Maya Banks - Sweet Possession

Micah’s lips curled into a snarl. “Enough already, Pop. You know I fucked up with her. I can’t just run over her and make her do what I want.”

“No, but you could damn well put your foot down and make her believe how you feel.”

“I’ve tried!”

“Then try harder,” Pop grumbled. “It’s getting to be like some couples’ retreat around here. It’s damn nauseating.”

Connor knew when a good time to escape was. Right now, when Pop was busy bitching about something else. Maybe by the time he remembered what he wanted Connor to do, the record company would have given up and hired someone else.

He was almost to the door. One more step and he would have made it home free.

“Your airline ticket is on your desk,” Pop called. “You fly out tomorrow morning. Now go home and pack a suitcase.”

Fuck a goddamn duck.

The arena reverberated with frantic music and a rainbow of cascading lights. Connor stood at the top of the stands, staring over the railing at the stage below. His ears were going to explode at any second, and he felt so dizzy from the rapid staccato of flashing lasers that he gripped the cool metal bar in front of him to steady himself.

With his free hand, he reached back and massaged a kink out of his neck. He’d been tense ever since this circus had started. How in the hell could anyone stand this cacophony on a regular basis? This wasn’t his type of music. How could it be anyone’s? How the hell did anyone even understand the screeching, if they could even hear it over the band? He’d much rather throw down with some Montgomery Gentry or Jason Aldean if he was going to subject himself to a concert.

Finally, the screeching stopped. There was a god.

Connor glanced back at the stage to see Lyric Jones saunter back out after her last hasty departure. Costume change, though why she bothered with this one, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t even have to be close to the stage to know she was barely wearing anything at all.

He glanced to the side where the record executives from Cosmic Records were taking in the show with him. They’d met his plane and drove him out to the arena in a limo. The whole thing was ridiculous, and he was still cursing the fact that he’d gotten saddled with flying out to talk to the parties involved.

As the music assaulted his ears again, he turned his attention back to the stage, just in time to see another scantily clad woman stroll toward Lyric. Best he could make out, the words to the song sounded something like “Girl Love.” He snorted.

The two women faced each other as Lyric sang. They were a study in contrast, probably well coordinated. Lyric was small and blackhaired, if you didn’t count the god-awful pink streak in it. The other woman was tall, luscious and blond, with a set of tits that had to be bought and paid for. He didn’t need binoculars to see that.

Then they moved closer, undulating their bodies in a suggestive manner. The crowd went nuts as the women pressed against each other. Lyric held the mic to her chest as she swayed in the other woman’s arms. As the song continued, Lyric turned and nestled her ass right into the blond woman’s crotch. The two continued their little bump and grind as the crowd roared their approval.

Why couldn’t Micah have taken this job? This would be right up his alley. Watching two women go at it? Micah would be drooling like a rabid pit bull. Of course, Angelina might kick some serious ass over it, but still. All Connor wanted was a good stiff drink and a bottle of ibuprofen.

By the time the song was winding down, the two women were meshed tighter than a snag in a fishing line. When the music died, Lyric let the mic fall and got into a lip-lock with the blonde that a fire hose wouldn’t have separated.

There was no way he could do this. Everything about the woman got on his last nerve, and he hadn’t even met her yet. He didn’t have to. It was all there for everyone to see. The record executives would be pissed, and Pop probably wouldn’t be too happy, but if he wanted the gig so bad, he could either do it himself or make Nathan or Micah do it. Their women would just have to get over it. Connor would take good care of the girls while Nathan and Micah were gone. That image made him grin.

He was ready to turn around and walk out when a softer, melodious tone poured into the arena. It made him pause for a brief second and look back at the stage. Lyric stood in the middle, a single spotlight focused on her. The rest of the stage was blacked out.

Her eyes were closed, and he got the crazy image in his head that she looked vulnerable. Then she opened her mouth, and for the first time that night, he could clearly hear her voice. It poured out of her like smooth, sweet honey. It crawled right over his skin and sent a shiver down his spine.

He stared, entranced by the image of her alone, her haunting, beautiful voice filling every nook and cranny of the packed house. He was struck by the sadness he felt radiating from her. More than sadness, it was pain.

His hands gripped the railing as he moved closer, his attention focused entirely on the woman singing. It wasn’t one of those insipid, self-reflection songs. It was about going home. He could feel the ache in her voice. It made him ache. Hell, it made him want to go home.

Across the arena, cigarette lighters flared and bobbed as hands shot into the air holding them. They waved in time as she stood, so still, face turned to the ceiling. He imagined her eyes were closed as the last of the words spilled from her lips.

The music faded, and for a moment, silence descended on the crowd. Then shrill whistles rent the air, followed by raucous cheers.

Lyric stepped back and waved to the crowd. She bowed once and hurried off the stage.

The record executives shifted beside him, and Connor looked over to see them staring at him.

“You ready to go meet our girl?” Phillip Armstrong asked.

Connor nodded, forgetting for a moment that all he really wanted to do was get the hell out while the getting was good. With a resigned sigh, he followed the suits to the backstage area.

Security, if you could call it that, was minimal. Fans swarmed the corridor, pushing, shoving and screaming. When a beefed-up, musclebound security guard standing outside the backstage door looked up and saw them coming, he snapped to attention and started shoving rabid fans to the side so they could pass.

When the door opened, Connor was pushed forward as the fans tried to rush past him. He stumbled inside, a string of obscenities dying to blow past his lips. He managed to keep his cool. Barely.

Phillip and his sidekick, Barry, smoothed their suits and looked questioningly at Connor. Connor’s lips thinned but he gritted his teeth and kept his expression neutral.

They motioned him toward a slightly less congested area and the two men accepted a drink from a gangly boy who couldn’t be more than a teenager. When they offered Connor a glass, he shook his head. Not that the idea of a pint of vodka wasn’t vastly appealing, but at this point, if he started drinking, he wasn’t going to stop.

He peered around the room, which, after more consideration, was much larger than he’d first thought. It was just crowded. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and tried not to look as bored and as uncomfortable as he felt.

A few seconds later, the door burst open and Lyric stumbled in, a wide grin on her face. Two men he could only assume were her bodyguards flanked her. He arched one eyebrow as the bodyguards proceeded to get very up close and personal as they staggered in Connor’s direction.

As one hand closed around her breast, she swatted playfully, then smiled up at the bodyguard with a “not now, later” look.

Another man stepped in front of Lyric, halting her progress toward the record execs. She frowned and her eyes narrowed but just as quickly her expression became neutral as she stared up at the guy.

“You looked and sounded like shit out there, Lyric. What the hell is your problem?”

Connor’s brows drew together and he found himself frowning at the blatant disrespect in the other man’s tone. Whoever the guy was, he wasn’t worried about the repercussions of his outburst. Connor glanced over at Lyric, fully expecting her to tear the guy a new asshole, but he couldn’t read a thing on her face or in her eyes. It was like she wasn’t even there anymore.

“You need to use this time off to get your act together,” the guy continued. “Get a massage. Get laid. Whatever it takes, but don’t show up in Houston sounding like a screechy has-been.”

Whoa. This was starting to get entertaining.

“Who’s the guy?” Connor asked Phillip casually.

“Her manager, Paul.”

Connor couldn’t read any disapproval in Phillip’s tone. Maybe Paul was saying what everyone else was thinking. But then Connor caught the look in Phillip’s eyes. He looked murderous.

“He always talk to her like that?”

Phillip gave a short nod. “Yeah. Look, you’re going to have to deal with him. There’s nothing I can do about that. But you work for me. Not that little prick. Remember that.”

The men went silent as Lyric finally pushed by her manager and then she came up short when she laid eyes on Connor. Connor took his time acknowledging her presence. The problem was, the woman was clearly used to having people come to attention when she entered a room. Hell would freeze over before he’d be one of them.

When he finally lifted his gaze to meet hers, he saw crystal blue eyes staring back at him with the same disinterest he knew had to be reflected in his gaze. She adopted a bored look as her two minions continued pawing at her.