NicenEasy

by Lynne Connolly

  Nice ’n’ Easy

  Lynne Connolly

  Nightstar, Book 3

  Heart-stoppingly sexy Donovan Harvey, bassist for Murder City Ravens, is also a writer. At his first fantasy convention, he wants to launch his new book, not find the love of his life. He gets both.

  Allie, unabashed fan and book editor, can’t believe she’s locking lips with the bassist for the hottest band ever, but sometime during their first searingly hot encounter she discovers Donovan the man, not the rock musician, and she’s even more smitten.

  They can’t get enough of each other. In the shower, against the wall, even in bed, Donovan talks during sex, leading Allie through erotic fantasies, presenting her with scenarios she can’t resist, setting her alight with steamy stories he’ll never share with anyone else. She inspires him. He gives her ideas.

  But Murder City Ravens is on a world tour, and Allie needs to stay in New York if she’s to make a success of her career. When her company asks her to poach Donovan from his current publisher, Allie hesitates, but her boss makes it impossible for her to refuse without losing her job.

  A Romantica® contemporary erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

  Nice ‘n’ Easy

  Lynne Connolly

  Chapter One

  Allie shot a startled glance at the man at the bar, then looked away again as quickly as she could, only to encounter her boss’s knowing grin. “You recognize him?” Nancy asked with a raise of one well-shaped brow.

  “I-I think so. What’s he doing here?” She risked a glance back at the man, who had turned around to face the mirror behind the hotel bar. Between the bottles of triple sec and brightly colored liqueurs, she could make out his features—clean-cut, blurred by a beard line of stubble, startling light-gray eyes, lanky frame. Yes, it was him.

  One of their authors stared at the man at the bar with frank interest. “Well, he’s damn sexy, but who is he?”

  Allie refrained from rolling her eyes. How could the woman not know? They’d been all over the media lately. “He plays bass for Murder City Ravens.”

  “Ohhh,” Helen said. “British band. Yum. A gorgeous body and an accent too.”

  Allie mentally reached for her patience. “They’re not all British. Two British, one Swedish and three American. Hottest band around. Innovative, exciting, different. You can’t put Murder City Ravens in a box, although the nearest is probably rock band.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “That guy over there is Donovan Harvey. Gorgeous.”

  Nancy wagged a finger in mock admonishment. “Oho. So we have fantasies about him, do we?”

  Allie found her drink and took a healthy sip of the bright-pink concoction, draining the glass. “Sometimes.” That was all she’d admit to in present company. In fact, she’d melted the moment she’d seen Donovan Harvey on TV. As if she were a teenager with her first crush, she’d imagined him doing the things they sang about in She’s So Sexy. That would remain a guilty secret, one she shared only with her B.O.B. Which she’d left at home because she was here to work, not play.

  “Not a bad thing, considering I can’t remember seeing you with a man,” Nancy said.

  Allie growled, irritated by the comment. “Like I’m a recluse or something? I decided on a break from men for a while, that’s all.”

  “So end your break now, girlfriend.” Nancy gave her a nudge. “Go talk to him.”

  “They don’t like all that fangirl stuff.” She wouldn’t get far with Donovan Harvey if she tried that. “I’m one of your greatest fans” was a surefire way of persuading him to walk away. She knew that because she’d gone on the internet and downloaded every interview she could find, telling herself that she just didn’t have time for a real man right now and a fantasy would work for the time being. “Maybe he’s just staying at the hotel. If they’re playing San Fran, he might not like where he’s staying.”

  Nancy showed her disbelief with a scoffing laugh. “As if. This place has been fully booked for two months now. The convention hasn’t been to California for years, and the fans are crazy for it.”

  Allie tore her gaze away from the sexy man at the bar to take in the other occupants. Some had broken out the costumes already, and aliens, fairies and superheroes packed the place. “You think they’d wait for the ball on Saturday.” She needed a distraction, something to take her mind and her body away from staring at the man at the bar.

  Nancy shrugged. “Probably last year’s costumes.” She eyed a green-horned alien. “After all, where else are they going to wear them?” Nancy had attended the convention before but Allie had never been to anything like this. She loved the fun and the atmosphere, didn’t know if she liked the frenetic schedule. Nancy leaned closer. “Want to pop your convention cherry? Go talk to the guy. Maybe… You know.” She waggled her hand, indicating doubt.

  “No need to tell him you know who he is. Don’t go fangirl on him. He’s sitting at the bar having a quiet drink, so my guess is he doesn’t want anyone to recognize him. Maybe he’s a fantasy fan, maybe he reads books and comics on the road and he wants to see the con for himself. Go order another round of drinks. Charge them to our room. Don’t come back.” She made a shooing motion. “Go, baby girl. If you don’t get back to our room tonight, I won’t ask questions. Be sure to stand close to him when you order, you hear?” She flicked back a swathe of her long blonde hair and smiled sympathetically before pulling out her phone, no doubt to check on him now she knew his name.

  Allie took a deep breath, mustering her courage and shoving the teenage fan inside her right to the back of her mind. Yes, she should go, if only to get Donovan Harvey out of her dreams. He might turn out a real shit, and that would kill her fantasies stone dead. Good thing too. Time she shook off this immature obsession.

  Allie knew how stupid quailing at the thought of facing one of her idols was. She encountered people, authors others would die to meet, on a daily basis. Her company had sent her here to look after one and get some convention experience, but meeting him tomorrow held none of the terror she felt now. One thing to deal with people for the job, another to try to act cool in front of somebody who turned her sex to molten heat.

  Taking the three empty cocktail glasses, she headed for the bar, trying to ignore her shaking knees. The trouble was, the closer she got to Donovan Harvey, the more delectable he became. His long limbs wrapped around his chair as he leaned against the bar behind him and defiantly surveyed the room, chin up, daring someone to say something. She could have told him he was safer here than most other places. If he didn’t create fantasy games, appear in fantasy films or write fantasy novels, most of the attendees crammed in the bar tonight wouldn’t give a flying fuck about him.

  The bar was three deep with people trying to get served. Conversation was growing louder, a sign that some of the participants had let their excitement blend with their alcohol consumption, sending them hyper. She should be drinking this experience in, but somehow all her concentration homed in on one person right now. She squeezed next to him, giving him an apologetic smile.

  His arm, corded with muscle, felt hard against hers and his scent, a mixture of a light cologne and him, male, musky and intensely exciting, seeped through her system, past any stupid barriers she might have considered putting up. Right into her heart.

  Dumping the glasses on the bar, Allie tried to catch the eye of one of the bar staff who was frantically keeping pace with the orders yelled at them. She dared another look at him. He was watching her, pale eyes amused, a slight smile tilting the corners of his mouth. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s a bit crowded, isn’t it?”

  “I’ve known worse.”

  The British accent, lazily drawled, flowed through her. She’d heard it before, of course, when she searched for interviews
on the music video channel, but up close it had a burr that drew her right in. He surveyed her, eyes alert, watching for something. She took a guess that he was waiting to see whether she recognized him and knew he wouldn’t like it if she did. “You’re not here for the convention, are you?”

  “What makes you think that?” His gaze turned from mild interest to full attention and she blinked, temporarily blocking out the intensity that shot through her with the force of an electric shock. A flash of fire streaked through her, heating her to readiness in an instant. This was no schoolgirl crush. It was full-on lust.

  Suppressing a gasp of shock, she fought for control and a suitable reply. What had he said? Oh yes. “You’re not dressed up or shouting about Star Trek’s third series and why it’s better than the fourth. Or vice versa.”

  He glanced around then back at her, still smiling. “No I’m not. But I am here for the convention.” He swung around on his stool so he had his back to the crowd. It gave her the illusion of intimacy, as if he wanted to talk to her alone. Maybe he was good at doing that, but he didn’t have to be. Women flocked to him anyway.

  “You like fantasy stories?”

  His smile widened and a tidal wave surged inside her, playing havoc with her senses. He seemed oblivious to all this and merely answered her. “I do. I’ve enjoyed it for years. I’ve even written one.”

  Her eyes widened. “You’re here to find a publisher?”

  He shook his head. “I have one. I’m here to promote it.”

  Oh. My. God. Donovan Harvey had a book out? How cool was that?

  Questions raced through her head. What would happen when word spread? Why didn’t he want to advertise his presence? He could have the full Monty—promotion, the VIP table, workshops, appearances, anything, but she’d heard nothing of any of that. He sat here on his own, not surrounded by an entourage, as most of the stars at the cons tended to have. Not to mention rock stars.

  “What’s the name of your book?”

  “Struck By Stardust.”

  “That’s a great title. Who’s publishing it?”

  “Edsel Press.”

  Small but respectable. She couldn’t help wondering why he hadn’t gone with the bigger presses. They’d snap him up and then, if the book wasn’t right, they’d get it ghosted because of who he was. Eminently bankable right now. “What’s your name?”

  “Donovan.”

  “I’m Allie.”

  “Hi, Allie.”

  She gave a silly grin. “Hi, Donovan.”

  “You’re British,” he said.

  “Shouldn’t I be saying that?” She smiled again, nervous but hanging in there. “Actually I’m not. I guess I picked it up from you. I’m an army brat, went to school in England and sometimes it comes out.” Stop babbling, you idiot.

  “I see. Nice to meet you, Allie.”

  A thought occurred to her. Maybe he didn’t want a ghost and the star package. Maybe that explained why he sat here alone. “Is this your first fantasy convention?”

  He smiled and that wave inside her, which had quieted to a manageable ripple, welled up again. She had the hots for him, wanted this man. She forced herself not to fidget. “So you’re launching it here?”

  “This is part of the launch, yes. Actually, it came out last month, and it’s doing a lot better than expected.”

  Well, duh. So if this book was on the shelves, how come the fans hadn’t come running? “Are you writing any more?”

  A wary look came into his eyes. “If this one takes off, maybe. They’re illustrated novels, and I draw the pictures as well.”

  “Oh wow. That’s really hot right now. Comic books and illustrations I mean.” She looked away, embarrassed. Where was her cool?

  Over the hubbub of the crowd, she distinctly heard him say, “I think you’re really hot too. How about I take you for dinner?”

  That broke into her mood and she burst out laughing. “At 11:00 p.m.? Isn’t it a bit late for dinner?” Probably not for rock stars. “I ate hours ago.”

  He grinned. “Sorry. My internal clock is out of sync, I guess. And it was a way of getting you out of this chaos.” He leaned closer and her senses swam. Her adulation for his band and music melted away. All she wanted now was him, this gorgeous man. She resisted the urge to squirm, to ease the wetness gathering between her thighs. Forced a semblance of civilization. “I’ve done everything I need for tonight, but I’d like to talk to you somewhere we don’t have to shout.” That was true enough. She should tell him she knew who he was, but what the fuck? He’d leave and then she’d only see him at a distance. Much as questions about the band and the music crowded her mind, she wanted to talk to him about anything. Wanted to breathe in his essence, watch him smile, listen to that lyrical voice.

  More people arrived and swelled the already crowded bar. They’d probably come from a pre-convention meeting, since they all arrived at once and wore buttons and badges, if not full costumes. Someone jolted Donovan and he lost his balance, putting out his hands and grabbing her before steadying himself against the bar. Ignoring the muttered, “Sorry, man,” from the culprit, he snatched a kiss in a gesture so fast she’d have missed it if he hadn’t left her lips tingling from the impact.

  So a hot man kissed her. So what?

  Telling herself that didn’t work. The hot man was Donovan Harvey, he of the British swagger and amazing guitar skills. What he could do with those fingers! She didn’t dare imagine, but heat pushed deep inside her and she wanted more.

  In any case, he didn’t give her time. Grabbing her hand, he tugged her away from the bar and in the direction of the door. Nearly there, she planted her feet on the floor. Starstruck, yes. Pushover, no. Well, not completely. “Where are we going?”

  “Somewhere we can talk. There’s a smaller bar on the fifth floor. We can probably get served there.”

  She couldn’t remember seeing a bar, but she’d take his word for it. He held her hand until the elevator arrived, seemingly not noticing that he still retained it. Warmth suffused her, and a sense of helplessness she didn’t feel very often, something she could learn to savor in the right quantity and situation. This situation.

  He was right and wrong. There was a bar on the fifth floor, but it was closed, the lights out, nobody home. He gave her a wry smile. “Sorry. I suppose that’s why the one downstairs is so full.”

  “I love your accent,” she said before she thought out what she was saying. It just came out. “Real English. Mine is a kind of hybrid.”

  He drew closer. “You do? What could I persuade you to do if I carry on talking?” He tugged on her hand and she went, letting their bodies touch, just barely. “Another kiss?”

  She feigned surprise. “What, you kissed me?”

  He laughed, a long, low rolling chuckle. “Maybe I should make sure you recognize this one.” Dragging her against his chest, he banded one arm around her and bent his head.

  He took her mouth with an instant thoroughness, as if he knew what she liked and how she liked it. Shocking, to realize that nobody had kissed her properly in her life before. Because nothing compared to Donovan Harvey’s kiss. She opened her mouth and immediately he took possession, sweeping in to stroke her lips, her teeth, the roof of her mouth and then her tongue, caressing it with the same gentleness as he was rubbing her back with the palm of one hand, fingers outspread, making her feel fragile and cared for.

  Did he do this with everyone? Every groupie at every gig, every fangirl who wanted his signature?

  She decided she couldn’t care less. Not right now, because he had her in his arms, and he was giving her the kiss of a lifetime. She snuggled closer, rubbing her breasts against his chest. He groaned into her mouth, then deepened the kiss for a fraction of a second before drawing away, leaving her wanting more.

  Jesus, she couldn’t deny it. The thought of a quick against-the-wall fuck with a rock star turned her on. It always had. When she masturbated, it was to that fantasy. So now she had her chance to do it
with a real-life rock star. The erection pressing against her told her he was ready, and fuck, was she ever ready. Who would know? Nobody else.

  Allie tried to pull herself together, but she’d never felt more like melting. “Are you always this fast?”

  He stroked a strand of hair off her forehead in a tender gesture that took her by surprise. After the passion of a moment before, she thought they’d bypassed tender. She’d settle for raunchy from this guy any day of the week. “No,” he said. “But you looked so lost at the bar, and then you stared at me as if you knew me. I wanted to know you better. Do you know me?” His gaze turned intent and she knew why.

  “I do now,” she replied, avoiding telling him the truth, or all of it at any rate. Her fantasy involved her being nameless and him being—him, but if she told him, he’d back off. Murder City Ravens wasn’t a fuck-’em-all rock band, they were sensitive, created angsty, aching music as well as the cocks-out kind.

  He smiled down at her. He must have been a foot taller than she was. That might create problems in the shower. Wait—who said they’d get anywhere near a shower?

  Just who did she think she was kidding? Instant, one-night stand, pushover, she didn’t give a fuck. She’d be all of those if she could have this man tonight. Get that fantasy nailed, so to speak. Although she’d be the one getting nailed.

  Before her stood the chance of a lifetime. Her job here didn’t start until tomorrow and Nancy had promised not to tell anyone if her roomie didn’t appear until the morning. Would Allie respect herself in the morning?

  Hell, yeah.

  “It’s up to you, Allie,” he said. “If you want to take this further, come up to my room. God knows I want it.” He moved gently against her, enough to make her aware of the hard length of his erection pressing against her belly. “You are gorgeous and sexy and very kissable.” To prove it, he kissed her again, long, slow and luscious, as if they had all the time in the world instead of just one night. “Come upstairs,” he murmured against her lips. “I won’t force you to do anything and I do want to talk to you, get to know you. But that’s not all I want to do.”