Page 12

CHAPTER FIVE

ICEMAN

“ A ll the producers and sound engineers have come up clean, brother,” Colt relayed down the phone. “Checked the interns, the receptionist. Hell, I even did a deep dive on the cleaning ladies. All good.”

I stared out of the glass bi-fold doors into Saint’s backyard, where she was sitting on a sun lounger, scribbling on a notepad.

“That helps. They’re mainly in the rehearsal studio this week.

They’ve got an industry party tomorrow night, but it’s a closed-door event for Dischordium’s new release.

Carbine keeps his shit tight, and he knows what’s goin’ on with Saint, so he’s no doubt already alerted his band’s security. ”

“That fucker will probably carry and conceal himself,” Colt muttered. “He thinks the world of Saint.”

My eyebrows pulled together. “Huh?”

“Yeah,” Colt confirmed. “You think he’d have gone to all this trouble for her if he didn’t? Noah raves about her. Says Saint, along with Maeve O’Shea, are the coolest chicks he’s ever met.”

“Blue De Santis can’t stand her,” I pointed out.

Colt snorted. “Blue De Santis probably tried to get into Saint’s pants and got told to fuck off. He’s a whiny little fucker, has been since the band hit the big time. The fucker’s ego’s through the roof these days.”

“That’s what he said about Saint,” I murmured, almost to myself.

“I’d take everything Blue says with a grain of salt,” Colt advised. “I’d hardly call him the fount of knowledge when it comes to treating women well.”

One shoulder lifted in a shrug. “True.”

Saint’s brow furrowed in concentration, a lock of hair fell over one eye, and I smiled as she tucked it behind her ear, engrossed in her writing.

“Can you check out the record execs next? Her stalker knows where she lives, but it’s not easy information to get.

Saint keeps her life on the down-low. She doesn’t go to the opening of an envelope or court publicity.

I can’t shake the feeling there’s more to this. ”

“I’m already working on it,” he confirmed. “Not found anything solid yet. I’ll keep digging, and I’ve sent the images to the profilers. They’ve already started to build a background, and they’ll step that up as soon as the originals get delivered.”

The second I saw the topless shots of Saint, a knot formed in my stomach that hadn’t unraveled yet. The attention was unhealthy and sinister, and although she was putting on a brave face, I could see how much it had shaken her up.

“How’s things there?” Colt asked.

“Worked in shittier places,” I relayed. “Saint’s house is on the beach. I’m surrounded by bikini-clad babes, rock bands, music, and showbiz parties. It ain’t bad.”

“It’s fake as fuck,” he corrected.

“Yeah,” I breathed. “It is. Still, I’m here to do a job, and I’ll do it to the best of my abilities. Just wish we’d been called in before all this. I can’t help feeling that management left it a little late to call in reinforcements. We could have been ahead of all this. ”

“You think Talia Fields is behind it?” Colt asked.

“I’m not ruling anyone out. I don’t get the gut feeling Talia’s to blame, but who knows? This industry is crazy.”

“Those gifts are sexual, so it’s either a gay woman or a male. It’s definitely somebody who fantasizes about Saint.”

“That rules Talia out then,” I mused. “She’s straight.”

“She could swing both ways,” Colt said. “Look, I’m playing devil’s advocate here. My gut tells me it’s a guy. I don’t think you’ve anything to worry about with Talia Fields, though I agree it’s weird she waited so long to get Saint some help.”

“In her defense, they must get a lot of this. It’s a different world, brother.

I know you grew up rich as Midas, but fame is a whole other ball game.

Talia told me that initially, the letters and gifts were nothing out of the ordinary.

Certainly not weird enough to call in specialists.

As soon as shit got worrisome, she made moves to protect the band. ”

I pushed off the door frame, my eyes still fixated on Saint as her eyes dropped to her notepad, and she jotted something down. “Thanks for checking, Colt. Keep me posted.”

“Goes without sayin’, brother. Later,” he replied before ending the call.

I slipped my phone back into my suit jacket, my eyes still glued to the woman whose face had haunted me for two years.

Seeing Saint again affected me in ways I couldn’t explain. Just functioning like a normal person around her took every piece of self-control I had.

Jesus Christ, I wanted to kiss her, ached for it, but I had to ignore the urge and keep her at arm’s length.

Over time, I’d tried to convince myself that I’d exaggerated the connection I felt for her, that maybe I’d inflated its significance to fill the void Allie left, but seeing Saint again and feeling the pull between us shattered the lie.

She was spectacular.

The smart thing would have been to swap places with Gambit, or better still, get on the first flight home and send somebody else in my place, but after seeing those photographs and understanding the seriousness of the situation, there was no way I was leaving Saint McClure, at least not until I’d caught the fucker tormenting her.

The air between us felt charged, as if there was a storm brewing, and I was about to get caught up in its force. It was becoming clear that I wouldn’t be able to ignore her pull. Maybe I should just tell her once and for all how her disappearing from my life had shredded me.

Or maybe I needed to keep my big ol’ mouth shut and just let things play out in the way they were meant to. Saint was going through a lot, and the last thing she wanted was an old flame piling on the pressure.

My job was to make her life easier, not to make her feel even more uncomfortable. I was the help, and she was my boss, my ward, and a client. She was the woman I was being paid to protect. Therefore, I needed to keep my mind on the goddamned job.

Except I couldn’t keep denying her pull.

The truth was, I hadn’t just missed her. She’d been missing from me. And I didn’t quite know what to do with that.

Saint glanced up from her notepad, and our eyes locked.

Something flashed behind her expression, and then her face blanked of all emotion as she mentally pulled herself together. Her appearance may have changed, but she still wore her heart on her sleeve, and it was a comfort that despite all her success, she hadn’t lost that quality.

The urge to kiss her reared up again, but instead of going outside, grabbing her by the throat, and angling her face into a position to take my tongue, I broke our stare, went to her refrigerator, and pulled out a pitcher of juice with fruit floating in it.

After pouring two glasses, I carried them outside, approached the sun lounger, and handed her one.

The familiar scent of her perfume—hints of jasmine and vanilla—wrapped around my senses. A memory flashed through my mind of tasting Saint’s skin while I moved inside her, and my cock stirred.

She must’ve picked up on my dirty thoughts because her cheeks pinked up prettily. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, a nervous habit I remembered from our life-changing—at least for me—night together.

“You wearin’ sunscreen?” I asked, sounding like a fucking idiot.

She grinned and gazed up at me with azure eyes. “Yeah, but thanks for caring.”

I let out a snort and walked over to the shaded table on the patio where we’d sat earlier and flopped down in a chair, making sure to manspread to fuck so Saint could get a good look at my junk.

Her eyes went there immediately, and I bit back a smirk.

Not so fucking immune after all.

“Whatcha doin’?” I asked.

“Writing.”

“Whatcha writing?”

“A song.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “Just like that? You’re writing a song? ”

“Well, contrary to popular belief, they don’t write themselves, Jacob,” she sassed. “And contrary to the asshole naysayers, nobody writes them for me.”

I leaned forward, elbows to knees, drink hanging from my fingers. “Talk to me like that again, and I’ll put you over my knee.”

She burst out laughing. “You’d have to catch me first.”

“I’ll lock you in my lair,” I threatened, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

She hitched a pretty, dark eyebrow. “Or maybe I’ll lock you in mine.”

A chuckle escaped my throat, and I took a sip of my drink. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about writing a song. It must be pretty complicated.”

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “It’s as complicated as you make it.

I find clearing my head and letting my emotions do the talking is the best way to get the words out.

It’s like any other job; you have good days and bad days.

Sometimes, everything flows and seems to come together all by itself.

Other days, you have to work at it.” She smiled.

“Maybe I’ll give you a lesson sometime.”

I leaned back in my chair, crossing my legs at the ankle. “I’d need more than a few lessons to match your talent.”

Her smile faded, and she murmured, “Flattery will get you everywhere, Jacob.”

A warm feeling spread through me at the sound of my name on her lips.

I’d always loved the way Saint spoke. Even when she wasn’t singing, her voice was beautiful, and sometimes, her words were so poetic that it made my heart beat faster. Two years had passed since we’d had a moment like this, but it felt like yesterday .

“So,” I began, trying to keep the mood light despite the weight of loss I felt at being without her for so goddamned long. “What’s the song about?”

“Love,” she murmured. “Loss, yearning, and wishing things could’ve been different.”

“Thought you’d write about your stalker,” I muttered, trying to tamp down the uneasy feelings that the meaning behind her words evoked. “Isn’t that what songwriters do? Take inspiration from their lives?”

Her azure blue eyes bored into mine. “None of my wounds came from adversaries, Jake. They all came from the people who were supposed to love me.”