Czytaj książkę: «In For Keeps / Under His Touch»

CHAPTER ONE

“EARTH TO DEV,” Alex said, waving a hand in front of his face. “Nicola will be here in a few minutes. You want another beer?”

Like an earsplitting record scratch, Dev’s mind snapped back to the moment: Pablo’s bar, late afternoon on the patio, a casual drink with his little brother.

And two days before his descent into hell.

Remembering that night with Kiki had been so much more pleasant—even if it did fill his entire body with frustrated, overheated longing.

“Sure,” Dev said to the waiter, trying not to look over his shoulder as he slid his bottle across the table. Because that was where the bar was, which also happened to be where Kiki worked. Not that she was here today—ever since their night together three weeks ago, she seemed to have developed the magical power of avoidance. And on a three-square-mile island that they both called home, that was nothing short of miraculous.

“Hey,” Alex said, working his thumbnail under his beer label. “Did I tell you Brissoli’s being sued? By one of your party guests—the son of the judge, I think.”

“Good for him,” Dev said dully. It wasn’t the first time he’d wondered if things might have turned out differently with Kiki if Brissoli had never happened. It should have been a perfect night—a gathering of Dev’s friends, along with Alex and his girlfriend Nicola, to celebrate his thirty-sixth birthday. The same night he’d been with Kiki. That part had been a dream, but the next morning they’d all been pitched into a cold and dark reality. John Brissoli, hungry for fodder for his celebrity-chasing website, had found the perfect target with Moretta. This tiny island of only ninety-two estates was where celebrities came to get away from the spotlight, and they paid dearly for that privacy, but occasionally the bottom-feeders still crawled onto land. Brissoli had not only crashed Dev’s party, he’d managed to get photos of several of the guests in compromising situations. Drugs, sloppy drunkenness, sex in risky places—he caught all of it that night, including footage of Dev and Kiki’s encounter in the studio. In the end he, Kiki and Alex had managed to head the disaster off, but it had taken a serious toll on all of them. Dev didn’t think it was any coincidence that he’d barely laid eyes on Kiki since.

“Just in time. I ordered you a margarita,” Alex said, looking up to greet Nicola. She kissed him passionately on the mouth and sank down into a chair between the two men. Dev gave her a quick grin to hide his irritation, which had nothing to do with Nicola herself. A month ago Alex had come to Moretta on business and ended up meeting his dream girl. It wasn’t that Dev wasn’t happy for them, it was just that things were so damned simple for Alex: meet a woman, decide she was the one, cue happily-ever-after.

Things could never be that easy for Dev. Being the fifth-bestselling recording artist of all time had always made relationships complex. In the beginning the female fans had done the trick, but he’d left that scene behind a while ago. Sure, he still let them hang around, but it was more out of habit—and loneliness, if he was completely honest with himself—than anything else. A stretch of celibacy had followed after that, when he found himself less willing to spend time with anyone he saw as temporary. Ready for a real relationship but without the right woman to fill the role, and that mostly came down to a matter of trust. Finding someone he wanted to go to bed with every night was one thing, but in his experience, finding a woman who wouldn’t fuck with either his head or his money was an even bigger problem.

Until Kiki. The girl who’d handled the sex-tape scandal like a pro, who clearly had no interest in fame or fast money, who’d been in his corner every step of the way. The girl he’d broken his year of celibacy for, who drove him to obsessive, cock-stiffening thoughts every night when he tried to sleep.

It was torturous.

“Alex tells me you’re off on tour in a few days,” Nicola said, plucking the menu from between the salt and pepper shakers.

Dev felt himself crash down to earth yet again. The tour. His heart slammed once, twice in his chest. “Yep,” he said with simulated lightness. “Back to the grind.”

“We’ll miss you.”

“Speak for yourself.” Alex grinned.

“Aren’t you supposed to be gone?” Dev asked his brother in annoyance.

“Nicola keeps asking me the same thing,” Alex said, cupping a hand around her face. “I’m still trying to convince her to move back to LA with me.”

Dev’s beer had arrived. He took a long swig and set the bottle back on the table, aiming his gaze at the view beyond the patio to calm his roiling gut. The clear Caribbean Sea lapped gently at the sandy white shore. Palm trees swayed to the mellow reggae music coming from the bar’s speakers. It should have been enough to soothe anyone’s frayed nerves, but none of it worked on Dev. He may have lived in paradise, but his mind was in hell.

His phone started vibrating on the table. He glanced down at the screen and almost laughed out loud. Bix Jenner. The guy’s timing was uncanny. Flipping his overgrown dark hair out of his face, Dev grabbed his phone and stood up. “Bix. Give me some good news,” he said as he strode toward the end of the deck.

“I didn’t need Viagra to bang my wife last night” was Bix’s gravelly response.

“Not quite what I had in mind,” Dev replied with a grimace. Bix had managed Dev’s career since the day he’d called him up seventeen years ago and congratulated him for attracting the interest of the best manager in the business. Despite his immodesty, Bix’s claim wasn’t without truth, and Dev trusted him with his life. But Bix’s crass manner came with the territory, and even on a good day it grated on Dev’s nerves.

“You never did appreciate real humor, Stone.”

“It’s not that you’re not funny, it’s that I don’t believe you,” Dev responded dryly, hooking a flip-flop over the railing.

“You’re goddamn killing me. How about this, then—Jerry Farr’s guy is looking to move on. Said he’d take on the assistant job.”

Dev nearly dropped his phone. “What the fuck are you talking about? Vanessa’s got it covered,” he said, referring to his assistant of two years.

A beat. “You’re kidding me. She hasn’t told you?”

“Told me what?”

“She quit. Sent her notice in three days ago. She really didn’t—?”

“Quit? Why the hell would she do that?”

“Wouldn’t give a reason. But between you and me, I heard she’s moving to France with her boyfriend.”

Dev slapped a hand to his forehead. Vanessa was the best assistant he’d had in a long time, and with their high burnout rate they were hard to come by. “Nice of her to clue me in. We kick off rehearsals in two days!”

“You don’t have to tell me. Lucky for you, your fairy godfather found you a solution before you even knew you had a problem.”

“I’ve met Jerry’s guy—he’s a wet freaking noodle.”

“A noodle’s better than jack shit.”

“Is that what your wife says, too?”

“Screw you, Stone. He’ll get the job done.”

Dev shook his head tiredly. “I’ll have to think about it.” He paused, considering his next question. When it came to his career, offers went one way—they came to him. But it was making him crazy that a producer had recently dangled a carrot and then never followed through. “Listen, you ever hear from Larry Weatherby again? He seemed pretty hot for me to write for a few of his artists a couple months ago.”

“Nah. Reality probably kicked in—someone as big as you, he had to know it was a long shot. Besides, you’ve got the tour to focus on now.”

Dev suppressed a sigh. He’d started his career by writing songs for other artists until Bix had taken him under his wing and brought him into the spotlight, insisting that Dev was way too talented and easy on the eyes to keep hidden. Bix’s promises of fame and fortune had all delivered, but sometimes Dev wondered if he would have been better off staying where he’d been. Even a platinum album at the age of twenty hadn’t settled the beast of anxiety he tangled with onstage each night. The voracious crowds he’d dreamed of as a kid had turned out to be the stuff of nightmares. It wasn’t always like that, of course. When he managed to control his nerves, the adrenaline high from a great show could leave him buzzed for hours afterward, better than any drug. But more often than not, touring meant sleepless nights of worry, a hammering heartbeat and cold shakes as bad as any junkie’s.

“Listen, Stone, I know what’s on your mind, okay?” Bix continued, as if he were right inside Dev’s head. “And I want you to take all that worry and put it into Uncle Bix’s back pocket. We’ll handle it—you and me. Don’t we always?”

“Sure,” Dev said flatly. It was true—Bix was the only person in the entire world who knew the price Dev paid to get up on that stage night after night, and he made sure he had everything he needed to get through it.

“I’ll see you in London. And, hey—nice job on the Rolling Stone piece. If that doesn’t put you down in history as rock god of the century, I don’t know what will. People are eating up the new album. They love it. They love you, and don’t you goddamn forget it.”

“Thanks, man,” Dev said, and hung up. He knew Bix’s assurances should make him feel better. In a world being taken over by rap, EDM and sugary pop, Under My Skin, his tenth rock album, was selling almost as well as his first. His career was a resounding success, the one thing in his life that he’d always been able to depend on. And he knew he had to take the good with the bad; it was time for him to go out there and be a superstar again.

Back at his table, Alex and Nicola were deep in conversation and his beer was still waiting for him. Dev traced a finger through the condensation. Enjoy it while you can, he thought. In a few days he’d have to stop drinking altogether if he was going to get through his tour alive. He brought the bottle to his lips.

Six weeks of anxiety-filled days and nights. A woman he couldn’t get out of his head. And now no assistant.

Dev drank long and deep.

Victoria O’Hare, Real Estate Agent.

Sitting in her golf cart outside Pablo’s, Kiki Becker stared down at the woman’s face on her phone. Blue eyes under wispy brows, a ski-jump nose and reddish bobbed hair. Did Kiki bear a resemblance to her, or was she just trying to see something that wasn’t there? Not knowing the answer to that question had been driving her crazy since she’d come across the photo a few days ago. A search of the website hadn’t revealed anything further about her other than her recent home sales, and there was nothing else on the entire internet about any Victoria O’Hare who looked like this woman. Her picture mocked Kiki, daring her to reach out—which was completely out of the question.

Kiki clicked her phone off and shoved it into her handbag. The emptiness swelled in her chest, spread to her belly, threatened to spill tears. But she would not succumb to it. She swung her legs out of her golf cart and walked toward the entrance to Pablo’s. It had taken all of her strength to drag herself to work, but at least today she had a plan. Three weeks of feeling down in the dumps, tossing and turning through the night and mainlining junk food had been more than enough for her. It was time to accept that there would be no encore to her encounter with Dev Stone and move on with her life. And she would do it the best way she knew how: by getting laid tonight.

Entering the noisy bar, Kiki did a quick scan for potential victims. Several heads turned her way that she supposed would do the trick. Eventually, she’d choose one on the criteria of being unattached, relatively sober and preferably on their way off the island in the next twenty-four hours. It was how she’d operated since she’d moved to Moretta after her divorce two years ago. Just because Dev Stone had brought her earth-shattering pleasure for one unforgettable evening didn’t mean she couldn’t return to her old ways.

Dev—damn him. Kiki pushed his face out of her mind as she lifted the door to the bar, praying he wasn’t here. She’d managed to avoid him almost completely since their night together had blown up in their faces, and she planned on keeping it that way. If she couldn’t have him for herself, the last thing she needed was a direct comparison to any other guy in this place.

Tossing her handbag under the bar, Kiki stole a quick glance at her reflection in the mirrored back wall. She’d spent the past three weeks in shorts and baggy T-shirts, forgoing her daily makeup routine and throwing her long hair into careless ponytails. With her plan in place this morning she’d made a bit of an effort, but the dark smudges under her eyes still revealed her truth. She looked like shit. Her skin was pale, and she’d put on a few pounds. It was the one thing she hated about her roommate, Nicola—while she lost her appetite under stress, Kiki reached for the late-night cookies as if she could tame the ugly monster that raged inside her with refined sugar. Crouching behind the bar, she slicked on some lip gloss, adjusted the straps of her sundress and stood up.

“Strawberry.”

Jesus. Dev was standing right in front of her.

Kiki’s groin went mushy as the memory of their entangled bodies came crashing over her. His kiss, demanding and soft at the same time. His eyes on hers as he’d latched his mouth on to her clit. His beautiful body and perfect cock, his urgent breath as he’d driven into her again and again, ripping sweet cries of ecstasy from her throat. The way he’d touched her like it meant something. As they’d lain on the sofa recovering, she’d seen it in his face—the same question she wanted to ask him: When can we do this again? The answer had been twenty minutes later, but even that hadn’t been enough for her. In a few short hours Dev turned her into an insatiable sex monster. She’d wanted to break all of her no-strings rules for him, and looking back, she was almost grateful for the near scandal that had derailed them the next morning. That whole experience had sucked her libido dry, which had probably saved her fucking life. Because Dev Stone was dangerous, addictive and a straight arrow to only one thing: heartbreak.

“Hey, rock star,” Kiki tossed out, reaching for a bar cloth to occupy her hands. But it was no use—she could feel her fingers trembling as they swept past his. Her cheeks were warm. She was certain her nipples were straining against her dress.

“You’ve been busy,” he said as he leaned into the counter. Those aqua eyes. That square jaw. That dark lock of hair that always flopped over his brow. She could smell his spicy aftershave, the same one that had been on her skin the next morning. Damn it.

“Busy avoiding you,” Kiki said, scrubbing hard at an invisible spot. “It’s a full-time job.”

“Then I’ll talk to your boss and get you fired.”

“Very funny,” she said when a snappy reply failed her. His eyes were all over her, devouring her—why? Dev was a rock star god who had his choice of any woman on earth. From where she stood, Kiki could throw a champagne glass at at least three gorgeous household-name females. And she was a divorced executive-assistant-turned-bartender from Atlanta, guaranteed to fall short of any man’s expectations.

“I was hoping you’d be in today,” he said.

“Oh, yeah?” she replied over the sound of the blood rushing through her ears. “And why is that?”

“You want the real reason, or the PC one?”

She stopped scrubbing. “Let’s start with the PC one.”

“My tour assistant quit today. I’m just gonna say it—I’m a little desperate for a new one. Any chance you’d consider taking the job?”

She put a hand out to steady the martini glass she’d almost knocked sideways. “The job?”

“Yeah.” Dev’s fingers skimmed hers as he reached out to catch the glass with her. She pulled back as they buzzed with electricity. “You’d be perfect for it.”

“I pop beer caps for a living, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“But you used to be an executive assistant.”

“I worked with CEOs. I don’t even know what a—a rock star assistant does.”

“That’s easy.” He winked. “Whatever I want you to.”

Her belly flopped over. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Why, Kiki? What are you so scared of?” Dev’s aqua eyes were unblinking. He leaned closer to her and lowered his voice. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. It’s been three weeks, and I can still feel you under me. That’s the real reason I wanted to see you again, Kiki. I leave in two days, and I want to take the memory of you with me. I want to be inside you again. Don’t tell me you don’t want the same thing.”

Her knees unlocked, threatening to collapse her onto the floor. God, did he really just say that? She could feel her face overheating as she measured honesty against fake indifference. As usual, honesty won. “I do, Dev, trust me. But that’s not a road I can travel down.”

“Why not?”

“Because—because it’s just not. It’s complicated. And accepting a job where I had to work anywhere within a one-mile radius of you would pretty much undo me.”

“I feel like things would have been different if Brissoli had never happened.”

“They wouldn’t have been.”

“Why not?”

“Stop asking me that.”

He shook his head. “Even if I can’t have you, I still want your skills. What if I promised to keep anything personal out of it?”

Kiki laughed. “After what happened between us? I think that’s beyond wishful thinking.”

“Who said anything about wishing for it?”

“You see?” Kiki stopped the banter with a loud thud of a wine bottle. She poured a glass out and slid it to the end of the bar for pickup.

“I can be a perfect gentleman when I set my mind to it,” Dev persisted. “Even with you.”

“Jesus, would you stop? So I get to see you with your groupies instead? No, thanks.”

“It won’t be like that. How about this...” He laid his hands flat on the counter. “The first leg of the tour is six weeks long. You’re the boss. We keep it strictly business unless you decide otherwise.”

When she didn’t come up with an immediate protest, he pushed on. “Listen—I’ll pay you whatever you want. Have I mentioned where we’re going? We start in London. Then Paris, Italy, Germany. And then onto Australia. Sydney, Brisbane—”

Sydney. The word bounced around in Kiki’s head. Home to Webber Real Estate Agency, employer of Victoria O’Hare. A chance to solve the mystery. A chance to fill the empty ache that had been gouged into her at six years old.

But only maybe. Only if Victoria O’Hare was really who Kiki wanted her to be, which she probably wasn’t. And then there was the matter that she would be halfway around the world with Dev, a man she wanted to make her sex slave for all eternity. Who, in her most secret dreams, sang a song of his undying love to her.

Very bad idea.

“...anyway, you need a change,” Dev was saying.

Kiki felt her jaw tighten. Even if she did, the only person who was going to make that call was her. “How would you know what I need?”

“You moved from Atlanta to LA to go to university. You changed your major halfway through. You came here on your own two years ago. You switched from being an executive assistant to a bartender. Clearly you like to mix things up.”

Kiki couldn’t help her stunned look. On the night of his birthday party, Dev had been surrounded by groupies. Kiki hadn’t imagined he would even glance at her, but his eyes had stroked her all the way from her face down to her toes, lighting her body up like she’d been zapped with electricity. After that he’d suggested a walk on his private beach, and he hadn’t even made a move on her—instead he’d actually talked to her, asked her about her life and her family, until she’d grown weary of waiting and gone in for the kiss. She hadn’t imagined that he’d retained anything she’d told him, and yet he’d just recited most of it back to her. She squared her shoulders. “So, what—you think I’m just going to drop everything because Dev Stone asked me to? Sorry, but I’m not one of your worshipping fans.”

“Obviously.” He waited, sexy grin still in place, as if her protests were mere pebbles to kick away on her inevitable path to acceptance.

God, he was actually serious. It was true that Kiki had been a career girl once upon, making her way steadily up the ladder in LA, but that was before her ex-husband had crushed her dream of marital bliss and made building a new life her number one priority. She could see returning to the real world one day and starting over, but making the switch as Dev’s assistant? With him night and day, in hotel rooms with him, in his dressing room, on his tour bus, seeing him perform in all his hot glory?

“No way,” Kiki said firmly. “And that other thing you mentioned? That’s not going to happen, either. You’re leaving in two days, and I’m going to make it my mission to stay away from you until then. Just so you know.”

Dev gave her a slightly amused look, as if he knew something she didn’t, and then he slapped a hand down on the bar. “The offer is open until Tuesday morning.”

As Kiki watched him walk away and disappear into the crowd, she finally began to breathe normally again. His face remained etched into her brain, as did the words she knew she’d turn over in her head over and over again in bed tonight: I want to be inside you again. Dev Stone, the man who had ruined her for all others.

So much for getting laid tonight, Kiki thought.

CHAPTER TWO

ONLY SIX COOKIES LEFT? How the hell had that happened?

Kiki stared guiltily at the Chips Ahoy! package beside the open, crumb-riddled jar of Fluff on her coffee table. She didn’t even have the decency to binge on quality junk food—not that she had much choice. Her monthly shopping trip to neighboring Barbados was due next week, and in the meantime she was forced to make do with the paltry selection at the island’s tiny, overpriced grocery store.

A key rattled in the front door of her cottage and Kiki’s roommate, Nicola, walked in, trailed by Alex.

Kiki reached for another chocolate chip cookie.

Nicola gave Kiki a teasing smile as she tossed her work satchel onto the kitchen counter. “I thought you said you were cutting back?”

“This is me cutting back,” Kiki said grumpily, sinking her teeth into the dry, crumbly sweetness. She hoped to hell that enough time had passed since her recent crying jag to allow her face to return to normal. Nicola was the best friend she’d ever had; the women had known each other for a decade, meeting in LA long before Nicola had followed her to Moretta six months ago. And Kiki was genuinely thrilled that her friend had found true love with Alex, but she really didn’t feel like explaining herself to him or anyone else right now. She must have still looked a mess, though, because Alex cleared his throat as he stood at the door. “Nicola, didn’t you say you were out of coffee? I’ll just run out and grab some. Need anything else?”

“Nothing that comes from the store,” Nicola said, giving him a lingering kiss before he slipped out the door.

To her horror, Kiki felt tears pricking at her eyes again. What was it about her friend falling madly in love that made Kiki feel like a total loser? Just a month ago she’d been proud of her attachment-free sex life. And then Dev had come along. Now she knew for sure that she could feel the kind of mind-blowing passion she thought only existed for others, like Nicola.

And Kiki couldn’t have him.

“Okay,” Nicola said, kicking her flip-flops off and dropping down on the sofa beside Kiki. “Talk to me.”

“It won’t help,” Kiki said stubbornly, stuffing the last of the cookie into her mouth.

“Neither will eating your way into oblivion,” Nicola pointed out, using her toe to push the package away from Kiki. “Or keeping everything bottled up inside.”

Kiki snorted. “It’s kind of what I do—you should know that by now. Talking might help some people, but it doesn’t help me.”

“I guess that explains why we’ve been living together for nearly seven months and you still haven’t told me why your marriage ended,” Nicola said archly.

“I told you exactly what happened. Jack was a world-class prick,” Kiki responded, turning her face away. No—that was not a conversation Kiki was willing to have right now, if ever. “Anyway, it’s not true that I don’t tell you anything. I told you all about my sad-luck childhood that night we drank way too much tequila. And it didn’t make me feel any better, FYI. Just saying.”

“That’s because you had a hangover the size of planet Earth the next day. Just saying,” Nicola retorted. “Now tell me what’s going on with you. You’ve been acting weird ever since that night at Dev’s—which is understandable,” she added quickly. “I mean, I was traumatized, too. But it does make me wonder, is it those slimeballs that’ve still got you down, or is it Dev?”

“Dev? I’m a little smarter than that, but thanks. Even if I was looking for a boyfriend—which I’m definitely not—he’s pretty much the last person on earth I’d get involved with.”

“Oh, yeah? And why is that?”

“Why? Are you even—”

“Dev is a good guy, Kiki—he’s Alex’s brother! And you like him.” She shook her head. “I mean, have you ever noticed that the term rock star is not synonymous with single? Have you ever noticed that they get married and have kids just like everyone—”

Kiki felt herself flush. “Oh, my God! Will you please shut the fuck up?” She took a deep breath. Dev was only one of her problems, and Nicola clearly wasn’t going to let up until she spilled something to her. “Okay, fine. It’s...it’s my mother.”

Nicola looked at her in shock. “Your mother?”

Kiki nodded rapidly to stop the threatening tears. There were only three people she’d ever shared the story of her mother with—her ex-husband, her high school best friend Laina, and, during a late-night drinkfest years ago in LA, Nicola. “Yes. I... I think I might have found her.”

Nicola jumped up excitedly. “Oh, my God! Are you serious? That’s amazing! How? Where is she? Have you gotten in touch—”

“No, no, no.” Kiki waved an impatient hand. “This just came up. I found a website for a real estate agency, and one of the agents is named Victoria O’Hare. That’s her maiden name, and it’s possible she stopped going by Vicky. And—I don’t know, but there’s a photo of her. The last picture I have of her is from twenty-four years ago, but...this woman has red hair.” Kiki shook her head and then dropped it into her hands. “I’m terrified, Nic,” she said through her fingers. “Freaking terrified. I wish I never looked. I didn’t—for two years I didn’t, and then I had to go and start again.”

“That’s because she’s half of you,” Nicola said gently, placing a hand on Kiki’s arm. “You moved here to heal, but this place also allowed you to bury the things in your life you didn’t want to look at. But they come back—they always come back. You need closure with her.”

“But what if she wants nothing to do with me? I’m too scared to email her. What if she doesn’t write back? Or what if I scare her off and she goes into hiding again? What—what if she just doesn’t want to hear from me? I mean, she knows my name—she named me! If she wanted anything to do with me, she could have reached out anytime. It’s been twenty-four years, and nothing.”

“Oh, honey...” Nicola reached for her hand. “You for a daughter? She doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

Tears flooded Kiki’s eyes. “But that’s the whole point—she does! She’s the one who left me, remember? I was six years old. She knew exactly what she was doing.”

“But she didn’t leave you alone,” Nicola reminded her. “She knew you had your father, and he’s an amazing dad. Listen...” She tightened her grip on Kiki’s hand. “You need to meet with her in person—just show up at her work and force her to see you. I’ll go with you, okay? Where is she? She’s not still in Atlanta, is she?”

“That’s the thing.” Kiki shook her head in disbelief. “This woman is in Sydney, of all places. As in Australia. Which makes me think it can’t be her—why would she travel so far, unless it was to get as far away from me as possible?”

Nicola looked thoughtful. “Well, that is strange,” she admitted. “But it could happen. People end up all over the world for all sorts of different reasons. Just look at us—a couple of girls from the States. Who would have thought we’d end up living in the middle of the Caribbean?”

“Yeah, I guess so...” When Kiki pulled her T-shirt up to dab at her eyes, Nicola went to the kitchen to grab her a paper towel. Then she sank down on the sofa beside her again. “What?” Kiki asked when she felt her friend’s eyes on the side of her face.

“Just waiting, that’s all. There’s something else you’re not telling me.”

“My God, you’re a pain in the ass.” Kiki sighed deeply. “Okay. This is kind of crazy, but Dev offered me a job today. His tour assistant just quit and he needs a new one. Would you please stop fucking smiling?” Kiki threw her hands up in annoyance. “I said no, of course. But here’s the crazy part. His tour will take him to Sydney. And I—I really can’t afford to go otherwise. I mean, to spend that kind of money to go and check out a remote possibility? It’s just not going to happen on my bartending tips.”

“So it’s a sign!” Nicola said, clapping her hands together. “Come on—you have to accept!”

“But I can’t! It’s—it’s Dev! We had a...a thing, and that messes everything up. I mean, watching him get swarmed by groupies for weeks on end? No thank you. And besides, I have a life here...” she ended weakly, thinking that did have a life here felt more accurate right now.

“Listen, sweetie. I know it might not be the perfect scenario, but this is a lifetime opportunity. Eventually you have to get back to the real world anyway, and this is your chance to start a new career. Remember—the Kiki I met in LA was a go-getter with big career goals! But more important, this is a chance to find your mother, and you can’t pass that up. No matter what may or may not happen between you and Dev,” she added when she saw the protest forming on Kiki’s face.

Oh, God. Nicola was right, Kiki knew, but just the thought of it—leaving the safety of her island world and her easygoing job, working side by side with Dev, confronting the woman who had abandoned her as a child—was enough to tie her stomach in knots.

“You are a survivor,” Nicola went on, her voice strong with emotion. “And you’ve never been one to take the safe route. Even if I don’t know the details of what happened between you and Jack, I know that by moving here and shaking your life up, you took a huge risk to find happiness. This might scare you more than anything you’ve ever done, but fear won’t stop you. It never has.”

“Thanks for the pep talk, Brené Brown.” Kiki smiled weakly as a knock sounded at the door. Knowing it was Alex back from the store, she quickly flicked her tears away and ran a hand over her hair. Nicola rose to greet him, but though the aqua eyes belonging to the man on the landing were identical to Alex’s, this man had a power over Kiki that his brother didn’t have.

Dev.

“Hi there,” he said, transferring the Beats he was wearing on his ears to around his neck. His gaze rested on Kiki, making her belly flop over. “I hope I’m not...?”

“No, it’s fine,” Kiki said. Nicola stepped aside, and Dev walked over the threshold. There was a rock star in her house. Kiki almost laughed aloud as she cast a glance around, comparing her tiny combined kitchen, living and dining area to his sprawling beachside home.

“Listen,” he said. “I just—there was something I didn’t say to you today, and I couldn’t leave without being honest.”

“I think you were pretty damned honest,” Kiki said as she stood. “If I recall.”

Nicola grabbed her handbag from the coffee table. “I’ll just—”

“No,” Dev said quickly. “You’re her best friend, and I’m fine for you to hear this. Just...” He took a breath. “A tour is a really intense experience, and I need the right people to get me through it. I know I’ve just sprung this on you out of nowhere, but I want you to know that the real reason I want you with me is because I trust you. And that’s hard for me to come by.”

Kiki absorbed his words. “But...you don’t know me well enough to trust me.”

“I know, and that’s the crazy thing. I can’t explain it, but I felt it the moment I met you.” He shook his head. “I’m making this weird for you. I don’t want you to accept because you feel obligated to. But if you do, it’s your terms, okay? Business only—if that’s what you want.”

Kiki swallowed hard. There were so many reasons to accept and only one reason not to. But that reason was huge, because it was Dev. It would take every bit of her strength to make it to the end of six weeks with her virtue intact, not to mention her heart. The only way this would work would be for her to develop a resolve of steel.

Dev was looking at her with something close to pleading in his eyes. It’s still a no, she opened her mouth to say, but it didn’t come out. “I, uh...”

“—accept your offer, for double my regular salary,” Nicola coached her with a mischievous grin. “Right, Kiki?”

Kiki nodded slowly as Dev’s mouth turned upward into a grin. Holy shit—was she actually going to do this? “I guess so,” she said hesitantly. “But I’ll have to meet up with you in a week or so. I have to tie things up here, make sure my boss can get someone to cover for me...” She stopped when she saw the sheepish expression on Dev’s face. “What is it?”

He squeezed his eyes shut as if he were in pain, and then he directed them at the floor. “I might have just come from talking to him. And I might have also arranged to cover your portion of the rent while you’re away. Which means you can theoretically fly out with me on Tuesday...” He finally lifted his eyes to Kiki, cringing as if he expected her to hit him.

Which was exactly what she should do. She jumped up furiously. “You have got some nerve. Let’s make one thing perfectly clear, okay? You are not in charge in my life. And if you ever pull something like this again, I’ll be on the first flight back here—no matter where in the world we are.”

“Of course,” Dev agreed. “I’m sorry, I just, um...so this means I’ll see you on Tues—?”

Kiki made an exasperated sound in her throat and marched toward her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Then she leaned against it, trying to process what she’d just committed to. A new job. The possibility of finding her mother. And Dev...oh, God.

Just breathe. You’ll be fine. Just breathe.

Dev repeated the mantra in his head as he stood in the bathroom of the private Learjet 40 en route to London. But the familiar feeling of panic was setting in even earlier than it usually did. He hadn’t even begun rehearsals and he was already a mess. A month ago he’d entertained the idea that he might get through this tour drug-free, but the futility of that thought was now all too obvious. In his whole career, he hadn’t made it through a single performance without some kind of helper.

No point in suffering with relief so close at hand, Dev thought. Reaching into his jeans pocket, he pulled out the bottle of pills. He spilled them onto his hand and counted five. This batch was left over from his last tour, and the label informed him that the tablets had expired a month ago. But they would do until Bix gave him a new supply in a few days. Dev could always count on Bix to take care of the details. Sure, he could have gone to a doctor for the prescription himself, but that was how secrets got out—and this was one he planned on taking to the grave.

He dropped four pills back into the bottle and held one in his hand. Xanax. His little helper for the past three years, ever since he’d built up enough tolerance to Valium to make it lose its effect. On show night he’d mix it with two propranolol to get himself onstage, and more often than not he’d need to take an Ambien to come down afterward—the classic combo for anxiety-ridden housewives and celebrities that more often than not led to addiction.

But Dev couldn’t worry about that right now.

He knew that as long as he kept his helpers under control he’d be fine. He always got off the stuff as soon as his tours ended, and it wasn’t like he was doing real drugs. His were legal, regulated, doctor prescribed. He even avoided alcohol when he was on them like the label said. He was nothing like many of his peers, who combined booze with the hard stuff night after night. He may have done some of that indulging in his early days, but now he couldn’t imagine taking anything like that before a show—the drugs revved him up enough to keep him awake for hours afterward. That’s where the Ambien came in, and when he didn’t take it he paid the price. The dead of night was when the dark monster of his reality came crashing into his bed. Other musicians can handle the stage, so why can’t you? How long do you think you can go on like this before you’re hooked? the monster asked him with its ember eyes. Having a warm body in his bed had always helped keep the monster away—until about a year ago, when the emptiness he felt each morning when he awoke to women with names long forgotten was worse than any empty bed.

And then she’d come along. Kiki. Not only the hottest fuck of his life, but gorgeous, independent, totally unaffected and unimpressed by his career. Offering her the job had probably been a mistake. He’d be up close with her day after day, which meant his secret was in danger—and she was the last person on earth he wanted to discover it. He hadn’t been thinking straight that day in the bar, when he’d been overtaken with lust at the sight of her. And then he’d laid all that shit on her about trust. All of it was true, but it was a wonder she hadn’t run away screaming. People didn’t just come out and say things like that when they barely knew each other, but it was like she’d messed with all of his wires to turn him into a raging, sex-starved honesty machine. And the real hell of it was that she hadn’t said no to his strictly business proposal. All the same, he promised himself, he would leave it up to her—no matter how wild she drove him.

Dev left the bathroom, slipped the bottle of pills into his carry-on and walked back to his seat. Kiki was sitting exactly where he’d left her, deeply engrossed in her notes. God, but she was something. He knew she had to be at least a little dazzled by the private plane, but she hadn’t even commented on it. She may have been fiery, but she was also down-to-earth. Grounded. The exact opposite of him.

“It’s still four hours to London,” he said, sliding into the leather seat across from her. “It wouldn’t kill you to take a break.”

“I have a lot to learn to get up to speed,” she replied without looking up. “Now, where were we?”

“I was telling you about Bix. He’ll meet us for the first show on Sunday night,” Dev said, tapping two fingers on his armrest. They were seated across from each other with a small fold-down table between them. His legs were long enough that his knees would touch Kiki’s if they both faced forward, but she had angled hers away from him into the aisle. She was wearing a simple black dress that screamed First day on the new job, but its conservative cut was hopeless at hiding her sexiness. She still had her eyes aimed at her notebook, so he let his eyes drift down to her bare legs.

The crazy thing was that Kiki wasn’t even his regular type—he normally preferred his women tall and willowy. But Dev loved her tiny frame, the curve of her hips, the way her small breasts strained beneath her modest neckline. The way their bodies had moved that night had proven how perfect they were together. And now she was close enough to touch, not to mention all alone with him. When he thought about what they could be doing right now, what use they could make of the sleeping quarters—it was killing him.

“...road crew?”

He jerked his eyes up to find her looking at him expectantly, pen poised. Those wide blue eyes under delicately arched brows. That long hair falling over her breasts in a smooth curtain. The crease in her dress right between her legs.

Focus.

“Uh, yeah. You’ll meet them in London,” Dev said. “Scotty—my bassist—is flying in from Chicago today. He and Stuart will—”

“Stuart?” Kiki interrupted.

“My drummer. He’s flying into London from Brussels.”

“Got it. Speaking of which...” She lifted a sheet of paper up from the small table between them. “According to this itinerary, you’re staying at The Connaught with the rest of the band. Is that a mistake? I’d imagine you’d want to stay at home while you’re in town.”

Damn—she didn’t miss a thing. Dev had moved from LA to London a decade ago, but his Kings Cross penthouse felt less and less like home since he’d bought the house on Moretta. His flat screamed of the bachelor days and rock star nights of his twenties, and that just wasn’t where his head was anymore. “It’s just easier if the band is all together,” he said, which also happened to be the truth. “I’ll pop by at some point to make sure the place is still standing, pick up some clothes. By the way, we’re only staying in hotels in London and Paris. After the Paris show we move to tour buses for the remainder of the European leg. Once we’re in Australia we’ll be in hotels again.”