Hard Rock Fling: A Rock Star Romance

by Athena Wright

  His mouth downturned at the corner. "Point taken."

  I felt bad for mouthing off when he was clearly trying to share something with me.

  "So you've played guitar for a long time?" I asked, bringing us back around to a less sensitive subject.

  His eyes lit up. "Damon and I bought used guitars from this garage sale when we were twelve. We practiced every day until we finally sounded halfway decent. Started this stupid garage band with our friends when we were thirteen. We never looked back."

  "You got any demos from that band I can listen to?" I joked.

  "Yeah, but we were shit," he laughed. "We recorded ourselves through the crappy speakers on our computers. It was awful. We felt so proud though."

  "You should feel proud. Starting a band as a teenager, recording songs, that's impressive."

  "We mostly just fooled around. We only played together for two years. But it was a hell of a lot of fun. The music helped distract us from the shitshow that was—" he stopped abruptly, with a snort. "Nevermind. Let's not even get into that."

  I waited for a moment but he didn't continue.

  "How did the music help you?" I asked softly.

  He was silent for a moment, as if contemplating what to say. "I don't want to be a downer," he murmured at last.

  My interest was piqued. "My life hasn't exactly been a joyride, either. I—" I bit my lip before continuing on. "I want to know more about you."

  He flicked his eyes to me briefly before turning back to the road. "Damon and I always knew we wanted to pursue music. Our parents didn't agree. We… left home."

  I heard the slight pause in his voice. "Left home, or were forced to leave home?"

  He quirked a sad smile. "Always so perceptive." He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in a nervous pattern. "Our home life wasn't the greatest. Our dad had a temper. Sometimes—" he cut himself off, face going blank. He gripped the steering wheel tight, the leather squeaking. After several silent, awkward moments, he relaxed his grip and gave an easy shrug. "Anyway. We were better on our own."

  "How old were you?"

  "Fifteen."

  "Did you have someplace to go?"

  "We crashed on friends' sofas sometimes. We busked for money. We made do."

  "That's how August found you, isn't it?"

  Ian frowned at me. "What? How did you know that?"

  "You told me before that August found you playing in a shitty garage band. But you said you only played together for two years. You couldn't have been in a band while you were homeless. You lied."

  His lips quirked. "Yeah. I lied. Sorry. I didn't want to get into my whole sob story. Anyway," he shrugged, "the truth is close enough. Damon and I were jamming together on a street corner. August was walking by, on his way to check out some proper bands, scoping out some guitarists. It was like fate."

  "It must have been wild, going from that," I gestured to the street outside the window, "to this." I gestured to the interior of his luxury car.

  "Wild doesn't begin to describe it."

  "Homeless at fifteen. No wonder you're not used to any of this rock star stuff."

  "You have to agree, though, I've adjusted to the lifestyle quickly." He flashed me a forced grin.

  I sensed the change in our conversation's tone. Perhaps Ian had shared as much as he was going to.

  "It's awesome your hobby became your career."

  "What about you?" He nodded his head to the file folder full of sketches in my lap. "You always been obsessed with art and stuff?"

  "My parents got me this little kid's art kit one year for Christmas. Cheap watercolors, colored pencils, stencil notebooks, things like that. I didn't think much of it at first. It sat on my bedroom shelf for a good six months. One day I got bored and pulled it out. The moment I put pencil to paper I knew I'd found something special. Of course," I added, "I wasn't any good in the beginning, either. And no, you're not allowed to see any of my childhood artwork."

  "So you've always been an artist," he mused. "How'd you come to work at Etude?"

  "I just applied for an internship like everyone else. I suppose because of my artistic background they decided to put me in the Product Development department."

  A look of consternation appeared on Ian's face. I help my hand up to stall his protests.

  "And I know musicians hate to be called products, but that's essentially how you guys are viewed by music execs."

  A crease appeared between his brows for a brief moment, but soon smoothed out. "So you were already helping artists develop their image?"

  "Well. Not technically. My job was to do whatever my boss told me, whether that was ironing outfits, picking up clothing from the dry cleaners, or making sure each band member had the right accessories before performing."

  "I can testify you did well with that last part."

  "Glad to hear I did something right."

  "Are you worried you're not doing a good job? You shouldn't doubt yourself. You scored this internship for a reason. They must have seen something in you."

  "I no longer feel completely out of my depth, at least."

  He frowned. "Why would you feel that way?"

  "Are you kidding? My first day as an intern was nerve-wracking. I'd shown up at this tall office tower in the heart of downtown. The height of the building is nausea-inducing. That avant-garde exterior design, all angles and glass? It's something out of a futuristic sci-fi film. I'd known Etude Entertainment was one of the top entertainment companies in the world with all its rock bands, actors, and other celebrities, but it hadn't sunk in until I saw the building housing your headquarters. I was this close to just turning around and walking away."

  "I hadn't thought of it that way. I'd probably be intimidated, too."

  "I can't imagine anything throwing you off guard. You seem pretty…"

  He lowered his sunglasses, pulling them over his eyes, and gave me a cocky grin. "Confident?"

  "I was going to say full of yourself."

  He laughed. "I have a feeling spending time with you is going to cure me of that."

  Spending time with me. Surely he just meant professionally. For work. He couldn't mean anything more personal.

  "But you obviously didn't walk away that first day. What made you decide to stay?

  "I snapped a quick picture and texted my sister. I just said intimidating, much? She wrote back, get your ass in there. She knew me enough to know what I was thinking."

  "Anyone would be overwhelmed to be working with rock stars."

  I let out a snort. "Until a few days ago, I'd barely had any contact with people who weren't just interns and assistants like me. You know what I did for my first week? Organized a closet."

  "Seriously?"

  "Seriously. On my first day, I was shown to a room full of studded belts, thick soled black shoes, lengths of chains, and other accessories. None of it organized, most of it on the floor. My very first task was to make sense of it all."

  "How glamorous."

  "Maybe not, but I wanted to do a good job anyway. I put myself to work and within days the room was spotless. Every item hung up or placed in a drawer, all color coordinated by season and style. Ever since then I've been the one responsible for artist's accessories."

  "Is there really that much work for something like that?"

  "Not all the time. For something like a small concert at a club, you guys wear whatever you feel like, right? But larger events needed more coordination. The marketing team would throw a fit if the clothing you wore in an interview or during a photoshoot didn't fit the image the department was trying to sell. Sometimes it feels like everything is staged. Nothing is authentic. As a music fan, it was disheartening to find out."

  Ian frowned. "We have a say in our image, you know. No one's going to force Darkest Days to dress, or act, or speak, in any way other than what we felt like."

  "I get that. It's just the Marketing and Product Development's job to make sure whatever the band feels like is consiste
nt."

  "And that's why we agreed to hire you, I suppose." Ian's lips tilted into a smirk. "Well. That's why August decided to hire you. I had an entirely different motive altogether." The car squealed to a stop in front of my apartment. "Looks like your chariot has delivered you to your castle, sweetness."

  "Still trying to play the part of the prince?"

  "Nah." He flipped his shades up to reveal his eyes, that brilliant green staring me down. "Playing the evil huntsman who catches the princess is much more fun."

  The carnal grin on his face made me flush as I fled his car, slamming the door closed behind me.

  Why did he get off on teasing me so much?

  I turned back at the last minute. Ian was still out front, watching me. Making sure I got inside safely.

  Was this all just a game to him?

  Or was it something more?

  Chapter Fifteen

  A few days after Ian had driven me home and we'd gotten to know each other better, I planned on attending another Darkest Days concert.

  Once again, Janet almost ruined my plans with another last minute task. I wanted to tell her no. She wasn't my boss anymore. But it wasn't technically true. I still worked in the Product Development department.

  "Please, Faith!"

  I had to plead with her again. Janet wanted me to drop off a box of accessories. I was supposed to bring it to the office the next morning, but of course Janet wanted it immediately. If I did, I'd be late for the concert.

  "This is the second time," Faith grumbled.

  "I know, but please?"

  "Ugh. Fine."

  I threw my arms around my sister. "You're the best."

  "That's twice you owe me."

  "I promise I will pay you back. Somehow."

  "She's not your boss anymore."

  "She's sort of my boss. I guess. I don't want her to be upset with me."

  "You need to learn to stand up for yourself, Hope. You can't let people keep walking all over you."

  "I'm an intern. It's my job to let people walk all over me."

  But was it? I was Darkest Days' Image Consultant now. Did Janet have any say over whether or not they kept me on after the album was done? I wanted to stay on her good side just in case. Or, at least, I didn't want to be any more on her bad side than I already was.

  Thanks to Faith, I made it to the concert in time to see Ian before he went on. The bouncer let me inside when I showed him my staff badge. The place was swarming with people getting ready, assistants and sound techs and all the other cogs in the machine helping Darkest Days' career move smoothly.

  I was off work, technically, although anything having to do with Darkest Days could serve as an inspiration. Seeing them in concert again would give me more ideas, especially watching at this distance. I was as close as I had been at that concert where Ian first noticed to me.

  Ian and the guys were probably in the artists lounge, getting hyped up for the show. I wondered if I should head over, but thought better of it. They'd probably want alone time to get ready. Besides, I didn't know if I was ready to see Ian yet — especially not in front of all his band members.

  Another group was playing on stage. I recognized the frontman, with his golden hair, curls flopping over his forehead, and smooth, seductive voice. Kell, the excessively vain yet somehow still charming lead singer of Feral Silence, Darkest Days' rival band.

  Feral Silence was the group who stole August's concept. Well, stole was a harsh word. I had no doubt they came up with the concept on their own. Still, it galled they had gotten to it first, forcing us to rethink our strategy.

  On the other hand, if they hadn't, I wouldn't have my current job. Maybe I owed them thanks.

  Feral Silence's set was amazing. Kell didn't disappoint, his voice ranging from low growling to high pitched screaming, and hitting every note in between. Jayce, the guitarist, wore no shirt under his leather jacket, no doubt to show off his impressive abs and smooth dark skin. The speed of the song had his fingers flying over the fretboard in a near blur. Their bassist, Ren, had long black hair falling over his shoulders. The glossy strands tossed back and forth as his body surged with the beat. Morris pounded furiously on the drums, keeping the band in perfect time, despite the theatrical way he played with his sticks.

  They were nearly as good as Darkest Days. I knew I was biased, though. I was sure fans of Feral Silence would say they were better than any other band who performed that night. But I still thought Darkest Days was the best.

  When Feral Silence finished their final song, they threw picks, water bottles, and drumsticks to the crowd. Any and everything that wasn't nailed down was sent soaring. After several long rounds of cheering and begging for an encore, they thanked the audience and left the stage, leaving disappointed moans in their wake.

  Anticipation buzzed through me. Darkest Days was up next. I'd been a fan for years. Getting to know the band personally hadn't dampened my enthusiasm for their music in the slightest. I glanced around to see if the guys were ready to go on.

  My heart nearly stopped. Ian was only a few feet away, dressed for the stage.

  There was just something about rock stars that turned girls into mush. Ian was no exception. I'd watched him in concert many times, but that was before I'd seen him naked. Now, every single piece of clothing only served to enhance the gorgeous body I knew lay underneath.

  Tight leather pants accentuated the hard muscles of his thighs. They were slung low on his hips, revealing the tantalizing V-shape of his lower abs, leading to…

  I lifted my eyes before I could be caught staring.

  It didn't help any. The moment I saw the thin t-shirt stretched tight around his taut chest and muscled upper arms, I was done for.

  I finally looked up to meet his eyes, the barest hint of kohl making them a brilliant green, with a smirk holding a dozen filthy promises.

  My stomach clenched. My panties were getting damp from the sight, my insides aching. I'd never been able to control my physical reaction to him.

  "Hey there, Ms. Fancy Consultant." Cameron drew my attention away from Ian by throwing an arm around my neck and tugging me close. "Better put that tongue back in your mouth before you start drooling."

  I snapped my mouth shut.

  Cameron's eyes were dark and smokey, his usual on-stage style, with shimmering bright red hair. "You keep on staring at Damian like that and I'm going to get jealous."

  "You don't sleep with colleagues."

  "I could make an exception." He grinned in my face.

  "Get your hands off my girl." Ian strode over with a grim face, pulling me into his side.

  Cameron raised an eyebrow. "She's your girl, now? That's cool, man." He pecked a kiss on my cheek. "You two kids enjoy yourselves tonight."

  "Is he really jealous?" I asked as Cameron sauntered off, bass guitar in hand.

  "He knows you're not interested. Pissing me off is his way of having fun."

  The light smudge of black rimming his eyes was doing something to my insides. Guys shouldn't be hotter in eyeliner than girls. It wasn't fair. Ian caught me staring. He ran one finger along my neck, black nail polish smooth and gleaming.

  "I like that look on you."

  "What look?"

  "Like you want to eat me alive."

  I flushed. I couldn't exactly deny it.

  I'd told myself to forget about it and move on. I'd gotten laid. It was out of my system. One guy shouldn't still have so much power over me.

  My body disagreed.

  "Can we do it again?" I blurted. I wanted to bury my face in my hands, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. But I couldn't take it back. All that sexting, all that teasing, all that leather and eyeliner, had done me in. I had no more willpower left.

  "Do what again?"

  Ian's eyes glinted with mischief. He knew exactly what I meant, but he was going to make me say it. I steeled myself, speaking the words in one long breath.

  "I know better than to expect any sort of
commitment from you and you rarely sleep with the same girl twice but I don't want us to be a one night stand." I held my breath for his response, expecting annoyance or exasperation.

  Instead, Ian gave me a wicked grin. "I know, right? That night at the party was fucking awesome. I definitely need more of your magical puss—"

  "Stop!" I clapped a hand over his mouth.

  "I'm just saying." The words were muffled against my palm. "The sex was too good for it to be a one time thing."

  I lowered my hand. "So you're saying you want to do it again?"

  "And again and again and again." Ian snickered at my blush.

  "So what is this, then?" I asked. I wasn't naive. I knew I could never expect a real relationship with Ian, no matter how mind-blowing the sex was. That wasn't how it worked with The Twins.

  He glanced away from me for a moment, as if he were thinking. Then he flicked his eyes up to mine. "Friends with benefits?"

  "That implies you'll be sleeping with other people at the same time and—" I squirmed, "—I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that."

  Ian tilted his head, considering me. "What about a fling?"

  "A fling?"

  "Yeah. We have sex a couple more times, get it out of our systems. We have our fun like mature adults, then go our separate ways. Call it a brief love affair."

  My heart nearly jumped out of my chest at his use of the L word. Again.

  "You can make all your friends jealous." Ian's eyes sparkled, like he was getting excited on my behalf. "A short, whirlwind romance with a rock star."

  I knew better than to ask for anything long term, but I didn't want this to be over. Not yet. "A fling, you said?"

  "Nothing wrong with a fling, right?"

  “Showtime, guys," August called. He flipped one drumstick between his fingers in an impressive repetitive motion, heading over to the stage. He was usually the first one ready to go, as the others were usually, as he put it, fucking around.

  In Damon's case, sometimes literally.

  Ian pressed his lips to my ear. "Now, as much as I'd love to have those pretty lips on my cock, I've got a show to do, sweetness."

  Arousal flooded my entire system. I wanted to drag him into the nearest storage closet and do exactly that — wrap my mouth around his thick length and consume him whole.