Текст книги "Rock Redemption"
Автор книги: Nalini Singh
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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 22 страниц)
Life really was unfair.
Chapter 18
The next three days were surreal. Kit had had no idea just how many people had secretly been hoping for a hookup between her and Noah. “It’s like this giant underground network of Noah and Kathleen shippers,” she said to Thea and Molly when she met the two women for coffee later that week. Becca hadn’t been able to make it, so Kit planned to catch up with her the following morning.
Today, she, Thea, and Molly were at a cafe down the road from Thea’s office, seated around a sunny outdoor table. The odd photographer had snapped a shot, but for the most part, they were left alone. Kathleen Devigny with girlfriends wasn’t as good a score, financially speaking, as Kathleen Devigny with Noah St. John.
“They call themselves the NoKats.”
Mouth falling open at Thea’s response, Kit shoved her sunglasses to the top of her head. “NoKats? Are you kidding me? We already have a nickname?”
“You always did,” Thea said, sanguine and in control as always, her sleek black hair in an elegant twist at the back of her head and her golden-skinned face expertly made up. “It was low level, nothing worth bothering about. People love shipping fantasy couples, and most of the time it doesn’t go anywhere.”
“But—”
“All these years while you hung out with Schoolboy Choir,” Thea said, slicing into her blueberry muffin, “you had to know fans were starting to imagine things.”
“Why with Noah?”
“The chemistry, babe,” Thea said after chewing and swallowing a bite of her muffin. “But it wasn’t just Noah. The AbKats are bummed. The KatiDid and DeFox groups already threw in the towel since Molly and I had the bad form to come between you and David and you and Fox.”
Eyes narrowed, Kit glared at a laughing Molly. “Your sister is making this up to screw with me, right?”
But Molly shook her head, her brown eyes teary with laughter and her creamy skin flushed. Pushing her beautiful tumble of black hair behind her ears, she spoke through her amusement. “Thea showed me one of the forums on the way here.” A hiccup as she tried to catch her breath. “I reckon the AbKats are still holding out hope you’ll dump Noah for Abe.”
“Oh for God’s sake.” Kit wished she’d ordered wine rather than iced green tea. “And who the hell came up with NoKats? At least you and Fox got Foxy.”
“Fox hates it, but I tell him at least it’s better than Folly.” Molly’s eyes danced as she reminded Kit of her suggestion. “David and Thea don’t have one though. How come?”
“Because I’m a PR specialist who doesn’t like to be in the media myself,” Thea said. “I quashed that little bug before it sprouted.”
“You couldn’t do the same for the NoKats?”
“Sorry, Kit, but the NoKats and co were good for your brand.” Thea checked an incoming e-mail. “They were just waiting to believe. Now they’re lighting up the Internet.”
Eating a bite of the carrot cake she’d split with Molly, Kit put down her fork. “This is getting out of control.” Panic beat at her—because instead of dying down, the attention only seemed to be gathering steam. “We’re never going to be able to walk away without damage.”
“It’s early days,” Thea said without the least tension in her voice. “You’re new and shiny. My spies tell me another new and shiny couple is forming in the wings as we speak—in a blatant attempt to steal some of your limelight—so you’ll get a breather soon.”
“Who?” Molly leaned forward, then winced. “Damn it, I’m supposed to stop with my celebrity-gossip addiction.”
“It’s not gossip.” Thea patted her sister’s hand. “It’s intel. And this manufactured hookup is going to be between Abigail Rutledge and Garrison Stone.”
Kit sucked in a breath. Abigail was the rumored frontrunner for the lead role in Redemption, and Garrison was said to be a shoo-in for lead male. Lowering her voice, she leaned toward the other women. They instinctively dipped their heads toward her.
“I didn’t want to jinx it by saying anything,” she whispered. “But Harper told me this morning that Esra might be considering me for the female lead rather than the secondary role.” Her heart thumped at even the idea of it.
“Oh my God.” Voice low but excited, Molly squeezed Kit’s hand.
Thea smiled, no hint of startled excitement on her face.
Spies, Kit reminded herself. Thea had spies everywhere. “But if Abigail’s got Garrison on her arm…”
“Pfft,” the publicist said after eating another bite of her muffin. “Garrison’s doing Abigail a favor because she once did him one, but they have no chemistry. Zero. Zilch. If I was their PR manager, I’d have nixed the idea. They’re only going to show the world—and Esra—exactly how bad they’d be as an on-screen couple.”
“Are you sure?” Kit frowned. “Abigail is an excellent actress and Garrison is brilliant.”
“I could be wrong,” Thea allowed. “It has happened once or twice in known history.” A wry smile. “Which is why it’s good you’ll be at Zenith with Noah this weekend.”
Kit’s stomach flipped. The outdoor festival was out of town, which meant everyone would expect her to share Noah’s bus. Zenith’s location made any other option impossible.
So far, she and Noah had gotten away with public “dates” and one night where he’d stayed in her guest bedroom, but there’d be no way to avoid the intimacy forced by the festival.
“Is it really worth it?” she said to both women.
Molly, who knew all about her history with Noah, touched her hand again, this time with the gentleness of a friend attempting to offer comfort. “Noah’s really happy to be able to help you. I think he’s…”
Thea sighed when Molly faded off. “Seriously you two, give it up. Information is my job. I know you”—a glance at Kit—“and Noah actually had a thing a while back, but since you kept it private, I didn’t interfere. Clearly it didn’t end well?”
Kit nodded, unable to say anything further.
But Thea was smart and she’d had her own bad breakup. “If it was caused by what I think caused it, then I give you major props for not cutting off his balls and throwing them in his face.”
“He didn’t cheat,” Kit said, because to cheat, you first had to make a commitment. Noah had never given her that.
Theirs had always been a mirage of a relationship.
Standing on the main stage at Zenith on Friday morning, Noah plugged his guitar into the amplifier, checked the settings, and played a short solo—or tried to—to test the sound. A screech of feedback had him stopping with a wince. “Maxwell!” he yelled to the crew chief, who was working out in front of the stage. “You trying to blow out my eardrums?”
“If I was,” the bearded man yelled back, “they’d have gone boom!”
“Yeah, yeah.” Noah hunkered down to look at the various cables and connections, saw the problem just as one of Maxwell’s people came up and fixed it.
“Sorry, man,” he said to Noah. “Totally my screwup.”
“Forget it.” Shit happened. That was why Schoolboy Choir was out here this morning checking everything. They’d kick off the festival tonight with a big show, then do another set Saturday afternoon. The festival officially ended Sunday at midday, but Friday night and Saturday were the big events.
Zenith was one of Noah’s favorite festivals. This stage and the two smaller stages to the left and the right, open fields between them, were the only “buildings” around for what appeared to be miles. People brought their own tents to camp in, and the city supplied sanitation and medical facilities, while food trucks were plentiful.
Unlike other festivals that often descended into mud and alcohol-fueled fights that messed with the music, the organizers had done a great job of keeping Zenith wild—sometimes crazy wild—but trouble-free year after year.
Part of it had to do with the fact the festival was out in the middle of nowhere, which tended to create more of a tight atmosphere. The other factor was that it was a long haul to get here—the only people who made it this far were the true music fans. And they came in their thousands.
The grounds wouldn’t open for another four hours, but long lines had already formed at the gates as people waited to grab the perfect spot for their tents and catch some of the warm-ups.
“Yo, Noah,” Abe called out from where he stood by the keyboard. “You ready to try a run-through?”
“Yeah, let me just check this is good first.” This time it was pure, raw music that poured out of the speakers.
A cheer came from the direction of the far-off gates.
He smiled. “We got an audience boys, so let’s make it good.”
“I always make it good,” Fox said with a slow grin, cupping his hands around the microphone but keeping his head turned so his distinctively gritty voice wouldn’t carry. “Always.”
“All talk,” David said from the back, playing a quick beat that ended with a clash of the cymbals. “You know the quiet ones are the doers.”
“You white boys keep on talking.” Abe ran his fingers over the keys of his keyboard. “Meanwhile, the brother over here will smoke your asses.”
“Who you calling a white boy?” David said before bringing down the sticks in a fury of sound that cut off abruptly as he did that thing where he could simply shut down the drums.
Noah came in with his guitar right on cue, Abe flowed in, and then they all stopped and Fox’s voice roared out over the microphone.
It was like they’d never had the post-tour time off, the meld was so flawless. Over a month they’d gone without playing a proper set, and now it felt like coming home. He caught Abe’s grin, heard the sheer joy in Fox’s voice, sensed it in the flourishes David threw into the beat, felt it in the way his own fingers caressed the strings.
It was blood in his veins, the music, the energy that made his heart beat. Up here, with the music burning up the air and his closest friends in total synergy with him, there was no pain, no anger, no hopeless rage. There was just the sweet, pure beauty of music in every cell of his body, making him pure too.
Fingers moving over the strings, he let the music fill him. He used a pick occasionally when he was going to town on a seriously hard rock number, but even then, he’d been known to use his fingers. He liked the direct connection to the strings, and his fingertips had long ago become callused enough to take it.
Today he brought the song to an end with a guitar solo that had Fox grinning and calling out, “Hell yeah! Noah is in the house!”
Noah only became aware of the riotous cheers from the early birds when the last note faded from the air. Shoving his hand through his sweat-damp hair, he grinned a hello at Genevieve. The bass player was joining them for this concert and, having worked with Schoolboy Choir previously, had come smoothly into the mix when she arrived halfway through the song.
Happily married with three kids, Genevieve liked performing but didn’t want the pressure that came with being part of a band. Being a session musician suited her, and having her here freed Abe up from having to do double duty and lay down the bass line since Noah couldn’t play lead guitar and bass at the same time. The band had a few bass players they worked with for live performances, but Genevieve was their favorite.
“Sounds like we’re good to go,” Noah said to everyone. “We could leave now, go relax.”
Fox raised an eyebrow, David grinned, and Abe began the intro into another song while Genevieve had a rock-and-roll smile on lips she’d painted electric blue.
Laughing, Noah fell into it, and they played just for the fun of it, Genevieve working with them. Fox slung on his own guitar partway through, and the two of them dueled it out while Abe carried the song with his voice, then David challenged Noah and they had one hell of a jam session.
“Fuck, man,” Noah said afterward, his T-shirt sticking to his back. “How the hell do you keep that going?” Drumming was one of the most physically draining positions in a band.
David gave him a shit-eating grin, his teeth flashing white against the warm golden-brown tone of his skin. “I’m just in a good mood.”
“Oh, shut the hell up,” Abe growled. “Just because you’re getting laid on a regular basis doesn’t mean you have to rub our faces in it.”
David grinned harder. “Dry spell, huh? Sucks to be you.”
As the two exchanged more insults and comments while Genevieve looked on, Fox crouching down to talk to Maxwell about something to do with the mike, Noah guzzled a bottle of water and felt warmth spreading in his veins. Tonight he wouldn’t go home with some random groupie. Tonight he’d go home with his girl.
Yeah, it was pretend, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the beauty of it. Imagining Kit waiting backstage for him like Molly waited for Fox and Thea did for David on the days she could fly in to meet him, it made Noah’s insides twist into knots that didn’t hurt. They ached instead, and the ache was a good one.
Rubbing at his eyes, eyes grainy from lack of sleep, he pulled off the guitar. “I’m going to crash for a couple of hours.” At this point he was tired enough that he might actually get some sleep. “We hooking up for dinner?”
Fox nodded from where he was still crouched on the edge of the stage. “Catering truck’s coming in around four.”
They’d go onstage at six, so it was better they eat earlier. “I’ll see you then.” Taking his guitar with him because he’d fucking kill anyone who damaged the stunning instrument, he headed to the back of the stage and down. This entire area was blocked off from the public and lined neatly with equipment trucks and other behind-the-scenes stuff.
Schoolboy Choir’s tour buses were parked side by side behind all that, a buffer zone between them so the noise wouldn’t be too bad. Kind of a moot point for an outdoor concert, but the buses were insulated against noise, so it worked. He got into his bus using a thumbprint scan, and putting down his guitar soon as he was inside, kicked off his boots and socks before tugging off his sweaty T-shirt, leaving it all in a pile by the door.
His belt and jeans he tore off on his way to the back of the bus, and then he was falling flat on his face in bed, so exhausted after not sleeping in much more than short fits and starts over the past week that his mind just shut down.
Chapter 19
Kit arrived at Zenith around three that day to find it already buzzing. Fans had set up multicolored tents as far as the eye could see, and the food trucks that lined the area were doing a brisk business. Everyone seemed in a cheerful mood, and though the live music hadn’t yet started, people were singing among themselves.
Having been driven around to the back, she stepped out and looked for a familiar face. Molly had told Kit to give her a call if she couldn’t spot the crew, but right then she saw Maxwell, his black Schoolboy Choir T-shirt tucked over his beer gut and into his jeans as per usual. However, not as per usual was the busty blonde snuggled to his side.
They kissed as Kit watched, not sure quite what she was seeing. Maxwell was very married and had always seemed crazy for his wife, with whom he had two teenage boys. Kit wasn’t sure she could handle Maxwell cheating. It would be like losing a sacred touchstone that told her some people did make it.
The crew chief looked up and noticed her just as she was wondering if she should head in the other direction. Beaming, he came over, one arm around the shapely woman who was dressed in thigh-high boots over skinny jeans teamed with a black leather jacket and a fitted Schoolboy Choir T-shirt. Unlike Maxwell’s, the woman’s tee had a scoop neck that exposed impressive cleavage.
“I heard you were coming in this afternoon.” Maxwell kissed Kit on the cheek with the ease of long familiarity, his salt-and-pepper beard ticklish. “I don’t think you’ve ever met my wife, have you?”
Oh. Smiling as relief kicked her in the ribs, Kit held out a hand. “It’s great to finally meet you. Kim, right?”
“Yes.” A warm, big-hearted smile. “You were the best part of Primrose Avenue.”
Kit’s own smile deepened at hearing the name of the soap that had been her first long-term gig. “Thank you.” Yes, Primrose Avenue had been a bit of a millstone around her neck when she wanted to transition into the movies, but it was a good show for what it was, and she’d enjoyed working on it. “Are you here for the whole festival?”
“Yes. Our boys are out front in a tent, and we’re under strict instructions not to so much as look in their direction the entire weekend,” Kim said, her voice reminding Kit of Adreina’s. “Maxwell may have street cred because he works with the band, but according to our youngest, it’s ‘total loser zone’ to have your parents attend the same festival as you.”
Kit laughed at how well the other woman mimicked her son’s no doubt disgusted tone. “I’m here till Sunday too,” she said. “Maybe we can talk more.”
“I’d like that.”
Maxwell dropped a kiss on his wife’s head, so obviously in love it was adorable. “You looking for Molly or for Noah?”
“Molly.” Kit felt light-headed at the thought of being shut inside a bus with Noah. “I figured she could show me the ropes.”
“She’s in her and Fox’s bus.” Maxwell jerked a thumb toward the buses Kit could see parked not far away. “Fox is with David, so you girls can chat without interruption.”
Kit didn’t take him to task for calling her a girl. He called Schoolboy Choir his boys. No one argued. “Thanks.” Leaving Casey to deal with the car, her luggage to be stored in the trunk until later, she let Butch walk her to the bus.
“I’ll be fine if you and Casey want to go get a bite or something,” she said to the bodyguard. “I’ll probably talk to Molly for a bit, then find Noah.”
Butch didn’t look convinced. “This would be a great place to snatch you if the creep’s here, and thanks to all the publicity about you and Noah, he probably is. I’ll stay until Noah’s with you.”
“Okay,” Kit replied. “You’re the expert.” Part of the reason she’d hired Butch despite the fact she couldn’t really afford him was that he was so damn good at his job. Leaving him to stand watch, she knocked on the bus door. Molly opened it a second later and, crying out, engulfed Kit in a warm Molly hug. “You’re here! I thought you wouldn’t make it till five. Come in!”
It was the first time Kit had been in one of the band’s buses, and she was surprised to see that it was relatively roomy. “Nice living area.” She put her handbag on the small counter that fronted a compact utility kitchenette tucked into a corner.
“It works,” Molly said cheerfully. “Want a tour? It’ll take like thirty seconds.”
“Sure.”
“This is my study.” Molly pointed out a cute little desk and chair positioned in one corner of the living area, almost but not quite directly opposite from the sofa. That sofa was angled so that it faced the television screen hung on the same wall against which sat Molly’s desk.
“The facilities.” Molly took her through to the very back of the bus. “Shower’s not too bad, actually. Tiny, but that can be fun.” A wicked grin.
“I think living with Fox is a bad influence on you.”
Laughing, Molly slid aside the door to the bedroom. The bed within was neatly made up with pretty white-on-white sheets and fluffy pillows; the high windows along two sides let in light while preserving Molly and Fox’s privacy.
“The windows are reflective,” Molly told her. “We’re kind of paranoid.”
“Don’t blame you.” Kit wrapped an arm around the other woman’s shoulders, still angry on her and Fox’s behalf after the ugly invasion of privacy that had happened during the band’s tour.
Slipping an arm around Kit’s waist, Molly hugged her back. “I’m good, promise,” she said before she broke the hug to show Kit the built-in closet. “Helps to know the pathetic creep who recorded us is behind bars.” A glance at Kit. “Speaking of which, the cops have any luck with the stalker?”
Kit shook her head and took a seat on the bed. “I’m still getting letters and cards.”
“Damn. I was hoping he’d have fallen off a cliff and disappeared by now.” Molly sat with her, folding up her legs. “How are you doing?”
“Fine—really.” Kit reassured the other woman. “The stuff he’s been sending in is relatively vitriol-free for him, but it could be that he’s stewing and waiting to make his move.” Anger had her clenching her hands on the edge of the bed. “I’ve been photographed with both Terrence and Noah lately, and the police psychologist is worried that could push him over the edge.”
The police team kept in regular touch with her, the men and women who dealt with celebrity-stalking cases having seen the sometimes-fatal results firsthand. No one was taking this lightly, especially given how far the stalker had already gone by breaking and entering. “When I say it’s less hateful stuff, I’m comparing it to the more abusive messages, but his current letters, even the present he sent a month back, it’s still creepily possessive and jealous.”
She shuddered. “He sent me a fine gold chain with a small locket, said he’d ‘noticed I wasn’t wearing my favorite necklace’ in photos and he was worried I’d lost it.” Kit touched the bare skin of her throat. “The creepy thing is that I did lose it—while shooting the superhero movie.”
Molly’s eyes widened. “You think he stole it?”
“I can’t imagine how—there’ve been no other signs that he can get on set. Nothing else stolen or missing, no psycho messages.” The hairs rose on the back of her neck at even the faint possibility that he might be one of her colleagues.
“I think he really does just notice even such tiny things about me, and the way he talks, it’s like we’re intimate.” Oddly, it wasn’t the sexual messages that creeped her out the most. Those always seemed like he was trying too hard. “He says things like how we’re meant to be together, how no one will ever understand me like he does, how he’s the only one I can trust with my secrets.”
Molly shivered. “It’s like he wants to put you in a box and keep you.”
“Yes, that’s it exactly.” Kit rubbed her hands up and down her arms.
“I don’t know if Noah had a chance to tell you,” Molly said, “but the band hired extra security. Plus the entire crew knows to be on the lookout for anyone acting suspiciously.”
Cold wiped out by the warmth of knowing she was among friends, Kit fell back on the bed. “Thank you.” Such small words to hold so much emotion. “I’m going to enjoy this weekend—I made a decision after buying my place that I wouldn’t allow the stalker to ruin my life.”
“You’re so strong, Kit. This stalker has no idea who he’s up against.” Molly’s words were fierce. “And I can’t wait to have fun with you here—I know things have been tough with the whole Noah situation.”
Breathing in and out with conscious focus, Kit stared up at the ceiling. “I have to share his bus, Molly.” The paparazzi were buzzing in every nook and cranny; there was no way she could hide out anywhere else.
“He’s been amazing with everything so far,” Molly reminded her, her voice soft and hopeful. “It might not be so bad.”
Kit had, quite frankly, been surprised at Noah’s cooperativeness. He’d accompanied her to places where photographers could snap them, been good-natured about the ravenous media interest when she knew full well he had a temper if someone pushed into his personal space. And, most importantly, he hadn’t even appeared near a club, much less picked up a girl.
The tabloids and magazines were already agog with stories of how he’d been “tamed” by love, of how “silver screen star” Kathleen Devigny had pulled off the coup of the century by quietly stealing the heart of rock’s gorgeous bad boy. If even half the media hype about her and Noah’s relationship had been true, Kit would’ve been ecstatic. Too bad it was a tissue of lies and fantasy.
“I should go find him now.” Throat dry and stomach jumpy, she forced herself to sit up. “Some photographer’s probably got a camera trained on this bus, and while a short visit to say hi to you won’t look odd, they’ll start to wonder if I stay too long.”
“I can open Noah’s door for you if he’s out.” Molly got off the bed. “We all decided we should be able to get into each other’s buses.”
Rising herself, Kit said, “Abe?” She knew everyone was still worried about the keyboard player’s mental state, though he appeared to have gone stone-cold sober after his dangerous on-tour binge.
“That’s part of it, but it just makes sense.” Molly led her to the front of the bus. “We’re family on the road, and we keep an eye on each other. Maxwell can also get in, because seriously, the idea of Maxwell selling us out is so ludicrous it’s not even funny.”
“Did you meet his wife?” Kit stepped out of the bus in front of Molly. “I adore her already.”
“She visited during the tour,” Molly said with a smile as she pulled the door shut so it’d lock. “They’re so sweetly in love it makes me happy each time I think about it.” Her face lit up without warning. “Fox, I thought you and David were working on those lyrics you wanted to get right.”
“Done.” Fox drew Molly into a luscious invitation of a kiss, one hand cupping her face, before he turned to hug Kit. “Have a good drive down?”
Kit had just begun to reply when she heard someone calling Molly. The other woman looked over her shoulder. “It’s Maxwell. I think he wants me to play intern for a minute.”
Leaving Kit with Fox, Molly ran over to help Maxwell grab a bunch of cables out of the back of a truck. “How is he?” Kit asked Fox in a soft murmur.
The lead singer’s expression turned grim, his dark green eyes close to obsidian. “Bad. He isn’t sleeping, Kit. I don’t think he’s slept the past two, maybe more, nights.”
Hands fisting by her sides, Kit fought off images of the motel room lit by a garish neon glow. “Because of me?”
“Far as I can figure out, he uses those random fucks as sleeping pills,” Fox said bluntly. “He hasn’t had that outlet. He finally crashed just after eleven this morning, and I told everyone not to wake him. We don’t need him until right before we go onstage, and he can grab energy drinks prior to performing.”
“What do you mean he uses the groupies as sleeping pills?” Kit said, still stuck on the first part of his sentence.
Fox ran a hand through the chocolate brown of his hair. “Not my story to tell, sweetheart. But you need to know enough to understand that you have to make sure he sleeps. Otherwise he’ll have a fucking heart attack or something from sleep deprivation.” He glanced over at Noah’s bus… just as it opened.
A tousled blond head stuck out, sleepy eyes landing on Kit. “Hey.” Noah’s real smile was a thing of beauty.
Walking over, his feet bare and his body clad only in a pair of disreputable ripped jeans she recognized from the other day, he drew her into his arms, nuzzling his chin over her hair. She knew it was just for show… except maybe it wasn’t, not this time. He was all warm from sleep, drowsy eyed and yawning against her.
Giving in to temptation, she slid her own arm around his waist and, Fox’s warning strong in her mind, said, “Let’s go back to the bus so you can grab some more shut-eye.”
“I’ll catch you both later.” Fox walked over to Molly and Maxwell after bumping fists with Noah.
Not far off, Butch gave her a salute, waiting until she was at Noah’s door before he faded off into the crowd. She knew he’d be back as soon as he’d checked out the area, but for now she didn’t need the protection. Noah nudged her up into his bus, then came up behind her, pulling the door shut.
Kicking something accidentally, Kit found they were his boots. They’d been abandoned not far from the door, along with a crumpled black T-shirt. She leaned down and picked up the tee, had to fight the urge to bury her nose in it; she loved the way Noah smelled, and that hug outside had only made her need worse.
Stomach tensed against the stupid butterflies that refused to get the memo that she was over Noah, she tried for a stern tone. “This is not going to work if you throw your clothes around on the floor.”
Still smiling that lazy, sleepy smile, he grabbed the tee and chucked it onto the sofa, the layout of his bus the same as Molly and Fox’s except there was no desk tucked into the corner. “There, now it’s not on the floor.”
She tried not to smile. “You’re dopey with sleep deprivation. Go get some more rest.”
Jaw cracking in a yawn, he took her hand and tugged her to the bedroom. “I can’t sleep, but I’ll lie down if you sit with me and tell me stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“Any stuff.”
Pushing him down onto the bed, she slipped off her heels, then climbed on beside him. He was lying on his back, his arms folded under his head and his eyes, those so often unreadable eyes, turned toward her.
Unable to look into the storm gray lest she betray too much, she busied herself getting into a seated position with her back to the wall that acted as the headboard. The idiotic butterflies dipped and dived at being so close to him, his gorgeous body laid out in front of her.
Noah was built beautiful, his chest bare of hair except for a thin trail that began below his belly button and disappeared into jeans that hung sexily low, exposing the lickable vee of the muscles on either side. There wasn’t a lot of ink on the front of his body. Lyrics down his left side in vertical lines, a quote that spoke to him across his ribs on the other side, and a small, stylized sun on his left shoulder.
She couldn’t see his back in this position, but she knew it bore a finely detailed phoenix so stunning the artist in question had asked Noah to pose for a photograph that adorned the front of the artist’s book. That phoenix rose from the flames, defiant and glorious, and after guessing just how deep Noah’s scars went, Kit had come to realize the phoenix was Noah.
Only he hadn’t quite escaped the forces trying to haul him back down.
I can’t save him, she reminded the heart that still ached for him. Not if he won’t help save himself.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she said, “I had a one-on-one meeting with Esra Dali.” She’d held the news inside all day because Noah was the only one with whom she wanted to share it.
“No shit?” A smile that just destroyed her. “You got the part?”
“Not yet. But he asked me to come in next week and read for him again, this time with Garrison opposite me.” The Abigail-Garrison show was now on the road, and they were doing better than Thea had predicted, so things weren’t yet in the bag.
