In For Keeps. Taryn Belle
knew that as long as he kept his helpers under control he’d be fine. He always got off the stuff as soon as his tours ended, and it wasn’t like he was doing real drugs. His were legal, regulated, doctor prescribed. He even avoided alcohol when he was on them like the label said. He was nothing like many of his peers, who combined booze with the hard stuff night after night. He may have done some of that indulging in his early days, but now he couldn’t imagine taking anything like that before a show—the drugs revved him up enough to keep him awake for hours afterward. That’s where the Ambien came in, and when he didn’t take it he paid the price. The dead of night was when the dark monster of his reality came crashing into his bed. Other musicians can handle the stage, so why can’t you? How long do you think you can go on like this before you’re hooked? the monster asked him with its ember eyes. Having a warm body in his bed had always helped keep the monster away—until about a year ago, when the emptiness he felt each morning when he awoke to women with names long forgotten was worse than any empty bed.
And then she’d come along. Kiki. Not only the hottest fuck of his life, but gorgeous, independent, totally unaffected and unimpressed by his career. Offering her the job had probably been a mistake. He’d be up close with her day after day, which meant his secret was in danger—and she was the last person on earth he wanted to discover it. He hadn’t been thinking straight that day in the bar, when he’d been overtaken with lust at the sight of her. And then he’d laid all that shit on her about trust. All of it was true, but it was a wonder she hadn’t run away screaming. People didn’t just come out and say things like that when they barely knew each other, but it was like she’d messed with all of his wires to turn him into a raging, sex-starved honesty machine. And the real hell of it was that she hadn’t said no to his strictly business proposal. All the same, he promised himself, he would leave it up to her—no matter how wild she drove him.
Dev left the bathroom, slipped the bottle of pills into his carry-on and walked back to his seat. Kiki was sitting exactly where he’d left her, deeply engrossed in her notes. God, but she was something. He knew she had to be at least a little dazzled by the private plane, but she hadn’t even commented on it. She may have been fiery, but she was also down-to-earth. Grounded. The exact opposite of him.
“It’s still four hours to London,” he said, sliding into the leather seat across from her. “It wouldn’t kill you to take a break.”
“I have a lot to learn to get up to speed,” she replied without looking up. “Now, where were we?”
“I was telling you about Bix. He’ll meet us for the first show on Sunday night,” Dev said, tapping two fingers on his armrest. They were seated across from each other with a small fold-down table between them. His legs were long enough that his knees would touch Kiki’s if they both faced forward, but she had angled hers away from him into the aisle. She was wearing a simple black dress that screamed First day on the new job, but its conservative cut was hopeless at hiding her sexiness. She still had her eyes aimed at her notebook, so he let his eyes drift down to her bare legs.
The crazy thing was that Kiki wasn’t even his regular type—he normally preferred his women tall and willowy. But Dev loved her tiny frame, the curve of her hips, the way her small breasts strained beneath her modest neckline. The way their bodies had moved that night had proven how perfect they were together. And now she was close enough to touch, not to mention all alone with him. When he thought about what they could be doing right now, what use they could make of the sleeping quarters—it was killing him.
“...road crew?”
He jerked his eyes up to find her looking at him expectantly, pen poised. Those wide blue eyes under delicately arched brows. That long hair falling over her breasts in a smooth curtain. The crease in her dress right between her legs.
Focus.
“Uh, yeah. You’ll meet them in London,” Dev said. “Scotty—my bassist—is flying in from Chicago today. He and Stuart will—”
“Stuart?” Kiki interrupted.
“My drummer. He’s flying into London from Brussels.”
“Got it. Speaking of which...” She lifted a sheet of paper up from the small table between them. “According to this itinerary, you’re staying at The Connaught with the rest of the band. Is that a mistake? I’d imagine you’d want to stay at home while you’re in town.”
Damn—she didn’t miss a thing. Dev had moved from LA to London a decade ago, but his Kings Cross penthouse felt less and less like home since he’d bought the house on Moretta. His flat screamed of the bachelor days and rock star nights of his twenties, and that just wasn’t where his head was anymore. “It’s just easier if the band is all together,” he said, which also happened to be the truth. “I’ll pop by at some point to make sure the place is still standing, pick up some clothes. By the way, we’re only staying in hotels in London and Paris. After the Paris show we move to tour buses for the remainder of the European leg. Once we’re in Australia we’ll be in hotels again.”
“I know. I’ve already confirmed all the bookings,” she said, glancing down at her notes. “What about rehearsals? I don’t see anything about that.”
“The three of us will spend the rest of the week rehearsing at Ryder Studios. We already put in a good round a month ago, so we’re pretty tight.”
Tight. Good God, could he really not say such a banal word without thinking about how Kiki’s pussy had felt around his cock? How old was he, fifteen? He seriously needed to get a grip, but now that the door had been opened, his cock was all in. All he could think about was stripping her down and fucking her until she screamed, flight crew be damned. He shifted in his seat to hide his raging erection. This line of thinking wasn’t going to help anything.
The drone of the engine filled the silence as a flight attendant entered the cabin. “Something to drink, Mr. Stone?” she asked, holding out a cheese board.
“A club soda, please,” Dev said, plucking a cracker and a wedge of Brie from the platter.
“What, no champagne?” Kiki asked without looking up. “Pretty impressive for a rock star.”
If you only knew, Dev thought. “Would you please stop calling me that?”
“What? Impressive?” She looked up at him under long lashes, uncrossing and recrossing her legs. He caught a brief glimpse of zebra-print panties.
He was going to fucking lose it. He hit a button on his armrest, filling the cabin with the sound of Coldplay.
Kiki tilted her head at him. “You don’t like silence, do you?”
Dev started. Didn’t he? He’d never thought about it before. “I’m a musician. I think it makes sense that I enjoy listening to music.”
Kiki gazed back at him until he felt like squirming. Her eyes held a knowing look, as if she could see all of his secrets. Like she knew shit about him that he didn’t even know himself. No one had ever known him like that, and it was unnerving.
Suddenly she stood up and stretched her arms to the sides. “I didn’t get much sleep last night. I’m going to try out my bed.”
And with that she walked away, leaving Dev alone with his club soda and his tortured imagination.
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