The Farther I Fall (4 page)

“Anyway.” Cathy pulled a wrench from her back pocket and went to work. “Sometimes it works when one partner is in the business and one isn't, sometimes it works better when both people are in the business. Craig and I are lucky. We get to work together, and usually tour together.”

“How long have you been dating?”

Cathy laughed. “Oh, nobody dates in this business. It's either one-night stands or full relationships.” Gwen couldn't tell if she was teasing or not. Cathy went on. “We've been together about three years. Working together for four. We spent some time on tour before we decided, what the hell? He's a good man.”

“Yeah, he seems like he is.”

Lucas was directly beneath her on the stage, fingers moving adroitly over his keyboards. She tried not to stare, and tried not to think about what else those fingers might be good at.

“You must not go for the good ones,” Cathy said. “Not if Lucas is your type.”

“He's not my type.” Gwen pulled her eyes away. “A man like that is strictly ornamental.”

***

The better part of the guest list crowded into the green room looking to join in the after-show party. Chatter filled the air as everyone ramped up for a meandering trip from the green room to assorted hotel rooms. New York had been a colossal pain in Gwen's arse. The theater manager had settled up, and the money was tucked away safely in her jacket. She leaned against the wall nearest the lighted mirror and shifted to ease the bite of the jacket against her aching shoulder.

The party was just getting under way. Gwen smelled cigarettes and pot, but there was no haze over the room yet, and everyone was holding a drink. She planned to nurse her single beer for as long as she could; she felt a bit like a babysitter. Across the room Craig was chatting up two girls dressed in various permutations of skimpy and black.

Cathy and Sally were tossing popcorn at the guitar tech, who was trying his best to impress the house engineer, who'd been working monitors throughout the show. She looked like she could break the guitar tech with one arm. She also looked unimpressed. Every so often, Cathy glanced toward Craig. Despite her earlier comments about him being a good man, he did have a habit of flirting with the fans after shows. Everybody knew Cathy wasn't crazy about it, but nobody said anything. There were a lot of open secrets. Gwen supposed when you spent weeks and months in close quarters with the same handful of people, the only concession to privacy was to not talk about what you knew. It hadn't been so different in the barracks.

Lucas, still sweat-drenched from three hours on stage, was sulking on the couch, clutching a towel around his shoulders. A rep from some small indie label sat next to him trying to start a conversation. Gwen almost felt sorry for the rep. Lucas barely even feigned interest in the man.

He hadn't bothered to change out of his stage clothes, although leather pants that tight had to be uncomfortable. Most of his stage makeup had melted away under the hot lights, but there was still eyeliner smudged around his eyes. Gwen itched to either wipe it away or snog him senseless. Maybe both at the same time.

Lucas stood up, cutting off the label rep mid-sentence and stepping up and over the battered coffee table. “Get out.” His voice cut across the party noise, which dulled in response. The partiers, some dozen in all, looked at him. “I said get out.” They started to shuffle out with a few mutters. Sally rolled her eyes and murmured to Cathy. It sounded like “not again.” Gwen shrugged up from the wall to follow them. “Not you, Sergeant,” said Lucas. “Someone has to keep an eye on me, right?”

“Right,” said Gwen, and settled back against the wall with a swig of her beer, feigning casualness despite the sudden spike in her heart rate.

Once the room was empty, Lucas used the towel to start drying off his hair, tousling it into wild waves. “So. Can we both agree, for the duration of this tour, that I'm actually an adult?”

“I wasn't aware that was at issue.” Tension tightened her shoulders, sharpening the ache.

“Really. I found out today that my per diem is half of what the crew is getting. Half, Gwen.” He turned from the mirror to look at her directly. “I'm the goddamn star, and the guy who plugs in my equipment is getting more money than me.”

“You did sign a contract agreeing to the terms—”

“I wouldn't have if I'd known I was the low man on the fucking totem pole!”

She took a deep breath. “Look, it was my understanding that you agreed that a chunk of your salary was being held in reserve until after you successfully finish the tour. With your history”—he opened his mouth, but she kept going, steamrolling over his words—“you present a risk to the company, and they're just hedging their bets, making sure your per diem isn't going up your nose.” She moved toward the now-empty couch and sank down. “So tell me the truth. Are you upset because you're not able to get by on what you're getting, or are you upset because your ego is bruised?”

He turned back to the mirror and scrubbed at his face with the towel. “If he hasn't already, my brother is going to call you. And when he does, he's going to ask you to keep an eye on me. He might even offer to pay you extra, to keep me on the straight and narrow.”

“As much as I'd enjoy a call from him,” Gwen said, pleased at the way her words made him scowl, “that's not my problem. As long as you're not fucking off during shows, I don't care what you do.”

“Good,” said Lucas, meeting Gwen's eyes in the mirror. “Because I like to save my fucking off for between shows.”

“I'd got that impression, yes,” Gwen's voice was mild as an April morning.

“What about you?”

Gwen rested her elbows on her knees, leaning forward and cupping the beer bottle between both hands. “I don't see where that's any of your business.” Gwen gave him a smile, all teeth.

Lucas turned around from the mirror and walked closer in lazy steps that gave his hips a feline sway; Gwen could practically see the twitching tail, as if he were about to pounce. He plucked the beer bottle out of Gwen's hands with long elegant fingers and drank from it, the swallow shivering the white line of his throat. “Could make it my business,” he said.

“You really couldn't,” she said, leaning back against the couch as if she hadn't a care in the world. She reached up and took the bottle back. “And I'm pretty sure beer isn't part of your sobriety plan.” The sensible side of her demanded to know what the hell she thought she was doing, issuing that sort of invitation, but the pulse racing in her ears drowned it out.

“It was just one drink. A little bit of anything never hurt anyone, did it?” He wasn't talking about alcohol, or even coke, not the way his gaze moved over her body.

She fought to keep her expression neutral. “In this case, I'd say a little bit is too much.”

“You sure?” She wasn't surprised when he straddled her knees as he spoke, leaning over her with his hands to either side of her head. “Because you seemed interested the first night we met.”

“Do you do this to everyone, or am I a special case?” She held on to her composure and simply looked up at him.

Lucas leaned in, and the scent of sweat and leather mingled with the smell of the spilled beer trickling on the couch from someone's forgotten bottle. The combination shouldn't have been arousing, but it was. Then there was that low chuckle close to Gwen's ear. “Oh, you're something special, all right.” He licked at her earlobe, and she fought a gasp. He drew back to speak, but she pulled him to her. His mouth was hot and wet and perfect against hers, and it had been so ridiculously long since she'd been properly kissed.

Gwen curled her fingers in his damp hair and held him there, kissing and biting at his lips until she couldn't breathe.
Stop. You need to stop
. Her body tingled from head to toe. It was going too fast, and she needed to think this through. Lucas settled into her lap, and the discreet little roll of his hips left no doubt where he thought this was headed. Which was why Gwen reacted the way she did, pushing at his chest. “Lucas, get off.”

He grinned down at her wickedly, his eyes dark and hungry. “I was trying.”

Gwen gritted her teeth. “Get off my lap.”

Lucas drew back and gave her a second's worth of a pout, followed by a slow, molasses-dark smile. “Make me.”

It was a simple thing really, to catch one of his wrists in her left hand and to press it up and behind Lucas's back, just so. Just enough for leverage. It didn't matter if he was a good seven inches taller than she was, or if he outweighed her by at least fifty pounds—Lucas had to stand or be hurt. She followed him to his feet, keeping his wrist pinned behind him, which also pinned their bodies together. Her eyes were about level with his chest, but height had long since ceased to be a disadvantage for her. “I don't know what game you think you're playing,” Gwen said. “When I say stop, you stop. Do you understand?”

Lucas's eyes were wide and dark with arousal, and his breath was unsteady as he nodded. The kiss hadn't done that, not alone. He liked that she'd taken charge. A lot. A small part of her brain filed that away for later consideration.

She took a deep breath. “I am responsible for you, and this”—she used her free hand to gesture between them—“is not happening.”

She let go of his wrist, and he—the impossible brat—immediately grabbed her around the waist and caught her off-guard in a fierce, openmouthed kiss.

Gwen gave herself a second to enjoy the tightness of his body pressed fully against hers and the hard pressure of his lips. Common sense prevailed, and she reached up and pressed her hands around the tops of his shoulders and pushed, firm and deliberate, separating the two of them. “Not”—push—“happening.” Her hands slid down and paused on the thin, damp T-shirt covering Lucas's broad chest and she applied more pressure, creating even more distance.

There was a knock on the door and Craig poked his head in. “I hate to interrupt.” Gwen drew her hands back, and took a backward step. “But they're throwing us out in fifteen.”

That made it nearly two AM. Christ, Gwen was tired. “Ta, Craig,” Gwen said, and she tossed a fresh towel at Lucas, heading for the door. “I expect you back at the hotel in ten minutes. And if I hear about any more drinking, we're going to have a talk with Sam.”

She ignored the rude gesture that followed her out into the hallway.

***

Lucas waited until everyone else had left the Beacon before walking back alone. He didn't have a fucking curfew, regardless of what Gwen Tennison thought. He'd been so sure he was reading her right this time. She wanted him, he wanted her—what was the problem? God, even the way she'd pushed him away had been unbearably hot. He wondered if she was into that kind of thing. If she was, he was doomed. He'd hand over control to her without a second thought and do whatever she wanted. And it would be—Lucas cut the thought off at the knees. Just the thought was making him get hard, and there were still a lot of people on the streets, heading home after last call at the local bars.

A few heads turned as Lucas walked past, but he'd gotten good at dodging attention when he wanted to, and he wasn't a superstar—yet. He took his time, letting the chill in the air dry the last of his stage sweat. Alone time rarely happened on tour, especially not now, with everyone watching him closely for signs of relapse.

As he passed a small group of drunk women, clinging to each other as they tottered along in high heels, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. His scalp crawled with the absolute certainty that he was being watched. He frowned and tried to ignore it, but the feeling got stronger. Lucas glanced over his shoulder. The drunk girls were retreating into the distance. “You're being an asshole,” Craig said from his other side, making him jump. “Just so we're clear.” He fell into step beside Lucas.

“Where did you come from?”

Craig shrugged. “Didn't want you walking back alone.”

“Look, is this something you can lecture me about tomorrow? Because all I want right now is a shower and a bed.”

“She's not one of your groupies, Lucas. And I don't think she's going to put up with your shit for very much longer. So knock it off.”

“It's not just me!” He said that louder than he meant to and drew a few glances. He lowered his voice. “She wants me, Craig. I can't figure out what sort of game she's playing.”

Craig dodged a drunk couple on the sidewalk. “Maybe she wants you in spite of the fact that you're being a colossal jackass, and her better judgment keeps winning.”

“I'm being myself.”

“Like I said.” Craig ducked when Lucas swung an elbow at him.

They'd reached the hotel lobby. “When have I ever changed for anybody?”

Craig caught his arm. “I'm not saying ‘change.' Just . . . dial the rock star act back a little bit, okay? She's a good kid.”

They didn't say much of anything else, except to say good night when Craig got to his floor in the elevator.

By the time Lucas got back to his room, he was freezing, but more clearheaded. He swiped the door open and fumbled his way across the suite to turn on one of the table lamps.

He stripped out of his clothes as he walked to the bathroom, where he turned on the water as hot as he could stand. Craig wasn't wrong. There was something good about Gwen Tennison, and he
was
being an asshole, he thought as he stepped into the scalding spray. It was infuriating, though. That she could go from the wild thing who had nearly been his that first night, the one who had kissed him so desperately tonight, to the woman he'd met in Sam's office, the one who had pushed him away in the green room, iron control coiled into a compact, delightful package—he couldn't figure her out. She should have been
boring
. He scrubbed at his hair before rinsing, the long strands dripping down his back. Lucas should have found Gwen Tennison utterly and unavoidably dull.