SPARKED: A Bad Boy Rockstar Romance (With bonus book, PERFECT)

by Stephanie Brother

  Aidan smiles, but then his face turns serious. “I was going to do this in front of everyone, but I think we should be alone.”

  My first thought is that he’s going to give me a graduation gift, but something in his expression makes my stomach do a flip.

  He touches his forehead to mine and puts his arms around me. “You know I love you,” he says.

  “I love you too.”

  “And that I’ll always love you,” he says.

  My curiosity turns into a whole troupe of butterflies dancing in my stomach. The nerves I felt before that chemistry final are nothing by comparison. “I’ll always love you too,” I say, trying to make my voice steady.

  “That’s good,” he says. “Because I’m wondering …” He pulls a small jewelry box from his pocket. “If you’ll marry me.”

  Tears spring instantly to my eyes. “Oh my god! Aidan!” Overcome with joy, I throw my arms around his neck.

  “Is that a yes?” he says.

  “Yes, yes! Absolutely yes!” I’m shaking a little when he slips the ring on my finger.

  “I am officially the happiest man on the planet,” he tells me.

  “No making me cry!” I kiss him hard. “I love you so much.”

  “I love you forever.”

  I give him a glorious, tear-stained smile. “I love you more.” It’s another one of our little games, like our ongoing “competition” to give each other as much pleasure as possible. As of now, I think Aidan’s ahead by about a million orgasms — I do my best, but he does love making me come.

  We kiss again. The man who caught my attention with his sexy good looks and bad-boy attitude won my heart with his intelligence and tenderness. My bad-boy rocker is going to be my husband, and I know the spark between us will only get hotter with the years to come.

  Perfect

  A Stepbrother Romance

  Copyright © 2016 Stephanie Brother

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author's imagination.

  Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.

  Kindle Edition

  1

  I pay the cab fare and step out onto the curb, where I straighten my skirt and open the top two buttons of my lucky blouse, converting its pale blue silk from office wear to evening wear.

  The trendy pub is already crowded on a Friday afternoon. Once inside, I scan the clusters of young professionals, all eager to get their weekend started. Even though it's early, I can see that many of them are on the prowl, looking for someone to spend their evening with. They're surveying the crowd with hungry or hopeful looks in their eyes. I'm grateful that I'm no longer looking to meet someone; I'm just here to surprise Clay, my kind, romantic, perfect boyfriend, who I hope may soon become even more to me.

  I catch sight of him in a dimly lit back corner. As usual, his suit is perfect, his smile is perfect, and he’s winding down from his perfect job, but today he’s doing that with his hand tangled in another woman’s perfect, long, silky black hair!

  And though he's in partial profile from my view, I can see him giving her his heavy-lidded sexy smile. The one I thought he only gave to me. Frozen in place, I watch for a moment as the woman tilts her head to the side and he runs his hand down her bare arm.

  I was hoping to surprise him. We were supposed to go to dinner an hour from now, but I got off work early and knew he’d be here with his coworkers. I thought tonight would be a special night. When he’d invited me to dinner, there’d been something different in his voice. Something in his tone made me think he might be ready to take our relationship to the next level. I thought he might suggest that we move in together, or, even though it would be rushing things, maybe there was a small possibility he’d be proposing to me. That’s why I was wearing my lucky blouse.

  I march over to my perfect asshole of a boyfriend, planning to confront him and whoever that woman is. I want to see the look on his guilty, lying face when I catch him in the act, but there’s a pain in my chest and a lump rising in my throat. I can feel my face burning suddenly, and there's a really good chance that I’ll be in tears by the time I reach him. I thought he was the one for me, and here he is touching another woman!

  I blink my stinging eyes. There's no way I want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I can't face him, but as I turn to leave the pub, I'm hoping he'll feel some hurt later this evening. Let him wonder where I am when I don't show up for our dinner date. Let him feel embarrassed when he's stood up. I hope the fancy restaurant will charge him for our missed reservation. None of it will add up to much in the way of revenge, but it's all I can manage right now.

  I signal for another cab and am grateful when one pulls up right away. I guess my special blouse still has one bit of luck left to offer, even though it’s failed me miserably today.

  I’d been wearing this same blouse ten months ago when I first met Clay, and I was wearing it when I landed my job at the art museum. As the museum’s assistant events coordinator, I plan and attend a lot of elegant parties. Most of the time, I'm scurrying around attending to details, but there is usually at least one point during any evening when I can mingle among the guests. I plan to work my way up the ladder, either at the museum or at another organization, so I try to meet as many important people as I can, without overstepping my boundaries.

  It was at a fundraising cocktail party sponsored by the largest legal firm in the city, where I felt the intense gaze of a lean man with thick hair so dark brown it was nearly black. I noticed him, and the fact that he was keeping mostly to himself, not mingling with his associates. I smiled at him, and a moment later he was at my side, introducing himself.

  I had made it a point to look my best that day, knowing that the after-hours event would likely be filled with attractive, ambitious bachelors. My blonde hair was pulled back in a smooth updo, my makeup was flawless, and my lucky blouse did its trick.

  Clay Timms is a corporate attorney, and we've been dating since that night. Had been dating, I mean. That’s all over now.

  I’m going to ball up this stupid blouse and stuff it into the trash as soon as I get to my apartment.

  2

  I'd been planning to drive to the country tomorrow morning, to George Taylor’s house. George is my mom’s boyfriend, though it sounds strange to refer to a fifty-year-old man as someone’s boyfriend. My mom was getting serious with him, and had been spending a lot of time at his home. They had invited me to stay for the weekend.

  The last thing I want to do tonight is sit at home alone, kicking myself for being such an idiot and for having such bad judgment about Clay. So I make my voice as normal as I can, and give my mom a call to see if it's okay if I arrive at George's tonight instead. She sounds excited that I’ll be coming early, and I'm grateful to have somewhere to go that will take me far away from here.

  I shove my things into an overnight bag, packing more quickly than I ever have before. Anger has some benefits in the way of efficiency.

  I lock up, and in no time, I’m in my car, driving out of the lot. I don't drive often; it's not practical during the week in the city, but it feels good to be on the road now, putting Clay behind me as fast as I legally can.

  Just past the city limits, about five minutes after the time I was supposed to have been meeting the asshole, my phone chirps with a text. I confirm the message is from Clay with a quick glance, but I don't bother to read his words. I switch the phone to silent, and when it vibrates five minutes later, I turn the radio up so I won't hear it.

  The directions to George’s place seem simple enough. He lives far out in the country, and has been
there his whole life. It still amuses me that my mom fell for him. She's always been a city girl — city, or suburbs, anyway — and now she’s talking about country living and all its virtues. I guess that's what love does to a person.

  I'm really happy for her though. My dad left us when I was ten, and my mom worked hard to pay the bills and take care of me. I still see my dad every month or two, but my mom is my hero, and I wish her every happiness.

  I like her boyfriend, George, a lot too. I'd met him when he and my mom had come to the city. They’ve only been seeing each other for about six months, but things seem to be getting serious. George has two sons, and the youngest is only twelve, so my mom often stays at George's house, rather than him staying at her condo.

  As I think about my mom's newfound happiness, my anger at Clay's betrayal flares. I’m usually slow to trust men, and slow to give my heart to someone. As much as she tried to put forward a brave face, I saw what my mom went through when my dad left us, and I don’t want to make the same mistake with someone. But I'd had a good feeling about Clay from the beginning. I really thought that we were perfect for each other. We were both very focused on our careers, yet we made time for each other. We had professional goals, but we also both wanted a family in a few years. We had similar taste in foods; we liked going to the theater; he was interested in my job at the museum— I shake my head, disgusted. What a waste of the past ten months. And either I have terrible judgment when it comes to men, or Clay is a terrific liar. I'm not sure which is true; maybe both.

  The city thins out as I reach the outskirts. Gone are the shopping centers and dense housing. I pass wooded areas and open fields. The houses out here have more land and more space between them. The traffic thins too.

  I hope Clay is worrying about me right now, but who knows? Maybe he picked up someone else at the restaurant, or maybe he'd never even gone. Maybe he and the black-haired woman are still together, at the bar, or somewhere else…

  I finally let the tears fall as I approach my exit.

  According to the directions, George's house is about twenty minutes from here. I'm looking forward to seeing my mom, but I'm not sure I'm ready to see her and her "boyfriend" being all lovey dovey right now. I also don't want to talk about what happened tonight, and if I show up in tears, there'll be no avoiding that discussion.

  I make a left at the end of the off-ramp, cross over the highway, and see a bar on the right that’s humming with activity. Maybe just one small drink before continuing on to George's will help me clear my head and give me the ability to face the lovebirds with a smile on my face.

  3

  It's not until I'm about to enter the bar that I realize I didn’t get around to trashing my so-called lucky blouse as planned. I'm still wearing it, along with a pencil skirt and heels. A couple dressed in jeans and flannel exit the bar as I'm going in, and the woman gives me a long look, head to toe, her eyebrow raised in obvious judgment.

  The establishment is definitely casual, and my first glance inside confirms this impression. Feeling completely overdressed, I consider turning around, but a friendly woman greets me as soon as my foot's in the door. It would feel awkward and rude to leave now. Besides, I really need a drink.

  It turns out to be a bar and restaurant, both parts nearly equal in size, and both crowded. The hostess directs me to the bar, and as I walk in, several heads turn and stare, with some gazes more blatant than others. I am clearly an outsider. A city girl in a sea of denim and t-shirts. The locals don't seem unfriendly, just curious, so I decide to ignore them and soldier on.

  Though the room is nearly full, many people are clustered at small tables, and a couple of groups are playing pool on tables in the back of the room. I manage to find a seat at the bar itself and am quickly greeted by the bartender, a woman around my age.

  “Hi there. What can I get you?” I can tell she’s taking notice of my out-of-place clothing too, but her smile is friendly. I typically drink whatever trendy martini is being featured, but I catch myself before asking for something fussy.

  I hesitate for a moment and then order the first simple drink that comes to mind. “A whiskey and Coke, please.”

  “Coming right up.” She slides a bowl of pretzels in front of me before making my drink. I have no appetite, but I nibble a few just to pass the time.

  Country music is playing, the walls are paneled in unfinished wood, and the smell of something smoky and sweet like barbecued chicken wafts in from the room next door. I feel like I've wandered into another world.

  I don't want to draw any more attention to myself, but I sneak a few glances at the other patrons from time to time. The bar is filled with young and old. Many people seem to know each other and the vibe is friendly. It doesn't seem to be a meet market, like most of the bars in the city, but nonetheless, when I'm two-thirds into my drink, a man appears at my side.

  My head is angled toward the door when I feel someone bump against the back of my seat. I turn to see the closest thing to a real life Greek god standing next to me; if Greek gods wore baseball jerseys and jeans, that is. His chest is impossibly broad. His body looks like an idealized version of man, and couldn’t be more perfect if it had been painstakingly carved out of marble.

  This big hulk of a country boy squeezes himself in sideways between me and the stool next to me. He motions to the bartender and holds out his beer bottle as he calls to her, asking for another. Then he turns his attention to me.

  "Hi there," he says, looking down at me.

  I'm momentarily stunned by both his close proximity and his enormous biceps. He's so large he's almost scary, though his manner is not threatening. He's looking at me with a wide smile, his eyes slowly straying downward to my legs and then returning to meet my eyes.

  "Hi," I reply, as I lean back to put a few more inches of space between us.

  When the bartender brings his beer over, the godlike man gestures to my glass. "What're you having?"

  I put a hand over my drink to indicate that I don't want a refill. "I'm just having this one," I say. "I'm leaving soon."

  His smile drops in an exaggerated display of disappointment. "Aww, no need to rush off now, darlin’.”

  Darlin'? I am definitely way out of my element in this place. I smile politely at the stranger and notice he has beautiful brown eyes covered by the thickest lashes. They’re the soulful kind of eyes that can probably be used to charm most women into doing whatever he wants. I'm sure he isn't someone who’s used to being turned down.

  "Let me buy you a drink. Just one," he says. He looks to the bartender who's still standing in front of us.

  I shake my head at her, and then turn back to him. "No. Thank you, though. I appreciate the offer." I give him a brief smile and then turn to look straight ahead towards the bottles on display. The bartender walks away, and I expect the muscled man to leave with his beer, but he persists.

  "Oh, you probably have a boyfriend, right?" he asks.

  I'm about to automatically confirm that I do have a boyfriend, when I remember with a sudden stab of pain, that I no longer do. An unwanted vision of Clay touching that other woman flashes through my mind and my chest aches.

  I turn toward the man; my eyes are at the level of his chest. His thin shirt is stretched tightly across his pecs. Not bad, I think. I've only been a single woman for about two hours, and I'm being hit on by someone with the body of a superhero. Maybe he’s here to save me from my pain.

  "I'm driving, "I say. "One drink is all I'm having tonight."

  He leans in an inch closer and I catch the clean, fresh, soap smell of his skin. “Let me buy you a Coke then.” His eyes roam slowly over my blouse, skirt and heels again. "You're not from around here, are you?"

  I just laugh in response, and return my attention to the wall at the back of the bar. The minute my eyes are off of him, though, I find myself missing the sight of his body. It's a wonder to behold, just like the statues at the museum.

  He summons the bartender. “Th
e lady here would like a Coke.”

  While he's looking toward her, my eyes go back to him as if pulled by a magnet. I'm pretty sure my two hands wouldn't be able to meet if I circled them around his upper arm, and something in me suddenly wants to try. I risk a downward glance and see strong thigh muscles straining against tight jeans. He's wearing heavy boots with mud on them. I’ve never considered myself a fan of the country boy type, but then again, I’ve never been this close to one. My heart picks up pace the more I look at him.

  I pull my eyes back to his face, not wanting to get caught checking him out. He's got fine stubble creating a sexy shadow along his jaw, and somehow it looks natural, not like the highly manicured facial hair I'm used to seeing on men in the city. This man next to me doesn't look anything like men in the city.

  I picture Clay, his lean frame clothed in a perfect suit and expensive tie; his overly groomed hair. Maybe a little attention from a rough and tumble country boy is just what I need to push my lying, cheating ex-boyfriend out of my head.

  I take the final gulp of my whiskey and Coke and then put a hand on the man's broad shoulder. "I really do need to go," I say. "Would you be a gentleman and walk me to my car?"

  His eyes widen and I smile at his surprised response to my invitation. I start to pull out my wallet but he stops me. "I've got it," he says. He tosses two bills on the counter and then backs up just enough to give me space to slip off the stool.

  As I walk towards the exit, he escorts me with his warm hand gently resting on the small of my back. The heat of his touch radiates throughout my body. He moves ahead of me and holds the door open. He is a gentleman, or maybe not, I think, as his eyes hungrily scan my body when I move past him. Once we're outside, he places his hand on my back again, though this time the position is lower.