SAVED BY THE BAD BOY (A DEVIL'S DRAGONS MOTORCYCLE CLUB ROMANCE)

by Nikki Wild

  “Right, luv. There’s an insane amount of time between our sound check and when the show starts. Meet me in my dressing room after sound check and we can do whatever you want.”

  “Talk,” I said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Talk. Of course.” He winked again and my stomach flipped.

  “So, I think we got off on the wrong foot, Catherine,” Liam said, as he walked into his dressing room. He hair was even messier, but somehow it looked even better. A light sheen of sweat caressed his skin, and I found myself staring at it, yearning to touch my fingertip to his slick, bare chest again. “I owe you an apology.”

  “You do?” I asked.

  “Well, I wasn’t exactly a gentleman.”

  “You’re not really known for being a gentleman,” I said, wishing I could take it back as soon as the words flew from my mouth.

  I was relieved when he broke out in laughter.

  “Finally the truth!” he said, throwing his head back, his loud guffaw echoing in the room. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and cracked it open. “You want one?”

  “No, thank you, Mr. Mercury.”

  “Alright, that’s enough of that bullshit. Please call me Liam.”

  “Alright. Liam.”

  “That’s better. So,” he said, sitting across from me and chugging on his beer. “What do you want to know, Catherine from Rolling Stone?”

  “Well, I have many questions. When I write a story, I don’t force it. I let it build from the inside out. I’d like to get to know you better, so why don’t we start at the beginning?”

  “The beginning? What - you mean like my childhood, or somethin’, luv?”

  “Sure, that’s as good a place to start as any.”

  “For fuck’s sake, can’t we talk about something more interestin’? My music or somethin’? Isn’t that what this is about? Selling records?”

  “It is. And also saving your reputation, if it’s salvageable.”

  “Hardly,” he scoffed.

  “You can’t be all bad, Liam,” I said, smiling over at him.

  “There are hundreds who would disagree with you, darling,” he replied.

  “Liam, think of it this way. You’ve got a clean slate with me. I’m here to observe and listen to whatever you share with me. No judgement. No preconceived notions. If you don’t want something included in the story, just say so. I’m not out to get you, I promise.”

  “Well, that’s refreshing to hear, luv,” he said, winking at me. “But you can have me if you want.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” I groaned.

  His laughter, the mischievous gleam in his eye, the way he looked at me with such unrestrained hunger every time he flirted with me - none of these things were helping me stay professional.

  However, they were definitely having an effect on me. I just wasn’t sure that was where I wanted this whole thing to go. I also wasn’t sure I would be able to resist him.

  Time would tell, but at this point, I was beginning to see that most of my time was going to be spent putting my energy into keeping my hands off of him. Or, keeping his hands off me.

  If I could do that, I’d be alright…

  If…

  6

  LIAM

  The last thing in the whole fuckin’ world that I wanted to do was talk about my past. But she was sitting there dripping sexy, flashing those doe-like green eyes at me, her blouse plunging to a deep v, showing off a good portion of what I was sure were perfect knockers. Every time she smiled at me, my cock swelled in my pants.

  And here she was asking about my childhood. I just wanted to rip off her clothes and take her right there on the fuckin’ couch. Or, better yet, blow the show and take her to a nice five star hotel and give her a proper fancy fuckin’. A woman like Catherine deserved that.

  I imagined what she’d look like, splayed out in my bed, naked as a jaybird, her long black hair spread out around her head, her eyes full of desire. She was already so goddamned beautiful, but I could only imagine how much sexier she’d be with my cock buried inside her.

  It had been awhile since I met a girl who played hard to get, and I liked it.

  She was going on and on about how she was just here to do her job, that she wasn’t judging me, that she had no pre-conceived notions about who I was. As if I cared if she judged me at all. I was used to that shit. Nobody in the whole fuckin’ world knew me for who I really was, not even my bloody brother. He was so sure he did, though. But I’d done an excellent job of not letting anyone in. I’d done that once, a long, long time ago, and it pained me to even think about that now. I’d done my best to make good on that mistake.

  “So, if we could just start with you telling me what your parents were like?” Catherine asked.

  “My parents? My parents were a couple of dysfunctional assholes that had no idea how to raise children.”

  She blinked, and furiously starting making notes in her little notebook. I probably shouldn’t have, but I continued.

  “My father was a postmaster. My mother was a house wife who could never do anything correct, according to my father. Hell, in his eyes, none of us could do right. He was angry at the world, and he took it out on us every night when he came home. Ian got the worst of it, being younger than me. I tried to stop it, but I was just a kid, what could I do?”

  Her eyes filled with pity, and I looked away. That was why I kept my mouth shut about this shit. I didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for me.

  “You had another brother, too?” she prodded. As it always did when Lennon was mentioned, I winced. Sometimes the pain of losing him was still so fresh, I wondered if it would ever fade.

  “Yeah. Lennon. My father let me name him. I was obsessed with the Beatles, even then.”

  “That’s nice,” Catherine said, her voice soft and quiet.

  “Lennon died of cancer when he was five. They found a tumor in his brain when he was three, and he fought hard for the next two. My mother brought us all to Philadelphia to have him treated by the best doctors in the world. He was the toughest little kid I’ve ever known.”

  “I’m so sorry, Liam,” she said, her voice cracking ever so slightly. She had to know this shit already. Why was she asking these questions?

  “It was a long time ago,” I said, standing up quickly and walking over to the bar. The beer wasn’t hitting the spot anymore, so I poured myself a shot of whiskey and downed it, then poured another. “Sure you don’t want a drink, Catherine? It takes the edge off.”

  “It’s a little early - I mean, no, thank you.”

  “Sure you aren’t judging me?” I asked, teasingly.

  She laughed softly and held up two fingers.

  “Scouts honor!” she said.

  I smiled and nodded. The whiskey hit me quickly and it felt fucking fantastic. That was more like it. It was exactly what I needed to keep the demons at the edge of my consciousness, instead of taunting me in my head.

  The other thing I needed was right between Catherine’s crossed thighs. Her skirt had ridden up, revealing a tiny sliver of inner thigh that I longed to run my tongue along.

  I sat down beside her on the couch, and as soon as our legs touched, she scooted over. I smirked.

  She was going to make me work for it.

  That’s okay, though.

  I enjoyed the chase almost as much as the conquering. And she might not know it yet, but I was going to conquer every fuckin’ inch of her creamy flesh.

  “Let’s talk about you,” I suggested. Her eyes widened and she immediately shook her head.

  “Me? Oh, no, that’s not why we’re here.”

  “I couldn’t give a shit about that. I mean, I respect you have a job to do and all that, luv, but seriously, it’s all just horseshit. We both know what the Rolling Stone wants. You’ll write a puff piece about my tortured past and the way my music lets me fuckin’ work through it, and all the teenaged girls will read it and tear up about things that happened a long time ago… Lets talk about
you. I bet you’re more interesting than all of my boring drivel…”

  “You’re the most famous rock star on the planet, Liam.”

  “Rubbish. What is fame but a constant headache? It’s not real. It doesn’t last. Tell me, Catherine, are you single? Have a boyfriend? Husband? Girlfriend?” I asked with a wink.

  “None of the above,” she replied.

  “I find that hard to believe,” I replied, putting my hand on her knee. To my surprise, she let it rest there instead of puling away.

  “I work a lot,” she said. “I’m sure you can relate to that.”

  “Unfortunately, yes I can.”

  “Let’s talk about that. What keeps you motivated, Liam? What keeps you writing songs and performing? Your career has lasted a lot longer than most musician’s already, and you’re still going strong, still pumping out the hits.”

  “Ian writes most of the songs. I’ve written a few, but I mostly just sing and play and look fuckin’ pretty…”

  “But what keeps you going?” she asked, ignoring the way I downplayed my accomplishments.

  “I guess the fact that I don’t have a fuckin’ choice. Everyone depends on me getting up there on the stage, making it to the next show, paying everyone’s salaries with ticket sales. If there’s no show, nobody gets paid. Nobody buys albums anymore… If you’re going to survive in music today, you’ve got to keep moving. The tour never stops.”

  “That sounds like a lot of pressure.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” I replied, taking another swig of whiskey. It’s warm embrace felt like home. I couldn’t wait for the show to be over so I could forget about everything. There was a time when I wouldn’t have waited, but I was trying to be on my best behavior and avoid Ian’s incessant nagging.

  “Do you enjoy performing?”

  “It’s a good escape. Sometimes I wish it lasted longer, because it’s the only time I feel in my element. Off stage, I’m bloody lost. I don’t really fit in the square world, you know? But on stage, I can just be me, and let the music take over.”

  “That sounds….freeing.”

  “That’s one way to put it. Now, let’s talk about you again.”

  “Liam…”

  “Where did you grow up, Catherine?” I asked. She re-crossed her legs, forcing my hand to fall away.

  “New York,” she replied.

  “And did you have a happy childhood?” I asked. Her eyes flashed over at me and I didn’t like what I saw there. I recognized the pain of the past all too well.

  “Not really, but I don’t really want to talk about it.”

  “Now you know how I feel!” I exclaimed. I was rewarded with the sound of her laughter.

  “I guess so,” she responded.

  “You know what I say, Catherine?”

  “What’s that?”

  “I say fuck the past! In fact, let’s make a toast!” I held up my glass of whiskey, and she raised her bottle of water. “To the future!”

  “To the future!” she echoed, laughing, touching her drink to mine. I downed the whiskey and poured another.

  “Sure you don’t want some?” I asked.

  “What the hell,” she replied. “You only live once, right?”

  “That’s more like it!” I exclaimed. The amber liquid swirled around the crystal glass as I handed it to her. She took a tentative slip and then downed it in one shot, smiling warmly at me.

  My cock twitched in my pants.

  7

  CATHERINE

  The crowd was huge and when Liam and Ian and the rest of the Electric Horses walked on stage, they erupted in a frenzied welcome. The boys strapped on their guitars, and without a word, launched into their hottest number one hit, Somewhere Else, bringing the crowd to their feet before the first verse was even finished. The song was all about wanting to be somewhere else, anywhere else but where you were. I’d felt that way since I’d arrived, but now, watching the boys perform, I couldn’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be.

  Liam’s comfort on stage was obvious. He became one with the guitar, stalking the microphone like a determined lover, the lyrics pouring out of him like a waterfall. His voice was strong, solid, and so fucking sexy that I felt my nipples harden like pebbles and stay that way throughout the entire show. It was impossible to look away from him. His presence was commanding, sultry, and his body moved with such unbridled sexuality, he almost looked as if he were making love to the audience. His eyes closed, his hips undulating, his mouth open, his hair flying, his always unbuttoned shirt billowing behind him and exposing that muscular tattooed chest, all at the same time. It was breathtaking.

  My eyes raked over the adoring crowd, and I saw hundreds of women who surely had the same expression splashed across their faces as I did - pure, unadulterated desire.

  Song after song, Liam poured his heart out. That kind of passion could never be faked. He was indeed a man in his element. I couldn’t help but smile. No wonder everyone was able to look past his asshole demeanor. No wonder the record label executives were going to such lengths to try to improve his image. Nobody in their right mind would want this train to stop.

  By the time the show was halfway over, Liam had the crowd eating out of his hand. He and Ian pretty much ignored each other, though, and while I sensed the tension between them, they played off of each other effortlessly. The band was tight, skilled, and perfectly adapted to every nuance of Liam’s singing. If he got softer, they got softer. If he played harder, they played louder.

  I couldn’t help but lose myself in the magic.

  Rhone stood beside me, and I glanced over at her. Her eyes were filled with love, her gaze glued on Ian the whole time. You could almost feel the happiness oozing off of her, and it made me smile. It also made me wonder why Ian could find love and stability and Liam couldn’t. Perhaps after a little more time with him, I could get a better handle on that.

  As for now, I was just going to allow myself to drink in the undeniable sex machine that was Liam. I felt a familiar stirring between my legs, my nipples hardened even more beneath my blouse, and my stomach flipped.

  As much as I hated to admit it, I wasn’t immune to Liam’s charms. As much as I wanted to remain professional, another part of me wanted to give in to his devilish temptation. And at this point, watching him, that part was winning out. Big time.

  My thoughts had drifted so far away from my reason for being there, that by the time the show was over, I was in a hypnotic haze. By the looks of the throngs of fans that were cheering, stomping and clapping, chanting ‘more, more, more!’, they were under the same spell.

  The boys came backstage, talked to each other for a moment, wiping sweat from their faces, pouring water in their mouths, their energy electric. Within moments, they walked back out and the crowd collectively went crazy.

  I was in awe.

  This wasn’t my first rodeo. I’d been to countless concerts myself, but being backstage was a whole different trip. Watching the effect the band had on the crowd from this side was intense. The ecstatic faces, the synchronized lips singing along to every song they’d memorized, the devotion for the band filling their eyes as they swayed together.

  It made me high just watching it - I could only imagine how it must feel to be the object of their adoration. But Liam and the boys seemed to take it in stride, as if it was second nature to be in front of all of these people night after night.

  The spotlight was not for me, I’d figured that out long ago. That’s why I was a writer now. I much preferred working behind the scenes, just me and my laptop and not a million pairs of eyes watching my every move.

  My father had been a famous newscaster. I’d grown up watching him on television, interviewing presidents and breaking important stories. He was intense, driven and laser-focused on delivering the most in-depth stories he could. My mother and I adored him. Until I was ten, the three of us had the perfect life, even if he wasn’t home as much as we’d like him to be. When I expressed an interest in writin
g, he pushed me to follow in his footsteps. The stage was set for our lives to play out perfectly, but it didn’t work out that way.

  Mom was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was ten, and everything fell apart. She tried to fight it, but in the end, the cancer won. After she died, Dad fell apart. He began drinking heavily and his life and career died with the woman he couldn’t live without. It was devastating to watch. I basically raised myself, and in the end, by the time I was in my early twenties, he was a shell of the man he once was. I spent a year taking care of him before his body let go, freeing him from his own private hell.

  I threw myself into my writing after he was gone. I began with poems and short stories but my heart was in songwriting. Because of my father’s career, I was recruited to be a journalist, and since it paid the bills, I kept doing it. But songwriting was always my secret passion, and outside of a few trusted friends and colleagues, I kept that to myself. I’d sold a few songs along the way that became big hits, and I was immensely proud of them, and even if those royalty checks became smaller as time sped by, it was always a private little pleasure when they arrived… I liked keeping it to myself, though. Sometimes a girl has to have her own secrets.

  Watching Liam leave every part of himself on that stage, I wondered what secrets he was keeping. If I could uncover a few of them, I might just have myself a story.

  8

  LIAM

  The roar of the crowd always gets me hard, and the guitar slung low over my hips does a shit job of hiding it. Performing is better than shaggin’. In fact, it’s just like shaggin’ thousands of people all at the same time. The build up, the anticipation, the waiting, and then the act itself, like you’re riding the waves of pleasure with all of them at once - the highs, the lows, the cock-out rocking, fist-pumping finale. The sweaty aftermath, the electric, lingering high that I can only achieve after being in front of thousands of screaming fans.