Manhandled: A Rockstar Romantic Comedy (Hammered Book 2)

by Cari Quinn

  “Your stage look takes some getting used to.”

  “It’s still me.”

  His gaze drifted to my jeans and Frank Turner shirt, then the little jaw tick happened again. “Ready to go?”

  Interesting.

  I wasn’t sure what I thought about Mr. Repressed. I’m not sure if he was worse than the warden, or better. They both kept telling me no with a side of, “It’s for your own good.”

  I pretty much disliked both.

  “Absolutely. Saint promised our favorite start the tour meal.”

  He gathered his laptop and tucked it into his messenger bag. “Which is?”

  “Family style Italian.”

  “Before a show?”

  The horror in his voice made me laugh. “Yes.”

  “That’s like eating baked ziti and going for a run.”

  I grabbed my phone off the charger station. “That’s why we’re going now and eating at two in the afternoon.”

  He shook his head. “If you say so.”

  We met Bats and Zach in the hallway. I grinned at them. “You jonesing for Saint’s start of the tour meal too?”

  “You know it.” Bats rubbed his rock hard belly. “I’m not even going to bitch about how much cardio I’m going to have to do to make up for it.”

  I linked my arm through his. “Yes, you will.”

  “You’re right.”

  Zach ran by us and walked backward with Lorraine strapped to his back. “Is it wrong that I dreamed about Saint’s garlic bread last night.”

  “You should have been dreaming about the woman I heard you banging through the wall, son.”

  I punched Bats. “Rude.”

  “Why were you listening? Needed the extra help for your hand?” Zach asked.

  “I didn’t have a choice. You brought home a howler.” Bats made a crude gesture. “Or she had to fake it really loud to make you feel better.”

  I held up a hand. “All right, all right. You’re both pretty.”

  “No, they aren’t. Why you lyin’?” Wyatt called from the end of the hall. He leaned against the wall near the elevator.

  “You only look good because you pay a seamstress, Giorgio.”

  Wyatt straightened. “If you bought your suits with me, then maybe you’d have better women surrounding you, Reed.”

  Laughter fell off. I resisted the urge to sigh. Wyatt had to go there. We couldn’t have one good day without drama about this particular subject. Bats wouldn’t talk about his relationship with Hunter’s ex-fiancée. He wouldn’t define it, nor would he discuss any aspect of why Victoria Sheer was in our lives.

  She was a viper. A beautiful one, but a snake nonetheless.

  But it was a bone of contention between Wyatt and Bats. Hunter had let it go. Deciding to trust his friend, but Wyatt only saw disloyalty. And for him, that was the worst offense.

  I was hoping since we were all laughing that maybe, just maybe we could start off this leg of the tour with a clean slate.

  Evidently not.

  I hung back, choosing to stand with Quinn instead of walking into a fight.

  But in a surprising turn of events, Bats grinned. “I’m an equal opportunity bachelor. I don’t discriminate.” He turned and spread his arms along the bar at the back of the elevator. “It’s going to be a very good show today.”

  I smiled back at him. “I think you’re right.” I turned and met Quinn’s frown. “Come on, Warden. It’s a good day to be a good day.”

  “That remains to be seen.”

  “Not even you can dim my fabulous mood.” I pulled out my phone and opened up SnapChat and set it to create a story. “Hey guys, we’re getting ready to rock your face off tonight. Any requests, hit us in Twitterlandia or use hashtag HammeredX and I’ll be checking all over.” I panned around the elevator. “Say hi everyone.”

  “Hi everyone,” all the males said in unison. Well, except Quinn. I skipped him thanks to the death stare.

  “It’s a good day to be a good day,” I said again.

  I was determined to believe it.

  24

  Keys

  “Why did I eat that much?”

  “Because you have no willpower.” Hunter dropped onto the couch beside me. “Just like the rest of us.”

  “So much cheese. Glorious cheese.” Cheese that was going to make me pop the top button on my tight white jeans tonight. Ugh.

  Garlic scented the air and a celebrational bottle of wine had been consumed, leaving me sleepy and content. I’d raid the ginseng laced tea I drank before soundcheck to rev myself up, but for now I was just happy to have all my guys around me.

  Indie and Patrick were checking over the guest list. Quinn was on the phone, pacing the length of the cafeteria area. But my guys were all around me. Bats and Zach in the saggy loveseat across from me and Hunter. Owen was curled over his acoustic, strumming softly. And Wyatt was in a lotus pose on his pre-concert stretch mat.

  All of the perfection that I could stand. Right here, right now.

  Hunter twirled a pen through his fingers. “What’s the vote for opener?”

  “Cathedral,” Bats and Zach said in unison.

  “Me three,” I said.

  “Wyatt?”

  “Works for me. I’d like to start the night out by splitting some ear drums.”

  Owen stuck out his tongue and made the rock on sign.

  Hunter started writing in his slashing block print. “All of us in agreement? I think that’s a fucking first.”

  “I got a good feeling about tonight,” I said.

  “I’ll take that good feeling and raise you with a fuck yeah,” Hunter said and kept on scribbling.

  Twenty minutes later we had a setlist and a plan. We all went our separate ways to perform our little rituals. Wyatt and his yoga, Hunter and his voice warmup in the shower, Bats and Zach took a copy of the setlist and went to pick through their trunk of guitars.

  Me?

  I sat with Owen and slapped my thighs with the opening beat of our favorite warm up song.

  It wasn’t exactly easy to play “Barracuda” on an acoustic, but we did it every time. It was the perfect way to get my voice working. And it also decimated the lethargy that had settled into my bones with the food fest.

  It didn’t suck that Quinn’s gaze locked with mine as I sang about getting down on my knees. Nancy and Anne had a bit of a different definition of the song at the time of writing it.

  But the flash of heat in Quinn’s eyes was well worth a little extra growl in my voice. I ignored Owen’s knowing smirk. I was climbing the walls in more ways than one.

  I stood and jogged to the room I used to get room. Owen played me out of the room and finished with a super strummy version of “Faith” as I laughed and closed myself in.

  The next hour was a lesson in frustration and vibrating nerves. The amphitheater was filling up, and the sun was finally setting. We didn’t have an opening act this leg of the tour. Hunter liked starting the show as the sun was setting. The night sounds blended with our instruments pounding into the night.

  “Cathedrals” blasted into the sold out crowd. Zach and Bats dueled with Wyatt’s drums, I pounded on my own keys, my head back and bliss filling up my chest as Hunter came out screaming from the top ramp.

  All the bull shit I’d dealt with for the last few weeks melted away as the music took me out of reality and transported me into the song. My element. The place where nothing else mattered.

  We went right into our bar song, “The Cure”. The crowd shouted back the lyrics to us. Arms up, feet pounding, voices filling the sky.

  I didn’t know just how much I needed my music, my people, my men. My back was coated in sweat thanks to lights strobing over me, under my keyboards, and behind me. We came to the midpoint of the show where we slowed things down.

  It was just me on the stage, purple and pink lights cutting the night. A dozen screens moved around above me. I could see myself from every angle.

  It alway
s freaked me out to watch myself play.

  My white jeans and ripped white shirt glowed in the unforgiving lights. My fingers were slick with sweat but found the keys as they always did. Screams of my name, of the band’s name, and the ethereal shine of lighters filled my heart.

  I started the song. The lyrics to “Crossing My Line” blanketed the crowd in a hush. When the chorus came up Bats and Zach came out on either side of me. The fans screamed and sang along in a sweet crash of voices that brought a wash of tears to my eyes.

  Some nights were perfect.

  Some nights were shit.

  And then some nights transcended both. In the middle of the bridge Wyatt’s pounding rhythm built, Owen’s bass vibrated, and Hunter’s voice resonated with mine.

  We did a stripped down version of “Nailed” and rebuilt the frenzy of the show with another step up in intensity. Hunter stood on Wyatt’s drum kit, bashing his high hats as he opened up “Pounded” in a bastardized a capella that drove the crowd insane.

  He prowled the stage as Bats and Zach crisscrossed behind him in a frenzied wash of blurred fingers. The Terror Twins shone as they both played so hard and fast that I had to race to keep up.

  My arms ached, my muscles trembling as I raced up and down the piano on my left, and the harpsichord on my right. They shouldn’t work together so seamlessly. The twisted carnival flavor with the pounding chop of piano spun out until I was out of breath.

  I climbed onto my piano as the crowd went nuts. My piano teacher would be offended on behalf of all piano makers, but the crowd loved it.

  I could barely breathe, as I draped myself along the top. I stretched my arms over my head and arched my back. When they screamed louder, I turned my head and arched even higher.

  Screams turned to catcalls as I flipped over and swung my feet, propping my head up with my hands.

  Bats switched from “Pulse” into “Foxy Lady”. I laughed and popped onto my knees then spun on my butt and played it up for the crowd. The whole band swung into the song. I crawled to the front end of my piano and played from the top.

  The crowd lost their mind.

  Improv was our favorite part of the show. I was laughing my way through the ass backwards playing of the song when I caught Quinn watching me from the side of the stage.

  I was hanging over the piano, my girls on way more display than usual. His jaw was tight and his hands were fisted on my upright stashed on the side stage.

  I imagined myself pinned to the keyboard, his hand on either side of me. I wanted his teeth on my neck again. Him sucking on my pulse point until I did more than moan. Until I was wrapped around him, my hips mimicking each pull.

  Breath gone again, I had to turn away.

  Zach had flowed from “Foxy Lady” into “Little Wing” for a Jimi double play for the crowd. I slid off the baby grand and played the high end of the harpsichord to flavor the guitar rich song.

  I could still feel his eyes on my back.

  My skin buzzed with the need to melt off the stage and find him. To pull him into me on the dark edges of the show. When the house lights went down, my breath was gone and my thighs vibrated.

  Roadies rushed out to switch out my pianos for the next number. I had three minutes to switch out my shirt and suck down a Vitamin Water.

  What I did?

  Ripped off my shirt and pushed Quinn into the folds of the curtains that blocked the crowd from seeing our instruments. He didn’t say a word, didn’t pretend to not want me.

  His fingers twisted into the tail of my braid and yanked my head back. His mouth was hot on mine, his tongue tangy from his spearmint Altoids that was almost always rattling around his molars when he was stressed.

  He lifted me off my feet and I wound my legs around his hips. “Fuck yes,” I said against his shoulder.

  He flipped up my bra, staring at me as he sucked the tip deep into his mouth. Who needed to breathe? Not me. I was good right here, in this moment for the rest of my life.

  Okay, maybe I wanted to get him inside me at the same time, and maybe I wanted to come so bad my brain burned for it, but his lips were on me, and his rage transferred to me.

  I dug my fingers into his shoulders and clamped down on his hips until he groaned. He moved his mouth to the cup of my bra and dragged it back over my breast. His fingers would leave bruises on my hips, but I didn’t care.

  Sweet fuck, I wanted those love bruises everywhere.

  25

  Quinn

  My dick was so hard I was pretty sure I was going to go insane. Music was her thing. She was obsessed with it on a level that I couldn’t understand, but here…now? Watching her pour herself into the song and the crowd?

  I got it.

  Lust and the driving need to protect her coalesced into a dangerous need to possess every molecule of passion I watched unfold on that stage. I’d been able to slot her into the untouchable client role for weeks now.

  All right, so not all the way.

  But I’d been able to mostly resist her.

  Until now.

  The word no hadn’t been even a glimmer in my mind when she locked her gaze on me. For fuck’s sake I may have walked right on that stage and fucked her on the piano if my training hadn’t kicked in.

  But then she came at me.

  And it had been all over. Madness had locked onto me like a sidewinder missile. No way around it, no evasive maneuver to be found. If I hadn’t heard three people shouting her name from the sidelines, I’d have been inside her until we were both spent.

  The haze dissipated. Our timing beyond wrong to the point of hilarity. I wanted to tell her that we’d pick it up after the show. I wanted to promise her that I’d hold her down until she was boneless from a twenty-four-hour orgasm.

  In a perfect world, I could have all of that.

  I covered her breast and lowered her to the ground.

  But that wasn’t our world.

  Here and now I was her guard, and her escort. I wasn’t her lover. I didn’t have that right.

  She saw it in my eyes. I wanted to deny it. I was fairly sure I’d never wanted anything so goddamn bad in all my life.

  “Damn you, Warden.”

  Duty.

  Loyalty.

  None of those were synonymous with fuck the client until she was unconscious.

  I shut my eyes and took a step back. When I opened them again, she was gone. The stage was alive with green and gold lights and she was on a pedestal with an upright piano similar to the one she played at home.

  The mini stage rose and spun slowly as she crowded over the keys. She wore a jet black tank with straps up the back and crisscrossing her front, molding her flesh like I wanted to do with my hands, with my mouth.

  Hunter sang and the guitars howled.

  The crowd ate it up.

  The higher she climbed, the further she traveled from me in so many ways.

  I couldn’t watch any more. Not and pretend I could keep it together for the rest of the night. The list of VIPs needed to be reviewed again, I needed to do a perimeter check for my own sanity, and a check in with Lucy at Roth Defense—also for my sanity.

  Those were the items on my list, not pinning Faith Keystone to the nearest available surface.

  I stalked backstage, barking orders at the on-site security. The band was moving into the encore in ten minutes and I had to be ready for them to come off stage.

  I channeled my frustration into the people working under me. Right now I didn’t care if they thought I was a grade-A asshole. I just needed to get her out of my head.

  The roar of the crowd and elated laughter followed me down into the dressing rooms. Exhaustion and elation laced everyone’s voice. She was safe. She was surrounded by her people.

  Nothing to worry about.

  Nothing that I needed to intrude on.

  I busied myself with my list. I caught her gaze a few times as she worked the room. Owen stayed at her side, and while jealousy pricked at me when I saw how easy
she was with him, I tried to ignore it.

  I didn’t have any right to be jealous.

  There was nothing between them but friendship, but there was a closeness that I’d never seen between a man and a woman that didn’t end in a relationship.

  Though the woman in question was Faith.

  And she couldn’t be defined in any general sense anyway. Like this was going to be any different?

  She flitted in and out of circles of people. She was friendly and sweet with some, borderline outrageous with others. The only thing that stayed the same with everyone was the quick and genuine smiles that instantly happened when she was in their space.

  “Oh, is that how it goes?”

  I turned to the voice behind me. Indie was leaning on one of the bartop tables that had been scattered through the afterparty space. She used a finger to push back her ever-present straw hat.

  “It’s my job to watch her.”

  She smirked. “Not like that it’s not.”

  I really didn’t have an answer to that, so I said nothing. I double checked my belt holster, making sure my blazer covered it. The room was getting more crowded, and I didn’t like this many people between me and my client.

  Between me and Faith.

  I moved through the crowd, my skin prickling when a cluster of women circled her. Playing the boyfriend card wasn’t out of the question. Not now. Not here with hundreds of people I didn’t know. Double what was originally planned.

  “Faith.”

  She reacted to my voice, but didn’t turn away from the people she was talking to. She did reach behind her, her fingertips brushing my thigh to let me know she was fine. She was relaxed and at ease.

  I tried to take my cues from her, tried to let myself settle, but I wasn’t going to be until I got her out of there.

  And obviously she had no intention of leaving.

  I’d kept her in the ivory tower for weeks. She wasn’t made for it. This was her element. Not necessarily the limelight, but she needed people. She’d never be happy to hide away in the quiet.