Hidden in the Stars: HITS (a Falling Stars novel) Book 2 Page 7

  The three of them swoop in to clean away the stage makeup and put everyday makeup in its place. They swiftly remove the extensions and let my real hair fall, touching up the curls with a wand.

  When they finish, I’m wearing a pair of dark blue skinny jeans, light blue tank top, and a dark navy military style jacket. Slipping my feet into some nude wedges, I grab my messenger bag, slip it over my head, and reach for my work bag.

  "I'll drop it off at your place." Beth grabs the bag and pulls it away.

  "No, you'll wake up the boys." I reach around to snatch the bag back.

  Lifting the strap to my shoulder, I reach out with my other hand and grab a hair tie, slipping it on my wrist.

  "You look like a beautiful homeless woman," Jennifer sneers.

  "Leave the bag," Beth whines.

  I shake my head. "I need this bag and you know it."

  "We don't work tomorrow," Beth adds. "I'll bring it to you tomorrow."

  I'm prepared to argue, but she cuts me off before I can start.

  "We can say you forgot the bag in my car since we are going out for breakfast together this morning. See, I just gave you an alibi." She smiles, proud of her quick thinking.

  "Fine." I sigh and drop the bag to the floor.

  Pulling out my cell, I send Kel a quick message with my alibi. Dear God, I need a damn excuse. This is a bad idea. I'm just going to go out there and tell him I changed my mind.

  With a deep breath, I take one last look in the mirror, glance at the girls, who give me a thumbs up, and exit the dressing room. Eyes of the other backups who witnessed the-great-Jackson-seduction follow me all the way to the door. I pause for a moment, taking one more breath before pushing the door open.

  Jackson

  The whiskey isn't doing anything to ease my anxiety. After thirty-five minutes, I'm ready to go back and drag her out the door. Christ. I've never been so aggressive in my pursuit, but I can't let her just walk away.

  Tossing back the last of my drink, I stand straight and turn. A petite, curly blonde exits the stage door and turns toward me. She stops. Her hair is shorter—just passed her shoulders, but the same color and curled. She takes a visible breath and begins walking in my direction.

  Pushing off the bar, I let her come to me. As much as I want to carry her out the front door to my waiting car, I need her to make this choice.

  She stops about four feet away from me, trying to keep distance between us.

  "Hey." She grabs the strap of her bag with both hands, nervously moving from her left to right foot.

  Closing the distance, I step into her personal space. She stiffens when I brush the curls off her left shoulder and cup the side of her neck, my thumb rubbing her jaw. I can feel her body start to melt into mine.

  "Ready?"

  "Yeah," she breathes.

  I want to make her completely melt. I want to devour her on the spot, but I show restraint.

  "Come on, snake charmer," I say, grabbing one hand away from the bag and pulling her behind me toward the exit.

  "What?" She stumbles at first, but quickly matches my stride.

  "Hmm?" I pull her through the door and toward the waiting car, trying to be quick. I don't want fans or cameras getting involved.

  "What did you call me?" She pulls her hand from mine as we reach the car.

  Sam stands with the door open. I turn, motioning for her to climb in.

  "It's just a nickname." Grabbing her arm, I urge her to get into the car.

  "But, why did you—”

  "If you don't want to be on the front of a gossip rag or website, I suggest you get in the car."

  She glances around, eyes wide, and then hurries inside the back of the car. I follow, my eyes on her perfect ass.

  Liza sits, looking out the window as the car pulls away from the curb. While she's distracted, I take in the off-stage version of my snake charmer. Instead of sky-high stilettos, she wears a thick-soled shoe in a skin color. In place of lingerie is skin tight cotton and denim. Where she's usually clad in only satin, silk, and lace, there's now cotton covering her skin. It's surprisingly enticing.

  Knowing the curves lying beneath these everyday materials, I'm eager to unwrap the gift of her heart-shaped ass and plump tits. I wonder if she's cotton underneath her ordinary girl clothes or if hints of the naughty snake charmer hide close to her skin.

  "Where are we going?" Her voice draws my attention from the curve where her ass meets her thigh.

  "To have breakfast." I shift closer.

  "But where?" Her brow slightly wrinkles.

  "I'm surprised it took you so long to ask." I deter from answering, not wanting to give her the opportunity back out.

  Slipping my arm over the back of the seat, I settle into the leather. My legs, as long as they are, relax to the side. Our thighs touch. She shifts, a fruitless attempt for space. I've made sure there isn't any.

  "Where are we going, Jackson?"

  The stern sound of my name coming out of her mouth sends a shot through my chest. Closing my eyes, I drop my head back, hoping she'll say it again if I ignore her.

  "Jackson?" she presses.

  I start to harden. Her voice is like a fucking spell on my dick.

  Rolling my head in her direction, I open my eyes.

  "I'm just guessing, but I think you would prefer not having cameras and reporters following our every move, right?"

  She nods.

  "Okay." Closing my eyes, I roll my head back. "I'm taking us to a place where I can control the exposure."

  "Oh," she whispers.

  Five minutes pass and she relaxes. Her thigh is no longer tense. Her head rests back in the seat.

  My fingers move of their own accord, wrapping curls around them. The action is soothing for some reason and when I caress Liza's scalp, she shivers. Lifting my head, I turn and watch, testing the action again. She tries to fight it, but a small shudder gives her away. Before I can further explore this reaction, the car goes completely dark.

  We're here.

  Chapter Six

  Liza

  The minute I realize we're in a parking garage of a hotel, I tense. By the time the adrenaline kicks in, Jackson has my hand in a vice-like grip, pulling me onto an elevator. The way we move through back hallways, staff entrances, and elevators, feels like we're criminals. We reach a hotel room door. He swipes the key card and opens it with practiced movements.

  Inside, he releases my hand when we reach the sitting area of the hotel suite. The room is muted colors with dark wooden accents, large windows with gauzy sheers draping from decorative wrought iron bars, and plush, oversized furniture. Finally catching my breath, I focus on Jackson.

  "Well, that was…interesting." I flex my numb fingers, speaking to his back, which is turned toward me.

  Jackson stays silent, slipping his t-shirt over his head and tossing it onto one of the beige chairs. In a white tank top thin enough to see the designs covering his skin, he turns, locking his eyes with mine.

  Is he going to take everything off? Does he expect me to strip down and get to business? I'm such a slut. I making this way too easy.

  Keeping his eyes on mine, he fists the white cotton at his stomach and pulls it free from the waist of his jeans.

  I wonder if his tattoos go all the way down to…

  With quick movements, he grabs his belt, undoes the buckle, and slides it through the denim loops.

  Inhaling sharply, I watch as he drops the belt to the floor, the thud of the thick silver buckle startling me.

  "Breathe, Liza." There's a velvety edge to the way he says my name.

  I exhale at the sound of a knock.

  Jackson strides by to answer the door, certain to brush his bare arm against me.

  A young man in a hotel uniform pushes a black cart into the room. Keeping his head down, he delivers the cart and exits without a word or even hesitating for a tip.

  "Breakfast, as promised." Jackson lifts silver lids from dishes, throwing me a gri
n over his toned shoulder.

  With his head, he motions me over.

  Pushing aside my lusty urges, I make my way to him.

  "Here." Jackson shoves a tray of scrambled egg whites and bacon into my hands. "Can you get this, too?" He holds out a second plate with five pancakes stacked.

  The food smells amazing and my stomach rumbles.

  Oh my God, please let me just die right now.

  Redistributing the weight of the eggs, I take the pancakes. Jackson hooks something on one long finger, lifts a tray of muffins and bagels on one arm, and wraps his free arm around a covered basket.

  "Come on." With a nod of his head, he leads the way back to where we started.

  Heat prickles under my skin thinking of the way he provided me my own personal striptease.

  Using his foot, he clears items off the coffee table. I can't hold back the giggle escaping me.

  "Just put them here." He starts putting his items down, so I do the same.

  He toes off his black boots and kicks them to the side before sitting on the couch. Patting the couch cushion next to him, he looks expectant.

  "Relax. Take off your jacket and stay a while."

  There's a mischievous twitch to his lip.

  I know he’s proud of himself for getting me back to his hotel room, the arrogant, cocky, sexy, gorgeous man, but I'm not making this any easier than I already have. In fact, I should just say thanks and take my leave right now.

  "Liza, you've got to be a woman once in a while…" I hear Sid's voice in my head, "not just a mother and provider. Let loose."

  Slipping my jacket off, I lay it on the arm of one chair across the table from him. The same chair I choose to sit in.

  Grinning, he leans forward, elbows on his knees.

  "Is that how you're gonna play it?"

  "I didn't realize we were playing something?" I raise one brow.

  He grins and points to the spread between us.

  "Help yourself."

  Grabbing a piece of bacon, he sits back onto the couch cushions. Wrapping his lips around the bacon, he bites and chews slowly.

  I sit forward and pick up a bagel. Grabbing a container of peanut butter and a knife, I sit back. His eyes feel like invisible hands running over my skin—touching, undressing.

  Avoiding his gaze, I nervously slather half the bagel in peanut butter, getting it all over the fingers of my right hand. I put a finger in my mouth and suck, placing the bagel onto the table.

  His groan draws my attention away from my hand. He unfolds his long, lean body from the couch, stepping over the coffee table between us.

  I drop my finger from my mouth and press back into the chair. Mouth open, I stare up his towering form.

  "What's—?”

  The hot and gripping hold he takes on my knees silences me. We lock eyes as he jerks my legs apart. Licking his lips, he kneels between them.

  Clamping his long fingers around my wrist, he holds my right hand between us and leans forward. His tongue snakes out and around the peanut butter covered digits before sucking them into his mouth. His eyes drift closed and he moans. With each sweep of his tongue, my body rises higher, pressing closer until my nipples tingle with every breath he takes.

  Releasing my wrist, his hands slide to my hips, gripping hard. I moan and pull my fingers from between his lips, replacing them with my mouth. His lip ring digs into my flesh enticingly. It's intoxicating. Our tongues twist and slide, urging me on. Pushing my body flush against his, I run my saliva dampened fingers through his hair and grip tightly, sucking his tongue deeper. The sharp bite of his lip ring makes my thighs tingle. Jackson growls low and deep, yanking me to the edge of the chair by my hips.

  Forgetting the play-harder-to-get idea, the I-should-really-just-go thoughts, and shoving away the feeling of stupidity for following him tonight, I embrace my one night with hot as fuck rock star Jackson Shaw.

  Wrapping my left arm over his shoulder, I bunch the cotton material on his back in my hand.

  He grinds a deliciously frustrating rhythm between my legs, but I need more. Tilting my hips, I slip from the chair into his lap.

  Jackson's arms move around my back, one hand flattening, the tips of his fingers dipping inside the waistband of my jeans. With the other, he shoves at the unmoving chair. His mouth breaks from mine to release an irritated snarl. Keeping my arms around him, I drop my head back and take a moment to catch my breath.

  What am I doing? This is going to end—

  The chair flips onto its side and his mouth captures the skin between my neck and shoulder as both his arms wrap around me. Settling me onto the thick carpeted floor, his hips resume their incredible, torturous rhythm.

  His hands are everywhere all at once: my hips, waist, pulling my thighs higher, tracing my sides, skirting around my breasts. Arching my back, I want to be closer. I want more. I need everything.

  I claw my way down his body, fisting and bunching his shirt until I feel bare skin. At my touch, he rises above me, sitting on his heels and staring down. Keeping eye contact, he pulls the thin, white shirt over his head and tosses it away.

  I'm tempted to look away, to take in his heavily inked skin, but he keeps me prisoner in his burning gaze. His long fingers curl into the front of my jeans and work the button and zipper like a professional de-pantser.

  Lowering his body, he peels back the front of my pants. Air enters my lungs, but I can't catch my breath. My clit pulses, wanting everything he's silently promising.

  His lip ring is cool against my hot skin as his lips touch above the lace band of my panties.

  "Lace," he whispers, his breath scorching against my flesh.

  "Wh—?"

  The heat from his tongue against my skin makes speaking impossible. When he dips his tongue beneath the lace, all thoughts disappear.

  The denim pinches my skin as he grips the material at my hips and tugs. With each tug, my pussy throbs. Tug at hips, throb. Tug at thighs, throb. Tingles prickle across my skin when he bows down to touch his lips inside of my thigh. Tug at my knees, throb.

  Legs free, I squeak in surprise as he pulls me across the carpet. My lace-covered ass meets his denim-covered knees and long, determined fingers twist into my tank top, yanking the offensive clothing over my head.

  He leans forward, his hands in the carpet above my head, and hovers over me. Staring down, he puts one hand around my throat and sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. His fingers on my throat twitch, and I tense.

  "Relax." Lightly rubbing his thumb along my jaw, he lowers his face close to mine. "Tell me what you want, Liza."

  My brow furrows.

  "Tell me you want me," his words heat my lips, "please."

  I flatten my hands on his chest, feeling his muscles tighten beneath my touch. He's frozen, unsure of what I'm going to do. His breaths across my face intensify and I open my mouth, inhaling deeply, savoring.

  Slipping my hands down over his ribs till I reach his stomach, I grip the front of his jeans and slip the button free. His eyes close tight. Instead of unzipping, I grasp each side and yank. The sound of the protesting zipper fills the room.

  Jackson's eyes snap open. Pupils dilated, they gleam like volcanic rock.

  "Fuck, Liza," he groans.

  I feel bold.

  "That's exactly what I want you to do, Jackson."

  His hand around my throat flexes, but not painfully. Reclaiming my mouth with punishing force, our teeth clink. My hands move in a flurry of desire and need, shoving the denim down his hips.

  The hand on my throat slides over my collar bone and chest, pulling the lacey cup of my bra aside. Long fingers tease and pinch my aching nipple before cupping the mound as an offering to his talented mouth.

  "Oh, fuck, Jackson." I bring my hand to his head and fist his hair.

  He sucks harder and I arch my back, pushing myself closer.

  I lift my knees higher to his sides and hook my big toes into his jeans, pushing them further down.

&nb
sp; Releasing my nipple, Jackson pushes up. Kneeling above me, his eyes travel over my body, watching my chest rise and fall. The savage inner fire within them heats the chill he left behind.

  He reaches back into the pockets of the jeans hanging off his body. While he's distracted, I take the moment to enjoy the unobstructed view of his art-covered chest. The wings of an Egyptian lion cover each pectoral, the words Strength in Loyalty scrawled across his collar in elegant script, a bird on each shoulder, and holstered black pistols on each rib are the largest of the ink. The rest are small designs, intricate swirls, and what I think is ivy on his hip. Seven feet of lickable graffiti pops into mind and my thoughts randomly jump to the flavored wallpaper in Willy Wonka.

  I wonder if he tastes like snozberries.

  Closing my eyes, I force myself to stop thinking about snozberries. The crinkle and rip of a wrapper bring my attention back to Jackson.

  Eyes raking boldly over me, he spits a piece of the silver foil away from us. The heat from the back of his hands warms the inside of my thighs as he frees himself from his underwear.

  My eyes drift down to watch as he puts the condom on, but his words stop me.

  "Strip for me, Liza."

  He gazes at me expectantly again.

  Raising my brow, I slide my hands over my stomach, up to my breasts, and finger the bunched lace beneath them.

  "I'm not a stripper, Jackson," I retort in challenge.

  I don't know what it is about him that makes me so bold.

  He grins wide, beautiful. Warmth aches in my chest. I push it away to revel in the tingles of lust instead.

  "No, you’re a snake charmer." His voice is husky, gravely.

  Done with his task, he scans my body. I eye his, taking in the latex covered length of him. My clit pulses impatiently, knowing what it wants. I tighten my pussy muscles, seeking something to relieve the ache.

  Jackson flattens his hand on my chest, dragging it down between my breasts, over my stomach and hip. Tingles flare into aches. I actually twitch, anxious for him. And he knows it. With a cocky grin, he repeats the act with his other hand. This time, my hips raise from the floor, a final invitation to fuck me.