Idol (VIP #1)

by Kristen Callihan

  I look around with wide eyes as I sip my chai-matcha tea—honestly, they must have a barista on staff. The space is all white, so pristine it seems to glow.

  Lady Pink returns within a minute. “If you ladies will follow me.”

  “They’re ready for me?” I slant Brenna a look. “Did you have an appointment already set up?”

  Brenna matches my stride. “Of course I did. I’m a planner.”

  “And I am apparently predictable.”

  “Hardly.” Brenna’s sleek ponytail sways with a shake of her head. “Besides, if I needed to reschedule, they’d work around me. Even you have to realize the power Killian’s name wields.”

  “At a salon?”

  Brenna smirks. “Do you know how important that man’s damn hair is? That close crop you did on him nearly broke the internet.”

  I can only gape.

  “I know,” she says, amused. “Young girls were crying over the loss of his beloved flowing locks, as if it signified the coming of the apocalypse.”

  “I was under the impression his hair was overgrown.”

  That snags her attention. “It was. But he usually wears it chin-length. You really didn’t know who he was when you met?”

  I resist the urge to squirm under her stare. She might not look very much like Killian, but clearly their interrogation skills were inherited from the same ancestors. “He was the last person I expected to find on my lawn. I guess my brain never connected any dots.”

  My sneakers slap against the concrete stairs as the salon hostess guides us up to the next level. She looks down her nose at my Chucks but apparently knows better than to risk more than that. I shake my head and pull my attention back to Brenna.

  “But honestly, the only place I might have seen Killian is on an album, and he isn’t on a single Kill John cover. None of them are. Why is that?”

  “In the beginning, it was a statement. No pretense, just music. Now it’s tradition.” She waggles her perfect brows. “Of course it also helps add to their mystique and unattainability. But that was my doing.”

  I’d guess Killian doesn’t care about that one whit, but she appears so proud that I nod.

  My stylist is Lia, who immediately begins running her fingers through my hair while peering at me in the mirror. Until now, haircuts for me have been taking the scissors to my split ends. Who knew someone massaging my scalp and simply playing with my hair would be so relaxing. But my lack of styling clearly shows, because Lia and Brenna start discussing their plan of attack.

  “We’ll shape around your face and give your hair some movement,” Lia explains.

  “She’s got great summer highlights,” Brenna adds. “But maybe add a bit of richness to her base color?”

  One hour later, my hair is wrapped in tin, and I’m stuck under a heater while two women do my nails. Brenna has been dancing around me, almost giddy.

  “Next we’re getting your brows tinted a shade darker and shaped. And then we’ll go shopping for clothes. No, lunch first. Then clothes.”

  “Don’t leave out my carrot,” I remind her.

  “Oh, the massages we save for last. We don’t want to ruin our chill.” She gives a happy sigh. “I might even throw in a facial. Yeah. That sounds heavenly.”

  It’s hard to resist her enthusiasm. In lots of ways, she’s a female version of Killian with her easy charm and bull-in-a-china-shop method of taking over. In some ways, that helps. It isn’t in my nature to make easy friends or do small talk. With Brenna, I simply sit back and let her roll.

  “Oh,” she exclaims, “I forgot about the shoes! And—you think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

  Caught giving her a bemused smile, I can only shrug. “I kind of envy the way you enjoy your excitement. I’m more contained, and sometimes I’d rather not be.”

  The manicurists leave, setting my hands under mini dryers. My nails are now a dusky, pale blue. After my hair is done, Brenna and I will get pedis to match. I’ve never had one, and suddenly I find that sad. Living under a rock was a waste of life.

  Brenna toys with a hair clip. “I’m not always like this.” She leans in, her eyes wide behind her retro glasses. “Most people think I’m a bitch.”

  “I get that from people too.” Mainly because I have no idea how to talk to others without wanting to swallow my tongue.

  Brenna’s nose wrinkles. “Damned if you’re too quiet, and damned if you’re too confident.”

  “Sounds about right.”

  “My friends are all guys.”

  “I don’t have any friends,” I counter.

  We both laugh, each of us almost shy.

  “Killian is not only my cousin,” Brenna tells me, her expression wide open. “He’s one of my closest friends. He’s clearly nuts about you. Honestly, I’ve never seen him write a girl notes before. The fact that he cajoled Scottie into delivering them is nothing short of miraculous. I swear, Kills must have some major dirt on him.”

  She’s rambling, which is kind of sweet. But I won’t say that; I’m pretty sure she’d be mortified.

  At any rate, she keeps talking. “What I’m trying to say, rather badly, is that I hope we can be friends too.”

  Either it’s a sign of how lonely I’ve been or I’m hormonal, because I damn near get weepy and have to blink a few times before answering. “I could use a good friend.”

  Killian

  Truth? I don’t have to be playing for an audience to get a hard-on over music. It just has to click, and I’m lit up.

  That said, Scottie set up a gig at the Bowery Ballroom. It was our first time out in over a year. We’d grown used to stadiums, fifty-thousand fans at least. Singing for five hundred?

  It’s golden. My body throbs with the sound, sweat coating my skin. Lights burn my eyes, turning the crowd into a moving haze, limed in brilliant reds and blues.

  I’m full-on pumped when we start playing “Apathy”.

  It isn’t planned. I’m not even sure who decided to do it. One second we’re playing random notes, the next we’re a cohesive unit, hammering out the song that made us stars.

  I lean into the mic, singing the lyrics, my guitar pick flying over the strings. In that place, there is no thought, no fear, nothing but rhythm and flow. Nothing but life.

  I hit the high note in the song. Sound vibrates in my chest, throat. My guys are around me, supporting the song, elevating it to a new level. The Animal roars, cheering, a mass of bodies pulsing up and down. They’re in it with us, feeding us love and energy.

  And I’m home, back in that place where everything makes sense.

  Until I look up, and I see her in the wings. Liberty. Watching me in my element. It’s like I’m hit with an electric current. I sing for her, play for her.

  Libby’s eyes hold mine, a smile lingers on her lips. I can’t help grinning back. Fucking hell, she’s beautiful. I’m so happy to see her, it’s all I can do not to walk off the stage and grab her.

  We finish the song, and the Animal howls.

  It wants more. Always more.

  But we’re done for now. Bowing, I toss my mic to a stage hand and jog off.

  Whip gives a shout, twirling his sticks on his fingers. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

  The guys laugh and talk as they move on to the dressing room. Press waits, along with record execs and fan club members who won the meet-and-greet lottery. Someone hands me a bottle of water and a towel. I’m operating on auto, my body humming so hard my fingers shake.

  Cold water goes down my burning throat. But I’m looking at Libby.

  She hangs back with Brenna, about twenty feet from me, just inside the edge of the stage. The same push-pull I’m feeling is reflected in her eyes. The need for contact, the awareness that we can’t do anything about it here because she won’t let my guys know about us.

  I resent the hell out of that. But she’s here, and that overrides everything else.

  And no one has noticed her. The only people left around us are the stage c
rew. Brenna gives me a wink and follows the guys backstage.

  My entire body throbs, amped up and jittery. Holy hell, she’s beautiful. Did I ever think of my Elly May as plain? Her skin is golden from endless summer days on the beach. Her hair, in shades of honey brown and pale blond, flows around her face like shining ribbons.

  Then I notice her dress. And my brain skids to a halt. Fuck me sideways. My dick, who’s already rising to his happy stance, jerks against my jeans.

  The pale gray dress isn’t short; it comes to her knees. It doesn’t show cleavage, because it’s one of those halter tops that exposes her arms but fastens around her neck. And yet it’s fucking indecent. Because it’s thin silk and shows the shape of her, clinging with loving care to the points of her perky tits. Everyone that looks at her knows exactly what she has to offer.

  Mine. All mine.

  I can’t wait any longer. I stride toward her, loving the way she stands straighter, her pink lips parting, her eyes wide. I’m close enough to smell her scent, something warm and floral from her day at the spa. I lean down and give her a quick, impersonal kiss on the cheek, when I really want to claim her mouth.

  “Killian.” Her voice is breathless, happy. Eyes the color of blue-green frost shine up at me.

  Emotion swamps me. It’s like nothing I’ve felt before, both leaching me of strength and giving me a rush of pure lust.

  My fingers tighten at my side. I want to touch her smooth skin, slide my hand underneath the edge of her top. “Come with me.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Libby

  I don’t know exactly what I expected when we finally came face to face. I’d purposely let myself get carried away by Brenna’s exuberance when she dragged me all over the city so I wouldn’t think of Killian. I lost track of the boutiques we visited, trying on endless outfits and buying so many things that I ended up closing my eyes as Killian’s coveted black credit card swiped through machine after machine.

  Now, my body is relaxed, my hair styled and highlighted, my brows plucked and shaped. I feel pampered and beautiful. And horny. Horribly, achingly horny.

  Seeing Killian perform, his lean, muscular body glistening with sweat, his hands working his guitar with confidence, got to me. His voice, his energy, all that passion had me in utter thrall. I wasn’t the only one. Everyone was under his spell, adoring him, wanting him.

  And he is here with me, his eyes hot, his touch light on the small of my back as he guides me down a dark hall.

  He pauses to grab a gray hoodie lying on a pair of old speakers and slips it on, covering his bare chest. I doubt the sweatshirt is his, as the word “Staff” is in bright yellow across the back of it. His brows waggle. “My master disguise.”

  Putting the hood over his head, he taps away at his phone before tucking it back in his pocket. Another glance my way, and he softly grins. “God, I missed you. I should have asked you to meet me at my place because it is fucking hard not touching you right now.”

  “Why didn’t you?” My high-heel sandals clack on the concrete floors. I’m not used to wearing heels, but this dress doesn’t work with anything else. Stupid dress. It’s thin silk, and I’m braless. Every move I make sends the fabric dancing over my freshly rubbed and moisturized skin—agony because I can’t help but think of Killian’s hands, mouth, lips. I want them running over me instead.

  At my side, he gives my shoulder a gentle nudge with his elbow. “Because I’m an arrogant bastard, and I wanted you to see me.”

  Those luscious eyelashes bat innocently, and his smile is cheeky.

  “You were so pretty,” I tell him truthfully but with a teasing tone.

  He blushes. “Baby doll, you’re tempting me to stop.”

  “No,” I say, with exaggerated breathiness. “Don’t stop, Killian. Don’t stop.”

  I bite back a squeal as he suddenly spins, hooking me around the waist with his arm and tugging me behind a stack of crates. Our laughter mingles as he kisses me, quick, hot, playful, taking little nips of my lips. “Brat.” His eyes are alight with happiness.

  I steal my own kiss before pulling back. “Take me home, lawn bum.”

  Holding my hand in his, he jogs with me down the hall and into a back alley. A limo waits there.

  “Michael.” Killian tips his chin to the big, beefy man standing by the car. “You met Liberty today.”

  “I had the pleasure,” Michael says, opening the back door for us. “Ms. Bell.”

  Michael had played the part of both chauffeur and bodyguard for Brenna and me today. We hadn’t talked much. Brenna assured me that was the norm, and shared her suspicions that Michael was actually a cyborg. Having read more than my fair share of sci-fi romance, I’d found myself wanting to agree.

  Inside, the limo is cool and quiet, the windows darkly tinted to keep prying eyes out. A bucket is filled with ice-cold waters, and the privacy screen is up. I don’t get to see much more, because the moment the door closes on us, Killian’s hands cup my cheeks and his mouth is on mine. It’s sweet relief.

  I drink him in, kissing him back with a fervor that surprises me. I love his taste. I love the plush but firm feel of his lips. He breathes, and I take his air into me. Because I need that. I need to know he’s alive and warm and right here. My lids prickle, the burn of tears threatening. I don’t even know why.

  “God,” he groans, sucking on my bottom lip. “I needed to do that. You don’t know how much I needed it.”

  “I’m pretty sure I do.”

  Somehow I’ve ended up sprawled across the seat with Killian half on top of me. He smells of clean sweat, his firm body damp and hot against mine. And when he moves, his hoodie clings to my arm. He glances down at himself and grimaces. “I should have showered.”

  “Babe, you are hot as fuck this way.”

  In the act of taking off the hoodies, he pauses. A shocked laugh bursts out of him. “‘Babe?’”

  “Yeah.” I catch the cute little lobe of his ear and suckle it. “You’re a total babe so…”

  “I’ve never been anyone’s babe. Kind of love being yours.” Killian tosses the hoodie out of the way and kisses his way down my neck, pausing every now and then to touch each spot as if he needs to reassure himself that I’m really here. His warm breath gusts over my skin as he sighs into the hollow of my throat. “You smell edible.”

  “Pretty sure it’s from being rubbed all over with oils.”

  I feel him smile against my neck. “You’re giving me ideas, baby doll.” A big warm hand runs up my calf and slides under my dress. “So soft. You have fun today, Libs?”

  That hand moves higher, finding my butt like it’s on a mission. I wiggle a little when he gives me a possessive squeeze. “Are you wearing a thong?” He goes to peek, lifting my skirt, but I swat his hand back down.

  “Today was awesome. Thank you.” Leaning back a little, I meet his heated gaze. “You haven’t said anything about my makeover. Do you like it?”

  Killian slowly blinks as if coming out of a daze. “You’re beautiful. But you always are. I’d say something better, but…hell…I just see you.”

  Warmth floods my chest. “That’s more than enough.”

  He hums a little, his gaze sliding over my face and wandering down. “Now, this dress…” The calloused tips of his fingers ease under the silky top and gently stroke my nipple. I catch my breath, molten heat pouring over me. “This dress,” he murmurs, “is another story.”

  Back and forth he goes, caressing my breast, giving it a light squeeze, fondling my now-stiff nipple with a lazy sort of slowness. I can only bite my lip, close my eyes, and arch my back, trying to follow his touch, beg for more.

  His other hand moves from under my skirt to reach around to the snap of my collar. One flick and the whisper soft silk slithers to my lap, leaving me exposed. My breasts tremble as the car bounces over a rut. My nipples stand stiff and swollen, waiting for him to give them attention.

  Every inch of me tenses with a delicious tightness. No
one can see through the glass. But the idea that someone might heightens my lust.

  “Fuck, I’ve missed this sight,” he rasps just before leaning down to suck a nipple into his mouth.

  So good, the way he tugs at it—not too hard, but greedy, like he loves to torture me. I groan, my hands coming up to capture the back of his head and hold him.

  “Damn it,” he says, his lips teasing the aching tip. “Our first time is not going to be in the back of a limo.”

  I struggle to catch a breath. “Then why did you take my top down?”

  “Couldn’t resist. Needed to see the girls again.” He kisses one nipple then the other, greeting them. “Ladies.”

  Between my legs, I’m swollen and tender. I shift my thighs and press into the hard lump of his cock where it’s nudging me. “Tell me you have condoms.”

  The tip of his tongue runs down the small curve of my breast. “Are you kidding me? I’ve been walking around all day with a stack in my back pocket.”

  “Take one out and get in me.” I wrap my legs around him and give him a glare. “Now.”

  “Ah, baby doll, I love how much you want it.” He gives me a swift, deep kiss. “But I’m not caving. I’m gonna do you right. Naked and in my bed.”

  The evil tease. Thinking he’s cute with that shit-eating grin, and looking so gorgeous I could cry. With a loud sigh, I lift one arm over my head, which brings my breasts up higher. His gaze follows the movement and grows slumberous.

  “You asked if I was wearing a thong,” I say, slowly parting my thighs. The action grabs his attention enough that he moves back to kneel on the limo floor before me. My skirt rides up. I reach down and ease it farther. Cool air kisses my skin. “I’m not.”

  An audible swallow, and then Killian’s body does a full shudder as he grips the edges of the seat. “Fuck. Me.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to do,” I tell him as he stares like a man starved at my exposed sex.