Wicked Torture (Stark World 3)

"That's fabulous!" I don't tell her that since Jamie is friends with the Starks, it's a solid bet Noah can pull some strings to make that happen for sure. Celia's too proud of herself for having snagged such a potential PR coup.

"Right now, Lyle wants us to meet Francesca Muratti."

As I expect, her jaw drops. "No way."

"She's a fan," Lyle says, then waves. "And here she comes." He indicates the famous brunette who's now walking next to a god of a man with chestnut hair, broad shoulders, a wide mouth, and hard, assessing eyes. He looks like a man used to giving orders. More important, he looks like a man who expects them to be followed.

"Holy fu-dge," Celia says, correcting herself as one of the SCF kids scurries past us.

"It was sweet of you to let the kids be extras," I say to Lyle, as Celia gapes at Francesca and her companion. Noah and I had come straight from the airport, and while the cast and crew shot the last scene with the kids as extras, Lyle had one of the makeup artists do my face, a favor for which I will be forever grateful. I'd been excited about the party, but not about my lingering bruises. And she'd managed to cover every one of them.

"That's Holt," Celia whispers. "Holy crap, we're going to meet Francesca Muratti and Matthew Holt at the same time. I think I'm going to throw up."

"You are not," I order, then smile as they approach, even though my stomach's turning flip-flops, too. "Hi, I'm Kiki, and this is Celia. Lyle says you're a fan of our music," I say to Francesca, "which is so amazing because we're both huge fans of yours. I mean, your films are so--ow."

I stop rambling when Celia kicks me, after which I can't decide if I'd rather die of embarrassment or kick her back.

"It's great to meet both of you," she says, taking it all in her stride. Noah's beside me now, and she turns her attention to him. "And great to see you again. Lyle says you're in Austin now. That's one of my favorite towns."

"You'll have to come visit sometime," Noah says. "Maybe South By Southwest," he adds, mentioning the popular festival for music and more.

"That could be fun," she says. "You two are really putting Pink Chameleon back together? Lyle said so, but he knows I'm a fan, and I wouldn't put it past him to tease me. Any chance you'll be performing at South By?"

Celia and I exchange looks, and I'm sure I look just as awed as she does. "Oh," I finally say. "Um."

Which was not my finest conversational moment, but it's better than Celia's wide-eyed silence.

"These two are part of the group you wanted to tell me about?" Holt asks Francesca. It's a simple question, but there's an edge to it that makes me believe the stories about Holt. The man's got drive and talent and a boatload of money--but he's damaged goods.

"Oh, yes. I think you'll be impressed."

"I already am," Holt says. "Which one of you is Celia?"

Beside me, Celia squeaks, but manages to cover by pretending to cough. "That's me

."

"You're the one who sent me the track?"

"I--um, yeah."

He glances at Francesca. "You're right. I'm impressed." He shifts his focus and nods at both Celia and me. "I don't know how you got my personal email address, but send more. And I'll be in touch."

He turns and walks away, and for a moment it's all I can do to breathe. Then Celia does a fist pump before scooping me into a hug. I hug her back, and we dance around like idiots, but the second she releases me, I launch myself into Noah's arms. He twirls me around, then kisses me--hard and fast and intoxicating. But not enough. Not nearly enough.

"Noah," I say, my voice cracking on his name. I love Celia. I love that we have this chance.

But right now, it's Noah I want to celebrate with.

He's looking at me like he wants to devour me, and I think that's the best idea ever. "We're still working together," he murmurs, his voice pitched only for me.

I draw in a breath, because that's a line I didn't want to cross. But with Noah, the lines are already blurred. We never spoke of it, but it happened. We're together. We're us.

And right now, all I want is him.

"I don't care," I whisper.

I see the heat in his eyes. The need. And I know that there is no way in hell we're staying through the end of this party.