Strung Out (Needles and Pins #1) (69 page)

The situation was quickly escalating out of control with jostling, pictures flashing, and screams for their attention. Security corralled them into the back and their cars were brought around.

It didn’t take long for those still outside in the front to figure out what was going on in the back and migrate around the building. He and Scar escaped into the Lotus and closed the doors to screams of his name and inappropriate propositions. Security managed to clear his way out of the alley and into the boulevard. With a punch of his foot to the gas, the car shot away.

“You okay?” he asked, when after ten minutes or so, he realized Scar had still not spoken a word. She nodded, and he rested a hand on her leg, tracing circles on her knee as he drove. “You’ve been quiet since dinner. Are you still mad?”

“I apologized.”

“Yeah. But are you still mad?”

She leaned forward to mess with the stereo, and he couldn’t help watching her tits swing a bit beneath her shirt. The tempo of a song filled the silence, but directly she twisted it down until it was almost mute.

“My dear mother is in town.”

“In town… In
this
town?” He was so surprised, he slowed his speed to concentrate more on what she was saying.

“She’s going to the advanced screening of the documentary. And then she’s agreed to give an exclusive interview, which will go on the television version when it comes out and the DVD. I’m guessing the producers flew her in. Because a month ago, she didn’t even have the rent and let me know she’d put the payment off.”

Flew her in and paid her no telling how much to be a part of this circus
. But he didn’t say it. Scar knew it. And now he knew that’s what had Scar upset all night.

He’d only had a few urges ever to hit women. But that woman—he was seriously afraid he would knock her the fuck out the second he laid eyes on her.

“So anyway. That’s why I’ve been weird tonight at the club. I’m sorry I fucked up our date.”

His eyes flashed to her face. The streetlights and shadows gave her an ethereal look. He hadn’t planned tonight as a date. But the fact that she had seen it as one was promising.

He exited off the Ventura Freeway and navigated the familiar roads. The dragons parted, welcoming them home, and then the garage yawned open. He braked the vehicle into its spot and killed the engine, but left the stereo playing as the garage door motored down.

Taking advantage of the time it took her to gather her purse and shoes, which she’d kicked off into the floorboard, he went around to open her door. It felt natural when her hand fell into his grip, and instead of releasing her when she stood, he murmured, “We never got to finish our dance.”

Her gaze flew to his and then roved around the garage. “Okay.” He wanted to believe he was seeing another genuine smile when she curved her lips, dropped her purse and shoes into the passenger seat, and resumed her stance of arms looped around his neck. Her body relaxed into his and he thanked the fates when the next song to play didn’t thrash.

When her head rested slightly on his shoulder, he realized she was watching her bare feet mingle with his boots on the travertine tiles as she spoke. “Remember when you showed me how to dance before my Sadie Hawkins?”

“I really didn’t have to show you how.” His mind fell pleasantly into the past and he couldn’t help but notice how much her figure had filled out since those young teen days in the past of which she spoke. Scarlette’s body had forced her into a bra well before any of her friends of the same age; however, her hips were now curvy too. And her tits, well they had been amazing from day one, but now they were incredible. “You always knew how to move.”

“Remember what we were dancing to?”

“No.” He answered honestly. He only remembered her in his arms.

“Yes. Remember.” She tipped her head enough to challenge him with her eyes as she issued the decree.

“I remember a lot, Scar. But I don’t remember that.”

She seemed to get it then—that he was alluding to an interest in her even back then, and he wondered if he was imagining the extra pink filling her cheeks.

“I remember what you were wearing. Scooby pajama bottoms and a Metallica tee shirt.” He moved his chin enough so that he spoke into her hair. “I remember your hair had gold streaks in it. Maybe from all the time in the pool that summer.” Lost in the past, he derailed from that particular memory to more in general. “I remember that neon green swimsuit with the little metal ring holding the top triangles together, and a ring on each side holding the bottoms together. And I…”
I always wanted to curve my fingers in the rings and pull them down your legs
. “…remember your black lipstick. Always with the black lipstick back then.”

“Yeah. My mom hated my Goth phase. I think that’s why I dragged it out so long.” She raised her head to eye him. “I didn’t know you could hit those notes.”

He returned his errant thoughts to the subject change and then realized she hadn’t really strayed. Each ‘
I remember
’ in this conversation was as good as the verses he’d sung to her less than an hour ago. “The Skid Row song?”
♪♫ I remember you. ♫♪

“Yeah. I love that song.”

“I wish all of it was true.”
♪♫ I came through. ♫♪
“I wish I could’ve come through. I wish I had always been there for you when you needed me.”

“I knew you were a phone call away. I was the stubborn one.” Her fingers were playing with the ends of his hair, making him a little crazy. “I saw an interview you did once. Right after the band was exploding. You said one of the hardest things about fame was the hard luck stories. People contacting you. And you wanted to help everyone. But there was no way to do it. I didn’t want to be someone else asking you for money.”

His feet stopped moving, and as the implication of her words sank in, his arms fell limply to his side. “Dammit! Fuck it all! Don’t put this on me. You had to know you were different. You had to know…”

God
. His whole freaking life was falling apart. Except for her. She was like a buoy in stormy waters. And if it never got better, it would be worth it as long as he still had her. But he didn’t need the extra guilt right now of knowing he had failed her. Plus knowing this failure had come about because of some stupid random something he’d said to fill freaking interview space probably after two hours of sleep, or eleven hours on a bus, or whatever.

He bent to the car, passed her things to her and then crawled through the passenger side and turned the radio off.

“Are you mad at me?” She borrowed his earlier question.

“I’m edgy.” He lied. He was mad at her, but he wasn’t sure why. Other than, she always seemed to blame someone else for her actions. Even not calling him and asking to borrow a thousand freaking bucks at a time when he was likely throwing a thousand or more a day away on his habits. “I’m off the damn smoothie schedule, and I’m feeling it.” He emerged and slammed the car door closed.

“There’s one in the fridge. And you need the cherry stuff. I’ll get it right now.”

“I’ll get it. Just get some rest. I know it’s been a suck day for you too.”

He followed her inside and paused at the alarm station while she went on ahead without a word. Shrugging out of his jacket, he hung it on its peg. When he passed through the archway, she was standing on the bottom stair of the back staircase.

“Sure you don’t want me to make your drinks?”

“I’m sure. Thanks.” His tone was way curter than he meant it to be, but damned if he could apologize. Music was an outlet he needed now. He needed so much, even the cold sting he never wanted to need again.

“I don’t think I can sleep without a goodnight kiss.” Her whisper was almost lost in the vast hall.

The hostility he’d been harboring after her revelation in the garage evaporated. He had been positive she would be a skittish deer as they eased into this new territory between them. But she was proving, time and time again, she was ready to handle their dysfunctional relationship.

The added height of the stair put her lips almost level with his. His arms circled her waist and he drank in what she was offering. Tongue to tongue, they played until she withdrew and pressed her lips, still wet from his kisses to his neck and trailed downward. When she hit the crook between the cord of his neck and his shoulder, a groan vibrated his vocal cords. Threading his fingers into her hair at the nape, he forced her lips back to his. He knew his fingers were likely in a painful clench as he struggled to regain control of the kiss, which had become an assault on her mouth. Jerking his tongue from the delicious friction and suction she offered, he ran it along the delectable ridge of her bottom lip. Easing his fingers from her hair, he splayed them to her backside, flattening her waist to his. He ventured beyond her lips again, his tongue exploring the pearly whites he saw whenever he was lucky enough to be the recipient of one of her smiles. A caressing tongue stroke just above them had her moaning sweetly into the kiss. Another glide of his tongue on the opposite side had him reveling in her next moan—a higher pitch—and her almost painful grip of his upper arms. He found himself wondering what other sounds she would make…

Holy fuck.
He could take her on these stairs right now. The image of her on her back, hair spilling from one stair to the next, legs open to him, one foot wedged in the banister, nearly made him lose it for a second. His hands skimmed around to her front and closed over her tits.
How could a weight feel so perfect that you knew it was made for you? How could the feel be different enough that you knew you would crave only it for the rest of your days?

“Scar?” He mumbled into her neck.

“Mmh?”

He couldn’t resist sucking her earlobe into his mouth.

“Oh…! Mmh…”

Her earring clinked against his teeth when he growled. “Go to bed. Please?”

Her pants were audible and they were generously mixed with his. She twisted her ear away from the flick of his tongue. Her eyes fluttered open, and her kiss-swollen lips curved a smug temptress smile when she agreed. “Okay.” She backed up one stair.

“Oh… One more thing…” His arms had fallen away when she moved, except he grasped at her fingers with the tips of his before contact was completely broken. “Wear the black boxer shorts with the blue silky top?”

He’d seen the ensemble in passing her room one night, thanks to the mirror over the dresser and a bedroom door not closed all the way. She’d been jumping around doing some sort of aerobics or exercise with Bluetooth headphones jammed in her ears. Seemingly shameless, he’d stood, watching her boobs bounce almost out of the silk and admiring the stretch of the boxers each time her legs moved enough to know her ass and pussy were bare beneath them.

“Why should I?” She backed up another stair, and this action pulled her fingers from his.

Her challenge was bold, and the accompanying arch of her brows made him want to see what she’d say if he answered,
“Because I’ll be in your bed shortly to peel them off you.”
She backed up another step, possibly reading his eyes, possibly knowing she’d overstepped in this dangerous word game.

“Because. When we meet in my dreams later, I want to get it right. Right down to what you’re wearing.”

She backed up another step. “Okay then. See you on Dream Street.” She turned and then immediately revolved back with another impish twitch of her lips. “Wait! What will you be wearing?”

“Do you want me wearing anything?”

Unconsciously, his foot rose to rest on the first stair, and at the same time, she backed up another. And then she turned and sprinted up the remainder. A chuckle bubbled in his throat, and he curved his fingers around the balustrade to keep from chasing after her.

“I
’m sorry.” Gage grabbed her arm, giving it a squeeze as they entered the ice bar. “I know you were hoping to see her.”

She knew he had remained respectfully silent in the car while she had stewed partly in her own disappointment and partly because it still made her feel weird to talk of personal matters where a driver could hear.

They had stormed the gate at Bradley Walker’s fancy house as Gage had promised. After Gage had explained into the intercom who he was, the gates had swung open. However, staff had shown them in, and after waiting in an impressive parlor, Bradley’s personal assistant had welcomed them only to impart that his boss was out of town for an indefinite span of time.

“This is Scarlette Conterra.” Gage had introduced her. “She and Ivy Messlehof have been best friends for around ten years.” The assistant had made a non-committal hum in his throat, but his expression had pricked with interest. “They lost touch, and well, we were hoping Bradley could pass a message?”

The assistant had politely taken their contact information. The entire ordeal had confirmed what she already knew. Ivy obviously didn’t give a shit whether she spoke to Scarla again. The painful realization had kept her awake nights.

“Thank you,” she murmured when a fur parka was draped over her shoulders. Beside her, Gage donned the garment given to him but declined the hat.