Rock Kiss 03 Rock Redemption (24 page)

She popped a couple into his mouth. Their eyes connected.

The intro to the show came on a second later, breaking the incipient tension of the sweetly intimate moment.

Noah had never had so much fun watching random famous and semi-famous people try to dance. He had to admit he had a new and serious respect for a few of them for putting themselves out there, but mostly he was horrified. “Spandex? Wasn’t that made illegal like two decades ago?”

Elbowing him, Kit spluttered with laughter. “Stop it.”

“Fuck me, he’s wearing
sequins
.”

“Rock stars have been known to wear sequins.”

“No rock star in his right mind has ever worn sequins in that—” His mouth fell open. “Is that a codpiece? For real?” Snorting, he said, “No way except in his dreams is his dick that big. He’s probably got two bananas in there.”

Face going red as she tried to hold in laughter, Kit ended up against him. He curled his arm around her, realizing he didn’t have to fight his need. She’d said they could try, and he liked having Kit’s warm, laughing body next to his.

She stayed against him, and every so often when he made a particularly deplorable comment, she’d lightly hit his thigh and tell him to behave. Every other time a woman had touched his thigh, it had been about sex. The first couple of times Kit did it, he tensed, but then it was okay. It was Kit and they were watching a silly show on television that she inexplicably liked. It was normal.

He hadn’t been normal for a long time.

K
it worried about Noah
when they headed to bed, but she didn’t want to push him on the sleep issue after the disaster with the pills. Not to mention she didn’t want to end his first day here with a fight. Smiling good night, she spent an hour awake and worrying before finally drifting off—only to wake three hours later. It took her sleep-muddled brain a minute to realize what had woken her: noises from Noah’s room.

Getting up, she pulled on her blue robe and went out to look for him. His door was open, but there was no Noah inside. A whisper of wind along the hallway told her where he’d gone. She padded to the door that led out into the garden, found him sitting on the outdoor bench in his boxer briefs, his head between his hands and his elbows on his thighs. She could see his face in the soft light from the solar-powered paper lanterns she’d hung out there.

The naked anguish in his expression threatened to break her.

Pulling back before he saw her, she pressed her spine against the wall, swallowing repeatedly and blinking in an attempt to get the burning in her eyes under control. Only when she was no longer in danger of breaking down did she step out. “Can’t sleep?”

His head jerked up. “Shit. I woke you.”

“Want to go for a run?”

He stared at her. “It’s two thirty in the morning.”

“So?” Turning to go back into the house, she said, “I’m getting changed.”

“You hate running.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t do it.”

He knocked on her bedroom door half a minute after she’d closed it. “Kit, it’s fine.”

Having already pulled out her running shorts, she opened the door. “Noah, we’re in this together. You watched
Dancing with the Stars
with me. I’ll go running with you. Now go get changed.” She shut the door in his face.

“
Kit
.”

“I’m awake now and I’m going running. Your choice if you want to join me.”

An infuriated sound came through the door, but she heard him moving to his room, and when she stepped out in her running clothes, her hair corralled into a ponytail, he was there. “We can run around inside your property,” he said, holding up a hand when she would’ve objected. “This stalker guy watches you. We can’t take the risk that he’s out there and he has a gun.”

She threw up her hands. “I don’t think he can run that fast, but whatever.” At least this mortgaged-to-the-hilt estate had enough land to make for a good lap.

N
oah put his hands
on his hips, eyes narrowed. Kit never said things like “whatever” in that tone of voice. “What’s wrong with you?”

A growling sound. “When did I say I was a morning person?” With that, she turned and headed out. “Pull the door shut and set the alarm.”

Glad she was thinking smart and not relying blindly on her security guys, he input the code to arm the security system, then pulled the door shut. It locked automatically behind them. Kit was in front of him, warming up. Noah never warmed up—he just ran until the nightmares couldn’t keep up, but today he stretched to keep Kit company. When they began to run, it was to head down a pathway that wove through the trees on her property.

It took him a minute to figure out the right pace. Kit was fit, but his stride was longer and he ran far more than she did. Running was hands down her least favorite form of exercise. It should’ve irritated him that he had to slow down for her, but he liked having her beside him, liked that he wasn’t alone in the dark. The fact that she chose to be with him even when she didn’t like running?

Yeah, that did all kinds of things inside him.

“You going to build a pool?” That, he knew, had been a significant downside to this property, but she’d bought it anyway because she’d been in a hurry. Not content with ejaculating on her bed, her disturbed stalker had slipped love notes under the town house door. She’d had to get out.

“When I have the money,” Kit replied.

“I have the money.”

“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that.”

The night wind rippling through his hair, he set his jaw. “If we’re going to live together, I get to contribute.” He
wanted
to contribute, to do things that turned this from her place to theirs, entangling them together on another level.

“Right now we haven’t even lived together a single day. Let’s talk when it’s been a year.”

“Two months.”

Kit snorted. “Eight.”

“Six.”

“Fine.”

He grinned. “What kind of pool do you want?”

Slanting him a glance, she said, “Shut up and run.”

He laughed and they ran, the night a starlit quiet around them. They passed one of the security guys, kept going with a nod of hello. It took four circuits around the property before Kit stopped at her front door. “Enough?” she said, her breath jagged and her hands on her knees.

“Yeah.” He usually ran for hours, but then he was usually alone. Running with Kit had been different—he didn’t know if he was tired enough to catch some shut-eye, but at least he no longer felt as twisted and black inside. “Let’s go in.”

H
e did sleep. Not
much, but about the same amount he did after exhausting himself—or by fucking out his rage. Not that it had exactly been the latter when he screwed those random groupies. There was a twisted version of male pride involved too, but he didn’t have to think about his fucked-up psyche today. Because today when he woke, it wasn’t with the taste of disgust in his mouth but to the scent of coffee.

Wandering out of the bedroom without bothering to pull on jeans over the black of his boxer briefs—Kit had seen it all before anyway—he yawned as he stepped into the kitchen. “I thought you’d sleep in.”

She didn’t look away from the box she was reading. “Can’t. Body clock.”

“What’s that?” Leaning on the counter, he stole her coffee and took a deep gulp.

“Waffle mix.”

His stomach rumbled.

Glancing across the counter, her lips began to curve before her expression morphed into a scowl. “You look terrible.”

K
it was lying—Noah
looked gorgeous. His hair was all rumpled, his shoulders golden and sleek with muscle, his upper body far too beautiful for her peace of mind.

And his eyes, those gray eyes, were full of light.

“Gee, thanks, Katie.”

“No waffles for you.”

“Hey, come on!” A grin that made him impossibly more beautiful. Putting down her coffee mug, he came around the counter, and damn it, he wasn’t wearing jeans. “I bet I can convince you otherwise.”

When he put his hands on her hips and tugged her forward, she slammed the box of waffle mix against his chest. “Stop right there, mister.” Her stomach was flipping, her skin hot.

He wrapped his arms around her instead and leaned in to press his forehead against hers. “Good morning.”

“I hate mornings,” she said, trying to keep her voice strong. It was difficult—she’d never seen Noah like this. In a good mood, yes, but never this good. He seemed to be smiling with his whole body. If this was what she got to wake up to every day, she might just come to like mornings.

“I’ll make the waffles from scratch,” he said, his cheeks creasing.

Her mouth fell open. “Since when can you cook?”

“I didn’t say I could cook. I said I could make waffles.” Moving one hand to her face, he cupped her cheek, that heartbreaker smile still on his face. “I had a job in a diner once, remember? Not long after the guys and I first came to LA. Anyway, the cook taught me.”

“Female cook?” she asked and saw the answer in his wicked smile. Affecting a scowl, she pushed at his shoulders, had to fight not to keep stroking the hot silk of his skin. “Let’s see these famous waffles.” She didn’t really want him to release her. Being close to Noah when he was like this… it made her want to laugh and cry at the same time.

He rubbed his thumb over her cheek before letting go. “Where’s your flour?”

“Same place as your pants,” she muttered and, when he threw back his head and laughed, couldn’t help her own smile. “Go put on clothes or you might burn something important.”

Still grinning, he returned to his bedroom and came back out wearing only a pair of jeans she recognized—hard not to when the denim had a tear just below his butt and threadbare patches all over. “Do you wear those outside?”

A shrug. “I wore them onstage during the tour.”

Jealousy bit into her with sharp little teeth. Stomach tensing, she shoved away the nasty, vicious emotion. Being jealous of all the women who wanted Noah—who’d been with him—would destroy the two of them before they ever had a shot. She had to let it go, but it was hard. So damn hard.

“Found it!” He held up her flour container with a triumphant look on his face.

Smiling, because how could she not with him here, looking at her that way, she helped gather the other ingredients. He was just finishing up the batter while the waffle iron heated when her cell phone rang.

Glancing at the screen, she saw it was her agent. “Harper?” she said, figuring it had to be bad news if the other woman was calling her at six thirty in the morning. “Hit me with it.”

“Esra Dali just called.” Harper’s voice was ebullient. “Wants you in for a screen test at ten.”

Kit gripped the edge of the counter. “You sure he wasn’t drunk?” she asked, trying to keep her heart from racing and failing spectacularly. “Pretty early for a call.”

“He keeps crazy hours. You make sure you get your butt down to the studios by ten, otherwise I’ll disavow all knowledge of you.”

“Where do I need to go?” Writing down the details, she hung up to see the gorgeous rocker in her kitchen pouring batter into the waffle iron.

It was as wonderfully surreal a sight as the words she spoke. “I have a screen test for
Redemption
.”

Noah’s face lit up. “Fuck yeah.”

A
n hour and a
half later, after they’d polished off the waffles and she was in her garden, meditating to put herself into the right mind-set for the screen test, Harper called back. The normally cool and collected agent was beside herself.

Thanks to Kit’s suddenly red-hot profile, the cosmetics company had sent in a revised offer that extended her proposed contract to include all international markets. “I don’t see any nasty clauses this time,” Harper said, “though I’m flicking it to the legal eagles to check. You should be signing on the dotted line tomorrow if all goes well.”

Kit hung up to the knowledge that her financial problems were close to over and that, if all went well, her career was about to shoot into the stratosphere. She should’ve been as ecstatic as Harper, but…

Her eyes lingered on Noah where he sat against the cherry blossom tree, lazily strumming his guitar while she sat cross-legged on a yoga mat a short distance from him. The music didn’t bother her when she meditated—she liked it, liked him nearby. But even when physically close, it felt as if he stood an ocean apart from her.

It wasn’t the sex. She hungered for Noah until she couldn’t breathe, but if sex hurt him to the point that it had become a weapon he used to self-harm, then she’d find a way to deal. No, what caused her pain was that he didn’t trust her enough to tell her what had caused the still-bleeding wound on his soul.

Lifting his head, he met her gaze, and in his eyes she saw a future with a man who was her best friend, but a best friend who’d keep his secrets, keep part of his soul forever hidden from her.

Could she live with that?

N
oah put the top
firmly on his convertible before he and Kit left for the screen test. He said it was to protect her hair, but Kit’s expression told him she knew that was a load of BS. Noah waited for her to argue, but his mind was made up: no way was he permitting the stalker to ruin a day that could mark a watershed moment in her career.

Though she shook her head at him, she didn’t try to make him change his mind, and they rolled out of the drive a couple of minutes later to the flash of cameras. The vultures were all hoping for some kind of an exclusive to fuel the current media feeding frenzy.

“What the fuck do they think we’ll do?” he said to Kit once they’d made it out. “Strip naked and dance together in front of the gate?”

“Will Taylor.”

Noah groaned. “He doesn’t count.” The country music star hadn’t only been caught with his pants down while he fucked his mistress during an island getaway, he’d then been photographed standing stark-naked in front of a hotel window while a different woman gave him a blowjob. Turned out he’d thought the window was reflective. “In fact, you can never use Will to score points in any conversation. It’s too easy.”

“At least he was wearing his cowboy hat,” Kit said with a laugh. “It would’ve been
seriously
embarrassing if he was caught bareheaded.”

“Stop right there. I don’t want to think about what another guy was wearing while a groupie sucked him off.”

A sudden silence from the passenger seat, no riposte. And he realized what he’d said. He’d never been photographed, but how many groupies had sucked him off? He couldn’t remember their names, probably hadn’t ever known them, their faces a blur and their mouths doing things to him that made his body respond though his heart remained frozen.

Most of the time, it had felt as if he was standing outside his body, watching someone else be touched. The times when he
was
present, that was when the rage came out, when he turned brutal. He’d never hurt a woman, but on the rage nights, he made sure to pick a woman who made it clear she could take it. Then he used her, shoving her out after he was done. That was who he’d been for a long time: a bastard who didn’t really see women as anything other than objects he could use to drown out the nightmares.

Then had come Kit.

“Sorry.” It was a blindingly inadequate apology, but he didn’t know what else to say. He couldn’t erase his past. If he could, he’d have done it as a child, wiped the memories from his mind so he could have a chance to grow up normal.

“Don’t say that.” Kit’s soft response was unexpectedly fierce. “This won’t work if you feel like you have to keep apologizing.” Her hands were white-knuckled fists on her thighs. “We have to start fresh, start now.”

Noah knew it wasn’t going to be that simple—their history was what tied them together. He also knew that part of the problem was that he’d given those women something he wouldn’t give Kit.

His hands flexed on the steering wheel, his entire body tense.

If he slept with Kit, he’d end up either in the cold or in the grip of rage. Those were his only choices, and he didn’t want to stain their relationship with that ugliness. But… would it be so bad if it would make Kit happy? He always knew when the rage times were coming, so he’d just pick a cold time.

She’d never know—he was apparently decent at sex. Not the long, lazy act he’d seen in on-screen romances or read about. The hard, fast stuff. It was mechanical on his part, but none of the women had ever complained.

Muscles locked tight, he decided he’d do it tonight.

It’d be worth it to strengthen the bond between him and Kit.

“Turn here.” Her voice broke into his thoughts, chipped away at the ice. “Security should have our names.”

Following her directions to the right parking area after they were cleared through the studio gates, he slid the car into an empty spot. As he went around to meet her by her side of the car, it was with his own emotions under lock and key. “You’ll knock ’em dead.”

A shaky smile. “Now that we’re here, I’m scared,” she whispered. “This is the biggest opportunity of my career.”

“No one else could do justice to this role.” He’d read the script on the flight back from the music festival, knew it was made for Kit. “Just remember that. And if all else fails, imagine Abigail Rutledge lording it over you at the premiere.”

Kit’s eyebrows drew together. “Not happening.”

“That’s my Katie,” Noah said and drew her into a hug. He wasn’t really a hugger, but Kit was, and truth be told, now that he’d started the hugging thing with her, he kinda liked it.

Taking a deep breath after he released her, she smiled and gave him two thumbs-up. “See you when they set me free. Probably be an hour at least.”

“You fine going in there alone?” She’d asked Butch and Casey to stay at the house today.

“Yes. Esra’s got a couple of stalkers of his own—harmless types who keep trying to get in, steal his stuff as souvenirs, rather than anyone who wants to hurt him, but it means his area is always secure.” She nodded toward the security guard on the door that was her destination. “Okay, better go.”

“Break a leg.” He watched her walk through the door.

Rather than waiting in the car, he went for a walk and managed to find a small coffee stand. Grabbing a plain black coffee, he made his way back toward the area where he’d parked and saw that the mock street to the left was now swarming with crew. He was leaning against a wall watching them set up a rain scene when he felt someone’s eyes boring holes into the side of his face.

Hackles up, he turned his head.
Aw, shit.
It wasn’t the stalker. It was the guy Kit had been dating before she and Noah got together: Terrence Gates. “Hey.” Noah straightened away from the wall. “I guess you want to punch my face.”

“For starters.” Arms folded, Terrence glared at him through the clear lenses of his metal-framed glasses. “You don’t deserve her.”

“No, I don’t.” That was simple fact. “But she’s mine, and I’m not about to give her up.”

Terrence’s already hard expression turned stony, his hazel eyes like chips of granite. “Yeah, well, I’ll be there to catch her when you let her down. Losers like you always do.”

Noah’s blood boiled, but he grabbed the fury in an iron fist, squeezed. Kit wouldn’t thank him for making a scene at her place of work. “You’ll be waiting one hell of a long time,” he said lightly, unable to stop himself from adding a cocky smile designed to piss Terrence off.

The other man stepped forward, arms unfolding as if he was going to take a swing. Noah wasn’t about to allow that to happen. “You want to take me on?” he said in a frigid tone. “Fine. Choose your time and place, but it sure as hell won’t be at the studio.” They were surrounded by people with phones, many of whom would love to make a few extra bucks by selling a shot to the tabloids. “Someone’s probably already gotten a snap of you approaching me.”

Terrence stared at Noah for a minute longer before turning and walking away. He’d unfisted his hand, but his shoulders remained bunched up. Though Noah tried to stay pissed off at the guy, it proved impossible—Terrence had a right to be angry. Yeah, the scriptwriter had apparently been a dick after the gala photos came out, but jealousy could do that to a man. All indications were that prior to the gala, Terrence had treated Kit with utmost care.

Noah, meanwhile…

He crushed his paper coffee cup and threw it in a nearby trash can, then walked back to the car. There was a small yellow flyer on the windshield. Probably a sneaky promotional attempt by a small-time movie company hoping to catch the eye of a studio bigwig. Everyone had to hustle.

Not against such self-starting behavior, he pulled the flyer out from under the wiper blade and turned it over. “
Fuck
.”

Printed on the yellow paper was a black-and-white photograph of him and Kit. It had been taken at the festival and had the look of a professional shot. If he had to guess, he’d say it had been printed off a news or magazine site. From what he could tell, it had originally been a shot of Kit sitting in the circle of his arms on the Zenith grounds, a smile on her face and his head bent toward her own.

On this copy, however, the stalker had scrubbed out most of Noah’s face with a black marker until he’d torn a hole in the paper. He’d then switched to red ink to write the word “WHORE” across Kit’s face.

About to crush the fucking thing into a ball, he remembered what Kit had done and dug around in his glove box, found a plastic bag he’d stuffed in there. He placed the flyer inside, then put the whole thing in the glove box. He didn’t want to tell Kit about it and ruin her hopefully amazing day, but he had to so she’d know the creep did in fact have access to the studio lot.

He wanted to demand he come along with her every day she needed to be here, but knew she’d never stand for that. At least she’d have Butch and Casey with her. Damn it, how had the fucker known she and Noah had left the guards at home today? The most likely explanation was that the stalker had made it a point to learn the faces of Kit’s security staff, been confident no one was watching the car.

Glancing around, Noah saw crew from the outdoor shoot walking this way and that. A lantern-jawed action star was standing talking to a bearded director. The actor and Kit had dated just over a year ago, and according to what Noah had picked up, the breakup had been anything but amicable. Kit and Action Dude had barely had two dates when the fuckwit leaked their “hot and heavy relationship” to the media. Apparently, it had all been pure fantasy—and Kit had broken things off at once.

Terrence stood not far off, arguing with a short, plump woman over something.

Those two were hardly the sole or even the best suspects. Action Dude was banging a centerfold-turned-reality-star now—and lapping up the attendant media coverage. As for Terrence, the jealousy-laced venom had continued to pour forth even when Kit had been dating the writer.

Still, stalkers were mentally unstable, so that didn’t automatically take Terrence off the suspect list. He could’ve thought to scare Kit to force her to rely on him. And the action star could be banging one woman while obsessed with another. Noah would make sure the bodyguards knew to keep an eye on both men if they were nearby.

But there were so many others around, any one of whom could’ve become obsessed with Kit after she smiled at him politely, or maybe said “thank you” for a cup of coffee. That’s all it took for the deluded to create a whole life, a whole relationship inside their head. That gaffer or that set-construction guy, or even that overweight character actor, it could be any of them.

Frustrated, he turned to face the door through which Kit had disappeared. It opened at the same instant to reveal the woman at the center of his thoughts. Her face was expressionless. Noah knew that could mean either very good news or very bad news. Taking his cue from her, he stayed silent as they got in the car and drove away.

“So?” he said once they were safely out of the lot and away from prying eyes.

A squeal erupted from the passenger seat. “Esra loved me! He was trying to pretend he was cool and not really into me, but I could see the fireworks going off in his head. He told me he’s seeing Abigail this afternoon, but I think he just wants negotiating power when it comes to the contract. I
nailed
it, and we both know it!”

Kit finally stopped to take a breath. “We spoke for twenty-five minutes afterward, and it was serious, in-depth script talk. He asked me if I could work with Garrison given the politics if Abigail doesn’t get the job, and I said I’m a professional.”

Another gulped breath. “I can feel it, Noah. Only reason it won’t be mine is if he plays politics, and I don’t think he will. Esra might be an arrogant SOB, but he’s a brilliant one who won’t put his name on anything about which he isn’t passionate.” She blew kisses over to Noah. “And thanks to you, Abigail and I are even on the publicity stakes, so that’s become a nonissue.”

“You’re the best, Kit. Period.” He loved seeing her like this, so happy and excited and confident. “Let’s pick up a bottle of champagne on the way home, have it chilled for when the news comes.”

“No.” A severe sound. “There’s being confident, and then there’s jinxing things.”

“Right.” Laughing at her adorable scowl, he guided the Mustang into a turn. “I keep forgetting how superstitious actors can be.”

“Don’t knock it. I was once in a small live performance of the Scottish play
.
” Shivering, she hugged herself. “Never again. That play is genuinely haunted.”

Reaching out, he flicked her nose. “And you, Katie, are genuinely cute.”

“Say that again and I’ll bite you.”

Much as he wanted to keep the upbeat mood, he knew he had to tell her about the flyer. As she’d said, she had to know to protect herself. Jaw and neck muscles tense, he said, “Your stalker has access to the lot.”

Silence from the passenger seat, then an exhale. “What did he do?”

He told her. “You don’t need to look at it,” he said when she would’ve reached for the glove box. “I haven’t hidden anything.”

Nodding in a trust that made him feel like he’d won the lottery, she leaned back in the seat. Her voice, when it came, was more focused than angry or scared. “It makes sense that he’s in the business.”

“Why?”

“When my place was broken into? It was while I was at a small party at the house of a camerawoman from my
Primrose Avenue
days. Not a lot of people knew I was gone. I guess he could’ve just been watching my place, but that wasn’t the only suspicious incident.” She tapped her finger on her knee.

“Once, I came back to my trailer on set and it felt as if someone had rifled through my purse. Nothing was missing, so I figured I was just being paranoid, but I changed the locks on the gate, the house, and the car anyway, despite the cost. A few days later, I found scratches on my car lock, as if someone had tried to use a key.”

Noah gripped the steering wheel with bruising force. “You tell the cops this?”

“Sure—and studio security at the time. But you know how many people there are on a lot at any one time.” Pragmatic words. “It’s a miniature city. And since I didn’t get any threatening notes or anything stalker specific, I figured it must’ve just been an opportunistic thief.”