by Karina Bliss
“Dimity said she’d left a pass for me.” She showed him the text on her cell.
His eyes bugged as he did a double take. “Stormy?”
“I, ah…stopped wearing contacts.” Among other things. His gaze dropped to her much smaller breasts. “Yeah, I changed those, too.” He looked as horrified as if she’d lopped the penis off Michelangelo’s David. “It hits all the breast men hard,” she added, not unsympathetically.
Warren’s bull neck reddened. “Sorry I didn’t recognize you. It’s been a long time.”
She let him off the hook. “I’ve been working as a nanny in England for a year.”
“Wow.” He was desperately trying to keep his gaze on her face. “Quite a lifestyle change from dating rock stars.”
“Way fewer tantrums, that’s for sure.”
He laughed.
“Sounds as if the band is well underway.”
“Yeah, you better get in there if you want to catch their final song.” He thrust out a meaty hand. “Good to catch up.”
“Thank you.”
She could sense his disbelieving stare following her into the gloomy interior. A glance over her shoulder confirmed it. Maybe she could have applied heavier makeup and worn something more glamorous than a flesh-covering jersey dress, but she was making a statement. A personal one.
She was no longer Stormy Hagen and sexiness was no longer something she traded in. Like any recent convert she was finding it hard to find a middle ground. Who am I? What do I wear now? How do I express my femininity?
Applause rocked the house as she found a seat at the bar, near empty because people were pressing forward to get closer to the stage. A good sign. As she ordered an orange juice a guitar riff started and she swung on her stool to see Moss at the microphone, eyes closed as he channeled intensity into the first line of the next song.
If I’m so bad for you, baby, why do you keep coming back for more?
An overhead spotlight accentuated the shadows under his cheekbones and added mystery to the deep-set eyes under the arch of midnight brows. He’d grown his hair since she’d last seen him, and it hung straight and blunt-cut to the line of his stubborn jaw. He’d tucked it behind his ears, which would have given him a glossy, sleek look, except for the stubble that had nothing groomed about it. His was a face of contrasts, brutally handsome in the way of ancient marauders who’d picked up a few refined genes thanks to generations of pillaging defenseless villages.
Your lips tell me no, but your arms won’t let me go.
He opened his eyes. Cat’s-eye green. And just as penetrating. She shifted uneasily on her stool, though he couldn’t possibly see her.
Is it lust or is it love? Run away and we’ll never know. His gaze had always unsettled her; made her feel she’d snagged the attention of a carnivore. Like the men her mom would bring home—like Lily’s father probably, though she’d never known him. A man whose restless hunger was so deep-rooted, no woman was ever going to keep him satisfied, let alone tied to the porch. She knew Moss’s type too well. He would take and he would go.
The male bartender returned with her juice, and took her money with a professional smile. Loving that her looks no longer riveted men’s attention, she swung on her stool to catch the rest of Moss’s performance.
I’ll make one night last a lifetime…let this big, bad wolf in.
Count the bite marks tomorrow, babe. Tonight, we’re all about sin.
And there would be bite marks. When they’d moved in the same circles, Moss had reminded her of a kid gorging himself in an adult candy store. Others might view that as taking full advantage of a hit-the-jackpot opportunity; she’d seen someone who was worried that at any moment it would be taken away. Children who grew up neglected could never get enough as adults. Which was probably why she’d always been uncomfortable around him. She didn’t need reminding where she’d come from.
Believe me it’s true, I could fall for you.
She had to hand it to him though. If you wanted to carve your name in rock, you had to find real and true, and he sang with a husky melancholy that made a woman want to draw his head to her breast and tell him everything was going to be okay. That was the dangerous myth of hard rockers. They sang of love as if it was all they hoped for, but were wrecking balls when it came to fidelity and commitment.
Unfortunately, she’d once been one of those women who thought a warm smile and kind heart could change a bad boy.
She’d grown up in small-town Kansas and started modeling to supplement her earnings waitressing. Money was tight at home with two younger sisters at school, and Lily and her mom—when Dee Dee was working—both on minimum wage. At seventeen, she’d fallen in love with the photographer for a discount fashion catalog, Rob, who persuaded her to move to LA to “grow our careers.”
For the next two years she’d covered their rent by waitressing. It was Rob who talked her into implants. “You’ve got a pretty face but you need tits to match the hips if you want swimsuit and lingerie jobs.” The surgery was so successful that within six months, Rob had “sacrificed” his career to manage hers.
By the time Lily met Zander Freedman at a music video shoot, Rob had come out of the closet, and all her free time was spent on maintenance—manis, pedis, root touch-ups, skin treatments, lip plumpers, lash and hair extensions, exercise and dieting. But she had looks that made even rock icons stumble over their imaginations.
She’d fallen for the lead singer of Rage because his smile had promised shelter.
Turning her back on the stage, she sipped her orange juice. These days she saved herself.
* * *
By the end of the final chorus of Lead Me Into Temptation, half the crowd was dancing and some had picked up enough of the chorus to sing along. This time, there wasn’t a moment of shock before the applause started. This time Moss took the hoots and hollers of appreciation as the band’s right, and bowed. For one bright and shiny moment, he belonged.
Jared hooked one arm around his neck as they clattered, triumphant, offstage. “You did good.”
“Yeah?” The bassist had the best musical instincts of anyone. Moss’s relief was so great that, momentarily, he felt sick again.
“Yeah.” Jared mussed up Moss’s hair the way he did with his kids before releasing his arm lock. “And you handled the tech fail like a pro.”
“I came pretty close to breaking your new mantra…” He waited until Jared lifted dark brows, then added dryly, “Pissing myself.”
His bandmate laughed. “You and me both. Next time we’ll adopt Dimity’s if we can’t come up with better.”
Their manager was waiting in the side wings. “Nice job,” she told Moss with the crispness she hid behind when her emotions ran high. “Even I found you sexy, and I sleep with the sexiest guy in the band.”
“And don’t forget it.” Seth joined them, drenched from an impromptu drum solo, and tried to rub his sweaty face against his fiancée’s like a big tabby tiger.
“No!” She got a grip on his red hair and yanked but he only laughed and grabbed her fist. Bending his head, he kissed her passionately.
“Get a room,” Moss said, but he felt the same adrenaline surge. The euphoria—fuck, he’d missed this.
Seth lifted his head. “Good idea.” He started dragging Dimity backstage and ran into the bar’s owner.
“We need to book a gig while I can still afford you.”
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Dimity promised as Seth continued to haul her away. “Guys, Stormy’s waiting for me at the bar, can you look after her for ten minutes?”
“Fifteen,” Seth corrected.
Moss grinned. “My pleasure.”
Stormy Hagen was a rock star’s wet dream, and he’d had a serious case of trophy girlfriend envy when he first met her. After she and Zander had ended their relationship she’d started serial dating, still choosing guys way above Moss’s pay grade.
Jared caught his arm to stop him leaving. “I’ll follow when I’ve c
alled Kayla.” His wife and kids were visiting family in their hometown. “Don’t hit on Stormy in the meantime.”
“Who are you, her father?”
“Her friend.” Stormy had looked after Jared and Kayla’s kids on Rage’s final tour. “She’s a civilian now, leave her be.”
“What about our friendship?”
“Good point. For the sake of our friendship, leave her alone. She’s just got her head straight. The last thing she needs is you on a performance high trying to hook up with her.”
Moss tried to look hurt, but his bandmate was right. No sensible woman should come near him. “You’re making me sound shallow.”
“As my kids’ paddling pool. Come to think of it, Lily—that’s the name she’s going by—isn’t your type anymore.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Jared’s cell rang, stopping him from answering. He glanced at caller ID and his face lit up. “Hey babe, we killed it.” Moss headed for the bar, looking for Stormy. He liked to wind up his friends but however physically attractive he found Zander’s ex, he had no intention of doing anything about it. For one, she was too sweet, for two, she disliked him. And for three, she’d been hurt enough.
Though on Rage’s final tour leg, she’d shown intriguing signs of toughening up. On the private jet to London, when Jared and Kayla’s little monster Maddie had stopped by Moss’s seat demanding his attention, he’d been hungover and in no mood. “But your nanny can sit next to me.”
Stormy had rolled her eyes. “Bad boys are so last week.”
It was the first time he’d heard her anything other than pleasant. He’d liked the bite in her tone. He was a knockoff, a phony, and they both knew it, same as they both knew she was sweet and humble, because when you came from poor you became so damn grateful for any opportunity to step up. It had always irked him that he could see her dreams painted on a big pink helium balloon over her head—she and Zander, twin souls, with marriage, kids, and rocking chairs on the porch come the sunset years.
The surprise wasn’t that Zander had dumped her, but that their relationship had lasted as long as it did. Nearly eighteen months with the most driven, selfish, restless talent in rock was some achievement, though Stormy probably didn’t think so. It had been clear to Moss that they were wrong for each other on almost every level. You might as well throw water on a hot fat fryer. From what Dimity had said—yeah, he’d asked—Stormy was happier now. And he wanted to see how that looked on her.
“Hey, Moss, you were insanely good.” Chloe, a sexy brunette and club regular, grabbed his arm. They’d hooked up in Rage days and she had a very talented mouth. Her interest confirmed his success on stage—Chloe only picked up guys who were up-and-comers. Only a week ago she’d stared straight through him.
“Thanks.” Removing her hand, he smiled and moved on. Despite walking around the bar twice he couldn’t spot Stormy…Lily. Clearly, she wasn’t here. On the second pass one of his former suppliers offered him a line of coke, which he refused. No point indulging in habits he could no longer afford—financially or mentally.
His gaze settled on two women beckoning from the bar. Long-legged and hungry-eyed, with white teeth bared in admiring smiles, they were dressed for sexual conquest in full warpaint and figure-hugging minis. As he headed in their direction they parted like the Red Sea to make space for him, cramming a bespectacled woman into the corner.
In the dim light, her shoulder-length hair was neither brown nor blonde. She wore little makeup and a shapeless dress that skimmed her knees. Alongside the glamour girls she looked downright nun-like, but maybe that was her kink.
His cell beeped a text. Dimity.
Roy from Rolling Stone is raving about the performance. Wants to interview the band ‘in the moment’. Get back here.
Orders never sat well with him. He re-pocketed his cell. He’d done all the hard work he was going to do tonight; right now he was after easy.
Chapter Four
“Ladies, can I buy you a drink?”
“You sure can.” The woman Lily thought of as Shiny Blonde tossed her mane of hair, jostling Lily’s arm in the process. Juice slopped over the rim of her glass and she thrust it forward to avoid splattering her dress.
“There’s someone behind you,” she heard Moss caution.
Shiny Blonde shot a cursory glance over one gleaming shoulder, simultaneously moving to block Moss from Lily’s sight. “Oops, sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Lily said, mostly amused, but the other woman—a New Yorker, by her accent—had already turned away. Briefly, she considered standing on her barstool and identifying herself, before edging out of the kill zone, staying within earshot for entertainment.
“You guys were great out there tonight.” The brunette with Shiny Blonde took advantage of her friend’s brief lapse in attention.
“Thanks.”
“Hot,” she added. “Sexy as hell. And I’m Kim, by the way.”
“You’re making me blush, Kim-by-the-way.”
Grinning, Lily dried her fingers with a cocktail napkin. Moss was well aware of the effect he had on females. Bless his entitled little rock-star heart.
“And I’m Vicky who likes to party.” Shiny Blonde layered so much husky into her voice, she should be hauling a sled in Siberia.
The bartender plonked another orange juice in front of Lily and jerked his head in Moss’s direction. “He says it’s to make up for the spilled drink.”
Since Lily wasn’t dazzling Stormy anymore that left…manners. Who knew? Surprised, she glanced over, but Shiny Blonde still blocked her view. “Tell him thanks.” Her cell chirped from her bag. Retrieving it, she saw a text from Dimity.
Won’t be long. Did Moss find you?
She kept her response truthful. All good, see you soon.
“So, those lyrics…let’s make memories.” Beside her, Shiny Blonde leaned forward, probably to give Moss a look at her impressive cleavage. “You open to new ones?”
“Depends what kind of memories you’re looking for.”
“X-rated, of course.”
Lily turned a laugh into a cough. Over Shiny Blonde’s shoulder, Moss’s green eyes suddenly pinned hers.
For a moment she thought he recognized her, but he returned to his conversation without missing a beat, unlike her heart, which missed several. Damn, the guy could still unsettle her. Maybe she wouldn’t tease him about this later.
Another ten minutes of flirting and the deal was done. Unsurprisingly, Shiny Blonde won. Lily had noticed on tour he liked the tough chicks, the scalp collectors. As they walked past to the exit, she chanced another glance. Moss’s hand was on the upper curve of Shiny Blonde’s rounded ass, staking a temporary claim. Hers was buried in the pocket of his jeans.
She turned to the bar to see Kim-by-the-way staring disconsolately into her drink and stopped finding the situation so funny. Someone always got their feelings hurt. “You lucked out there,” she offered, and the brunette glanced over.
“What?”
“I went home with him last week.” She spaced her hands five inches apart. “Teeny-tiny.” Sorry, Moss, but feelings matter.
Kim said suspiciously, “You don’t look his type.”
Lily beamed. “That’s a sweet thing to say.”
The other woman picked up her bag. “Weirdo,” she accused as she left, passing Dimity, who was approaching from the other direction.
As Stormy, Lily had made few female friends. The platinum hair, fake tits, and collagen-enhanced pout encouraged other women to view her as competition, a phony, or a sell-out. Zander’s PA had fallen into the last camp. Until Lily understood how precarious the position of a bombshell was—newer models were coming onto the lot all the time—she lived with it. After a childhood of benign neglect, there was a thrilling kind of power in being admired, flattered, paid for, and pampered. And Zander’s emotional unavailability was something she’d grown up with. She knew how to be an underappreciated support act.
&
nbsp; Turned out Dimity had some experience of that, too. Funny what commonalities brought people together. Waving to catch her friend’s attention, Lily braced herself for the usual reaction she got from people seeing her for the first time since her make-under. Blankness, dawning recognition, followed by shock. Yep, all there.
“You were the person who suggested I match my outsides to my insides to get what I wanted,” she reminded Dimity when she was within earshot. A job working with children. A man who wanted to settle down. A regular life.
“There is such a thing as too real. Are you wearing any makeup? No, don’t hug me.” Lily ignored her. Dimity might act like the queen of mean girls but underneath her tough exterior lived a Rottweiler with a heart of gold. For a beat, maybe two, her friend returned the hug, then wriggled free. “Enough mushiness.”
Lily laughed. “I thought you might have mellowed now you’re in love.”
“No, I’m as heartless as I always was,” Dimity said, but when Seth joined them a few minutes later, Lily saw that wasn’t true. Everything about her friend softened as she smiled at her man.
Tears prickled her eyes—she was a romantic—but she removed her glasses and blotted them surreptitiously against Seth’s T-shirt when he gave her a hug. No need to ask if he was happy. He’d always had the sun god thing going on but when he looked at Dimity he was in danger of becoming radioactive. “My fiancée mentioned you’d ditched the implants,” he said, holding her away to smile into her eyes. “You look bloody great.” One of the Kiwi’s many gifts was non-judgment.
She replaced her glasses. “I feel great.”
“Congratulations on passing your GED.”
“Thank you, Seth.” He was such a nice guy. And perfect for Dimity. She’d conquer the world and lay it at his feet, while he provided an emotional haven.
“We left Jared holding the fort with Rolling Stone magazine while we grab Moss for a band interview. Isn’t he with you?”
“No. He…ah…left with a new friend.”
“Left?” Frowning, Dimity turned from ordering champagne. “He can’t have seen my text.”
