Very Twisted Things (Briarcrest Academy #3) (23 page)

A corner of his mouth quirked up. “I paid for those guitars and the crowd fucking loved it. You know girls fancy me when I get all beastly.”

I groaned. “Whatever. Tell Steve and his girls hi from me, and I’ll be in for a cut soon.”

He left and I headed over to V’s table.

I knew the moment she realized I was there, because her eyes flared wide and a flush started at the base of her throat and went all the way up.

I nodded at Mr. Wilson. An older man, I’d watched V come in and out of his house a few times when I’d been driving by, and I guess he was her only friend besides us.

Wilson indicated the brown-haired, suave-looking guy who sat next to V. “This is my son Mark Wilson, Sebastian.”

I reached over the table, shook hands, and exchanged pleasantries. Was my handshake super firm—to the point that he winced? Maybe.

“He works for Paramount as a studio head,” Wilson added proudly.

Perfect. Not only was he related to Wilson, but he was successful. I tried to not glower—or bare my teeth at him. It was hard because his eyes were glued to her breasts, and he was sitting too fucking close to her.

“Would you like to join us?” V asked. Her face was devoid of emotion, and I should have been glad about that—that she was okay with us—but instead it just made me more antsy.

I rubbed my mouth. “No, but thank you. I just ate actually. We had a lunch interview.”

“Oh. I hope it went well,” she said coolly and then sipped on a glass of water, her tongue darting out to lick the drops off her bottom lip.

My ribs got tight, and I shoved my hands in my pockets to keep from losing it. I wanted her. Even here in this crowded restaurant.

How the hell were we supposed to just be friends?

“I hear you may be in the next Hing movie, Sebastian,” Mark said, and I swiveled my eyes to him. “It’s a rare musician who can convince that bastard to give them a chance.” He smiled.

I blinked. Was the asshole sincere? “Actually, I think Hing has gone in a new direction.” I shrugged to blow it off.

V set her glass down rather loudly. Her face was white.

Mr. Wilson darted his eyes between me and V, a worried frown on his face, and I knew it was time to leave, but first …

“V, uh, may I speak to you alone? There’s something I forgot to mention earlier …” My voice trailed off. I stood there like an idiot.

Her hands twitched on top of the table. “Sure.” She rose up. “Excuse me, gentlemen, I’ll be
right
back.”

She came around the table and I bit back a groan. Her silver top was nothing compared to the short black leather shorts she wore on her long legs. On her feet were a pair of tall, black shiny boots. It was enough to make me squirm.

“What are you doing … and where are we going?” she hissed as I led her back to the busy kitchen at Rio’s. Waiters, managers, and chefs scurried in and out as we weaved through a corridor of ovens and prep areas. No one stopped us, and since it was the height of the lunch rush, I figured we had a good chance of skating by.

“Act like you own the place. It works for me,” I said, nodding at a server as we headed toward the back.

“You’re insane.” She sent a wild-eyed look around. “If someone figures out who I am, Blair will crucify you in the media.”

I got to the back of the kitchen expecting to see a back door, but there wasn’t one. All I saw were rows of walk-in coolers. I must have went the wrong way. I strode up to the pastry chef who was decorating some cakes.

“Sir?” I asked and slipped him a wad of hundreds and patted him on the arm. “Need to use your walk-in cooler for five minutes. You good with that?”

“Absolutely.” He pocketed the money in his white chef outfit.

I winked at him. “Keep this between us, and I’ll eat here for the next week, and sing nothing but praises for your cakes—” I looked at his nametag “—Carl.”

He grinned. “No problem, Mr. Tate. We protect our customers.”

“Can you make sure we have some privacy?”

“Damn straight,” he said. “Loved your last album, by the way. Think you can get me some tickets to your next show?”

“Whatever, man. It’s yours.”

Not waiting any longer, I opened the cooler and pulled her inside and shut the door. We were surrounded by rows of cold beer, boxes of lettuce, and big jugs of mayonnaise. Not the most romantic place.

She tossed her hands up in the air. “What the hell is wrong with you? You’re acting like a crazy person. You interrupt my lunch like a caveman and practically pull me back to this cold refrigerator with you—”

“Are you on a date with Mark? Dressed like that?” I glowered.

She tilted her chin up. “He’s a nice guy, and maybe I wouldn’t be opposed if he asked me out—after all, I’m not tied down to anyone … not Geoff or
you
. But for your information, I’m here to discuss the gala. Both are big contributors to the event and very interested in providing—”

I kissed her. I told myself it was to shut her up, but the truth was she was so damn beautiful. And her nipples were like beacons in her shirt. I wanted my hands on them.

She pushed at my chest—until I stuck my tongue in her mouth and she let out a little whimper and clawed at my shoulders to pull me close.

It seemed I wasn’t the only one who was jonesing for another go.

Her tongue battled with mine, and we escalated fast. I eased her back against the wall, sliding my hand inside her shirt and squeezing her breast. My lips followed my hand, sucking her nipple through her silk shirt. She clutched my hair and moaned.

“I want my mouth all over you, V. Again. I can’t get enough.”

She let out a shaky breath as her hand went to my jeans. She unzipped them, slipped inside and stroked my cock, her soft fingers ghosting over the head.

“I can’t quit thinking about you,” I groaned as she cupped my balls and squeezed. “All damn day you’re in my head … all fucking night I’m dreaming of you.”

“Good,” she breathed.

We were desperate. Hot. Needy.

Hurry, hurry
ran through my mind.

I just wanted her.

Just one more time and that would be it. One last time.
I promise
, I told myself, and then we’d just be friends.

“Why haven’t you called me back? Why are you ignoring me?” I said against her neck, my teeth taking a bite and then my lips soothing it.

No answer. But her hands clenched around my cock, making me hiss.

“Fine. I know what you want,” I said and kissed her mouth hard, my hands pulling at her hair. She returned it with her own fire, her teeth and lips ravaging me. We tore into each other, anger and lust and jealousy and pent-up animal need driving us.

I panted. Out of control. “Spread your legs, V.”

She did, and I propped one of her legs up on a box of beer as I slipped a finger in her underwear and skimmed across her pussy. All the blood in my body went straight to my cock. “You’re so wet for me. I need you—right now. This is all I can think about. You. Me. Fucking.”

She stopped unbuttoning my shirt and shoved at me.

I stumbled back.
What?

“That’s what this is to you, isn’t it? I’m just another girl. In fact, this probably isn’t the first time you’ve had sex
in a refrigerator
,” she yelled at me as she yanked down her skirt. “You saw me with Mark, and you just had to come over and put your mark on me—no pun intended.” She pointed at the wet spot on her shirt.

“No, it wasn’t like that.” It was. “Shit, V, it feels like we aren’t even friends anymore.” I tugged at my hair. “I’m sorry, it was my fault at the canyon. I couldn’t say no to you, and now I want you again. You looked so good and—”

“Just stop. I told you I wouldn’t regret it, and I don’t. It was the best sex I’ve ever had, okay. Is that what you want to hear?”

Hell yeah.

She continued. “But—but I need to protect myself. You have the power to hurt me, Sebastian. We’re friends and nothing else from now on.”

Fuck. I scrubbed my face. What was I doing? If I couldn’t love her, then at least I could leave her alone.

With my heart hurting, I nodded. “Fine. Are you free tomorrow to go to the studio and work on the set list for the gala? You are still playing with us, right?” I just needed her near me.

She straightened her hair and clothes. “But first, we’re going to walk out of here like we didn’t just nearly have sex on a box of Bud Light.”

“In the end I’m here to tell you that I love comets and fairy dust too much to let life pass me by.”

—from the journal of Violet St. Lyons

THE NEXT WEEK, I spent time in the studio with Sebastian and Spider working on the song I was going to play with them at the gala. He’d chosen his breakout hit “Superman”, only he’d slowed it down so I could open the number before Spider’s guitar riff kicked in. It made me jittery and queasy to sit there and work with two seasoned musicians critiquing me, but it wasn’t enough to send me into a blind panic.

The air was charged between us, though, with stolen glances and brushes of our skin. I did my best to give him plenty of leeway and not be alone with him. Like a rubberband that’s about to snap, the tension threatened to drive me insane.

Just yesterday in the studio, I’d been leaning over the music stand to find my notes and when I raised back up, he’d been hovering over me, the strangest expression on his face.

I’d tugged down my short skirt—thanks to Mila. “Are you trying to look up my skirt?”

“No,” he’d said and straightened back up, hands raised. “I swear there was something in your hair and—”

“Sniffing my hair?”

“Fuck no.”

“Then back up, please.” And I’d shooed him back a few inches.

He’d smirked and grumbled something about picky artists needing their space for their big heads. I’d laughed.

Even though the tension between us was electric, our playing was incredible. His husky singing voice held secrets, and I got lost in the sound we made, my soul clicking with something in his.

Hadn’t it always been that way with us?

My head kept going back to the stolen moment in the walk-in cooler at Rio.

He’d been erratic and crazy and slightly deranged. The truth was I had gotten under his skin and my gut knew it terrified him.

Now here it was Friday already, and I sat next to the pool, working on the guest list for the gala. Mrs. Smythe and I had met or spoken on the phone frequently, nailing down the details. Counting the kids and attendees, over three hundred people would be in attendance at the black tie affair at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel. A formal event, each attendee would pay two thousand dollars a plate. Thank goodness, Wilson had been over a couple of times with his list of Hollywood celebrities to invite. Since our lunch at the Rio, he’d helped me quite a bit.

I glanced up when Sebastian walked up to the patio from his property, holding a brown wicker basket with a closed lid. Strange sounds came from it.

“Hey you,” he said, and leaned in to give me a quick peck on my cheek. Nothing serious, and he didn’t linger.

I cocked my head. “Your basket is freaking me out.”

He chuckled. “I don’t buy presents for girls much, so I hope I wasn’t too far off the mark with this, but I’d like you to meet fur ball—which isn’t really her name. You can call her whatever you want,” he said as he pulled out a fluffy, slobbering little puppy.

I blinked at it. I could barely take care of myself. “A puppy?”

He plopped her in my arms. “Duh. She’s for you, goof.”

She whimpered and licked my hand. “But why? What do I do with it? Where does it sleep? Does it eat cheese puffs? Oh God. I’d suck at being a parent.”

He lifted his soft blue eyes to mine. “It’s a stupid gift, isn’t it?”

I shook my head. She
was
terribly cute with her big brown eyes and long hair. “No, no, no. Why do you say that? Wait, is this some kind of break-up-dog? Because you feel
guilty
about what happened?”

His jaw tightened. “Stop putting words in my mouth. This is because when I saw this dog, I knew she had to be yours. She’s sweet … like you. She’s musical … I heard her howl at the pet store. She’s got the softest fur … just like you.” He chuckled at my expression.