When the Storm Breaks (Lost Stars)

by Emery Rose

  She shrugged one shoulder. “The first time I came to London, it was different. I was a nobody, so I walked the streets without anyone recognizing me.”

  I kissed her lips. “You’ve never been a nobody, Shiloh.”

  “If you want to skip the soundcheck and the meet and greet, I won’t be offended. You can hang out in the room and come for the show.”

  Was she out of her fucking mind? “Listen to me. I’m here for you. Not for the sights or the fancy hotel room. Just you.” I wanted her to hear me and understand. “If you want me there…”

  “I do but—”

  “No buts. Where you go, I go. Show me your world, Shiloh. That’s why I’m here.”

  She smiled, the worried crease in her forehead smoothing out at my words. “Well then, you’d better hang on tight. It’s going to be a wild ride.”

  And shit, she hadn’t been joking. It was crazy to witness how much went into one concert. Shiloh Leroux had an entire crew who took care of everything from the lighting to the sound to the stage set. She had a catering crew, wardrobe and makeup, a PA, her manager and tons of other people running around making sure everything ran smoothly for tonight’s performance.

  Later that night, I stood backstage and I watched Shiloh perform magic. Because that was what it was. Pure fucking magic. You’d never guess she had been nervous earlier. As soon as she’d stepped onto the stage and the lights had come up, she’d transformed before my eyes. I wasn’t watching the girl I’d gotten to know in Texas. I was watching a rock star who had thousands of fans eating out of the palm of her hand as she strutted across the stage like she owned it, her voice soaring, reaching the ears of every person at this sold-out concert, her image projected from a big-ass screen so everyone could see her.

  “Are you starting to get it?” Marcus asked as I stood, transfixed, listening to her voice as she sang, her voice sultry and sexy like the lyrics. “ … late night drives with his hand on my thigh and the cherry glow of his cigarette burning brighter than the midnight moon.” And I fucking hated it that she was most likely singing about the douche. I was imagining them driving around L.A. with his fucking hand on her thigh and I wanted to break his fingers for ever having dared to touch her.

  I was a sick, jealous fuck.

  “Get what?” I asked finally, turning to look at Marcus after the last note of the song played out.

  “Do you see the transformation?” He waved his hand at the stage. He looked like your typical L.A. smooth talking slickster with his black V neck T-shirt, slicked back hair and an expensive watch on his wrist.

  I saw the transformation, it was impossible not to, but I had no intention of admitting it to him.

  “You had your fun in Texas. But that wasn’t her real life. This is who she is. So I suggest you disabuse yourself of the notion that she’d ever be happy to settle down in a small town with a rancher and have a bunch of kids.”

  Just as I’d suspected, Marcus saw me as a threat. I glanced at his wedding band and pitied the woman who had said yes to him. He didn’t look like the type of guy to keep a woman satisfied in or out of bed. “Never crossed my mind. But I bet it scares the shit out of you, doesn’t it? I bet you lose sleep at night worrying that she’ll wake up and leave you.”

  “I’m good at my job, Brody. I do whatever I can to make sure she reaches her potential. She has everything it takes to get to the top and stay there. But I think you’re missing the point. Can you honestly imagine her ever walking away from this?”

  “Wasn’t aware that was ever in question. She has no intention of giving this up and I’d never expect it.”

  “Huh. So where do you fit into her life?” He stroked his jaw, like he was giving this serious thought even though it was none of his goddamn business. “You’re here for what... a week? And then you’re on a plane back home? I give your relationship three months and that’s being generous.”

  “Next time I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it. In the meantime, kindly get the fuck away from me so I can listen to Shiloh without having to deal with your bullshit.”

  He did as I asked and put some distance between us. But my jaw was clenched so tight I couldn’t enjoy the show. I rolled out my shoulders and tried to loosen up so I could focus on Shiloh. And I tried my damnedest not to let his words get under my skin. But try as I might, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I knew there was some truth in his words. I’d have to be an idiot not to notice that we lived in different worlds.

  Where did I fit into Shiloh Leroux’s life? And how the fuck were we going to make this work?

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Shiloh

  Three days, two cities and three sold-out concerts later, we arrived in Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat for our mini-vacation. I was tired but chilled, looking forward to four days of sun and relaxation. The sky was deep blue and cloudless, the Mediterranean glittering turquoise in the sunshine. All the colors were saturated and sun-drenched, the sea air fresh, and the music piping from the speakers was summertime breezy. We’d picked up a rental car at the Nice Airport and Brody had navigated the winding curves and narrow roads along the coast with expertise.

  “Jesus,” Brody said under his breath when the pink villa came into view. It was at the end of a narrow private drive that hugged the sea, tucked away behind pines and palm trees.

  I had no idea why Bastian had rented a villa on the Cote d’Azur when he claimed to hate the sunshine. But that was Bastian for you. An enigma. You never knew which version of Bastian you’d get on any given day. When he was laid low, he barricaded himself inside a dark room and sometimes didn’t come out for days. When he was flying high, he was the life of the party.

  Today he greeted us at the front door, barefoot and shirtless in swim trunks, and ushered us inside the red damask-papered foyer with a sweeping gesture of his hand. A black chandelier hung from the ceiling and potted palms flanked an ornately carved sideboard.

  Bastian embraced me and kissed me on each cheek. He smelled like tobacco and sunscreen, his olive skin a few shades darker than the last time I’d seen him at Glastonbury. “You’ve been getting some sun. I’m so proud of you,” I teased, giving him a little slug on the shoulder. He was lean but cut, thanks to the workouts Hayden forced him to do.

  He waved his hand in the air theatrically then plucked a thin brown rollie from behind his ear and lit it. Took a drag and blew smoke into the air. It smelled like black licorice. “When in the south of France.”

  He turned his attention to Brody, his gaze roaming over him from head to toe, not even trying to hide the fact he was checking him out. I’d already warned Brody that Bastian might get flirtatious with him, but it didn’t mean anything. Hopefully Brody would be cool with it and not get freaked out. This was uncharted territory, not a test exactly, but Bastian was my closest friend and I really wanted them to like each other. I didn’t know how Brody would react to Bastian who had a flair for the dramatic.

  I hung onto Brody’s arm and gave it a little squeeze as if he needed my support.

  “So this is your cowboy?” He narrowed his eyes as he took a drag of his cigarette. “I can see why you’d be tempted to ride him hard. But mate, you look more like a beach bum than a cowboy.” Bastian’s mouth turned down in disappointment. “I was hoping for tight Wranglers and a Stetson at the very least.”

  “Sorry to disappoint. Left my boots and spurs at home.”

  “Next time bring them with you. And the ropes and chaps too while you’re at it.” Bastian winked.

  Brody snorted, and ran his hand through his hair, not quite sure what to make of Bastian. A lot of people felt that way, but Bastian’s heart was in the right place, he’d been a good friend to me over the years, and that was all that mattered to me.

  He extended his hand to Brody and they shook. “How’s it going, mate?”

  “Yeah, it’s all good.” Brody looked down at me then back at Bastian. “Thanks for having me.”

  I caught the wicked gleam in Bastian’
s eye. “I haven’t had you—”

  “Stop,” I said, laughing. “Ease him in gently.”

  Bastian flashed us a smile. He was in a good mood today. “And it looks like I never will.” He held his hand over his heart. “I wouldn’t want to break my little chanteuse’s heart.”

  “No fucking clue what a little chanteuse is but glad to hear it,” Brody said gruffly.

  “Another one that got away.” Bastian sighed dramatically and waved his cigarette in the air, indicating we should follow him. Brody grabbed both of our bags and Bastian led us through the house, pointing out the chef’s kitchen, the living area decorated with Oriental rugs, red sofas, antiques and tapestries, all of which he declared hideous. But the view of the Med from the French doors that opened onto a terracotta courtyard and lush gardens more than made up for the décor.

  He told us there was a wine cellar and a cinema room downstairs. Then led us up a staircase, with floral wallpaper and oil paintings on the walls. Whoever decorated this house obviously wasn’t going for a beachy theme. We followed him down a long Oriental carpeted hallway with more oil paintings and antique gold wall sconces.

  At the end of the hallway, Bastian opened the door to a huge bedroom decorated in muted browns, sienna, and ivory, an ornately carved canopy bed taking center stage, the French doors affording another spectacular sea view. The first thing I did was cross the room and throw open the doors to let the sea air in. I knew how much Brody craved fresh air and open spaces. He joined me by the French doors and stepped onto the wrought-iron balcony, surveying the scenery. Down below, a few people were on loungers by the kidney-shaped pool, sipping cocktails. Hayden was talking to Cato, Bastian’s drummer, and a stick-thin brunette who worked for the record label. She was topless. When in the south of France.

  “Make yourselves at home, yeah?”

  I turned from the French doors and thanked Bastian. He was standing in the open doorway, leaning against the doorframe, the thin cigarette dangling from his lips. “How many people are staying here besides us?”

  “Depends on the day. Today it’s six. Or ten.” He ran his hand through his longish dark hair. He was wearing silver skull rings on every finger. “Fuck if I know. I’ll leave you to it. The fridges are fully stocked and if you’re hungry, Kristoff will sort you out.”

  Kristoff was Bastian’s private chef. He always took him on tour with him, so he didn’t have to eat ‘shit food.’

  The door closed behind Bastian and I joined Brody on the balcony and wrapped my arm around his waist. “Are you okay?”

  He slung his arm over my shoulders and pulled me close to his side. “Right as rain.”

  His eyes were on the sea, and I searched his profile, not sure if he was telling the truth. “Are you sure?”

  He turned his head then and gave me a soft smile. “Stop looking so worried.” He touched my nose with his index finger. “I can hold my own.”

  “I know. I just…” I gnawed on my lower lip, not sure what I was so worried about. Except that I wanted him to be happy, I guess.

  “Hey. Listen to me.” His tone was serious, and he held my gaze, wanting me to hear his words and believe him. “I’m just happy to be here with you. It doesn’t matter to me if we’re in a swanky villa in the south of France or in the middle of Bumfuck. I want you to be happy. I want you to spend time with your friends and chill out and relax. I’ve seen how grueling your schedule is. You work so fucking hard and you barely have a minute to yourself. Stop worrying about me. Just relax and enjoy yourself. Okay?”

  I smiled. “Okay. Beach or swimming pool?”

  “Let’s try out the bed first.”

  Before I had a chance to reply, he lifted me off the ground and tossed me over his shoulder. I was laughing when my back hit the mattress. He dove on top of me and rolled us over, so I was on top, straddling him.

  “Ride me hard, baby. Like I’m your bucking bronc.”

  That made me laugh harder. He grabbed the back of my head and pulled me down for a kiss that tasted like the cinnamon gum he was chewing earlier.

  I wanted to tell him that I loved him, because I did, but maybe it was too soon to say the words. So I didn’t.

  That night there were eight of us for dinner. A round table had been set up on the rock cliff above the sea and we ate under the stars. Kristoff served us silver platters of fresh seafood on a bed of shaved ice. Lobster, prawns, crabs, clams, raw oysters. I looked up from the langoustine I’d just de-shelled and found all eyes on me.

  “Holy shit,” Brody said with a laugh.

  “What?” I looked around the table.

  Cato laughed. He was stunning. Dark skin stretched over high cheekbones, his smile so white. His girlfriend Anya was on his right, a cool Nordic blonde with ice blue eyes who had just landed her first big role in a sci-fi movie set to start filming this fall. Next to her was her sister, Astrid, equally beautiful and seated on Bastian’s right, commanding his attention.

  Bastian loved to surround himself with beautiful people. In the past, I would have been uptight. So busy watching Dean that I wouldn’t have been able to fully enjoy myself. I’d be worried about how much he was drinking and how many trips to the bathroom he made to get his fix.

  Unlike Dean, Brody’s eyes never strayed to the other women, and he didn’t make me feel like I had to worry he’d end up fucking someone else’s girlfriend, one of Dean’s specialty moves.

  “How long did it take her to clean that shellfish?” Cato asked Brody.

  “Two seconds. Tops.”

  “She’s got hidden talents,” Hayden said.

  Brody grinned and took a swig of his beer. “Don’t I know it.”

  I sucked the juices from the tail of the langoustine while Brody watched me, an amused look on his face. “There’s plenty of food. No need to eat the tail.”

  “I grew up on the bayou. Do you have any idea how many crawfish I’ve cleaned in my life? Besides, you have to suck out the juices. That’s where all the flavor is.”

  He dipped his head and whispered into my ear. “You did a damn fine job of sucking my juices earlier. Pretty sure my fingers are still coated with yours.”

  My cheeks flushed with heat. Must have been from all the sun I caught this afternoon. It had nothing to do with the blow job I gave Brody on the private beach. We’d found a little secluded spot behind some rocks, although I couldn’t help wondering if the yachts and boats passing by had caught some of the action. That had been part of the fun though.

  Now, I fed Brody the white fleshy part of my langoustine dipped in aioli and he licked my fingers when he was done, a groan escaping his lips and shooting straight to my core. Nobody at the table so much as blinked. In the world of rock and roll, anything goes.

  Brody’s hand was on my thigh, under the skirt of my short cotton dress, and I was buzzed from the chilled white wine, my belly full of fresh seafood. Drunk on life and high on Brody’s nearness. I was talking to Jocelyn, the stick-thin brunette seated on my left. “Your cowboy is hot,” she said, lifting her wineglass to her lips, her eyes on Brody as she took a sip. “And he’s crazy about you.”

  I smiled. “I got lucky.”

  “Tell me about it. I meet all the assholes. But then, I guess you’d know a little something about assholes.”

  I didn’t comment. Brody’s hand was under my dress, his fingers stroking the cotton between my legs. When his fingers brushed my clit, I squirmed in my seat, my thighs clenching.

  “How are you going to deal with being on tour with your ex? And how does he feel about it?” She jerked her chin toward Brody who was talking to Hayden, all chilled and casual, as if his hand wasn’t performing magic under the table. His thumb pressed against my clit and my breath hitched. Oh my God.

  “Umm…” Jocelyn had asked me a question and now she was waiting for an answer, but it was hard to think straight when I was about to detonate. “He’s cool with it.” I cleared my throat and hoped that was true. “And Dean and I… we’ll just k
eep it professional.”

  She arched her brows. “Won’t that be difficult?”

  “Not for me. I’m not in love with him anymore.”

  I didn’t know how Brody could have possibly overheard us while he was talking to the others, but he chose that very moment to move my panties aside and slide his fingers through my wet heat. I squeezed my legs together, my chest heaving as he rubbed my clit. Seconds later, the orgasm crashed over me and my body jerked, my legs shaking.

  Oh my God. Job done, he removed his hand and I tried to regulate my breathing then picked up my wine glass with a shaky hand and took a fortifying sip. Nothing to see here. Cool as a cuke.

  I took a deep breath. Wow. Who needed dessert?

  The sound of Brody’s laughter reached my ears, and I turned my head to look at him. I hadn’t been sure if he would get along with Bastian and Hayden, the only two people at this dinner who truly mattered to me. But any fears I’d had vanished earlier when Brody and Bastian struck up a conversation. A little while later, Bastian had given Brody his seal of approval. “He’s not a wanker.”

  Brody caught me watching him and turned his smile on me, his voice low and intimate, his eyes locked on mine. “All good?”

  I smiled, half-drunk, still in a state of post-orgasmic bliss. “Couldn’t be better.”

  And it was true. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d been so happy. All my worries that Brody would hate my life, or that he’d feel like he didn’t fit in, or that he wouldn’t know how to handle Bastian and the paparazzi and the chaos of a world tour, had vanished. I guess I should have given Brody more credit. But Marcus had put a lot of doubts in my head. Had made me question whether it was a smart move to invite Brody to join me for a week.

  “This tour is a big deal, Shiloh. You can’t afford to screw up,” Marcus had said, as if I needed a reminder. It was my career, my tour, my responsibility to give the best damn show I could every single night. “I don’t want you to be distracted. You have a lot on your plate without having to cater to a guy who knows nothing about the music industry.”