Exhale (12 page)

“In case you haven’t noticed, Trevor and I go together like oil slicks and endangered species. Even still, I’d rather be his bum chum than stick my dick in you ever again.”

“That can be arranged. As long as I get to watch.”

Whoa. Okay, this was beyond awkward. Zoe’s breath darted in and out, hard and fast. Her vision fuzzed around the edges. Damn it, please not a panic attack. Not now. She would
die
if Gavin saw her freak out.

The graffiti-covered egress door beckoned. Now or never. Sweat trickling between her breasts, down her sides and back, Zoe furiously resumed her search for the taxi number on her phone and broke for the door. Without looking, Gavin thrust a hand out to stop her leaving.

Let me go
, she silently pleaded.

Gavin started to say something but stopped himself. His jaw muscles tightened, and his face went gaunt. His molars seemed to be performing surgery on the inside of his cheek.

Dropping her gaze to zipper level, Scarlet licked her lips, tugged his belt buckle, and flashed a Cheshire cat smile. “See you soon, my love.”

He backed up, almost stepping on Zoe’s foot. Scarlet laughed, flapped her eyelashes, then blended into the crowd of female flesh.

Gavin turned to Zoe, his face a map of harsh, disjointed lines.

This was too much. Bile ate a hole through the lining in her gut, and acid clawed its way up her throat. “I’d better go.”

Releasing his hand from her arm, he murmured, “Not without me.”

He tracked Scarlet’s progress through the wave of people as if gauging the right moment to escape. When Scarlet cozied up to the band’s drummer—Trevor, she assumed—Gavin spun Zoe toward the door and herded her forward, staying close behind like a human shield.

The groupie vultures uttered a collective squawk of protest as he grabbed his leather jacket from a chair. He held the door for her. Cool, humid air opened her lungs like an asthma inhaler. Such blessed relief. The stifling atmosphere inside had nearly squeezed the life out of her.

She stepped onto the parking lot pavement, and Gavin appeared at her side, offering his hand. Zoe stared at it, bit her lip, then turned to him. She couldn’t read his sweat-streaked face.

The run-in with Scarlet dashed her hopes for the evening. Like an exclamation point underscoring her tumultuous feelings, the door shut behind them with a loud bang.

Zoe was done. “I’m calling a cab. You’ve got more people to talk to. We can catch up in the morning.”

He pressed his lips together, dark blue eyes shining under the bright security lights overhead. “You owe me a date, Dr. Morgan. After all I went through to get it, you’re mine until tomorrow afternoon.”

Umm, okay.

He stretched his waiting hand wider. She sighed and accepted. Almost smiling, he wove his fingers through hers, forming a tight ball. The warm safety of his touch dissipated her anxiety like a fresh breeze airing out a stuffy house. How could such a simple gesture ground the panic attack that had threatened lift-off?

Under the half-closed eye of the moon, Gavin wound through the labyrinth of parked cars, limos, and tour buses and stopped at a black Harley Davidson. Zoe’s eyes widened, and she wriggled her hand free to run it over the seat. She loved motorcycles. “This yours?”

“Inherited it from a friend.” A 1997 S/tail Heritage Classic, Gavin’s ride was a well-kept piece of art. He beamed at the bike and turned to her. “You ready?”

She nodded and looked for head protection. “Don’t you have helmet laws here?”

He stepped in front of her and stroked her arm. Goosebumps invaded the skin under her shirtsleeve. He gestured to the saddlebag hanging off the side. “I’ve got a helmet if you want to play it safe. Or you can trust I’ll get you to the hotel in one piece without it.” His wicked, lopsided grin triggered the risk-taking mechanism inside her brain and popped it clean off. Blood rushed in her ears.

Oh. Hell. Yes.

Smiling, she reached into her jeans pocket for a rubber band. She twisted her hair and tied it into a bun at the nape of her neck. “Let’s go.”

Gavin unfolded his jacket and helped her into it. The delicious blend of cedar and leather set off an orgasm in her nose. He threw a leg over the seat and tugged her up behind him.

The guttural roar of the Hog’s engine ripped through the blackness. Vibrations blazed a trail between her legs, up the column of her spine, straight to her teeth. She slipped her hands around his waist and locked them together atop grooves of muscle.

Holy habanera.

Then, God help her, she pressed her breasts against his sweat-soaked back, scooted up to his ass, and hugged his legs with hers. His abs twitched under her entwined fists. The wheels lurched to life beneath them, exchanging the discomfort from the scene backstage for anticipation of some private time with her dream lover.

Resting her chin on Gavin’s damp shoulder, Zoe closed her eyes and sensed everything—the wind fighting to unleash her tied hair, his warm body against hers, the too-big leather jacket crinkling, the dips and pulls of the Hog eating up the road.

She relaxed and gave herself over to the whims of the universe, mentally loosening her ties to reality. For a few precious moments, she became the woman she wished she could be—wild, free, and unencumbered by responsibilities.

Zoe laughed as Gavin rounded a corner hard and fast. The sound and smell of burning rubber exploded in her ears and nose. He turned his head so her lips grazed his multi-pierced ear, and he flashed a white-toothed grin. A quick glimpse of his thick black lashes circulated heat to her belly. Jesus. She covered her smile by burying her face into the muscles of his shoulder. She almost felt guilty for enjoying herself this much.

After a short ride, he pulled into a posh hotel overlooking the Brisbane River. He parked on the top level of the deck, helped her off the bike, and guided her to the entrance. His expression flattened and shoulders tensed as they walked into the building. Sunglasses pulled over his eyes, he seemed to scan passing faces with distrust. Why the sudden aloofness? She felt like Sarah Connor being escorted by Ahh-nold in a Terminator movie.

A
ding
signaled the elevator’s arrival. A couple got out, leaving the lift empty. Gavin stepped inside, waited for Zoe to join him, and punched the button marked ‘23.’ A slow whoosh of steel locked them in, and they rocketed upward. Gavin’s finger tapped the handhold bolted to the wall he leaned against. He glanced at the security camera in the ceiling corner, averted his gaze, and tapped harder.

Zoe shifted her weight back and forth and crossed her arms. Why wouldn’t he say anything? Everything had been hunky dory on the ride over. Now he was Mr. Distant. He hadn’t looked at her since they arrived at the hotel. She couldn’t read this guy to save her life.

As soon as the doors separated, he rushed out, looked both ways, and headed down the hall, quick-drawing a key card out of his back pocket. He stopped at room 2346, snuck a peek at his watch, and scanned the hallway again before sliding the key in. The locking mechanism released, and he swung the door open for her. She arched an eyebrow at him before going inside.

The suite had a modern décor done up in cool tones: thick-napped emerald carpet, wispy eggshell-white curtains tied back to reveal a stunning cityscape beyond the Brisbane River, and vertically striped white and navy wall paper.

A bucket of iced champagne sweated on a low-slung glass coffee table in front of a long, blue-upholstered couch. Zoe’s overnight bag sat on the floor beside a small black duffel at the foot of a king-sized bed. Dainty chocolates adorned monster pillows at the headboard, and the corners of the sheets were folded back. Matching ‘His and Hers’ robes draped across the thick, royal blue comforter.

Gulp.

Seeking refuge against the now-closed door, Zoe swept a hand across her forehead, brushing some windblown wisps of hair out of her eyes. Gavin dropped the key and his sunglasses next to a bulbous green lamp on a dresser and turned to her, his colorful, tattooed arms swinging with the spin.

He closed the distance between them, then reached around her head, loosened the rubber band, and tugged it free. Hair tumbled down her back. Heat prickled her skin as a whiff of his woodsy cologne set her belly alight. The loud
clack
of a lock snapping into place rang out from somewhere near her right arm.

Trapped with Mr. Perfect.

Zoe’s heart raced. Dropping her gaze to the floor, she inhaled a sharp breath. He peeled open the jacket still hanging on her shoulders and slid it off. The leather fell into a heap behind her. What was he—

Thumbs wriggled through the belt loops on either side of her hips and pushed her flush against the door. One black boot appeared between her feet. The other planted itself in the carpet to the left of her right shoe. She looked up to protest. His lips landed on hers, gentle as a falling feather. Breath shuddered out through her nose, and her eyes drifted closed as he staked his claim on her mouth.

Umm…sold.

Jitterbugs swarmed her stomach. She reveled in the rhythm of each tiny movement of his mouth as if they’d done this a thousand times before. Which, they sort of had. In her dreams. But dreams weren’t real, and this…so…was.

Her cheeks and ears flushed with fast-pumping blood. His pierced bottom lip, which she’d been dying to taste again, hypnotized her into performing a precarious balancing act between girlish retreat and slut-worthy acceptance of any- and everything he might put up for auction tonight.

A moan vibrated between their mouths, and she realized with embarrassment, it came out of her. She opened her eyes and pulled away, wiping her lips with the back of a hand.

Thanks, Modesty, for the interruption. Your late arrival was poorly timed, but much appreciated.

If the kiss had gone on much longer, she would have straight-up jumped his ass.

He looked down at her, his thumbs still holding her hips by the belt loops, a steady couple of inches away from his steaming hot body.

Breathless, she focused on the lip ring. Big mistake. He licked it.

Thank you, sir. May I have another?

“What was that for?” It took a few seconds, but her senses returned and reminded her of his distance only moments before. Was he buttering her up for sex? Rock stars were notorious users. Maybe he was grooming her to be his next victim.

She couldn’t take much more of the mixed signal shit.

He stepped closer, eyes rippling blue. At five foot eleven, Zoe wasn’t short, but he had a good five or six inches on her. And if his physical stature didn’t dwarf her, his epic hotness was the perfect stand-in. “It’s eleven fifty-two.”

Did she imagine desire hanging thick in his voice, or was that husky tone the result of scream-singing on stage for an hour? Had to be the singing.

“You gonna turn into a pumpkin at midnight or something?”
Look away, damn it. Be strong.
She stuffed both hands in her front pockets, but he didn’t let her go. Instead, he leaned in even further, heat rising off his sweat-drenched shirt in the cool, air-conditioned room.

“When I woke up this morning, I promised myself I’d kiss you before this day ended.” He tugged her hips to his with a jerk. Holy freaking hell. “Eleven fifty-two.” Gavin tilted his head down, rested his forehead against hers, and closed his eyes.

No, no, no…

Tenderness? Who forgot to take the Joker out of this deck of cards? After seeing him in action backstage, she didn’t expect him to respect her or to be so sweet. That wasn’t part of the plan. No, he was
supposed
to be an asshole rock star user so it would be easy for her to wash her hands of him and get her mind back on work.

Had she misread all the signals? She’d envisioned him as some kind of swaggering lothario, but the way he held her now…Shit, what did it mean?

Noses hugged and lips hovered. His painted arms stretched around her waist, and hands cupped her lower back. The world all but disappeared as she drank in the warmth of this sudden, unexpected intimacy. Trapped under his spell, she couldn’t move. Didn’t want to.

After a long moment, her brain’s safety protocols kicked in.
He’s too close. Back it up.
Her heart disagreed, but she wriggled out of his grasp anyway.

Stupid brain.

She turned to consider the bags on the floor. The absence of his touch brought a chill to her bones. An acute case of emotional lockjaw set in. “So, what’s the plan for tonight?”

His eyes narrowed. “I’m going to get a shower. Then it’s you and me, a bottle of champagne, and no distractions. You’re welcome to join me—” With an impish smile, he nodded in the direction of the bathroom.

So now he was back to being the cocky Old Spice guy on a horse.

But damn, lathering Gavin Cassidy under a spray of hot water…another taste of that mouth…

She could use a shower.

You’re not going there.

She shook her head. “Think I’ll let you go it alone this time.”

“Fine.” His lips quirked. He stepped over to the couch and sat down. He pulled off his boots and dropped them under the glass table. “I won’t be long.”

In a swift, fluid motion, he was on his feet again, picking up his duffel and lugging it toward the bathroom. He paused in front of her, leaned down, and pecked to the right of her lips. The dark bristles on his face roughed her cheek. “Thank you.”

She sputtered, “For what?”

“Not bolting after the show.” A hand brushed her shoulder, and he disappeared into the bathroom. The door closed behind him.

The water came on, and Zoe fell into a heap on the couch. She pitched forward and dropped her face into shaking hands. Hair swished over the carpet around her feet.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

She twisted her head toward the waiting bed and those damn white satin robes. Covered her mouth with a hand.

Jesus Christ. She was going to sleep with a rock star tonight.

Chapter Eleven

Cold water sprayed Gavin’s face. He sloshed it through his hair with rough hands and shook his head. He snatched the shampoo bottle, poured some of the shit into his palm, and rubbed it into his scalp with fast jerks.