Rock the Dream (Redfall Dream #1)

by B. B. Miller

  “Well, it’s not broken,” he proclaims, and I let out a relieved breath. “But you’ll have some bruising, as well as pain for a while.”

  “No shit,” Kennedy mutters, and I shoot him a reproachful look. “Uh, sorry, Doc,” he continues, chastened. “Thanks for coming.”

  “It’s my pleasure,” the doctor assures him. “Although you’ll have to pay attention now, if you want to be playing that thing anytime soon.” He nods toward one of Kennedy’s guitar cases sitting by the door.

  A rueful smile creeps across Kennedy’s face. “Yeah, okay. Lay it on me.”

  The doctor cracks open a cold pack from his bag and hands it to Kennedy, instructing him to keep his hand elevated and to use the ice for twenty minutes off and on for the next couple of hours. Although Kennedy refuses the doctor’s offer of a prescription painkiller, he does accept the ibuprofen. With the promise of an autograph for the doctor’s daughter once Kennedy can write again, I show the man out with our thanks.

  Returning to the living room, I ignore Kennedy’s silent plea to join him on the sofa, and instead elect to lean against the piano, facing him. We stare at each other for a beat, the uncomfortable silence growing until Tucker clears his throat.

  “I, uh, think I’m going downstairs for something to eat,” he announces, glancing between us as he pushes off from his spot against the wall. “Let me know if you need me to bring up some more ice or whatever.”

  “Thanks, Tucker. For before, too,” I say with a grateful smile. He flashes me a small smile in reply and closes the door softly behind him, leaving just Kennedy and I in the opulent suite.

  “I’m sorry—”

  “How bad does it fee—”

  We stop and smile tiredly at each other; he gestures for me to continue. “Do you think you’ll be okay in time for the next show?”

  “Sure. I’ve had worse,” he says with a snort and gives me a cheeky grin, but I can only manage a wan smile in return.

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  He pats the sofa next to him with his good hand. “Come ‘ere, please.”

  I force a brighter smile this time and walk over to sit on the ottoman in front of his knees. But he frowns and fiddles with his icepack as he observes me.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I try to assure him, but I’m not sure it’s entirely true. My nerves are still jangled from what happened; Brodie’s ugly words, the sudden violence, the blood, and especially the look on Kennedy’s face when he saw us. His expression held a disturbing combination of sheer rage and naked fear, and it struck a chord deep within me.

  “Then why won’t you sit with me?” His voice is soft, but his eyes burn with that intensity that never fails to move me.

  “Because we need to talk, and I can’t think when I’m too close to you,” I admit, looking down at my feet. I kind of hate and love that he has that effect on me, but I’d promised myself I wasn’t going to hide from my feelings anymore. I’ve done that for long enough.

  “Then don’t think.” Before I know it, he pulls me into his lap and wraps both arms around me securely. I automatically melt into his embrace, until he grunts in pain.

  “Kennedy, your hand!” I make to stand, but he gives me a warning look and grabs the fallen ice pack.

  “Don’t move and I promise I’ll ice my hand.” I nod obediently and wriggle slightly on his lap, a tiny smirk on my lips when he lets out a low groan. “Careful, woman,” he growls. “Or I’ll show you what I can do, injured hand or no.”

  “Sorry,” I murmur, taking his hurt hand as it rests on my knee and positioning the ice over his swollen knuckles. I lean over and press a few soft kisses against the skin that isn’t covered. He sighs, a sound of contentment and regret.

  “Baby . . .” His whisper floats over my head as I feel his hand gently stroke my hair.

  “I’m all right, honest.”

  Swallowing my sudden emotion down, I press my cheek against his arm. His hand feels so good in my hair, and I can feel my tense shoulders begin to relax. “Tell me what he said to you before we got in there.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I mumble against his skin. “It was all lies. I know that.” I sit up with a sigh and try to give him a bright smile. I’d been so happy when Colin had escorted me to the small dressing room after the concert. That third encore had almost done me in. They’d been on fire, the four of them seeming to employ a hive brain as they played, they were that tight. And every time Kennedy’s eyes had swept over the crowd, they seemed to home in on mine with an intensity that made my knees weak. I couldn’t wait to throw my arms around him and kiss the ever-loving crap out of that mouth that had been taunting and teasing me all night.

  But Brodie had come in instead.

  “Lies or not, it couldn’t have been easy to hear. He had no right to speak to you like that.” His voice is tight, anger bubbling just beneath the surface. “And he never will again. I promise.”

  “You can’t make that promise,” I argue gently. “Even though you fired him, you can’t stop him from walking up to me on the street sometime to spout random bullshit.” The notion was ridiculous.

  “Watch me.” The determination in his tone sends a shiver of desire down my spine despite the circumstances.

  “Well, it won’t be necessary. He had his chance and it didn’t work. He won’t try again—I’m not worth the effort.” I shrug dismissively and search around for a quick change of topic.

  “What did he say?” Kennedy asks again, emphasizing each word. He’s not going to let this go, so I give in.

  Slowly, I begin to replay the conversation for Kennedy’s benefit, although I know it’s just going to piss him off further. My anger surges as I picture Brodie as he stood back in the dressing room—his sneer and narrowed bloodshot eyes as I stared him down.

  “Tucker didn’t really need Colin, did he?” I had asked him, crossing my arms and standing straighter. He’d merely laughed, the sound more hollow than amused.

  “You’re pretty bright for just being a hot piece of ass.” Brodie sniffed and wiped his nose with his hand. It was then I noticed how red his nostrils were, and his pupils were the size of dinner plates. Shit. Not good.

  “And you’re supposed to be working,” I shot back, trying to mask my apprehension. “What are you on right now—coke or something else? Besides the alcohol, of course. I can smell the whiskey from here.”

  “None of your fucking business, princess.” He paced closer. I stepped back reflexively, but found myself trapped by the makeup counter. “In fact, none of this is your fucking business. So just run along back to your boardrooms and stuffed suits, and leave this to me, okay? You’ve got no fucking business being here.”

  “Except that I was invited, of course,” I reminded him, a cold smile on my lips. I glanced around the room, trying to see another way out, to no avail.

  “Fuck that,” he spat, his eyes narrowing to slits. “Kennedy only wanted to get in your pants, and now that he has, you’re yesterday’s news, sweetheart. You should see the groupie he just took into a room for a private autograph session. Blonde, stacked, wearing fuck-me heels and a smile. He’ll be by to pick you up after he’s done, I’m sure. You don’t mind sloppy seconds, right?”

  “Get the hell out of here,” I hissed and clenched my fists. I was equally enraged and fearful—not of anything Kennedy might do with a groupie, but because whatever control Brodie had when he walked in was obviously slipping. I’ve seen what anger mixed with drugs and alcohol can do, and I didn’t want to experience it again.

  I stepped to the side, but he moved with me, an evil smirk on his face. “The truth hurts, doesn’t it? Guess you aren’t as smart as I thought.”

  It was my turn to laugh. “You wouldn’t know the truth if it slapped you in the face,” I retorted. “I’m smart enough to see that whatever relationship you had with Kennedy is changing, and if you don’t smarten up, you’ll be the one to find yourself out in the cold.”<
br />
  “Bitch,” he’d snarled, taking a quick step to tower over me, ignoring my demand for him to back up. “I’ve known him for fucking years! You think you know so much, just because you’ve spread your legs for him a couple of times?” The door rattled—I could hear someone pounding on it, but I couldn’t get around Brodie. “He can’t do this without me!” he yelled, his eyes wild. “You really think he gives a shit about you? Get your ass on a goddamn plane and go the fuck home, you stupid cunt.”

  I’m shivering as I finish describing the scene, but Kennedy is sitting still as a stone beneath me. “I didn’t think. I slapped him so hard my hand stung. Then he grabbed me, just as the door burst open and you charged in.” I shake my head, trying to dispel the image. “He was crazy, Kennedy.”

  He tries to move me, tightening his fingers against my waist and wincing with pain.

  I cup his face and look him in the eyes, willing him to relax. “You aren’t going anywhere right now, Lane, so calm down. You’ve already fired him; that’s enough. He won’t bother me again.”

  After a beat, he huffs and relaxes slightly, so I release his face. He lets me fiddle with the ice pack on his knuckles for a moment, and then presses his forehead to mine. “I’m sorry he had a chance to get to you like that,” he murmurs. “You don’t believe any of that bullshit he spewed, do you?”

  “No.” He looks at me as if he can’t quite believe me. “As bad as his words were, it was more upsetting to see you go after him like that. God, I was so scared you were going to get hurt. When he grabbed that broken glass . . .” I shiver and close my eyes, trying to block out the image; Kennedy’s free arm tightens around me and I sink into his comfort. “You were right; the yelling and then your fight. It reminded me of when my dad was shot.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice penitent. “I saw his hands on you and I saw red.” He squeezes my waist to draw my attention from his wounded hand to his face. “What he said, it couldn’t be further from the truth . . . now. I’m not proud of it, but I can’t pretend it didn’t used to happen. A lot. But I meant what I told you in your apartment. You’re all I want now. It doesn’t matter how many fake tits in Spandex parade around in front of me. What’s more, Brodie knows it.” His jaw tightens, his eyes snapping with temper. “It was pure desperation that made him fuck up tonight. Desperation and whatever he was jacked up on.”

  “That’s why I was scared for you,” I admit quietly. “It’s a frightening recipe.” I give myself a mental shake and press a soft kiss on his lips before continuing more certainly, “It’s over now. We have almost two whole days before I go home and you go off to set the European Union on fire. Let’s enjoy them.”

  He kisses me, his free hand secured in my hair while his lips move smoothly over mine. I hum softly, feeling the leftover tension drain from my body. Eventually, he flips the ice pack off his hand and wraps both arms around me. “Hey,” I object, but he simply chuckles.

  “My twenty minutes is well past,” he assures me. “I’ll let you ice my knuckles again later. Right now, it’s almost two a.m., and it’s time for bed, gorgeous girl.”

  At the reminder of the time, exhaustion sweeps over me. “Oh. Okay.” Apparently, my higher vocabulary has already called it a night. I heave myself up, but before I can step away from him, he stands and scoops me up in his arms.

  “Kennedy,” I protest through a laugh. “Put me down, you idiot. You’ll hurt your hand again!”

  “I’m indestructible, baby, dontcha know?” he croons, leering at me outrageously, making me laugh again. It’s cathartic, and I appreciate that he’s trying to lighten my spirits. I cling to his shoulders and curl up against his chest as he walks us up the stairs to our room. The bed beckons, the silky blue duvet gleaming in the moonlight that streams in the French doors.

  Kennedy tells me about some biker-dude at the meet-and-greet who brought a rare album for them to sign, and the spark in his eyes warms my heart. He’s so appreciative of his fans and seems in almost in awe of their dedication and the lengths they sometimes go to out of love for his music. I know that it embarrasses him sometimes, but it makes perfect sense to me that someone would scour the Internet looking for one of his albums in vinyl. His talent is worth it. He’s worth it.

  “It made me think it would be cool to make sure Parker gets a few of our old albums as well as the newer stuff. I need to remember to tell Brodie—” He breaks off, his bright eyes dimming and a frustrated scowl marring his perfect lips. He sets me on my feet next to the bed, his hands sliding along my upper arms as my hand rests on his chest. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring that shit up again,” he mumbles, his broad shoulders slumping a little.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Then an unwelcome thought occurs to me. “Are you able to fire him by yourself or does everyone need to agree?”

  “I’m not sure,” he admits with a grimace. “He’s been managing our tours forever, and he’s damn good at it. He was tight with us for the first couple of years, but he’s different now.” He tests his hand, scowling as he makes a fist. “Fuck, the number of times Tucker’s warned me about his partying.” He lets out a huff of frustration. “That fucker’s number is up. The guys will understand.”

  I’m not sure about that, but keep it to myself. Reaching up, I take his face between my hands. “Don’t think about him now,” I instruct gently. “Brodie doesn’t matter.”

  He wraps his arms around me tightly. Our lips meet, first gently, and then with increasing vigor. My fatigue vanishes, and I gladly let him maneuver us down onto the soft bed. I lock my hands in his soft hair and feel like my heart is about to burst out of my chest. Being with him feels as natural as breathing. The feeling no longer worries me. In fact, I embrace it.

  “I believe I owe you for letting that fucker ruin your night,” he murmurs, kissing his way up my neck to my ear.

  “Wasn’t your fault.” My reply is garbled as he pulls my shirt over my head. “Nothing is ruined,” I say more clearly and give his shoulder a nip, making him grunt, a low, sexy sound that makes my blood race. “And I believe I told you to stop talking about the fucker tonight.”

  He snorts in amusement. “So you did.” The rest of our clothes come off at a leisurely pace. Hands and lips glide over smooth skin as we worship each other. Kennedy seems intent on taking his time, no matter how many times I try to move things along. My emotions have been all over the place tonight—for obvious reasons—and they’ve all coalesced to make me one big ball of smoldering need.

  Rolling him onto his back, I kiss my way down his chest and belly, enjoying the way his breathing becomes choppier the lower I go.

  He lets out a whimper that turns into a raspy groan when I lick up his length. “Fuck.”

  I’ve wanted to wrap my lips around him like this since our first time. It’s been a while since I did this, but based on his enthusiastic grunts, muffled curses, and pleas of encouragement, I seem to have retained my skills. He is steel encased in satin . . . salty and earthy and all things delicious man. His long fingers wind themselves in my hair and the rhythmic tugging matches my own.

  Before I can finish, however, he reaches and pulls me up. “I want you on top,” he rasps as I scramble into position and lower myself onto him. His soft curse of surprise is covered by my gasp; he feels so good with no barrier between us that my eyes roll back in my head. Thank god for the depo shot. I think that I could be with Kennedy for a hundred years, and I would always feel this rush, this indescribable thrill that flies through my veins when we’re joined.

  “Damn, woman,” he growls. In a heart-stopping, smooth move, he manages to roll us so that he’s now above me without losing our connection. The air fills with murmured endearments, muttered curses, and the faint chimes of Big Ben that float to us from across the Thames. His lips claim mine without breaking his stride, our breaths mingling, and our hearts pounding as one. It’s an electrifying ride that I never want to end.

  My climax hits me without warning. I cry o
ut and arch off the mattress, digging my nails into his biceps. And, not a moment too soon, apparently; he releases a strangled expletive and comes like a freight train immediately after me.

  Collapsing on me, he automatically draws me into a tender embrace as he rolls to the side. His warmth is addictive, and I snuggle against him, focusing on his labored, steady heartbeat. Despite my boneless state, I can’t help the sudden tears that spring to my eyes. The thought is jarring: I could have lost this tonight. If Brodie had managed to cut Kennedy, maybe hit something vital . . . I blink, trying to shove the ill-timed thought away, but it’s too late. I shudder and gasp out a near-sob, causing him to pull back and look at me with alarm.

  “Baby, what is it? Did I crush you?”

  I shake my head, all my stupid emotions crashing to the forefront. “No, no, of course not. I’m sorry—it’s just that I was remembering tonight and how afraid I was of what he could do to you . . .” I take a deep breath. My voice quivers as I continue, “Kennedy, I never want to see you hurt.”

  In the bright moonlight, I can see his eyes soften, and he holds me more closely. “Why?” he asks simply, his eyes searching mine.

  The words escape me before I can think, my whisper hanging in the air between us. “Because I’m falling in love with you.”

  Kennedy

  THERE’S FEW TIMES in my life that I’ve been stunned speechless. While my heart wants to believe those words, I’ve heard them before and they’ve meant nothing.

  But I know Abby isn’t someone who just blurts out things she doesn’t mean. Most of the time she’s so careful about what she says and how she says it. And right now, she looks up at me with those big, hazel eyes filled with longing and searching for something she hopes to find in me. Her guard is down, and she’s never been more real, more open and vulnerable, or more beautiful.

  I trace the path of the moonlight across her jaw, gently brushing her tangled hair back with the fingers of my stinging hand. “It’s the adrenaline,” I whisper with a grin, giving her a chance to take it all back, allowing myself to hope she won’t.