Rock Redemption (Rock Kiss, #3)(9)

About to offer to take her out to the food truck soon as the movie wrapped, he took in her face as she rubbed absently at her forehead and frowned at the purplish bruises under the gorgeous amber of her eyes. “You need to get to sleep,” he said, realizing she must’ve only had four or five hours last night what with having to come rescue his useless ass.

“Not with spaghetti sitting in my stomach.” She reached for another piece of fruit, the deep golden bronze of her skin shadowed by the delicate leaves of the tree that rustled above the picnic table. “I’ll stay up for another hour, have a bath, wash off the stress of the day.”

“You’ve already showered.” He’d caught her damp hair when she came in.

“Best way to get rid of the last of the body makeup. Not as relaxing as a bath.” She stood. “Stay the night.”

He looked up, held her gaze. “I won’t go there again.” He’d hit rock bottom last night, but he still hadn’t used that hypodermic. “You don’t have to watch over me.” Even he wasn’t enough of a bastard to keep her on the hook worrying about him.

Kit wrapped her arms around herself. “What would you do if you found me drunk and alone with a needle full of poison? Would you trust me when I said I was fine?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Stay the night, drive home tomorrow. I’ll sleep better if you stay.”

The last words were so quiet he barely heard them, but they shredded him. He wouldn’t have left now if his life depended on it.

Watching Kit walk away after picking up the plates, he wanted to say something, anything, to make her stay. But Fox and David were the ones who had the words. Noah wrote songs sometimes, but words didn’t come as easily to him as the music, and he didn’t have his guitar tonight.

Getting up, he decided to go for a walk. Kit’s home had extensive grounds, not because she was particularly acquisitive, but because it had been the most secure property on the market when her stalker kicked into high gear. The f*cking creep had broken into her previous home and ejaculated on her bed, then left her an “I love you” card and flowers.

She’d thrown out the bed the instant the cops were done processing the scene, but the incident had haunted her, making it impossible for her to remain in her cozy and inexpensive-to-rent town house. Add in the rising media pressure—photographers had started camping out on her damn doorstep and trying to peer through her windows—and it had made sense for her to get a place with enough land that her home was isolated in the center, far from the prying lenses of both paparazzi cameras and that of the stalker.

The cops, studio security, her friends, everyone was taking the threat dead seriously, but the f*cker was still out there. According to news Fox had passed on to Noah, the disturbed man had shipped Kit a box containing a wedding gown and a ring two months ago—so they could “renew their vows.” It had been followed a week later by a letter naming her a “slut” and a “whore” because she’d been snapped while out to dinner with one of her costars.

Noah wanted to get his hands around the coward’s neck, wring it until the pathetic man could no longer terrorize Kit. The only good news was that Kit’s security measures seemed to be working. She’d had no unpleasant surprises in her new home.

He’d been walking for about ten minutes when he saw movement in the shadows in front of him. “Butch,” he said, recognizing one of Kit’s bodyguards.

The broad-shouldered and heavily muscled man, his dark blond hair worn in a military crew cut, was dressed in black cargo pants and a black T-shirt rather than the suit he wore when out and about with Kit.

“Hey, Noah.” He held out a hand and they shook.

“Any problems?”

Butch rubbed his jaw rather than responding to Noah’s question.

“I know you don’t talk about your clients’ business,” Noah said, appreciating that about the man. “But you know I care about Kit.”

“Yeah, I know. All you guys do.” Falling into step beside Noah, he said, “I’m glad you’re staying with her, to be honest. I’ve had a bad feeling lately—I think the nutjob’s back, and he’s watching her. I brought in two extra men to cover her and the house around the clock, but then she took off last night. I can’t protect her if she won’t let me.”

Noah wanted to kick himself for having put Kit at risk. “Won’t happen again.” He made a vow then and there not to get falling-down drunk ever again. It was a vow he’d broken before, but then it had only been about him—now it was about Kit. And Kit was everything. “Any physical signs of the stalker?”

“No. But I know he’s out there. Years of instinct, man.”

“I believe you.” It was Noah who’d recommended Butch and his team for this job, though Kit didn’t know that. Fox had passed on the information without mentioning where the rec came from. “You have my number, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Call me if you don’t want Kit to be alone.” He’d come, even if he had to bed down in the garage.

“Will do,” Butch promised. “If she fires me for talking to you, you owe me a job.”

Noah slapped him on the shoulder. “How about a starlet who’s currently falling out of limos and into cocaine?”