Summer of Irreverence: The Rock Star (The New York Artists Series)

by Cathrine Goldstein

“Summer…” He chuckled when he spoke. “Is that a yes?”

  The way he spoke—his deep, paced voice—made her feel as much like a child as it did a woman. Looking up at him, she knew he would be completely and irrevocably in charge. Her pulse throbbed in her temples, a warm flush climbed up into her cheeks, and she wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans. Her sympathetic nervous system was in overdrive…and she didn’t blame it one bit. Good grief…she wanted this.

  “Oh, wait…” She shook her head as gosh darn reality dashed in and stomped its oversized boots all over her blissful thoughts. She pulled back.

  “I don’t think I like where this is going, Summer…”

  He ran his hands up and down her arms, his head bowed to look into her eyes. She nearly swooned.

  “It—I…” How exactly does one form a sentence while Malcolm Angel holds you like you’re the one present he’s always wanted? “I…I just, I have to stop home. I need to get some things…” If she was finally going to be with Malcolm—in whatever capacity—she wanted to make sure she grabbed a shower and had clean underwear. She felt her cheeks heat.

  Malcolm smirked at her, holding up his forefinger. “Wait a sec…”

  He reached into the pocket of his jeans, grinning when there suddenly wasn’t enough room for his hand. Summer bit her lip and looked away. He texted quickly, smiling at a response.

  “There.” He shoved the cell back into his pocket.

  “What’s there?” Summer was confused.

  “I’m having some stuff delivered for you.”

  “Some stuff?”

  “Toothbrush, that kind of thing.”

  “Oh…uh…okay…”

  “And I sent a messenger to Jeanette’s. Jeanette said she’d get some of your things together. Clean shorts, etc… As far as shirts go, I think we’ve got that covered.”

  He winked, and Summer’s stomach flipped. Holy cow.

  “You got all that done just now?”

  He shrugged, grinning. “There are some perks to being me.” He pulled her closer to him. “Like, right now, for example.”

  He smiled a wide, generous smile, and Summer smiled back.

  ****

  When Malcolm let her into his apartment it was like Summer had never before been there. She had been so focused last night, she had barely noticed her surroundings.

  They crossed the massive foyer and walked toward the kitchen. Malcolm set down the bag of warm bagels on the counter. “Ready for the tour?”

  “Mm-hm…” She nodded, lingering outside the kitchen, trying to suppress a giggle.

  “What are you giggling about?”

  “Nothing.” She pursed her lips, fighting her smile, looking over the kitchen of stark white and silver.

  “You can come in, nothing in here bites.”

  “Are you sure?” She entered cautiously. “Malcolm, I don’t want to tell you your business, but you may have been had when you purchased your apartment. You might want to give your real estate agent a call.”

  “Why’s that?”

  He grinned as she spoke.

  “Well, I hate to be the one to tell you, but you have no appliances. No dishwasher, no refrigerator…no microwave…no anything.” She spun around in a circle.

  “Here, smart ass.” He pulled open a wall and miraculously, a fridge appeared.

  “Are you kidding me?” Summer moved over to stand next to Malcolm. She stared into the well stocked fridge. “There are secret doors and panels? If I get stuck behind one, should I ask you to, ‘Put the candle back…’?”

  “Very funny. We’ll keep you on this side of the hidden door just to be safe. And they’re not secret—just unobtrusive.”

  “Knowing where you refrigerator is, is obtrusive?”

  Malcolm laughed. “Well, when you say it like that… But c’mon. It’s cool, huh?”

  “Yeah, I guess. I think I saw this on an episode of the Jetsons once. Was that your favorite show growing up?”

  “One of them.”

  “I’ll bet.” She looked down for a minute, then back to him. “Where did you grow up?”

  “Detroit.” He barely moved, his eyes fixed on her.

  She chewed her lip, terrified she was overstepping a boundary, but she asked anyway. “City raised?”

  “Yup. A rundown part of the city, held together by a bandage. We did not have unobtrusive appliances. Actually, we were lucky we had appliances at all. No dishwasher. No microwave. But we did have a fridge.”

  She nodded, staring at his face—seeing the city etched into every line. “Your, uh… parents?”

  He shook his head. “Just my mom.”

  “She must be incredibly proud.”

  “She was…”

  “Oh…” Summer’s shoulders slumped forward again. “I’m sorry, Malcolm.”

  “It happens. After awhile…they all just begin to pile up, cushioning one another, so the higher the pile, the softer the blow—the less you feel.”

  “Like the Princess and the Pea.”

  “I guess.”

  “But the princess felt the pain. No matter how many mattresses there were.”

  “That’s the irony of it all, isn’t it?” He reached up and grabbed the back of his neck with his hand.

  She studied his face, wondering…wishing she could make his pain go away, if only for a moment.

  He nodded to her. “How ’bout you? Where’d you grow up?”

  “Connecticut.”

  “Figures.”

  “Hey.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Have I just been insulted?”

  “Guess that depends on your feelings toward Connecticut.”

  “And yours?”

  He just grinned at her, and she smirked in return. She walked past Malcolm, running her hand along a sparkling countertop similar to Jeanette’s.

  “Nice…quartz?”

  “Good guess. Enameled lava stone.” The smile in his eyes dared her.

  Summer laughed, tossing her head. “Really? This just gets better and better. That’s a thing?”

  “Yup. A really, stupidly expensive thing.”

  “Explains why I’ve never heard of it.”

  His eyes locked on hers, and she saw something flash through them. Suddenly, she felt so incredibly sad for him. Her shoulders dropped, and she leaned back against the enameled lava.

  “Must stink to be you sometimes.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Yeah? Why?”

  “Wondering if a woman is here because you’re you, because you’re famous, or…” she couldn’t stifle the giggle, “because you have enameled lava stone countertops.”

  He nodded and crossed his arms, leaning back against the countertop. “Yeah, sometimes.”

  He adapted his cocky rock star pose, but she could tell underneath he was just the tiniest bit vulnerable.

  Summer walked to him, still smiling. “Well, let me assure you, whatever you show me here in this apartment, will be lost on me. I will ‘ooo’ and ‘ahhh’ at all appropriate times, but I’ve got no clue what I’m looking at. This is so far removed from my world…” She shook her head again, snickering. “So if I’m here, I promise you it’s because of you…and Winston.”

  He beamed at her.

  “All right, get on with it. Show me some more stuff I will not have the ability to fully appreciate.”

  “Right this way…” He held out his arm, and Summer followed him to another room.

  ****

  “I was wrong…” Summer’s voice was a mere whisper.

  They stood side by side, before a giant, angular soaking tub, staring out a window with a breathtaking view of Manhattan.

  “Can you see the entire city?” Summer continued to whisper, though she wasn’t sure why.

  “Well, Uptown, Downtown, the East Side and some of Queens.”

  “My goodness. All while you soak in a tub?”

  They stood quietly for a moment, and then Summer turned her head toward him.

  “Y
ou love these city views, don’t you?”

  “I guess.”

  She gazed back out the window. “You took me to that old hotel for the view…and your apartment…you have views from every room.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And the higher up the better.”

  Malcolm continued to stare out the window, nodding. He swallowed hard. Summer took a deep breath, turning to him. She spoke softly.

  “Does it feel better? Being closer to him?”

  Malcolm slipped his hand in hers. “The only time I ever feel better is when I’m with you…”

  ****

  He felt her gasp before he heard it. He was certain he could feel everything in Summer before she ever expressed it. He had such a connection to her, one that never existed with anyone else…ever. He looked at her standing there: her wavy, blonde hair falling down her back, her perfect profile, the swell of her breasts, and dip of her tummy. God, she was beautiful. And smart. She was so unaffected by the trivialities of life—it was like she understood some greater purpose. Malcolm smiled a crooked smile, hoping she would teach him one day.

  She squeezed his hand, understanding him.

  Above all, Malcolm trusted her. Trust. That’s what it all boiled down to. Summer was the first person he honestly felt he could trust, in…maybe ever.

  Malcolm swallowed the lump in his throat, because no matter what…no matter how he felt, he didn’t deserve her and couldn’t be with her past this summer. These few weeks were already longer than he ever planned to be with her. It was longer than he’d ever been with anyone. It was longer than he should have stayed. Once summer ended, he’d have to end it.

  “Could I…” Her words were a struggle.

  He smiled. She was shy. He knew from the moment he saw her onstage she wasn’t an experienced groupie who followed bands professionally.

  “Wanna grab a shower?”

  She nodded, grateful.

  “C’mon.”

  He led her to a bath just down the hall from the master, offering her privacy.

  “Am I going to be able to work the shower?” She tried her best to remain playful, but her lip quivered when she spoke, and her voice was soft.

  “Ha, ha.” He smiled, trying to relieve her tension. The last thing he wanted was for her to be nervous. He had been waiting for her a long, long time, and as he stared at her, gorgeous and vulnerable, he was eternally grateful he had.

  He left her with towels and all the bags and supplies Jeanette had sent. He was always amazed at how many products women used, especially when they looked their most beautiful without a speck of makeup, and wearing his shirt. Or, at least, that’s how Summer looked her most beautiful.

  He made his way back to the master suite. After grabbing a quick shower himself, he dressed and sat on the edge of his bed, inhaling deeply…thinking of her in the shower. He imagined the warm water from his rain shower head falling down on her hair, her head thrown back, eyes closed. He could see the tiny bumps on her perfectly toned arms and shoulders as water spattered her round, full breasts—splashing against her nipples…cherry red and hard…then slipping between her breasts, running down her cleavage… sliding down the contour of her belly…passing between her legs, before it continued its descent down her thighs…

  Damn. He stood up, pacing the room. He shoved his hands into his pockets, counting upwards by threes. Maybe when he reached the millions he would calm down.

  Water from his shower, spraying her tight nipples…Ugh…Malcolm clenched his teeth, certain they could tear through Kevlar given the chance. He didn’t want Kevlar, he wanted those perfectly ripe buds in his mouth to lick and suck until she cried out in ecstasy.

  How long can a shower take? Malcolm turned his wrist to check his watch. She’d only been in there ten minutes. He’d have at least another fifty to go. No woman could ever get ready for anything in less than an hour, right?

  His eyes made their way to his bedroom door. He wanted her…needed her…now. He paced to the door—should he go get her? Drag her out of the shower and hold her, dripping wet, against the tile of the bathroom wall, his mouth locked on hers, her legs wrapped around his waist? His hands supporting her perfectly shaped backside…

  No. No. No. Not for their first time. Malcolm dragged his hands up through his hair. What the hell was he thinking? Their first time…? Would there be more times? Not at this rate, if he finished before she ever started.

  Calm down, Malcolm. So what if her body is everything female, making him feel entirely male…? And who cares if her eyes are so profound they’re the color of the sincerest night…? Oh wait. Shit.

  Malcolm grabbed a notepad from his side table and began jotting the lyrics. He hadn’t written a song about a particular woman…for a particular woman…ever. He stared at the line, humming an easy melody. It worked. His heart rate increased and sweat broke out across his forehead. What the hell was he doing?

  He tore the paper out of his notebook and crumpled it. No way. He wasn’t about to start now. Malcolm Angel made his fortune by squelching his pain—he had no right to be happy. No matter how Summer Wynters made him feel.

  He plopped on the bed, running his hands down his thighs. She would be here soon—in his bedroom. What should he do? The usual pattern of champagne and sex on the couch was out of the question…Summer deserved so much more. But why? Because this was going to be her thank you for last night? Did he think he was that good in bed? Was he beginning to believe his own hype? Damn it… What the hell was wrong with him?

  Malcolm stared at the bedroom door again, just like Winston when he needed to go out to take a leak. Thankfully, Winston was asleep in his bed in the hall—he didn’t need to witness Malcolm acting like such an uncool idiot.

  Where was she? Thirteen minutes. Man. He might as well be back in high school. What would she be wearing when she made her way back to him? He really hoped she would be in the clean t-shirt he set out for her, and not some fancy lacy getup Jeanette packed. He stood back up, uncomfortable. Damn, he hadn’t been this out of control since he was a kid. He jumped up and down, like he was prepping for stage, and his eyes landed on the master bath. He stuffed his hand into his jeans, feeling the pressure, and seriously contemplated taking matters into his own hand—just so he could be sure to last as long as Summer wanted.

  He chuckled, shaking his head. Just then, she pushed the door open and came inside.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Malcolm’s breath hitched. “My God, you are so beautiful.”

  She stood by the doorway, her back against the wall, her legs popping out of her t-shirt.

  She scoffed, smiling. “I—I wasn’t sure what to put on. But I figured you lent me the shirt for a reason, and truthfully, I kind of really like wearing it.”

  His eyes dropped from hers to the v-neck of her shirt, and then traveled farther down. Her nipples were hard, poking through his shirt. She could feel his eyes on her, he knew it, but instead of shrinking back, she inhaled deeply, allowing her chest to rise up and down. He wanted to walk to her and hold her in a tight cocoon against the wall, but he just couldn’t stop staring—at any, and all, parts of her. She had no makeup on her face, and her hair was freshly washed and still damp.

  She looked down and chewed her lip. “Um, is everything okay?”

  He nodded, moving toward her. He paced himself, certain if he moved too fast she would shy away, and he would combust.

  “Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are?”

  Her eyes climbed up to his, and she shook her head.

  He stood in front of her and reached out to stroke her face, softly. “Your face…” He touched her hair. “Your hair…” He let his hands drop down her arms, his hands engulfing hers. “Your body…”

  He moved closer, pushing her back against the wall with his hips.

  “Huh…” She let out a guttural moan as she made contact with the wall.

  His hands cupped her cheeks, and she stared at him, her giant eyes, aching
. He wanted her right now—he wanted in her—now, against this wall. He wanted to bury himself so far into her, he could forget who he was…he wanted to touch her in ways no man had ever touched her…and no man ever would again.

  But that wasn’t his to do…and she wasn’t his to keep.

  Aw, fuck it.

  Malcolm pushed against her, his kiss so forceful she grunted into his mouth. Her mouth opened willingly, and his tongue found its way in—every part of his body needing to claim her. He wanted her—on her, in her—he wanted her in ways he had never before wanted a woman…

  He pushed harder against her, and she moaned. With his mouth still on hers, he pulled his body back and grabbed his t-shirt. He broke his kiss only to rip off his shirt. Staring at his chest, her eyes widened, then they wandered down, landing on his waistband…she reached out and traced his tattoo of a fallen angel.

  “Like it?” His words were a breathless growl.

  She nodded, biting her lip that was already puffy from his kiss. Her hand made its way to her mouth, tracing her swollen lips.

  Malcolm breathed deeply—if she thinks that’s swollen…Just wait…

  In an instant Malcolm was latched back onto her, his bare chest feeling the softness of the cotton of her shirt, and the stiffness of her nipples. Oh, those nipples…nipples he had been fantasizing about for…

  He took Summer’s arms and planted them over her head, holding her against the wall. Her kiss intensified, and she pushed against him, unable to move. He kissed her now like a hungry fire, devouring her oxygen…growing and intensifying with every second that passed.

  He felt her succumb to his strength, exciting him beyond anything he had ever known. He let her arms go, grabbing her t-shirt. Carefully but quickly, he lifted it over her head and tossed it on the ground beside them. He stood back from her—looking. Her breasts were even more beautiful than he had imagined—large and full and shaped like teardrops—her nipples, cherry red as he had guessed—hard and stiff. His eyes scanned her up and down—not a mark, not a blemish—not a single tattoo in sight. He inhaled sharply…could this be possible?

  “No tattoos?”

  She shook her head. “Is—is that okay?”

  Oh, it was more than okay. His eyes raced up and down her body, inspecting every square inch of her unblemished perfection. He wanted to see it all, and do, even more… “Yes, Summer…it’s more than okay…it’s perfect.”