Closing my eyes, I let my mind wander over the past four days. Sander had definitely made good on his promise. We’d christened every room in this house, and then some. The man wasn’t just a rock god, he was a sex god. From blindfolds to crazy kinky positions I’d never heard of, we’d tried it all. Although the sex was out of this world incredible, it was the man himself who’d captured my heart. Of course, I’d never tell him this. I was totally, absolutely, insanely in love with Sander James and he didn’t even know it. Before this week in Aspen, I was already halfway there, but somewhere between the plane ride and our trek into the woods to chop down the tree—which resulted in a bout of hilariously crazy snow sex—I’d fallen the rest of the way.
Yesterday, we put the finishing touches on the tree. Or I should say, I put the finishing touches while Sander serenaded me. Holy shit! The man could play the piano, and I’m not just talking kind of. He was so good that it was awe inspiring, but it was his voice that most impressed me. Hearing him on the radio, surrounded by his fellow band members and various musical instruments was one thing, but listening to his voice when it was stripped down and accompanied by a simple guitar or piano, was entirely another. It was raw and powerful, multilayered in both range and depth. It was one of those voices that made your heart soar, yet could also bring tears to your eyes.
A couple of times this week, we’d even played together. Can I say mind-blown? Someone needed to pinch me. I wasn’t standing on a random stage, playing the ratty, used guitar I’d purchased from the local music store in nowheresville Florida. I was in a famous rock star’s personal music room, playing his favorite guitar, which I might add was fucking amazing, while singing some of his favorite songs—the same rock star, who not fifteen minutes prior to this, had been deep inside me. Only, he wasn’t just a rock star to me. He was a man—a man I’d fallen in love with. I should be happy, right? It was Christmas day and tomorrow we would be on a plane back to Denver. The rest of my life was waiting for me there. I had one performance left. One more win and everything I’d worked so hard for would finally be mine. The thing is, I didn’t want to go back. I wasn’t stupid. I knew what Sander was doing. He was attracted to my unjaded naiveté. He wanted to dirty me up without ruining me. I was a toy to him. A toy that he was going to love and leave, and I was going to let him.
“Are you ready?” he called from somewhere in the house.
Quickly wiping the tears from my face, I responded, “I’m ready!” Instead of opening presents in the morning, we’d opted to open them this evening. This gave me all day to work on his present as well as prepare a special Christmas dinner for us.
Sander, with the gorgeous smile that I’d come to cherish, the smile shared rarely with anyone else, but had appeared all week for me, walked in carrying his favorite guitar. Around the neck sat a huge, red, lopsided bow.
“Merry Christmas,” he sheepishly murmured . . . and I burst into tears. Shoving the guitar aside, he dropped to his knees at my feet and pulled me onto his lap. “Is it too much?” he asked.
Shaking my head, I sobbed, “It’s perfect. This, you, all of it is just perfect.” I didn’t have to say more, because he knew. We both did. I was in love with a man who couldn’t love me back. Lifting me onto my feet, he took my hand, and said, “Come.”
“But your gift.”
“It can wait.” He led me across the room, up the grand staircase, and into his bedroom where the glow from the fire cast shadows across the bed. Slowly, Sander stripped the clothes from my body. We’d had more sex in the past four days than I’d had in my entire life, but this . . . I had no words for. He didn’t enter me fast. He didn’t play me with his fingers or his tongue. He simply shed his clothes and crawled onto the bed beside me. Instinctively, I turned to him.
“I feel it, too, Sexy Girl” he whispered. My eyes smarted at the endearment I’d once hated but had come to love. “But . . .” he continued.
Before he said the words that would change everything, I placed my fingers over his lips, and whispered, “Don’t.” With a nod of understanding, he pressed a kiss on the palm of my hand.
One by one, I traced my fingers over his lips, stroking them across his beard, and circling them around his ear. Gently, I slid them into his hair and pulled his lips to mine. The kiss was slow and erotically charged yet tender. Where I took, he gave. Our tongues tangled together as our fingers danced across each other’s bodies, touching, feeling, stroking, loving each other. By the time he sank inside me we were both on fire, our nerve endings lit up like live wires of want
and begging for release. It was heartbreakingly beautiful, my way of saying I love you and his way of telling me goodbye. With our arms entwined and our bodies as close as two people could get, we came together, him shouting my name and me groaning his.
“Merry Christmas, Wynne,” he whispered against my neck.
I love you, I thought, but responded, “Merry Christmas, Sander.”
We dressed and finally finished opening gifts. Sander seemed moved by the photo album I’d made for him. He studied each picture with a smile on his face. Neither of us were in the mood for food, so we traipsed back upstairs, stripped off our clothes, and crawled back into bed. Instead of sex, we did something we’d done very little of all week, we talked. Sander touched briefly on his drug addict mother and his deadbeat dad. What he didn’t talk about, was his time with Indigo Road. That is, other than to say that they were better off apart than together.
The next afternoon, on the plane ride back to Denver, we discussed the upcoming finale. Ferris and I would be singing three songs each. The first was a song chosen by the judges. The second was a song we’d written, and the third was a duet with our coach. This meant that Sander and I would be singing together. The conversation didn’t go very far, partially because neither of us was really into it, but mostly because of Sander’s roaming hands. After asking the same question three times, I gave up and tackled him to the sofa. It didn’t take long before we were both naked and he was inside me. Unlike last night, this wasn’t soft, gentle lovemaking, but a brutal release of pent up energy—a finale of sorts. What it wasn’t, was empty. Sex with Sander was never empty. It was a high that no drug could top. A high that filled me to the point of bursting. It was
. . . everything.
The drive back to the studio was quiet. Right as we hit the parking lot, Sander let out a frustrated sounding growl. I turned to see what was wrong and gasped when his lips painfully clashed with mine. Tongue and teeth, he gave it his all and didn’t stop until the limousine pulled in front of the building.
“Thank you for giving me the best Christmas ever,” he whispered, and with a pull of the handle, he was out the door. I blinked back the tears as I watched him walk away.
Five hours later, I was lying on my bed listening to songs and trying to choose the perfect one for the finale, when my phone pinged with a text from Sander.
Meet me in my trailer.
My heart raced in my chest. Was he in trouble? Did something happen? I thought about asking but then reconsidered. The last thing we needed was a text chain proving that something had happened between us.
Be there in a minute, I typed back. Then thought, Shit, my hair! I realized this made no sense. Sander had seen me naked and without makeup, but this was different. We were no longer lovers, but were back to being coach and contestant. Back to existing under the same professionally stilted pretenses as before. Pulling my hair into a stylish looking ponytail, I dusted on a little makeup, glossed my lips, slid on my shoes, and headed for the door. Thankfully, I didn’t run into anyone on the way to Sander’s trailer. I had to admit, I was a little worried about Jayne. I swear, the woman had eyes in the back of her head.
“Come in!” I heard him call out when I knocked on the door. I’d barely made it inside, when I found myself shoved against the wall and a very impressive erection pressing against my stomach. His lips descended on mine as he flipped down the lock. It took a minute for my brain t
o catch up with my body.
“Sander—” I gasped. His lips were back on mine, and instead of questioning him like I wanted, I just went with it. In a flash, our clothes were off, and with my back pressed flat against the trailer wall and my legs wrapped around his waist, he entered me. Like every other time, it was perfect, as if he belonged inside me.
“I thought I could do this.” He panted between thrusts. “I tried to do the right thing, to walk away, but all I can think about is being with you.” His words were too much and I shouted his name as the orgasm roared through me.
“Fuck!” he barked, his brown eyes devouring me. “Five hours,” he rasped. “Five hours where all I could do was think of you, of us, of the past five days and how nothing makes sense unless I’m balls deep inside you.” I could feel my pulse pounding in my ears. Is he saying what I think he is?
I waited for him to lower me to my feet, before responding. “But, I thought you said—”
“Forget what I said.”
“What about Jayne? If we get caught—”
“We won’t get caught. I’ll make sure of it. If Jayne asks, give her nothing. The same with anyone else. I’ll send the texts. You respond with a yes or a no.” Oh, God. Were we really going to do this? “Get dressed, Sexy Girl. I’ll try to visit you later tonight, but probably won’t be able to get to you until sometime after practice tomorrow.” My mind spun as I bent down to retrieve my clothes. I was pulling on my pants when I felt Sander’s hand on the back of my neck. “You want this, right? Because if you don’t, now’s the time to tell me.” This was crazy. This was exciting. This was . . . insane, but damn if I was going to put a stop to it.
“I want this,” I quickly responded, my face flushing with embarrassment at how breathy and desperate I sounded. His lips split into a grin, then he kissed me.
CHAPTER FIVE
* * *
“WORLD SPINS MADLY ON”
Sander
Sander of old would never have made himself vulnerable to a woman. It seemed that Sander of new had no problem showing his softer side. New Sander had grown a giant pussy. He’d also apparently lost his filter. In the AA meetings I’d attended, which had been a mandatory requirement after rehab, they’d talked about two things: making amends and changing the pattern. I hadn’t done so well on the amends front, but I was definitely changing my pattern. I wasn’t lying when I told Wynne that I’d tried to stay away. I had tried. I’d walked away from that limousine this afternoon with the best of intentions. Whether I wanted to or not, I was letting her go.
As expected, Jayne was waiting for me in my trailer. Talk about livid. By the way she was acting, you would have thought I’d screwed Wynne on national television. When she asked if we were involved in a relationship, I answered truthfully. At that moment in time, Wynne and I weren’t together.
The trick to diffusing Jayne, or anyone with power, for that matter, was all in the wording. I didn’t say Wynne and I had been together but were no longer. Nor did I offer up details, such as we fucked like rabbits all week and I now had this annoying bone-deep ache in my chest that I couldn’t shake. I simply said we weren’t together, because, well, we weren’t. Either way, my blunt answers and matter-of-fact attitude seemed to mollify her, and after a nice long chat—where she threatened my job if I stepped out of line again, and I acquiesced, she walked away with a satisfied smile on her face.
I did try to stay away, but after spending the afternoon getting nothing done, besides wondering where she was and what she was doing, I said fuck it, and sent her a text.
The plan wasn’t to lure her to my trailer for sex. I simply wanted to see her, but when she walked through that door wearing those sexy ripped jeans and smelling like heaven, my brain shorted out and my cock took over. Evidently, so did my mouth, because all of a sudden, my filter was gone, and I was spewing . . . my feelings. Jesus, fuck. Talk about best laid plans. Try worst plan ever. Did I want her? Hell yes. I wanted her beyond reason. Was I being smart in not heeding Jayne’s warning? No, but for some reason, I couldn’t seem to stop myself.
The next three days consisted of all-day rehearsals, each of which I made sure to toggle between Wynne and Ferris, giving both of them equal amounts of my time. By Tuesday afternoon, Wynne had the judges pick, Joplin’s “Piece of my Heart”, nailed down. She wasn’t ready for me to hear her original just yet, but according to Fenton, it was a winner. As for the duet, we were singing Pink and Kenney Chesney’s “Setting the World on Fire.” Even though it wasn’t my first pick—I wasn’t exactly big into Country music—Wynne seemed happy with it, and if Wynne was happy, I was happy.
As for Ferris, he was about as indecisive as a toddler in a candy store. The boy must have altered the lyrics to his song four different times before finally settling. March had suggested Bazzi’s “Mine” as the judges pick and everyone signed off on it, including Ferris. I had to admit, it sounded damn good. As for our duet, Ferris wanted “Say Something” by Justin Timberlake and Chris Stapleton. Again, it was another Country music tune. We had the words down, but the connection wasn’t quite there. Go figure.
The days were all about the job, but the nights belonged to Wynne. My cock twitched just thinking about last night and the full body rubdown I’d given her before we sank into a warm bath, and I sank into her. Wynne and I had a connection unlike any I’d ever known. It was a connection bordering on obsession. At least, it was for me. With each passing day, it became more and more of a struggle not to touch her. Several times, I caught myself right as I was about to grab her hand or wrap my arms around her. I needed to be more careful.
Thursday was absolutely grueling. Wynne was on edge about the song she’d written. I offered to help her with it, but she refused. Ferris was being a straight up prick. After forty-five minutes of listening to him bitch about everything from the music to the stage props, I told him to fucking take thirty and get a grip. I then told Saul I would be back in a few, and stormed from the building. I couldn’t wait for this shit to be over.
I thought about checking in on Wynne, but as I’d checked on her three times already, I decided against it. Too much Sander might be a bad thing. We definitely couldn’t have that. So, I opted for an apple from the judges’ room and a walk to my trailer instead. Imagine my surprise when I found Ferris sitting on the steps.
“What’s up?” I asked as I unlocked the door and ushered him inside. I made my way over to my desk and started sifting through the stack of papers I’d been avoiding since before I left with Wynne.
“Why don’t you tell me?” His challenging tone caught my attention, but I refused to acknowledge it. Ferris was talented, but he was also a spoiled kid who didn’t like hearing the word no.
“What is it you want to know?” I pretended to shuffle the papers while waiting for him to launch into how unhappy he was that he’d lost the coin toss and was singing second in tomorrow’s finale. I looked forward to shutting him down.
“I know you’re sleeping with Wynne.” Like a sucker punch, his words literally winded me. He might as well have kicked me in the nuts. “I have to say, I’m surprised. You’re known for sleeping around, but I didn’t think Wynne was the type to screw her way to the top.”
Slashing my eyes to his, I warned, “Watch your mouth.”
His brows shot to the sky. “Am I wrong?”
“Hell yes, you’re wrong. Why would you even suggest such a thing?” I stared him down, wondering if he had evidence or if he was simply guessing.
“I see how close the two of you are,” he shot back at me. He was guessing.
“I’m close to you, too. It’s my job as your coach,” I countered.
“Yeah, but you’re not visiting me late at night and then leaving the next morning,” he added with a smile. Motherfucker. The little shit knew. My mind raced with what to say, or better yet, how to diffuse the situation.
I dropped to my chair and ordered, “Have a seat.”
He sat and let out a fake sigh. “We bot
h know I’m going to lose, especially now that you’re with Wynne.”
Deciding to go with the age-old strategy of deny, deny, deny, I said, “First of all, nothing is happening between me and Wynne. If you lose, it won’t be because of me, but because America doesn’t think you’re good enough to win.”
“That’s bullshit! The judges have a vote, which we both know you’ll sway. You have a vote, and we know you’ll pick Wynne, and America has a vote.”
“Yes, but America has the biggest vote. A vote that you have a fifty-fifty shot at winning, so tell me Ferris, what is this really about?”
His face clouded with anger. “With you fucking one of the finalists, I’d say the odds are against me winning, wouldn’t you?”
Sick of playing games, I came right out and asked, “Do you have proof that I’m sleeping with Wynne?”
“I want a guaranteed contract,” he responded. And there it was. The real reason for his visit. The little shit knew he couldn’t win on his own merit, so he figured he would blackmail me. “When I lose, and we both know I will, I want a legitimate recording contract that’s equal to the one Wynne will get when she wins. I also want a check for five-hundred thousand dollars.” Like hell, I thought.
“Or?” I asked.
“Or nothing,” he snapped, fidgeting in his seat. My calm demeanor was starting to get to him. “I’ll simply tell Jayne that you’re screwing Wynne.” I fought back a laugh. Jayne would send his ass packing, especially if she knew he was trying to blackmail me. So what if he saw me leaving Wynne’s room? If he had proof, he would have shown his hand by now. He didn’t have dick for proof and we both knew it.
Rock Star Romance Ultimate: Volume 1 Page 72