Lita didn’t have a head for numbers, but was pretty damn sure today would mark the twenty-first time James had bailed her out of a jail-type situation. Looking after the interests of Old News’s members was his job. Their relationship, however, fell outside the parameters of a typical musician-manager arrangement. Not that he would ever admit it. No, James simply continued to show up when Lita got into trouble, lecturing her about proper behavior on the way to dropping her off. And leaving. He left every time, that distinguished jaw of his firmly set, sunglasses hiding the guilt she knew lurked in his eyes four years later.
Not this time. Last night, Lita had gone above and beyond to ensure this morning wrought one of two outcomes: James quitting, giving up on her like everyone else did eventually, or his control finally slipped. One way or another, she wouldn’t be in limbo come tonight. She’d been there too long.
Lita stopped jogging when she heard the jingling of the guard’s keys. James was right on time, as usual. Her cellmates craned their necks, some coming to their feet in the hopes they were being released. Lita stowed a pang of sympathy and whipped her hair into a quick ponytail. The guard cast a tired-eyed glance in her direction and unlocked the door. “Lita Regina, your bail has been posted.”
“Sweet, thanks.”
The woman who’d recognized Lita held up a hand for a high-five as she passed through the cell exit. “Aren’t you worried about cameras waiting outside?”
Lita slapped the woman’s palm. “Not as long as they get my good side.” She turned and shook her ass, kicking up snickers around the cell. “Hope everyone gets home for dinner.”
Unenthused good-byes followed Lita down the hallway, at the end of which she knew James would be pacing in the waiting area. She already had a sarcastic comment chambered about the wrinkle-free suit he no doubt wore, how out of place he looked. Although, she held out hope he’d been so pissed off by her antics, he’d thrown on jeans for once in his life. James in jeans. Lita ran fingertips down her belly, imagining the way denim would ride his hips. How the smooth circle of the metal button would rest against his stomach all day, warming with his body temperature. Please, please, let today be the day he stops treating me like a child. If her body’s reaction to thoughts of James were any indication, she was all woman. And she needed the man who’d awakened her needs to tend them.
The guard pushed open the waiting room door, indicating Lita should precede him. When Lita entered the room and saw James, standing with his suited back to her, a smug smile tugged at her lips. God, his tailored glory put their surroundings to shame. Dark hair dusted with salt and pepper at the temples made him more suited to a corporate boardroom than a county jail. The scene reminded Lita of a Marvel Comics movie where the hero tries to blend in among mortals, but is so obviously everyone’s savior. Her savior. If he would only allow himself to be. “Well. If it isn’t my prom date.”
The band manager turned around—and ice formed in Lita’s belly, halting her progress halfway across the room. There was one thing she could count on in life—and that was James being furious with her for fucking up. For placing herself in jeopardy. Hell, for getting him out of bed at the crack of dawn. On rare occasions, James tried a new tactic, such as feigned indifference, but he usually broke before they even reached the parking lot. Once he’d attempted sensitivity, but that had failed with flying colors as well. James was a hard, unbendable man. It was one of the reasons she couldn’t live without him.
But this? This man waiting for her looked…blank. His arms were at his sides, eyes devoid of feeling as he gave her his typical once-over to determine she’d survived in one piece. A hamster ran on a wheel inside Lita’s stomach, faster and faster, when James said nothing. Just existing across the room without any of his usual bark or bite.
“James?”
His slate gray eyes lit on the guard, a silent command to leave. Although he held no authority in the jail, the guard turned and lumbered back into the hallway, keys clanking as he went. “Let’s go.”
She couldn’t move. “What’s wrong?”
A muscle ticced in his cheek. “We’ll need to go out the back exit to avoid the cameras.” He left the sentence hanging in the air, turning on a heel to stride from the room. Lita commanded her feet to move, to follow, but catching up to him was like wading through chilled molasses. Maybe this was just a new tactic James had thought up to frighten her. If so, it was working. So much dread had settled in her midsection, it was an effort to walk straight.
At the end of a brightly lit corridor, James stopped at the back entrance and pried open the metal door. He placed one shiny wingtip just outside and checked both directions, presumably for cameras, before gesturing her forward. “All clear.”
She started to pass him in the doorway and stopped, craning her neck to meet his stony gaze. “Why won’t you talk to me? Why aren’t you lecturing me?”
There. It was only a flash, but her proximity affected him, as always. Shoulders tensing, Adam’s apple sliding up and down. Yet his tone was dull when he answered. “When has lecturing you ever done any good, Lita?”
“Stop being so cryptic,” she whispered. “You’re scaring me.”
Another tick in his expression, so fleeting she might have imagined it. He stared over her head, though, not directly at her. “Are you hurt in any way?”