“Kennedy McManus.” Her voice was low and smooth like bourbon—like her amber eyes.
I opened the door and raised my arm for her to go under and through. Her eyes flicked to my bowl of noodles again, before she sailed through. Kennedy was a stubborn one.
The lobby was alive with people. Some were checking in, some were for Tristan’s restaurant, but a lot were for Hammered’s release party. Radio stations, music publications, and anyone else who’d procured a press pass filled the space.
“Shit.”
She peered over her shoulder. “Should have thought of that before you disappeared.”
“Kenny, you’re a ball-buster.”
“Kennedy,” she corrected.
I snagged the back of her jacket and hauled her back a step. “Not that way.”
She swatted my hand away. “Oh, and which way would you choose?”
“One that doesn’t include a camera or video,” I answered. I palmed my bowl in one hand, and her wrist in the other.
“Mr. Jordan—”
“Hunter,” I corrected.
Her heels clicked loudly on the marble behind the bar. I just knew someone was going to turn around. Suddenly her clomping softened. I peeked over my shoulder and she’d somehow gone on tiptoe. I wasn’t aware an arch could be that high. The flex of her calf made my throat dry.
Damn, what was it about women and heels?
She tipped her head at me and her eyes widened in the universal what-the-fuck look. I grinned at her and twisted my fingers to link with hers. “This way,” I murmured.
This was an old hotel with tons of different passageways. Once upon a time, they had been used for smuggling in booze. Now they were perfect for the more famous clientele to get around without being seen.
I backed into a doorway that looked like a pantry. Instead the shelves opened back into a corridor.
“Wow,” she gasped.
“Pretty cool, huh?”
“So that’s how you disappeared.”
I shrugged. “This is one of my favorite hotels.”
“You can let go of my hand now.”
I looked down at her. “Easier.” I kept moving down the narrow space and hung a left. Rope lights lined the floor and an overhead rail so we could see where we were going.
“Do not get us lost, Mr. Jordan.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be at that precious meet and greet.” My fork clinked against the side of my bowl as I snaked us through the winding space. This was one of the fastest ways into the theater’s backstage. The only problem was that we had to dart across the main lobby of the theater to get to the next space.
When they’d remodeled the theater, they’d opened up and cut off some of the secret tunnels. I got to the doorway and paused. Kennedy was still rushing behind me and bumped into my back.
“Sorry,” she whispered and stepped back.
Too bad. The quick scent of orange blossoms overpowered even the garlic of my dish. It was a pretty scent, not thick and cloying like some women.
She laid a hand on my lower back and crowded in on me. “Why are we stopping?”
I popped the hinge on the door slowly. I winced. Man, I hope no one heard that click. I peeked out. Yeah, there was no worries there. There was about four hundred people mobbing the merchandise table. “Fuck.”
“What?” She wiggled between me and the wall until she was under my arm.
I swallowed a groan when her hip brushed along my zipper.
“Well, crap.”
The soft waves of her hair around her face brushed my neck. She looked up at me and realized just how close we were. She tried to back up, but there was nowhere to go. I was a big guy, and the corridor had been created for men of the twenties, not my six-three body and shoulders.
“We need to wait this out until some of it dies down.” I held up the bowl. “So we eat, I guess.”
“I told you I’m not hungry.”
I wedged myself against the wall so I could keep a look out from the sliver of an opening. I extended my legs until the toes of my boots bumped into the wall across from me.
She set her purse down near the door. She gave me a squinty look and tried to climb over my legs, but her tight skirt didn’t allow for that much movement. Content to figure out what she was going to do, I twirled pasta and stabbed a mushroom.
“Could you move?”
“Can’t.” I picked up another mushroom and popped it in my mouth. “Eating.”
“This might be cute for your legion of fans, but I’m not amused.”
I smiled around my mouthful of food. My momma would’ve slapped me in the head, but I couldn’t seem to find my manners. “Sure you are. And you’re hungry.” Her belly growled again and she pursed her distracting lips.