by Brie Kraus
Table of Contents
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
About the Author
More By Brie Kraus
I Hate You
Rock-Stars
Brie Kraus
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. To the extent any real names of individuals, locations, or organizations are included in the book, they are used fictitiously and not intended to be taken otherwise.
Copyright © 2014 Brie Kraus
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher and author constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the copyright holder or publisher. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
Chapter 1
Amanda "Emma" Corzeica has never been very good at hiding.
When she and a group of girls would sneak from boarding school in Connecticut every few months to reach guys at a bonfire, she was always the first to get caught. When everyone has had a rebellious phase and all the girls stole happiness gloss (cherry bomb flavor) ran first when a security guard approached.
Which is why you will understand that her current life on the run makes little sense, as this time it wouldn’t be a security guard tracking her, but about 50 SWAT guys; okay maybe that was an exaggeration but not much of one!
The point was, Emma was on the run, and at any second she was expecting the tackle.
“Checking in Miss?” came the polite question from the impossibly pretty girl at the reception desk.
“Yes please. Amanda…uh, Black.” No point making it easier for her father to find her.
The girl typed at her keyboard, watching the monitor before she stopped, her eyes widening. “Um, we were told to expect an Amanda, daughter of the owner?”
“That’s me.” Emma said without pausing, thank God for Amanda, her friend from her last summer abroad whose father owned the hotel.
“Welcome to The Ritz,” cooed the receptionist. “We have you in the Penthouse Suite and if you need anything please let us know Miss Black.”
“Thank you.” Emma smiled.
Emma didn’t have any bags; she’d been in way too much of a hurry getting out of the country to think about that. She’d come to London for three reasons: they spoke English; her father would never expect her to come here because Emma was notorious for despising cold weather; and it was 4000 miles away from where she had been—trapped in New York about to be literally dragged down the aisle at 18.
You’d think that the 21st century meant that arranged marriages had gone the way of corsets and slavery, and died in the 1800s, but no, not in the Corzeica family, not when it meant losing an alliance with someone as powerful as Luke.
Emma walked into the posh penthouse (the size of two luxury, New York apartments put together) with its purple drapery, embroidered with a gold, floral design. The furniture matched the old world charm of the hotel, but possessed the modern gadgets that millionaires could not live without, along with a television in one of the bedrooms tuned into the Disney channel for their children.
The bathroom almost made her cry with joy with its ornate, clawed foot bathtub, which Emma knew would be able to convince her that she never had to run from everything she knew and loved, or the fact that 12 hours on a plane had left her hair looking like a giant bird’s nest. Just as the warm water started to run, Emma realized that her haste to leave the country meant that she didn’t have anything with her, not even a change of underwear. The idea of having to get back into her old clothes when she just wanted to curl up in fluffy pajamas made her want to hurl.
Emma decided that a quick trip to a Bloomingdales equivalent was in order; but just as she’d grabbed her keys and shoved her boots back on her phone buzzed.
She looked at the screen, and the words “The Devil calling”.
Emma groaned; “What do you want Luke?”
“You seemed to have missed something dear.” His icy voice outmatched the turmoil of a blizzard..
“Really, what did I miss?”
“Our Wedding! Did you honestly think you could get away with running?! I’ve sent men to your house. We will be getting married today.”
“Well you’re not going to find me at the house, or anywhere else for that matter! I will never marry you!”
Emma thought of how she’d rather marry, make out and have sex with the sidewalk than marry Luke.
A stream of aggressive profanities poured from the receiver, so loud that one could hear it from the other side of the room; she pulled the phone away from her ear and hung up. Shithead.
That’s it; she really needed to get out of the hotel room now. Her hands shook as she shoved her phone in her jeans and headed for the door, slamming it behind her as she turned to lock it, but dropped her keys instead.
“Shit!” Her phone buzzed in her pocket. “Shit!” she repeated, clicking ignore.
“Ahem,” a voice cleared next to her.
“What!” Emma whipped around, expecting to be met with the glare of some prude, old lady, but, to her surprise, saw a man, in his mid-twenties with shoulder length, black hair flicking his face as his muscular—and very tanned—arm pushed a door open, about to enter the room next to hers.
Emma’s jaw dropped as she recognized his face. He was a rock star; and a damn good one. But that wasn’t the reason that he was worshipped all over the world by thirteen-year-olds and stay at home mothers; they loved him because his sexy physique.
He stared at her as though she had just threatened to set him on fire.
“What?” Emma repeated, forgetting to add politeness to her voice.
He smiled at her and took a determined step in her direction when, suddenly, a high pitched tidal wave of screams, followed by 15 girls in t-shirts with his face plastered on them, charged from around the corner.
Emma only had time to say a terrified “Oh my god!” before she was engulfed by the mob of fans and crushed to the ground.
A single thought filled her mind: I hate rock-stars!
Chapter 2
Emma was sure she was going to die.
She felt like her ears were bleeding with the shrieks that filled the hallway; as she pushed hard against the wall she felt all the air crushed out of her. She struggled, wheezing for breath; two very strong, tiny fists closed around the lapels of her jacket and pulled her up, holding her so that her feet dangled several inches from the red, carpeted floor.
The flushed, freckled face in front of her grinned, displaying the bands on the girl’s braces twanging together as she looked a Emma, hyperventilating from her e
xcitement. Her strong, sweet perfume made Emma nauseas.
“It’s him! It’s him! Oh. My. God. It’s him!” the girl wheezed.
Emma feared for her life.
If this was what happened to her, an innocent bystander, Emma feared gravely for what became of—oh shit! She couldn’t recall his name. How pathetic was it that she was going to be crushed to death for some famous rock star whose name she didn’t even remember.
Just then the freckle-faced girl dropped Emma on her knees and flung herself back into the mob just as the hotel rushed in from every direction, herding the screaming girls out with pinpoint precision, as though they had done this before.
Emma groaned. Well she survived, but she wasn’t sure she would want to if this was a regular occurrence in this hallway. Stupid rock-stars.
Emma remained on her hands and knees, catching her breath when two feet clomped across the floor, now littered with hair bands, and even a couple of pairs of underwear, stopped in front of her.
“Are you alright?” asked a deep voice, with a subtle bit of huskiness that made women go weak at the knees.
He should have tried his charms on another as Emma refused to fall for it—she was pissed off! “No, I am not alright!” she screamed, glaring at him. “I was just assaulted by a bunch of shrieking groupies, the likes of which would give a Banshee a run for its money!”
The man chuckled.
“Just be thankful they weren’t trying to rip your clothes off.”
Emma glared at him. “You’re right, I’m lucky they only tried to beat me to death!”
“Here, let me help you up,” the man said, with laughter in his voice, as he grabbed the top of her arms and hauled her to her feet. His laughter stopped the moment he and Emma locked eyes and her heart stopped for one beat.
Gray eyes—no, silver—stared into Emma’s mundane, brown irises. She had the strangest impulse to reach out and stroke his face, to run her fingers over those high cheekbones and down to his full, and tantalizing, lips. His palms, still rested on her arms caressed her skin just a touch, causing Emma to tingle all over.
The man leaned into her and whispered “Are you a groupie?”
Emma snapped out of her trance. She pulled away from him; her furious steps echoed to the open elevator. “You wish!” she called back over her shoulder.
The man stared after her and smirked: Oh, but he really did wish.
Chapter 3
Shopping had helped. Emma had bought enough underwear to last her a few months, including one very sexy, little peach bra and panty set that managed to brighten her foul mood.
She indulged in buying almost every decent thing the sales assistant had shoved in her arms until she was well into the 5 digit mark. Emma didn’t care; her father had enough money, and was a big enough jerk, that Emma thought he deserved the bill. She thought for a moment about how a couple of days ago she had thought she had the perfect father, caring, generous and kind that he had already set her up with a wonderful, wealthy boy who would treat her right.
She almost cried at how naïve she had been.
She walked back the few blocks to the hotel with only a few of her bags, most of them (and there were a lot!) were being brought over for her when the sky overhead crackled. Emma groaned; England looked more and more like a bad choice for her escape.
Before she had time to think about getting a cab, the sky opened and rain poured down, soaking Emma in two seconds.
Oh no, she thought. She wore her new peach underwear, which showed through her white t-shirt, thus eradicating her jovial mood.
She sprinted back to the hotel, but it did little to stop her from being drenched by the time she got to her room. Emma sniffled with hot, angry tears as she took out her card to get inside.
She swiped. BEEP!
She swiped again. BEEP!
The card had gotten wet in the storm and refused to work!
Shivering, and dripping water on the floor, Emma sunk down to the carpet about to break into hysterical sobs at any moment. The thought of kicking the door open entered her mind when the one next to hers opened.
Not again, she thought.
But there he was, looking gorgeous, puzzled and dry!
Emma could have killed him.
“Are you alright?” he asked in that deep voice.
“Why do you keep asking me that?” she snapped. “No I am not alright. I am soaked to the bone, about to catch phenomena and now my stupid key won’t work!”
Emma felt a little bit like a three year old after her tantrum, but really she couldn’t help it. She didn’t know how she be even more miserable.
“Want to come inside?”
His words shocked Emma, enough so that she just stared at him. “We can call the front desk from my room and while they sort things out, you can change and put on a fluffy dressing gown.” He smiled at her, like he enjoyed himself.
Emma sighed, at any other time and she would have glared at him, but being dry seemed more important. “Okay, but no funny business.”
He chuckled as she stalked past him and into his room. It was big, and darker than hers but not quite as nice she noticed. He grabbed her bags from her and pointed to a closed door. “Bathroom’s through there, I’ll call the front desk while you get dry.”
“Um, thank you.”
Emma stripped her wet layers off, drying as she went. When she got to her little peach underwear, she let out a quick scream of horror; they were completely ruined!
Emma heard running footsteps and the door was flung open, Her rock star neighbor stood there with wide eyes.
Emma stared back at him, before following his gaze down her almost naked body.
She screamed again.
Chapter 4
Emma screamed again and flung her arms around herself, but it didn’t cover much.
She was—she was beautiful, the man thought as he forgot himself; all he could do was stare at his strange, yet gorgeous, neighbor; at her glistening, olive skin, her hair matted and wavy, and her pouting lips parted in horror as she watched him examine her.
His mouth went dry, and for the first time in a long while he forgot who he was, and that he should not be blushing. His name was Julian Brex, or Jules as most people called him, It’s not as though this sort of thing didn’t happen to him regularly; he’d seen far too many girls “accidently” turn up in their underwear around him to be phased by it anymore.
So why was he suddenly consumed by a hunger so intense he felt like he might catch fire if he didn’t kiss her?
He snapped back to reality when she grabbed her towel off of the floor and draped it over herself with a growl.
“What are you doing?” she hissed, her American accent tantalized him, but there was another accent to her voice that didn’t seem to belong:. one that made her voice honeyed and exotic.
Jules stared at her, she despite the murderous glare in her eyes. She must be a really good actress. “I heard you scream so I came to see what was wrong,” he said.
That was true. He had heard a choked off, little scream and figured that maybe she must have slipped, or something.
“Oh…well…turn around!” Her red face exemplified her crankiness, forcing Jules to turn around, an amused smile on his face.
“So why did you scream?” he asked, trying to act like he wasn’t aching to turn back around.
“My…eh…clothes are ruined from the rain.”
“Oh?” he said, not believing her.
She huffed behind him and he took it as a sign that he could turn back around. She clamped the fluffy, dark blue dressing gown around herself, still glaring at him.
“So what’s your name sweetheart?” He gave her his best smile, the one that often made girls fall to his feet. Jules was rewarded by her eyes glazing over for just a second, before they narrowed.
“Sweetheart? I don’t think so.”
Jules laughed. He was enjoyed this girl, her undisguised fury and disgust of him was, in a weird way,
refreshing. “Well if you tell me your name then I won’t have to call you sweetheart will I?”
Jules saw her grit her teeth for just a second before answering. “Emma.”
“Emma…”
“Uh…Black.”
“Nice to meet you Emma uh…Black.”
They stared at each other. Jules wondered what color her eyes were up close. From here they looked like a really dark brown, but he couldn’t be sure, they were almost—
“Well?” she demanded, sounding irritated.
“Well what?” he asked.
“Aren’t you going to tell me who you are?” She frowned at his bad manners.
Jules raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? You don’t know who I am?”
“Oh my God could you be more arrogant?”
He laughed and Emma looked at him like he was a pedophile.
“I’m sure this will come as a surprise to someone who thinks they are as wonderful as you obviously do, but except for knowing that you’re famous and I’m likely to be mauled by groupies if I go anywhere with you, I really don’t know who you are.”
Julian frowned, wow that was different. He was, almost, ashamed of himself, for the first time in a very long time.
“I’m Julian Brex, or Jules..” he said, holding out his hand.
Emma stared at it, but was saved from touching him when the doorbell sounded and the front desk announced that they had a new key for her. Emma was out the door and into the safety of her own room with only one quick glare at Jules, and an extra firm grip on her dressing gown.
Julian smiled. Everything about her from her glares, to her obvious contempt for him, told Jules that he was unwanted by Emma, making him want her all the more.