Sexy Lies and Rock & Roll

  "Sounds lonely," she observes.

  "Hasn't felt that way the last few weeks."

  She blushes.

  So Emma.

  Her gaze drops to her dessert again, and she plays around with punching the end of her spoon through the caramelized crust. Without looking back up at me, she says, "This thing between us... I'm not sure I understand it."

  "What do you mean?"

  With a sigh, she puts her spoon down and looks across the table at me. "This is just weird. I mean... you're this famous rock star, and I'm this nobody little attorney who really doesn't know what she's doing half the time, and honestly, Evan... there is just no reason you should be interested in someone like me. You need like a super model or something on your arm."

  "I like who I have on my arm just fine," I tell her.

  She doesn't believe me. I can see it in her eyes. "But... it's just sex, right? I mean, you saw a girl who I suppose you're attracted to and we're sharing space together, and you got me to take a risk. And well... we had sex, and it's just an adventure, right? That's what you told me that first night. For me to do something crazy and impulsive, and well... I did. And we're still doing it, and I'm not sure what this is now."

  God... she's adorable and pathetic at the same time, and I don't mean that in a bad way. It's just that Emma can't quite seem to understand that she's very intriguing just as she is, and any guy would be amazingly lucky to have a crack at her. She also seems to forget... I'm just a dude too. I write and play rock music for a living, but that's not all there is to me.

  "So, you know Midge has never been married, right?" I tell her in an abrupt change of subject, but to something that is ultimately relevant.

  She blinks at me in surprise and slowly says, "I think I heard that."

  "Sad, really," I say with a nod. "She was in love with the founding partner of Knight & Payne and they had a passionate affair, but he was married and wouldn't leave his wife. When he died, she never again found love."

  Emma's eyes soften. "That's so sad."

  "Totally sad," I agree with her. "And I grew up spending a great deal of time with Midge. Weekends, summers, and holidays when my parents were traveling. I got an up close and personal view of what a woman looks like who has the capacity to love but doesn't have what she wants."

  Emma doesn't say anything, but she looks completely lost. So I enlighten her.

  "You remind me of Midge. Granted, you don't have the sad tale of a doomed affair--at least I don't think you do from what I know--but you're a woman who's actually built for a wild and passionate relationship. You're about as genuine as it gets, and I'm not quite sure why you could even doubt that I would be interested in that. Why you don't think I deserve that?"

  "Evan--"

  "I've watched Midge pine after a man who was dead my entire life, because she was afraid to take another risk," I continue. "And I think it's because she honestly didn't think she was worth anything more. She wasn't good enough for the man she loved to leave his wife. So she buried herself in her work and behind books and behind a closed office door to become a virtual recluse--and you know I'm right about that--because she didn't want to take the risk again. She was a very lonely woman."

  "But she--"

  "So when I told you to take a risk and do something daring and impulsive," I say, coming to my conclusion. "It wasn't just so I could fuck you. That was going to happen one way or the other. But it was so that you would open yourself up entirely to something you probably deserve and would never have the guts to reach out for."

  Emma stares at me a moment, her face inscrutable. I wait for her to process, and for her to understand, that this isn't just sex to me.

  She lowers her eyes to her wineglass, perhaps contemplates another sip, but then gives a cough to her throat and looks back to me. "You said you think I deserve something," she says hesitantly. "But I don't have the guts to reach for it."

  "That's right."

  "And that something would be you?" she asks for clarification.

  "I'm a fucking phenomenal catch," I tell her with a grin.

  "And this is more than just sex to you?" she adds on, because she's still not quite ready to believe.

  "Not going to lie," I tell her with a wink. "The sex is beyond amazing. But yeah... it's a bit more than that for me."

  Emma takes a deep breath and when she lets it out, she smiles at me. "Okay, then. I'll reach for it."

  "That would be me you're reaching for, right?" I tease her, but my lungs sort of seize up as I realize just how important her answer is.

  "It would be you," she says with a laugh, and suddenly, I can breathe easy again.

  CHAPTER 18

  Emma

  I stand in a corner and assume a wallflower position. I force myself to sip patiently at my wine rather than gulp it down for fortification because while I'm starting to get the hang of really high heels, I'm not the best at them and I'm pretty sure I can't manage them if I'm drunk.

  Taking a peek down at the brick-red pumps on my feet, I turn my leg slightly and admire the five-inch heels. Crocodile Christian Louboutin pointed-toe Pigalle pumps with stiletto heel, and did I mention they're five-inches high? I resist the urge to slip my foot out and admire the designer's signature above the word "Paris" on the inside leather sole, and instead think back to this afternoon when Evan treated me to a few hours of shopping on Rodeo Drive.

  Of course, I protested at first, but then he kissed me and told me he wanted to buy me pretty things, and pointed out that is what guys did for their girls. So yeah... my heart sort of tripped over itself and it totally lent credibility to Evan's claims of the night before that he viewed me as something more than just sex. So I let him buy me this kick-ass black dress that I wasn't so sure of but he talked me into, along with the pumps and a matching brick red crocodile handbag.

  The dress is by far the sexiest, most revealing thing I've ever had on my body, and that's even including the lingerie that Evan's given me. The strapless top comes horizontally straight across my chest with absolutely no plunge, which doesn't seem sexy at first. But when you consider that there's a two-inch swath of material missing from the dress that runs vertically right down the center of my chest to my belly button, you think differently. The wide gap of missing material is held together with big, gold buttons running down on each edge, with leather ties stretched tightly across and wound around the buttons. This causes my breasts to be pulled in and pushed up, creating rounded swells inside that gap of material that actually is a bit lewd. The dress then hugs every curve of my body going down to just above my knees, but there's a long slit up the back that sort of freaks me out. I'm terrified people can see my panties it goes up so high.

  But Evan fell in love with the dress when I tried it on, and confessed to me in the limo as we went back to the hotel that he had a terrible time resisting the urge to pull me into one of the dressing rooms and fucking me from behind with the dress pulled up around my hips. I shudder now even thinking about it, because while that did not occur, he promised me it would happen when we left this party tonight.

  So the party is being held at the president of Phoenix Record's house in Beverly Hills, a massive stucco and red-tiled monstrosity that is as large as a hotel. When we pulled up, my mouth was hanging open so wide an owl could have flown in if one so desired.

  I've often wondered how this would all work if Evan and I were to continue seeing each other. While I feel like I adjusted to the concert tour quite nicely, I'm not sure I'm cut out for this type of lifestyle.

  Everyone here is so stunningly beautiful and so obviously rich, it makes me feel completely inadequate as a person. I mean, I had no clue what a Christian Louboutin shoe was before today, and I about had a heart attack when I saw the $1200 price tag on them. I look around the large room, which has to be at least three thousand square feet, and what I assume is sort of a ballroom, and I don't see one single person who isn't stunningly gorgeous. The men all have tanned skin, rock-hard j
aws, and fit bodies. The women are all tall, thin, and have amazing breasts variously revealed in their designer dresses. Eyebrows perfectly plucked, lips full and glossed, and diamonds dripping everywhere.

  It's hard to compete with that and is the reason why this wall is my best friend. I lost sight of Evan about ten minutes ago when the president of Phoenix came over and stole him. I got the old, "You don't mind if I steal Evan away and introduce him to some people, do you?"

  What was I going to say?

  I'm sorry, but no... you can't have him. I'm terrified of everything about this situation and I only feel adequate when he's by my side?

  So I just nodded politely and luckily grabbed a glass of wine from a passing waiter. I found my friend, the wall here, and we're having a grand ol' time watching everyone around us.

  "I don't get it," I hear from beside me, and I turn to see Tyler standing there. He's not even looking at me, but out over the crowd with his signature vodka tonic in his hand.

  For a brief moment, I think he might be warming up to me and is here to make pleasant conversation. So I inquire, "Get what?"

  Tyler takes a gulp of his drink and then tilts his face to look at me with thinly veiled dislike. "What Evan sees in you."

  My body jolts from the insult, and my initial instinct is to shrink backward into the wall and become more invisible. I've never had someone have such overt antipathy for me, and I'm not sure how to handle it. I don't like confrontation, which is why I'm the type of lawyer who prefers reading and researching versus litigating.

  Tyler doesn't miss the fact I've started to curl inward, unable to defend myself or my worth at this point in the face of his antagonism. I see a gleam form in his eyes that I imagine would be the same as a lion's that is ready to pounce on the gazelle. I brace for another insult, but he throws me majorly off balance when he turns his attention across the room and nods.

  I turn my head and look, spotting Evan talking to three women. On its face, he's doing nothing more than talking to them. They're all tall and gorgeous with California sunny looks, blinding white teeth, and perfect bodies. They could be runway models, and actually, they probably are. They stand in a closed, intimate circle and Evan says something that has all three of them laughing.

  Tyler leans over and murmurs to me, "That's the life Evan loves. He's a little infatuated with you now, but don't mistake it for anything long lasting. I can guarantee you that if you weren't here with him, he'd be balls deep in all three of those girls before the sun came up tomorrow. I mean... how could you ever compete with that?"

  A wave of dark, gray depression sweeps through me as I compare myself to what's in front of Evan right now, and for the first time, I'm thinking Tyler is being honest with me. And now that little circle of people talking doesn't look quite so innocent to me. In fact, the two women to the left and right of Evan are standing intimately close to him. He's got his attention on the woman in front of him as she says something, and he's absolutely intrigued by whatever it is. His attention is focused like a hawk's, and I'm wondering if perhaps she's making him an offer that he doesn't want to refuse, but will have to because he's here with me.

  "You're not cut out for this, Emma," Tyler says, the surety in his voice slicing through me. "I hope to hell you realize that or else you're in a world of hurt when Evan finally has to break the news to you."

  A low hum of dismay bubbles in my throat, but I refuse to let it out. Instead, I turn to Tyler and hand him my wineglass. With as much bravery as I can muster--which isn't much because I feel like shattering--I tell him, "I think I'll be going now."

  Tyler's lips curl into a satisfied, victorious smile as he nods. "Just ask for Evan's limo when you get outside. It will get you back to the hotel. It will even take you to the airport if you want to catch a red-eye out of here."

  Yes, that sounds like a good plan.

  Without another word to Tyler, I walk carefully in my five-inch heels across the marble floor. Out of the party. Out of that house I had no business being in. Into the limo, and then back to the hotel.

  Throughout this entire time, I don't even shed a single tear, because what I've come to realize is that Emma Peterson is far more pragmatic than she is emotional. Even though I feel a hollow emptiness right in the center of my chest, I absolutely refuse to give into it. I can't be mad at Evan because he's not done a damn thing wrong. I can't be mad at Tyler for telling me the truth and really just verifying what I maybe already thought tonight.

  That I don't belong in this world.

  The only one I can be mad at is myself, for even daring to believe I could have something with Evan. But even then, it's hard to be too mad. I mean, for the past few weeks, I've had the most amazing and wondrous journey of my life. I've experienced feelings and sensations I'll probably never feel again, and I took a fucking major risk putting myself out there.

  I try to remember that. I should be proud.

  I should be grateful for what I had for a short time.

  And even as I say that, my eyes well up with tears.

  "Keep it together, Emma," I mutter to myself as I stalk through the hotel suite and back to the master bedroom.

  My mind is spinning as I try to figure out what the hell I need to do.

  1. Get changed.

  2. Get packed.

  3. Get to the bus at the arena and grab Sirius.

  4. Figure a way back to North Carolina. I can afford a plane ticket for me, but I'm not sure how to handle Sirius. I'm assuming dogs can fly, but I really have no idea. So...

  5. Call my dad and get his advice.

  I manage to get number one on my list completed, carefully taking off the expensive dress and hanging it in the closet, as well as putting the shoes back in the box they came in. Perhaps Evan can return them and get his money back. I pull on a pair of jeans and a summery blouse, along with a pair of flat sandals, and then turn my attention to number two.

  I manage to get my suitcase on the bed and opened before I hear the suite door open with such ferocity it bangs off the wall, causing me to jump.

  "Emma," Evan calls out and he sounds pissed.

  I furiously grab clothes out of a small dresser and turn to the suitcase by the time he enters the bedroom. His face is thunderous as he takes in what I'm wearing and the fact that I'm packing.

  "What the fuck are you doing?" he grits out.

  "Going back home," I say as I dump my clothes in the suitcase and start to zip it. I think there's another drawer full, but I'm prepared to leave them behind.

  "Why?" he clips out.

  I absolutely refuse to look at him, but I manage to say in a semi-calm voice, "Because you don't need me here anymore, and well... it's just the right time."

  His hand shoots out and grabs my arm, forcing me to turn and face him. "Try again. I nearly lost my mind when I couldn't find you, and Tyler said he hadn't seen you. When I realized the limo was gone, I grabbed a cab and came here, and I find you packing to leave. And you probably weren't even going to say good-bye. So try again, Emma and tell me what the fuck is going on?"

  I'm not in the least surprised Tyler played stupid with Evan. I'm sure he wasn't about to admit it was his words that drove me out of there. And now, I could easily throw him under the bus and tell Evan exactly what happened at that party.

  But I don't, and I don't because I'm leaving and Evan will need Tyler. I have to hope that Tyler truly does have his friend's best interests at heart, even if he doesn't care about Evan's personal life. I've got to hope that he will at least look after Evan's business interests.

  I also don't tell Evan the truth of what happened at that party because it would be admitting that I'm absolutely pathetic because I let Tyler manipulate me. I fell prey to weakness.

  So, I take a deep breath, let it out, and tell Evan at least part of the truth. "I'm not cut out for this. That party... it was awful. I hated it, and I hated watching those women fawn all over you. I hated feeling insecure while those women fawned all over you,
and I hated that you would be all over those women had I not been there."

  "What in the hell are you talking about?" he growls at me, his arm tightening just a tad.

  "Those three women you were talking to," I snap back at him, feeling the need to defend myself. "You know... big hair, tiny dresses, oozing sex at you. And you, laughing with them and being all intrigued by them."

  "You're jealous?" he asks incredulously, his eyebrows knitted together.

  "Yes, goddamn it," I shout at him. He actually jolts over my language, because that was beyond foul for me. "And that will be your life from now on, and I can't compete with that. I don't want to compete with that."

  "I was just talking to them," Evan says quietly as his shoulders sag. "One of them was the daughter of the one of the Phoenix execs, and she is in her second year at Duke. We were talking about the Raleigh-Durham area. She has a boyfriend who's in med school there."

  Well, crap. That makes me feel absolutely stupid.

  So stupid, I can't even think what to say, so I lower my gaze and stare at the carpet.

  "Emma," Evan says softly, but I don't look at him. "You have to trust me."

  At that, my head flies up and my eyebrows draw together. "I do trust you," I say flatly, because it's true. I never doubted Evan, specifically tonight. So I get to the real issue. "I just don't trust myself."

  "Come again?" he asks.

  I huff another breath out and try to explain. "I don't trust myself to be able to handle all of this. You're freaking Evan Scott. You have a legion of adoring female fans. It's just so overwhelming to me, and I don't like feeling badly about myself."

  "I don't like you feeling badly about yourself either," Evan mutters as he pulls me into his arms. He kisses the top of my head, and I can't help but press into him tight. "And I don't want legions of adoring female fans. I only want you, Emma. Why can't you see that? I don't get why you can't trust that about me."

  "I don't know," I say pitifully into his chest. "I'm just so out of my element here. I'm so unsure, and I'm scared, and I absolutely hated it when you left me alone tonight. Why would you want someone so insecure? Someone who can't handle herself at a party?"