Rock the Dream (Redfall Dream #1)

by B. B. Miller

  “You’re allowed to be happy. Your life shouldn’t be dictated by your job.”

  She lets out a huff. “Look who’s talking.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I raise my voice.

  “Rock star, your groupies, drinking, who knows what else. Are you telling me your life doesn’t revolve around your job?” she asks pointedly.

  “Just looping me in with all the clichés now, are you?” I bite back.

  “I’m telling you like it is. It’s what I saw that first day we met, and I don’t think I need to remind you that you’re the one who said you wanted to change.”

  “Yeah? Well, maybe I’m not the only one who needs to change.” That shuts her up quickly. It looks like she’s been slapped across the face with a reality check. I didn’t think I’d ever see her at a loss for words, and I seize the rare moment, reaching for her hand. “Look at me and tell me you don’t feel something. That you don’t feel this.”

  Her scrutinizing gaze falters, and her eyes drop to linger on the path my thumb is tracing over her wrist. “I do feel something, but . . .”

  “No buts. Don’t think.”

  “I have to think. Everything that the charity has done, it could all go away because of a mistake.” I can hear the passion in her words, but it stings to hear her say I’m a mistake.

  “A mistake? Is that what you’d think this would be? You’re allowed to have a life.”

  “Maybe it’s not with you.” Children squeal in excitement as they race around in the park, a reminder that we’re not alone, and I can almost see her guard slam back into place.

  “You’re right. Maybe it’s not, but you’re not even going to give it a chance to find out? There’s something here. I know it, and you’re lying to yourself and to me if you say there isn’t. And I’m not willing to walk away from you. I owe it to myself and to you.”

  She squints as if she’s trying to read me and extracts her hand from mine. “How does this work exactly? I mean . . . with what happens when you’re on the road? Are you going to try to tell me that the partying and groupies aren’t part of this . . . part of what comes with you?”

  “No. A lot of shit comes with me and the truth is that will be there whether I’m with someone or not. But you are able to have a relationship in this business. I know, because I had one—a serious one for a couple of years. I was committed to her, and I never cheated on her. She’s the one in the end who couldn’t keep her legs shut.”

  Her pretty mouth drops open in disbelief or shock—it’s hard to tell which. “All I’m saying is give me a chance. Give us a chance to see where this takes us. Walking away isn’t an option.”

  She pauses, her big hazel eyes searching mine. “So, we’re just going to skulk around the streets of San Francisco.”

  “Skulking gets a bad rap.” She laughs, and I brush a strand of her hair behind her ear. “There’s advantages to skulking. Back alleyways, hidden places to get lost together.” Her eyes widen. “I can promise you one thing. When I’m with you, I’m with you. There won’t be anyone else.” She opens her mouth to speak, but I cut her off. “I get that you’re scared. Hell, even without Parker and the charity in the mix, it’s a risk. But no matter what happens with us, I promise you that I’ll do the concert for him.”

  “Maybe we should talk about that before we make any other decisions.”

  She’s an expert at deflecting, but I’m all too eager to indulge her. “I thought we could bring all sorts of bands in, satellite feeds for the ones on tour.” She eyes me skeptically. “We can raise a lot of money, Abby. I know a ton of people in the industry, and most of them either owe me a favor, or would want to help. I want to treat him like a rock star. Pick him up in a limo, have a press conference. I want it to be something he’ll never forget.”

  Any trace of tension from our earlier conversation is gone from her face, and she’s practically beaming at me. “I love that you’ve thought about this, but it would take an enormous amount of work,” she says tentatively, and I know she’s testing me. It’s one thing to throw around big ideas like this; it’s quite another follow through with them.

  “I have people. A whole team of them sitting around waiting for me to give them something to do.” She grins, and I can feel our matched anticipation about the possibilities growing. “Let me do this for him. Please.”

  She’s quiet for a minute. What I wouldn’t give to be able to get inside her head. “Nadia isn’t going to like this,” she says finally.

  “I’m pretty sure her ideas had less to do with Parker and more to do with getting me into bed.” She shakes her head and grimaces. “But you know what? I don’t really want to talk about her anymore.”

  Turning away from a display window of kitschy plastic Buddhas, I watch as Abby emerges from the Golden Gate Fortune Cookie shop. There’s no shortage of places to get fortune cookies in Chinatown, but these are, hands down, the best.

  We’ve been lucky today, and I haven’t been noticed. A rarity for me. We’re navigating a very precarious line, and that’s actually fired the adrenaline of us both, not that I think she’d admit to it. There’s something raw and edgy about the day, an undercurrent sparked by electric energy and heady anticipation.

  She makes her way toward me, holding a bag high in the air like a victory flag, swaying it back and forth, beaming a smile. She has no idea what she does to me. She’s real—hardly any makeup, her hair loosely framing her beautiful face, her guard down.

  “How many did you eat before you came out of there?” I ask as she stops in front of me.

  “I reserve the right to remain silent.”

  “They are damn good. Hand them over.”

  “Nope.” This she says with a firm shake of her head. Little tease.

  “Nope? Did you just say nope?” She swallows hard, trying to bite back a laugh, her heated gaze locked to mine as I stalk toward her. The playfulness fades quickly from her eyes, morphing to something else entirely, something raw, and heated, and laced with desire.

  Her tongue darts out to sweep along her lower lip, her back hitting the exterior brick wall of one of the small shops as I tower over her. I trace along her tempting bottom lip with my thumb. “Kennedy—” Her voice is breathy, and there’s no way I’m letting her finish this lame protest.

  I cup her cheek as my lips crush down to hers with a ferocity I don’t recognize. I feel her grip my side, urging me closer, as I stoke her tongue with mine and press my torso against her soft curves. The muted activity from the street fades, and it’s just her and me, and the deepening kiss that sets my body on fire. While I’m definitely leading, she’s meeting me, answering each stroke of my tongue and sweep of my lips with her own, driving me out of my mind.

  I slide my hand around her waist, squeezing her hip and pulling her flush against me, needing more—always more. Any restraint is gone. This is pure unadulterated desperation and desire. Her fingers twist through my hair, tugging feverishly. I can’t stop the groan that vibrates through my chest as I claim her lower lip, pulling it roughly between my teeth.

  Our ragged breaths mingle as I rest my forehead to hers, and she leans back against the unforgiving wall. With her heated gaze locked to mine, I can only manage three words. “Take me home.”

  “I don’t usually do this,” she says, not for the first time. She’s trying hard to maintain her composure, but I know it’s slipping. Mine may be gone altogether as her hands shake trying to fit her key into the lock.

  “I’d never judge you, you know.” I can’t seem to stop touching her, and this time my hand skims across her lower back, feeling the rich fabric of the trench coat beneath my fingers.

  “I just don’t want you to think that I do this all the time.”

  I lean forward, sliding my arm around her waist from behind, lowering my mouth under her ear. “Do what exactly?” I breathe her in, trying to keep myself in check, knowing the clock is ticking. This fucking tour couldn’t come at a worse time. I’m due to
fly to London in the morning. The thought of leaving her makes my chest tighten. This is all moving too slow and too fast at the same time. It’s the constant dichotomy of my life.

  She lets out a soft laugh, pushing the door open, and we stumble through, my grip faltering on the fortune cookie bag, causing the baked goodness to spread across her floor. “No!” she wails dramatically. “Anything but the fortune cookies.”

  With a laugh, I shut the door, effectively closing out the rest of the world. Finally. I have her to myself. “Ten second rule.” I watch with a grin as she crouches down to rescue the cookies, placing them carefully back in the bag.

  “I think I managed to save them.” She folds the top of the bag over, offering me a nervous laugh before retreating to the direction of her kitchen. “Shit,” she mumbles under her breath, and I watch as she swipes a wine bottle from her counter, stowing it under her sink.

  Following her to the kitchen, I lean against the counter, amused at her change in demeanor. She’s usually so sure of herself, so in control. “Why are you nervous all of a sudden?”

  She turns to face me and toys with the belt on her coat. “Because it’s been a while.”

  I make my way around the counter, stopping in front of her to cup her jaw and tilt her face to mine. “Hey. I don’t care what we do. I just want to spend time with you, as long as we have. We can watch some mindless movie or listen to music. Just don’t shut me out.”

  She swallows hard. “I know you’re probably used to—”

  I place my fingers over her tempting lips. “I’m not used to anything. So stop comparing yourself to people that don’t exist.”

  She leans back slightly, trying to protest. “But . . .”

  I press my thumb against her lower lip. “I think I have a solution to these wild ideas you have about me.” She narrows her eyes at me. “Come with me to London.”

  Abigail

  “London?” I manage to squeak. “When?”

  “Our plane leaves tomorrow morning. It’s the first leg of the tour. We’re spending a week there to rehearse more before the opener. Then it’s Paris and Madrid. Oh, and I think we’re squeezing Cologne in there somewhere before we head to Australia.”

  I shake my head, relieved he removes his thumb; I can’t think straight with the taste of him on my lips. “Kennedy, I can’t just up and fly to London on a whim.” He can’t be serious, can he? “Do you have any idea what my schedule is like right now? I just got back from New York. Tess is probably having a fit right now trying to reschedule the stuff I had this afternoon that I blew off to be with you.” I feel a pang of guilt at that. It’s so unlike me. It’s small potatoes compared to abandoning everything to fly to another continent for an indeterminate period.

  “It’s not a whim,” he argues. The feel of his hands as they grip my hips and pull me against his hard frame again is almost my undoing. “You need to know I’m serious about my plans for Parker, as well as my hopes for you, and for us. The best way to do that is for you to see it with your own eyes. Come with me.”

  His voice lowers to a husky purr that reverberates inside my heart, knocking down my defenses and taking up residence. I suck in a ragged breath at the feel of his scruff brushing across my cheek. He tugs at the belt of my coat, letting out a small grunt of triumph when the stubborn fabric comes loose. Although he releases my waist to work on the buttons, he keeps contact between us by pressing his forehead to mine. In an instant, he’s slipping the coat off my shoulders and fisting the supple wool jersey of my dress.

  “I like this,” he hums softly. “It’s almost as soft as your skin.” I cling to his jacket as if I’ll collapse without it, and I’m not sure that’s far from the truth. In just a couple of hours, this man has completely rattled me. I don’t know which way is up. All afternoon, every touch of his hand against mine, every searing look has stoked the fire he lit within me with that kiss.

  That kiss.

  Never have I been kissed like that before. First in the alley, and then again outside the bakery. The exquisite blend of strength and softness, of passion and restraint, almost brought me to my knees. The nerves I felt when we walked in my apartment disappear, but my sense of propriety makes one last stand. “It’s not that I don’t want to go with you. I just—”

  “Just nothing,” he interrupts huskily, his lips brushing my cheek and sending a shiver down my spine. “You deserve a life, and I’ll keep reminding you of that.” He abruptly pushes me away from his body, but holds my waist in a firm grip.

  “Unless there’s someone else. Tell me now if there is.” He gives me a hard look. “I’ve already told you I won’t go down that road again if you’re playing both sides against the middle.”

  My heart twinges at the vulnerability lurking beneath the wariness in his eyes. It’s inconceivable to me that someone would ever cheat on him. His former girlfriend is clearly an idiot. “No! I would never do that.” I hope he hears the sincerity in my words. “There’s no one else.” I whisper before his lips claim mine again.

  My heart beats a rapid tattoo to accompany the struggle in my head. All my clear-cut ethical boundaries have become blurry. Would it really be so wrong to let myself have this? He’s said he’s serious about me and his desire to help Parker. The two things don’t need to be mutually exclusive, do they?

  I deserve a life.

  Suddenly, I don’t care about should dos or could dos. I dig my fingers into his thick hair to pull him closer and am rewarded when he lets out a guttural moan. Grabbing the collar of his jacket, I force him back a pace and peel it off him, letting it join my coat on the floor. His light sweater stretches enticingly over his chest and biceps. But my scrutiny is interrupted when he grabs my ass and lifts, forcing me to wrap my arms and legs around him. I gasp at the hardness of his erection pressed between us.

  “Are you sure?” he mutters against my lips. “I meant what I said; we can just watch crap TV or—”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Thank fuck.” He spins us and carries me out of the kitchen, not giving me a chance to change my mind. “Bedroom?”

  “Down there . . .” I wave in the direction of the hallway, but my mumble cuts off when he squeezes my ass hard. I frantically try to remember if I’d picked up at all this morning before leaving for work. It’s bad enough that my wine bottle from yesterday was still sitting out in the kitchen—I’ll die if my vibrator isn’t tucked away in its drawer. After tossing me on my bed, he pauses only to kick off his Doc Martens before he’s on me, giving me no chance to worry further.

  His lips meander from my ear to the base of my throat, driving me wild. My hands can’t decide where they want to be—I want to touch everything at once—his soft hair that curls deliciously around my fingers, his broad shoulders, and the scruff on his face. I can’t believe this is happening; that he’s here with me. That he wants to be here with me, and not some hot model somewhere. Whatever—it’s their loss.

  “I really like these boots.” He runs his hands over the buttery-soft leather, from my ankles to my knees. He toys with the zipper for a second, and then he decisively unzips one, and then the other.

  “But . . .” I’m trying not to pout as he slips each boot off and tosses them on the floor. I had delightful visions of those heels digging into his. But then his strong hands caress my feet, shins, and higher, causing a yearning moan to escape me.

  A low chuckle rumbles in his chest. “We’ll leave them on next time.” He carefully rolls my thigh highs down each of my legs in a slow, sensuous tease. Holy shit. I’m on fire with anticipation.

  When I feel his hands at the belt of my dress, I eagerly tug at his sweater to pull it off, but he gently bats my hands away. Then he leans down and kisses my confused pout.

  “Now, now, Miss Walker.” His lips brush mine. “I bet you’re one of those people who rips their presents open the minute they get them, aren’t you? No patience for the big reveal.” His husky tone, full of promise, makes me shiver. “Me, on the o
ther hand. I’m all about savoring my gifts. I like to unwrap them slowly and enjoy the build up.”

  Is he kidding me? He’s the one who was all “I want to try,” and “Come to London with me,” and now he puts on the brakes? “Seriously? You seem like more of an in-the-moment guy,” I complain, although my breathy tone ruins the snark. He huffs a laugh.

  “Not gonna lie, there’s a time and place for hard fucking.” My heart stops for a beat, and I can’t help my gasp. “But right now? All I want to do is take my time with you.”

  Dead. Honestly—how am I still breathing right now? All my snappy comebacks fail me as I lay there, gripping his hard thighs desperately and panting with eagerness, as he leisurely unties my belt and pulls open my dress, exposing my black lacy bra. “Fuck,” he groans in appreciation, drawing his fingertip across the top of each of my breasts, leaving a fiery trail in his wake.

  “See, it wasn’t all business for me in New York. You should see the other things I bought.”

  He huffs a laugh. “I want to, believe me.” He cups and massages me over the lace, making my blood race. Suddenly reaching around me, he abruptly pulls me up against his chest.

  He kisses me possessively, as if his lips are trying to brand themselves on my skin. Slipping my dress off my shoulders, he unclasps my bra and flings it across the room. My giggle dies in my throat when he drops me back down and takes my nipple in his mouth. It’s like there’s a live wire connecting it to my clit, and I arch off the mattress. His hands join in the fun, kneading and pinching. Suddenly, I don’t care about his “savor the gift” plan. I just want to feel him.

  I grab the hem of his sweater and tug hard. He gets the message and leaves his worship of my chest long enough to sit back on his heels and pull the fabric up over his head. And what I see renders me speechless.