by Stacey Lynn
If only I could figure out why I was so damn insistent on it.
Anne was at the New York office and I was trying to work on new music. Nothing was working to get me focused. None of my usual calming tricks or relaxation techniques helped.
Hell, I’d even done yoga, which was always my last resort. My limbs were loose, but my head was a jumbled fucking mess.
Something needed to give.
I needed my answer, and I needed it to be yes.
I paced another lap around my living room, flicking my guitar pick between my thumb and middle finger. I had a tune in my head, but it was too soon to fully hear it. It was how songs came to me, in pieces and chunks, never linear, and somehow I was able to smooth them together until a song was formed. This new tune was a mess, even for me. All I heard was the bass line, a constant thumping in my head and the ring of certain chords, but there was nothing I heard yet that gave me the hint of a melody or the flow.
I wouldn’t get it put together until I cleared some of the mess in my head.
And more than needing an answer from that damn woman, I needed to work on a new album.
Ticket sales plummeting and a tour being canceled last year demanded I come back out on fire and on top. If not, there were dozens more musicians just like me, fighting to take my spot. One failed album after my disastrous year and I’d be saying sayonara to my homes in L.A. and New York and my vacation home on Anguilla. I’d be back in a Midwest city, living off my royalties for the rest of my life.
No way was that fucking happening. As much as I sometimes missed Kansas and my family, there was more I wanted to accomplish.
My phone rang on the coffee table and I picked it up, sliding my thumb across the screen and putting it to my ear as soon as I saw Anne’s name.
“What’d she say?” I demanded, not bothering to say hello. Anne wouldn’t be offended. She never said hello to me.
“Yes. She’ll be on the plane tomorrow.”
I suddenly wanted it to leave immediately. Fuck. Why did I give her a day to change her mind?
Why was I doing this in the first place? I hated the idea, loved the idea of the woman.
I flicked the pick toward my guitar set up against my leather corner chair where I typically sat to write and headed toward the kitchen. There, I popped open a bottle of beer and took a heavy chug while Anne sighed and went quiet.
“You need this.”
I swallowed the beer and set it down on the counter. I turned to my view. The sway of the trees, the bustling of NYU students carrying backpacks and rushing to classes did shit to calm me.
Which gave me a new idea. I wasn’t taking Claudia to L.A. anymore.
“What I need is to write a damn platinum selling album. That’s what I need, Anne. The rest is publicity bullshit and I’m tired of my damn chain being yanked every time I take a step. I’m changing plans. Claudia and I are going to Anguilla.”
“Disappearing for months is the worst thing you can do. Makes you look like you are guilty or ashamed. Besides, you’re supposed to start recording your next album. Here. I’ve just spent the afternoon securing your recording time and letting your band know.”
“Or maybe it means I need a goddamn break,” I snapped, “and they can use one, too.”
Jesus. She didn’t get it. And she never would. She had no idea what it felt like, the looks I got, the curious stares and judgment in people’s eyes ever since the news first broke. I’d been convicted in a court of public opinion before I was charged with anything. My parents spent months defending me to their friends, my sister the same at the elementary school where she worked.
All of it was bullshit and I was more than tired of the constant need to spin.
A month or two out in Anguilla was just what I did need.
I hung up the phone and tossed it onto the counter. Anne wouldn’t hold it against me, she hung up on me plenty.
Splaying my hands out on the cold, grey and white striped marble, I straightened my arms and dropped my head.
Fuck this. I needed to get my head on straight and it wasn’t going to happen amongst the crush of people and the constant noise and lingering stares when I was recognized.
A month on Anguilla. It was the best idea I’d had in six months. I picked up the phone and made the call, changing the flight plans.
CHAPTER
FIVE
CLAUDIA
“Why the change?” I asked Karen, hustling out the door of my apartment in just enough time to get me to the address in Greenwich Village. “What’s happened?”
“I don’t know. But the client called me last night and told me to have you meet him at the airport instead. You have your passport?”
“God,” I sighed. “Yes, Karen. I have my passport.” She’d already texted me before I picked up the phone. It spiked suspicion and I called her back immediately. “Why do I need it? You shipping me off to a foreign land?”
My laugh sounded brittle to my own ears, and she didn’t return my humor.
Which meant she was.
“Karen—”
“You’ll be fine. Everything will be okay. Just stick to the rules of the contract and you’ll be safe, Claudia.”
Her tone had softened, similar enough to my own mother’s voice that tears pricked my eyes. I wouldn’t cry. I’d done it enough over the last few months.
“Okay, then.”
“Keep in touch, please.”
Back to business. Although this sounded more familiar than professional and the idea Karen actually cared about me made fighting tears harder. “Okay, Karen.”
“See you soon. Be good.” She clicked the phone before I could confirm I was always the good girl.
Reaching the taxi, I gave him the address of the small private airstrip I’d been instructed to arrive at and settled back in the ripped and cracked leather seats.
Maybe leaving New York wouldn’t be such a bad thing for me. Heading out of the country would give me even more anonymity and make me harder to find.
My hands clutched the door handle in the back seat as the taxi driver zipped and whipped through traffic, blaring his horn. It could have been his reckless driving that made me feel like I was going to throw up but mostly it was the uncertainty. Despite my efforts to close my eyes and take calming breaths, I was still strung tight when he pulled through the gates and came to a stop right outside a small hangar and an even smaller airplane.
And then my breath lodged in my throat and all the tension curled in my stomach.
Holy freaking crap.
I knew the man at the bottom of the stairs. I’d just smashed into his muscled and hot chest not even twenty-four hours ago.
When I ran into him yesterday it hadn’t even occurred to me he was Karen’s next appointment. Clients were confidential and not known to me until they arrived in her office.
As Liam walked to the taxi and handed the driver a wad of rolled up cash, I was certain I was going to throw up as soon as I exited the vehicle.
“You made it,” he said, opening the door for me and holding out a hand.
I didn’t take it. No way was he going to feel how nervous he made me.
Liam Allistor. Rock God. Accused of rape. Accusations withdrawn for reasons unknown to me or the public.
“How are you, Claudia?” He smirked when he said my name, pleased he’d discovered it when I refused to give it to him yesterday.
What game was he playing?
“Hello, Mr. Allistor.” My hands stayed clasped together in front of me.
“Liam, please. I hate being Mr. Anything.”
Ironic. Since he’d been named Mr. Sexy. Mr. Bachelor of the Year. Mr. Scumbag.
“Okay.”
I could barely breathe in his presence. It wasn’t fear. It was some strange combination of lust and nerves taking over my body, fighting for dominance. Liam Allistor was built like a linebacker with moves like a stripper. Everything about him oozed sensual promise and wicked lust. Even in front of me, w
earing faded jeans and a simple T-shirt, my gaze was drawn to his body—the curve of his firm chest, the width of his biceps. Ink scrolled from his arms to his knuckles. His black hair was almost shining in the bright sun. Eyes covered by sunglasses, I couldn’t see his startling blue eyes, but they were there.
Probably winking at me. It seemed the kind of thing a man like him would do.
Wink at a girl and she’d drop her panties and spread her legs.
Oh God. I was going to have to spread my legs for Liam Allistor.
What had I gotten myself into?
As if he noticed my sudden fear, he stepped toward me, resting his hand on my lower back.
“Thank you for agreeing to this,” he said, ushering me up the narrow steps and onto the plane. “I was pleased you said yes.”
Before I could find my proper, Southern filter, I blurted, “I didn’t know it was you. And this is a mistake.”
Karen was wrong. This was not safe for me. Or wise. This was absolutely the worst decision ever.
This was worse than bad.
“I rarely make mistakes, and I’m certain this isn’t one of them.”
I could barely concentrate on his words. His voice alone sent shivers through parts of me I didn’t know existed. With his warm breath at my neck, too many questions slammed into me.
Would he screw me here? Steal my virginity with a wicked grin and callused, sure fingers?
I wasn’t ready. Not nearly ready for any of this.
“Mr. Allistor,” I started but he stopped me, moving me deeper into the plane until we were at the back.
“I told you to call me Liam.”
I squeezed my eyes closed and heaved a breath. “Liam,” I said, opening my eyes. “There are things you don’t know and I’m not sharing, but trust me, you don’t want me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he said, and dear Lord his voice was beautiful. Thick and raspy, it rumbled over me like the breeze. “I do want you.” His hand cupped my cheek. I stared at him. Oh my God, what was happening? “And I just paid a hefty fee to have you.”
My heart thudded to my feet so quickly I was sure it was audible. What a jerk. An arrogant jerk and I wasn’t stupid. I knew exactly why he was in front of me, buying the first girl who didn’t look like a tramp or a groupie.
Liam Allistor, hotshot music star fell, lost his respectability. If there was one person in the world whose fall from the top was bumpier than mine, it was his.
Not that I necessarily believed everything he was accused of, but I’d seen poorer men than him get off on charges simply because they had a fat wallet. He had millions to brush his problems away. I wasn’t naïve enough anymore to believe that didn’t happen.
“Of course you did.” I stepped to the side of him and turned, forcing his hand to fall from my cheek.
I had to forget how beautiful he was, how incredibly sexy he was. Regardless of his body and his voice, Karen was now on my shit list. This had to be the worst pairing Infidelity had done.
“How did you get me?” I asked.
“I asked for you.”
My back was still turned to him but even he couldn’t miss the sudden jolt of my body.
“What?” I spun on my heels. This wasn’t me. I was calm, cool, collected. I wasn’t being proper or well-mannered.
“I saw you. I wanted you. I got you.”
“Oh my gosh, you’re an asshole.” I never swore! Two minutes in front of him and he was turning me into trash. This was crazy.
Bad. Horrible.
His hands slid into the pockets of his faded, ripped, and perfectly fitted jeans. Darn him. Why did he have to be such a large jerk and so sexy at the same time? His gray shirt fit him almost better than the Johnny Cash shirt yesterday. And yeah, I remembered the shirt.
I’d remember this one, too. I knew it.
Goodness, he made it hard to think clearly. “I want to cancel our contract.”
“Can’t. What’s done is done. So I say since you’re stuck with me, how about we have a seat and enjoy ourselves.”
“Does that really work on women?”
He swiped a hand across his chin and then grinned disarmingly. “Pretty sure the only women who have come to where we’re going is my mom and sister, and yeah…me whisking them away always works on them.”
Huh. “And he has jokes.”
“Come on, Claudia. I’ve been thinking about you all day. Have a seat. I understand this is a shock, but you don’t need to hate me.”
“I don’t hate you. But me being with you is going to be a disaster.”
“Thanks for the confidence, I won’t screw it up.” He stepped to my side and took a seat on a cream, leather couch, tossing his sunglasses to the side. His ice blue eyes burned into my skin. “Had a pretty girl in my arms yesterday and I wanted to see her more. I might be an asshole, but I’m not nearly the asshole you seem to think I am.”
He grabbed his guitar, dismissing me and at the same time making me feel like the biggest, judgmental jerk on the planet.
On shaky heels, I trailed after him.
He was right. The contract was specific and I already knew what Karen would say. “Sorry, not sorry. You made your choice.”
I was stuck, with a sexy, sexy man. I moved to New York to become anonymous, to be able to walk the streets so I wouldn’t have my name whispered behind my back or be constantly pointed at. My dad’s face had appeared on more than one national news channel and in more than one business magazine and newspaper. The last person I thought I’d be attached to in any way, shape, or form was a man whose baggage was louder and worse than mine.
I was going to end up on the front pages all over again, and then the sexiest man in the world would despise me for ruining everything I knew he was trying to fix.
I fell into a chair across from him. It faced the front of the plane and I wouldn’t have to look at him as he sprawled on the couch. “Where are we going?”
“To my private, secluded home on Anguilla.”
My head snapped toward him. Hands clutching his guitar, knees spread wide, even the way he sat was sexy. And the way he said secluded.
Like he really meant to say, “I’m taking you to my exotic island home so I can get you naked and fuck you until you can’t walk.”
For a second, I thought about saying yes.
“Okay,” I croaked. I looked out the window, wringing my hands together. I couldn’t even look at him.
I’d never been so terrified in my life and it wasn’t because I was with the man next to me, it was because I’d have to sleep with the man next to me.
Infidelity might not say they sell sex, but if part of the contract I’d read was promising a monogamous relationship, I doubted he’d go without for a full year.
I was stuck. The taxi had left, there wasn’t another car in sight, and as I counted to ten to try to quell my bubbling emotions, the stairs outside were pulled away and the plane began moving.
I was doing this. I was going to be with Liam for a year, and there wasn’t a darn thing I could about it now.
––––––––––
I was flying over the Caribbean Sea, bright teal waters beneath us, and I was a wreck.
We were sitting in a private plane, no one else on board besides the pilot and one stewardess. He was still stretched out on the couch, guitar strap strung over his shoulder, the guitar seated on his lap. Headphones were in his ears and occasionally he thumped the body of the guitar with the heel of his hand and scribbled something else down on a paper notebook in front of him.
He’d grunt. He’d scowl. He’d hum a tune I knew someday would be magical.
But what he didn’t do, for the entire flight after the plane took off, was say a single word to me.
Katie, the single flight attendant who introduced herself to us as soon as we’d boarded the plane, stepped out of her small galley and smiled. “We’ll be landing soon. Is there anything else I can get for either of you?”
H
er gaze flicked to Liam and back to me.
“No, thank you. I think he’s fine as well.”
“Oh, he is.” Realizing how unprofessional her statement was, she corrected herself. “Oh. I’m so sorry.” A faint pink colored the apples of her cheeks.
“I understand,” I said, trying to make her feel at ease. “I have the same problem myself.”
“With what?” his deep raspy voice asked. Liam slid into the chair across the table from me and settled his elbows on the edge. “Thinking I’m fine before you can stop yourself?”
Behind him, Katie disappeared into the galley.
I settled back into my seat. If he thought for one second he could ignore me for an entire flight from New York, turn on his charm and I’d drop my panties, he was dead wrong.
Crossing my arms, I did everything I could to ignore my fluttering pulse as his gaze dropped to my chest and lifted slowly. “You’ve ignored me all day.”
“Do you care?”
“I didn’t. I’m pointing out that it’s rude.”
“I’m rarely accused of being polite.”
He stared at me, watching me with an intensity I’d never experienced. I wanted to ask him why he ignored me the whole flight even though I shouldn’t care. He hadn’t been rude. Just quiet.
Why had it bothered me so much? I didn’t care to think about it. The man was famous, drool-worthy, had a panty-dropping smile and I’d been to a concert of his where women literally threw their underwear on stage at his feet.
I hadn’t just given myself to him, I’d sold myself to him.
I shouldn’t care if he ignored me. In fact, the more he ignored me, the easier this year would go, especially considering I had no idea what he wanted from me.
I doubted it was for scintillating conversation and my engaging personality. I was rarely funny, never inappropriate, and born and bred to be proper at all times.
It wasn’t like I had anything to offer him besides my body.
“You haven’t mentioned what you want from me for this year.”
He shrugged, ran a hand through his hair. “To be honest, I hadn’t figured that out yet. Do you know why I went to Infidelity?”
