True for You (3 page)

A
pang of something hits me, but I ignore it. Life is what it is.

“Better
gene pool,” Parker says, taking the flash drive from me. “Let’s
see what’s on this.” Then he tells Jane to close and
disappears into the back.

“HOLY
SHIT.”

“Looks
like he’s found something,” Cole says.

“Use
it wisely, bro. But make a copy. Having a backup is always good in
life.” I’m in desperate need of a backup plan, or a reset
button. I need to get out of this tour, out of my contract, and out
on my own.

Freedom.
I need to be free.

Tossing
the ticket and backstage pass to Cole, I turn and start for the door,
but then pause. Everett might not be completely convinced that flash
drive will hurt him. So I offer the one thing hardly anyone knows
about, the one thing I think will help Cole and Violet. “If
Everett tries to pull something, just say the magic phrase: Tara
Flowers, Atlanta, Georgia.”

“I
don’t know what that means.” Cole’s brows crash
together.

Flashing
a smile I don’t feel, I open the door. “But he will.”

***

I
take another pull from the bottle of whiskey, hoping I pass out
before I start thinking about my grandmother before she passed away.

The
stadium roars to life again, and I grunt at the television screen.

Now
that I’ve done my good deed of the century, I can leave this
music tour and work on getting my life straight. I can finally get
out from under Everett’s thumb.

In
the end, it didn’t matter if Violet believed me or not. I know
the truth, and that’s all that matters.

For
now anyway.

“That
was nice of you,” Bliss says.

I
grimace at the sound of her voice. Just who I need to see in my
less-than-flattering state—Bliss Davenport, seamstress to the
band and star of my very erotic dreams at night.

Curly,
brown hair, green eyes, and a body made for sinning with me, she’s
the second girl I’ve ever known in this business to not use
those assets to get her way. Her clothes are loose and nondescript.
She hides in the shadows, watching everyone and rarely interacting.

Except
with me.

Not
bothering to get up, I glance over my shoulder just as the door shuts
behind her. She drops a duffle bag on the floor.

For
some reason she has a tendency to assume the best about me, even
while knowing my faults and not giving me a pass on them because I’m
famous, rich, and easy on the eyes. She doesn’t need someone
like me, and I’d thought I made that clear to her the last time
we were together.

“What makes
you think I had anything to do with that?” Gesturing at the
monitor, I stretch my legs out further along the couch in the
dressing room.

“Because
you say things like that.” She walks across the room and sits
in a folding chair, but not before placing it right beside me.

I’m
trying like hell not to notice her, especially not after our
conversation the other night. And certainly not after I felt her up
on my bus. She needs to leave, mostly because I don’t trust
myself to be alone with her.

“What
do you want, Bliss?”

“To
watch the show. Oh, that’s the sweetest thing.” She
sighs, and I roll my eyes, not bothering to see what my brother has
done on stage.

“You
could do that anywhere,” I point out.

Her
profile is still to me, glasses perched on her cute nose, full lips
smiling. Her hair flows down her back, and now I know what it feels
like, how those curls like to wrap possessively around my fingers
when I touch them… I swallow.

“I
thought you could use the company,” she says.

“You
think I want you for company?”

She
smiles in answer, turning to me. Once again, I’m struck by her
quiet beauty—it’s deeper than skin deep. It radiates from
her, but in a completely unassuming way.

I
try again. “You’re thinking we could be friends or
something?”

She
grabs the remote and clicks off the television. “I don’t
think we could be
just
friends,
Jackson.”

There’s
she goes with my real name. “I think you’re right.”

Her
smile falls. “Oh.”

I
crook a finger at her. “Why don’t you join me?”

She
stands, little pink tongue darting out to lick her lips. “There’s
not enough room.”

“Baby,
you have to climb on top.”

She
hesitates. “But you said… you said that you didn’t
want—”

“Oh,
I want you, but someone was standing in the way.”

“Violet.”
Not a question but a statement.

I
nod.

“So,
I’m second place.” She glances at the door. “I
think I made a mistake coming here.”

“No
mistake. It’s where you’re meant to be at this very
moment.”

Before
she can walk away, I grab her hand and tug hard, sending her tumbling
down on top of me. Her skirt, one I hadn’t seen her wear
before, rides up to her thighs, hair falling in my face. I gently
push it back. Her hands come between us, pressing against me as she
sits up.

I
groan at the feel of her softness against my really inconvenient
erection.

“You
smell like whiskey,” she says.

“That’s
because I’m drunk.” My fingers go to the buttons of her
shirt, undoing them slowly. She might think I’m being
seductive, but it’s really because I can’t see straight,
and my hands are shaking.

“And
that’s the only way you’ll be with me?” She shrugs
out of her shirt and takes a deep breath, the plain white bra hiding
what I want to see.

Her breasts look to
be a handful, but I have whiskey vision. I cup them, feeling her
nipples harden against my palms.

“A
bit bigger than a handful,” I murmur, squeezing a little.

“Do
that again,” she gasps, her hips rocking, and I have to close
my eyes against the pleasure that racks through my body.

Gritting
my teeth, I open my eyes. “Why are you here, Bliss? Just to get
your cherry popped by someone famous?” A low blow, even for me.

“No.”
She tries to scramble off my lap, but I stop her, digging my hands
into her waist and keeping her in one spot. “Let me go.”

“Hey,
hey, stay with me.” I gently cup her face, making her look at
me. “Ignore my less-than-flattering questions, beautiful girl.
That’s just the whiskey talking.”

She
glances around again, and then fixes her gaze on me as my hands
travel back to her breasts, covering them. “Okay.”

“Now
tell me why you’re here.”

“Because
tonight’s the last stop on the tour.” She takes off her
glasses and rubs her nose, then puts them back on. It’s a
familiar habit of hers. One I find very cute. Everything she does is
cute, and everything she does turns me on.

Never
in my life have I been turned on by cute.

The
breasts that bounce against my hands remind me that not everything
about the female on top of me is cute. She’s downright sexy.

“And?”

A
frown appears and I sit up, maneuvering us so that she’s
straddling my lap and my feet are on the floor. Her breasts are in my
face, and I press my forehead to the center of them and breathe in
her scent. She smells like lemons, and her heart is beating like
crazy.

Her
hand goes to my neck, playing with the chain around it.

I
lean back, removing my mouth from that very dangerous part of her
body, and she lets go.

“It’s
my last night too.” She reaches behind her and before I know
it, the material of her bra falls over the tops of my hands. “I
thought we could spend it together.”

Oh
God, she’s offering me no-strings, never-see-you again,
good-bye sex, and my damn conscience is making me hesitate. “I
don’t want you to go, yet. I can’t imagine my life
right
now
,
without you in it.” The truth, it’s all true for me. Or
it’s bottle number two of the whiskey I’m half-finished
drinking.

“Where
would I stay? What would I do? My… internship is over, and a
new person will be going on the world tour.”

“There
won’t be a world tour.”

“Don’t
ruin your career, Jackson.”

“You
could stay with me, be my assistant or something.” As soon as
the words are out of my mouth, the tiniest part of my brain is
shouting at me, telling me to take it back.

“I
don’t want to work for you.” She leans closer and takes
hold of my wrists. “Like I said, I don’t screw my
employer.”

At
this moment, I have two choices.

One—I
can help her back into her clothes and send her on her way.

Two—I
can ignore my conscience, screw her senseless, and watch her leave
tomorrow.

I
don’t like either of my choices, so I go with a third one.

“Do
you have anywhere else to go?”

She
slowly shakes her head.

“You’re
not a college intern, are you?” I ask, voicing the suspicion
I’ve kept to myself for months.

A
slight hesitation, and then, “No.”

“Please
tell me you’re over eighteen, and your real name is Bliss
Davenport.”

“I’m
over eighteen, and Bliss Davenport is my real name.”

Thank
God for small favors. “Wanna get out of here?”

Her
eyes search my face, then she leans in and brushes the lightest of
kisses on my cheek. “Yes.”

I
set her on her feet, turning my back so she can get dressed and grab
her bag. I grab my wallet, the half-empty bottle of whiskey, and the
keys to Everett’s car. He’s here tonight, and I know he’s
raising cain over Violet’s impromptu set change, so that gives
me time I normally wouldn’t have.

“Let’s
go.” We sneak out into the hallway, walking fast, with her hand
tightly gripped in mine. “Can you drive a stick?” I ask
once we’re outside.

“Yes.”

“Don’t
you need a purse or something?”

“Everything
I own is in this bag.”

That’s
going to have to change. “Get in.”

She
drives, and I drink. By some miracle, we make it through all the
security detail without incident. Once on I-85, she glances at me.

“Where
to?”

I
point the bottle at the sign that reads: Charleston, next two exits.
“Know a real good bar down there. Place we can stay too. Right
on the beach.”

“You
sure?” she asks, as if she’s having second thoughts.

“Completely.”
I close my eyes and smile as she changes lane. “Wake me up when
we hit the city limits.”

Chapter Two

Jackson

My
head feels as though it did battle with a jackhammer and lost.

I
have to blink a couple of times before my vision properly focuses. I
recognize the room, pale blue walls, lots of window, all of which are
wide open and letting in a cool ocean breeze. There’s a club
chair near the set of French doors that lead out onto a private
balcony, complete with its own pool.

At
least I know we made it to Charleston, South Carolina. At least we’re
in my beach house. Beyond that, I have no clue how we got here, to my
private island.

A
small sound catches my attention, mostly because it’s magnified
times three in my hungover state.

Slowly
turning my head, I’m not exactly stunned to find Bliss lying in
my bed, but I am pretty surprised, because despite offering herself
up on a platter, she has never struck me as a drunken hookup type of
girl.

Her
back is to me, the sheet coming only to her waist. All those curves,
right there for the taking. Or I had already partaken?

Either
way, I can’t remember exactly what happened last night.

Bliss
turns over, on her stomach, exposing more creamy skin and curves I
want to touch and lick. Of course my morning-wood semi thinks now is
the perfect time to turn into a full-blown hard on.

Grimacing,
I try to rewind the night’s events, but all I can see in my
blurry mind’s eye is a man talking to Bliss and me. We’re
standing at a… I actually close my eyes tight and try harder
to make out the sign.

Twenty-Four
Hour Bait and Tackle Shop.

Some
good time I had shown Bliss.

I
flop down on the pillow—a mistake of epic proportions—and
a sledgehammer cracks me in the back of the head.

I
scrub my face with my hand and rub at the pressure points.

Damn
it. I screwed Bliss last night, but not before taking her fishing,
and don’t remember shit about it.

Maybe
she will when she wakes up.

Automatically
my hand goes to the chain at my neck. Maybe I had sense enough to—

My
eyes pop open. “Where the hell is my ring?”

A
small hand touches my shoulder, the unmistakable feel of metal
hitting my skin. I look down.

My
ring is on Bliss’ finger, on her left hand.

“Oh
shit,” I mutter.

“Good
morning to you, too.”

My
gaze flies to Bliss. She’s all pink cheeked, the sheet covering
her body as she sits up.
Unfortunately.