But that didn’t stop her.
“How about a story on how the VA is falling short on women’s health issues?” she asked.
Elaine shook her head. “Too serious for our readers. Next.”
Becca gritted her teeth and zoned out. Everything she suggested was “too dark” or “too serious” for their readers. What kind of demographics were they catering to, anyway? Based on the insipid material she was asked to research each week, she wondered if their readers cared about anything other than fashion and sex.
“That sounds like a great idea, Hilde. Rebecca can look up some info for you.”
Her attention snapped back to the meeting the second she heard Elaine say her name. Too bad she missed what she was supposed to research. She tried to stay focused as the writers tossed out a few more ideas before the meeting ended, her mind growing more numb with each one that was approved. Why couldn’t I have gotten a job with Time or Newsweek? Why Moderne?
Because it was the only place that offered me a job.
Everyone else still saw her as Becca Shore, the strung-out party girl. Just another obstacle to overcome on the way to becoming a respected journalist.
Her morning latte mingled with her bitterness to form an acid that gnawed at the inside of her stomach. She closed her eyes and focused on the positives before the bitterness erupted into a “fuck it all” scene.
I’ve got one foot in the door, which is better than where I was before.
I’m gaining insight into how the magazine publishing world works.
I’m making contacts and building my resume.
I can use this experience to help me later.
A Zen-like sensation surrounded her with each positive thought, followed by a calm acceptance. It was only the sound of her name that pulled her back to reality.
Hilde, one of the staff writers, stood in front of her. She was sleek and sophisticated in her late thirties, her hair perfectly highlighted and never out of place, and her face showed the benefits of her regular Botox injections. The meeting had adjourned, and the other writers were filing out the room. “Sleeping on the job?”
“No, just brainstorming ideas.”
“Good, because I’ll need your help.” Hilde beckoned her to follow her out of the conference room. “By the way, you have some balls pitching story ideas as an assistant.”
“I have to start somewhere,” she replied with a shrug. “It’s not like I’m going to get fired for suggesting something.”
“But it’s not scoring you any points with the other writers.”
Becca glanced around the office and caught a couple of disapproving glares that backed Hilde’s warning. “What are they worried about? It’s not like Elaine ever accepts any of my ideas anyway.”
“Just offering you a piece of friendly advice.” Hilde leaned in and lowered her voice. “Between you and me, though, I find your ideas thought provoking, even if they aren’t right for this magazine. You keep searching for good stories like that, maybe you can end up at a place that appreciates your enthusiasm.”
If only…
“You mean you don’t appreciate me now?” she teased back.
“I’ll appreciate you even more if you can help me research these topics.” She flipped open her notebook. “Article one: How to take the perfect selfie.”
Becca bit back a groan and scribbled the topic down. “I’m on it.”
“Great, and when you’re done with that, you can help me with the article on holiday makeup trends. But first, I’d love a latte from downstairs. You know how I like it.” Hilde walked off without another word.
Becca clenched her shoulder blades together and repeated her positives list from earlier before heading down to the coffee stand.
Once she fetched the venti, double-shot, nonfat, sugar-free vanilla latte with no foam for Hilde, Becca settled into her cubicle and popped her ear buds in. Music from her iPod Shuffle filled her ears and drowned out the chatter around her. A search of the Internet found tons of tips on taking selfies and plunged her into a world of camera angles, expressions, filters, and cropping techniques.
She was nearing the end of what she hoped would be enough information when the hard, driving beat of one of Ravinia’s Rejects’ songs came on. She sat back and bobbed her head in time with the music and was instantly transported back to the carefree days where she’d dance all night to songs like it at a club, drink in hand, one hit away from bliss.
The familiar craving flared in the back of her mind. No matter how long she’d been clean, she’d always remember how good it felt to get high. She curled her fingers around the armrests of her chair until the craving faded. Thankfully, tonight was her NA meeting. Just knowing it existed helped her push past the memory and move forward.
The song was ending by the time her fingers were back on the keyboard, but instead of continuing to research her article, she entered “Ravinia’s Rejects” into the search field. At the top of the list were articles about the tragic death of the lead guitarist, Tyler Bransford, last month. Most of the news out there speculated that the band had broken up, but there was still talk about them releasing some of the material they’d been recording when he died.
She clicked on one of the articles citing the cause of death as a heroin overdose, and her breath left her in a mournful sigh. Such a waste of talent. She followed it up with a prayer of thanks that she hadn’t suffered the same fate and continued reading.
The article mentioned that Ethan Kelly, the lead singer, had checked into a rehab facility shortly after Ty’s death and hadn’t been seen since. She stared at his picture, noting his long black hair and stormy gray eyes, and was struck by the nagging sensation that he looked familiar. At first, she laughed it off since she’d been a fan of the band since their debut album, but the more she looked at the picture, the stronger the sensation became.
She clicked on the picture to enlarge it. A knot twisted her stomach, and the hair on her arms rose. A few clicks later, she’d loaded the picture into an editing program and removed his hair. Her breath hitched when she saw the man scowling back at her on the screen.
Shit!
No wonder Gary had asked her to be Ethan’s sponsor.
He was Ethan Kelly.
***
Becca hurried down the crowded sidewalk, the butterflies still fluttering in her stomach hours later. It was one thing to know she’d been asked to sponsor a man who needed help. It was another thing when the man was a rock god she’d worshipped since she was a teenager.
Please don’t let me turn into a blathering idiot around him.
It wasn’t like she hadn’t rubbed shoulders with celebrities before. She’d grown up surrounded by actors, designers, models, and musicians. But with a few exceptions, they were mostly her parents’ friends, not hers. And even during her party days, she’d never actually met someone she completely idolized.
Get over it, Becca. You’re not a teenager anymore. Besides, if you fawn all over him like some crazed fan, he’ll run away and relapse.
That stopped her in her tracks. More than anything, she needed to watch what she said and how she acted around him. He’d been so closed off about himself. If he even caught a whiff that she knew who he was, he’d be gone before she could stop him. And if he ended up like his band mate…
Guilt quieted her giddiness and sobered her to the reality of the situation. She’d been in his shoes. She knew what it was like to want to disappear from the press long enough to get herself together. And she would support his decision to do the same.
She resumed the quick pace of her fellow New Yorkers, focusing instead on ways to reassure Ethan his secret was safe with her without bringing it up. When she got to the church where the meetings were held, she turned to go inside without paying any attention to the streets around her.
“Hey, Bec,” a man called from th
e curb.
She spun around to find Ethan still straddling his motorcycle, even though the engine was off. He pulled off his helmet and approached her. “I was waiting for you.”
“Y–you were?” she stuttered, and a wave of heat rose along the back of her neck. She locked her knees to keep from swooning like some silly fan-girl. Geez, Becca, snap out of it.
The smile he gave her did little to slow the frantic beating of her heart. He’d always seemed dangerous. A little rough around the edges. But that one rare flash of his pearly whites turned her insides to goo. “I don’t dare go in there alone.”
“Oh, yeah.” He was just interested in her as a support system, not as anything more. After the disappointment ebbed, she realized that was probably a good thing. Knowing the boundaries that were in place would keep her from crossing the lines.
But as she got a full view of the way his jeans molded his ass, her thoughts went from responsible sponsor to lust-filled woman. Even if he weren’t a bad-boy rock star, she’d still love to get him out of those jeans. Still, she needed to put that aside. If she could get over heroin, she could certainly keep her desire for Ethan Kelly in check.
“Nice parking spot,” she quipped in an attempt to keep the mood light.
“Lucked out,” he replied without turning back.
And they were back to the minimal responses. Perhaps it was for the best.
The meeting was shorter than usual tonight since Gary had brought in a speaker. Not that she was paying much attention. Ethan was proving to be too much of a distraction. She’d been around some of the sexiest men alive like Ari’s brother, Gabe, but none of them left her on edge like Ethan did.
She sat straighter in her chair, trying to keep her attention on the speaker instead of the man sitting next to her. It’s all because he’s someone you’ve admired for years, and you haven’t gotten laid in four months. Just a bad combination of a crush and a dry spell. Nothing more.
Then she made the mistake of glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. He was watching her with that intense, brooding gaze that made her nipples harden.
But damn, what a fantasy that would be to spend the night with him.
She turned away with an exasperated sigh and did her best to ignore him for the rest of the meeting. By the time Gary got back on the podium to thank the speaker, she’d almost forgotten about Ethan.
Of course, that would be the moment he chose to rush out of the room.
Damn it! She offered an apologetic smile to Gary and chased after Ethan.
He was already on his bike and strapping on his helmet by the time she caught up to him.
“What’s the rush?” she asked.
“I don’t do prayer.” He revved up the engine in an angry growl that added emphasis to the angst underlying his reply.
This she could handle. She’d spent most of the week preparing to handle the angry Ethan, and putting her plan into action was just what she needed to clear out the haze of desire. “Fair enough.”
He released the throttle and tilted his head to the side. “What? No questions? No trying to get me to reveal why?”
She shook her head. Last week had taught her that he’d only volunteer information when he was ready. Questions only made things worse. But now she understood why.
He sat back on his bike, his brows drawing together like she’d just stumped him.
Thirty seconds of uneasy silence passed between them before she proceeded to the next step in her plan. “I’m going to get some cake and coffee. You’re welcome to join me.”
She turned to go toward Gitta’s café when a gloved hand grabbed her wrist.
“I can give you a ride,” he offered. “That is, if you’re not too scared.”
She chuckled. “What makes you think that?”
“I like to go fast.” Behind his challenge lay a hint of flirtation.
A delicious tingle rippled up her spine. “So do I.”
“Prove it.” He reached behind him for the spare helmet and shoved it in her hands.
She chewed her bottom lip while she ran her hands over the smooth fiberglass. Could she keep it together while they whipped through the streets of Manhattan, her arms wrapped around his waist, her thighs gripping his? Talk about the ultimate foreplay, even if it was only for a few blocks.
But on the other hand, if she could get him to join her at the café, then maybe she could also make some headway on his recovery. She slipped the helmet on. “You’re on.”
A minute later, she had secured her messenger bag across her chest and climbed onto the seat behind him. Even through the thick leather of his jacket, she could feel his lean, hard muscles.
“Hold on,” he shouted a split second before pulling out into traffic.
The speed awakened the long-dormant sense of exhilaration she’d buried years ago when she’d given up her wild lifestyle. She resisted the urge to raise her arms in the air and shout with joy. Instead, she kept her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, leaning her body from side to side as they weaved through the lanes. The cool autumn air cut through her clothes as they sped along the street, and she nuzzled closer to him, drawing in the warm scents of cologne and leather. The ride would be over before she wanted it to end, but for those few precious moments, she savored the freedom he offered her.
***
Ethan’s groin throbbed by the time he pulled into a parking spot near the café. What the fuck had he been thinking, inviting Becca for a ride? It was bad enough that she kept ambushing his thoughts as he lay in bed every night. But to feel her body pressed against his, to witness the fearless way she accepted his challenge and rode with him, to hear the excited hitch of her breath with every turn—it all made him harder than a high school kid discovering porn for the first time.
She hopped off his bike and removed her helmet. The ride had tousled her hair so she looked more like a sex kitten, and another jolt of desire shot straight to his dick.
“That was fun,” she said with a grin and handed the spare helmet back to him, “but next time, I’ll drive and you can ride bitch.”
“Like hell you will.” He strapped the spare to the back of his bike, thankful for the few seconds the mindless task gave him to allow the ache in his crotch to lessen. By the time he was done, he could climb off his bike without wincing.
He found Becca drooling in front of the dessert case again when he entered the café. “So many yummy choices,” she murmured.
“But I see they don’t have your Sacher-torte tonight.”
“Doesn’t matter. There’s still plenty to choose from.” She pointed to a tray full of little pink square cakes. “Punschkrapfen.” Then to a cherry strudel. “Weichselstrudel.”
Her obvious love for desserts lifted the dark mood that had seized control of him during the meeting, and he caught himself laughing. “Why do I feel like I need to say gesundheit after each of those things?”
She elbowed him and gave him a wry smile before turning her attention back to the dessert case. “I think I’ll go with the Dobostorte tonight.”
“Very good,” Gitta said from behind the counter. “And anything for you?”
“Just a coffee.”
He joined Becca at a corner table that was hidden from most of the café, noting the way she craned her neck to check out the rest of the room behind him. “Have your whereabouts been discovered?” he teased.
“No, I was more worried about y—” Her mouth snapped shut, but not before he figured out the last word.
The muscles along his back locked. “And why would you be worried about me?”
She bit her lip and combed her fingers through her hair, never meeting his gaze. “You seem pretty protective of your privacy, that’s all. And I want to make sure you can enjoy a cup of coffee without being disturbed.”
The tension rounded his shoulder a
nd spread to his gut. “Is there something I need to know?”
The tone of his voice turned accusing, but if someone had told her who he was, he was done with this NA bullshit.
She finally looked at him with guileless blue-green eyes and slowly shook her head. “You know who I am, and you know how hard I guard my privacy. I just want to do the same for you.”
His stomach unknotted, but he still couldn’t completely relax. Something had changed from last week, and for a moment, he was tempted to ask her if she wanted to get back on his bike and ride until the sun came up. Even with the blue balls it threatened to give him, he preferred that over what hung in the air between them.
Gitta brought their order to their table, and Becca dove into her cake. “You didn’t get anything to eat?”
“I’m not much of a sweets person.”
“I could tell that, but I figured you might be game for the sour cherry strudel.”
“Sour cherry?”
“Um-hmm,” she said before she swallowed a mouth full of her cake. “You seem like the sour type.”
So they were back with the teasing. “Do I? You, on the other hand, are definitely all about the sweet.”
“As you can tell by my ass.”
He leaned over to study the shape of her thighs and how they vanished into a very squeezable ass. “Nothing wrong with it as far as I can tell.”
She choked on her whipped cream–topped hot chocolate. Her face reddened as she struggled to catch her breath. “Are you flirting with me?”
“Are you bothered by it?”
She didn’t answer, but he caught a hint of a smile before she covered her mouth with her coffee mug. “How was your week?”
“It sucked.” He expected her to ask him to elaborate or maybe try to tease out some details why it sucked, but she continued to watch him with the expectant arch of her eyebrows without saying a word.
Rockers After Dark: 6 Book Bundle of Sexy Musicians Page 96