Hung Out: A Needles and Pins Rock Romance (73 page)

“What?”

“You signed on with Jewelstone?”

“I recorded that song at their studio. You know. The song from the documentary. Crash To Burn.”

“Which is one of the most downloaded songs right now.”

“What!”

“And the video. Over three million views.”

“The video?” Her face blanched, and he realized she hadn’t made sense of what he was saying. The word video was still synonymous with ugly connotations.

He dropped his eyes to what seemed to be a brand. Scarlette Rose scrawled in a fancy script and a rose in full bloom as the ‘O.’

“Scar, you’re freaking famous. And not because of our video. Not because of your dad. Your song and video is rocking every chart out there.”

She reached for the phone he waved and frowned as she scrolled. “How do I not know this?” Her tone was wondrous and tinged with a touch of pride. A light tap began the video and together they watched the camera pan and zoom with various frame effects on her in the studio setting. “I didn’t know they were making a video. I mean they filmed it, but I thought that was just part of the recording process.”

After several minutes of reading comments, listening, and looking at the streaming specs, she relinquished the phone, still wearing a dazed look. “I guess some part of me knew they were going to release the song. But I didn’t expect this.”

“I can’t wait to show this shit to Landon.”

“Don’t!” She rolled toward where he still crouched, eye level with her cubbyhole, and hit her head when she rose too high on her elbow. “You can’t show them.”

He knew what she was thinking. The two of them were already the outsiders. To the others, Scarlette seemed like a spy who could rat on Landon to Jax, and it was no secret they were threatened by his experience in Fire Flight. But didn’t she see? Nothing was going to help that. So why not have some fun? The asswipe thought the recent buzz around Scar was due to both the sex video and her being rock royalty. Gage couldn’t wait to see his face when he realized Scarlette had surpassed Rattler in the music stratosphere.

“C’mon, Scar. Landon needs to be put in his fuckin’ place. They all do.”

“No. Don’t. They’ll find out at some point. I’d rather it be later when we don’t have to see them every day.”

Unable to resist, he reached, running a strand of her hair between his thumb and forefinger. And damned if being so close to her face, his thumb didn’t tingle with the want to touch her lips. But he mustered control. “Fine. But we’re celebrating in Paris.” His heart beat double time when she smiled her agreement.

The sudden arrival of the others gave him a start, and he realized they’d been so deep into a world where only the two of them existed, neither had heard them come up the stairs. He jerked his hand back but it was too late. The innuendos and bad jokes began and he fought the urge to crack skulls. For about three seconds. Until Landon’s “Must be true. Incest is best,” reached his ears.

Whirling, he pinned the drummer against the bunks on the opposite side. The gash on Landon’s brow from the other night jarred him enough to control his fury. “Enough fucker. Fucking enough.”

She was positive there was nothing on the itinerary for three days at which time they would leave the city of love for the next show.

Okay. Now she was not going to be able to sleep. She would toss and turn, wondering if Gage had sightseeing planned or all-day sex. Shit. And that was her last thought before she did fall asleep. Soundly!

Gage hadn’t exaggerated about early. Her phone rang while it was still dark outside the hotel window.

“Hey, sleeping beauty. Up and at ’em. Don’t eat. Dress comfortable. For walking.”

“What? Is it tomorrow already?” She yawned and stretched but felt surprisingly rested with each second that passed.

“I’m going to pick you up in thirty.”

“Okay.” She stretched again, feeling a smile curve her lips and then bounded out of bed.

Thirty minutes later, she answered his knock, showered and ready for the adventure—whatever it was. With a twinge of disappointment, she wiped sex-all-day off her mental whiteboard when he didn’t push his way into the room and fling her on the bed.

Instead, he chattered all the way to the lobby about how Landon had roused him every hour or so by coming in and out of the room all night. When she expressed her sympathy, again feeling a twinge of guilt for being the only one in their camp who didn’t share a room, he waved her words off and with a flourish, beckoned her into the back of a waiting Rolls Royce.

Impressed, she took in the shadowy interior and tried to block her senses to the soapy smells wafting from his hair and skin. The same exact scents she had also showered with. Clearing her throat and her mind of shower images, she asked, “You said we’re going to eat, right?”

“First thing,” he promised.

On cue, her stomach growled and they both laughed. The first light of dawn had apparently brightened the sky during the drive over. Now, as they exited the car and followed the guide who met them down a gangplank, the palette colors of sunrise began to streak the heavens.

After Joaquin, who had relieved Jal, went ahead and then nodded them on, they boarded what could be described as a mini yacht. On the deck, she and Gage were seated at a table covered with a white lacy tablecloth. Two place settings adorned with toile-printed china waited.

They dined on fruits, breakfast crepes and, yes, French toast dusted with powdered sugar. An attendant continuously topped off their long stem flute crystal glasses with what tasted like orange juice spritzers as the boat cruised the Seine River.

The man who had met them at the car guided their journey from the helm, which was several steps below deck. He expressed points of interest and condensed lessons of each, his voice slightly amplified through a speaker near their table.

At the base of the Eiffel Tower, the boat idled and Gage held his champagne flute aloft. “To Scarlette Rose. The world is yours.”

Embarrassed, but giddy, she clinked her glass to his.

The boat cruise came to an end, and the Rolls Royce was waiting. Instead of dropping them back at the hotel, it came to a stop in front of a whitewashed brick building. Gage leaned in, presumably tipping the driver and then grabbed her hand as he escorted her inside.

He headed straight to an elevator and closed them inside the antique cage lift. They disembarked on the fifth floor, and took a flight of stairs up to the next floor. Producing a key, he slid it into the lock and after a few clinks, the door swung inward, revealing what looked to be a cozy apartment.

They waited while Joaquin went through each room. She knew the routine and recognized the necessity. Several new hostile emails had been added to the Ketchum folder. The security service had traced the origination, determining they were being sent from within the U.S.A. This was comforting in a small way; as was the fact they had decided to notify the proper authorities. Joaquin exited with a nod, and she eagerly began her own exploration.

Perplexed, she wandered room to room. The lobby they’d entered from the street had no resemblance to a hotel. The space was rustic, from the white brick exterior walls to the huge beams running parallel along the vaulted ceiling. The kitchen was modern down to the polished stone countertops and stainless steel appliances. The floor was terracotta tile with fluffy throw rugs strewn about. The bedroom…

She stopped short of stepping inside this room and was admiring the clean, white linens and antique furnishing from afar when the paned wall of French doors drew her in. An iron balcony was just beyond. The view of the city from it was stunning.

“Okay.” She pushed away from the rail. Feeling him directly behind her, she twisted to eye his expression as she inquired, “Where are we?”

He forked his fingers through his wavy hair, and she noted the nervous gesture. “This is one of Dad’s properties. I figured, well, no one saw us leave the hotel as early as it was. And if we camp out here instead of there while we are ‘doing’ the city then no one is seeing us come and go, and we don’t have to deal with ugly comments.”

“But when we’re both gone together for a long time, they’ll—how long are we staying?”

“As long as you want. We can come and go just today, or we can stay the whole time.” His earnest gaze locked to hers. “Play it by ear?”

“Play it by ear.” She easily agreed, enchanted by both the view of historic Paris and the apartment itself. This was so much better than their hotel on the other side of town.

“I figured we can go walk around. Be tourists. When the city wakes up.”

She covered a yawn with her hand and nodded. When she scooted onto the bed and positioned her pillow to see better out of the French doors, he joined her, spooning and playing in her hair as they dozed.

“I didn’t know you spoke French.” After a day on the town, their feet dragged as they scaled the stairs between the fifth and sixth levels.

Gage remained intent on the giant Chestnut Rum Berthillon ice cream cone he was scarfing down. “Just enough to get by. You know. Offer bribes in exchange for standing in long-ass lines and stuff like that.”

Scarlette giggled but thought of the line at least a hundred people deep they’d avoided and felt guilty. Yet, even here in Paris, she was getting second glances. Logically, she knew they could have been mobbed had they chosen to wait forty-five minutes on ice cream in the midst of a public square.

Pausing for a second on the landing, she faced him and teased, “I feel ripped off. You never spoke the ‘language of love’ to me.”

He swallowed his current mouthful of ice cream and deliberately brushed his body against hers as he passed and began up the last half of the flight. “I get it now. You wanted Pepé Le Pew sexing you up and not some dirty rocker.”

Humming birds took flight in her stomach. Tickling and stabbing. That’s how it felt to think of whatever she and Gage had in the past, as well as whatever was going on now. A pleasurable pang.

She was getting so used to the bodyguard that she barely flinched with embarrassment when he skirted around them with an impassive face. He was in and out of the apartment in less than a minute. With a curt nod, he pulled the locked door closed behind him and headed back downstairs to where he’d stationed himself. Like at the hotel, he used the hallway camera to keep watch.

Picking up their Pepé Le Pew  versus dirty rocker conversation, she managed a retort as she followed Gage through the apartment. “Maybe both. You know. Have my ice cream and eat it too.” She finished with a lick of a drip trickling down the side of the waffle cone.

His eyes smoldered liquid fire, and instead of popping the last bit of his dessert into his mouth, he dipped his tongue into the cone first. “So a skunk rocker.” With a crunch, he finished the cone.

“It sounds dirty when you say it that way.” Actually, she was impressed at the quick witty way he’d substituted punk with skunk. Her stomach felt bloated and full from all the food they’d eaten. She dropped the remainder of her cone into a bowl and set it in the freezer.

“Is that a good thing or a bad?” From behind her, he closed in and wrapped her in his arms. “Because dirty is my specialty.” His cold lips nibbling at the crook of her neck and the sandpapery abrasion of his chin initiated an eruption of gooseflesh.

“I knew you had ulterior motives with this apartment…” A sigh of pure pleasure hissed through her lips.