Aimee and the Heartthrob (16 page)

The paparazzo cocked his head. “So, the accent’s real.”

“Pardon?”

“Thought it was fake. After all, somethin’ that posh don’t go with the story I dug up.”

“Story?”

“Not about you.” He pulled out a small spiral notebook, licked his index finger, and flipped a few pages. “Says here that one Marsha Carlisle moved to California without a green card after your daddy left her back in London for an eighteen-year-old yoga instructor.”

So, the guy wasn’t just a photographer hanging out in the bushes, hoping for a money shot. He was worse—full-on tabloid scum. Miles’s spine and jaw stiffened with indignity. It must’ve shown on his face because the guy snickered and flipped another page.

“Seems she collected government welfare checks for almost a year. That’s a crime in this country, Lord Carlisle.” He sneered. “It’s called welfare fraud.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Maybe.” The guy laughed carelessly, darkly. “Funny, though. You were what, twelve at the time, but I can’t find your record in any of the public schools in L.A. back then. People love to wonder about that. Like, is Obama really a natural-born citizen? We both know
you’re
more popular than the president.” He slid his notebook in a pocket and looked down at his camera, adjusting the lens. “Now, I’d be willing to forget the story about your darling mommy if you gimme the scoop on where you were that year.”

Who was this bastard? And where the hell had he come up with a story about welfare fraud? Right now, he didn’t give a rat’s ass if it got out about his juvenile record. So he’d lose a few ultra-conservative fans and piss off Lester—though his manager would probably kill a story like that, anyway. But no one…
no one
…was going to breathe a negative word about his mother.

“So?” The guy cocked his head. “Ready to talk?”

Miles took a breath, concentrated on not losing his temper, not clocking the guy’s windpipe. He felt Aimee squeeze his hand, but before he could tell her not to worry, she dropped it and launched out from behind him.

“How
dare
you!” She got in the guy’s face. “You’re a mean, sick, bloodsucking jackass to threaten a thing like that. Are you proud of yourself? Harassing a teenager?”

The man blinked and took a step back.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re making up lies! None of that happened.” She stuck a finger in his face. “I
know
Marsha and you don’t.”

It looked like she was about to deck the guy, who seemed momentarily thrown. But then his gaze scanned down Aimee’s body.

“Didn’t think to catch
your
name, little lady. Though I suppose names aren’t important to Mr. Heartthrob.” He hooked a thumb at Miles. “From what I hear, your boyfriend goes through your type like water. Best not get attached—to him, you’re nothin’ but a lay.”

“
Shut
your mouth,” Miles growled between his teeth, keeping his voice low, fighting to not bust out of his skin like the Hulk.

“You’re not afraid of messing up that pretty little face of yours, Mr. Pop Singer? What’d your girlfriend think of you then?” He picked up his camera and took a step forward, way too close to Aimee.

“Another inch and I’ll shut your mouth for you,” Miles said, hot fury burning in his chest, screaming to get out. He had no doubt he could take the guy down. He was seventeen, pure muscle, and in way better shape than this middle-age asshat with an even bigger gut than LJ’s. “Give me a reason,” he added, whipping off his sunglasses and dropping them on the ground. “Please.”

“Fine. Forget about it. Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” the man said in a fake, exaggerated British accent.

“Miles,” Aimee whispered, tugging the bottom of his T-shirt. “Let’s just go.”

Miles looked at the guy and lifted his eyebrows, challengingly. “You first, friend.”

The guy shrugged, but Miles had definitely scared him. Good…the little shite. He lowered his camera, and Miles eyed the lens until the guy screwed on the cap. “I was just leaving anyway. Cheerio to you.” He headed off to the left.

Aimee tugged at Miles’s shirt, pulling him to the right. They walked in silence for a few moments. Miles was still too furious to speak, keeping the Hulk barely contained. He’d never gotten used to dicks like that, jackwads who were in it for the sensationalized pix and taglines, whether they were true or not. Whatever sold. Frickin’ jackwads.

Once his head cleared of anger, he glanced at Aimee. She was biting her bottom lip, frowning at the ground. No, no way. She didn’t actually buy all that “heartthrob” crap Dickweed had spewed.

Miles should’ve protected her. He shouldn’t have brought her out in public like this, not when he didn’t have control of the situation.

“Is he going to print that about your mom?” Her voice sounded timid.

“Probably. I can’t stop him.”

“He said I’m nothing but a lay to you.”

“The guy’s an asshole.” He bumped her shoulder. “You okay?”

“No,” she said flatly, her frown deepening.

Miles’s stomach tanked. This was bad. She actually believed that guy. She really thought he didn’t care about her as deeply as he did—and
only
her. He’d tried to tell her how he felt, and she seemed happy to be with him, seemed into it when they kissed and fooled around, but…was she not? Was it really only a crush, and now that she saw how messy it was to be with him—really be with him—was she bailing?

A shudder hit Miles’s spine when he also realized that Aimee had witnessed him lose his temper and nearly Hulk out. His anger issue had been on full display. Was she
scared
of him now, too? Like Nick had warned?

Miles felt helpless and sick. Aimee was still holding on to his shirt and suddenly yanked him through a small break in the tall hedges, between a thick row of trees and a fence. She was breathing hard now, raggedly, and her cheeks were red, and if she was about to dump him, Miles knew he would die right there on the spot.

A second later, her body slammed against his as she threw her arms around his neck, pulling his head down. Her mouth crashing over his took him by so much surprise he couldn’t even react. He felt his baseball cap fly off as her fingers fisted the roots of his hair.

“Mmm…Miles…” she whispered into his mouth, her hold tightening around his head. She flattened herself against him, forcing him to step back, bumping into a tree, making him lose his footing.

Down they went, Aimee landing on top of him. But she didn’t stop kissing him, didn’t slow down, didn’t seem to notice they were lying in the grass. She held his face between her hands, kissing him so hard his head filled with haze and then emptied.

Finally his body awoke, and he wrapped his arms around her back, sliding them under her hair. Her tongue was in his mouth, her lips were warm and tasted like vanilla. He rolled them over and kissed her, never wanting to stop. When he rolled again, they hit the stump of a tree.

“Ouch,” she whispered, breaking their kiss for the first time. She was on the bottom now, her dark hair—golden in the afternoon sunlight—spilling all around her.

“Oh, damn,” he said, propping up on his elbows. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, I hurt you.” She reached up and touched the top of his head. “You hit the tree with your skull. I heard it. Don’t you feel the lump?”

He grinned. “I feel zero pain, Ames.”

She tucked her chin and rolled her head on the grass, looking away, trying to hide that stunning, sunny smile that was etched on his soul. He wrapped his arms around her and rolled them again so he was on the bottom and her face hovered above him.

“Hey. That was the first time you kissed me.”

She looked at him. “We’ve kissed, like, bunches of times.”

“No.” He touched his mouth to her ear, his hand at the back of her neck, burrowing under her curtain of hair. “That, right then, was the first time
you
kissed
me
…first…on your own.”

She tucked her chin again, but Miles held her face, needing to see her. “Please tell me what I did to deserve that, so I can do it a thousand more times.”

She leaned down, hovering over his mouth, temptingly. “You stood up for me.”

“After you stood up for me.”

She kissed him slowly. “You threated to kick his ass.”

He looked up at the sky and laughed, holding the hair back from her face. “Only because you were about to first, and I couldn’t let a lady do that.”

“Such good manners,” she said, running a finger over his lips. “I’ve also been curious about something else.” She kissed him, moving her mouth over his like she was exploring. It zapped the strength out of him, sinking him deeper into the grass. “Ahh, so the legend
is
true.”

“What legend?” he asked, very happy he didn’t have to rely on his legs right now.

“Trumpet players are the hottest kissers.”

“If I’m any good at all”—he paused to press his lips to hers—“it’s because of you. You make my heart—”

“Throb?” she said, fluttering her eyelashes.

Miles groaned. “No, please.”

“I like your nickname.” She slid one of her little hands between them, placing it over her heart. “And it’s fitting.
Throb-throb…throb-throb
.”

Miles rolled his eyes. “It isn’t, though. Seriously. All that crap about how I can get any girl I want, whenever I want, like that paparazzo said. It’s all rubbish, Aimee, just a phony tagline to slap over my picture in magazines.”

“But you
can
get any girl you want.”

“I want you.” The words slipped out before he could stop them.

“You’ve got me,” she said, smiling. “See? That legend is true, too.”

“Ames.” He put his hand over hers that was resting on her chest, interlocked their fingers, then moved their hands to press over his heart. “You’re the only one who’s ever made my heart throb. The only one. Ever.”

The expression that had just been on her face—pretty and flirty—suddenly changed. Aimee gazed down at him with tenderness and wisdom, and Miles saw the future,
their
future, in the depths of her brown eyes. Before he could, she leaned down and kissed him, squeezing their hands together.

“Heartthrob,” she whispered over his mouth.

“So damn sexy when you call me that.”

She kissed his nose. “Then I always will.” She dropped her head, resting it on his chest. Miles rubbed her back, sliding his hands in a circle, listening to her sweet breathing, taking in the scent at the top of her head. He was drunk on her. Completely smashed.

As they lay there, dreading each passing minute that ticked by, something came to Miles’s mind, something he wanted to tell her, a simple three-word phrase he’d sung to millions of girls across the world, but never meant or understood or felt.

Until right now.

Chapter Fifteen

Aimee’s knees were grass-stained, and she’d probably have to throw her dress away, but she didn’t care. Thanks to her amazing date with Miles, she’d never been so happy. But she also hadn’t slept in two days and had a huge case of giddy delirium.

After the last possible second in the park, behind all those tall trees, and after their last possible kiss, Miles had raced that little red Corvette back to the hotel, dropped her off, then barely caught his bus to the arena. While he did sound check, Wardrobe, and meet-and-greet, Aimee crashed out in her bunk, making sure she woke up in time to shower and then jet inside for the second half of the concert.

Not that she didn’t love every second of watching Miles onstage, looking all sexy-boy-band god in his element, but the second half of S2J’s Make it Last show was her favorite. It was when he played his guitar, when he got to show his soulful side, the one she’d gotten to see up close and personal.

It was one of the things she loved about him most, how he showed pieces of his soul when he sang, if you were really paying attention. It was when Miles Carlisle shone the brightest, even when all five guys were under the same spotlight.

She stood in the wing, in the same spot she’d stood for more than a week. The security guys, electricians, and medics hovered backstage, which meant the rain finale was about to happen. Yeah, some of the older crowd might’ve thought it was cornball, but there was nothing swoonier than Miles in a soaking wet T-shirt. Except for Miles in a soaking wet T-shirt waiting for her at the back of her bus the other night.

She shook her head, trying to clear that image from her mind before she swooned herself into a puddle. She didn’t want to miss one second of Miles in the rain. As always, the finale began with sounds of thunder, special effects of lightning and wind, a storm coming. And then the rain. It was spectacular, and the screams were deafening. Aimee clapped and whistled through her teeth along with the crowd. She couldn’t help it, even when Marsha gave her a funny look.

The lights went dim and the guys usually rushed past her on their way out to the bus. Aimee waited for the moment when Miles would run by, hoping to catch his eye, share a look that conveyed everything she felt.

“Stop!” LJ said, halting the guys before they could get far. “That way.” He pointed down a different hall. “You’ve got a radio interview from the London morning show in five minutes. Stop in Wardrobe first to change, then meet in the dressing room next door. You’ll be miked up.”

Frickin’ nut-burgers. Another stupid interview.

Aimee moped her way toward the door where the caravan of buses waited. She was just about to head toward hers when she was grabbed from behind, kissed on the neck, and then turned around.

“
Mi
—” He put his hand over her mouth before she could get the whole name out.

“Shhh.” His blue eyes twinkled. “Haven’t you learned how to sneak around properly yet?” He was already in dry pants, but a dry T-shirt was draped over his shoulder, and he’d slicked his hair back with his fingers.

A shirtless Miles with wet hair. He was positively edible.

“Why aren’t you—”

He hushed her again, touching his forehead to hers. “Stay quiet and come with me.”

She nodded and took his hand, trotting behind him as they ran three buses down. She pulled him to a stop. “Wait. I’m not supposed to”—she pointed toward the accordion door—“go in there.”

“I know.”

She glanced at his face, his mischievous smile. Then she lifted her eyes to the larger-than-life, equally shirtless photo of Miles on the side of
The One
.

“I thought you wanted to see the inside.”

“I do.”

“Let’s hurry on, then. The lads’ll be a little while, and I told Trev to do the interview without me so I could sack out early. They won’t miss me.”

She grinned and followed him aboard. The bus was really cool, severely posh, especially compared to the one she’d been riding in. It was fancier than a five-star hotel. He kept ahold of her hand, pulling her down the aisle. “I’d give you the grand tour, but we don’t have time, because I want to show you something special. A place no girl has ever seen.”

“Where?”

He grinned. “My bunk.”

Her mouth fell open like a codfish.

“You don’t want to see it?”

“No, I do, I just…” She glanced at his bare chest, feeling nine years old again.

“Oh. Um, sorry.” He ran a hand through his damp hair. “Lemme just put this on.” He pulled a T-shirt over his head, covering up his beautiful, stare-worthy chest. Then he gestured at the bunk in the middle. It was way bigger than the ones on her bus. He pulled back the short blackout curtain, revealing a mess of dark blue sheets and pillows and a fuzzy blanket covered with the red and gold Manchester United logo.

“You seriously snuck me in here just to show me your bunk?”

“Well.” He smiled down at his feet. “Since you’re the only girl I’ve brought here, I thought it might be kinda cool if we…”

“If we?”

He laughed under his breath then looked up. “Made out.”

“In your bunk.”

“For a couple of minutes. It’s all the time we have, then I’ll sneak you out before the guys get back. Unless you don’t want to—”

“Hell, yeah, I do!” She grabbed his face and literally pounced on him as they tumbled onto the bunk.

They laughed and kissed and rolled around as much as they could in the crammed, though surprisingly comfortable quarters. Deb was right, his mattress must’ve been memory foam. Miles’s fingers were in her hair, his mouth at her neck. She held his head and breathed in his warm, damp skin, the smell that only belonged to Miles.

When he was done with her mouth, his kisses trailed down her neck, across her collarbone, pulling down the front of her spaghetti strap dress to the top of her bra. Her breath hitched when his next kiss hit an inch lower.

Miles stopped, lifted his chin, and looked into her eyes. “Remember that first night backstage?” he whispered. “When I ran into…you?”

Breathing hard, she nodded, hyperaware that Miles was hovering centimeters from
that exact spot
on her body.

“I still feel bad about hurting you,” he said. “Can I…kiss and make it better?”

OMFG#%*^&@!!

Aimee knew she didn’t have nearly enough oxygen in her lungs to whisper the reply she was dying to scream. So instead, she arched her back, just a little, just enough, wordlessly answering. Miles’s pupils looked almost black right before he shut his eyes and slowly dipped his chin. He kissed her. The delicate, careful touch set fire to her skin, everywhere his mouth made contact. She cradled his head, wrapping one leg around his, fisting the back of his T-shirt, pulling it over his head until it was out of the way.

Sparks exploded behind her eyes, and her fingers dug in, causing a low moan to escape Miles’s lips, the vibration washing over her like a full-body hum. Aimee hadn’t meant to answer it with her own moan until she did, until each of their sounds and jagged exhales formed a duet.

She’d always heard the expression “Rock Your World,” but she thought that part came way after hitting second base with a boy. So then, why did it feel like they were flying? Why did she get the unmistakable sensation that they were sailing over speed bumps, clinging to each other so they wouldn’t break apart?

“Oh, crap,” Miles whispered.

“Wha?”

He rolled to the side and drew back the curtain an inch, looking out into the cab of the bus. “I’m so dead.”

“Miles, what—”

He put a finger over her lips and whispered, “We’re driving.”

Her eyes flew wide, understanding now. “But…I can’t be on this bus.”

“Any clue how long we’ve been in here?”

“No,” she whispered. “You started kissing me and…I can’t keep track of time when you do that.”

“Well, neither can I—obviously. And
you
kissed me first. Again. Crap. I’m a bloody dead man.”

For a frantic moment, they just stared at each other across the dimness, faces inches apart, half of Miles’s body still on top of hers. A second later, they both burst out laughing, muffling their giggles in each other’s necks and hair and hands. Miles rolled all the way off so they were both on their sides, noses touching.

Aimee heard loud sounds now. Shouting, excited voices—the S2J guys, obviously, and techno music, and…explosions? Or, at least, video game explosions.

“Are they always this hyper after a show?” she whispered. “Aren’t you guys totally exhausted?”

“The adrenaline lasts a few hours.” He gave her hip a squeeze. “I know
I’m
still energetic.”

She laughed into his shoulder, smelling his skin. “What are we supposed to do now?”

“Stay quiet and keep going? I quite enjoyed where we were headed.”

Aimee tucked her chin and giggled again. Miles held the side of her face, his long, gentle fingers combing through her hair. “Will we be driving all night? Where’s the next concert?”

“Phoenix, I think.”

“We were just in Salt Lake City. That’s like an eleven-hour drive.”

“Eleven, eh?” He kissed the tip of her nose. “I think I can handle that, Ames.”

The notion was pretty alluring to Aimee, too. She kissed him back until the white spots inside her eyelids popped. Yeah, pretty dang alluring. Nothing wrong at all with being trapped in close, cozy quarters with the boy she was crazy about.

“Me too,” she said, running a hand up his arm, feeling bare skin, hard muscles. “Where’s my phone?”

“Why?” he asked, reaching across her to the back of the bunk where her cell had slid. He handed it over and she flipped to the texts, shielding the bright light of the screen with her other hand.

“There,” she said, after tapping in a few quick words. “All done.”

“What was that?”

“Message to Deb. My bus leaves a little while after yours, but it won’t before counting heads. She’ll tell Jordan I’m riding with Nick.” She dropped her phone and pushed it away. “Now no one will miss me.”

Miles’s narrowed eyes smoothed out and he pulled back a grin. “That’s my cunning ninja warrior.” He kissed the top of her nose, right between her eyes. “Thank you, Ames.”

“For what?”

He slid his arms around her, holding her tight. “For making this tour the abso-bloody-lutely coolest experience ever.” He paused. “For just being here and…for waiting for me.” He lifted his eyes to her. Though she could barely see them, she could read the kind, caring expression, and it made her love him even more.

“Miles, I…” Her throat constricted, and she felt her eyes moistening.

“Shhh.” He breathed into her ear, his strong arms pulling her on top of him, planting her head on his chest, his hands stroking her hair, down her back.

She was so comfortable, so relaxed and happy that she might’ve fallen asleep right there, lulled by the rhythm of the freeway and Miles’s heartbeats, until a sound startled them both, coming from the other side of the curtain.

…

Why did Ryder’s voice never sound this loud onstage?

Miles felt Aimee’s body tense and go still. He froze too, his hands in mid-stroke down her back. She lifted her chin, looking him in the eyes. He knew he didn’t have to remind her not to speak; neither of them were breathing.

He really should’ve spent the last few minutes concocting a plan instead of pulling Aimee on top of him like a sexy, warm blanket that smelled like flowers and springtime and felt like paradise. But now he really did need a plan.

Ryder was moving past them, though still shouting over his shoulder to Will. Miles cringed at the graphic—though rather creative—swearing that always punctuated Ryder’s speech. Had he known there was a lady present, maybe Ryder would’ve toned it down. Though probably not—he was as uncouth as they came.

The second it was quiet on the other side of the curtain, Miles began to move Aimee onto the bunk. She gripped his shoulder and he nodded toward the curtain. She nodded back and scooted to the farthest side of the bunk. When he was sure she wouldn’t be seen, he pulled back the curtain as little as possible and climbed out, making sure to close it completely afterward.

His eyes stung at the sudden burst of bright fluorescent light. Just as expected, all four guys were gaming at the front of the bus. Nate noticed him first.

“’Sup, Miles,” he said, barely moving his eyes from the screen.

“Hey,” Miles replied.

“Dude, where’d you go?”

Miles stood there, blinking, his body and mind still too buzzed on Aimee to form anything coherent.

“He felt like crap after the show,” Trevin said, shooting him a look. “Your headache gone, buddy?” Yeah, Trev had just saved his ass again.

“Headache? Oh, um, not yet. I’m trying to sleep it off. You got any aspirin?”

“In the cubby above my bunk,” Trevin said. “You know where it is.”

“Couldn’t find it.”

Trevin groaned. “Pause it,” he said to Will. “I’ll be right back.” He gave Miles another look as they walked to the row of bunks. “Look, Kilo,” he said quietly, “I don’t mind covering for you, just give me more of a warning next time.”

“Alrighty, then,” Miles said. “Consider yourself warned.”

Trev arched an eyebrow. “Huh?”

Miles made sure the others were fully occupied at the other end of the bus before he slowly pulled back the curtain, revealing Aimee spread across his bunk, on her side, propped up on an elbow. Her brown eyes blinked, dark hair tangled and wild, her dress hiked up enough to see miles of leg.

She smiled and waved her fingers at Trevin, making Miles chuckle under his breath before sliding the curtain closed.

Then, he glanced at big brother Trev…and waited for it.

“Dude. Not. Cool.”

Miles nodded. “I know. It was an accident.”

“There are rules, bro. No chicks on—”

“I
know
.”

Trevin cocked his head to the side, then walked a few paces away toward the very back of the bus. “Dude, are you two in the middle of…” His voice trailed off. “Do you need a…”

“No, we’re just”—he paused to shrug—“messing around.”

“You’re not wearing a shirt.”