In For Keeps / Under His Touch

In her peripheral vision, Kiki saw a crew member approach. “Hey, Chester,” Dev said when he stopped near them.

“Hey. Bob was wondering if you wanted us to scout for you tonight. He just took a walk and said to let you know there’s plenty of good material in the crowd.”

“Nah, I’ll pass. Just like I did on the last tour,” Dev replied pointedly, his eyes never leaving Kiki’s.

Kiki watched as Chester took his baseball cap off and replaced it on his head, turning the visor backward. Then he crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels, as if waiting for Dev to come to his senses. “You sure, man?”

“Sure of what—that he’s the best goddamned musician since Springsteen?” a man said as he appeared beside Dev. Kiki felt herself stiffen. It was the heavyset guy with the cell phone she’d noticed earlier. He wore his long white hair slicked back, and his paunch strained at his shirt buttons.

“Bix, it’s about time,” Dev said, giving the man a back-pounding embrace. “Bix, I’d like you to meet Kiki Becker. Kiki, Bix is my tour manager.”

Kiki nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s mine,” Bix replied, but his eyes only lit on her briefly. She watched as Chester cleared his throat, trying to remind Dev of his presence. It was an interesting hierarchy dance, Kiki observed—Chester was clearly at the bottom, and a minute ago she would have put Dev at the top. But Bix’s entrance into the picture had made her less certain of that.

Dev turned to Chester. “Thanks, man—I’m all good.”

“Hey, you’re the boss.” Chester shrugged and turned away. Bix’s cell phone rang, and after he walked off, Kiki burst out laughing. “‘Plenty of good material’?” she said to Dev. “I take it that’s code for hot chicks.”

“I would never use such a disrespectful term,” Dev replied. “But yes. There is a certain tradition among certain musicians that involves inviting a certain type of female backstage. It’s not something that interests me.”

“No?”

“Anymore,” he clarified with a smile.

Kiki gave him a skeptical look. “So all those lovely ladies I see you around the island with are—what, your sisters?”

He grinned. “Just because I let them hang out with me doesn’t mean I let them into my bed. But point taken. Old habits die hard, I guess.”

Kiki busied herself with adjusting her necklace. So she wasn’t going to be tortured by the sight of him with another woman...not tonight, at least. But how long would he hold out? The guy was only human, after all.

“Listen,” she said hesitantly. “I, um... I just want you to know you don’t have to do this. This is a professional relationship, and—”

“Is it?” His aqua eyes bored into hers.

“Um...” Yes. Just say it and everything will be so much simpler, she thought. “Well, I think it’s easiest if we just... I mean... I have no expectations,” she stammered.

That sexy smile. She wanted to melt into a puddle on the floor. “I appreciate that,” he said, stepping a little closer to her. The crowd had grown louder than ever with their frenzied chant, forcing Dev’s lips to her ear so he could be heard. “There’s just one problem.”

He was so close she could feel his breath on her face. Toothpaste and lemon. She wanted to brush against his mouth with her fingers, feel him suck them before she replaced them with her hungry lips. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. The only woman I want is you,” he whispered, sending shivers down her spine.

Kiki swallowed hard. She finally turned to face him, but he was already backing away from her with his arms over his head. He gave his hands three loud claps in the air. “Alright. Let’s fucking do this!” he shouted. A roadie handed him a guitar, and then Dev slipped the strap over his head, ran up the steps and disappeared through the stage door.

Blinding strobe lights. Sweat dripping from his face. Stuart pounding the drums, Scotty beside him on the mic. Lightning ripping from his fingertips on the guitar. The whole scene magnified behind him on a massive screen. And the feverish crowd, the lifeblood of every show, singing every word along with him. This was one of the moments Dev could acknowledge that the dreams of a ten-year-old boy with an air guitar and a bed for a stage had come true. If only they weren’t so few and far between.

The encore was the one time onstage Dev could actually enjoy himself. During that short golden window between having the worst behind him and the end in sight, he suddenly felt like he could play all night. By all accounts, his first performance of the Up All Night World Tour had gone well. Along with his little helpers, his usual coping mechanisms had worked. He’d launched into his first song, “It All Starts Here,” with his back to the audience, only turning around two choruses in when his hands finally stopped shaking. The wild cheers when the crowd saw his face assured him that his secret was safe; they thought it was all part of the act. After that he’d kept his eyes either on his guitar or on the front row of the crowd, and by the third song he was nearly relaxed enough to give the audience what they wanted: everything. All of him. His very flesh, heart and soul. And though his stomach still churned, he’d done it. Worked the stage, riffed with his bandmates, sung hard. He’d never gotten used to having his every move blown up a thousand times, but when he caught a glimpse of himself onscreen he looked okay. He looked perfectly in control. And now here he was on his last number of the night, “Stand Your Ground,” one of his midcareer chart-topping ballads that always got the audience singing along. As Dev drew out the last, endless note, twenty thousand cell phones glowed back at him. Only then did he allow his eyes to lift to the back of the stadium, where they settled on the reassuring sight of a fully packed house.

It was over. Relief pulsed through his body as he ran off the stage with his guitar. A waiting roadie took it from him and handed him a bottle of water. He took in the compliments.

“Great show, man.”

“You killed it.”

“They loved you.”

The voices and the roar of the crowd fell away as he looked into the darkness backstage.

Where is she?

Dev’s eyes finally adjusted, and he saw her near the back wall. She was turned away from him in conversation with a crew member, allowing him a perfect view of her beautiful ass. Predictably, his cock jerked in his pants. Dev took two steps toward her—and caught his foot on a cable, sprawling him across the wooden floor. “Goddamn it!”

His left elbow throbbed dully as two crew members ran over to help him up to his feet. His first reaction was embarrassment, but then the monster was right up in his face. That’s what Xanax does to you, Stone—makes you clumsy. Maybe you should have stuck with one.

But he’d needed two tonight, and anyway, that was only the paranoia speaking. Someone had forgotten to cap the cable, that was all. It could have happened to anyone.

“Are you okay?” It was Kiki, looking at him with concern.

“Just a little bump on my pride,” he replied, though his elbow hurt when he stretched it out.

“Let’s get you into your dressing room.” Placing a hand on his good arm, Kiki gave him a gentle push toward the door that led backstage.

The roadies trailed after her. “Should we call a medic?” one of them called.

“I’ll let you know,” Kiki responded, leading Dev through the door. They crossed the hallway and entered his dressing room. “Sit down. I’m going to roll up your sleeve and take a look.”

“Look, if you want to undress me, all you have to do is—”

“No jokes, okay? There might be some swelling happening here.”

“You’re telling me.”

Fuck. What was wrong with him? He was acting like a juvenile, and Kiki looked suitably annoyed. But, Jesus, how was she so resistant? “Look, I’m sorry, okay?” Dev said. “I’m always a little wingy after a show. I make dumb jokes, say the wrong things.”

“Why don’t you just stop your spewing so I can take a look?”

Dev held his arm up obediently. He watched as her pink-tipped nails pushed his sleeve up. She’d worn a similar shade of polish that night, when she’d wrapped her hands around his cock and stroked him until he was ready for round three. And then she’d taken him in her mouth and sucked him until his entire world had tilted on its side.

Dev saw Kiki’s eyes drop to his pants. There was no hiding it anymore—he was rock hard for her. She licked her lips and met his eyes.

“Dev, I—” Kiki dropped his arm and took a step back. It was the only thing she could do to avoid climbing into his lap and rubbing herself against his cock like a desperately horny I’ll-do-everything-but-that virgin. Her panties were wet. She’d never wanted anyone so badly, and it all had started the moment she’d seen him onstage. Ninety minutes of excruciating torture where she’d imagined every sweet thing she’d love to do to him after the show. Certain she wouldn’t be able to resist him if he so much as breathed on her again. Dangerous. Addictive. So fucking sexy. And such a bad idea.

Both of their sanities depended on her getting her head straight right now.

Dev pounded his good fist onto his thigh and flung himself out of his chair. “Jesus, Kiki! Fuck! This is messed up! You want me, I want you, we both know—”

“Don’t fucking tell me what I know!” she shouted. He looked at her sharply, and she took a breath. Her anger had taken her by surprise as much as it had him, and it wasn’t his fault. She was pent-up, frustrated, desperate to act on the feelings she knew they both had. But she couldn’t. She wasn’t worth sticking around for—she knew it as well as she knew her own name—and she wasn’t prepared to have her heart shattered again. “I get it, okay? No woman on earth has ever refused you.”

Dev raked a hand through his hair. When he spoke, his voice was low and furious. “That is not what this is about and you know it. Stop throwing that shit in my face, Kiki. How many times do I have to tell you it’s you that I want?”

She turned her face to the side. “This was a mistake. I never should have accepted the job.”

Dev bent down so his face was inches from hers. “Then define it, Kiki,” he said between gritted teeth. “Tell me you never want me to fuck you again right now, and I’ll be all business from this moment on.”

Kiki lifted her chin. “I’m not going to lie to you, okay? I’d love nothing more than to be with you. But you have to stay away from me, Dev. Believe me, it’s better for both of us.”

Dev didn’t move a muscle. She stared back at him, not daring to let her chilly expression melt.

The door flung open. Kiki glanced toward it and saw Bix striding toward them with an ice pack in his hand. “You okay, buddy? I heard you took a spill. Not going to affect your guitar playing, I hope?”

Dev returned his gaze to Kiki. “I’m fine.”

“Glad to hear it,” Bix said, slapping the ice pack on Dev’s arm. “’Cause you got a hot lineup outside just dying for a piece of you.”

Kiki searched for her voice. Never mind Bix’s ill timing—her job was to look after Dev, and it was time for her to be professional. “Dev really isn’t in any shape to be meeting anyone right now.”

The smile dropped off Bix’s face. “He just said himself he’s fine. And here’s the thing—autographs make for happy fans, happy fans tell their friends, they all buy more records, and that—”

“Let them in,” Dev interrupted, his eyes still boring into Kiki’s. “Go ahead. I’m happy to meet them. And, Kiki, I’d like you to stay.”

Panic filled her chest. She’d shut him down once and for all, and now he was going to show her exactly what she was missing. As her feet stayed rooted in place, she realized she was holding her breath. This is going to be so bad.

Bix opened the door, and two burly men leading a barrage of skimpily dressed women streamed into the room. Kiki was sure they’d crush Dev completely if it weren’t for the handlers, who stood protectively in front of him and shouted for the fans to approach one at a time. The room was so small that Kiki had to practically push herself against a wall to avoid getting crushed. She tried to catch Dev’s eye as he signed autographs with his good hand and smiled for selfies, but it was as if he’d already forgotten about her. Oh, God, what have I done?

Finally, Dev stood up from his chair. A few of the pushier ladies crowded in even closer to him, cleavage and pouting lips on full display like a Discovery Channel mammalian mating ritual.

Kiki couldn’t stand it any longer. Looking for an opening in the throng, she started pressing her way toward the door. She was almost there when she heard Dev’s voice behind her.

“Thanks for coming in, ladies,” he said. “Kiki will show you out.”

She froze, meeting his eyes as the women reluctantly started filing out the door. Several of them threw her jealous glances as they left, and she couldn’t help it—she felt a surge of power. It was written all over Dev’s face—it was her he wanted. Kiki Becker, strawberry blonde, freckled, currently several pounds over her ideal weight—and he wanted her.

Even if she could never let him touch her again.

When the room was clear, Dev slowly walked toward her. Kiki watched him approach, pressing herself backward again. He stepped close enough that she could feel the heat of his body, and then there was nowhere for her to go. He placed his good hand on the wall right beside her shoulder, and then he reached up to brush a strand of hair off her face. He smiled sadly at her. Then he pushed himself off the wall and left the room.

CHAPTER FOUR

“DID YOU SAY PARIS? You must mean the town in Texas, right?” Kiki’s father, Lawrence, chuckled over the phone.

“No, Dad, I mean the real deal,” Kiki said. Moving toward the window of her hotel room, she pulled the gauzy curtains wider to take in the nighttime view. The Eiffel Tower, lit up in the dark, was framed in the distance as perfectly as a postcard. She still couldn’t believe she was in the city she’d only ever dreamed of going to, staying at the famous Hotel George V no less. If only she could be experiencing its romance with Dev at her side instead of just in her head.

She banished the thought.

“I wish I could show it to you, Dad. Do you know what I had for lunch today? Two chocolate croissants. Well, it might have been three—”

“Three croissants, huh?” Lawrence cut in. “Is that just ‘when in Rome,’ or has something got you stressed out?”

Kiki sighed; she should have known she couldn’t get one by her father, who understood her better than anyone on earth. It was 5 p.m. back in Atlanta, and Kiki could just picture him sitting in his favorite armchair with his Time magazine and his black coffee. She could see the lines around his eyes that fanned out like rays of sunshine, the head of hair that was now fully gray. Looking at photos of him from when she was a toddler, it was hard to believe the person with the smooth skin and sandy hair holding her up like a prize was the same man. She knew her mother’s departure had aged him, even if he rarely talked about it. Lawrence Becker was a man of action more than words; when it became clear his wife wasn’t coming back, he’d simply risen to the task, doing his best to raise his only child on his own until he’d eventually remarried.

Kiki sighed. “I’m fine, Dad. My new job is...interesting. It’s just...” She paused, wondering how much she should say. Though she longed to spill her guts to someone about Dev, that was a conversation better saved for a girlfriend. But there was something else on her mind that she knew she could unload on her father. “This is a little crazy, but I found a woman who could be Mom. I haven’t reached out to her yet, but I will soon. And I guess I’m a little scared.”

Kiki knew there would be silence, but it seemed to stretch on forever. “Well. I know how important this is to you,” Lawrence replied finally. “I’ll say what I’ve always said about it—that if you find her, your life will never be the same. That’s not necessarily good or bad. Just be prepared, that’s all. She might not be what you’re expecting.”

“I know. And this woman is in Sydney, so it’s probably a dead end.” She hesitated. “Unless—unless you can think of any reason she’d end up there?” Kiki knew the question was as good as hypothetical, but she still had to ask it. Her father had always refused to say much about her mother—especially when it came to possible reasons for her leaving them—and while she admired his neutrality, she sometimes wished he’d be more forthcoming.

“Nothing comes to mind, honey. Sydney isn’t a place she ever mentioned.”

Kiki nodded resignedly. “That’s what I thought. But since I’m going to be there anyway...”

“Indeed. It’s worth a try.” When he paused, Kiki knew the subject was closed. “Deirdre will be sorry to have missed you,” Lawrence said after clearing his throat. “Why don’t I have her call you when she’s back from the library?”

“No, Dad, it’s okay. It’s almost midnight here and I have an early morning.” Kiki sank down on her bed, trying to ignore the familiar tug of guilt she always felt when it came to her stepmother. Her father had married Deirdre when Kiki was ten, and she’d tried hard to form a bond with her stepdaughter. But back then Kiki was still convinced her mother would return and that when she did, Deirdre would go right back to where she came from. And though logic and reason told her adult self that it was a ridiculous notion, wasn’t there a tiny part of her that still wanted it to be so?

After she hung up, Kiki sat on her bed staring at the wall in front of her. She’d booked the hotel rooms, so she knew Dev was on the other side of it.

Or was he?

She’d been avoiding him as much as she could since that night in his dressing room. It was an impossible situation. Sleeping with him again was sure to end in heartbreak, and watching him move on would be excruciating—either way, she lost. But she had to stop kicking herself for getting into this situation and keep her eye on the prize: Sydney.

Dev started awake from a thin sleep. How long had he been out? His bedside lamp was aglow and the Netflix show he’d been watching was still playing, showing a young couple in the middle of an argument. He’d probably only dozed off for a few minutes, as per his regular pattern of sleeping and waking throughout the night after a show.

Staring up at the ceiling, Dev focused on making sure his head was straight. One by one he recited the facts. He was in Paris. Tonight’s audience had been wild enough to get security involved when two women tried to climb the stage. His hand had been sore, so he’d taken a non-opioid painkiller along with his usual pills. After the show he’d downed two bottles of water and greeted a few VIP fans. Then he’d taken a limo to the George V for his last night in a hotel; as of tomorrow the band would be using their tour buses for the remainder of the European dates. And even if the idea of being on a metal tube for hours on end filled him with dread, at least it was familiar. It was something a little closer to home than this damn hotel room.

An Ambien would put him out. He should take one, he thought. But the fact that he hadn’t cracked that bottle yet felt like a small victory—even if it meant lying in bed drowning in regret and self-doubt. He gave his pillow a hearty punch and closed his eyes, wishing for oblivion. But instead, memories of his first tour tumbled through his head. Twenty years old, nearly a solid year on the road, homesick and scared shitless. After his first show, he’d learned to dull his nerves with whatever he could get his hands on to keep from disappointing anyone. He’d discovered that there were so many people to keep happy—his record label, his booking agent, his business manager, his tour manager, his fans, the press. He would have dropped out right then and there if it hadn’t been for the money he owed his record label. Something no one had told him before he got famous was that the million-dollar advance that had seemed so huge would get eaten up by recording fees, management, lawyers and taxes, leaving him with almost nothing. On the day his first album went platinum, he had less than five thousand dollars in his bank account and an increasing debt to his record label, forcing him to continue touring to pay it off. After that he’d figured out that even the most successful musicians didn’t get wealthy by playing music—they got it by accepting endorsements. Pushing everything from watches to guitars to foreign cars were what had padded his bank account over the years. That took care of his money troubles, but nothing could fix the homesickness and loneliness.

Dev opened his eyes again. On TV, the same couple who had been arguing were now furiously ripping each other’s clothes off, evidently having made up. Dev nearly groaned aloud. For a guy with a near-fucking-permanent hard-on, a year and a half minus his one night with Kiki was a hell of a long time to go without. Sometimes he thought it would be easier to just go back to his old ways, when he’d stay up all night partying with the band and fans before taking his pick from the gorgeous women presented to him to bring home. But everything had changed. After the shows everyone went home to their families now, even Scotty and Stuart, who got on to FaceTime with their wives and kids the moment they could escape. But for Dev, after being showered by attention all day long, home was an empty hotel room or tour bus. And he was so goddamned tired of it. He wanted his room, his bed, his life to be filled with another body—with her body. He rolled sideways, grabbed a pillow and chucked it across the room in frustration. The monster was raging hard in his head tonight, and fans were such an easy Band-Aid. They threw their numbers at the handlers, who always tucked them into their pockets for their own use if Dev wasn’t interested. One phone call to Chester would be all it took. Within thirty minutes, he could have three women in his bed if he wanted to.

Fuck it. He wasn’t going to get through to Kiki.

Or was he?

Dev sat up in bed. He knew one sure way to find out.

CHAPTER FIVE

KIKI WAS AFRAID she might get sick.

Bringing a hand to her stomach to steady herself, she left her tour bus and started across the underground parking lot of Milan’s San Siro Stadium. The last person in the world she wanted to see right now was Dev, but unless she was prepared to get on a plane back to Moretta she had little choice. Her job revolved around him, and she wasn’t about to sacrifice her entire reason for coming on the tour when Sydney was just around the corner. So she would face him and get her revenge by pretending his little stunt last night hadn’t even bothered her. She’d dressed for the occasion in a plunging V-necked pink sweater, a short denim skirt and knee-high boots. Her plan was to make Dev feel like the shit stain he was by being her usual friendly self with a little added sexiness, and then tonight she’d have a little fun herself. There were plenty of hot guys around—she was in Italy, for Christ’s sake, where she couldn’t cross a street without twenty men tripping over their dicks at the sight of her.

So she told herself, but Kiki had never been good at tough self-talk. Her heart hammered with each step that brought her closer to him. She tried to calm herself by listening to the sound of her heels clicking across the concrete. The bus drivers, off duty until the end of the show, leaned against a pillar smoking cigarettes. She was still recovering from her first tour bus commute, which had taken nine hours and all of her strength to refrain from strangling her twelve fellow crew members.