Six Guns and Six Strings: 13 Book Excite Spice Cowboys and Rock Stars Mega Bundle (Excite Spice Boxed Sets)

by Selena Kitt

  “Work? What work?” he scoffed.

  “Whadaya mean, what work? I freelance you know. Little jobs here and there, mostly press releases, or kits, but still … you make it sound like I sit on my ass all day, every day, watching reality TV or something while I’m away at school. That’s not even close to true. Momentum’s hiring me full-time when I graduate, but they’re pulling me into a meeting with a hush-hush client to get me up to speed and pick my brain. I can’t wait to get my own apartment and be outta your hair for good, then you can stop being a pain in my ass.”

  “I could show you a real pain in the ass,” he teased.

  I sneered. Danny always says things he doesn’t mean to women, to drop panties and jaws, but his spearing eyes made that feel like a legit threat. My pulse scuttled. “You wouldn’t be the first,” I lied, which brought disappointment to his face.

  “Why’m I not surprised.”

  I cleared my throat and wrestled further inside, elbowing my way around stuff like three guitar cases and the skinny, artificial Christmas tree finally undecorated. But it’s just there. In the kitchen. Like he was taking it to the basement and said, ‘Ah, what the hell. Here’ll do.’ It’s nowhere near Christmas. Bunnies’ll be hopping around any day now. He’s been performing regional gigs since October, so it’s not like he hasn’t had the opportunity. Geez, I can already tell this is gonna be a lovely break! I thumbed the air over my shoulder. “What’s with the ho-ho-ho festivity? Fire the maid or what?”

  “She still comes twice a week, but I told her to fuckin’ leave it.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause I want it right there.” Danny karate-chopped the air. “That’s why. Did you fail to notice the new water-inspired décor in here, not to mention the fountain right over there? I’m on a writing streak and don’t wanna do anything to kill the Feng shui in my sprawling abode, or my mojo.”

  “Your mojo? Allrighty then.” I gave him a little bow with my palms together. “But I’m pretty sure a tree and three guitar cases in the doorway can cause chi to stagnate and keep positive energy and blessings out.”

  “Well, whatever I’m doing, it’s working. So, out of curiosity, what hush-hush client are we talking about anyway … at your faux job?”

  “It’s a real job, Danny, thank you very much. And what did you not understand about hush-hush? I’d think someone of your notoriety and asshattery would understand the need for discretion. By the way. Nice outfit, Cupcake. Did wings come with that?”

  “Maybe. Why don’t you strip me down and see for yourself?”

  “No thanks. I’m not in the mood to gag.” His chuckle said he twisted my insult around to the benefit of his libido.

  “How about being gagged? Ya in the mood for that, little girl?”

  “Only if Matty’s doing the gagging. Mmm. He could gag me with his rock candy any damn day.” Matty’s the drummer for his famous rock band Itchy Fringe, and Danny knows his tattooed arms make me weak. I keep telling Danny he needs to ink-up his sex appeal too, but, whatever. Never listens to me.

  That made Danny growl. Ha. Point for me. “Nah, we both know you really drool for me, baby, but I’d much rather hear you scream.”

  “Drool for you? As if. You have plenty of screamers, and I most certainly will never be one.”

  “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

  “Your music and pickup lines are crap. I’m sure your sex is the same.”

  “And it kills you that you’ll never know for certain.” He winked. “Am I right?” He set his attention back on the off-white blob in front of him.

  “Hardly. Screw you.” I flipped him off.

  “You can’t. You’ll just have to dream about my fingers and tongue diving into your innermost places. My security detail’s on standby, just thirsting to pounce. They might mistake you for my stalker.”

  “Will you shut the hell up? You seem to be under this crazy delusion that I’m into you or some kinda fan. I wouldn’t say I hate your guts necessarily, but I’m only one step above that. You are a tar pit of perversion I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole.”

  “Mmm, right. Your trembling legs say otherwise.”

  “You wish. Save all this shitty conceit for your girlfriend. I have much better taste in men.”

  He glared at me.

  Danny’s paying my tuition, which is nice, yeah, but he thinks that gives him the right to boss me around. This past summer, I foolishly sighed in relief when I learned I’d have his sweet house all to myself while he was off touring, but he still took time out of his hectic schedule, every single day, to piss me off with his domineering, know-it-all texts. Most women fall at his feet. Yeah, not this chick. I won’t let this week get sacked by this controlling demon, no way. My stepdad’s deployed, so I’m further unburdened to do whatever the hell I want. And his son doesn’t own me. Danny can go screw himself. Although, truth be told, he likely hasn’t had to do that since he was fifteen. Yep, I’m gonna get drunk, stay out night after night, dance ’til 4 a.m., make out with strangers in a jacuzzi, try to score a threesome. Two guys all over me? Or three? Or Four? Mmm. Zappy jolts hit my touch-starved blossom as I imagined all the fingers, teeth, and tongues going wherever they pleased. I didn’t even have to be to the office ’til Thursday. Yep. I’m determined to be a girl-gone-wild, and he’d better not get in my way.

  As Danny beat that dough into submission, I noticed his forearms looked bigger than they were at Christmas. I followed the sculpted curves up to his neck where cords of tension strained taut. He was seriously annoyed by my presence? What a weirdo. Who gave a crap whether I was here or at the beach? Trust me, I’d rather be there. But no way was I gonna ask him for more money, indenturing myself to him even further. He might as well cuff me now. I’m pretty sure he thinks he owns my soul. Like he’s Satan or something. But with a killer smile. He fucking doesn’t own me. No one does.

  He brushed powder off his hands on the pink, frilly frock—my mom’s. Surprising we had it from all our moves—three already since I’ve been tagging along with them, if you count the temporary base housing. Although he’s settled here with his band and gorgeous home, Danny’s never lived anywhere longer than three years until now. Neither have I, technically, with my mom’s starlight dreams bouncing us from Nashville to L.A. to New York, which sounds glamorous, but we mostly lived in shitholes where we had to shake our shoes before putting them on and duck when we heard gunshots. Yeah, my sweetheart of a mom left some things behind four and a half years ago, right when a new agent took her on, just six months after she married Bill. She left the framed family portrait Bill still kept up in his bedroom in the guest house, the one with fake smiles and my eyes closed so tightly I look like freaking Gilbert Gottfried, except I’m blond and have killer boobs. Oh, and she left the ironing board she never ever used. A traveling sewing kit. The Scrabble box with twelve missing letters. That stupid-fuck apron tied around Danny’s waist. And ME! She didn’t even swoop back in for Christmas or before we moved to get her damn stuff or bother to show up for my high school graduation. Bill and Danny threw me a huge pool—*cough* pity—party. I’m sure she only tied the knot so she could dump me with suckers who’d feel sorry for me.

  Danny was really roughing up that dough. And he looked damn sexy doing it. God, I really need to get laid by someone who doesn’t sing.

  I ripped my eyes away, huffing as I slid the luggage strap off my shoulder and chucked my bag under the bunch of coats hanging on the storage bench in the mud room. What’s the deal? Why so many coats, dude? For one guy? It’s freaking March. I looked back at him, and he was still fuming, his lips curled in. “Shit, Danny. You seriously look and sound so pissed while jabbing me with your verbal smut. I am not that bad. What daring thing climbed up your butt and gave you an attitude? Upset I caught you lookin’ so pretty?”

  “No, upset that you’re gonna fuck up my week. Fair warning would’ve been nice. You must’ve blown through all the cash I gave ya. You’d better stay outta my ha
ir and not get into any trouble. I’ve got a concert on Tuesday and a demo to cut and don’t have time to deal with your antics or wild child ways.”

  I squinted at him. Blew through it? Wrong. Shows how much you know me, jerk. “Fair warning? Screw you. This is my home too … sort of. Your songs’ll probably suck anyway, like your last trash heap that you call an album. How do you go from hot to not in a mere months?”

  “Aside from all the crappy label and corporate interference, I lost my muse. I thought I had one again, but it turned out to be shit. That’s why I’m keeping the tree right there. A song came to me when I started moving it, and since then, my groove’s been hangin’ on.”

  “Well, just ’cause your inspiration got scorched and you got dropped like sour milk, that doesn’t give you the right to treat me like shit or use me to bolster your lame-ass, wounded ego. I’m wild, sure, but no child, get that straight. I’m two months-shy of holding a PR degree, so get off my case and stay out of my business.” I climbed onto a bar stool at the peninsula, then snatched a nibble of his off-white glob and planted it into my mouth. “Why ya stressing about me anyway? What’s your deal? Got some steamy action planned with The Bitch? Maybe you can gag her for real. Silence would certainly be an improvement.”

  I rested my hand on the granite counter, and he slapped it, hard. “Hands off, Alexa.”

  “Ow.” I recoiled and rubbed the sting out. “What the frick! That hurt.”

  “There’s no bitch in sight, except for...” He pointed to me, hand whirling around.

  I beamed. “You know it. You should be thanking me, not abusing me like a brute beast. Yuck. This stuff is totally bland. It needs more salt or spice or something.”

  “No. I haven’t got plans. Especially not with...her.” He said “her” with utmost disgust, as though she were a booger-faced troll who just killed his dog of twelve years.

  Trouble in Paradise? “Aahh, she must be your most-recent lost muse. So freakin’ predictable. Goin’ Rachel Ray now? Scary. You’d better spin out some gold jams, like, quick, and get a busier life. Actual cooking is so unlike you. You’re the king of TV dinners.” I crinkled my nose as I looked from his dough to the bowl that contained this weird mixture with salmon-colored chunks. “What the hell are you even making?”

  “Lobster ravioli. Just for me.”

  “Pretty ambitious. I love lobster. Make me some, as long as you add some salt to that mound of blah.” I smirked when he grabbed the sea salt shaker with a grumble and shook it over the heap. I rubbed my hands together and leaned closer. “So, jackass … what’s the juicy scoop I can sell as an inside source? Did Britt come to her senses and ditch you for some other rocker with smoother hair and better songs?”

  He scowled at me, lips all terse, eyes wetter.

  Really? I shook my head. “No way. It’s worse? She cheat on you or somethin’?”

  He shrugged and beat the freshly salted dough into submission. “Something like that. With a fucking podiatrist.”

  “What? Brutal. A foot doctor over a rock god? Is she nuts? Any chick’d sell her soul or prank nuns to be lying underneath your hot body.” Ohmygod! I said that?! Out loud? “I mean...”

  The intense stare he chucked my way hit me like marshmallows on fire, charring up before my eyes, consuming me, making me so sticky and hot. My stomach just...bottomed out and fell into an abyss. “See? What’d I say? That desire for me, sweet thing, damn near kills you.”

  “Dream on. I just don’t like it when someone hurts you like that. She’s a total bitch.” I licked my lower lip and swallowed sand. “I could rip out that skank’s throat.”

  “Likewise...Kid.”

  I shook my head, snapping myself out of sheer stupidity. What the hell! I shouldn’t be feeling fire from his devilish ogle. I shouldn’t be feeling anything at all except annoyance. He’s a beast.

  Although Danny looked ridiculous in that frilly apron, I tried to imagine an option, from her standpoint, that was better than...that. He was so luscious and sculpted and divine. He was probably one of the top images for masturbation the world over. Given the opportunity and a free pass, I’d worship that and sex him up in naughty, filthy ways he’d never imagine. He’d never, ever mistake me for a kid again, that’s for damn sure. I really wish he’d stop calling me that. I was seventeen when we met. I’ve never been a kid around him. He likes to think he’s all badass and more mature, but he’s only five years older than me, and if we weren’t in this weird situation, I probably would’ve bagged him by now. Like, if we were neighbors or something. But, we’re not. Neighbors.

  My lips twitched when he set his smoldering gaze on them. I bit the bottom half of my kisser when it started to quiver without my permission. My saliva felt heavy and thick and my throat tight when I swallowed. “Um, if you ever cross paths with her again, you should thrash her ass good.”

  “Nah, I’d never chase a cheating whore, not even to give her what she deserves. Why bother? I only spank brats who can benefit from correction.”

  I swallowed hard. Yeah right. My stomach, still falling, smacked the devil in the head. I never, in my wildest dreams, okay, maybe my wildest, let’s be real, expected Danny to be into that. Like, in reality. He sang about kink in a couple songs, but it was a ruse right? A stage persona? Offstage, aside from his raunchy vernacular, he was just so stinkin’ straight-laced and milquetoast. He doesn’t mess with drugs or get smashed and seems committed in a relationship, even with groupies fawning all over his...um, chest. Was he serious? He surely sounded serious, and looked damn serious, and my body firmly believed it. My ass started to tingle and my saliva somehow picked up heaviness and grit again. I tried to douse the volcanic heat that roared into a crescendo in my face and girly bits, but it was useless. Although I didn’t actually want to be spanked by him, or anyone for that matter—um, I don’t think—just the thought of him being more fierce than I ever realized made me slick up. And he surely knew the condition he put me in for real this time. His sly grin swore he did, dammit.

  “So, you’d better behave.”

  I glared at him. “Kiss my ass.”

  “Sure, I’ll pencil you in. What looks good for you?”

  “Fuck. Off.” I clenched my fists and jaw.

  “Is that phase two? Or would you like to fuck off another day? I’m just not sure how much time I’ll need to allot.” He was smirking at me. I am ruined. He was teasing me, treating me like one of his test projects! But it wasn’t funny. It was driving me crazy and turning my insides into oatmeal, like his words held the power of a fairy wand.

  I grabbed a clump of his powdered dough and chucked it at his face but it hit his collarbone instead. “Fuck this.”

  “Oh, you brat! You are going to pay!” He gaped and did the same, whaling me good, right in the cheek.

  “Uh, asshole!”

  We laughed and growled and cursed each other out as we started flinging flour and dough at one another.

  With a more wretched arm than Johnny Damon, I darted around the peninsula to get closer and improve my chances of a hit. But I ended up slipping and grabbing ahold of his shirt and the straps of that fuck-shit apron. “Waaahh!” We were both covered in white when I crashed backward onto the tile, bringing his muscular mass down with me. “Ow, ow.” But after my laughing-yowl at the smarting collision, I couldn’t think about pain or hilarity. All I could think about was the fact that Danny’s body was now on mine. He caught himself on his palms and pitched up over me, looking down at my face. I allowed my head to fall back, but I couldn’t let go of his shirt. I held on for dear life, tumbling and spinning out of control. He was warm and smelled delicious, like sugar and sexy soap. Too many of the fun destinations on his world map of hard muscles pressed firmly into my softer curves. Our laughter was gone, replaced by hot, heavy breaths that mated in the scant air between out chests. He lowered down like he was going to kiss me, vanquishing the space between us, pressing his hard pecs against my breasts. His gooey brown eyes went from milk
to dark chocolate in slimmer lids, making me melt.

  And theeeen, he brought me back to my senses, stroking his thumb across my bottom lip. He sucked flour off the pad of it with a kissy peck. “Wow, bad girl, you’re so filthy and grabby. Whatever happened to good old-fashioned foreplay? I didn’t think fucking off would be so immediate.”

  “Shut … up.” I bashed my hands on his shoulders and whacked his, uhhh, hard chest. Oh god. Big mistake! “Get the hell off me.”

  “You’re the one who pulled me down for some hot action, if I recall.”

  “I slipped. You know that.”

  “Excuses, excuses. Is this how you’re gonna want it? Rough? With me on top?” He stood and helped me up but then grabbed my hair only to growl in my ear. “Or are you gonna bend over like a good girl and beg me to take you like a whore?