Sexy Lies and Rock & Roll (10 page)

“And stop trying to shove a record label down my throat,” Evan retorts with a slight growl, and now I feel incredibly awkward listening to this. These two are clearly not seeing eye to eye.

Tyler puts his hands up in a show of capitulation and stands up from the swivel chair. “How about you and I plan on sitting down to talk about this after Emma goes through all the contracts and can boil down the nuts and bolts for you?”

Evan gives a long sigh and nods. “Sure. We can do that.”

“Alright,” Tyler says, and he swings his gaze back to me. “Any idea when you’ll be finished?”

“A few days,” I tell him, factoring in several reads, taking notes, organizing a spreadsheet for easy comparison, and probably some legal research.

This is apparently acceptable to Tyler as he gives me an agreeable smile and says, “We’ll be in Miami by then, and we’ve got a hotel booked there since we’re doing two shows. That will give me and Evan some more room to spread out and go over everything you provide us.”

“Okay,” I say hesitantly, my gaze cutting over to Evan. “I’ll have my recommendations by then.”

Evan gives me an encouraging smile, but then I’m surprised when Tyler says, “We don’t need your opinions, Emma. Just a breakdown of the contracts.”

“Um… okay. I’ll have it ready for you.”

“Good deal,” he says and then heads for the exit. “I’ll see you in the arena for sound check, Evan.”

“Later, dude,” Evan says, and then pushes up from the couch as Tyler leaves. He goes back to the kitchen and starts another cup of coffee brewing.

Taking my seat at the computer again, I start to read the contract I’d pulled up when Evan speaks in a low voice. “Emma… I most certainly want your opinions, not just a breakdown.”

My head snaps up and I look at him with surprise. “My opinions?”

“I’d like some unbiased thoughts,” he explains. “Tyler’s pushing hard for a record deal, and I’m enjoying life as an indie artist. Your thoughts would be appreciated.”

“Well,” I say slowly as my brain cycles through any potential hazards here. When it comes up with none, I say, “Okay… sure… I’ll give you my thoughts. Don’t know they’ll mean much—”

“They’ll mean plenty,” Evan says as he picks up his coffee cup again.

And that right there… the fact he wants to hear what I have to say… well, that just makes my shoulders snap back again and a wave of delight in my job takes over my entire body, causing me to tingle from head to toe.

Evan

I
meet Red
coming off the bus with Sirius being extremely well behaved on the leash. The humid Miami weather has the dog’s hair frizzed out and Red’s bald head glistening with a sheen of sweat already.

We’d pulled into Miami yesterday around lunchtime, and Red drove us straight to our hotel. The tour had booked me a suite and I had a room arranged for Emma. Even though I’d gotten some decent sleep on the bus as Red drove us from Atlanta to Miami, I spent most of yesterday afternoon napping, as I was exhausted from the Atlanta show, and then had a quiet night to myself by ordering room service and watching movies.

But that show in Atlanta…

It was fucking amazing. Never felt anything like that in my entire life. Once I got past the nerves and was able to remind myself that I was a good musician and people truly liked my work, I was able to revel in the experience of it all. The crowd was fervent for me and their energy became mine. I sang the best of my life with power, clarity, and ranges I didn’t know I had within me.

It was a moment I’ll never forget and while I still have nerves thinking about tonight’s show, I’m more than ready to take it on. I’m almost craving that feeling again.

Emma and I came back to the venue a few hours ago since I’d be doing sound check soon, and she’s been holed up in the bus ever since.

“She still in the same position?” I ask Red as I lift my chin to the bus.

“Yup,” he says in a rumbling voice. “Nose pressed up against that computer. Works too damn much.”

“Agreed,” is all I say as I push past him and the dog. I’d reach down to ruffle Sirius’ fur, but both of my hands are loaded with shopping bags.

Turning sideways, lifting the bags so I don’t trip, I climb the steps and turn into the living area. As expected, Emma’s at her desk, fingers flying on the laptop. She doesn’t even turn to acknowledge me, and I know she heard me coming in.

I walk through the living area, and when I reach her desk, I don’t slow down, just say as I pass, “Come here.”

I head straight to the bedroom where I throw all the bags on the bed, turning to face Emma walking in behind me. Her eyes go down to the parcels I just deposited, and then back to me. “What’s all that?”

“New clothes for you,” I say as I cross my arms over my chest. “You need to try them on now, so anything that doesn’t fit will get returned.”

“New clothes for me?” she asks hesitantly. “You went shopping for clothes for me?”

“The stylist here in Miami did,” I tell her. “I snooped through your suitcase and gave her your sizes.”

At that admission, Emma’s eyes narrow at me and she grits out, “You went through my clothes?”

“Yup,” is all I say, and I stare her down, daring her to argue with me about any of this.

And I’m banking on an argument. My time having Emma on this tour is limited. She didn’t come to the Atlanta show, preferring to stay on the bus, where she scurried to after the press conference she sat in on with me. She didn’t want to hang at the after-party, and she’s refusing to engage with me otherwise. She’s all work, work, work and that is most definitely interfering with my plans for her.

Ordinarily, I’m a patient guy and I could give her more time, but fuck that. I decided since we were in Miami for a few days, I’d take the bull by the horns and start insisting that my little employee start doing what I want since I’m the one paying her.

“Just why in the world did you think I needed you to buy me clothes?” she asks in short, clipped bursts of anger.

“Because you,” I say as clearly as possible as I wave my hands toward her, “dress like an Amish spinster. And while you did a good job fielding reporters at the Atlanta show, you sounded a little rehearsed and you can do better. I’m not quite sure anyone really bought what you were saying in your prim little business suit. You’re a member of the rock industry now, and you should look the part. Not like you should be up there quoting the stock exchange.”

“I was nervous,” Emma practically growls at me. “And my clothes don’t have a damn thing to do with it.”

“You represent the brand of Evan Scott,” I say adamantly as I lean toward her. “And you’re going to act the part with one-hundred percent devotion.”

“I’m not wearing clothes you choose for me,” she bites back stubbornly, her little hands now clenched into fists.

“You most certainly are,” I retort. To make my point, I start emptying the bags out onto the bed. Clothes start piling up… jeans, sexy skirts, skimpy shirts, high heels and boots, and—

“You bought me lingerie?” Emma screeches as she grabs up a bra done in black lace with red satin trim.

“Technically, the stylist did,” I tell her. To add fuel to the fire, I grin at her. “But I would not be averse to you trying that on right now and perhaps giving me a little fashion show.”

“Oooh,” Emma screeches in anger, taking the bra and throwing it at me, where I catch it cleanly before it hits my face. “I am not trying on any of this, and you cannot dictate how I dress.”

And fuck me standing… she’s goddamn hot as hell right now. Same high color to her cheeks, eyes blazing, and hair seeming to fly all around her face as if the torrent of anger coming at me is electrifying it.

“I am your employer,” I tell her imperiously, folding my arms back across my chest without letting go of the sexy bra. “I am an entertainer. I have a brand. I can most definitely tell you how you should dress.”

“Not down to my underwear,” she hisses at me, her cheeks flaming brighter as her eyes flick to the bra.

“You wear granny panties, Emma.” I sneer at her in disgust, and yes… real disgust because Emma is a passionate woman and should never be wearing grandma underwear. “You act like you wear granny panties. It’s bad for my image.”

If I thought she was mad before, her eyes practically blaze with undisguised fury. She leans her upper body toward me, her fingers flexing outward and clenching back into fists repetitively. Through gritted teeth, she snarls, “You conceited, narcissistic barbarian. How dare you think to judge me based on something as shallow as my clothing?”

I cock an eyebrow at her and chide, “Come on, Emma. Granny panties. You can do better than that.”

“Aagh,” she screams in frustration. I’m stunned when she bends over the bed, gathers up an armful of clothing, and throws it at me. “You… you… you asshole!”

And I’m a fucking goner.

My hands shoot out fast, grabbing her by the shoulders, and I pull her into me so hard her head snaps backward. I get just a brief glimpse of her eyes rounding in surprise before my mouth is crashing down onto hers.

Emma whimpers, possibly in fear, and I have a moment where I go shockingly still. But then Emma’s hands grip onto my biceps and she squeezes, and that’s enough for me.

Curling an arm around her lower back, I pull her tight into my body so she can feel every single hard inch of me.

And I mean hard.

It happened right around the time she called me an asshole and I thought I saw fire leaping from her irises.

Emma gasps into my mouth when I press her belly against my cock, and I use that slight opening to slide my tongue into her mouth.

Fucking amazing.

She tastes like mint, and her lips are soft, reserved, and orderly, but prim little Emma gives her tongue right back to me. It swipes at mine boldly, and her moan fills my mouth… causes my brain to go fuzzy from the sheer, sweet pleasure of her taste.

I want to kiss her for hours.

No, days.

Kiss her for days and days.

But I want to fuck her too. As she squirms in my arms, seeking to get closer, I want more than just a kiss. I want to bury my cock so deep in her hot pussy that I almost come in my pants at the thought.

I loosen my arm around her back only to slip my fingers in past the back waistband of her shorts.

Her cute, soccer mom Bermuda shorts that hide her legs from me.

Emma cries out when my fingers graze her skin, and then she moans when I push them past the waistband of what I’m betting are indeed a pair of granny panties. I didn’t actually look at her underwear when I was trying to get her sizes, but I’m taking an educated guess here.

Angling my head, I take the kiss deeper, and she practically melts in my arms. I raise my other hand, bringing it right to her jaw, where I grab ahold of it to hold her in place. She’s so restless and squirmy and I don’t want her trying to shy away from my mouth.

With a nip to her lower lip, I slide my hand further into the back of her panties and push my index finger right down through the crack of her ass, intending to go down as far as possible to maybe a touch of her wetness.

But that move so thoroughly shocks my little nun that she rips herself out of my arms and stares at me with wide, disbelieving eyes. And Christ… she looks so fuckable right now. Skin glowing, hair messed up, chest heaving up and down, and her nipples poking hard through her bra and shirt.

I hold in an internal groan at the thought of my teeth on those nipples.

“What do you think you are doing?” Emma rasps out in between panting breaths. She looks at me with unfiltered accusation.

“Seems to me I was kissing you,” I toss back at her, holding myself in check so I don’t launch myself at that hot little body.

“You can’t do that,” she huffs, and then licks her lips.

Fuck.

Those lips. On my cock. I absolutely fucking need them there at some point.

“Emma,” I saw on a low rumble of need. “Come here.”

She shakes her head, denying me. “We can’t. It’s not proper.”

“I am not a proper type of guy,” I warn her as I take a step toward her.

She holds her hands out in a silent plea for me to come no closer. “You’re my boss. I’m your employee.”

“Which means you have to do what I say,” I tell her with an evil grin. “And I say you should come here and let me kiss you again.”

“Evan,” she hisses at me in reproach. “I get you are a man, and that you have physical needs… but that doesn’t mean that you can just take me because I’m convenient to you. And you may be my boss, but you don’t have the right.”

I can’t help it. I burst out laughing, throwing my head back and closing my eyes as they start to water. When I dare to look back at her, the bewilderment clouding her face cracks me up again.

“Oh, God… Emma,” I say between chortles. “Could you be any more proper? Well… I guess if you were British you could be, but Christ almighty, you’re fucking adorable.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “I don’t find this funny.”

I sober instantly, my dick still achingly hard, and I tell her huskily, “No. It certainly wasn’t funny when your tongue was sliding against mine or you were grinding on my cock.”

“I… I… I didn’t…” she stammers, and then gasps when my hand shoots out and wraps around the back of her neck.

I pull her in a little closer, only so I can peer down at her. Her chest is heaving again, and my cock thumps in my pants when her eyes cut down to my lips in anticipation.

Yeah… she wants me, but she can’t reconcile herself to it.

“Emma,” I say softly, and then bend down just to kiss the tip of her nose. I see the surprise in her eyes when I pull back. “You are neither convenient or here just because I have needs. I’ve wanted to fuck you since that day in the police station when we first met, and that has nothing to do with the work you were hired for. You also have the right to say no to me—”

Her eyes cut down to the clothes on the bed.

“Not on the clothes… you’re going to accept them and wear them,” I tell her with no room for argument. “But if you don’t want me… if you don’t want to know what if feels like for me to be balls deep in you… you only have to say no.”