“Yes. I do.” He tried to look in her eyes, but couldn’t stop looking at her mouth.
“You don’t know me, and I’ve been a bit spiteful to you,” she said.
“Oh, I got that. You’re a kitten with claws,” he teased softly. “But I think it’s an act.” He held up his hand when she started to argue. “Sparrow loves you, and I’ve come to think she’s a very wise person.”
“Sparrow loves everyone,” Roxie said, smiling fondly.
“No … she … wouldn’t if you were … cruel,” he stuttered. “I see you with everyone else and even though you’re sassy, you’re one of the nicest people here. I like all of what I know so far.”
She played with her ear lobe and looked almost shy. “How can you say I’m nice after the way I’ve treated you?” She shook her head. “An act, huh? Interesting.”
“Exactly,” he laughed, “you’re a mystery that I want to solve.”
“What fun would that be? A mystery is only fun because of the unknown. Once you figure it out, you’ll be on to other mysteries.”
He nodded. “I can see where you’d think that. But here’s the deal, Roxie,” he leaned in closer to her, “and let’s just stop talking ‘hypothetically’ about mysteries here … I want to know you. Period. The fact that you’re mysterious doesn’t make me want to know you more or less; in fact, it’s just getting in my way at the moment.”
She blinked fast and looked away. Her mouth curved just slightly, like she was holding back a grin.
“I hope you’ll like me a little better this time around,” he said.
And just like that, all the progress Beckham thought he was making fell apart, as her face clouded over and her eyes grew hard.
She stood up from the table and leaned over to whisper into Beckham’s ear.
“I work for you. You don’t know me. I don’t know you. We don’t need to know each other. Got it?”
She stood up straight and was about to walk away when Beckham put his hand on her arm.
“Roxie? You might say that now, but we’re just getting started onstage together. You tell me all I need to know when you dance with me. It’s a different beast with the energy of a crowd out there. You’ll be addicted to what that pulls out of you. Every. Single. Night.”
He grinned as her eyes got huge and laughed as she walked away. He couldn’t wait to get on that stage with her in just a few short hours.
The first show was a huge success, receiving acclaim from the critics:
‘Kept the audience hypnotized…’
‘Woods exuded an effortless charisma that Sterling matched perfectly. The two of them together are sizzling magic.’
‘Hearing the fusion of these two superstars is the ultimate experience…’
Beckham didn’t see Roxie the next day. He had an interview set up at the bus with Rolling Stone. He didn’t want to talk about his addictions anymore and it always went back to that or whoever he might be dating. He let his bodyguard, Howie, know exactly how much time he intended to spend with the journalist and when Howie should intervene.
After lunch, there was a knock and Howie walked in.
“Mirielle Wethers from Rolling Stone to see you?” Howie said.
“Send her in.”
A gorgeous redhead walked in wearing tight jeans and a T-shirt. Her cleavage was the first red flag. The determination in her eyes was the second. It should have been the other way around, but he knew her type. The two usually went hand-in-hand when the woman led with her breasts. He had it right the first time.
“Beckham Woods?” she purred. “Mirielle Wethers. Thank you for meeting me.”
“You’re new,” he said with an edge.
“Are you gonna hold it against me?” She sat down on the couch next to him, leaning forward.
Beckham groaned. “Tell Matt I’m holding this against him. The bastard.” Beckham knew Matt, his favorite journalist at the magazine, was trying to bait him with an overly eager sexpot who was willing to do whatever necessary to boost her career off of this interview.
Mirielle stuck her candy red lips out in a pout, pretending to be wounded. “Aw, come on. Let’s not get off on the wrong foot. There are much better ways to get off…” She licked her lips slowly.
Beckham moved to the other couch. “Shall we start the interview?”
After twenty minutes of trying to steer Mirielle’s line of questioning to something other than his rehab stint and the actresses he’d last been seen with, he stood up.
“If we can’t talk about the music, I’m done here.”
She stood up and touched his arm. “I need this interview, please give me something…”
“If you can’t find anything worth writing about in the music, either I’m doing something wrong or you’re not meant to do this.”
The fire lit in her eyes and she stepped back like she’d been hit.
“Tell Matt I missed him. You can see your way out.” Beckham pointed to the door, just as there was a knock.
Howie walked in and nodded at them both. “Your next appointment is here,” he said.
“Look, Mr. Woods, I just need a little more of your time, please. Can you … please give me a few more minutes?” She gave Howie a dismissive wave.
“I’m all out of minutes,” Beckham said. “Howie? Can you escort Miss Wethers out?”
Mirielle stood there for a few seconds, fuming. She looked at Beckham and then decided to change her tactics.
“Thank you for your time.” She leaned over, her chest rubbing against his as she kissed his cheek.
His breath caught and he stepped back. Mirielle smiled, at least part of her mission complete as she left the tour bus.
Going backstage after sound check, he went searching for the green room. He had junk food on the brain and needed to hunt some down. Opening the door, he realized he was in the wrong room right away, but then noticed movement in the corner. The room was sparse; a few speakers and cases were on the floor, and a couple of poles that went into the rafters of the exposed ceiling. Roxie was circling one and Beckham lost all rational thought when she jumped on it, landing high, and did the splits before winding her legs back around the pole and going upside down. She dropped and he jumped forward to help her, but she hadn’t fallen, she was just working her way back up the pole without ever touching the ground. Faster and faster and faster she turned, her legs flying and flawless. She moved until he was dizzy. Time leaped into fast forward motion and her movements spoke to him from somewhere cavernous. She slowed and her head faced the floor and her legs reached up to the ceiling … and then she was right side up again.
Oh please, don’t let it end. Beckham blinked and she was standing by the pole, circling it the way she had been when he came in.
He’d never seen anything so erotic and he’d seen plenty try. Nothing had ever come close to watching her.
She turned; her face radiant. Her mouth dropped when she saw him. He closed his mouth when hers opened.
She started to say something then stopped.
He stepped forward. “Roxie. That was … unbelievable.”
“Favorite class I’ve ever taken—pole dancing,” she said, blushing.
“You can’t be embarrassed. You were born to do that.” He pointed like an imbecile. She’d rendered him stupid. “Everyone deserves to see you on a pole,” he said, eyes twinkling.
“Not gonna happen,” she said.
“Just me then…” He let his eyes wander down her body again and nodded in appreciation. “Yeah, I’d prefer that too.”
She groaned, but he caught her smile right before she turned and left the room.
Anthony was right. The crowd went insane when Sparrow came onstage. They didn’t dance—it was all Ian could do to get her to come out in front of the crowd, but she let him serenade her. It had been a hit every night thus far and was something Ian looked forward to now in the show. He saw her standing to the side, waiting for her cue, and winked. She started out nervous each night but relaxed once she moved toward him. It was a song he’d written for her when they’d been broken up, not his usual gritty blues-filled soul, but his heart pouring out. It was no secret she’d brought out the sap in him. He smirked to himself … yeah, so much of a sap that it was a struggle for him to keep it together every night to sing the song.