A few steps beyond the door she stopped and turned sharply. "Reeve."
"Yes, Ms. Hamilton."
"Speak to the driver. His name is Felipe. Tell him to contact Sakura and let her know that Riggs will drive her here so she can meet up with Mr. Hawke. Make sure they're both on tonight's guest list, and be sure to add the rest of Mr. Hawke's bandmates if they're not already on the list."
"Done," Reeve said with a nod. If he even noticed the state of her clothes-rumpled evening gown from the waist down and man's shirt from the waist up-he didn't let it show. Her feet were bare. I wanted to carry her, to sweep her up in my arms, but I worried if I did that would Reeve beat my face into the floor?
"Good. And then direct the driver where he can park for the evening. Mr. Hawke will be coming with me."
"If you'd like me to give Mr. Hawke the orientation-" Reeve began.
"No. I'll handle it. Thank you, Reeve."
The tall man gave a nod of his head and went back into the garage.
She really was used to being in charge. I had to take a couple of longer strides to catch up with her again. "You're in a hurry," I said.
"If they announced Best New Artist fifteen minutes ago, the ceremony is close to over," she said. "And the party will start here not long after that."
She led me through parts of what was obviously a huge, sprawling mansion, with high ceilings and mirrors bigger than Buicks. We went up a set of stairs.
"Orientation?" I asked.
She pressed a key code on an ornate door and led me through it, then shut it firmly behind me. Now we were in another hallway, this one with thick carpeting, a lower ceiling, and a few small paintings on the walls.
"This is my wing," she said, gesturing up the hallway. "This is a private area of the house. The private areas are strictly off limits to guests without an explicit invitation from me or my sister."
"Ah." I gave her my best bad-boy smile. "Since I'm here, I assume this means you're ex-pli-cit-ly inviting me … ?"
Her finger came up in warning, pointing at me. I raised my hands as if it were a loaded gun. So much for her brusqueness merely being for show for her staff or something.
"If you think I brought you back here for … shenanigans, you've got another think coming. We're here so we can have a private conversation where prying ears can't hear it." She looked at the locked door and frowned. "Come on."
She marched deeper into her domain and I followed. She led me to a bathroom bigger than my apartment in San Francisco had been. The entire thing was done in slabs of expensive marble-or maybe it was granite?-with a tub large enough for two, a shower big enough to wash a horse, and his-and-hers sinks. There was an orange-blossom scent in the air that matched what her hair had smelled like and I guessed it was her shampoo or conditioner.
She pulled a towel from a cabinet and placed it precisely on the edge of the counter beside the sink, as if by being very dainty, very neat, she was making up for being a sex-smeared disheveled mess. At least she didn't throw the towel at me. "You will wash. You will remove any … evidence of the activities that took place en route."
I held in a chuckle. I didn't think she'd appreciate me laughing, even if her reaction was ridiculous. "Ricki," I said, trying to sound as down-to-earth as I could, hoping to get past the walls she was putting up. "We're adults. We're allowed to have a little fun."
Her hands balled into fists. "Maybe you are. Rock star." She said it like a slur.
"It was just a little kinky sex."
Wrong thing to say. Mount Hamilton blew her top at that one. "Exactly! Just what the hell kind of cheap, disgusting whore do you think I am? I don't sleep with any guy who whips his dick out and tells me to suck it! What the fucking fuck possessed you to … to … argh!" She lost coherence and gave a strangled roar of frustration.
"Okay back up, hang on. I don't think you're cheap and I don't think you're disgusting. I was under the impression you were a willing participant in what we did, you know." Well, except for the part where I carried you off. But that was theater. That was an act. I was sure she knew the difference. "You think I carry women off and fuck them in the back of a limo all the time?"
"Don't you?"
"No!" My protest came out a little more forceful than I expected. It was really starting to worry me that she was still in freak-out mode, and I was starting to fear that I really wasn't going to be able to get through to her. Was I wrong about her? Was I wrong about what I'd felt? She hadn't been play-acting. In fact, when I'd first carried her out of the auditorium I didn't think it would actually lead where it did. You're in over your head, Ax. "Why the hell did you kiss me if you … you … "
She was livid. "Do not try to cook up some bullshit story, mister, about how I led you on. Not for the fucking tabloids and not in your own fucking head, you get me?"
If she had some actual reasons for being upset, maybe I could talk my way through this, though. "Is that what's bothering you? That this might get out? I know how to keep my mouth shut. For fuck's sake, Ricki, the playboy image is exactly that. An image. I don't fuck everything that moves and I don't blab to the press about it. That wouldn't be responsible."
"Responsible." She crossed her arms but I felt like I was starting to get through, at least a little. It was better when she was angry and responding to me than when she was cold and ignoring me.
"Yeah. Responsible. And right now I'm feeling very responsible for the fact that you are having a Threat-Level Orange freak-out. If we're going to talk, could we sit down?"
Nope, she shut me down again. "There's no time for that." She looked in the mirror and shimmied the dress off her hips, leaving it in a pooled heap on the handwoven bath mat. Now all she was wearing was my black button-down shirt and it was the sexiest thing I'd ever seen. I tried to take a picture in my mind so I could treasure the memory, since if things continued to unravel I wasn't going to ever see that again. I tried not to dwell on that thought. There had to be a way to get through to her. She turned the hot tap on the sink and waited for the water to warm up.
"Now you're the one being irresponsible," I said.
"Excuse me?"
"I know you've got people to meet and things to do tonight, but stop for one second and take care of your own stuff. You're freaking out. I get it." I had a strong suspicion that maybe what was upsetting her so much was not that she didn't like the sex, but that she did. That made it difficult to apologize for, but no less my responsibility to try to talk her down. "What I did made you feel shitty. Let me help you feel better."
"What would make me feel better is if you would do as I say."
Maybe it was also the whole being-in-charge/not-being-in-charge thing that got to her. Maybe letting someone else have control had been too scary. I decided to go along with her for a bit while waiting for my next opening. I looked down at myself and then at my reflection in the huge mirror behind the sinks. "You want me to remove the evidence? I'm almost in party shape." I rubbed my hand over my jaw where there was that patch Tashonda had left as stubble for the sake of creating a rugged look for television. What had she said in the car?
I caught her eye in the mirror. "You want me to prove I didn't have this in the car for the sake of kink?" I put my kit down on top of the towel, took out the razor, and flipped it open with one hand.
This was a nice one, a gift from Sakura, with a shiny blade and a lovely, old-style handle. I caught the flicker of interest in Ricki's eyes before she snuffed it.
I waved the blade in my hand, letting the bright jewel-lights glint off the steel. "I won't lie, Ricki. Cutting your underwear off was one of the hottest things I've ever done. But I wish I hadn't if it messed with your head too much."
She blew a breath out through her nose and I imagined steam curling from her nostrils. But my being honest worked: she cooled down a bit. "Underwear can be replaced." Only a bit, though: "Reputation can't."
"I'm well aware of that." I nodded. She seemed to be letting her guard down little by little. "Got any rubbing alcohol?"
She looked around, like that was not at all what she was expecting me to say. Concentrating on something concrete seemed to help her calm down even further. "Um. Let me see." She found a bottle in the cabinet under the sink.
"And a glass?"
She put a mouthwash tumbler down next to the bottle and then turned to her own sink, getting out a cloth for herself.
Getting ready for the party side by side with her like that gave me a warm feeling inside, as if we had become a couple already. I held in a smile. I knew I still had a long way to go to undo whatever was tangled up in her head, but it was nice to dream. I filled the glass with alcohol, swished the blade in the liquid, then waved it in the air to dry. "I meant what I said, Ricki. I'm not here to ruin your reputation. I can keep my mouth shut, if that's what it takes. Is that what you want?"