by Kylie Scott
"Weren't we going to have sex?" I asked, crossing my arms over my bountiful boobs and checking out the room. For some reason I just didn't feel like looking at him right then.
"Have you touched that money I put in your account?"
"Not yet. I haven't needed to."
"Clearly you need to." He crossed his arms too. No fair--his were so much bigger than mine. The fact that they were muscular and covered in tattoos pleased me just then. To be fair, Ben didn't seem so happy himself. "What's going on here, Liz?"
"Nothing. Which is the problem. I thought we were fooling around."
He just looked at me.
"What?" I asked.
A long-suffering sigh. Then his fingers dealt with the band on my pants in less than two seconds, the denim pooling at my feet.
"Up," he ordered, lifting me off the ground.
At last, sex. I wrapped my legs and arms around him, refinding my happy. "Were you really thinking about me all day?"
"Yeah, I was. And you're sure as shit on my mind now." Lines covered his high forehead. "So tell me, what's this bullshit about you not touching that money? It's yours for buying what you need, and clearly you need stuff."
"It's for Bean."
"It's for both of you."
"I don't like taking your money."
A grunt of disapproval. "You didn't take it, I gave it to you."
"It feels the same."
"Fine. Okay." His hands cupped my ass, fingers massaging. "I don't want you feeling weird about this. And relationships are about compromise, right?"
"Ri-i-ght." Suspicion was my middle name.
"Tomorrow we go shopping and put all the shit you need on my card."
"That's not compromise!"
"You don't like touching that money I put in your account, so don't. In fact, you don't have to touch any of my money at all. I'll deal with it."
"Ben."
"Liz. Fact is, you're probably never going to have the kind of money I've got. Since the band started earning, pretty much all I've done is invest it. I'm not like Jim with the flashy suits or Mal with the massive beach house and parties. I don't need much, live pretty simply. Drive the same old truck. I've got one expense, but it's under control." Dark eyes drew me in. "You've made your point. There's nothing in me thinking you're into me for the money, okay? Now, I'm not having this discussion with you every time you need something. You and Bean are mine, and I look after what's mine."
I took a deep breath.
"We good?" he asked.
"I'll try."
"Do more than try. Rely on me. It's what I'm here for."
"That was a really sweet thing to say." My eyes misted up. Crazy-ass hormones. "I guess because I didn't grow up with much it just ... it feels weird even having it there but not having worked for it. Like I stole it or something."
"Sweetheart, you didn't steal the money. You stole me. The money comes with me. Okay?"
"Okay." A tear trickled down my cheek. "I really like you, Ben. So damn much."
"Christ, what are you crying for? Come here, give me that mouth."
I did as told. After that, there was more coming than crying that day.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ben was gone again when I woke up the next morning, in New York. Due to the three scheduled concerts, we'd be in the city for nearly a week. The thing about being on tour was the endless possibilities for late mornings. I'd be part sloth by the time we got home. There'd been a band dinner the night before, despite Jimmy's complaint about everyone living on top of each other. I think his eternal bad mood secretly hid one hell of a soft inside. And yes, that was my professional opinion. I'd caught him stroking his chin while giving Lena a thoughtful look, more than once. Wouldn't surprise me if we had another beard on board in the near future.
With my sloth side in mind, I met Anne at the gym and we took up residence on a pair of exercise bikes for half an hour. The last gyno I saw a few days back had said light exercise was fine and dandy. Despite the occasional fetish for some weird food, and Lena's pastry party yesterday, I hadn't been indulging too much. Lots of salad and vegetables and the occasional trip to the dark side of decadent desserts. Total denial didn't suit me. At the end of the day, a healthy Bean and happy me was more important than the size of my butt.
The menfolk had gone off for a sound check, followed by various TV appearances before they hit the stage. Maternity shopping could fall by the wayside for a while, no biggie. A reporter from some big-name music magazine had taken to tagging along with the band, adding to the busy. Apparently an in-depth Stage Dive on Tour: The Real Story Behind the Public Facade article was in the making. Ben had seemed singularly unimpressed with the whole thing. But then, little moved him. He tended to take the bulk of things in his stride.
Which was great.
I could, I know, become rather strung out at times. Overthink things a little. Though with the gene pool Anne and I came from, it was probably a wonder we hadn't both become crazy cat ladies at the age of eighteen or something. Not that I was making excuses or suggesting that passing on blame for a person's personal behavior was a go. But for me, I think Ben's aura of calm and direct was a good thing. People with low self-esteem fear love. (Yep. Psychology degree rears its head again.) They doubt another person's ability to appreciate them, because they don't see the worth in themselves. I knew I deserved good things. Or at the very least, I wouldn't settle for less than a good thing.
In my rolled-down yoga pants, tank top slightly too small to contain the boobs and belly, and sweaty ponytail, I wandered back into our suite. Charcoal gray with features of slate this time. Awesome view of Manhattan. Very nice.
What was waiting inside for me, not so much.
"You are fucking kidding me," the stranger snarled, glaring at my baby belly.
I put a hand to my middle, stopping cold.
The woman was tall, brunette, slick beyond belief. Around thirty maybe. It was hard to tell, the way her sneer warped her model-like face and cherry red lips. Guess she was Ben's hookup in New York or something. How awkward. Also, how the hell had she gotten in here?
"And you would be?" I asked, with an edge to my voice.
"If you think you're getting a fucking dime out of him without a paternity test you are dreaming. And even then, he will fight you for custody."
Interesting. She seemed to believe she knew a hell of a lot about my boyfriend without actually knowing anything at all.
"Your name, please?" I asked.
"You're not the first little cunt to try this shit with one of them, and you sure as hell won't be the last." The woman, henceforth known as "the bitch," stared down at me from her stiletto-aided superior height. "Why Adrian didn't let me know I have no idea."
She was pals with Adrian? Not a good sign. Everything I'd seen and heard about the band's manager led me to believe he was one of the great douches of our time.
"Was Ben expecting you?" He sure as hell hadn't mentioned any visitors to me.
"I'm welcome here."
"Yeah? How did you get in, just out of interest?"
"Security knows me." A defiant flip of the hair. Christ, the woman was just like every mean girl I had ever encountered in high school. Amazing how some people just stopped developing beyond a certain age and got stuck.
Outside I did my best to look calm and cool, but inside I was one riled-up, unhappy camper. What the hell was she doing in our room? I guess Ben hadn't had a chance to break it off with this chick. Awesome. "Would you like a juice? I'm dying for a juice."
"Let me guess: you're some trailer trash little gold-digging whore who thought getting backstage and sucking one of the guys' dicks would get you somewhere."
Guess she didn't want a drink. But also, "You don't get pregnant by sucking dick. I'm not majoring in biology or anything, but pretty damn sure of that one."
The bitch just stared at me. Okay, so this was really not going well.
"Sorry," I said. Not sorry. "Didn't mean
to interrupt your righteous rant. Please keep going. I honestly can't wait to hear what you have to say next."
Beautiful face scrunched up all cat-asslike, the woman actually had the audacity to stalk toward me, her hands curled into fists. The girl was out of her god damn head. My heart beat double time, every protective instinct in me rising up in alarm. Do violence on me and my Bean? I think not. Happily, the bar had a wide assortment of weapons at the ready. My personal favorite being a bottle of Chivas. I hefted it from one hand to the other. Three quarters full. It was weighty enough. No way was I playing nice with this piece of work.
"Martha," shouted Sam the security man, saving the day. Don't know when he'd snuck in, but I was mighty damn glad to see him. Given half the chance, I'd cover his craggy face in kisses. "Lay one fucking hand on her and your brother will never forgive you. I guarantee it."
The bitch froze.
"Hey, Sam. You want some Chivas?" I asked, offering the black-suited muscle man the bottle.
"Perfect. I'll take that, shall I, Miss Rollins?" He set the bottle back in its place among the fine selection of booze.
"So you're Ben's sister," I said, sucking down my apple juice once more. "Interesting."
Sam put his cell to his ear, eyes looking somewhat worried for once. The bulky bodyguard had never shown the slightest hint of fear before that I'd seen. What a turn for the bizarre my day had taken. And what an almighty bitch on wheels Ben's sister was. I sent up a quick prayer that those particular genes skipped a generation or three. No wonder Dave had traded up for Ev. Yikes.
"No way can he be swallowing whatever shit she's peddling," spat Martha.
"Mr. Nicholson," said Sam into the cell. "Your sister has come to visit."
"Let me talk to him." Martha stuck out her hand.
The look Sam gave her. Whoa. It even made Martha pause again. Whatever the history was, there, I bet it was one hell of a tale.
"Yes, Miss Rollins and her have met," reported Sam into the cell. "I just interrupted them exchanging words. The situation was somewhat volatile."
He quieted, listening to whatever Ben was saying. Then he turned to me. "Miss Rollins, he'd like to know if you're okay."
"Best of health, Sam. All good." I grinned. It'd been a good six or so years since I'd gotten into any fights. The bulk of us grew up and cut out such nonsense. If Martha was hell-bent on meeting my protective mothering instincts, however, then so be it.
Ben and Sam chatted on. Mostly the conversation on Sam's side consisted of yes, sirs and so on. "Sir," said Sam eventually, "I wonder if it might help resolve the situation if I had a quiet talk with your sister?" One final "Yes, sir" and he disconnected the call.
"Miss Rollins, would you be so good as to give Martha and I a moment alone?"
"Sure, Sam." I wandered into my bedroom, juice in hand. My ear was pressed up against the closed door within two one-hundredths of a second. Listening in to others' conversations is a terrible flaw, I know. No way, however, could I miss this.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Sam began, his voice low and deadly. "I watched you fuck up shit with your brother and Dave for years. To the point where you had to be sent to the other side of the country so you'd stop causing trouble."
"Who is she?"
"She's the girl your brother thinks the fucking world of, and she's carrying his kid. He was planning on introducing you to her tomorrow, after giving you a heads-up about the situation," said Sam. "He was hoping you could help her get some maternity clothes, since you know the city."
The bitch scoffed. "You must be joking."
"No. See here's the sad thing. Your brother actually believes in you, thinks you've just made a couple of mistakes but that you've learned from them and have grown up. He doesn't get what a bitter, self-centered bitch you are."
Apparently she had nothing to say to this.
"But then, love fucks with how people see things. And your brother, he does love you, despite all the shit you've pulled over the years."
"I only want to protect him," she said, voice trembling with fury. "She's conning him, she's got to be. Ben's never been the type to settle down, you know that as well as I do. He's basically a professional millionaire slacker. He can barely see beyond the next jam session and bottle of beer."
"People change."
"Well, if he's so into her then no way is he thinking clearly. He's soft, Sam. He's not like us. We see the world as it really is. People are just out to use the guys, they always have been. And this girl is no different, I can tell just by looking at her."
Like hell she could.
Sam swore fervently. "You're right that we see things as they really are. What are you really afraid of, Martha? Worried that if your brother's actually in a relationship for once, got a woman and a kid to look after, he won't be inclined to keep propping up your expensive lifestyle?"
Silence.
"You're the user here, Martha. You always were."
"Fuck you. He's my brother."
"Yeah, your brother, not your bank account. You might want to learn the difference between the two one day."
No way. Holy hell. So that's the expense Ben talked about last night--keeping his sister in the lifestyle she'd apparently become accustomed to while living with the band. The only real family he had was bleeding him dry. What an utter bitch. No matter what he'd said, I highly doubted that anything involving this money-sucking leech was under control. Man, did I want another chance to swing a nice hard object at her pretty little skull. But it was his money and family, not mine. Therefore, none of my business really. Not that I stopped listening or dreaming of ways to make this woman disappear. Odd, caring for Bean and Ben really brought out the violent side of me. I swear I was a pacifist usually.
"That girl--"
"Loves your brother. And he loves her. I've never seen him like this with anyone, and she's good for him. He's spending less time alone, talking more, interacting. He's happy, Martha."
"Please. What the hell would you know? You're just the hired help."
"Don't be naive. If you were really that stupid we wouldn't even be having this conversation."
"He can't be that hung up on her. I didn't see a ring on her finger."
"It'll happen. They're just both too thrown by the baby to get around to making shit official yet," said Sam, the hammering of my heart nearly drowning him out. "You do one thing to cause trouble for them and I will make sure you are never accepted back among the band ever again. Your exclusion will be permanent."
"They're my family," she said in a horrified tone.
"Then start acting like it. Stop taking your brother's money and stand on your own two feet. Treat Lizzy and all of the women with some respect."
No reply.
"You're never getting Dave back. Those days are gone. Accept it. If you don't want to lose your brother too, you'll take my advice."
A moment later the front door slammed shut.
Then the knocking on my bedroom door slammed through my head. Ouches. Eavesdropping was a dangerous pastime.
"You can come out now, Miss Rollins."
I emerged, sipping the last of my juice, doing my best to appear blase about all the drama-rama.
Amusement shone in Sam's eyes. "It's rude to listen in on other people's conversations."
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, my nose sky-high.
"Of course you don't."
I lowered my nose back to where it belonged before I got a crick in my neck. "You really think I make him happy?"
The black-suited dude smiled. It was the smallest of things. There and gone in an instant. "You're the psychology student. Think about it. Each of the guys plays a role in the band. Not just an instrument, but a piece of the puzzle that makes them work. Dave's the sensitive poet, Mal's the loudmouth clown, and Jimmy's the brooding bastard. But Ben, he just goes on with the work, doing his thing. He's the only one I don't have to flip out about if he goes out in public. No interest in the li
melight. The guy just pretty much blends, you know?"
"Yeah. I guess so."
"The other guys all bought mansions and shit, but not him. He just kept moving, living in hotels, playing his music." Sam looked at me down the length of his busted nose. Lord knows how many times it'd been broken. "You're giving him a place to belong, things to plan for, a life outside of all of this. Idiot didn't even realize he needed it, but he does. You're grounding him. No one else has given him that in a long time."
"You're kind of a philosopher, Sam."
"Nuh." Another millisecond smile. "I just use my eyes. It's what I'm paid to do."
I smiled back at him. Mine lasted longer.
"Martha comes back, call me. I don't think she'll cause any more trouble, but with her..."
"You got it."
*
Something woke me at around one in the morning. The light from an e-reader, strangely enough.
"Ben?" I yawned, rolling over to hit warm, hard flesh. "Hey. When did you get in?"
"Not long ago." He pushed my hair out of my face, proceeding to rub my neck. "Didn't mean to wake you. Want me to go read out in the living room?"
"No." I mooshed my face against his ribs, breathing in hot male. Divine. Even the soft, soap-scented hairs under his arms worked for me. As for the treasure trail leading from his belly button down into his boxer briefs ... heaven. Impossible to keep my fingers away from it.
"You are such a cuddler." He chuckled.
"Is that a problem?" The thought that my limpetlike attachment to him might be annoying hadn't crossed my mind.
"Nope. I like having you close. Means I can keep you out of trouble."
I set my chin on his chest. "And what does that mean?"
"Heard about your showdown with Martha today. Were you really going to brain her with a bottle of twenty-five-year-old Scotch whisky?"
"If she'd come any closer to me and Bean with her hand raised, you betcha. Apparently I have a violent streak these days, which is a worry. But I'm not willing to stand by while me or mine get hurt."
"Hmm."
"I did not initiate it, Ben."
"I know." The corners of his gorgeous lips turned down. "I'm so fucking sorry that happened, sweetheart. Had no idea she'd react like that. I mean ... I knew she'd think the worst. She's seen enough of the crap people have tried to pull with the band over the years. Just thought I'd be here to control shit."
