Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Blurb
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Shot to Hell (Biker Romance)
Prologue
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
About the Author
Copyright
Wild Ride
Let it Ride Series
Life isn’t about the destination.
It’s about the ride.
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Blurb
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Shot to Hell (Biker Romance)
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
About the Author
Copyright
Copyright
Blurb
POPPY
As the daughter of a famous actress, I’ve grown up in the spotlight. My mom married a rock star on a reality show to give her career a boost. The publicity stunt worked, and our lives have been a media circus ever since.
Soon, I’ll be graduating from college and moving across the country. I’m hoping my mother’s spotlight won’t follow me.
There’s just one huge problem. I have an impossible crush on my stepfather, Sebastian Cross.
SEBASTIAN
I’m many things—a rock star, a former junkie, and a reality show husband. Since my life went down in flames, I’ve been paying for my past sins, but it’s a struggle. Soon, I’m releasing my first solo album and going on a world tour. If my darker impulses don’t drag me down again.
It’s wrong, but I want Poppy Bishop, my own stepdaughter. The obsession’s been brewing for the past couple of years, but I haven’t acted on it. Yet.
Poppy and I are headed on a wild ride. I just hope we don’t crash and burn.
Wild Ride is a steamy, forbidden romance with a panty-melting alpha hero, and a satisfying HEA. There are elements of a rock star romance, as well as a secret baby romance.
The Ride Series is about four best friends (Kate, Poppy, Darcy, and Iris) who are about to graduate from college. They've vowed to have one last gasp, before adulting for real. Each of them is at a crossroads in life. Where will the road ahead lead?
Chapter One
Poppy
“Are you trying to scar me for life? Put some clothes on.”
I cringed as my mother, Bettie Bishop, strolled around her Fifth Avenue apartment naked as the day she was born.
Coincidentally, it was my actual birthday.
“Don’t be so dramatic, Poppy. They’re only breasts.” As if to prove her point, she admired them in the mirror.
Sometimes I envied her confidence.
She didn’t have an ounce of shyness anymore. Bettie is a famous television actress turned Broadway star. Since she was a teenager, hordes of makeup and wardrobe people had gotten her dressed and ready for scenes and other functions. Not to mention her face and figure were critiqued by agents, gossip rags, and ordinary women at the supermarket.
I wish I could be so bold, but I kept my eyes on the carpet.
“I’ve almost decided on an outfit. Which one should I wear?” Bettie held up two dresses—one ice blue and the other red. Both were beautiful, and she’d rock any dress, so it didn’t matter.
I pointed to the nearest one. “I like the blue.”
“Do you?” She scrutinized it with a frown, then tossed it on the bed. “I’m going with the red.”
“Why did you bother asking me, then?”
“I always value your opinion, sweetie, even if I don’t take it.”
“Whatever. You’re making an awfully big deal about this premiere party.” I sat at her vanity table and applied some red lipstick named Sinnamon. “You’ve been to a million of these things. Why’s this one so important?”
“I heard an interesting little rumor. Matt Duncan’s going to be there, and I’m going to impress the pants off him over appetizers.”
I’m a college student at Columbia, not a Hollywood insider, so I needed more info.
“And he’s…?”
“A big producer—one of the best. He’s in the running for an Emmy this year. Anyway, Duncan’s putting together this Netflix series about three women who’ve just gotten divorced, called Split. They’re having difficulty navigating the changes in their lives.” Bettie sounded like she was reading the show’s blurb in the television guide. “The pilot script’s gotten a lot of buzz, and I asked my agent to put in a good word for me, but I’m going to close the deal tonight.”
“You want to leave Broadway?” This was the first I’d heard of it.
Poppy strapped on her undergarments, like a soldier donning armor. And doing battle with the paparazzi is something she excelled at. Sometimes, Bettie used them to further her career. They “accidentally” caught her at a dinner with a new boyfriend. Other times, she outmaneuvered them.
When I was a kid, we’d outrun the cameramen as they snapped endless pictures of us at the movies or the grocery store—or doing any other normal thing everyday people did. Bettie said she’d signed on for fame, but I deserved as normal a childhood as possible.
“It’s time for a change. I’ve been on the stage for over a year—six shows a week is taking a toll.” Bettie examined her face in the mirror, looking for imaginary wrinkles. We looked a lot alike—both of us were petite strawberry blondes with hazel eyes.
Starring in a Broadway show could be very physically and emotionally demanding. Although Mom took excellent care of herself—Pilates three times a week, walking every day, organic food, and she saw a therapist to work out her “issues.”
She was probably taking such good care of herself to counteract the effects of her former drug problem. Before I was born, Bettie had been on a hit nineties sitcom but was fired for a coke habit, which led to a couple rounds of rehab. By the time she’d cleaned up, her career had taken a big nosedive.
“I thought you loved being in The Darling Deverauxs.” It was a smash-hit play—sold
out for the next six months.
“Yes, but I don’t see the point in staying in New York anymore.” She slid the dress on and turned to the right and left, taking in all the angles. “You’re doing L.A. in a few months—so I’ll be alone.”
“I’m going to Stanford—that’s a far cry from L.A. And I’m not doing it—it’s grad school.” I wouldn’t be chatting up celebs at cocktail parties like Bettie.
“Right. Because you want to be a psychologist.”
“Don’t make it sound like I want to join the circus.”
Being a psychologist was part of my big dream—a normal life with no agents or publicists or paparazzi. Celebrity wasn’t something I ever aspired to. I was hoping my mother’s spotlight wouldn’t follow me to California.
As a child, I’d been warned about photographers. We had an action plan in place for when I saw one. At the time, my mom was going through a crisis, so they wanted photographs of her looking strung out or headed to rehab, so they could sell some sensationalized story.
Every time I walked out the door, I was on guard, waiting for someone to jump in front of me. We even had rules about taking out the trash—putting it out just before the garbage trucks came because the stalkerazzi pawed through it looking for pill bottles and God only knows what else.
“How do I look?” Hands on her hips, she turned to face me, fully dressed and gorgeous as always.
“Stunning.”
“Thank you, sweetie. Speaking of being stunned, did you RSVP to your dad’s wedding? Isn’t that coming up in a few weeks?”
I sighed. “Yes.”
“And you look so happy about it.”
“I don’t see the point of going to these. How many women has he married? Six? Seven? I’ve lost count—that’s how many there’ve been.” My dad was her first agent, and she’d been wife number one. It’d all gone downhill since then.
“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic, Poppy.” She examined her shoe rack, searching for an appropriate pump. “Make nice with the latest Mrs. Fisher, drink some champagne—it’ll be fine.” Bettie had insisted on giving me her last name instead of my father’s, and I liked Bishop better anyhow.
“Easy for you to say, since you don’t have to go.”
Her grin was toothy. “Yes, it is. And what are your big plans for this evening? Anything fun?”
“I’ll be at Vagabond—Sebastian’s throwing me a birthday party. Remember?” I said it casually, but I was feeling anything but.
Ready for my dirty little secret? I have a thing for my own stepfather. Scandalous, right? Dangerous, even.
Yeah, I know—it’s wrong on so many levels, but I couldn’t help myself. I’d been trying to shut this thing down for a couple of years, but it was a no go.
In my defense, their marriage was a publicity stunt. Bettie and Sebastian weren’t in love with each other, which made it less of a betrayal, right?
Or maybe I was deep in denial and looking for excuses. Well, I can use any defense mechanism I like, thank you very much.
But I was pretty sure my mother only loved two people—herself and me. Not that I was judging her, but Bettie had passionate affairs which fizzled out in a matter of weeks. As a matter of fact, I doubted she’d have stayed with Sebastian this long if there hadn’t been a career benefit to the arrangement.
A couple years ago, Bettie had starred on a Bachelorette-type show, which had restarted her career. During May sweeps, she’d gotten hitched to Sebastian Cross, the former lead singer of Mutiny.
In addition to owning Vagabond, a nightclub, Sebastian was working on a solo album. Since his own stint in rehab and several failed attempts at a comeback with his band, he was about to embark on a world tour after his first single was released.
Their fake Hollywood marriage was about to end, too. Soon, I wouldn’t be seeing much of Sebastian, so I had to make tonight count. No harm in a little flirtation and fantasizing—as long as I didn’t cross any lines.
“Vagabond? Oh, that’s right.” She grimaced. “I’m so sorry for missing your party tonight, but—”
“But you need to get this role. It’s cool, Mom—we spent all day together. Motherly duty accomplished.”
This morning, Bettie had woken me up with chocolate chip waffles, as per Bishop family tradition. They were covered in whipped cream and awful for us, which meant they tasted amazing. Then we got our hair cut, nails done, and pedicures. I’d been royally spoiled today, and I’d loved every bit of it.
If this wasn’t enough fun, Mom had also taken me on an epic shopping trip up and down Fifth Avenue. She told me I could buy anything I wanted. I’d ended up with a gorgeous little black dress and matching accessories—heels, a bag, and diamond earrings.
According to Mom, the clothes were classic—something I could wear for years to come. High praise from a fashionista like Bettie.
“Taking care of you isn’t a duty, it’s a treat. God knows you the world’s easiest kid.” She ruffled my hair and then shooed me away from the vanity.
I sat on the bed while she applied her makeup and fixed her hair. When I was a child, I used to watch her get ready for evenings out. Times had been leaner then, so she’d gone to every party she could snag an invitation to, so she could network her way into another job.
Nowadays, Bettie hired a stylist, but this Duncan cocktail party thing had been a last-minute event. It was much too late to find anyone “good”—so she took matters into her own hands, old-school style. Bettie swiftly completed smoky eye and then a nude lip. Afterward, she twisted her hair up into a simple French twist.
I took some mental notes for later. Yes, tonight would be special—a chance to say goodbye, get this fixation out of my system, and move on to someone more appropriate. Like another grad student at Stanford.
“Do me a favor?” Bettie turned and took my hands in hers.
I frowned. “Um, sure.”
“Have some real fun tonight—let loose.”
“Mom—”
“I mean it. Here’s a good tip—follow your friend Kate’s lead. Sometimes I feel like we’ve been Freaky Fridayed or something. I’m the reckless young woman wrapped in the mother’s body.”
“And I’m the responsible one?”
Bettie’s more of a big sister than a mother, but she’d always been there for me. So what if she didn’t bake cookies and give me a curfew? Our relationship isn’t conventional, but we love each other.
She nodded.
Sometimes I felt like that, too. Which was why I loved Kate Vincent so much. Kate is my bestie and a bad influence—she had a fearsome wicked streak.
I’d always acted older than my age. Since my father was no longer in the picture, it’d just been Mom and me. Bettie was a force of nature, and I wouldn’t have her any other way. Ergo, one of us had to be the grownup.
She kissed my cheek. “Remember—you only get to be young once, sweetie—don’t waste it.”
“By doing what I’m supposed to?”
“No, by focusing on what you should do all the time. Every now and again, it’s okay to do something daring.”
Like Sebastian? I doubted she’d tell me to throw caution to the wind if she knew the rash thing I wanted to do was her husband.
“I’ll try my best.”
She laughed. “Say it once more with feeling.”
“Seriously, I intend to have a good time tonight.”
“Why don’t look for a nice boy you can take to your father’s wedding? A little spring romance never hurt anyone.”
“Yeah, that’s gonna happen—meet some random guy and then drag him to a family wedding. I might as well confess my love, and then boil his pet bunny.”
“Fatal Attraction was so good. We have to see it again.” Bettie typed a reminder note on her cell phone. “We’ll watch it on our next movie night.”
I’d been a student in Bettie’s film school since I was in diapers.
“It’s a date.”
“You look awfully twitchy.” Her eye
s narrowed. “Unless you’ve already found someone?”
“Of course not.” I ran a tense hand through my hair.
“Hmm. You’re wearing the black lace dress you picked out, right?”
“Maybe.” I shrugged in a casual way.
“Try definitely. You pored over three hundred dresses this afternoon before you settled on it.” She snapped her fingers. “Yes, you’ve already met a boy, and you want to catch his eye.”
The blood slowly drained from my face.
“Come on, tell me. Who’s the boy?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Sweetie, I love you, but you inherited none of my acting ability.” Bettie plunked down on the bed beside me. “You’re hiding something juicy. So fess up.”
“I’ve got nothing to confess.”
Yet.
Thoughts are not actions. My relationship with Sebastian was friendly, but nothing had happened. And it never would, because I’m a good daughter who doesn’t act on her worst impulses.
“What’s the secret?” Bettie asked. “Having a fling with a professor?”
“No, Darcy’s the one with the professor fixation.” My roommate, Darcy James, had a crush on her instructor, Dr. Sterling, even though she wouldn’t admit to it.
“Well, if you’ve got an older-man fetish, might as well indulge it while you’re young.” She wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Trust me—one of these days you’ll turn around and find you’ve become a cougar. Older men won’t be interested in you anymore, but not to worry—younger men will be.”
Oh my God. My mom just called herself a cougar. Eww.
“Actually, come to think of it, I’m a puma because I’m not quite old enough to be a cougar.”
Who was she kidding? Bettie had just turned forty—clearly, a full-blown cougar.
“Isn’t it the same thing? Since you’re dating a guy way younger than me.”
“Do I hear judgment in your tone?”
I held up my hands. “Nope.” What’s that saying about people in glass houses? My crush was every bit as inappropriate.
“Fine, if you won’t tell me, I’m heading out.” Bettie walked to the doorway. “Be sure to thank Sebastian for me. It’s so thoughtful of him to throw this party for you and your friends. Don’t you think?”
“Yes, he’s a really nice stepfather.” My weak-ass smile was more of a sulk.
Wild Ride (Let it Ride Book 2) Page 1