Manhandled: A Rockstar Romantic Comedy (Hammered Book 2) by Cari Quinn, Taryn Elliott
Authors: Cari Quinn, Taryn Elliott
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wasn’t? I clutched the wall as I paused on the second-to-last stair. I wasn’t going to let fear rule me, dammit. I lifted my chin and took the last few steps.
“What are we waiting for?” I put on my shades and headed for the door.
“Hold up.”
I held up my arms. “Right. You first. Age before beauty.”
He slid his hand behind his back and I heard the slide of his gun into his holster. What had I expected? That he wasn’t going to carry a weapon? I knew he had a gun. I’d seen his shoulder holster the first day he’d come into my house.
But not this? Not at the base of his spine.
That was new.
He pulled down a button-down denim shirt over his faded gray Henley. He wore black cargos today. All of it made him look tanner, more unapproachable, and way more badass.
I swallowed as he put mirrored aviators on.
Why did he have to be so attractive? I could handle a paunchy ex-cop, or even a lantern-jaw marine-looking dude, but not an Alex O’Loughlin stunt double. The wrongness was beyond wrong.
He held the door for me, and shadowed me out the door. His hand was light on the small of my back as he looked around and led me to a sleek black BMW. He opened the door for me and waited as I swung my legs in.
“Buckle up.”
“I’m not seven.”
“You’re right. If you were seven you’d be riding in the back.” He shut the door before I could say anything else.
I clicked the buckle and fussed with the shoulder strap. Always choking the short people. He got in and the car instantly felt smaller. His long fingers checked gauges and settings, then he tucked his phone into the cup holder as the Bluetooth engaged.
“Welcome, Quinn. Do you have a destination?”
My eyebrows shot up? “It talks?”
He grinned at me. “Bulletproof too.” Then he tapped the screen and cleared the menu, slapping the shifter into reverse. His driving was smooth and sure. He followed all the traffic laws—sort of. He drove defensively in a way that I’d never seen. And I’d been navigating California highways all my driving life.
Instead of being stuck in traffic jams, he seemed to know side streets I’d never heard of. He was always scanning his line of sight, his jaw tight with concentration.
“Where are we going?”
“I called your manager and checked if you had anything scheduled this week.”
“I thought we cancelled all the personal appearances.”
“Ms. West did, but I think we figured out a way to show everyone you’re doing well. Diffuse some of the newspaper accounts, and give you a few hours reprieve from the house. Ms. West seemed to think it was a good idea too.”
“Ms. West. Indie would freak if she heard you call her that.”
“She’s going to meet us at Mochachello’s on Sunset.”
I was pretty sure my jaw was somewhere on the floor. “Mochachello’s? Really?” It was only my favorite coffeehouse. They specialized in creating hot chocolate-coffee hybrids that were to die for.
He nodded. “It’s small, intimate, and I can cover all the egress points. You can soak up some atmosphere and I can make sure you’re safe.”
I pulled out my phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Texting Indie.”
He nodded. “That’s fine.”
“Gee thanks.”
“Just don’t go blasting this around social media. I don’t want it to become too big of a deal.”
“Then how are people going to know I’m doing okay?”
“Indie’s leaking it to a few select fan blogs. There will be some chatter, but we’ll keep it to a minimum. If you want to do some Tweeting or Instagraming, or whatever when we’re there, that’s fine. By then we’ll be on a clock to get out anyway.”
“How long is my furlough?”
“Very funny, Faith.”
My lips twitched. I thought it was funny. I scrunched down in my seat and spoke with Indie for a few minutes. For the first time in days, my mood was actually lifting.
This was going to be great.
14
Quinn
I was in hell .
How many females could actually fill the booths
“What are we waiting for?” I put on my shades and headed for the door.
“Hold up.”
I held up my arms. “Right. You first. Age before beauty.”
He slid his hand behind his back and I heard the slide of his gun into his holster. What had I expected? That he wasn’t going to carry a weapon? I knew he had a gun. I’d seen his shoulder holster the first day he’d come into my house.
But not this? Not at the base of his spine.
That was new.
He pulled down a button-down denim shirt over his faded gray Henley. He wore black cargos today. All of it made him look tanner, more unapproachable, and way more badass.
I swallowed as he put mirrored aviators on.
Why did he have to be so attractive? I could handle a paunchy ex-cop, or even a lantern-jaw marine-looking dude, but not an Alex O’Loughlin stunt double. The wrongness was beyond wrong.
He held the door for me, and shadowed me out the door. His hand was light on the small of my back as he looked around and led me to a sleek black BMW. He opened the door for me and waited as I swung my legs in.
“Buckle up.”
“I’m not seven.”
“You’re right. If you were seven you’d be riding in the back.” He shut the door before I could say anything else.
I clicked the buckle and fussed with the shoulder strap. Always choking the short people. He got in and the car instantly felt smaller. His long fingers checked gauges and settings, then he tucked his phone into the cup holder as the Bluetooth engaged.
“Welcome, Quinn. Do you have a destination?”
My eyebrows shot up? “It talks?”
He grinned at me. “Bulletproof too.” Then he tapped the screen and cleared the menu, slapping the shifter into reverse. His driving was smooth and sure. He followed all the traffic laws—sort of. He drove defensively in a way that I’d never seen. And I’d been navigating California highways all my driving life.
Instead of being stuck in traffic jams, he seemed to know side streets I’d never heard of. He was always scanning his line of sight, his jaw tight with concentration.
“Where are we going?”
“I called your manager and checked if you had anything scheduled this week.”
“I thought we cancelled all the personal appearances.”
“Ms. West did, but I think we figured out a way to show everyone you’re doing well. Diffuse some of the newspaper accounts, and give you a few hours reprieve from the house. Ms. West seemed to think it was a good idea too.”
“Ms. West. Indie would freak if she heard you call her that.”
“She’s going to meet us at Mochachello’s on Sunset.”
I was pretty sure my jaw was somewhere on the floor. “Mochachello’s? Really?” It was only my favorite coffeehouse. They specialized in creating hot chocolate-coffee hybrids that were to die for.
He nodded. “It’s small, intimate, and I can cover all the egress points. You can soak up some atmosphere and I can make sure you’re safe.”
I pulled out my phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Texting Indie.”
He nodded. “That’s fine.”
“Gee thanks.”
“Just don’t go blasting this around social media. I don’t want it to become too big of a deal.”
“Then how are people going to know I’m doing okay?”
“Indie’s leaking it to a few select fan blogs. There will be some chatter, but we’ll keep it to a minimum. If you want to do some Tweeting or Instagraming, or whatever when we’re there, that’s fine. By then we’ll be on a clock to get out anyway.”
“How long is my furlough?”
“Very funny, Faith.”
My lips twitched. I thought it was funny. I scrunched down in my seat and spoke with Indie for a few minutes. For the first time in days, my mood was actually lifting.
This was going to be great.
14
Quinn
I was in hell .
How many females could actually fill the booths
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