He stepped out into the bar's parking lot and forced himself to concentrate on his breathing. How dare she? Blood boiling, he had half a mind to turn around and tell that woman a thing or two.
Fortunately, a sexy red Jaguar pulled in front of Danny. The tinted passenger side window rolled down. A raven-haired minx sat in the driver's seat. She leaned over, pulling down a pair of white shades. “You need a lift?”
He blew out the breath he had been holding and shifted gears. He was still seething, but he couldn't give into his anger. He had to bury it deep inside. He was in survival mode, and letting his emotions run rampant would only lead to trouble. He squared his shoulders and walked toward the car.
Danny perched his arm against the open window as if he didn't have a care in the world. “That depends. What's the going rate?”
“Oh.” Fire‐engine red lips spread into a smile. “I'll just take your body.”
The croon of her voice warmed him. He grabbed the door handle, placed a bag in the back, and then slid onto the beige leather seat. “Hey, baby.” He leaned forward and captured her lips between his own with hot kisses that claimed her as his.
Danny sat back as Nia revved the engine and pulled out of the Bailey's Lounge parking lot. He placed a hand on her silky, ivory thigh. Smoothing back her denim skirt, he slipped his fingers underneath a lacy thong. A sigh of relief went through him as he met with moist flesh. Her body jerked as he stroked the bud.
“What are you doing? I'm driving.” A joyous tension laced her question.
He was taking his mind off the day's events, but that wasn't something he trusted himself to share with her.
He leaned forward and nipped the crook of her neck. Rubbing her earlobe with the tip of his nose, he whispered, “Yeah, babe, but how well can you really drive?”
He sat back, raising his eyebrow in challenge.
She threw him a playful frown that said ‘game on'. She changed the gears of the stick shift as the light turned green. His thumb and index finger squeezed the tight bud of flesh, the action eliciting a scream of surprise. They continued this way at each stoplight. Every time she shifted the gear, he shifted hers, changing from pressure, to stroking, to flicking. Her screams turned to moans of pleasure. Barreling down his private residential street, she drove the Jaguar into the driveway, narrowly missing the mailbox.
After turning the car off, she pitched a leg over the stick shift and landed in his lap. Thin French‐manicured fingers snapped apart the first three buttons on his shirt, exposing a smooth olive‐toned chest. Nia snaked a tongue between his pecs.
“Baby.” He ran a hand through her collarbone-length locks. Lust thickened his speech.
“What?” Stopping mid‐lick, she looked up. A disconcerting frown stitched her thin eyebrows together.
“The neighbors are probably watching. Let's go inside.”
Rolling her eyes, she blew a lock of hair out of her face. They exited the Jaguar, and walked up to the two‐story Spanish bungalow. He hadn't been home in twelve months and smiled at the sight of the Spanish tiles. Nia hovered over him, waiting impatiently as he fumbled to open the front door.
He barely managed to shut it before she had yanked his jeans down, dropped her clutch and straddled him. He leaned her against the door and a simultaneous exultation of satisfaction escaped them both as he filled her. He buried his face in the mounds of her breasts and sighed. Home sweet home.
He suckled one of her pink nipples and she bucked hard underneath him. Fuck New York. He loved San Diego. Everything that was good was here. But he was only coming back to gather a few belongings. Then he and Robert would head to New York City, where San Diego would be nothing but a distant memory.
It was a voluntary but necessary sanction. Living in an area where he used to score would only tip his hand. Eventually he would be unable to resist the urge to call up his connect and use. New York was a chance to start over and be the man he'd always promised his father he would become.
Nia cried his name out as she shuddered against him. When her body slowed, he set her down gently. She adjusted her clothing and retrieved her purse, while he zipped up.
“Huh,” Nia said.
“What?”
“I thought it would be really dusty in here.” She swiped a finger across the dark mahogany entertainment console and held up a clean finger. He wrapped his arms around her slender waist, burying his chin in the crook of her neck.
“Why would it? I've kept the housekeeper on the payroll.”
He'd miss the black‐and‐white themed furniture he'd selected for the house.
Settling down on a slate gray leather sofa, he pulled Nia next to him.
She snapped her clutch open, pulling out a cigarette and lighter. Her eyebrows wiggled at him. “Want a taste?” She waved the cig.
He shook his head. They both knew it was more than a cigarette.
“Oh, you're so brave.” She took his chin in her hands and kissed him.
She lit the cigarette. “Mmm.” Her eyes closed as she savored the first pull and her lips puckered as she blew the smoke away from him. “Are you really okay?”
He shrugged off her concern. She sighed contentedly, resting her head against his stomach.
The pungent smell of weed and diesel taunted him. He leaned his head back away from the smell, closing his eyes, but a pair of mournful violet pupils greeted him. He jerked forward.
“Are you alright?” Nia said.
“Of course.” Light brown pools of concern stared at him. He brushed a bit of her hair back. One kiss wouldn't mean a thing. He'd still be sober. With that conviction filling every fiber of his being, he bent forward for a kiss.
He took slow sips, tasting her bottom lip first—soft like butter against his own—then he danced with the tip of her tongue before delving in for a deeper kiss. Nia pulled back, taking another pull on the spliff dangling from her manicured fingers. The mock cigarette glowed like a firefly between her red‐laced lips. He kissed her again, opening his lips to drink in the smoke.
She giggled then took a longer pull on the weed and cocaine concoction. He pulled her in for another kiss. His lips covered hers, possessing every inch. Her tongue joined with his and he sucked every bit of smoke from her mouth.
The chime of the doorbell shattered the languid peace, like a rock thrown through a window. He disentangled himself from her embrace, rising from the leather loveseat. Together they began opening windows. Grabbing an issue of Billboard, he tried to fan the smell of weed and diesel from the room. Not today. Please don't be the police. The intruder's impatient ring transformed into heavy banging. He glanced at his girlfriend. Her brown eyes mirrored the fear in his heart. His feet thudded against the wooden floor as he rushed to the front door. Opening it, he was surprised to find his baby sister with a group of giggling girls armed with backpacks and suitcases.
“Hey, bro.” Beth grinned from ear to ear. Straight chestnut hair framed the round, but determined, chin of the sixteen going on thirty‐year‐old. Fresh from school, she was still wearing her soft amber and white jumper—a required uniform for the Ivy‐League prep school. A perfectly plucked eyebrow arched, as if she was puzzled about why he hadn't invited her in. Her usual youthful impatience ignored his pregnant pause. Pushing past him, she entered the house.
Danny turned. “What are you doing here?”
“Mom said you'd be home at seven,” Beth said.
Three girls in matching uniforms filed past him.
“Who's this?” Beth said.
“Nia Waters, meet my baby sister, Beth.”
Nia gave the girl a shy smile and offered her hand. Beth threw Danny a cautious look over her shoulder, before vigorously shaking it.
“Where are we sleeping?” Beth's backpack slid down her arm like a glop of molasses, plopping onto the floor.
Sleeping? They can't stay, not with Nia here.
He held up a finger and dialed his mom's number. After a few rings he was greeted with a high‐powered blare of a guitar solo.
“Mom, what's Beth doing here?”
He could barely hear her soft soprano voice over the music, but the news wasn't good. She needed a night off and wondered if he'd be so kind to host a slumber party for Beth and her friends.
“Mom, I'm in the middle of moving.”
Cameras were produced from the pockets of his guests' skirts. Two girls gathered next to him and took pictures with him. He smiled as the light flashed, while trying to continue the phone conversation with his mom.
“Well, no, I'm not leaving tonight, but—hello?” She'd hung up before Danny had a chance to protest.
He looked down at the eager grins. “You guys can camp in the living room.”
“Thanks.” Beth kissed him on the cheek.
“Sorry.” Danny shook his head at the shrieks coming from down the hall.
Nia shrugged then placed a wooden tray over her lap. She dumped the contents of a packet on the tray and organized the powder into two fat lines.
They turned as the door flew open. Beth's flushed face and sparkling eyes bounced into the room. The color drained from her face when her gray eyes fell upon the tray.
“What the fuck?” Beth turned to Danny, her fist clenched to her side.
Danny ran a hand through his thick mane.
“Get out of here.” Beth ran around the bed and grabbed Nia's arm, causing his girlfriend to slide off the side of the bed. Nia cried out Danny's name.
“Beth, stop.”
His sister turned to him, tears brimming in her eyes. “Two weeks ago you were fine. Remember?”
Danny bit his lip. He'd taken her to the prom. A month out of rehab and the mayhem was already starting. Beth glowed with a righteous desire to lecture him.
“You took me to the dance and you looked great. You said you weren't going to do this anymore. I know this is all her fault.” She turned to Nia. “Leave him alone.”
If it were only that simple. An indictment for the possession of drugs had loomed over him. After Danny had been busted and thrown in jail for purchasing cocaine, the media had roasted him alive. Mothers protested his album releases. Legally, he escaped, but in the court of public opinion, he'd faced the probability of never performing or acting ever again. Not that directors didn't want to work with him, they just couldn't. But then his publicist came up with the idea to do a massive public makeover that solved everyone's problems. And it all started with the right girl.
Robert had introduced him to Nia while he was in rehab. She was an up‐and‐coming country‐pop singer, with a sweet image. It seemed ludicrous at the time, but his publicist suggested they could help one another. He wasn't sure how. But he'd melted in that hard plastic seat when she'd given him her sexiest smile. Maybe it was worth a shot.
He couldn't believe his luck when he'd found out she liked going on coke binges. He wouldn't have guessed by looking at her. On a scale of one to ten, Nia ranked a nine. She wore a lacy pink tank top and her black hair covered her shoulders, bringing attention to a pair of breasts that threatened to spill over the scoop‐neck fabric. Her porcelain skin was smooth, not a track line in sight. Her sculpted nose was neither red, nor dripping the way his did when he snorted. Her brown eyes shone as brilliant as any stone, no trace of the telltale redness that usually gave his habit away.
Their love affair took the world by storm. Robert made sure they had lots of photo ops of Nia visiting Danny in rehab and helping him with his mandatory community service sentence. She volunteered at the homeless shelter so she could be next to him. The icing on the cake was a country‐pop duet album. The fans and press ate it up.
In one respect, Beth had it right. Nia was a bad influence on him. She'd taught him all the tricks of her trade. Eye drops gave her eyes the brilliant brown color, hiding the fire engine redness. Powder on her nose, along with decongestant pills, took care of the other mark.
“What do you want?” Danny said.
Beth opened her mouth, confusion clouding her features. “Never mind. Do you want me to call Eric?”
The last thing he wanted to do was talk to his sponsor. His mandatory recovery meetings had finally ended. Despite Danny's promises to check in with the guy, he hadn't talked to him or stepped foot in another meeting since he left rehab.
“Beth, I'm fine. I'm not doing anything.” It sounded like a lie, but he wasn't getting high with Nia. For some reason, watching her draw those lines of coke turned him on. But he hadn't gotten high in over a year.
“Oh.” A flash of anger ignited her eyes. “I see.”
Danny reached for her, but she darted away from his reach and out the door.
Sighing, he fell back against the pillows.
“Hey you guys, Beth left.” A fair‐haired girl entered the room. Her eyes lit up at the contents on the tray. “Is that speed?”
Nia wrinkled her nose, shaking her head. “It's coke.”
The girl put her hands together in mock prayer. Apparently that was even better. “Can I have some?”
Nia began to say sure, but Danny cut the girl off with a firm no. He threw an icy glare Nia's way. Was she out of her mind? He turned back to the girl, whose shoulders had drooped.
“What's this about Beth?”
“She got mad and told us she was checking out. She wanted us to go with her, but we were hoping you would come out and sing some songs for us.”
“Did she tell you where she was going?”
The girl shrugged. “She tried to call your mom, but she didn't answer.”
Danny muttered a curse under his breath. He shooed the girl out of the room. Stuffing Valentino sneakers on his feet, he flattened the back, wearing them like slippers.
Nia looked up from the tray. “Babe, I'm out. Can you get me some more?”