The Chase (10 page)

“I was raised just by my mom. No brothers or sisters. When I was a kid she did
... I think she did her best, but we never had any cash. I grew up in a trailer park, and she always had a new boyfriend. Which was fine, except I had to learn to be tough early on.” I glance at Adam; he’s listening intently, showing no signs of even noticing the screams from the crowd that signal that Trystan’s set is about to come to a close.

His expression changes. “What do you mean, you had to be tough early on?” He narrows his eyes; I hesitate.

“My mom works as a cashier at a grocery store, and she doesn’t make much, so those boyfriends helped keep a roof over our heads and food in our mouths.” My own mouth is suddenly dry. “But once in a while one would drink a bit too much and decide that he wanted a taste of me too. Or one of the other kids in the park would strike out. Or a bunch of rich assholes would come slumming, and decide that a teenage girl in the slums would be delighted to give them a Saturday night blow job.”

I thought that it would be hard to shock a rock star, who has probably seen and done it all. But Adam looks like he’s swallowed a lemon whole.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He spits out, reaching for my arm then drawing back as he seems to realize that I might not want to be touched while telling this story. “I—”

I wish I could find humor in making Adam Kincaid speechless, but I’m having a hard enough time just getting the words out. I don’t sit around wallowing in my somewhat crappy upbringing—there’s no point, plus lots of kids had it way worse than I did, even kids right in Green Acres.

But I don’t want him to see me any differently. And yet, if I want to know Adam inside and out, then I know I have to share.

“
I wanted out, so I clawed my way to a college scholarship. I didn’t really care where I went; I just wanted to go. Nothing fancy; I just wanted enough education to get a decent job. An office manager or admin assistant or something.” My voice sounds strange even to my own ears, empty, hollow. “I’ve lived on that scholarship money for the last four years, that and a bunch of part time jobs. My mom’s always had access to my bank account, because she helped me to set it up when I was a kid and I just never got around to changing it. Over the last year or so I’ve noticed that she’s withdrawn a twenty here and there, but I figured she really needed it, you know?”

“But a
few weeks ago I went to the bank to check that my scholarship money for my final year had been deposited. It had... but it had also been withdrawn.
All
of my money had.”

Spitting out that last bit feels like ripping a scab off of a fresh wound.
But it’s off... the only thing to do now is clean the wound and staunch the flow of blood.

If Mom had needed the money for an operation or something I could get over it. But knowing that she took it to fund her hobby...

I know she’s got a serious problem. But still, right now I don’t have it in me to forgive.

“
The older she gets, the less able she’s been to find one of those boyfriends willing to help with the bills. So the attention she’s missing from that... she’s filling that hole with something else.”

I don’t dare look at Adam. I’ll never be able to finish if it do.

“My mom has a gambling problem. She’s not so different from me, really, hoping for a quick fix to the problems she’s had all her life.” Except gambling money that wasn’t hers was, in my eyes at least, a little different than making a distasteful moral decision in order to live. “She needs help that I can’t afford, and I need to eat. And that’s why I need the job with Miss Black.”

Plus I don’t ever, ever want to turn into my mom.
Now that I’m in the job, I want a sizeable nest egg to fall back on when the going gets rough. But I keep that to myself.

Adam opens his mouth to ask me something, but I hold up my hand to stop him. “That’s more than I’ve ever told anyone. It’s your turn.”

He regards me for a long moment, his sense of entitlement warring with the bargain we made. Finally he nods. “Fair enough. What do you want to know?”

“Same thing as earlier.” I point to the tattoo on his arm. He shied away from the question when I asked earlier, and I want to know. “Why did you get that tattoo?”
I know I should ask him something more important, like what the hell a man who could roll around all day and night in any kind of sex he wants was doing buying a call girl... but the fact that he’s refused to answer this question is sticking in my craw, and I’m dying to know.

“I—” He’s clearly taken aback that I’m pressing the subject, looking from the
dark ink to me and back to the tattoo. Red suffuses his cheeks; at first I think it’s embarrassment, but when he turns that intense stare on me again I realize that it’s anger.

I don’t think it’s directed at me, not exactly, but it still makes my heart skip a beat.

“I was raised in a nice, upper middle class suburb of Chicago. I have two great parents who are still alive, and an older sister. A completely normal upbringing. But,” he grinds his teeth together, “all of that normal couldn’t erase the darkness that’s in me, that’s in my very soul. And you, who had a shitty time of it—you’re so fresh and pure.”

He traces a single finger over the line of my jaw; I close my eyes as I shiver.

“I won’t taint you with that darkness, not even to play fair. Don’t ask again.”

Abruptly he stands, shaking his head like he can shake off our argument. I’m steaming mad, and fling my knitting to the side, getting in his face.

“You say I have to let go of my fears to be with you. But then you have to give me a little more to go on.” I gesture at his tattoo. He grabs my upper arms and squeezes.

“You might have had a shitty lif
e as a kid but you’re still pure somehow... even with that little mean streak you’ve got.” The ghost of a smile plays over the corners of his lips. “I’m not as shiny as everyone wants to believe. And one way to make amends is to keep that darkness from spreading.”

“Bullshit.” I refrain from stomping my foot, afraid it will look childish. “And don’t fucking move. You owe me the answer to a question.”

His fingers squeeze just a little tighter, then he releases me. He’s clearly pissed off, but he stays put.

“Why were you at Miss Black’s?” I demand, still furious that he refused to answer my other question after prying my innermost secrets out of me.

Adam tilts his head, and between the costume, the stage makeup, and the darkness backstage, he looks like a dark, avenging angel, someone not to mess with.

But he answers. And I hate what he has to say.

“I visited Miss Black because I have needs, Carly.” He smiles, but the expression is emotionless.

I feel like a fist is squeezing my heart.

“You could indulge those... needs... in an easier way.” I can’t help but look across the room to where Amy is lecturing some hapless man wearing a gigantic headset. “You know you could.”

“I could.” He agrees, tilting his head to the side to study me. “But it’s easier this way. Money for sex. Nobody expects anything that can’t happen.”

If he punched me in the chest, it couldn’t have hurt more. I blink furiously, because I refuse to cry—I hate crying. I’m stronger than that.

But hey, I’ve already made an ass of myself this week. I might as well go for broke. “Can’t happen at all?”

Adam exhales on a sigh of pure frustration, and the dark angel is gone, replaced by the man that has intrigued me so much in the last two days. He rakes a hand through his perfectly spiked hair, probably to the dismay of his stylist, then casts me a look of genuine regret.

“I don’t know, Carly. I truly don’t.”
With a little shake, he presses one quick, hard kiss to my lips. Snarls, then releases me, stalking away toward the stage, leaving me standing there, absolutely stupefied.

I press my hands to my lips,
the flesh there burning from his touch. I’m vaguely aware of the last minute flurry of roadies, switching out Trystan’s stage set for Adam’s, of Trystan himself, sweaty and exhilarated after his set. He stops to chat with me for another moment, but he clearly picked up on the undercurrents running between Adam and I, because the hint of flirtation is gone. And it doesn’t matter.

I only care about Adam. What on earth could he be hiding that’s so bad?
And, even more than what I want and I need... can he get past it to find happiness?

How can he ask me to give him everything if he won’t give me anything in return? If he wants my body, I have to give it to him.
Even if he hadn’t bought me, I feel certain that that’s where we’re headed.

But I’ll keep a vicious hold over my heart, because it’s becoming patently clear that when it comes to an emotional connection, he can’t or won’t play fair.

Can’t. Won’t. I laugh to myself dryly. In the end, it doesn’t really matter

Chapter Eight

The next hour gives me a crash course in Adam Kincaid, the rock star. Even furious with him, I can’t tear my eyes away. I stand in the wings of the stage, every bit as mesmerized as each of the twenty thousand fans jammed into the stadium, screaming out his name.

His style is theatrical, operatic, and entirely his own. He’s at times flamboyant, overtly sexual, soulful and wicked, and I’m swept away in his performance just like everyone else there.

And more even than the way he commands the stage—holy shit, his
voice
. I remember catching a few episodes of the reality show that gave him his start, and absently thinking when he didn’t win that it was a shame. And hearing him on the radio, it was clear that he had talent to spare.

But this—
watching his voice take over the music, watching him interpret each song with his entire body...

To see that kind of talent is both awe-inspiring and humbling. Most humans aren’t blessed that way. And watching him onstage, I slide right into the role of fan, because the creature that’s strutting around out there? I can’t even bear the idea of being near that radiance.

I’ll get burned.

By the time
he slides into his encore, I’m as seduced by him as every other woman who has seen him in a photo spread in a magazine and wanted him. Except that I know that once he’s offstage, he’ll become human again, and he’ll run hot and cold, tell me he wants me and then to stay away... holding me hostage against my will.

And I still want him. I want him in the same way as all of those women, and in a way that belongs entirely to us, to Adam and Carly.

Heart in my throat, I watch him launch into one final song.

I almost swallow my tongue when he casts a look in my direction, his stare finding mine and holding as he sings, as
though the words coming from inside of him are meant for me and me alone.

Don’t leave me now, I am working it out

Don’t leave me now, I will come around

I’m in the dark, need to find the light

Just don’t break my heart

When he mops sweat from his brow with a towel
and becomes human again, I make up my mind.

I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want him.

I may never again, especially if I return to working for Miss Black.

I’m all in.
No matter how incredibly, ridiculously stupid it is.

As the final notes of the haunting song fade, and the cheers rise, Adam does something that throws me completely off my game—he casts one quick look at
me, then grabs his bass player—his
male
bass player—and lays one on him. And we’re not talking a little peck—this is an open-mouthed, raw, hair-grabbing kiss that’s as dirty as fucking.

The crowd absolutely roars, but Adam doesn’t seem to hear. He puts his everything into that kiss, and I’m mesmerized by the flash of tangling tongues, and the way that Adam’s hand cups the other man’s undeniably fine ass.

When he releases the bass player, and the other man grins and wanders over to join the rest of the band, Adam seeks me out, one eyebrow raised in question.  I know what he’s doing—he’s trying to push me away, even as he pulls me closer.

But this doesn’t have the effect on me that he wants it to. No, far from being repulsed, I feel my body suffuse with heat, feel dampness surge between my legs.

If Adam willingly kissed another woman? I’d channel every last one of my trailer park roots and rip her hair out. And I don’t count Shanti the model in that equation.

Watching him kiss a man, and knowing he’s enjoying it?

It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

My knees are trembling as
Adam stalks off the stage without even a backward glance at his screaming fans, making his way directly to me. His hand finds my waist, his palm as scorching as the heat in his eyes. I can feel my body respond, his fever igniting my own, and I reach up and tangle my fingers in his hair.

“You sure you want to take this on?” Grabbing me by my elbows, he jerks me up to my tiptoes, supporting me when I would have fallen. “I’m not a good person, Carly.
I’ve warned you what’s inside of me. But I can’t hold back anymore, because I’m used to getting what I want. I want to do dirty fucking things with you. But not because you feel you have to, that I paid you to. Only because you want to.”

Being held the way I am, I don’t have much room to move. But I
dip my head and lightly sink my teeth into the taut muscle of his shoulder, savoring the salt of his sweat.

The way Adam’s pupils dilate tells me that there’s no going back now.

“Carly.” Adam growls, then jerks me up even higher, crushing my mouth under his own. I’m vaguely aware of my answering moan, and of a rising brightness as I sink into the kiss.

Adam jerks away far too quickly for my liking,
and I protest, tilting my head for more. But then I realize that the lights are the flashes of cameras, almost every person backstage having pulled their cell phones out to record this moment of tabloid history—Adam Kincaid kissing a woman.

“Fuck.” Adam snarls at the people around him—the people who are only here be
cause he signs their paycheques. Even though he’s warned me that these people all want a piece of him, I’m still stunned.

I’d never think of illicitly recording what is clearly such an intimate moment. But I know as I see them all tapping away at their tablets and phones, that each and every one of them is looking to get an extra paycheque out of that stolen moment.

I don’t have time to comment, because Adam swoops me up in his arms—and oh my God, the way the movement makes his muscles ripple does funny things to my heart. And then he’s striding across the floor, growling at anyone who gets in our way.

He carries me all the way to a door marked
Dressing Room A
. One quick shove and we’re through, the door closed and locked behind us.

My pulse stutters
, then begins to pound at hyper speed as he presses me to the door and places me back on my feet, the descent a long, liquid slide against his body, one that lets me feel all the hard planes of his body.

“I need a shower.” Eyes on me, he peels off that studded shrug that should look make him look ridiculous and instead tells me he just doesn’t give a fuck what other people think. Each movement makes the dark, tribal sun tattoo on his ribcage ripple, and my fingers itch to touch.

“Come with me?” He tosses the leather aside, revealing skin that’s slick with sweat. His fingers stray to the fastening of those tight pants, a cocky grin playing over his mouth.

I might have teased him, if I hadn’t seen that hint of uncertainty, almost hidden underneath.

It’s this that I’m drawn to—the hints of the real Adam hidden beneath the superstar. But if I tell him that, he’ll just push me away again.

I don’t speak. Instead I slowly clasp the hem of my T-shirt in damp fingers, drawing it up and over my head. Nerves make me tremble and I fight the urge to cover my naked breasts with my hands
, suddenly wishing that Amy had brought me a bra, any kind of bra.

“So fucking gorgeous.” My nerves vanish in the face of Adam’s whispered, almost reverent words, and I force myself to lower my hands, letting him look.

I can feel my nipples tighten under the weight of his stare, and I swear I can feel it all the way through my core, right down to the suddenly slick heat between my legs.

He takes a step closer to me, and
I watch, breathless, as he unbuckles his belt, then undoes the buttons of his fly, one by one. With his thumbs hooked in the waist of the leather, I can see enough to know that he’s naked underneath, his cock eager to escape from its snug prison.

I want to touch, want to run my fingers over skin that I kn
ow is going to feel like hot silk.

But I want to give him more, first. So rather than reaching for him like I want to do, I undo my own jeans, working the skin-tight denim down my hips and thighs, bit by bit, until it’s a
round my ankles and I step out.

I can feel my skin flushing with
uncertainty as I stand before him in nothing but those barely there panties that Amy got for me. From my foray into buying lingerie for my job with Miss Black, I know very well that you can buy this kind of underpants—crotchless ones—in a style that doesn’t look any different from any other cute undergarment, save for its naughty little secret. But Amy got me a pair that would make a stripper blush... it’s basically a set of strings that wrap around each hip, and a nearly invisible triangle of nude lace that fastens with satin bows. One quick tug, and it will fall to pieces.

I can’t read the expression on Adam’s face as his gaze sweeps over me from head to toe. I bite my lip, worried, and it’s more than the usual
first time naked with someone
jitters.

Will he still be attracted to me, seeing my, ah,
feminine
curves? Or will he realize that his attraction to me is false, just the result of an intense, exciting situation?

And then he’s closed the distance between us, and h
is hands are cupping my breasts. His touch is firm, his expression serious.

“I’m glad you weren’t wearing a bra.” Slowly, so slowly, he rubs his thumbs over my nipples, and I arch into the touch
, savoring the way it makes me ache. “I wouldn’t know how to take it off.”

“Really?” I moan as he explores the tight points of my breasts
with curious fingers. “I mean, I knew woman weren’t, ah... weren’t your first choice. But...”

“But?” His expression darkens as he takes my nipples between thumb and forefinger and rolls them and I shiver. He’s watching me intently, I know, because he’s unfamiliar with my body and wants to know how I react.

“But I figured you’d... you know... done this a few times at least.” His fingers still, and I whimper in protest.

“So you figure I roll around in a big orgy of debauchery every night?” His lips curl into a half smile as I huff with frustration and wiggle, trying to get him to move again.

“Maybe?” This time my smile is a little bit wicked. I figure I’m allowed to tease him, since technically I’m an escort—never mind that I haven’t actually completed a job yet.

He huffs out a laugh, then without warning drops my breasts and grabs the curve of my waist, pulling me flush against him. He’s hot and hard and everything that turns me on... I just hope he’s into the softness that defines me.

“Since you’re so interested...” One hand curls around my back to stroke up and down my spine. “I’ve been in situations where others are having sex with women. I’ve watched men having sex with women, and women having sex with women.”

My breath catches, and I look up to meet his eyes. Part of me is hideously jealous of anyone that has ever seen Adam Kincaid in such an in
timate moment, but part of me is relishing the ridiculously hot mental images that his words are putting in my head. What was he doing in these situations? Was he having sex with one man? Two? Did he touch the woman at all? Did they touch him?

The play of his fingers up and down my spine makes sparks fly in th
e wake of his touch, heightened by the deliciously dirty images that are playing through my head.

“And I like to kiss girls from time to time, because they’re soft and pretty.” Jealousy and desire are a potent combination, making me
tremble when he traces his touch over my shoulder blades.

“You’re not exactly convincing me that you’re not all orgy-tastic,” I whisper. Unable to stand there passively and let him have all the fun, I
feather my hands over his pecs, savoring the feel of those ridiculously solid muscles under hot skin, and feel saliva pool in my mouth.

Adam grins, his eyes at half mast as I tentatively explore the hard planes of his chest. When my fingers dip lower, playing over the lines of the naughty vee of his hips, he sucks in a breath.

“I never said I was all sweet and innocent, Carly.” In a lightning fast move, he catches my wrists in his hands, holds tight. I can feel my pupils dilate.

He may not know what he’s doing with a female body, exactly, but he’s still not afraid to take control.

And though I’ve always thought that what I wanted from a relationship was to be the one in control, now I know that I’ve been completely wrong.

I want to have that control... but only so that I can give it away to someone who knows what the hell to do with it.

“So you’ve... you’ve never been with a woman?” I hate the weakness I hear in my voice. It shouldn’t matter, it really shouldn’t. But I just can’t help but hope that I’ll be his first, burned into his memory long after I’ve returned to my old life.

He stills, his face suddenly devoid of emotion.
I want to backtrack, to soothe him... but even though he’s made me wet and aching, I’m still mad at his habit of tricking me into giving him information, then withdrawing when it’s time to share himself. So I wait, barely daring to breathe.