Then he was kissing her. Astonishingly, she was kissing him back. She couldn’t resist. His mouth took her mouth. His tongue tangled with her tongue and slicked across her teeth. She was embarrassed that she gasped a little. Natsuko most likely had made out with someone else this year and was used to this sort of thing.
He rolled on top of her, pinning her beneath him with his weight. She started to push him off, remembering that she hardly knew him and he could be dangerous, despite how he’d reassured her last night—and then his glasses fell onto her forehead. He laughed, sounding embarrassed for the first time. He seemed so young and vulnerable at that moment that she laughed, too, to make him feel better.
He moved her wrists close together above her head so he could hold them with one hand while he tossed his glasses onto the bedside table with the other.
“So we got the contract with the record company,” he said, and pressed his lips hard on hers again.
“But it was a tough fight,” he whispered, biting at the corner of her mouth.
“And then we had to reneg—What’s the word?” Through his cotton boxers and her silk shirt, his cock moved against her belly.
“Renegotiate,” she breathed. “Stop the act. You know the word renegotiate.”
He grinned like the devil. “We had to reneg—what you said—between the first and the second album.” His tongue was inside her mouth again. Between this insistent pleasure and the pressure of the bulge shifting against her down below, Sarah had a hard time following what he was telling her.
He stopped kissing her to say, “And we’re damn tired of giving the lawyers all the crumbs Manhattan Music throws us. We want to seem crazy enough that the record company is scared to mess with us. But not crazy enough that the record company sends you down here to spy on us.”
His kisses deepened. Her body had never enjoyed a man’s body more, but her mind spun with realization. He’d just called her a spy. He seemed to take perverse pleasure in keeping her wrists captive above her head while he tortured her. He thought he had her right where he wanted her when the reverse was true. Her job, her whole life as she knew it, was riding on what she did next.
She whispered against his lips, “What about Martin?”
He stopped stock-still on top of her for several seconds, then kissed her cheek, close to her ear. “I’m calling your bluff,” he murmured. “What about Martin?”
“What is he doing? Heroin?”
Quentin rolled off Sarah and pressed his hand to his temple so his eyeball didn’t fall out. He had one mother of a headache, which had gotten worse each of the many times in the past half hour that Sarah had threatened to ruin his life. It had gotten better each time he put his hands on her.
He’d almost kicked her out of the house after she told him they did it, and then told him they didn’t. That was coldhearted of her. But it was hard to stay too mad at her when he had been laying the hick act on thick. And he didn’t feel the least bit guilty about getting as close to doing her as she’d let him without actually doing her.
Funny to think he’d gone into the bathroom to take out his sticky contacts and put on his glasses so he could see the woman he might be having a child with. He’d been terrified that she was an ugly chick he’d just laid because he was drunk. He’d never had a one-night stand before, but he’d heard stories.
Well, as far as he was concerned, the one-night stand with an ugly chick might be an urban myth. The night before, she’d seemed unreal, like an impossibly sexy comic book villainess from another universe. This morning, she was still a gorgeous pink-haired girl, only real, and warm, and barefoot in his bed.
And with superhuman powers of perception. He wondered what could have given Martin away. Maybe the long-sleeved shirt—it had been eighty-five degrees last night. He should talk Martin into linen. No, that would be enabling. But wasn’t that better than—
“Do you want me to get you some painkillers?” Sarah whispered. She sounded genuinely concerned.
“I already had some.” He looked sideways at her. “Please don’t tell Erin and Owen about Martin. They’ll kick him out of the band. We have a rule about that. No drugs.”
“Really. Then why don’t they kick you out?”
“Because I’m not a cokehead.” Ironic that having asthma had lost them a potential contract two years ago, whereas his fake drug use had made them famous. And now that the band was established, he was willing to admit he had asthma, yet he was in trouble with her for using drugs.
She clearly didn’t believe him, but that wasn’t what concerned her now. Her dark eyes stared off. He could tell she was doing the algebra in her head. Cheatin’ Hearts with Martin on heroin? Or Cheatin’ Hearts without Martin? Which would make the record company more money?
She said, “Maybe getting kicked out would help Martin.”
Like you care, Quentin thought, but it was important not to let her see how much he hated her. Or the record company that had sent her, at least. He rolled on his side and propped his head on one hand so he could look at her and hold his eyeball in his skull at the same time. With his other hand, he reached over and traced around her belly button where her shirt had fallen away. She jumped at first, then relaxed against his fingers.
“I’ve threatened Martin,” he told her. “He promised me he’d clean up while we’re in Birmingham, before the next tour. It’s gotten worse instead. He has a steady dealer in town. But if I told Erin and Owen and we kicked him out, that wouldn’t help him. He’d get depressed and use more. Believe me, I’ve given this a lot of thought. Martin had a girlfriend—”
“Rachel,” Sarah said.
“Yeah,” Quentin acknowledged, “but he lost her because of the drugs. There are only three things left he cares about in life.” He tapped his thumb. “Music.” He tapped his pointer finger. “The band.” He tapped his middle finger. “Heroin. This isn’t the first time Martin’s gone off the deep end. I made drug use against band rules for a reason. At first it was the only way I would stay in the band with him. Now it’s the only way Erin and Owen will stay. If they find out he’s been using, they will shit. We’ll have to kick him out of the band, and what’s he got left?” Quentin put his thumb and pointer finger down.
Sarah stared at his extended middle finger, which represented heroin. Suddenly he realized he was shooting her the bird. He drew his hand back, but she caught it and held it in both her hands. Her brows knitted as she watched him. “I can tell Martin means a lot to you.”
“Well, we’ve been friends since—”
He stopped himself before he said that they’d been assigned as dorm roommates when Quentin was a freshman in college and Martin was a sophomore. Or that they’d shared a tiny apartment on Birmingham’s Southside when Martin was earning his master’s in nursing and Quentin was starting work as a respiratory therapist. The record company thought Quentin was an uneducated hick. He sure wasn’t going to show her his hand now.
“—since before the band got together,” he finished. He smoothed his hand under her shirt. She didn’t back away, so he cupped her breast and flicked his thumb back and forth across her nipple. She only parted her lips and breathed more deeply.
“Listen,” he whispered, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell the record company about any of this. But I guess that’s too much to ask. And I don’t suppose there’s anything I could do to persuade you.” If she took him up on this proposition, he was going to be in trouble, since he had no intention of breaking Rule Three now that he was sober. But he was pretty sure she was playing him, after that pregnancy threat.
“It’s sweet of you to offer.” She shifted so that her breast edged away from his hand.
“I wouldn’t take it as a hardship. I’m feeling real close to you right now. Five minutes ago, I thought you might be having my baby.” He slid his hand back down to her flat belly to drive home his point.
Her face fell. “I’m truly sorry. Like I said, I was just trying to give you a wake-up call
. As you woke up.”
“Well, tit for tat. Except that your tit was a damn sight bigger than my tat.” He chuckled. “I’m sorry, Susan. That sounds vulgar, doesn’t it?”
If her face had fallen before, now it was utterly flattened. Her brown eyes wouldn’t meet his eyes. He could see only her long, dark lashes. She pushed his hand off her belly and corrected him. “Sarah.”
“Right, sorry again. Sarah.” He hadn’t expected her to react quite this way. He’d wanted to put her in her place, not crush her. He reached out to the scar under her chin.
Before he could touch her, she sat up in the bed. “Quentin,” she said, all business now, “there is something you can do to persuade me not to tell on you.”
“I’m listening.” He expected the worst.
“Let me help you get back together with Erin.”
He laughed. He stopped laughing when he saw that she was serious. He said, “That may be harder than it looks.”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “You should have seen the look on Erin’s face this morning when she discovered us in the sound booth with your hand down my pants.”
He didn’t need to see the look. He was going to have some explaining to do to the band about that. But he wasn’t sure why that was any of Sarah’s concern. “What do you care?”
“I don’t care so much about you,” she said. He wondered whether this was true, or whether she was getting revenge on him for apparently forgetting her name.
She went on, “I care about millions of dollars for Manhattan Music. The Cheatin’ Hearts are about to hit the height of popularity. If Erin and Owen remain a couple and you quit the group, which you will, you’ll say at first there are no hard feelings. You’ll allow the group to continue to play your songs in concert. But eventually you’ll refuse, and they’ll fight it, and you’ll drag them into court. Suddenly the Cheatin’ Hearts are number one on a TV special about the biggest band fights ever, and a group of has-beens.”
“I can’t picture us suing each other.”
“Band members never can at first. You’re still together. When it sinks in that you’re watching your childhood friend screw your girlfriend, you’ll think differently.”
He reasoned, “Then won’t you be worried that Owen will quit the band?”
“No, he hasn’t been with Erin nearly as long. Also, frankly, we’re not as worried about him quitting as we are about the band breaking up completely, or about you quitting. You’re the front man. And you wrote ‘Come to Find Out.’ Can you imagine a Cheatin’ Hearts concert without ‘Come to Find Out’?”
Actually, Quentin could. In Japan. The Japanese preferred Erin and Owen’s ballads of unrequited love. But he saw where Sarah was coming from. And he understood now that the rest of the band had been right. The record company was terrified. He’d pushed too far.
“Owen has co-written all his songs with Erin,” Sarah was saying, “which would give the band a stronger leg to stand on if you had to sue him for the right to perform them.”
This all would make such perfect sense if it were true that Quentin, head throbbing, was almost starting to believe it. “What if I promised that we’ll finish the album on time? Not that I’m trying to get rid of you. But we really don’t like being watched. What if I gave you my word that everything’s okay?”
“Your word?” she repeated. “Your word ? Quentin, everything is not okay. Martin’s addicted to heroin. You overdosed on cocaine, you fired your manager, and Erin cheated on you with Owen, all in the space of a month. And your album is due in six days, Quentin, six days, and the Nationally Televised Holiday Concert Event in support of said nonexistent album is three days after that.”
“The tele—What?”
“Your Fourth of July concert at the statue of Vulcan.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he said, stretching again. “We’ve recorded albums before. We play concerts all the time.”
“That’s not good enough.” She tucked her pink locks behind her ears and leaned toward him. “Let me explain something to you. Nine months ago, I volunteered for a job overseas. I thought that if I threw myself into it, I might finally get a promotion out of it. Instead, I botched it. Manhattan Music got Nine Lives’ album, but I lost Nine Lives for them. He’s in prison.
“My supervisor at Stargazer told me there was talk of firing me over this. She thought if I took another job for Manhattan Music and did well this time, it might salvage my rep and save my job. You give me my album, you have a nice Fourth of July concert, you make it look like you and Erin are on the mend, and I’ll get my job security back. And then I’ll be out of your hair.”
Quentin closed his eyes. His head hurt.
“You do want Erin back, don’t you?” she asked.
“Of course I do!” He was alarmed at the thought that she might suspect the deceit. He sure hoped his alarm sounded more like desperation. “I’m just not sure it’s possible.”
“The best predictor of future behavior is past behavior,” Sarah said. “You and Erin belong together. You’ve shown that over the years. Naturally you’ll make up. The only reason things are different this time is that the balance of power has changed. You always had your manager to run to when you and Erin broke up. Erin didn’t have anybody. Now that you’ve fired your manager, you don’t have anybody, and Erin has Owen. I know that makes your blood boil.”
The thought of Erin and Owen together did make his blood boil, but not because he was jealous. He didn’t want Owen taking advantage of Erin, and he didn’t want a breakup fight between the two of them tearing the band apart. That’s what Rule Two was for. He hoped again their playacting was as innocent as they claimed.
He had half a mind to tell Sarah all of this, to get rid of her. But he understood now she wouldn’t go. Not until she got her album and they played the concert. And he was terrified she would drive Martin to rehab before he was willing, breaking up the band in the process. For good.
If her price for staying quiet was getting him back together with Erin, he would pay it.
“Right.” He sat up despite his headache. “What’s the plan?”
“We should let Erin think that we slept together last night, and that we’re continuing to sleep together while I’m here. You’ll feel like you’ve gotten some of your usual power back. She’ll get more jealous as time goes on. I’ll bet once you’ve gotten through this rough patch, you’ll make up and your relationship will be better than ever. But my concern is that the band is stabilized long enough to record your album and play your concert. Stick with me until then. Can you do that?”
“I can do that.”
He exchanged a long look with Sarah. After all that had transpired in the last hour, not to mention last night, she was as cool as ever, and as beautiful. Her hair was different now, glowing in the morning light and tousled in new directions. More blond than pink. With her face scrubbed clean of makeup, she looked younger, innocent, despite the crazy hair. Her soft brown eyes were the same.
He went to his dresser to pull out some clothes, then looked over his shoulder at her. She lay on her stomach on the bed with her elbows propped up and her chin in her hands, watching the show, one foot kicked up and swaying lazily in the air behind her.
“You had this planned all along,” he said casually as he got dressed.
“Pretty much,” he heard her say.
“Were you going to do me?” He hated to put it to her the way he put it to his friends, but he had to stay in character. He looked over his shoulder again for her reaction.
Even without his glasses, he could see well enough to tell that she didn’t flinch. “I had a good idea you’d pass out,” she said. “I have some experience with this.”
“You wanted me to pass out,” he accused her. “You suggested the shots.”
She shrugged, refusing to deny it.
“What if I hadn’t passed out, and we’d been awake, locked in the sound booth together, all night long?”
“
Look, I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to sleep together,” she said sagely. “We agree on this now that we’re sober, right? We are trying to get you back with Erin.”
“Fair enough,” he said, glad for this excuse not to have sex with her. He couldn’t explain Rule Three to her, that he couldn’t have sex with record company spies, because that might give away Rule Two, that band members didn’t sleep together. And he couldn’t give her that. Then all his leverage to protect Martin would be gone.
“But you like to sidestep my questions.” He crossed the room, knelt in front of her, and looked into her soft brown eyes. “Were you going to do me?”
Her eyes turned hard. He saw strong desire there, and frustration.
She looked down and away as she said, “Don’t be cute, Quentin. You can tell how I feel about you.”
He wanted more than anything to lean in and kiss those soft lips, kiss them into a smile again. But if he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop. He stood, pulled his glasses off the bedside table, and left the room in a hurry.
As he was closing the door behind him, she called, “Quentin, one more thing.”
He looked around the door at her.
“About the coke.”
He said without emotion, “I don’t do coke.”
“Seriously. You stay clean until after the concert.”
“I will.”
“Great.” She smiled at him, friendly, nonjudgmental.
He paused in the hall to collect himself before going downstairs, running both hands back through his hair. Besides the intense headache, he felt off balance, with every atom of his world turned upside down. Like when he got out of the ICU last month. But he also felt lucky that he hadn’t made love to her, so he wouldn’t get kicked out of the band.
And so he didn’t know what he was missing.
4
Yes, if you’d had gambling losses, you could have expensed them, but only if the gambling had led to consummation. See the employee handbook, section 2, paragraph 6, “Copulation with the Stars of New Country.”
Playing Dirty Page 7
