Hard Rock Sin: A Rock Star Romance

by Athena Wright

  My rapid heartbeat slowed, my frazzled nerves soothed by the music. Without meaning to, I lost myself in that melody. As a music student, I could appreciate the intricacies of each note. The song didn't sound quite finished. A rough draft, maybe. Still, I could tell the man was gifted.

  Hunched over the piano, his shoulders tensed up. He pressed down hard on the keys, fingers now flying. The soft melody turned harsh and aggressive. Whatever loving sentiment the man had begun with, he'd lost it. The music became louder, unpleasant. I could hear unspoken rage in the smash of every key.

  The longer the man played the more discordant the notes become, until he slammed his hands down one final time, the music resolving itself in a crash of noise. I jumped, my heart beating a pounding rhythm against my ribcage.

  The man buried his hands in his hair, tugging at the strands. He hunched further over the keyboard. He cursed, a quiet, forlorn expletive. Moments later he shot up from his seat at the piano with a flurry, knocking off the papers full of music notes, sending them scattered to the floor.

  I took a few steps back out into the hallway, nervous adrenaline racing through my veins.

  The man stood in front of the piano, his back to me, chest heaving with every breath. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. He took a slow breath in, then out. Running his hands down his face, he let out a soft, pained sound.

  This man was clearly in the middle of an emotional breakdown. I didn't want to interrupt. I took a few more steps backwards, intending to leave before he noticed me.

  He bent to pick up the music sheets from the floor. I saw his face for the first time.

  All the air left my lungs.

  This was a man I'd recognize anywhere.

  Blinking once slowly to clear my eyes, I counted to three, making sure I wasn't imagining things. When I looked again, it was still him. Dressed all in black, from his open leather jacket, to his form fitting t-shirt to his tight jeans…

  My eyes nearly bugged out. Damn, those were some tight jeans. My stomach muscles clenched involuntarily, an instinctive reaction. A pulse of arousal spiked through my body, warming me from the inside.

  My gaze followed his body down further to his heavy black combat boots.

  My heart stuttered in my chest.

  It really was him.

  Noah.

  Fucking.

  Hart.

  All my senses went on high alert.

  Noah Hart, lead singer of my favorite rock band Darkest Days, a rock star god, a man I admired beyond all reason, stood mere feet away from me.

  My eyes travelled over his body, taking in his long legs, broad shoulders, and messy dark hair. I gnawed on my lip as excitement ran through me. He looked even hotter in person than he did on stage or on TV.

  Although I had to be honest, I was sort of disappointed he wasn't wearing leather pants and eyeliner.

  Pure misery showed on his face, his expression alight with inner turmoil. I held still, not making a move, not making a sound. I didn't want to disturb him in what seemed to be a private moment.

  I also didn't want to risk opening my mouth and freaking out in the presence of one of my music idols.

  Noah scooped the papers up, gathering them into some semblance of order. His face was open and lined with pain. The emotion he exuded on stage was just as evident in person. I wondered if he was working on a new song, if this was part of his process.

  Something lit up inside my chest at the thought of Noah Hart having trouble writing songs. The fact that it might not come easy to him, despite the wondrous lyrics he wrote and the passionate way he sang, gave me a small bit of comfort. Sometimes it seemed like the work that I struggled with came about so effortlessly to everyone else.

  Maybe he and I had something in common when it came to that.

  I was still lingering in the doorway, watching him, drinking him in. Dark tattoos peeked out of the collar of his shirt. Enough of his upper chest was exposed to make my thighs clench. One of my shaky hands gripped the doorknob. The other was pressed to my heaving chest, feeling every one of my shallow breaths.

  I shouldn't have been so affected. It wasn't like I'd never met this man or his band before. I was a fan, after all. I'd seen them backstage dozens of times. I'd shaken their hands and spoke a few words to each, gotten their autographs and given them my thanks.

  I'd even seen a few members of the band up close at a private event, once. Being a music student and having friends with connections in the industry had its perks. Of course, at the time, all I'd been able to do was stare at them, mouth gaping open and blushing. It had been mortifying.

  I wasn't going to let that happen again. I had to get out before I made a fool out of myself.

  But I had stood in the doorway for too long. I should have left when I had a chance. Noah turned to leave. He froze as his eyes met mine.

  Immediately his expression shut down, eyes shuttering. His face went blank, no trace of the pain I'd seen before.

  "What are you doing here?"

  "I'm so sorry," I replied immediately, shuffling my feet back and forth awkwardly.

  His voice was flat. "No one's supposed to be here."

  "I-I'm lost," I stammered.

  The expression on his face was chilly, except for the lingering frustration in his eyes and the downturned corners of his mouth. He set down the papers he'd picked up from the floor on the piano.

  "I'll just… leave," I said weakly.

  Noah eyed me up and down slowly. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment at that penetrating gaze. I couldn't help eyeing him back. Damn, but those jeans were tight. I'd heard rumors, but he couldn't really be that big, could he? I could practically see his outline through the rough fabric.

  "Do I know you?" he asked coldly.

  I shook my head, trying to suppress the heat flaring between my legs.

  "I've seen you before." The words weren't a question. "It was at a party. That album release."

  My heart sank. The last thing I wanted was for him to recognize me. I didn't want him to think I was just another one of his swooning fangirls. Even if it was true.

  "I remember." His eyes narrowed. "You were so starstruck you couldn't say a word."

  I fought to shake myself out of my daze. Noah was right. I had been struck speechless before. Almost like I was now. I didn't want to let that happen again. I could pull myself together. Definitely. I could totally do that.

  "Well. You know." I gestured to him.

  He tapped his fingers on the top of the piano in an impatient rhythm. "No, I don't know. What?"

  "You're Noah Hart," I shrugged helplessly. Noah. Fucking. Hart. I still couldn't believe it.

  "You're a fan?"

  I tried to make light of it. "Who isn't a fan of Darkest Days?"

  "So the answer is yes?" he asked, almost mocking.

  I stayed silent.

  "How lucky for you to have stumbled upon me."

  I swallowed hard. I was either lucky or cursed. How could I possibly manage an interview after running into the lead singer of Darkest Days? My heart felt like it might explode out of my chest. My limbs were trembling. My insides were throbbing.

  I had to get a hold of myself.

  "I didn't mean to intrude. I'm here for an interview."

  "This area is off limits to non-employees."

  "I'm sorry. I think I got off on the wrong floor."

  I hovered in the doorway, unable to make myself walk away.

  "You want an autograph or something?" His voice full of snark. "I can't imagine why else you'd still be standing here."

  "Sorry, I'll just…" I trailed off, breath hitching as Noah strode over.

  He moved like a wild animal, purposeful, with a barely restrained edge. As he approached, he scanned me up and down, his dark eyes intense. I felt my nipples tighten and peak underneath my blouse.

  His eyes lingered on my chest. I had no doubt he could see the effect he was having on me. I fought back a flush.

 
"Or maybe you want more than an autograph?"

  I folded my arms over my stiff nipples to hide them. "I don't know what you mean."

  "Fangirls throw themselves at me all the time. You think I don't recognize that look you're giving me?"

  "I'm not throwing myself at you. I'm just standing here."

  "Your nipples are hard as a rock."

  A sense of shame swirled and combined with outrage inside my chest. "It's cold in here."

  "It's almost summer."

  "The air conditioning is on."

  "Is that why your face is red?"

  I put my hands to my cheeks. "It is not."

  Noah smirked. "I bet your pussy's soaked, too."

  My mouth popped open, appalled and turned on at the same time. Hearing those dirty words out of this man's mouth made my inner walls pulse.

  "Famous rock star or not, you don't get to makes comments on my pussy."

  "Am I wrong?" He took another step forward, crowding me until my back was nearly to the wall. My breathing sped up. I couldn't even tell if I was angry or turned on. He smirked. "Have I turned you speechless again?"

  I inhaled a sharp breath, but nothing came out.

  He narrowed his glinting eyes at me and backed away. I let out a wavering whimper, my vocal chords beginning to work again.

  Noah gave me a darkly amused look as he walked through the open door. "Good luck with your interview, fangirl."

  The moment he left I clung to the doorframe, my knees going weak. Shivers ran down my spine, half in arousal and half in anxiety. I only had room for one thought in my head.

  Who exactly was this Noah Hart I'd met, and what the hell happened to my soulful, romantic poet?

  I couldn't believe I'd met Noah Hart.

  I couldn't believe Noah Hart had been so moody and abrasive.

  I also couldn't believe I was actually sitting in the vast foyer of Etude Entertainment with marble floors and expensive leather furniture. My stomach was doing flips, and it had nothing to do with the sexy, gruff rock star I'd encountered.

  Well. Maybe it had a little to do with that. Okay. A lot to do with that.

  I'd been sitting in the same spot for over twenty minutes, though. Straight-backed to avoid slouching, chin up to convey confidence, thighs pressed together to prevent a flashing incident. I exuded a sense of calm, competence, and professionalism.

  On the outside, anyway.

  On the inside, my mind gibbered away at me non-stop.

  Why were they making me wait so long? I didn't care. This was the opportunity of a lifetime. But what if they decided to go with someone else? Of course they'd go with someone else. I was nothing special.

  It didn't matter how long they made me wait, though. I'd sit there forever if it meant I had a chance to work with one of the biggest entertainment companies in the world.

  Despite my misbegotten encounter with Noah Hart, I'd wait forever if I had a chance to work at the music label that had signed Darkest Days.

  I gave myself a mental shake. No use getting all worked up. I might not even get the job. I'd been left waiting for so long. Maybe they really had forgotten me. I'd been a single minute late. That might have been enough to disqualify me.

  Light footsteps sounded down the hallway. I stood up with haste, smoothing down my pencil skirt and blouse. I forced myself to breathe deeply, hoping to wipe away any hint of nerves. Thank god my nipples were no longer stiff with arousal.

  A woman wearing a smart pantsuit, in her late-twenties or early-thirties at most, stepped into the lobby.

  "Jennifer Young?"

  I pushed aside all thoughts of a certain grumpy, gorgeous, and goddamn sexy rock star god. I plastered a pleasant smile on my face.

  "Yes, I'm Jen."

  "Naomi Sera." The woman held out her hand for a shake. I made sure to grasp it firmly. She pulled out a sheet of paper and handed me a pen. "Before we do anything else, you need to sign this NDA."

  "A non-disclosure agreement?"

  "Exactly. You can't tell anyone the details of what we talk about today."

  I scribbled my name with haste and handed it back to her.

  "I'm sorry to keep you waiting." Her black hair, cut short in a severe bob, swayed back and forth as she shook her head, an apologetic look on her face. "I had some trouble with—" She cut herself off with an almost exasperated laugh. "Never mind. You'll see soon enough."

  My interest piqued, I followed her through hallways decorated with framed vinyl album covers, each one labeled with its recording sale award, either Gold, Platinum, or Diamond. I recognized almost all the names.

  "Will I be meeting with any others?" I wanted to get a feel for how this interview would go. Naomi had sounded nice through the emails we'd exchanged, but who knew how many other people would be interviewing me.

  "Just myself and…" she paused for a moment before continuing, "…and one other person. That's the reason I'm so late. He was being difficult. You aren't the first person we've interviewed for this position. The others… didn't work out."

  That small hesitation made me nervous. Why wouldn't she tell me who else I'd be meeting with? Could it be one of the big wigs? Someone from the C-suite? And why hadn't the other people worked out?

  That question was answered the moment Naomi waved me into an open office.

  Scanning the room quickly, I immediately zeroed in on the man leaning against the wall, tattooed forearms crossed over his chest. No leather jacket. From what I could see, the tattoos were random designs, odd shapes and geometrical patterns. If they had any meaning, I couldn't decipher it.

  Even with his face turned away and his mouth twisted into a scowl, his presence dominated the room. Although his eyes were averted, he seemed to sense the exact moment I walked in. He tilted his head a fraction of an inch toward me. Dark glinting eyes met mine.

  Noah.

  "I assume you know who this is." Naomi motioned to him with a wave.

  Noah stiffened, shoulders tensing, the only indication of his surprise. "You?"

  I straightened my back. I wasn't going to let him know I was rattled. Or aroused. Again.

  Naomi looked confused. "Do you two already know each other?"

  Noah stayed silent, not bothering to explain, so I did.

  "We've met."

  He ignored me and turned to Naomi. "Why is she here?"

  "She's here to interview for the job."

  "She's barely out of school," he said flatly.

  "She is actually called Jen," I cut in. He was trying to needle me. Trying to throw me off balance, maybe. I didn't know why. His very presence was enough to do that. "I'm not a student. I've graduated college." Only weeks ago, but he didn't need to know that.

  "I know seeing Noah Hart must come as a surprise," Naomi told me as we sat down at the conference table. "But we don't want to let interview candidates know too much about the position before they sign a NDA and are officially offered the job."

  I resolved to put aside my feelings. I needed to act professional. I couldn't let him get to me. I wanted to get off on the right foot with Noah.

  Although I had a feeling on the wrong foot was the only way Noah Hart knew how to interact with people.

  "As the manager for Darkest Days, it's my job to interview candidates for this position," Naomi said.

  I wondered why Noah Hart was part of the interview process. He didn't seem to want to be here at all.

  "The professor who recommended you sent us some samples of your work," she continued. "We were impressed. But I'd like to learn more about you personally." Naomi turned to Noah, who was still leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. "Sit."

  He glared, but did what she said. He turned his head toward the wall, away from me.

  "How much do you know about Darkest Days?" Naomi asked.

  I forced back a nervous smile. I knew everything about Darkest Days. Everything. I didn't know what this had to do with the job, but if they wanted an answer, I'd give it to them. I
turned away from Noah and focused on Naomi.

  "They're one of the biggest rock groups to come out in the last few years. They've gone Platinum multiple times over. Their latest album won a dozen awards." I wondered how much else to say. Naomi gave me an encouraging look, so I continued. "Industry insiders often remark on their ability to take multiple music genres and blend them together into a hard rock sound that's still commercially accessible. Some say their influence is redefining rock music itself."

  "You're familiar with the band and their music," Naomi nodded. "Good. And what about you? Tell us about your musical background."

  My hands went cold and clammy again. I tried to remember the interview tips I'd read online. They all said to sell yourself. I didn't think I had very much to sell. I was sure nothing made me stand out from all the other applicants they'd probably interviewed. I wasn't an expert in anything. I just fooled around with a lot of different instruments. Maybe that could be enough to impress.

  "I've been playing my whole life. I started with piano and violin as a child. Later on I learned the cello and harpsichord. I can also play guitar and bass."

  Noah shifted, staring at me out of the corner of his eye. When he saw that I caught him, he immediately looked away.

  "I'm also a fan of the hammered dulcimer," I continued, starting to feel self conscious. I started playing it because no one else at my academy did. I didn't have anyone to compare myself to. No one to feel inadequate next to. If I was only mediocre it didn't matter as much.

  "I'm not an expert by any means, though," I continued. "I wouldn't call myself an expert in any of them, but I can play well enough, I suppose."

  "And what about composing?" Naomi asked. "You write your own songs, yes?"

  "Yes, although I only started composing in high school." Most of the students at my music academy had been writing music since they were kids. I almost felt embarrassed to have only started in my late teens in comparison.

  "A few of your compositions have been performed professionally, your professor told me."

  "Those were mostly songs I worked on with other students. I can't take all the credit."