Wrecked (Blind Man's Alibi #1) Read online

  “It’s not what you think.”

  She looked him right in the eye. “It’s not a ginormous bowl of condoms? Do tell.”

  He wondered if she realized how refreshing she was. How different her direct, in-your-face demeanor was from…Hell, just about everyone else in his life.

  “For every show, the venue receives a contract that includes hospitality requests, including dressing room accommodations.”

  “And one of the items on your list is a bowl of rainbow condoms?” She had already walked away from the damn things, moving around the room again, touching everything she found.

  “Yes. No. Shit.”

  She glanced over at him, her expression seconds away from breaking into a grin.

  Joe raked his hair. Here he stood, talking about condoms when all he wanted was to tear one open so he could bury himself inside of her. He wanted her naked and panting beneath him. Or on her knees in front of him. Hell, him on his knees in front of her! Just as long as she was naked. “At the beginning of the tour a woman snuck into my hotel room.”

  “That actually happens?”

  He pushed off the door, stalked around the end of the couch and sank into the center cushion. “More than you want to know.”

  Emma shook her head. “Unbelievable.” She was at the dressing table, eyeing the items he’d either taken from his pockets or off his person after the show: a smattering of guitar picks, his identification, mobile phone and leather cuff bracelet. She picked up the cuff, wrapped it around her slim wrist, then removed it with a shake of her head. “Please, continue.”

  “I went into the room and found her naked in my bed.” Something that at one time he wouldn’t have hesitated to take advantage of but, that night, hadn’t been tempted. “I chose not to involve Gary or hotel security, and instead, tossed her clothes at her along with the excuse that I was out of condoms, then pushed her out the door. After which I promptly forgot all about her and collapsed into bed. The next morning, we discovered one of the buses vandalized.”

  She absorbed that, looking like she might say more but she didn’t.

  “I told everyone what had happened the night previous and they thought it bloody hilarious. Steve especially, who made certain there were condoms in my dressing room before the next show. Marvin, our manager, has since written it into the backstage rider that one of my needs is—”

  “A bowl of rainbow condoms.” Emma closed the distance between them and sank into the corner of the couch, her knees tucked up underneath her. She set her shoes atop the coffee table before her. “What else does this rider state you require?”

  “A couch like the one you’re sitting on.”

  The sweep of her hand back and forth across the soft leather was hypnotic. “Nice.”

  “In a private dressing room so I can be alone when I feel the need.”

  “How often does that actually happen?”

  “More often than you’d think.”

  She lifted her eyebrow in silent question.

  He glanced at the pieces of paper that littered the table near her heels. “I require quiet to write. It hasn’t been going well lately.”

  Her gaze cut to the same spot. “May I?”

  “Sure.” What the bleeding hell? He never shared his music with anyone—not until it was to his satisfaction. He’d never allowed a woman to scour through his personal items, either. However, there was something about Emma. She possessed an air of tranquility and a natural curiosity that made him comfortable with her. She hadn’t pulled any fan girl moments and that was refreshing.

  She picked up the top piece of paper, then the one below it. “You write lyrics before music?”

  “Always.”

  A third paper joined the other two in her hands and Joe held his breath. A few beats passed before she set them all back atop the table. A few more before she met his gaze. “It’s…beautiful.”

  Beautiful was not something his lyrics had ever been called before. “Excuse me?”

  “A bit melancholy and ominous but beautiful. You’re a modern day troubadour.”

  He found himself laughing. What was that, twice tonight? Had to be a record.

  “Why is that funny? What you’ve written here is poetry. I’m fairly certain a troubadour was a composer and performer of lyric poetry and song.”

  Beautiful. Christ, he’d sliced a vein and bled on the page and she thought it was beautiful? “I should use that the next time I check into a hotel – ‘The Troubadour’.”

  “You check in under false names.” It wasn’t really a question, more like a realization spoken aloud.

  “I had to find some way to keep naked women from breaking into my room.”

  She cocked her head and studied him for a minute. “You joke but…you don’t find it funny.”

  There wasn’t much about his life he found humorous. He was a broken man—not that he was going to admit that to her.

  Emma pulled her feet out from under her, stretched her legs out and propped her heels near her shoes. “Not something you want to talk about, huh?”

  Joe looked at her bare toes, painted bright pink, the largest two sporting tiny white flowers. “Don’t like your shoes?”

  She grinned and dropped her head against the back of the couch. “You know, all you have to say is ‘Change the subject, Emma’.”

  “Change the subject, Emma.”

  Her smile remained, but damn it if some of the light didn’t go out of her eyes. “My friend Alison convinced me to purchase then wear them tonight, a decision I’ve come to regret. Sure they look good, but they’re ghastly to walk in.”

  “Alison, was she at the show with you?”

  “She was. She bought the tickets. A gift for me.”

  “So you’re a fan?” That was a bloody stupid question, wasn’t it?

  “Yes, I’m a fan. The tickets were front row center, after all.”

  “Did you enjoy the show?”

  “I did. You’ve got great stage presence.”

  “Interesting. Most people tell me I have an amazing voice.”

  “You do, at least when you’re not forgetting the words to your own songs.” Her eyes danced with amusement. “But why would I want to be like everyone else and tell you so?”

  “What can I say,” he replied, staring at her mouth. “You distract me.”

  “So you’ve mentioned.” She stared at his mouth in return. Her tongue rolled over her bottom lip, like she was imagining his taste.

  Joe swallowed a groan. His cock pressed at the fly of his jeans, begging to be released. “It’s the truth. And Sunshine, you couldn’t be like everyone else if you tried.”

  She got to him, damn it, like no other. It was more than just her curvy body and killer blue eyes. She was easy to talk to. She didn’t make demands or expect him to be anything but himself—not the superstar, just the man. Being around her gave him a true sense of peace. Something he hadn’t had a lot of lately.

  “Is that good or bad?”

  He waited until she leveled him with those eyes. “Definitely good.”

  Her smile lit her face, temporarily blinding him with its brilliance. He turned his whole body toward her, not so subtly trying to get closer. Her scent invaded his lungs, fresh, floral and arousing as hell.

  “What does Gary do?”

  Damn, if that wasn’t like a bucket of ice in the trousers. Emma Travers was hell on his ego. “He’s head of my security team.”

  “Your bodyguard?”

  “I suppose you could put it that way. He doesn’t just keep me safe though, he also steps in when need be to keep fans from getting hurt.”

  “Has he been with you long?”

  “Since the first tour. About seven years.”

  “So he’s more than the head of your security team—he’s also a friend?”

  “He is.”

  Emma nodded. Her gaze slid around the room before cutting back to his. She was quiet a moment as she studied him, a look of contemplation on he
r face. “You know you never answered my question.”

  “What question?” There were a few he hadn’t answered.

  “Why are you an accomplished drinker? The Jameson—I assume it’s on the rider you were talking about.”

  “It is.” He let out a long, slow breath. “Does the why really matter?”

  “Yes.”

  His mind raced a moment too long with a response apparently, because she pushed on.

  “You know what I think?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “You work very hard to keep your feelings hidden. And you succeed. I don’t know if you’ve always been that way or if it’s a recent thing. But you’re beginning to crack and fall apart.”

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, considering his response. “Why would you think that?”

  “You told me.”

  “I never—”

  “Come back and see me sometime, Emma,” she quoted verbatim. “I could use a little sunshine in my life.”

  He had no response that wouldn’t leave him feeling exposed, so he remained silent.

  “What is it you want from me? You can tell me, Joe. It’s just you and me here.”

  You just zero right in on those difficult questions, don’t you, Sunshine? “I don’t know.”

  She reached out and settled her hand on his forearm. Her heat seeped into his skin, and he realized somewhere along the line he’d forgotten how good it felt to be touched. He honestly couldn’t recall the last time it happened. The women in his life tended to grope and scratch.

  “Yes you do. You’ve got your health. You’ve got friends, family and fans who love you. Yet you’re drowning yourself in alcohol and meaningless sexual encounters. You get to see the world, don’t have to worry about where your next paycheck will come from, but you’re not happy, are you?”

  The words hung in the air between them until Emma continued. “You’re in a dark place. I don’t know how long you’ve been there or if you even fully realize it, but something inside of you does. You wanted to make a connection. Not based on sex or—”

  “Oh, I wanted a sexual connection. Still do.”

  She released a soft sigh and dropped her hand from his arm. He missed her touch immediately. “But you also want more. If you didn’t, you would have let me walk away and found someone else to warm your sheets.”

  How could she possibly… It was as if she’d reached inside him and touched a place no one ever had before. Maybe because no one else had been looking for it. No, it was more than that. It was like she could see straight through his defenses and into his soul. It was terrifying.

  “You’re not a psychotherapist or something, are you?” he asked, forcing nonchalance into his voice when he felt anything but.

  “Do you need one?”

  “Probably.”

  “I’m not a psychotherapist, just speaking from life experience.”

  “I find that hard to believe. How old are you?”

  “Why, because life doesn’t kick anyone younger than thirty in the teeth?” She shrugged. “I’m twenty-three.”

  And she’d been kicked. She’d been kicked pretty damn hard if the flash of pain in her eyes was any indication. “You want to talk about it?”

  He watched her carefully, noting her fingers shook when she reached for the skeleton key around her neck. Made of silver, it was simple in design, maybe an inch long, and hung from a silver chain threaded through the circular bow. She began worrying the key between her fingers. “God, no.”

  He covered her free hand with his. “I’ll share if you do.”

  “I don’t want your pity.” She looked at him, startled, like she hadn’t meant to give voice to the thought, then sent him a little smile. “Pretend you didn’t hear that.”

  Pity her? Why would I pity her? His thumb brushed over the backs of her fingers. “Em?”

  “It’s nothing.” As if to prove it, she released her grasp on the key, dropped her hand atop his—effectively sandwiching his hand between both of hers—and changed the subject. “How old are you?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  She shrugged. “It seems only fair. You asked my age.”

  “Twenty-nine.”

  “Hmm. Do these music notes have significance?”

  He closed his eyes at the touch of her fingertip on the back of his wrist, then opened them to watch as she traced each note. “It’s the opening measures of our first number one hit.”

  Flattening her hand on his she ran it up his arm to the G clef near his elbow. “And this? Is the red…?”

  Joe rolled his arm to give her better access.

  “Is that drops of blood?”

  Most people never noticed that the red was shaped like drops of blood and, in the same area, the black splotches had distinctive shapes as well. “Blood, sweat and tears.”

  “Yeah?” Emma took a closer look. “I suppose it took a bit of that to get where you are today.”

  “A bit.”

  “Tell me what it’s like being onstage in front of thousands of screaming fans.”

  He let out a long breath. “It’s a rush. Especially when the bass drum pounds out the opening beat. The energy at that moment is palpable. Then the guitar sings her angry melody which stirs the emotion higher.”

  “And you join her, softly at first, barely audible, but growing louder, stronger, until the lights go up. Bam!”

  Somewhere during this tour, he’d lost the thrill of it, but watching her as he described what it used to be like for him brought it all back. Her gaze held him rapt. He couldn’t look away had he wanted to. She was intoxicating. “The initial roar of the crowd…it’s hard to put it in words. It’s deafening. Your heart pounds in your chest, your blood races through your veins at speeds that make you dizzy and feel…”

  “Alive,” she supplied, her tone filled with reverence.

  “Alive.” That was as good a description as any.

  Emma stared at him, eyes warm, mouth slightly curved. He had no idea what she was thinking, but hoped it had to do with him finally learning her taste.

  A knock on the door broke the spell. She startled, pulling her hands away and tucking them into her lap.

  Joe shook off his disappointment. “Enter.”

  The door opened and Gary stepped in. “Everyone’s heading to the hotel.”

  “I guess that’s my cue to leave.”

  It was a damn sad day when he couldn’t even get a kiss before the woman beside him made a run for the exit. “Come with me.”

  “Nice try, but no.” She bent over and grabbed her shoes.

  “I didn’t mean it that way.” Not that he still didn’t want to get her out of her clothes and into his bed. No way could he pretend that wasn’t the case. “We could…talk some more.”

  “Maybe next time.”

  “Tonight.”

  She backed toward the door, shoes dangling from her fingertips. “What about tonight?

  “We have another show. Come back and see me.”

  Eyes still locked on his, she misjudged and backed into the doorframe. Knocked off balance, she shot her hand out to steady herself and landed square in the center of Gary’s chest. She glanced up at him before returning her gaze to Joe. “Jesus. He’s built like a brick shithouse, isn’t he?”

  Gary grinned, but Joe shook his head. “Don’t say things like that. He doesn’t need his ego stroked.”

  Those beautiful blues left him again to settle on Gary. She poked him in the chest with the tip of her finger.

  “Emma,” Joe said.

  “Sorry. What were you saying about tonight?”

  Gary chuckled. Joe ignored him. “Come back and see me tonight?”

  “I’ll think about it.” Then, with a parting smile, she walked out of his life.

  Loneliness crept in and wrapped its cold hands around him. Joe huffed a breath, leaned back against the couch and tossed his arm over his eyes. Silence settled in, but he knew Gary still remained
. “You’re not going to see her to her car safely?”

  A click of the radio and Gary’s voice filled the room. “Blonde with short hair sporting an ivory tank with black rhinestones is headed for the exit. She’s VIP. Make sure she gets to her car safely.”

  “Will do, boss,” came the response.

  “VIP?” Joe asked.

  “I like her,” Gary replied. The couch shifted as he leaned against the back of it. “She calls you on your shit.”

  “Yeah, she does.”

  “You’re very calm. Calmer than I’ve seen you in a long time. It’s surprising since I’m fairly certain she never did allow you access to her knickers.”

  “The Jameson wore off a while ago,” was the best excuse he could come up with.

  Gary laughed softly. “You keep telling yourself that if you want. I know it’s bullshit.”

  Joe removed his arm from over his eyes. Gary was no longer in sight. “Gare?”

  “Yeah?” The answer came from behind him, back by the door.

  “You think she’ll come back tonight?”

  “I hope so, mate. For your sake, I surely hope so.”

  So did he.

  February 21

  Alison and I went out to celebrate today. She called it my new birthday – the day I decided to be an active participant in my life instead of just letting it go on around me as far too many people do. She even got me a present: front row tickets to Blind Man’s Alibi. It’s no secret I have a major fan girl crush on lead singer, Joe Campbell. That voice! The concert is about six weeks away so I should have hair by then. Perhaps not a full flowing mane, but enough that the stage lights won’t reflect off my cue ball head and blind the band (no pun intended). Of course, that would be one way to get noticed, wouldn’t it?

  It’s amazing what happens when the cold hard reality of how short life really is slaps you in the face. The changes that take place, the realizations that occur. Although alive, too few of us ever really live. I mean grab-life-by-the-balls live. I know I haven’t. I’ve spent the last few years working and feeling sorry for myself. I have no family, only a handful of friends, and have never been in love. Tragic? I used to think so.

  That was before a man in blue scrubs and a white coat told me I only have six months left to live.