Devil Without a Cause (5 page)

Hoping it wasn’t obvious how badly her hands were shaking, she stepped inside with the three men and used her key to access Club Level One, sixteenth floor.

She got a brief glimpse of Herve, talking to one of the parking attendants, as the elevator door closed.
She could lose her job over this.
“My name is Amy,” she said cheerfully, lying through her teeth, “and I hope you’ll consider me at your service during your stay.”

He was looking at her, and she hoped he liked what he saw.
For Nathan’s sake, he needed to like what he saw.
To her great good luck, she’d dressed for work tonight in her favorite pink top, a silky button-down that she’d unbuttoned one deeper than she was normally comfortable with. Her black pencil skirt was tighter than the one she usually wore, which was at the cleaner’s. She’d taken her hair down from its ponytail and reapplied her makeup, borrowing some from one of the maids, smoky eyes and pale pink lipstick to bring out the auburn in her hair.

“Is there anything special I can do for you while you’re here?” she asked, forcing herself not to break eye contact with Finn.

The two security guys shot each other an amused glance, but Finn was the one who answered. “Just room service and quiet, thanks.”

She blinked, still dazed by the irony of how her girlhood fantasy had been turned into a nightmare. Finn Payne, rock star, was standing right
here
, right next to her, and instead of love at first sight, followed by happily-ever-after, this evening was nothing but a tawdry means to an end.

She was staring, and he knew it, giving her a small smile before glancing away. He seemed distracted, tired maybe, but she couldn’t let that stop her. She had to get his attention, and keep it for the rest of the evening, because she couldn’t afford to fail.

“Whatever you need during your stay, Mr. Payne,” she said softly, refusing to give up. “Anything at all.”

He looked at her again with those dazzling green eyes, and she gave him a small smile, definitely flirting and definitely hoping he noticed.

He was gorgeous—a rock god.
She was in trouble.

The elevator came to a stop, and the door opened. Faith led the way down a short hallway to two double doors. As she walked, she made sure to hold her shoulders back and put a little extra swing in her step, knowing all three men would be watching. It felt strange for a moment, being a woman instead of the desperately worried mom of a seriously ill toddler, and she was afraid she might’ve overdone it.

“Thank you very much, miss,” one of the security guys said, and the smile on his face told her she’d done it just right. “We’ll take it from here.” He reached out a hand to take the key cards.

“May I—” Faith handed them over, shifting her gaze back to Finn. “May I pour you a drink?” She had to do something before she lost her nerve.

There was a pause, then Finn gestured toward the door. “That would be nice,” he said. He had a slight smile on his face, which, along with the cute little goatee, gave him the diabolically handsome look that had made him a superstar.

Oh shit
, was her last thought before she stepped into the suite.

Chapter Five

S
he was nervous, and he was glad of it, because if she wasn’t nervous it would’ve told him that she’d done this a million times before, and oddly enough, he didn’t want to believe that. She was pretty, sweet-looking, with a vulnerable curve to her mouth that made him wonder what it would be like to kiss it.

He hadn’t wondered anything like that in a long time.

Finn let his gaze settle on the back of her head as she stepped into the foyer of the penthouse. Wavy red-brown hair, just past her shoulders. Nice figure.

“Thanks, guys,” Finn said to the security team, “you can head back to the party. I’ll be okay here.”

“We’re checking out the suite first,” said John, in a voice that told Finn there was no point in arguing. “Wait here.”

Finn nodded as they fanned out for a quick check, then turned to the girl. She looked uncertain, as if she were about to bolt, and he found himself hoping she wouldn’t. Earlier in the evening he’d wanted nothing more than to be alone, but the limo ride had cured him of that. He doubted he was going to get much sleep tonight; why waste the evening sitting alone and feeling sorry for himself?

“A scotch and soda would be nice,” he said. “Would you like to stay and have one with me?”

She flashed him a smile before heading toward the bar, revealing a dimple in one cheek. “I’d love to.”

The suite was big, decorated in yellows and vivid reds, framed by a wall of windows overlooking the Atlanta nightscape. Too big for just one person—it would be cavernous when she left, and what a waste that would be.

“All clear,” came John’s voice, a moment later. “All clear in here,” said Larry, from a different direction. John strode back in the room and went straight to the windows, drawing the curtains shut. “You’re staying in tonight, right?” he said to Finn, over his shoulder. “You’ll call if you want to go anywhere?”

Finn glanced toward the girl at the bar. She wasn’t screaming his name or offering to have his baby, and the very thought made the idea of spending an evening with her enjoyably different.

He was still here, still alive. The Devil hadn’t claimed him on the limo ride over, even when he’d defied him.

“I’m staying in,” he said. “And leave the curtains open.”

“I mean it, Finn,” John insisted, ignoring his request, and twitching the curtains closed. “You sneak off again without us like you did in Dallas, and Derek will have my ass in a sling. Told me he’d fire me next time.”

Derek Johnson was Finn’s concert promoter, and a damn good one. He did most of the hiring and firing, arranged the venues and the press junkets, and was generally the oil that kept the machinery of his career moving forward.

“I’m staying in,” Finn repeated firmly, “and nobody can fire you but me.”

“Larry’s going back to the party,” John said, “but I’m right down the hall. Call if you need anything.”

“I’m not going to need anything,” Finn said, letting his exasperation show in the look he gave John. The guys finally took the hint and left, leaving Finn’s key card on the table by the front door.

He turned, looking at the girl. She busied herself at the bar, brown curls partly shading her face. Slender, fragile, not at all his usual type, and for a moment, he wondered if he was doing the right thing. She looked so wholesome, so cute, so far removed from the sometimes sleazy world he inhabited.

Then she turned, scotch in hand, and smiled at him, and his doubts vanished.

“Do you sneak away from your security team very often?” she asked, with a grin.

“Not often enough,” he said, grinning in return. “It really pisses off the guys. I get dirty looks for days.”

She laughed at that. “You’re their boss!”

“True,” he agreed, “but they have guns.”

“It must be hard”—she came toward him, holding out the scotch—“always being seen as a celebrity instead of just yourself.”

“It can be,” he answered, choosing not to elaborate. “Sometimes I just want to get away, to be alone, you know?”

Her smile faltered, so he made sure to add, “And other times I don’t.” He took the glass, meeting her eyes and holding them. “Like tonight, for instance.”

She took a deep breath, regarding him frankly. Brown eyes, a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

“I understand the need to get away,” she said softly. “To break out of the mold you’re expected to fit.”

“I can see you do,” he answered, approving of her honesty. They both knew she was supposed to be working, yet working seemed to be the last thing on her mind.

She looked away, laughing a little. “If you really want to drive them crazy, we could sneak up the service stairs to the roof,” she suggested teasingly. “Nobody ever goes up there.”

For a moment, he was actually tempted, but they’d all been working hard on this tour, and like him, John and Larry deserved a break. If his security team came back and found him missing, all hell would break loose.

“Not tonight,” he answered, with a grin, “but I’ll keep it in mind if they piss me off.”

She laughed, and he liked the sound of it.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not sure I caught your name.”

“Amy,” she answered, smiling. “Amy Smith.”

“Nice to meet you, Amy.” He made a sweeping gesture toward the living room. “Maybe you’d like to give me a guided tour of the suite?”

A flash of what looked like panic appeared in her eyes, but a heartbeat later he was sure he’d imagined it. This girl was no innocent—she wouldn’t be alone with him in a hotel room otherwise.

“I’d love to,” she said brightly. “Gorgeous, isn’t it? Everything state of the art and recently renovated.” She moved into the living room, going straight to the curtains and opening them back up. “This is my favorite of the penthouse suites. It’s not the biggest, but it’s the nicest, and the view is great, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he agreed, but he wasn’t talking about lights outside the window. She had a great ass, round and feminine.

Inwardly he shrugged. Earlier he’d told himself no nameless, faceless sex tonight—but she had a name, and it was Amy. A nice, wholesome girl who worked at the Ritz-Carlton; what was the harm in that?

S
he was going to die. She was going to burn in Hell for all eternity, because despite her best efforts, she couldn’t get past the fact that she was alone, in a hotel room, with Finn Payne, a rock legend whose music she’d listened to since she was seventeen years old. Such a bad boy, that Finn Payne; such a radical group, Apocalypse. And here he was now, ten years later, looking at her with those vibrant green eyes, alive and aware.

So far she’d been able to manage some banter about his security team, but what now?

Swallowing her panic, she handed him the scotch. It was then she saw the ring, gleaming on his hand. A black and silver signet, depicting a starburst of arrows in every direction.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not sure I caught your name,” he said, taking the glass.

“Amy,” she answered, smiling. “Amy Smith.”

“Nice to meet you, Amy.” He made a sweeping gesture toward the living room. “Maybe you’d like to give me a guided tour of the suite?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to turn craven and say she couldn’t, that she had to get back to work. Here she was, in her sexiest top and her tightest skirt, with management aware of her every move . . . but then she thought of Nathan, and that was all it took. She tipped her head to the side and smiled. “I’d love to.”

Get a grip
, she told herself fiercely, heading toward the window. That little extra swing in her step had gotten her in the door, so she used it again, hoping he was watching. A glance over her shoulder told her he was.

She babbled something about the view, and when she turned around, he was smiling at her over his glass. The look in his eye, combined with that smile, made her knees go weak.

Steady
, she told herself.

“Pour yourself something,” he said. “Stay and visit with me awhile.”

“That would be wonderful,” she said, not having to fake the heat in her cheeks.
Finn Payne liked what he saw.
She would’ve thanked God for it, if she’d still believed in God.

A hint of recklessness led her to choose scotch as her drink of choice, too, though she rarely drank anything stronger than wine.

She caught him looking at her again as she moved toward the couch with her drink, and made sure to cross her legs provocatively as she sat down.

“You’re very pretty,” Finn said, taking a seat in the chair opposite her.

“Thank you.” Her mother had always told her that a simple “thank you” was the best way to acknowledge a compliment. Desperately she searched her memory for any other scrap of motherly advice that might help her in a situation like this, and came up empty—her mom wasn’t big on seducing strange men, or stealing. “You’re even better-looking in person than I expected.”

He sighed a little, leaning back in his seat.

Inwardly she cringed, woefully aware of how out of practice she was on her flirting skills. Men liked to be complimented, didn’t they? “I’m a big fan of your music—your
Gothika
CD is one of my all-time favorites.”

“That CD came out over ten years ago.” He cocked his head, looking at her. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven,” she said, and immediately wished she’d lied and told him twenty-three. He was probably used to younger women; women with no responsibilities, and no children. “How old are you?” she asked, though she already knew.

“Thirty-six,” he said quietly, shaking his glass so the ice rattled. He’d begun to look thoughtful, and she couldn’t have that, so she smiled at him, and he smiled back. He took a sip from his drink, and so did she. The scotch burned its way into her belly, and helped crystallize her resolve.

She had to seduce him, and steal the Ring of Chaos.

“I love your latest song, ‘Fallen,’ ” she said, taking another sip of her scotch. “So moody and atmospheric.” She shifted her legs, sliding to the edge of the couch. Her skirt slid up with it, but she pretended not to notice, leaning in to give him her sexiest smile.

“I’ll be honest with you,” she said to Finn, being anything but. “When I saw your name on the reservations list, I knew I had to do just about anything to meet you; I switched shifts with someone so I could be here when you arrived.” She gave him her most seductive smile. “I was hoping we’d get to spend some time together, like this, while you were at the hotel.” Toying with her glass as if she didn’t have a care in the world, Faith ran a finger along the rim.

Finn said nothing, merely looking at her.

She met his gaze evenly, though inside she was quaking. “Are you sure there’s nothing else I can do for you while I’m here, Mr. Payne?” she asked him softly.

Chapter Six

H
e was disappointed. He’d known her less than five minutes and already held some preconceived notion in his mind about her being different, when she wasn’t.

He sighed. Here he was, thirty-six years old and unable to have a normal conversation with a woman because all she saw when she looked at him was Finn Payne, the rock world’s fucking Prince of Darkness.

She doesn’t want to get to know the real you—you’re nothing without your guitar. She wants the music, the legend, the fantasy.

He pushed the thought away, determined to prove his spiteful, spoiled muse wrong. He was more than just his music. This girl would know it by the time the evening was through.

“Why don’t you call in sick and get the evening off?” he suggested plainly. “We’ll order some room service, have a drink and a late dinner.” Glancing at his watch, he amended casually, “Or breakfast, whichever you prefer.”

So what if she was a groupie? He liked her looks—fair skin, high cheekbones, nice figure. “I’m starving; never eat before a show.” He cocked his head, giving her his most charming smile. “And I hate eating alone.”

Her face turned almost as pink as her blouse. “I’d love to have dinner with you.”

“We can still get room service, can’t we?”

“Absolutely. The chef is a friend of mine.”

“Great. Call him up.”

You’re getting old
, said the voice of Chaos.
There was a time you’d never choose food over sex.
The voice was fading now, a sour remnant of itself. Hopefully it would be gone soon.

“The steaks are really good here,” she said. “The bacon-wrapped fillet melts in your mouth.”

“Sounds good,” he said. “Order whatever you like.”

She smoothed her skirt to a more ladylike length and smiled a more genuine, tentative version of the smile she’d sent him earlier. She’d taken his sidestep pretty well, and he was glad of it. He didn’t want or need any drama this evening, and if they ended up in bed together he wanted it to be a natural progression, not a sprint toward a goal.

The smile she sent him showed her dimple, and somewhere inside his chest, a knot loosened, a knot he hadn’t even known was there.

There was something about this girl he liked. He was going to rock her world tonight, and he didn’t need a guitar to do it.

S
he’d nearly blown it.

She’d come on too strong, and from the look on his face a few moments ago, she’d nearly lost him.

If he wanted food and company before sex, she’d be happy to give him food and company before sex. It was the least she could do.

“Chocolate cake for dessert,” she said into the phone, after ordering two bacon-wrapped fillets.

“None for me.” He was smiling at her. She’d been afraid to look too deeply into his eyes up to this point, because she was sure he’d see what a liar she was. But this time she did, and somewhere in those green depths she saw the real Finn Payne: a nice guy who was world-weary, jaded, and
tired
.

Tired in a way that made her want to push his hair back from his forehead and tell him everything was going to be all right. Tired in a way that made her feel guilty, as though she didn’t feel guilty enough already.

He smiled at her again, and something unfurled, low in her belly. With a shock, she realized it for what it was: genuine arousal, genuine desire—neither of which she’d felt in a very long time.

“There,” she said to him cheerfully as she hung up. “Dinner will be here before you know it.”

“Thank you,” he said, taking another sip of his drink before putting it down on an end table. “Do you mind if I take a quick shower while we wait? I came straight from the stage.”

The image of him onstage was seared into her brain from a concert when she was twenty. The image of him naked in the shower, however, made her mouth go dry. “Not at all,” she said brightly, “I’ll, ah . . . I’ll just call my supervisor while you’re in there.”

“Great.” Finn gave her a grin and stood up. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.” His green eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. “Turn on some music. Make yourself comfortable.”

“Thanks.”

She watched him walk away. The man knew how to wear a pair of jeans. They fit him like a second skin, and how could
anybody
make a plain white T-shirt look so sexy?

Dammit
. He lived up to every single picture she’d ever seen of him, and he was
nice
. He was a celebrity, and she was just a single mother who worked in a hotel, lying her ass off for the chance to steal from him.

Before she lost her nerve, she picked up the phone again and dialed, not the front desk, but her home number. Her good friend and next-door neighbor, Dina, answered.

“Dina,” she whispered, glancing anxiously toward the bedroom, “is everything okay? How’s Nathan?”

“He’s sleeping,” Dina replied, “and why are you whispering?”

She’d known Dina for five years, ever since she’d moved into her little duplex apartment. They shared a front porch and a common wall, as well as all their secrets. She’d been there for Dina while she’d gone through a messy divorce, and Dina had been there for her when Nathan was born.

“I’m going to be later than I thought,” she whispered. “Can you stay the night? I’m not sure what time I’ll be home.”

“ ’Course I will,” Dina said comfortably, having slept over many times. “What’s going on?”

“Long story—I’ll tell you later. Thank you so much for watching him for me tonight.”

Dina made a rude noise. “You don’t need to thank me, girl. You know I love that boy almost as much as you do. I’m just glad to have him out of that hospital and home where he belongs.”

A lump rose in her throat, and she had to swallow hard to keep back the tears that threatened.
What was she doing?
How was she
ever
going to pull this off?

“Dina?”

“Mm-hm?”

She could hear the jagged burst of TV in the background, and knew her friend was flipping through the channels. “Do you think I’m pretty?”

“Oh Lord,” Dina groaned. “What the hell are you up to, girl?”

Faith bit the skin around her fingernail, looking anxiously toward the bedroom where Finn had disappeared. “Nothing,” she said, too quickly.

Dina sighed. “Never mind,” she said. “Don’t tell me. Go on, have a little fun. You deserve it after what you’ve been through with Nathan. He’s fine, don’t you worry.”

She said nothing, and Dina sighed again. “Yes, you’re pretty, and you’d be even prettier if you put a little meat on them bones.”

Dina was a full-figured young black woman, and proud of it. “You looked hot when you left for work; that pink top looked good on you. White boys love that sexy librarian look.”

“Thanks, Dina,” she whispered gratefully, in need of any reassurance she could get. “Call me if Nathan wakes up and needs me, okay?”

“He ain’t gonna need you,” her friend said complacently. “Auntie Dina is here. You have a good time, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

Faith hung up, feeling just a teeny bit better until she turned around and faced the reality of the big, empty suite, and heard the faint sound of a running shower from the bedroom down the hall.

Oh shit
, she thought again.

Finn Payne was in the other room, naked. Every woman’s fantasy come to life, hers for one night only, despite the nightmare that had brought her to this point. In order to steal the ring, she first had to overcome her own nervousness. He was a man, and she was a woman, and that’s all there was to it.

Faith took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Yes, she was about to have a private dinner with one of the world’s sexiest rock stars in a luxury suite at the Ritz-Carlton, and despite Finn’s immediate preference for food over sex, she had no doubt how the evening needed to end.

Given that she hadn’t had sex since before Nathan was born, she only hoped she could remember how.

A
knock came at the door while Finn was still in the shower. “Room service.”

Faith, who’d kicked off her shoes and unbuttoned another button of her blouse, put her eye to the keyhole. “Leave it in the hall, please,” she said through the door, glad she didn’t recognize the waiter. He wouldn’t know her voice.

“Yes, ma’am.” Instantly he did as she asked—this was the Ritz, after all—and left his wheeled cart where it stood. She waited, giving him plenty of time to reach the elevators.

Checking the peephole a final time before opening the door, she ducked her head outside and looked around before snagging the cart, feeling like a criminal. She’d lied to her coworkers and left the desk shorthanded, so she wasn’t eager to be seen.

She wasn’t eager to get locked out, either, so she used a hip to keep the suite door open, backing in with the cart.

“Let me help,” came Finn’s voice, behind her, and the weight of the door was relieved. He held it open, standing close to the wall to let her pass.

When she did, she got a whiff of soap and dampness, and with a jolt that set the cart rattling, she realized he’d barely dried off from his shower.

He was wearing nothing but a towel.

“I’ll put this over by the table,” she said brightly, dragging the cart farther into the suite. He turned to shut the door, giving Faith a great view of his lean back and narrow hips. He had a pair of black wings, ornately feathered, tattooed on his shoulder blades.

“Your tattoo is beautiful,” she said truthfully. She didn’t care much for ink as a rule, but Finn’s wings had obviously been done by a true artist.

“Thanks.” He turned from the door to help her with the cart, giving her a wry smile. “Every fallen angel needs his wings.” The way he said it made her stomach do flip-flops, and the way he looked—well, the way he looked made her mouth dry and her heart pound. His chest was firm and well-muscled, a faint line of dark hair trailing down until it disappeared into the towel.

“You’re blushing,” he said with a grin. “I’m making you nervous.”

“No shit,” she shot back, unthinking.

Finn threw his head back and laughed. “She blushes
and
swears,” he said. “So ladylike, yet so naughty. You’re an interesting woman, Amy.”

“I don’t swear that much, really,” she said ruefully, knowing she wasn’t at
all
interesting, and wishing he hadn’t called her Amy.

He was standing on the other side of the cart, the handle of which she still held in a death grip.

“Never seen a man in a towel before?” he asked softly.

“Um . . . not lately,” she answered honestly.

Finn laughed again. His towel was riding low, bunched in his fist. “Glad to hear it. I’ll just go”—he gestured toward the bedroom—“get dressed, then.”

She nodded, grateful for the chance to gather her wits.

“Or I could eat like this. You could get naked and join me.” The teasing glint in his eye was still there, but there was a definite hint of possibility there, too, and Faith knew it.

“I’ll set the table while you dress.” She chickened out.

“Hm,” he murmured, eyeing her with a grin as he walked away. “Not quite as brave as you think you are, I see.”

She had no answer for that, because her brain was otherwise occupied. Oh. My. God.
He was hot.
Hormones she had forgotten existed surged to life, bringing a dampness between her thighs, and suddenly Faith remembered what it was like to be a
woman
again. To want a man who obviously wanted her (if the bulge in his towel was to be believed), and to be free to do whatever they—as two consenting adults—wanted to do.

Except she wasn’t just consenting—she was instigating—because she had an ulterior motive, which made her a big fat freaking liar.

Finn walked through the bedroom door and out of sight, but before he did—in large part because she couldn’t help herself—she admired the view. Then, a blink or two later, she calmly began to set the table. This wasn’t about her, it was about Nathan, and it wouldn’t do to forget that.

If that made her a liar, then so be it.

Might as well do her best to enjoy it.