Rock Reclaimed: Rockstar Romantic Suspense (Rock Revenge Trilogy Book 2)

by Cari Quinn

  I didn’t want to be another subject with her. Just one more character study. I wanted her in the frame with me. If I couldn’t have distance here, neither could she.

  “You just found him after all these years. That has to be…weird,” she said finally.

  “You could say that.”

  “Even with the differences between you, the similarities are striking. I imagine that increases the odd factor.”

  I shifted restlessly. “You would be right.”

  “Yet you called him out on stage. Challenged him basically.”

  “I’d spent a lot of time in obscurity. Gets old after awhile.”

  “Yeah, and he’s, well, an icon.”

  It had to be that word. Of course. “He is. I’m parched.”

  Silently, she rose to fetch me a cup of water. “No wonder. Your skin is so red you practically glow in the dark.”

  I finished the deliciously cool water and set the cup aside before glancing at my arm. There was a small nightlight on across the room and there was some moonlight bleeding through the blinds, but that wasn’t enough light for her to see my sunburn. “I’m not quite that bad.”

  “Says you. You’re going to be peeling like a potato tomorrow. Won’t look good for your press pictures.”

  “Who says I’m going to have any?”

  “Just a logical guess based on your large and vocal internet fanbase.” Her tone was dry. “Here, you need some of this since I’m sure you don’t have any supplies at home.”

  “Who says I have one of those either?” My response was quiet, but her rabbit ears caught it just the same.

  “Of course, you have a home.” Halfway to her feet, she paused, still kneeling with one knee on the bed. “Don’t you?”

  “Sure.” I said it easily, noncommittally.

  If Motel Sixteen counted as such, then yes, absolutely.

  “I know that kind of thing is part of the rockstar mystique.” She went to her dresser and rummaged through a small collection of bottles. “My cousin Ni—” She cleared her throat. “At least that’s what I’ve heard.”

  Cousin Nick, huh? Seemed like that was what she’d been intent on saying, and if so, that was Lila’s husband. Wasn’t that a fucking kick in the small and wrinklies?

  Interesting that she’d cut herself off. She didn’t want me to know any more about her than vice versa.

  I knew why I wasn’t exactly proud of my past—or my family reunion with my brother, even if I’d been the one to so rudely instigate it. But what was her agenda? Why didn’t she want me to know she was connected to Ripper as Sabrina had made so very clear?

  “Well, I’m not a rockstar yet.”

  “Heavy on the yet.”

  Turnabout was fair play. “So, Lila is your cousin, yeah?”

  She didn’t answer right away. “How do you know?”

  “Very evasive, Miss Manning. I happened to overhear you and her speaking at Ripper my first day in the States. You were arguing about photographing the Zeps show.”

  Her gasp was audible. “You knew who I was before the Blue Rhino concert?”

  “I never saw your face, just became enthralled with the music of your voice. Then there you were on my stage. I didn’t make the connection until I saw the name Zoe on your Instagram page and Sabrina told me you were ‘property of Ripper Records.’”

  “Pardon me?”

  “She means well, I think. She was warning me away from you, because she caught me fondling your camera in the dressing room.”

  “You were what?” She held up a hand. “Never mind. I don’t want to know. Do you have any allergies?”

  “Liars.” The answer popped out, surprising me probably more than her.

  As if I had room to talk. I lied as easily as I breathed, by necessity. And from daily habit.

  “Fascinating. I meant to topical substances.” She came back to the bed with a bottle in her hand. “Specifically aloe vera and eucalyptus. Might be a hint of mint in this blend as well.”

  “What’s that for? If it’s lube, I come prepared.”

  “Ha ha. Very funny. At least I hope you’re being funny, because the idea of you carrying…that around is gross.”

  “Even I have to agree with that one.”

  “Aloe soothes burns. The other ingredients add a pleasant scent and other medicinal qualities.” She sat on the edge of the bed and held out the bottle. “Try it. It should help with the sting.”

  I took the bottle, popped the lid, and sniffed. It smelled nice. Sort of like what I’d smelled on the beach earlier, except better. It mixed well with Zoe’s sun-soaked coconut scent, too.

  Experimentally, I put some in my palm, then tried to reach around to my back—only to have her snatch the bottle with a huff.

  “Not like that. You need even coverage for true relief.”

  Before I could think about coverage—or the semi I’d sprung the moment she laid her cool, callused hands on me—she was smoothing the slick substance into my flesh.

  I moaned. Shamelessly. Not just from the aloe vera, although it felt like heaven on my skin.

  She snorted as I moved my hair out of her way. “That sounded almost orgasmic.”

  “Oh, love, you have no idea. Sorry. Zoe. No…can’t call you that, either. What can I call you then? Shall I give you a nickname while you bring me untold pleasure?”

  It wasn’t an exaggeration. The hint of ridges on her thumbs and fingers along with the innate strength in her hands as she kneaded the gel into my knotted muscles was the most erotic experience I’d had since…

  Hell, since I didn’t know when. The trouble twins the night of the talent show semi-finals didn’t count, since I still didn’t remember much of that.

  I had to quit drinking.

  “You could try just staying quiet.”

  “Nah. How about Wonder Woman? Who possesses glorious skill in her hands.”

  “Rather long, isn’t it?”

  “Hmm, good point. Oh, yes, right there. That spot is particularly tight.”

  “You do realize this was to help your sunburn, not intended to be a massage?”

  “Tell your magical touch that. Those calluses on your fingers are divine.” She drew her hands back abruptly, though I was too consumed with my thoughts—and the insistent throb in my groin—to notice right away. “Magic,” I mused. “Magic Manning. Capable of bringing the dead back to life. In this case, dead skin cells. Which isn’t terribly arousing. Sorry about that.”

  “My hands are callused from my work.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “If you don’t like it…” She put the cap back on and I turned, grabbing her hand and the bottle. When she shrank back, I transferred my touch solely to the plastic, gripping the bottle until it buckled.

  “If I don’t like it? Which part of what I said did you interpret that way?”

  She shut her eyes. “Sorry. I’m in a weird headspace right now. Anyway, hope that helped a little. You can, ah, take the bottle—”

  “I don’t want to scare you.”

  “Who said you are?”

  “Look at my trousers,” I said quietly, waiting until her eyes flickered open. She let out a soft sound that I couldn’t identify as pleasure…or distress. “Does that seem like I didn’t like any part of what you were just doing to me?”

  “Look, I think you’re getting the wrong idea. Maybe it’s better if you just go.” She stood up and rubbed the excess aloe on the side of her neck.

  I wanted to bury my nose there. Drag it up the line of her throat until I could lick her pulse and feel it go wild under my lips and teeth.

  My cock twitched.

  And it so wasn’t going to happen. Not tonight. Maybe not ever. I’d just have to live with that.

  “I’m not getting any ideas.”

  “Seems as if you are, judging by that.”

  “No, more like your hands were a symphony on my back. It hurts, and not just because of the burn. But it wasn’t just your hands affecting me.
I could smell your coconut scent and turpentine and paint from your work. All around us in this space. So that I was inside you for a moment even as I sat here, under your spell.”

  “Stop it.” She covered her ears. “Just stop it. I know your type. And worse, you have that accent and it makes everything poetry and I’m so not that girl. Please, don’t make me say things I might regret later.” She exhaled a heavy breath. “It’s just better if you leave, Ian.”

  Her saying my name was the final shove out the door.

  Also, I wouldn’t betray her kindness. She’d taken care of me although it made her uncomfortable. Given me a place to sleep, even if her bed was only a step above the motel’s. But the environment couldn’t be beat.

  I wasn’t sure I’d be able to go back to sleep in that shitty motel room without the warm curve of her hip against my side.

  Without her smells living in my head, an almost tactile comfort.

  “I’ll go.” I handed her back the bottle. “Take it,” I said when she wouldn’t.

  “You steal my camera. Take my sunglasses. Yet I offer this and you don’t want it.”

  “I don’t want you to ever go without, and you have extras of the others.”

  She pressed her lips together. “I’m going to see you on billboards, aren’t I? Going to hear that devil’s voice singing on the radio.”

  I kissed my fingertips and raised them high. “From your mouth to God’s ears. If such a being exists. I have my doubts.” Quickly, too quickly for her to stop me, I pressed my fingertips to the strip of skin I could see just above her sleep pants. She startled, jerking back and going still. “Thank you.”

  “For what? I should be thanking you.”

  “You already did.” I stood and found my socks and boots in the darkness.

  Then my mobile buzzed. I withdrew it from my pants and held up a finger to Zoe as I took Sabrina’s call.

  “A little late for chats, isn’t it?”

  “Consider this your new version of early. About time I reached you. What time can you be at Ripper Records HQ?”

  HQ? How very acronymic.

  I checked the time on my phone. Just past five. Lovely.

  I didn’t have a shirt that was appropriate for wearing to see Sabrina. My other was ruined, or the next thing to it. Maybe Zoe had an oversized shirt I could borrow.

  Or let’s be real—steal.

  “How about in thirty minutes, depending on traffic?” My gaze connected with Zoe’s.

  Now she did turn away. She immediately started tidying the bed we’d slept in, smoothing out wrinkles in the sheets the same way she’d caressed my back.

  It was still tingling from the memory.

  “Make it twenty.” Sabrina clicked off before even ascertaining if that was physically possible, considering my current location.

  I’d be taking an Uber and making her pay once I arrived. Good luck if it was in twenty, however. This was Los Angeles, not Happy Acres in bucolic New York.

  Christ, Happy Acres. That was where Zoe had probably been in that picture on her Instagram feed, the one where she’d been surrounded by people and holding a big pumpkin. Those people were probably family, since Lila’s parents owned Happy Acres.

  Property of Ripper Records indeed.

  What would it mean if I belonged to Ripper Records too? Would that make Zoe less off limits…or even more?

  “I’ve been called away.”

  Zoe nodded and kept fussing, this time with the pillows. She didn’t acknowledge my statement. She’d asked me to leave anyway, so why would she care?

  A small hopeful part of me wondered if maybe she thought I’d spoken to a woman. That maybe she wasn’t looking at me because she was jealous. It was a better alternative than thinking she didn’t give a fig.

  “Can I have a shirt?” I was getting better at not pretending I’d return her items. Because we both knew by now I had no intention to.

  She shifted and moved past me to the dresser without sparing me a look. “I’m surprised where you’re going requires one.” The drawer creaked as it slid open.

  I couldn’t resist smiling as I tucked my hands under my arms. “Just where do you think I’m off to, Magic Manning?”

  “That is a ridiculous name. I don’t have much that can fit you.”

  “I don’t mind if it’s snug. Seems to be my near future anyway.” I slipped my phone in my pants pocket and withdrew her jaunty pink sunglasses, popping them on even in the dark room. She turned toward me with a shirt in her hand and shocked me by laughing.

  “You’re not wearing those again.”

  “Not for vision purposes as I can barely see my feet, but I think they make me look dashing.” To make sure, I moved to the mirror and checked. A little hard to make them out, but yes, definitely rakish.

  Sabrina would probably grind them to dust under her stilettos.

  “You keep telling yourself that. Here.”

  I frowned at what she handed me. Even in the faint light, I could tell it was an eye-searing color and had weird splotches on it. I lifted the material and sniffed. Laundry soap and paint. I should’ve guessed.

  “What color is this?”

  “A lovely shade of chartreuse.”

  “Char what?”

  “I think it goes nicely with your glasses.”

  I sincerely doubted that, but I could make it work. Hell, it was a shirt. Had to be good enough.

  Besides, my bigger problem at the moment was just trying to move my arms and back enough to even get the shirt on. I groaned out loud. “Jesus, maybe I’ll skip the shirt.” I wiped my brow. “Do you have some tablets?”

  “Tablets? Is that slang for some kind of drug?”

  “Yes.” I smirked. “Ibuprofen. What do you take me for, love?”

  “Don’t ask me that. I only have Tylenol.” She headed into the bathroom, then returned with a small paper cup of water and two tablets cupped in her hand.

  “Two?” I scoffed. “I’m a growing boy.”

  She covered my mouth with her hand and they slipped onto my tongue, somehow less bitter because she’d delivered them. The water she offered could’ve been from a Polish spring, it was so refreshing.

  I couldn’t fuck her. I likely wouldn’t survive it. Just her touching me made my skin prickle with awareness. Every part of me was attuned to her, as if I were a creature in the woods who’d scented their mate.

  And she was shaking her head at me as if I were a small, daft child.

  “I normally take four, but thank you.” I drained the cup and returned it to her before tugging the shirt over my head. I gritted my teeth the entire time.

  She pitched out the paper cup and resumed making the bed.

  I scraped a hand over my hair and righted the sunglasses then took a step back. “I’ll just use the loo and be out of your hair.”

  “Thank you. Truly. For everything.”

  I didn’t know what to say. “Thank you as well. If you need anything…” I let the statement hang. It wasn’t as if I could offer her tea and crumpets and a shoulder to cry on. She wouldn’t allow such even if I tried.

  And my crumpets were shit.

  “K.” She didn’t even glance back at me.

  All righty then.

  I took a step, then another before swallowing hard. I didn’t want to just stroll out of there and leave her thinking I wasn’t concerned how she’d be in the wake of what happened. She was putting on a brave front, but I knew she wasn’t as close to over it as she seemed. “If you ever want to talk—”

  “I’m not a one-night stand sort of woman. But it’s flattering.” Her tone sounded anything but flattered.

  More like disgusted.

  “I wasn’t asking for sex.” I rubbed my inner forearm until I caught myself and exhaled. “If I’d wanted that, I would’ve tried a lot harder.”

  “So, you don’t want that?”

  “Bloody hell, woman, am I not a flesh-and-blood man with a pulse and a cock?”

  “I�
��d say so, judging from some of those YouTube comments I read onl—” She broke off, but it was too late.

  I grinned. “You read up on me. You looked at the videos and checked out what was being said.”

  “It’s just business. I was hired to take photos,” she said quickly. “Just for work.”

  “Oh, so you normally look to see what’s being said about your subjects after you take their photos? Seems like a lot of effort, but I’m sure your employer appreciates that you go the extra mile.”

  “I don’t have an employer. Oh, God, get out of here, will you?”

  I planted my feet. “But we were having such a nice chat—”

  “Ian,” she warned. “Time to go.”

  When I didn’t move, she shoved me bodily across her flat with those surprisingly strong hands of hers. I could have stood my ground, but she laughed when I gave the slightest resistance. She was still laughing as she pushed me into the loo and pulled the door shut.

  I grinned as I unzipped. Damn if I didn’t like that woman.

  More than I’d ever expected.

  I hadn’t expected any of this.

  Eight

  “Your stop, pal.”

  I pushed the sunglasses up on my head as I looked out the window at Ripper Records, looming over the car in the darkness. Even without being able to see the rest of the buildings at the complex from here, this one seemed gigantic.

  Quite a lot for a poor London boy to take in, even on a second viewing.

  And this was about to be my record company. I hoped.

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s twenty.” The driver looked back at me as I reached for the door handle.

  Oh. Right. I wasn’t riding around in limos quite yet. But my plan to have someone at Ripper Records pay for my Uber was thwarted by the fact the receptionist’s desk wasn’t being manned by anyone at this fair hour.

  “Look, mate, let me just call my—” Manager? Not yet. Friend? Certainly not. Acquaintance? Hmm. “Associate, and she’ll bring down the fare.”

  “You can’t pay twenty bucks?” The guy snorted. “Though in that outfit, I can’t say I’m surprised. But the accent explains a lot.”