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I pulled back, but Ghost yanked me towards him until our bodies were in full contact. Our mouths met with a suddenness that caught me off guard, his full lips moving feverishly against mine. I was nearly lost in his hungry demands, but I fought against the desire that was coursing through me until I managed to break away.
He made a sound of frustration deep in his throat, a guttural growl that seemed to echo around us. His nostrils flared, and his eyes were black and feral.
I placed my hands on his shoulders, holding him back from me, yet not letting him go. “I would love to be with you, but we have to take this slow. I’m only restraining myself, so I don’t completely mess this up.”
“You’re an asshole,” he rasped.
I chuckled. “We’re back to that again?”
He shrugged out from under my grip. “Come back with me. On the tour.”
My cock was rock hard in my pants and ached for release, pleading for me to say yes, but knew I couldn’t. “We both know that would be a huge mistake.”
“Fuck the paparazzi and the media. I don’t give a shit.” The words came out of his mouth like bullets, but the venom was absent from his voice. He didn’t mean it fully.
I approached him slowly, pulling him into a hug. “I’m going to call you tomorrow after your show. You’re going to answer. We’ll talk for the next three weeks. It’ll give us time to work through some shit.” I spoke directly into his ear, “I promise, Ghost, I’ll be here when you’re done with the tour.”
We stood there, embracing for a few silent moments. I felt his shaky inhale of breath against my neck as my hand slipped down his back, under his shirt, and over the smooth, warm muscles of his spine. Closing my eyes, I reveled in this feeling of closeness with him as my heart pounded against my rib cage. I was grateful, and a bit surprised that he didn’t pull away from me, despite the fact that he must have felt my throbbing cock pressed against his body.
The doorbell rang, and his muscles tensed up. I let him go.
He looked at me with a gaze so powerful it felt like it could reach my soul. It sent a wave of warmth through me that was full of yearning and emotion, a tenderness I could both see and feel. His soft lips curved into a small, sad smile as he drew me in with an invisible force.
“Okay, Durant. I’ll catch you later.”
I didn’t want him to walk out that door. I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Take care, Ghost. I’ll see you soon.”
He nodded and stepped away, turning towards the door. He pulled out his sunglasses and then pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt. He didn’t look back as he left my study.
I hoped like hell I was doing the right thing letting him go.
I would be there for him, in any way he needed, and together we would move beyond the demons of his past.
Chapter 35
Remi
The heavy mahogany door opened with a creak. I stepped into the lushly appointed boardroom, my pulse racing like a freight train. Seated at the long, polished table was Mr. Hoffman, the CEO of Hollywood Exposé and lawyers for both Hollywood Exposé and Black Vault Records, Ghost Parker’s record label. A few of the sour-faced lawyers noted my entrance, but most of them ignored me.
My lawyer, a middle-aged man with graying temples, patted me on the shoulder. “You ready for this, Remi?” he whispered, his voice tense. My palms were sweaty, but I nodded, attempting to project confidence.
“Let’s get started,” the lead lawyer for Hollywood Exposé said, shuffling papers on the table before him. “As we’ve discussed, we’re here to finalize the out-of-court settlement between our client, Hollywood Exposé, and Black Vault Records.”
“Ms. Sutton,” another lawyer chimed in, directing his ice-cold gaze at me, “in order for this settlement to proceed, you must agree to a full retraction of the article, admit that the article was false, and apologize in writing.”
I clenched my jaw, feeling my anger rise like a tide. This wasn’t fair; I didn’t even write that damned article, but I didn’t have a shred of evidence of that and no one believed me. Swallowing hard, I forced myself to nod, knowing that if I didn’t, it could cost me everything.
“Furthermore,” the lawyer continued, “you will be required to sign a non-disclosure agreement, effectively gagging you from discussing this topic further.”
“Fine,” I spat, my hands shaking as I reached for the pen. I signed the necessary documents, each stroke of my signature feeling like a betrayal to my career.
“Congratulations, Ms. Sutton,” the lead lawyer for the BVR record label sneered, extending his hand to shake mine. “You’ve just saved yourself a fortune in restitution.”
“Your career, however,” he continued as he gave my hand one pump, “may not be so fortunate. After what you did to my clients—“
“Enough,” my lawyer interjected, putting a protective hand on my shoulder. “We’ve done what you’ve asked. This meeting is over.”
I stood up abruptly, the harsh scrape of my chair against the floor echoing through the room like an accusation. I could feel their eyes boring into my back as I turned to leave. My every step was heavy with defeat.
