Manhandled: A Rockstar Romantic Comedy (Hammered Book 2) (5 page)

I
twisted
my glass around and around as Quinn droned on about every rule known to man. I essentially was going to be a prisoner in my own home for the next two weeks. After that, I was simply going to have a leash.

That this six-foot-two goon was going to own.

The longer the list of rules, the more I had to hold back a snarl.

Noah watched from the other end of the table. His fingers were folded over his belly as he tipped back his chair. He didn’t look as though he was listening, but I was pretty sure he heard every word. Especially when his lips twitched a few times.

Most notably when Quinn explained that there were going to be no unnecessary trips into the city.

Noah knew I was going to lose my damn mind.

When Quinn went into another round of rules—these about my car and how I wasn’t going to be driving myself anywhere for the foreseeable future—I stood up. “Enough.”

He looked up from the legal pad he was flipping through. “Do you have a question?”

“I thought you were a badass Ranger, not a jailer.”

Quinn put his pen down. “I’m not your jailer, Faith.”

“News to me.” I snatched his pad. “Rule one—no leaving the premises alone. Rule two—no driving. Rule three—all outings must be scheduled in advance. Rule four—no fun.”

Noah’s lips twitched again and his feet on the chair thumped back onto the floor.

I pointed at him. “Don’t you laugh.”

Noah held up his hands. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Quinn took the pad from me. “I’m not here for fun, Faith.”

I crossed my arms. “No freaking kidding.” I tempered my rage before the room was washed in red. I could feel it happening, but I wouldn’t do it in front of my mother. I took a long, slow breath. “I have two weeks off before we’re touring hardcore for two solid months.”

“And you’ll be able to relax here, in the house.”

Relax? I was going to go out of my ever-loving mind. I wasn’t a homebody. I went out and saw shows when I was off. Most importantly, I took in what was hot and kept the ideas fresh for new songs. These two weeks were supposed to include me getting reacquainted with the LA scene.

Now, everything was ruined because some nutjob wanted to play
Misery
with me as their co-lead in some freakish fantasy. Or whatever she was trying to do.

Frustration welled up because I still couldn’t remember exactly what she’d wanted from me.

“We’re sisters.”

I fisted my hands. A new memory? Or was it me overlapping with the craziness of the night. I hadn’t seen Hope in so long. We’d actually spoken like sisters for the first time in a very long time. And then she’d been gone again.

Hope hadn’t even come to the hospital.

I swallowed hard.

I was sure it was because of the baby—being pregnant, she had to worry about herself. She’d texted me. She’d even called me at the hospital, but she was back to her distant self.

And on the flip side, I had a stranger who wanted to be so close to me that she’d snuck into Hunter’s wedding?

Why?

What could she want with me?

Quinn stood up, then pushed his chair in. I snapped back into my surroundings and crossed my arms.

“Everything all right?”

I nodded. “Fine.”

He studied me for another moment then seemed to come to a decision. “I need to go out and get my things. Why don’t I walk you out, Mrs. Keystone? Noah is going to take you home.”

“I am?” A look passed between him and Quinn. “Right.”

“I want to stay with my daughter.”

“I understand your husband needs to get updated. He had a meeting he couldn’t reschedule?”

My mom’s eyes widened. “Yes. How did you know?”

Quinn gave her a soft smile. “It’s my job to have everyone’s schedule. I spoke to Mr. Keystone’s secretary this morning.”

“Okay.” She looked at Noah, then at me.

“It’s okay, Mom. I’m beat. I’m just going to curl up on the couch and veg out.”

She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, showing just how worried she was. My mom’s hair was nothing if not perfectly coiffed at all times. She didn’t fuss with her hair or her clothes.

I crossed to her. “Honestly. I’m just really tired.”

She frowned. “Are you sure?”

I hugged her tight. “I’ve got Warden Alexander to take care of me.”

Quinn’s jaw did the flex thingie. “Your daughter will be very safe.” Another look passed between him and Noah, then he led my mother to the door.

She stopped at the edge of the hallway. “I’ll call you later to check in.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

She rushed back over and hugged me again. “I can’t guarantee that me and your dad won’t come back here when he returns from work.”

“Save it for tomorrow, huh? I’m really just going to pass out. The hospital was too busy last night. I didn’t really get any sleep.” That was the truth, but I’d survived on much less sleep most nights.

I needed to decompress, and I wasn’t going to do it with my mother there.

Not when she was staring at me every three minutes waiting for me to breakdown.

“Come on, Mrs. Keystone,” Quinn said, and herded her down the hall.

Noah waited for the door to close before crossing to me.

I held my hands up. “If you hug me, too, I’m definitely crying. And then you have to deal with girl tears and I know you hate them.”

Noah rolled his eyes and tugged me close. “Shut up.”

I buried my nose into his chest and drew in his Irish Spring scent. I looped my arms around his waist and drew in a shaky breath. “Dammit.”

He drew his hand down my hair. “You’re gonna be okay, kiddo. I know Quinn seems a bit…intense.”

I pulled back. “Intense? There are twenty-four rules on his list. I have to schedule a shit, for God’s sake.”

He laughed. “It’s not that bad. You’re just used to doing your own thing.”

“You’re damn right.”

“He’ll calm down. He just doesn’t like when there’s no schedule to follow.”

I frowned. “Isn’t a schedule bad though? I’ve been reading up on stalkers and they like to figure out your schedule and you know…attack because they know where you’re going to be.”

“Holy Christ.” He hauled me back into him and kissed the top of my head. “No reading up on this shit. All right?”

I sighed and squeezed back a prickle of tears. There were far too many articles about fans going off the deep end. Not just the famous ones who’d killed Lennon and Selena. But insane home invasions and others being shot down in their cars.

“He knows what he’s doing. And yes, he’ll make sure you don’t do the same thing every time you guys go out, but until he figures you out—hell, until you figure each other out—how about cutting him some slack?”

A voice cleared behind us. “Mrs. Keystone is loaded into your truck.”

I pulled away from Noah. “She’s not luggage.”

Quinn’s face went blank. “Of course not, I’m sorry.” He glanced at Noah. “Are you heading out after you drop Mrs. Keystone off?”

Noah rubbed my arms, then hooked his arm around my shoulders. “Yeah. I have a flight at seven.”

Quinn nodded.

I squeezed Noah around the waist. “I wish you were doing this.”

“I know, kiddo.”

I winced. “Enough with the kiddo.”

“Brat?”

I pushed him away. “Just get out of here.”

His smile slid away, and he dropped his hands on my shoulders to hold me still. “You’re going to be fine. There’s no one on this planet that I trust more than Quinn.”

“Right.” I glanced over at the warden. His shoulders were stiff under the jacket, and the sun glinted off a few silvery hairs at his temples. His jawline was as stiff as the rest of him.

Yeah, we were going to have a ton of fun.

Noah kissed my forehead. “I’ll check in when I can.”

“Where are you off to?”

“Albany.”

“Georgia?”

He grinned. “New York.” He met Quinn’s gaze. “Your parents’ stomping grounds.”

“Yeah? Ma will kill you if you don’t stop in sometime while you’re there.”

“Peach pie.” Noah groaned. “Yeah, I’ll have to make some time.”

Quinn’s nostrils flared. “She makes a mean peach pie.”

“Yeah she does.”

I hugged him one more time. “All right. Safe flight. I’ll see you soon?”

“I’ll do my best.”

Which meant probably not, but I took the comforting gesture for what it was. “I’m going to go take a shower.” I drew back. “If that’s all right, Warden?”

Jaw tick again. I was going to start counting them. “Yes, that’s fine. How long?”

“Well, I don’t have to shave my legs since I’m never getting laid again…”

Noah snorted. “Keys,” he said with a warning voice.

I sighed. “Fifteen minutes.”

Quinn nodded. “Sounds good.”

“Bye, pita,” I said.

“Love you too, Brat.”

I fought back the prick of tears—again. Honestly, I hadn’t cried in years and now I was ready for the waterworks every time someone said something nice to me. I took the stairs two at a time, slamming the door to my bedroom.

I flipped my favorite shirt over my head and peeled off my tank top. I was clammy with fatigue and nerves. Sunlight poured into my bedroom.

My favorite room.

But all I could focus on was how many windows were in my room. I rushed into the bathroom, but there were an equal number of windows in there too. At least they were higher up over the lip of iridescent gray tiles. I’d chosen them because they looked like the inside of an oyster.

Swirls of pearl color glinted in the light.

So much light.

I cowered into the corner of my shower were there was no line of sight. Was she watching now?

Was it someone else?

Did she have an accomplice watching out for me?

Did she even know where I lived?

I slid down and hugged my knees. I don’t know how long I was like that. The water was barely a mist from this angle and my teeth were starting to chatter.

I forced myself to stand under the water and put conditioner in my hair at the very least. I washed quickly, then shut off the water and wrapped myself in two towels.

No way was I going to do this.

My house.

My privacy.

I sat on my bed and opened my laptop. I typed in Carson Covenant and picked up my phone.

My fucking house.

I
stowed
my footlocker into the large closet. I took the room next to Faith’s so I could hear her if there was trouble. I was pretty sure she’d be ecstatic about my choice of rooms, but she’d get used to it.

Or it was going to be a long damn two weeks.

I checked my watch when the water finally shut off. Talk about taking her time in the shower. She’d said fifteen, but it had been more like forty.

I stashed two weeks’ worth of clothes and hung up my suit jacket. I changed out of my my suit pants to a pair of cargos and a T-shirt. It was going on six and I’d barely eaten.

I needed to stay sharp, and that required balanced meals.

I paused at Faith’s door. The clicking of keys was loud and clear. “Faith?”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to fix some dinner.”

She opened the door and her scent swirled out the door. “Good luck finding something in my kitchen.” She squeezed water out of the ends of her hair. The collar of her T-shirt was damp and her breasts moved unencumbered with each fluff of the towel in her long hair.

Sweet fuck.

I was never going to look at Ziggy Stardust the same again.

“I brought a bag of food.”

She crossed the room and hung her towel on the door to the bathroom. The ancient T-shirt barely skimmed the soft pants that hugged her from ass to knee. There was a very thin strip of skin showing with each sway of her hips.

She was perfectly covered.

And still my chest tightened in reaction.

Was she doing this on purpose? I forced my eyes up to her shoulders and the tumble of tangled waves that darkened the back of her faded concert shirt.

She lifted her arms and quickly plaited her hair in a high braid that was endearingly lopsided. Not an ounce of seduction in the action. Instead, she shrugged on a sweater that looked like a cat had attacked it and turned back to me.

She was distractingly beautiful. Not the come-on kind that I could ignore—no, she had to be guileless.

Because that was my lot in life.

She gave me a tentative smile. “Much better.”

“The shower helped?”

She shrugged. “A little. I was talking about the…what do they call regular clothes in Ranger speak?”

I sighed. I couldn’t even say I wasn’t a Ranger anymore, because once a Ranger, always a Ranger—but it had been a long time since I’d thought about that part of my life. “Civvies.”

“Ahh. Yeah, heard that on NCIS.”

“I was Army, Faith.”

She snapped her fingers. “Right. Navy boys and Army boys like that distinction.”

I stiffened. I had plenty of Navy friends, but there was and always would be a level of one-upmanship between us. Instead of arguing, I inclined my head. “Do you want to help me? Or I can just cook and let you know when it’s ready.”

“Does cooking come with your crazy price tag?”

“Bonus,” I said drily.

She curled her toes into the thick area rug that flowed from under her bed. “I’m a decent sous chef. At least that’s what Tristan tells me.”

I quickly shuffled names in my head from the files I’d read on the way over. Friends, family, friends of friends. Noah had done a quick search on all of them, and I’d done my own on the plane ride into Los Angeles.

“Tristan Eves?”

She crossed her arms under her breasts. “Wow. Does that brain come with a USB cord for downloads?”

A light breeze came in from her patio. I tried not to notice the way her nipples tightened. Couldn’t she close that sweater—cover them up? Hell, wear a bra?

It was going to be a long assignment if I didn’t get myself in check.

I crossed to the door that was still cracked and closed it, snicking the lock before I faced her, and her magnificent breasts, again.

Now, she had herself covered. The bulky sweater wrapped tight under her crossed arms. “I forgot to close that earlier.”

“You’ll get into the habit,” I said quietly.

“I don’t want to get into the habit.”

Damn she was stubborn. “It doesn’t have to be out of fear. These things are common sense for a woman living alone.”

“I have a security system.”

“Well, it won’t work if the door is open, now will it?”

She stiffened. “The screen was closed.”

“A screen wouldn’t stop someone from hopping that fence and coming inside.” When she flinched, I wished I could take back the words.

“You’re right,” she said in a small voice.

These were the lessons she needed. It sucked, and I hated to be the bad guy, but if that stopped her from getting hurt, then bad guy it would be.

“Come down when you’re ready,” I said and strode out.

When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I heard her moving around and then the pounding of notes flowing through the ceiling. Her piano. The song was angry and passionate.

I wasn’t a music guy, so I didn’t know what the song was, but it was definitely preferable to a temper tantrum.

I took out the white-paper-wrapped chicken from the market we’d stopped at on the way over. It was pre-marinated in a rich balsamic and rosemary oil. She hadn’t been kidding about her fridge. There was a six pack of flavored water, two bottles of white wine, and a tub of hummus among the handful of condiments.

I grabbed the smaller bottle of white and made a vinaigrette for the simple salad fixings with the herbs I found in her cabinet.

Finally the music stopped and she came down the stairs. She said nothing, and I was all right with that.

She drummed her fingers on the kitchen island. “What can I do?”

“Chop up those vegetables.”

She pulled out a drawer and there was a knife and slicing board at the ready. I must have shown my surprise because she shrugged. “Tristan designed my kitchen.”

“Even though you don’t cook?”

She shrugged. “I do sometimes. But my roommate—”

My hand hovered over the baking rack I’d tucked into a heavy stoneware pan. “Pardon me?”

Her wide blue eyes got even bigger. “Oh, wow. Yeah, I suppose I should have mentioned that.”

“I had nothing about a roommate in any of my files.”

“She’s backpacking around Ireland right now. She comes in Tuesday.”

I ground my teeth together. “That would have been important information to have.”

She sighed. “She needed someplace to stay and I needed someone to watch my house when I’m on tour.”

“How long have you known this person? Woman?”

“Forever. She’s one of my best friends from high school.”

“Name?” I’d gotten a lot of her friends from her social media accounts. Maybe she wasn’t a complete stranger.

“Devon Murphy.”

The bands that had tightened around my chest lessened. I’d researched her. Best friend, redhead, artist, and single. Still, the likelihood this female best friend would be staying alone in the house while Keys was away was remote. “I noticed one of the bedrooms had an easel.”

She nodded. “Yes, she’s a painter. I’m sure I’ll have to drag her out of the room when she gets back. She’ll have sketches galore. She has a special cabinet on the deck that has her supplies in it. That’s where she usually is. When she’s not out getting inspired.”

“So, she watches this place when you’re out of town?”

“Yeah. It seemed stupid for me to pay for someone to check in on the place. My house is huge and we’re best friends.”

That didn’t mean Devon should stay there alone. Female or not, she hadn’t been trained on what she should watch out for, and she probably didn’t have means of self-defense, either through classes or a weapon. But I didn’t have any intention of putting a firearm into her hands.

Instead I would make sure she was being discreetly monitored at all times. Whether or not I would inform Keys of that remained to be seen.

“How long has she been living here?”

“It’s a new thing.”

I shook my head and slid the meat into the oven. “Please keep me informed of all situations.”

“I meant to—”

“Are there any other surprises? A man in your life? I don’t want to shoot him in the middle of the night.”

She snapped the knife down on the plastic cutting board. “No. Remember that remark earlier? No sex for me with you around.”

I gripped the edge of the island. “If you have a personal relationship that I’m not aware of, we can work around it.”

Her laugh was strained. “Don’t worry, Warden. No boys after curfew.”

“This isn’t a joke.”

“Oh, I know it’s not. You don’t hear me laughing, do you?”

No, I didn’t. Just bitching. I tipped my head back and counted to five. This job was a bad situation in the making, but I couldn’t walk away. Not when Noah had asked me for help. Especially Noah.

She resumed chopping and scraping the cherry tomatoes into the bowl with the spring greens. I went to the fridge and pulled out the snap peas. The methodical job of using the paring knife to clean them centered me.

We didn’t say anything else as we chopped mushrooms, snap peas, and onions.

“What are you cooking anyway?” she finally asked.

“Chicken.”

“Fried?”

“No.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like dry chicken.”

“It’s not dry. It’s marinated, then cooked slow.”

She sniffed the air. “It smells herb-ish.”

“Rosemary and balsamic.”

“Hmm.” She went to the fridge and opened the door, then to the slim pantry beside it. She pulled out bottles. “Ranch, bleu cheese, or Thousand Island?”

“I made dressing.”

Her eyebrows went up.

“It’s a wine vinaigrette.” Again with the wrinkled nose. “Problem with that too?”

“You’re one of those health-conscious people, huh?”

“Healthy body, healthy mind.”

“Oh, crap. You don’t do yoga or something do you?”

“No. Tai Chi.”

She leaned against the island. “Is that like the hot martial arts thing that Patrick Swayze does in Roadhouse?”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that one. “You watch Roadhouse?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m a huge Patrick fan. I love action movies of all kinds. I hang with guys twenty-four seven mostly. We actually watch Roadhouse whenever it’s on in the hotels. It’s a thing. If one of us finds it, we call around and everyone gathers in one room.” She smiled broadly. “We even live Tweet it.”

“Live Tweet?”

She pulled her phone out of her sweater. “Yeah.” She flicked her thumb down the screen, typed something fast, and then handed me her phone. “See?”

I sighed and wiped my hands on a towel before taking her iPhone.

There was a play-by-play of the way the actor jumped out of the barn and down to help the old man in the movie. I’d seen it a number of times myself. Her reactions were lively and funny.

So much so that I kept scrolling to follow her series of Tweets.

“You definitely know the movie.”

“Right? Man, now I want to watch it. I have it on my Amazon account. How about we watch it as we’re eating? If I have to eat healthy, at least I can watch Patrick’s perfect ass.”

“Acceptable.” Not that I was interested in his ass, but the movie was entertaining.

“You can eat the vinegar stuff though. There’s only so far that I’m going to go with the health crap.”

“They’re your arteries.”

“Damn right.”