Passionately.
“But I fucked up,” Eugene said, that crooked smile of his pulling at lips more ashen than they should be. “And I won’t do it again. I’m getting clean, Ly. Promise. Getting clean and staying that way, because I’ve heard Nick Blackthorne’s band is looking for a new lead singer, and I was born to be that singer, Ly. Born to.” Her brother held out his arms wide, and Lily’s stomach knotted at the dark blue marks lining the inside of his elbows. “Remember when I met them all back in, fuck, when was it? Six? Seven years ago? Remember when they came to Grill’s second ever live performance and Nick himself came over and told me I really knew how to rock? Remember that? That was fate tellin’ me then it was coming.” He nodded, his grin stretching wider. And then he picked up his queen and slammed it down onto the chessboard. “Checkmate.”
Lily’s heart clenched. “It’s not your turn, Gene,” she murmured.
He reached across the table and cupped her face in his hands. “Yes, it is, Ly.” He squeezed her cheeks like he used to when they were kids. “Yes, it is.”
Lily laughed. She couldn’t help herself. Despite the grief in her soul for her brother’s state, despite her hate for the lifestyle he was caught in, his joyous, infectious excitement—as always—wrapped around her like a warm blanket.
She covered his hands with hers and gave his fingers a gentle squeeze. Perhaps he really would clean up this time. Perhaps a shot at superstardom would keep him away from the shit—the drugs, the parties, the groupies.
After all, Nick Blackthorne had survived the heights of rock world superstardom unscathed, hadn’t he? Lily was sure she’d heard he was living a normal life with his wife in rural Australia now. In fact, didn’t he spend most of his time watching his son play professional soccer for Sydney? Something like that. She was positive she’d read that or heard it somewhere. If Nick Blackthorne had survived it all, maybe Eugene would see how self-destructive the clichéd rock-star life was.
Your logic isn’t making sense, Lily.
She ignored her nagging doubt.
Perhaps, if Eugene landed the role of Nick Blackthorne’s replacement, he’d be too scared of blowing the opportunity to ever get wasted again.
Perhaps.
Yeah, and perhaps he’ll become the world’s first rock-star Pope as well. And play live on Mars. With Elvis as his opening act.
The snarky thought tainted Lily’s wary happiness for her brother. She removed his hands from her face and lowered them to the table either side of the board.
But not before noticing how much they trembled.
“How goes your treatment?” she asked, keeping her voice calm, almost off-hand. She picked up her bishop and slid it across the board.
“Good,” Eugene answered, moving his rook. “We’re trying a different approach this time.”
Lily raised her eyebrows. “What’s that?”
“Cold turkey.”
The answer sent icy dismay into her chest. She’d seen more than one junkie and alcoholic attempt sudden withdrawal from their addiction. It was never pretty.
And rarely successful.
“Is that wise?”
He grinned at her. “It is if I’m getting out of here by Saturday next week.”
“Saturday?”
He smirked. “I didn’t want to tell you until they got here, but Samuel Gibson and Jaxon Campbell are flying out from New York to see me. They called two hours ago.”
Lily blinked. “Who are Samuel Gibson and Jaxon Campbell?”
Eugene’s laugh bounced around the communal visiting room of the rehab clinic. Lily couldn’t miss the suspicious glances his jubilance earned from the attending staff monitoring her time with him. A lick of anger shot through her. She wanted to tell them Eugene’s laughter came from happiness, not some pill or substance she’d slipped him. She was a paramedic, for Christ’s sake. She spent over fifty hours a week doing her best to keep people alive. Did they think she’d sneak something in to her brother when all she wanted with her whole heart was to see him rid of the monkey on his back?
“Samuel Gibson and Jaxon Campbell,” Eugene said, drawing her ire away from the staffs’ speculative contemplation, “are from the band. Nick Blackthorne’s band.”
“And they are coming here? To your rehab?”
A guilty tension pulled at Eugene’s face. “I didn’t tell them I was in rehab. Just gave them the address of where I was.”
Lily closed her eyes and shook her head. “Oh, Gene.”
“I had to, Ly. Honest. I couldn’t let this opportunity get away. Samuel Gibson is a guitar legend, up there with Santana and Eddie Van Halen. He played lead guitar whenever Nick was just singing. Campbell is the keyboardist and holy shit, the things that guy can do. He’s a genius. I gave you his autobiography for your birthday two years ago, remember?” He laughed again. “Guess you didn’t read it, eh?”
Prickling heat spread over Lily’s cheeks. She ducked her gaze to the chessboard.
Eugene knew how much she disliked the rock-music world. Since the first time he’d passed out on their parents’ living room floor after a post-gig party—sixteen years old, naked and stinking of booze—she’d grown to hate it. He’d tried to make her come around, buying her damn near every reformed rocker’s biography, suggesting she watch this documentary or that one, dragging her along to as many of his gigs as he could.
She was resistant to it all. For starters, the women who threw themselves at him whenever he came over to see her in between sets made her feel dirty somehow, as did the way he willingly took what they offered so publicly.
It also didn’t help their parents lived in the same world as he did. Their dad returned home from most shows smelling of scotch, cheap perfume and desperation, with strange panties shoved in his pockets. Their mother existed day-to-day in a red-wine-soaked coma dreaming of the big Broadway break that never came.
Lily did her best to be supportive of her family. She loved them all more than she could ever admit, but watching the lifestyle they lived devour them—of health, of hope, of heart—was hard. And harrowing.
“I didn’t read it,” she confessed. She lifted her gaze back to her brother. “But I—”
The rest of the sentence died in her throat.
Because at that very moment in time, the most stunning man she’d ever seen walked into the communal visiting room.
Oh. My. God.
He strode into the room as if he owned it, all six-foot plus of him. Not even the battered black-leather cowboy hat pulled down low over his face could take away his overt sensual dominance. His body was the perfect specimen of the male species—broad shouldered, wide chested, lean hipped and with long, muscular thighs. The clothes he wore only served to highlight his Adonis stature, the black T-shirt hugging his torso, impressive pecs and very impressive biceps, black leather pants snug enough she could make out the corded strength of his thighs and the large bulge of his—
Lily jerked her eyes upwards, mortified by the fact she was staring at a perfect stranger’s perfect groin.
Her gaze landed on his face and for a second, she forgot to breathe.
Sky-blue eyes regarded her through tousled dark-blond hair, open interest clear in their piercing depths.
Her pulse leapt into a frantic staccato. Her pussy constricted.
“Gibson.” The excitement in Eugene’s mutter tore Lily’s stare from the gorgeous guy. Or maybe it was her brain registering what her brother had said that broke the surreal connection.
“Huh?”
Eugene was twisted in his seat, gaping over his shoulder at the man currently walking towards them. The man only a few feet away, currently looking at her.
“Eugene Pearce?” Her brother’s name flowed from the man’s lips on a relaxed question, a subtle Australian accent playing havoc with Lily’s befuddled brain.
That gorgeous? With that accent? God help me.
The scrape of metal on linoleum reverberated through the quiet visiting room as Eugene
jolted to his feet, knocking his chair sideways. “That’s me,” he burst out, wiping his palms on his thighs in furious, downward swipes before thrusting out his right hand. “And you’re Samuel Gibson.”
The man with the mesmerizing blue eyes laughed. “That I am.”
Lily stared at him, her breath shallow. Quick. Her nipples grew into tight points, his accent sexier with each syllable.
And then the penny dropped. Hard. Killing her wildly heated lust for the man in one solid thud.
The guy shaking her brother’s hand was Samuel Gibson.
The guy who had instantly made her sex throb was a rock star. No, not a rock star—a rock legend.
The worst kind of guy imaginable.
Chapter Two
Samuel was meant to be talking to Eugene. Jax was talking to Eugene. Jax was sitting in the aluminum and plastic chair next to the potential replacement for Nick, asking him all sorts of questions. Questions about his music, his musical influences, his favourite guitar, his favourite original song. Jax had downloaded every Zombie Grill album available on iTunes before leaving New York and had listened to them all on the flight over, discussing their merits, strength and weakness with Samuel. And—for some bizarre reason Samuel couldn’t fathom, Jax was now asking Eugene what was his favourite animal.
Samuel should have been engaged in the informal audition-disguised-as-friendly conversation as well. He should have asked the most important question, the one Jax hadn’t as yet asked—why was Eugene Pearce in rehab? The trouble was, Samuel couldn’t stop thinking about the woman sitting opposite him.
Eugene’s twin sister.
Fuck a bloody duck, she was frosty. As frosty as the damn Antarctic. Every time she looked at him—which she did a lot, even if she tried to hide it—the icy dislike in her green eyes turned colder. Contemptuous.
Everything in her body language said she wasn’t impressed with the situation at all. She’d said nothing since introductions. Just sat in the seat on the other side of the table, fiddling with the white bishop with one hand, her legs crossed, her other arm pressed under her breasts.
Samuel couldn’t miss how full and round and lovely those breasts were. Not too big, but perfect for fondling and cupping and kneading. The simple blue T-shirt she wore hugged her torso, showing him just how exquisitely shaped she was. There was flesh on her bones. More than the skinny models who graced every damn fashion and beauty magazine published. Just the right amount of flesh as far as Samuel was concerned.
He could imagine how soft and lush she’d feel held against his body.
And how bristly, if the distaste in her eyes when she looked at him was anything to go by.
How could someone with such an exuberant, extroverted brother be so…so…
“Excuse me?” He leant forward to gaze at Eugene’s sister, cutting Jax off mid-discussion on favourite movies. “Can I ask you something?”
She stiffened. Samuel could see the tension claim her body. She straightened her shoulders and clenched her jaw.
He really had no idea what he wanted to ask her, he just wanted her to look at him again. Directly at him, like she had when he’d first entered the room. He’d been one hundred percent positive raw lust and desire had burned in her green eyes when he’d walked towards them then. If there was one thing Samuel recognized, it was raw lust in a woman’s eyes. He’d seen it who knew how many times since his career had launched.
Silence stretched in the room. She pulled a slow breath, licked her lips and then turned to face him.
Finally.
Green ice regarded him. “Yes?”
Samuel cocked an eyebrow. “Why…”
The question he wanted to ask wouldn’t come. He was Samuel Gibson, rock legend. He didn’t need to ask a woman, no matter how stunning and gorgeous and mesmerizing, why she didn’t seem to like him. Even if he really wanted to know. “What’s your favourite movie?” he asked instead.
Eugene’s sister didn’t blink. She looked at him, the distaste clear on her face. “The Princess Bride.”
Samuel lifted his other eyebrow. “Really?”
Lily’s answering snort was dismissive as she turned away.
Samuel leant farther forward, plucked the white castle from the chessboard and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. “Inconceivable.”
She pursed her lips, but she didn’t look back at him.
Damn it.
He returned the chess piece to the board and raked his hand through his hair. “This is going to be harder than I thought.”
“What is?”
Samuel started at Jax’s question. He frowned at the keyboardist who was currently frowning at him from beside Eugene Pearce. Crap, had he muttered that aloud?
Jax snatched the black queen from the board and tossed it at him. “What’s going to be harder, Strings?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.” Slumping back in his chair, he slid his attention to the man beside Jax. Truth be known, Pearce looked like shit. And why the fuck was he in rehab? Or more to the point, why hadn’t he told Samuel when he called? Tapping the white ivory castle with his fingertip, he rested his ankle on his knee. “Why are you here?”
Lily’s soft intake of breath scraped at his curiosity.
Eugene shrugged, a wry laugh bubbling from him. “I got caught up in it.” He shook his head, flicking his sister a quick glance. “In the shit. I’m not famous, not like you guys, but Zombie Grill’s got some serious fans and the chicks…I mean, the women…and the parties after each gig…” He let out another chuckle, this one—to Samuel’s practiced ear—far more self-deprecating. “I lost control. But it won’t happen again. I promise.”
“Scout’s honor?” Jax asked.
Samuel didn’t need to look at his fellow band member to know the keyboardist was dubious. They’d both lived the shit Eugene was talking about. They all had, him, Jax, Levi, Noah and Nick. But they’d all got out alive. Drugs and booze was a thing of their past. Now, it was just the women Samuel found himself indulging in, and even the ladies hadn’t been on his card of late.
Sex was sex and sex was good, but to Samuel it seemed to be lacking…something.
Passion.
“Scout’s honor,” Eugene echoed, nodding.
It was surreal—and somewhat jarring to witness. The guy looked as if he were at least forty in the shade, maybe even older, but Samuel knew he was a good fifteen years or more younger than himself. And he behaved that way—like a young kid with the world at his feet, ready to take off with life firmly gripped in his hands.
Samuel remembered that euphoric sense of hope and dreams well. Hell, he’d reveled in it for most of his teenage years whenever his parents weren’t hassling him about studying. The joy of having parents who set the benchmark in their respective fields was the pressure to be better than everyone else. Jesus, the crap Dr. David Gibson and State Premier Julie Gibson gave their sixteen-year-old son when he’d told them he wanted to be in a rock band.
But his euphoria and love of rock and music had never faltered. Even when said parents had cut him off from any and all financial support. Which was how he’d ended up busking on the Sydney streets all those years ago, scraping whatever money he could to pay for guitar lessons.
Letting out a ragged breath, he raked his fingers through his hair again. Fuck it. He couldn’t give Eugene shit about his life when his own hadn’t been pure or trouble-free. It was about the music, after all. About his voice, his charisma and his presence.
He cast the lead singer of Zombie Grill a steady gaze—but not before flicking his frosty sister a quick sideways glance.
Whoa, had he just caught her looking at him?
“So,” he said, forcing his attention to stay on Eugene, “if the rest of the guys can make it to San Francisco by next Saturday, you reckon you could be out of here? Ready to give us a blast of what you can do?”
Smile wide, Eugene nodded with enthusiastic agreement. “Absolutely.”
Samuel noticed
a young man capable of driving women wild lurking under the sallow skin and greasy hair. “It’s not a given you’ll get to sing with us,” he pointed out, not wanting to give the guy false hope. “Noah and Levi need to suss you out before that happens. We need to get a feel for you, see if we’ve all got chemistry. You could be the best singer in the world, and if we don’t all click you’re not in. Understand?”
Once again, Eugene nodded. “Understand.” He turned his beaming smile on his sister. “Hear that, Ly?”
Lily’s long breath was the only answer he got.
Samuel flicked a look at Jax.
The keyboardist’s concern pulled at his dark eyebrows. Jax rarely took anything seriously, but he had an amazing gut when it came to people, and something about Eugene made him unsettled. Samuel could see it in his eyes.
The fact he was in a rehab clinic, perhaps? And he didn’t tell you when you contacted him?
“I don’t think he should be rushing his treatment.” Lily’s stern proclamation filled the silence.
“Ly, don’t be—”
“You’re still going through withdrawal symptoms, Gene,” she cut him off, and Samuel didn’t miss the anguish in her voice. His heart clenched. For some reason, the realization she was concerned about her brother pushed a button deep inside Samuel, a confusing one that seemed to have a direct line to his chest. “How can you expect to clean up if you’re going to be throwing yourself into all the crap all over again so soon?”
“Y’know,” Jax said, leaning forward, “we’re not all deviants. I know there’s been some stuff written about us but—”
“But we’re rock legends,” Samuel finished for Jax, letting his stare hold Lily’s angry one. He really didn’t know why he was antagonizing her. Maybe it was the only way to see her in any other emotional state but chilly. Maybe to have her look at him. “We don’t lead the same life as normal people.”
Jax’s groan scraped at Samuel’s brain. “Jesus, Strings.”
Samuel didn’t care. Because there it was. In Lily Pearce’s eyes. Green fire.
Oh boy, she despised him. Within fifteen minutes of being in his company, she despised him. Passionately.
Lead Me On Page 2