The temptation to peek at her reflection was too much to resist. A freaking train wreck stared back, one resembling a drowned rat. And what had been in that glass? She smelled like a barfly drunk off its ass, but at least her eye makeup was still intact. Thank goodness for waterproof mascara. Yep, there was the silver lining. Too bad the rest of her looked like she’d won first place in said wet t-shirt contest. She pulled a hair tie off her wrist and wrapped the sticky strands into a low knot. A quick look at her watch made her yelp. Late, as in so late she could pick up her walking papers on the way to the pressroom late. And oh yeah, she still hadn’t found the band. Just a minor detail. Okay, Sara, just keep calm and… oh, Lord. A hasty pat down followed by a panicked full body check confirmed her iPhone was gone. Darn it! Just like everything else that had been good in her life, she’d managed to screw this up, too. There was no bailout plan. She was on her own, for better or worse. And judging from the evidence, it was most definitely worse.
Tears pooled in her eyes and she swiped at them. This was her new life, her clean slate, away from the noxious existence she’d fled. Can’t go back home, can’t be that person anymore. With a stomp of her foot, she gritted her teeth. No! This could be fixed. It had to be salvageable. She’d buried her pathetically weak alter ego the second she stepped on the plane and her resurrection had never been a consideration.
A deep breath did little to calm her thundering pulse. She yanked open the bathroom door, eyes scouring the crowded corridor. It was almost show time and the buzz generated by all of the frantic activity reminded her not to blow this chance. Crew members shouted into walkie talkies. Equipment littered the space. Too bad she didn’t have time to enjoy the rush. Just find the phone and the band, and then get the hell to the pressroom. Those were the objectives and nothing would stop—
“I found this on the floor where you pummeled me. Yours?”
The deep, gravelly voice reverberated through her. She spun around and grabbed the phone he was dangling. “Shouldn’t you be working? The show starts in less than an hour. Or are you just paid to harass people who are trying to get their jobs done?”
“Says the girl who climbed me like Mount Everest and didn’t even bother to ask if I enjoyed it.” His eyes glimmered in the overhead light. “Tsk, tsk. Where are you manners?”
“You are so infuriating!”
“Yeah, but check this out. I’m also thoughtful.” He tossed her a concert t-shirt. “You smell a little like you’ve been hitting the bottle. Hard.”
The handsy roadie actually helped her? She bit her lower lip. Maybe he wasn’t such a douchebag. “Um, thank you…” Wait a minute. An extra small? Seriously? So much for not being a sleaze. Her eyes narrowed. “You know, I really hope you don’t think—” The iPhone in her hand buzzed. “Oh my gosh, Casie, please tell me you found them!”
“Relax, it’s all good. Everyone is on the way to the pressroom. You’re off the hook.”
Saved! A sigh of relief escaped Sara’s lips. “Thank God! I’m not fired!”
“Not yet. But get your ass down here pronto. I don’t know how much longer I can cover for you.”
“Thank you so much, Casie! I don’t know what I’d do—”
“Yeah, yeah. Just buy me a beer later.” Casie snickered. Click.
A wide smile spread across Sara’s face, then faded almost as quickly as it appeared. Where the heck was the pressroom? What if it was on the other side of the arena? She’d never make it there before the band. The hyperventilating began again and her throat tightened with each passing second. Who could she—
She caught a sexy smirk in her periphery. Oh, hell no…
“You okay, Princess? That look makes me think you’re about to jump me again. You know, out of gratitude this time.”
Her hands flew to her temples, but what choice did she have? The guy might be a crude jerkoff but there was a press pass hanging around his neck… a neck that led to a half-exposed and very muscular chest. Not sure why a roadie would be wearing one of those, but who cared? She was desperate and he obviously had nothing better to do than taunt her. And find her a shirt so she didn’t make a complete fool of herself on the first day. That alone was worth a bunch of points.
He straightened, his black button-down falling open even more, giving her a full glimpse of what lay beneath. Her fingers twitched, eyes raking over his tanned skin. Oh sweet Lord, how she wanted to trace every single indentation. Ahhh! Who was she?
“Go change. I’ll wait.”
She channeled her inner Flash and was back in seconds, still somewhat sticky, and extremely aroused. Her neck strained when he approached, a full head taller than she was. At least 6’2”, with a tight, taut body, whose close proximity made her knees wobble. Remember the objectives! Objectives? Um… yeah, press room!
“So you’re in some kind of rush to get there?”
“Yes.” She tapped her foot against the tiled floor, forcing her eyes in every direction but his. “So, you know, anytime you’re ready.”
The belly of the arena was a labyrinth of the most complex design. She’d have been lost within seconds if not for her tour guide. Keeping up was nearly impossible, but that left time to ogle the view. Yum. Minutes later, they’d reached their destination. She drew in a deep breath. Time to kick some ass.
With an exaggerated wink, he held open the door. She charged past, spotting Casie in the corner with three tall guys. Definitely rocker-types, dressed from head-to-toe in black, wearing sunglasses, low-slung jeans, and deep scowls. Yep, this must be Jimmy Sixx. Except…
“Sara! Come here so you can meet the band. The conference will be starting in about five minutes. Cooper, Finn, Liam, this is Sara Russell, our newest junior publicist.”
“It’s so great to meet you all.” She smiled as the introductions were made, trying to mask her confusion. All accounts stated there were four members of Jimmy Sixx. Was it possible one had defected? Dammit, she really needed to spend more time online. Resisting Google would crush her newfound career aspirations faster than she could pull up Chrome.
“Hold that thought. You may change your tune in a second.” Liam grinned past her. “It’s about time you showed up, man. The press won’t wait forever. Not even for someone as pretty as you.”
“Sorry, I don’t—” Sara’s brow furrowed as her eyes followed Liam’s line of sight. Holy mother of God.
Deep-set eyes glittered down on her as those familiar, delectable lips lifted into a mischievous grin, revealing a dimple in his left cheek. She swallowed hard, almost choking on the golf ball-sized lump in her throat. The roadie?
“Sara, this is Daxton Cole, lead singer for Jimmy Sixx.”
IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE NOT TO crack a smile. The blonde couldn’t have looked more shocked if she’d suddenly lost all of her clothes and was standing in front of the press in her birthday suit. And judging from the way those clothes clung to her luscious curves, it was definitely a vision that would have Daxton pumping his hand later.
Sara’s green eyes, wide with confusion, focused on him. Words still hadn’t emerged, but her perfect, pink lips pursed, patiently awaiting sounds to push forth. For a girl who’d had plenty to say just a few minutes earlier, she was currently rendered mute. So self-righteous, yet demure at the same time. It was an insanely, not to mention refreshingly, hot combination, considering all of the desperate, fame-seeking groupies flooding his inner circle. They didn’t know the meaning of the word demure. Probably couldn’t pronounce it, either.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Sara.” Peeling his eyes away was futile. An aura of innocence surrounded her, despite the skimpy outfit and snarky tongue. Fuck yeah, that tongue. He could think of a million and one things she could be doing with that tongue and none of them required her to utter a single syllable.
“Nice to meet you, too.” Her cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink, eyes averted. So unlike the normal prospects, girls who knew all too well who he was and what he could get them. But this chick really
had no clue, which meant no agenda. That alone made him semi-hard. How fucking sad.
Merrick Quinn, the band manager and his best friend, headed toward them, squeezing through the crowds of reporters and photographers with his cell phone in hand. He was loud, inappropriate more often than not, and kind of a prick, but he’d been the one by Daxton’s side through…everything. “Okay, guys. You know the drill. The press gets fifteen minutes for questions, and then we’re out. The opening band is taking the stage in five, and I don’t want any delays tonight.”
“The lead singer from Smeared Lipstick is fucking hot. I’d like to tap that. Like, tonight.” Finn snickered.
Liam yawned and stretched his arms overhead. “Didn’t you already hit it? Your recovery rate is impressive, man.”
“Jealous?”
“Negative. Just fucking tired. We’ve been in and out of cities for the past two weeks with no break. I’m ready to hibernate for the next few days.”
“Strap yourself in, Liam. We’ve got another few weeks to go after the hiatus, and Smeared Lipstick is our new opener. So if Finn doesn’t get his tonight, there’s always tomorrow.” Merrick snickered. “Okay, let’s get this press conference rolling.”
The press box was standing room only. Flashbulbs popped as the photogs snapped seemingly incessant streams of pictures, something Daxton had never gotten used to, even after all these years. He’d lived under a microscope his whole life as Tyler Cole’s son. And Tyler hadn’t taken too kindly to Daxton’s decision to jumpstart his own career. Stepping out of the shadows, putting his talents on display for the world to see…it was the only way for Daxton to establish his own self-worth after all the years of being told he wasn’t good enough, that he wasn’t Jase. And the press had been all over Daxton like maggots on rotting meat. The limelight surrounding his father dimmed substantially, essentially leaving him in darkness, as Daxton steadily climbed the charts. His success was just another sore point in their otherwise fractured relationship, as welcome as a fart in an elevator.
He gritted his teeth. Damn his father for not ever giving a shit. Maybe he wouldn’t be such an emotional train wreck if his dad had focused even a modicum of attention on him over the years, instead of tearing him down every chance he got. Tyler’s top priority was always Tyler. Jase had been second. Daxton didn’t rate.
His chest tightened at the thought of Jase. Being on the road was the most effective distraction. He didn’t want to think about what would happen when the last note was sung. They had a few days between this show and the final leg of the tour, and being alone with his thoughts and feelings of inadequacy always made for a very drunken, hazy hiatus. Too bad he couldn’t ever channel that angst into his songs. He might not be so fucked in the head if he let it all out in his music. But maybe he didn’t want to let anyone in. Maybe he didn’t want the world to see the ugliness that surrounded him on a daily basis.
A row of plush leather chairs that faced the press awaited them. The guys huddled around Merrick and Asya, their senior publicist, for last minute prep before taking their seats. But Daxton was only-half listening. His singular focus was on Sara, who was standing a few feet away with Casie. His eyes raked over her long, toned legs. Hard to believe only a few short minutes ago, she’d been sprawled on top of him, breathless and dripping wet. Circumstances were far from ideal, but his curiosity had been piqued. A growing ache in his groin compromised his ability to think straight…or at all, for that matter. It was a well-timed diversion. He needed to get his head screwed on, to forget all of the bullshit, if only for a few hours.
“So you’re not a roadie.” Sara inched toward him, tugging on a large, silver hoop earring. He focused on her bright white teeth, imagining them chewing on his lip, and anywhere else she wanted to nibble…A pink flush inched down her neck, drawing his attention to the fullness of her pert breasts.
“Would you like me better if I was?”
“I’m not being paid to like you. I’m being paid to salvage your reputation.” The corners of her luscious lips curled into a smile. “Count me out of your little games. I appreciate you saving my ass with the t-shirt, but please don’t think that’ll make me fawn all over you.”
“Well, you’ve already fallen all over me. Maybe not because of my fame, but—”
She shook her head, long blonde tendrils bouncing over her shoulders. “Sorry. Not happening.”
“You should give me another shot. Maybe I’m not the guy you think I am.”
“As your new junior publicist, my job is to prove exactly that to the rest of the world. And anyway, I have a boyfriend; one who doesn’t have an ego the size of an arctic land mass.”
“You’re getting all geographical now. That’s hot.”
Sara rolled her bright green eyes heavenward. “I’m sure your groupies are incapable of formulating complete sentences. No wonder you’re so impressed.”
“That doesn’t say much for me.”
“It says a heck of a lot.”
“Dax, you want to join the rest of the group? We’re starting.” Merrick nudged him toward the single empty seat.
He sank into the chair, his mind reeling. A fire ignited deep within him, intense heat snaking its way throughout his extremities. Desire bubbled beneath the surface, his arms twitching to grab her, to feel her body flush against his, to pound into—
Casie clapped her hands, interrupting the very carnal thought permeating his mind. “Thanks to all of you for joining us tonight. We’ll be taking questions for the next fifteen minutes. Who’s first?”
Seemed like every hand shot up. With all the press coverage on Jimmy Sixx in the past months, it was hard to imagine they were not out of material. It was going to be a long fifteen minutes. And man, did his cock ache.
Sara’s heart thudded with the speed of the camera flashes. The pounding was so loud, she was certain it could be heard above the din in the press box. So forceful, she feared it might explode through her chest at any given moment.
Daxton Cole. Roadie turned Jimmy Sixx front man. Lead singer, currently turning her knees to rubber under the weight of his brooding stare. The press had been peppering him with questions since the conference started, and he’d barely acknowledged any of them. He doled out one word answers, if they were lucky. Most questions were deflected to the rest of the band. It seemed like nothing could divert his attention. That penetrating gaze never wavered, pinning her to the spot, trapped like a rat in a cage with no exit option.
“Dax, is there any truth to the rumors about you and Gia Lourdes?”
The corners of his lips curled into a sexy grin. “I don’t like to kiss and tell.”
Sweet Lord, that smile was swoon-worthy. A tiny chill shimmied down her spine as his dimple deepened. Beads of perspiration popped up on the back of her neck, despite the chilled air blowing up her skirt. And Lord, did that area need some cooling off.
“Will you attend your dad’s upcoming wedding to model Layla Reynolds?”
Cue the record scratch sound effect. No pun intended. Looked like someone finally struck a chord - the wrong one - judging by the instant change in Daxton’s demeanor. The expression on his chiseled face darkened, like a black cloud eclipsing the sun on a bright spring day. His eyes, no longer focused squarely on Sara’s; it narrowed in the reporter’s direction, mouth twisting into a grimace. “No comment.”
The rest of the band jumped on the remaining questions. Daxton never uttered another word. Gone was the cocky, flirtatious rock god. He turned away from the cameras, from the curious stares, a forlorn look replacing the sexy smirk he’d worn only moments before. An unfamiliar fluttering sensation erupted when his pained expression navigated back to her. Disappointment, rejection, anger…she saw it all. Maybe he’d chosen to let the façade crumble. Or maybe she just recognized those emotions all too well because she’d experienced them herself.
“You look incredibly sexy right now, but I’m counting the minutes until I can get you out of those clothes.”
> She jumped, a warm flush heating her cheeks. “Eli, what are you doing here?”
“I’ve got some news. We’ll have to celebrate. Later.” He grasped her hips, his lips grazing her ear. “Just wait until I get you home.”
“Okay, no more questions. Thanks for your time this evening. Enjoy the show.” Casie flipped off her microphone. “Eli, where’s Smeared Lipstick? We need them onstage in twenty.”
“They just got out of makeup. Heading over now.”
“Great.” She turned to Sara. “I need you to come with me. Jake asked for you.”
Jake Prescott, as in her boss. As in, the guy who’d barely spoken two words to her since she’d been hired. What could he possibly want? A quick glance back at Daxton confirmed he’d settled back into his role, the mask firmly in place.
“Don’t look so panicked.” Casie winked. “It’s not like he’s going to fire you or anything.”
Unless someone had witnessed her spewing insults at one of the hottest names in music, after assaulting him with her boobs. “If you say so.” She’d like nothing more than to be sprawled over him again, wet, sticky, insanely aroused…Argh! What was wrong with her? Fantasizing about a guy she’d despised such a short time ago? Because they shared an unspoken moment that probably meant absolutely nothing?
Eli squeezed her shoulder. “Counting the minutes.”
She managed a weak smile, her stomach in knots. “Can’t wait.” Liar.
Casie grabbed her wrist, yanking her toward the door. “Eli is so flipping hot. Do you know how many girls would drop their panties for him?”
“Yeah…” A heady scent filled her nostrils, intoxicating her senses, as Daxton strode past. She choked back a gasp, stumbling backward into a wall.
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