“Roux.”
She dropped her gaze, the empathy in Steve’s eyes more than she could stand. “I was in the hospital for months. Having no family willing to take me, I was released into foster care. My grandparents were too old to take care of themselves, much less me. They’re gone now. My aunts thought I’d be too much trouble, with the mental problems I was sure to have. So Mama Ramona took me in. CPS sends her the girls they can’t place anywhere else.”
“I can’t imagine. I’m sorry.”
“For what?” She shook her head, sparing him a glance. “There’s nothing anyone could have done to prevent what happened. Except get my alcoholic father treatment before he snapped.” And she wasn’t sure that would have made much of a difference. “So to answer your question, that’s why I don’t drink. Alcoholism runs in families, and I refuse to follow in that man’s footsteps.”
Steve upended his half-empty glass over the balcony railing. She appreciated the symbolism, but remembered he’d been drinking water. She waited for him to find an excuse to leave. Few could stomach looking at her once they knew what she’d been through, Mama Ramona and her foster sisters—who’d survived childhood tragedies of their own—being the exceptions.
“You’ll have to excuse me,” he said, proving her right. He couldn’t handle her tragic past. “But I can’t just stand here and not hold you right now.”
Huh?
When his arms went around her, she stiffened, but when his embrace remained merely comforting and not the sexual come-on she expected—perhaps wanted—she began to relax.
“I can’t fathom what that must have been like for you,” he whispered.
“You survive,” she said. “If you don’t . . . well, you don’t get to tour the globe with Exodus End, now do you?” She lifted one corner of her mouth.
His huff of a laugh was breathless with emotion, and his arms tightened around her. “So your bandmates are all foster kids?”
“All survivors,” she said. “Mama Ramona’s girls.”
The balcony door opened, and Sage—one of those survivors she’d mentioned—poked her head outside. “Been looking for you everywhere,” she said to Roux. “Should have known you’d be macking with Steve Aimes on the balcony.”
Steve’s hold on Roux loosened. She pressed her face against his chest and breathed in his scent, hoping to use it to recall this tender moment later.
“We weren’t making out,” Steve said. “I was behaving like a perfect gentleman.”
Roux leaned away and gazed up into his deep brown eyes. He averted his gaze, a smirk on his lips.
“For the first time in my hedonistic life.”
“That’s not what I saw, but who am I to call Steve Aimes a liar?” Sage teased. “Sam wants a group photo of Baroquen at our first world-tour party. We need you for just a minute, Roux, then you can get back to not standing tits to chest with a living legend.”
And what a nice, hard, well-defined chest her tits had been pressed against. Funny how she hadn’t been fixated on that when she’d had the opportunity. Roux had been too enraptured by the feeling of security and reliable strength Steve provided. She was pretty sure a quintessential rock star wasn’t supposed to make a woman feel safe. He was supposed to make her feel reckless, dirty, a bit dangerous. Not wanting to miss the opportunity to show him she wasn’t a tragic snowflake due to her dark past, she rose on tiptoe and kissed the corner of his mouth. It was meant to be a tender thank-you for listening to her tale. She didn’t anticipate him cupping the back of her head and turning his mouth to her chaste kiss, or him taking charge of her innocent smooch to make it something that burned through her body like a fuel-ignited inferno. Her arms fell limp at her sides as she opened her mouth to his gently stroking tongue, not wanting anything—not even the feel of his flesh beneath her palms—to interfere with her enjoyment of his claim on her mouth.
“Ha!” Sage clapped her hands. “I knew it.”
Steve released Roux’s mouth with a slow, tingling suction, and said in a deep voice that shredded her already frayed nerves, “Maybe I’ll see you later.”
“Maybe,” she said calmly, though inside she was screaming: Maybe? What the fuck do you mean, maybe?
“Come on, Roux,” Sage said. “They’re waiting for us.”
Roux forced herself to follow Sage back to the party, though every atom in her body was inexplicably drawn to the man she left on the balcony. She and the rest of her band posed through dozens of pictures with various party attendees—it seemed everyone wanted to be recognized as being present for Baroquen’s debut, though the new band had already released two albums and had been playing locally for years. She tried not to be too obvious about noticing when Steve returned to the party or when Steve greeted acquaintances or when Steve laughed at something some woman said. She had no claim over the man or anything he did. Hell, she didn’t even like the guy. More accurately, she didn’t like the guy she’d thought he was before she actually spent a few minutes alone with him.
Eventually, everyone who wanted a picture with Baroquen had taken the opportunity. Roux sighed in relief that she was free to move around the room again. Or better yet, now that several people were deep in drink and acting obnoxious, to return to the balcony.
“I’m going back outside for some fresh air,” she told Sage. “Just wanted to let you know in case I’m needed again.”
“I think Sam wants us to network,” Sage said.
“I’ll network outside.”
“Steve isn’t out there,” she said, as if she knew Roux was hoping he’d follow her. “I think he’s found someone else to mack with.”
Roux spotted him standing against the bar, a drink in one hand, a woman’s ass in the other. So much for him proving that she was wrong about him. He really was an asshole. And rather than look ashamed or uncomfortable, he seemed completely in his element.
“Yeah, well, whatever,” Roux said. “I need some air.”
Sage didn’t press her further. Sage and the rest of her bandmates knew Roux wasn’t big on parties involving alcohol. It wasn’t that she was afraid that some drunk might try to kill her. She was afraid that she might see everyone having a good time, decide she might as well get drunk herself, and then wind up an alcoholic like her father had been. Alcoholism started with one drink, and she refused to risk it.
She pushed open the balcony door, leaving it cracked a bit because she enjoyed listening to the music. She gripped the cool metal railing and swayed to the beat, her eyes closed, heart wide open to the music. Perhaps the dance floor was where she belonged tonight.
“Were you hoping I’d join you?”
Steve’s deep voice made her pause for several beats, but then the music found her again, and she continued letting the heavy bass line live through her body’s motions.
“I’m not sure what to think of you,” he said. “You look like a party girl. Right now you’re acting like a party girl. But when you speak?”
She turned to find him shaking his head in bewilderment.
His eyes lifted, and he met her gaze. “You speak from the heart, Roux.”
“Party girls don’t have hearts? Is that what you’re getting at?”
“I’m sure they do,” he said. “I’ve just not been allowed to glimpse any.”
“They’re probably afraid you’ll ditch them if they show the slightest substance.” That was initially why she’d opened up to him. She’d assumed the honesty would send him packing. She’d wanted him to ditch her. And then he had to go and surprise her by being kind and empathetic. At least that bit of deception hadn’t lasted long. There’d been no sympathy in that kiss.
“I’m not that callous,” he said.
She lifted an eyebrow.
He laughed, muscles tightening in all the right places, and pulled a hand through his shoulder-length brown hair, gathering it into a fist at the back of his head. “Okay, you got me. I can be that callous, but only because I don’t want to get hurt.”
&nb
sp; She rolled her eyes. “Right. Like any woman could hurt you.”
She turned back to the cityscape to enjoy the view and barely heard him whisper, “It’s been known to happen.”
Her heart twisting with unexpected remorse, she whirled around to apologize, but he was gone. She caught sight of him through the glass, walking away. Before she could take three steps to follow him, the woman from the bar moved up beside him, cupped her hand around his ear, and stood on tiptoe to whisper something. Through the glass door, Steve caught Roux’s gaze. Never breaking eye contact, he listened to the woman’s whispers, nodded tersely, and then allowed the now-widely-smiling woman to lead him away.
Every time Roux started to think Aimes wasn’t the biggest asshole she’d ever met, he immediately proved her wrong. Well, screw him. She wasn’t going to let thoughts of him fucking that woman ruin her evening. She left the sanctuary of the balcony and rejoined the party, dancing until she was so amped on adrenaline that she didn’t give a second thought to Steve Aimes for the rest of the night.
Nope, she gave every thought to him.
Four
Steve wasn’t sure why he’d brought the woman into the private conference room at the end of the hall. She’d made it clear that he could do anything he wanted to her body. Touch her anywhere in any way he liked. Fuck any hole he felt like fucking. Strange and sad thing was, he didn’t want to do anything of a sexual nature. He wanted to talk to Roux. See more of her heart so that maybe, just maybe, he could trust her with some of his. But now that this other woman was here, and shedding her clothes in a rather seductive tease, he couldn’t tell her to get lost. The manliness authorities would run his man-card through a shredder. And a rejection would make this very attractive woman feel unwanted, unbeautiful. And he’d never met a woman he didn’t find beautiful in some way. Well, one. But he didn’t have to see Tamara much now that he’d divorced her sister. Luckily, his phone rang just as his stripteasing companion straddled his lap and buried her hands in his hair to draw his mouth to the tip of her lush breast.
“Sorry,” he said, just before her nipple brushed his lips. “I need to take this.” He didn’t. And when he saw that the caller was unknown, he really knew he didn’t need to take the call.
That didn’t stop him from answering. “Hello?”
“Are you satisfied with your current cellular service?”
“What?” He allowed shock to register on his face, hoping his lap lounger couldn’t hear what the caller was saying. “Are you sure?”
“Um,” the telemarketer murmured, and then continued to read his script. “We have a plan with unlimited—”
“I can be there in about ten minutes.” He hung up on the telemarketer and lifted the woman’s hands to his lips. He kissed her knuckles. “I’m going to have to take a raincheck on the rest of this sexy dance, sugar,” he said, gently pushing her off his lap. “Something suddenly came up.”
And for once it wasn’t his dick.
“Is there anything I can do?”
She looked up at him with genuine concern, and he hated to lie, but he wasn’t interested in anyone but Roux tonight, even if she didn’t want him. Admittedly atypical for him, he had no plans to settle for some random chick just because she was easy.
“Are you going back to the party?” He didn’t want to go back himself, but he did want to see Roux, even if just to watch her from afar and imagine the feminine ass in his hand belonged to her.
“Unless you want me to wait here until you get back,” she said. “Did something terrible happen?”
“A friend is in trouble,” he said, which probably wasn’t a lie. Zach was out there partying somewhere without Steve, which was bound to be trouble. But not as much trouble as he’d have been in if Steve had been with him. “I need to help him out. I doubt I’ll be back tonight.”
Her face fell. “Oh, well, maybe some other time.”
“Yeah. Sure,” he said. “I’m going to have such a case of blue balls from this. My friend better appreciate the sacrifice I’m making.” Lies. All lies. Sure, they were offered to protect the woman’s feelings, but that didn’t make his words any truer. “If you need a ride home . . .”
She shook her head. “Nah, I’m going to stick around. How often does a music blogger get to hang around with rock gods? Not often enough.”
So that was why she was at the party. And that meant Steve couldn’t return to the festivities for a long while or he’d be caught in his stupid lies. He should have just been blunt with Hot Blogger. Look, I saw this special woman watching us when you propositioned me, and she looked a little jealous, so I thought, hey, maybe she won’t be able to stop thinking about me if she realizes I’m irresistible to a hot chick like you, but I don’t actually want you. I want her.
Nope, he couldn’t say that.
“Enjoy your evening,” Steve said as he hurried from the conference room.
Free of his unwanted guest, Steve passed right by the open doors of the ballroom and hunted down the man who fixed all his minor problems and many of his major ones. He found Butch in the meal prep area, taking a break with several other members of Exodus End’s security team.
“Shouldn’t you be next door keeping the rock stars alive while they get wasted and high?” Steve asked as he slid into the empty chair to Butch’s left.
“Seems the biggest troublemaker I’m responsible for is right here beside me,” Butch said, his eyes on some boxing match airing on the television on the wall.
“I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”
“Anything,” Butch said, still not looking away from the television screen.
“Can you get Roux to my hotel room? I need to speak to her alone.”
Butch turned his attention from the TV to stare at him with his mouth slightly open beneath his bushy mustache. “I must have heard you wrong. Did you just ask me to kidnap a woman?”
“What?” Steve jerked his head to one side. “No. I want you to convince her to go to my room. Don’t tell her it’s my room, or she probably won’t come. But I really want to see her. Alone.”
“Why don’t you go ask her?” Butch asked. “It’s not like any woman can resist your . . .” He spread his hands wide as he struggled to find the right words. “. . . whatever it is about you they like so much.”
“His general badassedness,” one of the security team supplied.
True, that was what drew most women to him like bears to honey, but that wasn’t what he wanted Roux to see in him.
“You said you’d do any favor for me,” Steve reminded Butch. And Butch had never let him down in the past. Steve had faith that the band’s personal miracle worker could pull off his simple request.
“Roux is the red one of those Baroquen ladies, right?” Butch said, sliding from his chair.
Steve couldn’t help but smile. Butch was his ace in the hole, and he played the card whenever necessary. “Yes, the red one.”
“And you want her in your hotel room. Alone.” Steve was a bit surprised Butch wasn’t writing this all down on his trusty clipboard.
“That’s right.”
“I’ll see what I can do. You should probably be there when she arrives,” Butch said.
“Right,” Steve said. He slid off the barstool.
Butch left his side immediately, sporting his getting-down-to-serious-business look. Steve smiled. What could possibly go wrong when he played his trump card?
Five
Roux had all but forgotten about Steve—sure—and scarcely noticed when that blogger chick returned to the party without him—obviously—so she was more than a little surprised when Exodus End’s head security guy tapped her on the shoulder.
“Sorry to bother you, Miss Roux,” he said, “but can I speak to you for a moment?”
“Uh, okay,” she said, shrugging. “What is it?”
“Perhaps in a place a bit less loud,” he shouted over the Sinners song blaring over the dance floor.
She followed hi
m out to a hallway that was only slightly quieter since the ballroom doors remained open. She guessed there weren’t any other events on this floor tonight and wondered if the Sinners party on the next floor up was as crazy as this one was turning out to be. Maybe she’d head up there next and check it out.
“Is something wrong?” she asked the guy. She was pretty sure his name was Butch, and a quick glance at the name on the all-access pass around his neck proved her memory sound.
“I’ve dedicated my life to these boys.” Butch clutched the back of his neck. “Well, I suppose they’re men now, though sometimes it’s hard to tell. One of them has a request for you, which I will make as promised, and then I’m going to offer you some advice. You can do with both as you see fit.”
Roux had no idea what he was talking about. “A request?”
“Aimes would like you to meet him in his hotel room, alone, at your earliest convenience.”
Her ears burned with unexpected heat before the sensation moved to her cheeks and then her chest. She didn’t know whether she should be pissed, embarrassed, or aroused. She settled on the first option. “Is that so?” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at a guy who probably didn’t deserve her wrath. “Does he often send you to make such requests?”
“Actually, no,” Butch said, his mustache twitching. “He doesn’t have to. Women typically fall into his lap with their pants down.”
Staged (Exodus End World Tour, #3) Page 4
