by Sadie Grubor
"What did I say?" I shrug, settling into the chair.
"You told a gossip reporter the two of you are just fucking," she scoffs.
Furrowing my brow, I purse my lips.
"I guess I could've worded that better," I admit.
"Uh, yeah," Zora agrees.
Putting my arm around her shoulder, I give her a squeeze. "You'll fix it for me."
Her head snaps in my direction. "The hell I will.”
"I'm teasing. I'll take care of it."
"Well, just don't forget, while you are doing all these grand announcements and ass kissing, you have to be at the speedway tomorrow for rehearsal," she says, running down my upcoming schedule.
The Get Rocked in Vegas musical festival is a massive undertaking for Kincaid Media. Being invited to perform alongside bands like The Forgotten, Hush, Flix, Bulletproof, and Splynter is a major honor—one I couldn't pass up and pushed our band to do, even though this was our scheduled downtime. The crowd is going to be crazy pumped, and I cannot wait to feed off all that fucking energy.
"When does everyone get in?"
"Sasha will be coming straight from the airport tomorrow. Matt and Kyle arrive tonight with the bus. And lord only fucking knows what Zane's doing." Her exasperation with Zane, our drummer, is well earned.
Zane's a bit of a sporadic asshole. He always shows up, but he'll make you sweat with his last-minute arrivals and schedule changes. It drives my sister crazy, being the scheduled little organizer she is, but I'll be damned if she makes him get his own PA. Instead, she just bitches about every change he throws at her and treats him like the little brother she never had, even though he's the oldest in the group.
"I'll be ready," I tell her. "Maybe I'll bring Gemma."
Pulling her phone out of her purse, I watch my sister Google funeral homes.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Might as well be prepared," she says with a shrug. "Do you want mahogany with a satin lining?" She looks up from her phone, scrunches her face, and shakes her head. Looking back at her phone, she continues. "Maybe cremation will be necessary when she gets done with you."
Snatching the phone out of her hand, I shove it in the pocket of my jacket.
"She loves me," I inform her.
Zora snorts.
Before I can argue the fact, the lights dim.
A hush falls over the crowd as the large curtain slides back, revealing a full band with guitars, drums, keyboard, and bass, and a small orchestra.
The strings begin, soft and sweet, like a lullaby. Until the drummer kicks into action.
The lights flash in synchronization to the familiar song, and a bright pink head slowly rises from the stage floor.
Her hair is intricately rolled on her head, and her neck and the V of her cleavage are bare. One chunky silver necklace rests around her throat. A white lace dress clings to her body, giving carefully placed glimpses of her skin.
The moment her voice caresses the first word, every hair on my body rises to attention. I've heard her sing before, multiple times, but her full stage voice filling this massive theater and amplified…well, fuck.
Zora's hand slips onto my arm and squeezes. She's feeling it too.
Everyone was transfixed on Gemma the entire show. Only during intermission do we dare move. Even then, I don't leave. Zora ventures out for drinks while I stay put in an attempt not to draw attention.
The second half of the performance included other singers and even a duet with another opera singer. I've never heard of him, but a good portion of the crowd loses their shit when he appears.
Then, as Gemma hits a super high note, her hand rests on her stomach. There's a sharp pang in my chest.
She's pregnant.
The pang grows sharper. I grab my chest.
It's not mine.
Her hand moves away from her stomach and motions out over the crowd.
Closing my eyes, I take deep breaths and listen to her finish the song.
"Are you okay?" Zora asks close to my ear.
All I can do is nod.
Fuck, this pregnancy is messing with me.
Chapter Seven
Gemma
Show over for the night, I sit backstage at a vanity removing jewelry and makeup.
I feel Kim's presence before she speaks.
"Does anyone else know?"
Glancing up into the mirror, our eyes meet.
"The show is complete in two weeks. I'm sure no one will figure it out before then," I reassure.
"That's not what I asked."
Pushing away from the table, I stand and narrow my eyes on her. "It's none of your business," I snap. "Last I checked, you were to assist me during this production." I wave my hands a bit in the air. "Then you’ll be back to whatever you normally do, and I’ll be back in New York."
"If something were to happen, while you're here or on stage—"
"I won't hold anyone responsible," I growl.
"That isn't how—"
"Kim," I exclaim, silencing her. "I'm aware you have not found your current assignment pleasant, but it won't be much longer, and I don't need to explain anything else to you."
Before she can say another word, I turn and march out of the room.
"Hey," Mallory says, surprised to find me in the hallway. She examines my face. "What happened?"
I know Kim is only doing her job and I was a bit too rough on her. Not that I don't feel exactly that way, but I didn't have to be as mean. It's the link I received on my phone from my publicist that's pushed every bitch button I have.
Clenching my jaw, I hold out my phone.
Mal takes it and watches the video. A recent interaction between a reporter and one cocky, tattooed motherfucker who will be dead soon.
"He didn't," she says on an exhale.
"He did!" I snatch my phone back and stalk away.
Mal is close on my heels. Gerald catches up once he realizes I'm on the move.
Taking the back hallways and elevators brings us to the elevator for the Penthouse floor.
Arms over my chest, foot tapping, I go over all the things I'm going to say to him and the ways I'm going to kill him. The elevator chimes our arrival. When the doors slide apart, I shove past Gerald.
"Miss Harper," he warns.
Before he can catch my arm, I rush to one of the penthouse doors and glance back at Mal.
"Is it this one?"
She furrows her brow and shakes her head.
"Mal," I growl.
Lifting one arm, she points to a different door.
Stomping over, I beat on the door, imagining it's Zarek's face.
"Open up, asshole!" I shout when there's no answer.
"Maybe he isn't in," Gerald offers, putting his hand on my shoulder.
Shrugging off his touch, I pound harder.
"I swear to God, Zarek—"
The door opens, but it's not Zarek.
"Gemma?" Kat from Hushed Mentality stands inside the door. "What the hell is going on?"
"Where is he?" I ask, embarrassment keeping me from explaining everything.
"Zarek?" she questions. "He's not here. We were waiting for him to get back from wherever."
"What's that dickhead done now?" Zane Black's spiked platinum head peeks around the open door.
"He regularly got this going on?" another male voice asks before Jimmy Thompson of The Forgotten appears behind Kat.
Great. Just fucking great. I look like the psycho stalker girl at his hotel door.
Zane snorts. "Of course he does. He thrives off drama."
Those last four words swirl around in my head, making me feel dizzy.
"What the hell are you doing here?" a woman asks from behind me.
Turning, I find Zora, but she's not talking to me. Her eyes are on Zane.
Without letting him answer, she adds, "And how did you get into the room?"
His grin is almost blinding.
"I've got connections, babe," he responds.
"I'll give you connections," she threatens as she moves around me.
He backs up quickly, still smiling.
"My fist to your face is going to be the first connection. I've been trying to get your whereabouts and schedule set up for a week, but you couldn't be bothered."
"Babe, I'm sorry." He puts his hands up in front of him.
"They're a violent bunch, aren't they?" Jimmy asks, throwing an arm around Kat.
"Seems that way," she responds, eyes watching Zora as she continues to bitch Zane out.
"G?" The sound of Zarek’s voice makes my anger boil back to life. I snap my head in his direction, ready to kill him. But the moment my glare lands on his face, everything melts away. Instead of the angry bitch I planned on being, a sappy sobbing crybaby is in her place.
The tears fall freely as I cry, "Why would you do that?"
In three long strides, Zarek tries to take me in his arms. I shove at his chest, but it's pointless. I get a couple good slaps to his pec before he completely engulfs me.
"I didn't mean it to sound that way," he murmurs against my temple. "Sometimes I just don't think."
"Sometimes?" Zora asks sarcastically.
"Shut up and close the door," he orders.
"You're going to do this in the hallway of the MGM Grand Penthouse floor? Really?"
"I'll be in her room." His words bring back a bit of my anger.
"No, you won't." I attempt to push away, but he doesn’t let me.
"We're going to eat, relax, and I'm going to grovel for your forgiveness," he explains, leading me to my suite.
Mal stands, holding the door open so he can usher us inside. The moment we cross the threshold, I feel exhausted and spent.
"Zarek, I can't handle your drama tonight," I confess. "I just want a bath and my bed."
"Then I'll help with the bath, and your girl here can get the food," he says, leaving no room for argument.
"Her name is Mallory," I tell him.
"Good to know," he says, leading us up the stairs to my room.
Ten minutes later, I'm in a warm bath filled with bubbles. Zarek is in the bedroom, and it sounds like he's undressing. Too tired to worry about it, I lie back and let the warmth soothe and relax. The soft pad of his feet tells me he's back in the bathroom.
"So help me God, Z, if you think you're getting into this tub, I'll take my razor to your balls," I threaten.
"First, bubbles ain't really my deal. Second, I'm pretty sure the only thing your pretty purple razor would do is give my balls a smooth finish. I mean, I've never done the man-scaping thing, but if that's what gets you going, I'll add it to my routine."
Opening my eyes, I find him leaning against the sink across from me. Ass pressed to the edge of the marble vanity top, both hands holding onto the same edge on either side of his half-naked body.
Fuck, he's hot.
No shirt to cover the tattoos decorating his torso, belt gone, the top button of his jeans undone, and bare feet. The fact that I know he doesn't wear underwear isn't helping my hormones.
This might be worse than him being completely naked and ready to climb into my bath.
"You keep looking at me like that, I'll make bubbles my new thing too," he teases.
"I wasn't looking at you like anything," I deny, putting my head back once more and closing my eyes.
It doesn't help. The picture of his hot bad rocker boy image is forever branded behind my lids.
"I'm sorry." His apology cools my lust.
"I know," I say with a sigh. "But, Zarek," rolling my head, I focus on him once again, "I can't do all this drama with you. I don't like it, and I don't want it."
"Neither do I," he blurts.
I snort.
"You live for the drama," I accuse. "In everything you do, you strive for drama."
His brow furrows. "Yeah, I draw attention, but I don't want fucking drama."
"The attention you draw is always followed by drama. It's not for me."
His chuckle earns him a glare. "Oh, you're fucking cute," he says, smiling. "You think you get a choice in this?" He motions between the two of us.
"Of course I get—"
This time, it's a full belly laugh. Holding his stomach, he bends forward.
"Stop laughing." I try to sound mad, but end up sounding petulant.
"Whew, that shit is funny." Pushing off the sink, he comes to the side of the tub, and I try to scoot away.
His long arms submerge into the water, slip under my arms, and pull me up. Standing in the water, bubbles slip over my naked skin.
"I'm rethinking bubble baths," he says, eyes raking over me.
Reaching out, I grab a towel from a wall hook and wrap it around myself.
His eyes snap up to mine.
"Spoilsport," he teases.
"Bath ruiner," I shoot back.
Grinning, he cups my face, pulling it to his.
"Neither of us has a choice, G. Not anymore," he breathes against my mouth.
"Yes, we do," I whisper, distracted by the way our lips brush.
"You're so wrong, G," he says, shaking his head.
I turn my head back and forth, following his mouth.
"The choice was taken away the moment you walked out my door and took my heart with you." He moves one hand down and around to my lower back. Pulling my front tight to his, he takes a step back, coaxing me out of the tub.
"You can have it back." My words are weak, and such a fucking lie.
"Don't want it back." He slides his other hand up my jaw and into my hair. "It's exactly where it's supposed to fucking be."
Our mouths crush together in an urgent need to devour each other. Tearing the towel away, I let it fall to the floor and tackle his zipper. My fingers make quick work, separating the metal teeth and reaching inside.
The moment his impressive hard cock is in my palm, I sigh. He moans, pushing against it. Curling my fingers around his length, I gently squeeze.
Zarek's hands reach down, grab me by the ass, and lift me.
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I repeat the action with my legs around his waist. My back hits the wall, his hand shoves between us, and he positions at my entrance.
"Look at me," he demands, panting.
My eyes meet his, and he surges forward.
Gasping, I drop my forehead to his, eyes still on his.
"There it is," he growls.
His thrusts aren't sweet and easy. They're hard and making a point. Zarek is fucking me, owning me.
"Tell me," he demands, accentuating each word with a thrust.
"Fuck me," I respond.
"Tell me you love me." His request cools the lust flushing over me.
Lifting my head, I stare down at him.
"Tell me, baby," he says, the look in his eyes challenging me to deny it.
He thrusts, stops, and swirls his hips.
"Oh, fuck," I gasp, grinding down on him.
My clit rubs against his pelvic bone, sending jolts of anticipated release up my spine. His hips resume their driving force, making me feel every long, hard inch from tip to base.
"Give it up, Gemma," he coaxes. "Tell me you love me just as much as I fucking love you, baby."
"Yes," I moan, admitting everything and reveling in the rise of my climax.
"Need…" thrust, "the…" thrust, "words…" thrust, "G."
"I love you," I cry out, my orgasm exploding through my body, tensing every muscle in a delicious spasm.
Chapter Eight
Zarek
"I swear, if he isn't waiting downstairs, I'm not making other arrangements for him," Zora bitches, sending another text to Zane.
Apparently, while I was with Gemma, he disappeared in the middle of the night. So, Zora woke up to an empty penthouse, unable to reach him.
"Uh huh," I yawn my agreement.
Christ, it's too fucking early for this. I knew I had an early start with rehearsals and promo, but there was no way I could keep my dick out of an
d mouth off Gemma. After the frenzied I-need-it-now-sex in the bathroom, we also had to catch up on extended foreplay sessions and slow, meaningful lovemaking. I couldn't fucking sleep until she felt all the ways I want her.
Flexing my arm, I curled Gemma in closer to my side and kissed the side of her head.
It took fifteen minutes of begging—fucking begging, because I will do whatever it takes—and oral persuasion to convince her to join me this morning.
I almost started to feel guilty when she got dizzy and nauseous, but I'm a selfish, needy bastard where she's concerned. I want her with me, and there may be a small part of me that's terrified she'll disappear and walk out of my life again.
Fuck, I sound pathetic and sappy. This shit was never a part of who I am, until now. Just fucking face it, asshole, you give absolutely no fucks about being pathetic. For Gemma, you will do every damn thing you said you would never do for a woman.
Gemma tenses when the elevator reaches the lobby and the doors slide open.
"It will be fine," I reassure.
"Yeah, until you open your mouth," she mumbles, worried about the reporters and my penchant for saying too much.
"If you stick your tongue in my mouth, I won't be able to say a damn thing, will I?" I suggest.
She lifts her face to me and purses her lips.
"I don't think I can handle you like this," Zora scoffs, stepping into the lobby.
"Like what?" I ask, following her.
"This puppy love, sappy, I-love-you-more side of you." She wrinkles her nose. "And don't get me started on all the sexual innuendos or blatant sexual comments."
Gemma giggles, pushing a pair of oversized sunglasses on her face.
"So, what you're saying is you only want to hear about anal?" I tease.
She covers her ears and power walks away, singing, "La, la, la, la!"
"You talking about your dick again?" Zane appears out of nowhere, bumping my shoulder with his.
I nod. "About it going in Gemma's ass."
"Nice," he drawls.
"Asshole!" Gemma exclaims, slapping my stomach.
"Fine," I say with an exaggerated sigh, "I was talking about it being in her asshole."
Gemma groans, leaning her head into me.
Zane starts to laugh, but then wipes the smile off his face.
