Gavin: Pure Passion (Hamptons Book 1) (4 page)

I close my eyes. “I’m going to take a nap; my head is killing me.”

“Don’t forget the show starts at eight, and he’ll pick you up at seven. I can’t wait to see you with him.”

“I’m sure you can’t wait to see
him
,” I say with a giggle, while wriggling out of the dress.

“You’ve lost a lot of weight, Lane. It looks a little scary,” she says softly.

“No, I haven’t,” I argue, but I’m lying. Of course I lost a few pounds after losing Brooke and breaking up with Jonah. But my clothes still fit, so I’m not worried.

“It’s totally obvious. Why are you losing weight? You’re already so thin.”

“Macey, we’re exactly the same weight. I am not too thin.”

“You’re two inches taller than me, Lane!”

I roll my eyes. “I eat plenty, but at the moment it’s not sticking. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Macey puts her arm around me and looks at me with concern. “Are you really eating enough?”

“I eat so much I feel like I’m going to burst, but I still lose weight.”

“Maybe you have tapeworms,” she speculates, making me grimace with distaste.

“OK, now you’re being ridiculous. I’m going to bed and will try not to have nightmares about tapeworms.” I give her a brief hug and let her go.

“Sleep well, Lane,” she says after I pick up my clothes.

“Thanks,” I say as I leave the room.

When I’m in my room, I put on the Ramones shirt that I more or less swiped from Gavin and lie on the bed. I breathe in deeply and realize it smells like him—the way he smelled this morning. I immediately get turned on, but I don’t want to be, so I press my legs tightly together. When I’ve finally calmed down, I close my eyes, and it feels like Gavin is next to me again. I feel his soft lips kissing mine, and his hard body pressing against me. It’s unfair that if you have such an intense physical reaction to someone, it makes you feel powerless.

I fall asleep with my stomach in a nervous tangle about tonight. I also have a pulsing heat between my thighs, and I end up in a fitful dream that has nothing to do with tapeworms, and a lot to do with Gavin McLeod.

My cell phone rings. It’s the alarm that I set to remind me about Macey’s show. If my phone were an alarm clock, I would have thrown it against the wall more than once.

“I hate you, phone,” I say, feeling around for it on the pillow next to me. I always put it there so I have to search for it, because I usually take the pillow in my sleep and the phone falls down. Then I have to get up and look for it, no matter how tired I am. I started doing that when I was at Juilliard. I couldn’t afford to miss any classes, even if I’d partied all night. The trick with the phone helped, and I’ve done it ever since. But this time it’s still on the pillow. I must have slept like a rock. I sit up and finally turn off the alarm. A look at the clock, which tells me that Gavin will be here in an hour. I obviously must have pressed the snooze button in my sleep.

“Shit.” I slide to the edge of the bed. Then I head for the bathroom, where I take a long shower to wake myself up. After I’ve dried off, I brush my teeth with extra care, having shamefully neglected them this morning. Then I get the hemorrhoid cream to put on the puffy, dark circles under my eyes. I know you shouldn’t do that, but I only reserve the treatment for emergencies, usually if I don’t have a chance to get enough sleep before an important performance. I carefully spread a tiny amount of the cream and allow it to soak in while I blow-dry my hair. I have no idea if I should wear it down or up. The easiest thing would be to put it up with a simple barrette. Well, not so simple. The barrette I’m thinking of belonged to my grandmother. It’s made of silver, in the shape of a butterfly. I think it would be perfect tonight.

Half an hour later, I’m still trying to decide if I want to use the stick-on bra when the doorbell rings.
Shit!
“Who’s there?” I ask through the intercom.

“It’s me, Gavin.”

I sigh and press the intercom button again. “Come on up,” I say, pushing the key button. After I hear the lock click in the door downstairs, I hurry to my bedroom, where Macey has laid out the dress and bra for me. I try to stick the cups over my breasts, but they look all wrong. I pull them off, which makes me shriek with pain. No time to figure out an alternative, I slip into the dress, deciding I couldn’t care less if my nipples are visible. A guy shouldn’t stare at your chest, anyway, and if he does, he’s rude.

“Madeleine?” Gavin calls.

“Come in, I’ll be right with you,” I answer as I slip into my shoes. Fortunately I already did my hair and makeup, otherwise we’d be late. Macey also left a scarf of the same material and color as the dress for me. After I toss it over my shoulders like a stole, I go to look for Gavin, who’s in the kitchen. “Here I am.”

He turns around and then freezes when he sees me. “Uh . . . Hi.”

“Hi,” I reply quietly and push an escaped strand of hair out of my face.

“Shall we go?”

I nod and grab the tickets from the sideboard as he approaches me.

“I came with a driver from the hotel today, so I can have a glass of bubbly with you and your friend after the show,” he says.

I force myself to smile. “To be honest, my excesses from last night are still giving me a headache, so I’ll have to drink orange juice, instead.”

His quiet laugh vibrates in my ears—and not just there. “That’s OK.” He offers me his arm. “All set?”

“Yeah.” I put my arm on his, and we leave the apartment. After I lock the door, we go downstairs to the limousine that’s parked in front of the building. For this part of town, it’s really a highlight. Obviously my neighbors think so, too, because they’re all looking out their windows. Macey and I live in a less exclusive part of town, but we’re happy that we can even afford to live here at all, in the city that never sleeps.

As I relax into the cushy leather seat of the limo and try to fasten my seat belt, the stole slips off my shoulders. Gavin’s gaze alone is enough to make my nipples stand at attention.

“Shall I help you?”

If he comes too close to me right now, I’ll definitely lose my cool. I shake my head. “I can do it, thanks.” My voice is nothing more than a hoarse whisper. His own indescribable, fresh scent, which has mixed alluringly with his woody aftershave, is enough to drive me crazy as it surrounds me.

“I don’t know if I’ve already told you, but you look beautiful, Madeleine.”

“Sorry?” I say, distracted by a fantasy about the two of us naked in bed, or on a table, or something.

He repeats his comment.

“Oh . . . thanks. You look good, too,” I reply, after checking out his black suit. He really does look damn good in it. His face is so incredibly beautiful. Not handsome, beautiful. His eyebrows are angular and perfectly shaped, a well-cared-for three-day beard adorns the very bottom edge of his jaw, and his lips are so sensual that I can’t wait to kiss him again. He’s also so tall that I have to look up to see his face when I’m standing next to him.

“Thanks,” he says with a smile and leans back. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thanks. I’m completely satisfied.”

“Not completely happy?” he asks skeptically.

“To be happy I need something more,” I say quietly.

“And what would that be?” Gavin turns toward me and puts his left arm across the seat above my shoulders. His fingers are just a few centimeters away from my shoulder. “Will you tell me what it takes to make you happy?”

I tilt my head back, close my eyes, and think about it. “I know I’m happy when I feel a warm feeling spreading through me.”

“You’re happy when you’re warm?” he asks with irritation.

I smile shyly. “What shall I say? Maybe I’m just low maintenance.”

The left corner of his mouth twitches with amusement. “I like low-maintenance women.”

“Why?”

“Because as a famous musician, you almost always find women with very high expectations. It’s like all they care about is the money.” He sighs and looks out the window.

“We all have our burdens to bear,” I answer quietly, and look down at my hands.

“What’s yours?”

“A few losses, but that’s not so important.”

“Who or what have you lost, Madeleine?”

I shake my head. “I just want to have a nice evening and not think about it.”

Gavin puts a hand on my shoulder. “No problem. I just . . . want to get to know you better.”

I glance at him shyly, and then look away. Sitting so close to him is unbelievably wonderful, but difficult at the same time, because my body wants more. It’s no wonder, after that kiss this morning. I can still feel his lips on mine when I think about it; I taste his tongue and feel his hardness pressing against my middle. I involuntarily press my legs together to hold back the excitement that I feel. “Are we almost there?”

“I’ll ask.”

I hear the driver’s answer and nod. I went to the last premiere with Brooke, because Jonah didn’t feel like going. It was the last time I saw her alive, only three days before her suicide. I miss her so much that it hurts. Her loss tore a much bigger hole in my heart than losing Jonah did.

Almost half an hour later, the limousine stops in front of the theater. I can’t wait to see how Macey does. Of course I’m convinced she’ll be fantastic, as usual. She’s such a good actress, and her voice is so beautiful that it’s made me cry more than once. She surely could get a record deal if she wanted one, but she wants to keep singing in musicals.

“My friends are already here,” Gavin says suddenly.

“Which friends?”

“The guys from the band. They got tickets for the premiere, too.”

“Oh!” I say, surprised, as someone opens the door for us. Gavin gets out and offers me his hand. I take it and follow him. Strangely enough, there are a lot of photographers and reporters here, which is why I’d like to hurry into the theater. I hate getting my picture taken when I’m not expecting it. Gavin takes my arm and we set off. “My friends are over there,” he whispers in my ear.

“Do you want to go say hello?”

Gavin walks a little faster, but not too fast. “I’ll do that soon, but first I’d like to walk past the paparazzi with you.”

“Mr. McLeod, one question!” a reporter calls, but Gavin waves him off. “Please, Mr. McLeod!”

“No comment today,” he finally responds, and we walk into the theater. “That was fun, to say no for a change. They can wait. I’ve got the evening off.”

“I’ve never been in that kind of situation before,” I say thoughtfully as I look around. “Maybe we should take our seats.”

“I’d like to wait for my friends, if you don’t mind. I haven’t seen the guys in a few days.”

“OK. Then I’ll get something to drink for us.”

“Champagne, sir, madam?” a waiter asks. It’s never been this posh at Macey’s premieres before. Maybe it’s because the musical is a worldwide hit. I take one of the glasses of orange juice, which outnumber the champagne flutes on the tray, and look at Gavin expectantly.

He reaches for champagne. “Thank you,” he says to the waiter, who leaves with a smile on his face. “So . . . cheers, Madeleine.”

“Cheers,” I say and clink my glass against his.

“Gavin, you old sausage dick!” someone calls, and I look around with annoyance.

“That’s Azer,” Gavin says. He nods at him, and then looks back at me. “Azer is the comedian of the band. He gave us all idiotic nicknames.”

“Oh . . . sure,” I stammer, feeling a little overwhelmed.

The two of them greet each other with a complicated-looking handshake. “Who’s the hot dish with you?” Azer asks.

My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline.
I really hope I misheard that.
I clear my throat. “Hi, my name is Madeleine.” I offer him my hand, and he takes it and pulls me into a hug. I let my arms hang uncertainly.

“Hey, why so shy?”

“Um . . . could you please let go?” I gasp, because he’s holding me so tightly and his hands are too low on my back.

“That’s enough, Azer,” Gavin says with a strict tone in his voice. His friend lets me go.

“Calm down, I was just being friendly,” he says with amusement, defending himself.

“There you are! We just saw you walk past quickly, and then saw you run inside just as fast,” a guy says. “Hello,” he says to me. “My name is Linden Priest, and the dazzling vision of loveliness by my side is Thalia Leroux, my girlfriend.”

“I’m pleased to meet both of you,” I reply warmly.

Both of them smile at me. “And who are you?” Thalia asks.

“Madeleine Dubois, but please call me Lane.” I look at Gavin. “You should, too. I like it better than Madeleine.”

“By the way, I’m Alexis Kingston, and this is Mike Johnson,” another good-looking guy says, introducing himself and his friend.

“Nice to meet you.” I smile, but their curious glances make me feel a little insecure.

“You don’t have to look at her so expectantly. She may know a few of our songs, but not us. She’s not a groupie,” Gavin says to his friends with amusement.

“Actually, we’re waiting for you to tell us where you met Madeleine . . . Sorry, I mean Lane,” Alexis says with a smirk.