Rockstar Daddy (Wilder Rock #1)

by Taryn Quinn

  “Now that’s what I like to hear. Which one of us should drop his pants first?”

  “Jesus, Matt. Shut the hell up.” Tris brushed his fingertip over her swollen lower lip, his gaze searching hers. “You okay?” he asked in an undertone. “I’ll get you another mug.”

  In spite of the tears one blink away from filling her eyes, she managed to smile. “Sure. Fine. Can I get up now?”

  He released her, and she rose unsteadily. “How’d the mug get broken anyway?” he asked, grabbing the dustpan.

  Cait glanced at Matt and caught his smug little smile. “I can’t remember.”

  Before Matt could make another smart comment, she headed back to her desk. She dropped into her chair and swiveled to face her computer, then clicked open her latest design project.

  One stilted attempt at normalcy coming right up.

  Tristan immediately engaged Matt in some inane banter about Abe Donnelly’s latest over-the-top demands. She didn’t listen.

  Now that she’d made an impossible situation even worse, she was going back to work.

  “She’s a good kisser, huh?”

  “What?” His mind on his current crisis—what to order for lunch from the takeout menu in his hand—Tristan almost didn’t hear Matt.

  Then his brain clicked into gear, and he turned to glare at his best friend. “What did you just say?”

  “Cait. She’s a good kisser. But then we always knew she would be. Don’t think you got past her mouth, but believe you me, the rest of her is just as responsive.”

  Before Matt’s words fully pierced the haze in his brain, Tris noted his best friend’s smirk. He’d seen that smirk before. That was the expression Matt wore when he’d set his sights on a new conquest.

  Or had already enjoyed one.

  In an instant, Tris hurtled out of his chair and pushed Matt against the wall. He lifted his knee, fully intent on shoving it into Matt’s groin. “What did you do to her?” he demanded.

  “Not nearly enough. And you might want to mind the knee. You’ll regret it later.”

  “I asked you a goddamned question. How do you know what kind of kisser she is?”

  “Sit down. You’re hungry and you’re tired, and as usual your testosterone’s doing the talking.” Matt’s jaw popped as he yawned. “We’re both tired. So ease off and I’ll tell you.”

  Tris stepped back a fraction. “This is as far as I’m going. Start talking.”

  “You’re getting the abridged version. There’s a couple of reasons for that, mainly that she doesn’t want you to know.”

  Now he sat. “Why?”

  Matt rolled back up to his desk. He resumed whatever he’d been doing, moving his hand in wide swings on the mouse. “You know Cait,” he said dismissively. “Always has her reasons. But in this case, I don’t think she’s altogether wrong. You’re both impossible to deal with. Which is why from here on out, we’re doing this my way.”

  Tristan reached for the laminated menu, then let it drop forgotten in his lap. Who was he kidding? He couldn’t concentrate on food at the moment, roaring stomach be damned.

  He’d been having enough trouble all morning, between trying to forget the feeling of Caity’s mouth on his and his futile efforts to decipher the thick-as-mud tension between his two partners. Maybe he’d finally figure out just what the hell was going on in his own damn house.

  Because something clearly was. Sometime between when Matt had gone downstairs to supposedly call his mother last night and this morning, something had transpired between Caity and Matt.

  Whatever it was, that had to be the explanation for Caity kissing him this morning. He’d been turning it over all day, wondering why the hell she’d made a move on him. Why now? He certainly hadn’t minded. In fact, he was already counting the minutes until it happened again.

  But still. Something had to have given her a push.

  And he had a feeling he was looking at him.

  “You kissed her,” Tris stated. “When?”

  “Last night.”

  “When last night? You were with me last night, if you’ve forgotten.” Even Tristan could hear the undercurrent in his tone. Hell if he could decipher if he was jealous about Matt getting with Cait—or vice versa.

  Either way they hadn’t been with him.

  “Yeah, I remember.” Matt banged his mouse. “I also remember looking at the doorway while you were cleaning up and realizing we had an observer.”

  Tristan fisted his hands on the arms of his chair. “You’re not serious.”

  “Deadly.”

  “Jesus.” Tris closed his eyes and tried not to imagine what Caity had witnessed. “Did she—is she—”

  “She’s all right. Now. She was shocked, but she got over it fast.” Again the smirk, and Tris’s stomach tightened. “I distracted her.”

  “How?”

  Matt arched a brow and shifted to face him, hands sprawled on his stomach. “Sure you want the gory details?”

  “The details of how you clearly left my bed and went to hers? Why not?”

  Though he wasn’t altogether sure he did. But he’d be damned if they left him out of the loop any longer.

  But instead of Matt spilling, he reached for his soda and tipped it back to his mouth for a long swallow. Then he sighed. “She was pretty pissed and just as much hurt. I came down here to try to explain, but we started baiting each other and things went from there.”

  Tris rolled his eyes. As if Matt and Caity sniping at each other was anything new. “Baiting each other about what?”

  Matt lifted his head and stared him straight in the eye. “You.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah. We made it into a competition about which of us wanted you more. And then we circled around wanting each other. I’m still not really sure where we stand on that score. I mean, I know where I stand, and I know she wants use of my dick, but as for more than that, no clue.”

  Tristan shook his head, trying to comprehend what Matt was telling him. “You fought over me. Then you fought over each other. And she wants use of your dick?”

  “Yours too.” Matt saluted him with his soda. “Our little Cait has her share of needs, it seems.”

  Tris picked up his own bottle of soda and rolled it between his palms. “You’re not telling me everything,” he said softly. “And I’m guessing what you’re leaving out involves sex.”

  “Things escalated. But no, we didn’t have sex. She wanted to, though, as part of her big master plan.” Matt shrugged. “Let’s just say she had plans for both of us that went beyond quick kisses and fumbling clutches. And before you ask what kind of plans, use your damn imagination.”

  “Already doing that,” Tris replied, his stomach roiling with the pictures his mind insisted on forming.

  What exactly had happened? More to the point, what experiences had they shared without him?

  He released a long breath. No wonder Caity had been so shocked and hurt. She’d been the one left out of things going on right under her nose, and now he was in that role. And he didn’t like it one bit.

  “Anyway, the point is this. She’s ready for us, Tris. We just need to do this the right way. My way.”

  “You kissed her. What else?”

  “Man, you’re fixated, aren’t you?”

  “Wouldn’t you be?”

  Matt nodded and sipped more soda. “Hell yeah. Let’s just say other parts of her taste as good as her mouth.”

  “Not surprised.” With effort, Tristan tried to focus on the conversation and not what parts of Caity Matt had gotten to sample. Lost cause. “You didn’t get her naked.”

  “No. But if I could’ve, I would have. And I wouldn’t have felt guilty. She’s been the goal all along. We ended up being a pleasant side trip, but we weren’t planned. Doesn’t mean we can’t alter the plan a bit now, though.”

  “Seriously, Matt, I’m way too freaking hungry to try to make sense of what you’re saying. Get to the point, would you?”

&nb
sp; And leave me in peace to try to figure out why the hell Caity kissed me.

  Beyond the obvious, of course. She was clearly stretching their boundaries, between what had happened with him and from what had occurred with Matt. Whatever the hell that was.

  But there was more to it. The kiss this morning had almost felt like a test. He still didn’t know if he’d passed or failed.

  Caity had taken off early a short while ago, but she hadn’t said a word about anything but work to either him or Matt all morning. Nor had she flirted or teased or even flipped her hair.

  Hadn’t mattered. His dick was still as hard as a damn brick.

  He’d had her in his arms. Her peachy scent still clung to his skin. Their kiss had taken the many fantasies he’d had of her and destroyed them. None of them could hold a candle to the reality of Caity’s lips heating under his and hearing her soft, sweet moans.

  “Her birthday’s next weekend.”

  “I know that.” Impatience oozed from Tristan’s voice. “Your point?”

  “I want the three of us to go up to my cabin.”

  “Okay,” he began, belatedly catching the intensity of the look in Matthew’s eyes. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

  “Absolutely. She wants us. And we’re going to give her what she can’t admit she needs, but first we’re going to play hard to get. No more kisses. No more looks. When she comes back in here tonight, treat her like one of the guys.”

  “No. I’m not doing this to her. She has no clue what she’s playing with.”

  “Tristan.” Matt’s sharp command made him suck in a breath. “She’s shy, and she’s innocent, but she doesn’t want to be. Trust me on that.”

  “Caity shy?” He couldn’t hold back the laughter. “Since when?”

  “Since I asked her this morning to give herself to both of us, for a start.” Matthew banged his mouse hard enough to make Tristan wince. They were always fucking with the equipment.

  Which had been important, oh, a few hours ago. Now he had much bigger problems.

  “You asked her to what? Are you fucking crazy? She isn’t ready for—” Words failed him, and he tensed his fingers around his soda until the plastic buckled. “She’s just not.”

  Matthew wheeled away from his desk and faced Tristan across the few feet that separated their workstations. “She knows about us, and she still came on to you this morning. You didn’t kiss her, did you?”

  Tristan shook his head numbly, still trying to process everything. “No. I startled her, and then I saw she’d broken her mug… No. I didn’t kiss her.”

  “She knows we’re lovers, and she’s turned on by it. She’s curious. And there’s no way in hell I’m losing this opportunity to go after what we need. All three of us.” Matt’s voice lowered. “You’re not going to argue with me, got it? And if you don’t, I can promise you we’ll have what we always wanted: Cait.”

  Reason demanded he argue. Tristan always argued. Just because Matt directed everything behind the scenes at TD didn’t mean he knew jack about dealing with women outside of the bedroom. His many failed relationships proved that.

  But then again, so did Tristan’s. And he was desperate.

  He’d finally tasted Caity. How was he supposed to forget that?

  Tristan closed his eyes and blew out a breath. When he opened them again, Matthew’s gaze was still fixed on his. “Tell me the plan.”

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  Filthy Scrooge

  Kay

  “If you don’t get out on that dance floor, I’m going to kick your ass.”

  “I’m going, I’m going.” I tugged at my short red velvet skirt. Mel had convinced me to schlep all the way to Brooklyn to go to this club, the least I could do was get my dance on. I missed it. Working seventy hour weeks had killed any extracurricular activities in my life. Starting my own company was worth it, dammit.

  There’d been a time when a club had been my favorite outlet. I could lose myself in the colors, the music, the anonymity of it all. This place—Purgatory—lived up to its name in every way. It was in between in all ways that mattered. Depending on the day, the center of the huge building could be a dance club or concert venue. Outside was a sidewalk cafe with a garden straight out of England.

  I could let the wilder side of me free.

  I didn’t have to be Kandy Kane here, with all that sugary name implied. Most of the time I loved it. Hell, I made my career around my name.

  Here, I was just Kay.

  I didn’t have to make decisions or give orders.

  I could feel a man’s hands on my skin without the promise of anything more.

  The lights flared, then dimmed. A wash of purple and red swirled over the crowd turning everyone the same hue—cool and hot at the same time. The lights and the dancers pulsed as the low beat of the song ebbed and flowed.

  I felt an answering echo in my lower belly.

  Bad sign.

  “There she is.”

  I threw a narrow-eyed-glare at my best friend and assistant. She knew me far too well. “One dance.”

  Her glossy red lips lifted at one corner before she wrapped her lips around her straw. “Sure. I’ll be here, drinking my courage.”

  “And you expect me to just go on out there?”

  “Yes. Go let loose.”

  I flicked my heavily curled hair over my shoulder and took a deep breath. It was just like riding a bike.

  I glided into the crush of people. Instinct took over as the music infused into the marrow of my bones. There was no expectation. No one knew me. So I let go. The watery undertones of the song urged my hips into soft, fluid circles. This was exactly what I needed. As usual, Mel had been right.

  I found my spot in the center of the crush of people. I ignored the bump of strangers, and the dancers who thought they were far more talented than they were. I let my gaze drift to the whirling lights above me as the tension in my shoulders melted away.

  My body became one with the underlying beat of the song. The heartbeat. I could find it in any piece of music. A Christmas carol, a hymn, a rap song, a country tune—it didn’t matter. There was always heart to a good song.

  Once I found it, everything else fell into place.

  I slipped my fingers into my hair and let the dreamy music take me away. Clubs often extended the song with remixes and I chased the rhythm. My breath raced as the song built up and spun out.

  Eyes were on me.

  I ignored them.

  Right now, I didn’t want small talk, or someone grinding on my ass.

  I just wanted this. The only release I could find.

  The song changed to a big hit that had been reduced to a shadow of its original flavor. One that I didn’t want to dance to. I raised my arms to shimmy my way through the crowd when a large hand slid along my waist. The pads of a man’s fingers skimmed along the raised hem of my shirt.

  Being in a club meant hands on you whether you wanted them or not. I’d broken my share of fingers when I wasn’t in the mood. I lowered my hand to do just that when the guy invaded my space.

  Strong thighs aligned with mine as he pushed me back toward the center of the floor.

  My eyes flashed wide, met eyes the color of blue flame. An intense, unflinching stare. There was no guesswork, no teasing—just pure heat. His fingers slid around to the small of my back. His hips moved in time to my own.

  He didn’t hold me tight. Just enough to keep me close.

  I tipped my head, curiosity riding me harder than annoyance. I shouldn’t have allowed it. He was too big, too overwhelming to be the kind of man I normally danced with. I preferred fun and smiles. No harm, no foul kind of guys who didn’t give me trouble when the dancing was over.

  Not like this man.

  His broad shoulders were encased in a fitted black shirt with another collared shirt under it in the same jet color. In
fact, he was dressed in black from head to toe.

  He stroked his thumb under my chin to bring my attention back up to his eyes. He didn’t speak. Not that either of us could be heard over the music, but he didn’t even bother with the pretense.

  Just those ridiculous blue eyes burning into mine.

  The song faded into one that I loved. Watery strings with a staccato lyric to start before the drums and crashing tones filled the space. His hand grew bolder, coasted down my back to my ass, and his knee slid between my thighs.

  Our gazes didn’t waver.

  Our bodies melted together in a sexual dance that should have been far too provocative for strangers. My heart raced and a wash of heat rushed from my thighs up to my sex. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had such a heady reaction to anyone, let alone a man who didn’t know my name any more than I did his.

  Did he do this often? I knew I sure as hell didn’t.

  I swallowed down a sudden flood of panic. I glanced around us. No one was paying attention to us.

  His thumb was at my chin again, dragging my gaze back to his.

  “Right here,” he mouthed.

  I swallowed and tried to step back. He brought his hand to my hip and caught my hand with his other, lacing our fingers. His skin was smooth with a ridge of calluses along his palm. The beat of the song was harder, darker than the previous ones played.

  I moved into him this time.

  Maybe I didn’t want the link broken. Just for a few more moments.

  The tingle along my thighs grew with each brush of his. The roll of his hips in time to the song changed the simple buzz to a surge. My nipples throbbed and my thighs were soaked under my skirt. Arousal slammed into me. Panic licked along my lower spine and activated my flight response.

  Dancing was one thing. More?

  No, that wasn’t me.

  I twisted away and pushed my way through the dancers. The murmur of pissed off people doubled. The next song was a Britany remix that had the room pulsing again.

  My heart crashed in my ears as I finally broke free from the dance floor.

  Don’t do it. Don’t turn around.