Rock My Christmas (FlameSmith in Love Book 1)

by Kitchell, Laura

  Disgusted, Kendel averted her eye from the tramp. “I feel bad for V’s assistant.”

  “Tell me about it.” Marty settled back and fastened her seatbelt as the taxi entered heavy airport traffic. “He’s hardly more than a pimp. You’re going to want to buckle up. These Korean drivers push the boundaries of sanity.”

  She fastened her restraint. “Do you think we could make time to stop at an exchange bank? I don’t have any Korean cash. What’s Korean money called?”

  Marty shrugged. “I just use Dan’s credit card for everything.”

  “Won,” said the driver, glancing at her in his rearview mirror.

  “Won,” she repeated.

  “Yes,” he said succinctly. “There is Korean exchange bank on way. You want stop?”

  “Please.” She offered him a smile.

  He didn’t return her smile but gave the road his attention as he merged onto a highway. A sign told drivers they could reach Seoul in forty-five kilometers.

  “Wait a second,” she said to Dan’s assistant. “I thought we were in Seoul.”

  “God knows, woman. Would you please read your itinerary?” Marty’s eyes went wild.

  “Don’t have a stroke. Fine.” Kendel pulled her phone from her jeans’ front pocket and turned it on. Immediately it began roaming. She didn’t want to contemplate what her bill would cost if she spent two days roaming overseas. It’d probably bankrupt her.

  She navigated to her cellular settings and switched off her data roaming. Accessing her archived emails, she located Burn’s message and read it. Incheon. They’d flown into the Incheon airport. The band currently recorded an interview for a late night talk show. They’d lunch at the studio then arrive at the arena for a sound check and mass media photo session.

  The driver parked at a curb in front of a bank, and she hurried inside. She reached for a number tag, but a clerk wearing reindeer antlers and a friendly smile waved her to an available window. Keeping a twenty-dollar bill, she exchanged fifty then folded the money into the pocket that held her phone.

  “Meddi Kudismas,” said the clerk with a bow.

  Kendel hesitated until the sounds sunk in. She grinned. “Merry Christmas.”

  In minutes, the driver whipped them through bustling traffic, narrowly missing trucks and buses. Even Marty squealed in fright at one point. When they arrived in front of the stadium, Kendel’s stomach fluttered.

  Why? Because she would learn how to work a concert? No.

  Because she’d get to hear FlameSmith’s music live for the first time? No.

  Her stomach quivered because sexy, dangerous Burn would sing into a microphone while fingering a guitar, and the idea turned her on.

  Chapter Eight

  “I wish you hadn’t let Justina come along,” said Jay, twirling drumsticks while their transport van inched along in bumper-to-bumper traffic.

  “That slapper gives good head.” V nudged Burn.

  “Leave me out of it.” He wouldn’t say it, but it irritated him, too.

  “What? She’s here for us all. You know I can’t relax on those flights. I needed something besides a valium.”

  Air didn’t look up from his texting. “Looking rather gaunt, V. Might want to lay off the drugs a bit.”

  “Naff off!”

  “Maybe Air could do with a bit of a slap and suck,” said Jay then chuckled.

  Air shrugged.

  V leaned his head sideways nearer Burn and quietly said, “What’s with you and that yank? Are you shagging her?”

  “God, you are a piece of work. What the hell, V? You used to be a decent friend. Now you’re a shite.”

  “Yeh.” The lead singer thumbed the side of his nose then sniffed. “I could say the same about you, yeh. You let those two bitches throw a spanner into the works. You haven’t been yourself for yonks.”

  “Our lapse in friendship has less to do with Alexandria and Wendy, and more to do with your obsession about constantly getting your goolies off.” Burn crossed his arms and resisted an urge to leave the van and walk to the arena, which had come into sight.

  “Was a time we’d invite a harem of women and both get our goolies off in party fashion.” V’s eyebrows sank until his eyes weren’t much more than sunken shadows. “We had fun back then.”

  “We’re not nineteen-year-old lads anymore. Jay was the only one of us who’d had a way with the girls in school. I hate to admit it, but I basked in the fact that lovely women fell at our feet because of our music. It’s not real, though.”

  V scoffed. “Who wants real when we’re living the fantasy? No commitments. No responsibilities. No bullshit.”

  Burn gave him a disgusted shove. “When are you going to grow up? Take a gander. Jay’s married, has a kid, and has never been happier.”

  Jay tapped his drumsticks on the van’s window. “Hear! Hear!”

  “Dan found a cute, fun blonde to date, and Air lives with his fiancée. The fantasy is the bullshit. Don’t you ever get tired of pretending to be somebody you’re not?”

  V sat straighter. “Who says this isn’t who I am?”

  “I do. You’re not the famous-as-can-be rock god you show the world. You can’t spend your life rat-arsed and high. You’re not indestructible. Be Vernon Odsbody, the level-headed bloke with a wicked voice I knew in school. Be the visionary artist who helped us start this band. He’s the dog’s bollocks. He’s the coolest one of us. Not this tosser you’ve become.”

  Burn’s bandmaster stared at him as if he’d grown a second head.

  Dan burst out laughing.

  Air slowly shook his head. “Who are you and what have you done with Burn?”

  “It’s that bloody yank,” accused V. “She’s working you over.”

  Heat scorched Burn’s neck as he bit out, “I’m nobody’s fool. Least of all a woman’s.”

  Dan’s laughter ceased.

  “Oh, there you are,” said Air, returning his attention to his phone. “Good to have you back. Thought we lost you there for a minute.”

  They finally arrived at the arena, and Jay hurried them inside with reminders of the time and what they had yet to accomplish. Burn took Air for a sound check on stage so wardrobe wouldn’t have the entire band trying to change at once.

  “You’re here!” Kendel came to him at the microphone and handed him a chilled bottle of water. “Don’t worry about the media session. Traffic’s got everyone running late. Reporters and photographers are still arriving.”

  He drank half the water while taking in her easy smile and bright eyes. The sight of her refreshed him more than the drink.

  In the tech pit, the sound man pointed at him.

  “Check. Check. Check,” he said into his headset mike. Speakers activated in a few more places.

  “Nearly there,” shouted the tech. “Let’s check the backup mike.”

  Behind him, Air and one of the roadies checked the cables along the stage, and the guitar in his friend’s hand made a deep, electric hum. These were the sounds of a concert prep, and it made him look forward to tonight’s performance.

  “So did you see any of the city this morning?” He finished the water and handed her the empty bottle.

  “No. We’ve been scrambling. I came to see if you have any special requests. I don’t know you really well, so is there anything I can do to make your day or tonight’s concert easier?”

  He blinked, taken aback. Nobody had ever asked to make his life easier, not even his assistants.

  The sound man pointed at him.

  “Check, check, check.”

  The tech circled his hand overhead, so Burn kept saying check as they fine-tuned tone and volume.

  “You’re busy,” she said. “Just think about it and let me know.”

  As she retreated, he admired the sway of her burnished locks across the logo on the back of her band jacket. Kendel had zero slut factor, yet she fairly reeked of sensuality.

  That was it. He needed to get nasty with someone tonight, if only
to take his mind off of his aide. Maybe having Justina along wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.

  * * *

  While the band underwent the photo and interview session somewhere else in the arena, Kendel learned from Marty how to prep the band’s green room, coordinate with wardrobe and the stage crew, and how to get food and drinks ordered and delivered. She laughed when she discovered McDonalds delivered.

  It amazed her she had slept so long on the trip, but thank goodness. She’d be ready to drop, otherwise. Nibbling a slice of Asian pear, she embarked alone on a search for supplies.

  She found cool goblets with dragons spiraling the stems along with pens and notepads decorated with the arena’s logo and name for the green room. She also located a stack of freshly laundered hand towels, which she tucked under her arm before attempting to search her way through the massive arena to the backstage area.

  A young woman with freckles and a long, black braid worked to ready a concession stand and glanced at her then the many items she’d gathered. The woman offered a smile and waved her over. “Here. You take box.”

  Kendel offered an appreciative smile and placed her finds in the cardboard box labeled completely in a foreign language. “Thank you.”

  The woman bowed slightly. “You need extra water? Cola?”

  She considered a cooler in the green room and a caterer’s table, both containing bottled water, soda, various cute-looking Korean soft drinks, and something called soju. “I think I have enough.”

  “You work for band?”

  “Yes.” She glanced at her watch. The media session ran late, probably because it had started late.

  “Here. Take water.” She set three bottles laced with frost into the box.

  “I don’t think—”

  “See ice?” The woman pointed to a bottle where nearly the entire contents had frozen. “Stay cold for music man. Yes?”

  Kendel grinned, pleased by the idea, and reached into the pocket with her won bills. “How much do I owe you?”

  “No, no. No cost.” The woman beamed. “Very exciting.”

  Not quite understanding, she asked, “The concert will be exciting?”

  The woman pointed to a window. “Yes. They are all very exciting to see band.”

  “Oh, excited.”

  Outside, hundreds of people waited to get in. Most appeared conservative, the men dressed in new-looking jeans and polo shirts or button downs, and the women wearing little or no makeup and low-heeled shoes. A few, however, screamed rock ‘n roll fan in graphic T-shirts, hair dyed every color of the rainbow, and miniskirts with stilettos. A few wore funny Christmas hats or headbands. Not one person seemed to have an ounce of extra weight. Everyone out there appeared lean and fit.

  Gripping the box, she tried not to think about the flare of her hips. She marveled at a nonstop stream of cars and buses entering the grounds. They would fill this stadium tonight.

  “Thanks again.” She offered a bow like the woman had given.

  The worker nodded approval and bowed back.

  As Kendel headed backstage, a group of young Korean men in varying degrees of leather and denim filed in from a rear door. The tour manager and secretary met them. She counted five, all handsome and two with blond hair. They had to be the opening band.

  The members of FlameSmith strode past her, bigger than life. Their confidence and outfits proclaimed them every bit a mega-famous rock band. As they approached the Koreans, offering smiles, welcomes and handshakes, Burn stopped. He snapped a photo on his phone of the two bands meeting.

  He wore just enough eye makeup to turn his dark eyes hard as he studied the box in her hands. Black polish coated his fingernails. A sleeveless, red and black tiger-print shirt clung to his chest and abdominal muscles like a second skin. Black leather pants seemed to lengthen his legs, making him appear taller than his usual towering six feet four inches. He wore black biker boots, a studded red belt, and two scraggly, wispy silver scarves.

  Her heart thudded and she retreated a step. “Hey.”

  “I’m hungry. Make me a sandwich, would you?” He cast her a dismissive glance then headed for the welcoming party.

  Great. She’d gawked at him like some fan girl. What was wrong with her? She had come to do a job. It didn’t matter that the very sight of him in those clothes stole her breath. She had to deal with it.

  A sandwich. Right. She took a step then stopped and closed her eyes. Unbelievable. She’d creamed her panties.

  * * *

  Three songs into his performance, Burn began to wilt under the hot stage lights. Adrenaline no longer provided the energy he needed, and he shortened his show strides and lunges to mere walking steps. Jet lag threatened to sap him to nothing.

  Kendel stood stage right, always in sight. God, she was beautiful. The seventeen thousand cheering and singing fans didn’t matter. This was her first FlameSmith concert, and he wanted to give her a stellar show. Damn it.

  He belted his final note into his mouthpiece, stepped back for his final serious guitar scream in the number, then used Air’s guitar solo to switch off his headset and exit for a breather.

  Kendel met him where stage platform connected to concrete flooring. Handing him a dry hand towel, she said, “You went pale a minute ago. Are you okay?”

  “I’m going all sixes and sevens, I’m afraid.” He wiped sweat from his face and neck.

  “I don’t know what that means. Here.” She removed the cap from a water bottle and gave it to him.

  Ice clunked within the water. He turned it up, and each swallow lowered his temperature. “That was good. Thank you.”

  When he glanced at Air, who ended the song on a bounce and a drop, Kendel put the backs of her cool fingers to his forehead. “You feel clammy. Maybe you should eat this.” She presented a foil-wrapped chocolate on her palm.

  It was exactly what he needed. Taking it, he said, “You’re fairly fabulous. Do you know that?”

  She’d given him exactly what he’d needed without his asking. In three days, she’d become his best aide. And he liked her. All the more reason to keep her at an arm’s length. If her promise held true and he could come to trust her one day, she’d…

  Well, he couldn’t contemplate that now. He had a concert to give. Returning to the stage, he went to one knee and sent his arm in a circle to strike the first chord of the next song.

  Chapter Nine

  Her limbs weak and her eyes scratchy, Kendel hugged the elevator wall on the ride to her room. Nine hours of sleep on the flight hadn’t prepared her for this twenty-four hour day of running, stress, and a sharp learning curve. Still, she smiled. She’d lived an adventure today, and it was worth every second.

  She put her hand in her back pocket and pulled out two keycards. Shit. She’d forgotten to give Burn his. Stepping off the elevator, she wavered. She hadn’t the strength to do anything about it. He’d have to knock on her door when he came from the after-party club. Simple as that.

  Somehow, she shuffled to her door through sheer will power and clung to consciousness long enough to make it inside. Before she hit the bed, her eyes had closed.

  * * *

  How was it that not a single hot Korean in the night club spoke English? He refused to take to bed a woman he couldn’t understand.

  Half drunk, sleep-stupid, and beyond frustrated, he cast the waning party a parting glance and went in search of Kendel. Drunks staggered and hung off one another near the bar and heading outside.

  “Great show,” said the sound technician who turned from the bar with two beers in hand.

  “Thanks. Have you seen my aide?” Burn glanced around, hoping she’d appear. Perhaps she’d gone to the bathroom.

  “Yeah. She looked pretty rough. She headed to the hotel with Jay about half an hour ago.”

  Rough? Had the drummer gotten her high? Burn didn’t know Jay to cheat on his wife, but there was always a first time. An invisible fist of anger punched him in the gut, knocking the air out of him. He h
ad no intention of sleeping with her, but apparently he didn’t want anyone else to, either. He was an idiot.

  “How can I get a ride to the hotel?” he asked.

  “I have a taxi on the way,” said Justina, sauntering his way. “You can ride me, um, I mean ride with me.”

  Her bright red lips curled, telling him she’d made that blunder on purpose. She ran a hand over his tattoo then traced the lines of the samurai sword that decorated his forearm to his wrist.

  “Sure,” he said, escorting her to the exit. She spoke English, knew what he liked in bed, and didn’t mind when he treated her shitty the next morning. What could it hurt? Maybe she’d get his mind off of Kendel for a few hours.

  Freezing air hit him hard on his bare skin, and he welcomed the alertness it afforded. He shivered, and Justina giggled.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked, irritated.

  “You. But don’t worry. I’ll warm you up, baby.” She rubbed her hot hand along his cold arm then took his hand.

  A taxi arrived, and she led the way into the backseat. Burn reclined his head and closed his eyes. While she lap danced on him, rubbing against him and uttering moaning sounds of pleasure, he could only think how her hair smelled of cigarettes and her breath smelled of gin and marijuana.

  He used to like sleazy. A year ago, he’d have drank gin with her and shred the herb. Wendy had done sleazy in style. Designer clothes and shoes. Model-quality cosmetics. She could do things with her mouth that would humble a whore. After she’d nearly killed him on a three-day binge, she took pictures of him naked and passed out in a hotel bathroom.

  She’d sold those pictures for thousands to the tabloids then run off with one of the band’s key grips. Burn had woken in a hospital then spent three months in rehab. He hadn’t done drugs since. He probably shouldn’t drink, either, but he liked how it softened his edges and helped him forget how much he hurt.

  Luckily, the airport highway had light traffic and their driver had no problem speeding. At the hotel, he shoved Justina off his thighs and stumbled out, leaving her to pay for their ten-minute ride. It didn’t occur to him that he had no clue where he stayed until he reached the hotel elevator and had no idea which floor to choose.