by Lisa Suzanne
He sits across from me, and I wonder for the briefest moment whether it would’ve been a better idea to sit on the couch. He’s inspecting me, studying me from across the small table. If we were next to each other, I wouldn’t feel the penetrating heat of his scrutinizing gaze.
“What’s wrong?” he asks softly.
I focus my gaze out the window. “What are we doing?”
“We’re going to Los Angeles so I can get ready for tonight’s gig.”
I fix my eyes on him. “But what are we doing?”
He nods. “You’re right.”
“I am? I didn’t even say anything.”
“I can hear it in your voice, Reese.”
“What about—” I stop myself from saying his name. “What about him?”
Mark glances out the window. “He doesn’t deserve you.”
“Why?”
“He doesn’t always treat women the way they deserve to be treated. He puts work first. I don’t want to see you hurt because of it.”
Certainly someone like Mark would also put work first. I don’t say that, though. “Explain.”
Mark sighs, and it’s his turn to fix his stare out the window. “There’s two sides to every story. What did he tell you about Kendra?”
I clear my throat. “He told me you slept with her.”
He nods. “Did he tell you why?”
My expression must answer for me, because he studies me for a second and then he launches into the story.
“They were in Vegas looking at office spaces. I’d never met her. They’d flown in earlier that day, and I was at an event. Ethan and I were wasted. The party started at my place before I got there, just like it always does. Kind of like the night you came home with me.” He pauses and pulls in a breath. “When I got home, a woman I’d never met was waiting in my bed. I didn’t know who she was or why she was there, but I was lit off my ass and I didn’t care. She was a warm body for the night.”
I flinch at his assessment of a woman waiting in his bed. Was I just a warm body the first night we were together? “It was Kendra, I assume?”
Pain shadows his eyes. “Yeah,” he says softly.
“How did you find out?”
“I just finished fucking her,” he starts, and I wince at his choice of words, “when there was this banging on my door. I stumbled over to open it and it was Brian. She was still in my bed.”
“Oh.” I knew where the story was going, but it’s still shocking to hear it. It’s hard to hear about him having sex with another woman, but the reality is that he’s had sex with a lot of other women. According to the media, anyway.
I’m so enraptured by what he’s telling me that I don’t even realize the plane is in the air.
“Brian looked like he was about to kill me. The way he tells it, I seduced her into sleeping with me, but that’s not how it went down. I had no idea she was his girl.”
“He said that happens a lot. It’s why he waited to tell me that you were his brother.”
“It doesn’t happen a lot. Brian is an expert at painting things the way he wants everyone to see them.” His eyes are full of regret. “I wish I never slept with Kendra, but how the hell was I supposed to know that the willing woman in my bed was Brian’s girl?”
“You couldn’t have known.” My voice is adamant because he’s right. Brian painted it like Mark purposely slept with Kendra—he never made it sound like it was some mistake.
“Yet I’m still the asshole who slept with my brother’s girl, and here I am doing it again.”
“But this time you know.” And this time it isn’t a mistake.
“Because I was with you first. The night I met you as his girlfriend fucking killed me.”
I study the pain in his eyes.
“I can’t tear my family apart,” he says quietly. “Not again.”
I think back to something he said a while ago. I’ve paid my penance to make it up to him and I still feel like shit about it. I want to ask what that means, but I’m not sure how. “But I’m here on your plane headed to Los Angeles after sleeping in your bed last night. It’s too late to make those kinds of statements.”
“That’s why we need to keep it from him. At least for a little while.”
A pang of hurt whispers through my blood. I understand what he’s saying, but it hurts more than it should. On the other hand, I want to respect what’s left of Brian’s feelings. I’ve already done enough to hurt him, and it’s the kind of hurt he’s oblivious to.
“What about the guys in the band? Won’t they tell Brian?”
“Their allegiance isn’t to him, but even if it was, no one in the band or backstage would say anything. The staff signs NDAs and the guys won’t mention it to him.”
“Still, don’t you think it’s dangerous to take me there?”
He lifts a shoulder. “Maybe, but no one there knows you as Brian’s girlfriend except Ethan. And I pay Penny good money to keep shit secret, anyway.”
I finally blurt out the question preying on my mind. “What did you mean when you said that you paid your penance for what happened with Kendra?”
He fixes his gaze out the windows across from us rather than on me. “I opened my home to him. I let his friends live with me when I’m used to living alone. I paid for him to move to Vegas, gave him half the capital to start his business, apologized a million times.” He lowers his voice. “Stayed away from you until I couldn’t anymore.”
“Did you ever think of just being honest with him?”
His eyes move back to mine from across the table. “About what?”
“Your feelings for me.”
He shakes his head. “No. After what happened with Kendra, I figured I’d just keep it to myself. But that fucked my life even more, so I confessed everything to Ethan. Then I started making stupid choices.”
My brows draw in. “What does that mean?”
His eyes edge away from me again. “I’d rather not get into it.”
I narrow my eyes at him, and when he finally looks up at me, I see the shame in his eyes.
“Drinking more than necessary. Smoking. Pills. Sex. Dumb shit you don’t need to worry about.”
I can forgive the drinking. The smoking and the drugs are stupid, but if he’s safe now and he’s not doing them anymore, fine. But there’s one thing I can’t get past. “Sex?”
He lifts a shoulder. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you fucking my brother. I had to figure out a way to get rid of those images.”
“Did sleeping with other women fix that problem?”
His eyes move down to the ground. “No,” he says softly. “It made it worse. I kept comparing everyone to you. No one measured up.”
Good. “All that’s over now?”
He nods. “You’re the only one. You’ve been the only one since that night in Brian’s room. It’s only ever been you.” He pulls out his phone and types something.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Only ever you,” he says, reading the words on the screen.
My heart melts at the same time it breaks for Brian. “We’ve both made mistakes, but we can leave those mistakes behind us and move forward. Together.”
He unbuckles his belt and stands, helps me out of my seat, and pulls me into his arms. We lie together on the couch for the rest of the short flight, his arms around me, his lips pressed to mine, his heart beating steadily against mine.
thirteen
Another huge black Yukon barrels down the highway from LAX toward Los Angeles as Mark’s California driver, Stanley, carries us to the place where Vail is scheduled to play tonight. Mark opens the divider between us and the driver.
“Stan, can you take us to my place first?” he asks.
“Do we have time?” Stan asks.
Mark glances at the clock on his phone. He shrugs at me. “We have a little bit of time to kill. We’ll be quick.”
“Of course,” Stan says.
Mark rolls up the divider. “We mi
ght be late, but I want to introduce you to someone before we head to my gig.”
I nod, my eyes focused out the window at the Pacific Coast as we drive along the road parallel to the ocean, Mark’s hand resting on my thigh and my arms hugging his. I wonder who he wants to introduce me to. Does he have some secret love child I don’t know about?
I’m honestly a little nervous.
Stan finally turns off the highway and into Mark’s driveway. We wind up a path to a huge, white, modern bungalow that sits directly on the beach. Date palms line the driveway, and a long reflecting pond sits in front of the house.
“Home sweet home,” he says. Stan opens the door for us, and Mark gets out first. He holds his hand out to help me, and we walk to his front door. He laughs as I stare at everything, memorizing every detail down to the vibrant purple color of the flowers planted around the pond. But nothing could prepare me for what’s behind the front door.
He unlocks it and disables an alarm, and then he leads me through the expansive front hall toward the most opulent kitchen I’ve ever seen. The décor and color scheme match his place in Vegas—gray, with black and white accents. A vase of yellow tulips sits on the counter, one of the few sparks of color in the place. There must be a hundred tulips in there. Everything around me seems to sparkle and shine, but my eyes focus on the view out the window.
I think I say something like wow, but I walk straight over to the wall of glass with my jaw to the floor. The tranquil water laps gently at the shore just a few yards away. Something about the beach has always calmed my soul, but growing up in the desert didn’t allow for much beach time unless we were on vacation.
I’m snapped out of my trance when I feel Mark’s fingers grip my hip. “Let me show you around, and then we need to get going.”
I twirl around and wrap both arms around his waist. “Do we have to?”
He chuckles and looks out the window. “I’ve got a private event tonight. I think some people will be pretty pissed if I don’t show up.”
He takes me through the huge living room that must be great for hosting parties, and he shows me the five bedrooms, office, and recording studio that make up his home. Each room he shows me seems somehow more lavish than the last.
He takes me out to his garage—an eight-doored affair. He shows me his collection, which includes some top of the line motorcycle that I promise him I’ll never get on (to which he replies, “Wanna bet?”), yet another black Yukon, and his beloved yellow eighty-two Dodge Challenger.
Lastly he takes me to the luxurious outdoor oasis beneath his house. He opens a door to let me out, and an enthusiastic yellow lab greets us with dog kisses. “Max!” Mark yells with glee, and I’ve never seen him so boyish as he gets down on his knees to hug the dog.
“This is who I wanted to introduce you to. Max, Reese. Reese, Max,” he says with a grin. Relief floods through me as Max sniffs my hand and gives it a lick. “He likes you. That bodes well for you. He’s very particular.”
I giggle, and then he opens what looks like a garage door. We step into a game room complete with a huge television and all sorts of electronics plus a giant pool table. Outside the garage door is an island oasis. My eyes feast on the palm trees, long bar and stools, infinity pool overlooking the beach, lounge chairs, outdoor kitchen, tiki torches, and fire pit. I could live out here, just take up residence in one of the chairs and stay forever.
But, unfortunately, I can’t. “Ready?” he asks, running his hand over Max’s fuzzy ears.
“No,” I mutter. “I want to stay here all day.”
“You can if you want, but I have to get going.”
I walk over to him and lace my arms around his waist. I trail one hand down and squeeze his ass. “Are you sure?”
He closes his eyes as if he’s in pain and looks out over the water. “Don’t tempt me.”
I crush in a little closer to him, and I’m rewarded with a grunt. His hand comes up to fist my hair, and his mouth barrels down over mine. He kisses me hard for just a beat, and then he lets go and it all ceases—except for the ache he left between my legs.
“I can’t believe you’re really here,” he says softly.
I can almost pretend this is our life. I can almost see it.
But the image is shattered when Brian creeps into my thoughts. Regardless of what happened between Mark and Brian in the past, I am the wedge that will come between brothers. The thought makes me feel sick, and watching Mark try to regain his composure after kissing me doesn’t do much to help the situation.
“You okay?” Mark asks.
I nod. “Fine.”
“Then let’s go. The others are already waiting on me.”
We get back in the Yukon with Stanley and Vinny.
“Where are you playing tonight?”
Mark scrolls his phone as we head toward our destination. “Twisted Fork. It’s a bar. Private party.”
I’ve never been with him right before he goes on stage. He’s reading something intently on his phone and I’m trying to get a gauge on his mood. Focused, but still Mark.
“What’s that?”
“Last minute shit for tonight.”
“What’s it say?”
He glances up at me and studies me for a moment. “You really wanna know?”
I nod. I know nothing about the actual life of a rock star.
“This LA-based company booked us through a promoter. It’s some anniversary celebration for a company and we’re the entertainment.”
“Do you like private events?”
He shrugs. “Yes and no.”
“Why no?”
“We’re not playing for fans. We’re playing for an event. They didn’t come to see us, they came for some other reason. And sometimes we’re stuck with the event’s sound system and lighting and it isn’t always right for what we need.”
“Why yes?”
“It’s easy money and the focus is on the music instead of the whole show experience.”
“What do you mean?”
“When we play a concert venue, people expect a show. A performance. You know? But at a private event, they expect music. It gets us back to our roots.”
“Do you have any crazy riders in your contract?”
He gives me a look like he’s surprised I know that word.
“What? My best friend works for a newspaper in Vegas. I’ve heard it all. A certain eighties pop sensation who’s still popular now demands special roses with six-inch stems. Another singer requests that all the furniture is removed from her dressing room so her crew can decorate with her own furniture.”
Mark laughs. “The two requests you just mentioned belong to the same singer. And the furniture thing wasn’t her dressing room. It was her hotel room.”
I giggle. “How do you know?”
“We opened for her years ago.”
“So it’s true?”
He nods. “There were more demands, too. Personal chefs, a yoga instructor. Her crew was insane. She had over two hundred people traveling with her.”
“What’s the craziest request you’ve ever heard?” I ask.
“Someone asked for the seven dwarves.”
“Like from Snow White?”
He nods. “They wanted men to dress as dwarves and mill around serving them cocktails and appetizers.”
“Oh my God! Who was that?”
“I’ll never tell.”
I glare at him, and he laughs and then mock zips his lips.
“So what’s on your list?” I ask.
“Nothing too crazy. Ethan’s our only diva. He drinks Guinness on stage and James likes it after the show. Steve needs Diet Coke in cans. I ask for whiskey, but I need tea with honey an hour before I go onstage. Oh, and a bottle of Jägermeister for pregame shots before the show. We’re playing a bar, so that’s not out of the ordinary. We always request a few cases of water, towels, and food. Ethan requires cigarettes, but he only asks as a test for the venue to see if they pay attention to detail.
Then there’s the boring shit, like the sound system and lighting, though when we’re on tour, some of that shit is on our trucks.”
“What else is part of your pregame?”
He laughs. “That’s band info only.”
I purse my lips and shoot him a glare.
“Sorry, babe. Even the wives aren’t in on that little secret.”
I let it go. It’s not my business, but it does bug me that he has secrets he’ll never tell me.
“How many people will be there?”
Mark shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. We charge a flat fee for private events, so they can pack as many people into the event as they want. Usually companies only invite employees and a guest, sometimes high-ranking colleagues. The CEO decided last-minute they want an M and G.”
“What’s an M and G?”
“Meet and greet.”
“Before or after your performance?”
“After.”
“So what does that mean?”
He leans toward my ear and lowers his voice. “It means I’ll have to wait longer to get you naked in my bed.”
Goosebumps erupt on my skin. “I don’t want to wait longer.” My heart races as I say it. If someone told me this would be my life three months ago, I’d have never believed it. Yet here I am, sitting in the back of a car with one of the most famous rock stars in the world as he tells me how he can’t wait to get me back to his bed.
He presses his lips to my neck and then pulls back to look at me in wonder. “I don’t, either, which blows my mind.” On cue, the car skids to a stop. “But work calls.”
“Why does it blow your mind?”
Stanley cuts the engine, and the back door opens before he can answer. Vinny stands beside the door, an ever-present shadow following Mark virtually everywhere while he blends into the backdrop.
“Put these on and keep your head down,” he says, handing me a ball cap and sunglasses. He steps out first and holds his hand out for me. I take it, and we’re in a deserted back lot behind the bar as I wonder why the fact that he doesn’t want to wait to be with me blows his mind.
A couple photographers snap photos of Mark as Vinny leads the way. We follow through a back entrance, and I take off the hat and sunglasses once we’re inside. Mark hands them to Vinny.
