m floored. And about to be sick.

  I throw the card away from me and scramble onto the bed. Getting my phone, I search for “Kiss Talent Agency” on Google, praying that it shows me that somehow this isn’t what it looks like.

  My prayers aren’t answered.

  Right at the top of the search is a website for Kiss Talent Agency. Declan’s got his own page, with the names of some heavy hitter actors and musicians listed on his page. I dig a little more on Google to see that Declan owns the talent agency with his brothers, all of whom represent, well, the best of the best. Athletes, models, actors, musicians, even a chef… Fuck. Kiss Talent Agency is bigger than The McCall Agency.

  I’d be an idiot to think that Declan hasn’t known my identity all along.

  I’m gasping for breath when the next thought hits me: He only came on our adventures to get me to sign with him. He only slept with me because he wanted me as his client.

  Oh God. I race to the bathroom and bend over the toilet, my stomach heaving. All those phone calls about work--he’d been conspiring with his brothers to land Kara Hester, multi-platinum artist. Like I’m their meal ticket to headlining even more fame and stardom.

  Anger rears its angry head and the nausea I’m battling gets replaced by something hot and spiky in my chest. I stand and stare at myself in the mirror, angry at Declan, angry at myself.

  For five years I’d been fooling people and I’d grown used to people having no clue who I was, but clearly I’d never fooled Declan. I snort, remembering when he put my album on and gave me that whole story about his mother dying. Was any of that ev
en true? Or was it some bullshit way of ingratiating himself into my good graces before he dropped the bomb that he wants me to sign with his talent agency?

  Pain floods me, but I push it away. I have no time for heartbreak. Besides, any feelings I’d built for Declan were based off a lie--none of how I’d felt was real. It couldn’t be. So now, all I can do is hang onto my anger. Before, when I’d run from Carter, I’d been a scared young thing. Now? Now I’m all woman, and I’m about to roar.

  Only my roar won’t manifest in fighting.

  Declan doesn’t deserve an ounce of my energy, not after what he did. So this time I’m not running--I’m walking. Walking away from the crap that fame brings with it. Last time I’d run with no plan, just the idea to get away, but this time? This time I’m getting the hell out of here. I’m dumping Declan and getting back on the road. I have a plan. Goals.

  And none of that includes Declan Kiss.

  I toss my phone into my purse, grab all of my shit, and storm out of the room. Halfway down the hallway, headed to the back exit, I realize I’ve locked Declan out of the room. I want to feel a sense of vindication, a little sensation of satisfaction, but instead I feel hollow.

  I reach the exit and get to the VW van in record time. I crank the window, Declan’s smell wafting over me and into that little crack in the protective layer over my heart. I shove the feeling away as I shove the van in reverse, squeal a three-point turn, and put pedal to the metal until the town is just a dot in my rear-view mirror. I’m afraid I’ll have to pull over to calm down, but I power through it and keep driving. I have to put as much distance between me and Declan as possible.

  Declan. Goddammit, Declan.

  I’d been so close to falling in love with him--or at least, with the version of him I thought he was. Questions tumble in my mind. Had he known who I was even before he tried to rescue me that night on the beach? Was everything he told me a lie? Did he care for Kara, just Kara, at all? Or was every move, every word, to get Kara Hester on his side?