Racing to Rhapsody: A Rhapsody Novel Read online

  “You’re like a fussy old woman, Dez,” she jokes. “I was nowhere near that tree.”

  “Really?” I reach out and pull a leaf from her shoulder. “So where did this come from then?”

  She purses her lips and looks around as if the sky might give her an answer.

  “My chute was nowhere near that tree anyway.”

  I laugh and take the folded fabric from her arms. She grins at me and I can’t help myself. I lean over and give her a quick, hard kiss on the lips.

  Her eyes widen in shock, but I don’t give her a chance to question it. Just like you don’t give the wild rabbit a moment to think when you suddenly pet it.

  “Come on then,” I tell her. “You must be hungry after all of that, I’ll buy you some pizza on the way back to the airport. I saw a cool little place in the town we passed through.”

  Then, with her gear in one arm I grab her hand with my other, and lead her to the car. The more time I spend with her, the more I know that I’m right. We’re right. And if I can keep taming her bit by bit, this wild thing is going to be mine.

  Shannon

  Dez and Garrett have been signing autographs for nearly two hours. I don’t know if they’re tired, but I sure as hell am. The event is in the Boston Convention Center, and the place is crazy. There are stages for dancers, stages for bands, stages for singers. Then there are the strolling musicians, comedians, acrobats, and poets. Any kind of art that can be performed is represented here on either a big scale or a small one. There are also tattoo artists, piercers, and I think I might have seen a Kama Sutra exhibition tent. It’s like a circus on steroids.

  Garrett manages to sign things only for women between the ages of twenty and thirty-five. It’s a real talent, and I’ve been trying to figure out how he swings it for the last half an hour. I’d say at least two thirds of them leave him with a phone number after he gives them an autograph as well. I’ve seen a lot of manwhores in this business, but Garrett takes the prize.

  Dez, meanwhile, is an equal opportunity celebrity. He signs things for whoever stands in front of him, and still manages to make each person seem special. Whether it’s his quiet smile, something he notices about them, the compliments he hands out like candy, no matter what, I haven’t seen a single person leave his table with anything but a completely satisfied expression on their face. He’s sort of like the Dalai Lama passing out good feels wherever he goes.

  He looks over at me where I’m standing a few feet to one side and behind the table, and catches me watching him. I know I’m blushing, I can feel the heat in my cheeks, but I try to pull off nonchalance. Meanwhile, Dez’s face blooms with a big grin, and my stupid girly heart goes boom boom boom faster than normal.

  I don’t know what the hell is happening between us, but it’s like Dez is suddenly on my radar when he’s been nowhere near it for years. Spending so much time with him yesterday has addled my mind. All I can think about is the way his big hand felt wrapped around mine, and the look on his face when I pulled off my flight helmet. I don’t think I’ve ever had a man look at me with such heat. He turns back to finish up with the smitten teenage girl who’s in front of him, and I breathe again, trying to get control of my racing heart, which shouldn’t be racing right now at all.

  Because I have a type. And it isn’t Dez. Normally the men I end up with are either in the same kind of business I am—entertainment lawyers, sports agents, record execs—or they’re bad boys—bikers, MMA fighters, the occasional womanizing actor. But no matter what, they’re always powerful, the kind of guys who walk into a room and take control. Men who expect to be obeyed, expect to lead, expect to get fucked if they set their sights on you. And I’m usually accommodating in that regard. Not because I’m a pushover, but rather because it makes my life so much easier.

  I don’t want attachments—I don’t have time. My energy has to be put into my dad’s company, and that’s why men who take charge, and only want something brief, are the ones I go for. I let them do their thing—make the decisions, then take me to bed—and when it’s all over, we go on our merry way a few orgasms for the better. It’s easier that way, cleaner, safer.

  But Dez isn’t that guy. Dez doesn’t take over a room with the force of his personality, he takes it over with the quality of his heart. He doesn’t tell people what to do, he applauds them for being who they are. It’s disconcerting, and not how the men I’m used to behave. The men I’m comfortable with are like Blaze Davis, obnoxious, sometimes charming, but always the top dog. Dez doesn’t even acknowledge that there’s a pack order. What the hell do you do with that?

  “Your boys have behaved themselves.” I twitch as I look up to find Romeo Sandoval, the director of promotions for Nelson’s Soda watching me.

  I raise one eyebrow and put on my disinterested face. “I told you they would. It really wasn’t necessary to drag me along for all of this, Romeo.”

  He smirks and adjusts his tie, his suit probably cost as much as the all-electric Tesla Dez drives. Romeo is my type. Through and through. But for some reason I’m not interested this time around.

  “Maybe I didn’t insist you come along only to babysit your boys,” he says, before lowering his head so that his lips brush the hair alongside my ear. “Maybe I just like having you around.”

  As he murmurs his cocky bullshit in my ear my eyes go back to Dez, who has paused in the middle of signing someone’s Rhapsody poster. He’s watching me, and the look on his face is one I’ve never seen there. It’s intense, and almost angry. Dez doesn’t get angry. Even when his bandmates are bickering like a bunch of toddlers fighting over a stuffed animal, Dez is calm, rational, empathetic. But if I were to describe him right now, I’d say that he’s a few moments from physically tearing something in half.

  I pull away from Romeo, giving him my best glare. “Go find a groupie to molest, will you?” I drawl. “I’m pretty busy here.” I look down at one hand and start picking at my cuticles.

  Romeo chuckles. “Oh, Red,” he says, low and confidently, “no groupie could hold a candle to you, but I’m happy to spread the love somewhere I’m wanted. You and I have plenty of time to get to know one another. You’ll come around.”

  I curl my lip in disgust and he laughs again before sauntering off into the crowd.

  “Was he bothering you?” Dez asks right next to me.

  I turn to look at him, and that same expression is on his face as he watches Romeo walk away. He’s pissed, and I’m not sure what to make of that.

  “He’s all bark and no bite,” I answer. “I can handle him.”

  A tiny line appears between Dez’s eyes as his brow furrows. He watches me closely, his dark eyes deep and mysterious. “But you shouldn’t have to,” he answers. “At least not when I’m fifteen feet away.”

  I laugh, short and sharp. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I don’t need a protector, Dez. That’s not really who I am—the whole girl in distress thing.”

  He takes my elbow in his hand, his expression so earnest it nearly undoes me. “You’re no damsel in distress—ever. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t have your back. It’s what you do for people you care about.”

  I swallow, swimming in discomfort. He’s so open and genuine. I live in Los Angeles, I work in the entertainment industry. No one is open and genuine. It’s the antithesis of what I’m surrounded by day after day.

  I wipe my now sweaty palms on my jeans as he continues to touch my arm, stroking up and down, his fingers firm and smooth. My breath catches in my throat.

  “Dez, don’t.”

  “Don’t what?” He narrows his eyes at me.

  “Don’t turn this into something it’s not,” I whisper shout, my eyes darting around as if I’m afraid he’ll see something in my face that I don’t want him to.

  “What is it, exactly?” he asks.

  “We’re, you know…friends.”

  He nods, quietly. “We are.” It’s not a question, so I relax. “But we’re also on the cusp of something
so much more.” Fuck. I stiffen up again.

  “No.”

  “Yes, Shannon. And you know it. I can see how scared it makes you, and I get it. It scares me too, but it’s there, it’s real, and it’s not going away.”

  I pull back from his touch, heat blooming in my face. “Then I’ll go instead,” I say, turning on my heel and stalking away. Even as I do it I know I’m behaving like a toddler in the midst of a tantrum, but I don’t care. Maybe Dez is like the men I’m usually with. He’s just as forceful and obnoxious, the only difference is he’s trying to get me to do something more. Something that goes far beyond a few tumbles in the sheets. He’s trying to get me to do something real.

  We only have a couple of hours after the Boston event to pack up and get to the airport for the trip to the next city. I slide into my seat on the private jet at the last minute. The tour is enormous, so travel arrangements are different for every group, and a lot of the artists are local to the tour stops, so I handled the details for Garrett, Dez, and I. I know exactly where Dez is and I feel his eyes on me, but I refuse to look that way. I can’t afford to be distracted by him.

  Garrett has apparently added two girls and one roadie to our group. I can’t really complain, since there are plenty of seats on the plane and it’s all paid for by the tour. I can, however, resent the hell out of the noises the girl who Garrett has his tongue in is making.

  I try to ignore blondie’s squirrel-like gasps, however, and get my laptop open. I pull up my email and my heart sinks immediately. It’s an announcement that Liam, another of the agents in my dad’s firm, just landed the most bankable actress in Hollywood as his new client. Fuckity fuck fuck. I clench my hands into fists, digging my nails into my palms as the flight attendant walks through and tells everyone to buckle up before we take off.

  “You look stressed,” Dez’s smooth voice says as he slides into the seat next to mine.

  “What are you doing?” I bite out, eyes firmly on my computer screen while the plane wheels around to face the runway. “You’re supposed to be buckled into your seat, we’re about to take off.”

  We begin our acceleration down the runway and I hear the snick of his seatbelt sliding closed. Dammit.

  “Well, it appears I’m all buckled in safe and sound, so I think it’s good.”

  I finally relent and turn to look at him. His eyes are like melted chocolate, and they’re so knowing I can hardly bear it. A spot inside my chest burns then, aching with such intensity I nearly gasp from it. No, no, no. I am not doing this. Fucking Liam just scored the most lucrative client in Hollywood, my entire future is at risk because some idiot actress decided to divorce her husband who was also her manager. All my focus, all my energy, all my talent has to go into figuring out how to get an advantage over Liam and everyone else who is right there with my dad’s ear day after day while I’m stuck here on this tour.

  I wrench my gaze away from Dez’s beautiful face.

  But he still doesn’t take the hint. And I see his hand reach out before he gently shuts my laptop.

  “Shannon,” he murmurs close to my ear. “What’s going on? You’re obviously upset about something.”

  “Dude,” the roadie says from the sofa across the aisle. “If you’re going to join the Mile High Club maybe you ought to hit the head.”

  Both Dez and I turn to see Garrett with his hand all the way up the blonde’s skirt, and his face buried in her cleavage.

  Dez sighs.

  “Garrett,” I bark. “Your buddy’s right, take it somewhere else. The last thing we need is the flight crew telling the press we had an orgy on the plane.”

  Garrett raises his head lazily. “Come on, baby,” he drawls. “You can blow me in the bathroom then I’ll give you a little reward.”

  Squirrel girl makes another squeaky sound as she stands up, hanging on Garrett like a leech. “What if I want a big reward?” she whines, stumbling in her six-inch high platform sandals.

  “It’s the biggest, baby,” Garrett deadpans as he winks at Dez and me on the way past.

  Once they’ve disappeared down the aisle and into the bathroom, Dez refocuses on me. “Will you tell me what’s going on now?”

  “Sure. I’m competing against six other people for a job that rightfully ought to be mine, and I’m at a complete disadvantage because I’m stuck on this damn tour while they’re all back in L.A. with the prospective clients and my father’s ear.”

  “Hey,” he says gently. “You don’t need to compete. You just do your job the best way you can and if your dad is worth a damn he’ll give you the position. If he’s not then you don’t want it anyway. You don’t need to be tethered to that kind of energy. It’s toxic, babe.”

  His voice, his words, the way he’s looking at me, it all pulls at something deep inside. And it’s a pull I can’t afford to feel. It makes me weak, and my father doesn’t love anything or anyone who’s weak.

  “You obviously don’t know me as well as you think you do, Dez, because I want nothing more than I want to be tethered to my father and his business. It’s all I’ve worked for since I was a teenager filing papers for him in the summers. There is no way I’m going to let anyone get the jump on me. I’ve earned that damn firm, and if I have to spend the next ten years proving it to him then that’s what I’ll do.”

  I lift the lid on the laptop and start scrolling through my list of potential clients, as well as influential contacts. I need to score someone big, and I’m determined that before the end of today I’m going to know who that is.

  I see Dez’s head shaking out of the corner of my eye.

  “If you don’t approve, maybe you need to find a different seat,” I tell him, my voice razor sharp.

  His hand is firm on my chin as he forces me to face him. “I’m not buying it, just so you know. But I’ll give you some space. For now.” Then he releases me, and stands to move to a seat on the other side of the plane. And it’s cold where he was, but I can’t think about that. I can only think about proving to my father that I’m worth it. I’m always proving to my father that I’m worth it. And someday he’ll tell me that he knows it too. Someday he’ll tell me that he loves me.

  Dez

  Garrett is unusually agitated. He’s pacing the floor of his suite, talking rapidly. As much as he parties, he’s actually not big into substances, it’s really just the women, but I have to wonder if he’s taken something.

  “Dude,” I ask from my spot on the sofa where I watch him make his fiftieth pass by the window. “Are you on something?”

  He comes to a halt, eyes wide as he looks at me. “What?”

  “You’re all jittery and manic. Did you take something? Just be honest.”

  He strides over and sits down across from me. “Fuck no, you know I don’t mess with that shit.”

  “Then what’s the matter, you’re vibrating like you’re plugged into an outlet.”

  Running a hand through his hair, he rolls his face toward the ceiling as if there’s a painting up there for him to peruse.

  “I don’t know, I’m just kind of wound up. I think I need to get laid.”

  I laugh. “You just fucked the girl on the plane—more than once if the screams were any indication—and that was only four hours ago. Maybe you need to take a run and get a good night’s sleep instead.”

  When he looks back at me, I see a flicker of something in his eyes, it’s a mixture of anguish and fear, but it’s gone so fast I can’t be sure it was even there.

  “Yeah, a run. That’s a great idea,” he says. “I think all the crowds wear on me after awhile, you know?”

  I nod. “Sure, man. I get it. There’s a lot of stuff coming at you when you’re around that many people.”

  He stands, shaking out his hands and shifting from one foot to the other. “Okay, I’m going on that run then. Dinner in a couple of hours?”

  “Yep, come down to my room when you’re ready.”

  He heads into the bedroom to change for his run and I leave
and walk to the elevators. I haven’t seen Shannon since we got off the flight. She wouldn’t speak to me on the plane and took a different car from the airport to the hotel. And I gave her that space, but I don’t want to let it go much longer. It’s too easy for her to run away from me and this thing between us. I’m not ready to let it go.

  Since I didn’t check her in, Shannon’s room is nowhere near mine this time, but I go to her floor, and knock on the door. She swings it open immediately, obviously not expecting me to be standing there. She’s in tiny workout shorts and a sports bra and for a moment I’m rendered speechless like I’m some idiot.

  “Oh. I thought it was the front desk,” she says, her face falling at the sight of me. Well, fuck.

  “Can I come in?” I ask, finding my voice again in the nick of time. I don’t want to act like a sexist asshole, but it’s taking everything I’ve got to keep my eyes on her face instead of the cleavage that’s spilling out of that tight lycra top. My dad’s voice echoes in my head, “but tits, son.” Yeah, he really did have a point about that. I’ve never missed them with the guys I’ve been with, but at that point I hadn’t seen Shannon’s either. They might be the most perfect body parts I’ve ever witnessed.

  She doesn’t answer me, just swings her arm aside indicating I can step in. “What can I do for you?” she asks, bending down to get a bottle of water from the fridge beneath her TV.

  “You going to work out?” I ask, stalling because I don’t actually have a reason to be here, I just needed to see her and make her talk to me.

  “Yeah, I’m waiting for the front desk to bring me the key to the private gym, on the top floor, they forgot to give me one at check-in.”

  I nod. “Garrett and I are going to dinner in a couple of hours, why don’t you come along?”

  She stands and this time I don’t raise my eyes fast enough. My gaze lands directly on those smooth, alabaster breasts, and want becomes my middle name. I want to touch, I want to lick, I want to possess every inch of her in a way I’ve never wanted with another human being. I want to consume her. It’s overwhelming and honestly, fucking frightening.