Sexy Lies and Rock & Roll (6 page)

In that moment, she transformed from a woman of no consequence to me, to one who intrigued me very much. While I thought her beautiful in an understated way when I first saw her, she turned into an absolute temptress when she was riled up.

And God fuck my soul… that turned me on in a way I don’t recall ever having felt before.

I haven’t been this intrigued by a woman in a very long time. In my line of work, it’s hard to find genuine people. They all want something from you, and they tell you want you want to hear.

I don’t need “yes” people in my life. I need people to tell me the truth.

And I need people to believe in me, and there is one thing that struck me about that day… Emma Peterson believed my story and that sort of sealed her fate where I was concerned.

I bided my time for weeks, waiting to see what would happen with the investigation into Keith’s death. To say that I was beyond stressed is an understatement. While I would not have said Keith was a friend at the time of his death, because our band’s breakup had left some seriously bad feelings on both sides, I was immensely saddened he was dead, and perhaps even regretful that we parted on bad terms. I went to his funeral and kept to the back of the church so none of the former band or their family and friends would see me. I slipped out just as covertly, as I didn’t want them upset by my presence.

But I paid my respects to Keith, I grieved for him alone, and that was all I could do.

As for the investigation into his death, if the focus came back on me, I knew Midge would step in with all of her legal brawn and prowess, but I would have insisted Emma help her with the case. And Midge, that crazy aunt of mine, would have gladly agreed.

After a few weeks, an arrest was made, and I knew I’d have to figure out another way to get close to Emma so I could figure out what this unusual attraction to her was.

And it is unusual. She’s not my type normally. I like my women a little more forward, to dress a lot sexier, and to have a little more outgoing of a personality. Emma wasn’t anything like that, and still probably isn’t.

But I know she’s got it lurking deep inside, and I have to say… there’s a good bet that I’m doing this because she’s presenting a challenge to me, because let’s face it… the women in my life lately have all thrown themselves at me. There’s not much mystery there.

Finally, I hear her say on the other side of the door, “Good boy. Now stay.”

Then the snick of her door unlocking. The door swings open and I get just the barest glimpse of Emma—pressed khaki Bermuda shorts with a white button-up top—before a huge, furry black beast shoots toward me.

I also get just a glimpse of the dog—rolling eyes, lolling tongue—and I immediately realize it’s a puppy.

A motherfucking huge puppy.

I brace, inherently knowing I’m not about to be attacked, and hold my ground while the dog jumps up on me. Paws go to my shoulders and a slobbering tongue slaps at my face.

“Sirius!” Emma exclaims, her hands going to his collar to pull him off me. I help by giving him a gentle shove, and she manages to drag him backward a few feet. I use that opportunity to wipe my face on my sleeve, invite myself in, and shut her front door behind me.

I watch in amusement as Emma wrestles with the dog as it tries to lunge back at me in all its puppy glory, and with a few grunts and deep sighs, she manages to pull him further into her living room where she has a large, wired kennel for him.

With a massive amount of struggle, she pushes him into the kennel, latches it behind him, and turns to face me with a flushed face and her hair in a mess all around her face.

Reminds me of how she looked when she was directing her fury at me in the police station, and fuck… why do I like that shit so much?

“What are you doing here?” she asks breathlessly as she tries to smooth her hair down. I want to tell her to leave it rumpled as it’s far sexier, but I withstand the impulse.

“Told you we’d get together soon to go over things,” I tell her nonchalantly as I walk into her living room and carefully study some photos she has sitting on a table.

“Well, I assumed you meant you’d make an appointment at the office to see me perhaps next week,” she says in exasperation.

“Don’t have time for that,” I say as I pick up one of the framed photos. I hold it out to her and ask, “Your mom?”

Her eyes flick to the photo and the annoyance melts, which is quickly replaced by a mixture of fondness and pain. “Yes. She died a little over a year ago.”

I actually knew this, as Midge had filled me in on a little bit about Emma’s background to appease my curiosity. Of course, Midge thought my interest in her adorable, and I, of course, think it’s adorable that Midge finds it adorable, because I know damn well she sent Emma Peterson over to that jailhouse because she figured I’d be interested in her. Not many would know Midge is an old romantic at heart, but I know her better than most.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her softly.

She nods with a slight smile of thanks, but then her eyes turn business-hard again. “What do you mean we don’t have time to meet next week?”

I turn to face her fully and jam my hands down into the pockets of my jeans. I give her my most charming smile, which I’ve been told has the power to incinerate panties, and tell her, “We leave tomorrow evening for my tour. Thought I’d give you some basic background today, especially since your publicist duties will start the minute you step foot on that bus with me.”

Emma’s face actually blanches. She sucks in a rasping breath through parted lips before practically choking out in a near-hysterical voice, “Tomorrow? You want me to leave with you on tour tomorrow?”

“Yup,” I say simply. “So you might want to get your laundry done.”

“I can’t just go with you on tour tomorrow,” she hisses at me. “I have a job you know.”

“Your job is to work for me full time on my issues,” I tell her. “Surely Midge made that clear.”

“Yes,” she says in confusion. “But I just assumed she meant from the comfort of my desk.”

“No can do, pretty lady,” I say with a grin, and then I take a seat on her couch, laying an arm over the back. “I need you with me to field reporters, and we also need to get cracking on those legal issues. Responses are due soon, so I’m going to need you with me so we can get this knocked out as efficiently as possible.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she stammers, and her voice starts to rise again. “I have bills to pay. I have freaking animals to take care of. You cannot expect me to just leave this all behind without any notice or planning.”

“I’m giving you notice now,” I tell her with a shrug. “I’ll have your bills covered, and you can board your animals or something, and speaking of which… what else do you have besides that hell beast in the cage there?”

I glance over at the puppy, which has long, shaggy hair with the cutest poof on top that looks slightly like Tina Turner’s hair.

“I have a cat too,” she mutters, and then starts to nibble on a fingernail. I can practically see the gears in her brain whirring.

“So find a kennel to take them, get your laundry done—although I’ll be the first to tell you that those prim little business suits are not allowed on a rocker’s bus—and you’ll be all set.”

“You are a certifiable nut job,” she grits out at me. “And I am not boarding my animals, nor am I leaving them for God knows how long.”

“The tour is three months,” I provide helpfully.

Emma growls at me under her breath, then squares her shoulders. Her eyes are blazing with anger and resolve. “I am not going on tour with you. I have a life and that wasn’t part of the deal.”

“Your life isn’t going to fall apart if you leave for a bit,” I chastise her. “This is the twenty-first century. The world is flat. We’re a mobile generation. You can run your household from your smartphone, Emma.”

She knows this is true, so she changes tactics. “I’m not leaving my animals in a strange kennel for months. It’s cruel.”

“I have to say,” I begin with thoughtful contemplation, kicking my legs up onto her couch although I politely let my Chucks dangle over the edge, “I didn’t take you as an animal person.”

She blinks at me. “Why not?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Just a feeling.”

Which isn’t true. What I’d like to tell her is that she seems like the type of woman who’s happiest with her face pressed close to a book, where she can play with words and written nuances, and not have to deal with people. That sort of applies to animals, I guess.

“Well, I am an animal person. I love mine, and Sirius is just a puppy and we’re bonding so I’m not leaving him,” she says adamantly.

My gaze cuts over to Sirius. He takes up most of the big kennel, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth as if he’s grinning at me. “What kind of dog is that?”

“A Newfoundland,” she replies, her voice still filled with annoyance.

“He’s awful big,” I note.

“He’ll get bigger,” she says. “Probably a hundred and fifty pounds or so.”

I give a whistle through my teeth as I look back to her. “That’s a lot of dog.”

“That I refuse to leave,” she enunciates very clearly to make her point with arms crossed over her chest.

I glance back to Sirius, then back to Emma, and make a command decision. “He can come with us.”

Emma’s eyes round in surprise and her head sort of hangs forward as her jaw drops. “Bring him on tour with you?”

“Well, with you,” I clarify. “He’s your dog and you have to take care of him.”

I can see those gears starting to whirl in her head again as she tries to figure out another excuse to lob my way, so I cut her off before she can think of something, “Come on, Emma. Remember your dream job awaits you at the end of this little odyssey you’re getting ready to take. How about be adventurous for once, get this job over for me, and then you can come back and play around with contracts and other boring shit for the rest of your life?”

“It’s not boring,” she snaps at me. “It takes a keen intelligence and ability to interpret—”

“Fine, it’s not boring,” I rush to reassure her. “And it can all be waiting for you once you fulfill this tiny little obligation to me.”

“I want a time limit and I want it in writing,” she says sternly. “I’ll agree to one month only with you on the tour. That should be plenty of time to field the initial media interest in the lawsuit and plenty of time for me to review those label contracts and give you advice. Then I want to come back home and I can do any remaining work from Raleigh.”

“Fine,” I say quickly, because the time doesn’t matter. I’ll either have her figured out and my attraction to her well fulfilled by then—because fuck if I’m going to wait thirty days to get in her pants—or I’ll be gladly sending her back to Raleigh because the attraction I was imagining was really nothing to begin with.

“I can’t believe I’m even entertaining this notion, but what about my cat?” she adds on. “I’m not leaving her either.”

I haven’t seen this cat yet, and frankly, I don’t want to. “No can do on that. I’m allergic to cats.”

“It’s what they make Zyrtec for,” she throws at me stubbornly.

“Seriously, Emma,” I tell her truthfully. “I can’t be around cats. They get within five feet of me, and my eyes swell shut and my throat closes off. Do you want me to die on that tour bus?”

I’m disappointed to see a bit of light shine in her eyes at the prospect, but she finally says, “Fine. I’m sure my dad will watch her.”

“Perfect,” I say enthusiastically as I swing my legs off the couch and plant my feet on the floor. “We’ll be by to pick you up tomorrow around six PM.”

Emma’s face pinches with stress over the prospect. “You mean… you’re just going to pull a big bus up to my house to get me?”

I chuckle, pleased she’s a little off balance right now because she needs a little disruption in her orderly little life.

“It’s a bit more than just a bus,” I tell her vaguely. “Just be ready to go by then.”

She nods but doesn’t say anything, turning away from me to stare at her dog’s kennel in contemplation. I’ve already been dismissed from her mind, and she’s trying to figure out how to deal with everything she needs to handle before tomorrow afternoon.

I head toward her front door, intent on letting myself out. But when I pull it open, I look back at Emma, still staring at her dog.

“Oh, and Emma?” I say, and she startles, turning to look at me with wide eyes. “You might want to bring ear plugs. Lots of stuff goes on while we’re traveling on the bus that you might not want to hear.”

“Like what?” she asks with naivety, her brow furrowing with worry.

“You’ll figure it out,” I say slyly, and then I step out of her house, shutting the door behind me.

I think Miss Emma Peterson’s ordered little world is going to be shaken up soon, and I can’t wait to see how she handles it.

Emma

T
here’s a freaking
huge bus parked in front of my house. Massive and colored metallic brown with sweeps of light bronze and gold on the diagonal with the name “Evan Scott” written in graffiti-style letters, and under it in small letters “The Come Again Tour”.

Pulling my blinds open just a bit more, I angle my head to the left to see better, and I can’t contain the gasp that comes out when I see the rest of the spectacle lining the street.

“What?” my dad asks from behind.

“No words,” I whisper, shaking my head. “There are just no words.”

My dad gives a chuckle and comes to stand beside me. Instead of surreptitiously peeking out the blinds like me, he grabs the cord on the right and pulls on it, causing the blinds to shoot upward and exposing us standing there.

With a shriek, I jump back from the window and then take several more steps backward. My dad just stuffs his hands in his jeans pockets and takes it all in.

Not only is there the massive “Evan Scott” bus, but there’s a matching bus just behind it. Same colors, same announcement on the side, so there’s no doubt as to the fame of the person inside.

And behind the two buses… two tractor-trailers. These are non-descript with full-length, white trailers behind them and I have no idea why they’re sitting there.