Dangerous Hearts: Rock Star Romance, 1 (Lyric & Wolf)

by Mia McAdams

  The softness that caresses her features tells me she understands. “You can. You’re just afraid. Please just don’t tell anyone it was me. It’s yours. No money. Just take it. I’ll sign it over to you. Okay?”

  “Okay.” But I don’t back down, and I don’t remove my eyes from her although she’s already looked away. I notice the way her long lashes flutter to the top of her cheeks. The way her small body is still shaking from the adrenaline rush of barging in here. The way she still stands straight, shoulders back, like a fighter. Lyric is a fighter, but she’s also vulnerable, and I’ve glimpsed into a part of her that makes me vulnerable, too. Her words. Her truth. I’m so totally fucked.

  “I should claim my bunk.” She looks up, begging me to let her go, so I open the door, although it’s the last thing I want to do.

  “Good night, Lyric.”

  She pauses and looks as though she’s going to turn around. If she does, I might pull her back into my room, and this time I won’t let her leave.

  It’s better if she leaves.

  She’s still facing away when she says, “Good night, Wolf.”

  Lyric

  I’m awakened at the sound of my whispered name and a gentle gust of air scraping my cheek. A groan escapes. It’s all I can muster. My body is heavy, my lids heavier. I’m not sure I could move if I tried.

  “Lyric.”

  There it is again. I squint before opening my eyes, knowing whoever is waking me will appear blurry and asshole-ish. “You’re on the couch and the guys are waking up. Come on, I’ll take you to your bunk.”

  Ugh. That’s right. My bunk. I open my eyes a bit wider to see a shirtless Wolf standing in front of me—the thief who stole a tiny part of my soul last night without even realizing it. To add insult to injury, there were no bottom bunks left by the time we were done arguing, so the couch was my only option.

  “I can’t sleep on the top bunk,” I moan.

  “What? Why not?”

  I groan again and try to sit up, but my head immediately starts spinning. From the furious rage I spun into last night or for the few too many beers. I don’t know. “I just can’t,” I say as I fall back onto the hard couch. My damn bones are going to hate me when I wake up for real.

  “Come on, you can have my bed.”

  I’m too groggy and sore to move or speak again, so when Wolf takes me in his arms, I don’t resist. In seconds, I’m poured onto soft, plush, fabric, and a blanket covers me. Curling into the mattress and letting it form to my body seems to be so natural. Before I can think about where Wolf has placed me, I’m headed back to dreamland.

  Too much silence. I’ve woken up on tour buses many times, and it’s never been this quiet. My body is accustomed to the noise, and I can sleep through it like a baby. So why so much silence? There’s a bright light through the thin skin of my eyelids, and I can tell it’s well past morning. I also feel better rested than I have in a long time. And why the hell am I comfortable? Tour bus bunks are the furthest thing from luxury.

  Nothing is adding up until I open my eyes and gasp. I throw the comforter from my body and sit up with a lurch. I’m in a bedroom on a moving bus. A bedroom?

  “Morning, sunshine.”

  I gasp and turn toward the deep voice on the other side of the room. Wolf is sitting in a chair in the corner, his eyes glued to the television. He's watching a movie, but it’s on silent. He reaches for the remote and presses a button, turning on the sound.

  “Why am I in your bed?”

  “You passed out on the couch and didn’t look very comfortable. I tried to move you to a bunk, but you moaned about not liking it on top. Surprising. I took you for a girl who likes control of all things.”

  He’s wearing a smirk, and I’d love to slap it off his face, but my body is screaming at me. I need to stretch, or run, but there’s no room to do either. And I need to get out of Wolf’s lair before he mistakes me for one of his groupies.

  “I can’t sleep on the top bunk—fear of heights thing. Ever since I was little, I’ve had horrible nightmares anytime I sleep high up. It’s awful. I wake up constantly thinking I’m going to roll off. I’m sure the boys would appreciate the lack of screaming in the middle of the night.”

  Wolf nods, keeping his eyes on the television.

  “What are you watching?”

  “Boondock Saints. Ever seen it?”

  Shaking my head, I make another move to stand. “No.”

  “Stay,” Wolf says, surprising me. “It just started; it’s actually a crime to have never watched this movie, so I’d like to help you out. Since I owe you for your song.”

  For a second I consider his offer, but then I remember why I’m on this bus. “I have work to do, phone calls to make, showers to take.”

  He looks at me like I’m lying. “There’s nothing you’re doing that can’t wait two hours. Stay, Lyric.”

  His eyes dig into mine, and I’m frozen. Since when did my brick walls begin deteriorating for Wolf? We’ve known each other for what, two weeks? I’d like to think of myself as one of those girls who learns from her mistakes. Wolf would absolutely be a repeat of something I do not want to experience again.

  My decision to stay or leave is taking too long. All the while, I’m staring back at the guy who took my song and sang it to a crowd of thousands after asking them to make it go viral. Which reminds me . . .

  “Speaking of owing me. Have you checked social media today?”

  Wolf grins and tosses me his phone. “1.5 million hits on YouTube and counting. Looks like we’ll have to figure out a way to break the news to the fans that we’ve found our writer but she wants to remain anonymous.”

  “Have you told anyone?”

  “Not a soul.”

  Relief gushes through me as I tap the home screen, find the YouTube page open, and watch the video. All I could see was red last night as the song played and my lyrics filled the stadium. I’m still perplexed by how it all transpired, but even I have to admit the song is good—what Wolf did with it, at least.

  “What’s the deal, anyway? Why don’t you want any credit for the song?” His eyes are watching me. I can feel them probing for a reaction. So I give him nothing. Instead, I toss his phone on the bed, walk to the door, and turn around to face him.

  “Can you pause the movie? I’d really like to shower and change before I crawl back into your crusty bed.”

  His eyes crinkle when he laughs. “You’re insulting me. I love it. After offering you millions and then rescuing you from the couch and letting you drool in my bed. You’re still insulting me. That’s fine, Lyric. At least you’re not screaming at me anymore.”

  I smirk and turn toward the door. “Day’s not over.”

  The moment the movie credits begin to roll, I turn to Wolf, ready to unleash my fandemonium and tell him he was right. But that doesn’t happen because he’s asleep in his chair, head leaned back against the wall, mouth hanging open. I laugh and tiptoe over until I’m directly over his ear. “Boo.”

  His eyes fly open, and I gasp when he grips my waist.

  “Shit,” he says when he realizes it’s me.

  My stomach is heaving with laughter. “I’m sorry, you looked uncomfortable. I’m going to get some work done now. You can have your bed back.”

  His hands are still on my waist and his grip tightens as if he’s about to tell me something. “Okay,” he says instead, dropping his hands.

  “Thanks for the movie.”

  After grabbing my laptop, I pass the bunk beds and land in the main living area of the bus. The guys take up most of the couch spaces, their eyes all in different directions. Crawley is in the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee and spiking it with something from a metal flask. I chuckle and slip past him to set up my computer in the only available space left.

  I’m in the groove, plugging away on emails, making phone calls to the venue to confirm load times, and ensuring shipments have arrived. Other than the music, this is what I live for. Creative
organization. Managing chaos. I love every bit of it. I call the union teams to relay the confirmations and then call around to find dining options for the bands in the next few cities where we’re stopping. We’re on a three-day trip to North Carolina, so we’ll be stopping at two hotels to give the bus driver, Rory, a break and to let the guys stretch their legs for the night.

  It’s late afternoon by the time Rory pulls into our hotel. This is one of those times in my professional career when I worry. I worry that the band will have a fit when they see that there is no glamour in tight-timeline traveling. That’s what they’ve asked for. Since they all decided to ride the bus from San Diego to North Carolina, our stops are only as we need them. Which means less than five-star accommodations are made, if need be.

  No one says anything as we gather outside the bus and stretch. The guys are too busy on their phones to notice much, anyway. Wolf collects his room keycard from me, but doesn’t take off right away. To my irritation, he follows me to my room and then smirks when I turn to face him at my door.

  “Can I help you?”

  His smirk turns into a frown. “So cold. I thought we were on the fast track to friendship after our movie date.”

  I purse my lips, begging my face to behave. “Your definition of friendship and mine are contained in two different dictionaries. And you don’t date, remember?”

  “Have dinner with me.”

  “You’re serious?”

  He nods, eyes gazing intently into mine. He’s serious. “We’ve got three months together, Lyric. We might as well attempt to have a pleasant working relationship.”

  “Or what? You’ll fire me?”

  He raises an eyebrow. “You heard about that, huh? That jerk deserved to get fired. He double-booked us twice and left zero time for Rory to rest. He was an idiot.”

  Okay, that’s pretty bad, even I have to admit. “I might screw up, too.”

  Wolf narrows his eyes. “Do you want to get fired? Look, Lyric. Believe it or not, I do have a say on who travels with me. I knew who you were, and I approved you to ride along. It had nothing to do with your looks, or your parents, or your insane songwriting ability. Obviously, I didn’t know about the latter. Not to say I didn’t have my doubts—with you being a female and all. Your reputation in the industry is stellar, and I only work with the best. Shit, just the fact that you talked our openers back onto the tour without giving into their demands is enough to secure your job. But it’s a mutual agreement. You can stay or leave anytime.”

  “Really?” I didn’t think that was the case with my contract at all. In fact, I remember reading pretty hefty rules regarding breach of contract. I’m Wolf’s until he decides to kick me off his team. And we still have nine months to go.

  “Really,” he says.

  I ignore the fact that I think he’s lying. It doesn’t matter. “I’m not going anywhere.” My answer comes out so fast that I’m not sure exactly what I mean by it. Wolf admitted he approved me to be on this tour. I guess that means something to me.

  “Good. Get ready for dinner. I’ll swing by to get you at seven.”

  Wolf

  There are sexy women and pretty women . . . and then there are drop-dead gorgeous, beautiful women. Lyric Cassidy is all of the above. She’s wearing the most unforgiving tight jeans and T-shirt ensemble. Her hair is thrown up in a ridiculous messy bun, and her face looks as though it’s just been washed. No makeup. What a revelation. She’s not even trying, which makes her even sexier. I’m sure it’s some ploy to distract me from her fucktastic body. Joke’s on her.

  “Where to?” she asks, shutting the door and facing me. Before I get a turn to speak, she gasps. “Shit. I didn’t get us a car.”

  “You’re fired.”

  I feel like a dick when her face blanches and her mouth falls open.

  Chuckling, I offer my elbow. “I took care of everything. You’re off duty tonight.”

  She glares before taking my elbow. “I’m never off duty. Besides, this isn’t a date.”

  My chuckle rolls into a laugh. “There’s that word again. We should get something straight right now. You don’t have to worry. I sing. I fuck. I eat. I don’t fall in love, Lyric. I don’t date. I don’t play games either. You can always count on me to be straight with you. Some women find it refreshing, others hate it. You strike me as the type who might find me refreshing.” I wink at her.

  “A bad boy who is honest and doesn’t fall in love. Interesting combination.”

  “Thanks to my amazing mother and dirtbag father, I’m a hybrid.”

  We're silent the rest of the walk to the car, which is waiting for us at the curb. I’m distracted by Rex’s figure slipping into the passenger seat. I turn back to Lyric and can tell she’s thinking, probably about what I confessed of my parents. It’s not exactly a confession, but it’s telling enough, I know that. I’ve never hidden the fact that my father wasn't around when I was growing up, but I usually leave my mother out of things. It’s not her fault my father disappeared on us, although she lived her life silently heartbroken. Mothers can’t hide much from their offspring. As hard as they try to be perfect role models, they slip, and those are the moments children latch onto and spend the rest of their lives trying to comprehend.

  We slide into the back, and I tell the driver where to go. It’s then that I face Lyric and smile to bust through the tension. “It’s nice to go to dinner with someone other than dudes for once.”

  She’s smirking, and I know whatever she’s about to say will make me regret my last sentence. “Maybe you should rethink your no-dating rule. You’d get out more and you know—get to know someone, preferably before they sneak on to your tour bus and go down on you.”

  I almost choke on my own air as I breathe. “I have nothing against taking a girl out to dinner, but then it might give the impression that I want more than just food and sex. That’s never the case.”

  “You’re having dinner with me.”

  “You’re safe.”

  She looks stung but recovers quickly. “Never? There's never been a girl you thought maybe, just maybe, could turn you from One-Night-Stand Man to Monogamy Man? I find that hard to believe.”

  “Monogamy Man sounds like a disease. No wonder I’m not suited.” She doesn’t laugh at my awful attempt at humor, so I shrug. “You don’t have to believe it, but it’s true.”

  “You use women.”

  “Women use me.”

  She scoffs. Her mouth is hanging open in surprise, maybe a little disgust. “Most of the girls you sleep with are probably hoping for something more, but they’re content with what they’re getting at the time. I’ve never understood how one-night stands can end well, ever. One person has got to be into it more than the other.”

  Okay, now she’s hooked me. I give her my bewildered stare. “You’ve never had a one-night stand?”

  She shakes her head as if I’m the crazy one. “Absolutely not. Someone is bound to get hurt.”

  “Not from one night. That’s the point. It’s a one-time event, a release of pent up energy. It has nothing to do with feelings. Feelings stay out of it, and it’s just a good time.” The more we talk about sex, the more I want to prove to her how great a one-nighter can be.

  We pull up to the curb in front of the restaurant before I can shove my foot in my mouth. I help Lyric out of the car. She looks up in surprise at my chivalry and then smiles. I’m not an asshole. I want to tell her this, but we’re escorted into the restaurant and to our private table in the back of the room faster than I can speak.

  “Is it this bad?” she asks, staring around us in bewilderment.

  I cock my head as I pick up the drink menu. “Is what this bad?”

  “You. Getting recognized. Having to request special accommodations everywhere you go.”

  I shrug. “If I want privacy, it’s necessary.”

  She lets out a rush of air, and I think I’ve finally succeeded in impressing her. At least for a moment. “You really are a r
ock star, aren’t you?” She smirks into her menu. It’s infectious. I smile, too.

  A moment later, we’re ordering a bottle of wine and appetizers and talking about the tour. Somehow we got onto the subject of the crew. There are more than two dozen people on our tour, and she knows every single one of their names and job descriptions. I don’t think she studies this shit. I get the distinct feeling that she simply has a superb ability to listen and retain information.

  After ordering our food, there’s a pause, so I jump in with a question I’ve been wondering since we left San Diego. “You still writing lyrics, Lyric?”

  “Don’t do that.” She cringes. “Follow my name with its meaning. It devalues me.”

  “How so?”

  “Your name is Wolf. Does that mean you love wolves? It’s an expectation that wouldn’t exist if we were named something else. It just so happens I love music and write songs. My name has nothing to do with that. However, since my name is Lyric, it’s implied that I should love music, I should write lyrics.”

  “Names can tell a lot about a person. I’ll have you know, wolves have a sharp intelligence and strong instincts.”

  She smirks. “Wolves also symbolize fear of being threatened and lack of trust.” She cocks her head. “Maybe you’re right. Names do tell us a lot about a person.”

  Interesting. So, she’s been looking up the meaning of my name. I’m certain she didn’t come up with that on the spot. My eyes wander across her face, down the base of her throat, and to the rise and fall of her chest before returning to her lips. Those are kissable lips. I shake my head, biting back another laugh as I clear my thoughts. “I see you’ve put a lot of thought into this. How about you just answer the question?”

  “I am always writing lyrics.” She says it quietly, confessing. “Since I was a little girl. I never kept a journal. I wrote poetry and lyrics.”

  “Do you have any musical talents besides writing?”