Insatiable (Sex, Love, and Rock & Roll Book 3)

by Michelle Hazen

  I nod a quick agreement. It should be me, not Jacob, but the two of us hustling out of an industry party will only fuel the relapse rumors that follow me everywhere.

  Ava peeks up at me, her heels not quite boosting her to my height. “Is there a problem?”

  “Uh, nothing a champagne fountain can’t fix?” Then I remember I can’t avail myself of the champagne fountain. “Actually, we might be fucked.”

  “Dance with me,” she says, catching my hand and winding her slim fingers through mine. My tie suddenly seems way too tight. When she was having all that leisurely sex this afternoon, did the guy think to hold her hand? I try to remember the hands of the girl I was with, but I can’t focus when Ava’s touching me.

  I need to play nice, to get The Red Letters back on her good side—especially with all her most powerful connections in the same room with us—but I like her. And someone like me shouldn’t be anywhere near a girl he doesn’t want to hurt. I drop her hand and push it into my pocket to grip my six-month chip.

  “The photographers are still outside, though.” If Curt or the label asked her to be seen with me, a dance now will ruin the whole point.

  “Okay,” she says. “Give me one ugly dance, and we’ll save the pretty one for them.”

  Her teasing smile topples the wall of my resistance like it was made of children’s blocks.

  I feel Jacob’s eyes on me, but I refuse to look back because I don’t want his wholesome face to remind me I’m the guy with a bruise on his jaw. The one who only dances with women for a single reason. The one who’s going to be spending all night not looking at the champagne fountain.

  Pushing the second set of glass doors open, I spin Ava through them, trying to recapture the confident, better me that left blushes and smiles in his wake all down the red carpet. After all those thousands of hours of choreography, Ava doesn’t miss a step at the unexpected speed of the movement. “What if we keep the pretty one for ourselves?” I ask. “I happen to think Just Jared would love a picture of us doing the Electric Slide together.”

  “I’m not sure you know how to be ugly, Jackson Sterling.” The orchestra’s already playing. She turns into my arms in a classic waltz frame, joining the few couples on the dance floor in mid-song. “So you’re on.”

  There is really no excuse for feeling disappointed when you’re dancing with the most beautiful woman in the room and she just called you sexy. But for maybe the first time in my life, I’m not in the mood to flirt.

  “Tell me something.”

  She tilts her head back. A couple of tight curls frame her face, but the rest of her hair is swept smoothly, intricately upward. “You starting a new game of truth and dare? Sure you can afford the ante?”

  I lead her automatically, my feet placing themselves in each new frame of the waltz. “I don’t think you’d be so eager to trade for my secrets if you knew me better. I don’t have the kind that sound good whispered across the pillow.” The edge of my mouth twists upward. “More like the kind that get discussed in court, with a ‘Your Honor’ tacked on at the end.” Not that the worst thing I ever did has been exposed in a courtroom. If it ever comes out, it will be many, many years before I’m back in tuxedo black instead of convict orange. At the thought, my grip on Ava tightens.

  “Maybe I just want to know I’m not the only one with secrets.”

  I was aware of her before, of the exact movements of her body and how tantalizingly far it is from mine, but now I focus on her face even more carefully. Her gaze is still hazy and gentle, though. Too steady for the day we’ve had. I clench my jaw.

  The song ends and I step to the side of the dance floor. She follows me after a second, like she was planning on moving straight into the next dance. I pull my six-month chip from my pocket and offer it to her.

  She looks, but doesn’t reach for it. Her lashes flicker uncertainly as she peeks up at me. “Jax?”

  “Whatever drug you found to make you this chill, after everything that happened last night? I want some.” I’ve been in the business long enough to know that relaxation in the midst of stress really only comes out of pill bottle. And I’m pissed as hell that Danny drove her to that.

  Whatever sedative she’s on, she didn’t take it before tonight’s performance. Ava closed out the night, and the first song of her set was “It’s My Show.” Jera and I were watching from backstage when she took the microphone.

  Thank you all so much for coming out tonight. I want to start the set with a song that’s very close to my heart. Because it’s so easy in this world to get caught up in what people say about you, and forget what you have to say about yourself.

  When the drums came in, they shook the whole building, and Ava sang with a soul that scraped my own chest hollow. Tranquil? Yeah, not so much.

  I squeeze my sobriety chip between my fingers until it bites my skin. Danny’s fucking lucky he’s not here. Ava’s famously straight-edge and if his attack pushed her to relying on drugs? Yeah, we’re going to have words that make this morning’s brawl look like a thumb-wrestling match.

  Ava reaches out, loosening my fingers until she can fold my chip back into my hand. “My secret drug isn’t a drug, Jax. Promise. But it is a secret.”

  “Okay, I’ll trade. Truth or dare, whatever you want.”

  Her eyes narrow a little. “You’re really worried about me, aren’t you?”

  Is that a trick question? I take an extra second to think it over, but it doesn’t grant me any enlightenment. “Yes.”

  She holds up her fist and I smile, remembering our pact. “Musician’s code.” I bump her fist, keeping my bruised knuckles well away from a big ring she’s wearing that looks like brocade made of jewels.

  Pushing up onto her toes, she breathes, “Meditation.”

  I blink. “You realize whispering in my ear is distractingly sexy.”

  “Listening ears.” She nods at the people around us. “I’m about ten miles off brand there.”

  “Right.” My ribs ache as I relax. “I tried that one once or twice. I am super shitty at it, turns out.”

  She laughs. “That’s what everybody thinks at first. It’s just like music. It takes loads of practice, and then one day it just melds, and it’s not work anymore.”

  Now that I know the glow in her eyes belongs only to her, I can’t seem to look away. “Hey, you want to steal another dance before the press moves inside?” Only a few select photographers have tickets to the event, but still, this moment feels like an opportunity we won’t get again soon.

  Ava reaches for my hand, and my palm flashes hot and clammy with anticipation.

  A hand touches her arm and she pauses. We both turn to face the president of our record label. “Good to see you two getting along.” He smiles. “You guys have a minute for me to introduce you around? We have some more artists showing up tonight, but I want to lead with the best.”

  “Uh, absolutely.” I smile. Why the hell did I ask for another dance, anyway? If I don’t want to screw up this tour, the last thing I need to be doing is inviting her into my arms. Already, the memory of the curve of the small of her back taunts me, sitting in my mind like a fantasy I shouldn’t be indulging in public.

  Ava points at me with a teasing little smile. “You owe me an ugly dance later. Don’t think I’ll forget.”

  I owe her a secret, too, and somehow I doubt she’ll forget that either.

  I FLAG DOWN A PASSING waiter and ask for an espresso. Post-show industry parties were a lot easier when I was running on cocaine and ego. Under my own steam, 4 a.m. is a serious drag. Fortunately, I can make small talk with half a functioning brain cell, thanks to all my mom’s socialite parties when I was growing up.

  “Are you and Ava planning any dual performances now that you’re traveling together?” the woman asks me. I don’t remember her name or even her professional affiliation, but the forty grand in diamonds dripping from her neck gives her a certain amount of credibility.

  I wink. “Oh come on, we
can’t let all our cats out of the bag after only the second tour date. We’ve got nine months to go.”

  A strange chord catches my attention and I shake my head, trying to make sense of the sound in the second before the orchestra falters and then falls silent. My companion’s eyes go big above her diamond necklace and I turn around. Slowly.

  Danny drops a handheld karaoke machine at the edge of the dance floor. A chill goes through me that has nothing to do with the fact that he’s naked except for a sequin-spangled Speedo, Miley Cyrus wig, and half-laced combat boots.

  Without excusing myself, I abandon my companion and head across the room toward Ava. She was discovered at thirteen, because she snuck backstage at a Rust Goliath concert, and went up on stage before the band. She walked out there, alone, and sang a solo so incredibly gorgeous that the crowd shouted down security when they tried to drag her off halfway through. And everybody could hear her because she brought her handheld karaoke machine.

  Danny’s voice breaks through the crowd, amplified by his cordless headset. “Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah. Oops, I did it again.”

  By the time I reach Ava, all the other party goers have abandoned the dance floor, and he’s a full verse in, not even trying to raise his voice to match Britney Spears’ soprano. Instead he’s full-throated and deep and it makes the cover sound...weirdly good.

  I take the last step and block her view of the dance floor. “I can get you out of here in two seconds. I might even be able to remember how to hotwire a car from high school.”

  She’s grinning. Actually grinning. “And miss this? Are you kidding? Look.”

  I turn around just as Danny executes a flawless booty drop, then springs back up and does the one-two-three hip-swinging diva stroll up to the audience, spinning to plant combat boots wide, then bending forward so we’re all nearly blinded by the sparkles of his Speedo. He does another spin and follows with a round of twerking, the tattoos on his abs flexing with each hit of the beat.

  Any other day, I’d be choking on my own laughter, because this is the chance of a lifetime. I mean, Danny in rhinestones? Pass the YouTube, please. But he’s not just making a point, he’s making it at Ava’s expense. On fucking purpose.

  He cat-crawls across the dance floor, back arched and ass up, and as the music stops he springs back to his feet, every reporter in the place flashing photos as he holds his arms out and takes a bow. The tree tattoo on his back seethes with the movement of muscle, like it’s a living thing.

  Ava starts forward. I go with her, because I’ve got no fucking clue what’s about to go down, but no way am I letting the two of them free-for-all on each other.

  Jera waits at the edge of the dance floor, Jacob next to her pinching the bridge of his nose like he’s getting a headache. Two pink spots appear on our drummer’s cheekbones, the way she always looks when she’s incandescently, burn-down-the-whole-county furious. Kate’s watching too, but for all the hoarded dollars left in my bank account, I can’t tell what Danny’s wife is thinking.

  The reporters part as Ava gets close, the room buzzing with excited, scandalized whispers. Danny is busy speaking into the microphone someone thrust in his face, though thankfully he’s still wearing the stage makeup that covers the bruising under his eyes. If you know his face, you can still tell his nose is swollen.

  “Everybody acts like skimpy costumes are just part of putting on a show,” he tells the reporter, “but when you see a man in one, it’s obvious how little that has to do with either performing or music.” Danny turns his attention to Ava, with a challenging light in his eye that I don’t like at all. “What do you think? Did I hit all the girl power high notes, or should I get a smaller Speedo?”

  She smiles, and the flashbulbs go off all over again. “You gonna cover up the ankles of every girl in this country, Danny? You know what, do that. I think that’ll really give us all a step forward in the fight for equal rights.”

  She turns, and if she’s anything like me, she knows the moment to leave, but has not thought far enough into the future to scout the exit. I take her elbow and stride forward, using my greater height to do just that and trusting to my custom-tailored tuxedo to make me look confident enough to cover the three-second gap before I choose a stairwell and head for it.

  Besides, this is AVA. She probably has a helicopter pilot on standby. Like Batman.

  We duck through a crowd, and I ignore a few familiar faces, keeping my head down as I guide her through the exit door. As soon as it closes, something knocks against the other side and I pull Ava behind me.

  “It’s just Dean,” she says. “Letting me know he’s there.”

  Great. Super comforting. Wonder what the chances are he’ll break my bones like a little voodoo doll proxy for my band’s totally off-the-reservation bassist? “Listen, Ava. I’m sorry as hell about Danny. We got into a fight this morning, and then your manager came to the bus at just the wrong moment and said exactly the wrong thing.”

  “I’m sure he did.” She shakes her head, almost laughing. “Come on, Jax. He caught me off guard yesterday, but do you really think Danny’s the first person to ever criticize me? To call me a slut?” She lays a hand on my arm. “Honestly, he did me a favor. Do you remember the morning we met, in my hotel suite?”

  One small tap comes at the door again, and Ava ducks around me to open it, her skirt brushing my legs.

  “Car will be around back in a couple minutes,” Dean says. “I found a route around the main ballroom, so nobody will see you leave.”

  “You’re amazing,” Ava says. “Could you do me just one more favor and call Chuck?”

  “Uh, you know it’s four thirty in the morning, right?”

  “He knows I’ll make it worth his time.” Ava smiles and reaches through the gap like she’s patting her bodyguard’s arm. “I’m okay, Dean. Really. Knock when the car’s here, okay?”

  My mind is racing a dozen different directions, trying to sort out what Ava was about to tell me, not to mention everything in the ballroom we left behind. I should have checked on Kate before I left. Even if Danny didn’t think about what this would mean for the band, Kate knows all too well. And I don’t want to say it, but Danny just made a caricature of Ava not only on YouTube, but tomorrow’s five o’clock news, considering the stature of the reporters here tonight. In front of our A&R guy and the record label owner, and the fucking president.

  The morning we met, I thought I had made a clusterfuck of things, but tonight is that to the tenth degree.

  “I didn’t sleep through my alarm that morning,” Ava says. “I knew everyone was out there, waiting on me, and I just couldn’t care enough to get out of bed.”

  I stop fidgeting with my watch and look at her. I know that feeling. I just didn’t think she did.

  “But then you were there,” Ava says, “and feeling the weight of everybody’s expectations just like I was. Your band gave me something to fight for, something to care about to pull me through this ungodly long tour. And Danny just gave me one more opponent. I may not need another tour, however obligated I am to do one. But the girls in this country need to hear they don’t have to be defined by male expectations.” She smiles. “Plus, from what I’ve heard about Danny, the perfect revenge will be all the media attention he just called to himself.”

  A laugh catches me by surprise. “Yeah, pretty much. Screw it, let him have a taste of some of the games I’ve always played on his behalf.”

  Dean taps on the other side of the door. Is it already time for her to go? “Well, um, goodnight, I guess. For what’s left of it.”

  She tilts her head and I fight to keep my eyes from dropping to the deep red scrolls of the lace that tease the idea of bare skin beneath. “You know, if you’re not in the mood for sleeping, I could show you my second secret drug,” she offers.

  My cock flexes in immediate response, and I push the thought away, because I’m pretty darn sure that’s not what she was calling that guy Chuck for. And if it is, would she real
ly invite me along? My zipper suddenly seems way too confining.

  “I promise your sponsor would approve,” she adds when I don’t answer right away.

  I kind of doubt that, especially when I hear myself say, “I’ve never liked sleep that much anyway.”

  Chapter 9: Hit Me, Baby, One More Time

  Dean is better than me at finding discrete exits to public buildings. No big surprise. I really wish I could bench press more than him, just so I’d have something. I’m beating ninety-six percent of the American population—thank you, Google—but that last four percent bugs the shit out of me. Mostly the part of it that includes Ava’s hulking bodyguard.

  After he snuck us out the back, a car took us to a commercial district of San Francisco, the golden bubbles of street lights glowing above us in the foggy boulevard. From there we stopped in an alley, got a key from a short, seriously muscled dude and entered an unmarked door to a darkened hallway. The building sits still and quiet, so it isn’t a club, though there’s the faintest hint of sweat clinging to the air. What the hell is this place?

  “You need me?” Dean asks.

  Ava shakes her head, eyes flicking quickly to me and then away again, almost like she’s embarrassed.

  “Gonna catch a combat nap in Chuck’s office, then. Come get me when you’re ready to go.” He gives me a chin jerk of farewell before he disappears through a door.

  That was weirdly nice. Come to think of it, he’s been less homicidal towards me all day, as if he dialed his attitude back from Your-Veins-In-My-Teeth to Politely-Thumping-You-With-2x4. What about my visit to Ava’s airplane bedroom last night could have triggered that reaction?

  The froth of Ava’s wine-red dress tickles both edges of the concrete hallway, the harsh light of the fluorescents dragging at the bright colors of her like she’s a fae creature who took a wrong turn into a trash collection facility.

  Ava arches an eyebrow, the two of us alone in an empty hallway. “You ready?”