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

by Cari Quinn

  “I’d say the sun is screaming into your studio right now. Unless you pulled your shutters.”

  I flipped off my heels I’d worn for Ginny. Sunlight striped over my legs from my large windows. “No, I haven’t.”

  “Where are you?”

  “On the floor.”

  He shifted on the bed. “Why?”

  “Trying a different perspective.”

  “Is that right?”

  I trailed my fingers over my neck. It was close enough to the truth that I went with it. “I’m looking at you on my wall.”

  “Now it gets interesting.”

  My lips slid into a slow smile. I could never seem to hold on to my anger for long around him. I liked to think I was above being charmed, but I wasn’t so sure. “From the first time I saw you. When you stole Matilda.”

  “Ah, I remember. You stole my thunder, dear Magic. You in your cute little denims and slouchy hat hiding all that fascinating hair.”

  “It gets in the way.”

  “Don’t cut it.”

  “It’s easier to put it up.”

  “Good.”

  “Ian?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  “Ah, but you like it sometimes. I remember a sunshine-filled morning where you listened.”

  My skin heated, not just where the sunshine hit, but everywhere. A flush that made everything seem hypersensitive. “Aberration.”

  “I don’t think so. I think you like it when I make you feel something more.”

  “You have a high regard for yourself.”

  “Not really. But I do love to make you feel good.”

  A little rush of sadness permeated the buzz. It wasn’t the first time he’d told me he wasn’t worthy. “You do. Too good.”

  “Is there such a thing?”

  “When you distract me from my work? Yeah.”

  “Maybe you just need to let me inside. Fighting it is the distraction, not me.”

  I didn’t have anything to say to that one. Perhaps just a little too close to the truth and the crux of my problem.

  “I miss you.” His voice was a purr with that little touch of Britain.

  Dammit, how was I supposed to combat this? When I so badly wanted everything he was offering.

  “I miss your skin. It’s the softest thing I’ve ever felt in my life. All that ocean sticking to me after I touch you.”

  My fingers trailed down my neck to the deep vee of my wrap dress. Memories of him peeking under my shirt to taste and to tease slammed into his soft voice.

  “I wake up with the ghost of it on my tongue, buzzing along my fingertips.”

  I dragged in a hiccuping breath.

  “Are you touching yourself, Magic?”

  “No.”

  “I believe you’re lying.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “What are you wearing?”

  “A dress.”

  “A dress? That doesn’t seem like you.”

  “I had a meeting with my advisor.”

  “Ah, is that the reason for the heat before?”

  “No. That was because of the call from your manager. She’s a pushy sort.”

  “That’s the truth. She’s a damn barracuda in stilettos.”

  “Noticed the stilettos?”

  “Whenever that whisper of jealousy slides into your voice, it makes me hard.”

  “Shut up.”

  “That you care enough to sharpen your talons is incredibly hot.”

  I hated that I cared. But he was disgustingly attractive, and I knew firsthand how people reacted to him. “Fuck you.”

  “Ah, Zoe. I wish. But if you come with me this weekend, I’ll fuck you everywhere.”

  I swallowed. I wasn’t sure if that meant physically or geographically. I wasn’t sure I was ready to ask.

  “But for now, I’ll have to settle for your strong fingers doing the job for me.”

  “Or my vibrator. Did the job well enough before you.”

  “No. Nothing except my dick inside you. Your fingers are bad enough. Because it should be me and only me.”

  I dragged in a sharp breath. That remark should incite rage; instead, it was nothing but edgy need pulsing between my thighs. “Afraid it would replace you?”

  The devil lived inside me when it came to him. I wanted to know his answer.

  “It couldn’t make you scream like I can. Make your thighs shake so bad that I have to hold myself steady to thrust inside your tight little pussy.”

  My fingers slid to my breast and I hissed out a breath at how sensitive my nipple was. I could barely touch them sometimes. Ian made it ten times worse.

  “You remember that, don’t you?”

  “Might have to remind me.”

  “You’re a naughty bird. My favorite kind. What color is your dress?”

  “Green.”

  “Nothing but royal colors for my girl. Is it silky?”

  “Soft cotton with a little silk cami.”

  “Cami? Is that one of those little slips women wear?”

  “More like a silky tank top.”

  “No bra? Those sensitive breasts are free?”

  “Since I’m lying on my back, that’s an accurate statement.”

  His laugh was deep. “They’re perfect to me. I didn’t get to worship them nearly enough. I’ll rectify that tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Well, it is Friday.”

  “I thought you said the weekend.”

  “Holiday weekend, as I’ve been advised. Monterey.”

  I’d been to Monterey a few times. It wasn’t exactly what I pictured for a rockstar on the rise. “Are you wearing a suit?”

  “Now? Birthday suit, maybe.”

  I laughed. “No, for the show. Kinda a swanky part of town.”

  “Ah. It’s a winery. So I guess, yeah, I’ll be wearing a bit of finery. Some big party with a few different blokes. I don’t want to talk about that. Can we go back to your pretty breasts?”

  “Do carry on.”

  “Much better. Think I can make you come just from touching them? You said they’re sensitive.”

  “You remember that?”

  “I remember everything, Magic.”

  I blew out a slow breath. “I don’t know. They’re usually too sensitive for me to try.”

  “Then we’ll be gentle.”

  “What if I don’t want gentle?” The bravado surprised me. I’d had boyfriends before, but nothing prepared me for Ian.

  “What if you need it? What if I do?”

  I swallowed down the sudden lump. “All right, we can try it.”

  “Does your dress have a tie or something?”

  I toyed with the strings. “Yes, it’s a wrap dress.”

  “Loosen it until it slides open. What color is the little cami?”

  I glanced down at the silk over my jutting nipples. “Sterling gray.”

  “Like the roses?”

  Surprised, I let out a laugh. “Ten points.”

  “Icy against your sweetly rosy skin. And your purple-tinged hair.”

  “Notice details, huh?”

  “When it’s important. How tight are your nipples? Enough to push against that silk?”

  I sighed. “Yes.”

  “Start over the silk. Tug them a little, just until that sweet little bite makes you— God, yes, that sound.”

  I groaned. “I’m not sure I can do this.”

  “You can. Just a soft brush of your thumb, maybe a gentle pull after you circle them a few times. If I was there, I’d blow on them to soothe you.”

  “Not sure that’s what would happen.”

  “My mouth would help. They’d be so tight on my tongue. Makes me want to suck on them harder. When you moan, it makes me crazy.”

  “God, Ian.” I plucked at one, then the other, and arched off the floor. What was it about him that made me go over so fast?

  “See, that moan… I bet you’re soaked.”

&nb
sp; I slid my fingers away from my nipple and slid lower to my belly. “Want me to check?”

  “No.”

  I paused. “No?”

  “Not yet. I want you so wound up that the minute you touch your clit, you go over.”

  “I’m there.”

  “No, you’re not, but you will be. Put me on speaker. You need both hands. Put me right between those sweet tits.”

  I’d never had a guy talk to me like that, but with his accent, it seemed more of a colloquialism than him being crude. My fingers shook a little as I tapped the speaker button. “Can you hear me?”

  “Oh, yeah. Now cup both of your breasts. Are the tips hard in your palms?”

  “Yes.” They felt heavy and full and seemed to have a direct link to the heat between my legs.

  “I wish it was my mouth, but for now just tweak them a little.”

  I groaned. “Too sensitive.”

  “Push past the sensitivity to the pleasure, love.”

  I almost snapped at him not to call me that, but the way his voice rumbled around the word, I knew it was for me. Not just him talking to a random hookup. I closed my eyes and parted my legs a little to stop the pressure. At least somewhere I could control the ache.

  The silk caught on my abused hands. I plucked at my nipples and my hips lifted, unseating the phone. It slid down next to me, but his voice was still loud and clear as he told me what to do. How much pressure to exert.

  The noises coming from my mouth were nearly feral.

  “Fuck. You’re so close, aren’t you?”

  My back arched off the floor. “Yes! God, Ian, I can’t.”

  “Yes, now lift your silky top. Skin on skin. Those little calluses on your beautiful, strong fingers. Use them.”

  No one called my hands beautiful. They were artist’s hands. Rough and scarred, often stained, but right then, I believed it. Believed him. I was so close I’d believe anything. And yes, he was right.

  “Slide one hand into your pants.”

  “What? I’m not wearing pants.”

  He groaned. “Panties. Knickers—I don’t fucking care what you call them. Touch that throbbing clit.”

  And I did.

  His name was a scream as I came up off the floor and curled to my side, clamping around my own hand, desperately wishing it was him. I couldn’t hear him around the roar of my own heartbeat between my ears.

  But I tasted tears as I tried to come out of the release. It held me under like an undertow. His voice edged into my subconscious. I was still curled on my side, the phone stuck to my belly.

  “Zoe?”

  I fumbled with the phone, taking him off speaker and tucking the cell under my ear. “Here. I’m here.”

  “Fuck, I wish I was there. I heard you and fuck, I came too. You sounded so bloody beautiful.”

  I let out a shaky laugh. “I thought I was dying.”

  “Jesus. You’re fucking evil.”

  “Yeah, maybe a little.” His voice was exasperated and husky. I couldn’t stop smiling. “I’ve never done that before.”

  “Phone sex?”

  “Yeah. Now I feel all corny.”

  “Well, you sure as shit didn’t sound corny. Coming your bloody brains out, and I was just a voice. My cock is still a fucking pike over here. I could fuck you for days.”

  “We’ll prove that theory tomorrow.”

  “That is a true statement, Magic.”

  I rolled up to a seated position and I stretched with a low groan. “Should have climbed in my bed though. Floor was a little rough.”

  He groaned. “Did I mention you were killing me?”

  “Maybe a little.” I stared up at him on the wall. Okay, so it was his boot, but it was him. “I gotta work.”

  “What? You’re going to leave me just like that?”

  I laughed. “I just figured out what one of my paintings needed. I gotta go fix it.”

  “You’re a cruel, cruel woman.”

  “What time are you coming for me tomorrow?”

  “Well, if you want to be particular, I just came for you about five seconds ago.”

  “Perv.”

  “I need another shower. Maybe even to jack off again. I should have recorded that orgasm for the lonely nights. Then again, it would probably send me insane.”

  I let out a startled laugh. “You say the weirdest shit.”

  “Yeah, well, you make me nuts.”

  “What do I need to pack?” I shrugged out of my dress and grabbed one of my smocks.

  “You and whatever gear you need to do the job for Sabrina. Oh, and maybe clothes. Though I do prefer you in just one of those painting shirts you like to wear.”

  “Do you have a camera here?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Funny.” I shook my head and dumped my dress in my hamper in my bathroom. “I just put one on.”

  “You’re really working?”

  “Damn right I am. Since someone is taking me away from my studio for a weekend, I need to finish this.”

  “She-devil. You used me for my voice and now it’s see ya, thanks for the orgasm.”

  “Correct.”

  He sighed. “It’s a bit of a drive, so probably around seven.”

  I sighed. “Okay. I’ll be ready.”

  “How am I supposed to sleep now? I’m all wired. Don’t you want to help a guy out?”

  “Sorry. I’m done with you, sir.”

  “Ouch.” But he was laughing. “Happy working, Zoe. Dream of me.”

  He hung up and I couldn’t stop smiling at my phone.

  I opened the top three buttons on my smock. I raised my phone and adjusted the smock off my shoulder enough so he could see the shadow of my nipple through the cami. I made an exaggerated kissy face and snapped a picture.

  Before I could chicken out, I sent it through with a text.

  Only if you dream of me first.

  Twenty-One

  Rushing around my studio seemed to be the natural state of affairs for me lately. Since I actually had to take pictures that could be used by more than me as an artistic endeavor, I unearthed my SLR and a few lenses. The rest of my gear was already together since I didn’t use it that much.

  I really did prefer the Polaroids. So much that I packed Lucy as well as one of my backups, Dino. I added a shit ton of cartridges to my bag. Enough that I had to work at the zipper and prayed it wouldn’t bust open.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket just as Ian walked in the door.

  “Dude, seriously?”

  “What? I texted.” He closed the door.

  “You broke in again.” I shouldn’t be surprised. He’d found a way in my building without me letting him in since the start of…whatever this was between us.

  “Well, it’s not really breaking in when I know the code now, right?”

  I dragged my camera bag off my bed. “Felon.”

  “Your felon.” He crossed to me and hooked his arm around my waist. He seemed off. Like something was weighing on him. When he lowered his mouth to mine, I had a flash of his woodsmoke scent. This time it was laced with actual cigarettes, but his mouth was minty fresh.

  I went up on my toes to get closer to him, my breasts crushed to his hard chest. I sank my fingers into all that glorious hair. It was still damp from his shower and the curls slipped around my wrists and over my forearms. I boosted myself up to wrap my legs around his waist.

  He gripped my ass and groaned into my mouth. There he was. The teasing sparkle glinted in his stormy eyes. “Did you dream of me?”

  I leaned back enough to get a good look at him. Fresh-faced—almost. Ian would never be as objectively pretty as his brother. His features were a little sharper. Especially his jawline, which I was obsessed with painting lately. I shook my head. “Too busy working.”

  “You really did work last night?”

  I looked over my shoulder at the painting on the wall. “All night.”

  He grinned down at me, then glanced up at the board. “Jesu
s.”

  I nibbled on my lip. “Is that a good or bad curse?”

  His eyebrows were furrowed. “Is that how you saw my stage? That night, I mean?”

  I shrugged. “I’ve taken some creative license at this point, but yeah.” I hopped down and shoved my hands into my pockets. When he didn’t say anything for a full minute, I cleared my throat. “It’s just my point of view, Ian.”

  “It’s amazing.”

  The awe in his voice startled me. I didn’t really let him see too much of my work. He’d had his mouth all over my body, but this felt even more intimate. Like my soul was up there on display. It wasn’t me in the painting, and yet—there I was.

  I’d added grasping hands from the dark crowd along the bottom of the board and more detail on his Chelsea boot. The lights from the high-end receivers along the back of the stage were shadowed, and the lights from the switches glowed out like lighter points. Everything was centered on the janky microphone stand and Ian’s beyond-battered boot.

  “I don’t know how you do that.”

  “I don’t know how you build a song. Just a different gift, I guess.”

  He stepped in front of me and cupped my face. The kiss rocked me back a step. I gripped the soft cotton Henley he was wearing in deference to the cool early morning. I dug my fingers beneath the material, suddenly needing his skin under my hands.

  I’d worked well into the night, but the painting hadn’t required an additional twelve hours of work from when I talked to him yesterday. I did dream of him, though I was loath to admit it. Wild flashes of concerts with his voice chasing me under the cover of darkness. I rarely had a soundtrack in my subconscious. My head was too full of color to have room for it.

  But Ian was drenched in color and music for me.

  “Do we have time?” I mumbled against his mouth.

  “No.”

  I grinned against his lips. “Are we making time anyway?”

  He scooped me up. “Yes.”

  I gripped his shoulder with a frown. He seemed a little more angular. The hollows of his cheeks more pronounced. There were a few new strain lines around his eyes since the last time I’d seen him. “Is that Sabrina chick working you too hard?”

  He strode over to my bed. “Worried about me, Magic?”

  “I suppose someone has to.”

  His mouth tipped up at one corner. “You sound like you care.”

  I turned his cheek to lock our gazes. “I do. I hope you know that.”