by C. L. Riley
Just so you know, I’ve read more than a few romance novels where the heroine refers to her wet panties. I always discarded the over-used reference as an exaggeration specific to the genre.
Now I know the books were right and I was wrong. Damp panties are real, and I’m wearing them.
I’m also positive I am not the only one in desperate need of a cold shower, especially with Shag looking like he does. His bare chest and six-pack glisten with sweat, drawing my gaze to his body-hugging leathers, a different pair than he wore during the Portland concert. They lace up the front, reminiscent of David Lee Roth’s signature eighties style.
But what makes the pants so hot is the way Shag fills them. He’s packing some serious size beneath those laces. The drool-worthy bulge is even bigger than I remember from that first, hometown show. Considering at this venue his crotch is just a few feet from my face, it’s no wonder he seems larger than life.
Two songs ago, he tossed me his T-shirt, and I’m clinging to the sweaty garment like it’s my life preserver. Every few seconds, his uniquely male scent drifts up from the shirt, adding to my desire. It takes all my self-control to resist the insane urge to bury my nose in the cool cotton.
Robin isn’t helping matters. She keeps passing me straight shots. I don’t do straight shots. At least I didn’t use to.
Because of those shots, I’ve surpassed the tipsy phase, something that’s happened more in the past week than in the last year. The night we used our gift cards to shop for the cruise, I was buzzed. By the pool today, I was feeling no pain. And now…now I’m ready to seduce Shag and worry about the emotional price tag tomorrow.
So much for my stance on limiting any self-indulgent behavior…I’m failing miserably in that regard and can’t make myself care. What I do care about is the man who owns the stage and perhaps even a tiny piece of me.
His next words lodge in my heart, like an arrow from Cupid’s bow, sending a surge of heat spiraling through me. I lean into Robin, and she nudges me, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“I’d like to play you a song I wrote while most of you were enjoying a kick ass meal. My band doesn’t know about it yet, and I don’t have a title. I hope you’re cool with an acoustic version of what I believe is a future hit. Did I mention I’m turning into a certified cat lover?”
Robin pokes me. “Cat lover, huh? Whatever could he mean?”
I take the shot glass from her and throw back my head, letting the bitter liquid burn a fiery trail down my throat. “Maybe he likes felines,” I tease back.
She raises her brow and I stick out my tongue.
Someone from Shag’s crew brings him a stool and hands over a guitar, putting an end to our banter.
The room quiets and chairs shuffle as people sit. Robin pulls me down with her, giving my thigh a pat. I sink into the cushions, keeping my gaze trained on Shag. He adjusts the instrument, his expression thoughtful.
After what feels like forever, he looks up and shoots us his trademark smirk. It doesn’t matter that he’s about to premiere a song he wrote while I was napping and everyone else was eating, he appears cool and utterly confident.
He fixes his gaze on me and strums his fingers across the guitar’s strings, launching into a soulful rock ballad that makes my arm hairs stand up and take notice. Goose bumps trail over my skin and I’m immediately lost in the lyrics.
The song is about a man longing for a woman so bad it hurts. He refers to the woman as Cat and makes use of several clever word plays to insert some petting and purring references into the story. Rather than being cheesy, the cat contrasts add a hint of humor to an otherwise serious song of seduction and bring a unique twist to a tale about a tormented man desperate for a torrid affair with a woman he should leave alone.
Mentions of emerald eyes and a red halo of hair…his very own Tabby Cat, eliminate any mystery about who he’s longing for.
He. Wants. Me.
He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s going to get me.
Tonight.
Just the thought of us together sends a coil of heat through my core. I shift, trying to relieve the pressure and refocus my attention on the lyrics not the ache between my legs.
The verse that touches me most describes how the woman he wants is out of his league and explains he is no good for her, and then goes on to clarify that in the end he will corrupt her, destroying her innocence.
Had the lyrics been lacking, it wouldn’t have mattered, because Shag’s voice is intoxicating, like the finest wine, aged to perfection. It wraps around me like a lush fur blanket, caressing my soul and making me realize how much I want to be corrupted, as long as it’s Shag doing the corrupting.
The man has far more going for him than simple charisma and charm, and he’s not just talented, he’s undeniably gifted. He shines brighter than any star and easily makes the sun pale in comparison to the energy that emanates from him. As for sex appeal, he has it in spades, no one could ever question his shameless sensuality, but it’s more than that.
I’ve seen sexy, talented men before but none who have affected me the way Shag Steal is affecting me now. I feel like I’m the only woman in the world who can satisfy his insatiable appetite, and I’m convinced he alone is the one man who can quench my thirst. It’s as if I’ve been wandering in the desert and he’s the oasis, a place of refuge and release.
There is no denying that whatever this thing is between us has me spellbound. I can’t explain it and I don’t want to. The mystery adds to the magic, making me tremble all over. If I sit here another second, I’m afraid I’ll melt. Robin will have to scrape me off the floor.
Not sure how to handle the tsunami of sensations, I bolt from the loveseat, desperate to find a safe harbor where I can compose myself in the midst of the storm.
The women’s restroom is the closest sanctuary I can think of. So I make a beeline through the audience, trying not to step on any feet along the way. Sadly, I’m not successful. I stumble, and someone, thank God, keeps me from a face plant.
Mumbling an apology, I keep moving, determined to escape what now feels like a room full of vultures eager to pick me to pieces.
When I finally enter the hallway that leads to the bathrooms, my legs turn to JELL-O. Slumping against the wall, I struggle to stay upright.
Rough hands grab my shoulders and I’m yanked against a hard body. At first I think its Shag, but the smell is all wrong. After spending time practically snorting his shirt, I’m confident in my ability to recognize his scent.
This man smells like whisky and musk, a combination that turns my stomach.
“Where are you running off to? We’ve got unfinished business.”
“What...?” My mind is foggy and doesn’t compute his comment, thanks to all the shots.
“Poolside, this morning. Your friend chased me off before I could tell you how much I like women like you.”
Placing my palms against his chest, I push. “Women like me?”
“Full-figured, sexy, and trying to pretend like they don’t want it.”
The fog clears just enough for me to process his words, and I’m pissed. I know I should be afraid, considering he has me pinned against a wall, but instead I’m seeing red. This asshole just called me fat and accused me of cock-blocking.
I do what any insulted woman would, knee him in the groin.
Only problem, I miss. Now he’s angry and running his mouth.
“You little bitch. You think that rock-star likes you. Please. You should feel lucky I want to fuck you.”
This time, I stomp on his foot. I don’t miss and he yelps, releasing me.
Before I can think to move, Omar, Shag’s security guard, the one who walked me to my first ever meal onboard, is between me and Mr. Stalker, shoving him back.
A second later, a shirtless blur appears.
My vision is tunneling and I’m not sure what’s happening. I think the blur is Shag, which makes no sense since I still hear music. Closing my eyes, I try to fig
ht the dizziness that I suspect is a result of the booze. I’ve lost count of how many shots I swallowed down.
I’m pretty sure I’m going to throw up.
Yep. I am.
Unable to stop the inevitable, I bow over and spew out the cause of my distress.
With my stomach empty, I slide down the wall and land on my ass, right before the world goes dark.
Chapter Seven
Shag
“I mean, you can hate us. I don’t care if you hate us, but no one will ever sound like us.”
-Nikki Sixx
I’m lost in her green-eyed gaze. She’s all I see. The audience has vanished, and I play for her…just her. She’s become an obsession, a tormenting itch that I intend to scratch, tonight, if I have my way.
Cadie O’Shea has no clue what she’s done to me, but she’ll find out soon enough.
She inspired the song I’m belting out. Because of her, it demanded to be written, keeping me from dinner and our guests. I was quick to break Rod’s ridiculous rules to get what I know will be a big hit out of my head and onto paper.
Even if the world decides to conspire against me, and the song tanks, Cadie’s favorable response is worth dealing with one of Rod’s infamous tirades.
The final chorus requires that I sing falsetto. I hit the range and my voice soars, ushering in the climax. Approving whistles and shouts tell me everything I need to know. This song is going to sell more downloads than any of our other hits. It might not be like anything we’ve done before, but I am confident our fans will embrace it. We’ll gain new listeners as well. The song is that good.
What isn’t good is the way Cadie’s expression has shifted. Her gaze darts from me to Robin and then toward the nearest exit. She suddenly goes rigid and her eyes widen, and then she’s up and running.
Okay, not quite running, but stumble-walking at brisk pace through the crowd and almost falling before disappearing into a hallway that is home to the restrooms.
The second I’m finished, I whisper for Slyder to take over. There are two songs he sings lead on. I tell him to do both, something unprecedented. Usually he does one song per show and only when I do my ‘costume’ change.
Being a consummate professional, Slyder shows no indication he’s surprised and launches into the first number. I squeeze past and hand my guitar off to a waiting roadie.
As I pass by Misty, I ignore her shocked expression and glue myself to the wall behind the stage, hoping to stay off everyone’s radar. Omar notices my abrupt departure and starts toward me. Shaking my head, I point at the hallway.
He’s worked with me long enough to read my signals. Considering he doesn’t need to sneak around, he’ll beat me to Cadie. I trust he is aware of her escape. I asked him to keep an eye on her whenever I can’t.
By the time I arrive and access the situation, I know I made the right decision.
She needs rescuing.
I don’t hesitate, bringing my fist down on some pretty boy’s face. A sickening crack under my knuckles tells me I’ve done damage. This fucker won’t be so pretty in the morning.
Turning back to Cadie, I’m just in time to see her lean over and launch the contents of her stomach all over the floor. She lets out a little groan and slides down the wall, landing in a heap.
In most cases, seeing a woman in this state would be enough to turn me off for life. Instead, I’m again overwhelmed by the need to take care of her, to shield her from any further suffering.
I lean over and scoop her up.
“Here, let me take her, boss,” Omar offers.
“No. I got her. Do something about that motherfucker. I want him off this ship tomorrow. The minute we dock, get him on a plane. I don’t want to see him again. Make sure staff gets this cleaned up.” I nod at the carpet.
“I’ll take care of everything. First, I’m going take this ‘motherfucker’ to the doc. He’ll probably be glad to have something besides another sunburned patient to deal with.”
“Thanks, man,” I voice my appreciation.
I’ve already determined Omar’s getting a raise. Who cares if he had one three months ago? He’s an integral part of my team, and he’s proven himself more times than I can count. This latest situation has cemented his position with me.
Cradling Cadie in my arms, I wait while he drags her would-be attacker up and hauls him off. Once they are out of sight, I start for the elevator, almost colliding with the Rolling Rock reporter. He steps back and gives me a disapproving look. I want to wipe the critical expression right off his face. Lucky for him, I’d have to put down Cadie to bludgeon him the way I’d like to. With a sneer, I push past, making sure my shoulder slams against his.
He doesn’t react. Smart man.
I hope like hell he’s the last obstacle between us and my cabin’s privacy.
He is, and I am able to get her inside without any further complications.
I’m greeted by my cell flashing on the nightstand, likely with messages from Misty and Rod about me leaving Slyder to close the show. It’s not like I’m not performing two more times this week, and besides, change is a good thing. Slyder has a great voice and deserves an opportunity to show off his chops now and then.
Deciding to neglect the calls, I lay Cadie on my bed. I’m relieved to see her barf-blast projected away from her clothing, keeping her glittery Jolly Roger tee a vomit free zone. I notice then she’s clutching a rag. Upon closer inspection, I realize it’s my T-shirt. The one I tossed out to her, during our performance.
How fucking cute is that? She’s passed out drunk and was almost assaulted, but she refused to release my shirt.
I gently remove it from her hand and set it on a nearby chair.
The whole situation is just plain bizarre. I’ve never had a woman in my bed that wasn’t there for sex. Most are booted out in the morning. Very few are welcomed back a second time. Misty has been one of the rare ones, but only because she’s always around and finds excuses to get me alone.
I’m so fucking grateful my mom called, interrupting a colossal mistake in the making. Consummating the actual deed with her would have prompted serious damage control. Even now, firing her won’t be easy. She knows way too much about me and my bad behavior. I hope I don’t have to enforce the nondisclosure agreement, but I will. Misty knows I don’t fuck around. If she wants to play dirty, I’ll bury her. My attorney will make sure she looks like a money-grabbing, jealous bitch with a vendetta.
“Thirsty…” Cadie whispers, her voice hoarse.
I shove all concerns about my PA and any future legal battles aside and hurry to the small fridge. Water bottle in hand, I return to Cadie’s side.
“Can you hold it?” I brush my knuckles against her cheek. Her skin is like silk, soft and smooth.
“I think so,” she croaks, reaching for the bottle.
Removing the cap, I hand it over.
She manages to prop up on her elbow and takes a slow drink. “This tastes like Heaven.” After another swallow, she asks, “Got an extra toothbrush? I have serious dragon breath.”
“In the bathroom. You sure you can walk?” There is no way she’s falling again on my watch.
“Yeah. I feel better now.”
She rises slowly and sits on the edge of the bed. I’m surprised she isn’t complaining about being here. I assume she’s still too out of it for the reality to register. She did ask for a toothbrush though. So she knows she’s in my cabin not hers.
“Thanks for whatever you did to get me away from that creep.” She visibly shivers, and I want to punch him all over again.
“He won’t be bothering you anymore. I guarantee it.”
She gives me a curious look but doesn’t press for details.
I like that. I’m used to women asking 101 questions. Cadie O’Shea continues to surprise me, and unlike my ex, I enjoy a good surprise.
“Okay then, if you don’t mind, I’m going to take you up on that toothbrush.”
She doesn’t wait for pe
rmission and makes her way to the bathroom with only one slight stagger. It appears she successfully eliminated the cause of her inebriation all over the floor by the restrooms.
I pace the room and listen to the water run. I’m not sure how to proceed. Do I go ahead and seduce her as planned or offer to take her back to her cabin? I wouldn’t blame her for wanting to be in her own space after what went down.
At last the door opens and she emerges, looking more fresh-faced, but I’m still not convinced this is the right time for a Shag Steal seduction. The idea she might blame the alcohol for her surrender doesn’t sit well with me. I want her to want me and know exactly what she’s doing. No regrets.
“Hey,” she says. “Does Robin know I’m with you?”
I’m glad I can tell her the truth. “Already taken care of. I sent Roxie a text. She’ll make sure Robin gets the message.”
I wait for her to ask me to walk her back to her suite, but she doesn’t move or speak. Instead she stands in the bathroom’s doorway, staring. Her eyes glide over me, and it hits me then that I’m still in my leather pants, and my shirt now belongs to her, leaving my chest uncovered.
If she’s going to stare at me, I’m going to stare right back. What sane man would miss the opportunity to inspect her luscious curves?
She looks damn sweet and sexy as fuck in her black suede pants. They hit right below the knee, giving me a perfect view of her sculpted calves. The fitted top’s Jolly Roger logo is like a magnet, drawing my gaze to her full breasts, which leads me to her hair. It is like a mane of crimson; the curls spiral over her shoulders and down her back. I want fuck her from behind with my fist wrapped around her long locks.
I can’t see her ass from my current viewpoint, but I’d bet good money it wiggles when slapped. I’ve pictured it plenty of times since meeting her. I’m an ass man and her bottom was made for spanking.
She surprises me again, granting me a knowing smile. “Are we going to do this?”
“Do what, Cadie Cat?” Her nickname rolls off my tongue before I can stop it.