by Virna DePaul
ROCK SEXY
Rock Candy Book 1
by
Virna DePaul
Description
Hollywood’s hottest bad boy, Garrick Maze, hangs with rock stars and parties harder than most. Now he’s just landed the lead in a new television series and he’s determined to prove himself. Love’s the last thing on his mind, especially when it comes to his ice queen female lead.
Gwendolyn Vickers intends to be America’s next celebrity sweetheart and that means keeping her public image pristine. The last thing she needs is to be linked to her trouble-making co-star Garrick. But Garrick is shamelessly flirty and sexy as sin, and her body craves him. Soon, so does her so-called ice-cold heart.
Eventually, however, secrets from the past clash with their new-found fame,.Garrick will prove that when it comes to mixing mind-blowing pleasure with true love, he’s not about to let Gwen down.
***If you are a new-to-me reader, I hope you’ll check out my other books. You can start with these (2) FREE Series Starters!
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Contact Virna Here
Website: www.virnadepaul.com
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More From Virna DePaul
BAD BOY DOCTORS
KISS TALENT AGENTS
KISS TALENT AGENCY (A spin-off to Kiss Talent Agents)
HARD AS NAILS
GOING DEEP SERIES
BEDDING THE BACHELORS SERIES
HOME TO GREEN VALLEY SERIES
ROCK CANDY SERIES
THE PARA-OPS PARANORMAL ROMANTIC SUSPENSE SERIES
Acknowledgements
Thank you to Marie Louise A., Casey B., Victoria C., Danielle G.,
Miranda G., Susan H., Wendy H., Tina L., and Misty Davis S.
Vixens, you rock!!
Dedication
For Susan Hatler, a great friend, writer, and critique partner. Wishing you much joy and happiness as you embark on your new adventure. So glad for your friendship. Love you lots, V
Chapter One
Garrick
Hitting the top of Hollywood’s It List has its perks.
Money. Fame. Girls.
Lots and lots of girls.
I’ve definitely earned my reputation as a player.
But one thing I’m not is a cheater.
I don’t like cheaters. I don’t date them. I don’t stick my dick in them. I don’t do things to justify jealous boyfriends or husbands punching me in the face.
Tonight, I’d done all three.
Granted, I hadn’t known Missy Ives had a boyfriend at the time, but that didn’t mean shit when I could still picture the guy, looking confused, then hurt, then dangerously pissed right before he came after me two hours ago. I’d been bare ass naked, dealing with my own confusion, and suffering flashbacks to two years ago when I’d caught my girlfriend in bed with my brother. All that had slowed down my reflexes when Missy’s boyfriend swung at me, which is why I now sported the beginnings of a black eye.
Truth is, I’d probably have let the guy punch me anyway, that’s how bad I’d felt.
Unfortunately, in a few days I was starting my role as the male lead in a new network television series. I prayed the black eye faded before we began filming.
Pulling my car into the crowded circular drive of rocker Wesley Shaw’s Beverly Hills’ mansion, I killed the engine, and checked my reflection in the rearview mirror, gingerly touching my eye. The entire lid was purple and swollen. It also hurt like hell. But I wasn’t going to let that stop me from turning my Saturday night around. The bitter memory of Rachel’s betrayal, which I’d mostly put behind me, was suddenly a raw open wound that wouldn’t go away. I needed a drink. Several drinks. And I needed a girl. Maybe several girls. Anything to make me forget what a fool I’d once been to believe in love. And to have enjoyed Missy’s company for a mind-boggling three dates (including one on New Year’s Eve two weeks ago) while starting to think maybe we could actually be more than a casual hook up.
What an idiot.
Getting out of my car, I took in the scene of my buddy Liam Collier’s 22nd birthday party. Liam was the lead singer of Point Break, the same band for which Wes played the guitar, and Wes had used Liam’s big day as an excuse to throw his first party since moving in to the seven-bedroom villa. I’d only heard about the place until now, and damn it was sweet, with floating levels, glass walls held in place by a striking black frame, and even a circular tower adjoining the entrance. Wes had especially raved about the outdoor terraces that had amazing views of the Los Angeles city skyline.
Valets scurried to keep up with the procession of cars as guests arrived. Heavy bass and electronic beats pounded my ears and shook my car windows. A multitude of girls in low-cut blouses and four-inch heels wandered in and out of the house. I didn’t recognize most of them, but that didn’t surprise me. Anyone who was anyone in this town knew about Wesley’s new place, but only anyone who was someone would get inside.
Unless she had a great rack to go along with her anonymity.
Seeing one of the valets approaching me, I tossed him the keys to my black Bentley Continental GT. “Thanks, man,” I said as I started jogging up the white stone steps of the house. Two hulking men in dark suits worked security. I’d almost reached them when the front door burst wide open, letting out the muffled chatter and bursts of laughter of the hundred people inside. From my peripheral vision, a shirtless figure stepped—or stumbled, more accurately—into my view. It was Point Break’s drummer, Tucker Benning, all lean lines, scruff, and inked flesh.
“You made it.” Tucker toted a half empty bottle of Patron Silver, cigarette drooping at the crook of his lips. Long, disheveled brown hair hung in front of his bright green eyes, some sections slicked with sweat. He pushed them back clumsily.
A smudged lipstick mark stained his cheek. Swaying precariously, he threw open his arms, tequila sloshing out of the bottle. “We were wondering where the fuck you—Whoa. Man, what happened to your eye?”
“I fell into a wall.” I sighed, knowing I’d probably be saying it a lot tonight.
Tuck blinked at me as if trying to process my answer.
“But I’d never miss Liam’s birthday, Tuck.”
Liam Collier and I were friends from high school when we were both drama geeks. Liam had bounced from band to band back then, meeting Tuck our junior year. I hadn’t met his newest bandmates, Wes and Corbin Ross, who ripped the bass guitar, until last year, just before they’d gone platinum. Now they played to sold out crowds and were preparing for their first world tour.
Tucker slung his arm around my shoulders, using me as support. “Don’t tell him or Wes I said this,” he mock-whispered, his breath reeking of alcohol. “But I’d miss Liam’s birthday for a chance to hook up with Missy Ives. Jesus, that SI swimsuit spread she did…”
“Dude, come on.” Instead of Missy’s swimsuit shots, I pictured the whole tawdry scene with Missy and her boyfriend again. A sudden clenching in my chest had me rubbing the spot and wincing as we crossed the tile floor, splashed with confetti, streamers, popped balloons, and loose glitter raining down from flashy cocktail dresses.
“Hey, you were the one who said she seemed different than most girls. I’m not letting you clam up now.”
That was before I knew she wasn’t single.
Of course, I didn’t say that. Wanting to change the subject, I eyed him oddly. “Tuck, where the hell is your shirt?”
He looked down at his naked chest. “I don’t know, man. Earlier, I was shotgunning some beers in the b
athtub. And all of a sudden, it was gone.”
“Wow.” I leveled him with a condescending smirk, glad I’d gotten him away from the Missy talk. “That’s an impressive memory you’ve got there.”
Tucker slowly shoved a finger into my arm. “Dude, I don’t need your judgery. And quit changing the subject. Dish, man. Did you actually hit that? How was it?”
“You’re relentless,” I murmured, reaching across his body to snatch the Patron bottle by the neck. I knew if I didn’t say something, Tuck would just keep asking. “We were interrupted.”
“Bam!” Tucker boomed theatrically, squeezing me all rough, his eyes growing comically wide. “Cock-blocked by a jealous ex?”
“Something like that,” I muttered, taking a swig of the tequila, happy Tuck was obviously too inebriated to connect the cock-blocking with my black eye. “Anyway, too much trouble for me. That’s over.”
“Still, three dates is a record, man.”
True, which was why I was done talking about it.
Tucker and I continued across the foyer and into the kitchen, done in dark granite and stainless steel. Recognizing a few Hollywood types, I tossed them nods of acknowledgement and fended off the flurry of queries about my black eye by reminding people I still did my own stunts. There was a set of twins I liked, for the most part, a brother and sister often cast in the same films together. Their eyes flashed with respect when they saw me.
“Hey, Garrick,” the girl twin called. “Congrats on the new series. You’re going to kill it.” She lifted a shot glass in my honor.
“Thanks. Should be interesting.”
I was an action star, not a romantic lead, but I was hoping my stint as Payton Baber would result in more dramatic roles. As Baber, I’d be playing a college student at the University of New Mexico and frontman for a garage band who becomes romantically involved with a good girl book nerd named Lacey. Point Break would be contributing to the show’s soundtrack, and Liam would be dubbing my musical parts, since I couldn’t sing worth a shit. It was pretty awesome when I recommended him. The network had been set on hiring another band for cost reasons, but when I’d hinted I was reconsidering taking the job, the network had caved and ponied up an insane amount of cash to hire Point Break. Really showed my newfound pull in the industry.
Liam was the perfect dude for the gig anyway, with his rich, tenor voice that soared into falsetto at just the right moment. Man, it’d always irked me the way he could do the one thing I couldn’t so well.
Not that I hadn’t tried. Believe me, I had. But, as it turned out, even the best voice coaches in the world couldn’t make a frog sound like a canary.
I used to sing a lot, even being as bad as I was. Of course, I’d limited it to when I was alone in the shower. No way did I ever sing in public. I’d even refused to sing along to the car radio with Rachel, something that had—
Fuck! I hadn’t thought about Rachel in months. Now thanks to Missy, I’d thought of her multiple times this evening. I scanned the room for something—anything—that would drive her from my mind.
Cheers broke out in an area of the house. “Where’s Wes?” I asked.
“That idiot’s been upstairs asleep since six p.m. I’m pretty sure he’s in the middle of something raunchy, and he doesn’t even know it.”
We took a detour into what looked like a den with a huge movie screen. Seeing who was already there, I immediately grinned. I’d asked for something to take my mind off my troubles and this was a pretty good start.
“Speaking of raunchy…” I nudged my chin in the direction of the couch where two buxom girls knelt, one a blonde, one a redhead, bracketing a pair of dark denim clad knees. The girls were passionately swapping spit, wearing nothing but their bras and panties. I have to say, they presented quite the erotic sight with their feet tied up in red, strappy heels. The lucky dude in the middle had his head thrown back against a couch cushion. I didn’t have to see him to know he was one lucky son-of-a-bitch. I doubted he was thinking of past betrayals or irate exes at that moment, and that’s what I desperately wanted—to wash away what happened earlier. Going back several years would be nice, since it would mean washing away Rachel completely. I wondered if he’d let me take his place.
“Shit,” I commented. “That is not unfortunate looking at all.”
The guy’s head came up, and a pair of hands planted themselves between the girls, on their “girls,” nudging them apart. Liam’s chiseled face appeared, short dark brown hair spiked and collared shirt stained with booze, the buttons one hole off.
“Gar!” Liam shouted, nodding with a shit-eating grin on his face.
I laughed. “Happy Birthday, Liam.” Somehow, seeing my friend eased the pressure inside my chest a little.
Liam looked wasted, but good. He’d taken to his recent rock god status like a fish to water without remotely becoming a dick. He had this infectious carefree attitude. He rolled with the punches. He didn’t stress. Everybody loved him from the moment they met him. Friendly, outgoing, laid back, confident, and courageous, Liam could charm the pants off of any girl, and the snarl out of any guy. He remained close to his parents and brothers. And while he was now definitely playing the field, he still believed that one day, he’d find the right girl and settle down.
In other words, he was damn naïve.
His parents were abnormal. Most people didn’t find love like that. Most people were assholes, cheaters, quitters. Missy had just reminded me what I already knew. I didn’t want to be the one who popped his bubble, but he’d figure it out at some point.
“Tucker,” some girl called from the kitchen, poking her head around the corner and brandishing a green bottle before him the way a trainer might dangle a treat in front of a dog. “We’re doing Jågerbombs. Get your ass in here.”
“On my way. Later, man.” Tucker smacked my shoulder. “We need to get a few shots in ASAP.” With that, he ducked out and strutted into the kitchen. “Let’s do this,” he announced, followed by a swell of cheers.
Liam popped up from the couch, bounded across the room, and attempted to football tackle me. Luckily, I was ready and braced myself in time to avoid being bowled over, giving him a few slaps on the back instead. “What’s up, bro?”
“You sneaky little shit,” he chided. “You came.” He smiled lopsided, pleasantly drunk, eyes dilated.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I assured him, clamping my hands around his shoulders, giving him a good shake. I was lying. I probably would have missed it, if I had something in my life worth missing it for. Professionally, that was the case. Personally? Not so much.
For half a second, I wanted to be away from the party, the noise, the liquor, even the girls. I thought it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to be able to go someplace quiet and just talk to someone who cared about me.
I shook my head to clear it. Fuck, I sounded like a pussy. This was Liam’s birthday party. The guy didn’t need me getting all morose and sensitive on him.
I scrambled for something to say. “So. Where’s Helen?”
“She’s out in the infinity pool, I think.”
Helen had been in our drama class too, and she and Liam remained close friends. As far as I knew, they’d never dated, only drifted in and out of each other’s lives like smoke—like phantoms. Recently she’d taken a job with the band, helping with their merchandising, and I couldn’t help but wonder if that was a little too close for the comfort of their friendship.
Liam pressed a gallant hand on his chest. “And on that note, I’m going to check on Helen. Hey, buddy, can you hold down the fort for a while?” he asked, thumbing toward the girls in lacy lingerie, lounging on the white leather sofa, passing a bottle back and forth while they giggled.
Good ol’ Liam. What a pal for offering me up the very distraction I’d been admiring moments earlier.
As if they had supersonic hearing, the two girls zeroed in on me, their bedroom eyes laced with big, flirty false lashes. They batted them, freshly manicured index
fingers beckoning. Yes! There’s no way the shadow of the night’s earlier events, or those of two years ago, could survive me getting it on with these two gorgeous girls. I took a deep breath. “I don’t know, Li. It’ll sure be taking one for the team,” I joked. “And you’ll owe me. Like, huge.”
Suddenly, he planted his hands on my face, locking eyes with me. “You can do this,” he said, shaking my face. “I believe in you. HOOAH!”
“Hooah!” I bantered, grinning ear to ear.
Five minutes later, could I help it if I sat nestled between the two girls on the Italian sofa, my arms around them to keep me warm? The blonde introduced herself as Britney, the redhead as Angela. Britney tsked and lightly touched my bruised eye, while Angela said it made me look even hotter. They both claimed they were big fans of my work. They liked to giggle and give each other kisses. I was more than okay with that.
After the first round of kisses, though, their hands instantly gravitated toward my body, as though I was pure steel, and their fingers were magnets. They plucked off the buttons of my shirt, one by one, kissing each other every two buttons. I wondered what they would do by the sixth set. By then, I was half undressed, and Britney pulled my shirt open while Angela rubbed her hand over my crotch, inching closer to what had already begun to tent my jeans.
My hands searched for their hips, thighs, and breasts. I took turns kissing one, then the other. I mean, it was only fair. They were both doing such a great job. Britney reached behind the couch to the glass display table and seized the neck of a half empty bottle of whipped vodka. Taking a swig, she leaned close to me and let the shot drop through her strawberry-glossed lips into my mouth. I swallowed the sweet liquid, the burn gone from it, and squeezed her tighter, tasting the flavor between our tongues.