The Chase (7 page)

“That’s some superpower you’ve got there.” If my voice is a little thick, I figure I’m the only one who knows. I force myself to pull my hand from the warmth of his.

It won’t do to get used to that warm, safe feeling, after all.

Adam removes his baseball cap and the ridiculously large sunglasses that he still manages to make sexy, and for the first time since I’ve met him, he seems a little uncertain. “Yeah... that’s the shitty part of the job.”

“Shitty?” I raise an eyebrow as the elevator comes to a stop on the highest floor.  Adam, seeming to know the drill, stays put while one guard gets out first and looks around, so I stay too.

“I’d think that would be your favorite. Millions of women... and men... worshipping you. Isn’t that why guys join bands?” The security guard returns and gestures for me to exit first, then Adam, but Adam glowers, tucking me in tight behind him as we leave.

My heart melts a bit again. The protective streak that I never would have guessed he’d have is really quite sweet.

Shit, I’m a goner.

“And how many of those people do you think actually care about me, as a person?” Adam’s words are muffled by the deafening silence of the seemingly abandoned top floor.
The plush white carpet beneath our feet—
really, white carpet for a public place?—
muffles the sound of our footsteps, adding to the sense that we’re all alone, even though the giants are with us.

I cast Adam
a sidelong glance, sure he can’t be serious, but his face is solemn. “They all just want something from me. Even these guys. They take their job seriously, but at the end of the day, they just want their paycheques.” He gestures to the biggest guard, the one Amy called Sax, who just shrugs and goes to open the door at the far end of the hall.

“And I didn’t fall all over you, that day in Miss Black’s office.” I say slowly. This, this makes sense.
.. if he feels like he’s surrounded by people who just want something from him, then I’m a novelty. The realization kinda hurts. Is that the only reason I’m here? Am I imagining those sparks?

“Right.” Adam’s eyes sweep over me as he places his hand on the small of my back, urges me through the door and
into the safety of the room. I’m struck silent as I take in the massive suite.

There are no walls, really—instead the room is closed in with floor to ceiling panes of glass that give a breathtaking view of the aquamarine ocean. There’s a dining room, complete with
a massive crystal chandelier, and a lounge area with plush couches that invite you to just sink in. The walls are papered in textured gold, and there are huge vases of deep orange roses on every available surface.

A spiral staircase—I kid you not—leads to a small loft that is
dominated by a really, really freaking large bed.

My heart begins to pound again. He’s just kinda, sorta said that he’s interested in me, and why, confirming those strange signals that I’ve been picking up for him. And this puts me in far graver danger than I ever was with Henry Thomas. Because he’s booked me through Miss Black, and if he wants sex—
oh my God, what if he wants sex?
—I’ll have to do it.

And that will pound the final nail into my coffin, sealing me and all the feelings that I shouldn’t be having and that will never come to anything inside for easy disposal.

The door shuts with a soft whoosh behind me, then clicks, sealing us in. I eye the sumptuous looking bed, then Adam. I swallow thickly, backing myself against the cool surface of that door as Adam starts to close the distance between us. His smile is partially amused, but also heavy, needy.

I gulp when he reaches me, braces an arm on either side of my head. Those crazy beautiful eyes of his pin me like a butterfly on a board, and adrenaline pulses through me, bringing with it confusion and desire.

“What... what do you expect from me, Adam?” I know I must look ridiculous, in a T-shirt that pulls tight over my boobs and sags everywhere else, cuffed sweats and heels, quivering with need for a man who has never publicly dated a woman. But with him looking at me like that, like he’ll keep me safe from everyone but him, I feel more desired than I ever have in my life.

He licks his lips, leans in and presses his lips to my ear. The heated wash of his breath over the lobe makes me tremble.

“Now? I expect you to eat.”

Chapter Five

“You like your food, huh?”

I look up from where I’m sitting cross legged on one of the couches, nibbling on a dwindling heap of French fries. Adam is slouched in the chair next to me and is watching with fascination.

For a split second I feel trepidation... I’ve made my way through a giant filet with red wine reduction, a plate of spaghetti, and two pieces of French bread. Miss Black would be absolutely horrified, and I know that if my date with Henry Thomas had gone according to plan, and he’d taken me out for dinner, I would have chosen something more ladylike, like a salad with cut up chicken on top, and would have tried to mind my manners.

But nothing about this situation with Adam is normal. And I’ve never, ever in my life had the chance to eat food like what has come out of the fancy pants kitchen at this even fancier restaurant.

So I push the trepidation away and
shrug, picking up another fry. It’s perfectly salted, nicely crispy, and I’m eating it even though my stomach groans, it’s so full. “My normal diet consists mostly of bargain pack ramen noodles. And I’m sure Miss Black told you that you have to feed me.”

Something flickers in his eyes, but it’s gone so quickly that I can’t quite be sure.
I wonder for a minute, then resume picking at the fries. I’m full like I can’t ever remember being full before, but I can’t leave them alone.

This
is he into me, is he not
thing is strangely freeing... I figure there’s no point in being one of those silly girls who plays Ghandi for a date when there’s a fifty percent chance that nothing is going to come of this anyway... and there’s a hundred percent chance that once I’m back home I’ll be eating noodles again.

“You don’t look like the kind of girl who could eat with one of the boys.” Adam grins, leaning back in the chair, placing his feet on the bed. I cock my head, listening for the insult in his words but...

If I’m not mistaken, me stuffing my face is entertaining him.

“I have a fast metabolism.” I throw a fry at him, which he catches with his mouth. A giggle escapes before I can stop it.

Why does he have to be so damn interesting?

“Must make you the envy of every girl at Miss Black’s, being able to eat like that and look the way you do.” His eyes rake over me thoughtfully as he munches on the fry,
licks salt from his lips, and slowly I push away the plate, one appetite replaced by another.

Reaching for my glass of orange juice, I gulp, trying to cool myself off. It’s one of Adam’s most appealing
and
irritating traits, his ability to make me feel all hot and bothered on the turn of a dime.

When I set down my now empty glass, I realize he’s waiting for a response to his non-question.

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never met any of the other girls.” I choose my words carefully. “And the metabolism is great, except when you don’t have enough to eat.”

Shit.
That last bit slipped out without my meaning it to. I open my mouth to change the subject, but Adam has grasped onto that tidbit of information like he’s drowning and I’ve thrown him a lifeline.

“Tell me about yourself.” He looks casual, slouched there like he is, but the intentness in his stare tells me he’s anything but.

He’s interested. I know he is, past dating history be damned. But he’s also straight out told me that he kidnapped me because I don’t react to him like most people, a novelty that could wear out any moment now.

This reins in my desire to leap into his arms and give him everything I’ve got.

“It’s against the rules.” Needing something to do, I climb off the couch and start gathering the plates and other debris from our feast. “You shouldn’t even know my name.”

“I could make one phone call and find out everything, right down to the hospital you were born in
and the date you got your first bra.” His words make my nails dig into my palms hard enough to leave marks, and I glare at him, infuriated.

“Why don’t you just do it, then?” My words are far bolder than I feel. I don’t want him to know about how I grew up... don’t want to be on the receiving end of those pitying eyes.

Adam smirks, calling my bluff. “Cause it’s not worth shit unless you give it to me because you want to.”

For some reason, those words shoot straight to the erogenous zones of my body, making my pulse quicken.

“Let’s play a game.” Adam is pure sin as he shifts position, his body orienting to mine as I stand, then move around the room. “You ask a question, I ask a question. Rinse and repeat. You first.”

I narrow my eyes, considering. I take my time, piling all the dirty dishes on the room service tray and tucking it outside the door, then returning to sit on the edge of the bed.

“What does that tattoo mean?” I gesture to the bold black Latin phrase that decorates his right front arm. I’m mildly curious but could live without knowing, but hope that if I keep the questions fairly superficial, he’ll do the same.

He glances at the tattoo in question, his fist tightening. The tightly muscled cords in his forearm bunch and release, beautiful in their uncontrolled response.

I’m startled when he breezes right over the question, instead asking his. “What’s your bra size?” His gaze lingers on the breasts in question, causing the nipples to bunch tightly and rub against the lace of my bra.

“I’m not answering that! Not until you answer my question! Those are the rules; you said so!” I place my fists on my hips, indignant.

Adam grins, cocky. “I said those were the rules, kitten, but I never said we both had to follow them.”

“I’m not answering, then.” The rat bastard. I ask the next question that pops into my mind. “Did you really get felt up by Paris Hilton
at the Grammys?”

He
barks out a laugh, clearly surprised, then turns the full force of his attention on me. “Describe your favorite pair of panties.”

I swallow against a suddenly dry throat. He’s flirting with me
, unmistakeably flirting with me... and I like it. A lot. The question has changed from
if
he’s interested to a debate over whether I should jump in with both feet, or if I should run as fast as I can before I lose my heart.

I’m saved from the decision right this moment by a knock on the door. Adam’s phone buzzes at the same time. “It’s Amy.”

I find it a bit strange that she would call and knock at the same time, but I suppose it’s so that Adam doesn’t accidentally open the door to a knife wielding superfan. And I’m not entirely sure that he isn’t anyway, when he opens the door to admit Amy, and the first thing she does is hug him—a back rubbing, mmm kind of hug—while simultaneously glaring at me over his shoulder.

“I brought some clothes for this one, like you asked.” Adam looks a little confused by the enthusiasm of Amy’s hug, and I repress a snort of amusement as I field the big shopping bag that she unceremoniously tosses my way.

I have no doubt that she’s been able to keep her feelings under wraps up to this point, but with someone she perceives as competition on her turf, she can’t stop herself from all but peeing on him to mark her territory.

“So for the shoot...”
Finally releasing him from her tentacles, Amy switches into business mode. I sort through the bag as Adam and Amy—and oh man, wouldn’t that be just too cute if they
did
hook up—go over the details of this afternoon’s photo shoot. I’m surprised by how many articles of clothing are in the bag, but then again, none of them exactly take up a lot of room.

They’re hooker clothes masquerading as trendy club wear.
Super skimpy ones. I stuff them all back into the bag and roll my eyes—there’s no point in getting upset when she’s pretty much hit the nail on the head.

I make my way up the small spiral staircase, then flop onto the bed
, bored by their chatter, which I find hard to follow. The exhaustion and fitful sleep of the last twenty-four hours, combined with the exquisite softness of the mattress, the comforter, the pillows beneath me, have me drifting off without realizing it.

I wake up with late afternoon su
nlight streaming in through the walls of windows. Adam is staring out of one of the panes of glass, hands tucked into his back pockets as he gazes blindly at the undulating waves.

As quietly as I can, I prop myself up on my elbows, looking at him while he’s unaware, a luxury I haven’t yet had.

Standing as he is, deep in thought and silhouetted by the stunning, southern Atlantic ocean, Adam Kincaid is... breathtaking. There’s no other word for it. The dark hair, the crazy beautiful eyes, the profile that would be perfect if not for the slight crook in his nose, probably the result of an encounter with the ball in some long forgotten childhood game.

He’s shirtless again, wearing nothing but a pair of low slung suit pants that look hideously expensive and have clearly been tailored just for him. They show off his fine ass and cling to muscular thighs, thighs that I can only too well imagine bracing my palms against as
I take him into my mouth.

What a thought. What a deliciously dirty thought.

Those same pants showcase a washboard stomach and hipbones that should be declared illegal. I want to trace the lines of that sexy vee with my finger, want to feel the hot silk and steel of his skin stretched tight over solid muscle.

A small sound, somewhere between a gasp and a moan, escapes
unbidden from my throat. Adam turns, perhaps not all that surprised that I’m awake and have been watching him. I can almost hear the sizzle in the air as our eyes meet, and wonder if it’s been coming to this, ever since we first set eyes on one another.

I no longer believe he’s gay, or at least not entirely... he’s somewhere on that sliding scale that you learn about in Psych 101, one that says basically nobody is completely
one way or the other, no matter what they believe. I never meant to, but I woke something up in him...
him
, the man who could have any man or woman he wanted.

The knowledge gives me power, a heady sensation because I’ve never had any before. Now I just have to decide what to do with it.
And what to do with this purring sex kitten that seems to have come to life in
me
, the one that wants to stretch languorously and bathe in the warmth of his smile every time he looks at me.

Adam’s gaze darkens with intent as he looks at me, and I realize the ridiculously big sweatpants have slid down in my sleep, revealing a teasing band of pink lace
, a hint of my bare stomach. It’s been so long since I wanted someone enough to feel that burn, that ache to lose myself in them, that the sensation is nearly overwhelming. It’s all I can do to not rip the offensive borrowed shirt and pants off and offer him my skin...
all
of my skin.

The air between us is thick with things unspoken, and when he speaks,
the rough timbre of his voice is like a song.

“You make a pretty picture, lying there
in this light, all flushed from sleep.” He doesn’t move, but I feel like he’s stroking me with his voice. “You’d look even prettier naked.”

“Adam.” It’s not an admonition, not a plea, just an expression of what I’m feeling. The line that was so carefully drawn between us when he said he wouldn’t touch me is about to be crossed... I know this because I’m about to ask him to stomp it into the ground.

“Take off that shirt.” He clearly expects me to obey. And heaven help me, I want to do what he says... but I’m enjoying this feeling of control too much to give in that easily. Crossing my arms at the waist, I fist the cotton in damp palms, indicating what I’ll do, but make my demand first.

“What does your tattoo mean?” I nod with my head toward the
Latin tattoo that I’d asked about earlier

I watch his jaw clench as he clearly considers refusing to answer, but then, wonder of wonders, he speaks.

“It says
you are the music while the music lasts
.” He traces a finger over the words as he speaks, and I’m mesmerized by the sight of his fingers stroking over his own skin. “It’s from a poem by T.S. Eliot.”

My heart thunders as I lick my tongue over my dry lips. “Did you get it for someone?”

His lips tighten. “You could say that.”

I open my mouth to pr
ess him further... an Adam Kincaid who is letting me in, even the smallest amount, is too much to pass up.

There’s a knock on the door, and Adam’s cell phone buzzes at the same time. I jolt, but Adam holds still,
ignoring the noise while devouring me with that gaze.

It’s not until there’s another, more insistent knock on the door that he shakes his head slightly, breaking the spell. As he
jogs down the stairs to open it, the spell breaks, and I’m left all but panting on the bed.

How the hell has he managed to arouse me so much with just a look and few words? I’m closer to orgasm just from that than I usual
ly am from a half hour with a vibrator.

Amy enters the room, studiously ignoring me. She looks exactly like what I imagine a rock star’s assistant should look like, still wearing the leather pants, but she’s paired them with
a super low cut white silk blouse and a well cut black blazer. The blouse is just see through enough to make out the scarlet bra beneath. On anyone else the ensemble might look cheap, but with her confidence, not to mention how clearly expensive the clothes are, it works. Studious and sexy, that’s her.