CHAPTER 5

 

 

London

 

 

 

The Wycked Obsession party is a success. At least, that’s what Baz and Marty, the record company exec responsible for the band, tell me. I can easily believe it, if the energy in the room and excited expressions of the partygoers mean anything. Even so, a new buzz is humming through the crowd around me, and I’m not quite sure what it means. I can’t pick up enough of any one conversation to understand what’s behind it.

Mentally, I cross my fingers. Please, God. I send up a little prayer. Let it be something simple like they ran out of champagne.

I pass my empty wine glass to a passing waiter and decline a refill. Some odd nervousness scrapes through me, likely due to the band suddenly hiring me and the nasty rumors we’re dealing with. More alcohol doesn’t seem like a good idea at the moment.

I shoot an anxious gaze around the room but can’t quite find anything that looks out of place. It’s all ordinary enough, until I see Knox stalking out through the doorway.

Bollocks. He has a mean step in that stride. I don’t know how I think I can tell the difference or what it means, but I’m not waiting to find out.

I rush across the room as fast as my heels will allow, whispering vague apologies as I work my way through the crowd. I catch up with him at the elevator.

“Knox? What’s wrong?”

He punches the down button a few times.

“Knox?” I repeat.

“Motherfucker,” he snaps without looking at me. “I’m going to kill that motherfucking asshole.”

“Knox!”

Grabbing his arm, I squeeze. The hard-muscled strength beneath his suitcoat surprises me a little. I mean, I knew he was built, but I never really thought about it translating to such strength. Thank God, my touch gets his attention enough that he looks at me, and I can drop my hand.

“What?”

“What happened?” God, I need to sound anything besides breathless.

He smacks the heel of his hand against the elevator control buttons and mutters under his breath. I can’t make it out, except to know it’s more cursing. “What do you think?” he finally demands, glaring at me.

“I don’t know.” I say it softly. Calmly. Anything to take the edge off his temper. “I’m sorry.”

“Ajia. Fucking. Stone.”

“Ajia?” I blink. He’s been nowhere on my radar, except as Bree’s escort tonight. “What’s he done? What happened?”

“That mother—”

The elevator dings, and he breaks off, waiting for the doors to open. I have no choice but to hop in with him. He jams a finger at the Lobby button, and eventually, finally, the doors close.

“Knox?” I say when he doesn’t speak again.

“That motherfucker is dead fucking meat.”

“You’re pissed. I get that. I just don’t know why.”

“Why?” He stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “You’re asking me why?”

I glare back at him. “Well, bloody hell, Knox, this makes no sense. You’ve got to give me more than that. Ajia was Bree’s date for tonight. He—”

“Don’t fucking say that.” His stare is lethal.

“Say what? You planned it! They were together tonight to keep—”

“Keep?” His voice is almost a roar. “Keep her? Keep her what? Safe? Motherfucker. He kept her for himself.”

God. I swallow. I wish he’d stop saying motherfucker, because it just ramps him up, and I have no clue how to deal with Knox Gallagher in a rage. All I’ve got is instinct and the very slight knowledge I have of dealing with him from the few moments since we first met.

“Something happened.” I say it as a statement.

“No fucking shit. What was your first clue?”

“Don’t be a jackass,” I snap. This man might be my boss and the hottest thing this side of the planet, but his sarcasm pisses me off, and I don’t give a damn right now.

“You’re not taking your bad mood out on me,” I add stiffly. “If you think that’s part of my job description, then you can bloody well stuff it.”

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t even look at me. He stares at the red blinking numbers until we reach the lobby and the elevator doors slide open. I expect him to stalk away to…wherever, but he surprises me when he waits after he steps out of the elevator.

A man in a non-descript suit stands a few feet away. The instant he spots Knox, he heads in our direction.

“The limo is waiting,” he says simply. “It will return for the others.”

Knox nods. “London, this is Kel.” He waves a hand between us. “Kel, London. She’s with us from now on.”

Kel nods and takes my hand when I offer it. “Ma’am. I’m head of the band’s security.”

“Nice to meet you.” Security? I didn’t realize Wycked Obsession needed that kind of protection. “I’m PR. I…we should probably talk soon, so I don’t make any security mistakes.”

He nods seriously and gestures for us to proceed. “Just let me know.”

Knox is right behind me. I can feel the heat of his body, and I catch a sudden whiff of something spicy and almost…chocolate. I noticed it yesterday, too, but I thought it was some delightful mix of a Starbucks’ scent. Now I realize it’s Knox, and I suddenly want to lean into him and breathe it in.

Don’t be a daft cow! I give myself a mental jerk. He was just acting like a cocked-up wanker, and now you want to sniff him?

Yeah, so maybe Colin wasn’t much good in the bedroom. That doesn’t mean I’m not still pissed at him that he couldn’t give me even one night of mediocre sex—one damn orgasm—to make up for three very dry months when it was just me and my little rabbit. If he had, maybe these first few meetings with Knox Gallagher wouldn’t have me on such a sexual edge. I mean, once I get to know him better and get a regular dose of his horse’s ass personality, my awareness of his hotness will fade.

Won’t it?

God, I hope so. I don’t want to spend the next couple of months on Wycked Obsession’s tour bus, flipping between wanting to kill the guy and then screw him. But…oh, what a splendid screwing it would be! Everything in my woman’s intuition tells me so.

Stop it! Just…stop!

We’re going to be working closely; I know that much. I’m not sure about the rest of it. Baz said they have two buses and they’re still working out my accommodations. Please, God, let them put me on the crew bus and not the one for the band.

That just might kill me. Horny after my dry spell and sleeping in the same space as five rock gods? No thank you!

The limo driver is waiting. He holds the door open, I climb inside, and Knox follows. I’m grateful for the diversion from my stupid, wandering thoughts and flop down on the long bench seat along the side. I catch an extra breath to soothe the rapid beat of my heart and steal a chance to settle myself.

It’s when the limo pulls forward that Knox speaks. “Here.” He shoves his smartphone at me.

I take the phone and automatically look at the screen. It’s a picture, a couple dressed in black and standing close together in an elevator. I look closer. It’s Bree Gallagher and Ajia Stone.

I touch the screen, and the video feed begins to cycle. They’re still for a moment, and then Ajia turns to Bree. I don’t get a chance to breathe before he’s kissing the holy shit out of her. He drags her against him, her hands clutch his shoulders, and then he has her pressed against the wall. His head is bent, she’s up on her tiptoes, and they’re making out like they’re on the Titanic as it’s going down.

The video stops, loops to start over again, and I touch the screen to stop it. I stare at it a moment longer, but what can I do? Say? I hand the phone back.

“Where did you get that?” I ask softly.

“It’s on the fucking Internet.”

“The Internet?” I shouldn’t sound as shocked as I do, but I know it’s from tonight. They’re wearing the same clothes as they were at the party. “What made you look?”

He shoves a hand into his hair, pulls some of it from his very civilized ponytail, and he looks suddenly wild. Entirely fuckable, that X-rated part of me notices, and pisses me off. Now is not the time, and, I do not want Knox Gallagher to be the man! Worse, my panties are damp, and I sense an odd new fluttering deep in my core.

Oh, no you don’t! This is not acceptable! I shout the words inside my mind. Just because he’s hot as hell and smells good enough to lick, I am not thinking about him that way!

“Some chicks were talking,” he’s saying, and I force myself to listen. “At the party.”

That’s it? “And…?”

He slants a fierce gaze in my direction. The evening shadows are growing, but it’s still light enough that I can see his expression well enough. He’s furious, but he’s searching for some measure of control. Maybe the smooth limo ride, the forced time alone, or actually processing the events will help.

I want to reach for him, encourage him, but I know better. For both of us.

“I heard it third or fourth hand,” he says irritably. “Fuckers. That Ajia said the shit on the Internet was bullshit, that he was keeping Bree all for himself.”

I straighten in my seat. “Do you think he really said that?”

“Doesn’t matter.” One broad shoulder lifts. “Already learned how fast this shit can move. I pulled up the Internet, and there it was. Security feed from the hotel. That fucker kissing my sister.”

I pull out my own smart phone, open the notes app, and start typing. Who started the rumors at the party? Who from the hotel was working security? How would they get the elevator video and upload it so fast? Who leaked it to the internet?

I slip my phone back in my clutch purse and allow myself a quick look at Knox. He’s turned away from me, staring out the window, hands on his thighs, and one leg bounces up and down. Nervous tension, or feeling out of control?

“Knox?”

“What?” He doesn’t look at me.

“How old is Bree?”

He swings his head around and scowls at me. The loose hair catches on his lips, and he pushes it away. “What?” he demands again.

“How old is Bree?”

“Nineteen. And I know what you’re going to fucking say. Same shit she’s been saying all summer.”

I don’t move. “She’s old enough to kiss a guy.”

“No—” He cuts the words off and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he won’t meet my gaze. “Maybe she is. But not fucking Ajia.”

“Why not Ajia?”

“Why not?” His voice rises an octave, like he can’t believe I asked the question. “You fucking researched us. You ought to know. He’s twenty-four years old, and he’s a manwhore.”

“So are you.” The words are out before I can stop them, so I add, quickly, “Not any worse than any of you.”

“I know.” He reaches up to squeeze the back of his neck. “I fucking know. I know exactly his type, because I’m the same fucker. I know how he treats chicks, because it’s how I treat chicks. Hell, I’ve heard—seen—him fucking. He’s seen me.”

A bubble of emptiness keeps me from responding. Is it because of his level of personal truthfulness? Or is it the reminder of his manwhore reputation and this stupid feminine awareness I have for him?

“He’s not the one for Bree,” he says finally and allows me to catch his distant gaze.

“Don’t you think that’s her decision?”

“Her decision?” Knox sounds oddly tired, still angry, and yet tempered with a frustration that doesn’t seem new. “What the fuck, English? How can she decide shit? She’s nineteen years old. She doesn’t…know.”

“And you’re twenty-three. So much older.” Sarcasm sharpens my voice.

He blinks. “You have no fucking idea.”

“All right.” I offer one hand, palm up, hoping to both learn something and prevent further argument. “Tell me.”

“No. Fuck no. Not now. Not…tonight.”

“Why?”

“I got other shit on my mind.”

The limo slows, and I peer out to see that we’re approaching the band’s hotel. Damn. I’d hoped for a little more time. There’s so much more to know, to understand. The rumors about Bree and the band suck, but the idea of her with Ajia doesn’t seem so bad.

But…how can I know for sure? I haven’t even met them yet. I’m assuming she’s a normal 19-year-old, he’s a normal 24-year-old, and they’ve connected after knowing each other for five years. It doesn’t sound so strange or unacceptable, so what’s Knox’s problem?

I try again. “Knox?”

He’s already opening the limo door, not waiting for even hotel security, and so I follow him awkwardly. I catch up with him at the bank of elevators, where he’s already pushed the up button.

“Can we talk?” I try again.

“About what?”

“About…this.” I wave my hand. “About your sister and—”

“No.”

“But—”

“I’m talking to that fucker first. Ajia. After that—”

The arriving elevator cuts off whatever else he would have said. We’re the only ones inside, and he punches the button for the same floor I’m going to.

“After that, what?” I ask.

He shrugs.

“What if they’re together?” I ask the question as carefully as I can.

Tension radiates from him like a bomb just went off inside of him. “They probably are.”

“What are you going to do?”

“My business.”

“Knox…”

“My business,” he repeats. His jaw is clenched so tightly I wonder that he doesn’t break a tooth.

“If I can help—”

“Look, English.” He shoots me a flat gaze. “We’ll meet up tomorrow. Have that band meeting we talked about.” He laughs harshly. “Ought to be real fucking interesting. I’ll text you about it.”

“Are you sure? How about if I go with you and—”

“No.”

“Knox…”

“No.”

I want to reach for him, but I know better. He’s wound as tight as I’ve ever seen anybody, and I can’t even guess what he’ll do if I touch him.

“If you need anything—”

“I’ve got your number.”

“Don’t hesitate to—”

“I won’t,” he snaps just as the elevator dings our arrival. The doors swish open, and Knox is gone without another word.