Gauge: Rockstar Romance (The ProVokaTiv Series Book 1)

by Cara Nelson

  There wasn’t enough time to talk and take it all in before I had to be silent for the show. It was about to begin.

  The first category was for Rock Band of the Year. ProVokaTiv was nominated. I felt so nervous about it when they called the names, but when I glanced over at Gauge, he looked like it didn’t matter in the least. How could he do that?

  They didn’t win, and we all applauded. Disappointment swept over me.

  Awards shows are much longer and slower paced in person than they are when you watch on television. As it was, I was in agony, waiting for the guys to get their award. My heart tingled and burned with anticipation and embarrassment.

  About a half hour later, after a long commercial break and a performance by GRL, the next category that the guys were up for came up. It was song of the year, and their hit “Tripoli” was up for the award.

  “And the winner is….ProVokaTiv, with “Tripoli”!”

  The guys stood up and smiled, all making their way to the aisle so they could go up and accept the award. Watching them go up there and hearing all the applause was surreal, really putting everything that came with the territory into perspective. Did all artists need an award to love what they did? No, and I don’t think that Gauge, Hunter, and Simon did, either.

  After the applause died down, the guys all began to talk. Hunter took the microphone first and said, “Thanks. Without all of you devoted, buck-ass crazy fans, this wouldn’t be possible!” The fans screamed and catcalled.

  “Your acknowledgement that you appreciate what we do means the world to me. I thank you all for your support, and your vote.” There were more cheers, but they were more proper than Hunter’s, less goofy.

  Now Gauge was standing there. I was so curious to see what he was going to say. He waited for the applause to die down and began to talk in that even-keeled, quiet voice—it made everyone hush like the grave. “I’d like to dedicate this to the amazing experiences that I had this past summer with my girlfriend. I’ve learned a lot, and she’d made me look at things differently.” Gauge looked at me and nodded, waving the award in my direction.

  A sea of heads all turned around and stared at me. I was in shock. My face was frozen, my cheeks felt hot, and I had a grin on my face that couldn’t be wiped off. I couldn’t believe he said that, and that he clearly indicated it was me. I burned with confusion and frustration. This was not what he’d said in the limo.

  The guys walked backstage, and we didn’t see them again for a half hour. Jessie and Trinity were looking at me—Trinity was giggling, and Jessie was giving me those knowing eyes. I finally managed to whisper, “I don’t know what’s going on.”

  “Well, it sounds like Gauge does,” Trinity said. “Oh look, here comes your boyfriend.” She drawled the words, and I couldn’t help laughing at my own expense.

  “Hey,” Gauge said, sitting back down after shaking a few hands in the row behind him.

  “Care to explain?” I asked.

  “Just wanted to give you something to think about,” he said. He had a big grin on his face, the type that country people would call a shit-ass grin.

  “Well, I’m thinking, and I’m confused.”

  “You look great that way.”

  The show started again and I had to be silent, dwelling on the words and completely tuned out of what was happening on stage. Some column I’d have tomorrow.

  Finally it ended and the lights on the stage dimmed, the ones in the auditorium lit up.

  “What’s next?” I asked Gauge.

  “We can go to some after parties if you like, or we can go and spend a little time alone.”

  “I’ll take option B,” I said. I didn’t have to debate that answer at all. Gauge was downplaying things, but I knew he was up to something. I wasn’t going to rest until I found it. Anything to make him stop teasing me.

  Chapter Twenty-Three:

  Claiming the Prize

  We surpassed the limo and took a taxi back to my apartment. The driver knew who Gauge was, making it so I couldn’t find out what was going on. Didn’t need the prying ears and eyes of someone who’d probably sell a cell phone pic to a gossip sight in a heartbeat. However, once we were behind the privacy of my apartment, I planned to nail him.

  My heart was skipping and stuttering over that word, girlfriend, but my logical mind was still countering with hard logic. I’d either dropped the ball and really missed something, or else Gauge was messing with my mind. I’d rather have him mess around with my body. Speaking of which, I was so horny I was almost aching.

  “Okay, Mr. Bronson, talk,” I said, not wasting a second.

  “About anything in specific?”

  “About the girlfriend comment during your speech.”

  “Didn’t you like it?”

  “It’s not what we’d agreed upon when we were talking in the limo.”

  “It isn’t?” Gauge asked. He went to sit down on the couch and leaned forward, crossing his arms and looking up at me.

  “Remember, we don’t want a long distance relationship.”

  “Of course I remember. You’re right.”

  “Don’t be so frustrating. Just because you’re sexy doesn’t mean you get away with that,” I said. I crossed my arms and looked at him, then uncrossed my arms, put my hand on my hip, and started to tap my red shoe impatiently.

  “I just got a place here in LA,” he said.

  My jaw dropped. Had I heard him right? “You did?”

  “I did, about a half hour from here.”

  “I didn’t know you were planning on moving to LA.”

  “Well, my lease was up in New York, and I’m not really a fan of that super cold weather, so I thought, why not LA?”

  “You’ve moved here for the weather?” I asked.

  “And the hot girls.”

  I smiled. “Anyone in particular?”

  I didn’t let him answer. I just walked over to him, hiked my dress up, and sat down on his lap. I leaned in to kiss him. I wasn’t going to risk blowing anything by talking too much. It was time for my body to do the talking and express what I was demanding. At that moment, it was Gauge’s connection to me.

  “It is pretty hot here, isn’t it?” I whispered. I stood up and slid down my dress, revealing my bare breasts and black thong panties. There I stood, exposed and eager, trembling with hunger for him.

  I reached out for Gauge’s hand and took it. He got up and followed me as I guided him to my small bedroom. I peeled off his jacket and slid my hands under his shirt. I kissed his tattoos. God, I’d missed them. Furious and urgent, I stroked his flank and peeled off his pants.

  My hands went on his chest as I guided him backward onto the bed. He laid back. I swung a leg over him and slid on top, guiding him in. I needed him, not the foreplay and the talk at that moment. I needed to cement that this was real in my mind and show him how much I wanted him—no more questions. I was wet and ready, no stalling or explanations needed.

  I began to rock back and forth, feeling my explosive energy rise and prepare to release. It was slow and steady, but the urgency couldn’t be ignored. My eyes were open and alert, watching Gauge. He was watching me.

  Planting my hands on his chest, I leaned down and kissed Gauge. Then it happened. My back arched and I released. The world tilted beneath us. It all made sense, and I was exactly where I wanted to be. Gauge exploded inside me and the shivers coursed through my body, every inch of my skin tingling with the long, sweet release.

  I slid to the side of him and sat up. He was still lying down and his legs were still on the ground. “That was incredible,” I said.

  He lifted his hand up and caressed my face and smiled. “I think I’m going to love LA.”

  “Trust me, it gets better with each passing day,” I teased.

  Morning came and I looked over to the wall of my bedroom. It had only one picture on it. It was the cover of The Rift, a gift that had been framed for me when the issue was released. The Undisputed Champions. The small byline
read: By Brynn Morgan.

  “The article was great, by the way,” Gauge said, nuzzling my ear. It tickled.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “What do you think when you see that cover?”

  I turned to him and sighed. “Everything in my world changed that day. When I look at that picture, I think of life and how it’s constantly evolving and changing. On that day I saw your passion, heard about how creative people could get with a situation, and realized that every day matters. You never know when something can be taken away forever.”

  “So, no regrets?” Gauge asked.

  “No regrets,” I repeated.

  “So, what do you want to do today?”

  “Sadly, I need to work.”

  Gauge laughed. “And so it begins.”

  “Can I see your apartment later?”

  “It’ll have to be a lot later. Song writing session tonight.”

  “Oh. Maybe tomorrow.”

  “Or maybe you can stay the night.” But as I kissed him, I had a feeling that we had many, many nights together ahead of us—with no end in sight.

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  Excerpt from ‘The Billionaire’s Hotline’ Download Instantly Today!

  “That’s right, Miss Hollingford, number nine on the list. Rebecca, actress, 27. Tonight at the Blake, say eight o’clock,” Jasper told his social secretary.

  So far, the project had worked like a charm. Hot and cold running blondes at the touch of a button. Last night’s text had delivered a stunning lab assistant to his favorite sushi place in a barely-there bandage dress. She wouldn’t eat, swearing that there were bacteria in raw fish, so he didn’t even have to buy her dinner, just a dirty martini. Tonight he wanted someone light and fun. An actress sounded just right, although 27 was a little on the elderly end of the spectrum for his taste.

  Jasper had had a productive day, finalizing the acquisition of two more promising competitors in the wind energy industry. He didn’t care much about green energy, but he liked to breathe and figured it was easier to make a profit off people who were healthy and generating income to buy his other products. It seemed a sound investment. Better than those e-cigarettes he’d passed up; although they were gaining popularity, he still thought they looked ridiculous. He hoped the actress didn’t smoke plastic cigarettes or anything else…he couldn’t stand the taste.

  At eight, Jasper was sitting at the bar at the Blake in the same suit he’d worn to work. If it had been a date or an event, something where he had to worry about the impression he’d make, he would have gone home to change. As it was, he was able to work straight through until 7:45 and still make it to his rendezvous on time. He congratulated himself again on the sheer convenience of his planning…investing in a hotel with a lux bar close to the office, hiring a secretary and ersatz bagel boy to orchestrate his social life. It was good to be king, he mused complacently.

  At 8:10, his actress had not arrived. He called Miss Hollingford with instructions to text the woman again. At 8:20, he demanded the number and texted her himself. There was no response, and certainly no delectable blonde on the menu at the Blake Bar. Exasperated, he texted again five minutes later. Didn’t she realize his time was valuable? If she showed up by 8:30 and apologized, he’d still sleep with her, he decided magnanimously. If she showed up by 8:40 and was suitably gorgeous, he might even buy her a drink first, although to his mind she had already wasted the getting-to-know-you courtesy quarter hour with her appalling lateness. He knew he should give up and return to the office, but he was reluctant to admit that his system had failed. It was a matter of pride now. Even though he could be at the gym or signing off on a leveraged buyout. Irritated beyond the telling of it, Jasper texted again. It felt good to plague her with obsessive reminders. It was satisfying somehow. He didn’t even admit the possibility that she’d discarded the phone or forgotten to charge it.

  At nine, a vagrant entered the bar, her cut-offs and tank top spattered with paint. Messy brown hair was coming out of a lopsided ponytail and her face was flushed. Perhaps she was mentally ill, Jasper thought idly. Security should come take care of this before the patrons were importuned with some sort of scene. Even his house cleaner dressed better than that. What business she thought she had in an upscale hotel bar was beyond him. He punched in another text angrily. Seconds later, an absurdly loud message beep sounded…from the phone that vagrant creature held in her hand. She brandished it with disgust and marched directly up to him.

  The mentally-ill street person addressed billionaire CEO Jasper Cates.

  “Who the HELL do you think you are?” She hissed. People had ceased to talk and were avidly listening to the confrontation. Jasper let his derisive gaze sweep her from head to toe languorously.

  “That depends entirely on whom exactly you think I am.”

  “You’ve been texting this phone incessantly for the last hour and a half now what do you want?”

  “There appears to be some mistake. I was trying to reach Rebecca,” he said smoothly, pleased that he remembered the actress’s name and wondering why in God’s name the half-witted bagel boy would have given a phone to this harpy. She wasn’t blonde, she wasn’t happy, and she clearly wasn’t overfond of Crossfit, judging by the softness of her shape. She wasn’t even clean.

  “Becca is my sister,” she said. “You need to leave her alone. She’s happy. She’s with someone now, and she doesn’t need you fucking things up for her with your stalking.”

  “Did you just say fucking in the Blake Bar?” Amusement quirked the corner of his sardonic mouth.

  “Yes, I fucking did,” she spat. “Now stop texting and calling this number. It’s not Becca’s phone anymore, and I’m certainly not interested in you.”

  “I assure you I won’t be trying to contact anyone at that number again. Clearly Rebecca’s life is going another direction now. I cherish the effort and grace required to inform me of that fact when a simple text message would have been adequate.”

  “You were texting her obsessively. It was—alarming. I wanted to make sure you backed off.” A number of sophisticated diners were gaping at her, and her courage withered. “I know how I must look. I was painting my apartment when you started texting and…I guess I didn’t think it through.”

  “I’ll take the phone back.”

  “No. I need it. She gave it to me because she was through with it. It was hers. Were you the guy who gave it to her?”

  “No but the phone belongs to my company.”

  “Then how did Becca—never mind. My sister gave it to me, and I’m keeping it.”

  “Listen, Miss—“

  “Largent. Hannah Largent,” she said, hands on her hips, fury at defending her phone burning away her fit of embarrassment.

  “Miss Largent, your sister was given the phone for a reason which is no longer viable. Return it to me.”

  “Forget it.” She turned around and stalked out of the bar.

  Without hesitation, Jasper left his drink and took off after her. The idea of this harpy keeping one of his phones when it could be redistributed to a woman who met his criteria was offensive. That was his thirty dollar disposable phone, and he’d be damned if some stupid actress was going to get away with giving it to her frumpy sister. He caught up to her. Maybe she wasn’t as out-of-shape as he had thought, considering her speed. Grabbing her by the arm, he stopped
her. She whipped her head around, her ponytail flicking him across the face.

  “Seriously? You’re going to follow me, because all the text stalking didn’t make you seem psycho enough?” She scoffed.

  For the first time, he noticed that her voice was gorgeous, low and husky. It made him think of a dark cabaret, a pair of red lips closing around a white cigarette, the tip of a pink tongue darting out to form a perfect pale smoke ring drifting up to the rafters. Her voice was like velvet, and he had a fierce urge to cover her mouth with his.

  “My phone,” he gasped.

  “No, that’s MY phone. Were you going to give it to some other girl? Wait—that’s it, isn’t it? You gave the phone to Becca or had someone else do it so you could call her to hook up. How many phones have you given out?”

  “Twenty-nine.” He smirked.

  “That is repulsive. Who does that?”

  “I’m a busy man, Miss Lawson.”

  Hannah leaned closer for emphasis. “Largent. But if you’re as successful as you act, you already knew that and just said my name wrong to put me in my place.”

  Now Jasper knew she sounded like Nina Simone and smelled like cinnamon gum. He found it hard to regulate his breathing, much less keep his hands to himself.

  “Excuse me?” His eyebrows shot up.

  “You dropped your voice to make it sound confidential, but your eyes cut to the left. You’re trying to manage me with a falsehood.”

  “Are you a criminal profiler or something?”

  “Actually, I do voiceovers and some sound effects editing. I work both sides of the sound board. I know how to manipulate intonation linguistics. It’s part of my job. You, Mr. Cates, have a Machiavellian inflection.”

  “Is that a clinical term?”

  “No. I just made it up, but it suits you, because you’ll say anything to achieve your objective. You belittle me, lie to me, and harass my sister.”

  “I merely tendered an invitation which she no longer wishes to accept. Return my phone so it can be recirculated.”