by Lily Cahill
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Bonus Offer
Sweet Bear O' Mine
Chapter One
Jax
Chapter Two
Tiff
Chapter Three
Jax
Chapter Four
Tiff
Chapter Five
Jax
Chapter Six
Tiff
Chapter Seven
Jax
Chapter Eight
Tiff
Chapter Nine
Jax
Chapter Ten
Tiff
Chapter Eleven
Jax
Chapter Twelve
Tiff
Chapter Thirteen
Jax
Chapter Fourteen
Tiff
Chapter Fifteen
Tiff
Chapter Sixteen
Jax
Chapter Seventeen
Tiff
Chapter Eighteen
Jax
Chapter Nineteen
Tiff
Chapter Twenty
Jax
Every Bear Has its Thorn
Chapter One
Emily
Chapter Two
Chase
Chapter Three
Emily
Chapter Four
Chase
Chapter Five
Emily
Chapter Six
Chase
Chapter Seven
Emily
Chapter Eight
Chase
Chapter Nine
Emily
Chapter Ten
Chase
Chapter Eleven
Emily
Chapter Twelve
Chase
Chapter Thirteen
Emily
Chapter Fourteen
Chase
Chapter Fifteen
Emily
Chapter Sixteen
Chase
Chapter Seventeen
Emily
Chapter Eighteen
Chase
Chapter Nineteen
Emily
Some Bear Out There
Chapter One
Nina
Chapter Two
Drew
Chapter Three
Nina
Chapter Four
Drew
Chapter Five
Nina
Chapter Six
Drew
Chapter Seven
Nina
Chapter Eight
Drew
Chapter Nine
Nina
Chapter Ten
Drew
Chapter Eleven
Nina
Chapter Twelve
Drew
Chapter Thirteen
Nina
Chapter Fourteen
Drew
Chapter Fifteeen
Nina
Chapter Sixteen
Drew
When a Bear Loves a Woman
Chapter One
Bret
Chapter Two
Grace
Chapter Three
Bret
Chapter Four
Grace
Chapter Five
Bret
Chapter Six
Grace
Chapter Seven
Bret
Chapter Eight
Grace
Chapter Nine
Grace
Chapter Ten
Bret
Chapter Eleven
Grace
Chapter Twelve
Bret
Chapter Thirteen
Grace
Chapter Fourteen
Bret
Chapter Fifteen
Grace
Chapter Sixteen
Bret
Chapter Seventeen
Grace
Chapter Eighteen
Bret
Chapter Nineteen
Grace
Chpater Twenty
Bret
Chapter Twenty-One
Grace
Chpater Twenty-Two
Bret
Thanks for reading Kings of the Fire.
Box Set - Exclusive Bonus Story - Nina
Box Set - Exclusive Bonus Story - Emily
Box Set - Exclusive Bonus Story - Tiff
Box Set - Exclusive Bonus Story - Grace
Bonus Offer
Sneak Peak
Chapter One
Kay
Chapter Two
Hudson
WILD HARTS: ROCKSTAR SHIFTER BOX SET
Lily Cahill
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, are entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 Nameless Shameless Women, LLC.
All rights reserved.
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Chapter One
Jax
THE AMPHITHEATER CHANTED HIS NAME. It pulsed through him, joining the thrum of stomping feet, of whistles, of his own pounding heart.
Hart
Hart
Hart
They wanted him. No, more than that. They needed him. Jesus, it was like a drug. Jax Hart shoved his hands through his dark, wild hair and grinned at his brothers, his bandmates.
“Should we give them what they want, brothers?” Chase Hart raised a pierced eyebrow in question. “Give the people of bumfuck nowhere the night of their lives?”
“Fuck, yes,” Jax growled in reply.
The four members of Wild Harts pulled in close, their broad shoulders touching. The energy of the crowd splintered through them like a lightning storm. It was dark backstage, and the air was tinged with smoke, but Jax could still look into the eyes of each of his brothers. He fisted one hand, so hard his muscles jumped and quivered in his forearm, and pounded it to his chest in a rhythm to match the crowd’s desire. Next to him, Chase gripped his drumsticks and took up the pounding beat, then Bret, then finally Drew, until their little circle was pulsing with it. Jax growled, low and guttural, and his brothers did the same.
The crowd beyond the stage was near frenzied. It was the opening night of the Firefly Festival, and Wild Harts was the evening’s headliner. Bret locked eyes with Jax, and the pounding stopped as suddenly as it’d started.
“Love you, brothers,” Bret said, then turned and strode on stage. The cries and shouts for the band’s lead singer pierced the air and shivered over Jax.
Chase and Drew nodded to each other then went next, taking their place behind the drums and at the bass guitar. Jax swayed on his feet, feeling the rhythm through his steel-toed boots and into his powerful thighs, up into his wide chest. He nodded to himself and jumped up and down.
Shadowed by the rafters, half-buried among sound boxes and equipment, Jax caught the eye of Derek Craven, the band’s new tour manager. The man was sneering, his teeth catching the strobe light as it flashed by. But then he caught Jax staring and pulled his sour expression into a weak smile. Jax frowned, but now was not the time to dwell on his antagonistic tour manager.
Now was the time for something else entirely. Something primal and raw. Jax growled again and strode onto the stage.
Lights burned overhead, making the stage glow like high noon. Beyond the lights, there was only sound, only movement, only the hint of summer-sweet
air whipping through the amphitheater. The crowd roared, enveloping him in warmth and desire that hardened his dick. There was nothing in this world that could beat this. Playing on stage with thousands in the crowd chanting his name so loud, he’d swear the stars above felt jealous of the attention.
Jax lifted his guitar off its stand and slipped it over his head. It rested like a familiar lover against his chest. He ran his long fingers through his hair again and flashed a smile toward the crowd. Women shrieked in approval. Just like he knew they would. He hadn’t met a woman yet who could resist him when he smiled.
Chase picked up the beat, and Jax’s fingers went to work at the strings of his electric guitar, the opening bars of “Honey Pot,” one of the singles from their debut album, Run Wild. As his eyes adjusted to the hot lights, he was able to pick faces out of the crowd. He stared at different women in turn, reveling in the adoration as they lost their minds for the music, for him.
And then he saw her, and everything else disappeared.
Her.
She wasn’t dancing like the other women in the front row, wasn’t singing along to the familiar lyrics. But there was no mistaking her. How could he ever? He’d know that silken black hair, those amber-colored eyes, that delicious body anywhere.
She was the woman from his dreams, the woman who was the key to his lock.
His one true love. His mate.
Chapter Two
Tiff
LYRICS WASHED OVER TIFF ANDERSON, blasting down from the stage and screaming at her back. It was like a million hands pushing at her skin and hair. She felt tangled up in them. Tiff shook her sleek, black hair down her back, making the sticky words tumble free.
How the hell did she end up here on a Wednesday night? Front row for the opening night headliner of the annual Firefly Festival. Jeez, she didn’t even like Wild Harts all that much. It certainly wasn’t worth getting beer poured on her sandaled feet, at any rate.
Love that dress you wear when it’s sunny.
Lift it up, let me taste your jar of honey.
Tiff snorted with laughter. Jeez, these lyrics. It was like every line dripped with innuendo. But by the way the troupe of girls behind her started absolutely losing their minds, the lyrics worked. A lacy, black thong went sailing over Tiff’s head and landed on the stage right in front of her. Wide-eyed, Tiff watched as they sagged there for a moment before slipping out of sight off the stage.
“Tiff!” Lacy Segal screeched in her ear, her voice bouncing around in time with the lyrics of the opening song, “Honey Pot.”
“C’mon, Tiff. Have a little fun!”
As if to demonstrate the foreign concept of “fun,” Lacy lifted her toned, tanned arms above her head and shimmied her hips back and forth. Her tiny T-shirt hitched up her waist. The sight of Tiff’s longtime best friend having fun did little to make Tiff want to partake. Not if fun meant her black tunic would shimmy up her hips. Those were best left under lock and key, and swathed in slimming black for good measure.
But still ….
Dammit if the song wasn’t at least a little catchy. It had a driving drumbeat and the sort of reverberating bass line that Tiff felt all the way into her bones. And the way the lead guitarist’s broad shoulders surged and knotted with muscles as he played ….
Besides, Lacy had asked Tiff to be her plus one—a title she found herself adopting quite a lot, if she were honest. When Lacy had won the front-row tickets and VIP backstage passes from the local rock station out of Milwaukee, Lacy hadn’t had to ask Tiff. But she did, and now Tiff was standing like a bump on a log surrounded by mosh-pit frogs.
Lacy shimmied up closer to Tiff and grabbed her hands, spinning her in a circle. Tiff laughed despite herself and let go. If only for a moment. Gone were the thoughts of her photo assignment due the next morning or her hopes to get up to the cabin that weekend for some more nature shoots. Tiff let it all go, shaking it out of her long, charcoal hair like those sticky lyrics. She closed her eyes and let the pounding music pulse around her. And suddenly, she found herself swaying her hips, bouncing back and forth on the balls of her feet. She shimmied her shoulders—not caring for a rare moment how it made her ample breasts jiggle—and beat out the rhythm on her thigh.
For one wonderful moment, Tiff Anderson let herself go, and it was a wild, heart-pounding thing. She’d used to dance like this—eyes closed, hair flowing over her shoulders—when she was younger. Back before she had to worry about bills and taking care of her dad and brother, back when her mom was still alive. In that moment, Tiff ached with the memories of carefree days.
Her skin prickled all over, goose bumps riding a wave over her arms. She shivered, despite how hot and close it was pressed up next to all the writhing bodies at the front of the stage. Tiff lifted her chin and flung her eyes open to stare up at the stars. She could swear they were envious. A thousand million blinks of light reaching out, yearning to be part of the sensations thrilling through her. Tiff grinned up at the stars and spun in a dizzy circle, her hips shaking in time to the song.
Goose bumps shivered over her skin again. Tiff looked back to the stage and blinked her eyes wide. The lead guitarist, Jax, was staring at her. Sweat-slick dark hair fell over his forehead, but he didn’t drop his gaze. Tiff couldn’t tear herself away from his intensely vivid eyes.
He wasn’t just staring. His lips were close to a microphone as he sang back-up on the chorus, and he was singing to her. Tiff heard the lyrics as loudly as if he had whispered them hotly in her ear.
Girl, I need you, you, you
Sticky sweet on my tongue
I’ll do the dirty deeds until you’re done done done
Be my honey pot, honey pot
Tiff didn’t look away, accepted the challenge in Jax’s intense eyes. She rotated her hips, reveled in the way the movement made heat rise between her thighs. Jeez, those fingers working away at the instrument. Imagine what they could do to her. A private, half-smile floated across her lips, and Tiff almost startled to see Jax match her grin.
“Oh, shit!” Beside Tiff, Lacy squeaked. “Jax Hart is totally undressing me with his eyes!” She was staring up at Jax too, and dancing just as sexy. No, sexier. Infinitely sexier. She was Lacy, after all, possessor of tight abs and blond hair.
Tiff’s insides went cold. She stopped dancing, frozen solid to the spot. Someone sloshed beer down her arm. Jackass.
No, she was the jackass. Shame burned up the frozen chill and made her cheeks flare with color. Tiff bobbed her head to the music—she didn’t want her embarrassment known. Nothing to see here, folks. I’m just the fat friend plus one along for the ride.
Next to Tiff, Lacy turned it up to eleven. She was practically massaging her own breasts.
How could she have ever thought Jax Hart was looking at her? Why would Jax, the pretty boy who was rumored to sleep with at least two girls in every town, ever ever look at her?
“I’ve got to go find the bathroom,” Tiff shouted in Lacy’s ear.
“Yeah, whatever,” Lacy shouted back, not taking her eyes off Jax.
Tiff pivoted on the ball of her foot and ducked her head, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible as she wound through the crowd. And the whole way, she could have sworn she felt eyes on her back.
“C’mon, Lace. I just want to go home.” Tiff was whining. She could hear it in her voice, but her voice was doing nothing to hide her feelings. Stupid voice. She just wanted her bed, and a cuddle with Mal the bulldog, and maybe some ice cream. She wanted to forget she ever thought for a single second that a hot, famous rockstar had been looking at her.
Lacy’s fake fingernails dug into Tiff’s arm.
“Ouch!” She grimaced and yanked her arm free from Lacy’s talon-tipped grip.
“Tiffany Marie Anderson, you are not leaving me by myself.” Lacy said all this while still projecting a mega-watt smile. The two friends huddled with a group of women at a gray, metal door backstage. Behind them, the amphitheater was still emptying out, but the
sounds that reached them were muffled and quiet.
One of the women at the door with them swung around, her bright red hair flowing in big waves down to the middle of her back. Her heavily-mascara’d eyes went wide. “Lacy? Lacy Segal?”
“Oh my God, Ashley!”
Tiff stood back and crossed her arms over her chest. The two women hugged like long-lost best friends even though Tiff knew for a fact that Ashley Stevenson—a year behind Lacy and Tiff when they were in high school—was a noted social climber and even more notably married to New Scandia’s city hall accountant. Tiff rubbed at her bare arms. She felt like a circus elephant dressed in a costume.
Tiff took another step back. But before she’d gotten even six inches away, Lacy’s hand shot out and caught her.
“Ashley, you remember Tiff. We won VIP tickets through W-ROC. I swear, Jax Hart was eying us during the concert. How’d you score backstage passes?”
Ashley inspected her nails. They were painted chartreuse. “Oh, you know Ronnie can always get me this sort of thing. I’ve been bugging him to see Wild Harts for ages. He went home early, though, to relieve the sitter.”
Lacy nodded sympathetically, but shifted a glance Tiff’s way. New Scandia wasn’t a big town, and it wouldn’t take long for the story to get out that Ashley Stevenson had been out partying with rockstars while her husband was hone with their kid.
“Anyway, I heard Jax has a bet with his brothers to see how many girls he can sleep with while on tour, so ….” Ashley laughed, high and thin. “I mean, not that you’d have a hard time catching his eye. You look ridic, Lacy.” Ashley paused and smiled, adding a little too late, “You too, Tiff.”
Tiff swore to herself that if Ashley complimented her eyes, she’d be out of there so fast that polish would peel off Ashley’s garish nails. Why was it that curvier girls always had beautiful eyes or a pretty face? Like the other ninety percent of their bodies were a disaster zone. Indignation made Tiff stand taller—and she was already a head taller than Lacy or Ashley.
Just then, the metal door swung open. Some of the women actually gasped.
“Boys,” someone drawled. “The entertainment’s here.”
Before them, a tall, weedy looking man with a snub nose leered at the group. The rest of the women filed into the room without a glance his way, but Tiff shot a look at him, suppressing a shudder. Everything about the guy was just this side of slimy, from his thinning hair that he’d slicked back exposing a pointed widow’s peak to the crescent of dirt under his nails.
