Sexy Lies and Rock & Roll (11 page)

Emma let out a tiny moan right around the time I said the word “balls”, and while I am absolutely certain I could have her right now with a little more persuasion, I release my hold on the back of her neck.

“However, until such time,” I say as I step backward and turn to the door, “I expect you to dress like you belong on this tour with me, and I expect you to be at my shows. I’ll have someone bring you a backstage pass for tonight.”

She doesn’t say a word as I walk out of the bedroom, through the bus and down the steps. I hope to God I don’t run into anyone right away, as I need a few minutes to get my dick back under control.

But outside of that tiny worry, I’m filled with victorious elation, because I just learned that, without a doubt, prim little Emma Peterson wants me as much as I want her.

Emma

“H
e’s amazing, isn’t
he?” Tyler says loudly as he leans over toward my ear.

From my place backstage, I have the perfect view of Evan as he winds down his last song of the night. It’s an acoustic version of his most famous song… the one he put free on YouTube, which made him a household name.

It’s soulfully brilliant, telling the story of love and loss from the eyes of a little boy who simply loves a little girl.

I may have listened to this song only about a thousand times since I first heard it.

“So amazing,” I agree, although I’m not sure Tyler hears me as he simply nods and turns away.

I don’t spare him another glance though, preferring to watch Evan as he sits on a stool, one booted foot planted on the stage, the other on the second rung. The acoustic version is a little slower than the recorded one, and his voice is purer.

Definitely sexier.

And even that thought causes my heart to just skitter out of place.

What happened today in that bus is still beyond my comprehension. One minute, we’re fighting, and the next, we’re engaged in the most sensuously epic kiss of my life. It was no-holds barred. It was carnal.

It was so dirty.

Especially when his finger—

I can’t even think about it. I’m afraid people will take one look at me and know what I’m thinking.

A man has never dared to touch me back there, and I honestly don’t know if I was turned on or appalled, although I am sure I was freaked out, which is why I pulled away from him.

I realized as his finger came so close to my… um… well, that my world was getting ready to change in a way that could alter my very existence.

Frankly, it scared the crap out of me.

Evan scares the crap out of me.

And yet… I cannot stop thinking of kissing him.

I can’t stop thinking of the dirty things he said to me, because it’s unlike anything I’ve heard before. I’m not a virgin, having lost that title my junior year of college with Chris. He was my one and only sexual relationship, and it was nothing like what I experienced in those few minutes with Evan.

Chris was making love with the lights out and lots of cuddling and sweet words.

Evan is… well, he’ll never be that, and I don’t know if I could survive someone like him.

Crossing one arm over my belly, I nibble nervously on my thumbnail as I watch Evan perform. My eyes cut out to the thousands of fans, swaying back and forth and singing along with him. To the women surrounding the stage, looking at him with adoration and promise if he’ll just look back at them.

But Evan doesn’t, I notice. He’s into his music, and it’s the only thing that matters to him in this moment.

For the first time since I’ve met Evan, I get something about him that I didn’t understand before.

He lives for this.

This is his breath and his life.

My head drops down and I look at my outfit.

To my surprise, this afternoon about two hours after “the kiss,” Evan’s Miami stylist came onto the bus and offered to show me how to put all the outfits together. I hadn’t touched the pile of clothes. They were still scattered over the bed and on the floor where they landed after I threw them at Evan.

I’d stewed for those two hours, telling myself I was not going to wear a stitch of that clothing, and that he couldn’t make me attend his shows. That it was well outside of the purview of my job description.

I told myself that for two hours, and yet when the stylist showed up, all I could think about was Evan perhaps kissing me again, and would it be different if I were wearing something he liked.

It was maddening that I would even be thinking that, and yet I tried on all those clothes.

Even the lingerie.

Tonight, I chose an outfit that I would never in a million years have ever had the guts to try. It’s a pair of tight black pants—not necessarily leggings—that hug every inch of me from waist to ankle. They’re shimmery, almost a metallic shine. It’s paired with a white silky camisole that doesn’t cut too low over my breasts, but doesn’t quite reach the waistband of the low-slung pant. Some of my stomach is bared. Of course, I felt a little too naked wearing that, so the stylist gave me a faded jean jacket to wear over the top. And after she advised me on what to wear, she provided a small bag of makeup. I only took advantage of a little eyeshadow and mascara, as I’ve never liked the way that stuff feels all over my face.

I look back up to Evan as he sings the last few lines, the roar of the crowd starting to peak as they know the end is nearing.

What in tarnation am I doing here? Wearing clothes he’s bought me—including a matching bra and panty set done in white lace. Coming to a show that he commanded me to attend, despite it not having anything to do with my job.

Is it because of that kiss?

Am I subconsciously putting myself out there… in his line of sight… to tempt something more?

My entire body slumps with the realization that I might actually be devolving into a tramp.

With the last strum against the guitar strings, Evan reaches a hand out and wraps it around the mic perched on a stand. Placing his lips close, he says, “Thank you all for coming. Good night, Miami.”

The fans go crazy and the arena starts blazing with lit cell phones waving furiously. The word “encore” floats around until it becomes a loud chant that can be clearly heard above the cheering.

Evan smiles and steps off the stool, resting his guitar against it. He starts walking my way, looking out over the crowd and waving to them as he exits.

Then his head turns and he stares at me.

But only at my face for a moment before his gaze travels so very slowly down my body, all the way down to the strappy black sandals I’d been given to wear with this outfit, adding an extra four inches onto my petite height. He continues walking straight at me as his eyes slide right back up my body, and when they lock onto mine, I feel my entire body tremble.

Blazing satisfaction is written all over his face, whether it’s because I wore his clothes or because I came to see his show, but he bears the look of triumph.

Evan walks right up to me and without saying a word, grabs my hand. I gasp as he pulls me off to the side and behind a curtain, which houses another curtain right behind it. He draws me a few steps in until we are completely out of sight and then his hands are on my face and his mouth is molesting mine.

He holds or touches me in no way except with palms to the side of my head and his lips and tongue battling with mine. I strain to press into him, but he holds our bodies at a distance, letting this kiss occur with only what God blessed us with from the neck up.

And because of that, I become acutely aware of every sensation inherent in that kiss. The stubble on his chin as it grazes mine, the heat of his mouth, and the strength of his tongue. His taste… warm cinnamon.

Oh, God… I’m drowning.

My eyes flutter closed and a bubbling groan warbles out of me as my hands wrap around his wrists to hold him in place.

And then… his mouth is gone and the cool air coats my lips.

I blink my eyes and look at him in the gloom of this area between two curtains. I want to launch myself back at him, but he releases me with a reluctant smile.

“I have to go back out… do an encore song,” he explains softly.

“Oh,” I say as my fingers come up and dazedly stroke over my lips, which are still tingling from his kiss.

“You look amazing,” he says softly. “So fucking sexy that if I didn’t have to do this encore, I’m quite sure we’d be looking for an empty coat closet or something I could fuck you in.”

My face flames, as only Evan can make it do, and for the first time since he’s tried to embarrass me, I’m not disgusted by his crude words. Instead, I want to go look for a closet and have it at the ready for when he comes back off that stage.

Oh, God Emma… you are so turning into a tramp.

“You’re going to the after party, okay?” Evan asks as he pinches my chin in between his thumb and forefinger.

I don’t respond, because I’m still in somewhat of a daze, his ability to render me speechless almost an art form.

“Okay, Emma?” he asks as he peers down at me.

“Okay,” I whisper in agreement, completely caught up in this moment with him.

“And then,” he says in a low growl that sounds ominous as he releases his hold on me. “We’ll see what happens after that.”

And for the first time in my life, something happens to my body just from mere words hitting my ears. A low, throbbing cramp hits me square between my legs, and I have the sudden urge to hump Evan’s leg or something.

Tramp.

I don’t care
, I tell my conscience.

♦

“You seriously do
not have to do this,” I say with a giggle as I wrap my arms more securely around Evan’s shoulders. My head is spinning and I’m not sure if it’s from the alcohol or the fact that I’m in Evan Scott’s arms as he walks across the parking lot toward our bus.

He gives me a squeeze as he mutters, “You would have broken your neck walking across this lot in those heels. You’re not the best in them.”

“Too true,” I say with a laugh and tilt my head back to look at the stars. I feel fabulous, except for the fact I suck at walking in high heels when I’m tipsy.

Or drunk.

I may be drunk, but I’m not sure.

Evan reaches the bus and gives the door a slight kick. In moments, Red is there opening it up from the inside, his eyes taking in Evan standing there holding me. Sirius sits calmly by his side, head tilted in curiosity. Red’s been working with him on manners, and he’s done a far better job than I have apparently.

“She’s drunk,” Evan says by way of explanation.

“Tipsy,” I clarify. “And, apparently, I can’t walk in high heels.”

Red grins. Or at least I think he does as his eyes do that crinkle thing and his beard shifts slightly in the vicinity of his mouth.

Evan makes a jerking motion with his head to Red, indicating he should come out of the bus. Red issues a curt, “Stay” to Sirius and trots down, giving me a nod as he passes by.

“Thanks for hanging with Sirius tonight,” I call back at Red as Evan starts mounting the steps.

“My pleasure,” he mutters as he heads toward the other bus.

When we reach the top of the stairs and turn into the living area, I ask Evan playfully, “I thought we were all staying at a hotel tonight since you have another show in Miami?”

“We were,” he says in a sexy purr as he looks down at me. “Until you started driving me crazy at that after-party. Now I can’t wait and so the hotel is out.”

I giggle again and lay my head on his shoulder. Evan and I had engaged in some heavy duty flirting all night. While he had to mix and mingle with guests and people with VIP passes, he kept his eyes on me most of the night. Occasionally, he’d come over to me and talk in low murmurs with his lips near my ear.

It seems I was never without a glass of champagne in my hand, and as I got more buzzed, I think I got a little too handsy with him. Each conversation we had, my hand would be on his chest, or tugging playfully on his belt loops. This made Evan’s eyes get darker and darker until almost all the green and gold were gone.

Finally, by about my third glass of champagne, when he complimented me on my outfit again, I shamefully admitted to him that I was wearing some of the lingerie he bought me.

Evan’s eyes flashed in such a way that I felt it down between my legs again, and before I knew it, he was dragging me out of the party.

Through the bowels of the arena.

And out into the warm Miami air where we had about a hundred yards of parking lot to cross to the bus. He was pulling me so fast, I stumbled in those heels, but then I was immediately in his strong arms and he was practically running for the bus.

And privacy.

Evan takes me straight back to the bedroom. Without any ceremony, buildup, or foreplay, he lays me on the mattress and covers my body with his.

I’m tipsy and I like it, and like the drunken tramp that I am, I spread my legs slightly so he can settle in between them. When his erection presses up against me, I gasp and arch into him, my arms coming to wrap around his neck.

“So fucking sexy,” Evan growls before he starts to kiss me.

Then it’s all hands and lips and teeth and tongue. My head spins, more from Evan than the champagne, and I can’t seem to stop my body from undulating underneath him. Desperate for more contact.

I drop my arms, push my hands onto his lower back, and try to press him further into me.

Evan growls and responds by putting a large hand over my breast. I make this weird sort of mewling sound that embarrasses me with how needy it comes out.

“Christ, Emma,” Evan groans when he pulls his mouth from mine. “I knew you had fire inside of you. Just knew it.”

This pleases me.

This compliment.

No one has ever praised me for being a passionate person, and while I never felt that was lacking in me, it feels quite heady knowing Evan thinks it.

Bending his head down, Evan rises up slightly and looks down between our bodies. With one hand, he deftly pops the button of my skinny pants before looking back up at me.

His eyes so serious… intense.