Manipulated: a Rockstar Romantic Comedy (Hammered Book 3)

by Taryn Elliott

  “Bunny,” I mumbled.

  So maybe he did remember me. I’d figured that was some term of endearment meant to make me fling off my panties, but duh, perhaps not.

  I’d have to speak to him. While remaining fully clothed and totally professional, because now I had a job on the line.

  Just my luck. My only non-self-induced O on the horizon, impeded by a paycheck. One I desperately needed.

  Do you mean you need the O or the paycheck? Because pretty sure you’re desperate for both.

  “No comment.” Yes, I was answering my own thought questions. Which meant I was officially a hot mess.

  Sighing, I unzipped my suitcase and withdrew my small stack of hastily packed shirts. I turned to a nearby dresser in the hotel room, then remembered I’d only be here for two more nights after this one. After that, we’d be taking two buses, off to places unknown.

  More unknown. If I kept thinking about it, I was going to get hives.

  The knock at the door made me bobble the shirts I was in the process of returning to my suitcase.

  I dumped the pile back in my suitcase and ran a hand over my damp hair. I’d taken a quick shower upon returning to my room, but I was already wilting again. I’d hoped to stay up writing down a few impressions so far before I went to sleep, thinking maybe I’d be called upon to offer a travelogue of sorts along with my photos in the book. Even if I wasn’t, it would be good for my scrapbook. It had been a long while since I’d taken time to stop and really enjoy my surroundings, and I wanted to do that now.

  If I was taking the biggest risk of my life, might as well thoroughly document it, right?

  But if I looked anything like I felt—travel-weary, exhausted and frazzled—I wasn’t up to seeing company. Especially since I suspected who it might be.

  Another knock sounded at the door, and I swallowed deeply. “Can I help you?”

  Tomorrow. I’ll help you tomorrow, after a pot of coffee and six hours of motivational mantras.

  “It’s Wyatt. Remember me?”

  I nearly sprinted to the door and flung it open. “Oh, thank God it’s you.”

  His teasing grin faded and he glanced behind me into the room. “Everything okay?”

  I couldn’t help being touched by his concern. It’d been awhile since a man had wanted to slay dragons for me, even if I was just as capable of taking care of business myself. Still, it was nice.

  Wyatt was nice, and I was grateful to see him.

  “Everything’s fine.” I grabbed him by the arm and hauled him inside the room, making him laugh as I shut the door. “Sorry, I’m not dressed for company.”

  “Depends on the company. A man would have to be blind not to like the looks of you in a peach negligée.”

  I frowned and glanced down at my nightie. It wasn’t sheer, and it definitely wasn’t sexy. “I’d call it more pink,” I muttered, grabbing a shrug off the doorknob when he chuckled. “So what’s up? Did you come over here to haze the newbie?”

  He made a noise in his throat. “What newbie? You? Hardly. You’re a repeat offender at this point, which makes you part of the crew.” He poked into my open suitcase and came out with a bra on the tip of his finger. “Your taste is impressive, Ms. Templeton.”

  Seeing the huge, brawny ginger dude holding my lacy, frilly lingerie made me snort out a giggle before I snatched it back and tucked it in the pocket of the suitcase. “Did you have an actual purpose in coming here or do you just enjoy fondling women’s underthings?”

  “Of course. And the answer is yes.”

  “To which question, smartass?”

  “Both.” He grinned and sat on the edge of my tidily made bed. “I’m hitting the Del Ray closed course tomorrow, and I was wondering if you’d join me.”

  My first indication was to say no. I had no idea yet what my schedule would entail, and how busy I’d be before the shows. Was I allowed to go off gallivanting with one of the rockers on a personal jaunt? I hadn’t yet nailed down the parameters with Donovan and Lila as far as that kind of thing went.

  I grabbed the notepad beside the bed I’d set out for my travel journal and made a note to text Lila. Before I’d finished, Wyatt snatched the notebook out of my hand.

  “Buy tampons,” he read as I scrabbled to grab his arm. Since he was the size of an unearthly man-beast, it wasn’t hard for him to hold it out of my reach. “Buy chocolate and peanut butter and Quik.” He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Really?”

  I shrugged. “Sometimes you need chocolate milk at two a.m. And if I’m going to be far from home, I want some comfort food. So sue me.”

  He closed the notebook and handed it back to me. “This has gotta be a big adjustment for you.”

  “You could say that.”

  “So why are you doing it?”

  I started to toss off a jaunty response about love not paying the bills, but the truth slipped out before I could. “To see if I can,” I murmured.

  “That’s a worthy reason. I’ve done many things for that one myself.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like, say, joining Hammered in the first place.” He turned toward me on the bed, pulling up one of his legs. “So what do you say? Come with me tomorrow. Have some fun.”

  I cocked my head. “Still no sparks between us, right?”

  “No, unfortunately not, because I really like that nightie.”

  I laughed and grabbed the nearest pillow to whack him in the head. He caught it in mid-air. “I can promise you lots of juicy info for the book.”

  “Now you’re talking. But I’m not writing it, just taking pictures.”

  “Yes, but the more about me you know, the easier it is to get a handle on the photos. You’ll be getting to know all of us, so I figured I’d make it easier on you. Plus, I might need some pictures of my own.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yeah, I keep up a fan website for those who followed me during—” He cleared his throat. “Back then. Anyway, I thought the closed course photos would be something they’d enjoy. If you wanted to throw in one or two in the book, cool.”

  “I won’t be doing final picture selection, I’m sure. I just provide them. The big bosses decide what makes the final cut.”

  He patted his chest. “C’mon, do you really think me being all sexy behind the wheel wouldn’t be top of the list? It’d probably make the damn cover.”

  “Right. Because big shot race car drivers who hung it up to play rockstar would make a perfect cover of Hammered’s tenth anniversary coffee table book.”

  I’d meant it as a joke. But maybe my tone was off, or the subject matter was just too personal, because the instant the words were out, some emotion scrolled across Wyatt’s face. When his smile turned forced and he locked his jaw, I wanted to snatch back my teasing words.

  I wasn’t meant to be funny and flirty, even in a friendly it-means-nothing sort of way. I wasn’t that Callie any more, if I’d ever been. Now when I tried to be snarky and quippy, I just came out sounding ruder than I meant to. Look at what had happened with Lila’s husband Nick, and probably half a dozen times with Owen. Now I’d unintentionally stirred up crap with Wyatt too. As for the stuff I’d said to Donovan, that hadn’t even been an attempt at being jocular. Just my usual social ineptness rearing its head.

  Serious and introspective, that was me. At least that was me now. I was also someone who made amends, even if I hadn’t been intentionally hurtful.

  I cleared my throat. “The person who just said that tries to be funny when she so isn’t. She also watched most of your races and had a big crush on you until you went out with Mindy No Boobs and I had to stop thinking of you that way.”

  His lips twitched. “Mindy No Boobs? Mindy Nobue?”

  “Yes. I heard her name wrong on TV one day and took an instant dislike to her. So—forgive me?”

  “Nothing to forgive.” He said it with such an affable smile that anyone else would’ve thought he’d barely registered my comment.

  But I
’d seen his fleeting expression, and I’d spent too many years studying faces. I’d reminded him of the past, and I knew better than anyone sometimes it was better to let sleeping memories lie.

  “We’re on for tomorrow. Though I gotta warn you, I like to go fast.”

  “And let me guess, you’re worried the former big shot racecar driver can’t make that happen?”

  “No, I’m just telling you that you don’t have to ride the brake to make me happy.” I grinned. “What kind of car will we be driving?”

  “Picture girl, there is no we. I’ll be driving.” He tapped my nose and stood. “You might feel comfortable going fast with me behind the wheel, but the reverse isn’t true. You know what they say about women drivers.”

  I grabbed the first thing that came to hand and tossed it after him. He opened the door to my hotel suite and stepped aside just as the single solitary teddy I’d brought with me dropped to the carpeted floor.

  And on the other side of the threshold stood Owen.

  “Well, isn’t this cozy? I’d hate to interrupt.” He bent to pick up my teddy while Wyatt lifted a brow and glanced my way. “If I gave a shit,” he added with a cheeky grin that did nothing to downplay the flare of heat in his eyes as he stalked toward the bed.

  Okay, so for the people keeping score at home.

  Wyatt and me—no heat.

  Owen and me? All the heat for a twenty-seven block radius. Need a jump for your car battery? Pretty sure we could power that too with one of our smoldering looks.

  “Hey Owen. I was just leaving.”

  “Aye, mate. You just do that.”

  Wyatt waggled his brows at me from behind Owen and I could just tell from the mischief in his eyes whatever he said next, I would not appreciate.

  “Can’t wait to go fast with you tomorrow, baby. Sweet dreams.” He shut the door behind himself while I cursed him mightily in my head.

  “So that is how it is, hmm?”

  I fastened a bland smile to my face. “Can I help you?”

  Like a shot, Owen was in front of me, leaning down until our faces were a hairsbreadth apart. Our noses nearly touched, and our lips—

  Suffice it to say I could tell he’d had a little whisky nightcap, and I wanted that burn on my tongue more than I wanted to hold on to my indignance about whether or not he remembered me.

  Right now, it sure as hell felt like he did. That he had to, because surely he couldn’t have this with every other woman, right?

  Any other woman, a voice said sneakily in the back of my mind. And I let her have her due, because the way he was staring at me as if I were a five-course buffet gave me confidence. He wanted me, and it was enough to bolster up all the cracks in the sea wall around my emotions that had been widening ever since my divorce. Hell, long before.

  “Yes, love, you damn well can help me. You can start by telling me what exactly Hudson Wyatt was doing in your room while you’re wearing this.” He helped me out of my shrug, and I let him because I was an idiot. Or horny.

  Horny idiot reporting for duty, sir!

  “He just stopped by. I wasn’t expecting him. Not that I owe any explanations to you.”

  “No, you do not. But still, you greeted him in your nightclothes, and I bet he enjoyed the view.” Slowly, he reached out to stroke his fingertip along the flimsy strap to my nightgown, his gaze lowering to my breasts. “Hard not to, when your nipples are hard and you were probably smiling at him in a way you never smiled at me.”

  My breaths came faster and I knew, just knew, from the avid way he was caressing me with his stare that I’d inadvertently thrust out my chest. But there was no way to move back unless I wanted to take the submissive role, and that just wasn’t happening. Not with him.

  Not tonight.

  Not when I was feeling this dangerous.

  “You have no right to ask questions. You don’t even know me.”

  “No? You think not?” He moved his lips close to my ear. “You think I’ve forgotten what it was like to have those beautiful nipples in my mouth?”

  All of a sudden, I couldn’t get enough air. I shoved him back, and he went, but it still wasn’t far enough. His cologne was overpowering me. The scent of citrus, that tang of whisky, the heat from his body—the combination was potent enough to have my head of reeling.

  He knew who I was. Either he’d figured it out eventually or he’d known right away, but I couldn’t keep pretending otherwise any longer. Bunny hadn’t just been a term of endearment.

  I’d rabbited on him, and he’d called me on it.

  “When?” I asked, rising to my feet. I was still so much shorter than him, but God, I needed to not be below him on the bed while he loomed over me. This time, I might not just check my impulses if his belt was that close. I might just reach out and undo it to see if he was truly built as well as my imagination insisted. “When did you realize it was me?”

  He shoved both hands through his hair and laughed, just laughed, until I wasn’t sure whether to frown or join him. The slight tinge of madness in the sound was alluring. So much more enticing than the painfully boring life I’d lived for so long.

  Alone.

  “When did I realize it was you?” He dropped his hands and met my gaze, his eyes glowing fiercely blue. “I don’t know. All I know is that one minute my life was the same, and then the next, it was like being plunged into a whole new world. You were standing in front of me again. First, you were shy, and then you were bold, and fuck, it didn’t—doesn’t—matter because I want you again. Still. Because I never had you the first time, now did I, bunny? You ran from me. Even though you left a part of yourself behind.”

  Just like the first time, he moved toward me, almost as quick as a vampire. The analogy was apt, because his expression was ravenous. Instead of stepping back—or demanding he give me space again—this time I reached up and grabbed hold of the lapels of his button-down shirt. And dragged him down to me.

  Before our lips met, I was driven backward. The backs of my knees hit the side of the mattress and then I was on top of it, my still open suitcase open beside me while the sexiest man I’d ever known came down hard on top of me. His cock pressed right into the cradle of my legs as if it could go nowhere else, and the moan I let out was nearly inhuman. I wasn’t wearing panties under my nightie, and he was so, so close to where I needed him to be.

  Thank fucking God.

  I fisted my hands in his hair as he raced kisses down my throat to the vee of my nightgown. Without hesitation, he grabbed both straps and pulled them down my shoulders, baring my breasts to the suddenly humid air for an instant. Then his lips were closing around my nipple, and my clit pounded so hard that I couldn’t keep from raking my nails down the back of his neck. He groaned and flexed his hips, driving his cock against me. When that wasn’t enough, he reached down and hiked up my nightie so he could thrust unimpeded between my thighs. That he wore pants didn’t seem to matter. It was like he was fucking me, except not.

  “You tease,” I whispered hoarsely.

  He lifted his head, his mouth already slightly swollen from how roughly we’d kissed before he’d turned that attention on my breasts. His eyes sharpened as he let his gaze roam to my beaded nipples, red, tight and abraded from his whiskers. “You’re going to want to take that back, love.”

  I shook my head, letting out a breathless sound disturbingly close to a squeal at the clamp of his fingers around my wrists. He dragged them up above my head and used one hand to hold them still as he dragged the other down my torso. Lower and lower still until he hovered so close to the small strip of hair on my mound. I felt so exposed, as if he could see right through to the root of me.

  God, he was taking his time looking his fill.

  “I like that you’re not fully shaved.” His voice was scarcely a rumble. “You’re hinting at what’s beneath, without revealing all. Just like with this.” He fisted a hand in my nightgown, but he didn’t rip it. Even in his passion, somehow he was still more gentle
than careless. “I don’t like that he saw you in this. That you let him see you.”

  “It didn’t mean anything.” I hated that I reassured him so quickly, but the fact of the matter was that Wyatt was a friend, and this man—no matter how many months seemed to pass in between our meetings—profoundly was not.

  Owen rested his chin on the rise of my chest, his gaze unflinching on mine while those wicked fingers hovered so close to my soaked core. Never giving me the satisfaction I craved, but never removing the possibility either.

  “And this, bunny? What does this mean?”

  I flexed my hands in his hold, shocked that I enjoyed knowing he kept me in place. It was an unexpected freedom to be in this spot beneath him, watching those gemstone eyes flare and burn. “Way too much.”

  “Aye, truth. Finally, she gives me the truth.” He laid his mouth on mine but he didn’t kiss me. Just let our breaths mingle until my chest heaved beneath his and my body strained and bucked. “Do you want me to touch you between your legs, sweetheart?”

  More than I had air to vocalize.

  “Are you wet for me?” He tilted his head, his lips subtly moving mine as he spoke. “Have you been wet all these months, wondering if we’d had that one night that almost wasn’t and that was all?”

  “Yes.” The word trembled out of my throat, and he nodded. Of course he’d known. He knew his power over women.

  Over me.

  He was the song, and I was his instrument. He could play me when he chose, and probably tuck me away until the next time. And I would rail and resist and try to understand what he had over me that no one else had—though ultimately it didn’t matter.

  All this time, I’d been waiting to be caught up just like this. He was a revelation, and possibly my ruin all in one.

  “Good. I’ve been waiting for you to admit it.” His tongue flicked along the seam of my lips, wordlessly asking for entry. The instant they parted, he swept inside and over mine, kissing me long, slow and deep. All the while, his fingers circled my upper thigh, making me restlessly shift my hips. My clit was pulsing, my thighs were damp, and the ache inside was like nothing I’d ever known.

  His fingers, his tongue, his cock—I needed part of him inside me. Needed everything.