by Murphy,Misti
Maximum Rush copyright © 2016 by Misti Murphy
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real events, people, or places is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced or distributed in any format without the permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review.
This book may contain mature content, sensitive subject matter, filthy language, and nuts. If you find yourself suffering adverse reactions such as; inability to sleep, cravings, sensitivity to heat, or carpal tunnel syndrome please feel free to contact the advice line at [email protected]
Edited by Tami Lund
Cover Design by Clarissa at boomingcoversMaximum Rush
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Epilogue
Anti-Cupid Preview
End of Series Shit
Other Books
How to stalk me
Chapter One
Maxi
Rush Hadley isn’t simply a magician. Or a billionaire. Or a play boy. Rush Hadley is… an enigma. – Max O’Keeffe, Godiva magazine
Sydney’s ANZ Stadium is packed tonight. People mill about talking over and around one another as they find their way to their seats. A crush of bodies surrounds the stage, pushing and shoving to get closer to where the action will take place, vying for the best vantage point.
I suck my belly in and twist sideways as I squeeze through a group of college students and aim for the barriers where a security guard stands, arms folded over his chest. He scans the crowd, then talks into a walkie talkie strapped to his arm before giving me a cursory glance.
That’s all I need to flash a smile and my press badge. “I’m here to get a quote for Godiva Australia.”
He pauses for a minute to give me the once over while he checks my ID. A curt nod, and he allows me to slip past the plastic barrier. Behind him and out of the masses it’s not as crowded, though crew scurry around doing last minute checks before the man of the hour takes the stage.
Rush. World famous magician. Billionaire. Play boy. The man almost every girl secretly wants to land. And this is the last gig of his Australian tour.
It takes me a moment to spot the man I need to speak to if I’m going to get anywhere near the infamous Rush Hadley. He hovers close to the stage steps, clipboard in hand while he barks orders into a headset perched on top of a nest of gray hair.
After a quick flick of my hand over the front of my sleeveless blouse to make sure my appearance is in order, I make a bee-line toward him, ducking the occasional crew member like they’re bullets and trying to not get my heels tangled in the miles of cables on the ground.
“Sound check,” he yells, the noise of the sold out stadium making it almost impossible to hear him. His gaze flicks over me, then lands promptly on my face, one brow surging up as if to say who the hell are you, before he dismisses me to order another crew member, “Tell Rush he’s on in ten minutes.”
Oh, I hope he lets me past, though for a minute I imagine he won’t.
“No, no way, are you getting back here,” he yells, his face blotching as he barks at me. “Who do you think you are to show up ten minutes before Rush starts his show? Don’t you know who he is?”
Just great. Of course I would get turned away before I even get near the man. “Of course I do. That’s why I’m here. I’m with Godiva Magazine. I’m Max O’Keeffe.”
“I don’t care if you’re the Queen of England. You’re not getting back here.”
Taking a deep breath, I tamp down on the anxiety that makes me want to give up before I’ve gotten the quote for my magazine. But this is my job, and I’m good at it, so when he turns back I hold my ID up to his face, so close I practically smack him with it. At least it gets me another glance. “Max O’Keeffe. Godiva Magazine. I’m here to get a quote.”
“You should have organized a meeting. He doesn’t have time.”
He’s turning away from me when I grab hold of his elbow. “I called ahead. His manager said to do it now.”
“Damn it.” He expels a big whoosh of air, his face mottled shades of red. “Right. Well we’re on in…” he swings his gaze to his watch. “Eight minutes.”
“I only need three.” Really I’d need at least an hour to get a decent interview and the pictures to go along with it, but I’m only here to get a one-line quote.
He jerks his head sharply in the direction his assistant took. “Then you better hurry up.”
A quick flash of a smile, and I race after the crew member.
I halt when the guy stops at a door, knocks and sticks his head in. “You’re on in ten, Rush.”
“Thanks, Harry,” The disembodied voice floats through the door, cutting through the background roar of the crowd. The man has presence, was probably born with it, which is why I tried to get my boss to palm this particular job off on one of the other girls in the entertainment department. Of course, that hadn’t done anything to change Eliza’s mind, and instead, I’d had to ignore the waggled eyebrows and knowing grins. I even caught the tail end of a snippy conversation between a couple of them. And I know there’s a pool on how long it will take me to drop my panties for the man. That’s the kind of crazy Rush Hadley inspires in women. Our normally close crew has been filled with pettiness and jealousy ever since I set up the meeting.
But the reason Eliza sent me is because she knows I’ll maintain my professionalism where the others won’t.
Harry darts away, and I take that as my cue. Sticking my foot in the way of the door closing, I tap sharply on the wood and peek inside.
“Hello there.” Rush Hadley sits backwards on a chair in front of the dressing room mirror. His fingers blackened with eyeliner, he smudges it around his eyes as they meet mine, reflected in the glass. He doesn’t hesitate as he continues with his preparations and runs that violet eyed gaze all over me, slowly, absorbing me. “And what can I help you with, beautiful?”
Shirtless, there’s a slight sheen to his tanned torso, which is covered in tattoos. A riot of reds and blues and greens that cover both arms, his back, and chest. Colorful, like the man himself. My fingers tighten on my ID as yet again I hold it out for inspection. “Max O’Keeffe. I’m here to get a quote for Godiva.”
“Are you sure that’s all you’d like?” He grins, climbing off the chair and padding toward me bare footed. Leather pants cling like a second skin to his muscular thighs, and my gaze is dragged to where his fingers are tying the laces above his crotch.
My mouth waters and my pulse speeds up a little when he stops in front of me, but I ignore the side effects of being near him. They�
�re normal, they have to be, since women throw themselves at him constantly and with what seems, no end. But I won’t be one of them. I focus on his face. His eyes, rimmed with black, are filled with humor.
“Actually.” Straightening, I take a step into the room. I don’t really want to be any closer to the man, because as soon as I narrowed the distance his scent hit me. I don’t know what it is, but I can’t help breathing it in, and all that does is make my breasts start to ache. He smells rich and spicy, with a hint of something that scrambles the brain, or at least I’m finding it hard to think straight. Which is not what I need when I want him to know I mean business. “I was hoping to set up an interview. The magazine would like to do a feature article.”
It’s not quite true. The magazine doesn’t have any plans to do so, because Rush Hadley does not do interviews. He does quotes. Other than that it’s only when the media gets hold of photos of him that he ends up in the tabloids. Photos of him with his girl of the moment, or when he’s doing something completely inappropriate, or naked. Mostly naked. But if I could land an interview with the man who never ever answers questions, my career would be set. It would open up doors I have yet to find a way through.
“I don’t do interviews.” He turns his back on me, and I can’t help but stare at his ass. I get a little butt envy going on. My own butt will never be as tight and toned as his, no matter how many squats and lunges I do.
I have to stop myself from reaching out and grabbing it just to see if it really is as hard as it looks. “I think you should reconsider. You’re one of the world’s most eligible bachelors. People want to know what that’s like for you. It’ll help your fans connect.”
“I don’t think my fans have any trouble connecting.” He nods at the door, at the sold out stadium we’re standing in. “Besides.” He grins. “The women who read the type of magazine you work for want to see me naked. And there are already plenty of opportunities if they look on the internet.”
“I’m aware.” I pull out my voice recorder.
“Are you now?” His gaze narrows on me. “Like what you’ve seen?”
I’ve had some of those photos he’s talking about cross my desk, uncensored. When a man like him is buck-naked how am I supposed to not stare, okay, study his anatomy? The long lean lines of his body, the well placed muscle, the length of his… “Research,” I mumble, my throat tight. Heat creeps up my neck and into my face.
“Sure.” He smirks at me over his shoulder. “Tell you what. Why don’t you stick around until after the show? I’d be happy to give you an opportunity to carry out your research.” He uses air quotes at this point to emphasize how much he believes me. “Up close and personal.”
“That’s not necessary,” I back pedal. The man has no shame and no qualms about trying to get it on with every woman who crosses his path. But I have no intentions of being one of them. “Perhaps you have a quote for your Australian fans instead?” I shove my voice recorder between us.
He stares down at it, but Harry pops his head in the door again before I can get the quote. “Rush, you’re on.”
“Great.” His face lights up, his mouth twisting into the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen. It’s dazzling. Energy emanates from him as he shifts from the player to the magician. It’s like static in the air, and it creeps along my skin while I watch him stride across the room. Then he glances back at me. “Maxi, stick around for the show, and I’ll give you that quote.”
I can’t believe he called me Maxi. No one ever thinks to add the I on the end, and that’s when they’re not confused by the fact that I’m actually a woman with a man’s name. I can’t believe he would think to. I trail after them, unable to tear my focus from him as he bounces around and throws air punches, before he cracks his neck side-to-side. Then he gives me one last glance and winks. “I’ll be with you soon, beautiful.”
The crowd erupts as he strides out to greet them, and I find a spot close to the side of the stage as he flirts with the audience, warming up with a few card tricks.
I find myself on my tiptoes, completely engrossed as I watch him work the crowd. He struts, swaggers, and smirks like he owns every single person in the audience, and he talks to them like each one is the only person he sees in the entire place.
Then he turns his attention to me, and it’s like being under a spotlight. I’ve never felt like the only woman in the room before, until him. I swear a little under my breath at that, because it’s stupid to be affected like that by a complete stranger who is talking to an entire stadium of people, but he really does have this way of seeking you out in the crowd. I shut my eyes to block him out, shake my head to clear it. No wonder he’s able to play his way through so many women.
But it’s the tricks, his magic that takes my breath away. When he levitates off the stage and disappears into thin air for several awe filled minutes it makes me wonder if they are all illusions and tricks or if somehow there really is magic inside him. I feel like a child again, seeing things for the very first time. Questioning reality and fiction and how the two slot together.
Afterward, he goes right to the edge of the stage and sits chatting with the audience. They hang on his every word, begging to hear how he did this, that or the other thing. But he doesn’t give away his secrets. He tells dirty jokes and gets the audience to participate in a few mind reading tricks. There are television screens set up around the stage that show exactly what he’s doing and yet I still can’t work out how he manages to do what he does.
When he finally leaves the stage I head back to the dressing room to wait. It might still be a while before he gets back to the room, but I’m not leaving without a quote. And I’m absolutely going to try to convince him to give me an opportunity to interview him. Not only would it be the highlight of my career, I find I’m incredibly curious about the man.
The idea of learning more about him leaves me tingling with anticipation.
Chapter Two
Rush
I jump from the stage and rip the lid off a bottle of Evian, guzzling it down, even as it drips down my chin and throat. It doesn’t make a lick of difference to how sweat soaked I am from bouncing around on stage all night.
The crowd loved it, though. They always do. Doesn’t matter where I go the reception is always the same. I thrive on the energy, the excitement, the thrill they get from watching me. I toss the empty bottle at Mick as he hands me a hand towel. “Good crowd tonight.”
“One of your better ones.” Mick grins, his face almost the same bright shade of red as his shirt. “85,000 people came to see you perform.”
“I know.” I chuckle, tossing the towel over my shoulder and clapping him on the back. Mick’s been with me since I first hit it big. We’ve been through a hell of a lot of nights like these. “That pretty young thing still waiting around?”
“The journo?”
“Yeah.” I scan the area. The crew are, as usual, working their asses off, packing up the gear and dismantling the stage. They’ve got a lot of work to do and only hours to do it in. Tomorrow we pack up the jet and get the hell out of here. I love Australia, and I love touring, but it’s tiring, and the idea of being home in my own house, my own bed makes me long to be on our way already. Besides, I have another trip to take as soon as I get back. My siblings are getting married. Not just one of them. All fucking three of them. And I’ve recently become an uncle.
As proud as I am of my family, I didn’t expect them to all settle down. I sure as hell didn’t expect them all to get married in the same year. Well, my brother Mace got married years ago, but he only just got his act together so it’s practically the same thing. Especially when he called me last week for a favor. “Did you see where she went?”
“I think she headed back to your dressing room.” Mick shakes his head. “You, my boy, are going to realize one day soon that you’re old and can’t keep up with these young girls anymore.”
I grin as I swagger toward the rooms. Unlike the rest of my family I
don’t have the need to tie myself down. I’m only thirty, and my life is a fucking after party. I have everything I could possibly want, and if I don’t I can get it. Fame, fortune, women. I worked my ass off to get here and I’m not ready to give it up. So these hints Mick’s been giving over the course of this tour have more to do with —I think— the fact he wants to retire. “No, man, that’s you. They have trouble keeping up with me.”
I’m undoing my pants and kicking them off before I even get in the door of my dressing room. Wet leather is not kind to anyone, and I don’t care that the journo’s sitting on my sofa, her eyes big while I shed them and send the door crashing shut at the same time.
“Sorry.” She jumps from where she was reclining. “Should I come back in a few minutes for that quote?”
“Why? It’s nothing you haven’t seen before. Remember, the internet? Research.” I ball the pants and toss them across the room.
“It’s just that you’re hard,” her voice is kind of high-pitched. And when I take a moment to actually look at her, her face is flaming while her gaze is locked on my cock.
It gives a little jump under her blatant inability to rip her attention away from it. Professional Max, who walked in the door before the show tonight, in her white blouse and pencil skirt, is giving way to a much more ruffled version. I can’t help but appreciate that she’s not immune to me, since it’s kind of what I’m going for. I have all this adrenaline still pumping through my system, and getting laid has a way of taking the edge off. “Are you a prude, Maxi? Or are you thinking you’d like to see a little magic trick?”
“Magic trick?” Her brows draw together, and she scrapes her teeth over her bottom lip.
“Yeah. Do you want to see me make my cock disappear? I’ll just need to borrow your box.”
“Oh.” Her gaze pops, her lips parting, juicy pink lips I want to stalk over and bite, but I don’t because I’m naked and the last thing I need is some woman spinning shit about how I sexually assaulted her to the media.
