Shayla Black - [Wicked Lovers 02]

by Decadent

  He’d never seen her suicide note, just believed the crap he’d heard. Heather’s mom had been the kind of woman who would have shifted blame to someone else so she didn’t have to look too hard in the mirror. Heather’s twin, Haley, had been a carbon copy of her mother. Maybe . . . what Luc was saying had some merit.

  At the very least, the last twelve hours had proven how much Kimber was unlike Heather. After discovering she was pregnant and he’d handled the news badly, Heather had gone on an all-night bender, gotten shit-faced drunk, and slept with one of his best friends to spite him—then made sure he found out to punish him. Kimber had refused Luc’s marriage proposal, cried herself to sleep in his bed, then quietly packed her bag and left. She was a lot more . . . together and practical. She simply went on with the business of living and rolled with the punches.

  But knowing that still didn’t solve his problem. Even if he could just swallow all the guilt, that wasn’t going to make him normal. What if he couldn’t make love to Kimber, one-on-one, like a typical man?

  But he owed her conversation, assurances that he’d be a father and a friend and provide anything she needed financially. In time, she’d find a great guy. Deke winced at the thought and shoved it away. Okay, one day at a time for him, too. Until she made him face the reality of another man in her life, he’d probably pine for her, think of her as his.

  And wish he was a better man who deserved her.

  “Why are you trying to make everything better between Kimber and me?” Deke turned his attention back to his cousin. “To make up for manipulating us? To get closer to the baby?”

  Luc closed his eyes. “I deserved that. I . . . influenced you both to get what I want. I thought it was in everyone’s best interest, not just mine. Now, I’m trying to talk some sense into you purely for your own good. Like you said a few days ago, I regard you as a brother. You should be happy. You deserve it after all this time and shit.”

  Deke swallowed. That was probably the nicest thing Luc could have said to him in that moment. He wanted to believe it. He almost did . . .

  “Thanks.”

  AT one o’clock, Kimber sat on the patio of her favorite deli. The area was shaded by live oak trees and bordered a quiet side street, which would help with privacy. She plucked at the tank top wilting against her skin, hoping that the heat would ensure that if they were gawked at, it would be purely through windows in the deli’s cool interior.

  Ten minutes later, Jesse pushed his way out the door and onto the patio. He turned and waved. Kimber frowned, until she saw a scowling Cal through one of the windows.

  “He insisted on being around, in case a crowd follows. He’ll stay inside, though. This lunch is just for us. Damn, it’s hot!” Jesse stripped off his checked collared shirt, which he’d worn over a wife-beater tee that shouted “Life Sucks” in bright blue letters and enough bling to blind her. He didn’t remove his sunglasses.

  Kimber sighed, then spotted the waitress coming their way with two glasses of water. “Everything here is good.”

  The young woman in low-rise shorts pretended not to recognize Jesse while she took their order, but the way her body tensed with excitement and her eyes kept cutting in his direction . . . it was obvious.

  “A turkey sandwich with sprouts and double cheddar on a baguette and a cola. Sure, Mr. McCall.” Her voice was high and thin with thrill.

  Trying not to roll her eyes, Kimber ordered egg salad on wheat and a side of fruit. Then, reluctantly, the waitress left them in peace.

  After a long pause, Jesse took a sip of water, then fingered the condensation on the exterior of the glass. “Thanks for agreeing to see me.”

  “This is the last time until you accept the fact we’re not getting married. What possessed you to make that announcement without asking me first?”

  “I just thought . . . we’d talked about it before. You’re a good influence, and I don’t like where my life is going.”

  “Then you change it,” Kimber suggested. “I can’t do it for you.”

  He looked at her over the tops of his sunglasses. Wounded, blood-shot eyes pleaded as he took her hands in his. “You can help me. I’m stronger with you. You make me want to be a better person.”

  “You have to want to be a better person for yourself. Not having me around is just an excuse not to change your life. If you really want to clean up your act, fire Ryan. He’s trying hard to make sure your life is every bit as screwed up as his. Stop the parties. Start listening to Cal. He might be gruff and dour, but he’s trying to prevent you from self-destructing.” While perpetuating Jesse’s bad-boy reputation, which would sell lots of CDs and iTunes downloads, but that was another story . . .

  “I’ll do it,” he vowed. “See, you’re smart. With you, I can handle things.”

  “You can also handle them alone. You have to.”

  He tore off his sunglasses to reveal a tired, crestfallen face. “I don’t blame you for not wanting to help me. I behaved like a shit when you toured with me. I shouldn’t have fucked the blonde with Ryan. And the video . . . God, I felt so stupid. I’m sorry. Really. It’s just . . . being near you made me crazy, but I didn’t want to touch you. Every time I thought about it or tried, I felt like . . . a child molester or something. Like I was going to ruin you, and you’re too innocent—”

  “I’m not. Not anymore.”

  Jesse froze. “The asshole on the phone, you gave him your virginity?”

  “I fell in love with him, Jesse. I was in love with him before I came on tour with you. He did his best to push me away—”

  “Sounds to me like he pushed his way between your legs,” he growled. “And where is he now?”

  Kimber sighed. “Sometimes, things just don’t work out. Like with us.”

  “Don’t say that. Come with me. We’ll take care of each other.”

  “No. You’ll be fine without me. Just think smart. Do what you know in your heart is right. You got sucked into too much fame and money too young. What would your parents have wanted you to do? What do you want to be able to tell your children about this part of your life? Certainly not that you saw people snorting coke and having group sex in your hotel room. Or that you and one of your bandmates had anal sex with a total stranger. Do things you’d be proud of.”

  “You’re really not going to change your mind, are you?”

  She shook her head. “I’m always available by phone or e-mail. When you come through town, we’ll meet like old friends. I’ll always care.”

  Looking sad, like someone had shot his dog, Jesse stood and made his way around the table, plucked her from her seat, and drew her into his arms. “You’re a special woman.”

  Kimber smiled. Jesse covered it softly with his mouth. A kiss of friendship. Of good-bye.

  Suddenly, an electronic whirr crashed into the quiet. Footsteps—lots of them. Another electronic whirr. A flashbulb. Squealing girls.

  Pulling away, Kimber blinked, stunned to find she and Jesse surrounded. A handful of photographers frantically snapped pictures. Young women looking barely legal jumped up and down, several proving themselves braless, as they stared at Jesse in worship.

  “Can I have your autograph?” one asked.

  “What are you doing here?” the waitress asked, horrified. “It’s supposed to be a secret!”

  “I had to see him!” protested the fan with the autograph book.

  “Are you really going to marry her?” Another female fan looked at Kimber with disdain.

  Neither one answered.

  The photographers kept taking shots of Jesse as he autographed the girl’s book and handed it back to her with a smile as phony as the huge gold loops dangling from her ears.

  “Could you leave us alone?” Jesse said to the press. “We’re trying to have lunch here.”

  “Answer the girl’s question,” shouted one reporter. “Are you marrying Ms. Edgington?”

  “I’m so sorry,” the waitress babbled.

  Jesse ignored her an
d scowled at the photographers. “You’ve had your pictures. There’s no story. Get the hell away from us.”

  “Public property,” one quipped, then captured the shot of anger mutating Jesse’s face.

  As if to underscore the point, more people wandered down the side street to investigate the growing crowd. The number of passersby swelled. The sound became a cacophony of voices and cameras. A van stopped a few feet away. One of the local news stations. Great. How did they receive word so quickly?

  Someone reached out to grab the shirt Jesse had draped across the back of his chair. She yelped with excitement and sniffed it. Actually held it to her nose and inhaled. Kimber could barely pick her jaw off the floor as Jesse reached out to grab it back, but she darted through the crowd. Other girls chased her, grabbing at the shirt, too.

  Holy cow, how does he put up with this everywhere he goes?

  Cal appeared beside Jesse and murmured, “The crowd is only getting bigger. I think you should go.”

  “How did they find out I was here?”

  Cal shrugged. “Probably the waitress. Doesn’t matter. This is going to get out of hand if you don’t leave now. You take the car back to the hotel. I’ll make sure Kimber gets home safely.”

  Jesse looked pissed, as if he was being forced into a position he didn’t want and impotent to do anything else.

  “It’s fine. It’s for the best.” She touched his arm in reassurance.

  More cameras clicked, capturing the moment.

  “Are you going to marry Ms. Edgington?” the pushy reporter asked again. “And what do you say about the entertainment industry’s prediction that marriage would ruin your career?”

  “If he gets married, I’m not buying any more CDs,” one bitchy fan snapped.

  “Knowing he’s tied himself to some other woman kills the fantasy,” Kimber overheard another girl telling the reporter.

  He ignored everyone and looked at Kimber with regret. “You going to be okay?”

  “You heard Cal. He’ll follow me to make sure I reach home safely. You get out of here before this turns into a bigger circus. Call me when you’re free and we’ll talk.”

  He sighed with acceptance, then whispered into her ear, “I really do love you.”

  In his one-sided way, she believed he did. But now it was time for him to stand on his own two feet, just like she’d have to do. “Take care.”

  Jesse kissed her cheek, and Kimber did her best to ignore the clicking of cameras. Yikes, this was likely to be all over the front page. If it was . . . could it really hurt his image, his career? If so, that was yet another reason he’d be better off without a wife right now.

  As he turned away, Kimber watched. He jumped the little fence and darted for his car. The horde followed him, cameras bobbing, girls screaming.

  An eerie quiet settled over her and Cal in his wake.

  “That’s crazy,” she said as the last of the mass disappeared down the street.

  “That’s showbiz.”

  “Would people really stop being his fans if we married?” The whole idea seemed inconceivable to her. They either liked his music or they didn’t, at least in her mind.

  “You heard it yourself. Most of his fans are women who see Jesse as the ultimate catch. If you’ve already caught him, they’re out in the cold. You ready to go home?” Cal asked.

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll follow you, just to make sure no one else does.”

  Emotionless. Expressionless. Cal was all business, all the time. Right now Jesse needed that. Kimber just hoped that he’d listen.

  As they turned toward the parking lot, a sleek, black Maserati Spyder convertible zoomed past them, tires screeching as it turned out onto the main drag. Then Jesse was gone. Probably forever, and she could live with that. They each had their own lives ahead of them. And his would be what he chose to make of it.

  Chapter Twenty

  KIMBER curled up on her bed in the fetal position, her pillow bunched beneath her head, and tried to drift back to sleep. No luck—and no wonder. Her life could make a soap opera look tame these days. Love triangle, check. Surprise pregnancy, check. Possible psycho-stalker, check. Gosh, throw in a good catfight or aliens from outer space and she could rival any daytime diva’s dilemmas.

  Lack of sleep, no surprise there. True, she’d been tired most of the day, a symptom of pregnancy, she’d heard. She sighed. In a few days, she’d see the doctor, have them confirm everything, give her a due date, explain what would happen over the next nine months. Then she’d have to tell her family. Kimber cringed at the thought of Logan’s and Hunter’s reactions.

  Turning over, she punched her pillow, wrestled it under her a bit more. Why wasn’t this position any more comfortable than—

  Tap, tap, tap. Pause. Whoosh.

  What the hell was that? Those noises were totally foreign, and seemed to be coming from her living room. Yes, it was her first night back at her apartment, but Kimber had lived here long enough to recognize the usual sounds. None of those fit that category.

  The people above her had kids who usually ran around until close to eleven. The newlyweds next to her had sex every night—at least once— and she could hear their bed banging against the wall every time. But this sound . . . It was subtle. Like someone trying to be quiet.

  In fact, it sounded a whole lot like someone forcing one of her windows open.

  Easing out of bed, Kimber got to her feet, nervously grabbing her cell phone off her nightstand with a damp palm and smoothing her tank top over her jumpy stomach with the other. She approached the hall, intending to investigate the odd noise when she heard footsteps on her hardwood floors. Soft footsteps, like someone creeping slowly. There was no mistaking the sound.

  On bare feet, she whirled and darted into her closet and eased the door shut. Then she dialed 911 and whispered her address quickly. The operator wanted her to stay on the line and wait for the police.

  The ever-closer footsteps let her know that waiting around for the cavalry wasn’t an option. She was going to have to defend herself.

  Suddenly, she was damn glad for every self-defense skill her brothers had insisted she master, every time they’d roped her into being their martial arts sparring partner, and every male endurance/fighting/general toughness contest they had put her through.

  The footsteps entered her bedroom, paused, wandered around, then headed to the closet.

  As Kimber braced herself against the wall behind her walk-in closet’s door, her hand came into contact with something solid, wooden. She smiled. And she was damn glad that she’d been on the apartment complex’s co-ed softball team.

  Wasn’t this shithead in for a surprise?

  DEKE’S palms had sweated for the entire one hundred miles into Dallas.

  Nearly twenty-four hours after Kimber had dropped her bombshell, he was ready to talk to her. No, he had to talk to her. So he’d driven west, into the thick, inky night, with his insides jolting like he was hooked up to jumper cables.

  Luc had spoken a lot of truths. A dozen years ago, Deke had been guilty of many things. Having sex with an emotionally unstable girl. Thinking with the wrong head. Letting the abundance of Heather’s emotions—and her family’s—drown out his logic.

  What he hadn’t done, as his cousin and Kimber had pointed out, was force Heather to swallow the pills. A hard fact to accept, but the truth. She’d chosen that path herself . . . for reasons he’d probably never understand, but weren’t all related to the pregnancy.

  Facing his grief again had brought Deke right to the source of his guilt—and he was finally seasoned enough to understand where he’d most fucked up with Heather. He’d let her go before he knew what could have been between them. He’d been seventeen and terrified by her pregnancy, then furious that she’d fucked someone else to spite him. They hadn’t spoken for nearly three weeks . . . then she’d ended everything permanently, leaving him with nothing but questions and gut-wrenching remorse.

  Had he lo
ved Heather? Maybe he’d been too young to know what love was, but he hadn’t been ready for their bond to be broken, especially by Heather’s suicide. In retrospect, what he’d been most guilty of was being too stupid and scared to fight for what might have been.

  He was not making that mistake with Kimber, especially since he knew he loved her.

  If she wanted to end their relationship, the choice would be hers.

  Unfortunately, Deke had no illusions; he’d behaved like a deranged moron after Kimber had announced her pregnancy. Like Luc had said . . . he’d treated her worse than he’d treated Heather. The revelation of his cousin’s secret hadn’t contributed to his overall good mood or mental health, either. But now that he’d had time to process all the shocks and talk himself off the emotional ledge, it was time to make things different. Or at least try in his way.

  Looking up Kimber’s address on the Internet had been too easy. He’d have to talk to her about protecting her personal information a little better. Later.

  He cruised the apartment complex’s parking lot, trying to find her building in the dark. It wasn’t well marked, damn it. Deke frowned as he glanced around. The units were far apart, with a park-like area in the middle. A lot of trees all around. Lots of dark, shadowed corners. No guard gates around the place.

  Why was it that women, the more vulnerable sex to attack, never thought about security before they settled into a place to live?

  Maybe after tonight, she’d leave here and go with him, so the lack of safety measures here wouldn’t be an issue. Yeah, he could handle that. Hell, he craved it.

  First, he had to find out if she’d have anything to do with him.

  He spotted Kimber’s building toward the back of the complex, butting up against an empty field and surrounded by big trees casting shadows under the moonlight. She had a ground-floor unit. And on his first pass by her apartment, he could see that her window was wide open.

  With a ripe curse, he parked his Hummer, wondering why the fuck she hadn’t just locked up tight and turned on the air-conditioning. Why had Logan and Hunter let her move in to such a hard-to-defend place? Why hadn’t her brothers lectured her within an inch of her life about the fact that a single woman leaving doors unlocked and windows wide open was a fucking engraved invitation to violent sickos who looked at rape and torture as entertainment?