Creamy breasts just big enough to fill his palms spilled out of low-cut black lace. The lace was sheer enough he could see the color of her nipples through it. They were about three shades paler than her hair. Sexy as hell. He’d been hard since the moment she sat on his lap. But now he was hard. Ramrod hard. Steel-girder hard. Could break a stack of boards with just his penis hard.
Cam wasn’t sure if he was giving in to his lust, or just giving in to the inevitable. He didn’t care. Framing her breasts, capturing their weight in his hands, he groaned, “God, you’re beautiful.” Then he licked a long, wet line along the edge of her bra. Kylie felt like satin and tasted like sin. It was his favorite combination.
“Help me be bad,” she whispered into his hair.
He was a rock ’n’ roll star. It was practically a contractual requirement to say yes to an offer like that. Still, Cam had standards.
“Let me make you feel good,” he offered instead. Using his thumbs, Cam swooped the lace down so he could cup her breasts. Then he lifted the right one up to his mouth and engulfed it.
Kylie’s nipple was already hard. But Cam didn’t believe in leaving something so important to chance. So he sucked and swirled and licked, all to make it crest of his accord. The way Kylie bucked against him left no doubt that she liked it. The natural enthusiasm he’d noticed when she’d spoken of selling his T-shirts translated equally strongly to sex. Good.
She’d been thrumming in his blood all through the concert. Ever since that surprise kiss in the hall. Desire for Kylie had amped him up, kept him hotter than usual under the spotlights. So now that he had the chance to do something about it, Cam didn’t want to go slow. Yeah, he wanted to savor her. Stroke every damn inch of that incredibly soft skin. Lick his way from freckle to freckle. But right this minute, he had to have her. Period. The want, the need, was too overpowering.
He undid her jeans. Well, he undid the first button. Sort of yanked the rest right out of the buttonholes. At the same time, Kylie clawed his shirt over his head. “Stand up,” he ordered. Instead, she shimmied forward, leaning over his shoulder to rest her chest on the back of the couch. It positioned her tiny ass right in front of Cam’s face.
To help him remove the jeans, Kylie wriggled as he pushed. Every inch of skin that was revealed danced and swayed enticingly before his eager gaze. She was a born seductress. And he was a goner.
With her jeans off, Cam hitched himself lower to slide beneath her upraised torso. He braced her hips above him as he licked down her quivering stomach to the black satin between her legs. Soaked through, it stuck to her folds like a second skin. Made it that much easier for him to nibble his way to her core.
“You’re wet for me.”
“Yes,” Kylie gasped.
“I want you.” Cam kept his mouth on her as he spoke, so the vibrations would continue to tease her, drive her higher.
“Then take me.”
Cam tightened his grip on her bare hips, straightened his arms and lifted her overhead as he sat up. A careful twist put Kylie flat on her back. Her hair was like a flare—a warning flare he’d already decided to ignore—spread over the dark leather cushion. He stood. Was out of his own pants with two hurried shoves.
“Condom?” she asked.
“As many as you want.” A couple of long strides took him to the tiny bathroom. He picked up the goldfish bowl on the sink and carried it over to her.
“That’s…optimistic of you.”
“It’s a rider in our contract. Jones had a scare when we first started out. Our manager’s all about safe sex now. This bowl gets topped off at every venue. Comes on the bus with us, too.” As he spoke, Kylie removed her panties. Crooked one arm up on the armrest and smiled. Lured him, was more like it. “Gotta say, I’m feeling pretty damn optimistic right now.” He ripped open the foil packet with his teeth.
By the time the bowl clattered onto the concrete floor, Cam was on top of her. Lined himself up so close her heat pulsed at his tip. “Kylie, you sure you want this?”
“I don’t want just this. I want you.”
Slowly, ever so slowly, he sank into her. By the time his balls rested against her skin, she was panting and squirming, fingers clutching at his biceps. That responsiveness made Cam feel like the sex god all the magazines branded him. It surprised him how much Kylie just being herself turned him on. How much this wasn’t just some random, post-show hookup. How different, how right it all felt. How right she felt.
“More, please.”
Wild and polite. God, she drove him crazy in every good way. “You got it.” He pulled out, just as slow. Then Cam sheathed himself in one fast, deep thrust. A long, high squeal tore from her throat. The sound just pushed him closer to the edge. He needed more, too. So as he pistoned in and out, Cam dropped his head. Sucked that coral nipple, a deeper shade after the attention he’d given it earlier, and tongued it and pulled it to a sharp point.
Every nerve in his body seemed to come together in a solid mass between the base of his spine and his cock. Looking up, he caught the exact moment that Kylie’s eyes glazed over and rolled back. Her head thrashed from side to side. And he had the satisfaction of her moan ringing in his ears as he jerked with a final explosion that left him stretched flat on top of her.
“Holy shit,” he panted. “Can I help with your next bad decision, too?”
CHAPTER THREE
Kylie braced her hands on the trunk of Amanda’s car. Cranked her neck to look at the shiny behemoth of a bus parked sideways across a whole bunch of spots. And almost crawled right back into the passenger seat. “This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.”
“No, it’s really not.” Amanda tugged the brim of her baseball cap down against the bright June afternoon sun. “Do you remember when you almost pledged Beta Omega instead of Gamma Delta Phi? And I had to point out to you that they’re known as the BO girls?”
Talk about a near miss. Kylie shuddered. “That was dumb. But not nearly on the same level of bad decisions as driving to the middle of nowhere.”
Amanda tsked at her. “Don’t insult our neighbors to the north. Your first stop is Milwaukee. Beer. Brats. The Brewers. It’s not Chicago, but it isn’t cow-town BFE, either.”
Why did Amanda have to be so polite about everything and everyone? If Kylie were to take her to a supermax prison, her friend would still probably find something nice to say. Like how it smelled better than expected. Or that the orange of the prison jumpsuits really brightened up the place. “I’m using my shiny new—and expensive—degree from Northwestern to be a roadie.”
“We know some people from our class that are still pouring espresso. It happens. At least your entry-level job is cool.”
“I’m going to Milwaukee in a bus.”
Using her hip to shove Kylie to the side, Amanda opened the trunk and pulled out a suitcase. And a backpack. And a tote bag. Packing for a month was hard. Especially when everything else you owned got shoved into storage.
“It’s a custom bus. One with all sorts of bells and whistles. Probably marble floors and showers and hot and cold running snacks.”
Constant snackage was pure evil. Instead of the freshman fifteen, she’d gain the tour bus twenty. Kylie sucked in her stomach at the very thought. “And I’ll be cooped up with a bunch of strange men. Who might be dangerous.”
“Riptide is one of the most famous rock bands in the country. In several countries. We’re meeting them in the parking lot of a library just to avoid the paparazzi. If they were dangerous, we’d know.” Amanda set the makeup bag on the ground and took Kylie by the shoulders. “What’s wrong? Are you having second thoughts?”
“I had those yesterday. I’m up to about seventy-fifth thoughts by now.” She’d lain awake all night, alternating between fear and panic. Horror and excitement. Not to mention all the sleepless hours spent reliving every touch, every lick, every moment of fullness and satisfaction that she’d experienced with Cam.
Kylie couldn’t even say that he
’d been better than her fantasies, because he so far outshot those it was almost laughable. Being with Cam? Made her realize all the other guys she’d been with had been boys. Cam was a man. No, a Man. A Man who knew exactly how to wring every last drop of pleasure from a woman. A Man who had very likely spoiled her for any other future hookups. And a Man who was very much off-limits for the next four weeks, per their mutual post-sex agreement.
“If I didn’t think you’d be safe, I’d tell you.”
“I know.” She straightened to give Amanda a quick hug. Kylie didn’t want to make her worry. Of course she’d be safe. Which was one less reason to not be brave and get on the bus. “But my whole bad-decision kick made a lot more sense with a few ounces of gin in me than it does now.”
“This is an adventure. One you’ll be telling stories about for the rest of your life. And it is only a month. I’ll even look for an apartment for you the whole time.”
A short, swarthy man with a buzz cut jogged right up to them. “Which one of you is the new goody girl?”
“Me. I’m Kylie.” She tapped her chest. A few of the jitters disappeared. She had a title. A purpose. A job. Might not be much, but it was a way to keep her self-respect while she figured out what to do next.
“Tony Saviola.” He pumped her hand hard enough to snap her elbow. He practically vibrated with energy, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “We’re running a lean, mean operation for this tour, so I’m production manager, stage manager and tour manager. In other words, if you have questions, I’m your man.”
She didn’t want Tony to be her man. Kylie wanted Cam. Damn it. Sleeping with him had been simultaneously the best and worst decision of all time. Kylie didn’t regret any of it. But she knew being in such close quarters, knowing what was just out of reach, was going to be super hard. Superduper hard. Harder even than Cam right before he orgasmed. Aaaand that thought made her giggle. Inwardly. ’Cause she bit the inside of her cheek so she wouldn’t have to explain an outwardly unwarranted giggle.
“Nice to meet you. I’m all set.”
Before she finished the sentence, he’d grabbed two of her bags and started hustling toward the bus. “We’re pedal to the metal in five, with or without you,” he hollered over his shoulder.
Guess she’d run out of time to panic and dither. Kylie picked up the rest of her things. “Wow. I’ll bet he gets caffeine injected straight into his veins.”
“Or maybe he ate a bag of chocolate-covered espresso beans, thinking they were candy. Tony looks like he’s got the energy to push the bus all the way up I-94.” Amanda threw herself into another hug, one that almost toppled Kylie over. “Call every day. Text all the time. FaceTime me every night.”
“I’ll miss you like crazy.” And then Kylie jerked out of her friend’s embrace.
She’d said good-bye to hundreds of people in the last two weeks. Graduation meant good-bye parties and ceremonies. Yanking out the cords that connected you to your friends until your emotions were a bloody, raw mess. She’d barely been holding it together before getting dumped and losing her job. So even though Amanda deserved a long, heartfelt sobfest of a good-bye, Kylie simply couldn’t. It was too much.
Luckily, the stiff breeze off of Lake Michigan whipped the tears from her cheeks before she wrestled herself and her bag up the high steps. Then Kylie froze. Last night, Riptide had played a small club. No real lighting effects, no sets. Just them and the music. This tour bus was a reminder that they were, in actuality, a group that filled stadiums. A group that, when they did a free concert, fans lined up days ahead of time. This bus was everything kids dreamed about when they whacked their pencils on desks in a drum riff.
A long, black ultrasuede couch on one side, with an honest-to-God recliner across from it. Plasma TVs hanging from walls and ceilings. A desk covered in laptops and sheet music. Every window rimmed in lights like a party limo. Bar, kitchen, in gleaming chrome and granite.
“You’ve got a nice ass, but it’s blocking my way.”
Kylie whirled. She knew that voice. And the whipcord arm muscles hanging out of the baggy tank top. “Sorry, Mr. Jones.”
“Just Jones. Fair warning, now—move the ass along or I’ll do it, and cop a free squeeze as payment.”
She giggled and moved off the steps. Jones was famous for being a ladies’ man. But if he was polite enough to warn her first, she didn’t worry about him getting handsy. As she dropped her bag behind the recliner, Jake, Jones and Cam all piled in behind her.
The hydraulics wheezed. The door shut. Kylie barely got a glimpse of long black hair and bright red lips before the driver dropped into the seat. “Go time, gentlemen. Plant yourselves somewhere.”
Jones and Cam sprawled on the couch. Jake headed to the laptop. That left Kylie the recliner, which felt weird. Instead of getting comfortable, she sat on the edge of the bucket seat. She was essentially alone with three men she’d idolized for years. No way could she prop her sneakers on the footrest.
Cam jerked his head toward the driver. “That’s Kyoko. She drives this bus. Tony drives the other. You met Tony?”
“Mmm-hmm.” Talking to Cam last night had been easy. Maybe kissing him sort of broke the ice? But now, confronted with his bandmates, Kylie was nervous. What did you talk about with world-famous musicians?
She knew their bios inside and out. All of them were only a few years older than she was. They seemed much more worldly, though. She’d done cheer and volleyball in high school. They’d been discovered at a house party and didn’t even graduate. While Kylie was ensconced behind Northwestern’s ivy-covered walls, they’d churned out hit after rocking platinum hit. Racked up Grammy nominations, AMA nominations and even had one of their songs used in the latest James Bond movie.
So what the heck were they supposed to talk about for the next hour?
“You worked the concert on Saturday?” Jones asked.
She licked her lips. “Mmm-hmm.”
“What do you think of the new sound?”
Ah. Naturally. They wanted to talk about their music. That, Kylie could do. Some of the tension drained out of her shoulders. “What do you think of it?” she shot back.
Jones elbowed Cam. “This one’s got some sass.”
“Or she’s stalling,” said Jake, without bothering to turn around.
His unfriendliness stung. And his assumption couldn’t be more wrong. It pissed her off so much that Kylie rose and—carefully holding on to the padded ceiling overhang as the bus picked up speed—walked down to defend herself to his face. Okay, the side of his head, because he wouldn’t look up from the laptop.
“I’m not stalling. I’m making a point. If you’re trying out a new sound, what I think doesn’t matter.”
That made him look up. Just enough to sneer at her. “Well, we’re not going to make double platinum if the fans don’t like it. You are a fan, aren’t you?”
“Yes. A huge fan.” She stopped herself before admitting to the trio of posters she’d carefully rolled and put into storage just a few hours ago. “But you three have to be the very first fans.”
“Explain,” barked Jones.
It was a relief to face him instead of the grump at the desk. “A new sound is like a new pair of sneakers. It needs to be broken in before you fall in love with it. We—that is, your fans—can’t fall in love with your music until you do. You’ve got to believe that this is the very best music you can make together. Feel every beat, every note, in your bones. Until you get to that point, there’s no point in my falling in love with it.”
Cam crossed his arms over his chest. “Well said.”
His praise rocketed warmth through her like a Red Bull vodka shot. But if she was going to be with these men for four weeks, she needed more than just Cam on her side. Kylie turned back to Jake. Nudged the laptop aside with her hip and leaned on the edge of the desk. “Well? What do you think of the new sound?”
“I think I like it.” Jake pushed back, raised a hand as if to point at her a
ccusingly, and then folded the finger back into a fist that he beat against his thigh. “I don’t love it yet, damn it. I’m also not loving that it took you less than a handful of miles to pinpoint what’s been nagging at me for days.” He held out his hand. “Welcome to Riptide, Kylie.”
Wow. Later—probably when she Facetimed with Amanda—she’d think about how those were the fingers that played a keyboard so beautifully. Part of her didn’t feel worthy. But if Kylie did a fangirl swoon every time one of them opened their mouths, she’d humiliate herself before they got to the Wisconsin border.
So. From now on, she vowed to herself, they were just men. All ridiculously hot men, but simply men who worked for the same company she did. Co-workers. Kylie wiped her hands on her yellow shorts. “Thanks.” They shook. More carefully than usual on her part. After all, you wouldn’t try to crack Michelangelo’s knuckles. Or step on Fred Astaire’s tootsies.
Cam asked, “How is it you understand music so well?”
She sat back down—actually leaning all the way back this time. “I’ve got a degree in understanding it. I majored in ethnomusicology.”
Hilariously, the men looked from one to another like they were tracking a bouncing ping-pong ball instead of her simple statement. Jones finally threw his hands in the air. “What the hell does that mean?”
Kylie was well versed in fielding that question. Most people had a better understanding of the various departments at Hogwarts than her chosen major. “It’s the study of music, what it means to both performers and audiences. Learning its cultural context. Researching and sharing traditions. Examining music and its ties to geography, politics, gender roles, psychology and sociology. Basically hashing out all the reasons why music is so important all over the world.”
“That’s a thing?” Jones looked incredulous. “A real thing?”
The Opposite Of Right (Bad Decisions Trilogy #1) Page 3
