Idol (VIP 1)

“He’s ready,” the man says. “They all are. Now you want to put that off and threaten the ground I’ve gained because you’re dipping your wick—”

“Don’t go there,” Killian snaps. Color paints his cheeks. “Not even a little. Understood?”

They glare at each other like it’s high noon, and I decide to show my face.

As soon as I enter, the tension snaps. Killian’s hard expression gentles. “Hey. I was wondering when you’d get out here.”

He holds out a hand, and I walk across the room, too aware of Mr. Stunning and Brenna James watching me. I don’t like being on display. Ever. And this feels like some odd test.

Because Mr. Stunning’s scrutiny bores into my skin like a laser, I glance at Killian’s cousin instead, who had been half hidden by the wing chair she’s sitting in.

She’s nothing like I imagined. I’d expected some punk girl version of Killian. But I don’t see a family resemblance. She’s tall and pale, with a smattering of freckles over her snub nose, and has hair the color of amber honey. It’s pulled back in a sleek ponytail.

Just like Mr. Stunning, she’s impeccably dressed, poured into a navy suit with a pencil skirt. Her sky-high heels are metallic, rainbow-colored snake skin, which ought to look ridiculous, but even I’m envious. I’ve never seen Louboutins in person, but the red soles make me think that’s what they are.

She peers at me from behind red cat-eye glasses. I resist the urge to stand straighter. Wouldn’t matter. Good posture isn’t going to change the fact that I’m in ratty cutoffs and a ribbed white tank. I’m a country mouse who’s walked into a den of lions. In my own damn house.

Killian grasps my hand in his warm one and tugs me to his side. “Libby, this is my manager, Mr. Scott, or Scottie as we all call him.”

The handsome man, who is even prettier up close, gives me a short not. “Miss Bell.”

So he already knows my name. He does not appear pleased.

Killian inclines his head toward Brenna. “And you’ve already heard the pain in the ass.”

Brenna rolls her eyes and stands to cross the room. “He’s just pissed because I know where he hides the bodies.”

“Just be thankful you aren’t joining them,” Killian says easily. His fingers steal under the edge of my shirt to caress bare skin. Mr. Scott’s gaze follows the movement, and his lips thin.

Flushing, I ignore this and smile at Brenna. “Anyone who can make Killian move that fast is okay in my book.”

“Ha!” Brenna wrinkles her nose at Killian. “See? I’m useful.”

Killian snorts but gazes down at me. “Brenna does our PR.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” I say to both Brenna and Mr. Scott. It isn’t precisely true, but I don’t want to alienate the people in Killian’s life. “Can I get y’all anything?”

“Thank you, but no.” Mr. Scott gives me a smile that could freeze water. “We were just leaving.”

He glances out the window. It’s then I notice a small moving truck and guys packing up Killian’s things. A guy walks out, carrying one of Killian’s guitar cases.

Panic hits me, and Killian holds me closer, as if sensing my fear.

“I’ll meet you over there in a bit,” he tells them.

Mr. Scott nods and, after bidding me a brusque “good day,” leaves. Brenna is slower, giving Killian a kiss on the cheek and me a weak smile.

“We’ll meet again, I’m certain,” she tells me.

My nod is wooden. I mutter some sort of farewell, but I don’t really know what I’m saying. Blood whooshes through my head, muting out sound. My heart is in my throat.

The silence they leave us in is pained and complete.

Killian clears his throat and tries to wrap his arms around me. I draw away.

“You’re leaving.”

Sunlight slants through the windows and over Killian. Bathed in that golden light, he looks surreal. The chiseled planes of his chest and abs, the strong lines of his face, the dark power of his eyes—all of it highlighted in sharp relief. Part of me marvels that I’ve touched every inch of that body, that I’ve kissed his lips, taken him into me.

It doesn’t feel real anymore.

He stares down at me, and I see the pain in his eyes. Do I seem as fleeting to him?

“I don’t want to go,” he says, small, flat, final. “But Scottie has booked a couple of early shows before our fall tour. And the guys all want to do it.” He runs a hand over the bristles of his short hair. “I’m the outlier.”

“This is the first time you all will be together since…” I bite my lip.

“Jax,” he finishes for me. “Yeah.”

He shifts his weight onto one foot and then back to the other, as if his body is warring between staying here and heading out the door. I’m being fanciful, I know, and yet I also know he’s torn. I can see it in his pinched lips and pleading eyes.