by Sarah Grimm
Alison looked down at the white box wrapped in a red bow and her smile faded. “A wedding present? It couldn’t wait until you get back?”
“No.”
Alison didn’t move.
“Open the box, Al.”
“I’m afraid to,” she said shakily. A quick tug and the ribbon fell away. Alison lifted the lid and made a sound that was half laugh and half sob. “What did you do?”
Nestled inside, tied together by a second bow, was a set of silver keys atop an embossed card. The card belonged to Larry Bowerman, Emma’s attorney. The keys belonged to a building in The Detroit Shoreway.
“It needs some minor repair,” Emma warned, “but it’s structurally sound. A corner building, which I think would work best for getting noticed.”
“Emma.”
“Larry has all of the paperwork. You and Kevin need to go see him. He’s got something for you to sign.”
“Em,” Alison’s voice broke.
“You can’t say no.” Her voice sounded like gravel, even to her own ears. Tears burned the backs of her eyes. “It’s already yours.”
Emma was suddenly pulled back into Alison’s arms and hugged so tightly she could barely breathe. “I should have known you would do this,” Alison managed through her tears.
“You should have.”
“I didn’t want this. But I’m not giving it back.”
Emma chuckled, the air whooshing from her lungs as Alison clutched her tighter before releasing her. It was a moment before she could speak. “You can’t give it back. I told you, it’s already yours.”
“It’s really too much.”
“It’s not,” Emma said fiercely. She cupped Alison’s face in her hands so they stood eye to eye. “You want me to grab life by the balls? Well, guess what? I want you to do the same. I love you. You know that, yes?”
“Yes. I love you, too.”
“Good. Now go get Kevin and make a call to Larry. I have a plane to catch and a rock star to grab.”
April 7
Alison is engaged! Sometime in the last three days, while I was having the experience of my life, Alison was having the experience of hers. Kevin got down on one knee, offered her an absolutely, beautiful diamond ring, and asked her to be his wife.
I can’t begin to imagine how incredible that must have been for her.
I was blown away when she told me her answer had been maybe. Maybe? What was she thinking? She needs to grab that man with both hands and live! Not tell him maybe.
I fear I may be a part of her non-answer. A reason she is dragging her feet about moving forward with her life. She was here the second night I spent with Joe, even though she had no idea I would need her. Seems as if she is always here, ready to catch me when I fall.
The emotions that played through me when I realized I was holding my best friend back, no matter how unintentional, are indescribable. Pain, sadness and guilt are only the tip of the iceberg. It has to stop. I will do whatever it takes to make it stop.
I have to leave Cleveland. Get far enough away that Al will no longer feel the need to mother or care for me. It is crippling her, and that, I just can’t have. Maybe Europe – I’ve always wanted to see Big Ben and The Eiffel Tower. Or South America – I hear Rio is nice this time of year. I never planned to see it all alone, but Alison’s life is moving on, moving forward.
Who am I to stand in her way?
Number of days since I decided to live: 46
Number of days since I met Joe: 4
Current level of panic: 7/10
SEVEN
April 19
It was more than seven hours after her decision to go to Joe that Emma arrived at the 1927 art deco style hotel in Baton Rouge. It was lovely. Though she barely gave it a passing glance as, nerves wound tight, she approached the front desk.
A man who resembled her grade school gym instructor flashed her a lukewarm smile. “Welcome to the Hilton. How may I assist you?”
“I’m looking for Joe Ca—” His name had nearly passed her lips before reality struck hard and fast. There was no way this man was going to give her Joe’s room number. Not even if she begged.
Blind Man’s Alibi had played the convention center adjacent to the hotel. Emma knew because her taxi had passed in front of the building, giving her a view of the banners hanging just inside the glass entrance. Although it was clear the concert had ended, hundreds of people wearing souvenir t-shirts still lined the sidewalk, spilling out into the street, presumably waiting to get a glimpse of the band.
Standing at the front desk, stumbling over Joe’s name, Emma feared she looked like just another groupie. “Shit.”
The gym-instructor look-alike raised his eyebrow. “Miss?”
“Just a minute, I’ll call him.” Setting her carry-on at her side, Emma fished her phone out of her satchel. She pushed the button on the side to wake it up. Nothing happened.
“No, no, not tonight.” She sent up a silent prayer that she’d turned her phone off before take-off, as she’d been instructed to do, then held down the button longer, to turn it on. Still nothing.
Her battery was dead.
Perfect.
The man gave her an obvious looking over. When he met her eyes again, his gaze seemed curious, but not unfriendly. Of course, it was his job to be polite.
Placing her phone atop the desk, Emma dug through the contents of her satchel once more. She had her all-access pass tucked into her journal. Joe had said that allowed her to go anywhere at any show worldwide. Perhaps it wasn’t too late for her to get into the convention center.
She curled her fingers around the soft brown leather, careful to remove only the journal and nothing else. Unhooking the leather ties, she quickly flipped through the pages, causing the pass to slip free and slide to the floor on the opposite side of the desk.
“I’m so sorry,” she said as the man—Terri, his nametag read Terri—collected the pass.
He blinked down at it a minute before he set it alongside her phone. “That’s perfectly all right, Miss…?
“Travers,” she answered automatically. “Emma Travers.”
“Emma Travers,” he repeated, typing on his computer keyboard.
“Oh, no, I’m not a registered guest I’m—”
“In room 1056.”
Terri pulled a key card from the stack next to him, clicked a few more keys on the keyboard, then ran the card through the programmer. “If I could see some identification, please?”
“I believe there’s been a misunderstanding.”
He gave her a polite smile. “Not if you are, indeed, Emma Travers and can provide identification.”
What was going on? Emma hadn’t a clue.
She pulled out her driver’s license and handed it to Terri. He looked at it, then up at her, then back to the license one last time before appearing to be satisfied. He added the license to the growing pile of items on the desk before her, then placed the key card he’d just programmed next to it. “Welcome to the Hilton, Ms. Travers. You are in room 1056 on the top floor.” He motioned across the room. “That bank of elevators is the one you need. Do you require any assistance with your luggage?”
“I… No, thank you.”
“You’re very welcome. Enjoy your stay, Ms. Travers.”
At a complete loss for words, Emma stuffed everything back into her satchel, picked up her carry-on and headed for the elevators. She pushed the call button, her mind running back through the conversation she’d just had. How could her name have possibly been in that computer?
Turning on her heel, she headed back to the desk to find out. “Terri?”
He looked up, surprised to see her standing there again. “Ms. Travers?”
“How am I…? Can I see my reservation?”
His brows drew down and his forehead wrinkled. “Excuse me?”
“How am I listed in your computer? May I see it?”
He didn’t say anything for the longest time. Perhaps he thought she woul
d change her mind and walk away. Emma stayed rooted to the spot.
With a sigh, he typed on the keyboard once more, glanced around the room to make sure no one was looking, and turned the monitor in her direction.
Sure as shit, her name was right there on the screen. Right beneath…
Emma laughed. “Of course.”
Right beneath, ‘The Troubadour’.
Terri turned the monitor back to its original position. “Is there anything else I can do to assist you?”
“No. Thank you, Terri.”
“You’re very welcome.”
It wasn’t until the elevator doors slid closed that it hit her. The only way her name could be listed on the room, was if Joe put it there. Her heart raced within her chest. The sensation wasn’t an unpleasant one. As each floor ticked off on the panel, her anticipation grew, until her body literally vibrated.
Hallways spread out in each direction on the top floor. Emma went right, noting the room doors were much farther apart than normal. About halfway down, she reached her destination. A swipe of the card turned the little light green. A twist of the knob and she stepped into a room so large, it had to be a suite. The entertaining area, or whatever a person wanted to call it, went off to her left. An L-shaped couch sat near a slider leading to what she assumed was a private balcony. On the wall opposite hung a flat screen tv above a wet bar. There was also a dining area, a desk, and a very comfortable looking recliner. Everything in the spacious room had been done in neutrals, which was kind of a letdown, really. They could have at least added some color or contrast somewhere.
Voices drew her farther in, to an open door along the wall at her right. Emma wandered through. A luxurious king size bed sat dead center, a chaise lounge at the foot. Topped with a white duvet and piled high with pillows, the bed was meant to be the focal point of the room. But it was the couple at the far side of it that drew her gaze.
The man was standing with his back to Emma, jeans down around his thighs. He wasn’t wearing anything else—except a smile it seemed—for there was a tinge of laughter in his voice as he said, “Happy to be of service.”
She swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the rock in her throat. Joe. That was Joe’s voice.
Which meant it was Joe standing bare-assed, pulling his pants up.
The strawberry-blonde at his side smiled. Dressed in jeans and a blouse, she looked at Joe like him standing half-naked while she was fully dressed was completely normal. Her hair was long, curly, and artfully piled atop her head. She was beautiful.
Pain. All encompassing, all consuming filled Emma up. Not the kind of pain like her headaches. This pain was surprisingly more crippling. For a moment, all she could do was stand there and absorb.
Emma must have made a noise, some sound to alert them to her presence, because the woman looked up and frowned. “I swear I closed the door.”
Joe turned, hands still working his button fly closed. “Emma.”
“You know her?” the woman asked.
Emma’s gaze ping ponged between the two of them, finally landing on Joe. The first thing that popped into her head came out of her mouth. “You stupid sonofabitch.”
She had no idea if she meant him or herself.
“It’s not what it looks like,” Joe argued.
“It looks like you were pulling your pants up over your naked ass.”
“Okay, I was doing that.”
The woman threw Joe a look of disbelief.
Yeah, well join the club, sweetheart. Emma couldn’t believe it, either. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” She turned and headed for the door as fast as her feet could carry her.
“Emma!”
Out of the suite and back in the hallway, she made straight for the elevator. She needed to get away from him. Fast. Before she did something stupid like break down and cry.
“Damn it, Emma, stop!”
“What was I thinking? I should have known better than to fall for a goddamn rock star.”
A hand wrapped around her arm gently. Emma pulled against it, but to no avail.
Joe tugged her close, looking into her eyes. “How about you give me a chance to explain what you just walked in on?”
“How about you spit it out for Christ’s sake?” the woman commented.
“Beth,” Joe warned.
“I just think you should be aware of the fact that you’re already drawing a crowd. This hotel is full up with people trying to catch a glimpse of the band. It would be wise to either get to explaining, or move your ass back to the suite.”
Emma shook her head. “I’m leaving.”
Joe sighed. With a heavy frown, he stared down at her. “The woman behind me is Beth, my wardrobe mistress.”
“The band’s wardrobe mistress,” Beth corrected. “I swear to God, men are so stupid.” She moved closer, stopping beside Emma. “Emma, may I call you Emma?” She didn’t wait for a reply. “What you saw back there was nothing more than me hounding Joe here for his stage clothes. He ran out of the venue after the show like all the hound’s in Hell were hot on his tail. Dumbass didn’t even change first. I need to get everything cleaned and put away before we pull out of town in a few hours, so I tracked him down and ordered him to strip.”
Emma looked her over. Sure enough, Beth was carrying a pair of jeans and a shirt. Both looked like they could be Joe’s. As explanations went, it was a good one and seemed to fit the situation. The anger and hurt flowing through her veins just a second ago vanished.
“It’s nothing that I don’t do after every show,” Beth continued. “I know it looked bad but, trust me, you don’t have anything to worry about.”
“I’m not her type.”
Beth nodded. “True. I’m not into men.”
Emma smothered the smile that threatened to tip up the corner of her mouth. Yeah, that news made her just a little too happy.
A chime sounded, signaling the arrival of the elevator. As the doors slid open Beth stepped in, settling her free hand on the side to hold them open. “So, now that that’s out of the way, you have about two minutes to decide if you’re staying or leaving. Because, seriously you two, that crowd is damn close.”
Emma noticed them then, a group, hell a throng, of young women coming down the opposite hall. They talked excitedly, heads tipped together, eyes wide and locked on the trio by the elevator. Their target became clear as they drew closer, close enough Emma clearly heard the frontrunner exclaim, “I told you it was him! That’s Joe Campbell!”
Shit.
Joe didn’t move. He didn’t turn to see what was coming up on him; didn’t even appear overly concerned about it. He did ease Emma even closer and level her with his bi-colored eyes. “Stay with me,” he commanded, his voice a husky whisper.
For a moment, Emma forgot to breathe. Her heart was suddenly doing calisthenics. “Yes.”
Without another word, Joe released her arm, settling his hand at the small of her back.
One of the women pulled out her cell phone and started taking pictures. Suddenly multiple phones were out.
Joe ignored them and started down the hallway leading to his room. He didn’t speak until they were back inside the suite, door closed firmly at her back.
The room didn’t seem anywhere near as large this time, not with Joe so close she could feel the heat coming off his body, catch the scent of his skin. He smelled pretty damn good, too, even if he had just finished a show. Warm and musky and male. Not at all unpleasant.
He took her carry-on from her and set it aside. Then slipped her satchel off her shoulder, and placed it on the floor. He stepped closer, flattening his hands against the door on either side of her head. “You’re here.”
His voice washed over her, deep, rough, and arousing in the most delicious way. Her toes curled in her shoes. Her breath caught in her lungs. It whooshed out of her a second later when he continued. “I left the venue to ring you. I didn’t want an audience when I begged you to come to me.” He was careful
not to touch her, even as every inch of her, every part of her mind and body craved it. His heated gaze moved over her face. “You didn’t answer. I feared I was too late.”
“My phone is dead.”
“You forgot to charge it again?”
“Don’t I always?” Her nerves tingled and her heart stopped when his lips curved in a smile.
Leaning in so his mouth brushed her ear, he asked, “Why aren’t you on your way to Scotland?”
The hot breath of air across her skin caused a shiver. “I hear English lads are much classier.”
“Fuck, yeah, we are,” he growled coarsely and she laughed.
A pulsing need hummed through her body. The need to trail her hands over every inch of him, then follow the same path with her mouth. But first…
Her hand shook as she reached for him, brushed the hair out of his eyes then cupped her palm on his cheek. “They gave me a key to your room. I told them my name and they gave me a key to your room. Why?”
“You’re listed as my guest,” he said simply. “Have been since—”
His words fell away as Emma stroked her thumb over his lips. His breathing grew erratic.
“Since when?” she encouraged.
“A while now. I always hoped you would find me again. I can’t get you out of my head.”
The words shot a shiver through her.
This close to him, she could make out the fine details of his Chinese dragon tattoo. It really was exquisite. But it was the body beneath the art she was most interested in. Unable to resist any longer, she ran her free hand down the front of his chest. From his shoulder to his stomach, then back up again. Everywhere she touched he was warm, soft skin over taut muscle. It was intoxicating.
She slid her hand lower, over the waistband of the jeans barely staying on his hips, and pressed her palm to the bulge of his erection. His cock jumped. Loving the reaction, she worked her hand up and down the length of him, outlining every glorious inch.
“Emma.”
She was instantly wet.
His hard gaze swept down her body just before he pressed in close, pinning her against the door. One hand holding her head, the other slid down her spine, to settle over her ass cheek, squeezing and caressing, pulling her hard against his erection. Then his mouth covered hers, his tongue stroked her bottom lip and pushed inside. There was nothing teasing about his kiss. It was hard, rough, and overpowering. She whimpered into his mouth.
