She glanced at her watch. One in the morning now. Suddenly, she wasn’t feeling really well. Her stomach started to roll. The hired band was making their way back to the stage. Had she had that much to drink? A couple of lemon drops shouldn’t be enough to make her feel so queasy. Finally, Jax wandered back with her acquisition of the night. He was a handsome lad in a high-school-football-hero kind of way, all freckles and strawberry-blond hair and square jaw. Greta wouldn’t have been surprised to see him wearing a letter sweater with his purple shirt and narrow, silver tie. Jax looked disappointed.
“Derek went in for me and there was nobody in the restroom,” she said.
“Nope,” Derek confirmed.
“We saw him go in,” Jax muttered. “I think. Four guys came out. None of them him.”
“Isn’t there an exit at the end of the hall?” Greta asked absently. Wow. She wasn’t feeling well at all. “There usually is.”
“Nobody went out the exit,” Jax said.
“You just weren’t paying attention.” Greta had broken out in a sweat.
“Nope.” Derek was a real powerhouse thinker. “Just that kid into the kitchen.”
“Look, Derek, let’s go down to Dutch. It’s only a couple of blocks. Maybe he’ll show up there.” Jax was in her flirty-wheedling mode.
“Sure. Night’s young.” That seemed like a long sentence for Derek.
“Come with us, Greta,” Jax pleaded.
“I think I’m done for tonight.” She felt like crap. Plus, she definitely wasn’t in the mood to be a third wheel. And while she could just hear Jax saying she could remedy that, Greta wasn’t the kind to pick up a guy she didn’t know in a bar for some quick company. Too dangerous for somebody in her position. She could see the tabloid headlines now. A few antacids and a good night’s sleep was what she needed.
Jax gave her a little grin before she turned to Derek. “Can I hitch a ride home with you?”
Derek looked like he’d just scored a touchdown. Or soon would. “Sure.”
Jax took Derek by the hand and wove her way to the front door, ass moving sinuously in her tight leather skirt for Derek’s benefit.
Some night this was turning out to be. Greta fumbled in her little purse for some bills that would include a generous tip for the bartender. She was antsy, anxious, as well as nauseated. What was wrong with her? Was the Ghost staring at her again? She looked around the club, noting that a couple of A-listers had come in during the Ghost’s set. Damon Jones and his girlfriend—what was her name? And Suzanna Patronia with her usual entourage. They’d all be tweeting about how they’d seen the Ghost to get extra attention for themselves.
She pushed herself off the faux-snakeskin barstool. Better get home. She had no desire to throw up in some club bathroom.
She headed out the front door. On a deserted Tuesday night, she’d just parked in the lot.
She hadn’t taken a single step before the flashes started going off. Shit. The A-listers had brought out the vultures. If she hadn’t been so preoccupied, she’d have realized the danger.
“Hey, isn’t that Gretchen Falk?”
“Hey, Gretchen, look over here.”
“This way, honey. Strike a pose.”
“Alone tonight or just going out different doors?”
“I hear Anderson wants you for the Amazing franchise. Can you confirm?”
“Gretchen! Gretchen!”
The paparazzi weren’t alone. Fans had lined up to get in the club, even as late as it was. Cell phones must have been busy reporting the presence of the Ghost. Now they were calling her name, holding out hands, wanting to touch her. Everyone surged against the velvet ropes in her direction. This was the downside of the movie business. The two security guys usually out front had been reinforced with two others, but they had their hands full. If she could just get to her car… Greta tried to still her pounding heart and find some balance. She felt dizzy. How could she have been surprised like this? She knew better. But now there was no avoiding them. If she managed to hail a cab, she’d still have to make it through the crowd to reach the street. Just get to your car. She hunched one shoulder and pushed along the sidewalk toward the parking lot, protected on one side by the wall of the club.
Unfortunately, the crowd surged after her. The creeps with the cameras pushed up into her face, shouting. As she made it around the corner of the building they enveloped her like a wave. Panic made it hard to get her breath. She hugged her purse to her chest as the cameras and cell phones flashed and video whirred. Don’t get upset. That’s how those horrible pictures of angry or fearful faces got on supermarket check-out stands everywhere, but she just couldn’t help the panic. Now some guys reached out for her. Fans? She gave a little shriek and looked around wildly. Everyone was pressing so close she couldn’t get through. Her car might as well have been in Nebraska. Her anxiety ramped up until she lost it.
“Leave me alone,” she wailed.
“Just one more.” “Have a drink with me.” “Over here.” “Who’s the guy in your life?”
Where was the guy with the scar when she needed him? The cacophony swirled around her. Hands touched her. Blinding flashes stabbed at her. She thought she might faint. She lost her balance. Her knees hit the pavement and she gave a little cry. They were all looming over her, hands reaching out for her. Then she heard the snarl of an engine.
*
Lanyon heard the shouting from the parking lot just as he was slinging his leg over the Harley. Fight? He’d better go out the other way. He turned the motor over and revved the engine. Jesus, he felt like shit. Ahead, at the other end of the alleyway, he could see the traffic cruising by on Sunset Boulevard. At least he could avoid the front of the club with its crowds and the possibility he’d be recognized, or that someone would manage to tail him. He was pretty good at using the narrow alleys of Hollywood to avoid attention. Out to Sunset, then off immediately—just to make sure he wasn’t followed. As he turned his bike, the nausea hit him again, hard.
He leaned over, hoping not to hit his knees with vomit. Through all the noise from the parking lot, he heard a woman wail, “Leave me alone!” It was like a punch in the gut.
He’d never even heard her voice. But, strange as it was, he knew who owned that wail.
Shit, fuck, piss.
She was the last person he wanted to see, let alone be around. But it was clear she was right in the middle of whatever commotion was going on in the parking lot. And she wasn’t happy about it.
Disgusted with himself, he turned the bike around and gunned it. He had no idea what he was planning. He’d be no good in a fight, unless vomiting all over somebody was an offensive technique. But as he raced the cycle down the alley he felt better.
The shadowed alleyway opened onto the brightly lighted parking lot, and he saw the crowd. Cameras flashed. Fans—mostly guys—crowded around something or someone. Everybody was shouting. He couldn’t even see her, but he knew she was at the center of that melee. He didn’t stop to think, just hurtled toward the crowd. It broke apart like shattered glass as he barreled down on it. A couple of guys were set back on their asses in the exodus. He screeched to a stop.
Huddled at the center was the girl he’d been avoiding, but who’d been living in his thoughts for the past three days. Damn, damn, damn. Figured. And the shittiest part of it was that, much as he didn’t dare be anywhere around her, he couldn’t leave her.
“Get on,” he growled, “if you want out of here.”
Her big eyes stared at him. She slowly straightened. Her knees were scraped and blood trickled down one shin. He was only three feet from her. Her eyes were ice-blue in the incandescent vapor lights, her face unnaturally pale. The crowd began to reassemble. He heard the muttered identifications. “It’s him.” “Ghost.” “Ghost.” A camera flashed.
“Now!” he growled. “Or I’ll leave your ass here.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one paparazzi running for his car. Another followed. The rest were closing in around
them.
She swallowed, gave a jerky nod and threw her leg over the seat. Good trick with that tight little dress on. It rode up her thighs. Her body pressed against his, and he thought his heart might have been on the receiving end of about a hundred and twenty volts the way it stuttered. The volts raced from heart to groin, creating an immediate erection. He gunned the engine a little too hard. It leapt forward. He felt her balance go.
“Hold on,” he coughed out. God help him, she did. She clutched at his body, which made her breasts press up against his back.
He nearly spun out of control. The bike jumped the curb, and they landed with a thud on the north-south street. A little cry of fear sounded in his ear. Even through the leather duster, he felt like he’d been branded with hot irons. He turned south, righted the bike and sped off. She was gasping. He heard it over the air rushing by his ears, or maybe felt it. Her breath was hot on his neck. But his larynx wasn’t working and he couldn’t ask if she was okay. He accelerated like he couldn’t get his fist to stop twisting the grip. He had the handlebars in a death lock. She was holding on for dear life, making things worse. His cock was a rod in the constriction of his jeans.
Get it together, asshole. The speed would bring the cops down on them for sure. He tried to breathe. Better. He had some control. He slid the accelerator back down. Okay. He was thinking a little more clearly now. Didn’t mean he didn’t still have the erection of the century. It was positively painful. The cycle slowed. That was when he realized he had no idea where they were going. “Where to?” he shouted to her.
“Uh, well…” He felt her take a breath. That was bad. Pushed her breasts up against his back even harder. Her hands clutched each other right under his pecs. “I…I don’t know.”
He stopped for a red light. “Well, where do you live?”
“West L.A.”
“West L.A. it is,” he muttered. Why the hell did it have to be so far away? Maybe he could just take her to a hotel cabstand, drop her there. She could cab home.
A light flashed from a car that had pulled up beside them at the light. He turned to look, and it flashed again. Other cars had stopped at the light. They were hemmed in.
“Oh, no,” she whispered.
Damn paparazzi. He glanced at his rearview mirror. Two cars back, a guy was hanging out the window with an industrial-strength video camera. Who knew how many he’d have on his tail in another minute? Those creeps ran in packs.
“Now you really have to hold on.”
He gunned the bike and jumped off the line while the light was still red, turning right onto whatever street it was in front of two other lanes of cars. His tires screeched. They tore off into the night. He immediately turned into the next narrow alley and gunned it again. Glancing at the rear view, he saw a car turn in after him. Escape wasn’t going to be that easy. These guys were notorious for tracking their prey. He made it to a parking lot and scooted through parked cars to a narrow space between two industrial buildings. Not following us through here.
No, but he heard them squeal around the outside of the building and saw the car at the intersection when they came out the other side. No use turning left and indulging in a flat out chase. Somebody would get hurt. He glanced ahead. There was still some traffic, even this late, coming home from the clubs and restaurants in West Hollywood. But there was another gap between two buildings diagonally left across the street. It only took an instant to decide. He threaded the needle through the cross traffic, earning car horns, and slipped into the gap. The buildings pressed in on either side, barely wider than his knees and shoulders. The girl was a limpet clinging to his back. His hard-on was not reacting well to that. It’d been too long since he’d gotten laid if he could get a hard-on in the middle of a chase.
He turned into another alleyway, left this time, and zigzagged his way between buildings, hoping he wouldn’t get trapped by some chain link fence at the end of a passage.
By the time they’d made their way back to Sunset, they seemed to have lost their tail. He went one more block to Hollywood and turned east.
“Aren’t you taking me back to my apartment?” she asked, sounding dazed. She sat back. Only her hands were on his ribs now. And he had the protection of his leather coat.
He took a breath. That was a relief. Wasn’t it? He pulled in behind Lupe’s, away from the line that was still snaking out into the parking lot in front. He didn’t turn to look at her. “So, why were they after you? Who are you?”
*
Greta couldn’t get her breath, even though they’d stopped at the back of a little hot dog shack, by the dumpsters. She’d pulled back, but an echo of the feel of his body against hers was still doing something to her that made her feel stupid and confused. The adrenalin rush from careening through alleys and parking lots and between buildings must have addled her brain. Could that account for her panties being soaked and the ache between her legs?
“What?” she asked.
“Name?” he said, his voice rough over the sputter of the bike’s engine. His back was straight and tense. The black hair that had feathered her face when they were going fast was tousled by the wind but smelled like shampoo. It hit his shoulders over the worn leather of his jacket. He hadn’t taken time to put on a helmet, if this guy followed rules at all. Slowly, carefully, she removed her hands from his sides. But her groin was still pressed to his backside. That…that was a problem.
He wanted to know her name. Hadn’t he recognized her? Maybe that was a good thing. This guy was crazy. A musical genius, but certifiable. She didn’t know him from Adam. He might have rescued her, but he could be a stalker or a serial killer for all she knew.
“Just take me home.” So he could know where she lived? Not smart, Greta.
He shrugged. “Sure. If you think you can handle what’s waiting for you at home.” He cast a glance back over his shoulder. He had very blue eyes. He wasn’t as old as she’d thought at the club. Mid-twenties at the oldest.
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, when they can’t track us they’ll just go hang out at your house and wait for you.”
Oh, no. God, how she hated being the object of scrutiny! Why was she even thinking about doing the Amazing movie? She had to get out of this life. No, that was silly. “They have bigger fish to fry than me. They were probably there for Damon Jones. They’re on their way back to the club. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
His shoulders sagged. He heaved a big breath. “And then you hooked up with the Ghost.”
She felt her eyes get big. He was right. She’d just been rescued by the biggest mystery in town. And if he wasn’t front-page material before, then in rescuing Gretchen Falk he just gotten promoted. Headlines flashed before her eyes. Ghost Rescues Gretchen. Big pictures of them close up. Who Is This Man? “Is Gretchen Having a Baby Ghost?” For that last one, they’d find a picture where she wasn’t holding her stomach in and circle it with a ‘baby bump’ label.
There would be a twenty-four-seven barbarian horde around the entrance to her building about now. Why hadn’t she taken Bernie’s advice and hired a bodyguard or three to get her through the paparazzi moat around her castle?
“I can figure this out,” she murmured to herself rather than to him. She couldn’t call Bernie at night. He’d made that clear when he’d said his wife always answered the phone. He’d indicated that wasn’t a good thing for him. She straightened her back. “I’ll go to a hotel tonight. Tomorrow I can call Bernie. He’ll find me a place to stay until this dies down.”
Her rescuer twisted on the seat and glared at her. “Hotel? The tabloids pay front desk staff all over the city to tip them off when stars come in. I presume you’re a star of some kind.”
She hoped her face didn’t show how frightened she felt. This whole thing was out of control. She tried to gather herself together. “I’ll cope. A few guys with cameras, big deal.”
He looked disgusted. “More like every scumbag i
n town. Plus they’ll be posing as room service and maids and repairmen, trying to get in, and…”
“Okay, okay. I get the idea.” It sounded like hell.
“You got any friends? I mean friends the gossip rags don’t know about?”
Well, that was just the problem, wasn’t it? She guessed Jax was a friend. But she didn’t think Jax would be going home tonight. And she and Jax had been linked in papers before, photographed at charity events. Jax’s place might not be safe. Oh, dear. She might have dragged Jax into this mess with her. Of course, Jax would adore the attention.
“I’ll take that as a no.” He looked absolutely disgusted. “How about this Bernie?”
“He’s my agent…I…I can’t call him at two in the morning.” She shuddered to think about the lectures, the pointed comments about unprofessionalism. And his wife.
Suddenly, she was afraid this guy would just leave her there. “I’ll go to a motel. There are plenty of…of less well-known places east of here.”
*
There sure were. Like his flop house motel for instance, with hookers on the corner and drug dealers in half the rooms. He gripped the handlebars within an inch of their lives as he flashed on taking this girl to his room. He’d take off the tight, little short jacket, and slip off the straps of that shimmery little dress she’d been wearing in the club, watch it slide off her shoulders and pool on the floor. Was she wearing a bra? He hadn’t been able to tell through his leather jacket. Didn’t matter. A little lace-cup bra action would be fine. And then there were those spikey heels. Christ, his cock was going to burst right here and now. Maybe she’d go into the bathroom to undress. She seemed pretty prim and proper. He got an image of the bathroom door opening…
What the hell was he thinking? Take a woman like this to a dirt-bag motel? Sure, she’d just love the statement that an avocado-green and gold bedspread that hadn’t been washed in twenty years made in conjunction with the orange draperies. Maybe he could take a black light to the place, and she could watch it pick out every bit of jizz that had been spilled.
The Magic's in the Music (Magic Series Book 5) Page 6
