Ladies Love Rock Stars: Taming the Bad Boys of Rock and Roll

by D'Ann Lindun

  “Not bad.” Johnny sounded less than enthusiastic. “You said you know my songs? Care to sing one for us?”

  Montana flinched at the derision in his voice. Why was he angry? “I can’t remember the title, but I like one a lot I heard the other day.” Embarrassed, she turned to Ryan. “What was that one song you sang the other day? Something about a rocker man’s woman?”

  “That’s it, but I can’t play it.”

  “I can.” Johnny smiled without warmth. “In spite of its short two-week stay on the charts, I committed those particular lyrics to memory.”

  Ryan handed him the guitar. “Go ahead.”

  “Why not?”

  Montana’s gaze locked on Johnny’s fingers as they flew over the guitar’s strings. Long, graceful. Agile.

  What would they feel like on her body?

  Her panties dampened.

  Before her thoughts went too far down that road, she focused on the lyrics.

  Johnny sang of a woman he’d loved and lost.

  Now that Montana heard the song clearly, the words rocked her. Her heart ached for the raw emotion Johnny put in his song. The love he’d had for Teal McNamara had been pure, real and unvarnished.

  A man in love with a woman so hard it hurt.

  A woman who left him for his best friend.

  He still loves her.

  All his flirting and hot looks and sexy words were meaningless. He longed for his ex. Montana was just somebody to fill the time with, to help him forget another woman. She’d been stupid to even momentarily forget how stars behaved. To them, women were a commodity. Easy come, easy go.

  Johnny Cortez was one of the biggest womanizers around. He prided himself on his sexual talent and how many women he could prove them with. Almost every website she’d visited told tales of how he’d loved ’em and left ’em. His quick smile and blue eyes were part of his arsenal, his charm and smooth words a heavily practiced game. One he’d lifted to an art form.

  A novice like her was easy pickings for an old pro like him.

  If Tom Kerrigan hadn’t schooled her so well, she might have fallen for Johnny’s act.

  The minute the song ended, she stood and filled her coffee cup. “Dawn comes early. I’m going to turn in.”

  “You leaving already?” Shannon sounded concerned.

  “Yeah. I’m fine. Just beat.”

  “Was it my song?” Johnny sounded sarcastic. “I have others.”

  “Of course not.” She refused to meet his eyes as she slipped into her coat, hat and gloves. “I’ve been up since four this morning and I’m done in. Have a good night.”

  “Have a good one.” Johnny sounded cool, distant.

  “Night, girl.” Adrian flashed a friendly smile. “I’m going to follow you soon.”

  “Me, too,” Shannon said.

  Joel gave her a quick hug. “Thanks for everything, Montana.”

  “You’re welcome. See you in the morning.” She opened the flap and ducked into the storm. The wind blew harder than before and a couple inches of snow stuck to the ground.

  Making her way to the other tent, she welcomed a chance to be alone and collect her thoughts. From the minute Johnny Cortez had walked into her life, he’d tilted her world in a dangerous direction. One that would leave her alone and hurting if she allowed him to continue.

  She couldn’t let her guard down for one minute.

  ~*~

  Shortly after Montana left, so did Shannon and Ryan.

  Johnny played idly with the strings on the guitar, putting notes to the lyrics he’d come up with earlier. All about a leggy blonde.

  Disgusted, he shoved the instrument away.

  Anger and disappointment simmered. Why did every woman want something from him? For half a minute he’d allowed himself to think Montana was different.

  Ryan was a decent guitar player, Shannon’s tone good for an amateur. But Montana’s voice had professional quality. Something she no doubt knew. Did she think she’d sing him one song and he’d call the studio and set up a day to record her album?

  Like Teal did?

  He looked around. “Where’s the vodka? I need a drink, damn it.”

  “What’s eating you?” Adrian asked.

  “Nothing.” He glared at her.

  She met his gaze evenly. “Bullshit.”

  He broke eye contact first. “I didn’t come here to sing, or put on a concert.”

  “No one asked you to,” she reminded him. “You volunteered.”

  She had him there. No one had pressured him to perform. He’d done it on his own. Stoney spoke from his position, slouched in one of the camp chairs. “Our man’s getting all wound up over a chick. Can’t you see it?”

  Adrian gaped at Johnny. “Who? Shannon? Oh my God. Montana?”

  “No.”

  “Liar.” She knew him too well.

  Johnny shrugged. “She’s hot. So what?”

  Joel jumped up so fast he knocked over his chair, and began to pace. “Cowboy, the whole point of coming here was to get away from girls. Please keep that in mind. Montana isn’t fast like the women you’re used to. She’s sweet and innocent and not remotely a party animal.”

  “Joel’s right,” Adrian said. “These girls aren’t used to people like us.”

  Joel whirled toward her. “And you. What’s with the come-ons toward Shannon? What game are you playing?”

  Adrian smiled like a cat. “No game. I dig her.”

  Rolling his eyes, Joel said, “Right. You dig her same as Cowboy does Montana. You’d like her in your bed. You all think with your crotches.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Will the three of you lay off? I don’t need any of you telling me who to date,” Johnny said.

  Date?

  He meant screw.

  Dating implied a relationship. Something he refused to ever get into again.

  Joel stopped in front of him. “I think you do. We all kept quiet when you married Teal. Not one of us approved, but you insisted you knew what you were doing. Nobody could say a word against her. Well, look how well that turned out.” He waved his hands in the air. “Look around. We’re stuck in the middle of nowhere, man. In a snowbound tent hiding from your ex who’s bent on taking you down. And I don’t mean between her legs. So you’ll excuse me if I think we have a bit to say about who you do or don’t see.”

  Johnny opened his mouth to tell Joel to go fuck himself, then snapped it shut. God damn. His manager had a point. Johnny had illustrated it perfectly by the song he’d sung. That particular tune, more than any other, had been written for and about Teal. He’d been thinking of a completely different blonde when he sang those familiar lyrics, though. Was he going down the same old street again? Falling for the wrong girl?

  With Heartbeat he’d bared his soul. Written and put out an album full of shitty love songs. The band had done what they always had and supported his decision to make a country CD. When it bombed, no one said I told you so.

  Until now.

  He couldn’t fuck up twice. Not just his career rode on the right direction. Everyone’s did. So while he might fuck Montana, in no way could he let his sexy guide worm her way under his skin.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Freezing mornings were the worst thing about hunting camp.

  Montana had slept in her thermal underwear, and tucked into her sleeping bag she felt snug as a bug in a rug. But she knew all too well how cold it would be once she climbed out of her warm cocoon.

  With a sigh, she wiggled into the pair of jeans and gray Henley she’d tucked into the bottom of her bag. Taking a deep breath, she slid down the zipper. Cold air rushed over her like a wave. She shuddered and forced herself to pull on her boots. Once in a coat, gloves and wool cap, she felt like a human and not some polar bear’s cousin.

  She lit the lantern, turned the flame low and hung it on the lodge pole. Shannon had banked the fire when she came in last night and a few coals still glowed in the bottom of the stove. Montana added a couple
chunks of wood and closed the door. In a few minutes the fire would catch and warm the tent for Adrian.

  Stepping into the cold, she caught her breath. The clouds had blown away, leaving a bright, clear morning. With a couple hours left before sunup, the waning moon created enough light to see. A light dusting of snow held on, glittering in the moonlight.

  Leaving the tents behind, she headed for the hot springs to wash up before caring for the horses. The sound of something splashing reached her ears. Probably Shannon. Most animals drank from the creek that fed the springs, preferring the cooler water to the warmer temperature of the pools. She hesitated. Glanced over her shoulder. She’d left her rifle on her cot back in the tent.

  With cautious steps, Montana approached, ready to flee if she stumbled across a bear indulging in an early morning swim. At the bottom edge of the pond, she let her eyes adjust to the shapes and shadows, seeking the source of the noise.

  A figure moved through the thick steam by the boulders at the top of the pools. For a moment, she studied the outline. Human, not bear. Not Ryan. Or Shannon. The shape moved and she could tell by the light hair it was Johnny.

  He was up at this time of day? She’d expected him to sleep for at least another hour, maybe two. From all the vodka he’d consumed the night before, he probably had a massive hangover.

  She watched as he knelt and splashed water on his face. Ran both hands through his hair, shoving it back from his face. Nothing special about what he was doing, but he moved like a mountain lion, graceful and sleek. He’d taken off his shirt, showing corded muscles in his arms and abs that rippled when he moved.

  Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

  Slipping into the open, she crouched at the water’s edge and removed her coat and gloves. Cupping her hands, she lifted the hot water and rinsed her face and hands. As hot as looking at Johnny made her, she almost wished for cold water to cool her down.

  When she reached for her towel, someone held it.

  Startled, she looked up at Johnny.

  He grinned. “Need this?”

  “Thanks.” She patted dry and stood, pulling on her gloves and coat. She faced him. “You’re up early.”

  “I could say the same.”

  She shrugged. “I have fires to build. Horses to tend to. That kind of thing.”

  “I’ve always liked dawn.”

  “I prefer evening.” Montana stuffed her hands in her pockets. “I’d think you would, too.”

  “Why would you assume so? Because of my job? We’re not all a cliché, you know. A few of us go to bed before the ass-crack of dawn. Some read. A few even manage to have a wife and kids.” He sounded angry. Just like last night. What had she done to piss him off?

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything—”

  He crowded close. Cupped her chin with his palm. Claimed her lips with his. Pried at them with his tongue. Surprised, she stood as still as a doe scenting danger. Her hands hung by her sides, useless. Her knees threatened to give way.

  He moved his lips over hers until she made a whisper of sound and let his tongue invade her mouth. He teased her until she responded in kind. Tongues danced, touched, tormented.

  He tasted like minty toothpaste and early morning desire—hot and raw.

  With her own need rising like the coming sun, Montana melted into him, letting his big body support her. His hands twisted into her hair, holding her captive, but he needn’t have—she didn’t want to be anywhere else at that moment.

  Dragging his mouth from hers, he dropped a kiss on her jaw. Tugging gently on her hair, he tipped her head back and tasted her neck. When her collar stopped him he moved his mouth back to hers.

  This time, she didn’t hesitate when he touched her lips with his tongue. Opening her mouth, she allowed him instant access. With his knee he spread her legs and slipped his knee between hers, his thigh pressing tight against her jeans’ seam. Her body dampened. His erection molded against her belly spoke clearer than words—he wasn’t immune to her kisses.

  One of the horses snorted, dragging her back to reality.

  Montana jumped out of Johnny’s arms as though a gunshot had blasted through the clear mountain air. She placed the back of her hand on her swollen lips and stared at him in disbelief. What the hell was she doing? Had she lost her mind? A few more moments and they would’ve been on the frozen ground, going at it like deer in season.

  “I have to go.”

  She turned and fled before she could weaken and slip back into his arms.

  ~*~

  Damn. The girl could kiss.

  His aching dick was proof of just how much Montana had turned him on. Johnny couldn’t remember the last time a chick left him holding his own cock. A reluctant smile played around his lips. Next time she wouldn’t get away so quick. Not until they were both satisfied.

  Making sure his long duster covered the evidence of what he’d been up to—he had no desire to listen to one of Joel’s lectures—he ambled toward the tents. The frigid air worked like a cold shower, shrinking his dick in a matter of minutes. Although every time he thought of Montana, his faithful friend threatened to spring into action.

  He shouldn’t have worried about a lecture. Both Joel and Stoney were snoring like a pair of sawmills. Ryan was nowhere in sight. Probably with the horses. Maybe he needed a hand.

  Instead of Ryan, Johnny found Montana pouring measures of grain into buckets. She stiffened when she spotted him and avoided looking in his direction. Without asking, he began carrying tubs to each horse and mule. He loved the way they shoved their muzzles into their buckets, eager for breakfast. Frost hung from their eyelashes and whiskers, making them look mythical in the predawn light.

  Giving each a pat, he lingered with Gunsmoke, scratching the dun behind his black-tipped ears. He wondered how his dogs were faring back in L.A. Rosa would take good care of them—she always did—but he missed them. He spent more time away than he did at home. He’d been recording the last few months and the hours had been brutal.

  This time of day he was usually hitting the sheets.

  Not getting up and looking forward to what the day had to bring.

  For the first time in a long time, he looked ahead and not back. The kiss this morning had a lot to do with his mood.

  Fresh. Untainted. Pure. Words that brought Montana to mind.

  Maybe he’d misread her last night. She hadn’t asked him for anything. In fact, she’d made a point of the exact opposite.

  A lot of people sang; not everyone wanted a record deal. He snorted. Most singers did. God knows he and Keifer had fought like a pair of pit bulls to get noticed by a producer. Teal had made both of them look like saints, fighting for her chance at stardom.

  “You going to stand there talking to that horse all day? Or are you going to come inside for a cup of coffee?” Ryan’s voice pulled him back to the present.

  Johnny gave Gunsmoke’s neck one last pat. “Sorry, buddy, but coffee trumps ear scratches.”

  “Let’s go,” Ryan urged.

  The cook tent smelled like Nirvana. Coffee, bacon and eggs. Hash browns and toast. Shannon, Montana and Adrian sat near the fire, all holding full plates. Adrian made no attempt to eat.

  “Hungry?” Shannon set her food aside.

  “Starving.” Most mornings Johnny had vodka and a splash of OJ for breakfast. Today he wanted the works.

  Shannon filled a plate with enough food to feed four people. “Coffee?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He took his seat near Montana.

  She studied her plate like she’d never seen one before.

  “Damn. I eat like this too often and I’m going to keel over from a heart attack.”

  “More likely the booze’ll get you first,” Adrian muttered.

  He shot her a look. “Good morning?”

  “Shut up.”

  Laughter gurgled out of him. “Hangovers are a bitch.”

  Adrian lifted her coffee cup. “Hair of the dog.”

&nbs
p; “You’re drinking?” Johnny tasted his eggs. Light, fluffy. Perfect. Damn. He ought to eat breakfast more often.

  Shannon handed him a cup of steaming coffee.

  “Thanks, babe.” Her blush tickled him.

  “A little Kahlua in my coffee,” Adrian said. “That okay with you?”

  “Do what feels good.” Johnny didn’t know why he was surprised by Adrian drinking before six a.m. They’d partied all night—a million times—until dawn. But that had been on tour or recording, not camping. He did a mental shrug. No skin off his ass if she wanted to spend her vacation in an alcohol-induced haze.

  Joel entered the tent looking as shiny as if he’d stepped out of a shower. Freshly shaved, hair spiked with gel as though he had a meeting with the suits at the label. “Morning.”

  Everyone greeted him.

  “Stoney up?” Johnny asked.

  “I passed him stumbling toward the pond. Mumbled something about washing up.” Joel poured himself a cup of coffee and blew on it. “Cold this morning.”

  “It’ll warm up,” Ryan said. “Clouds are gone. Soon as the sun comes up the snow’ll melt.”

  “God, I hope so.” Joel took a plate from Shannon. “I have no desire to traipse around in snow up to my butt cheeks.” He took a long look at Adrian. “You look like hell.”

  “Thanks,” she muttered. “I feel like I’ve been run over by a tour bus.”

  Montana set her plate aside and stood. She moved to Adrian’s side and placed her palm on the other woman’s forehead. “You’re a bit warm. Do you have a headache?”

  “God, yes.” Adrian moaned and placed her head in her hands.

  “I think you might have a touch of altitude sickness.” Montana moved to the east side of the tent and opened a first aid kit. After digging around she withdrew a small bottle of Tylenol. “Take a couple of these. No more booze until the headache subsides. And drink a lot of water. I’ll get you a bottle.”

  Adrian swallowed the pills dry and pushed to her feet. “I think I’ll go back to my cot. Wake me when it’s time to go home.”

  “Do you need me to stay with you?” Joel sounded eager for her to say yes.