by Tara Leigh
God, I fucking wanted.
There was a wrench low in the pit of my belly, a deep pull and twist. Because as badly as I wanted to soothe her…I wanted more, too. I wanted to taste her, excite her, enflame her. Kiss her, touch her, fu—
Goddamn it.
I groaned, scratching at the back of my scalp.
Wouldn’t you like to know.
Yeah. Yeah, I fucking would.
I just didn’t know what I was going to do about it.
Nothing was what I should do. Of that I was one hundred percent certain.
But I needed to figure out why she’d shrunk from me in the hallway like she’d thought I would hurt her.
As my mind churned, I paced the hotel suite, my footfalls soft and quick on the tightly woven carpeting. Every second pass, I opened my door, glancing across the hall at the one Verity had slammed in my face. I’d heard the metal scrape of the bolt, too. The last thing I wanted to do was go pounding on it, acting like the kind of Neanderthal she’d been frightened of in the first place.
I’d give anything to erase that look on her face. Not just from my memory, but from her actual face. Because there was only one way you wound up with an expression like that—if someone had given you a reason to be that scared.
My breaths were coming sharp, scraping my throat with each exhale, the vise around my chest tightening with every step. Who the fuck had terrorized Verity? The guy from the restaurant? So help me god, I’d rip him limb from limb. My hands flexed and I began cracking each knuckle, one by one, imagining all the different bones I could break and the satisfying crunch they would make.
My phone buzzed in my back pocket, and I pulled it out with a muttered curse.
Aria: So, have you given our conversation any thought?
In the last few hours—not at all.
Me: Yes. Stay in NY for now. At 18, I’ll get you a meeting with my agent.
There was a pause and then dancing dots.
Aria: But I’m missing out on opportunities NOW.
Aria. I don’t want to be here anymore.
Aria: I want to move to L.A.
Jesus. I wasn’t in the right headspace to deal with my sister right now.
Me: Leaving NYC isn’t the answer to every problem.
Aria: It was the answer to yours.
Me: I wasn’t running away. I was chasing someone.
Aria: But you never came back. Not even once you found her.
I sighed. There was no arguing that one. I had eventually connected with Amelia, about six weeks after getting to L.A. But she’d made it clear she wasn’t interested in reviving our relationship. I was devastated, but I was also wrapped up in my new band, playing music that was entirely new to me, and living in a new city. I’d been excited by the unexpected direction my life had taken. New York and Classic Hughes—everything that reminded me of Amelia—had lost its appeal.
Me: I’ll think about it some more. In the meantime, stay in NY.
There were no jumping dots after my last text, so I figured my sister was sulking. But right now her desire to flee the nest was the least of my concerns.
I opened my door again, staring at the one across the hall for several minutes, willing it to open.
I wasn’t a particularly patient man, and I had been spoiled for too long by the immediate gratification that came at my level of career success.
But I had an idea.
Verity
I was towel drying my hair after what might have been the longest, hottest shower of my life when I heard the double ring of the hotel phone.
Probably the hotel manager inquiring if my stay is satisfactory.
Swaddled in the plush robe I’d found hanging in the closet, I plucked the chocolate off my pillow and lifted the receiver to my ear as I slid beneath the cool, crisp sheets.
“Hello,” I said, contemplating unwrapping the foil.
My stomach was completely empty, my nausea gone. I would have to brush my teeth again, but the rich treat would probably be worth it.
“I’m not comfortable with the way our night ended.”
My hand was halfway to my mouth when the voice on the other end of the line made me freeze. “Dax? How did you get my number?”
His low chuckle did things to my body I didn’t want to acknowledge, the sensual sound reaching places I thought I’d walled off. “I followed the directions on the phone. There’s a pretty easy procedure for room-to-room calls.”
I could have smacked myself on the forehead. Duh. I was still so rattled I couldn’t think straight. “I can’t remember the last time I used anything but my cell, I guess.” Kind of like reading a paper book and tapping on the page, expecting it to turn itself.
“Thought I’d wait to call that until you gave me your number.” The low timbre of Dax’s voice was even more apparent now than it had been in person. I put the chocolate on my tongue, letting it melt against the roof of my mouth as the silence stretched out. “So, before, in the hallway…”
I swallowed the wrong way, coughing as I reached for a bottle of water from the nightstand. Sexy. After a minute, I wiped at my eyes and picked up the phone that had fallen onto the mattress. “Sorry about that.”
“Are you always this skittish?”
“Skittish?” I repeated. “You might want to retire that word from your vocabulary. Kinda kills your whole bad-boy, rock-star vibe.”
Another throaty chuckle had me pressing my thighs together. “So then I guess asking what happened in the hallway an hour ago would shred it entirely, huh?”
No, asking that would make Dax a nice guy.
I stiffened, pulling the receiver away from my ear. A kick-ass musician with a sexy smolder…who wasn’t a selfish, arrogant bastard. The man was a damn unicorn.
Sporting a horn on his head that could gut me.
“Nothing happened in the hallway. We walked to our rooms and went our separate ways.”
“So, I must have imagined you accusing me of being a rapist?”
“I did not. And I didn’t realize you were such a delicate flower.” I rolled my neck, feeling a pinch between my shoulder blades. The tension that had slipped away in the shower was back in full force. “We all good now?”
“Good? Actually, no. I want to kn—”
I set the phone back in its cradle, silencing Dax’s voice. I couldn’t handle this conversation right now. Did he expect some kind of explanation from me? How could I explain my behavior to him when I didn’t understand it myself?
I didn’t want to understand it. Didn’t want to think about Jack Lester or Marko or Alexei/Sergei.
Some memories, just like some men, needed to stay firmly in the past.
There would be no men in my foreseeable future, either.
Chapter Eight
Verity
Glossy magazine spreads that looked so effortless and elegant…were anything but.
Cameras. Lights. Clothes that were too big or too small held together with pins and tape.
Too many people talking.
Too much touching.
Fake eyelashes.
Fake hair extensions.
Fake smiles.
A minute ago a stylist shoved her cold hands down my dress to push my boobs up, then stared at my chest with a frown on her face before yelling, “I need nipple shields over here!”
I’d rather have a pelvic exam. With a team of med students watching.
At least then the whole ordeal would be over and done in ten minutes.
This photo shoot was scheduled to last two days. It even had a theme. Verity Embraces Her Truth.
What did that even mean?
How could pictures of me wearing couture gowns possibly capture something that was essentially an internal struggle? And even if I did want to “embrace my truth,” why on earth would I want to share it with anyone else?
I didn’t bother voicing my opinion, of course. It wouldn’t do any good. The only way to get through these things was to keep my mouth sh
ut and do what I was told. It was how I’d survived three years of The Show. Pretending I wasn’t a person, but a prop. Someone else’s prop.
Being here reminded me why I’d been so desperate to get away from all this. Away from sets and sound stages. With a microphone in my hands, at least I had some semblance of control. If I wasn’t feeling a lyric or a note, I could change it, make it mine.
We’d returned from New York a few weeks ago…and I’d spent much of that time thinking about Dax. Hoping I’d imagined the shiver that had run though my spine when his breath feathered across my ear in the restaurant, his thumb sweeping across my wrist.
Hoping I’d imagined the glint in Dax’s eyes when he’d looked at me, the corners of his mouth reluctantly tugging upward. The feeling I got that he liked me, too…even though he wished he didn’t.
Please, let it have been all in my mind—just like my sudden certainty that he’d followed me to my room with bad intentions.
The man was a song I didn’t know the chorus to. A chord chart with missing notes. Frustrating. And so, so tempting.
Damn it. I didn’t have time for temptation. I wasn’t interested in intrigue.
Working with Travis was a second chance for me. If I screwed it up, I wouldn’t get another.
I hadn’t signed a recording contract yet. There had been offers though, thank god. Travis was doing what he did best, playing one off the other to get me the best deal possible. It wasn’t easy for me to put my career in his hands, but what was the alternative—let my mother keep handling it?
No. Just, no.
My mother was still in the dark about Travis. Since I had never actually signed a contract with her, Travis said I was under no legal obligation to end our business relationship—because in the eyes of the law, we didn’t have one. Ethically, of course, I knew I would have to tell her she was no longer my manager…soon. But for now she had a new boyfriend who was keeping her happy and occupied. And I was perfectly content to put off our inevitable confrontation until absolutely necessary.
There was a knock on the door to my trailer—we were shooting in the desert this morning, with plans to be at the beach later this afternoon. Travis walked in, Piper close behind. I was seated in front of an enormous vanity mirror, with three people hovering around me. Travis had a damn good poker face, but one look at Piper and I knew I was about to get big news. Good news.
My spirits lifted. “I have a contract?”
“You do,” he said with a nod. “And you have something else, too.”
Something else? Had Travis gotten me a gift? “Really?”
I half expected my manager to reach into his pocket and pull out a small jewelry box with a charm bracelet or something. “A world tour.”
My stomach dropped, but in the very best way. Much better than a charm bracelet. “A tour? You’re kidding!” One of the women shifted, blocking my view of Travis through the mirror. I nudged her to the side.
“You’ll be on the same label as Nothing but Trouble, and the execs agreed you would both benefit from touring together.”
“That’s…amazing.” An image of Dax flashed in my mind, immediately followed by a tug of longing deep in my belly. “How about the guys—are they okay with it? I mean, they’re a rock band, and I’m…” Did I even know what I was anymore?
Travis’s dark eyes blazed as he rubbed his hands together. “Who wouldn’t want a front-row seat to the hottest rock band on the charts and the comeback of America’s Pop Princess? It’s a golden fucking ticket, Verity. It doesn’t get better than this.”
“Okay, then. That’s great.” I finally allowed the bubbles of excitement to fizz and shimmer inside my veins.
I was going on tour with Nothing but Trouble.
I was going on tour with Dax Hughes.
And then reality caught up with fantasy. “What—what did they actually say?”
Travis looked away from my reflection, cleared his throat. “They’re getting used to the idea.”
Was that code for they’re-pissed-as-hell-but-I’ll-convince-them-it’s-in-their-best-interest?
I hadn’t worked with Travis long enough to know for sure, but I had a feeling that’s exactly what it was.
“Maybe I should meet up with them, get some feedback on what they want from their opening act?” The last thing I wanted was to be trapped on a six-month tour with four angry guys who didn’t want me around. I wasn’t worried about Shane. And Jett hit on me at Travis’s party months ago. When I rebuffed him, he merely offered a charming smile and had two girls glued to his side within minutes. “I haven’t even met Landon yet. I probably should, don’t you think, before anything is set in stone?”
“Uh, Landon isn’t available right now,” Travis said evasively. “But I’ll set something up when he gets back.”
I glanced at Piper, but all her attention was trained on Travis. “Oh.” My eyes ping-ponged from one to the other, the energy between them too charged for this small trailer. “When will that be?”
“Hard to say right now. A month, maybe more.” He cleared his throat. “Or less.”
I tried to read between the lines. Could be rehab. Landon was known for playing hard and partying harder. Or maybe the guys were having problems. Being in a band was like any relationship—there were good days and bad days. But after everything I’d been through, the last thing I needed was to be trapped in a difficult situation with four feuding rock stars. “Is there something I should know about?”
“No. Landon’s fine. The band is fine. Absolutely nothing to worry about.” Travis’s reassurance was anything but reassuring. Especially with Piper looking like she wanted to claw his face for more information.
But there was no time. Three quick raps sounded on the door, and then a guy with a clipboard and a headphone mic poked his head inside. “We’re ready for you.”
No one looked happier about the interruption than Travis.
Chapter Nine
Verity
It wasn’t difficult to find out where Dax lived.
It took much longer to decide whether I should actually show up on his doorstep.
The two-day photo shoot had morphed into three, and I hadn’t stopped thinking about Travis’s cryptic conversation for a minute of it.
Sure, going on tour with Nothing but Trouble would be the chance of a lifetime for me, but I’d spent three years—longer actually, if I counted my auditions before finally landing The Show—under the thumb of a man who treated me like a piece of meat. And after it was over, I’d rushed headlong into another bad situation. No matter how desperately I wanted the opportunity, I still wasn’t desperate enough to put myself in such a vulnerable position again. I knew better now.
The interview that would accompany the photos wasn’t until next week, and my calendar was looking pretty sparse. Piper had been glued to my side for the past three days of the photo shoot, and I knew she had better things to do than babysit me when I wasn’t doing anything but hitting the gym and skulking around my house. I had a lot of dead time on my hands and no one to spend it with.
Maybe, if I were a different person, with a different past, I’d want to spend it with Dax.
Maybe, if I were a different person, with a different past, Dax would want to spend it with me.
But I wasn’t.
And, clearly, he didn’t.
It was for the best. I didn’t need any distractions. Especially not distractions that looked like Dax. Distractions that played and performed like Dax. Distractions that made me drool like Dax.
Unfortunately, whether I wanted to or not, I needed to see him.
A six-month world tour with Nothing but Trouble—it was the chance of a lifetime.
There would be publicity and merchandise, interviews and photographs, venues booked and tickets sold. If I backed out, for any reason—it would be career suicide.
Before I committed, I wanted to be sure that those six months wouldn’t be a living hell. Been there, done that, had the stamp on
my passport to prove it.
They say that fish rots from the head. In the case of a concert tour, that meant the headliner—Nothing but Trouble. Shane had Delaney to keep him in line, Jett was an outrageous flirt with the attention span of a gnat, and Landon was unavailable, although Travis assured me I could at least have a phone call with him before signing on. But Dax…Dax might actually be trouble.
Setting aside my own reaction to his presence—hot, bothered, and embarrassingly tongue-tied—I had basically accused him of being a rapist…even though he’d come to my rescue like a white knight less than an hour before.
And how did he react? Not with anger at my accusation or the door I’d slammed in his face. Instead, Dax had called to check on me. Of course he had. I had to pick the one rocker on the planet who might actually be a nice guy.
But did I apologize? No. Of course not. I hung up on him.
Because I was Verity Moore. I didn’t make smart choices. I didn’t take the easy path. Ever.
Which was why I needed to see Dax this morning.
To apologize.
To prove that I wasn’t skittish. Or unconscionably rude.
To figure out if going on tour with Nothing but Trouble wasn’t just the right choice for my career, but the right choice for me.
And maybe, hopefully, I could leave without making a fool of myself. Again.
Looking for some guidance, or maybe just an excuse to procrastinate, I checked my horoscope.
Embrace those who make your heart beat faster and your days brighter, even when it makes you uncomfortable. Rise to the challenge—the view is always better.
I stared at my phone, the words blurring after I read them. Feeling like I’d been punched in the stomach.
Rise to the challenge—the view is always better. My grandmother had said that to me often, especially when I was having a hard time with the kids at school.
