Rockstar Romance Boxed Set (12 Book Bundle New Adult BBW)

by Emme Rollins

  Curiosity isn't a sin, but damned if it doesn't feel like a punishment.

  I licked my lips and swallowed hard as I found a parking space—far away from Jason's car. Manny was bouncing up and down in the passenger's seat as if he'd just mainlined a pound of speed.

  “Come on, come on, we're going to miss it!”

  I had no idea what he was talking about, but he seemed like he was about to piss himself so I just said, “I'm going, I'm going!” and jumped out of the car.

  Manny actually ran to the front doors of the hotel and opened them. He stood there impatiently, shifting from foot to foot as he waited for me to get my ass in gear and I almost laughed at the expression on his face—one of consternation and excitement. “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “The lobby.”

  The lobby was a very nicely appointed place, and was surprisingly full of people—mostly people in suits or nice office clothes, clearly here on business, but I recognized some of the crew from filming, too. They were sitting around with big grins on their faces and drinking coffee—probably spiked.

  Manny grabbed my wrist and practically dragged me over to one of the sofas, right near the elevators, and plopped me down. “Here, this'll be the best spot to wait,” he said. “You're going to get a great show. Actually you should get your phone out.”

  Shaking my head, I did so. The elevator doors opened and Manny made a little squeak of joy, but the doors slid open to reveal Kent and Carter. They spotted us almost immediately and hurried over. Well, Carter hurried over. Kent strolled as though he had all the time in the world. His eyes lingered on me, and I met them. There was a promise in his eyes, one that made me shiver and look away.

  There were lots of things unsaid between us. After all this was done, I had a feeling that we'd say those things. For now, we had to get the past over with, before we could move into the present.

  “So I hear the douchebag showed up at the bar.” Carter flopped down next to me. “How did he know you were going to be there?”

  “He's been stalking and harassing Rebecca for almost a week now,” Kent said. “It's likely there was some gossip leaked on a blog and he used it to his advantage somehow.”

  I had the sudden, horrible thought that Jason had been stalking me while I'd been on set.

  It didn't make any sense to me. Why would he do that? Was the answer in those voice mails?

  Now I really wanted to listen to them, and I was about to switch my phone on when the elevator doors opened again.

  Sonya came strolling out, rolling a luggage cart. She had a little smirk on her face as she pulled it behind her, and it was only when she reached the couch that I realized what was on the luggage rack.

  It was Jason.

  My jaw dropped.

  He was almost naked except for a towel around his waist. But aside from that, he was naked. Well. There were the ropes, too, if you could count them. He was tied up like a hog, a silk gag in his mouth. None of that would have been embarrassing, except for the chin-strap dildo fastened around his nose, giving him the appearance of an obscene Pinocchio. He was whimpering, and as he passed me his eyes grew wide.

  I'd almost forgotten that Manny told me to take pictures. I switched my phone on, lifted it, and snapped a photo. It was then that I realized Sonya had written across his back in bright red lipstick, “I AM A LIAR.”

  Oh my god, I thought. Oh. My. God.

  Next to me, Manny was howling with laughter while Carter was snickering so hard tears were leaking out of his eyes. It was starting to dawn on the rest of the room that something was happening, and whispers turned to giggles turned to peals of laughter. The video crew made catcalls as Sonya did a circuit around the room, her smile so huge that I almost didn't realize it was probably the first time I had seen her smile.

  “Oh my god,” I said. “What the fuck?”

  “She does this all the time,” Carter said between giggles. “She hates it when guys perv all over her and get gross. So she pretends she wants to sleep with them and takes them back to the hotel and convinces them, somehow, to do all this insane shit, jump through all these crazy hoops to sleep with her.”

  “And they never get laid,” Manny howled. “Never ever.”

  I glanced at Kent. Out of all the room, only Kent wasn't laughing. He did look awfully satisfied, though.

  Licking my lips, I edged around Carter, who was wheezing and trying to catch his breath, and sidled up to him.

  “So,” I said. “You didn't want me to delete those voice mails because of legal reasons. But this is okay?”

  He shrugged. “I can't control what Sonya does. After all, how can we be sure this has anything to do with you? Or in retaliation for anything he may or may not have done in the past week? I haven't told anyone about those voice mails. Whatever he was saying to her at the bar had her mad enough to pull one of her tricks on him.” His lips thinned. “Those voice mails aren't enough for a restraining order and restraining orders are bullshit anyway, but they are certainly harassing. I was hoping he'd get bored and stop. Instead he had to escalate it.” He waved a hand. “He deserves this.”

  Sonya had completed her circuit of the room and was pulling Jason back toward the elevator.

  I stared at him as he passed by. He wouldn't even lift his eyes to look at me.

  “I'd better go up with Sonya to make sure he doesn't do anything to her after she lets him go and tells him he's not getting laid,” Carter said. He bounced up from the couch and sauntered after Sonya, and I watched as they loaded my shitbag ex-boyfriend into the elevator and began to chat as the doors closed.

  Then it was over and suddenly... I felt lighter.

  Not because Jason had been humiliated in front of a bunch of strangers, but because after four years of being isolated, of being lied about to people I thought were my friends, I finally did have friends. Friends who didn't believe lies about me. Friends who looked out for me.

  Manny poked me in the arm. “Hey, let's go get some drinks at the bar,” he said.

  I'd never heard a better suggestion. I looked up at Kent. “You want to come?”

  He looked down at me. That dizzy, butterfly feeling hit me as he studied my face. Then he ran his hand through his hair. “Not right now. I think I want to do a little songwriting.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “I didn't know you did any songwriting. I thought that was all Carter.”

  He gave me a little half-smile. “Well, I wouldn't say I'm as good as Carter, but I like to dabble here and there. Anyway... I'll be up for a while. Come talk to me if you want.”

  And then he wandered off.

  I watched him go.

  Then Manny poked me again. “You are going to get laid,” he said.

  I shot him a glare. “That doesn't mean I'm getting laid,” I said without thinking, then clapped my hand over my mouth.

  Manny just laughed at me. “Come on, let's get another drink at the bar. I don't want you to be around when your dumbass ex is trying to sneak out to his car.”

  Well. Fine. That was a fair point. “Oh, I suppose,” I said, and followed him to the bar.

  *

  Thirty minutes later Sonya joined us, looking, for the first time since I'd met her, happy.

  “Drinks are on me,” she said as she sashayed up to the bar.

  “Yessss!” Manny said and turned to the bartender. “A pint of your most expensive Scotch, please.”

  I turned to Sonya, but I wasn't sure what to say. She glanced at me and held my gaze. For Sonya, it seemed like every human interaction was a personal challenge.

  “What'd he say to you that made you do that?” I finally blurted.

  She made a face. “He told me he was your ex-boyfriend and he was really interested in getting back together with you.”

  My brain blanked. “What? Why... that doesn't make any sense...”

  She smirked. “I know. Carter told us he wrote the new album for you. You've only heard one song, but they're all like that. They're
brilliant, actually. He didn't say what your ex had done to you, but those songs are pretty clear. He'd done something really bad. Beyond just cheating or whatever.” She gave an elegant little shrug and tossed her long red hair over her shoulder. “Anyway, I asked him why and he told me he was concerned about you getting into Carter's lifestyle because you're a drug addict.”

  I pressed my lips together.

  Sonya laughed at me. “Look at you, all prim and proper. No one in their right mind would think you're addicted to drugs. But he was all in with this line, so I let him talk and talk and talk and he just dug himself deeper and deeper and deeper so I finally told him that some girls think it's sexy for a guy to want to save a woman and that he should come back to the hotel so I could tie him up and do terrible things to him.” Her smirk returned, deeper than before. “Can I help it if he agreed?”

  “And... he didn't say anything else?”

  “Oh he said plenty. Said you stole and cheated and were going to bring the band down.”

  “And... and you didn't believe him?”

  Sonya's smirk disappeared and she gave me the most contemptuous glare I had ever seen. “Fucking please,” she said. “What makes you think I'd believe some dumb fuckstick man I'd just met over a woman I know? That guy is a piece of shit. I could smell it on him.” She wrinkled her nose and tossed her hair again.

  I stared at her.

  “What?” she snapped. “You thought I would sell you out? Fuck you.”

  I just shook my head. “Thanks,” I said. There was a weird stinging in my eyes. I was going to cry.

  “Don't insult me with thanks,” Sonya said. “I'll fuck up any man who tries to lie to me, especially about another woman. And don't fucking cry, it makes me itch.”

  “Right,” I said. “Sorry.”

  “Ugh, just order a fucking drink.”

  I did, but I didn't drink most of it, and fifteen minutes later I left Sonya and Manny beatboxing on the bar and entertaining the late-night business crowd, well on their way to really good hangovers.

  The elevator carried me up to the fifth floor, and I walked to the room I shared with Carter, lost in thought, but when I reached it I heard something.

  From the room next to mine came the soft strumming of a guitar. Kent's room.

  Come talk to me if you want.

  I shouldn't. But I did want to.

  Turning to the door of the room I shared with Carter I leaned in, pressing my ear against it. No sounds came from inside. Carter was asleep.

  The tinkling strains of music from Kent's room plucked at me, calling me toward them.

  What could it hurt? I asked myself, and as though in a dream I drifted toward the door, lifted my hand, and knocked.

  The music stopped, breaking the spell. A flash of panic streaked across my brain, and then I didn't have time for any other thoughts because Kent opened the door.

  He looked down at me. He reached out and took my hand. He pulled me inside.

  When the door shut behind me, it was like the door of the past closing forever.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The room was dim, lit only by a small lamp on the end table next to the couch. Kent dropped my hand almost immediately, moving back to the couch where he'd been sitting. He picked up the guitar there—Carter's guitar, he must have borrowed it—and began to pluck at it again.

  I didn't bother to wait for an invitation. I sat down next to him, propped my arm on the back of the couch, and listened.

  For a long time, neither of us said anything. I just sat and listened, and he played. He was right—he wasn't the musician that Carter was, but he certainly wasn't bad. I listened as he picked out first one tune and then another, wandering from melody to melody, and each melody was a subtle variation on the one before, like flowers blooming—first a seed, then a root, then a shoot and a stalk and leaves and finally blossoms. I let the music dance over me as he plucked away at his guitar, until finally he seemed done. With a sigh, he set the guitar down on the floor.

  He wore only a white t-shirt and his jeans and I had to stop myself from licking my lips as I watched the muscles of his back ripple against each other. It was definitely the sort of back that made you think about sex—wide through the shoulders, tapered through the waist. A good waist, a waist you could wrap your legs around, broad shoulders you could cling to. I had to force myself to look at his face instead of his body as he sat back.

  His legs splayed and he threw his tattooed arms over the couch back and arm, leaning into the corner as he regarded me thoughtfully.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey,” he replied.

  The silence came in again, creeping between us until I swallowed and looked away. “So, um.” I cast about for something to say. Why did he make me so tongue-tied? “How's life?”

  He inhaled and I had the impression that he was actually thinking about the question. “I suppose it isn't awful,” he said at last, and he sounded actually surprised by that admission. I gave him a look.

  He held up his hands. “And for you? How is life for you?”

  “I don't know,” I said honestly. “I'm... I'm not sure how to feel about things.”

  “What sort of things?”

  “My ex-boyfriend getting dragged through the lobby of a hotel in the most humiliating way possible?”

  “I'd think you'd be feeling pretty good about that.”

  My lips twisted. “Yeah, but why was he here in the first place? Do you know?”

  Kent grimaced. “I do. Would you like me to tell you what was on those voice mails?”

  I nodded.

  Running his hand through his hair—why wasn't I the one running fingers through that hair?—he shrugged. “Your ex—” he said it with disgust, “was calling to tell you that you needed to help him with his band. That you now had contacts in the industry. That it was the least you could do for him after years of abusing his trust and stealing to feed your addictions.”

  Anger sparked. “But I never—”

  Kent held up his hand. “And that he would tell the band everything you'd done if you didn't. He was quite insistent about it.”

  I stared at him. “But you didn't know I hadn't done anything wrong,” I said.

  One dark brow raised almost into his hair. “Excuse me?” he said. “I lived with you for a month. I think I would have known if you were doing drugs and stealing from us. And besides, you could never have helped Carter off the drug carousel if you were a user yourself. It was obvious he was lying in those voice mails. It's called gas lighting—someone tries to convince you that something did or didn't happen or that you're crazy.” He shrugged. “He didn't make any physical threats, so I thought it was best just to keep those voice mails in case we needed them.”

  My mouth twisted, and I wasn't sure if I was trying to smile or frown. “Are we more or less likely to need them now that Sonya's punished him, so to speak?”

  He smiled back at me. “Less likely,” he said. He hesitated. “Do you feel like sharing the story with me?”

  I looked into his blue-green eyes and sighed. “I do. But you're going to think I'm stupid.”

  “Maybe you should just tell me and let me decide if I think you're stupid or not.”

  “That's...that's not as reassuring as you think it is.”

  He smirked at me. “It wasn't meant to be reassuring. Tell me.”

  I chewed on my lip for a second and I saw his eyes flick to my mouth, watching my teeth worry the tender flesh of my mouth, and I thought: What the hell? No pain, no gain.

  So I told him the story, the same one I'd told Carter. It didn't take long—this time the telling was easy, as if telling the story the first time had been the hard part. Now I was able to tell him all the things Jason used to say to me, like how I needed to lose weight or how I must be slacking off at the bar since I didn't get enough tips and a hundred other horrible things. And I'd tried to do every single one, as if I were somehow obligated to do whatever he told me to do. The
more I listened to the story, the dumber I felt, until finally I trailed off into silence.

  “And...?” Kent prompted me after a moment.

  “And that's it,” I said. “I'm an idiot.”

  He leaned forward and studied my face. “No,” he said after a moment. “I don't think so.

  I hadn't known how much I needed to hear those words until he said them. “You don't?”

  He tilted his head. Locks of dark hair fell against his face as he studied me. “Rebecca, when you auditioned for this job, what did you do?”

  I swallowed. “What you told me to?”

  He shook his head. “That, but you went above and beyond what I told you to do. It just came naturally to you to work hard and try hard. It's just your nature to channel all of yourself toward productive things. It shows up in the cleaning, in how you take care of Carter, in how you speak to the people around you. You didn't flinch from the task, didn't act like it was beneath you or anything like that. Do you know how hard it is to find someone like that?”

  My brow furrowed. “No?” I said. “It's just the sort of thing... you know, that you're supposed to do.”

  “And yet so few people do it.”

  My frown deepened. “I don't get it.”

  He leaned back. “As far as I see, you just chose the wrong person to use your gifts on,” he said. “The support of a beautiful, hard-working woman should have been enough to vault him into the stratosphere if that was where he was destined to go. Instead he just wasted it. He wasted everything you gave him. Now that you're not with a shithead like him, you are finally able to see that your gifts are valuable.”

  I stared at him. “You think I have gifts?” I said at last.

  His relaxed pose stiffened as he sat up and leaned forward. His incredible face drew close to mine and he searched my eyes with his. I felt as though he were peeling me back layer by layer. “Rebecca,” he said suddenly, and his voice was serious, “do you know how long I expected you to last in your position?”

  Swallowing, I shook my head.

  “Two days. That was the average for Carter's babysitters. Actually probably not even the average. Some of them quit in twenty-four hours, and there was one guy who lasted a whole four days, but I expected you to be out of here within a few days. But you weren't. You stuck around. And you did your job.”