Strung Out (Needles and Pins #1) (46 page)

“Wait! This room…” Standing in the doorway, she spoke to his retreating shoulders. “Is it… Who uses this room?”

“You worried about orgies and sex parties?” He spoke without looking back. “Good call. But the sheets are clean.”

“And I’m supposed to take your word for that?”

He’d reached a door at the end of the hall, and he turned before disappearing into the lamp lit room. “I really don’t give a fuck. Night, Scarlette. Sleep well, Sis.”

T
he next morning, Scarla turned off her phone alarm and slept to her heart's content. It was a few minutes after noon when she fiddled with the water temperature and flow in the large tiled shower. She'd briefly noted the beautiful bathroom the night before, but now she leisurely took in the ornate tiling pattern and the trendy fixtures.

The view from the window built into the shower held her transfixed. The house, as she’d suspected during the cab ride last night, was indeed on a mountainside, and the city was blanketed below with a wisp of smog or fog hovering above.

An assortment of shampoos and gels lined the ledge in the shower. Spicy or flowery. All looking new. And the bath linens… She marveled how soft the washcloth felt and buried her face into the steaming rag.

Dressed in jeans and a bohemian shirt, she peeked into the hallway, listening to the silence of the house. Scanning the closed doors, she wondered if Gage was still asleep.

Downstairs in the kitchen, she found a young housekeeper in uniform standing at the sink. The woman offered her coffee and breakfast. Scar declined food and took a steaming cup of coffee to the enormous glass window in the large adjoining room, which overlooked an elaborately furnished patio.

“Would you like me to open it?” Drying her hands on the frilly apron at her waist, the exotic woman moved to a control box. “Lovely day.”

To Scarla’s surprise, the glass slid back into itself and then into the wall until the outside blended with the inside. Smiling and thanking the woman, she wandered onto the polished planks, drawn closer to the view down the mountainside. One level down was an infinity pool, and she descended the steps to stand at the edge of that patio, viewing the steep decline.

The city lay below—a slightly different view than she had from her bathroom. She checked the texts and emails on her phone while finishing her coffee and made her way back up to the house. The maid was no longer in sight, but a plate of muffins covered in plastic wrap adorned the butcher-block island.

She wrapped one in a napkin and strolled to the other windows in the kitchen and adjoining great room. The first bite halted her in her tracks and she took another, savoring the lemony sweet goodness and burst of flavor from the seeds dotting it. There was still no sign of Gage or the dog she’d seen the night before. After throwing her trash away, she explored the rest of the house while mentally working out her search plans for Ivy.

The outside walls of the bottom floor were almost all glass, with plank patios and cushy outside furnishings beyond. She assumed they might all be slide-back walls like the one in the great room. Besides what she’d already seen, the downstairs included a bedroom, which the maid was moving about in, and a locked door.

Spying a descent of stairs beyond an arched doorway, she moved in that direction.

Framed press clippings and gold and platinum singles and albums decorated the walls on either side of the curving stairway. The last step dropped her into a room resembling a movie theater, and she paused in awe.

Directly in front of her was a bar with four stools behind it, facing the large screen on the wall several levels down. Behind the stools were shelves of liquor and boxes of snacks. A popcorn machine looked at home in the corner of this area. A level down, pushed up against the front of the bar was a giant lounging pad with numerous pillows of all shapes and sizes stacked along the wall that made up the bar front. She easily imagined sprawling out on it right now and watching a movie.

But she walked down the next level to the back row of recliner seats. There were four on this level, and then two, each wide enough for two people on the next levels. Narrow tables with cup holders nestled between the cushy leather lounging chairs.

And on the last level, directly in front of the large screen, was a thick white furry rug.

Her thoughts went again to the night before, wishing things had gone differently, and that she and Gage had ended up in here watching Spiderman or The Fantastic Four. He had changed into such an ass. She couldn’t see a movie night happening now, even if she ended up staying a week while searching for Ivy.

Picking up the nearby remote, she sank to the footrest of one of the comfy chairs. Her thumb pressed the power button, and the screen flickered to life.

The scene was a guitar close up with long, strong fingers spidering up and down the frets. Surround sound pounded out the tune of the performing band, and she hastily lowered the volume. The camera backed away, bringing the guitarist slowly into full view, and she gasped when Gage appeared, larger than life. His head bobbed with the beat as he played, his restless feet moving a step here and there. The camera panned out more, and gradually the entire band came into view.

Many times, she’d listened to Fire Flight or watched the band’s videos. After all, Gage was the closest she’d ever had to a big brother, so she was proud of his talent and accomplishment. However, it was odd watching him onscreen now when she was immersed in his world.

The enjoyment he found in his playing was evident in the euphoric expressions playing over his face and his body language. Every move was an assimilation of the sound.

And then he stepped closer to the mic and began to sing as he played. His voice sent shivers shooting through her. He was beautiful and oh-so-talented. It was hard to believe the asshole who was either sleeping off a hangover upstairs or had left without a word before she woke was the same man.

Her mind drifted away from the stress of her missing friend. She settled more comfortably in the chair and watched until the set came to an end and faded to black. From what she could tell, she’d been viewing a recorded version of one of Fire Flight’s live performances. A video company and contact information were the only credits that rolled when it ended.

A menu appeared on the screen with the choices repeat, main menu, or guide. She chose guide and channel surfed. When was the last time she’d whiled away a half hour watching TV? Besides, she was uneasy wandering around his house while he was nowhere to be seen. So she stayed put, pausing on one channel or another, here and there. Not necessarily because something caught her interest, but because her thoughts were once more rampant with where to begin her search for Ivy.

Should she bother her stepfather while he was out of town on business? Gage might be able to point her in the right direction or make an introductory phone call for her.

Another flip of the channel had her catching her breath again. She’d landed on the Playboy channel or some similar station. The passionate couple onscreen were getting sexy beneath an outdoor shower. Instead of navigating to another network, she glanced back to the open door at the foot of the staircase and darted up the levels to close it. Interestingly enough, it had a lock, and she twisted it before sitting back down and propping her feet up.

Her fascination with porn was something she had fought in her teen years. But as she grew older, the guilt gradually faded. It wasn’t as if she was into the hard stuff. She simply liked to watch sex. It cleansed her mind of her problems.

Also, it did what it was supposed to do—stirred her libido. And this aided her in her own stress relief. Sex had never been what it was hyped up to be. Although Derrick got her close, no one had ever really rung her bell. Watching sexy films or looking at pictures allowed her to take care of herself—no men needed.

Not that she was comfortable enough to do that here even with the door locked. Besides, seeing so much skin—and body parts—on a large screen was weird. After a quarter of an hour she turned the power off and headed back upstairs to see if Gage had appeared.

The first floor was quiet. There were no sounds or sign of the housekeeper even. Trekking up the stairs, she passed her bedroom. Pausing before the door at the end of the hall where she’d last seen Gage, she knocked. When there was no answer, she twisted the latch.

Despite the time of day, the room was pitch dark except for the illumination cast from the muted television. Wearing only black Diesel briefs, Gage was sprawled atop the sheets in a huge bed with his dog lying near his feet. The canine’s ears perked as he eyed her, but the animal made no sound or move to leave his sleeping master.

There was no explanation for the phenomenon happening next. She blamed it on the video clip of him still swirling in her head along with the sexy flick just minutes ago. She stood, helplessly frozen, admiring his shadowy body. Even worse, despite him being a narcissistic rock star and her almost brother, she felt a tug of attraction.

He stirred for a split second and woke with a start. “Scarlette! What the hell?” In a reflexive motion, he grasped the edge of the cover sheet, pulling it up to his waist.

She couldn’t see his face, but his aggravated tone had her feet moving back a step. “Yeah, sorry. I just needed to ask you some stuff.”

“What time is it?”

“Almost two.”

A cross sound between a growl and a groan hissed through his lips, and he sat up, scrubbing at his eyes.

“Um, do you have anything for a headache?” Unconsciously, she pulled at her ponytail, loosening it.

“Like what? Like Tylenol?” He seemed to wait for a cue, and she wondered what else he had for a headache. Thanks to the media, it was no secret her stepbrother battled chemical addiction and had recently been in rehab after being so strung out he almost nodded off during a talk show.

Hoping she’d misread that curious gleam in his eyes, she nodded. “Or aspirin. I can get it if you just say where.”

“Bathroom.” He tipped his head toward a closed doorway to the left of his bed. “The top drawer on the end. And could you grab my phone? It’s in the dock right there by the shower.”

Natural light spilled through the bathroom windows. Dodging a towel on the floor, she found a bottle of over-the-counter pain-relief easily enough and shook two out. She turned for his phone and paused, enthralled by the view inside the yawning glass door of the shower stall.

The large rectangular tiles were shiny and white—and scrawled on. Automatically, her brain registered the words directly in her gaze.

Once upon a time when you were mine.

We murdered happily ever after, fairy tales, and rhymes
.

Lyrics? Obviously. He’d always been a musician, through and through.

Every wall of the cavernous shower was spotted in places with red and black lyric graffiti verses. An Expo marker rested on a tiled ledge.

Distorted flickers of reality,

Contorted givers of immortality,

Aborted triggers of fatality
.

She had even overlooked a few verses on the glass shower door.

She fed me and bled me, a woman so deadly
.

Some of the lettering was slightly faded. Definitely not something done in the course of one shower.

“You find it?”

“Yeah.” She shook from the surprised spell and grabbed the phone. “I was just looking at your shower décor.” She babbled, hoping he didn’t think she was nosing around the couple of prescription bottles also rolling around in the drawer where she’d found the medicine. “The lyrics.” She prompted with a grin when she saw he was clueless.

“Oh. Those.” His gaze followed her progress across the room, and he returned her smile. “Inspiration strikes in the shower.”

On your knees,

so eager to please
…

Shaking away the lyrics implanted like snapshots in her mind, she tossed his phone to land beside him on the bed, and tried not to wonder why she was fetching it instead of him getting up already. But it was impossible not to speculate. Was he sporting morning wood? At the threshold to the hallway, she called over her shoulder. “Thanks.”

“Yeah. To you too. I’ll be down in a minute.”

She waited in the kitchen, on a stool, cradling a fresh mug of coffee and eating another of the delicious muffins.

Gage showed up and crossed directly to the waiting breakfast plate. He plucked a muffin and slid a coffee cup beneath the maker. His actions seemed routine.

He wore jeans and a faded vintage Beatles tee and sported a spicy, soapy fresh-from-the-graffiti-shower aroma.

Tilting her head toward the housekeeper, who held a bottle of spray and wiped down the outside furniture with vigorous hand movements, Scarla asked, “What happens when she gets to your shower?”

“All concerned about clean sheets and showers, aren’t you?” He raised an inquiring brow, but squinted in what looked to be remorse when she felt her face flame. “Sorry about being a shit last night.” A spoon clinked against the side of his mug as he stirred in sugar while answering her question. “I take a picture of my notes and make a big ‘X’ on the door when it’s safe to clean.