The Chase (9 page)

N
o matter how much I want him, no matter what he sees in me that he needs... I can’t do this, not if it means losing my own heart.

The door to the suite closes behind me, leaving me in deafening silence. The plush carpeting muffles my footsteps as I walk unsteadily back to the suite I’d spent the day in. It occurs to me that I could leave, right now.

But where would I go? I don’t have a purse, don’t have any cards. Wouldn’t have any money on those cards even if they were accessible.

And a look down the
empty hall—they must have booked the whole thing to keep it private—shows me Sax and another of the giants, stationed in front of the elevator. No doubt the rest of the herd of ‘roided up dinos are nearby.

I don’t know if Adam gave them orders to keep me here, but I wouldn’t put it past him. I know he’ll think that it’s because he’s concerned for my safety... but ultimately, that concern comes from his interest in the one woman who didn’t drop to his feet.

Down the hall, a door opens with such force that it slams into the wall. I freeze, my hand on the door to our room—I don’t have to turn around; I know it’s him.

I can feel my pulse begin to pound a
staccato beat against my ribcage, louder than the bass line at any rock concert. And no matter the lectures I’ve given myself since leaving this room an hour ago, when Adam grabs my arm, pulls me back against his unyielding body, I feel my resolve evaporate in an instant in the face of this thing that sizzles between us.

We stand like that for a moment, his front pressed to my back.
His arm is wrapped tightly around my waist, holding me in place, and when I push back against him, my eyes fly wide open as I become intimately acquainted with evidence that this man is absolutely, positively into women.

Or at least, this woman.

“Adam. What am I doing here?” Not thinking, I nestle the curves of my ass against his erection, and am rewarded with a wicked curse.

The arm around my waist urges me to turn, and I am gently but insistently pressed back against the solid surface of the door.
He traces a finger along the edge of my jaw, eyes blazing.

“I don’t entirely know.” His eyes search my face. “But I want to find out. Tell me this is okay.”

He holds perfectly still, even when I wiggle against him.

Don’t worry—I won’t touch you.

Damn it all, he’s going to make me say it before he’ll do it.

“Adam, please.” As I look into his eyes I forget
the photo shoot, forget that we’re in a hallway, that Amy or one of the giants could come by at any moment, could find us here, like this.

It doesn’t matter. A
ll that matters is here and now.

“I want this.” I swallow thickly, find my fingers are trembling as I reach out to place a hand on that glorious chest. “I want you.”

I hear him inhale as I say the words. The fingers of one of his hands wrap around my wrist, holding it still; with his free hand he pulls the loose necktie from around his neck.

“What—” My question is cut off when he loosens the tie and wraps it around one of my wrists. The fabric is smooth and cool, and nerves spark in the skin beneath it.

Still silent, Adam claims my other wrist as well. Looping the necktie in a figure eight around both wrists, he ties them in a knot.

“Now I want you to stop thinking about whether this is wrong or right, just for a minute.” Hands on the satin that binds my wrists, he lifts up, over, until my arms are wrapped around him and I can’t let go. “Just feel.”

And then I can’t breathe, because he’s lowering his head slowly, so slowly, giving me ample time to turn away...

And then he’s kissing me.
Holy shit, Adam Kincaid is kissing me... but to me he’s just Adam, the man who makes me see that I’m worth so much more than where I came from.

The only sound in that great long hallway is the soft
slide of the satin tie over the solid muscles of Adam’s bare shoulders. And I’m so glad that that tie is there, to keep me from losing my balance.

In that moment, when his lips first claim mine, I don’t give a shit who he is, or how much money he makes, or even that he kidnapped me. All I care about is him... and me... and the electricity arcing between us, threatening to consume us both.

After that first sultry brush of the lips Adam pulls back, and our noses brush. His expression is lustful, almost languid, but those eyes that I love so much are anything but—no, those eyes are bright, and wide open, drinking in every nuance of my expression in a way that says he’s thirsty for more.

Then his lips press to mine again, and the spine-tingling wonder that washes over me makes me feel like I’ve never been kissed before. He hasn’t even opened his mouth yet, hasn’t slid his tongue between my lips to war with my own, and yet this kiss is hotter, has me more wound up, than any of the actual sex that I’ve ever had.
Hotter even than feeling his fingers exploring my thigh while the lights of the camera flashed.

He palms my hip lightly, in the space where the skimpy shirt that Amy chose for me has ridden up. The
sensation of his palm on my bare skin nearly sends me through the roof, even though the touch itself is fairly chaste.

None of this is at all what I expected from a rock god.

But it’s exactly what I want from Adam.

I rock my hips forward, pressing the soft flesh of my belly against his erection
. And wow... like I’ve said, I’m not super experienced, but... there seems to be an awful lot of it.

He mutters a curse
as I press against him, slides the hand on my hips up my ribcage and over the side of my breast to fist in my hair.

And then Adam freaking
Kincaid takes control of the kiss in the way I’ve dreamt of with every lover I’ve ever had, and while there haven’t been that many, it hasn’t lessened the need. The kiss turns from sweetly full of need to something raw, dirty and dark.

My nerves gather in the pit of my belly, then explode in a fir
eworks display of bright stars behind my closed eyelids.

His tongue teases over the seam of my lips, not coaxing
but demanding that I open for him. The second I do, he sweeps inside, exploring what is his. It’s as filthy as fucking, with nothing more than the press of lips and tangle of tongues and light scrape of teeth. As he conquers my mouth he slides his hands back down my body, exploring and measuring my curves.

“So fucking soft.” He mutters this against my neck as
he traces the swells of my outer breasts, over and over again. For a man who supposedly has never done this before, the pressure is just right, not light enough to tickle, but not firm enough to do more than tease.

“More.” I arch my back, trying to show him what I want. He hesitates, looking deep into my eyes before slowly, so very slowly, sliding his hand over to cup my breast.

Amy didn’t bother to provide me with a bra, and the thin cotton doesn’t offer much in the way of barrier between his hand and the soft flesh of my breast. His touch is a dichotomy, a man confident in his sexuality yet not exactly sure how to touch me.

The firm way his palm cups me combined with the hesitant brush of his thumb over my nipple is almost enough to make me scream.

“You liked that.” It’s not a question, those words in that cocky voice. He may not be overly familiar with the terrain of a woman’s body, but he’s not about to let me forget who’s in charge here. “What about this?”

Those teasing fingers pinch the peak of my breast, just hard enough to send a surge of liquid heat through my core.

I stifle a cry against the hot satin of his chest, and my hips buck wildly. Writhing against him, my mouth seeks his again, desperate to get lost in the warm, wet heat of his kiss.

This time when his tongue slips past my lips, he palms the curves of my ass and lifts, urging me to wrap my legs around his lean, sexy as sin hips. He purrs with satisfaction when my skirt rides up, bring my heat against his hardness.

He could take me like this... the flimsy crotchless panties that Amy provided me with are hardly any kind of a barrier. In fact, they leave my sensitive flesh wide open to rasp over the fabric of his trousers, and each rock of his hips makes me shudder with need.

Yes, he could drive into me right here, just like this. All he’d have to do is lower the zipper of hit pants, and we could burn together.

I’d let him. Hell, I’d lead the way.

From the look of his face, he knows it. But beneath that cocky exterior, there’s a hint of wonder, like what he’s experiencing with me is a slice of heaven that he never expected to
find. So, instead of slipping his fingers between me, sliding his cock into my waiting heat, he kisses a trail of damp caresses down my neck, over my shoulder, then back up to my lips.

The small nip on the tender flesh of my earlobe nearly does me in... and the soft, sweet kiss he plants on my mouth after absolutely does. Wide eyed, I bury my face in his neck, overcome with the emotion that drives this
thing
between us.

My body is wracked with shudders as intense as if he’d made me come, and I can’t stop the sensations from rioting through me.

“You’re tearing me to pieces.” Adam whispers in my ear, his breath ragged. I can feel his pulse thundering against my own.

“Mmm.” I have no words, murmuring into his chest instead.

“You asked me what you were doing here.” Slowly, carefully, he lowers me back to my feet. I kick aside my shoes, toes curling into the carpet instead.

“Does this answer some of it?” When he cups my chin in a gentle palm, feathers his fingers down over my throat
in an unmistakeable mark of possession, I feel so cherished I could cry. I actually have to blink hard to keep the prickle of tears at bay, I’m so overcome with emotion, with the feeling of
rightness
that I feel, here in Adam’s arms.

I don’t cry. To grow up in one piece in
Green Acres, I learned that at a very young age. And because of that beginning, I can’t just give in that last bit, can’t just take Adam by the hand and lead him into the bedroom of the suite. I need to be sure, need to know that I’m not making a mistake.

“How do I know I’m not just entertainment?” I don’t finish the sentence, but I don’t have to.

He hired me for the week. Ultimately, if he plays the Miss Black card, I’ll have to do whatever he wants. And at the end of the week he can send me home and never look back.

The way his expression changes, I instantly know that I’ve said the wrong thing. Abruptly, mechanically, he steps ba
ck, runs a hand through his hair.

His lips are set in a tense line as he unwinds my arms from around his neck, removes the necktie that binds me and stuffs it in his pocket.
Eyes fixed on mine, he removes the key card for our room, opens the door, then gestures for me to go inside.

Silently, not sure how this changed so quickly when my mouth is still swollen from his kisses, I pick up my shoes and carry them inside.

He doesn’t seem like he’s going to say anything else, so I go to stand by the wall of glass, looking out at the cotton candy hues of the sun setting over the ocean.

I don’t hear him approach, and yet I’m not startled to feel his lips move against my ear.

“You don’t know that you’re not entertainment anymore than I know I’m not just another john.” I whirl at that, ready to lash out at him for the cruel words. But the look on his face condemns me... he’s absolutely right.

“Until you fully grasp that, there’s not much more to say to one another.” He rubs his hand absently over the tattoo that I coaxed the meaning of out of him earlier, and I’m reminded of the fact that I’m not the only one with skeletons in my closet.

And then he’s gone, leaving me to battle it out with demons that he has shown me quite plainly are mine, and not his.
He
knows exactly what he wants—me.

I just have to take control of my own life with the same fervor that he has
his.

The trouble? I never have—life has always led me around by the reins, rather than vice versa.

And after all these years... I just don’t know if I can. But if I want this man who has turned my world upside down, I’d better figure it out.

And I’d better figure it out soon, because there are a million people, both men and women, who would be more than happy to take my place.

Chapter Seven

I’ve been backstage at a show once before, when I was in high school and a friend of a friend who had a garage band landed a gig at a shitty bar that a group of us snuck into. It had smelled overwhelmingly of sweat, stale beer and marijuana, was small and crowded, and my strongest memory of the night was of punching the fifty something bar owner in the nuts when he followed me into the women’s bathroom and tried to cop a feel.

Backstage at an Adam Kincaid show? It’s luxury and chaos thrown into one.

The venue is huge, an arena that’s home to a national hockey team. There are nearly a hundred people running around, all serious and intent on their jobs, which include everything from taping down cords and running sound checks to conducting safety inspections on pyrotechnics and fetching pizza and beer for one of the opening acts.

Adam and the other artist headlining the show both have their own dressing rooms, but I don’t know where. Instead
I’m sitting cross legged on a lipstick red leather couch that threatens to swallow me whole, it’s so soft. There’s a whole living room set done in that buttery soft leather set up at the side of the stage, where VIPs are allowed to relax and watch the show.

And though
I haven’t seen Adam since he issued that ultimatum, I’m apparently considered one of these very important people. And honestly, it’s a bit of a relief to have him elsewhere, focused on something else, because when he’s around I can’t think, can’t breathe... can’t focus on anything but him.

I don’t love the way we parted, though. And that’s what has made me send Amy to get me something to do with my hands.

“Do you need anything else right now?” Amy approaches the end of the coach with an expression of absolute loathing on her face. I smile sweetly back up at her.

“I think this about covers it.” Before leaving the hotel for
the concert venue—without me—Adam gave Amy instructions to make sure I got to the venue safely and that I had everything I wanted or needed. It was bitchy of me, but I’d taken great pleasure in sending her to get me jeans, a T-shirt and yarn when she was so clearly appalled to have been saddled with responsibility for me.

True, she’d gotten her revenge—the jeans she’d brought were sk
in-tight and so low cut that my oh-so-classy crotchless thong hung out the back. And the T-shirt was super low cut and had the word
Maneater
emblazoned across the breasts in cheap looking rhinestones. Still, it was way better than trying to get comfortable in a pleather miniskirt.

But in my hands is something she clearly didn’t know enough about to sabotage—
four small, double pointed knitting needles on which are balanced the beginnings of a home knit sock. I learned the craft when I was just a kid, from an elderly lady in the trailer next to ours. And it’s always been my go-to activity for calming my nerves, of which I have plenty right now.

I still can’t quite believe that Miss Black just let me run off with Adam, and I suspect I’m going to be in big trouble of some kind when I get home. And Henry Thomas is going to be deeply unhappy with me. Not to mention that I’m kinda, sorta involved with a hedonistic rock star who essentially kidnapped me.

My fingers move the needles faster, the thin wool spooling out from a bright cake of the stuff that rests in my lap.

Amy eyes my knitting, her expression a bit puzzled, before she stomps off... probably to find Adam and do whatever it is assistants to rock stars do before a massive concert. The thought that she’s going to see him while
he’s clearly avoiding me has my hands moving faster still, sliding one needle behind the other, looping the yarn around, bringing it under and off, over and over again.

At least I can control
this
.

The minutes tick by as I focus on what I’m doing, my busy hands keeping my mind blissfully blank. I’ve knitted about two inches of the first sock when t
he couch dips. Someone sits down beside me, interrupting my little oasis, and I can’t hold back my scowl as I’m jostled and a stitch slips off of my needle.

I look up
as I slide the stitch back onto the needle, catching it before it can unravel and force me to start again... and when I do, I lose all capacity for rational thought. Cobalt blue eyes with intriguing flecks of gold are looking me over with interest, peering out from beneath artfully shaggy hair. A ripped chest is on full view since this heavenly creature is shirtless, and his muscles ripple as he reaches up to toy with a ring that’s hanging from a chain around his neck.

Christ on a cracker, Trystan Scott just sat down next to me.

“Hello.” Leaning forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, he pins me with the full attention of the stare that has captivated millions. “I haven’t seen you around here before.”

His smile is pure sex, and I’d have to be dead not to feel a little thrill.

“You haven’t, no. I mean, I haven’t. Been here. Before.”
Dude.
Why am I babbling? Trystan Scott isn’t any more famous than Adam, and yet around Adam I’ve never really been affected by all that is rock star about him.

“I’m Trystan.” He smiles easily and gives me his hand, which I set down my knitting to take. It’s warm, and the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles.

“Yes. You are. I mean, I know.” Stuck, I laugh at myself. “Sorry. I’m not used to hanging out with the rich and famous.”

“We’re no different than anyone else.” He winks at me and takes a bottle of water from a man standing behind
him, a man I haven’t noticed yet... though how I missed him, I’m not sure, because his biceps are the size of my head. “Thanks, Bob.”

Bob—seriously, this giant is named
Bob
—grunts. “Stage time, kid.”

“Don’t call me that.” Trystan rolls his eyes, getting to his feet. “Sorry...
duty calls. But it was lovely to meet you...”

“Carly.” I can’t stop the grin as he theatrically pulls my hand to his mouth and places a kiss to it. Our eyes meet,
a pleasant frisson shooting through me, and a realization hits me.

He’s
flirting with me, trying to see if a spark will ignite between one reasonably attractive woman and a screaming hot rock god of approximately the same age. He’s looking to connect with someone... just like Adam. Just like me.

There’s a mild pulse of attraction between us, for sure. Something I might once have pursued. But it’s so pale with even the memory of Adam’s lips on my own.

“Carly.” My head jolts up—that’s not Trystan repeating my name. No, this voice I would know anywhere.

“Adam. I—” What I am about to say dies in my throat when
I find Adam standing in front of me, dressed in full costume, a deep scowl forming a vee between his eyebrows.

Daaaammnn.

Gone are the sexy suit pants, replaced by even sexier leather pants that are so tight I don’t know how he can possibly move. Like Trystan, Adam’s chest is completely bare, but while Trystan is long and lean, Adam shows the few years he has on the other rocker in the thickness of his absolutely lickable chest.

His eyeliner is thicker and more dramatic than usual, and accented with something dark and purple. His nails are glittery black.

And to top off the look, he’s wearing a black leather shrug that clings to his wide shoulders and comes to dramatic points on his wrists. It’s studded with metal and three feet of leather fringe dangles from each arm.

He should look absolutely ridiculous.

Instead I almost swallow my tongue. The look is a little Freddie Mercury, a little Adam Levine, and a
lot
Adam Kincaid. And I don’t know if he pulls on a different persona with his stage clothes, but the man standing here, glaring down at me impatiently, sends my hormones firing like cannonballs that blast through my veins.

You’ve got to respect a man who can pull off a spangled shrug. He looks fucking
hot
.

“I see.” I look up to find Trystan regarding Adam and I thoughtfully. I might be flattering myself, but I think he looks just the tiniest bit disappointed.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m on. See you on the other side, Carly.” Trystan grins and salutes. Within an instant he’s surrounded by dancers clad in black mesh body stockings, tendrils of stage smoke clinging to their legs. And then he’s onstage, greeted by screams so thunderous I wince at the sudden uptick in the noise level.

“What are you doing?” Adam glares after Trystan and I’m suddenly irritated, thinking he’s referring to the innocent flirtation that just passed... and if he dares push, I’ve got a choice word or twenty about him and Miss Amy.

Or him and the fact that he was at Miss Black’s in the first place, something that lodges in my gut like a shard of rock.

But then I realize
that it’s my knitting he referring to. He cocks his head to examine it where it’s sitting on my lap. Smugly pleased that I’ve puzzled him, I pick it up and show him.

“I’m knitting.” With the yarn in my hands, my fingers start to move almost of their own accord, the repetitive movement soothing the lust that
has flared to life under Adam’s watchful eyes.

Looking at me as though I’ve grown a second head, he sits next to me on the couch, his stare fixed on my hands. “I can see that. What, exactly, are you knitting?”

“A sock.” I spare him a glance, enjoying the look of puzzlement on his face. Good. Let him try to figure me out for a change.

“You know you can buy those at Walmart for two dollars, right?” Arching an eyebrow, his hand finds one of my
legs, which are crossed beneath me. He absently rubs his thumb over my inner ankle, and I melt.

“As if you buy anything at Walmart,” I shoot back, to cover how much he’s turning me on with that tiny little touch. After the way he left things earlier, I want to... well, I want to punish him a bit. The damn man has turned my life upside down in less than forty-eight hours.

Rather than pissing him off, he throws his head back and laughs. I blink at the intensity of his reaction.

“You are so fucking interesting.” Shaking his head, he leans forward and runs a finger over the violet purple yarn that Amy fetched for me.

I’m taken aback. I’ve been called a lot of things, but
interesting
isn’t usually one of them.

“
Oh, come now.” Noting my expression, Adam leans forward, teasing me with that whiskey and sex voice of his. “You’re a very expensive call girl. You knit socks. You’ve had poetry published in a small circulation magazine under a pseudonym.”

He’d been building me up with his sweet talk; his last comment makes me sputter. “How the hell did you find out about that?”

He grins, and in that moment the awkwardness between us from that afternoon is gone, and it’s just the two of us, flirting. “Richer than the little baby Jesus, remember? Money buys a lot of things.”

Yeah,
things like me.
But I don’t have to say that—it hangs between us regardless, a hurdle I don’t quite know how to clear.

But... I’m sick of sacrificing today to pave the way for tomorrow. Just once, I want to have what I want, when I want it.

If only it was that easy.

“Why did you bother looking me up?”
He’s paid for me; I’m his. He doesn’t need to go to any more trouble than that.

He shakes his head as though he can’t understand why I need to ask.

“What if you could go back to your life, the way it was before Miss Black? Would you do it?” He catches me off guard. I consider, my hands starting again to knit, but more slowly.

“
I can’t answer that.” My words are hesitant. “Things can never go back to the way they were.” And the way they were before... they weren’t all that great.

“So you’ll go back to Miss Black?” Adam doesn’t look happy.

“I don’t have a choice.” I wince as the enormity of my financial state hits me. So much has been going on that I’ve been able to push it to the back of my mind. “I need the money.”

“Why?” Leaning forward, Adam catches my hands in his. He plays with my fingers as he studies my face intently.

It’s so tempting to tell him, to share this burden that is my life with someone who cares.

But it’s so hard to believe, all the way believe, that he really does. After all, my mom was supposed to be there for me no matter what... and instead her actions led me into a job that put my life in danger.

Until you fully grasp that, there’s not much more to say to one another.

I can try... but I need him to try too.

“A question for a question.” I bargain, setting my knitting down in my lap. His lips press together at the challenge—I wonder if anyone at all said no to him before I came along. Finally, finally he nods.

“All right.” Needing something to do with my hands now that I’ve set my knitting aside, I rub my damp palms over the thighs of my too tight jeans.
Given how much he’s surely paid for me to be here, it’s only fair that I go first. Plus it means something that he’s asking me, rather than just paying someone to look it up.