Temptations (Tattoos & Tears Book 1)

by Amiee Louise

  I go down the stairs and out into the cool night air. Sam is leaning against a white sleek Porsche Cayenne 4x4 with tinted windows and the number plate BOLT1. He looks breathtakingly beautiful. His black hair is perfectly styled in a spiky fashion. He’s wearing black skinny jeans, black Doctor Marten boots, and a white dress shirt that clings to his muscles. However, three buttons are unbuttoned revealing his chest tattoos, and the sleeves are rolled up to show off his full-sleeve tattoos on both arms. He looks up from texting on his phone, and a grin spreads across his face. Honestly, we make quite the pair with my tattoos on full display as well. Stowing his phone in his back pocket, he meets me halfway.

  “You look … Fuck. Wow, you look amazing.” He clears his throat, and a shy laugh escapes my lips.

  “Thanks, you don’t look so bad yourself, rock star.”

  He laughs too and leans down to kiss me softly on the cheek. My body instantly responds, and my blood feels like it is on fire from just his touch.

  “Are you ready then? I’ve got reservations at this Italian restaurant I know near Chelsea.”

  I nod—Chelsea; very swanky. He comes ‘round to my side of the car and opens my door, not taking his eyes off of me for a second. I get in the car and feel suddenly lightheaded from the weight and intensity of his gaze. Sam closes my door, goes around to the driver’s side, and climbs in beside me, closing his door behind him. He starts the engine and pulls smoothly away from the kerb. He handles the car with careful control and smooth turns of the wheel. I can’t help but think there is more to Sam than the public facade he puts on for his fans—a strong man who conducts the press like a seasoned professional, in quiet control of himself and those around him.

  Being in such close proximity to this man is so intoxicating. Just being near him is making me want him so badly; I am physically aching to feel his hands on me again. I lean back in my seat and fidget with my bag.

  “Am I making you nervous, babe?”

  From the passenger seat, I look over and see the smirk on his face.

  I dismiss him immediately. “No, ‘course not. Is it me, or is it hot in here?”

  I fan myself with my hand and take a breath. God, I think it might be the wine going straight to my head. He turns on the air conditioning with a smirk still on his face, and I swiftly change the subject.

  “How’s the tattoo?”

  He nods. “Yeah, it’s all good. I want to say thank you so much for designing it and tattooing me.”

  I smile. “You’re very welcome, it was … my pleasure.”

  God, Peyton, stop being such a dickhead. I clear my throat and try to block out the irritating voice in my head.

  Suddenly, the thought occurs to me about him texting me when I quite clearly didn’t give out my phone number or my address, for that matter.

  Turning to him, I narrow my eyes at him. Before I know what I’m saying, I blurt out, “How did you get my address and mobile number? I’m pretty sure I didn’t give it to you.”

  He chuckles softly. “I’m an extremely rich man, babe; I’ve got the best security in the business. I can get anything I want, within reason. I can get access to almost any information I require, whenever I want. Plus, you were being … difficult, so I didn’t want to push my luck.”

  He smirks. I was being difficult? How fucking dare he call me difficult!

  “I wasn’t being difficult! I was … keeping you on your toes. You automatically assumed because of your status as a famous rock star I would swoon and fall at your feet just like every woman you meet. But when you realised that wouldn’t work with me, you reverted to using your charms.”

  I know I’m being judgmental and a tad unreasonable, but he evokes feelings in me that I can’t even begin to comprehend.

  With a laugh, he says, “And what would those charms be, Peyton?”

  His voice is low and raspy. Bastard. He knows exactly what he is doing and the effect he has on me. I feel slick heat between my legs and suddenly hate him for making me want him so badly. It takes every bit of self-control I have not to make him pull the car over, so he can fuck me hard on the bonnet of his car and bring me to a toe-curling orgasm. I bite my lip at the thought and shift in my seat. Where the fuck is all this coming from? He cocks his pierced eyebrow as if he can read my mind as he attempts to suppress a devilish smile.

  “Is everything all right, babe?”

  How does he do that? I nod and clear my throat to rid myself of the thoughts. We spend the remainder of the journey in silence with a thick sexual tension hanging in the compact space of his car. Before I know it, we are pulling up at the kerb and Sam comes ‘round to open my door. He gives his car keys to a man at the door that I recognise from the shop earlier. He is a very tall, at least six foot if not taller, gentleman with skin the colour of dark chocolate, around mid-forties, very well built and looks like he could definitely handle himself in a fight. He nods to both Sam and me. There is a group of around ten paparazzi with cameras outside the restaurant, too. Shouting and calling to Sam, their cameras are flashing wildly.

  “Bolt, this way, is this your new girlfriend?”

  I instantly wonder what it must be like on a day-to-day basis for him with the press and paparazzi following his every move. The man from the door directs them back and away from us. Sam protectively shields me and reaches for my hand as we walk into the restaurant.

  Sam leans down to whisper in my ear, “I’m so sorry about that.”

  His voice is apologetic. I smile sympathetically, and there is a short, dark grey-haired man wearing glasses in a grey suit standing near the entrance of the restaurant, which I now know is called Ricardo’s Italia.

  “Ricardo, so good to see you, mate. Thanks for fitting us in at such short notice; I really appreciate it.”

  Ricardo smiles warmly, and Sam shakes his hand. Ricardo gestures for us to take a seat in a secluded booth at the back of the restaurant and assures us that we will not be disturbed. I sit in the dimly-lit booth while Sam sits opposite me. I know beautiful isn’t usually a word to describe a man, but in his case, it is the perfect word. His face is perfectly sculpted with high cheekbones; his profile is so striking I can definitely see why all the girls would go crazy over him. He catches me staring at him and licks his lips suggestively.

  “See something you like, babe?”

  He winks, and I feel myself blushing.

  “You’re actually … beautiful”

  He throws his head back and laughs. I cringe when I realise I actually said that aloud. Shit, think before you speak, Harper.

  “Thanks, no one has ever described me as beautiful before; it’s not a word generally associated with rockers, but I’ll take it as a compliment.”

  I feel myself blush. He reaches across the table and brushes my hair away from my face. It’s such an intimate gesture that my skin breaks out in goose bumps.

  “Don’t hide yourself away from me, babe. You’re gorgeous. I don’t want you to ever be embarrassed around me.” His voice is husky as he says those words; I feel that familiar slickness between my legs. What is it about this man that has that effect on me? Get it together, you silly cow.

  “I’m sorry, I’m just really fucking nervous!” I say in a rush, and we both laugh.

  “Don’t be nervous. I won’t bite … unless you ask me to!”

  I put my head down, but he tips my chin up to face him.

  “That was a joke, babe.”

  “I’m so sorry. I haven’t been on a date in so long. Men don’t usually have this effect on me. You-you do something to me, Sam.”

  He shifts closer to me and lets out a breath. “Glad I’m not the only one,” he whispers while he strokes my face.

  “It’s just that you’re a famous rock star, and I’m just … an ordinary girl, a tattoo artist from the city. I’m just kind of overwhelmed by you.”

  He looks me in the eyes. “I overwhelm you?”

  I nod shamefully.

  “Look, babe, I introduced mysel
f to you as Sam, not Bolt; he’s some cocky, egotistical prick I pretend to be on stage. You’re seeing the real me, Peyton, straight up, what’s in here.” He gently places my hand over his heart.

  It’s in that tender moment that I see Sam for who he really is and not just some unreachable rock star.

  “Don’t underestimate yourself, babe. I really, really like you, what do I have to do to make you see that? I can see pain in those beautiful blue eyes; I want to be the one to take all that pain away.”

  He is saying all the right words, and I instantly feel like saying, ‘Screw dinner, take me home and fuck me right now!’ But I dismiss that thought. He regards me intently, with my hand still gently placed on his warm chest and over his thundering heartbeat.

  “Was it an ex that hurt you?”

  I am taken aback by his forwardness and pull my hand away from him. He cocks his head and looks at me, waiting for me to answer.

  “Do you really want to talk about exes on our first date?”

  He nods. “Why the hell not? We’ve established that our relationship is different… unconventional.”

  We both laugh. Although, I was unaware that we had a relationship. I thought we were just two people getting to know each other? Presumptuous, much?

  “OK, I split with my ex of three years just over a year ago; he cheated on me with some filthy slut. When I let myself into his flat, he was shamelessly fucking her on the kitchen worktop. Even though I was going crazy, throwing things around the room, shouting and screaming like a banshee, he still carried on shagging her. It shattered me, and it ripped my heart out completely. He is the reason why I haven’t dated in… awhile.”

  The expression on Sam’s face changes.

  “Where does he live? I want to fucking kill the bloke, and I don’t even know him.”

  I laugh, but I don’t meet his intense green gaze. “There’s more, I can tell. You’re holding back on me, babe.”

  How does he know that? “There’s no getting anything past you, is there?”

  He doesn’t smile, nor does he take his eyes off of me.

  “I’ve just gotten pretty good at reading people over the years, that’s all, babe.”

  I clear my throat, but I can’t bring myself to tell him the rest. My heart is thundering in my chest, but there is something about this man that makes me not want to lie to him and not keep anything from him. I swallow hard to brace myself and try to still my trembling hands.

  “I was pregnant with his baby; I had a miscarriage around two weeks before I caught him cheating.”

  My eyes glaze over, and I swallow back the tennis-ball-shaped lump that has formed in my throat. Jesus, do not let him see you cry. Sam clenches his fist so tight his knuckles turn white.

  “I’m so sorry, babe. To do something like that is abhorrent to me. What a fucking piece of shit. Now I really want to hurt him.”

  He runs his hand through his hair, and I know he is trying to control his emotions and his temper at hearing what I had to say.

  I let out a sigh. “Don’t you think this is a bit heavy for a first date?”

  He takes my hand and makes small circles on my palm.

  “No, not at all, a date is about getting to know someone. The good, the bad, and everything in-between.”

  I move back a few inches from him, and it is my turn to regard him intently.

  “Your turn.”

  He laughs and nods.

  “OK, fair trade, I suppose. Her name was Piper Gibson, it was around nine years ago, and I was only twenty when the band really took off. We’d known each other since school, we were together for five years, I cheated on her, and I hold my hands up to that. I-I was a complete dick back then. I let the fame thing go to my head in the beginning, and I wasn’t a nice person to be around. Booze and women jaded me, but I haven’t had a serious girlfriend since her. Strictly one-night things, no feelings just stupid meaningless flings. But I don’t want that with you; I want you to be the girl that changes all that.”

  I bite my lip. He brushes his thumb gently across it, so I release it. The waiter comes over and interrupts with a bottle of Dom Pérignon. He starts to pour it into two glasses then he smiles politely.

  “Do you need a few more minutes before you order, Mr. Newbolt, madam?”

  Sam looks at him and nods. “Yeah, please, mate. That would be great, thanks.”

  Sam smiles and tucks a twenty in the waiter’s top pocket. He nods and walks away.

  “So, where were we?”

  I smile. “You were being incredibly sweet.”

  He strokes my face, and I lean into his hand. The waiter comes over and interrupts us again. “Are you ready to order, Mr. Newbolt?”

  Sam rolls his eyes, and I laugh.

  “Erm. Two chicken, bacon and mushroom Alfredos, hold the parmesan.”

  The waiter takes down the order and leaves. I look at Sam and cock my perfectly-plucked eyebrow.

  “How did you know that’s what I’d order?”

  Sam laughs. “We’re more alike than you realise, babe.”

  He winks, and we both take a sip of our champagne at the same time, his eyes never leaving mine. The bubbles instantly come alive in my mouth, and I feel myself start to relax around him. I lean back in my seat and regard him intently.

  “So, tell me about you, Sam; I hardly know anything about you.”

  He smirks and takes another sip of his champagne with a cocky look across his handsome face.

  “What do you want to know? I’m in a rock band; I’m the lead singer in Rancid Vengeance with three of my best friends. We’ve been together for ten years. What else is there to know that you haven’t already read in the press?”

  He shrugs nonchalantly, and I look at him as if I have been slapped in the face. It is as if the incredibly sweet, sensitive and caring Sam from five minutes ago has vanished. He has been replaced with his stage persona Bolt who is cocky, arrogant, and to quote Sam himself, “an egotistical prick”. It is as if there are two completely different people inside him.

  “What happened to the Sam from five minutes ago?”

  He looks down, and his face drops.

  “Shit! I’m so sorry, I don’t know how to do anything else other than sing and perform on stage. I’m kind of in awe of you, and you’re so talented and so incredibly beautiful and— Totally fucking amazing. I feel like a bit of a fraud.”

  “You’re definitely not a fraud. I’m nothing special, I just found something I was good at and something I wanted so badly and went for it. We’re the same, you and me, we’re connected. I felt that connection as soon as our eyes met, Sam, I’ve never felt that with a guy before.”

  He puts his glass down on the table and clears his throat.

  “Now I feel like a complete twat. I’m no good at dating or wooing women; I don’t usually have to. You’re the first girl I’ve chased.”

  I pause for a moment and contemplate the difference in both of our lifestyles. He is used to getting his own way, people tending to his every need, the press following him around, women falling at his feet—quite literally. It is at that precise second that I vow to make him work to get what he wants with me; I’ll play him at his own game. I take another sip of my champagne. He mirrors my action and puts his glass down on the table before cocking his head to the side.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  I smirk. “Nothing. Just this—you and me.” I gesture between us.

  “There is going to be a you and me then?”

  I pause, and he hangs his head.

  “Come on, sweetheart, you’re killing me. Don’t leave me hanging here. I really like you, and I want there to be an us. You’re the first girl I’ve felt truly open and honest with. I feel a magnetic pull towards you, and I can’t walk away, I just can’t.”

  He cups my chin and moves his face closer to mine. The mood completely changes between us in the private booth. The atmosphere is filled with an electrifying sexual energy, and I am burning fo
r him. My core is aching for him to be inside me. I feel that familiar heat ignite between my legs, and I gasp for breath as he audaciously slides his hand up my dress. I want to push him away, but I can’t, I want him so badly. He caresses my inner thigh with a feather-light touch.

  “You want me, Peyton, I can feel the heat radiating from you, and you want this just as much as I do.”

  He rasps, and I can feel his scent taking over me, the smell of mint mingled with his Joop aftershave filling my nostrils, the feel of his breath on my cheek and the way his fingers feel against my skin, inching closer to the edge of my knickers.