My Fake Rockstar Boyfriend (Rock and Rogues, #1)

by Remy, Cate

  “Cotton candy hair? What?” She laughed at the description.

  “That’s it, Tracy. Keep smiling.” Luka played with the buttons on a camera. She willed him to hurry up and take the picture already.

  The camera flashed. She blinked and broke away from Deacon. Luka handed her the camera. “What do you think? Did I do good?”

  She studied the picture of her and Deacon. The lights overhead showed the shiny apples of her cheeks. She loved her brown skin, but especially was thankful for it now. If she had a lighter complexion, the lights above the table would’ve shown where all the blood was rushing to her face.

  Deacon leaned over her shoulder to look at the camera. He smelled nice, too, like he just stepped out of the shower. She tried to avoid the temptation to envision him that way, and kept occupied by chewing on her drink straw. “Tracy makes a picture look good, whether she’s the one taking it or the one in it, but especially the one in it.”

  The other two band members ribbed Deacon for his mushy comment by saying “awww” in unison. Tracy looked at the water beads on her drink glass where it sweated. She could relate to the glass. If she could get through the concert tonight without embarrassing herself, maybe she could survive the rest of this tour.

  IT RAINED THAT NIGHT. Even so, the concert was a success. People in Tampa came out in the warm, damp weather to see Deacon Wonder perform. Tracy got some good photos in of the band, although she had to keep wiping her lens to prevent them from fogging.

  The next morning, they drove to Miami. Tracy stared out the bus window at the bright blue skies and orange trees they passed along the highway. At one point, the bus driver took them along a route with the ocean in view. She smelled the salt water breeze filtering through the AC vents.

  “That water looks inviting,” Deacon said, seated in the row across from her. He got up to go on her side to get a better view from her window. “I haven’t been to Miami in a few years. What about you?”

  “This is my first time here. I’ve never been to the big cities in Florida.”

  “We’ll have to make it special for you.”

  They drove to the hotel. It turned out to be a fancy resort overlooking a private beach reserved specifically for guests. While their luggage was being unloaded from the bus, Tracy walked with Deacon in the lobby and observed people in expensive designer clothing. Towards the back of the hotel, past the 3-star Michelin restaurant, there was a lagoon-like pool with a swim-up bar. She watched guests sip their Bahama Mamas and Mai Tais while floating in inner tubes. “Now that looks relaxing.”

  Deacon had on his sunglasses to keep his identity hidden. Tracy thought his chiseled jawline and thick dark hair still attracted attention. “The ocean is better. We should go swimming there.”

  “You mean right now?”

  “Why not? I don’t go on stage until nine tonight.”

  She scanned the private beach. “I’ll have to get my swimsuit out of my-ah, man. I forgot to pack my swimsuit.”

  Deacon glanced in the direction of the lobby. “There’s a gift shop in the hotel. I’m sure they have something.”

  She went back inside with him. She spotted the gift shop across from the restaurant. It didn’t look like a run-of-the-mill souvenir depot where guests bought shot glasses and spoons with plastic gator heads on them. This one catered to the classy. And rich. Tracy passed the display of aquamarine crystal platters at the front of the store. She had to breathe in and out to calm her sudden case of sticker shock.

  “What about this one?” Deacon found the swimsuits already. He stood by a display in the center of the store, holding a scrap of blue fabric between his hands.

  “What is that, a handkerchief? There’s no way I’m wearing it.”

  He put the swimsuit back. Then he lifted a red bikini. “What about this one?” Both pieces combined were smaller than the first one he picked up.

  Tracy wrinkled her nose. “You must be joking. I think I’ll pick out my own swimsuit, thanks.” She went to the display and searched for one that left something to the imagination.

  “I only wanted to be helpful.” Deacon smiled, clearly enjoying watching her.

  She grew self-conscious with him standing there. “I’ll find a swimsuit and then meet you on the beach in about fifteen minutes.”

  “I’ll go and find my swim trunks. Red would look good on you. Just saying.”

  “Are you sure you like the bikini just for the color?”

  He gave her another smile and left the store.

  Tracy touched her face. It was warm like she had been out in direct sunlight. What was she doing with Deacon just now? Flirting? She looked around the gift shop to see who could have heard them, but only a couple customers were at the front counter.

  She ended up grabbing a black one-piece from the rack. It looked full coverage and the tag indicated her size. She took it to the counter and paid for the purchase. Then she went to the hotel front desk to find out the room to which her bags were taken.

  Tracy’s room was as luxurious as the rest of the hotel, with a four-poster bed and décor designed to look like a tropical cabana. She stood before the bathroom’s three mirrors and put on her new swimsuit. She realized then that while the front had full coverage, the back was daringly low. She turned to the side and assessed her appearance. How could she get away with wearing this to the beach?

  She put on a long maxi dress to make sure she was decent to be seen going through the lobby. Then she grabbed a bottle of sunscreen, stuck her feet in some flip flops and headed downstairs.

  Once outside, she followed the sandy path out to the private beach area. Deacon was already waiting, wearing a pair of swim trunks. The waistband sat on his hips beneath a well-defined set of washboard abs.

  He’s gorgeous. Tracy tried not to stumble in the folds of her dress as the wind kicked and played at the hem. What was she doing out here on the beach with him?

  “I found a spot for us to leave our towels.” He indicated to a couple of lounge chairs.

  She set her towel down. “I brought sunscreen.” She handed him the bottle. While he started applying it to his arms, she removed the maxi dress but held it in front so it concealed her from the waist down.

  Deacon looked up from what he was doing. He checked out her bathing suit. “Nice choice.” He finished applying the sunscreen and handed it to her. “Do you want me to get your back?”

  Tracy didn’t consider the low back swimsuit would be exposing her skin to the sun. She imagined the amount of twisting and contorting she would have to do to make sure the sunscreen was evenly applied if she did it herself. “Sure.” She did her best to project confidence as she handed the bottle over to him again. She drew in a breath before turning and presenting her back to him.

  “Have I said this is a nice swimsuit?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I just wanted to remind you in case you forgot three minutes ago.”

  She stared out at the water as his hands glided over her skin and massaged the sunscreen in. She felt his body heat from where he was standing close behind her.

  “Sorry if my hands are a bit rough. I have calluses from playing guitar.”

  Tracy liked the soft scrape of his fingertips on her skin. She closed her eyes when he drew her hair to one side. Her heart pounded in her chest. Her breathing increased when he started massaging the sunscreen into the back of her neck.

  “My turn.” He presented his back to her. It was just as trim and defined as the front.

  She took the sunscreen from him and rubbed it into his wide shoulders and down the tapered V of his torso. “You’re all set.”

  He tossed his sunglasses onto the lounge chair and headed for the water. Tracy removed her glasses, hoping she could see well enough not to embarrass herself by staring at Deacon cross-eyed. She removed her flip-flops and padded through the warm sand past the handful of other beachgoers to reach the water’s edge.

  She tested it by dipping her toes in. It was cool
, yet still warm enough to not send her running to the beach chairs. Deacon had already gone further out, standing waist-deep in the ocean.

  “Come on. It’s nice.” He waved to her.

  “In a second. I want to get used to the water first.” She waded out until the water was up to her knees. The ocean was crystal clear near the shoreline. She saw pretty seashells in the sand. She bent down to scoop up one that had a pinkish iridescent gleam. She put it back and then reached for a larger, flat one worn smooth by the ocean’s tide.

  Suddenly, she received a big dousing of water over her head. “Deacon.”

  He laughed as she cried out. “I’m helping you get used to the water.”

  “It’s cold.” She wrung out her hair as rivulets of water ran down her back.

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “You haven’t been dunked with it. Here.” She splashed him as hard as she could.

  He covered his face as water whooshed over his chest and arms. Then a wicked look passed over his face before he lunged at her. Tracy jumped back in time. She laughed when he landed belly first in the water. “That’s what you get.”

  He swam towards her. She pushed off the bottom of the shallows with her feet to leap away again. This time, the sand shifted beneath her weight. She lost her balance and ended up floating on her back. Tracy rolled over quickly to swim away from Deacon. He chased after her for several yards. She swam against the current to go further past the shore. A small wave washed over Deacon’s head as he pursued her.

  She bobbed in the water, waiting for him to surface. A few seconds passed with just her treading the water to stay afloat. Then Deacon popped up beside her. She reacted fast and splashed him before he could do the same to her. He got hit with another wave. “See? Even the ocean doesn’t like you splashing me.”

  “Point taken.” He wiped water from his eyes and treaded alongside her.

  They swam a little further out in the deep. Then the wind started to pick up, making the current faster. Deacon observed the water pattern. “We should head closer to shore. The water’s a little choppy.”

  They swam back until they were able to stand chest-deep in the water. Tracy paused to catch her breath from swimming through the current. “I forgot how different this was from swimming in a pool.”

  “Your swimsuit strap is down.” He pointed to her bare shoulder.

  She fixed it. “I don’t think this suit is intended for swimming. It’s for show only.”

  A current raced between them, its motion sending Tracy backwards. Deacon reached for her hand and pulled her closer to him. He positioned them so the water didn’t push them apart but moved at his back. He didn’t let go as another current arrived

  Tracy felt the strength of the water beat at them again. She braced herself against his shoulders. Deacon held her around the waist. She experienced the heat of his bare chest and felt the hard lines of his stomach through the fabric of her bathing suit. “Do you think the ocean is trying to tell us something?”

  “Like what?” He looked into her eyes. His fingers skimmed across her back. She attempted to suppress the shiver in response to the pleasing sensation.

  Tracy resisted the temptation to get closer to him. If it were even possible. They were pretty much locked in each other’s arms to keep from being carried away by the waves. Her brain sent her mixed signals. The logical side advised her to get on shore and away from him so she would stop producing adrenaline. The emotional side lingered in the rush she felt being held by him in the ocean.

  What was going on with her? She was letting this attraction get too far.

  “Can I kiss you?”

  She heard Deacon’s question over the lapping of the waves. Was it her imagination? She looked in his face and saw his eyes were locked on hers, intense as he waited for her answer.

  She nodded. Before she could close her eyes, he pressed his lips to hers. She tasted salt on him. In the distance, close to shore, she heard other voices.

  “Was that for them to see?”

  “Who?” He kept his face very close to hers after the kiss.

  She turned her head to the shore. The beach was starting to fill with guests from the hotel. People emerged from the building with inner tubes and inflatable lounge chairs. “Them.”

  “I didn’t hear them.” He spared the swimmers and beachcombers a glance. A mild look of annoyance crossed his face. “Do you mind if we get out? I don’t like crowded beaches.”

  She swam to shore with him. She counted about ten people in total on the beach and in the water. Hardly crowded, but she supposed Deacon had different standards of privacy.

  They returned to their lounge chairs. Deacon handed her her towel and glasses. “I should get back to the hotel and get ready for the concert tonight.” His demeanor changed and suddenly he was all business again, despite the fact he stood before her in wet swim trunks.

  Tracy averted her gaze as she toweled off and wrapped the towel around her waist. “I should, too, before the saltwater makes my hair crunchy.”

  He touched the wet curls that dripped water from her brow. “It still feels soft like cotton candy.”

  She usually didn’t let people touch her hair. She was surprised at how she didn’t mind when Deacon did it. They walked together to the hotel, being careful not to get the floors sandy and wet. They walked to their rooms in the west wing. Tracy stopped in front of her room. “Meet you in the lobby tonight?”

  “Ash will have the bus ready to leave at seven-thirty.”

  “I’ll be there.” She used her room key to get inside. She shut the door as thoughts ran in her mind and the taste of his kiss was still on her lips.

  Chapter Eight

  Tracy got cleaned up and packed everything she would need for the concert and boarded the bus at seven-thirty that evening. Things were definitely different between her and deacon since the afternoon. While on the bus, he talked and joked with Luka and Nick, but every so often, he would turn her way and give her a long look. It was the same one he gave her when they were swimming in the ocean and right before he kissed her.

  I need to forget what happened. She gave herself instructions as the bus arrived at the concert pavilion. Maybe she was reading too much into his expressions.

  The stage crew manager at the pavilion met them as they got off the bus. He shook hands with them. Ash talked to him briefly before the stage crew manager directed everyone to go backstage and start getting ready. “We have dressing rooms for everybody in the band. Your photographer can set up backstage, too.”

  “Oh, nice,” voiced Nick. “They rolled out the red carpet for us.”

  “Don’t get too excited,” Luka quipped. “You’re just the bassist. Your dressing room might be the broom closet.”

  Tracy grabbed her bag and went with them all backstage. As the band members found their dressing rooms, she unzipped her bag and took out camera lenses. A large blue stain was on one of the lenses. She reached into the bag and pulled out the culprit, an ink pen that had busted at the bottom of the bag. “Ah, not now.”

  “What is it?” Deacon paused from tuning his guitar.

  She showed him the lens. “I need to clean this up, but there’s no sink nearby.”

  “There’s one in my dressing room.” He pointed her in the right direction.

  The room was furnished with a small couch and a table for one with a mirror attached to the wall. Tracy passed by it to go to the adjoining bathroom. She utilized the alcohol wipes in her bag along with water from the faucet to get the lens clean. She cleaned up the space when she was done with a paper towel and returned out to the dressing room. There, she sat on the couch and used one of her microfiber cloths to dry the lens.

  A knock came from the partially open door. Deacon stuck his head inside. “Mind if I join you? The stage crew is kicking me out.”

  “Taking out the main act? That’s a first. What did you do to make them so mad?”

  “They don’t want to chance the audienc
e hearing me tune my guitar before I go on stage.”

  “It’s your dressing room. Come in. I just have to finish drying the camera lens.”

  He sat on the couch and played a scale on his guitar. Then he adjusted the strings and tried again. Tracy watched his fingers expertly touch the fret bars. She looked away and worked quickly to finish her task.

  “The blue ink stained your hands,” he noted.

  “There’s not much I can do about it. I’ll just have to get weird looks from people.”

  “We can’t let that happen.” He went into the bathroom and came back with paper towels. “Do you still have what you used to clean your camera lens?”

  She reached for the rubbing alcohol in her bag. “A little bit is left.”

  He took the bottle from her and dabbed it onto a paper towel. “Give me your hands.”

  She set the clean lens in its case to dry and held out her hands. “You don’t have to help me. I know you need to get ready for the concert.”

  He squeezed beside her again on the tiny couch. Their legs touched. “I'm ready. My guitar is ready. The only thing not ready is you.” He wiped the ink from her fingers and the heel of her palms. His touch was gentle. Tracy studied him as he removed traces of blue. He had a focused look on his face as his head was lowered in concentration.

  “Thank you for helping me.”

  “No problem.” He finished getting the last bit of the ink. He still held her hands. Tracy looked into his eyes, stared at his mouth. She bit her lip.

  “You have your thinking look on, Tracy. What are you thinking about?”

  “I was going to ask you the same thing,” she deflected, embarrassed to admit what was going on inside her head. “What’s got the wheels turning in your mind?”

  “Nothing I'm going to say out loud.”

  “It must be bad.”

  “There’s nothing bad about what I’m thinking. A little naughty, maybe, but not bad.”