Sweet Possession

She grabbed on to the anger, harnessed it like someone desperate to ride the wind. The alternative was fear.



A knock sounded at her door and she flew to open it, relief rocketing through her system. She yanked it open to see Phillip and Barry standing there in their smarmy executive clothing, but in that moment, she was so relieved to see them, she didn’t care.



“Lyric, are we disturbing you?” Phillip asked.



She shook her head and opened the door wider. “Come in. Can I get you a drink?”



They walked inside and looked around, surprised, she knew, to find her alone. Phillip shrugged out of his expensive coat and tossed it over the back of the couch. “We need to talk, Lyric.”



She bristled at his tone and donned her best belligerent sneer. “You can talk. I don’t have to listen.”



Barry, who didn’t do confrontation very well, looked as though he wanted to be anywhere but here. Which was fine because she wasn’t too crazy about here either.



“You need Connor Malone—”



“I don’t need anybody,” she said icily.



“You need him,” Phillip said firmly. “I’ve let things go on as long as I’m going to. You’re in breach of contract and I’ve let it go. Until now. Connor Malone basically told me to fuck off and headed back to Houston. You’re going to go there and do whatever it takes to make him reconsider.”



Her mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”



“You heard me,” he said grimly. “I’m not giving you a choice, Lyric. You’ll do this or you’ll be out on your ass, and trust me, even as big as you are, I don’t see another record label lining up to pick you up with all the shit you’ve pulled.”



Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t threaten me, Phillip.”



His expression softened just a bit, but determination still glinted in his eyes. “Things can’t go on as they are, Lyric. You’ve been lucky, but sooner or later, your luck is going to run out. We need Connor Malone to buy us some time to hire more security whether you like it or not. He’s not any happier over the arrangement than you are. I’ve put in a call to his boss, who’s going to lean on him. I want your ass in Houston to reinforce the issue. You’ll be nice. You’ll be accommodating. You’ll do what it takes to make him agree to the job. And then,” he said, putting up a finger, “you’re going to behave yourself.”



She set her jaw until her teeth ached. She opened her mouth to argue but he shut her down with one swift shake of his head.



“Don’t speak. You’ll fly out after the show this weekend. That’ll give him and you a few days to cool off.”



He snapped his fingers at Barry and the two of them walked out of her room, closing the door with a sharp bang. She sank onto the couch like a deflated balloon.



She ran agitated fingers through her hair, pulling on the ends in repetition. Connor Malone was an arrogant ass. But more than that, he frightened her. And that pissed her off.



He was smug and too damn good-looking. Her brow wrinkled in irritation. Good-looking? Yeah, he was. It might get her goat to admit it, but he was exactly the sort of man she was attracted to. Tall. Strong and silent. And blond. Muddy blond with different tones and shades, like he spent a lot of time out in the sun. He wasn’t pretty blond, but rugged, yummy blond. She had a weakness for blonds. She didn’t normally go for the good guy, military-type cut, but on him it looked good. It looked damn good. Just added to his badass appearance.



He had those piercing green eyes that saw way too much. He cut through the layers at supersonic speed. Maybe he was some goddamn superhero. She laughed. Maybe he was supposed to be her goddamn superhero.



Yeah, she could have taken him back to her room if not for the fact they loathed each other on sight. She couldn’t even say she’d had an instant reaction to him. Her dislike had been in self-defense. More of an “I hate him because he hates me” response.



And now Phillip wanted her to fly to Houston and grovel? Jesus. She didn’t grovel. Ever. The mere thought nearly choked her.



Why did she need Connor fucking Malone? She didn’t need goddamn anyone, and that was the way she liked it. Connor could take his self-righteous prig self and take a long walk off a short pier.



She leaned farther back on the couch and propped her feet on the coffee table. She shouldn’t have sent Trent and R.J. away. They could be having hot, sweaty sex right now and she could slip into oblivion. Instead she was mad as hell because if she wanted to stay employed, she was going to have to go play nice with some good old boy without a sense of humor.



For a moment she was tempted to call Trent and R.J. back. They’d be more than happy to climb into bed with her, and then she wouldn’t feel so terribly alone. But try as she might, she couldn’t make the disapproving look on Connor Malone’s face dissolve from her memory. And it pissed her off even more that it had mattered.



CHAPTER 3



Connor stalked into Malone’s with the beginnings of a headache already wracking his brain. His flight from L.A. had been delayed. He’d spent six hours in Dallas, and just when he was ready to say fuck it and hire a damn car and drive the five hours to Houston, his flight had boarded.



Then, when he’d landed, he had six voice mails, three of them from Pop and another three from Micah, who’d delighted in giving him hell about his meeting with the pop diva. Asshole.



“Hey, you’re back,” Faith called from her office as he passed.



His frown eased into a smile, and he backed up to Faith’s doorway. “Yeah, I’m back. Finally. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”



“Heard it didn’t go too well,” she said, her green eyes bright with sympathy.



He gave up the idea of sneaking to his office to blow off some steam and sauntered into Faith’s office, where he slouched in a seat in front of her desk.



“Let me guess. Micah has been regaling you with tales of my torture.”



Mirth glistened in her eyes as she tried to stifle her laughter. “Well, uhm, yes. I’m afraid he has.”



“Jackass,” Connor muttered.



“Was it that bad?”



Connor sighed. He loved his sister dearly, and he had no intention of bitching at her for the better part of an hour. So he ignored the question. “Where’s Gray and Nathan?”



She accepted the change in subject with her usual good nature, but her eyes gleamed speculatively as if to say she’d get the dirt later. Yeah, she was sweet, but she could also be downright evil.



“They’re out on a job. Pop should be in shortly, and, to be honest, I have no idea where Micah is.”



“Damn.”



“Avoiding Pop?” she asked, her lips quivering with another smile.



“It’s pointless. The old coot would just show up at my apartment.”



Faith did laugh then. “Yes, he would. He’s been muttering under his breath about insubordination and hardheaded employees ever since the record execs called to tell him you’d walked.”



Connor rolled his eyes. “If he wants the job so damn bad, he can send Micah. He’d totally dig the chick.”



“And you don’t.”



“She’s . . . she’s . . . I don’t have words.”



“Wow, Connor Malone speechless. And over a woman. Never thought I’d see it.”



He glared at her. “It’s not what you think. She’s . . .” He couldn’t even finish. Faith burst into laughter, her long blond hair shaking over her shoulders. She reached up to wipe tears from the corners of her eyes and kept on laughing.



He rolled his eyes heavenward and wondered if asking for a sudden lightning bolt would be asking for too much.



“There you are.”



Connor flinched when Pop’s raspy voice filled the room. “Here I am,” he muttered, not turning around in his chair.



Pop ambled up and smiled at Faith. “Your husband said to tell you that he’s going to be running late and for you not to wait on him.”



Her cheeks pinkened, and a soft smile spread over her features. “Guess I’ll head out, then.”



Traitor, Connor mouthed at her.



She winked, then collected her purse and headed for the door.



Pop turned his hard stare on Connor. “Now. You.”



Connor held up his hand. “I don’t want to hear it, Pop.”



Pop grunted. “Well, you’re going to hear it.” He leaned against Faith’s desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t care what happened in L.A. This job is a personal favor to a friend. I told him we’d do it, and I can’t spare one of the others to do it. You’re it.”



Connor set his teeth together. “Just because they all had the poor sense to get all fucked-up over a woman and think they need to all be married does not mean that I get every shitty job that crosses your desk now.”



Pop snorted. “No sense getting your panties in a wad. You’re acting as bad as that pop star you don’t want to babysit.”



Connor scowled but Pop held up his hand. “I’m asking as a favor.”



Connor groaned.



“She’s flying in this Friday. You’re meeting her for dinner Friday night and then she’s coming in to the office on Saturday for a meeting with you and me.”



“Why am I meeting her for dinner?” Connor demanded.



“Because the two of you are obviously off on the wrong foot, and you need to kiss and make up if we have a hope of making this work.”



“Goddamn it, Pop. You go out to dinner with her. I’ll make the Saturday meeting, but I have no desire to spend five minutes with her alone, much less an entire dinner.”



Pop stared at him for a long moment. “Are you refusing the job?”



Connor swore long and hard. “No, I’m damn well not turning down the job. You’ve made it personal by asking a favor and you know damn well I’m not going to tell you no. But I don’t have to like it.”



Pop grinned. Cagey old bastard. “Phillip Armstrong will be e-mailing all the pertinent information as well as what they want from us as far as security. Tomorrow afternoon I want you to sit in on the conference call that he and Barry Kennedy will be heading up. Then you and I will hash out a game plan so that when she arrives on Friday, you two can discuss what will be done during her time in Houston. I left a detailed file on her on your desk. It will give you a very good idea of what this job will entail.”



“Fine,” Connor muttered.



Pop straightened and started for the door. Grudgingly, Connor stood and turned around to follow. Pop paused in the doorway and faced Connor. The old coot was working to keep a straight face. “Think of it this way. You’ve been bitching about wanting to take vacation for a long time now. Now you get two whole weeks.”



“Fuck you,” Connor growled.



Connor sat at the bar in Cattleman’s, sipping a cold beer as he waited for Lyric Jones to make an appearance. He checked his watch again, irritated that she was fifteen minutes late.



Pop was disgruntled that he hadn’t picked a classier spot, but then, from what he’d seen, Lyric wasn’t the epitome of class, and if he was going to be forced to endure this meeting, then she could damn well come to him on his turf.



He’d spent the better part of yesterday reading the notes that Pop had compiled. Micah had even made an appearance, only too happy to shove the latest tabloid under Connor’s nose with a smug, shit-eating grin. How one woman could cause so much trouble and garner so much press was beyond him.



His trip to the grocery store to get a steak and a six-pack of beer had been soured when he noticed that every single magazine at the checkout had some tale of her latest antics or publicity stunt plastered over the covers.



It would seem that nothing the woman did was shielded from the world, and worse, she seemed perfectly okay with that.



He downed the last of his brew and shoved the empty bottle across the bar. As he glanced sideways, he saw her come in. To his surprise, she wasn’t accompanied by her bodyguards. Not very smart.



She was dressed in tight-fitting jeans and a regular white T-shirt. There wasn’t a hint of pink in her hair and not a spot of makeup dotted her face. She looked remarkably clean-cut and wholesome. Good grief.



Her fingers were shoved into her jeans pockets, and she looked around warily. Unease billowed off her body in a cloud. She looked uncertain, and again he was struck by the odd vulnerability he had glimpsed during her last number at the concert. Clearly he was losing his mind.



Finally her gaze locked on to his and he lifted his hand in greeting. Her eyes glazed over, and it was as if she locked the attitude in place. The cockiness was back in spades.



She twisted her lips and sauntered over, throwing her bag over the bar stool as she slid up to the bar beside him.



“Nice place,” she drawled.



“I think so.” He held up a finger and motioned to the barkeep. “Drink?” he asked her when the bartender walked over.