The Complete Tempest World Box Set

by Mankin, Michelle

  “Here.” He returned only a moment later, placed a paper cup in my hands, wrapped his warm fingers around my cold ones and helped me take a sip. It was difficult to manage with him staring at me so intently. “You don’t need to exercise so much, babe. You’re perfect the way you are. I thought so before you started the modeling gig.” Kind, there was also a depth of insightfulness in Sager that made him seem years older and scared the hell out of me. But he could never really understand about the weight thing.

  “I do,” I disagreed. “For the modeling and to be lighter and faster on my skis.” And for a lot of other reasons that would make my life better, but it would reveal too much about my insecurities to explain. He continued to study me as if he could tell that I was holding out on him while I gulped the rest of the water down. He tossed the empty cup into a trash receptacle when I was through and recaptured my hands. “Your skin’s like ice.” He winced as he began rubbing my hands between his to warm them.

  “Sorry to put the freeze ray on you, Human Torch.” I tried to withdraw, but he tightened his grip around my fingers and winced again.

  “It’s not you, it’s me,” he explained giving me a half grin that made the water in my empty stomach pitch like the floor had only a moment before. “My tendons are cramped from gripping my drawing pencils too tight. I was going to see if the spa had any walk up appointments available so I can get a massage.”

  “Oh.” While he had been coming to my rescue, he had been in pain the whole time and hadn’t said a word, probably because he knew I couldn’t stand to see anyone suffering without trying to do something about it. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to appear weak. “I’m here. I can help,” I offered. “You don’t need to make an appointment. Let me.” I slid my fingers from his, took his hands and brought them to my lap. Bowing my head over them, my ponytail slid forward over my shoulder. I pressed the pads of my fingers into his warm skin, soft pulses at first over the backs of his much larger hands and then firmer digs with my thumbs into his palms starting at the center of each and working my way outward in increasingly widening circles. I couldn’t see his face but I could hear his breathing deepen, and I felt his warm exhalation on the back of my neck. I loved touching him. That hadn’t changed. If anything the desire had intensified. My skin tingled, not just at the point of contact…everywhere. But I powered through my own pleasure, taking joy in the fact that I was helping him.

  As I continued, I felt his hands becoming more pliable. I didn’t realize that my breathing had become as ragged as his. The massage became less therapeutic and more sensual as I traced the lifelines on his palms and the sensitive valleys between each finger. I remembered how good it had felt when he had touched me. How focused he was as a lover. How talented. The complete opposite of Tyler.

  Sager groaned, the sound affecting me as strongly as the stroke of his tongue had over my body. Flushing, I tried to withdraw my hands, ready to make excuses, to dismiss his reaction and my own, but his fingers curled around my thumbs capturing and holding me. I lifted my gaze. My lips parted, feeling the rough pads of his fingers dragging over my skin as he stroked it. “Thank you,” he said low and meaningfully, his dark eyes holding me captive even more effectively than his grip. “I feel much better.”

  “My pleasure,” I replied in a breathless whisper.

  • • •

  Later as I hurried along the sidewalk on my way to the interview, I replayed yet again that moment with Sager. His gaze had been warm, his hands warmer, the dark passion in his eyes an inferno. Friends he said, yet being with him, touching him didn’t feel platonic to me. It never had. It felt infinitely intimate. Every encounter with Sager Reed left me feeling as though I was losing control, and control was something I needed in my life, though it seemed to be evading me at every turn.

  Dodging crowds of people who all seemed to be in a hurry too, I hiked my overnight bag higher on my shoulder and tucked my chin to my chest trying to avoid the brisk wind coming off the Burrard Inlet. Spying the iconic green awning of the Fairmont up ahead, I ducked into the revolving door and exhaled my immediate relief on the other side. Sliding my cell out of my pocket, I double-checked the room number on the text from my agent and headed to the bank of gold embossed elevators. On the way up, I used the mirrored walls inside to check my appearance. Not too bad. I was getting there. After my workout, I’d eaten a single bite of unbuttered toast for breakfast. Adhering to a minimalistic caloric intake, I hoped to reach my target weight soon. Satisfied that the purple V-neck and my best pair of dark jeans showed off my newly earned angles to their best advantage, I smoothed my hair. I had worn it loose around my shoulders and the wind had tossed it all over the place. Swiping errant mascara smudges from beneath my eyes, I exited the elevator as soon as the doors opened on the right floor.

  Still coasting the high from Sager’s compliments and gentle touch, I confidently rapped on the door much less nervous about the scrutiny involved with the modeling appointment than I usually was. A guy with a shaggy mop of hair that looked like some sixties British rocker ushered me inside the suite. I pegged him as the photographer. Another guy sitting on the couch had my scant portfolio open on the coffee table in front of him. He loosened his red silk tie while giving me a long head to toe leer.

  “Nice. You’re prettier than your photos. I’m digging the young Elizabeth Taylor vibe you’ve got going on. If your body measures up to those brilliant eyes of yours you’ve already got the job.”

  “Ok, thanks,” I managed though his words and his continued perusal made me more than a little uncomfortable.

  “Well, what are you waiting for honey?” He grinned. “Ditch the clothes.” He had a wide toothed predatory smile. “All of them. Every stitch. We wanna be sure there’s no cellulite lurking anywhere.”

  I almost did it. I stood there feeling like an object, a lot like how Tyler had made me feel before he had stomped out. My fingers opened and closed as both men stared. I felt sick to my stomach, but waffled as I thought about next month’s rent, the racing fees and my ridiculously expensive cell phone bill.

  “What’s the holdup, sweetheart?” Sixties guy cajoled, moving behind me. His breath was hot on my skin. He made me gasp when he glided a beefy finger under the neckline of my tee taking an unwelcome peek at my breasts. “We saw the ski spread in Maxim.” He chuckled. “But you’ve lost a significant amount of weight since then. Good for you. But hurry it along sweetheart we don’t have all day. We’ve got another girl to see after you...”

  “No.” I shook my head. “Jeremy, my agent, didn’t say anything about me needing to do a strip tease to get the job.” I took a step backward.

  “Sorry you didn’t get the memo.” The guy in the tie frowned at me. He didn’t look a bit sorry. “Those are the rules.”

  “Your rules suck.” Taking another step backward, I stretched my arm out behind me searching for the door handle. “Never mind. I don’t want the job. I don’t need this kind of shit.” Locating the latch, I yanked the door open and pulled it closed just as fast fleeing back down the hallway as though they might follow. My heart hammered with righteous indignation all the way to the bus stop. But the adrenaline surge didn’t last. I ran out of ire by the time I transferred to Greyhound. Once in my seat, my forehead dropped to the cold glass. The scenery became a dissociative blur on the way back to Whistler. The full magnitude of what I had done hit me hard. An irate text from my agent dropping me as a client confirmed what I already knew. I had fucked myself with my impulsive behavior once again. I had nothing left to sell. No extra funds in my bank account. I was going to have to figure out a way to squeak by until the next event, and I was probably going to have to win it to interest some rich sponsor. Barring that, I was going to have to go home to my dad and admit failure.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Sager

  “What the fuck?” Blinking into the glaring overhead light, I sat up in my bed. The pillow King had thrown at me fell to the floor amid a l
arge snow drift of crumpled papers. I had been trying to recapture the look on Melinda’s face while she had massaged my hands. Her guard down, her cheeks flushed, her lips had been temptingly parted and her eyes that devastating deep blue. The look of desire. I know I had been turned on. My cock had been a steel pipe. She had that effect on me every time.

  But the speed of her departure told me she wasn’t willing to acknowledge the attraction. Why? Was it because of the fuckstick? Was the goalie so good she didn’t want to give him up? She was certainly making way too many allowances for him. Or was it something else? Some other variable I was missing?

  “¡Ándale pues!” Hurry up! “Get out of bed, loser. Mary Timmons just called Warren. She wants us all to come into the studio ASAP. War’s back, man! Morris let him out of his contract. But she told War there are a couple of stipulations to go over. Typical queenly bullshit. You’ve got fifteen minutes. Get some clothes on. Wipe the drool off your face and c’mon.”

  Tagging yesterday’s jeans from the floor, slipping my bare feet into my favorite chocolate suede Fila’s and drawing on an olive pocketed military style shirt that I grabbed from the closet, I brushed my teeth, finger combed my hair and met King downstairs with two minutes to spare. He climbed into the driver’s seat of the wagon. I hopped into the passenger side and kind of zoned out. The Granville Bridge and the snowcapped mountains were wasted on me when my mind was otherwise occupied.

  Was it too early to text Melinda?

  I wondered what she was doing and if the modeling thing had gone well. Would it seem too desperate to call her now? It had been almost twenty-four hours. I was still debating with myself when King steered the Hummer into the parking garage. My phone bleeped with an incoming text. I grinned when I saw who the sender was.

  Melinda: you up yet?

  I typed fast.

  Sager: yeah, Blue. No worries. You feeling better? No more dizziness I hope

  Melinda: Nope. That was nothing. I’m fine.

  I wasn’t so sure.

  Sager: Sup? I would play it cool. You back at Whistler?

  Melinda: I’m on the lift for another run. But I just wanted to...you know...I dunno… make sure you were there, I guess

  Sager: I’m here. This was awesome. She wasn’t even trying to make up an excuse for contacting me. My grin widened as I continued to text. How did your interview go?

  King killed the engine and gave me a censuring glance. I think he knew who I was texting. I wasn’t really trying to hide anything, but if he gave me anymore grief about Melinda we were going to have trouble. He exited his side of the vehicle with a hard slam, and I did the same a moment later. Side by side, rare tension brimming between us, we were almost to the entrance into the building when my cell bleeped her reply.

  Melinda: It didn’t work out, but it’s ok. I’m near the top of the lift. Gotta go. Have a good day

  Bullshit. I was a guy, but even I could read between the lines of that text. Something was up. I scrolled up and hit the call button while jogging up the staircase to the executive level behind King.

  “What happened yesterday?” I demanded to know as soon as she answered. “And don’t bullshit me. I can’t even fathom how anyone with a brain could take one look at you and not beg you to market their products.”

  “I wish it had been like that.” She laughed but there wasn’t any real humor behind it. “They wanted me to take my clothes off. I refused. End of story. Which is fine. But then,” she exhaled heavily, “my agent fired me. So no more interviews until I can find another one to represent me. In the meantime, I gotta figure out how to get really good at this skiing thing so I can get a sponsor or I’m going home even sooner than my dad predicted.”

  Fucking shit. “That sucks, Blue.” I didn’t figure she wanted me to sugarcoat.

  “It does. Majorly.”

  “But if you don’t have to worry about the modeling you’ll have more time to concentrate on the racing. That’s what really matters right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “When’s your next thing?”

  “Sugarloaf in Maine. Ten days from now. Qualifying rounds a couple days before that.” She started breathing hard. I imagined her exiting the lift and those lithe muscles of hers working hard to get from the roundhouse to the course.

  “You been training hard?” I knew she had. I just wanted her to admit it, to get her focused on looking ahead not back. Like she had done for me in Seattle when I had been at a real low point.

  “Yes. Two-a-days on the mountain. Gym and a lot of trampoline work in between. But…”

  “But what?” I prompted when she stayed silent.

  “Vato,” King hissed impatiently. “Wind it up already.” We were outside the CEO’s corner office. Her door was open. A quick glance revealed that everyone else was already inside waiting for the Queen to make her proclamation.

  “Most of the girls have been doing this a lot longer than I have. I’m afraid I’m gonna get my ass kicked. I hear them talking. They think my last couple of wins were a fluke. Sometimes I think they were, too. I really don’t know why I’m here.” She sounded pretty beat down.

  “Because it makes you happy. Because you’re great at it. Don’t you dare give up before you even try to make a real go of it. Promise?

  “Ok.” She agreed with a telling lack of enthusiasm.

  “Those other girls are just jealous of you, Blue. Ski cross is not a team sport. I saw how it is both times I’ve watched you. It’s every racer for herself. They’re trying to mess with your head because you’re a threat to them. Don’t let them get to you. Hey, I gotta go.” The guys were staring at me with raised brows and so was the Queen. “But I want you to call me or text me later so I know you’re ok. Alright?”

  After she agreed, I ended the call and shuffled into the room behind King. The Queen stood and one by one, single file, we followed her into the adjoining conference room. We all took a seat around the large table. Everyone but Timmons looked nervous. Hell, I was nervous. I could see my reflection in the glossy sheen of the dark wood surface. Rolling out the high backed leather chair at the head of the table, Mary lowered herself into it, tugged once on the hem of her fitted jacket, walked herself forward and set a thick paper file folder on the table in front of her. She opened it, steepling her hands together and peering around at each of us.

  It was impossible not to fidget beneath that imperious gaze. A total power play. Every inch the regal monarch, wielding total control as she surveyed the room.

  “I’ve asked you all to come in this morning to talk about my expectations for Tempest moving forward now that Warren Jinkins is front man again.” She dropped one hand to her lap. She placed the other on the file tapping it once as if her hand were a gavel. I swallowed to moisten my throat. “Trashed hotel rooms. Exorbitant room service charges. Backstage venue property damage. $80,000 for an extra manager’s salary. Unsalvageable damage to a $500,000 tour bus.” She pinned her gaze on Warren. “I am putting in place a zero tolerance policy for this type of behavior effective immediately. The cost for damage control for this band,” she tapped the file once more for emphasis, “is unacceptable. And that was before I had to negotiate with my competitor for the return of Mr. Jinkins, something which would have been entirely unnecessary had he not been disloyal.”

  War’s lips flattened, but surprisingly he didn’t give her any of his usual attitude. She was right of course. What could he say? What could any of us say?

  “I expect each of you to repay an equal portion of these expenses before I invest anymore of Black Cat’s resources in Tempest.”

  My gut tightened. King and I had put away a significant portion of our earnings but the type of money she was talking about was going to seriously cut into it.

  “But,” War protested, looking a little green, “A lot of what you mentioned is my fault. I can’t take it back. But I do want to take full responsibility. Take what you need to, but take it out of my cut, not everyone else’s.”

>   Mouths dropped open, mine included. I had noticed subtle changes in Warren since his mom died and he had started seriously dating Shaina Bentley, but this was a complete turnaround.

  “Very good, Mr. Jinkins.” Mary gave him a tight royal nod of approval. “I won’t allow you to do that, of course. You are after all only a fifth of this band. However, your newfound accountability is exactly the kind of maturity I have been waiting for but have yet to see from someone in this band.” She pulled in a breath and let it out slowly. “I had in mind to do one thing but now I find myself considering another.” She closed the file. “Here’s what I propose. I will forgive your debts given certain conditions are met. First, I want a new Tempest album on my desk in two weeks.”

  “That’s impossible.” War’s jaw was tight.

  “I recommend you let me finish, Mr. Jinkins I have quite a bit more to say.” She raised haughty brows.

  “Yes, ma’am.” His shoulder length hair slid forward as he nodded dutifully.

  “As I was saying, two weeks, ten raw cuts that meet my standards. It is doable if you put your minds to the task. Brutal Strength gave me Love Evolution in that amount of time. I know very well what you five are capable of accomplishing. Your first album was a team effort, and it is very good. But I believe you have the potential to do even better. You need a distraction free environment. I want you to temporarily move onto my estate. I have a recording studio on property that has been used once before for just such a circumstance.”