Built to Fall: A Rock Star Romance

by Julia Wolf

  “You’re the best. Your ass is really nice too.”

  She sighed. “Thanks, babe. Speaking of asses, Derrick came by the nursery looking for you. He seemed completely poleaxed when I told him you were out of town for work—and I loved every second of it.”

  All the lightness from the last few hours crashed onto my shoulders like a heavy shroud. “What did he want?”

  “He wanted to talk. I told him you weren’t interested.”

  “I’m definitely not.” I’d had my closure with Derrick when he knocked me unconscious. He could seek his somewhere else. He wouldn’t be getting one thing more from me.

  “Then I’ll picture him twitching around in his own crapulence while you have an amazing experience and get chased by rock stars. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  She could think about Derrick all she wanted. He wasn’t the one who was on my mind when I laid down in bed and slipped my hand between my legs. Adam wasn’t either. No, my brain wanted the most inappropriate, ill-advised man around, and no one else would do. Not tonight, in my fantasies, anyway.

  Chapter Twelve

  Dominic

  The first voice in my ear this morning wasn’t the one I would have chosen. But Isabela knew me, she knew when I woke for the day, so she called then, confident I’d have time and the desire to speak with her.

  “Hey,” I answered, stepping out on my balcony.

  “Hello, Dominic. How is everything?”

  “Pretty damn fine, Iz.”

  “Excellent. All logistics are working out for your shows?”

  “Yeah.” I rubbed the center of my forehead. “I don’t ever have to worry about that. You know I basically just show up and do my thing.”

  That wasn’t strictly true. I knew we had double everything. While a crew was setting up for a concert in one city, another crew was speeding down the highway to set up in our next venue. I was familiar with the sound engineers since I’d worked with a lot of them for a long time, and I knew most of the roadies by name. So yeah, I didn’t have to worry, because I’d built up trust with the professionals who did the behind-the-scenes work.

  “Oh, I know. You let the little people handle that.”

  She made it sound like a bad thing, that I wasn’t schlepping shit and setting up pyrotechnics, but that was stupid, and Isabela wasn’t stupid. She was poking around for something, information probably, and trying to be sly about it.

  “Do you want me to run wires?” I asked. “Maybe test out the speakers? Build the sets?”

  She sniffed. “I get your point. Tell me how Claire is doing.”

  There we go.

  “She’s fine. Seems to be on top of everything. I don’t have any complaints.”

  I had a lot of complaints about Claire Fontana, but none that had anything to do with how she did her job—and none I’d be discussing with my ex-wife.

  “Wow, Dom. That was more than I’ve ever heard you praise any of my PR assistants. I guess there truly is something to be said for hiring a girl you aren’t going to be attracted to.”

  I held back the growl in my chest. “You sound like a cunt when you talk about her like that, Isabela. It’s also pretty un-fucking professional. You’d think you would have learned a lesson from the last time you insulted her looks.”

  She went silent for a beat, obviously unprepared for my admonishment. She shouldn’t have been, though. When we were married and she got catty about other women, I always shut that shit down. That was what I found unattractive.

  “You’re right. I’ll watch myself.” She cleared her throat twice. “I’m just happy Claire is working out and I won’t have to fly out to douse any fires.”

  “No, you won’t. It’s all under control here.”

  Her inhale hitched. “All right. Well, I was thinking I might fly out to LA when you’re there. You have the gala and—”

  “And what? Did you think you’d be my date?”

  She sure as hell would not be. She knew that. I knew that. She could blame me all day for her not being able to move on, but when push came to shove, Isabela was the one who continued to insinuate herself into my life. We still had good times, but the romantic portion of our relationship ended years ago.

  “Well, not a date. But I could go with you if you need someone…” She trailed off, and I let the silence blanket the conversation. “It was just a thought.”

  “I’m good, Iz. You were right about us not seeing each other.”

  “Yeah,” she breathed. “Okay. Well…call me if you need me. And I’ll be in touch with Claire as well.”

  The knock on my door distracted me enough, I barely said goodbye to Isabela. Claire stood on the other side with a white bag in her hands, clear-rimmed glasses perched on her nose.

  “I don’t know if you eat beignets, but I took a chance and bought you some.” She thrust the bag at me. “Here.”

  “Did you get some for yourself?”

  Her nose wrinkled. “They’re in the bag. I didn’t think that through.”

  I widened the door. “Come in. We’ll eat together.”

  She entered my room, and after she passed me by, her honeysuckle scent rising above the sugary beignets, she peered back over her shoulder. “Two meals in a row? That sounds like the beginning of a habit, Mr. Cantrell.”

  “I’ve had worse habits.”

  This one was bad, though.

  I sat on one end of the couch, and she took the other, propping her shiny shoes in front of her. I tore into the bag, laying it flat on the coffee table, steaming pastries covered in powdered sugar piled on top. Claire had brought us both coffees too.

  Powdered sugar snowed down on the hint of cleavage peeking out from Claire’s V-neck shirt. Instead of wiping it with a napkin, she wet her thumb with her tongue, swiping the sugar from the slope of her breasts, then sucked her thumb into her mouth, softly moaning.

  I’d seen a lot of sexy women in my life. I’d had a lot of them too. Some of their sexiness was contrived and purely for show, some came naturally. Watching Claire suck sugar off her thumb had to be one of the sexiest things I’d ever seen.

  It pissed me off. Right the fuck off.

  She ate and talked about the upcoming day while I swallowed down the bitter coffee she’d brought me. I had no interest in the beignets or my schedule, and I couldn’t feign it—not when there was a swirling dervish gathering in my gut, threatening to tear apart my control.

  Touching her foot last night had been a mistake. Asking her to stay for dinner had been another one. All that added to Claire bringing me breakfast and me allowing it. She probably thought we were at the beginning of some beautiful friendship like I had with Marta. But I couldn’t be friends with a girl I wanted to fuck—and I couldn’t fuck Claire.

  Not when she was twenty-six and hurting. Not when she was the kind of girl who believed in love, despite what she said, and the stars in her eyes hadn’t been completely snuffed out by the asshole she’d married. Not when I was the worst kind of mistake she could make.

  “Hey.” She nudged my knee. “You’re being quiet and not eating. Did I overstep here?”

  “Yes.” I turned my cool gaze on her. The smallest dusting of sugar remained on the upper curve of her breast, and my mouth watered at the sight. If I trailed my tongue there, would she let me?

  Not now. Not when she was looking at me with her big brown eyes like she was just seeing me for the devil I truly was.

  Claire blinked, balling her napkin in her fist. “I did? I overstepped?”

  “You did. I probably misled you last night—and that’s on me. I’m not really interested in you outside of the work you do for me.”

  Her breath caught in her throat, those pretty plump lips parting. “Okay. Wow. I apologize.” She gathered her trash, squishing several uneaten beignets along with it, and hurried to the door. “I’ll meet you at the elevators at ten, sir.”

  She disappeared as suddenly as she’d arrived, leaving me with a twisting feeling in m
y stomach and a dick that didn’t understand it wasn’t allowed to perk up at Claire calling me “sir.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Claire

  Adam handed me a beer and slipped his hand behind my back. “Don’t go.”

  “I have to. It’s my job.”

  Last night, I’d been looking forward to watching Dominic perform. I’d laid in bed, thinking about him onstage, the way he’d move, his voice, his nimble fingers dancing over his guitar…

  “If I had Dominic Cantrell money, I’d pay you to hang out with me.”

  He stuck out his bottom lip in a pout, which was completely incongruous with his sweaty, leather-and-denim rocker look. He was so cute and hot, I wanted to feel more than flattery from his attention. And I was so very flattered. Having a guy like Adam so obviously into me gave me a huge boost of confidence.

  Clearly too much, considering how much of a fool I’d made of myself by showing up at Dominic’s room this morning.

  The Seasons Change had already performed their set, and now the second opener was on. Soon, I’d have to make my way to the audience, and I really didn’t have a choice about it.

  “Unlike Dominic, I’d hang out with you for free.” I tipped my beer, taking a deep drink. “You could come watch with us.”

  He cocked his head, considering my offer. “I might. Gotta finish up some band stuff back here. Save a spot for me, okay?”

  “I will.”

  I strode through the stadium’s backstage tunnels with only a vague idea of where I was going. Marta and I planned to meet in the audience at showtime, so I was on my own. I glanced at the signs on the walls, trying to figure out if I was actually on the right path.

  I ground to a halt when I slammed right into someone. Strong hands caught my arms, steadying me. With an embarrassed smile on my lips, I looked up, meeting stern, coal-black eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” I rasped.

  “You have to be more careful, Claire.”

  “I wasn’t sure if I was going the right way…” My words trailed off seeing the crowd of people just behind Dominic. His backup band, stage manager, and a few people I didn’t know all peered back at me expectantly. “You’re going onstage?”

  His hands were still on my arms, and he didn’t seem like he would be letting go anytime soon. “That’s the plan. You’re going to watch?”

  “That’s the plan.” I gave him a tight smile. “If I can find my way.”

  Dominic released one of my arms to snap his fingers. A young guy with a headset on scurried forward. “Ms. Fontana needs an escort to the VIP area.”

  The guy nodded. “I can take her.”

  Dominic’s attention returned to me. “Are you going to wish me luck?”

  “Do you need it?”

  From the way he’d eagerly dismissed me this morning and then given me the cold shoulder during his press, I wasn’t sure how to behave toward him anymore. I understood, as someone who was famous, Dominic had to set firm boundaries. I just didn’t understand exactly where his were.

  His palm slid from my bicep to my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It’s the polite thing to do.”

  “Well, then good luck, sir.” I slipped from under his hold, twisting around to face the guy who’d be taking me to my seat. I glanced back once. Dominic’s bottom lip was trapped between his teeth, and the look he gave me was the boundary-smashing kind.

  “See you, Claire,” he murmured before turning away and continuing on his path.

  Marta waited for me in a cordoned-off area at the front of the stage. There were seats, but neither of us took them. Instead, we stood, plastic cups brimming with beer, drinking and chatting until the lights dimmed and excitement pulsed through the thousands of Dominic Cantrell fans surrounding us.

  “Are you ready?” she asked beside my ear.

  “Twelve-year-old me is pissing her pants.” My pulse thundered when Dominic’s tall, lithe silhouette became visible through the dim, smoky gray lights.

  Marta bumped shoulders with me. “And twenty-six-year-old you?”

  A light snapped on, illuminating Dominic in all his glory. Head tipped back, his silver hair sparked, and the expression on his face was rapturous, like he’d been elevated from the dregs of this earthly plane to where he truly belonged.

  I whimpered without realizing it, and Marta laughed.

  “Girl, he hasn’t even started singing. Don’t tell me you’re a fainter.”

  I wasn’t, but when Dominic’s fingers moved over his guitar, my breath caught. I didn’t want to miss a single chord.

  His backup band joined him, flowing into one of his most popular songs. The stadium filled with cheers, and then we were all singing along. Marta and I held up our drinks and swayed, belting out the words with Dominic and thousands of our closest friends. His eyes met mine once, and I didn’t mistake the curve of his lips when he saw me singing with him.

  The show was incredible. Dominic never stopped moving, using every inch of the stage and catwalk jutting out in the middle of the audience. There were some pyrotechnics and tricks with lights and video, but for the most part, Dominic was the main attraction.

  And what an attraction he was. Offstage, he was gorgeous and dreamy, but so human, sometimes I forgot how famous he was.

  Onstage, those words didn’t even begin to touch him. He transformed into a rock god, confident and full of swagger, in slim jeans with a chain dangling from his hip and a black T-shirt barely skimming his waistband. Somewhere in the middle of the concert, the T-shirt came off, leaving his golden, tattooed chest bare and shiny with sweat. Dominic breathed his stardom; he proved why he was worshiped and had been for two decades.

  I didn’t worship him, but I did become swept up in the tidal wave of Dominic Cantrell. Marta and I sang along, drank, danced, and listened. She’d been to dozens of his concerts, but she seemed to be enjoying every second the same way I was.

  Dominic strode to the center of the stage and clutched the microphone in both hands. The ends of his eyebrows hooked up, giving him a devilish appeal.

  Maybe she wasn’t enjoying him exactly the same. The heat pooling in my belly was undeniably lust. The fiery, dangerous kind that would cause a less level-headed woman to become stupid. Luckily, I’d have time to recover from this feeling before I got up close and personal with him again.

  “The next song we’re going to play is an old one. To be honest, it’s a B-side track. But recently, someone told me it got her through some pretty fucking tough times, and I had to wonder, why the hell am I not playing ‘Angel Moon’ more often?” He plucked at his guitar and huffed a short laugh. “Let’s see if I remember how it goes. I might need your help, okay?”

  Marta’s hand around my shoulders flexed. “I wonder who he’s talking about.”

  I shook my head, not because I didn’t know, but because I did. This was the song I told him I listened to in Annaliese’s closet in the days and weeks after I left Derrick. It had buoyed me, brought me peace and hope, and now he was playing it for me—to me.

  Maybe I was a fainter. My entire being wobbled. I closed my eyes, allowing the lyrics to steady me the way Dominic had steadied me backstage.

  * * *

  A girl I know likes to walk alone at night

  She says that’s when the time is right

  To look at herself on the inside

  And ask the hows and whys

  Of how she got here and where she’s going

  * * *

  Oooh, wind like wings

  Leaves like feathers

  Walk along the clouds, girl

  I’ll be right there too

  Don’t hide your sad from me

  I want to see it all

  You go down

  We’ll both take the fall

  * * *

  Let it go without a fight

  Cry those tears and take flight

  Let it go without a fight

  Cry those tears and take flight

  * * *
<
br />   She’s never lonely in the light of the moon

  Got a smile that lights up the room

  Even though those black clouds loom

  She says it’s all gonna be clear soon

  And she keeps dancing down that dark road

  * * *

  Fingers made for weaving

  I’m holding on tight

  You’re not leaving

  I’m here beside you, girl

  I want you to start believing

  We’re in this together

  If you’re bruised and hurt

  Then I’ll be bleeding

  * * *

  Let it go without a fight

  Cry those tears and take flight

  Let it go without a fight

  Cry those tears and take flight

  * * *

  Nothing is forever

  Even if it feels like dying

  Lift your broken wings

  And start flying

  Like an angel over the moon

  You’ll get there soon

  * * *

  I opened my eyes, finding Dominic’s gaze locked on me as his fingers glided over the final chords of the song that had comforted me out of my darkness. My pulse pounded, and I couldn’t seem to wrap my head around the torrent of emotions he’d unleashed by singing that to me, tonight of all nights.

  Strong arms banded around my middle, lifting me off my feet. I squealed, and the moment with Dominic was broken.

  “I’m here,” Adam announced as he set me down.

  I pushed him away playfully. “I noticed.”

  He kept his arm around my waist as he moved beside me. “Having fun?”

  “Yeah. He really knows what he’s doing.” Vast understatement. Dominic was masterful, both in his showmanship and his musicality. His voice, smooth and low, belted out lyrics like paint on a canvas.