Leather Pants

  Maybe that was why he felt so attracted to her. He’d had to work hard at being who he was, including his ability to stand on stage and be subjected to the opinion of millions of people. It didn’t come naturally for a man like him, who needed to be in touch with his heart to do what he did. Yet he had to remain strong enough to share his art with the world. It was a strange line to walk.

  But Sarah. Sarah. Her conviction came naturally.

  Well, I can’t wait to see how she deals with this. It was the song he’d written this morning while he’d been in his car on the phone with her. He didn’t know what it meant—not really—but it had come from his heart, which generally proved smarter than he was.

  Colt spoke into the mic. “Okay, everyone.” He strummed his guitar to get their attention and break up the banter. “This next song is written for you, Sarah. It’s called Why I Love Her.” Colt watched Sarah’s face transition from smiling to confused. “Don’t worry; you don’t have to sing. Just listen.”

  Sarah’s face turned pale again and she ran.

  The room fell into a deathlike silence.

  “Well, that was awkward,” said Colt.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Walking away from the bar, Sarah’s heart slammed against her rib cage and her knees wobbled. It was only a song, Sarah. Why did you do that?

  She wasn’t sure, really. She only knew that when Colt looked at her and said, “Why I love her,” she’d felt it in her heart. She felt like he’d meant it. And scarier still, she felt it back.

  I’m in deep shit. Now wasn’t the time to open her heart to a man and start a relationship.

  Dammit. She’d come here for fun. And possibly for some casual sex with Colt. Double fun. How had the night turned on her so quickly?

  “Sarah!” Colt’s deep, manly voice echoed through the night air as she marched down the sidewalk in her ridiculously high heels. Several passing cars took the opportunity to honk and catcall.

  Oh, yes. I bet you catch all the ladies with that class.

  The sound of footsteps approached as Colt caught up to her. “Wait. Why did you run off like that?” He grabbed her arm, stopping her from going any further.

  I cannot have this conversation. She didn’t want to go there. Tonight needed to stay light and focus on having a good time.

  “The Sarah I know doesn’t run away.”

  She whooshed out a breath and turned to face him. “Was that just a song, or did you mean something more?”

  “What if I did?”

  A heaviness filled her body. She dropped her shoulders. “Then I’d say you are a big fool, because I’m the last woman in the world you should feel anything for.”

  “Would you let anyone ever tell you how to feel?”

  “No.”

  “Then why would you expect me to be any different?” He cocked one beautiful brow.

  “All right, Colt. Let me speak plainly.”

  “I’d expect nothing less—you’re very good at it.”

  “You are setting yourself up for major heartbreak—”

  “I am not a child, Sarah. I’m perfectly aware of the situation and risks.” He took her hand. “And I know what I want.”

  “What exactly do you want? Because it can’t be sitting around for a decade, waiting for me to get out of prison or visiting me on weekends or Christmas at a shit-hole penitentiary?”

  “You are not going to prison. I won’t let it happen.”

  God, he’s so stubborn. She loved his conviction, but she couldn’t sit around hoping for a miracle. It would only lead her to a very disappointing place, and she needed to be mentally prepared for what was coming. Still, arguing with him wasn’t getting her anywhere.

  “Okay,” she said. “Let’s assume you’re right. An angel falls out of the sky and makes my legal woes vanish. Then what? Am I going to tour with you? Spend my life being a leather badass, living out of a suitcase, drinking every night while watching hordes of groupies flash their boobs at you? Or having paparazzi constantly chasing us?”

  He gave her a stern look just as a car passed by, the headlights catching the honey-colored flecks in his angry eyes. “I’m a musician and, yes, touring and publicity is part of the job. But that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you—what I wanted to show you tonight. I go to work, and then I go home. My lifestyle is comprised of gardening, hiking, and collecting wine and vintage motorcycles. I write music—including classical—and when I’m recording, I do it at home in my private studio. I love to cook, to sing on my porch overlooking the ocean, and I hate going to parties.”

  Sarah felt her face get all tingly and hot. Was he telling the truth?

  “Really? You’re not a rebellious badass?” she asked.

  “Nope.”

  It was so difficult to believe. Yet it completely makes sense. He came across as down to earth and introspective.

  “Then why do you pretend to be some wild man?”

  “I told you this is my job. I play the part of a rock star—that means events, parties, award shows—but that is not who I am. I’m just a guy who loves music. And when I travel for tours and have downtime, I go to plays, I listen to local bands. I eat and do the things I love. And when it’s time to play, I get up on stage for two hours and perform.”

  “So you don’t like doing it?”

  “I love it. I love making people happy and playing live. But I only tour every three or four years for six months with breaks in between.”

  Sarah felt so confused about Colt, but at the same time, she finally understood why she could never quite figure him out. He had a mature confidence about him—the way he stood and carried himself. The way he put up a big wall. He didn’t come off as a reckless rebel once you got to know him.

  God, now I want him even more. Imagine this guy cooking me dinner shirtless. Or sipping wine together on the beach. She could definitely see that being a life she would love. Even the touring sounded nice with the way he’d described it. Not chaotic. Not filled with wild parties and mobs of groupies twenty-four seven. He played tourist, went to work for a few hours each night, and that was that. She was oversimplifying, of course, because his work consisted of playing to crowds of thirty thousand people at a time, but it was his job. And his passion. She finally got it.

  She looked down at her tired feet. This night had been far less complicated when she’d believed his interests to be casual. His rock star lifestyle would keep this relationship from going anywhere serious. They could have fun. She could keep her emotions in check knowing they had no future.

  Dammit. Why does he have to have feelings for me? Because now, she was cooked. She wanted him for way more than just one night of play.

  “I can’t let this go any farther, Colt. You know what’s coming, and it won’t be good. We’ll only end up hurt.” And I can’t afford to miss you.

  “Like I said, I’m a grown man and can make my own choices. So let me decide.”

  Sarah took a tiny step back. God, she wanted to let this happen. But then she imagined losing her case, as she fully expected, and being hauled away in handcuffs, knowing that if she saw Colt again, it would be from behind a thick sheet of Plexiglas. And given the charges pending against her, she could get as much as ten years. Ten.

  “I can’t, Colt. I really can’t. Because I want this too much.”

  He looked down at his boots, and his chest expanded with deep breaths. “Then, at least let’s finish off the night. You came for fun. Let’s have some fun.”

  “No. I think I’ll spare us any more torture and grab a hotel room. I’ll get myself back to SF in the morning.”

  “Don’t be insane.” He looked at his watch. “It’s early—only one in the morning.”

  “Uh-huh.” She crossed her arms. “How late do you normally stay up?”

  He didn’t answer.

  She lifted her brows, waiting.

  “Fine. Ten o’clock. I like getting up early to exercise. Helps me feel more productive.”

&
nbsp; She laughed and shook her head.

  “Hey, that doesn’t mean I’m a stick-in-the-mud. I know how to have fun—did it for years. As for you, when’s the last time you had a free pass to get into any place you wanted to go?”

  He had a point. “Like where?”

  “Name it. Restaurants, bars, museums—just about anywhere except a bank.” He scratched his chin. “No. Wait. Scratch that. I have my bank president on speed dial.”

  “For?”

  “Sometimes a man’s just gotta do some banking.” He shrugged those broad shoulders.

  She made a little laugh. Honestly, off the top of her head, she couldn’t think of any place she wanted to go save one: his porch. But going back to his house would only lead to another place. Bed. And that would not be a good idea.

  “No. I really think we should call it a ni—”

  He reached out and whipped her into his arms. Before she could protest, his lips were on her—rough, passionate, demanding. Her entire body stiffened, wanting to resist, but the heat of him, the taste of him, melted her resolve like an ice cube in a warm bath.

  So, so warm. She opened her mouth to him and let their tongues dance in a sexual rhythm. So, so hot. She threw her arms around his neck, wanting more, but knowing somewhere in the back of her tequila-saturated mind that giving in to her desire for him at this point, knowing that he had feelings for her, meant giving him a piece of her heart, too. Because the only thing that had been keeping her heart safe had been believing he wasn’t relationship material. He was. He was once-in-a-lifetime, love-of-your-life material.

  I have to stop. I have to sto—

  Slowly, he began walking her back until he had her pressed up against the wall of whatever building it was. He ground his hard lean frame into her. Hips, chest, abs—she loved the feel of him. God, she had so wanted this tonight. Him hard, inside her, giving her a repeat of that night at the club in the bathroom. She’d never felt so ravenous with a man, and she’d certainly never orgasmed like that.

  Their kissing moved to a frantic pace. Colt pushed into her, unleashing the throbbing ache between her legs.

  Goddammit. This is so, so wrong. But she couldn’t stop. Colt felt so, so right.

  He moved his hands to the sides of her face, completely subduing her with that sexy mouth of his.

  Okay. We need to get naked. At least from the waist down. She needed to feel him inside her one more time. She needed to feel that smooth, muscled skin pressed against her bare breasts and hear that deep, throaty sound he made when he came. That wasn’t wrong, was it?

  “Get a fucking room!” a man yelled from a passing car, preceded by honking.

  “Ohmygod.” Sarah pushed back, breaking the moment. “What am I doing?” she whispered.

  Colt smirked. “You’re making out with me, and you liked it.”

  “We can’t do this.”

  “Come on. I know just the place to take you for a quiet nightcap.” He’d sidestepped the issue.

  She narrowed her eyes.

  “Okay.” He held up his hands in the surrender position. “I won’t touch you again,” he said, then added, “Unless you ask.”

  “Colt,” she snapped, meaning she didn’t want to be pushed. They couldn’t go any farther.

  “Sarah.” He grabbed her hand. “I’m not ready to let you go just yet. I’m only asking for another hour. Okay, two.”

  “Colt.” She snapped her hand back, this time putting it behind her back, which was still against the wall.

  “Saraaaah,” he growled.

  “No.”

  “After this next stop, I’ll personally take you to a hotel. In fact, I’ll text my assistant right now and have him find you a room.”

  “You have a male assistant?”

  He shrugged. “Why not? Men can do things as good as women.”

  “You’re funny.”

  “Abso-fucking-lutely. And I’ll take that as a yes to my offer.” He whipped out his cell and began texting away.

  “What are you offering again?”

  “Tequila,” he said, still looking at his phone and typing. “You seem to like it, and I own a tequila bar.”

  “Nuh-uh.”

  “Yuh-huh,” he replied with a grin, mocking her voice and laying on that irresistible charm. “Right here in LA. I have to invest my money and tequila seems like a safe bet given it’s been popular for thousands of years and approved by a very prestigious judge.” He winked.

  So charming.

  She felt torn between wanting to spend more time with him and not digging herself any deeper. That kiss had been too tempting and her body felt tense with sexual need.

  Sarah like. Sarah want. Colt big and strong and Sarah need tequila. Tequila good. Colt good, too.

  “Fine. One more stop and then we say goodbye.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Bennett Wade leaned back from his desk, staring at the phone and cursing. Thankfully, Taylor and his baby son were fast asleep in the other room. Fucking hell. What next? He had to know someone who could fix Sarah’s situation. So far, no one could. And when anyone heard the words “state supreme court indictment,” they not only forgot how to speak, but the phone line became all choppy and disconnected.

  Cowards.

  He’d come across many challenges in his business ventures, but none like this. Regulatory bodies, labor unions, tariffs, and tax audits, those were the sorts of issues billion-dollar corporations dealt with. Of course, he’d sold off his shares to pursue a different life—one with Taylor that made him happy.

  Yeah, and now her happiness is at stake. If Sarah went to prison, Taylor would be a wreck. They weren’t just friends; they were sisters. And after everything Taylor had done for him, including giving him a beautiful son, he had to do something.

  Dammit. He picked up his phone and racked his brain. With thousands of contacts, there had to be someone who could help Sarah fight that sonofabitch Wright, a man who had friends in very high places.

  Bennett toggled through his list of names on his phone. He needed someone powerful but who didn’t play politics. He needed someone with personal contacts and not only business associates.

  He spotted a name, and a bolt of brilliant lightning struck. He hit “call” and after a few moments got an answer.

  “Hello. Bennett Wade here. Sorry for calling so late, but I need your assistan—”

  Bennett listened to a slurry of sharp words on the other end of the line.

  “Yes,” he said, “I know it’s rude to call past eight, but I—”

  More screaming.

  Bennett maintained a level tone. “Yes, I fully realize I am a pompous, inconsiderate jerkwad; however, I do have my good side.”

  A hell of a lot of screaming.

  His patience evaporated. “I didn’t call you at one in the morning to discuss the size of my ‘tiny man brain.’ I’m calling about a friend of my wife’s, Sarah Alma—I think you know her. She was blackmailed by another judge, and now she’s going to be prosecuted for a whole hell of a lot of things she did not do.”

  He listened for a moment.

  “I want to help her because she’s a good person and an honest one. The world needs people like her in positions of power.”

  He listened again.

  “Yes. Wright is the other judge. How did you know?”

  For the next several minutes, Bennett attempted to swallow what he heard. It was far too troubling to believe. “Tell me what I can do to help.”

  He listened.

  “Yes. I’ll be there. Goodnight.” He ended the call, set down his phone, and scrubbed his face with his hands. “This is insanity. It’d better work.” Because if it went south, he would land himself in the midst of Sarah’s scandal.

  Sarah entered the rustic hacienda-style bar overlooking Los Angeles and gasped in awe. The word amazing didn’t cut it. Sparkling lights for as far as the eye could see, a gorgeous terrace stretching out along the hillside with a small waterfall flowi
ng through the middle, and palm trees decorated with spirals of twinkling lights. She felt like she’d been transported to the most romantic place on Earth.

  It was late now, almost two in the morning, but five or six couples stood by the railing to enjoy the view or sat at candlelit tables, holding hands.

  Or making out. Jesus, get a room! she thought, spotting a couple off in a dark corner really going at it.

  Colt stood inside, ordering what he’d called “a special surprise” drink, so Sarah took a seat at an empty table next to the tallest palm tree she’d ever seen in her life. The trunk, with its white Christmas lights, looked like a giant light saber touching the stars.

  This was truly a beautiful place. Magical, in fact. How the hell am I going to resist kissing Colt again in such a romantic spot?

  I’m not. She smiled, realizing she’d been bested. He’d brought her here probably knowing that with the view and the cool night air, she’d be putty in his arms.

  She looked over her shoulder through the large plate-glass window at Colt, who stood next to the bar, talking on the phone, while the bartender prepared drinks. She guessed he was getting her a nice room somewhere as promised.

  He is a good man. Sarah felt that final piece of resistance fall away. No matter what you do, you’re going to lose him and it’s going to hurt.

  She was already vested. And so was he.

  It’s time to stop pretending otherwise.

  Having texted his lawyer, John, on the way over to the tequila bar, Colt carefully listened to what the man had to say. John was not a trial attorney, but he was supposedly the best of the best. The retainer price tag sure screamed premium.

  “So tell me options, John. That’s what I need.” Colt glanced out the window at Sarah, who sat on the patio.

  “I haven’t had much time to review the details,” said John. “But the prosecution is going to depend heavily on that video and testimony from witnesses, which is also why you’re going to receive a subpoena.”

  Colt anticipated that.

  “Good. This is good. I can testify and tell the truth about what happened with Sarah.”