“You okay?”
She was slouched down in her seat a little, the hood and scarf hiding her eyes, but he knew exactly what she meant. He had only the vaguest idea who Harry Linton was, but a quick Google search revealed he’d been profiled in People, US Weekly, and the New York Times, which meant he was Someone. And so was Cady. She stood in a bright spotlight, one that relentlessly picked out the details of her life: her hair, her clothes, her relationships, the meanings behind her songs. Conn was just LPD. Nothing more, nothing less. As her security, no one would care who he was, what he’d come from. But as her lover?
Good thing you don’t have to worry about that. This is temporary, and we both know it.
But Cady wasn’t angry or upset or pouting. She just sounded curious, and in that calmer response he found the space to tell her the truth. “I’m fine.”
Those full, pink lips pursed thoughtfully, making him wish he could see her eyes rather than the fur trim on the hood caressing her cheek. “So we’re both fine. Or we’re both pretending.”
“You want me to tell you you’re special?” he asked roughly, uncomfortable and turned on at the same time. Like she didn’t already know it. He’d seen red-carpet pictures too, Cady in some sexy, slinky gown, turned to face the cameras.
She turned to face him, giving him the full blast of those wide hazel eyes. “People tell me I’m special all day, every day. I want you to tell me the truth. That’s all.”
The truth was he’d never felt this way before with a woman. But he wasn’t about to tell her that. “It’s good between us,” he conceded. “Chemistry.”
“Oh, yes,” she said. A little smile quirked the corners of her mouth. “I believe in chemistry. Only the most successful collaborations have good chemistry. You can create a technical masterpiece of an album, but something raw and heartfelt, created between a singer and her producer, or members of a band, will always catch a bigger wave than virtuosity.”
He braked for the turn to Cady’s gated community, and used the pause while the gates opened to look at her again. “How’s your chemistry with Chris?” he asked, remembering the phone call in Eve’s office.
She shrugged. “I trusted him with my career. Deer.”
He followed her gaze and caught the glint of eyes, standing off to the side of the big gates. Two of them, stock-still at the edge of the tree line, then a flash of white tails and rumps, and they were gone.
“Deer,” he repeated. He let up on the brake and the car rolled through the gates and down the hill. Something was niggling at his brain, something about the car. It was the instinct that served him well on those dangerous middle-of-the-night calls. Something about Chris set off his radar, not at full whoop-whoop blare, but he couldn’t ignore the tingle at the back of his neck. “What motivates him?”
“Money. Fame. Respect in the music business. Pretty standard stuff.”
“Is that what motivates you?”
She waited a long moment. “I’m not sure anymore. Right now I’m thinking about something more basic.”
Then her hand was in his lap, cupping his cock through his jeans. He inhaled sharply, then lifted his hips to grind against the heel of her hand. She made a soft little humming noise as they turned the corner to climb the driveway.
“Cady. There’s someone on your front porch.”
Just a glimpse of yellow in the burning porch light, and he’d never gone from turned on to alert so fast in his life. Adrenaline and sex made for a sizzling cocktail in his veins. Cady sat upright in her seat, so by the time they were visible it looked like nothing was going on. No conversation, no flirting, no heavy petting.
“It’s Emily,” she said. “I thought she’d be waiting for us at Eye Candy. She’s spending the night.”
Emily ran to the wooden railing and leaned over to wave at them as Conn pulled into the garage and parked the Audi. He looked at Cady, she looked at him. “Probably for the best,” he said over the heavy thumps of Emily’s boots down the front steps. His voice sounded normal, totally at odds with his hard-on straining against his zipper.
“You have a very odd definition of ‘best,’” Cady said.
With a high-pitched squeal, Emily flew into Cady’s arms. “I’m so excited! I have to work tomorrow night but I can stay until three or so. I brought fabric and sketches and movies. Oh! And we can make cookies. I bought the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies, because we’ll make Christmas cookies with Mom, right? You’re planning on that. Hi, Conn.”
The rhythmic bumping sounds weren’t Emily’s boots but rather a suitcase the size of a recliner that had fallen to the garage floor in Emily’s wake. Conn grabbed Cady’s guitar from the backseat.
“I’ll take that,” Cady said.
“It’s no trouble,” Conn replied.