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I pull her off the bike and plant her back on her feet. Her features are flushed, her hair awry. Eyes dilated, there’s only a circle of green left around her pupils. A tear slides down her cheeks, and she brushes it away. She opens her mouth, but before she can speak, I give her a mock salute and drive off. In my side mirror, I catch a final glimpse of her giving me the Italian chin flick, and I laugh even harder than before.
I drive up the East Pacific Coast Highway, allowing myself to breathe for the first time. Cloistered in that studio hearing her sing, being witness to how her voice and natural innocence seduced one of the most powerful men in the industry was bittersweet. It's exactly what I predicted. I should feel vindicated for having spotted her talent. Instead, I wanted to bury my fist in Harry's face, then snatch her up and take her to my place, lock her up and never let her out.
And that kind of possessiveness is strange and new, and yet, also reassuring. It shows me I can still feel. That I'm not turning into a one-track, hit-making machine for whom only money and fame matter, though they do mean a lot to me.
The next big success at the box-office is what I'm aiming for. That's the one thing I know how to work toward. It's safe and predictable, in as much as a favorable outcome can be predicted in this fickle industry. It’s why I came to this city in the first place. And that I’ve managed to make, it despite the scar on my face, is testament to how hard I’ve worked. How much I’ve manipulated people and circumstances into giving me what I want. I made people accept my flawed face as the norm. I turned my weaknesses into a competitive strength. It's how I stand out in the sea of perfectly sculpted profiles.
Knight was onto something all those years ago when he pointed me in this direction. In a way, I owe my career to him. Now, if only I can avoid screwing things up by letting myself get sidetracked by a pretty face.
I bypass the turn-off that would lead toward my place, and instead, head toward the only other place that's offered me refuge over the years. A place where my identity is protected and where I can indulge my need for release.
Another forty minutes of riding, and I draw up to the familiar black gates. They open as I approach, and I drive through. I park my bike, hook my helmet over the handle, then run up the steps. The door opens and a silver-haired, distinguished-looking woman shoots me a smile. "The usual?"
15
Solene
"Where is he?"
I pace back-forth-back in the living room of Declan’s place. After he spanked me, then drove off without a word, I was too stunned to move for a few minutes. That’s when Rick ushered me back to the limo that had brought us to the studio. As soon as I got home, I ran straight up to Declan’s bedroom and peeked inside.
It was my first time in there, and the sight of the massive bed draped in black sheets in the middle of a room twice the size of mine took my breath away. I walked in, the view out the windows up there was astounding. On one side, floor-to-ceiling sliders lead to a deck and a stunning view of the ocean and the horizon that stretches out for what seems like forever. The room itself is sparse. Hardwood floors, a fireplace on one side with armchairs placed in front of it, an end-of-bed bench, a table pushed up against another wall with a laptop on it. The bed was made and there were no clothes in the laundry basket on the far side of the room, so his staff must have been in here to clean up. Still this room felt more lived-in. There was spare cash on the dresser, books laying open on the nightstand. The door to the closet was half-ajar like he pulled on some clothes and stepped out without closing it fully.
And curled into a cubby in the wall next to the bed was a whip. I swallowed. A whip?Why did he have a whip?I should have walked out right then. Instead, I edged toward it and drew my fingers over the braided leather.What would it feel like to have it slither across my skin? To have it lick up the curve of my butt and—I immediately stopped that line of thinking.Where had that thought come from anyway?
Standing there, I closed my eyes and drew in that dark scent of his. Some of the tension faded from my limbs.
Looking into his room felt like getting a peek into his mind, although I confess, I still don’t understand his motivations in offering to take me with him to LA. He said he wasn’t going to sleep with me, yet that spanking had definite sexual undercurrents. Not to mention, how he spoke to me on the flight over. Our encounters, so far, have been filled with erotic overtones. yet he continues to keep his distance from me.
He’s already making good on his promise to introduce me to the most important people in the music business; Harry Baldwin indicated he's more than happy to sign me. Declan had been gung-ho—rattling off the names of the labels he was going to pitch me to. Of course, I was thrilled. To hit success on my first try is more than I'd anticipated. Only when I turned toward Declan to share my excitement, he was gone. I excused myself and rushed down the stairs and out the front door, where I found him ready to leave without me. And he didn’t stop for me. Not really. The douchebag pretended he couldn’t hear me over the sound of his bike. Wait, was that his bike? He arrived in the limo with me. Whatever. Was he pissed off with me? Was he unhappy I'd impressed Harry? I have so many questions for the man who hasn’t returned home hours after he, inexplicably, drove off without me.
Now I turn on Rick, who’s positioned himself near the doorway of the living room. "Where’s Declan? I’m sure you know."
There’s no change in his expression. He’s a big guy, as big as Declan. His hair is dark, and unlike Declan, his eyes are a steel gray. He’s just as classically handsome, but without the scar. In some ways, he’s even more good-looking than Declan, but somehow, he does nothing for me.
I march up to him and tip up my chin. "Where did he go? And don’t tell me you don’t know."
"I do know, but I can’t tell you."
"Why is that?"
"Declan’s orders."
I groan in exasperation.
A phone rings from somewhere behind me.
"I believe that’s for you?"
"I don’t have a phone," I scowl.
Yep, Diego and my mother refused to get me a phone in their bid to keep me ‘innocent.’ Little did they know, I had access to my friends’ phones in school.
"You sure?" For the first time, a hint of a smile curves Rick’s lips. I glower at him, then turn and march over to the origin of the sound. Sure enough, there’s a phone on the coffee table. The name on caller ID says Olivia. Huh? I pick up the phone and accept the FaceTime call.
"Solene, how are you?" My sister’s face appears on the phone. "Are you okay? I was so worried about you."
"How did you get this number?"
