The tabloids and magazines were already agog with stories of how he’d been “tamed” by love, of how “silver screen star” Kathleen Devigny had pulled off the coup of the century by quietly stealing the heart of rock’s gorgeous bad boy. If even half the media hype about her and Noah’s relationship had been true, Kit would’ve been ecstatic. Too bad it was a tissue of lies and fantasy.
“I should go find him now.” Throat dry and stomach jumpy, she forced herself to sit up. “Some photographer’s probably got a camera trained on this bus, and while a short visit to say hi to you won’t look odd, they’ll start to wonder if I stay too long.”
“I can open Noah’s door for you if he’s out.” Molly got off the bed. “We all decided we should be able to get into each other’s buses.”
Rising herself, Kit said, “Abe?” She knew everyone was still worried about the keyboard player’s mental state, though he appeared to have gone stone-cold sober after his dangerous on-tour binge.
“That’s part of it, but it just makes sense.” Molly led her to the front of the bus. “We’re family on the road, and we keep an eye on each other. Maxwell can also get in, because seriously, the idea of Maxwell selling us out is so ludicrous it’s not even funny.”
“Did you meet his wife?” Kit stepped out of the bus in front of Molly. “I adore her already.”
“She visited during the tour,” Molly said with a smile as she pulled the door shut so it’d lock. “They’re so sweetly in love it makes me happy each time I think about it.” Her face lit up without warning. “Fox, I thought you and David were working on those lyrics you wanted to get right.”
“Done.” Fox drew Molly into a luscious invitation of a kiss, one hand cupping her face, before he turned to hug Kit. “Have a good drive down?”
Kit had just begun to reply when she heard someone calling Molly. The other woman looked over her shoulder. “It’s Maxwell. I think he wants me to play intern for a minute.”
Leaving Kit with Fox, Molly ran over to help Maxwell grab a bunch of cables out of the back of a truck. “How is he?” Kit asked Fox in a soft murmur.
The lead singer’s expression turned grim, his dark green eyes close to obsidian. “Bad. He isn’t sleeping, Kit. I don’t think he’s slept the past two, maybe more, nights.”
Hands fisting by her sides, Kit fought off images of the motel room lit by a garish neon glow. “Because of me?”
“Far as I can figure out, he uses those random fucks as sleeping pills,” Fox said bluntly. “He hasn’t had that outlet. He finally crashed just after eleven this morning, and I told everyone not to wake him. We don’t need him until right before we go onstage, and he can grab energy drinks prior to performing.”
“What do you mean he uses the groupies as sleeping pills?” Kit said, still stuck on the first part of his sentence.
Fox ran a hand through the chocolate brown of his hair. “Not my story to tell, sweetheart. But you need to know enough to understand that you have to make sure he sleeps. Otherwise he’ll have a fucking heart attack or something from sleep deprivation.” He glanced over at Noah’s bus… just as it opened.
A tousled blond head stuck out, sleepy eyes landing on Kit. “Hey.” Noah’s real smile was a thing of beauty.
Walking over, his feet bare and his body clad only in a pair of disreputable ripped jeans she recognized from the other day, he drew her into his arms, nuzzling his chin over her hair. She knew it was just for show… except maybe it wasn’t, not this time. He was all warm from sleep, drowsy eyed and yawning against her.
Giving in to temptation, she slid her own arm around his waist and, Fox’s warning strong in her mind, said, “Let’s go back to the bus so you can grab some more shut-eye.”
“I’ll catch you both later.” Fox walked over to Molly and Maxwell after bumping fists with Noah.
Not far off, Butch gave her a salute, waiting until she was at Noah’s door before he faded off into the crowd. She knew he’d be back as soon as he’d checked out the area, but for now she didn’t need the protection. Noah nudged her up into his bus, then came up behind her, pulling the door shut.
Kicking something accidentally, Kit found they were his boots. They’d been abandoned not far from the door, along with a crumpled black T-shirt. She leaned down and picked up the tee, had to fight the urge to bury her nose in it; she loved the way Noah smelled, and that hug outside had only made her need worse.