Pure Wicked: A Wicked Lovers Novella (1001 Dark Nights) Read online

  “I’m afraid you won’t be visiting Jimmy Fallon with this album,” she quipped. “I think it’s better if we proactively back out on these appearances for now, citing grief over the loss of your friend. We’ll have an easier time rebooking in a couple of weeks, once this crap has died down.”

  “Wait. Maybe I should use those appearances to tell everyone that I had nothing to do with it.” But he couldn’t deny that on plenty of nights in the past, it could have been him—and everyone knew it. The fact that Maddy Harris had died in his hotel room simply splashed another stain on his already bad reputation. And it sure as hell made him feel shitty, too. What a waste of life…

  “That’s not what they want to hear. ‘Rock Star Overdoses Underage Fan on Sex and Heroin’ makes for a juicier headline. Until the police finish their investigation and release the details, people will assume you had a hand in the incident.”

  He sighed. “So what do you want me to do?”

  “I’m going to issue a statement expressing your grief and deepest apologies to the Harris family. You’re going to disappear—way off the radar—until I say otherwise. No swanky resorts. No high-profile outings with Taylor Swift. And absolutely no intoxication. Think sober monk.”

  No one would ever believe that.

  “I’ve got it.” She snapped her fingers and excitement lit her eyes. “You can go to rehab.”

  Jesse scowled. “I’m not an addict.”

  “But it would look good. Repentant.”

  “It would also be pointless. Everyone goes to rehab and no one cares. No.” He glared her way. “If I hole up, this dies down.”

  “All right,” she said grudgingly as the limo stopped in front of the executive airport outside the city. “But I don’t want to see a Twitter or Instagram pic of you for at least the next two weeks. Once we’re back in L.A., hide out in your house. That should work. I’ll tell you when it’s safe to come out.”

  His ultra-contemporary house was decorated with every luxury and technological delight known to man, not to mention blessed with sick city and ocean views. But it had never felt like home. Despite the place being eight thousand square feet, Jesse couldn’t imagine being cooped up there for the next fourteen days. It would only remind him of everything wrong with his life.

  “Paparazzi know where I live. If I get on that plane with you and go to L.A., they’ll figure it out. So will fans.” Even now, he imagined that if he looked at his phone he’d find a full voicemail box and hundreds of text messages. He couldn’t deal with anyone else’s expectations right now when he’d done so poorly at meeting his own. “If you really want me to disappear, we’ll have to come up with another plan.”

  “You’re well known on every continent but Antarctica. The press would spot you almost anywhere you travel, especially if you take a security detail. They seem to have eyes and ears at every airport. I…” Candia huffed. “I need to think about this.”

  “I’ll give it some brain power too, come up with a few ideas.” Though he had no idea what to suggest, Jesse did know that what he’d done in the past—disappearing into the bottom of a bottle with some recreational blow and a woman under each arm—wasn’t going to do a damn thing to clean up his image.

  “Ideas?” She sounded as if that horrified her. “You? No.”

  “I’m a grown-ass man. And I’ve learned a few things over the years.” He lowered his sunglasses and stared at her over the rims. “Go. You handle the press. I think I might know how to disappear.”

  When the driver opened the limo door, Candia grabbed her bag and turned to him. “You sure? Can I really trust you not to fuck this up?”

  “Yeah. I know how much is on the line. Call me when the coast is clear.”

  * * * *

  Jesse wiped his palms down the front of his jeans, then rang the doorbell. Hell, he didn’t even know if Kimber was home. And that scary bastard she’d married—had it really been almost five years ago?—wouldn’t be thrilled to see his wife’s ex-fiancé, especially this late at night. If he was lucky, Deke Trenton would slam the door in his face. More likely, the big operative would try to beat the shit out of him.

  After a gut-tightening moment, the porch light flipped on and the door swept open.

  Deke towered in the doorway, a beefy forearm braced against the jamb, blue eyes raking him with a scathing glare. Then Kimber’s husband sighed and looked over his shoulder, back into the living room. “Kitten, your personal Bieber has decided to drop in.”

  “Jesse?” He heard her familiar voice.

  Deke stepped back, and she appeared in the doorway a moment later. Well, her pregnant belly edged into view. The rest of her followed an instant later. He hadn’t talked to her in so long, he hadn’t even known she was pregnant again. Didn’t that make him feel even more like a shit?

  Deke wrapped an arm around her—both a reminder and a warning. Jesse was relieved that seeing the man’s hands on her no longer made him twenty kinds of jealous.

  “Oh my gosh!” Kimber’s hazel eyes widened as she pulled him into a quick hug. “You really are here.”

  Jesse held her in return for something slightly longer than a moment.

  “Yeah. Sorry to drop by without calling.” Clearly, he was intruding on their happy domestic scene.

  “Not at all. Come in.” She opened the door wider and stepped back.

  He could have sworn he heard Deke growl. But the guy let Jesse enter. Now that he’d interrupted their evening, he’d talk fast, thank them, and be gone.

  As he cleared the foyer, flashes of light told him the TV was on, but he suspected it had been muted because he didn’t hear a sound coming from the box. Children’s toys filled baskets and shelves around the room—balls, books, trucks, stuffed animals. Kimber had given birth to a son almost four years ago and was obviously about to be a mother again.

  “Sit.” She waved him over to the couch. “Can I get you something? Water? Coffee?”

  Reluctantly, he sank into a chair, leaving the couch for the two of them. “No thanks. How are you?”

  “Pregnant. It’s a girl this time.” She smoothed her hand over her distended belly with a serene smile. “I’m due at the end of next month. Otherwise, I’m fine.”

  “And you’re on bed rest until then so you don’t go into premature labor again. Feet up.” Deke hustled her back to the sofa and lifted her lower legs and placed her heels on a pillow strategically positioned on top of the coffee table. Then the man pinned Jesse with a stare, shaking his head. “So I’m guessing this isn’t a social call. Your buddy Ryan fucked up and bit it last night.”

  Kimber gasped, then elbowed her husband. “Deke!”

  “Am I wrong?” Deke looked his way.

  Jesse raked at his hair. He hated wearing it to his shoulders and filled with “product.” The stylist he paid a small fortune for insisted it looked both cool and hot. Same with the scruff on his face. Sometimes he just wanted it all gone. “Nope. I wasn’t there.”

  “Access Hollywood suggested something similar about an hour ago,” she said.

  “Which I don’t watch,” Deke cut in. “You came here for a reason. What do you need?”

  Tugging at his ear, Jesse grimaced. These damn earrings weren’t him, either. Crap, he shouldn’t have come here. He didn’t want to risk bringing the press down on them, especially if Kimber was having a difficult pregnancy. She didn’t need the stress.

  “Nothing.” He stood. “You’ve got your hands full. I assume your son is in bed. And I… I’ll figure it out.”

  “You need a place to go?” Deke barked.

  Jesse opened his mouth to admit that’s why he’d come, then he snapped it shut again. Deke’s buddy Jack had some isolated cabin deep in a swamp, and it sure would come in handy about now. But Jesse hadn’t done anything for himself since fame had hit—not kept his schedule, answered his calls, or styled his hair. Hell, he’d barely wiped his own ass. Simply rehabbing his image wouldn’t cut it. As Candia had suggested, the tim
e had come for him to change everything.

  He was too damn unhappy to spend the rest of his life this way.

  “No. I’ve got a place in mind,” he lied. “Before I headed that way, I wanted to spend time with someone who…” Knows I’m not the sort of man to corrupt and overdose a teenager. But one of the last times he’d seen Kimber, she’d walked in to find him balls deep in an intoxicated, barely legal girl while chugging a fifth of bourbon. Deke must know that. “Someone who wouldn’t bullshit me. Someone with a solid word of advice.”

  “Well…” Kimber wrinkled her brow in thought. “I’ve always told you that you have to decide what you want your life to be and make it happen.”

  Deke shook his head. “Kitten, I think he meant me.”

  When she glanced at him for confirmation, Jesse sent her a half grin. “Yeah, man to man. Or something like that.”

  His answer clearly surprised her. “Oh. Sure.”

  While it was no secret that Deke had never been a fan of his, and Jesse really had no right to ask for even a word from the man, he was thankful Kimber’s hulk of a husband seemed willing to give it.

  “Sit.” He waited until Jesse complied. “I get it. Good times and fast women are easy to come by and hard to turn down.” Deke sat back and took Kimber’s hand. Though the overhead lights cast a glow on his golden hair, no one would ever mistake him for an angel. “But you’ve got to stop acting your age in rock star years.”

  “Rock star years?” Jesse frowned. What the hell was he talking about?

  “Cut your age in half and add one.” Deke cracked a smile.

  Jesse shook his head. “I’m not fifteen.”

  “Then don’t act like it. Life isn’t about getting high or laid. Obviously, you’ve got an incredible career. It’s your character everyone is questioning. Stop behaving like a douche. Start being a man. It’s not complicated.”

  Well, he’d asked for it, and Deke had never been one to candy coat.

  “I’ve been sober for a year. Actually, almost thirteen months.”

  “That’s great!” Kimber praised.

  The other man simply cocked his head and leveled him with a hard glance. “Women?”

  Jesse didn’t want to answer with Kimber in the room. His wandering penis had only been one of the reasons she’d left him. He hated to admit how little he’d changed since their breakup. “I’m no saint.”

  “Hmm,” Deke mused. “Last bed partner?”

  He hesitated. “A couple of cities ago.”

  “You remember her name?”

  “No.” Jesse grimaced.

  “So she didn’t mean anything to you?” Deke quizzed.

  “Nothing.”

  “Then why did you do her?”

  She’d been eager and pretty and willing and… “I don’t know. I didn’t have a reason not to.”

  “If you want your life to have meaning, you have to treat all the parts of your life as if they’re meaningful.”

  Deke’s advice surprised Jesse. His words had almost sounded philosophical. Kimber’s husband had always struck him as being long on intimidation and short on principles. Clearly, Jesse hadn’t looked past the brawn.

  His former fiancée wore a scowl. “Deke’s right. When was the last time you wrote music? And recorded it? That used to mean everything to you.”

  He sucked in a breath and winced. “Longer than I’d like to admit.”

  “Your new album doesn’t sound like you. It’s great. Catchy and fun. Edgy. Clever.” Kimber flushed. “That came out wrong. I know you can be fun and clever and all that. It’s just…some of your best hits were soulful ballads about finding yourself and following your heart. You wrote those before you hit it big, and I haven’t heard a song like that from you in forever.”

  She was right. Between the two of them, Jesse heard the message loud and clear that he’d lost his way, personally and professionally. This sabbatical away from the limelight had to be about becoming a whole new him. He couldn’t wait. Getting the opportunity to change his partying, sex-god image—and himself—couldn’t come soon enough.

  “You’re right. And I needed the honesty.” Jesse stood. “Let me know when you have that baby. Thanks.”

  Chapter Two

  Texarkana, Texas

  “How have you not committed double murder?”

  Bristol Reese stared into her beer, then glanced at her best friend. “They’re not worth twenty-five to life. But don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind.”

  Jayla scowled, her dark, expressive eyes both disapproving and dismissive. “Girl, that’s restraint. He’s a player and she’s batty as hell.”

  “Which is why they deserve one another. I’m sure they’ll have a short, miserable life together,” she shot back, then chugged some of her brew, ignoring the clapping and laughter from the group gathered at the large table in the center of the restaurant.

  Her friend’s expression softened, her mocha skin glowing under the muted amber lights above the bar. “What about you? You gave that man sixteen months of your life. I really thought he intended to propose to you.”

  “I did, too. But I guess Hayden decided that Presleigh is better wife material.”

  Jayla snorted. “No, he thought having Miss Lafayette County on his arm would make him look like the shit with his buddies. That beauty pageant skank might look good in Victoria’s Secret, but she’s not you.”

  Bristol nodded. “Actually, I think that’s something Hayden appreciates about her. And she’s not a skank. It pains me to admit it, but she’s sometimes sweet.”

  “She stole your man!”

  “I don’t think she had to try very hard,” Bristol pointed out. “Hayden was dazzled by her short skirts and her adoration…and that was that.”

  Jayla pulled what she would have called her stank face. “His bitch ass needs to be taught a lesson.”

  Her friend was probably right, but Bristol had to take part of the blame. Her pride stung when she realized she’d buried her head in the sand and ignored her instincts about Hayden because she’d wanted him to be everything he wasn’t—sweet, helpful, caring, capable of compromise. God, why was she so idealistic? A sweeping, romantic gesture bowled her heart over every time. She wanted Mr. Darcy to move heaven and earth to marry her, sought an Edward Lewis who was willing to conquer his fear of heights to rescue her so she could rescue him right back, hoped for her own Johnny Castle to tell her parents that nobody puts Bristol in a corner, ached for an Edward Cullen who knew his soul well enough to take one look at her and realize she was “The One.”

  She was a hopeless romantic, and it hadn’t brought her a damn thing but misery.

  “I’m not sure he’s worth the effort.” Bristol sighed.

  “And Presleigh has no spine.” Jayla was getting indignant on her behalf, slamming a fist on the bar.

  “Another fact Hayden appreciates, I’m sure. I wouldn’t conform enough for him. He always tried to change the way I dress, and all but bullied me to shut down my ‘silly’ business. He would have much preferred that I teach Sunday school at the church, maybe sell some Mary Kay on the side, and be blissfully happy to be Mrs. Hayden Vincent the third.”

  Jayla looked disgusted. “That’s not you. You’re too passionate about life to do nothing but keep a clean house, spit-polish up the kids for Christmas photos, and scrapbook your life away.”

  “Agreed.” She drank more of her beer, then lowered the mug to the nearly empty bar with a sigh. “But you basically described Presleigh. Hell, maybe they are a perfect match.”

  “Ugh. He’s falling for an empty package.”

  Bristol shrugged. “But he doesn’t have much depth, either. I let myself be dazzled by a few roses and charming words from the most eligible guy in town. I mean, he’s Lewisville, Arkansas’s version of a Kennedy. I had a crush on him in high school something fierce. And he looked good in his football pants.”

  Jayla tilted her head. “I’ll give you that.”

  “I ap
preciate you being mad on my behalf, but honestly…I’m more humiliated than heartbroken. I’m over him.”

  For the foreseeable future, no more entanglements of the heart. Flings only. If she kept the length of her relationships to a night—a weekend, tops—she couldn’t make the same mistake again.

  Bristol simply wished she didn’t have to see Hayden and Presleigh together all the damn time. But in a town of twelve hundred people, avoiding them wouldn’t be easy. Even if she moved away, she’d come home to visit and run into them eventually.

  “A toast,” Corey, one of Hayden’s football friends from high school said, standing in front of the rest of the gathering. “Raise your glasses, everyone. To Presleigh, the most beautiful girl in Lafayette County. May you always follow your heart and be happy. To Hayden… Cheers, man. You’re one lucky bastard.”

  As the crowd laughed, Bristol looked on with a sigh…then spotted her mother bustling over, her Pepto-Bismol pink suit looking more suited to Easter Sunday services than an engagement party.

  “You’re being rude,” her mother chastised. “This is Presleigh’s event, and you’re sitting at the bar, sulking. Come give her your love and support. After all, she is your sister.”

  Bristol tightened her grip on her mug. “I closed my restaurant early and drove forty-five minutes down the road to celebrate her upcoming nuptials to the man who dumped me for her. I think the fact that I’m here at all is enough.”

  “You sound bitter,” her mother tsked, her hair not blowing at all as the air conditioner kicked on.

  She wasn’t. She and Hayden hadn’t been a good match, and she hadn’t wanted to admit it. In truth, he’d done her a favor by falling for someone else. Bristol just wished that someone hadn’t been her younger sister. At nineteen, Presleigh was too young to get married and too pampered to know what the word compromise meant.

  “Mama, leave it. Please. I’m not making waves. I’m still speaking to her. And to him. Anything more will take time.”

  Her mother frowned. “At least come sit with the group. Food will be served soon, and the rest of the family is asking questions.”