Passionate Addiction

by Eden Summers

  Passionate Addiction

  **Kindle Edition**

  Copyright © 2013 by Eden Summers

  Editing by Rachel Firasek

  Cover Art by Willsin Rowe

  Formatting by Self Publishing Editing Service

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  I have a lot to be thankful for.

  Family—my children, my supportive parents and even my awesome cousins—Boo, especially.

  My gorgeous editor—Rachel Firasek. You make my babies shine.

  I’m thankful that my 80+ grandmother couldn’t get past the first 45 pages of Blind Attraction. I love being innocent in your eyes, Babcia. I really did dodge a bullet with that one.

  My “Pimp Squad”—Although it’s more of a group to share sexy pictures of men and talk about dirty things, I love you, ladies. Your support, kindness and friendship mean the world to me.

  To friends, readers and bloggers, who go out of their way to support me by writing reviews, sharing updates and helping promote my work. With special mention to Kristen McQuiston and Megan Root who put up with my OCD and are always willing to drop everything to help me.

  My proofreaders—If there are any typos please blame Lori Whitwam, Tina Reiter, Kaylyn Davis, Megan Root and Sheryl Wheeler. Joking! Thank you all for helping me and for being so excited to read Blake’s story. Any mistakes in Passionate Addiction are mine alone.

  And finally, to my husband—the man who showed me that love at first sight really does exist. The one that gave me my very own happily ever after…The one who still hasn’t finished reading Blind Attraction and keeps telling me he’ll wait for the movie to come out. Love you, honey.

  Lost: Is anyone there? I need help.

  Blake Kennedy typed with shaky hands, hoping one of the four people in the online chat room would respond. There hadn’t been any talk amongst them since he signed on five minutes ago, and he’d begun to worry they wouldn’t reply.

  This was his last option. His only option. He didn’t know what else to do. He had no one to turn to. No one to trust. And if he didn’t pull his shit together soon, his life wouldn’t be worth living.

  Modaroo: I’m here. How can I help?

  He rested his fingers against the keypad. The tattoo marking his right-hand knuckles mocked him in thick black, broken text—Reckless. No shit. He should get “moronic” splayed across the other hand.

  Lost: I need a distraction. I can’t go back again. I just want someone to keep me company until the burn wears off.

  The demons were overtaking him, clawing, enticing—almost succeeding at dragging him back to the dark side. He huffed out a breath and wiped the sweat of exhaustion from his forehead.

  The anonymity of the internet was his only solace. Support meetings weren’t an option, neither was rehab. If the paparazzi or anyone in the public found out about his problem, he would be booted from Reckless Beat and disgraced in front of a worldwide crowd.

  Modaroo: I can do that. I’m quite adept at chatting about inconsequential things until I put people to sleep. It’s a female thing.

  He gave a half-hearted laugh, and the noise came out stuttered, maniacal. This was good, though. It was a start. The pounding agitation in his chest even wavered, igniting a spark of hope.

  Lost: So you’re a female and enjoy staying up late chatting in drug addiction support groups? Are you a moderator or an abuser?

  Modaroo: Yes, I’m female. One of, if not the most stunningly brilliant females you will ever encounter. But no, I’m not a late night person. I love my sleep. I assume I’m on the other side of the world to you. I live down under ;) And yes, I’m a moderator.

  Blake’s cell phone vibrated on the couch cushion beside him with an incoming call. He rushed to grab it, to smother the miniscule noise. The laptop teetered on his thighs, threatening to fall.

  “Shit.” Clutching the phone in one hand and the laptop in the other, he closed his eyes, breathed deep, and waited for the buzzing to stop. Each passing second tempted him, pulled at him, demanding he answer. His demons knew who was calling. He didn’t need to glimpse the screen to verify.

  Seconds later, sweet relief rushed through his veins. He passed the first test. If he could ignore the calls, maybe he could overcome everything else. First thing in the morning, he would change his phone number. For now, though, he would turn the damn thing off.

  He glanced across the hotel suite toward Mitchell Davies’ open bedroom door. The lead guitarist must have sensed Blake’s restlessness after tonight’s performance and had started asking questions. Questions Blake didn’t want to answer, or couldn’t answer, if he wanted to keep his position in the band. He’d only been part of the team for eight months and already he’d fucked up. Big time.

  Lost: Yeah, I’m in the States. It’s three a.m. here, and I’m so fucking tired. I just want to sleep, but the crazy-ass nightmares won’t quit.

  So tell me about Australia. What’s it like down under?

  He needed to stop thinking about it. To stop turning every thought process into something that related to the white powder destroying his life.

  Modaroo: Withdrawal can be nasty on your mind and body. Just remember, it’s all temporary, and it WILL get better. Do you have someone locally you can depend on?

  And what’s it like down under? Pretty darn awesome. At the moment, the weather is hot, the air con is cold, and the beach is looking mighty fine.

  Blake ignored her question. He had no one. Not a single soul, and he refused to tell her why.

  Lost: You surf?

  Modaroo: A little. I can stay on a board for about as long as I can hold my breath.

  He let out another laugh. This time it came easier, more natural, less hysterical.

  Lost: Lol. So in other words, you kinda suck.

  Modaroo: Now, now. No need to point out my failings. I prefer to think of it as a balance imperfection.

  Blake snickered and ran a lazy hand through the tangled s
pikes at the front of his hair. A total stranger, on the other side of the world, had made him laugh for the first time in months.

  She was his savior.

  Lost: Your failings are nothing in comparison to mine, honey. I’m going to lose the best thing that ever happened to me if I don’t control my cravings for cocaine.

  Modaroo: Sorry, Lost, but please don’t use specific drug names in the open chat rooms. The reminder can be harmful to others.

  Shit. The last thing he wanted to do was make things harder for another addict.

  Lost: Sorry.

  Modaroo: Not a problem. So is it a woman?

  Lost: A woman?

  He rotated his shoulders, cracked his neck, and stretched his arms above his head. The state of relaxation was miles away. However, each second chatting with this woman brought him closer.

  Modaroo: The “best thing” you will lose.

  He clenched his fists. Disgust and self-loathing were his companions, and he was too weak to do anything about it. All of this pain, suffering, and craziness because of one simple little thing—beauty.

  Oh, and lust.

  Lost: No. A woman is what got me into this mess in the first place.

  Gabrielle Smith glanced at the text message from her colleague, Tammy. Getting old, Gab. I hope those fragile bones are prepared for a big night out.

  She smiled and tossed the phone onto her bed. Tammy needn’t worry. Now twenty-nine years of age, Gabi had a lot of experience with alcohol. She could even drink her father under the table on a good night. Tonight, she’d be putting those skills to use. It was a case of drink to celebrate or stay sober and drown in her sorrows. She chose the former. She always did on her birthday.

  Her phone trilled, this time with an incoming email. Instead of jumping to the bed like her excitement demanded, she continued to towel dry her hair and lazily stretched over the mattress to pick it up. At her age, she should’ve outgrown this overexcitement at the possibility of male communication. Must be her biological clock and all that other hormonal crap.

  Oh, who was she kidding? She’d been experiencing the same thrill for the last four years. All because of one man.

  When Blake’s name came up on the display screen, her heart clawed its way into her throat.

  Hey angel, if u r free, turn on Skype.

  She scoffed. As if denying him was even an option. She could be in the arms of another man and still find the time to pull away and chat with Blake.

  With a click, she turned the application on…and watched…and waited. After ten life-long seconds, a voice call came through from his account. Blood rushed through her veins, the same way it always did when he called, even after all this time. She pressed the button to connect, placed the phone to her ear, and tried to contain her smile.

  “If I remember correctly, I think it’s a special someone’s birthday today,” he purred.

  God, he had such a smooth, seductive voice. And that accent. She closed her eyes and let the sound sink under her skin. American guys seemed to have sexy, cockiness down pat. Or maybe it was just world famous rock stars.

  “Hey, Blake.”

  “Hey, angel. Have you had a great day?”

  She thought it over—easy day at work, great weather, presents, coffee, upcoming ladies night, and a phone call from the man she adored. “It’s been awesome.”

  “You think everything is awesome.”

  She laughed. “True. I’m just lucky I guess.”

  “So, are you having a party?”

  She shook her head, even though he wouldn’t see. For the last five years, she’d felt guilty at the thought of making big plans on her birthday. It didn’t seem right to formally celebrate the night her brother had been placed on life support. God knew her parents wouldn’t show up for any kind of celebration.

  “I’m going out with the girls.” She padded to her wardrobe and picked out a pair of comfortable skinny jeans. Going to a club and keeping herself occupied is what she did every year. The drinking helped to numb the pain and guilt.

  Blake cleared his throat. “Where’s my invitation? Hmm?”

  She held the phone to her ear with her shoulder and removed the pink silk halter-top from a coat hanger. “Umm, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think, seeing as though you’re on the other side of the world and all… You also have a penis. You did hear me say ‘ladies night,’ right?”

  He chuckled, and her chest tightened. Fate was cruel. She’d always been picky with men, yet with a click of her fingers, she falls in love with a guy on the other side of the world. A celebrity, no less.

  “Yes, last time I checked, I did have that appendage. It’s fully functional, too. So I guess that means I don’t get an invite.”

  Ouch. The reminder of his revolving door woman policy wasn’t appreciated. Jealousy turned her stomach, and the more she tried to ignore it, the more persistent it became.

  “Thanks for the visual, but just in case you were wondering, I do occasionally read the tabloids, and the reminder of how well that part of your anatomy works is always pointed out in black and white.” Maybe “occasionally” was an understatement. She had his hashtags saved on Twitter, Google alerts of his name subscribed to her email, and a daily habit of checking the gossip on the Reckless Beat website. Stalking wasn’t a term Gabi liked to ponder. Blake just lived on the other side of the world, and the internet was a great tool for her to keep up to date with his life.

  Walking back to the bed, she threw down her clothes. Her mood had changed, now hovering far from the previous “let’s go dance and have fun” frame of mind. The green-eyed monster demanded she sex it up. Stuff the comfy shoes more appropriate for dancing. She needed shiny, black, three inch heels, with straps that wove around her ankles and tied in a bow at the front. Not that Blake would ever see their awesomeness. She would have to take her frustrations and heartache out on another unsuspecting bachelor.

  “So, is that a ‘no’ on the invitation?”

  “What?” She frowned. “Why do you keep bringing that up?”

  “Aren’t we besties? How come I didn’t get an invite?”

  She shook her head in frustration and growled into the phone. If only he knew what she would sacrifice to see him tonight. Maybe then he wouldn’t taunt her with his crazy-ass questions.

  “Oh, you know I love when you make that noise,” he cooed.

  Damn it. She was laughing again. “Fine, Blake. I would love if you came along to my ladies night tonight.” She rolled her eyes and moved to her hands and knees to retrieve the sexy shoes from underneath her bed.

  “OK, I’ll see you soon.”

  She paused, her hands embedded in the carpet, her eyes on the shoebox. “What do you mean?”

  Silence.

  “Blake?”

  She sat back on her haunches, retrieved the phone from her shoulder, and stared at the screen. He hung up. What the hell?

  Gabi pressed his name on the Skype application and selected a voice call.

  No answer. The bastard changed his status to “offline.”

  Climbing to her feet, Gabi sat on the edge of her bed and started typing an email.

  What’s going on? Why would you say that?

  After the years of emails, internet chats, and voice calls, they’d never met. She was pretty sure Blake didn’t even know what she looked like. It had been a stipulation she made months after their communications had turned from occasional chat sessions into a natural part of their everyday life. The same day he entrusted her with the knowledge that he was the world-famous bass guitarist for Reckless Beat.

  She had a decent amount of confidence, and still her ego had crumpled under the thought of his scrutiny. It had been bad enough when he was a nameless, recovering addict who effortlessly brightened her day and made her smile with every written sentence. Add to that the sexy bad-boy appearance, those talented fingers, and an enviable lifestyle… Yeah, she’d decided to hide behind the internet for a little longer.

  Gabi
stared at the phone screen, her heart a wild bird under her ribs. She wouldn’t be ready when Tammy came to pick her up, and for once, being late didn’t faze her. She was preoccupied with an insane idea that her brain knew would never happen, but pulled at her emotions none the less.

  Why would he tease her like that? It didn’t make sense. He was meant to be finishing up the UK leg of Reckless Beat’s worldwide tour.

  Damn him for making her contemplate the possibility. And on her birthday! He knew his friendship meant everything to her.

  Her phone vibrated and trilled with the arrival of an email.

  Sorry. Bad service. Hope you have a great night. ;)

  Her heart slid south, lodging itself in the pit of her stomach. She was stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Of course he wasn’t in Australia. Reckless Beat weren’t scheduled to play in Melbourne until Friday—six days away. And even then, Blake already told her he wouldn’t have time to catch up. Between tour performances and promo obligations, he would barely get a lick of sleep. “We’re better off meeting for the first time when things won’t be so insane for me. I want to see you when I’m not delusional from lack of sleep and running on caffeine.”

  With a huff of frustration, she threw the phone back on the bed and continued getting ready. Bye, bye, laid back, comfy jeans. Her grumpiness demanded one-hundred-percent femme fatale. She stormed to her closet and pulled out her skin-tight, black lace, thigh-high dress. She may need to wear her best underwear and be cautious of giving unintentional glimpses to strangers, but she didn’t care. If Blake’s attention was unobtainable, she would get it from somewhere else.

  She could close her eyes and pretend as good as any woman.

  ***

  Blake strode down Cavill Avenue, Surfers Paradise, trying to find the night club Gabi’s friend had emailed him about. The night was clear, the air warm and thick around him. Jetlag weighed down his mind, making his head heavy, and his body reeled from the abrupt change from the brutally cold weather of London, to the heat and humidity of Queensland, Australia.