by Michelle Lee
Sex, Desires, and Rock N’ Roll
Copyright © 2014 Michelle Lee
All rights reserved.
The right of Michelle Lee to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act of 2000
The work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act of 1968, no part may be reproduced, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Jada D’ Lee
Cover images by: @ curaphotography, @ Kuzmafoto, @ ersler, @ nelsonart, @ chaoss through Depositphotos.com
Formatted by: Angela McLaurin at Fictional Formats
Edited by: Lynda Martin
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Gah, where do I begin? This book has been a long journey with the help of some amazing people.
To my family, my beautiful little girl and husband, thank you for putting up with me while I created this story and characters. You let me embrace my crazy and I love you both so much!!
Dodi, I can’t ever thank you enough for all your help and encouragement. You’ve stuck by me through all this craziness and have saved me when I wanted to jump off the cliff. Thanks from the bottom of my heart for being there. You’ll always be my pea.
S L Scott, I know I’ve said it to you a billion and one times, but I’m saying it again… THANK YOU! You are not only an amazingly, talented writer but an amazing friend. Your support, your talks, your advice have been invaluable. I can never thank you enough.
Jada, once again you’ve done a fuckawesome job on the cover. Somehow you are able to take my words and put them in pictures. Also, you’re support me from the very beginning which means more to me than you know. Thank you.
Lynda, my fabu editor, how you put up with my comma lacking ass is beyond me. Thank you so much for making me and my words better.
Harper, you’ve talked me off that ledge more than once. Thank you for not letting me “jump” away from this.
To all my friends that continue to support me on this crazy journey, I fluve you all mega hard!! Especially you, wife!
Thanks to Michael Ceorgoveanu for allowing me to use one of your quotes. It just fits.
And, finally to my readers, I wouldn’t be doing this if it weren’t for all of you!
Rock On,
Michelle
For my Pea
A man knows how to treat a woman. A boy knows how to use a woman.
~ Michael Ceorgoveanu #QuotesforCharity
Music and rhythm find their way into the secret places of our soul.
~Plato
SHE HAD FINALLY fallen asleep; her pillow was still damp from the tears she shed earlier. As of late, Jules always seemed to be shedding tears. Tears for who she once was, who she had become, who she might end up being. At twenty-three, Jules never thought she would be who she currently was: a girl broken. Slowly he had done that to her, and she had let him.
When she’d first seen Blake, he’d been her ideal—gorgeous beyond words with his chiseled features, deep brown eyes that played against his light blond hair, full, kissable lips, a muscular body that shown through no matter what he wore, and charisma. The man had charisma in spades. She had fallen easily for him before she even got to know him.
Although Jules loved working part-time at the mall, she also went to school, which took a lot of her time. But there were advantages to working at the small jewelry store, as she’d become third-key manager. It was amid all the action in the mall and Blake worked only a few doors down. He’d taken her breath away, but she knew he’d never have anything to do with her. After all, a guy like that didn’t go for girls like Jules.
Blake was a flirt and had all the female employees in the mall in a tizzy—the patrons as well. They all clamored to get his attention, but Jules stood on the sidelines, just watching. Unlike other college girls, she was too shy to approach guys. And while most of them were shopping or partying, she was home studying. But she loved being a student, had worked hard to get into and pay for her own college, and she wasn’t about to let anything get in the way of her goals.
But Blake had different ideas. He did notice Jules. What guy wouldn’t? She was naturally beautiful with her long, lush brown hair and big expressive brown eyes. Her lips were full and had a natural pink tint to them. Her skin was like cream and silky to the touch. But beyond her appearance, she had this inner light that shined on everyone and everything around her. You were drawn to it. She may have been on the sidelines, letting the other girls vie for his attention, but Blake didn’t want their attention—he wanted Julia’s. He refused to address her by her nickname, although it was fitting. Julia Bennett was like a rare jewel; and he wanted nothing more than to possess it, possess her. And he set out just to do that.
Blake had approached Julia one night when she was closing up. He knew she’d had been watching him just as he was her, catching her little glances when he would purposely sit outside her storefront. But no matter how many girls were around him, Blake only had eyes for her.
When Jules saw Blake just waiting outside the store, her heart rate accelerated, her hands grew clammy, and her thoughts were a scattered, nervous wreck. She didn’t know what to think or how to think for that matter. She’s dreamed of talking to him, but now she had no idea what to say.
She took her time closing up and slowly made her way to the store’s entrance to pull down the gate. Blake was there in an instant to help, getting close enough that his scent invaded her personal space, making her dizzy. She reminded herself to take deep, steady breaths; embarrassing herself was not an option. When he finally addressed her by her real name, not her nickname, she went weak in the knees because she’d had no idea he was British. His accent, that voice, did things to her, made her tingly all over.
The average man wouldn’t notice the way her body reacted, but Blake did. He possessed a darkness inside him, drawing him to her light—a light the darkness wanted to consume and devour. The predator in him knew just how to accomplish that.
And now it was a year and half later, and Jules’ light was all but extinguished. What Blake set out to do that day, he slowly accomplished day by day, week by week, month by month. And now at this moment, his goal was practically achieved. Julia Bennett was broken. The darkness in him reveled in it.
Blake was a perfect, sweet, and attentive boyfriend in the beginning, but slowly that façade fell and Blake became his true self—a controlling, demeaning, hideously devoid of emotions boyfriend. But by the time he showed his true self, Jules was already lost and didn’t know how to get out. He had consumed her body, mind, and soul—she was powerless against him, and he loved it.
After this last incident, he knew he had finally won. He knew that Julia was completely and utterly
broken, and his. He had thought it would have taken just a little bit longer, but Julia was more than susceptible to his charms. His demeaning words, constantly telling her she was worthless, that no one else would ever want to love her, and that she was lucky he even gave her a chance when he could have had any girl that wanted him, yet he chose her, chipped away at her. Blake always remarked Julia was nothing special with boring long brown hair and brown eyes—she wasn’t a rarity, she was a dime a dozen, looking like every other brown haired, brown eyed girl in America. Julia was nothing special because now she believed him.
She often wondered why he was even with her, counting herself lucky that he paid her any attention at all. A guy like Blake could have any girl in the world he wanted; he was beautiful, beguiling, and successful. And she believed everything he told her, even when he was lying right to her face. And he lied often.
He wasn’t above flaunting the fact that he had affairs—being with other women while he was with Julia. He often told her she wasn’t enough to satisfy him, couldn’t give him what he really needed, and he needed to seek the company of others. Again, Jules felt powerless, so she allowed this to happen and continued to be happy to just have a piece of him, no matter how small that piece was.
Blake had driven a wedge between Julia and her family and friends, often saying she had to choose between them and him, and if she was smart, which he often remarked she wasn’t, she would choose him. Most of her friends disappeared, except for Val. She tried to be there for Jules even though their friendship was new, having only met six months ago. Jules often kept her in the dark. Her grandmother, who had raised Jules, tried her damnedest to get Jules to see Blake for who and what he was; to get her to leave him, but Jules wouldn’t hear of it. Her grandmother lost the fight when she passed away. Again she felt lucky to even live with Blake, to have him show her any attention.
However, tonight was different, and Jules was feeling something other than love or what she thought was love, toward Blake; she felt anger, hatred and resentment. He had pointed out a girl in a fashion magazine and how her cute, short bob hairstyle was alluring. So, Jules did what she thought would please him and cut her long, wavy, brown locks into the shorter bob hairstyle. But, when Blake came home that night, he saw anything but an alluring woman and told Julia she looked ridiculous even more so with shorter hair, questioning why she would think she would even come close to looking like the model in the magazine or the girl he was currently fucking?
Blake left again later that night without a word to Jules. She succumbed to the emotional build-up and cried herself to sleep with thoughts of leaving Blake running in her head. She knew deep down that this relationship was unhealthy; she knew she was broken and didn’t know how to fix herself or if she even could. She had to protect herself and more importantly, her fragile heart. Never again would she allow someone she gave it to destroy it.
Blake didn’t come home that night until the light shone on the horizon, reeking of alcohol and sex. Jules could smell the sticky, sweet perfume of the other girl on him, and it made her stomach roll. He stumbled into the bedroom, the undoing of his jeans filling the silence, then clumsily climbed into bed and grabbed Julia, mumbling he needed her before he would pass out. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks as he drilled into her over and over, satisfying his needs and never hers, and once he rolled off of her and passed out, she had only one thought in her head: get away.
She finally did, and never looked back.
GOD, IT FEELS good to be home after a delayed flight. The familiar smell of cinnamon from the air freshener hits me, and I begin to feel warm and cozy all over. I drop my keys in the bowl on the side table by the door and pry my feet out of my shoes. Don’t get me wrong. I love my job. I can’t imagine doing anything else. Besides, what’s not to love? I get to travel around the country, sometimes even the world, taste wines, visit vineyards, and occasionally interview a famous or rising chef. However, I love getting back home even more—there’s just something about knowing you’re going to be sleeping in your own bed. I drop my bag on the floor and head right for the kitchen, desperately needing water. Then, I’ll take a nice hot bath and wash the plane and airport filth off. God, a long, hot bath sounds perfect.
I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, and while I’m drinking like I’ve just left the Sahara, I instinctively pick on the house phone to see if I have any pressing messages. Of course I do; that’s not surprising. What’s surprising is who a few of them are from—one from Val and then a couple from Tracy, my closest and best girlfriends who both knew I was on assignment. Why didn’t they just call my cell? It’s then I remember I turned my phone off after boarding the plane and never turned it back on. I’m sure when I do, there will be a gazillion messages and texts from them.
First, a message from Val— “Hey, Jules, it’s me. Why aren’t you answering your cell? Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you got home safe and to remind you about tonight because I’m sure you forgot. We’ll pick you up around seven.”
Pick me up? What am I forgetting?
Next is a message from Tracy— “Oh my God, you better be home soon. You’re so not skipping out on us just because your flight got delayed. We’ll be picking you up in… about two hours… God help me, Jules, you better be home soon, and you better be ready to go.”
Second message from Tracy— “I’m literally jumping out of my skin. First, if you aren’t there by the time we get there, and second, I’m going to see my man in the flesh. I swear, Jules, you won’t regret going to this concert—Redemption is the hottest band around. You better be ready, or I’ll drag you out by your pretty little ponytail. Love ya and see ya soon!”
I can’t help but laugh at Tracy’s enthusiasm and dramatic ramblings. Then my laughter dies. It hits me like a Mack truck—I had reluctantly agreed to go to that damn concert. And it’s tonight. I rummage through my suitcase of a purse in search of my cell. When I turn it back on, there are a few text messages from Val warning Tracy is out of her mind about tonight, and then a shit-ton from Tracy warning me I better be ready to go by the time they get there.
I note the time on the phone; they’ll be here soon. “Damn it, I just want to stay home.”
I desperately tried to get out of going. I even tried to use the veto power we three agreed upon way back when, but no matter what, I’m going anyway. I’ve been extremely busy at work, which encroaches on my social life, and tonight’s concert is not my idea of a good time. Going to the symphony—good time. Piano bar—good time. Sipping wine with friends—good time. Banging my head to ear-pounding, mind-numbing music like they have planned—not a good time. Stupid veto.
Tracy’s a persuasive, persistent little shit—that’s probably why I’m going. I have a habit of not being able to say no to her over-the-top tactics—ever. Although I have been successful a few times, but just by the skin of my teeth. It’s never a winning situation for me when she pulls that shit. “Please, Jules it will be so much fun, and you never have fun. You work way too much. Besides, I just know you’ll have a great time. The band is phenomenal and not to mention hotter than hot. Also, you need to see a concert at least once from the Skybox. Val was fortunate enough to get us these amazing tickets. Please, pretty please, with a cherry on top.” And that’s when she gave me “the look.” The look of a lost puppy dog, eyes as big as saucers with a glint of moisture rising up in them, plus a full, pouty lip that protruded farther than a lip possibly could, knowing I wouldn’t be able to say no.
So, here I am going to a concert and listening to a band I haven’t a clue about. Popular music isn’t my thing. My musical tastes are usually the classics, and no, not The Beatles or something like that. I mean Beethoven, Debussy, Mozart or Yo Yo Ma. Oh, and the crooning of Michael Buble or Harry Connick Jr. My girls don’t get it at all; they wish I would listen to anything but, saying I am too young to be listening to grandma music. I always defend myself by letting them know that what they listen to will probably cause them b
rain damage. Besides, music’s been my go-to thing when I need to escape and relax, especially when I was with Blake.
Blake. The music… it’s something I never told them because if I had, they both would throw out and delete every song and burn every CD. While I have opened up a lot about my time with Blake, I’ve never given them all the details. Val knows more than Tracy since she was there toward the end. I hate reliving and rehashing that time in my life; it feels like it happened a long time ago, although other times it feels like it was yesterday, and I survived. I’m still surviving. It’s hard to do more than survive when you’re constantly second-guessing yourself and looking over your shoulder. I should be beyond this at this point. I should have put all that behind me and moved completely on. He lingers in the shadows, stuck in a cobweb in the back of my mind. I tamper it down as much as I can, but at times its tendrils float free and creep and slither into the forefront of my mind. Tracy and Val think tonight is my chance to finally live after all this time. Maybe they’re right. I think they’re right. I hope they’re right.
I just got back from the Food and Wine Classic in Aspen, and I just want to stay home. But since the two of them have gone to several Wine Gourmet Magazine—who I work for as a journalist—events with me, which I must say they thoroughly enjoyed due to the free food and wine, I’m going. I’ll be paying for it tomorrow for sure. Stupid non-veto clause. Two against one, they said. They vetoed my veto. Ah, but I will get them back when they least expect it.
I throw the bottle into the recycle bin, and as I pass the refrigerator, I notice in bright neon pink the word Redemption written in Tracy’s handwriting on today’s date. That’s when I notice the date—June 24th. My heart instinctively clenches in my chest, my body vibrating as the reality of that date sets in. I’ve been so busy I’ve forgotten the date—occupational hazard. It’s been exactly a year and half—today. Eighteen months that I found the strength and walked out, eighteen months that I said enough was enough. Eighteen months I broke free; at least physically free. Before things can turn dark, I take a deep calming breath and remember my mantra, “I am strong, powerful, and above all else, beautiful and worthy. He can no longer hurt me.” Painstakingly slow, my heart untwists within my chest, and my body calms down. It dawns on me why my two friends were so adamant about me going to this concert tonight, and I love them for it. They didn’t forget like I had. I shake away the dark tendrils that are beginning to seep into my mind and go to the hall and grab my bag. Time to get ready. They’ll be here soon.