Manaconda (Hammered #1)

by Taryn Elliott

  I opened the door and raised my arm for her to go under and through. Her eyes flicked to my bowl of noodles again, before she sailed through. Kennedy was a stubborn one.

  The lobby was alive with people. Some were checking in, some were for Tristan’s restaurant, but a lot were for Hammered’s release party. Radio stations, music publications, and anyone else who’d procured a press pass filled the space.

  “Shit.”

  She peered over her shoulder. “Should have thought of that before you disappeared.”

  “Kenny, you’re a ball-buster.”

  “Kennedy,” she corrected.

  I snagged the back of her jacket and hauled her back a step. “Not that way.”

  She swatted my hand away. “Oh, and which way would you choose?”

  “One that doesn’t include a camera or video,” I answered. I palmed my bowl in one hand, and her wrist in the other.

  “Mr. Jordan—”

  “Hunter,” I corrected.

  Her heels clicked loudly on the marble behind the bar. I just knew someone was going to turn around. Suddenly her clomping softened. I peeked over my shoulder and she’d somehow gone on tiptoe. I wasn’t aware an arch could be that high. The flex of her calf made my throat dry.

  Damn, what was it about women and heels?

  She tipped her head at me and her eyes widened in the universal what-the-fuck look. I grinned at her and twisted my fingers to link with hers. “This way,” I murmured.

  This was an old hotel with tons of different passageways. Once upon a time, they had been used for smuggling in booze. Now they were perfect for the more famous clientele to get around without being seen.

  I backed into a doorway that looked like a pantry. Instead the shelves opened back into a corridor.

  “Wow,” she gasped.

  “Pretty cool, huh?”

  “So that’s how you disappeared.”

  I shrugged. “This is one of my favorite hotels.”

  “You can let go of my hand now.”

  I looked down at her. “Easier.” I kept moving down the narrow space and hung a left. Rope lights lined the floor and an overhead rail so we could see where we were going.

  “Do not get us lost, Mr. Jordan.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be at that precious meet and greet.” My fork clinked against the side of my bowl as I snaked us through the winding space. This was one of the fastest ways into the theater’s backstage. The only problem was that we had to dart across the main lobby of the theater to get to the next space.

  When they’d remodeled the theater, they’d opened up and cut off some of the secret tunnels. I got to the doorway and paused. Kennedy was still rushing behind me and bumped into my back.

  “Sorry,” she whispered and stepped back.

  Too bad. The quick scent of orange blossoms overpowered even the garlic of my dish. It was a pretty scent, not thick and cloying like some women.

  She laid a hand on my lower back and crowded in on me. “Why are we stopping?”

  I popped the hinge on the door slowly. I winced. Man, I hope no one heard that click. I peeked out. Yeah, there was no worries there. There was about four hundred people mobbing the merchandise table. “Fuck.”

  “What?” She wiggled between me and the wall until she was under my arm.

  I swallowed a groan when her hip brushed along my zipper.

  “Well, crap.”

  The soft waves of her hair around her face brushed my neck. She looked up at me and realized just how close we were. She tried to back up, but there was nowhere to go. I was a big guy, and the corridor had been created for men of the twenties, not my six-three body and shoulders.

  “We need to wait this out until some of it dies down.” I held up the bowl. “So we eat, I guess.”

  “I told you I’m not hungry.”

  I wedged myself against the wall so I could keep a look out from the sliver of an opening. I extended my legs until the toes of my boots bumped into the wall across from me.

  She set her purse down near the door. She gave me a squinty look and tried to climb over my legs, but her tight skirt didn’t allow for that much movement. Content to figure out what she was going to do, I twirled pasta and stabbed a mushroom.

  “Could you move?”

  “Can’t.” I picked up another mushroom and popped it in my mouth. “Eating.”

  “This might be cute for your legion of fans, but I’m not amused.”

  I smiled around my mouthful of food. My momma would’ve slapped me in the head, but I couldn’t seem to find my manners. “Sure you are. And you’re hungry.” Her belly growled again and she pursed her distracting lips.

  I wondered what those burgundy lips would look like all smudged. I wouldn’t even mind wearing her lipstick if I got a kiss.

  Or five-hundred of them.

  I twirled a bit of the cooling angel hair around the tines of my fork and held it to her lips. “Just try it. You’ll hurt my feelings if you don’t.”

  “I don’t give a shit about your feelings, Mr. Jordan.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “Such language.”

  “Like you haven’t heard far worse.”

  I shrugged. “I kinda like how you say Mr. Jordan—even if that’s my old man’s name. It sounds all smooth and silky.”

  Her nostrils flared and I smiled. Yeah, she was annoyed. I liked it on her. Her eyes were all snappy, and I wished it was me leaning into her mouth, not a forkful of pasta.

  “C’mon, just one taste.”

  She reached for the fork and I shook my head. “Just take it.”

  Her eyebrow spiked and my dick twitched. Fuck me singing, she’d probably do that just before she went down on a guy. I definitely shouldn’t be thinking that way, but those dark lips were distracting as fuck.

  And there was something about feeding a woman that totally bent me sideways. Her gaze locked with mine as she opened her mouth and leaned into the fork. She scraped her teeth over the tines as she took it, then her eyes shut and she moaned. “Oh, wow.”

  My dick went from twitch to full hard with that moan. She chewed slowly, and when she opened her eyes, they were heavy-lidded with bliss. “More.”

  Fuck.

  I carefully rolled another bit, making sure to tuck a mushroom inside. She opened her mouth without another complaint. “God, I love pasta,” she said around another bite. “And dammit, yes, I am hungry.” She stole my bowl.

  I laughed—at least I hoped it sounded like a laugh and not a moan. She leaned against the wall between my feet and took a larger bite. The buttery noodles made her lips glossy. She picked out a mushroom and popped it in her mouth before licking the tip of her thumb. “I don’t know if this is awesome, or I’m just that hungry.”

  “Thanks.”

  She laughed and the smoky sound pummeled my dick behind my zipper. I wanted to hear it again. She picked out another mushroom and held it out to me.

  I sure as fuck didn’t hesitate to bend down to take it from her. Her eyes widened when I nipped the tip of her finger. Instead of withdrawing like I thought she would, she dug out another mushroom and stood up straighter. She moved between my legs until her calves brushed my knee.

  Again, I accepted the food, this time with a tiny flick of my tongue along the pad of her thumb.

  She pressed her lips together and swallowed. “Such a bad idea.”

  My mouth tipped up at one corner as I watched her lips plump. Still glossy with butter and a tiny speck of oregano. “Or a good one.” I swiped my thumb over her bottom lip and showed her the fleck of green before I licked my finger.

  She pushed the bowl into my gut. I grabbed it just before she twisted her fingers into my shirt. “Bad ideas should be an all in situation.”

  4

  Kennedy

  What are you doing?

  I heard the subconscious shriek in my head, but then there were butter-flavored lips against mine. Not just lips, but lips I’d initiated into a kiss.

  No
t a good idea—at all.

  And yet, so delicious.

  It took a minute to align our mouths since he was so freaking tall, but he was very accommodating. Shocker. He probably did this all the time.

  He rested his forehead against mine and cupped my chin. I dragged my eyes open, afraid that any hint of reality would ruin this little slice of heaven. He traced my lower lip with his fingertip, his gaze locked on my mouth. “So loud.” He dragged the pad of his forefinger across my bottom teeth. “I can hear your brain from out here.” His nail scraped the soft inside of my mouth. Just enough to push all of the words out of my lust-hazed brain. “All in¸ remember?” he said against my lips.

  Then there was nothing but a freefall. He caught my upper lip, sucking gently before moving on to the lower. His kiss was slow, and so thorough I was pretty sure I was the one melting like butter. My fingers inched up to his neck of their own volition.

  Huge.

  Overwhelming.

  Perfect.

  I tried to take a step back. All in was beyond stupid. All in was more of a euphemism for death by Hunter Jordan.

  He locked his other arm around my hip. I was more than a little out of my depth, but I’d never been one to step back from a challenge.

  I kissed him back. I flicked the tip of my tongue along his once, letting him know that I wanted more.

  Mistake.

  Holy crap.

  It was like letting the devil into my bedroom. He took over the kiss. His hands cupped my face as he tasted every inch of me. A winding, dexterous tongue that knew how to tease and tantalize without making me feel like I was kissing a lizard. Oh, hell no.

  I was kissing the prince of all things magical.

  Then he slanted the other way and my brain simply checked out.

  My heart was trying to climb out of my chest, everything took on a hazy sparkle, and oxygen became an afterthought. Maybe the whole lack of oxygen thing was causing the sparkles. I didn’t really care. There was something to be said about a man with moves.

  I wrapped my other arm around his neck, and my fingers coasted under his hat, pushing it off. Then there was nothing but his silky, thick hair fluttering through my fingers. My elbow slammed into something hard, but I couldn’t find my internal compass.

  I didn’t care what I’d hit.

  Just another kiss.

  Just him.

  “Oh my God.”

  He tore his mouth from mine.

  Yeah, I hadn’t said that. I so hadn’t said a damn word. “Please, no. No, no, no,” I whispered.

  He stood up straight and shoved me behind him. The bowl crashed to the floor, and pasta and mushrooms scattered over my shoe.

  “Shit,” Hunter muttered.

  I tried to peek around him. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. A few people. It sounded like a lot more than a few, but surely there weren’t that many people out there. Finally, I lifted his arm, and looked out from under his stupidly perfect biceps. A horde of people were out there. Like, literally…had the concert venue changed to the lobby?

  And I was pretty sure every one of them had their phone up for a photo.

  I was so dead.

  “Fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuck.”

  He looked over his shoulder at me, a dimple denting his left cheek. “Such language.”

  “This is all your fault.”

  Instead of answering me, his shoulders shook.

  Honestly? This asshole was laughing about this? I hadn’t even managed to be at the venue for an hour, and now there was going to be a splash of pictures with his tongue down my damn throat.

  Sweet Georgia, I was so ruined.

  I punched him in the shoulder. The lunatic just kept laughing. “This isn’t funny, Mr. Jordan.”

  He turned around, his back facing the horde now. He leaned down, so we were nose to nose. “Really? Still with the Mr. Jordan? After all we were to each other?”

  I blinked at him before trying to back up. My heel slipped on pasta, or butter, or my pride. All I know is that my arms had become massive pinwheels, and I was going down.

  He grabbed on to me, dragging me into his body. All six-plus-something-feet of him.

  When he was leaning against the wall, he didn’t seem nearly as gigantic. Hell, earlier he didn’t seem so big. Now he was just a pair of shoulders and distracting lips. There were a few reasons why I wore heels. Being vertically challenged was one of them.

  “Stop looking at me like that, Kenny.”

  “Kennedy,” I corrected.

  He skimmed his thumb along a curl snaking down into my camisole. He stopped just before the curve of my breast. “I like Kenny better. It doesn’t suit you at all.”

  What a contrary man. “Then why use it?” I snapped back.

  His dimple flashed again. “Because your eyes crackle with disgust and excitement.”

  “They do not.”

  He hovered so damn close to my lips that I could taste the butter again. “Just like now.”

  “Stop. There’s about five hundred people staring at us.”

  His thick lashes lowered until his storm-gray eyes were mere slits. “I don’t mind when people watch.”

  Oh no, he didn’t. I shoved him back this time.

  He skidded on the mess on the floor and landed on his ass in the middle of the crowd of people. I grabbed my purse, then stepped over his long, sprawled legs. I lifted my chin. The crowd parted for me. So many pictures.

  Don’t react. Don’t look.

  The pops of the cellphone flashes, and the disconcerting shutter sounds made me cringe. I was probably committing career suicide, but enough was enough. I would not analyze the fact that my entire body, down to the soles of my feet, went haywire at the thought of someone seeing us together.

  The last thing I heard was his roar of laughter as I stalked down the carpeted aisle. Indie was standing on the stage with her hands on her hips, hat tipped back. I had the strongest urge to explain all of my sins.

  Since there were too many, I gave her a wide berth and ducked behind the curtain.

  She followed me with a sigh. “You left him there?”

  “He deserved to be left,” I said on a growl.

  “Of course he did. He’s male.” Indie pushed me into a chair next to a pile of signed T-shirts. She turned to their bodyguard-slash-everything guy. “Patrick, go rescue him, would you?”

  Patrick dropped his folded arms to his sides. “Yep.”

  Keys had a silver Sharpie top between her teeth as she calmly signed the records with a scrawling script. “What’d he do now?” she asked around the top.

  Not what he did. What I did. Seriously, what had gotten into me? Thoughts of his manaconda had obviously rattled my common sense. No, actually I hadn’t gotten that far. But if the rest of him was as lethal as his mouth, then there was a reason why the moniker fit.

  Because, Jesus, I’d never been so wound up.

  I liked sex.

  I liked men.

  Occasionally I even indulged in putting both of them in the same equation. But clients were off-limits. I’d learned that lesson a long time ago, and wouldn’t ever make that mistake again.

  Ten minutes with Hunter Jordan and I’d forgotten rule number one. I only had two, for fuck’s sake.

  Don’t get personal. Don’t get naked.

  These were easy rules to follow. Another five minutes in that hidden space and I’d probably be another statistic in the legion of women who had lost their panties to the lead singer of Hammered.

  I rubbed my temples.

  Keys recapped her marker and pushed the finished pile over to a man with jet black hair and the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. “Your turn, O.”

  “Thanks, love.” The faintest lilt of Ireland whispered into his voice.

  Owen Blackwell—bassist for the band. My research and eidetic memory clicked in. He’d grown up in the states, but his parents were immigrants from Ireland. A delicate gold cross on a chain glinted just below his collarbone, barely discernible
in the other silver and black corded necklaces he wore.

  A man of faith? Or maybe it was just sentimentality. It looked like the kind I’d gotten at my confirmation as a teen. Mine was stashed in a jewelry box in my mom’s closet in Vegas.

  Sin City and all of its ungodly patrons were no match for my mother’s interesting version of morality. Rhiannon McManus might be one of the last Jubilee dancers in Vegas—more of a trainer these days than an actual dancer—but she made sure I’d been raised right. Illegitimate daughter or not.

  I knew all about costumes, duty, outward appearances, and the truth.

  I also knew that people in the entertainment business often didn’t know the difference between truth and public image. I was good at constructing the perfect image, and making them believe it.

  I would do the same for Hunter.

  If I kept my job, anyway.

  “Is anyone going to tell me anything?” Keys asked.

  When both me and Indie remained silent, she sighed and pulled out her phone.

  “Fine,” Keys said. “I’ll just fish out the truth in the chaos.”

  I sighed. It wasn’t like I could hide my transgressions. They were probably being uploaded to YouTube, Facebook, Tumblr, and Reddit at this point. “I—”

  “My new girlfriend just outed us in front of five hundred people.” Hunter flipped the curtains behind him. Patrick reached in after him and thwacked him in the back of the head. “Hey!”

  “Don’t be an asshole.”

  Hunter rubbed a spot behind his ear. “And we just had our first fight, too.”

  I stood. “Your what? And we what?”

  Another man came through the curtain. He had dark eyes and rich mocha skin, and wore a suit that had been cut for his long, athletic build. “Bravo on finding a way to boost your trending numbers into the top three, my friend.”

  I recognized the voice. Dex Munroe, an executive for Ripper Records, had been blowing up my phone since six that morning. His rich, cultured British accent was almost as hypnotic as Donovan Lewis’s, but had a touch of slickness that Donovan never had.

  I’d instantly wanted to block his calls.

  Hunter rolled his eyes at me, but his face morphed into a relaxed smile when he faced Dex. “Yeah, that’s what happened.”