Ruined With You Page 3

  Which meant that right now it was time for Ella to go to work, and for Liam to do the same. Starting with digging deeper into the backgrounds of both Rye Callahan and Xena Morgan.

  Chapter Four

  Holy crap, holy fuck, holy shit.

  I pace the dark hallway in front of the empty sound booth, thankful that Tommy isn’t here so that I have time to gather myself, and at the same time hoping he gets here soon so that it doesn’t look like I completely fabricated an excuse to leave.

  Which I did. Of course I did.

  Because I couldn’t stay in that room a minute longer without risking absolutely everything. I mean, I was already on edge from seeing Liam Foster, a man I hadn’t expected to see again once the tour left for Vegas. A man who, for reasons I haven’t been able to fathom, completely rattles me.

  And then there was that wig.

  My God, that fucking wig.

  Why hadn’t Ella mentioned that to me? I would never have agreed with her plan to get Foster back if I’d known. I would have said it was a job for hotel security. A random mugging on the property. An attack that surely had nothing to do with who she was.

  Because it didn’t. It had nothing to do with her at all. And everything to do with me.

  Back it off, Xena. Take a deep breath and back it the fuck off.

  I try to take my own advice, urging myself to calm down. Telling myself it’s a coincidence. Just one of those screwed up, scary, paranoia-inducing coincidences.

  After all, it’s been six years. Six long, wonderful, horrible years. And even though I know they looked for me during that first year, they never even came close. And that was back when I’d been a complete wreck with no resources, no skills, no support network. Still, they couldn’t find me. So why should things suddenly change now when I have a new name and a new look and whole new life to shield me?

  Things wouldn’t change. They haven’t changed. There’s no reason to think they’ve found me. No reason to think they’re even still looking.

  Except that’s bullshit.

  Of course they’re still looking. I know damn well they’ll never stop looking. Not men like that. Not ever.

  My heart starts to pound, and my head starts to swim. The world is doing that thing where it shifts toward red, and I feel a full-blown panic attack coming on. And right now is really not a good time.

  I draw a deep breath and order myself to be calm. There’s no reason to panic. It’s not possible that they’ve found me. After all, I’m a behind the scenes kind of girl. I’m not a woman who stands out. They’d have to know where to look, and why the hell would they look for me in a pop star’s entourage?

  They wouldn’t. I’m fine. I’m safe.

  “Xena?”

  I jump a goddamn mile, then turn to Tommy with a sharp cry of, “Jesus!”

  “Hey, hey, sorry.” He holds up his hands with a friendly smile. Tommy’s been in the business since the dawn of time, and I know we’re lucky to have him running sound for Ella. But my God, he made my heart stop.

  “Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, but the words are full of laughter. “Guess you were off in la-la land, huh?”

  “Something like that,” I admit.

  He takes a step closer, and I watch his well-lined face shift into a frown. “What the hell, girl? You look like you ran a mile.”

  “Just a billion things to do before tonight’s show.” I flash one of my practiced bright smiles; I’m an expert at looking happy and content when I’m anything but. “I wanted to make sure the short in that backup mic got fixed.”

  He looks down his nose at me. “Good golly. I didn’t even think about doing that.”

  I ignore the sarcasm. “I know you probably fixed it about thirty seconds after last night’s show ended. But it’s my job to not assume anything.”

  “Nice save. Now go tell Ms. Love we’re ready for the sound check whenever she is.”

  I nod, wave, and scurry away, pulling out my mobile phone so I can text Ella and all the backup singers that Tommy’s ready for them.

  I’m almost to the end of what we call tech alley when I look up and see a man striding down the dim walkway. Liam Foster. The few shafts of light hit him only on the left, and with his gorgeous black skin only partially illuminated, broad shoulders, and tailored gray suit coat, he looks like a conqueror emerging from the shadows.

  I swallow as panic once again flutters in my chest. But not because I’m afraid of what Liam might do to me. On the contrary, I’m afraid of what he does do to me. Because this is a man who has come close to breaking through my defenses. I let down my guard with him once—that stupid, foolish, almost-kiss at Ella’s party—but that’s not something I can let myself do again. Not now. Not later. Not ever.

  And that makes Liam Foster a very, very dangerous man.

  I force a smile and lift my hand in a casual wave, ignoring the beads of sweat between my breasts. “Hey, Foster. You looking for Tommy? Or Grant?” I add the second name since we’re right by the light booth and Grant is the show’s lighting designer.

  “You, actually.”

  “Gee. I’m flattered.” I add an edge of sarcasm to my voice. “But maybe we can put a pin in it? I have a lot to do before tonight.”

  “You think I fucked up.”

  I cross my arms and tilt my head. “Thanks for the recap. Did you think I’d forgotten?”

  “You think I fucked up,” he repeats. “Or you did until Ella mentioned the wig.”

  I swallow, but say nothing.

  “Come on, Xena. Why did that shake you up?”

  “I really do have work.” I try to push past him, but he holds out an arm, blocking my way. “Um, hello, Foster? What the fuck?”

  “Please. Just ten minutes. Five.” He drops his arm, and I know that if I keep walking he won’t stop me.

  I should keep walking. I’m stupid not to. But maybe if I say the right things he’ll finally back off.

  “Thank you,” he says, his voice so gentle that for one foolish moment I wonder what it would be like to tell him all my secrets. That, however, is a dangerous urge. Like those people who have to fight a compulsion to jump from high places. I force it down, then meet his eyes. “Fine. What was it you wanted to know?” Like I don’t remember what he asked four seconds ago. Like his question isn’t completely freaking me out.

  Can he tell?

  I don’t think so; I truly don’t. I had years to learn how to hide my feelings, my fears. And I got damn good at it. Hell, I could win an Oscar if it weren’t for that whole being in the public eye thing. Because that part really wouldn’t work for me.

  “The wig, Xena.” He’s the epitome of patience. “When you learned that part, it freaked you out.”

  “Freaked me out?” Damn right it freaked me out. “No, it didn’t. I was just—hell, I’m not even sure I can put it in words.” I’m buying time as I spin my lie. Finally, I take a deep breath, then nod. “Okay, you know what? You’re right. It did freak me out. Because it’s all so futile, you know?”

  I watch his eyes move as he studies me, clearly trying to suss me out.

  “The fame thing, I mean. She’s worked her ass off for so long reaching for that prize, and it’s supposed to be great. I mean, everyone thinks so. And everyone’s rooting for her. But then it’s like running a gauntlet, because there’s always some nutcase. But that’s part of the price. For fame I mean. Right?”

  He nods, but I can see he doesn’t understand. Not too surprising; I’m making this up as I go.

  “She tried to circumvent that. She took precautions. She wore a disguise. And she’s still attacked. So maybe it really was random, like you said. But then that means that no one’s safe, right? Or maybe they did know it was her—in which case what’s the point of a disguise? You hit that magical celebrity point and you’re just screwed? It’s totally unfair. And no one can live their life in bubble wrap. So I guess—I guess the whole thing just made me feel terribly sad and worried for her all at the s
ame time.”

  I lift my shoulders in a so that’s that gesture, and Liam nods thoughtfully. I work hard to keep my facial expression bland. I think he bought the bullshit I’ve been selling. Considering I pulled it out of my ass, it sounded pretty good. But that doesn’t mean it’ll be good enough for the likes of Liam Foster.

  “I do understand,” he says, taking a single step closer to me. He’s strong. I can feel it in the air, and part of me wants to beg him to hold me, just so I can soak up his strength. But I can’t be that vulnerable. Not with him. Not with anybody.

  “I can only imagine what a shock this morning was after the tension of last week, especially considering how close you and Ella are.”

  I nod. Even though he doesn’t know the entire truth, everything he just said is dead-on. Especially the part about Ella and me. She may be the most high maintenance star in the world, but as far as I’m concerned, that woman is a goddess, and last week, I told him why. Not the entire story, but most of it. And every word I said was true.

  But I also left a lot of stuff unspoken.

  “Thanks for that,” I say.

  He tips his head and smiles. A nice smile on a guy who could be scary as shit if he wanted to. I’ve been around men like that. More than I like to remember, actually, and every one of their slow, dangerous smiles haunts me. So much that I’d spent years seeing a counselor at one of the free clinics in Los Angeles. I’d used a fake name—well, another one—and I’d worn a wig and overly baggy clothes, because you can never be too sure. But I’d gone. And it had even helped. A little. Maybe.

  Actually, it must have helped, because Liam’s exactly the kind of man I used to flinch away from. Big. Powerful. Determined. And strong enough to throw me across a room if he wanted to. Or to bruise my arm simply by holding me in place.

  The kind of man I normally avoid, even after all this time and all those sessions. But for some reason with Liam, I stepped closer and closer until last week when we were both ready to jump into the flames.

  But I can’t ever go there again.

  “We—” I cut myself off with a shake of my head. “Never mind.”

  “What?”

  “I was just—I was just thinking about Ella,” I lie. “Somehow we have to convince her that she needs someone watching her back.”

  “Agreed,” he says, and I’m about to sigh with relief when he adds, “But that’s not what you were going to say.”

  I swallow. “Wasn’t it?” I should stay quiet. I should tell him I’m late and just go. Instead, I ask, “What was I going to say?”

  He doesn’t hesitate, and he doesn’t look away. “That it was a mistake.” He looks straight at me with such intensity that I can’t glance away either. “That we’d both drunk too much, and we both wanted it. But that we’re both too professional to cross that line, and that neither of us has any intention of taking it any farther.”

  Don’t we?

  Except of course, we don’t. Because intentions aren’t desires. And while he may be wrong about being drunk, he’s one hundred percent on-point about intentions.

  I draw in a breath, my eyes still locked on his. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes,” he says. “You do. You know exactly what I’m talking about, because you wanted it as much as I did.”

  I start to protest, but he continues before I can get out a sound.

  “You wanted me to kiss you. Or maybe you wanted to kiss me. I don’t think it matters. All that matters is that we both wanted it. Wanted each other. Wanted to get lost for just a moment in that private corner of the patio, with the stars above us and the lights below. To feel lips on lips and skin on skin. To let ourselves go, even if we never spoke of it again.“

  I’m breathing hard when he takes another step toward me, then lifts my chin with his fingertip. That’s when I realize that I’d stopped looking at him and had shifted my focus to the floor. Now, I have no choice but to look at this man. His skin seems to absorb the dim light, making him glow from the inside even as his dark eyes invite me to spiral down with him to someplace warm and wild, and all I can think is that he’s a dark angel come to torment me.

  When he speaks, it’s barely a whisper. “So tell me, Xena. Have I jogged your memory?”

  “You’ve jogged something,” I admit. “But we can’t. We won’t. It’s not—it’s not what I want.” I silently curse, because after what he just admitted, he deserves the truth. “Okay, yeah, maybe I do want it. But I’m not going to have it.”

  “Do you think I don’t understand that?”

  “I don’t know.” My head feels like it’s swimming, and I lower my voice, aware of the rising noise as crew and performers enter the venue for the various pre-performance checks. “I thought you understood. But then why are we talking about it? Why are you torturing us both?”

  “Everyone has a code.” He shrugs. “Part of mine is that I never look away from reality. And that means that I see you. I see this,” he adds, gesturing between us. “I know that I want it. And I know that I’m walking away.”

  I draw in a breath, unsure what to say.

  “Maybe I’m wrong,” he says gently, “but I think that’s your code, too.”

  “No,” I say, thinking of the past that I’ve been running from. “Most of the time I’d rather do anything but look.”

  He leans forward, and I can see the question in his eyes. He’s wondering what it is that I don’t want to confront, and I want to kick myself for giving so much away. What the hell happened to my shields?

  “I believe you,” he says. “But here’s why we’re alike. Whatever it is that’s behind you that you don’t want to see? You turn to it, Xena. And you look anyway.”

  The words ricochet through me, full of truth and danger and fear. I swallow, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Afraid he’s going to ask what monster is behind me. “I—I should go,” I blurt. “They’re starting, and I need to be on stage with Ella, and—”

  “I know. Go. I’ll see you after the show.”

  “Oh, no. We’re not going to—”

  “At the after party,” he says gently. “In Ella’s suite.”

  “Oh. Right.” I’m glad it’s dark, because I’m sure I’m blushing. “I’ll see you there. I’m looking forward to it,” I add recklessly. And, surprisingly, I really am.

  He stays where he is, and I walk past him, hurrying toward the stairs that lead down to the auditorium seats and the stage. I’ve gone about ten feet when I pause and turn back. He’s in the same place, his back to me.

  “Mr. Foster.”

  He turns. “Liam.”

  My lips twitch in what could be called a smile. “Thank you.”

  It’s dark, but I think I see his brow furrow, the tiniest hint that I’ve confused him. “For what?”

  “For not asking questions that I don’t want to answer.”

  “Don’t thank me for that. I have a whole list I want to ask you.”

  “I know,” I say. “That’s why I’m thanking you. Maybe you do force yourself to confront reality, but you also have restraint. And that’s something I admire in a man.”

  Chapter Five

  Restraint.

  Liam frowned as the word rattled around in his head.

  He had restraint now; she was right about that. Now, but not always. There was a time when he’d never held back. When he’d worked hard and played hard. A time when he’d let himself fall in love.

  That, of course, had been his mistake.

  A familiar pain cut through him as he thought about Dion’s sweet smile. The way his heart had swelled when she whispered his name, and how his body had fired when she touched him. And he thought about Franklin, the fucker who had stolen that beautiful soul from him. From the whole goddamn world.

  They were both gone now. Dion, murdered because Liam had loved her. Franklin, gone because Liam had killed him.

  Liam had shown no restraint on that moonless night. Not one goddamn iota of re
straint, and it had felt incredible to avenge the death of the woman he loved.

  But now...

  Well, now he had restraint in spades, at least as far as relationships were concerned. He couldn’t get involved. A fling, a night, an encounter to blow off steam— why not? But to give his heart? To hold fast to a woman’s love? Considering the life he led, that was far too dangerous. She’d be a target. A weak spot. The wound into which his enemies could rub salt.

  After all, a bullet to his brain would only kill him. But a bullet in the head of another woman he loved?

  He’d barely survived that first time. A second time would destroy him forever.

  With a frustrated sigh, he gave himself a mental shake, forcing his mind back on track. Franklin and Dion were in the past. Right then, he had only one thing to worry about, and that was determining the reason behind Ella’s mugging. Who were the perps? Was it random? And if not, then who was the intended victim?

  Because despite the carefully crafted story about Xena’s deep concern for Ella’s well-being and celebrity status, Liam didn’t believe a word of it. What he didn’t know was why she’d lie. Did she believe that the attackers mistook Ella for her? That seemed the most likely possibility. But that conclusion was based on the evidence before him. The wig. Xena’s voice and mannerisms. The fact that the perps bolted when the wig and hat came off.

  All the evidence suggested that the perps didn’t realize the jogger was Ella. And the reasonable conclusion was that they’d targeted Xena. But Liam knew better than to jump to conclusions, and he couldn’t discount the possibility that there was something else going on, but he was standing too close to see the bigger picture.

  He sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. The bottom line was that he didn’t know. But he intended to find out.

  He was still standing in the back of the auditorium by the light and sound boards. He glanced over and saw Tommy looking at him, his craggy face scrunched with concern. Not surprising. Ella’s entire team was worried. Only a select few knew that Gordon had manufactured last week’s intrigue. The rest believed that it was an outside hoax that Liam had forestalled before it spread out to the world.