RIPPED: A Rockstar Romance (Wreckage Book 2)

by Vivian Lux

  "But you opened it."

  He grinned. "I thought it was mine too."

  My heart thudded in my ears. "Bullshit! Your bag looks nothing like mine," I shouted.

  He gave a dramatic wince, pinching his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "Love, I've got a splitting headache, you're gonna need to talk a wee bit softer."

  I was going to kill him. Right here, right now, I was going to murder him with my bare hands. "That's because you got drunk before noon."

  "Aye," he agreed. "So you understand why I mistook your case for mine. I only opened it a wee bit."

  "Enough to take out my bra."

  "And enough to see what else you packed for the trip too, love."

  My face flamed. My vibrator. Fucking asshole. "Give me back my suitcase."

  "Of course." He turned to start zipping my case back up again. "Here you are, love. Good as new. But I just need you to know. If you ever get sick of that contraption, and want to feel the real deal, you know where to come."

  "Fuck off," I hissed, snatching my suitcase out of his hands with as much dignity as I could muster and set it next to me. It fell over, immediately bashing me in the ankles. "Seriously? Fuck right the hell off."

  Jules smiled like I hadn't even said anything. His tone was one of idle musing. "I mean -" He turned back to me with a wink and cupped his crotch. "You've already seen the goods, right love?" I opened my mouth to protest but he shook his head. "Yeah I know you did, 'cause you couldn't keep your eyes off it."

  "You're disgusting."

  His dark eyes gleamed. "And I'm the drummer, so you know I've got good rhythm. Might even be able to match it to your preferred settings." He winked.

  My cheeks burned. I'd had enough. "Fuck off," I repeated, and whirled to stalk out the door.

  He chuckled behind me. "August?" he called.

  I raised my voice and called back without turning my head. "I told you to fuck off!"

  "That you did. But before I do, thought I'd give you your case?"

  I rushed back up to his door and snatched it from him. It slammed down and immediately bounced up to slam into my ankle as I rushed to wheel it away. And this time the echo of his laughter followed me all the way across the lawn.

  Chapter Eight

  Jules

  I couldn't keep the smile off my face as I walked up the lawn to the restaurant. Sure I was late, but wow had it been worth it.

  The rest of the band was already seated in the empty dining room, everyone listening to a scowling older guy with slicked back black hair the exact same color and brilliance as shoe polish.

  "Jimmy?" I asked, sliding into the hard chair when he paused his story. "Jules Spencer. I bang on the drums for this sorry lot. You gonna be able to make us sound good?"

  Jimmy leaned back and laughed, which gave me a chance to size him up. With his gold chains and glossy, slicked back hair, he looked like he'd been transplanted up here right after heading up a mob family in New Jersey. "Lemme tell ya," he said, suddenly serious. "I can make anybody sound good if they gimme something to work with. I can take Joe Blow off the street and stick him in front of the mic and make a hit, you know what I'm saying'? But it's up to you limey bastards to give me me some place to start."

  "This isn't our first time out," Ewan reminded him. He sounded a little put out. "You might have heard of our old band? Wreckage?"

  "Yeah, I've heard of your old band. But you ain't in it anymore, are you? Kinda starting again from the beginning, ain't ya?" He gestured to Hudson. "And with a new guy here 'stead of Killer Ness?"

  I bristled at the name of our old lead singer. "Killian's not in the band any more."

  "He's a fucking prick," Ewan added, with Niall supplying a vehement nod.

  "Fair enough," Jimmy shrugged. "Here's the way I work it. You get three days, we rehearse, figure out levels, work on the mix. Then we record. I do as many takes as I feel we need and then I do ten more." He grinned. "Like I said. Give me something to work with."

  The rest of the band was silent for a beat. None of us wanted to say it, but we all were feeling it. That antsiness. Were we still as good as we once were? "You'll get it," I piped up to break the silence.

  At that moment, August came gliding in. She'd changed out of those amazing yoga pants that did such nice things for her ass, and into a pair of curve hugging jeans and tall brown boots that did equally nice things for her ass. "Jimmy, thank you for coming," she said, standing over him to shake his hand in what I recognized as a power play. I hid my grin behind my pint glass. She was a pain in the ass, but there was no denying, she was a bulldog when it came to negotiations. "I wanted to talk with you about our timetable here. Now, the label is paying you upfront, as far as I know..."

  As one, the rest of the band leaned back, tuning the boring shit out. This was why we had her. To be a bulldog. Our bulldog in the killer boots. I took another pull from my beer and let my mind wander back to the pleasant memory of the silky cool satin of her red bra in my hands, while simultaneously ignoring the stiffening in my groin.

  "Rehearsals tomorrow, right boys?" August called to the rest of us, clapping her hands like a schoolteacher. "I'll give you your wake-up calls bright and early, okay?"

  "Fuuuuck," Ewan sighed in a long, drawn out groan.

  "It's fine, doll," Niall said.

  Hudson nodded.

  She didn't look at me.

  "Great!" she said. "Let's eat, I'm fucking starving."

  At that, she slid into the chair right next to mine and signaled to the waitress who came over with her pad ready. And even though I could feel August's contempt for me still radiating off of her in waves, I leaned in to her anyway, catching a whiff of her complicated scent. "I liked the red one, love," I murmured. "What color's the one you got on now?

  "I'm going to get you for that," she muttered, not looking at me. "You're going to pay."

  "Yeah, love?"

  "It might not be today," she said, with a smile that was all teeth. "But I'll have my revenge."

  "I didn't open it on purpose love, I told you, I was too drunk to know it wasn't mine."

  I was lying, of course. Of course I wanted to snoop in August's luggage, and damn if it wasn't worth my while. That vibrator? Maybe she wasn't as cold as she pretended to be. "But I won't lie, I'm intrigued to see what form your revenge will take, so let's call it game on."

  She rolled her head on her neck in a slow circle, closing her eyes. Then she opened them and fixed them on me as she rolled one shoulder back, and then the other. Still keeping her gaze level with mine, she let her left shoulder fall. As it did, her white T-shirt slipped to the side, revealing a shimmery, iridescent strap of cream and white lace. Feeling a sudden and acute need for a drink, I swallowed hard even though I knew she was watching me.

  "Uh huh," she nodded with a smirk, then turned towards Jimmy. "I have to go makes some calls, but tomorrow? I want to hear your war stories," she said, just a bit too loudly. "You've worked with Jaxson Blue, right?"

  I flagged down the waitress and raised my pint glass. "Yeah, I'll have another."

  Chapter Nine

  August

  If I could just finish one fucking sentence without having him twist my words into a dirty joke or a double entendre, I might have a prayer of not losing my cool.

  But when it came to Jules Spencer there was no way to draw the line. Or if there was, I hadn't figured it out yet and it was driving me crazy. Every time I felt like I'd set clear boundaries, he came dancing right over them, his dark eyes delighted by the challenge. Being aloof only seemed to egg him on. Being professional was impossible. Whenever I took the high road he seemed to take pride in having this mind in the gutter

  Maybe it was time I stooped to his level.

  A slow smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as I walked away back out across the lawn to the main building.

  Jules crossed a fucking line with that bra stunt. He needed to learn his lesson.

  And I was about to teach i
t to him.

  Eric was missing in action, replaced by a long haired woman with a gray braid and a wide sleepy smile that mirrored Eric's. Mrs. Casey then. One of the owners. She was sitting on the stool at the front desk, blinking at me. I put on my most beguiling grin and stepped up to the counter.

  "Hi there, I'm August Waverly, I believe we spoke on the phone. It's nice to finally meet you."

  "You're with the musicians, right?" she said, smiling some more. We were pretty close to Woodstock, and by the look of her, she'd been there and she'd definitely taken the brown acid.

  "That's right," I said crisply. "I'm their manager. Could I get spare keys for all the rooms? We're the only ones here, as you know." I gestured in the direction of the restaurant where no doubt the boys were still sitting with Jimmy, the table strewn with empties. "

  She blinked and for a second I wondered if it wouldn't work. If she'd tell me it was against policy to violate the privacy of her guests like this. I held my breath...

  Then she gave a mighty shrug and leaned forward, grabbing some of the blank cards from a pile. Slowly she tapped out the cabin numbers and swiped the cards through the reader.

  Too slowly.

  I looked behind me, half-expecting to see Jules leaning in the doorway, his strong drummer's arms crossed over his chest. "What are you up to now, love?" he'd ask in that maddening British accent.

  I whipped my head back to the front desk, ears burning. He wasn't even here, but I could imagine exactly what he'd do next, his arrogant grin as he loped over to ruin my plans. I felt heat pool in my stomach. Asshole.

  He was so fucking cocky.

  But not for long.

  "Here you go," the woman said, finally spreading the five keycards on the counter.

  "Thanks," I said, grabbing them and fumbling them into a pile. "Thanks you so much."

  She swayed a little. "Go in light," she intoned, and then flashed me the peace sign.

  Okay then?

  This wasn't peace, this was war.

  I snuck one more glance at the doorway, still expecting him to show up and catch me, and for one second I felt guilty. He wasn't bad all the time. Without the smirk on his lips, without the malicious gleam in his eye, he almost looked like a nice guy. Til he opened his mouth, that is.

  Screw that. He needed to learn who was in charge here.

  Not him. Me.

  Without another backward glance, I marched out of the front door and half-ran down the sloping lawn, towards his cabin. I hazarded one quick glance up the hill to make sure he hadn't left the restaurant yet, before sliding the card into the reader and opening the door.

  I stepped in the door, and stopped.

  I expected to walk into a hurricane. A guy like Jules, you just knew his place would be filthy. I expected to see his stuff strewn everywhere, half in and half out of his suitcases, dribbles of soap across the bathroom counter, the bedclothes thrown to the floor, maybe the TV left on and blaring.

  It was neat as a pin. Neater even than my room.

  I'm not going to lie, that gave me pause.

  There was a scent in the air, lingering. Something that, now that I placed it, smelled like him too. It was odd, smelling that in this unfamiliar room. It was almost comforting.

  "The fuck?" I asked the air, and then shook my head. "Focus here." I didn't have much time. I darted up the stair to the loft and immediately moved to his chest of drawers, opening each one until, "Bingo."

  I reached in and pulled out a pair of his boxers. Gray, with a white waistband. Pretty nondescript as far as appearance, but I knew from my experience as the sister of only boys that this brand was expensive. "Only the best for your ass, huh Jules?"

  And he dared tease me about my expensive lingerie habit. He may as well be draping his ass in pure cashmere.

  Quick as I could, I grabbed an armful out of the drawer and slammed it back shut again. Heart pounding, I went to the sliding glass door and yanked it open with my free arm and stepped out onto the quaint little balcony. For a moment, it flashed through my brain to toss the whole armful over the side, but instead I decided to just set it down in a heap just to the right and out of eyesight of the room.

  I was just about to leap back in when I heard the telltale metallic click of the door lock engaging.

  "Shiiit," I hissed and jumped back, flattening myself against the outer wall. The sliding door was still open, letting in the sounds of the creek and the incessant birdsong. He would notice, he would catch me.

  I eyed the drop. One story down onto the front porch. If I could swing my leg over and maybe lower down so I was hanging first, it might lessen the drop.

  I heard the crunch of something heavy toppling over onto bedsprings. I froze with my leg half-raised over the railing.

  Then, from out of Jules' cabin came the loudest snore I have ever heard in my entire life.

  I clapped my hands over my mouth to catch the laugh before it burst from my mouth and betrayed me. Hardly believing my ears - or my luck - I gingerly peeked into his bedroom.

  All six foot three inches of Jules Spencer was sprawled diagonally across his bed -

  Utterly and completely, one hundred percent naked.

  I closed my eyes. Then I opened them.

  Jules was still passed out.

  And still naked.

  The same dark curls that crowned his head also nestled in a patch between his pecs. One tattooed arm was flung up, half over his face, hiding his eyes, but his parted lips were visible and there was a strange vulnerability to the way they pressed against his arm.

  That was... the only thing that was vulnerable.

  "Oh Jesus," I hissed when I saw it again. For the second time today.

  His cock rested against his thigh, long and curved. I glanced at it, then glanced away. I could feel my heart beating in every part of my body, thud thud thud right down to my toes. I told myself that the pleasant clenching in my core was just a reaction to seeing a cock. Any cock. It didn't matter who it was attached to. I'd been single since Noah, things were just a little desperate down there.

  Jules shifted and his arm fell away. He mumbled something, then a smile curved up his lips.

  His cock...twitched.

  He mumbled something again and this time his hand moved down to grasp it.

  I bolted past him, nearly tripping down the stairs. I ran from his cabin at a dead-sprint, bolting across the lawn to my cabin to fumble with my keycard...shit I had so many keycards...until I finally got my door open and dove into my room, letting the door slam behind me before I pressed my back to it and sank to the floor.

  My lungs were burning. I had a stitch in my side. I don't think I'd ever run so fast in my life as I'd run just now to get away from naked Jules Spencer.

  What he'd mumbled?

  It sounded a lot like... "Hello, love."

  I shook my head. No fucking way. He was just drunk talking. Passed out at three in the afternoon because he'd been drinking since nine this morning. Some fucking professional. I was going to give him the earliest wake-up call I could get away with tomorrow. That'd teach him. That'd make him learn his lesson.

  And then I suddenly looked down.

  Still clutched to my chest, hugged as tight as a beloved stuffed animal, was Jules Spencer's underwear.

  "Fuck," I hissed, dropping it to the ground.

  I meant to hide it. Not steal it.

  "Fuck," I said again.

  There was no way I could get back there. Not now. Not with him naked and his...thing... out. Not with him semi-hard...or actually hard, with his hand closed around it...fist pumping...

  "Fuck." I stood up and started to gather his boxers. I looked all around the room. "Fuck," I said and ran up the stairs and tossed the lot under the bed, then yanked the covers down to hide it. There. Now I just needed to wait for a moment when the band was in the studio and I could sneak away and return them. No big deal. I could fix this.

  I was still in charge.

  Chapter Tenr />
  Jules

  The van was already loaded with our gear. Inside, the guys were all slumped over, half-dead with hangovers.

  But not August. No. Of course not. She was standing there, watching me with sharp eyes as I lurched my way across the seemingly endless lawn.

  "You're late," she said when I finally made it to her side. Her ever-present clipboard jiggled in her anxious arms.

  I narrowed my eyes and shifted a little, desperately wanting to adjust things down there, but not with her glaring at me like that. "Yeah love," I grunted. "Had a slight problem with my wardrobe this morning. But it's all sorted now."

  "You got it all figured out then?" she asked, affecting a bored tone.

  But I knew better. Her eyes were shining just a bit too keenly. I perked up a little. Oh love? You know something about my missing boxers? So there was no reason to worry about propriety here. I cupped myself, shifting to the side. This wasn't the first time I'd ever gone commando this way, but it'd been a while. "Sure thing, love. I just made do with what I have."

  "Which is?"

  "Nothing."

  She colored faintly and looked away. She definitely knew something about it. Was this the revenge she'd promised me? I had to admit, I was a little disappointed. Stealing my boxers seemed somehow...beneath her. It was a juvenile prank not worthy of an opponent of her caliber.

  I'd show her how to up her game.

  "Right then," I moved again, taking special note of the way her eyes went down to my crotch and back up again before I climbed into the van. "Shall we play some fucking rock 'n' roll then?"

  Ten minutes later we'd descended from the mountain into a wide valley. The sun was only just starting to peek over the hulking mountains as we rolled into the gravel lot in front of the studio. I'd recorded at multiple studios across the States and the UK, but this setting was by far the prettiest.