Color Me Crazy (28 page)

…

Cleo waited for the other passengers to begin exiting the plane. No point in being one of the first ones to jump up and stand in the aisle while everyone scrounged through the overhead bins. She called Julian. He answered on the first ring.

“Hey, Big Red, we’re just now taking the airport exit. Have you landed?”

Every muscle in her body relaxed at the sound of his voice. Well, not
every
muscle. Some parts of her body tingled and clenched.

“Yeah, I’m still on the plane, though.”

“Okay, good,” he said. “I’ll give you a ring when we’re curbside.” He paused, then added, “I can’t wait to touch you, hold you, smell you…”

Her heart melted and pooled at her feet. She’d been worried about nothing.

A few minutes later, Cleo walked through the terminal doors, and a blast of freezing air hit her, blowing up her skirt—her pathetically inadequate cotton skirt. And the thigh-high crocheted tights, with their pattern of peekaboo holes, did little to protect her legs. Funny, they’d looked Eskimo warm on the Etsy shop website.

People jostled and bumped her as they hurried to their rides. She scanned the line of taxis and shuttles. A black stretch limo sat conspicuously in the long line. Surely that wasn’t…

The door opened slowly, and Cleo held her breath. His hair brushed his shoulders, and it had been a few days since he’d shaved.
Sexy overload.
Before she could catcall to get his attention, he saw her, and a smile lit up his face. She ran toward him as best she could, weighed down by her bag and her stupid suede platform boots.

He met her halfway, catching her in his arms. He inhaled her hair, and a shiver traveled through him—one she knew wasn’t from the cold.
She
did that to him. She wasn’t ready to let go when he loosened his embrace, so she squeezed him extra tightly.

“Okay, love. Let’s get in the big rock star car now. It has a heater.” He peeled her off and held her at arm’s length. “Let me look at you.” With a smile, he took her in. “Nice boots. I guess it’s only the knees to the waist that are chilly?” He narrowed his eyes and growled like an animal. “I’m going to enjoy warming that up.”

She pulled her short ski jacket around her, hopping from one foot to the other. “Since my teeth are chattering, that sounds like heaven.”

Julian laughed and kissed her, snorting as her teeth rattled against his. “Poor darling. Let’s get in the car.” He grabbed her hand and her bag, and they darted for the limo, where a young driver waited by the door. His eyes widened when he saw her. What was he expecting? Twenty years younger and a black leather mini?

“This is Donnie,” Julian said.

Donnie took off his hat. “Step right in,” he said with a grand gesture.

Too cold for small talk. Cleo put a foot inside the car just as a sudden gust of wind whipped up her skirt. “Oops!”

She tried holding the hem down, but the blush on Donnie’s face—and the grin on Julian’s—confirmed that she’d just flashed her purple panties.

“As soon as she gets near a limo,” Julian said, shaking his head. “It’s a problem.”

“I doubt that, sir,” Donnie said, replacing his hat with a wink.

Julian moved his guitar over and climbed in. Donnie shut the door, and Cleo held her hands in front of the heater vent. Pins and needles replaced numbness as they thawed. A nifty privacy screen slid silently up, and slowly her chills subsided.

“I can do things that heater can’t, Big Red. Get up on my lap like a good girl.”

“Mmm, that sounds enticing.” She straddled him with her cold thighs against his warm legs. His hands slid beneath her skirt as she leaned over and fed him a kiss.

“Have I told you I missed you?” he asked against her lips.

“Yes, but you haven’t shown me.”

He kissed her slowly, exploring and tasting, but then pulled away. “You’re intoxicating, baby,” he said. “But I’ve got a show to do, and I could use some alcohol.” He leaned over to pick up a champagne bottle. “Get a couple of glasses, would you?”

That was abrupt, but Cleo grabbed two flutes without leaving Julian’s lap. “Do you normally have to drink before a show?” She’d never seen him need alcohol to relax, and she didn’t like it.

“Just a little something to settle my nerves. No big deal.”

Maybe that wasn’t as bad as it sounded. A lot of musicians suffered stage fright, and they had all sorts of rituals to overcome it. Julian filled the flutes without spilling a drop.

“Here’s to you being back on a big stage,” Cleo said, hoping she sounded sincere.

“And here’s to you being in the back of a limo. Feeling wanton yet?”

She laughed and took a sip. “I’m nervous,” she whispered.

“Why?” he asked, while running his thumb over her lower lip. She went limp and spilled her champagne in his lap.

“Oh, no! I’m sorry.”

He laughed. “I’ve missed this so much,” he howled, while Cleo scanned the limo for something to soak up the mess. There was a small stack of napkins next to the bar. She grabbed a handful and handed them to him.

“Thanks for that,” Julian said, wiping a tear from his eye. “Really. Way better than a cold shower, which I was going to need shortly.”

He dabbed the napkins on his soaked crotch before tossing them aside. “So, you were saying?” He poured her a fresh glass of champagne.

“What?”

“Before you doused me, you were saying you were nervous.”

“Oh.” She took a not-so-ladylike gulp of champagne. How could she tell him what she was nervous about? She wasn’t sure herself. It was as if something huge and ugly hovered just outside her peripheral vision.

“Um, well, I’m nervous about being backstage, I guess. You’ll be busy, and I’ll be trying to look awesomely cool, which as you know does not come naturally to me.”

“While you’re trying to look cool, I’ll be preparing to play in front of tens of thousands of people. I hate backstage, waiting to go on, dealing with all the last-minute bullshit from the prima donnas.”

“Getting tired of your friends?”

“Got tired of them a long time ago. But Cory’s not that much of an asshole.”

“I like him, too.”

Julian narrowed his eyes. “I don’t like you liking him.”

“Good grief, Julian. I can’t hate everyone just to make you feel better. And anyway, this tour will be over soon.”

“Yeah. About that…”

Her heart nearly stopped.
Please don’t say you’re going on the European tour.

“Mr. Lazros.” Cleo jumped at the sound of Donnie’s voice through the small speaker, and Julian immediately moved to protect his lap. “We’re approaching the arena.”

“Drink up, love. Almost showtime.” He downed his champagne, poured himself another glass, and downed that, too.

The limo pulled into the tunnel leading to the bowels of Minneapolis’s Target Center.

“What do I do with my bag?” Cleo asked.

“Leave it in the car if you don’t need it. So, listen, at a certain point, I’ll have someone take you to the VIP pit. Unless you’d like to stay backstage?”

“No, of course not. I want to see the show. That’s what I came for.”
It’s not like I came all this way to make sure you’re behaving yourself.

The car came to a stop, and Julian gathered up his things. “The VIP pit is a great spot. It’s on the floor, and you should be able to see well.”

“Will there be other girlfriends or wives at this show?”

Donnie held the door open. Julian looked at her and said, “I don’t know. But either way, mind your own business, Big Red.”

He stepped out and reached for her hand.

“Why wouldn’t I mind my own business?” she asked.

“Because getting into other people’s business is your job. And you’re good at it. But back off. The guys are on tour and playing by different rules.”

Was this a warning? Was he letting her know that he, too, had been playing by different rules? Just as she stood, a huge, scowling man came barreling toward them. She remembered him from the bus parking lot. The road manager.

“Well, look at this,” he barked. “The fucking princess has arrived!”

…

Julian turned to face the 340-pound former offensive lineman. His tattooed head was shiny and black, and he was doing that nervous jaw-clenching thing that made Julian’s teeth hurt. “Hey, Sheik. How’s it going, man?”

“Don’t
how’s it going
me, you sorry-ass motherfucker. You missed sound check.”

“I told Seth I’d be late.”

“I don’t care about that. Do you see Seth here? No. You see me. You answer to me, Princess. And I told you to be here three hours ago. You show up here in your princess coach with your fancy princess driver who’s getting in everybody’s way…”

Poor Donnie shrank in size, slinking to the other side of the limo.

“He’s moving the car. No worries, pal.”

“Don’t you
no worries
me, you pansy-assed, butt-licking shithead. You can’t do whatever you please on my watch.”

“Hey, Sasquatch!” Julian turned to see Cleo glowering in Sheik’s shadow when she should be cowering like a smart person. He grinned. Sheik was in deep shit. “Who do you think you’re talking to like that?”

Sheik looked down at Cleo. “Princess, what is this thing yapping at my heels?”

“This is Cleo, and she’s attempting to take you on in defense of my honor.”

Sheik looked Cleo up and down a few times and apparently decided she wasn’t a threat. “Well, get rid of it,” Sheik said, waving his hand dismissively.

“You can’t talk to people like this! What’s the matter with you?” Cleo demanded.

Sheik looked at Julian as if he should do something to handle his woman. Julian shrugged and made the introductions. “Cleo, this hunk of human steak is Sheik. He has a huge man crush on me and gets worried when I’m late. It makes him testy.”

“I don’t care who he is,” Cleo said. “He’s rude and he owes everyone, including poor Donnie over there, a big, fat apology.”

“Well, well, well,” Sheik said. “It seems the real princess has arrived.” He poked Julian in the chest, making him wince. “I’m letting you off the hook because I suddenly feel sorry for your ass.”

“Don’t you poke him like that,” Cleo said, grabbing Sheik by a meaty bicep.

Julian coughed to stifle a laugh as Sheik froze for five seconds, then slowly lifted his arm. Cleo held on, but when her feet began to leave the ground, she let go with an irritated grunt.

“Uh-huh, that’s better,” the giant hulk chided. “Don’t be touching the Sheik, man.”

Cleo glared. “Don’t be touching my boyfriend,” she snapped back.

Sheik raised one eyebrow at Cleo, and without taking his eyes off her, reached out and smacked Julian on the top of the head.

“Ow!” Julian wailed. “Jesus Christ, Sheik.”

Cleo stood with her mouth open, and Sheik walked away, scattering people left and right. One young man wasn’t fast enough, and Sheik snagged him by the collar. “Louis, escort that half bite of royal pain in the crack”—he glanced back at Cleo—“to the hospitality room.”

“Does she need a pass?”

“Yeah, give her a full-access pass.”

“Follow Louis, love,” Julian said. “I’ll be there in a minute.” Cleo hesitated briefly, then spun and marched off, with Louis following on her heels. Her skirt-covered ass swung with attitude beneath her puffy jacket, and her right stocking slipped lower with each step. Julian couldn’t wait to get her naked. In the meantime, he jogged over to Sheik.

“I think you scared her,” he said.

Sheik snorted. “Where’d she get them boots? Hookers ’R’ Us?” Then he grinned. “My, my, my.”

“Holy shit,” Julian said. “You’re smitten, aren’t you?”

“Hell, no,” Sheik said, as they started up the ramp. He put his arm around Julian’s shoulders. “Well, maybe a little.”

Chapter Fifteen

Cleo followed Louis through the underground maze that made up the backstage area. People scurried about like ants in their tunnels, and she dodged them as best she could. Louis stopped at an open door. “This is the hospitality room,” he said. “You can hang out here for a while. Julian’s probably right behind us, so he’ll be here in a sec. Do you need anything?”

Cleo peered into the small, crowded space. “No, I guess not.”

She walked in and looked around. A couch against the wall overflowed with young women. They giggled, chatted, and sipped drinks, and all wore revealing outfits, too much eyeliner, and the same full-access pass Cleo had around her neck.
Groupies. Real ones.
There were also reporters, radio personalities, and a few crew members hanging out.

“Help yourself to anything at the refreshment table,” Louis said.

One of the girls got off the couch and walked up to them. “Louis,” she said, “how are the boys doing? Why can’t we get into the dressing room?” She wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered something in his ear.

“Maybe later,” he said, with a lascivious grin.

“I want to meet Julian,” she insisted.

“Well, you’re in luck. This is his girlfriend. Maybe she’ll introduce you. I’ve got to run.”

Cleo took a step back. “Thanks a lot,” she muttered. The door was behind her—maybe she’d turn and make a run for it.

“Hey,” the girl said. “Are you really his girlfriend?”

“Well, I’m not a thirty-year-old groupie, that’s for sure,” Cleo said.

“Hey, guys,” the girl called out. “This is Julian’s girlfriend.”

No jealous glares. Instead, the women behaved as if Cleo were a celebrity. “What’s he like? How did you meet?”

“Well…” She cleared her throat. Where to begin? “Julian owns a recording studio called Soundbox—”

Someone gasped, and all eyes turned to the door behind Cleo.

“Hi, girls,” Julian said.

A chorus of squeals passed through the groupie throng. They waved and threw kisses, which Julian pretended to catch before grabbing Cleo’s hand and pulling her through the doorway. “Come to the dressing room with me.”

“You were cheeky with those girls,” she said.

“You call that cheeky?” Pulling her closer, he whispered in a sexy, low growl, “I’ll show you cheeky.”

He didn’t act like a guilty man. But still…