Head-Tripped: A Sexy Rock Star Romance (Ad Agency Series Book 2)

by Nicole Archer

  “It’s me,” Elias said.

  She ran to the door and swung it open. “Cheery-O.”

  He dragged her into his arms and fixed his fiery gaze on her mouth.

  Throbbing heat waves rolled over her. “Hello, stranger,” she cooed.

  “Hola, flaquita.” He slid his lips against hers. “After sound check tonight, we’re sneaking out. I’m taking you on a date.” He pulled out his wallet and handed her a wad of cash. “Buy something nice to wear.”

  “Geez! How nice are we talking?”

  “Very nice. Something that shows cleavage and ass.”

  “I will if you will.”

  “Not gonna happen.”

  “Hope you like snowsuits then.”

  “You could wear a clown suit and I’d still find you sexy as hell.” He patted her bottom and swaggered back to his room. “Don’t take too long. We have to leave in two hours.”

  “Wait, what are you going to do?”

  “Introverted shit,” he said.

  “What does that entail?”

  “Me time.”

  She blew him a kiss. “Have fun.”

  After sound check, they snuck back to the hotel and quickly changed. Elias tapped on the door. “You dressed?”

  “Yes,” she sang.

  “Darn,” he exploded through the door, a sly grin on his face. Then he took one look at her and his smile crumpled. “What the —?”

  She spun around in her clown costume. “What do you think? Still think I’m sexy?”

  “No.”

  She skipped to the bed, tripped on her big red shoes, righted herself, then held up his outfit.

  He stared at it with terror in his eyes. “What’s that?”

  “Your costume.”

  “I’m not wearing that.”

  “Sí, señor.” She dumped out all the costumes, wigs, facial wear, and silly hats she bought on the bed.

  “No. No. No.” He waved a scolding finger.

  “Oh, come on! It’ll be fun. Plus, no one will recognize you in this disguise. We can pretend it’s Halloween. Now’s your chance.”

  His mouth swooshed back and forth as he considered this.

  “Put it on! Put it on!”

  A short while later, they stood in line for the London Eye, wearing rainbow afros, balls for noses, and polka-dot suits. She couldn’t stop snickering.

  “Shh.” He nudged her with an elbow. “Everyone’s staring at us.”

  “Of course they are. We’re wearing clown suits.”

  His giant red clown smile moved up an inch.

  They made their way into the glass bubble. Rain pelted the capsule from outside. The guide handed her a bouquet of white daisies. “Compliments of”—she cleared her throat—“Pokey.”

  Effie clutched the bouquet to her chest. “Oh, Pokey! They’re wonderful. Thank you.”

  His grin grew. “You’re welcome, Humpy.”

  The guide left and soon they were rotating above the city an inch at a time.

  Effie focused on the flowers rather than the view. They smelled like promises, and hope, and a little like rubber—she was still wearing the clown nose. Her eyes welled up.

  He tilted her chin. “What’s wrong?”

  “It hurts.”

  “What hurts, mi vida?”

  “My heart. It’s exploding.”

  He frowned—which was a little freaky with a painted-on smile—and brushed the tears off her cheek with his thumb, turning his fingertip white. “Did I mess up? I’ve never bought flowers before. The daisies reminded me of you. I knew I should have bought roses.”

  She tried to hush him with a kiss, but their noses were in the way. She pulled off his then hers and tried again. “I love them.”

  He spat and stuck out his tongue. “That makeup tastes like paste.”

  She wiped it off. “Now try.”

  For half the ride they exchanged body-tingling makeup-smearing kisses. He unbuttoned her pompoms. “You’re not wearing a bra.”

  “I don’t like bras.”

  “Me neither.” He played with her breasts, alternating light feathery touches with panty-melting boob grabs. Then he bent down and outlined her painfully hard nipples with his tongue, sending goosebumps soaring over her skin.

  “You’re missing the show.” He faced her toward the window and circled his arms around her from behind. One hand slid between her thighs and lightly circled her clit. “So warm and slick.”

  Below the Thames River seemed to flow faster while the city’s lights grew brighter.

  He pulled out his finger and sucked it clean. “Turn around so I can see you.” He pushed down her underwear and dialed a heated stare between her legs.

  Once again, he sank a finger inside, pumping it lazily to the point of torture.

  “Bring me your penis,” she commanded. “I need something to hold onto so I don’t fall.”

  He snorted and unbuttoned his clown suit.

  “You’re not wearing underwear,” she teased.

  “I don’t like them.”

  “Me neither.”

  They stroked each other as languidly as the wheel turned, not building momentum until the very end.

  Short breaths, juices sloshing, fabric swishing, and then an aria—a loud stream of beautiful Spanish curse words blasted out with his cum.

  Orgasms—the most beautiful music in the world.

  Though his clown smile had rubbed off, his real one was just as big.

  She tugged her lobes. “My ears are still ringing. You were loud.”

  “It felt good.”

  His matter-of-fact tone made her laugh. “It sure did.” An orgasm from Elias was the best high ever. Completely addictive.

  A thought hit her. “What will we do when we have sex? We’ll have to do it in a soundproof booth.”

  His eyes dimmed to sexual chocolate.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Just picturing you spread out on a mixing board.”

  “With all those knobs? Ouch.”

  “I’ll lean you over it then.”

  She squinted. “Dirty Argentinian.”

  “Quiero coger con vos toda la noche.”

  “What does that mean?” she asked.

  “It’s a secret.”

  The Ferris wheel stopped, and they left hand-in-hand, wearing bigger grins than when they’d arrived.

  28

  Legato

  Soundtrack “Wake Up,” Arcade Fire

  The show that night was like foreplay. Elias’s stage fright had all but vanished. All he had to do was focus on Effie—the way she smelled on his fingers as he gripped the microphone, the way she glided across the stage, playing violin like a goddess, the way she wound up the crowd, screaming “Dance your boots off!” to everyone.

  Watching her dive off the stage and float over the crowd, laughing like crazy, made him grin like an idiot for one whole song.

  They played four encores that night. Usually, he couldn’t handle more than one. But that night he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. The music electrified him.

  When they finally quit playing, he couldn’t get to her fast enough, but backstage fans and reporters swarmed him like mad wasps. Someone squeezed his nuts and his sexual energy drained out of him like a flat tire.

  “Hey, baby.”

  He bristled at the sickeningly familiar voice behind him.

  “Tina.”

  She grinned up at him, her pupils huge from whatever drug she was on. If no one else had been there, he would have shoved her out of the way. But since that wasn’t the case, he peeled her claws off his waist and lowered his voice. “I told you not to come to another show.”

  “Daddy says I can go wherever I want.” She pushed out her bottom lip. “Are you still upset about losing our baby?”

  “There was no baby.”

  She’d told everyone, he’d knocked her up. But he never took a chance with her. They’d only fucked twice. Both times he wore a condom. The first time he pull
ed out, and the second time, he didn’t even come.

  When he’d demanded a pregnancy test, conveniently, she had a miscarriage the next day. And when he didn’t show adequate sympathy for her loss, she painted him as a cold-hearted asshole to TMM.

  He could barely stand to look at her—she made him physically sick. “Stay away from me,” he growled. “And stay away from Griffin, too.”

  She batted her mascara-caked eyelashes. “Jealous? We can always have a threesome. You can make a Tina sandwich.” She stuck her tongue in his ear at the exact same time Effie popped out of the dressing room.

  Mouth parted and forehead creased, Effie watched as Tina licked his neck. She clutched her chest as if she’d been shot, then burst through the back door.

  The mob swallowed him up like quicksand. His muscles slackened and tightened at the same time. It was as if he’d been paralyzed. He couldn’t move. Or think.

  Finally, Hal came to the rescue and pulled Tina off him. Halfway out the door Gail blocked him. “TMM is here. They want an interview.”

  “Not now.”

  “Yes, now. It’s Len Neal.”

  Len Neal controlled the music empire with his reviews. And for the last six months, he’d been singularly responsible for their dive in sales. Len could destroy a band with a few nasty words. And for the last six months, he’d been doing just that.

  In the music industry, Len was a god. And he couldn’t keep God waiting.

  For a god, Len sure didn’t look like one. In fact, with his green hoodie, bald head, and beak-like nose, he looked just like a turtle.

  Len gave him a handshake and a back slap. “What up, dude?”

  He gritted his teeth and lounged back on the sofa, mustering the will to stroke the turtle’s ego.

  “You were on fire tonight, dude.” Len shot air pistols at him.

  “You ought to know.”

  “Number one fan.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  Len gestured surrender. “Hey, man, I just report the facts. My readers depend on me to tell the truth.”

  Bullshit. His “facts” were nothing more than his stupid opinions.

  “So, what facts will you be reporting tonight?”

  “You’re back on top, man.” He gave him the thumbs up. “I mean it. What changed? Is it that hot little blonde violinist? What’s her name? Ellie?”

  “Effie.”

  “Yeah, she’s smokin.’ You banging that?”

  He planted both feet on the floor and gripped the sofa to keep from ripping out the reporter’s throat. “Sounds like you need to get laid, Len.”

  “Dude, last night I fucked this married chick. Total MILF! Want her number?”

  “You’re a real player, Len.” There was no mistaking the disgust in his tone.

  “Right?” The critic tried to fist bump him and failed.

  Annie appeared out of nowhere, wearing the cold glint of a communist dictator in her glare. “This the man who insult my son?”

  The reporter flinched back and blinked rapidly. “No shit? This is your mom?”

  Elias stood. “I’ve got to blaze. Nice seeing you, Len,” he lied.

  “Any chance for an interview with Ellie?”

  He turned back and stepped in an inch away from Len’s face. “Effie. Her name is Effie. Not sure why you can’t get it right, since you compared her performance to soft porn just a few days ago.”

  Len barked out a laugh. “Hey, man, I was just playing around. It’s all about the entertainment, right?”

  The reporter darted over to Cato. “Hey, bro!”

  Cato stared down at the man with pure hatred on his face. “Never call a black man ‘bro.’ It’s offensive.”

  While Cato schooled Len, Elias escaped out the back and found Effie talking to the roadies. As he moved closer, she hugged herself tighter.

  He made intolerable small talk with the crew for a minute then made up an excuse to steal her away.

  On the way to the bus, he leaned in and sniffed. “You smell like cigarettes.”

  “Do I?” She scratched her head. “The guys were smoking.”

  “Wish they’d quit that shit.”

  She scrounged for a lollipop in her backpack.

  “Sugar’s not good for you, you know.”

  Blue fury flamed in her eyes, and her lip curled up in a snarl. She brandished the sucker like a knife and jabbed it at him. “If I want candy, I will eat candy. Is that clear?”

  He leaned back, his hands up in surrender. “Sí, mami.”

  “And wipe that smile off your face.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Don’t call me ma’am.”

  “Okay, flaquita.”

  “And don’t call me that, either.”

  He let her anger sizzle for a bit before he spoke. “I haven’t been with her in a year.”

  She stared out the window, gnashing candy with tight jaws. “Who?”

  “Effie, look at me.” He tilted her chin toward him. “I wasn’t a monk before we met.”

  “So you slept with her, then?”

  “I’m not proud of it, but yes.” He sat back and sighed. “Tina’s trouble. She faked a pregnancy, and a big shitstorm followed. Then she tried to sue me for emotional damages. Unfortunately, her dad works for the label, so we’ll probably run into her again.”

  She wrapped a lock of hair around her wrist. “But Griffin sleeps with her too.”

  “Griffin’s kinda fucked up right now.”

  “He’s not usually a whore?”

  “No.” He traced the inside of her thigh. “Women make up a huge percentage of our album sales. There will always be crazy women fans. Even Cato has to deal with them. We all do. I hate it, but it’s part of the job. You just have to blow it off.”

  She rested her head against his shoulder. “I should have trusted you.”

  “If another man touched you like that—” He rubbed the back of his neck, the image too horrible. “I don’t know what I’d do.”

  “Don’t you trust me?”

  “I don’t trust men.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “I’m serious.”

  “Other men don’t even cross my mind, Elias. You’re the only one I see. The rest of the male species doesn’t exist.” She climbed into his lap. “That show was amazing.”

  He dragged her closer and licked the candied sweetness off her bottom lip.

  She smashed her mouth against his.

  Right then, Annie blasted onboard. “A-ha!” She pointed at her eyes then back at them. “I knew it! You think I can’t see through the fog of your lies.”

  He gave her a warning look. “Annie—”

  “Wha!” She zipped her lips. “I never saw face sucking. I hear nothing. I see nothing. I know nothing. No evil took place on this bus.” Giggling like a fool, she scuttled off the bus.

  A million knots formed in his shoulders. “Mierda.”

  Effie, on the other hand, didn’t seem the slightest bit upset. On the contrary, she beat the seat in front of her and did a little butt shimmy on his lap. “Your mom likes me.”

  “Of course she does.”

  “I thought she hated me.” She cupped his cheeks and kissed him again.

  He chuckled at her silliness. She was so full of life, so vivaz. “Me gustás mucho, F-bomb.”

  “I like you, too, Elvis.”

  “Ah, you’re learning.” He pinched her glowing cheek. “Soon, I won’t be able to whisper dirty secrets in your ear.”

  29

  Vivace

  Calais, France

  Soundtrack “Get Lucky,” Daft Punk, Pharrell Williams and Nile Rodgers

  Urban ditched the other bus and took the train across the Chunnel from London to Calais, France, where LeStrange had his own operation.

  “Where’s the bus?” Elias asked.

  LeStrange pointed to a bright pink double bus with the words Disco Bus painted in flowers on the side. “Là-bas.”

  Effie cheere
d. “Oh my God! It’s amazing! It’s like a Barbie camper.”

  Inside the bus, pink fur-covered sofa benches lined the sides, and a disco ball glittered over a stripper pole in the center. Dizzying strobe lights flashed along floorboard.

  “Did you know about this, Annie?” Elias asked.

  She shrugged.

  He squinted. “You get off on this, don’t you?”

  Annie shot a finger off her hip. “Lao ban, disco king.”

  “Stop calling me boss. And don’t call me disco king, either.”

  Hal waved a hand in front of his nose. “Is that patchouli?”

  “Oui.” LeStrange said, piling the luggage in the overhead compartments. “C’est bon pour l’énergie sexuelle.”

  “All I heard was sexual,” Griffin said.

  LeStrange pointed out a fruit and cheese plate in the mini-fridge. “Il y a du fromage et des fruits au frigo.” He pushed a button on a panel across from the kitchen. “Ce sont pour le système de son.”

  “What’d he say?” asked Hal.

  “No clue,” Missy said.

  LeStrange made his way back up front and started the engine. “A leetle musique Française, okay?”

  “Speak English!” Cato plunked down in a furry seat.

  “I don’t want to hear French music,” Griffin said.

  The driver took that as a yes and blasted music through the speakers.

  “Kickin’ sound system at least,” Griffin admitted.

  “Is that Daft Punk?” Cato asked. “Shit, I forgot they were French. Turn it up, man.”

  LeStrange cranked it to eleven.

  Hal bobbed his head and snapped to the beat. “I haven’t heard this song in ages.”

  Cato and Missy sang along.

  Effie danced around the pole, tossing her hair. “I’ve always wanted to do this,” she said.

  “Strip?” Elias asked.

  “No, ride on a Barbie camper. This is like my childhood dream.” She sang with the others and spun around the pole.

  Dios, she was adorable.

  Annie got up and did the robot dance next to Effie.

  He almost gave himself whiplash laughing. The contagion spread rapidly. Missy snorted. Hal guffawed. Annie squealed. Effie giggled. All of them, even moody-ass Griffin, broke out into hysterics.