Paparazzi: A Rock and Love story (Roadies Series Book 2)

by Erika Vanzin

  I take a deep breath and open it. In front of me, Thomas holds a cup of coffee and a red velvet cupcake that I know he got from Emily. She’s the only one who knows that sweets can turn even my worst moods around for the better.

  “Truce?” he pleads in an unsteady voice.

  I let him in and, when I close the door and turn around, find him looking at me as if the vision has somehow destabilized him. I realize I’m only wearing a short bathrobe and I feel embarrassed, remembering what it feels like to have his hands and lips on me. The thought makes some of my anger fade, giving way to the desire to undress him and taste every inch of that perfect body.

  “I’m sorry, I’m going to change,” I say, collecting something in my closet and taking refuge in the bathroom.

  I breathe deeply and look in the mirror, seeing my flushed cheeks and a smile on my lips. I slip into a comfortable pair of sweat pants, then look at the t-shirt I grabbed and realize I can’t wear a bra, as it is white, see-through and hangs too low under my arms.

  “Damn,” I hiss between my teeth, realizing I haven’t been wearing one for days because I can’t fasten it. Still, I grab it from the bathroom shelf and put my arms through, but when I try and fasten it, a tearful pain almost makes me burst into tears. I take deep breaths until the pain returns to a reasonable level. Then I hold the bra with one hand and cover my breasts, even though he’s already seen them on several occasions. But this time I’m angry with him and I want him to stay focused on my pissed-off mood, not my nipples. I slowly open the door and find him playing with Dexter, sitting on the edge of the bed. I’m increasingly sure that my cat gets replaced by a more friendly version of himself whenever that guy walks in through the door. There’s no other explanation.

  “Thomas?” I call in a hoarse voice.

  He raises his head and wrinkles crease his perplexed forehead.

  “Could you help me out? I still have a hard time fastening it,” I say, embarrassed and pointing to my bra.

  Thomas seems a little dumbfounded, then gets up from the bed, pissing off my cat, who tries to grab his hand, and approaches slowly. I turn around and give him my back, feeling his fingers move my hair aside, touching my skin, making me shudder. His gestures are slow, almost like he’s paralyzed at the idea of touching me, as he grabs the bra straps and calmly joins them, barely grazing me. He gently rests his hands on my back once finished, then he slips a finger under my right shoulder strap and sets it right, sliding along the fabric, touching my shoulder with his knuckle, leaving a glowing trail on my skin. I don’t see him, but I can feel his breath quickening on my neck, raising the hair there with shivers of pleasure. My heart bounces in my chest, pounding furiously, and all of a sudden, I realize I’m holding my breath.

  “It’s okay,” he whispers near my ear in a hoarse voice.

  His mouth is so close I raise my head, my gaze with his, losing myself in his big blue eyes that, at this moment, look like a stormy sea. Memories of last night, when we made love, come back to mind. The delicacy with which he took care of me, the attention he paid to my bruises, pleasuring me so sweetly, every gesture infused with affection. It wasn’t just about sex. It was about feelings.

  “Thank you,” I whisper in a faint voice and walk one step toward the bathroom at the same time he steps back.

  When I close the door behind me, my legs almost give way, making me slide to the floor. I breathe deeply, trying to get my temperature back to normal and my heart rate to a decent pace. I find it a little difficult to slip on my shirt but, when I finally succeed, I have become more or less presentable. I grab the handle and walk out confident, smiling when I see Thomas snuggled up to my cat, who is licking his cheek.

  “It’s not what you think,” he says thoughtfully, making me smile.

  “Yes, of course, that’s what they all say.”

  “I swear he came here and snuggled. I tried to resist him, but he’s really too insistent. Basically, I’m a man with a weak heart and will.”

  I burst out laughing and approach the kitchen. “Do you want some coffee?” I ask, sipping mine and nibbling at the cupcake.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  I notice him coming up behind me as I fill the machine with water.

  “Look...forgive me for the way I behaved earlier at the clinic. Believe me, I didn’t mean to offend you in any way or put pressure on you. I just wanted to help, but I realize now I was wrong,” he admits in a miserable voice, which almost makes me feel tender toward him.

  I turn to find him looking down at his toes.

  “Did you understand it for yourself, or did your friends have to explain it to you?” I tease him good-naturedly, keeping my voice and my expression light.

  Thomas bursts into embarrassed laughter, scratching behind his neck and wreaking havoc on the dark curls that are usually unkempt with meticulous care.

  “Okay, they explained it to me because I couldn’t figure it out by myself. I swear I wanted to help you, and I didn’t understand until Lilly practically made me a drawing to get it into my head.”

  That makes me laugh out loud, and suddenly, all the anger I had toward him evaporates. I have to admit, I like this side of Thomas, the one who knows how to apologize.

  “I appreciate your sincerity.” I smile at him, giving him a cup of coffee.

  “I just want to help you. I know what it’s like to have trouble getting to the end of the month... my mother used to eat half her portion of dinner to give my sister and me a decent meal. Now, I have so much money I could never spend it in a lifetime, so it’s no trouble helping people. After all, it’s just money. I have enough to live my whole life without struggling, and a safe retirement fund. What do I need with all this extra money?”

  It’s disarming how he can worry so genuinely and without a trace of selfishness about my life. Money is a bit of a touchy subject for me. I don’t like to talk about it, or what I have to do to get to the end of the week without starving. I still get angry because I couldn’t go to college, even though I managed to get into New York University and Columbia. Money is a topic I don’t want to address, especially with someone who’s interested in me.

  “Do you have a sister?” I ask incredulously, realizing that I know practically nothing about this man, apart from the fact that he is one of the most famous drummers in the world. In fact, there is an air of mystery around all the band members that no one has ever managed to dispel.

  Thomas bursts out laughing, but I can see he’s nervous. “Is that the only detail you picked up in all this talk?”

  “No, but that’s what stood out. Not much is known about you and your private life.”

  “It’s part of our charm,” he says winking at me, and I melt a little, but I realize that he hasn’t answered my question.

  “Yes, I guess so.”

  “Promise me that if you need it, you’ll ask for my help? I will no longer offer to give you money unless you ask me for it yourself.”

  I roll my eyes and beckon him to sit at the coffee table. “Yes, I promise that if I need help, I will ask you,” I confirm, at least after I have tried everything else by myself.

  If there’s one thing I’ve learned growing up, it’s that you’re on your own, always. You can’t count on others because people have their own problems, and their lives are just as messed up as yours. They may be kind people wanting to help you, but at the end of the day, you have to deal with the decisions you make and the consequences of your choices. Others can only give you support, a word of comfort, but they can’t solve your problems.

  I grab the coffee pot and pour more into Thomas’s cup, but since it’s my left hand, I spill some of it on the table, swearing softly in exasperation. He grabs the sponge to clean up.

  “Does it still hurt?” he asks me worriedly.

  I nod and breathe deeply. “Yes. I’m not supposed to use it for a few weeks and
then do physical therapy, but I live alone, and I can’t do that. Everything requires two hands, and that only makes my shoulder worse. I hope it will hurt less at some point, but I’m starting to doubt it.” My small smile, combined with my confession, does nothing to help calm his worry.

  “So you can’t even work like this. Or can you?”

  I shake my head while I finish my coffee. “No, the camera weighs too much to even think about lifting it and going around taking pictures,” I admit. I can’t hide my disappointment. “Let’s put it this way, I have more time to work on the blog,” I smile, but he seems engrossed in his own thoughts.

  “What do you have to do to get really good money for your photos?” he asks me. There is no scolding in his voice, just curiosity.

  I study him for a few seconds to see if he’s serious. I’m surprised when I can’t find any sign of humor on his face. “Do you really want to know the truth?” I raise an eyebrow.

  He nods and sips from his cup as if this were a typical conversation between two work colleagues.

  “Lilly and Damian are worth a lot. They’re the golden couple right now. Any public scandal about them would earn me top dollar. You have no idea what Ron is like, the slimy way he manipulates the information he’s given. He could mount a scandalous campaign about the Pope if I brought him the right picture. Someone like him could make a picture of two people who love each other seem sketchy, or worse—indecent.”

  My confession doesn’t seem to bother him much. It’s almost like we’re discussing strategies for my next job.

  “It makes sense,” he says with such serenity that it puzzles me. I thought he’d jump at my throat, look for a thousand reasons to make me realize that this is wrong, that my job ruins people’s lives, that they’re human beings, not just superstars. All things that I repeat to myself every day when I get up in the morning, grab my camera, and go out to capture private moments of celebrities. Instead, he is thoughtful, as if he’s trying to evaluate alternatives to this situation, but none come to mind.

  “Aren’t you angry about this?”

  “No, I made my peace with your work. After all, it’s my problem, how I feel about paparazzi. You just make a living. I get it...and I also realized that you never once reached out to me to get a story to sell.”

  Thomas eliminates the distance between us by reaching out his hand to stroke my cheek.

  “Where the hell did you come from? You’re an amazing musician, a world-famous rock star, to-die-for sexy, and on top of all that, you are also one of the most generous and honest people I have ever met. Even in romance novels, the main characters aren’t as perfect as you are.”

  He bursts out laughing at my genuine confession. “They’re anything but perfect, trust me. But I try to be a good person, that’s all.”

  He kisses me gently on the lips and in my stomach, those butterflies that I have pretended to ignore until now come to life. Despite everything, including my lies, he’s still here, and while I’m in seventh heaven, I’m also terrified. Because while he and I have chemistry in bed, it’s in everyday life that we get along perfectly, without any effort. I’ve learned to expect the worst from life, to be ready for whatever blow comes at me, but I’m afraid this time I won’t be able to take it if this happiness is torn from me.

  I grab him with my good hand by the shirt and draw him to me, raising my face to look for his lips. His hands cup my cheeks in such a sweet squeeze that he drives away all my fear. It’s the most tender kiss anyone has ever given me, and so full of promises that I’m afraid to find out if they’ll be kept. But right now, I don’t care because Thomas is taking off the very shirt and bra that he fastened a few minutes ago. He’s stripping me again like he did last time, his hands feeling their way all over my skin.

  His eyes are glued on mine, enjoying every nuance of my pleasure when with one hand, he slips between my legs and finds me ready to welcome his fingers.

  “Thomas,” a whisper escapes my lips as I close my eyes and enjoy his expert touch.

  With one hand, I unbutton his pants while I kiss his chest after his sweater falls to the floor. I slowly savor his skin while my breathing becomes faster and faster. He puts a hand in my hair and draws me to himself. I can feel him tightening my hair in his fingers as if he’s afraid I’ll slip away from him.

  “Get off the stool,” he whispers, keeping me steady on my feet while he strips off my pants, leaving a trail of kisses on my thighs while he does so.

  “It’s not fair that I’m naked and you’re not.” I smile as I point out his freshly unbuttoned pants and boxers still in place.

  Thomas gives me a sly smile and lets his pants and boxers slip to the floor, kicking off his shoes. When he makes me sit on the stool again and positions himself between my legs, he doesn’t move his gaze from mine as he sinks into me, keeping me in an iron grip that makes me feel protected.

  With my legs curled around his hips, I follow the slow pace of his breathing until I feel the pleasure mount to a crescendo and emotions exploding in my chest as Thomas chokes my moans with a kiss that leaves me breathless.

  I stand panting in his arms, feeling him inhale deep into my hair, and when he moves away just enough to look me in the face, a serene smile greets me.

  “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  It takes a few seconds to realize he’s talking about my battered shoulder. And I shake my head.

  “Hurt is not a term I would apply to this situation.”

  Thomas chuckles as he grabs me by the butt and lifts me from the stool, leading me to the bed, still unmade since this morning. We slip under the blankets, and he wraps me in a hug that seems to melt our two souls into one.

  “I wish I could stay here with you for the rest of my life,” he whispers in my ear.

  I hold on to him and feel my heart explode with happiness. “Me too,” I reply, whispering too, for fear that this magic will end.

  “You’re completely out of your mind.”

  Michael’s voice is the first sound we hear following the silence that falls in Evan’s office after I speak. I asked our manager to gather the guys here so I could explain a plan I was excited about sharing with them, but given their faces, I’m not so sure anymore. Even Simon, who’s back from Connecticut, is looking at me with wide eyes.

  “What the hell did I miss in the month I’ve been away from New York?” our bassist asks.

  Lilly responds for me, the only non-Jailbird member present but naturally involved because she is Damian’s girlfriend. “He fell in love with a penniless paparazzo, and now he’s trying to save her ass,” she chuckles, finding it both amusing and romantic.

  “I’m not in love.”

  “Yes, of course, we all believe you,” Michael jokes. “You’re proposing we make up a fake story to give her the photos she needs. And, at this point, you’ll take the pictures for her because her shoulder still hurts—but you’re telling me that you’re not in love? I hope she’s at least a great fuck.”

  I expected all of this from him; what I didn’t expect is that he would accept Iris. Every day he surprises me more. When I look down and start playing with the ripped hem of my shirt, he bursts into loud laughter.

  “Oh, now you don’t want to talk about sex? You’re worse off than Damian.”

  “Hey, I’m not that bad,” Damian replies half-heartedly, while making sweet eyes at his girlfriend.

  I glare at Michael, expecting better from him because he understands what’s going through my head right now. If I really didn’t care, I’d be making jokes right along with him, not getting pissed off at him.

  “You’re really in love, aren’t you?” My non-answer is enough to make him see the truth of the situation. “For Christ’s sake, you’re worse off than I imagined,” he adds, rubbing his pained face like I’d just told him I was going back to prison. I can’t quite read what’s in t
he half-smile he’s wearing.

  “Okay, so why do we have to come up with a plan for her to make more money? Can’t you just give it to her? You’re loaded,” Simon says pragmatically.

  I throw an exasperated glance at him at the exact moment Lilly makes an equally exasperated and annoying sound. “Why the hell do you men have this thing about paying to get us out of trouble?” she asks to no one in particular. Damian’s hand rests on her arm. It’s strange to see how he’s changed so radically in just a few months. I wonder if I’m going to end up the same way, given this room full of people I’ve gathered for an utterly absurd reason.

  “Maybe we’re more practical than you women who stir up drama over everything?” replies Simon honestly, and I kind of relate to him.

  “I refuse to have this conversation with you too,” Lilly says, and on the one hand, I can’t blame her. We men are really knuckleheads when it comes to women: pulling these stunts we think are heroic but that probably just make us look like idiots.

  Evan gets up and wanders around the desk, leaning against the edge with his arms across his chest and a serious look. He seems to be considering helping me with this crazy plan, and he’s trying to figure out how much I am sure of what I’m doing.

  “And you know why she needs that money? Are you sure she’s an honest person? Does she have a drug problem?” he asks me, and Michael bursts out laughing.

  “It’s not like drugs are a big deal among rock stars. It wouldn’t be the first time,” he blurts out amusedly, and I wish I was as cheerful as he is right now. He’s not helping me with Evan and, this time, I have to have our manager on my side. I can’t go off on my own like I’ve been doing lately. If something goes wrong, we’ll end up in all the newspapers looking like idiots or, worse, manipulators or even swindlers. Not to mention, Iris could get into serious trouble.