CHAPTER 11

 

 

London

 

 

 

My room is about halfway down the hall from Ajia’s. I’m almost there when I hear my name. Well, my apparent nickname.

“English! Wait up.”

I stop just outside my door, waiting as Knox strides up behind me. He hasn’t changed since being onstage, wearing leather pants and a vintage Nirvana T-shirt. They fit him like a bloody glove, he still has guyliner outlining his eyes, he hasn’t shaved in a couple of days, earrings glint from his left ear, and the whole package just pisses me off.

No man should look as good as Knox Gallagher does, be so goddamn entitled to the title Cocky Rock God, and fuck like he invented it.

“What is it?”

He blinks. My tone is cold, and I mean it to be.

“Let’s talk.”

“Talk.”

I stare at him. The eyeliner makes his expression more intense. His gray-green eyes flicker with…something, but I can’t tell what. Then again, I’m not trying that hard to figure it out; I’m thinking about the last time a man told me he wanted to talk. Colin said he wanted to have a word, but the result was the same. The disrespect, and the end of our relationship.

“About what?” I ask stiffly.

“Couple of things. Let’s go inside.” He nods toward my door. “I don’t want to do this in the hall.”

Do what? But I don’t ask. I unlock the door and step inside. Is he going to fire me? Tell me it was a mistake to sleep together? Or just grace me with his presence and pretend like nothing happened?

I stalk across the room to stand between the dresser and end of the bed. Like my little fortress, I guess. The image that pops into my mind should make me smile, but it doesn’t.

“What is it?” I ask again. “What do you want to talk about?”

He locks the door behind him and steps to the middle of the room. “You’re damn prickly tonight, baby. What’s wrong?”

Wrong? And why the hell is he calling me baby?

I blink and huff out a sharp breath. Mostly I’m trying to buy time, a few seconds, at least. Tonight was the first time I’d seen Wycked Obsession perform live. Watching Knox and his Les Paul left me amazed, breathless…so bloody turned on, my body wants to take control from my mind.

I shouldn’t be alone with him in my room.

“It’s late.” It’s a bullshit answer, and I know it, even if he doesn’t. “What did you want to talk about?” I ask the question again, because I can’t think of anything else to say.

“Okay…” He lets the word fade away like he’s trying to figure me out, and then finally he adds, “Let’s start with taking control of some of these rumors.”

“All right.” It takes everything I have to keep the words coolly professional. “Which ones, specifically?”

Knox narrows his gaze like he’s tightening his focus. On me? Probably. He’s into that kind of control.

“Like Ajia’s trip to Texas.” He says it deliberately. “You gonna say something?”

“I can. How do you want me to handle it?”

He keeps looking at me with those deep gray-green eyes that see too much. “Isn’t that your job? To tell us what we should say?”

I shrug, like his words don’t strike a tender part of me. They do, maybe even should, but I’m not admitting to a bloody thing.

“All right. We should release a statement that says Ajia made a brief trip to Austin for personal reasons, and that he and his family appreciate his fans respecting their privacy.”

“Why bring up his family?”

“To hint that it has nothing to do with the band. Or Bree.”

“Yeah. Okay.” He nods slowly. “Makes sense. I like it.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” I can tell Knox is smart enough to hear the sarcasm in my voice, but I don’t wait long enough for him to comment. “What else?”

“What do you mean?”

I glare at him. So he’s playing the bullshit game, too. I can read his expression well enough to know the question means nothing. He’s buying time, but why?

“What else do you want me to do?” I ask deliberately.

“Well…” He looks me up and down as though he’s measuring me. Weighing something. Sorting through the details for…what?

“Let’s talk about Bree.”

I try to treat him to the same careful observation he gave me, but I’m nowhere as good as him. “My first choice would be to arrange for an interview with her, but—” I hold up one hand when Knox opens his mouth “—she doesn’t have the experience or public persona for that. Somebody has to go on record, though, and it can’t be you. Your bloody temper will ruin it. I’m suggesting Ajia.”

“Why him?” His gaze darkens, but it makes his direct attention on me less intense.

“He’s the face of the band. The frontman. He jacked up the rumors with that stunt at the Wycked Obsession party. He can take the heat.”

Knox lifts a shoulder as he shakes his head, and so I add, “I’ll work with you all tomorrow about the message we want to get across.”

“And Bree won’t be a part of it?”

“No.” I say it flatly. “Now, what else?”

He takes a step toward me. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re all stiff.” He slants me a look. “Cold.”

I give my head a quick jerk. “Just following your lead.”

“My lead? What are you talking about?”

I shrug. “I guess maybe I don’t know the proper etiquette of being your one-night stand. You avoid me and don’t speak, so I’m trying to follow your lead.” I want it to sound pithy and emotionless, but the words come out sharp and almost bitter.

“One-night stand? Avoiding you?” He sounds as confused as he looks. “What the hell, English? I’m not avoiding you.”

“You’ve hardly said a word to me in two days.”

“Well…fuck me. I’ve been busy.” He flings one hand aside. “You know, my sister telling my mom that her scumbag husband’s been hitting on her, and Mom filing for divorce. The lead singer of my band going AWOL. My baby sister being crucified on the internet. Finding out we’ve got an unscheduled video shoot coming up. Shit like that—or am I not supposed to have feelings about anything except when my dick gets hard?”

I stare at him. I probably shouldn’t—it isn’t exactly safe for me—but I can’t help it. He has a point, and I need to be sure I understand it correctly. Everything has been in an uproar since he hired me. Actually, it’s one of the reasons he hired me when he did.

So…is that it? He was just…busy?

“Uh…you’re sure? You haven’t been—”

“I don’t lie.” His voice sounds as cold as mine was earlier, and his gaze is frosty. “Never needed to.”

“Uhm…okay. I…uh, I’m sorry?”

The words sound more tentative than I want, but Knox has me completely off-center here. I believe him. I really can see the truth in his expression, and everything I know about him, from my internet searches to the few days I’ve known him, tells me he’s sincere. He doesn’t lie. He is, in fact, brutally honest at times.

But that’s not the worst of it. I’m a hypocrite, and a selfish one at that. I told myself I was going for sex with no emotional ties or obligations. Colin’s asshole stunt gave me the chance to make a choice, and I took it.

So what the bloody hell do I think I’m doing acting like some woman scorned?

You can’t have it both ways, luv. You’re either going for sex and a good time or you’re looking for a relationship. Which is it?

A relationship with Knox Gallagher. Yeah—right. I could almost laugh. Not gonna happen in this lifetime.

“I…uh…” I shake my head and force myself to look at him. He looks pissed, and he deserves to be mad. “Bollocks! This is awkward! I am so not used to this.”

“Not used to what?” His voice is sharp, and he takes a step toward me.

“You.” I lift my shoulder. “I mean, I get it. You fuck women and move on. You don’t have to see them again. But…here I am. I should have thought about that before I gave it up.”

“Didn’t give you much choice, English.” His bearing changes, eases, and he gives me a half-smile as he moves closer.

My smile isn’t as confident as I’d like, but I make do. I owe him. My earlier apology sucked. “Maybe not,” I agree. “You were…irresistible.”

He grins then, surprising after the last couple of days and our salty exchange. “It’s a curse.”

I blink. “You are also incorrigible.”

He takes another step, and then he’s right next to me. Close enough that the scent of spicy chocolate and Knox himself hits me like a ton of bricks. Close enough that he can reach out and trace the backs of his fingers down my cheek. It’s a surprisingly tender gesture, and I’m not quite sure what to make of it.

“Who said I wanted to move on?”

I wet my lips and swallow. “Don’t you always? Fuck a girl and then on to the next one. The gossip sites say so. Like you did tonight.” I don’t have to close my eyes to see the groupies crowded around him, grabbing him like they own him.

He frowns. “I didn’t fuck anybody tonight. I—” he shakes his head “—haven’t fucked anybody since you.”

“Wow!” I widen my eyes and try to smile, but it feels fake. It is fake. “Two days and a night. You sure you can go that long?”

His frown gets fierce again. “So we’re back to that? Manwhore with no self-control.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You’re thinking it.”

Am I? I think about it. Is my attitude about me and my insecurities, or my disapproval of Knox’s lifestyle?

A lifestyle you said you wanted for yourself, a voice of honesty snaps. You said no more boyfriends. Sex for the sake of the physical release. The big O, remember?

So why am I being so bitchy about this? He didn’t do anything wrong.

And neither did I.

“Sorry.” I let out a low breath. “You didn’t do anything, Knox. It’s me. I told you—” I try to smile, but it’s a complete failure “—I’m out of my comfort zone here. It’s my problem, my mess. I’m making things harder than they have to be.”

“Well, hell, baby. If you need it hard—” he grabs his crotch through his leather pants “—I can make that happen.”

I don’t mean to laugh. I don’t want to laugh. But I do.

How the bloody hell does he do it? Pissed off, arrogant control freak one minute, and then flirty rock god the next?

He steps close, pins my hips against the dresser and completely fills my little pseudo-fortress. The strength of his abs, his pelvis, his thighs hold me in place while he leans close enough that I can feel a soft puff of breath over my skin. “Does that mean you forgive me for what I didn’t do wrong?”

I open my mouth to answer, but it’s too late. His lips are on mine, his tongue slips inside, and I have zero willpower to do anything but kiss him back. I bite his bottom lip when he acts like he’s going to pull away and then suck his tongue deep in my mouth.

Who the hell taught him how to kiss? Are cocky rock gods born knowing this shit?

He shifts against me, and the hard ridge of his cock presses against my stomach. I want to reach for him—it—but he has my arms pinned to my sides, and then somehow I can’t think straight anymore because my tongue is in his mouth. He circles it with his, bites down lightly, and then strokes it again and again.

“Jesus, Knox.” I pant more than speak. “What is it about you? You’re like a freaking drug in my system.”

He drops his forehead against mine, his breathing as heavy as mine, and we stand there panting. He drops a quick, light kiss on my lips and then steps back. He grabs the back of his neck and drops down onto the end of the bed behind him. “Fuck.”

“What?” I swallow, try to regroup. “What’s wrong? Did I do something?”

He shakes his head, then shoves his hands in his hair to push it back, away from his face. “Much as that was damn fine…there’s something else.”

“What?”

I circle around the bed and sit a little farther toward the head. I’m at a disadvantage around Knox, and if I don’t want to immediately jump his bones, I need a little space. Clearly, he has something to say.

“Zayne.”

“Zayne?” I repeat. Why the hell are we talking about him now? Mid-kiss?

“I think he’s using again.”

“Drugs.” It makes sense then. Awful and clear. Zayne’s odd behavior; other, less prominent rumors; and why Knox stopped kissing me.

You’re like a freaking drug in my system, I told him.

“Tell me about it,” I say softly as I try to resettle myself. I want to reach for him, encourage him, but I don’t. I’m afraid the next thing I know, I’ll find my hand on his cock, and I can’t do that to him. He needs—we need—to have this conversation.

It’s important to Knox, to the band.

“We did shit on the first tour.” He slants a knowing gaze in my direction. “Lots of it. Sex, drugs, rock’n’roll, you know?”

I nod.

“We got back to Austin pretty fucked up. Straightened ourselves out, but once we were clean, Ajia took the drug use pretty hard. He’s got a friend fucked up on prescription pain killers. It led to other shit, and the guy’s a mess. Ajia made us promise to give up that shit. Alcohol, a little pot, nothing stronger.”

“And Zayne didn’t keep his promise.”

“Thought he did. Now I’m not so sure. Definitely not since the tour. We’ve been there. We know what it looks like.”

I don’t have to guess; I know he’s right. I haven’t had all that much to do with drugs personally; I don’t have that many friends, people who would introduce me to it, and it wasn’t something I sought out on my own. But I’m no dummy, and in the short time I’ve known him, I recognize Zayne’s impairment for what it is.

“What are you going to do?”

“No choice. Confront him.”

“Can I help?”

He shakes his head, but says, “Yeah. Keep it out of the gossip sites.”

I nod. “Consider it done.”

And I will. After everything else, the last thing Wycked Obsession needs is rumors of drug use.

Knox turns on the bed, surprising me when he tugs me close and gives me an oddly serious look. “I don’t talk about my shit,” he admits slowly. “I just take care of it. So why did I tell you anything? And why do I feel better now?”

“I…don’t know.” What else can I say? I don’t know. In fact, I don’t know shit right now.

“Maybe because it’s my job to help keep you guys out of trouble,” I suggest softly.

“And why do I want to kiss you so bad it fucking hurts?”

I lose my breath and can only shake my head. “Knox…”

His lips descend over mine, and he takes my mouth in a purely sexual kiss. It’s everything we have, tongues and teeth and lips, and I can’t get enough of it. I want to push myself against him, feel his hardness press back—all of it—but before I can appreciate any of it, he jerks me close. He’s all sharp angles to my soft curves, and we fit together in a way that reminds me men and women were always supposed to be so.

He sucks my tongue deep into his mouth, and my nipples go all hard and demanding. My core tightens, and my pussy wakes up with its own sudden demand. God, what this man can do with his mouth, his hands, his cock. The other night was the best sex ever, in the entire world, for anybody who ever lived. Another night in bed with Knox would make up for a lot of the frustration I felt over the last two days.

The frustration I felt over the last two days?

The words splash over me and dampen the sharp physical reactions of my body. I don’t mean to, but I find myself pulling back, struggling for a long, labored breath, searching for enough concentration to put my brain back in working order.

Bollocks!

“Knox.” I pant his name.

“What is it, baby?” He shoves a hand in my hair and tries to pull me closer.

“No. I…I’m not sure we should do this.”

He blinks. “Do what?”

“Kiss. And…stuff.”

“Stuff.” He shoots me a seductive grin. “It’s called fucking, baby, and you liked it the other night. A lot, I think. I know I did.”

I close my eyes. “Yeah. I, uh, did.” I have to look at him, see the seductive fullness of his face, and remind myself what a bloody fool I can be. “But I’m not sure I can do it again.”

Hearing those words—I’m not sure I can do it again—tells me that my subconscious has some things figured out. I couldn’t see it before, but suddenly I understand my hypocrisy all the way to my soul. It isn’t so much about the one-night stand; it’s about seeing him again so soon afterward, and knowing he has been, or is going, to other women.

No matter what I thought I wanted, it just makes me feels…used.

“I see that brain working, English.” He wraps one hand around the back of my neck and holds me in place. “Tell me.”

I swallow. “Well, it’s the…the whole one-night stand aspect of it, I suppose. It would be one thing if we went our separate ways, but I don’t think I’m cut out to fuck you randomly when I know we’re going to see each other again the next day. And it might be when you’re going off to fuck another girl.”

“Who said I want random? Or a one-night stand?”

“But…isn’t that how you usually operate. The gossip sites say—“”

“I don’t give a damn what they say. Yeah, I’ve done that. Maybe even a lot. It’s kind of the nature of the game when you’re on the road. But I’m not a one-trick pony. I’ve stuck with girls for longer.”

“How long?”

He hesitates. “I don’t know. A month or two.”

“And…” I don’t know how to ask it. It sounds so…needy. “How long do you think you can…stick with me?”

“You looking for rules, English?”

Rules? How do I answer, when I don’t know myself?

“Maybe.”

“Stand up.”

His voice is an unexpected and sharp demand. I don’t argue, confused about where the tone came from or what it means.

“Knox?”

“Stand up,” he repeats, sounding even shorter and harsher.

I do it, but only because I don’t know what else to do. That doesn’t explain why my nipples get even harder, and are my panties seriously damp?

“Take off your blouse.”

“What?”

He frowns. “Don’t make me repeat myself again, English. You won’t like the consequences.”

It hits me then, like a bolt of lightning. He’s a Dom. Or at least he likes to be dominant. Everything about him screams it, and has since I met him. How could I have missed it? And, now that I see it, how far will he take it?

I’m not normally submissive, never fantasized about being with a guy who took control that seriously, but I can’t deny that something about his tone, the demanding look on his face, sends my sex drive into high gear.

I’ve never had a man like Knox Gallagher fuck me before, and I’m not giving him up until I have to.

I peel my lacy camisole-type top over my head and toss it to the dresser. It just so happens I’m wearing my white bra and panties set with the tiny pink ribbons, and I realize suddenly that I feel sexy and desirable.

“Now the skirt.”

I don’t hesitate. I unzip the black pleated skirt and shimmy out of it, tossing it to land with my top. I’m still wearing my bra and panties, and my strappy black sandals, but I don’t take anything else off. I don’t think I’m supposed to.

“Come here.”

I step closer, enough that he grabs my arm and tugs me to stand almost between his knees. He slips two fingers between my legs, stroking over my slit through the layer of cotton.

“You’re wet, baby.”

“I…yes.” I swallow.

“But you want rules.”

Do I? I don’t know. I don’t know what the hell is going on. But maybe rules would be good.

“I…yes,” I say again and nod. “I think so.”

“Okay, English.” He strokes over me a little harder, but still on the outside of my panties. “I’ll give you some rules.”

He slips his other hand inside the cup of my bra and teases my nipple until it aches. Still, he doesn’t say anything, just keeps rubbing his fingers over me until I think I’ll scream in frustration.

“Rule number one,” he says finally, slowly. “We both get tested, just like you wanted. No fucking until that’s done.”

My mouth is dry, my breathing ragged, and so I can only nod.

“Rule number two. We go exclusive, until the end of the tour. No groupies for me, no roadies for you.”

I lose a ragged breath. “Exclusive?”

“It’s what you wanted, isn’t it? You don’t like the one-night shit?”

“Yes, but…I didn’t expect you to—agree.”

“I don’t give a shit what the gossip sites say. I don’t fuck just anything with two legs and a pussy. I don’t find women like you very often, and I want you. So I’ll make a concession.”

A concession. I’d laugh if I could, but he looks perfectly serious.

“What happens at the end of the tour?”

He shrugs and pinches my nipple. “What normally happens. We’ll still work together, but you’ll be in LA or wherever you live, and I’ll be in Austin. We’ll go back to our separate lives, and everything will be normal again.”

Normal. Do I even know what that is anymore?

“Okay,” I agree softly. What else can I say?

He nods. “Rule number three, no condoms. You’re on birth control, and when we’re sure we’re clean, no reason for it. I had you bareback the other night, baby, and I fucking liked it.”

I never knew what it meant when books described someone as looking wolfish. Now I do. “All right.”

“And rule number four.” He pauses.

“Yes?”

“The most important one of all. The others hinge on this one.”

“Yes?”

“Tomorrow.” He pulls his hands from my body, and I want to cry out at the loss of his touch. “Wear a dress. No bra, no panties, just you under that dress. You find me sometime when I’m not alone and show me just how good you are at following the rules.”