Resurrection_a ROCK SOLID romance

by Karina Bliss

“I haven’t been.”

  “Let’s get it off now if you’re having trouble.”

  Gloria, you can’t guess my troubles. She felt violated, shamed, sick. She forced herself to start cleaning up her mess and Loretta shooed her away. “Go on and take a seat at one of the basins, I’ll do that for you.”

  “Thank you.” Her skin crawled at the thought of touching that magazine again. A minute later, Gloria was expertly removing the foils.

  “It’s looking good, honey, no pinkness on your scalp, no hair damage.” Picking up a shower nozzle, she sluiced warm water through Lily’s hair. “Temperature too hot?”

  “No, it’s fine.” If only Gloria could wash away memories at the same time.

  She’d dated Travis solely to hurt Zander, knowing Travis was using her for the same purpose. But Zander hadn’t been jealous; he’d simply worried for her. “I deserve whatever punishment you want to mete out, but don’t ruin your life in the process of teaching me a lesson.”

  The only person she’d traumatized was herself, even before the tape surfaced as some kind of karmic punishment. I let myself down so badly.

  “I’ll double the conditioner, just to be sure.”

  “Thank you.” Magic fingers massaged her scalp and the touch brought unexpected tears to her eyes. I will not cry, I will not—

  “Is that hurting?”

  “No, it’s wonderful.” She wanted to believe her years as Stormy were an aberration, like an illness she’d recovered from. But the woman kept returning to ruin her life.

  Gloria rinsed and towel-dried her hair. Returning Lily to her chair in front of the mirror, she combed the tangles away from her face, and picked up her scissors. “Now let’s get those ends trimmed.”

  Lily gave a perfunctory reply. The magazines had been neatly restacked on a side table with that soul-destroying cover on top. Despite staring straight ahead, she could see it out of the corner of her eye, the pink fleshy tones of her nakedness and the screaming sub-heading. “And is this the dumbest woman?”

  Lowering her chin, she stared at the pretty sandals forced on her by Dimity, who was encouraging her to restyle. She’d even painted her nails last night, a silvery gold.

  Fool’s Gold. She’d gotten complacent after facing down Toby James and she shouldn’t have. This scandal will never truly go away. Travis sneered at her from the cover. He wore too much aftershave; she wanted to gag recalling the lemony tang of it. It was no good, she couldn’t endure this a second longer. “Mind if we… Could I turn that top magazine upside down?”

  “He has freaky eyes, doesn’t he?” Gloria slotted the offending copy into the stack, before returning to trimming Lily’s damp hair. “And that sex tape stuff is…” She shuddered. “Kylie brought that magazine in, she loves entertainment gossip.”

  “Are you taking my name in vain again, Gloria?” called the young redhead who’d taken over removing rollers from the elderly woman’s curls.

  “Yes, honey, I’m saying you love the trashy mags. We’re talking about that Travis Calvert thing.”

  “Oh God…that,” a thin brunette contributed from the nail bar where she was having a manicure. “My ten-year-old saw something on Facebook and asked awkward questions.” She grimaced. “It wasn’t the birds and bees talk I wanted to have with her.”

  It took everything Lily had not to throw the cape protecting her clothes over her head.

  “It’s obvious Stormy was as high as a kite,” Kylie said with all the authority of a celebrity chaser. “Maybe he took advantage of that.”

  To them, Stormy with her enhanced assets wasn’t real, and why should they care about the feelings of a woman who wasn’t real?

  “Honey,” Gloria said dryly, “we all have choices about what we put in our mouth.”

  “And Stormy exercised all of hers,” said the thin brunette, causing the salon to erupt with laughter. Evidently emboldened by their response, she added, “My husband and I took a peep at the tape and Bill said, ‘Heck, she’s not even very good at it.’”

  Some of the women in the salon laughed, but others started looking uncomfortable.

  Lily’s anger flickered to life at the brunette’s tacit approval of her husband’s right to grade Stormy’s ‘performance.’ Wasn’t sex supposed to be for mutual pleasure?

  “How about instead of criticizing her, you ask how she came to believe that her body was the only currency she had?” Lily challenged. She’d had no role model at home, yet she’d tried to treat everyone with the respect her mother rarely offered.

  “Hey, don’t give me a hard time, I can’t be the only person who’s watched it.” The brunette put her half-painted nails on her bony hips. “C’mon ladies, ’fess up.”

  Of the eight women present, five raised their hands.

  Shock doused Lily’s flare of rebellion. Oh my God, no. The joy and camaraderie of the salon had been a mirage—there was no safe place for her.

  Gloria misread her stricken expression. “I would never watch such a disgusting thing either.” She tapped her shoulders with the scissors. “Relax these, honey. When you’re hunched it’s harder to cut straight.”

  “Why do you young people want to film yourselves having sex anyway?” the gray-haired woman asked, bewildered. “Let’s face it, no one looks good having sex except in the movies.”

  A couple of the younger clients looked at each other and giggled.

  “I can see you in the mirrors,” the old lady said with great dignity. “But if someone stole your private recordings and put them up for anyone to see, how would you feel?”

  Broken, thought Lily numbly.

  “This is different,” protested one of the teenagers she’d rebuked. “Stormy and Travis knew what they were signing up for when they became celebrities. I bet one of them leaked it.”

  “Well, I can tell you one thing.” The thin brunette inspected her finished nails, a pretty polished bronze. “When I’m looking for role models for my daughter, it won’t be a woman whose sole claim to fame is screwing rock stars.”

  Her comment received universal nods and murmurs of assent.

  Digging her nails into her palms to stop herself tearing up, Lily told herself their careless cruelty wasn’t personal. They had no idea what heartbreak had driven her choices or that she’d never seen herself as a sexual accessory, but as a good person seeking the love and acceptance she’d never been given.

  Only gradually did she realize the salon had fallen silent and everyone was staring at the door. Turning her head, she saw Moss looming in the doorway. He’d cleaned up after his workout and wore faded jeans and a T-shirt that accentuated every blood-pumped muscle. He’d tucked his hair into a black beanie—probably because it was wet—which brought the strong line of his jaw and cheekbones into sharper relief, and highlighted the red scar above his brow where the stitches had been taken out. Under the beanie, his worried river-green eyes were focused entirely on her. Clearly he’d been there a while. She swallowed a sob.

  “You here for a haircut, honey?” Gloria called.

  Moss didn’t shift his attention. “No, I’m with her.” His tone carried a fierce protectiveness. Everyone’s interested gaze swung to Lily.

  “She won’t be long. Take a seat while you—”

  A shriek split the air. Kylie hopped excitedly from one foot to the other. “Oh my gosh, I knew you looked familiar. You’re Moss McFadden. I love you. And what you said to that DJ about teenage girls…” The interview was trending everywhere. Memes had been made. “Do you mind if I get a selfie of us together?”

  Immediately he donned his professional mask, an aloof cordiality. “Sure.” The younger women thronged around him and took turns taking selfies. Through it all, Lily felt his awareness stay with her, his will holding her together.

  “Who is he?” Gloria whispered.

  “A rock star,” she said dully. “Reality show, Rage…T-Minus 6? The band is releasing its first album tomorrow.”

  Gloria’s expression brightene
d. “You think he’ll let us put these photos up in the salon?”

  “Sure.” The salon manager made short work of finishing Lily’s hair, holding up a mirror to show how cute the highlights looked from the back. Lily managed appropriate noises of approval. What did it matter what she looked like? If Gloria or any of these women knew she was Stormy Hagen they wouldn’t give her the time of day.

  It was an effort to get out of the chair. She followed Gloria to the counter and waited while she rang up the sale. “You want to make your next appointment now?”

  “I’m not sure I’ll be around much longer.” She wanted to get in her car and drive until there were no people anywhere. In another few weeks she would have saved enough money to do that.

  A large hand caught hers, warm and guitar-string callused. “Ready to go?”

  “Yes.” Lily refocused. “Thanks Gloria. It’s been…” She couldn’t finish.

  His grip on her hand tightening, Moss led her out of the salon, across the road and into the alleyway between his gym and a repo store. Not until they had privacy did he drop her hand.

  “Fuck, Lily. Don’t look like that. I can’t stand it.”

  “I’m okay,” she lied.

  “You’re not.” He pulled her into his arms. “Don’t you dare take that crap to heart,” he said roughly. “I mean it. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

  She didn’t resist his hug, didn’t return it either. “I’m okay,” she repeated. It didn’t hurt. She was past hurt. “I brought this on myself.”

  “The fuck you did.” He gave her a little shake. “The responsibility lies with the slimy bastard who stole Calvert’s cell, and Calvert for not securing it.”

  “Of course it’s my fault.” She yanked free. “I knew what Travis was,” she yelled, “and I still got so high with him that I can’t remember making it!”

  Moss’s expression darkened. “And he took advantage because he’s a lowlife who preys on the vulnerable. Take it from someone who’s been where you are, that shame is his, not yours.”

  That pierced her misery. “What happened to you?”

  He shook his head. “My point is, stop beating yourself up for going off the rails after your breakup with Zander. Stormy Hagen tried being a bad girl, it didn’t take. And now she’s herself again.”

  Lily didn’t know whether to laugh or cry that he still saw her as Stormy when she’d tried so hard to reinvent herself. “And who is that?”

  “Loving, compassionate, generous.” He delivered every word as an accusation and then seemed to realize it, because he gave a tortured laugh. “A pain in the ass.” And he kissed her.

  He was a hard man and she’d imagined his kisses would be the same. But he ambushed her with the softest of touches. Tentatively pressed his mouth to hers, tentatively made adjustments to find a fit together. It was so unexpected that Lily checked to see it was still him.

  His eyes were closed and he looked almost anguished, every muscle tightly held, except that velvet mouth. Her own lips felt different without a collagen filler.

  Sensitive, more susceptible.

  Her emotions were in turmoil and kissing him back would be insane. But she did, caught by his tenderness, captivated by the need it evoked. She hadn’t known she yearned for gentleness. As his lips coaxed hers into opening, the moment became too precious to break.

  * * *

  Moss had no idea what he was doing. There were usually so many layers between himself and the women he hooked up with. Layers of identity. Me rock star. A rough-edged snake-charmer, a taker. You rock chick. A women who wanted to get dirty with a bad boy. It wasn’t intimacy. It wasn’t anything but two animals in their prime following a biological imperative.

  Yet as Lily’s mouth softened and she opened to him, his soul stretched toward her like a bear poking its head out of a cave after a bleak winter. She tasted of something long forgotten, yet deeply missed. A future he’d thought he never wanted. He’d locked down his hunger for this woman for two years, but she was precious to a lot of people and she needed to remember that, not buy into the bullshit of strangers. He could stand to see her hurt—hurt was part of life. What he couldn’t stand was to see her beaten. Not Lily.

  Lightly, she touched her tongue to his and he was lost. How would it feel to have all of her, all her passion and sweetness, all her tenderness and courage?

  Through the high gym window he could hear the clanging of weights. In the repo store next door someone was testing out a sound system, and jazz blared and faded.

  None of it mattered. They could have been in another world.

  He changed the angle of the kiss and she made a small approving sound in her throat. It vibrated through him. An opera singer could break a glass by matching its resonant frequency; it seemed as if Lily had matched his, because his soul trembled on the verge of shattering.

  His beanie fell to the ground as she reached up and slid her fingers under it. He felt her nails digging into his scalp, sliding through his shower-damp hair. She was wearing a sundress, modestly cut, patterned in greens and blues that reminded him of the ocean. The silky material ran under his hands like water as he drew her closer. Her glasses bumped his nose. She smelled of herself and the salon’s fancy conditioners. Her hair was as softly silky as her dress.

  Someone laughed as they walked past, called their approval, and he didn’t care.

  The feel of her in his arms was both shiny new and past-lives familiar, the effect of her kiss similar to the best narcotic he’d ever tried. And that had been bad for you too…

  In his life he’d been in dozens of alleys, smoking, cowering, negotiating, fucking, and never once had they felt like a sacred space, never once had he lost awareness of his surroundings.

  It was that thought that finally kicked in his instinct for self-preservation. He didn’t do this. Strip down to naked emotion.

  Suddenly he was trapped in the kiss, wanting it and hating it at the same time.

  He didn’t want to go somewhere with her they couldn’t come back from, so he pushed what he needed away and channeled the rock star, a man who knew how to protect himself.

  * * *

  The kiss changed, became what Lily expected, raw and physical. The curveball he’d thrown with his tenderness had simply been a tool in his seduction kit. Disarm before storming the barricades. And Moss stormed really, really well.

  Winding her arms around his neck, she deepened the kiss, gifting herself these moments of sensual oblivion. She didn’t care that this was his clumsy way of offering comfort. Being desired as Lily was balm for her battered ego.

  And oh my God, this man could kiss. The contrast between the power of the shoulder muscles yielding to her touch, and the teasing, demanding way he explored her mouth, aroused the oddest of emotions in her, a power-hungry, aching, ravenous tenderness.

  There were hidden layers to his embrace that made her want more, and still more of him. That made her forget they were standing in an alley and this was a very, very dangerous thing for her to be doing. The thoughts flitted across her brain, as harmless as butterflies, and she followed them almost joyfully to the edge of the precipice, knowing she had to stop, telling herself soon, soon…

  Grabbing her hips, Moss hauled her closer, making her aware of how very male he was, before sliding his hands up over the curve of her waist. Driving him around meant she knew his scent, but close up it was intoxicating—male, in that heady, take-me, taste-me way that fired up long-dormant lust, and made her burn with it.

  She pushed her breasts against his chest with a provocative bump and became instantly, horribly aware of how much she’d relied on her implants to make her feel sexy. It doesn’t matter, she told herself and believed it until Moss’s fingers brushed the underside of her breasts and he froze.

  Still kissing her, he slid his hands down to span her ribs, and eased away slightly. Suddenly they were two bad actors stalled in an embrace, waiting for a director to call cut.

  Common sense return
ed so fast she got mental whiplash. Mortified, she broke free and adjusted her glasses. “This was a mistake.”

  “You’re right.” His undisguised relief was downright insulting. “With us working together—”

  “—it’s a bad idea,” she finished, smiling. Every contrary feminine instinct was pissed. It was okay for her to feel self-conscious about her new breasts, but not him.

  “I’m sorry.” He backed away, clearly embarrassed. “I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking.”

  “No biggie.” Ouch, pun. She bit her tongue to stop herself from adding, “It’s not you, it’s me.” Because with men, it’s always your fault. Her reassuring smile evaporated under a rush of rage so strong it felt as if it lifted the top of her head. “At least have the guts to tell the truth!”

  His gaze shied away, and he put more distance between them. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “The hell you don’t.” Anger. So much anger. “What’s wrong with real breasts, huh? Most of the body that guys used to salivate over is still there, you sizeist ass.” She though of that skinny brunette repeating her husband’s Neanderthal comment: “She’s not even very good at it.” How dare those women judge her. How dare Moss!

  “Is porn Stormy the kind of woman you want, rock star? Some stoned, drunk, dumb-ass blond who can suck you off with collagen lips and fake an orgasm? Because I’m real good at that, let me tell you.” Fierce, she tucked a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear and started shallow panting, “Ooh, yeah, baby. You’re so good, so strong and…yes, take me.” Tears of rage spilled from her eyes and she welcomed the scalding heat.

  How did the song go? Looking for love in all the wrong places. It could have been written for her. Her upbringing meant she was comfortable with chaos, sought it even, her psyche finding situations and men with whom she could reenact old hurts and then try and change the ending from horror to happy-ever-after. And she’d just done it again. Fuck all men.

  His expression through her diatribe went from astonishment to offense to a mask of impassivity. Her anger hit the bottom of the slope and ran out of momentum, until she stood tight-lipped with a narrow-eyed stare, her arms crossed over a ribcage heaving for oxygen.