EIGHTEEN
Hailey jolted awake as the plane bumped against the ground a second time. The plane was small enough that she could feel the spring in the wheels, bouncing thousands of pounds of metal into the air before settling on the runway. The sudden lurch jerked her forward. Only the seat belt kept her from falling.
“Lock?” she mumbled before she had her bearings.
He didn’t answer. His head was resting on her shoulder, his body slouched enough to make up the disparity in their heights. She gently nudged him back so that his head was cradled in the plush headrest. His mouth hung open, so unguarded in that moment, almost…innocent?
Where had that thought come from? He was the wolf, and she was the girl with the picnic basket, the fishnet stockings cloaking her as much as a red riding hood. But when he snored softly and clenched his fists where they hung off the armrests, she couldn’t deny he looked painfully vulnerable.
He was vulnerable. He’d admitted that much to her. A recovering alcoholic. She knew exactly how brutal addiction could be. She’d watched it destroy her mother. It scared her a little, as if he might go on a bender and slap her face like Mom had done. But Lock was sober now.
And she wouldn’t be around long enough to help him stay that way.
The plane pulled to a stop, and she nudged him. “Lock?” she whispered.
He grumbled something unintelligible.
Her lips quirked, and she brushed dark hair from his forehead. It was softer now, lighter without whatever styling products he normally used. She ran her fingers over his scalp, relishing the small moment of intimacy, a glimpse of quiet power before he woke up and snatched it back.
Sounds came from the front of the plane. Probably the stewardess or captain preparing for them to depart. Curious, she pushed at the plastic covering on the window. Just an inch and the orange glow almost blinded her.
“Ouch.” She slammed it shut.
A touch on her arm made her jump. She glanced back to see Lock watching her through slumberous eyes. Oh yes, there was her wolf. Her grabbed her chin and tugged her close, capturing her lips in a languid kiss. He fucked her with his tongue, hard and possessive, stealing her air and her peace of mind.
A throat cleared.
Hailey jumped back, startled and embarrassed, but Lock held on tighter. His hand cupped her neck, holding her still as he finished with slow licks of his tongue against hers.
When he sat back, his expression was smug. Or maybe it only seemed that way to her because of how much he’d enjoyed himself. His lingering satisfaction hung in the air like incense, smoky and sharp. Even the flight attendant who’d interrupted them seemed to sense it.
He cleared his throat. “Sir, ma’am, I—”
“We’ll come out when we’re ready,” Lock said lazily.
“Yes, but—”
“You’re dismissed.”
He looked dismayed as he ducked back through the curtain.
“Mean,” Hailey chided.
Lock’s shoulder raised in a half shrug. “Maybe he’ll learn not to interrupt.”
Wry amusement made her smile. “Do you assume everyone is here to please you?”
His gaze darkened, sweeping down her body and back up again. “Twenty-four hours, sweetheart. And I expect to be well pleased.”
Heat spread all the way to the tips of her ears, and he chuckled.
“Let’s go,” he said. When she reached for the bags, he shook his head. “They’ll follow with our stuff. It’s just you, me, and a fifteen-minute ride in the stretch limo to the hotel.”
She flushed again, though this time it was more arousal than embarrassment.
The captain waited at the door. He opened his mouth to speak—to thank Lock for his patronage? They were all fawning around him, every doorman and driver and waiter. All adoration, reverse patrons who were paid by his art.
Lock brushed by him, holding on to her hand so that she was forced to wave a hasty thank you and good-bye. She turned back to the plane to do so, and when she faced the front, the brilliant sunset hit her like a tactile force. Only Lock’s grip on her—tightening, too tight—kept her moving forward.
She heard them first. Shouts and mechanical whirs. She felt them second, bodies pressing around her, grabbing her, so many.
Was it a publicity stunt?
What does Moe think of the tape?
Did you know you were on camera?
She saw them last, a thick swarm of people surrounding the plane like goddamn locusts. They held notepads and cameras. A flash went off, and she was blinded all over again.
Something tripped her, and she stumbled. Would have fallen but Lock hauled her up again. He dragged her through the crowd, his fist around hers like a vise, barely glancing back, never speaking a single word—not to her, not to the press. He was impenetrable, like a warrior moving through an enemy army, and she was just the limp and battle-scarred flag trailing behind him.
A hand yanked the clip out of her hair, and something else tugged on her shirt. There were too many of them, all around; she couldn’t breathe. It felt like drowning, in flashing lights and endless questions instead of water, while the grasping eddies ripped her to shreds.
Suddenly she was free. Walls of black closed in on her, but that was okay. At least she could breathe in this man-made shelter.
Bodyguards, she realized. Security had arrived, not quite in time. They formed a fortress around her and Lock, moving them quicker than before. Their hands grabbed her too—not to take from her, but to push her forward and into the car.
Falling, stumbling, she landed on butter-soft leather seats. Lock was on the opposite side, panting.
She managed to push herself to sitting. “What…the hell…was that?”
“Fuck if I know.”
The limo pulled out quickly, fishtailing before straightening out. Lock got on the phone with someone—his agent?—and corresponded in a series of grunts. “Send it to me,” he said before ending the call. Then he watched something on his phone while she watched him.
“What is it?” she whispered. It wouldn’t be good. That much was clear.
When Lock’s eyes met hers, he smiled. Though that wasn’t the right word for it. He grimaced, maybe. But even that was too tame, too complacent to describe the expression he made.
He bared his teeth. Like a wolf. Only not the sensual animal she had learned to love. This was something far more dangerous, a feral creature who would ruin her without remorse.
“Do you know what those vultures were doing there?” he asked, deceptively calm.
“They were taking pictures of you.”
The smile again. Not a smile. “And you, sweetheart. They were taking pictures of you too. You’re famous.”
* * *
"Famous?" Her mouth hung open in shock.
As soon as he'd seen the crowd on the tarmac, he’d known there was a problem. The swarm of paparazzi, like wasps to a target, was more urgent than any he'd seen in a long time. His first thought had been that something had happened to one of his bandmates. Krist dumping his motorcycle on the interstate. Moe decking an asshole in a bar fight. Then he'd heard the questions.
Did you know you were on camera?
Déjà fucking vu.
Was there more than what he'd just watched? What else was waiting to slither out of the darkness and bite him on the ass? He eyed the phone Hailey had clutched in her hand more than half the time he'd known her. Did it take video? Of course it did; all of them did. And she'd been poking around the hotel, looking for her sister's baby daddy. Like that was a real plan. She'd just stumble over the roadie her sister had fucked. Where? Waiting in line at the ice machine or having a drink in the lobby? He was an idiot. She could've passed some cash to a security staffer, leaked that elevator footage herself.
If this spiraled out of control, his days with the band were done. The only real family he’d ever had. And Krist would never forgive him.
“Give me your phone.” Anger and
betrayal simmered just under the surface of his careful calm. Soon it would slip, and he couldn't stop it.
“Excuse me?”
“Give me. Your fucking. Phone.”
Her hand shook as she extended her arm in compliance. She didn't even have a lock screen. He skimmed her contacts and checked her photos. Nothing recent. Nothing to indicate she'd been documenting their time together. He landed on a selfie of Hailey with a younger woman who looked vaguely familiar. The sister. He wouldn't peg them as sisters separately, but cheek to cheek he could see the similarities in their smiles and the shape of their eyes. The love between them radiated; they glowed with it. Better than any stupid Instagram filter. It pissed him off. It pissed him off more that he didn't find anything. No lurid video. No night-vision app.
Before he could return the phone, a message popped onto the screen.
OMG! Are you on TV?!? Call me. Now.
“And your sister knows. She seems excited.” He tossed the phone back to her.
“Knows what? What's going on, Lock?” Hailey fumbled the slick plastic and found the message. “Why am I on TV?”
So innocent. A wolf in a sheepskin cardigan, skipping to the slaughter.
He reloaded the video his agent had forwarded—Hailey and Krist on their knees in the elevator—and turned the screen toward her. “Because you look like an angel and suck dick like a pro.”
“Oh no. Oh God.” She pressed her fingers to her mouth. Tears trailed down her cheeks. Was she that good an actress?
“Tears won't help.”
She sucked in a sharp breath and wiped beneath her eyes with the heels of her palms. “No, I guess they won't. Nothing will. Not if that's on TV.”
“Oh, they won't play that on TV. Well, maybe on cable. Last time I had a sex-tape leak, they used stills with censor bars and put the video on their websites behind adult-content warnings.”
“I'll lose my job. I'll lose everything.” She paled. Her voice, barely above a whisper, quivered.
It hit him then. She wasn't acting.
This wasn't something she'd done to him. He'd done it to her. Put her in this position. Cost her. Everything.
“Shit. We can't go to the hotel. They'll be camped outside every possible entrance.” He thumped on the glass behind him, and the driver slid it open. “Are we being followed?”
“Not that I can tell, sir.”
“Good. Stay alert and find us a dive motel.” No room service. No leather couches. No luxurious linens. Just a bed and a chair and a quiet place to hide Hailey until he figured something else out. “We can’t put the genie back in the bottle, but I can do some damage control.”
* * *
She stumbled into the dark motel room, bumping into Lock. At one time it would have been sexy to feel him, large and warm in front of her. It would have been comforting.
But that was an illusion.
Lock found the remote and filled the room with a yellow glow. There they were on the evening news. How was this news, anyway? Because he’s a rock star, idiot.
The blurring tools barely covered anything. Her lips were visible around some blurry gray pixels. The side of her breast was there, the dark pixelated nipple looking pretty damn similar to her real nipple.
Lock’s phone rang, and he swore. “This is my lawyer. I’ve got to take this.”
She nodded numbly, but he’d already turned away.
It didn’t matter. Years of playing the good girl, and she’d managed to fuck it all up in forty-eight hours. A lifetime of trying to not be her mother, and she’d managed to become the scorn of the entire country. Forget that small-town stuff, with the dark looks and whispers. She’d hit the big time with her promiscuity—wouldn’t Ma be proud.
Clapping a hand over her mouth, she only just made it to the bathroom before retching. The toilet in this random motel was only marginally clean, but she hugged it like it was a life raft in a storm.
Lock’s low voice came from the motel room. He sounded pissed. “Find out who the fuck leaked the video. Fire them. Sue them. Make it fucking rain.”
That made her feel better. Like one percent better compared to ninety-nine percentage points of total suck.
The crazy thing was how he’d demanded to see her phone. And your sister knows. She seems excited. Did he think Chloe had something to do with this? Like some sort of groupie thing? But she couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to be exposed like that, fan girl or not. Her stomach twisted again, but when she leaned over the bowl, nothing came out.
With a groan she pushed herself up. There wasn’t any toothpaste or a brush, but her mouth felt too disgusting to wait. She unwrapped the little bar of hand soap and licked it before rinsing with the provided Dixie cup. She was washing her own mouth out with soap, but it couldn’t clean her, not really. The dirtiness went skin-deep, all the way inside her to the desires she’d never told anyone before. No, she’d kept all those secret wishes to herself, until Lock came along, her personal sex genie.
She stared at herself in the mirror. Dark circles were under her eyes, standing out like bruises. When had that happened, in the last ten minutes? Or earlier, in the sex-crazed two days with Lock? Which one of those things was making her look so defeated?
Maybe both.
Clean. She needed to get clean. She turned on the shower. Cold spray rained down on her outstretched hand. No matter which way she turned the knob, the water stayed chilly. That didn’t matter either. She stepped inside and pressed her face right under the nozzle, letting it fill her eyes and her nose, so she didn’t have to cry or breathe or hurt.
How much time passed? She was shivering.
The shower curtain was yanked back with a startling screech of rusted metal rings. Lock stood there, looking furious. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Showering,” she said, though the word didn’t come out clear, not with her teeth chattering.
He narrowed his eyes, incredulous. “You have your clothes on.”
She glanced down. Her black T-shirt and miniskirt were drenched. Her toes sloshed when she wiggled them in the three-inch heeled boots. “Oh.”
A beat passed as she swayed on her feet. Would he leave her now? She imagined him walking out of the motel room, getting into his limo, and leaving her here. Of course he should do that. You’re having a mental breakdown.
His expression was…stricken. “God, baby. Come here.”
“No, I’ll get you wet.” But her words came out muffled against his chest. He pulled her out of the shower and flush against his body. Warm. So warm. It almost hurt where his body touched hers, but she couldn’t push him away. She couldn’t make her arms and legs move at all, so he had to undress her all on his own, as if she were a doll.
He pulled back the thin bedcovers and tucked her in. She was cold again, inside the scratchy sheets with the vent blowing on her. She wanted Lock’s furry legs to slide between hers. She wanted his chest against her back.
“Lie with me?” she asked.
The regret on his face answered first. “I have to figure this out. And besides, you need to sleep.”
Sex. He thought she was offering him sex. Well, why wouldn’t he think that? She’d done it again and again.
His expression softened, turned faintly pleading. “Just rest, okay? It will seem better when you wake up.”
It would seem better, maybe, but it wouldn’t be better. He was right when he said they couldn’t put the genie back in the bottle. There was no way to take back all the videos currently streaming on TVs and YouTube channels. There was no way to unsign the contract.
There was no way to stop falling for a man she’d have to give up by tomorrow.
NINETEEN
Monday morning
It was day when she woke up. Only a sliver of light shone, beaming bright between two heavy drapes, but it was enough to drag her from heavy sleep.
Her head spun. Blindly she groped around for the warm limbs that would be tangled with hers, but the sheets were cool to
the touch. Lock. How had she gotten hooked on him so fast? He was like the drugs her mom didn’t do and the men she didn’t sleep with outside their marriages. He was a poison that seeped into her bloodstream and made her want more.
The clock read eight a.m. She’d slept through the night, all without him touching her. He’d whispered a million dirty things last night and delivered none of them. He’d told her it would seem better in the morning, but it didn’t. Broken promises.
So much for getting things in writing.
A dark form lay on the other double-size bed. He was on top of the covers. She crept closer—quiet, quiet. One arm was slung over his head. His mouth wasn’t open like it usually was during sleep. Now he looked tense, angry, teeth clenched against some unseen hurts.
It made her want to climb in beside him. She wanted to be the big spoon and cuddle away his pain, exactly like he hadn’t done for her last night. He’d slept on the opposite bed, and even though she knew it was probably kindness, or even chivalry, that hurt even worse. She was no longer the sexy groupie he wanted to exploit. She was the innocent girl again, the one he needed to protect.
Stretching raised a hundred sore spots on her skin. Bruises and abrasions. As if she’d been in the fight of her life instead of just a sex-crazed couple of days.
Her bag and purse were neatly stacked near the door, along with some black luggage that must belong to Lock. She found her toiletries and clothes and made herself presentable in the bathroom, trying not to glance at the toilet so her stomach wouldn’t turn over.
God.
A blinking light caught her eye from the floor, underneath the sink. Her phone. It must have landed there when she was busy puking her guts out, but before the awkward clothed shower.
Ten messages, all from Chloe.
Seriously, where are you? Are you okay?
You looked great, if it’s any consolation. Really hot.
That was probably the wrong thing to say. Forgive me?? This is crazy.
A pang of guilt hit her, because she should have definitely called her sister by now. Hailey would have been freaking the hell out if this had happened to Chloe, so the least she could do was call. Still, she didn’t press the button to dial. It still felt too…raw. A knife pressed into the flesh of her throat, teetering on the edge of her windpipe. If she moved fast or in the wrong direction, it would be over.
BANGED: Rock Stars, Bad Boys & Dirty Deeds Page 35
