by Harper Sloan
“You sure about that?” Wren asks, one hand going to her slim hip, her attitude coming off in waves.
I nod, pushing back the bitterness that always fills me when I think about the last person that I ever let close enough to hurt me.
She narrows her eyes. “You have no problem using your words for them,” she snaps, pointing at the three men in the room with us, “but when I ask you something, you act like you’re a mute.”
“When I have something worth saying, you’ll know it.”
I should have kept that to myself. I realized that the instant the words left my mouth, but something about seeing the fire being lit inside her makes me want to push her buttons—to see what happens when she is provoked—and to watch the color rise on her skin. I instantly wonder if she would blush like that all over her body when she was aroused too.
“So …”
Her eyes flash to Jamison’s when his playful tone breaks our staring contest. “Shut your mouth, Jami!” His hands go up in surrender, and he takes a step back from her.
“If you have any doubt in your mind about what those vultures might pull out of your past, you should tell us now. I might not be happy about this situation, but if it’s something these guys think is necessary, I’ll do it for them. That being said, I’ll be damned if I’ll let something from your past blindside me and end up making me look like a fool.”
“Seriously, Wren, give the guy a break.”
Her brother’s words get the heat of her gaze off me. I briefly wonder if this would be a whole lot easier to get her on board with if she knew everything about the last hotel room incident, but her brother gave me strict orders to keep the details of the pictures and items taken to myself. I agreed, but I didn’t agree without letting him know I wouldn’t keep it to myself if I felt like it was pertinent for her to know.
“No, Wes! I give them everything, but they haven’t gotten my pride yet. If we’re going to do this, it’s going to believable. If they find out this is all a ruse, then poof, there goes that pride! Let me tell you something; if he really was mine, I would know everything, and that includes who his second-grade teacher was. They wouldn’t be able to hurt me if anything were to pop up because, guess what, I would already know about it and be prepared!” She takes a harsh breath. Her whole body seems to vibrate with her anger. “You forgot someone too, Wes. When you guys were having fun ticking off all the men who I have had in my life, you forgot about Garrett. Remember him? The one who used you to get to me and then used me to get his leg in the door. The one who is now enjoying his own solo music career?” I look from her over at Weston to see him flinch. “Well, I didn’t forget him. He was just another person on the long list of them who doesn’t see me as anything else but a way in, a paycheck, or whatever the fuck. I’m sick of being used. I’m sick of the press and their lies. And I’m sick of acting like it doesn’t bother me.”
With all of us silent, she doesn’t even hesitate to continue, her voice still hard and unforgiving. “I’ll ask you again, Chance. Is there anything in your past that can be used against me? If so, I want to know now.”
Momentarily taken aback by her outburst, I shake my head, earning another heated look from her.
“Well … isn’t that just as clear as mud, my mute boyfriend? Ready or not, it’s time to head to the airport, so maybe you can use the time on the ride over there to figure out if I should know anything about you since what I currently do know is zilch. Aside from the fact that you apparently don’t talk.”
Fuck.
I should put my foot down and show her who is in charge here, but when she starts stomping around the room to collect all their personal shit, all I can think about is how hot it is to see her fired up and how screwed I am.
Keeping the divide between us—not getting too close to her—is going to be a challenge in and of itself because right now, all I want to do is bend her over, strip those tight as hell leggings off her, and fuck her until we both can’t move.
Brighthouse sent their fucked-up security goons to meet us at the arena’s underground entrance. I could tell Chance was far from impressed, but he kept his mouth shut and stuck close to my side. He played the part of adoring boyfriend to a T; I’ll give him that. Even with no one around except the two guys assigned to get us back to LA, he kept my hand in his and his body language loose.
By the time we made it to the airport, my headache is full blown. It doesn’t help that LaGuardia airport isn’t my favorite, but due to the amount of high-profile passengers this airport gets, they’ve come a long way in making sure we’re comfortable and left alone for the most part. LA is by far the best at making sure this happens, but New York City is proving to be a close contender.
We pull up to the private door slightly away from the other checkpoints for normal passengers, and even though it isn’t well known to most, a few paparazzi are still waiting for us. I briefly wonder if they were tipped off about our travel plans since they were nowhere around the arena when we left. Chance, seeing them waiting, gives me a look that clearly means to wait before he turns and exits the back of the SUV.
Grabbing my favorite Louis Vuitton tote bag, I pull the hood on my sweatshirt over my head and make sure my sunglasses are in place. Even though I know I probably look ridiculous, wearing sunglasses at two in the morning, my headache demands them more than my need to keep the paparazzi at bay does. I watch as he moves from his side of the vehicle to my door, opening it and holding out his hand to help me down. My brother and Luke are already out and waiting for us by the door, being completely ignored by the men who had been waiting for us.
My feet hadn’t even landed solidly on the ground before I hear them start in on me. Don’t they ever sleep? I ignore them, like I always do, and start walking toward the door. My fake indifference to them slips when I feel the solid heat of a male body against my side moments before an arm curls over my shoulder, pulling me completely to his warm body.
I look up. I’m ready to rip Jamison a new asshole, assuming he’s the one touching me like normal, since I didn’t see him with Wes or Luke, but I gasp when I see Chance instead. His dark eyes—ones that I had assumed were just plain brown when we met last week, only realizing after I’ve been around him more that they’re actually the most stunning mix of blue and green swirls—are no longer lacking warmth. He’s looking at me with an expression of pure lust. Gone is the mask that he’s had firmly in place since last week and in its place, is one I have no idea what to do with.
Well, that’s a lie … I know exactly what I would do with him given the chance.
“Smile, babe,” he tells me before I watch in shock as his head drops and those thick lips of his land against my slack ones. He pulls back, giving me a smirk that could melt panties before moving his mouth to my ear. “If you keep looking at me like that, no one will believe that you can’t get enough of me.”
I jerk slightly, enough that I know he feels it but not enough for others around us to notice. His fingers curl around my shoulder, pulling me even closer to his rock-hard body.
I don’t respond. Not because I don’t want to, but because the second he stood to his full height, the questions started.
“Wrenlee, tell us about your new friend.”
“Are you two an item?”
“Any comments on the rumors that you’re pregnant?”
What the fuck? Really? Pregnant? Looking at the door, I see the shock on my guys’ faces at the question. This is the first time I’ve been seen with a man other than my bandmates, and it’s automatically assumed I’m pregnant? Can anyone say reaching? I barely fight the urge to look down and see if I look pregnant.
“Is there any truth to rumors that you’re leaving Brighthouse?”
“Are you guys excited for the next leg of your tour?”
The questions keep coming, but Chance continues to steer me toward the VIP door. We’re inside seconds later with the door shutting out their screaming questions.
“Pregn
ant, already? You move quick, Chance! Congratulations, Mom and Dad,” Jamison jokes, and I silently vow to get him back for that when I hear a muffled gasp from the employees behind the check-in desk.
“Would you shut the hell up, asshole?” I hiss through my clenched teeth.
Even though the VIP check-in is supposed to guarantee an air of confidentiality and security, I know these employees don’t have to live up to that. It’s either keep your mouth shut, get paid, and keep being graced with celebrities day in and day out, or be a fly on the wall in order to sell stories to the tabloids.
My guess is that tomorrow that stupid fucking rumor will be front page with the pictures of Chance and I entering the airport tonight. Hell, I wouldn’t even be shocked if a few of them snap some camera phone pictures while we’re in here.
Chance, clearly thinking the same thing, only eases his hold on me once. It didn’t waver when we checked in quickly. Instead, it grew more friendly. His touches got more intimate and I got another six kisses against my temple before we make it through security. The only reason he actually let me out of his hold was when the TSA people made him in order for us to walk through the scanner. The second we were through, his arm was back around my shoulders, and I was walking through the back tunnel of LaGuardia in Chance Cloud Nine, trying not to give in to how his touch or just the very smell of him was making me feel.
No, that’s a lie.
I didn’t give in to what he was making my body feel at all.
Aroused.
I was completely, purely, and deliciously aroused.
To the point a feather could touch my overheated skin and I would probably have an orgasm on the spot. Well, maybe not that bad, but I was close.
The attitude I’d had back at the venue manages to stay with me the whole way through the private walkway. By the time we’re pushing through the doorway and into the terminal, I’ve already hatched my revenge on Jamison. Even if there are tabloids and Google alerts going off tomorrow about my ‘pregnancy,’ at least I know the images that will pop up with him will be worth the annoying rumors.
“Your wheels are spinning,” Chance mumbles under his breath. Well, I’m sure he could have been talking normally, but because of my height and closeness to his body, it comes out muted, his voice vibrating through our connected bodies.
“You’re imagining things,” I muse.
He bends slightly, not taking his eyes off our surroundings. “I don’t miss anything.”
Whatever. I ignore him; instead, I focus on walking through the airport and pretending I don’t notice the people who are stopping, gawking, and snapping pictures of the five of us. Even this late at night—er, early morning—a good size crowd of people is waiting for their red-eyes.
What a circus.
Thirty minutes later, our group is taking up the whole first-class section of the plane. We had given up the back row to a group of military men who had been traveling on the same flight as we were, but the rest of the sixteen seats are ours. Normally, we would never give up seats. We prefer to have the whole first-class section to ourselves in order to ensure we get the privacy that we desire, but whenever military personnel boards with us, we give out whatever seats we can. The guys and I get a kick out of refusing to let the Brighthouse security guys sit with us, always saying that it’s because we can’t be bothered with other people while we travel, but we never turn down the offer for our brave military men and women.
Even with the four men who joined our little private first-class bubble, six pairs of seats remained, which should have meant space out sally for the whole flight back to California. Wes and Jamison took the first row, one on each side of the aisle. Luke threw his bag down on the two seats behind Jamison but moved his body into the two seats behind Wes. That left Chance and me with the third row of four seats. I place my bag in the overhead and slide into the seat behind Luke’s duffel bag.
Stupidly, I had assumed that Chance would sit in the empty two seats across the aisle from me, but I’m quickly learning that Chance doesn’t ever do what is assumed of a normal person.
Fuck, he sure is committed to this couple ruse. His long legs and wide body settle in next to me before he turns to give me a devilish smile.
Goddamn, that smile is dangerous.
Who am I kidding? He is dangerous.
I do my best to ignore him, but it’s impossible. The steady brush of his arm against where mine is resting on our shared armrest constantly reminds me how much my body wants his touch. The scent of his delicious cologne hits my senses, making me want to climb in his lap and rub my face over his chest to get a potent lungful of it.
I can’t even remember the last time I was this horny, which is pathetically sad, since it was probably around the same time I actually got laid. Years. I think. Close to three. Maybe that’s why I’m a hot mess lately. I turn my head to study the side of his face and wonder if I can use this situation to my advantage. I mean, after all, we are in a ‘relationship’ now.
He turns and gives me a questioning arch of his dark brows, but I brush it off in favor of playing Disney Emoji Blitz on my phone.
By the time we had hit cruising altitude, I could hear the other men around me snoring away but not Chance. He’s fiddling with his phone, completely ignorant of the fact I’m about to start humping his leg.
“Excuse me,” I breathily say, unbuckling my belt and standing to move around him. I stand there, my head bent slightly because of the overhead, and wait. He doesn’t move, though. Instead, he drops his phone to his lap and gives me his complete attention; his eyes even dance a little like he’s finding this whole damn thing funny. “Excuse me,” I repeat, no longer breathy, and seconds away from coming.
No, that’s a lie. I’m still breathy and very much seconds away from soaking my panties even more than they already are.
His large hands grab my hips, and he guides me down on his lap with no resistance from my treacherous body.
“Not what I meant,” I say through clenched teeth, trying to sound harsh and offended, but I just sound dazed and turned on. I wiggle in his hold, trying to get free, but he’s too strong for me.
He leans up in his seat, his chest hitting my back and buries his face in my neck. I’m sure anyone who saw us would see a loving couple who just can’t keep their hands to themselves. He’s playing a dangerous game, though, because the second the solid, hard length of him presses against my backside, I forget this is supposed to be a game and squirm a little more. His teeth nip at my shoulder at the same time his groan hits my ears.
“Stop moving, Wren,” he demands, tightening his fingers on my hips.
“You’re the one who put me on your lap.” I curl my fingers over the empty seat in front of me and squeeze my eyes shut when I feel him growing harder under me.
“Yeah, because the flight attendant who just walked by had her phone out and pointed right at us. She’s doing a shit job of making it look like she’s doing something with her paperwork.” His hand comes off my hip, and he cups my jaw, turning my head to the side just when I was about to look up at where I last saw the attendant, forcing me to shift until all it would take is me throwing one leg over his body to be face-to-face. “Do not look at her,” he stresses; the sudden movement of twisting my body makes me bounce slightly in his lap, rubbing my legging-clad ass against his erection. His eyes drop to my mouth where I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and groan.
“Give me a reason not to look,” I dare him.
“You don’t want to go down that road, Wren. I’ll protect you from the world, but you need to protect yourself from me.”
“No one is asking you to.”
Not even knowing if we’re still being watched, I twist my torso the rest of the way, pulling my legs up until they’re bent at his stomach between us. Now that I’m facing him completely, I bring my hands up to curl them both around his shoulders before dragging them up to wrap around the corded muscles at the sides of his neck. His nostrils flare, b
ut he doesn’t stop me. I give him the chance, but it never comes. Dropping my head, I press my lips to his. I explore his lips with small pecks and little licks of my tongue, learning his mouth before pressing more firmly. He sucks in a breath when I open my mouth and slowly drag the tip of my tongue over his bottom lip.
And then his control snaps.
His hands—still at my hips—lift me effortlessly until my legs are no longer folded between us, but now digging into the hard armrests with my knees pushing into his thighs, my back hitting the seat in front of me. His mouth opens, and his tongue meets mine, no hesitation whatsoever, as he deepens the kiss.
Our breathing echoes around us, making it sound like everyone on this plane could hear us, but I know it’s just because our faces are so close. I let out a moan, one that he swallows, that turns into a whine when he pulls back.
“That can’t happen again,” he softly scolds, just as breathless as I am.
What the hell? I might not have been into this whole fake-boyfriend-slash-bodyguard thing before, but I’ll be damned if I’m not going to take advantage of the situation. Especially now that I know how alive he makes me feel. Three years since I had pleasure from anything other than my own hand, and if that kiss is anything to go by, what Chance could make me feel is ten times more powerful than anything I’ve ever felt in my whole life.
I’m not passing that up.
Nope.
No fucking way.
“We’ll see about that.” His eyes narrow when I don’t agree, but I just smirk.
I glance over his shoulder at the men in the row behind us. Because of my position on his lap, I can clearly see that all four men are watching us with rapt attention. Okay, so in hindsight, it probably wasn’t wise to do this when four men we didn’t know were within close proximity, but I guess if they left this flight talking about what they saw, it would only further paint a light of truth to our relationship.
Nothing much I can do about it now, not that I would take that kiss back.
