Taking the Lead(17)

I both dreaded and couldn't wait to hear what Gwen had to say about the night's events. That would definitely have to wait until tomorrow.

It wasn't difficult to keep an eye on Axel. He wasn't the type to fade into the background. I hadn't expected him to actually play the piano, though. I'm not sure why: he was a singer, why wouldn't he play an instrument also? I guess in my head I was trying to pretend he was nothing but a talentless attention whore: Hollywood has plenty of those. But no, he could really sing. I watched as those hands danced and tickled and pounded the keys, by turns creative and gentle and forceful, exactly like he was during sex. With every word he sang I felt like I could hear the echo in my ear of the way it would sound if he growled it just for me, his body pressing mine down  …  Damn him. He was expressive and captivating and, and  …  maddening. I watched him from the top of the stairs and reminded myself not to grind my teeth. 

I don't think anyone had touched that piano since my mother died, other than the tuner the staff brought in once in a while. I certainly couldn't remember anyone playing it.

This was not the time to be thinking about my mother.

Axel's impromptu concert broke up and I was about to flee to my room, when I caught sight of Meyers near the front door, waiting for his wife's coat to be brought to her. Helena Meyers was in her mid- to late forties and was going gray, proudly, it seemed, since she hadn't dyed it. Her glossy black pageboy had a few prominent streaks and she had crow's feet starting at the corners of her eyes when she smiled. She had been a political journalist and always seemed like she'd be interesting to talk to, although I had never really gotten much of a chance. I swooped in for one last schmooze opportunity with Meyers.

"Helena, so glad to see you. I missed you earlier," I said, clasping her hand.

"You, too, Ricki. So nice you're working with David now. I hope we can have you 'round to the house for dinner some evening."

My smile was genuine. "I'd like that very much. Thank you." Apparently Helena Meyers was as interested in getting to know me as much as I hoped to know her. And that would be a much better time to cozy up to her husband, businesswise, as well. I relaxed a little. One step at a time, Ricki, I reminded myself. What was it Grandpa Cy used to say? You have to walk before you can fly. "How about in a few weeks?" That would give me a little more time to get my feet under me at Blue Star.

"That'd be lovely. Wouldn't it, David?"

"Surely." He took his wife's wrap from Jamison and draped it over her shoulders himself, giving her an adoring peck on the cheek.

As they went out the door, Jamison turned to me, then looked at someone behind me. I startled to find Axel standing there.

So much for him not blending into the crowd. The sight of him so close to me gave me a jolt, all the longing that listening to him sing had brought out surging suddenly to make my throat far too tight and my legs far too wobbly.

"Ricki," he said quickly. "I just wanted you to know-"

I slammed the lid on my raging hormones as hard as I could and went into highly formal ice queen mode. "Mr. Hawke. How nice to see you again."

His jaw clicked shut and he gave a small nod of acquiescence. He cleared his throat, his eyes flicking to Jamison, who was standing at my back like a lieutenant. What he said, although it sounded polite to anyone who might have been listening, of course, was full of erotic charge. "Ms. Hamilton."

Oh, damn it, why did I prompt him to call me that? His purr went straight between my already unsteady legs. But while my mind raced for something to say that wouldn't betray to him how I was feeling, we were interrupted by the sound of loud laughter-too loud-as my father and Grant emerged into the foyer from the hallway. Where was security?

Axel ignored them. "I wanted to express, um, my gratitude for the excellent time I've had tonight. Truly a night to remember."



       
         
       
        

I bet. "Congratulations again on the rare achievement." Anyone listening might think we were talking about the party, the award. My father leaned heavily on Grant. I tried not to look at them, instead glancing back at Jamison, who moved to intercept them.

Leaving Axel and me alone. He didn't change his tone, though, keeping it formal. "You've been an excellent hostess, and I apologize sincerely if I've overstepped my bounds as a guest." He waved in the direction of the piano, but I knew that wasn't what he was talking about. "I truly, truly intended no trespass."

He bowed, one hand over his heart, as corny as could be. Then he took my hand and kissed it like a courtier.

Even the touch of his lips against the backs of my fingers was perfect, soft and teasing and sensual without being too wet or too firm  …  Just that tiny touch, his agate eyes looking up at me from under his lashes, and I was spiraling down into fantasyland, into wishful thinking, into impossible ideas of being kidnapped all over again.

Damn it, damn it, damn it, how did he know the effect he had on me? It was terribly unfair. Why did he have to be so perfect when I couldn't have him? I pulled my hand back quickly. "Thank you for coming," I said, keeping a straight face. "Good night."

That was as much of a dismissal as I could make it. He took it as one, nodding his head again and heading for the door.

How? How could one little touch flood me with such desire? How could that one brush of his lips on my hand affect me like  …  like  …  Nothing had ever affected me like that before, actually.

But it wasn't just one little touch, I thought. It's his voice and his eyes and the things I know he could do to me and  …

And I had no time to think about it because the next crisis was presenting itself. "Ricki!" Grant called, as he and Jamison appeared to be lowering my father to the floor. Grant looked a mess. His bow tie was undone, trailing down his lapels, his hair tousled and shirt unbuttoned in a way that could have been kind of sexy but just looked ridiculous on him.

Jamison was already speaking to security through his earpiece. When he looked up at me, though, and I saw the worry on his face, I suddenly knew this was more serious than merely my father being drunk. I hurried closer as he began to convulse, his chest heaving. Grant tried to hold him down, hands pressing down on my father's shoulders.

Idiot! I had no time for an argument. I kicked Grant aside, literally, shouting, "Turn him over! Turn him over!" as Reeve came running down the hallway and Jamison and I struggled to get my father facedown so he wouldn't choke on his own vomit.

Yes, it was quite the party to remember.



 

CHAPTER SIX


STEP BY STEP BY STEP


RICKI

I waited a few days before I went out in public. I called in sick to work. I didn't watch TV. I didn't look at the newspaper. Paul kept me up to date on what appeared. Fortunately, there was not a word about one Richard Hamilton nearly choking to death or his hospitalization afterward. Maybe it really wasn't notable that yet another middle-aged rich white man had a drinking problem and was being sent to rehab. My father had ceased to be interesting to the tabloids years ago and I hoped it stayed that way.

Meanwhile yes, apparently there had been some buzz about the "kidnapping" stunt, with a few write-ups here and there and mentions in post-awards columns. Axel had been on some talk show the next day where he even said he'd "accidentally" picked me up instead of my friend.

"And I quote," said Paul, reading from the notes on his tablet while briefing me, " 'It was too late to do anything but, you know, run with it. Sorry again, Ms. Hamilton.' And then he waved into the camera. End of segment. Do you want to see it? I have the video clip right here."

"No, not necessary." I breathed a sigh of relief. I was still angry at him but at least Axel had said exactly the right thing to keep it from blowing up in my face. "Sounds like it died down relatively quickly."

"Especially when you consider all the press this guy has done as a result of the win. He's in New York on a junket right now." Paul was wearing a skinny black tie and an impeccably white shirt, buttoned all the way up, but with skinny jeans and Doc Martens. "But yes, more of the buzz is about the band than about you. When your name does come up, it's as an amusing sidebar."

Amusing sidebar I could live with. Amusing sidebar was safe. Not laughingstock, not object of pity, and not sex-crazed maniac.

After that I decided it was safe to leave the mansion. I went to work without incident; not even a condescending joke about it came from my male colleagues. Good.

I had other things to worry about. Things I hoped Sakura could help me with.

We met at her favorite sushi joint, Hiro's. The place had a couple of advantages. For one, it was in an unfashionable part of town and therefore unlikely to be staked out by paparazzi. Two, just in case, they had private tatami rooms. Three, the fish was absolutely fabulous, or maybe Hiro was just that good.

We were quickly steered to a private table with a sliding paper screen door. Sakura told the waiter to bring us tea, water, and "whatever Hiro wants to serve us tonight." The man left with a bow and slid the door closed behind himself.