Rock King

by Tara Leigh

  Music came through the car’s speakers, but there were no words, just haunting melodies and dramatic guitar and drum solos. “Do you not like listening to other people sing?” I asked, trying to pretend I wasn’t hanging out with a guy I’d crushed on since sporting braces on my teeth and a hairstyle that had made me look like a poodle.

  If Shane noticed my nervousness, he didn’t show it. “No. I do, actually. We were just laying down tracks for something new and I was listening to it on the way over. You don’t like it?”

  I shook my head. “It’s beautiful.” And it was. Haunting and lyrical, and a little bit sad. I wish there had been lyrics to go along with it, because somehow I knew they would tell a story I wanted to hear. Maybe even help answer why Shane had lied straight to my face in Travis’s office, when he’d denied what I’d seen with my very own eyes. “Do you write all of Nothing but Trouble’s songs?”

  “Most of them.” Shane took his eyes off the road to glance at me, and his dimple flashed. “Sometimes the words come first; sometimes the music does. It’s the only thing in my life I don’t try to control.”

  The comment touched a nerve. A few years ago I’d been slapped with the reality that everything I’d thought was under control—wasn’t. And I didn’t know how to fix it. There was nothing I could do to bring my mother back to life, and my father was still behind bars. Where was my control?

  When the song ended, an indignant question shot past my lips. “So that’s why you needed to hire me? Because a real girlfriend couldn’t be controlled…or because you can’t control yourself?”

  “Believe me, Delaney. I’ve got all the control you’ll ever need.” His answer was flippant, a brush-off disguised as a sexy tease, but with one glance, I took in Shane’s tight jaw, his white-knuckled grip on the car’s steering wheel, the tension coiled through his muscles.

  “I thought rock stars were supposed to be wild and untamed.” The rebuke slipped out before I could pull it back. Shane seemed to have that effect on me.

  He ran the tips of his fingers along my thigh, his touch burning through my jeans. “Is that what you were hoping for, Delaney? A wild ride, a man to tame?”

  Unbidden, a stab of lust prodded my belly. From the husky timbre of his voice to the snug cut of his jeans, Shane Hawthorne was every inch a rock star. And he wanted me, Delaney Fraser. Goose bumps broke out on my forearms.

  Clinging to the door handle as Shane hurtled along the Pacific Coast Highway, thoughts of what he might do to me in bed flickered as vibrantly as the ocean. I imagined his lips closing over my breasts, his fingers exploring my body. Imagined what it would feel like to have Shane Hawthorne inside of me, filling my body with his own. I turned my face to the window as my cheeks warmed, veins flooding with desire.

  Shane’s voice shredded the last of my nerves. “You know, I think I like your suggestion. I’ll provide the wild ride, if you promise you’ll try to tame me.”

  My head whipped back around, the twitch of Shane’s lips telling me he was enjoying my discomfort.

  That made one of us.

  Shane

  Delaney’s Hello Kitty shirt may have been prophetic. She was acting like a frightened kitten, hissing and clawing. Even so, I had absolutely no doubt she’d be crawling into my lap soon, purring in pleasure from my touch.

  For once, L.A.’s normally jammed roads were clear and the needle on my car’s speedometer edged toward one hundred miles an hour. I made the drive often enough to do it in my sleep, and even after slowing down in the spots I knew cops often hid—not that I was worried about a ticket, I just knew better than to attract unnecessary attention from the police—we arrived at my bungalow in less than an hour.

  A welcoming party of paparazzi was clustered along my street. John Legend and Chrissy Teigen lived next door, Adele was renting a house up the block, taking over the lease from the latest Real Housewife castoff, whose fortune had been about as real as her breasts, and one of my bandmates lived somewhere in between. The close proximity of other TMZ-worthy targets, as well as the stunning coastline, made this a particularly appealing spot for the photogs. “Home sweet home, baby,” I murmured as the electrified gates swung inward and cameramen swarmed the car, shouting questions before I could hit the gas and flee into the sanctuary of my garage.

  My sarcasm was lost on Delaney. Wide-eyed, she waited for the garage door to close before getting out of the car. “Is it always like that?”

  I chuckled, retrieving her suitcase from the trunk. “No. It’s usually worse.” I opened the door to the house and held it for her, expecting her to be right behind me. She wasn’t. Turning, I found Delaney standing halfway between me and the car, worry practically seeping from her pores. An emotion I hadn’t felt in a long time, sympathy, pricked at my conscience. “I don’t bite, Delaney. At least, not unless you want me to.”

  Her flicker of a smile warmed me, and I inclined my head toward the open door. “Come on in. We both have our own motives for being together, but it doesn’t have to be a prison sentence.”

  The second I saw her flinch, I wanted to chase after my thoughtless words and swallow them down. “Shit. I’m sorry. Travis told me about your father. Bad choice of words.”

  Delaney straightened, forcing a smile onto her face. A bright, phony one I wanted to wipe off. “It’s fine, really. And you’re right. I’m in an oceanfront beach house, on a perfect Californian day. With the Sexiest Man Alive. What more could a girl want?”

  I blinked as Delaney breezed past me, hating her flippant tone, her fake smile. Hating myself for forcing this on her. If the thought of leaving for the next six months and losing the only girl I’d felt an ounce of emotion for in—Jesus, forever—wasn’t worse, I would have driven her right back to L.A. with whatever money Travis had promised. But I didn’t want anyone else. I wanted Delaney, precisely because she wasn’t like anyone else.

  Jumping at the chance to make amends, or at least lighten the mood, I reached for the Harry Winston jewelry box on the console table. “Jewelry, maybe?”

  This time a trickle of laughter floated my way as she walked farther into my house. “Yeah, jewelry works, too.”

  “Then consider today a good day,” I said.

  She turned, her eyes taking their time moving from my face to the box in my hands before snapping back to mine. Except that now a frown pulled at her brows, her stare overflowing with questions. Before she could ask any of them, I preempted her. “It’s a prop, Delaney. The press eats shit like this up. No strings attached, I promise.”

  Relief lowered her shoulders, and she extended her hand. “Oh, right.”

  What I said was true, but it didn’t take away any of my joy at watching Delaney’s face light up as she tore at the ribbon, lifted the lid. Her gasp was magic, that pouty mouth I couldn’t get enough of opening on an appreciative sigh. “It’s beautiful, Shane,” she breathed, her voice soft and dreamy.

  The necklace had set me back a hundred grand, but it didn’t hold a candle to the look on Delaney’s face. “I’m glad you like it.”

  Her gaze skidded over me, a cautious kind of optimism radiating from the jumble of blue and green. “Would you put it on me?”

  Adrenaline spiked as I took the box from her, the brief brush of her fingers sending nervous anticipation racing through me. How did this girl make me feel so out of my element in my own damn house? “Sure.” I was off-balance. Not myself. Or at least, not like Shane Hawthorne. Every word, every look, every minute spent in Delaney’s presence was battering the defenses I’d spent years building.

  I set the box down, unclasping the thin platinum chain as Delaney turned away, lifting her hair up and presenting her naked neck to me. My knuckles brushed against her smooth skin as I lowered the necklace, my cock twitching with need. The loop caught and I stepped back, fisting my hands to keep from skimming my palms along every one of her curves.

  Delaney spun around, her expression as radiant as a child who had found a puppy under the Christmas tree,
delicate fingers petting the sapphire now sitting just above her breasts. “How does it look?”

  Fucking amazing. “Looks great,” I choked out, before reaching for her suitcase and jogging up the stairs. I was not going to tackle Delaney after giving her an expensive gift. I wanted to, badly. But I also wanted more than a thank-you fuck.

  How much more?

  No idea.

  Just…more.

  Delaney

  I probably should have followed Shane up the stairs to wherever he was taking my suitcase, but I couldn’t resist peeking at the mirror in the hall. Around my throat was the most beautiful piece of jewelry I’d ever seen, let alone received. A square sapphire glinted against my flushed skin, surrounded by a halo of tiny luminous green stones—topaz or maybe emeralds—and then encircled by a row of pavé diamonds. The chain was thin, with small floating diamonds every inch or so. Impressive enough to be a statement. But so delicate and finely wrought, it could be worn every day. It was perfect.

  My eyes traveled upward, to the happy smile splitting my face in two. I barely recognized the bright-eyed girl in the mirror.

  What exactly do you have to be so happy about?

  She didn’t answer. The grin slid off my face, guilt a powerful avalanche.

  The necklace was gorgeous, but it was just another layer of paint on the facade my life had become. Another way to fool everyone into believing that I was the latest in Shane Hawthorne’s long string of girlfriends. I dropped my hand, sighing as I turned away just in time to catch Shane bounding back down the stairs, a pair of loose-fitting swim trunks hanging low on his hips.

  Shane’s broad shoulders blocked the sun streaming through the windows that lined the back wall of his house, energy radiating from his inked skin. My pulse picked up, tongue flicking out to sweep across my lower lip. He stopped a foot away from me, distance that felt both too close and too far. “There’s a red dress hanging in your closet. We have reservations at seven thirty. That okay with you?”

  My mouth opened, but he turned away before I could do more than nod. A tumult of emotions swirled through my body as I watched Shane walk out the sliding glass door, winking as he closed it behind him.

  That wink, that smile. Jesus.

  Apparently I was going to have to get used to wearing damp panties.

  I sucked in a deep breath, so much easier to do when he wasn’t around. Breathing should be easy, automatic. But around Shane, even involuntary bodily functions required effort.

  How was I not going to fall down the rabbit hole Travis and Shane had so efficiently dug for me? If I was feeling like this already, how would I feel in a week? A month? The Nothing but Trouble tour was slated to go for at least six months, longer if they added more dates.

  The rational part of my brain knew I should stay as far away from Shane as I could, given that I was being paid to be, or at least appear to be, his girlfriend. That I should wall off my heart behind a high fence, topped with electrified, barbed wire. Keep my emotions under lock and key. Remain unattached.

  A feat that was damn near impossible given that my heart practically leapt out of my chest every time he came close.

  By the end of the tour, I’d either love him or hate him. Because right now I knew only one thing for sure. Expecting to be indifferent to Shane Hawthorne was downright foolish, if not completely stupid.

  Shane Hawthorne was a means to an end for me. A way to help my father and earn enough money to pay for my degree. Relationships were messy, and I only had to look at the latest tabloid to know that celebrity relationships were downright explosive.

  Maybe Shane’s former girlfriends could handle mixing business with pleasure, but I wasn’t one of them.

  I couldn’t afford to blow this opportunity over a ridiculous romantic squabble.

  Before heading upstairs to unpack, I decided to wander around the main floor, impressed by the clean, modern aesthetic of Shane’s home. The floors were a rich onyx, the walls slate gray. All the furniture was a shade of black or white. No patterns or bright colors distracted from the stunning water views, which were the highlight of every room. Walking toward the windows, I spied Shane trotting out from the flight of stairs connecting his deck to the beach. He dove into the surf using strong, measured strokes to swim beyond the waves, then changed direction, swimming in a straight line perpendicular to the beach.

  I would have loved to join him, tearing through the water until my limbs burned from exhaustion, eating away at all this sexual tension I didn’t know what to do with. A ragged sigh trembled through my lungs, and I ran agitated fingers through my hair, ruffling it as I climbed the flight of teak stairs. Beyond an open door, my suitcase was propped against a neatly made bed in what I assumed was my bedroom. High ceilings, light walls, beachy furniture. Nice.

  The closet was already filled with clothes I had tried on the other day. Dozens of dresses in every hue of the rainbow, not to mention shirts, pants, shorts, shoes, and a vast array of lingerie. More stilettos and boots than I’d ever seen outside of a shoe store.

  But there was only one red dress.

  A quick glance in the bathroom told me I didn’t need to bother emptying my toiletry bag. The shower and vanity were stocked better than Sephora. Soaps, moisturizers, body butters, shampoos and conditioners, gel, hair spray, self-tanner, sunscreen, and more makeup than I knew what to do with.

  Not that I actually had to do much yet. Two hours before Shane picked me up, Piper had shown up at my apartment with a team of hair and makeup people and a casual outfit to wear in case anyone spotted us before our first official public outing tonight. All I really needed to do was brush my teeth and change.

  After unpacking my single suitcase, I changed into the red dress. It fit, but despite multiple tugs of the zipper, I couldn’t get it more than halfway up my back. Frustrated, I almost didn’t notice the prickle of awareness that told me I was no longer alone.

  Almost.

  Shane was standing in the doorway, as devastatingly handsome as when he’d stared at me from the cover of Rolling Stone, looking like a young Jim Morrison, all untamed hair and probing eyes. Those same eyes were narrowed at me now, glittering with an emotion I would have given anything to understand. Anger. Excitement. Irritation. A combination of the three or something else altogether. I couldn’t tell. “Is this the dress you meant?” I asked, the slight wobble in my voice betraying my nervousness.

  Shane gave a curt nod, his jaw clenching. A beat passed. Then two.

  I hurried to ease the tension between us by filling the silence. “Thank you, by the way. The clothes, the shoes, the room. Everything is gorgeous.”

  Shane’s stoic veneer cracked, his voice a roughened husk. “Including you.” Another pregnant pause, this one longer.

  A gust of air rushed in through the open window, heavy and damp. It sent my hair swishing over my back and shoulders, the strands licking at sensitive skin. A tremor of desire swept through my bones, and I resisted an impulse to sprint across the space between us, climbing Shane’s hard body until he made me forget about my best intentions.

  My reckless fantasy was mirrored within Shane’s eyes. I watched it play out as we stood, caught in the moment, afraid to move, afraid to speak. Barely breathing.

  “You ready?” he finally said, the question a whispered growl, roughened by lust.

  I bit down on my lip, not trusting myself to hold back all the things my body wanted to beg for. Instead I turned, sweeping my hair over my shoulders, the half-undone zipper obvious. My heart was pounding out of my chest, but not loudly enough to cover Shane’s muffled curse as he pushed off the doorframe, his long stride swallowing the distance between us.

  His breath ghosted along the back of my neck, sending tingles racing across my skin, awareness vibrating within my spine. I felt hollow and hot, my body blistered by his proximity. Kindling mere seconds from bursting into flame.

  My breath caught in my throat as Shane gripped the zipper, and I desperately yearned for hi
s touch to accompany the mournful metallic whimper of its ascent.

  But no, not even the glancing caress of his fingertip.

  Blinking back tears, I spun around before he stepped back.

  Big mistake. Huge.

  Shane reached around my waist, pulling me forward until I collided with the ridged muscles lining his abdomen. For a moment I simply stared at the wide expanse of his shoulders, at the tanned skin framed by his open collar. And then his hand moved up to my face, lifting my chin with the roughened pad of his thumb.

  I swallowed thickly, tilting my head back.

  My God. The beauty of Shane was almost severe, cutting into my vision as I struggled to keep my eyes open and take it all in. How was I supposed to resist him?

  “Don’t,” I whimpered, as breathless as if I’d swum for miles.

  “Don’t what?” All kinds of temptation burst from those two words.

  And I was so, so tempted.

  But more than that—I was terrified.

  Because this wasn’t a wild fantasy come true. This was business. And when Shane looked at me like he wanted to eat me with a spoon, I could almost forget all about the women whose footsteps I was following. All the women who would replace me after I’d fulfilled my usefulness.

  Six months, and I’d be barely a memory.

  Don’t make me think this is real. “Don’t treat me like your whore,” I said, forcing a strength to my voice I didn’t know I had.

  It worked though. Shane immediately dropped his hands and took a step back, a flash of hurt streaking across his face before disappearing behind a veil of disdain.

  Maybe I wasn’t the only one who found the truth painful.

  Chapter Seven

  Shane

  The sight of Delaney in that dress…Jesus Fucking Christ. Not merely the color. Her. Delaney Fucking Fraser. So much beauty wrapped up in one lush package. The girl stole my breath, made my head spin with all kinds of wants—starting with sliding the zipper down instead of up. There had been a moment in her room when the connection between us had sparked into a live wire. A moment I’d known she was mine.