by Cox, Chloe
Her eyes hardened.
“Are you going to pee on me next?” she said. “Mark your territory a little more?”
She could cut a lesser man down with that tone, that wit. Declan only grinned.
“I’m not into that, so no,” he said.
“I meant I’m not your damn property,” she said, a flush starting on her cheeks again. “I’m not some fucking groupie who will do whatever you want.”
Declan tensed. That word hit him hard: groupie. There was no way this little writer knew about it. He’d only told Adra, outside of the band, and he knew Adra wouldn’t screw him like that, even if she did think that Declan should come clean about what had happened in Philadelphia. No way in hell that was happening. He wasn’t going to do that to Bethany, “groupie” or no. Let the world think he was a violent drunk; it didn’t fucking matter. Especially not to Soren.
Damn it. That whole situation was still… He’d rather think about the woman in front of him.
“Good,” he said eventually. “Groupies write bad books.”
Molly Ward paused. She seemed conflicted. She looked like she wanted to fight him, but she also couldn’t stop biting on her lower lip. It was distracting as fuck. He loved that she was giving him shit, that it seemed her natural state was to be a ball buster, even while she’d automatically given him her name when he’d demanded it. The combination was damn sexy. And damn suggestive.
He wondered how well she’d respond to other commands.
“What are you doing here?” he asked suddenly. He’d thought they weren’t due to meet until the tour. He’d also thought the writer would be someone boring, not someone so evidently fuckable. “Did Adra tell you to come here?”
“No,” she said.
Then she lowered her eyes. There was something she wasn’t telling. It tweaked his Dom sense.
“Answer the question,” he demanded. “What are you doing here?”
“Don’t order me around.”
Declan crossed his arms, though he was hiding a smile. This woman. Already, this woman. He couldn’t trust any of the women in his life to tell him to go to hell if he deserved it, except the women at Volare—and now this one. He hadn’t had a submissive in a fucking age because his fame tended to warp a woman’s perception of what she was actually comfortable with, and that made BDSM dangerous. He was aching to dominate a worthy sub. Felt it throb in every freaking nerve, every last capillary, every waking thought.
And now Molly Ward had showed up, beautifully responsive when he gave her an order, even if she didn’t want to admit it. A woman with natural submissive tendencies who vied for control. Fun.
She was trouble, no doubt, but fuck it.
“You’d love it,” he said softly.
Molly Ward blushed right up to the tips of her adorable little ears. Declan laughed.
“I’m here because I thought it would be a good idea to meet you before the tour,” she said hotly. “Get acquainted? Since we have this book to write.”
“You wanted to ambush me,” he countered. “You want me off balance for your interviews.”
Her mouth dropped open.
What he could do with that. Jesus.
“How did you…” Molly seemed to forget herself for a minute, just a minute, and the hint of her vulnerability pulled him in even further.
“I’m good with people,” he said. “And you’re not the first writer to get clever. So don’t bother lying to me, it’ll just piss both of us off. You feel like you have something to prove, coming here dressed like that, trying to surprise me at a private, personal event?”
“That’s awfully presumptuous of you,” she whispered.
Things seemed to have gotten quieter between them, more still. The party was still going on behind him, and Declan knew it was loud as hell on the dock, but somehow he wasn’t focused on anything but Molly Ward. Focused so much that he could hear her whisper into the freaking wind.
“But I’m right,” he said.
She was staring right back at him. Goddamn.
“So what if you are?” she said finally. “You’re obviously kind of blunt, right? You like it when people are direct?”
Fuck me. Direct. Yeah. He resisted the urge to hook his fingers into the front of her tight little skirt, pull her close, and kiss her hard.
“What do you think?” he said.
“Ok, well, here it is direct,” Molly said, standing a little straighter, refusing to let her eyes waver. “You don’t get to have me, Declan Donovan. That’s not what’s going to happen. What’s going to happen is that I’m going to get to the bottom of what happened between you and Soren Andersson in Philadelphia, and you’re going to let me, because you’re going to trust me. Because you’re going to respect me. And then I’m going to write the best goddamn book you’ve ever read. And at the end of it—”
“You’re going to let me fuck you senseless,” he said.
Molly’s eyes went wide. He’d shocked the words right out of her mouth. Christ, if that was all it took, he couldn’t imagine…
“You’re going to thank me,” she said. She was a little breathless, still looking at him with those big, open eyes. “I don’t know where you get off—”
“Quiet,” he said.
She shut up.
She almost seemed surprised by her own reaction. But Declan felt his cock twitch, like the damn thing knew a sub was nearby. He was sure of it. Well, then he’d give her what she needed. Clear, concise commands.
“Give me your phone,” he said.
Molly only hesitated a moment. She was staring at him like she couldn’t quite figure out what was going on, but she very much wanted to. Then she narrowed her eyes and wordlessly dug into her oversized purse by feel, never taking those challenging, inquisitive eyes off of him, and came up with her phone.
Declan took it from her without explanation and dialed his own personal cell phone number, since he’d left his phone in his jacket. He waited until it went to voicemail, then saved the number under “Declan.”
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He gave her the phone back, and winked. “Making sure you know when to pick up.”
Declan was all ready to parry another outraged barb from Molly Ward—was looking forward to it, in fact—when real life got in the way. If Savage Heart could be considered real life, anyway.
“Declan!”
It was Adra’s voice, getting closer. But Declan just did not want to stop looking at Molly. That combination of confusion and curiosity was almost as attractive as the defiance and submission combo she had going on earlier.
Almost.
“What’s up, Adra?” he said without turning around. Let Molly know what he was looking at. He could tell she liked it. In fact, the woman was looking right back.
“Eric’s called you so many times he started calling me,” Adra said, catching up. He felt Volare’s resident agent look at him, then look at Molly, and back to him. “There’s obviously something you need to deal with. I think he’s freaking out.”
Damn. Eric was an old friend, an amazing guitarist who’d given up on the rock dream and had cut a decent living as a studio musician instead, and he had been perfectly happy with that up until Declan told him Savage Heart needed a new guitarist freaking yesterday. Eric had saddled up and saved the tour, which had been a godsend. He knew all of Savage Heart’s songs, and had known the band forever, but now the pressure was getting to him. Savage Heart had their first show since Philadelphia that night—a surprise appearance at the brand new public part of the Volare club in Venice Beach, just to test some stuff out before they hit the road. No one knew how the fans were going to react, but they were probably going to give Eric some shit just because he wasn’t Soren.
So Eric was panicking.
“Yeah, I’m on it,” Declan said. He gave Molly one long, last, lingering look. “See you soon, Molly Ward.”
Just his luck the one woman who’d set off his Dom sense in months without
being weird about his fame was the one woman determined to keep it professional. And the one person who seemed to think she could get him to talk about Philadelphia. Declan wasn’t worried about getting her into bed—fighting attraction like that was like fighting a force of nature. She’d lose, and he’d teach her the things she craved. It was inevitable.
So why did he get the feeling Molly Ward thought it was just as inevitable that she’d get him to talk?
chapter 3
Molly had triple checked everything around the house, making sure it was ready for her friend Shauna, who would be housesitting. Molly hadn’t felt comfortable leaving it empty for eight weeks, and she couldn’t stop worrying. She told herself that it was because Robbie and his boys still loved to fuck with her on occasion, and an empty, unguarded trailer would probably be too tempting, but really it was her own tendency to stress. Shauna had been too willing to step in, needing a break from her own situation. Besides, Molly needed someone to deliver the rent for her, in cash.
Yeah, not sketchy at all. She couldn’t wait to get out of Pleasant Valley Park. There was just nothing pleasant about it.
Good thing she didn’t have much stuff, and neither had her mother. After her mom died, Molly had wondered if eventually the trailer would start to feel like it was really hers, and she’d hated the thought. Feared it. She just wanted out of that place, and now she was gratified, in some small way, that she’d managed to stay emotionally detached, if still a little bit obsessed with making sure everything went the way she had planned. It made leaving easier. She’d packed up for eight weeks in no time.
The only thing she was really attached to was far, far away, anyway.
Molly stared into the eerie blue glow of her laptop and hit refresh. Really, this was kind of pathetic. Facebook stalking your own sister? Yes, that was definitely somewhere on the sadness scale, with possibly a creepy factor thrown in. But this was the only contact she had with Lydia, at least until Molly could make enough money to offer her a decent place to live, away from this horrible trailer park where the Ward girls would always be fair game. And away from their father, who Lydia lived with now.
But Lydia would be eighteen soon. The only thing she needed was somewhere to go.
Molly tried to pretend it didn’t worry her that Lydia hadn’t answered her last message. Or that she hadn’t posted anything in…four days. Socially active teenagers had things to do besides chat with their sisters, especially when they had to do it behind their dad’s back. She shouldn’t freak out.
It was probably nothing.
But of course Molly had spent all afternoon obsessing about that scene at the dock and why she’d let those frat bros get to her, so much so that she had started off her association with Declan Donovan by fighting with him—really, what the fuck?—and the answer, once she thought about it, was Lydia. Of course it was.
Molly hadn’t been humiliated like that in front of someone who mattered to her since Robbie and his boys had detailed all the reasons that she was a slut for her baby sister. She hadn’t felt that weak, or that powerless, or that out of control in a long time, possibly because she hadn’t let many things matter to her in a long time. And because she knew she had to always be in control.
But this job? Getting this right? This mattered. Which meant that Declan mattered. And she felt like she had zero control with him. Molly’d given herself a year to make something of herself writing before she had to go get a real job, something that would provide a steady paycheck for her and Lydia, and the Savage Heart gig alone might cover her last credits at night school and provide enough cash to get a real apartment big enough for both her and Lydia.
Except, of course, that she’d just fucked it up.
Probably.
Honestly, she couldn’t tell. Declan Donovan obviously wanted to do her, but that wasn’t what she was going for. Or at least that wasn’t what she was going for right now. And she’d been kind of a bitch. She couldn’t get that old cliché Robbie used to say out of her mind: “You never get a second chance to make a first impression,” blah blah blah. She hated that Robbie still had any real estate in her head, but she had to admit, as clichés went, that one had some truth to it.
Didn’t help that Savage Heart had been one of Robbie’s favorite bands and Declan Donovan one of his idols. Molly really needed to get some new mental associations. She couldn’t afford to have flashbacks to her dickhead ex and traumatic past while interviewing Declan.
Somehow, though, she didn’t think that would be much of a problem. She was much more worried about keeping enough blood in her brain to be able to form words.
That man…
She swore she could still feel his touch on her hip. Like he’d branded her. Every time she thought about it, about Declan standing tall over her, about Declan touching her, about Declan ordering her to be quiet, she got more turned on, until she felt practically incandescent. And now she was supposed to spend eight weeks on a cramped tour bus right next to him while keeping it together enough to write a book.
Molly shuddered.
She needed to focus.
Then her phone buzzed in her pocket with a new text message, and the likelihood that she’d be able to focus on anything other than Declan Donovan got vanishingly small.
DECL.A.N: “Volare in Venice. 10 pm.”
What the shit?
Molly’s leg bounced up and down uncontrollably while she stared at her phone. He was summoning her to Club Volare?
To do what?
Ok, well, no way was she waiting until ten. She needed to talk to Adra, stat.
~ * ~ * ~
Molly pulled her beat-up old LeBaron up to the Volare compound gates and gave the security guy a sheepish look. She fully expected to have to plead her case and make embarrassing phone calls in order to get in or to be told flat out that they didn’t want her car anywhere where actual people could see it, but the big guy just said something into a headset and opened the gate for her.
Weirdly, this made Molly more nervous. Inside was the hottest place in L.A. Even the public area of Club Volare was difficult to get into, and the private area? No one knew what went on. The whole place was exclusive, but not necessarily in the normal way. Rumor was that the guy who ran it, Chance Dalton, had no patience for people he deemed “dicks.” There were plenty on the A-list who couldn’t get in, and it burned them all.
At least that’s what the gossip rags said.
And here she was, driving her LeBaron wreck into the very limited private parking area, where Adra—oh, bless her—was already waiting for her.
And grinning ear to ear.
“What did you hear?” Molly asked warily, giving the car door the final hip bump it needed to close properly.
“Nothing. It’s what I know,” Adra said.
Molly smiled. Adra was infuriating, but amazing. They’d clicked immediately, had spent the entire four-hour job interview becoming fast friends, and had been in constant contact since. It had been such a relief to feel like there was someone who wanted to take her under their wing that it made Molly realize how much she missed that sense of being looked out for. She’d had to remind herself not to read too much into it, but she was grateful as all hell for Adra.
“And what do you know, oh sage?” she asked as Adra linked their arms.
“I know that you’re here because Declan asked you to be here. So I know that you must have impressed the hell out of him, because tonight is invite only, and he has control of the guest list.”
Molly could only imagine.
“You let him have control of a guest list?” she said in mock horror.
“Don’t change the subject.”
“Well, ok, I won’t. But can you please tell me what is going on? Why am I here?”
Adra grabbed her by the arm and pulled her under a covered path, the canopy woven with tiny little lights, that led to a large, modern looking building. “Well, the bigger question of why, I can’t answer. But tonight is the first
surprise performance of the reconstituted Savage Heart.”
Molly froze. “Are you serious?”
“Yup.”
Molly immediately looked down, wishing she’d spent more time on her appearance. She’d stubbornly decided that she wouldn’t do anything, really, besides pull on her favorite cut offs and tank top and run some sea spray through her hair. Anything more would be suggestive, and she was definitely not trying to suggest anything to Declan.
“You look great, Mol,” Adra said. “Actually, you look so good it’s kind of annoying. Do me a favor and don’t tell me how long you spent getting that tousled surfer girl look down, ok? Declan’s going to freak when he sees you.”
That did it.
“Oh God, Adra, I don’t know what to do,” Molly said, collapsing into a pile on the bench. “I am so, so, so determined not to fuck this up, and I think I may already have fucked it up.”
Adra stared at her. “How could you have done that in all of five minutes?”
“I yelled at him?” Molly said, running an anxious hand through her hair. “Which, whatever, but there’s also just this…chemistry. I don’t know, I can’t explain it. He basically announced that we’re going to have sex.”
She could tell Adra was trying not to smile. To Adra’s credit, she did a pretty good job.
“And what did you say?”
“I said that we were not, in fact, going to have sex. I said that, instead, he was going to tell me all his deepest, darkest secrets, and then I was going to write a book about it.”
“So, an impasse.”
“Adra, I’m just afraid that he’s not going to take me seriously. I mean, I can’t sleep with him, not just because I want to be professional, but…” She trailed off. Molly had decided that the only way to make sure her past didn’t become her future was to refuse to relive it constantly. There was no reason to go into the whole thing.
“I just can’t,” she went on. “And now it’s there. Between us. And you knew I was completely inexperienced when you hired me, and believe me, I am feeling that right now.”
