Rockstar Daddy (Wilder Rock #1)

by Taryn Quinn

  Except tonight. Maybe her babysitter had fallen through. Rainy was three now, and she was touchy with new people. If the regular babysitter couldn’t make it, Beth would’ve stayed home with her.

  I couldn’t dwell on Beth’s whereabouts or it would make me crazy.

  Another thing I couldn’t do was peer into this nearly empty refrigerator all night long. Just because I had a strange chick in a towel that barely hid her smokin’ hot body in my living room wasn’t a reason to hide out.

  Neither was the fact that I’d messed around with her older sister. Or that I’d seen her naked, and I was pretty sure we’d both wanted to do more seeing. And exploring.

  It hadn’t much mattered that we didn’t know or particularly like each other. If she’d been a groupie, fine. I would’ve hit that and moved on. We both would’ve had a great time and that was that.

  But she was a good girl. One of the untouchable Kellys. A family of decent, hardworking, nice people.

  She also had a bunch of burly as fuck older brothers who’d kick my ass if I put a finger on her virginal skin. Especially since I might like a taste of that sweet pussy I’d glimpsed in the shower, but I sure wasn’t marrying it. That deal wasn’t for me.

  No way would I live my dad’s life of settling all over again. Much better that I was honest about what I was from day one.

  Grabbing another couple beers and a bag of pretzels from the cupboard—likely stale, since I rarely visited the cabin—I headed into the living room. She was curled up in one corner of the couch, singing along to whatever swill was on TV, winding one long strand of dark hair around her finger.

  Her towel was about two high notes away from indecency, and bastard that I was, I wasn’t going to tell her.

  I sat beside her and opened her beer before it passing it to her. I tore into the pretzels, decided they were edible, and passed those over to her too. She sipped and munched, singing along in between swallows. Completely unconcerned that she was letting loose in front of a stranger.

  Her voice was better than average. Deep, husky, with a hint of gravel that brought to mind Janis Joplin if you tilted your head just right. She seemed to know the lyrics to everything.

  At the first commercial break, she turned to me. “What’s your name?”

  “Kellan McGuire.” The devil on my shoulder was far too curious. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Should I?”

  That made me smile. “Well, we did grow up in the same town, and I knew of you.” A cop-out, but I was allowed a few.

  “Yeah, but I’m one of the Kellys. Everyone knows us in Turnbull. We’re like the Kardashians, without the bling or the scandals.”

  I groaned. “You’re not like them. Trust me. I’ve met—” I broke off and cleared my throat. Luckily she was staring at the latest pop star du jour on the TV and not paying attention to me.

  Last thing I needed to do was show my hand by admitting I knew one of them. I rather liked that Magpie didn’t know I was famous. All right, semi-famous now. I definitely wasn’t a household name yet. Maybe I never would be.

  But she didn’t know me from Adam. I was just anonymous Kellan, a gruff jerk from Turnbull who’d let her into his house and made her a shitty sandwich and gawked at her truly spectacular tits.

  Margaret was singing again, and the artist hadn’t even started yet. Guess she was warming up. Probably more than the woman in a leather jumpsuit and false eyelashes onstage had bothered to do.

  Being on both sides of the stage had taught me how many shortcuts were taken by the talent—and their managers. As many as they could get away with. Not Wilder Mind. We rehearsed the shit out of everything. We had a work ethic, and fame wasn’t going to change us.

  I hoped.

  “You really tell people to call you Margaret?” I blurted, feeling like a jackass as she blinked at me. Her eyes were definitely more out-of-focus than they’d been. Maybe she’d hit her limit.

  “No. I just told you that on the off-chance you didn’t know my family.” She sighed and took a long gulp. “Fat chance.”

  I stretched my arm along the back of the couch and toyed with the ends of her wet hair. She shot me a glance, lowering her lids until I found myself riveted by her thick dark lashes fluttering against her cheeks. Her pulse was probably just as jumpy. She was unnerved by me, and I liked that. I enjoyed being in control and spending time with a woman who didn’t try to mount me like a damn show horse the second she glimpsed the anaconda in my jeans.

  Not that most of them really cared about my dick. The part of me they wanted a crack at was in my back pocket and getting fatter with every passing month. Aka my wallet.

  “What do you prefer to be called?”

  “Let me guess,” she said drily. “We’ve now reached the portion of the evening where you’re going to try to feel me up, all casual-like.”

  I had to grin. This babe let me get away with zero shit. “Who said I’d be casual? Maybe I just intended to haul you on my lap.”

  She jerked a shoulder. “What would that consist of, exactly?” When I didn’t reply, she circled a finger. “The…hauling.”

  I tried to keep the surprise off my face. I hadn’t expected Magpie Kelly to lead me into this kind of conversation. Just proved my initial assessment that she was a pro at keeping me off my game.

  “Hmm. Guess I’d start by pulling you on my lap and facing you toward the TV. Since you like to sing and all. Though how you know all these crappy songs is beyond me. Pop’s your thing, huh?”

  Yet another reason why she wouldn’t know me or my band if this was the kind of music she preferred. We were a helluva lot harder-edged than the Luscious Lovahboys. Yes, that was the band’s actual name.

  God save me.

  “I listen to a lot of different stuff. Country too. A little R&B.”

  I grunted. Yep, she wouldn’t be hearing Wilder Mind anytime soon.

  Not that I cared if she knew my music. After tonight, I wouldn’t be talking to her again. It had been a complete accident she’d spun out in front of my house. Since I doubted I’d be getting my sister on the phone tonight, we’d just have to deal with each other until the morning.

  From the way she was staring at the side of my face, Margaret was still waiting for my answer regarding the hauling thing.

  “So I’m singing and sitting on your lap,” she prompted. “Then what?”

  A very good question. What kind of answer was Magpie looking for? The truth or something sweet and romanticized?

  Not that it mattered. I’d be straight with her and trust she could handle it. If she couldn’t, perhaps she’d learn next time not to ask questions she wasn’t prepared to hear the answers to.

  “Then I’d probably push back your hair so I could kiss your neck.” If I wasn’t imagining things, she sucked in a breath. “Just light kisses at first, so you didn’t stop focusing on the TV.”

  “Making sure I was distracted while you enacted your devious plan?”

  “Making you come until you scream isn’t devious. It’s a damn charitable act.”

  She choked on her mouthful of beer, then immediately went back for another hit. For a few moments, she stared at the screen. Not singing. I wasn’t even sure she was still breathing.

  “So you think you could do that?”

  “Kiss your neck?” Knowing full well she didn’t mean the neck thing at all. “Sure.”

  “No. The other.”

  “Other. Hmm. Coming, you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  She was fiddling with her hair and looking anywhere but at me. Instead of teasing her, I wanted to know more. To peel back her layers and delve inside—and that wasn’t just my way of getting in her pants.

  Well, under her towel. My towel. Because knowing she was wrapped up in something that smelled like me was sexy as fuck.

  “You said you weren’t a virgin.” I touched her bare knee with the backs of my fingers, expecting her to jolt. She just took a shuddery breath. “Is that true?”


  “Yes. Derek and I had sex a lot.”

  I instantly hated Derek and I had no idea who he was.

  “Derek who?”

  She bit her lip as she smiled. “You’re growling again.”

  Didn’t surprise me. “Answer the question.”

  “Derek Smiley, my ex-boyfriend. We were going to get married once he’d saved up enough for a proper ring. I didn’t care about that. He did. At least that’s what he said. He was building his nest egg for us, working three jobs. Lies. All lies.” She gripped her beer and rubbed her thumb through the condensation. “He ran off with a stripper,” she whispered.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Yeah. How lame, right? For me, not him. I imagine bagging a stripper was probably the pinnacle of his life. Much more exciting than the famed Kelly virgin. By the way, none of us were virgins past eighteen. So just in case you had some purity fantasy going on, sorry to burst your bubble.”

  I shifted uncomfortably. “Fantasies aren’t to be judged.”

  She giggled, and I decided it might be the best sound in the universe.

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I’m not sure I have any, other than actually coming during sex. I never have. Before or sometimes after, yes, but during? Unicorn.” She swigged back more beer then frowned and tipped the bottle upside down. “Aww. It’s empty.”

  I laughed. “Sorry, babe. I think you’ve hit your limit.”

  “Why? It’s New Year’s Eve. I want to get my party on.” She licked her lips. “I still have one condom left.”

  Just like that, my cock stirred. Pathetic. If I was being honest, it had been stirring in her presence all night.

  She was still lounging around in only a towel, and I could smell my shampoo on her from where I was sitting. Having my scent on her only made it harder to keep my hand from veering into her silky dark hair to pull her head back. Her full lips would part and she’d inhale deeply, and I wouldn’t be able to stop myself.

  I’d take, and keep right on taking. And that wasn’t fair to do to a girl like her. One who didn’t understand the rules.

  Fuck and run. No feelings, no strings. Definitely no “I’ll call you” afterward.

  She was a nice girl who baked bread for neighbors. Bread that was probably a solid brick now. Like the condom that had to be in her purse out in her car, because she sure didn’t have any pockets under my towel.

  “Is that supposed to entice me? You’ve got one rubber left from Smiley dude, so I’m supposed to grab you and blow your mind?”

  “Sure. That’d be fine.”

  I had to laugh. She was something else. “I think that’s the beer talking, not you. In the morning, you’ll be glad cooler heads prevailed. Meaning mine.”

  “Is it that you don’t find me sexy? It’s okay if you don’t. Maeve is a hard act to live up to. She knows that tie a cherry stem with her tongue trick and everything.”

  “Maeve was a long time ago. I had different tastes back then.”

  “Uh oh. You’re not one of those Christian Grey-type guys, are you? I don’t like to be whipped. I’m kind of pain averse, actually.”

  “Huh? Who said anything about whipping?”

  She shrugged. “I guess I’ll have another beer.”

  “I’m the one being forced to watch this New Year’s crap and you’re the one getting loaded.”

  “Ha. Loaded. Right. Fine, we’ll just change the channel.” She grabbed the remote from between her thigh and the arm of the couch and flipped channels, stopping at something that was distinctly not PG. Or even R.

  Try X.

  “Wow.” She tilted her head to the side like a puppy. “You pay for this?”

  “Better than the stuff you get for free,” I tossed back, reaching over her for the remote. “Margaret, give me that.”

  “You know what they called me.”

  Halfway leaning across her lap, I stopped and turned my head. Her mouth, puffy and vulnerable, was inches from mine.

  “You called me it earlier. Magpie. Because I talk too much and I’m too out there. Always the girl with the crazy ideas. Like wanting to be a district attorney, when Turnbull would have to buy a horse to even be a two-horse town.”

  Normally I would’ve laughed, but not when her big eyes were so serious. So intent on mine. “It’s just a nickname. Families give those out all the time.”

  “Do you have one?”

  “My mama calls me Kell. My dad calls me son. Bethy—” I stopped.

  “Bethy. Before it was Beth. Is she your girlfriend?”

  For some reason, it seemed vitally important that I be honest with her. “No, she’s my little sister.”

  “Oh.” Her face brightened. “I prefer to be called Maggie, by the way.” She reached out to brush the hair away from my forehead, and I swear my damn heart just thudded to a stop.

  What the hell was it about this girl?

  “I have a request.”

  All I could do was nod.

  “Can you call me Maggie when you kiss me?”

  6

  Maggie

  “I’m not going to kiss you.”

  I was disappointed, but I did my best not to show it. I might’ve had two beers in me, but I was still lucid enough to know that I was probably acting out of character.

  But I didn’t care. I wanted to have fun. To be someone other than myself for one night.

  Kellan wasn’t a stripper, and I wasn’t looking to have revenge sex. Though that screaming orgasm he’d mentioned did sound kind of nice.

  For once I wasn’t even thinking about Derek. Except to realize I wasn’t. I just was thinking about myself, and how I’d missed out on so many things because I was so worried about being safe and good and careful. I didn’t want to end up a statistic. Someone who trusted the wrong person and got roofied or something.

  Hell, that could’ve already happened tonight, but for some reason, I wasn’t afraid of Kellan. Uneasy at times, but not afraid. He wouldn’t hurt me, at least not physically.

  He picked up the remote and turned the channel.

  Bye-bye porno.

  I forced down my dismay. So what if I wasn’t a siren? He was a sexy guy and probably had his pick of women. You’d think the surly thing would put females off, but it hadn’t put me off so I couldn’t talk.

  I was partially drunk though and not worthy of being trusted. Plus, I’d dated Derek for four years, hadn’t I?

  “Four years,” I mumbled, staring at the TV.

  Kellan had put it back on the New Year’s Eve show. Weird, since I knew he didn’t like it.

  He glanced at me. “Huh?”

  “I was with Derek for four years. Do you know he didn’t go down on me until year three?” Kellan had been mid-guzzle and choked as I shook my head. “Said it wasn’t respectful toward me.”

  “Tool,” he muttered.

  “No, his tool wasn’t anything to write home about either. Probably seven inches while fully erect.” I held out my fingers and tried to think back. “Hmm, maybe six-and-a-half. Flaccid, I think he was like four.”

  “Wow. You’re harsh.” Kellan slid me a sideways grin, and I blinked. The expression turned his face from merely attractive to holy-fucking-shit, melt-my-panties.

  And yes, I just swore in my head again—twice—and no, I did not care.

  “I like it, Maggie,” Kellan said, holding out his bottle to clink. Mine was empty but I did it just the same. It felt like a victory, sitting here with this near-stranger on New Year’s Eve and telling him about my failed relationship.

  I wasn’t crying. Didn’t even feel misty. I felt…strong. Like I’d already handled the situation with Derek, so now the time had come to stop hiding from life.

  But that didn’t mean I was going to throw myself at this guy. I was certain Maeve hadn’t had to. Short of telling him that I wasn’t quite as pure as he believed, I didn’t know how else to convince him I could be blasé about a one-night-stand too.

>   It would help if I convinced myself first.

  I shivered, and I wasn’t sure if it was from cold or nerves. Turned out walking the talk was harder than it looked. Too bad I couldn’t sign up for vixen training at community college along with my regular courseload.

  Without saying anything, Kellan reached behind him and grabbed the plaid throw draped on the back of the sofa. He wrapped it around me much as he had the towel, tucking in the edge in the front. Not making eye contact as he hid most of my body from his view.

  “Thanks.” I swallowed and tugged at the hem of the blanket. “This is big enough for both of us if you get cold. Just boxers aren’t exactly enough for this weather.”

  “Nah. I’m fine. Hot-blooded.” He quirked his lips and rose, walking out of the room before I could reply.

  He was being a total gentleman, exactly what I’d hoped for when I walked through his door. So I had no right to feel disappointed. It wasn’t his fault that I’d decided to shed some of my Derek-related bad memories courtesy of Kellan’s rock hard, tattooed body.

  I sighed. Oh well. At least looking was free.

  Tucking my legs up under me, I focused on the TV. The show would be going for another couple of hours until midnight, so I would just sing my little heart out and laugh at the jokes that weren’t all that funny.

  Somewhere around eleven, Kellan decided to return with two beers, a bottle of water, and a plate of what appeared to be snacks in hand. The pretzels had sufficed since I’d missed out on finishing my sandwich while it was still edible, but I wasn’t at all sure about the irregularly-shaped hunks of cheese and pepperoni.

  “I checked dates,” he said when I just stared at the plate he held out. “You won’t die.”

  “Promise?”

  “Eat, Red.” After I took the plate, he opened my beer and passed it to me along with the bottle of water. “Last water I had left. Must’ve known a sexy brunette would wreck in front of my house while I was here this weekend.”