by Nikki Wild
Naturally, I left my grandparents a large chunk of the money to continue living on, and they are free to keep Carlyle Manor as well. I have no intentions of maintaining that dusty old mansion when they die, but I’ve been giving some thought to converting it into an international home for shell-shocked war veterans. I haven’t quite worked out the logistics, although the lawyers I’ve consulted have told me that it’s probably rather doable.
With all of that said, you’ll have to forgive me. There’s something far more important than money on my mind right now.
The great Bill Murray once told a twenty-something at his bachelor party that the best way to prove you found the right woman is to walk the world with her for months, roughing it and relying on each other at your darkest or most miserable. When you arrive back at the final airport, if you still love her, marry her on the spot.
With only a couple of months under our belts, I had all the convincing I needed. That’s why my fingers are sliding around this ring box in my pocket right now – because tonight, we’re going to be watching fireworks from atop a German castle.
I’m proposing to her, right there and then.
Natalie had even commended me via text message on my choice of ring… and was eagerly waiting to hear the news. As much as she’d done to be in my corner of the ring when it came to Clara… I just couldn’t exclude her from that part.
The future that we have ahead is bright and full of wonder. I’m already wondering where we’ll go when our schooling is over.
No matter what happens, or what lies ahead for us… we know that we have the support of our family, the warmth of each other’s love, and the strength to circumvent any obstacle.
Clara and I will face that future down.
Together.
Don’t stop now! Turn the page because I’ve included more sexy bonus novels just for my most loyal readers! Next up is ROCK HARD!
-nikki
For a limited time, EVERYONE who signs up to the WILD LIST will receive a free exclusive romance novel from Nikki Wild that you can’t find anywhere else!
The Wild List will send you exclusive updates from Nikki Wild including new release notifications and chances to be an advance review reader on upcoming books.
Click here to subscribe now!
Other Novels by Nikki Wild
Bad Boy Sports
Play Dirty (A Bad Boy Football Romance)
Running Game (A Bad Boy Football Romance)
Bad Boy Fighters:
Knockout (A Bad Boy MMA Romance)
Bad Boy Bikers:
Saving Landon (A Bad Boy Biker Romance)
Saved by the Bad Boy (A Devil’s Dragons Biker Romance)
Pride and Pregnancy (A Devil’s Dragons Motorcycle Club Romance)
Roughneck (A Bad Boy Motorcycle Club Romance)
Rough Rider (Outlaw Kings Motorcycle Club)
British Bad Boys:
Royal Prick (A Bad Boy British Romance)
Arrogant Brit (A Bad Boy British Sports Romance)
Rock Hard (A Bad Boy British Rockstar Romance)
Played (A Bad Boy British Romance)
Bad Boy Rockstars:
Illicit Behavior (A Bad Boy Rockstar Romance)
Rock Hard (A Bad Boy British Rockstar Romance)
Bad Boy Stepbrothers:
Lust (A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance)
Richard (A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance)
Bad Boy Billionaires:
Protect And Serve (A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance)
Pretend Married (A Sexy Billionaire Romance)
Taking Beauty (Taking Beauty Series Book 1)
Claiming Beauty (Taking Beauty Series Book 2)
Owning Beauty (Taking Beauty Series Book 3)
Rock Hard
Thank you for supporting an independent author! Just for my naughty readers, my entire catalog is now FREE TO READ to anyone with a Kindle Unlimited subscription!
Be sure to check out my entire naughty Nikki Wild catalog by clicking RIGHT HERE!
You might be interested to know that I offer a chance to be an ARC reader, special limited time discounts, new release notification, and FREE EXCLUSIVE CONTENT to anyone that subscribes to my Nikki Wild List! So go ahead, sign up is easy and I will NEVER send you spam or share your e-mail address with anyone.
Sign up for the NIKKI WILD e-mail list by clicking RIGHT HERE!
“The truth of course is that there is no journey. We are arriving and departing all at the same time.”
-David Bowie
One
Catherine
“Come on, sweet tits, join the party!”
“What a prick!” That was my first thought.
“Holy fucking hell, he’s so much hotter in person.” That was my second.
“How am I ever supposed to remain professional with a man like him? A man that would have made Mother Theresa spread her legs and beg for forgiveness for all the forbidden sins she was about to commit.” That was the third.
Ten years. Ten years that I’d worked my ass off, hustled and bargained, slaved over a keyboard until dawn, cracked out on caffeine trying to chase a lead. I’d interviewed world leaders, gone undercover to expose sex-trafficking rings, hell once I’d even scored an interview with the Queen.
And now, here I was, on the most asinine assignment ever, in the back of a rockstar’s tour bus, forced to endure the scene in front of me. Not only that, but the most arrogant prick I’d ever met was the subject of my interview.
It didn’t matter that he was so fucking drop-dead sexy it almost hurt to look at him. The problem was, he knew it.
Liam Mercury - the biggest rock star this side of the pond. The lead singer for the Electric Horses, the biggest Brit-pop band since Oasis.
Deep in the back of his tour bus parked outside of Madison Square Garden in New York City, Liam’s lanky limbs spilled out on a black leather couch, the table in front of him littered with empty bottles of champagne and whiskey. Sitting at his side were two of the most gorgeous women I’d ever seen. If you could call them that. They didn’t look to be any older than nineteen.
His crude greeting was hurled at me in between removing his tongue from the blonde’s mouth and shoving it into the brunette’s. I waited till he came up for air to respond.
“I’m Catherine Donovan.”
“I don’t care if you’re the fucking Queen, shimmy off those knickers and get over here!”
I shook my head. He was frightfully mistaken if he thought I was another one of his groupies. Everything about him was a cliche. Hot, spoiled, sexy, topped off with a thick British accent.
He was every teenaged girl’s dream. And every parent’s worst nightmare.
His long black hair flowed past his shoulders, his dark hooded eyes smoldering with sexuality. His slim, toned physique was familiar - it’d been splayed over every magazine cover and tabloid rag for the last ten years. He was all sinewy muscle and hard angles. His smooth skin was slathered in tattoos, engraved with skulls and screaming monsters and one very large British flag that I knew was spread across his back, even though I couldn’t see it now.
I knew lots of things about Liam Mercury. I’d spent hours googling him before my arrival. I was hoping to discover something about him that hadn’t already been reported a hundred times before. That was how I worked. I took my job seriously, even if it was something that I felt was completely superficial.
“I’m sure your manager told you to expect me —,” I began again, just as the table began moving on its own, sliding backwards until the ginger that had her head buried in his lap popped her head up - exposing his very thick, and very hard… cock.
I couldn’t help but look.
In fact, once my eyes locked on its throbbing magnificence, I couldn’t tear them away. My jaw dropped. So this was what all the fuss was about. It was gossip worthy, that was for sure.
That thing should be in a museum somewhere.
Liam Mercury and his brother Ian were the
most talked about rock stars on the planet. Not only were they known for their out of this world ability to completely shred a stage, leaving crowds of thousands panting and begging for more every night, but Liam was just as famous for leaving women begging for more in the bedroom.
His cock had met more than its fair share of supermodels and actresses and although his professional reputation was beyond scarred, every woman he’d ever dated only had wonderful things to say about him…and his cock
It was almost as famous as he was.
And here I was ogling it for what had suddenly become an uncomfortably long amount of time.
Liam’s reputation out of the bedroom wasn’t exactly stellar.
He was known as a cut-throat businessman, a spoiled and unrelenting artist, and difficult to handle prick, to put it bluntly. He’d gone through so many managers and PR agents, his label was having trouble finding anyone who would work with him.
That’s why I was here in the first place.
I’d been hired by Rolling Stone magazine to pen a cover story that shows that Liam Mercury in a better light… A misunderstood artist. A good man…
I needed to show that Liam Mercury is still worth the millions his label is investing.
I was supposed to prove that despite all the parties, the booze, the groupies, the tantrums, the interviews walked out on in a rage, the drunken fights with his brother, all the concerts started hours late or missed completely - leaving pissed off fans demanding their money back - despite all that, I’ve been assigned the task of proving that the irresponsible, bad boy reputation of Liam Mercury is all just one big misunderstanding.
Of course, following around an arrogant rockstar for a week is hardly my idea of a dream assignment, but my options are limited right now. I’d much rather be interviewing a serious subject, writing something that could change the world.
Hell, anything but this.
The last thing I want to do is babysit an immature party boy for a week.
But, as another famous rock star once said, “You can’t always get what you want.”
I was stuck. The offers weren’t coming as fast as they used to. Everyone got their news in a hundred and forty characters and the world seemed to be much more interested in who the Kardashians were screwing this week instead of a serious in-depth look at the civil war in Syria or the economic crisis in Brazil.
Unfortunately, my journalistic integrity came second to my stomach. I still had to eat, so here I was, paying the bills by accepting this job.
Which was basically professional slumming, as far as I was concerned.
This week couldn’t pass quickly enough. I’d write my puff piece, try to shower off the filth from being in this bus, and never think about Liam Mercury ever again.
I was glad my dad wasn’t around to see me do this.
“Mr. Mercury, I’m Catherine Donovan, your manager let me on your bus,” I tried once more, raising my voice. “I’m here from Rolling Stone magazine. To interview you? I’ll just wait up front until you’re…,” my voice trailed off as I realized I had reverted to staring at his cock again. I snapped my eyes up quickly, my gaze clashing with his, “ready.”
“Don’t I look ready, luv?” His blue eyes taunted me and he reached down, sliding his fingers around the base of his cock and waving it at me. He was ready. I swallowed hard, and forced my gaze back up and away from that famous masterpiece.
“I’m not here for that,” I said, doing my best to keep my voice curt and professional. The ginger squeezed in tightly next to the brunette and they began kissing each other and moaning loudly.
“What a shame,” Liam said, with a wink. “There’s enough of me to go around, you know.”
The blonde erupted in giggles and flipped her long locks over her shoulder. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
Stay professional, I thought to myself.
“I’ll be up front. Whenever you’re ready for me…” my voice trailed off as my eyes raked down his muscular chest and landed once more on his throbbing cock.
“Don’t hold your breath love. If you want to interview me, it’ll have to be on my terms.” His voice was teasing me, and he still had his hand wrapped around that snake between his legs.
I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t some small part of me that was interested in what exactly his terms might be…
But I had a job to do. And that didn’t include jumping on top of Liam Mercury’s illustrious cock.
“I was hired by your label,” I tore my eyes away once again, forcing myself to look directly into his bright blue eyes. I ignored the electric pulse that shot through my body. “I don’t work for you, and I don’t work on your terms. I’ll be on tour with you for a week. I’ll be reporting whatever I observe until we get to Los Angeles. What I report and how I report it isn’t really up to you.”
“Is that so, doll?” He reached over and pushed the brunette and the blonde down between his legs.
“I think you can see I’m busy. If you’re not here to shag me, luv,” he said, smiling up at me, his crooked grin slowly spreading across his insanely handsome face, “then piss off!”
Two
LIAM
The shrill ringing seemed to go on forever. White-hot shards of pain shot through my head as consciousness washed over me. I pulled a pillow over my head, hoping to block out the pain, the sound, and the piercing light that was slicing through my peaceful revelry. The smell of sex and booze permeated the air and I felt warm bodies stirring beside me.
And that incessant fuckin’ ringing that wouldn’t quit.
What the fuck was that?
I pushed at the body beside me. “Make it stop,” I muttered.
“It’s your phone,” a woman’s sleepy voice replied.
“Fuck it,” I said, ignoring it and willing my body back to sleep. Warm limbs wrapped themselves around my hips, and the unmistakable softness of breasts pushed against my chest. My cock stirred.
“Fuck!” I hissed. I was hoping for more sleep, but there was no ignoring my raging cock in the morning. Hell, there was no ignoring it ever. The bloody ringing stopped, thankfully. Warm fingers wrapped around the base of my cock, and I groaned, turning to my side and pulling her closer. She rolled over on her back, and I lay on top of her, opening my eyes for the first time and looking down at her.
A blonde this time. One of the girls from last night. I reached over to the nightstand, pulling a condom free and sliding it down around my shaft. I was awake. No use wasting morning wood.
We both jumped when the other kind of pounding started.
“Liam, wake the fuck up!” My brother’s voice accompanied his sudden frenzied banging on the hotel room door. “We need to get on the road. Everyone’s waiting for ya!”
I pulled out of the blonde and strolled over to the door, opening it straight into Ian’s red, fuming face.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, take the fuckin’ condom off your knob and get these girls off the bloody fuckin’ bus, you fuckin’ twat!” he screamed.
“I’ll be there shortly, little brother,” I smirked, as I watched him storm away toward the driver. I loved pissing off Ian. Indeed, it was probably one of my greatest pleasures in life to get under his skin. It was right up there with fuckin’, and drinkin’, and of course, performing.
I walked back into the little room at the back of the bus with a smirk on my face.
“We’ll have to make this quick! My brother’s off his trolley!”
Three
CATHERINE
After my first, and very rude, encounter with Liam last night, I’d left the circus of Liam’s tour bus, and found a taxi to my hotel room. And now, here I was, smack dab in the middle of the circus again.
The band had quite the entourage. I’d met almost everyone by now, and while they were all very nice, except for the self-proclaimed bad boy of the bunch, they were also very self-absorbed. I was definitely an outsider.
Each band member had their own bus, as well as wh
at appeared to be their own entourage. Everyone lingered around outside of the buses as they waited for Liam to appear.
The bus drivers had started the engines half an hour ago and they sat idling in a row waiting on Liam.
Rocket, who went by one name only he told me, was the drummer. He was skinny as a rail, with long blonde hair and sharp green eyes. He walked past me and after a quick introduction by Matt Reynolds, the tour manager I had met last night, he disappeared into his bus.
Matt was a huge guy, with short black hair and tiny eyes that were way too small for his face. He stood across from me on the sidewalk, constantly checking his phone.
Rhys, the bass player, and Slade, the guitar player, could have passed for twins. They had long black hair that hung in their faces and they stood quietly smoking and talking together. They were both wearing leather jackets, and neither of them looked like they had slept in days.
Ian Mercury walked up to me, accompanied by a beautiful woman with flowing black locks. I’d met Ian quickly last night, and while he was every bit as handsome as his brother, there was an air of restraint around him. He introduced his wife with exaggerated formality.
“Rhone, meet Catherine Donovan.
“Nice to meet you,” I replied, shaking her hand. “I’m doing a story for the Rolling Stone.”
“Ian told me. Things can be kind of rough with the boys when they’re on tour,” she said, smiling at me. I’d already looked her up, so I knew she was one of the top supermodels for Yves St. Laurent. Tall, with legs that stretched for miles, her light brown eyes were filled with kindness. She was absolutely stunning. “Let me know if you need anything, or have any questions, okay?”
