One Kiss With a Rock Star

by Amber Lin

  She groped for her phone—and then froze. Underneath her hand was a chest. A broad, slightly furry chest that rose and fell in a slow cadence she recognized from her own recent sleep. Krist was sprawled wide, arms flung out, head cocked back—and a perfect little nook where her body had been.

  No wonder she’d been so warm. He was a furnace. A sleeping furnace that had no business being in her bed, even if they did have sex yesterday morning and afternoon and last night. God, it was the best sex and the worst sex and the most—

  Her phone sat, still and dark, on the nightstand beside him.

  Her eyes narrowed. The alarm went off at five thirty every day. Every freaking day. And it wouldn’t just stop beeping and vibrating unless…

  She poked Krist. He didn’t move, so she poked him again—harder, right in the ribs.

  He grunted.

  “Krist Mellas,” she said with another poke. “Did you touch my phone?”

  He blinked. “Why are you awake?”

  “Well?”

  “It was loud.”

  Frustration boiled over. “It’s an alarm,” she bit out. “That’s kind of the point.”

  “In the middle of the night?”

  “Five thirty isn’t the middle…” She threw up her hands. “Never mind. You don’t give a shit. I’m supposedly the spoiled little princess, but at least I’d care if you had to be up for a gig—”

  “Wait. What gig?”

  “I may be a princess, but then you’re a prince. A spoiled little prince who—”

  “What gig?”

  She stopped because…well, that was for the best. Running her mouth like that, she might say something she’d regret.

  Like the truth. That she was doing this whole fake engagement thing for his benefit, to convince the press he was straight, or at least bore them to death with the newfound respectability so they found a new target.

  That elevator tape—stupid. Hot, but stupid to be caught on tape. Maddy had been on tape doing a lot of shit, but she’d meant it. That was how she knocked down the good girl KidMania image, one wild orgy limo ride at a time.

  “The morning show,” she answered instead, her anger fading. It wasn’t fair to be mad at him. He had a right to be pissy about the whole thing. It was messed up that the press even gave a shit who he fucked—or what gender that fuck buddy was. So Krist was surly and resentful, and she didn’t want to fight with him even if he had messed with her alarm.

  He looked a little more alert. “That’s not a gig. It’s a punishment.”

  She hopped out of bed, dragging the sheet with her and wrapping it around her like a towel. “Well, our punishment starts in fifteen minutes, so get your ass in gear.”

  “Shit.” He glanced at the alarm clock. “It’s not for an hour. And a half.”

  “Yeah well, that’s an hour for hair and half an hour for makeup. I guess wardrobe will just have to double up with makeup.” She raised a finger when he opened his mouth. “And before you even start with the whole ‘you’re pampered’ bullshit, let me put it this way. Unless you want to see every tabloid talking about how Madeline Fox has let herself go after shacking up with Krist Mellas, I suggest you move.”

  He wisely shut his mouth. One more glance at the alarm clock. Then he sighed. “Five minutes. Then I’ll be ready to go.”

  In a flash he’d pushed into the bathroom, fast enough that she only caught a glimpse of his bare ass—and legs and abs and cock—before he was gone. Just like that? No more scowling or fighting? She almost missed it. But they did have to hurry.

  She followed him in to find him waiting.

  He cocked his head toward the glass-walled shower. “Ladies first.”

  She stared at the large shower with its double array of sprayers. They really did have to hurry. “We could go at the same time.”

  His smile came slow and lopsided, brightening his face so much her breath caught. “I already proved that that takes longer than five minutes.”

  *

  A courtesy knock and a soft buzz preceded the invasion. A horde descended on the room. Jimmy from the video shoot—wheeling in an entire wardrobe because there weren’t enough clothes in the suite already—led the pack. They fanned out, taking over the space with brusque efficiency. A tiny woman lugging a folding chair and a rolling suitcase forced her way around them and started yanking the curtains open, turning the annoying crack of daylight into a flood. “At least the light’s not bad. I’m already on the clock, Jimmy. I don’t care when she actually shows.”

  Krist flinched, buttoning the jeans he’d barely finished tugging on before they’d rudely interrupted him. “What the fu—”

  “Relax, Linelle. We’re all professionals here.” Jimmy eyed Krist with a pointed look that left him feeling simultaneously chastised and praised. “Do not tell me she’s still in the shower.”

  Still? How about just? “Fine. I won’t.”

  Linelle snorted. An ugly sound that did not praise at all. It reminded him that he’d wrecked Maddy’s schedule with one selfish flick of his finger. A schedule that obviously spidered out into a web of schedules. Linelle didn’t spare him any more attention; she just busied herself setting up an array of potions and wands on the conference table. He’d sat for makeup so many times, but he still didn’t know what all that shit was for—a little base, a little eyeliner, some texturizing cream for his hair and he was good to go.

  He wouldn’t find out today; this circus wasn’t for him. He’d be rocking the grungy dirtbag look for this particular interview. He scanned the room for yesterday’s T-shirt. Did he peel it off out here or in the bedroom? Fuck it. Wouldn’t want people to think he’d lost his edge just because he was hooked up with Madeline Fox.

  “Hi, I’m Paige.”

  “The Paige?” He studied the cutie with freckles fanning over her nose and a tablet tucked under her arm. She thrust her hand in his direction, drawing him into a warm shake while she waved a giant travel mug away from the rack of clothes. The rich scent of chai wafted up, reminding him of the taste of Maddy’s kisses and a hunger he hadn’t yet acknowledged. An actual physical hunger that made his stomach growl. Audibly.

  Paige raised an eyebrow. “I’ve heard so much about you, Mr. Mellas. Krist? It’s a pleasure, really. I’m just going to see if she needs anything. Maybe deliver this latte to her in the shower via IV drip.”

  Jimmy interrupted her torrent of babble. “Check her mani, baby. They’ll be going tight on her hands. Gotta get that money shot.”

  Krist tried to ignore the innuendo, the images it stirred in his still-sleepy brain. Paige climbing into the shower to inspect Maddy’s…anything. Helping hands. Money shots. He cleared his throat. “I’ve heard a lot about you too.”

  He must have thrown a little too much heat into his smile, because Paige wobbled, hanging on to his hand more than shaking it. “I’m sorry; I didn’t bring anything for you. Do you have someone coming? It’s a little late to get room service.”

  Did he have someone? This was a whole new level of celebrity. Or just a different flavor. Maybe it was because they were guys. Or because they usually traveled as a group, all of them together. A built-in entourage. He felt adrift without the rest of the band.

  He did know one person who would come if he called. He’d trot in like a happy puppy with a bag of doughnuts and a coffee, pleased to be drafted. “I could call Colt…”

  “No, let me. Is this your phone?” She was already scooping his phone off the floor where he’d dropped it last night. “We’ll get you square. Coffee and carbs, right? Oh, I did bring you something.”

  “Really?” Watching her juggle his phone, her phone, a tablet and a latte was almost comical. Somehow she managed to transfer everything into one hand and wriggle her fingers into the bag slung over her shoulder.

  “I’ll let you give this to her. Preferably on your knees.”

  The ring nearly blinded him.

  Chapter Eight

  When Maddy emerged, towel tuc
ked under her arms, the suite was barely recognizable. A horde of stylists, makeup artists, and other strangers had invaded, and she found herself missing the quiet. Krist had done that, even if he hadn’t meant it as a gift. Turning off her alarm—where did he get the nerve? But she didn’t regret it, not the extra hour of sleep or the strange intimacy of him fiddling with her phone. The stylists would pinch a little harder and artists would poke a little faster, but in the end, she would be ready for the camera.

  She was always fucking ready for the camera.

  Paige appeared in front of her with a chai latte and an unnerving twinkle in her eye. “Good morning.”

  Suspicion rose up. Her new little assistant was up to something. Considering the secrets the girl already knew about her, that spelled trouble.

  Maddy fortified herself with a sip of chai. “Did you get the prep from the morning show?”

  Paige nodded, checking her clipboard. “They want to talk about the engagement. Ward got them to agree to ask two questions about your upcoming album.”

  Two? Her agent was a miracle worker. “And?”

  A blush rose in Paige’s cheeks. “They get to ask about sex.”

  “Fabulous.” They couldn’t even get the word sex past the censors, but they were going to ask her about it. How would they phrase it? So, Madeline, what’s Krist Mellas like when the lights go down? How does he compare to the other rockers you’ve been linked with? Morning shows were puritanical contradiction—full of censure while they smiled, lining up outside the windows to watch her put into the stocks.

  “Ward left a few sample answers.”

  Maddy raised her eyebrows. “This should be interesting.”

  “She says laugh first. Look down. Then say, ‘Krist and I appreciate our privacy, but I will tell you one secret. He’s actually a total sweetheart.’”

  Maddy burst out laughing. God, Krist would die if she said that on seminational television. She would probably die too. At the very least, her nose would grow five feet long at the lie. Krist was not sweet. Harsh and hot and salty, yes. Plus—appreciate our privacy? They had no privacy, this morning’s interlude notwithstanding. The whole point of this charade was not to have privacy.

  “I’ll figure something out,” she told her assistant before crossing the room.

  “Glad you decided to show up before your hair dried like that,” her hairdresser said.

  “Oh, I’m sure even then you could fix it.” Especially for what she got paid for a blowout. The woman could produce big, sexy curls that had to be seen to be believed, which was why both her high fee and high attitude were tolerated. Maddy hopped into the folding chair facing the room and tried not to wince as Linelle attacked her hair with a wet brush.

  And then the vroom of the hair dryer filled her ears, blanketing the room in white noise. Maddy enjoyed these times, enjoyed watching the people in her life move around with the volume turned down. It was times like these she noticed the way her choreographer watched her agent when he thought no one was looking.

  Some new kid appeared at the door with a massive coffee cup, which he handed off to Krist. So the big bad loner had an assistant too. Interesting. She imagined the boy—who was really a man, taller than Krist if more gangly and uncertain—helping Krist the way Paige had helped her a few nights ago. Lending a hand. It was what good assistants did. She felt her mouth tug into a sly smile. Because oh, the way this boy’s gaze shot straight to Paige, even as she bustled right by him. Could Maddy play matchmaker? That sounded fun. And godlike, which was part of the appeal.

  Across the room, Krist met her gaze. There was something in his eyes too, knowing and dangerous like Paige had been. Were they plotting together? Dangerouser and dangerouser.

  Then Maddy’s view was blocked by two makeup artists. Someone was holding up outfits for her, and really they were all ridiculous—and it went on and on. The locusts in the room swarmed around her, making a wall so she couldn’t hear or see anything else. She caught only a glimpse of Krist with his head lowered, speaking to his boy wonder. Only a glimpse of Paige checking out Krist’s ass in those jeans. Aha, so the girl liked dudes. That was a start.

  Enough of a start that Maddy leaned back, satisfied. Krist and Paige may have something up their sleeves, but so did she. And they had no idea what would hit them.

  The primping and prodding grew manic as the minutes turned into an hour and then leaned toward two.

  Paige stepped into view. “We have to go now. Ready?”

  “Always.”

  Krist appeared behind her. “The limo’s downstairs.”

  Damn, they were definitely conspiring. Her nerves wavered for one dark, rare moment. What if it was actually awful, whatever they had planned? And the morning show…They get to ask about sex. In front of the world. In front of Krist. She’d choke on a lie, but she wasn’t allowed to tell the truth—and wasn’t that the story of her life?

  A second later she wore a blinding smile. Under control again, she stood on three-inch heels and flipped her hair back. She was a performer—always ready for the camera. Born for the camera, so it was a good thing the camera was already there, ready and waiting. Otherwise, she’d have no reason to smile.

  *

  “I think we should ride solo. They can follow us in a cab,” Maddy said.

  They meaning the assistants? What was the point of having assistants if he and Maddy were just going to leave them behind? Krist stumbled as he tried to figure out what he did and did not need to run with the Maddy Machine.

  Maddy looped her arm through his and nudged him to usher her toward the limo. All he needed was her.

  Krist dipped his head to ask her a question. “Do they even know—”

  “Paige has everything on her tablet. C’mon, settle me in.” She spoke into his shoulder as they walked, turning her body into his and dipping her head so the shimmering waves that had taken an hour and a half to acquire shaded her face. He realized, as the cameras flashed, that she was giving them exactly what they wanted. They wanted to see her hiding, reluctant, caught in what they imagined was a private moment. “Take my elbow, lean down.”

  She choreographed their exit, resting her palm on his forearm to steady herself before sliding onto the leather seat. The open limo door framed the picture perfectly, her smooth leg exposed as the rest of her melted into shadow, her right hand caressing the seat. And then she crossed her left arm over her body, turning back toward the crowd on the street; arm extended, palm up, index finger crooked, she beckoned.

  He recognized it for what it was, a signature move.

  “Where’s the ring, Madeline?”

  “Show us the ring.”

  Damn. Of course they wanted to see the ring. And he hadn’t given it to her yet. It sat heavy in his pocket, a tiny symbol of his failure burning against his hip. He could imagine the headlines: Krist Wouldn’t Put a Ring on It or Will He Say “I Don’t”? The rumors of their engagement were swirling, but one gust of wind could send them in the wrong direction.

  His heart thumped heavy in his chest. To think he’d been embarrassed to give it to her in front of the stylists and now he was considering proposing in front of the paparazzi. It made a sick kind of sense. The whole engagement was a scam; might as well turn every milestone into a spectacle.

  He turned to the crowd behind him, and he could feel the tension ratchet up. A collective flinch. He couldn’t blame them; enough angry bastards had turned on them in the street.

  He smiled. “You guys are killing my game.”

  “What game?”

  “You leading her on?”

  “Would I be hopping into a limo at the ass crack of dawn if I weren’t all in?”

  “Dawn? It’s ten o’clock in the morning. McDonalds isn’t even serving breakfast.”

  Krist let his sunglasses slide down the bridge of his nose and found the smart-ass in the throng. “We stay up late.”

  “You keeping Madeline up past her bedtime?”

  “How is she
?”

  “Better than Lock?”

  And the tide shifted that quickly. He didn’t take the bait, because that’s exactly what it was. What all the banter was. Bait. Rile him up; get him to say things he wouldn’t otherwise say. No. He smiled wider—maybe he could smile so big it would swallow him up—and turned back to Maddy. “C’mere, princess.”

  He reached in and pulled her to the edge of the bench seat, framing a picture of his own, one where Maddy was perched, legs spread, and him on his knees between them blocking the photographers from a different kind of money shot.

  At least the curb was clean. He doubted he had time for a wardrobe change before the morning show.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered through her own blazing smile, moving her lips as little as possible.

  “Giving them something to talk about.” He slipped the ring from his pocket and held it up for her inspection in an exaggerated gesture. “Want to?”

  Her eyes filled with tears. God, she was a good actress. And her fingers trembled as she took the ring. “Yes.”

  The crowd outside the limo cheered, but it wasn’t louder than the roaring in his ears as Maddy slipped on the sparkling band. What had he just asked? What had she agreed to? They lived in a world where contracts were spelled out to the microclause, terms were negotiated to the fraction of a percentage. Want to? Want to what?

  He shook his head. It was all pretend. They both knew the actual terms.

  She grabbed him by his shirt front and pulled him into a scorching kiss. Another exaggerated gesture, all lips and no teeth. And then the tide shifted with a flick of a tongue, the brush of a fingertip over bare flesh, and he was shoving her into the depths of the limo, crawling up her body, rucking her skirt and tangling her hair, until they were horizontal on the backseat. The catcalls melted into a dull rumble as the driver slammed the door behind them.

  Maddy gasped into his mouth. “They’ll be talking about that little flash for years.”

  “Wasn’t that the point?”