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

by D'Ann Lindun

  Impressed more than she cared to admit, Montana knew half the hunters she guided would have made a wild shot and hit one of the cows, or God knows what else. “Good call. That’s just the first one. We’ll find more.”

  Johnny took another step forward on the ledge.

  Montana felt the earth shift. “Johnny! Get off there! Now!”

  She spun sideways and shoved him with all her might. They fell together in a tangle of arms and legs as the ground gave way with a cracking noise like a cannon shot.

  Montana lay on top of Johnny with his arms wrapped around her waist. Her heart pounded louder than a herd of galloping elk.

  “You okay?” she managed through numb lips.

  “Thanks to you.” His voice was low, intense.

  “I didn’t see that fissure soon enough.” A tremor ripped through her.

  His arms tightened. “We’re alive.”

  She closed her eyes and dropped her forehead onto his. Her breathing came raspy and harsh. “You scared the devil out of me.”

  “Hey.” He placed his hands on either side of her head and lifted her face.

  She opened her eyes and stared into his blue depths.

  “You saved my sorry ass.” Gratitude in his eyes turned to something else. Hot. Heavy. Desire.

  Shannon’s words rang in Montana’s ears— Kiss him. Tease him. Even sleep with him, but don’t let him see your emotions. It will make him crazy, wondering what you’re thinking. Men love a challenge. Even rock stars.

  With a shuddering breath, she pressed her mouth to his.

  The kiss was hard, fast and made no pretense of being anything but raw need. Tongues tangled together much like their limbs. He tasted like pure desire. A little whimper slid from her throat.

  His hands moved from her face to her hair, tangling in it. Holding her captive. He didn’t have to; she couldn’t have moved if the bear they’d sighted earlier charged them. She was as lost in need as him.

  She wanted to touch him; she wanted him to touch her, too.

  A vest, coat, hoodie, shirt and thermal underwear stood between her palms and his skin. Frustrated, she fisted her hands in the top layer. She spread her legs, her knees on the frozen ground. Straddling him, Montana felt the effects of his desire pressing against her core.

  Hard. Demanding.

  Her body responded with wet heat.

  With shaking hands, she reached for the buttons on his vest. He caught her wrists and tore his mouth from hers.

  “As much as I want you, babe, making it on the cold ground doesn’t hold a lot of appeal.” His voice was husky, deep. “I want this to last and freezing my dick off won’t make it as good for you as I’d like.”

  A quake of embarrassment ripped through her. Shoving against his chest, she stood. She smoothed her hair. She turned and walked toward the horses. What was it about this man’s kisses that made her lose all sense? She’d been ready and willing to have sex with him in the middle of nowhere on the freezing ground.

  No answer came to mind.

  She was as bad as him. Worse. Her morals had rocketed down the mountain along with the point of the ledge.

  She opened her saddlebags and withdrew a thermos. Pouring a cup, she lifted it to her lips.

  “Is there enough for two?” Johnny had slipped next to her without her noticing.

  Without comment, she handed him the cup.

  He tasted. “That’s good. Could use a shot though.” He moved to his saddlebags and pulled out a bottle of brandy. He added a liberal amount to the mug.

  “Why do you drink so much?” she couldn’t help asking.

  He shrugged. “It tastes good. Kind of like pussy does.”

  She flushed and looked away.

  He poured a splash of liquor into the cup and handed it to her. Their eyes met and deep in his she caught a glimpse of hurt before he masked it.

  Pain? From what? His ex-wife leaving him? Montana drank as she watched him. Waiting for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, she said, “Everyone hurts. It’s how you deal with it that counts.”

  “What gets to you, Montana-girl?”

  A lot. Her mother running off with another man when she was six. Her father’s death. Tom’s betrayal. Her lack of children. None of which she cared to share. Johnny was entitled to his secrets, too.

  She shrugged. “Stuff.”

  He laughed. “Good answer. I’ll have to remember it the next time a reporter pries into my personal shit.”

  “That must get old,” she said.

  “You have no idea.” He reached for the cup.

  “Tell me.”

  Halfway to his mouth, his hand holding the cup froze. “Share your childhood, Cowboy. Tell me about your first time, Cowboy. Who do you date, Cowboy? What’s it like to have a million fans screaming your name, Cowboy? Why’d you get married? Why’d you get divorced? Cowboy, Cowboy, Cowboy. Tell us every intimate detail of your life, and don’t leave out a single second.” He snorted. “You answer the best you can and God forbid you don’t remember the exact words. Because if you don’t, they’re going to come back and bite you in the ass.”

  A spark of sympathy lit in her for what he had to deal with. “It must be tough.”

  “It ain’t easy being me.” He drained the cup. “But it’s the life I wanted, so why bitch about it?”

  She touched his arm. “I think you’re entitled to admit there’s a downside to fame.”

  “When ten million people would kill to trade places? Including my ex-wife?” He shook his head. “Not a fuckin’ chance.”

  Montana’s heart pinched at the mention of his ex. What kind of woman was she that the only thing in life that mattered was fame? A cold-hearted one it seemed. She opened her mouth to ask, then snapped it shut. If she gave in to her curiosity, she’d be no better than all those prying reporters who wanted to pick Johnny’s bones clean.

  Turning away, she replaced the thermos in her saddlebags. Before she responded to the ache in his voice and eyes and tried to kiss away the hurt. “Let me know when you’re ready to ride.”

  “I’m always ready.” Full-of-himself Johnny was back.

  Montana sighed. “Mount up.”

  “Later,” he promised with a rich chuckle.

  “Fat chance,” she muttered under her breath. She’d gotten her sanity back.

  To hide the way her knees went weak at his pledge, she held onto her saddle with both hands. Getting her foot in the stirrup took two tries. Damn the man for making her so needy. Remembering Shannon’s advice, she stiffened her spine. She’d be damned if she let Johnny see how his words affected her.

  ~*~

  Johnny preferred to keep his emotions to himself, sharing only through his songs. Much safer than letting people in, only to get burned. The few people he’d opened up to—a very small circle—were the members of the band, including Keifer and Teal, and a few family members, although some of them had sold him out, too. He even kept Joel at arm’s length most of the time. One of his backup singers, Peyton, had tried to crack his shell, but he’d been too train wrecked over Teal to care, and hurt her in the process. So much so, she’d left the band and gone to Nashville.

  Just now he’d opened up to Montana more than he ever had to anyone. Although he’d only known her a short time, something about her felt safe. Probably a mistake. The minute he hit the road, she’d be calling the tabloids to give them every detail. It wouldn’t be the first time a girl shared his secrets for money. Or notoriety. Or whatever being with him gave her.

  Something about Montana felt different. Almost like a safe place to fall.

  He held in a chuckle. Very little about the woman was soft. Her tall, athletic body wasn’t the round and curvy type he usually went for, the job she did wasn’t one for any pussy and her sharp tongue cut like a razorblade. But underneath her granite exterior, he sensed a heart filled with compassion.

  Fuck!

  A few hot kisses had him seeing things that weren’t there. He’d better gather
his emotions before he did something stupid and spilled his guts. If he fucked up and forgot caution, he’d be reading all about himself in the gossip rags by the time he hit L.A.

  With his mood substantially darker than it had been half an hour earlier, he slumped in the saddle. The brandy in his saddlebags pulled at him. Twisting in his seat, he opened the leather straps and withdrew the bottle. To hell with a cup; he’d drink from the bottle. If only it were vodka.

  Instead of crossing the Hanging Bridge—what a fuckin’ rush—Montana led them down a game trail switchbacking through the pines, heading for the creek bed where they’d seen the elk. An hour and an empty brandy bottle later, Johnny felt a lot worse.

  He felt so rotten he began to sing Rocker Man’s Woman.

  Montana spun in her saddle and stared at him in disbelief. “Are you drunk?”

  “Yup.” He swayed. “All fuckered up.”

  “Get off.”

  “Here? I thought we covered that.” He burped.

  She rolled her eyes, dismounted and stalked to him. “Get down from that horse right now. Before you fall off, break your stupid neck and sue me.”

  Damn, she was cute with her eyes blazing and her mouth all tight. She looked mad enough to spit nails. With a chuckle he swung his right leg over Gunsmoke’s neck. His left foot, still in the stirrup, hung him.

  Upside down.

  “Dammit,” Montana hissed.

  Laughter gurgled out of him. When he tried to release his foot by twisting, his big boot lodged a little tighter in the stirrup. Gunsmoke snorted and sidestepped. Montana grabbed the reins.

  “Steady, boy.”

  “I’m steady.” Johnny gurgled. “Just a little hung up right now.”

  “I meant the horse, meathead. I ought to let him drag you. Maybe it’d knock some sense into your head.” She gave his ankle a hard twist.

  He landed on the ground with a loud oomph. Staring up into Montana’s stormy gray eyes, Johnny didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone so beautiful. Or sexy.

  “Thanks for not dragging me to my death, Gunsmoke.” Laughing, he reached up to pet the gelding’s nose. “Although you wouldn’t ever hurt me. Would you, boy?” The gelding snorted and shied away.

  “Sober up.” Montana stalked away, leading an equally indignant horse.

  Johnny flopped flat onto his back, mirth forgotten. He couldn’t remember the last time someone hadn’t found his drunken foolery funny. Hot shame filled him that Montana thought him ridiculous. Time to sober up.

  He rolled over and pushed to his feet. “Got any coffee left?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Johnny sat with his back against a pine tree, coffee cup in hand, steam rising in the cold air. He stared at the mountain peaks, lost in thought. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt bad about getting drunk. From the time he and Keifer had begun sneaking into clubs, imbibing large amounts of alcohol had been the cool thing to do.

  The scorn in Montana’s eyes deflated him. Made him angry and ashamed. Emotions he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Feelings that made him want to reach for the bottle again. He lifted the cup and sipped, wishing for vodka instead.

  Montana sat a few feet from him, munching trail mix. She hadn’t spoken to him since she freed him from the stirrup. Even from here, he could feel anger radiating from her. After handing him a cup of coffee, she’d taken a seat and ignored him. To his surprise, he felt like apologizing.

  “I guess I overdid it a little.”

  She lifted her head from studying the trail mix in her hand like it held all the answers to the world’s mysteries. “A bit.”

  “Don’t you ever want to forget? Just block it all out?”

  “All the time,” she said. “But I can’t do that because there’s no one there to pick me up. Unlike you, I don’t have people surrounding me, ready to catch me before I fall.”

  He flinched. “I hit the ground, too, you know.”

  “You apparently bounce right back up,” she stated.

  “What makes you think that?”

  She shrugged. “How long has it been since your divorce?”

  “Why? What does that have to do with anything?” Johnny wasn’t connecting the dots.

  “How long?” she repeated.

  “About six months,” he finally said.

  “Yet you’re kissing me, promising to make love to me at every turn.” She picked the raisins out of her trail mix and tossed them aside. “That’s a quick bounce.”

  “Teal and I were separated for six months before that.” He ignored the part about making love. Love had nothing to do with what he wanted to do to her.

  “I doubt I’m the first woman you’ve been within a year.” Montana popped her food into her mouth and chewed.

  No. In the first six months after the breakup, he’d screwed more women than he could count, or even remember, although losing himself in wine, women and song hadn’t helped. Meaningless sex had ruined his work relationship with Peyton. Morning always came and the hurt always returned along with the sun.

  “Point taken.”

  She smiled without humor. “I’ve been kicked to the curb, too.”

  The thought of someone injuring her made his hands clench. “Who did that to you, Montana-girl?”

  “What man except my dad hasn’t?” She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “Do you think you have the corner on breakups because you’re famous? Everyone gets taken down sometime. It’s no worse for you than anyone else.”

  “I disagree,” he said. “If you’re famous you can’t hole up and lick your wounds. Everyone wants to dig and pick at the scab until you bleed.”

  “I guess I can see that,” she conceded. “But it’s still not easy to recover from being trampled.”

  “How did you recover if not with booze?” He genuinely wanted to hear her answer.

  “I threw myself into my schoolwork,” she said. “I studied until I was so tired I couldn’t think about anything. I was supposed to graduate in the spring, but I got done early. In January.”

  He nodded. “I get that. For me it was losing myself in music.”

  “Did it help?”

  “Usually. Not so much this time.” The upcoming album was filled with heartbreak songs. Instead of picking himself up and walking away from treachery, he’d wallowed in it. The new album was even named Betrayed.

  His rock fans were going to hate it.

  The thought startled him.

  They’d despised Heartbeat for being full of country love songs. Unless he went back to his roots and rocked it up, he was going to alienate them further. This album had a few hard-core tunes on it, but the majority were angry-girl songs about love and loss. The CD was scheduled to drop in a few months. There wasn’t time to write, record and release an entirely new album.

  Was there?

  If they hit it hard, maybe they could make it work if they killed the country sound and replaced it with rock. Why wait? He, Stoney and Adrian could start tonight. His Montana lyrics sprang to mind. He quickly banished them. The last thing this album needed was more syrupy songs about love.

  Love songs?

  He lifted the cup and drained it. He liked Montana, planned to screw her until she screamed his name, but he wasn’t falling in love ever again. And if he was stupid enough to do so, he sure the hell wouldn’t sing about it.

  A renewed purpose filled him.

  He hadn’t been this excited about writing in a long time.

  Montana pulled him back to the present. “Doesn’t your music help?”

  “No.” Because he missed Keifer, damn it. The music felt empty without his friend, his brother. His bandmate and bass player. Keifer’s absence left a wound that just wouldn’t heal. They hadn’t spoken since the night Johnny found Keifer and Teal fucking in the studio, because what was there to say? Their actions had been clear enough.

  He shook off the bitter memory. “It’s over. Time to move on.” He realized he hadn’t re
ally answered her, but instead spoken his thoughts out loud. “Because everything changed and I wasn’t ready.”

  “Yeah.” She sighed. “I get that.”

  “Did you lose your wife and best friend in one shitty moment?”

  She seemed fascinated with her fingers all of a sudden. “No.”

  “Then what?” he pressed. “I’ve bared my soul. Your turn.”

  When their eyes met, hers were full of the same hurt and anger he’d seen in the mirror so many times. He flinched at the emotions bared there.

  “My fiancé couldn’t keep his pants zipped,” she admitted. “It finally happened one too many times for me to look the other way.”

  “Damn.” Johnny had been with a lot of women, he’d never made any bones about it, but the moment Teal slipped that band of gold on his finger he’d kept his dick to himself. He might be a musician, but his parents had raised him with traditional values about marriage. Somehow he’d never lost those particular morals.

  “Yeah. Lucky for me, I got out before the wedding, but we had a future planned.” She chuckled without humor. “At least I did. Tom, not so much.”

  “He’s a fucking idiot.”

  Montana gave him a startled look. “I think so.”

  “I know so.” As easy as a memorized lyrics, the words slipped out of his mouth. He’d made pick-up lines an art form, but this one rang true.

  As limber as one of the elk they’d startled earlier, she leapt to her feet. “You clear-headed enough to ride now?”

  “Sober as a judge,” he said truthfully. The coffee, or maybe sharing, had chased the alcohol from his system.

  “Then let’s go.” She headed for the horses at a fast walk that drew his gaze to her long legs. He couldn’t wait to have them wrapped around his waist—

  He climbed to his feet and followed her. Montana ignored him as she untied and mounted her horse.

  Gunsmoke shifted uneasily when Johnny approached. He held out his hand. “I’m sorry, buddy. I was a bit of an asshole earlier.”

  The dun blew a soft breath as if agreeing.

  After a quick pat on the horse’s warm neck, Johnny untied him and climbed on. With a light touch of the reins, he turned the gelding toward Montana. “Which direction?”