Hard Rock Deceit: A Rock Star Romance

by Athena Wright

  I swallowed past the lump in my throat. Casting my eyes downward to fiddle with my camera strap, I fought to keep my voice steady.

  "I guess all that journaling worked. I used to just express my feelings through my art. Never through words."

  A gentle hand buried itself in my hair. August tilted my head up. His blue eyes shone in the moonlight, clear and bright.

  "Tell me what you're feeling right now?"

  This time it was a question, not a demand.

  I took in a shuddering breath.

  "Sad," I whispered. The beginnings of tears stung the back of my eyes. I blinked rapidly, refusing to let them fall.

  "I'm feeling happy," he said simply. He continued before I could fully grasp his words. "Happy that you trust me enough to take me along while you work. Happy that I get to be here with you, alone. I'm happy you might not need me anymore."

  I inhaled a sharp breath.

  "Why?"

  His gaze flicked from left to right, looking into each of my eyes, searching and assessing.

  "Because it means I can do this."

  Leaning forward, so slowly as to give me time to respond, he brought his lips mere inches from mine. I tensed up before relaxing, anticipating.

  He kept himself there, not moving. He waited for so long I became impatient, restless.

  Something came over me, some carnal instinct that went beyond wants and needs, an instinct that squashed all anxiety and doubt.

  In one bold move, I moved forward and pressed our lips together.

  Sparks shot through me. I gasped into August's mouth. He used his fingers on my cheek to guide me, urging us closer together.

  His tongue swept a line across my bottom lip. I opened to him, unthinking. The slip of his tongue against mine made my head swim. He angled our heads, deepening the kiss.

  His taste was as delicious, as sumptuous, as his scent. Black tea and earth and salt.

  I wanted more of it. I wanted more of him. No other thought entered my mind while this man's lips were on mine. I wouldn't allow it. This was new and exciting and thrilling. I refused to let worry and uncertainty ruin this moment.

  I wanted August. Even before I truly understood what it was to want someone, I'd wanted him. For all the passion and desire that he saw in my art, that he saw in me, it was nothing compared to the passion of his kiss. His lips, teasing for entrance. His tongue, brushing and licking at mine. His hands stroking my hair back from my face, so gentle yet strong.

  I was breathless with need. My insides pulsed with desire, my skin begged for his touch. Liquid heat pooled to the apex of my thighs, turning into molten lava, burning me, melting me.

  The aching need was almost too much. A single kiss and I was already growing wet.

  When I finally had to break the kiss, I clung to him, fisting handfuls of his shirt, not wanting to let go.

  As I gasped for air, he covered my hands with his and brought them to his lips. He placed warm kisses to each of my knuckles, easing their grip.

  "You don't need to hold on so tight," he said softly. "I'm not going anywhere."

  "Do you mean that?" I blurted. "Because I—"

  Because after that kiss, I never wanted to let him go, ever again.

  August cradled my hands to his chest. He bumped my nose with his.

  "I'll stay here all night if you want me to."

  My heart swelled in my chest.

  "Why are you so good to me?"

  "Because you deserve it." Brushing my hair out of my face, he cupped both my cheeks. "I told you before. You have something I don't see very often. It called to me." His eyes searched mine, staring deeply. "Not many people catch my attention the way you did."

  It had been my art at first, hadn't it? August said he'd been following my work for some time.

  Just like he'd plucked the twins off a street corner, August had come into my life like a whirlwind, sucking me in, sending me to dizzying heights, leaving me disorientated and stirred up inside.

  "You may feel out of your depths—" he began to say.

  And there he went again, pinpointing my feelings.

  "—But you took me by surprise, too," he continued. "This thing between us… it was unexpected, to say the least."

  "So you don't often go randomly picking up women at art galleries?"

  "No," was all he said.

  With his arms wrapped around my waist, he turned his attention to the night sky.

  "How long until sunrise, do you think?" he asked.

  "A couple hours, maybe."

  "I showed you how to play guitar. Why don't you show me how to take photos?" His lips tilted into a wry smile. "Proper photos I mean. Not just quick snaps with my phone."

  "It usually involves crawling into weird spaces and crouching down in the dirt to get the right angle. You sure you're up for that?"

  He grimaced. I laughed and squeezed him, my arms around his chest.

  "Why don't we stick to cityscapes for your first lesson?"

  As I explained the various parts of my camera, explained the settings and how they affected each photo, a sort of wonder took hold inside of me.

  This man, gorgeous, talented, famous, had followed me up to the roof of a decaying building and was now hanging on my every word.

  My heart warmed, melting in my chest. August was showing an interest in my art. Real interest. It had nothing to do with the job he'd hired me for. He wanted to know more about me, more about my work, for no other reason than he was curious.

  Setting the camera aside, lessons over for the time being, I pressed my lips to his again, desperately. August seemed content to let me set the pace, letting our lips come together and part slowly, again and again.

  We breathed heavily into each other's mouths. I became impatient, wanting to deepen the kiss, but he kept inching back, teasing me. With a growl of frustration, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and tugged him close. Our bodies pressed together, his front firm against the softness of my chest. I molded against him as he slipped his tongue into my mouth, exploring thoroughly.

  One warm palm cupped the back of my head, threading fingers through dark strands. That hand began wandering, massaging the back of my neck, sliding down between my shoulders, tracing a line to the small of my back. His firm touch urged me closer, until our hips bumped together.

  I felt the beginnings of a hardening length against me. It filled out further with every kiss, every caress. I gasped a quick breath into his mouth in surprise. I hadn't expected August to be as caught up in the moment as I was. I rolled my hips experimentally, pressing down. He let out a small groan into my lips. With a hand on my hip, he guided me closer, showing me his desire. His desire for me.

  His thumb rubbed the hollow of my hip. Shivers wracked my body as the motion sent pleasure straight to the pulsing core between my legs. I was aching and throbbing and he'd barely touched me. When we finally met each other skin to skin, I'd probably explode at the seams.

  That gave me pause.

  I was thinking when. Not if.

  August pulled back slightly, noticing my distraction. My lips tingled, slick and glossy from our kiss. His thumb continued rubbing those small, sensual circles.

  "What is it?" he murmured into my lips.

  "Hey! You there!"

  With a start, I whipped around. I could just barely make out the vague outline of a portly man holding a flashlight.

  "Security guard," I hissed. The heat inside me extinguished instantly, a cold dread replacing it.

  August's gazed flicked over my shoulder. He grinned.

  "Time to make our escape, you delinquent."

  Hand in hand, we ran back down the rickety fire escape, the stairs clattering and shaking in turns.

  As we ran away from the building and into the streets, I knew one thing.

  August didn't need to strive for perfection.

  He was perfect already.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The first words out of Damon's mouth as
we stepped into the tour bus that morning were, "And where the hell were you two?"

  "I took Cassie out for breakfast," August lied easily.

  Damon raised an eyebrow but didn't comment on it.

  "If you were any later, we would have left without you," was all he said.

  "No you wouldn't have," August said.

  "Sure would." Damon smirked. "We'd get that spit-fire drummer from Cherry Lips to take your place. Bet he'd jump at the chance to fill August Summer's shoes."

  The look that crossed August's face was worrying. Cloudy and dark, with a hint of panic and vulnerability. It was a startling expression to see on someone so self-assured. Surely he wasn't really worried about them leaving without us?

  "We can't take off without August," Ian said. "Cameron would open his big mouth and Noah would end up strangling him within minutes."

  Instead of laughing at the joke, the band members nodded in agreement. What an odd relationship those two had.

  Because we'd been up all night, I feigned a restless sleep and went to take a nap in the bedroom at the back of the bus. I didn't know if August also slept. When I woke up, we were already parked outside the concert hall the next city over.

  Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes and grabbing my camera, I followed the others off the bus and into the building for rehearsals and sound check.

  I tried to busy myself with work until the concert started, but it was no use. I was too distracted. My gaze kept wandering over to August.

  Last night had been magical. I could still taste August on my lips. I still inhaled his scent with every one of my breaths. It was like all my senses were attuned to him and him alone.

  As much as my mind scolded me to focus on my work, my body had no objections to me reminiscing.

  I missed the moment the band took the stage. I decided instead of taking my usual pictures of the band for the first half of the concert, I'd keep my camera on the audience. August didn't only want me to capture the band's passion. He wanted me to capture the excitement, the fervor, of their fans.

  I snapped photo after photo. Soon, a shiny black piano was rolled out on stage for Noah's solo. The audience hushed in anticipation of his heartfelt, moving performance. The other members made their way backstage for a short break.

  Even as I kept my attention on the audience, I couldn't help but follow August out of the corner of my eye. We hadn't had a chance to speak alone since that morning. Was he having just as much difficulty concentrating as I was? Was he still wrapped up in the memory of last night?

  The frown lines between his eyebrows were familiar. It was the same strained expression I'd seen at the first concert, when I'd helped him take off his shirt.

  And wasn't that just another delicious memory to savor?

  It was also the same look he'd had when I'd helped him with the ice pack. Lowering my camera, I studied August's posture. I couldn't tell if he was favoring his shoulder or not.

  Concerned, I started to make my way over to him. I stopped when I saw him speaking to a roadie. Maybe those frown lines had to do with the concert. Something might have gone wrong and August needed to tell someone to fix it.

  The roadie pressed something into August's hand. I wouldn't have caught it if I hadn't been looking right at them. Probably new drumsticks, I reasoned. I didn't know what else a roadie might have to give him before his next performance.

  August nodded to the roadie and approached an assistant for a bottle of water. He turned his back and swallowed down a mouthful. The water must have helped cool him down, because some of the tension left his shoulders.

  When Noah's piano solo and the twins' dueling guitar performance were done, all the band members took the stage again. I made my way to the pit, making sure my VIP pass was firmly and securely placed around my neck.

  Photos from the front of the stage were some of my favorites. Noah's eyes burned with an inner fire. The twins entertained the audience with their playful antics. Cameron strutted around like he owned the place. August's muscled arms became a blur as he gave everything he had into the performance.

  All of it combined to create one picture perfect moment that encapsulated Darkest Days.

  Even as the crowd squished me from all sides and tossed me about, my gaze was fixated on August. With the way he hit each beat in strong fluid motions, the way his hair whipped around his face, the way his cheeks flushed with exertion, it was no wonder I couldn't concentrate on anything else.

  August was always at the back of the stage. It was difficult to get good shots of him, unlike the easy access I had to the rest of the guys. I had to zoom in to get anything worthwhile.

  I gave up and put all my focus on the drummer for the last half of the concert. I'd make sure I took enough photos of the other guys later on to make up for it.

  Last night, August's eyes had shined so beautifully in the moonlight. They left me breathless.

  I wanted to capture that sentiment again. I was sure whatever August had been feeling then couldn't be half as passionate as his feelings on stage, playing for thousands of adoring fans. I wasn't even in the band, or a crazed fan, and yet I was getting caught up in the thrill of their performance.

  My pounding heart, burning lungs and aching feet were a welcome reminder of how lucky I was to get a front row seat to something this unforgettable.

  Wanting to capture that passion, I zoomed in, putting August's face in the frame.

  His eyes weren't the same clear, brilliant ice blue they were last night. Instead, they had a sort of hazy look to them, almost distant, wavering. It was a now familiar look. I'd always assumed it was August being distracted by his inner thoughts, always worrying about something, or thinking things through.

  As I continued shooting, the cheering of the crowd turned into hushed murmurs. Girls behind me whispered indistinctly to each other in questioning tones. Two guys in front of me turned to look at each other, confused.

  Then I heard it. And saw it.

  August missed a beat. Then another.

  The strain on his brow had returned. His eyes were wide, fogged over. His chest heaved as if struggling to breathe. His pupils were reduced to pinpoints.

  I barely had time for my concern to register before shouts and screams filled my ears.

  August fell to the floor, unconscious.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sitting silently in a hard, cold plastic chair, I tried to pretend I was invisible.

  It was easy enough to do. The other four people waiting in the hospital hallway were making enough of a commotion. It was no wonder I was overlooked.

  "…don't fucking care about your rules!"

  "We're the closest thing to family he's got."

  "Please, just tell us if he's going to be okay or not. Just tell us that."

  Cameron and the twins were alternatively pleading with and yelling at a man in a long white coat. A doctor.

  August's doctor.

  Tears prickled the back of my eyes. I let a few fall, not trying to keep them in, just brushing them away with my sleeve.

  They weren't telling us anything. We weren't August's family. We'd been waiting for hours and we still didn't know anything.

  "Stop shouting at the man." Noah's quiet voice interrupted the others. "He's just doing his job."

  The lead singer leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. I thought he might scowl at his friends. Instead, he only looked exhausted, tired lines around sad, dark eyes.

  "I'll stop shouting when he tells us what the fuck is going on," Cameron growled.

  "I'm sorry." The doctor's tone was brisk yet polite. I was sure he'd had this conversation with hundreds of people. "I can only speak to the patient's next of kin."

  Cameron jutted his chin out stubbornly.

  "We're his family."

  Before he could continue arguing, a nurse rushed down the hallway. She spoke hushed into the doctor's ear. He nodded.

  "Good news," he told us in a slightly relieved tone. "T
he patient is awake. He said you're all his next of kin. He's asking to see you."

  "Fucking finally," Damon muttered.

  "Before you go in…" the doctor hesitated. "You should probably know the cause of his fall."

  "Moron probably worked himself too hard," Cameron said. "He doesn't know when to quit."

  "No."

  The doctor looked each of them in the eye. He seemed to be bracing himself. I stayed sitting in my chair.

  "It was a drug overdose."

  Pure silence filled the hallway. I examined the expression on each band member's face. Shock, surprise, disbelief.

  I kept my face blank.

  Cameron barked out a laugh.

  "Are you fucking with us?"

  The doctor shook his head sadly.

  "I know this sometimes comes as a surprise to friends and family. Often, there are no signs."

  Ian glared.

  "August isn't a drug addict."

  "We found large doses of opioids in his bloodstream. Possibly Oxycodone. Enough to make him collapse. Enough to stop his breathing."

  The others stared at each other, questions in their eyes. Did any of them know? Had any of them guessed?

  "Fuck this shit," Cameron grunted, shouldering past the doctor. "I'm going to see him."

  The band members followed the nurse to August's room. I trailed behind them. Not a single one of them seemed to notice I was there. I stayed back, hovering in the doorway as they crowded around the bedside.

  Peeking in, I saw August sitting up in bed. A plastic tube connected a bag of solution to the back of his hand. His hair was limp and falling around his face. A small bandage covered a patch of his forehead near his hairline. Dark purple bruises under his eyes showed his exhaustion.

  Still, his lips curved into a slight smile as he greeted his friends.

  "I'm sorry I scared you," were the first words out of his mouth.

  "What the hell, August?" Cameron immediately blurted. "You're a fucking drug addict now?"

  "I had a sore shoulder," he said reasonably. "I took something from one of the crew members. I had no idea it would affect me this much."

  "You could have died." Ian sounded wounded, as if he were the one sitting in the hospital bed, not August. "How could you have been so irresponsible? That's not like you at all."