I started feeling excited—almost giddy—at the thought of the Siren. I’d be tapping that soon. It’d been a while since I last got laid. And I was eager to break the dry spell.
Examining myself in the mirror, I heard footsteps then the door closing.
I pivoted on the balls of my feet, enthusiastic. "So glad you got rid of those—" I saw the Siren enter with each of the twins at his side. His hands were at the small of their backs, guiding them inside. My neck jerked. "Uh, what’s going on?"
He smiled at me. "Line up. I want a good look at each of you."
"Huh?" Confusion swept over me. Did I miss something?
"You heard him," Tiffany chimed as she lined up on my left, while Amanda stood to my right, leaving me sandwiched between them.
The rock god stood in front of us, assessing. I could feel his gaze gliding over my profile. He casually shifted his attention between me and Tiffany, then me and Amanda. A nauseous feeling swirled in my belly. Was he seriously comparing us? No way . . . He chose me from the crowd to meet him backstage while these girls were just groupies . . .
A nervous sweat began to break out on my skin. A million thoughts and concerns raced through my mind. Equally anxious and offended, I found myself becoming self-conscious. How could I possibly stack up to the Barbie twins? They’d probably had enough work done to buy some plastic surgeon a summer house in the Hamptons. All I had was a torn-up dress and some scented body wash.
"Relax," the rock god purred darkly to me. "You’re squirming." His voice flowed over me, filling me with a restless energy that only stoked my irritation.
When I saw the knowing smile on his face, an awful thought hit me. I wasn’t the only one he chose. The twins had probably been told to come "backstage in twenty minutes" just like I had, so he could have the privilege of comparing us and choosing the best.
I’d been played.
My face burned. A wave of disgust and embarrassment washed over me for being made an unwitting participant in this perverse beauty contest. I was way too old to fall for this shit, but I’d wanted so badly to believe I was special. I’d called myself a "self-respecting girl deciding to hook up," but from where I was standing right now, the "self-respecting" part seemed like a lie.
Gah! I always fall for jerks. I needed to return to Jen and apologize for lying to her and bolting. If I walked away now, I could at least salvage what was left of my dignity.
I threw my hands up. "Alright, fuck this. I’m leav—"
"You." He pointed at Tiffany. "And you," he said, pointing at Amanda. "Leave." He gestured to the door. He turned his gaze to me and pointed a daunting finger in my direction. "You. Stay."
I halted mid-step, speechless.
"Wait, we’ll do anything you want!" Tiffany and Amanda both pleaded in unison. "Both of us. Use us. We’ll let you stick it anywhere! Please!"
"You’re not what I want." He was speaking to the twins but his eyes never left mine.
"But, I only had one strike!" Tiffany pleaded.
"And you’re out. Leave." His authoritative tone left no further room for argument.
As Tiffany and Amanda left the green room and turned the corner, I could hear Amanda yelling at her twin for ruining their chances at getting laid by the hottest man in the history of rock 'n' roll. The door closed.
With their departure, that just left me. And him. Alone.
Chapter Three
HOT-HEADED
We stared at each other for a moment.
"You’re an ass and your music sucks," I shot at him before turning to leave.
"Wait a second." He caught me by the arm, his hold gentle but firm. "I know you’re upset. But listen, I was just messing with you," he said with a smile.
The skin to skin contact sent electricity up my arm and scorched a few of my brain cells. Shaking my head, I pulled away from his grip. "Messing with me?" I asked. I folded my arms across my chest and stepped back to put some distance between us. "So, do you do this after every show? Ask multiple girls to come backstage, line them up, and check out their tits and asses to see which one you’d want to take into the green room and bang? I guess you either fuck them or you just fuck with them instead."
He smiled nonchalantly. "I only asked you to come backstage. I didn’t ask those other girls. They showed up on their own." Turning to pick up a towel hanging over a nearby chair, he began drying his hair with it. "But yes, I was fucking with you. I thought it’d be fun to see your reaction. And it was."
Ugh, the nerve of this guy. Even though I was pissed off, I didn’t really suspect he was lying; in fact, it made a lot of sense. The tightness in my forehead relaxed slightly. I wasn’t as angry as I was before, but still, it was a pretty dick thing to do for a joke. "Are you serious? Why would you do that?"
He finished drying his hair and gracefully draped the towel across the back of his neck. He looked irritatingly self-assured and lethally sexy. "You caught my attention when I saw you fighting your way to the front during the show. You’re bold," he said, grinning, "and I like that. I wanted to push your buttons."
It was a compliment and an admission of assholery all rolled into one.
I smiled wryly, secretly pleased by the compliment. "Well, congrats, you succeeded. You do know that still makes you a jerk, right? Doesn’t matter how hot you are."
His mouth twitched, and his eyes strayed briefly toward the ceiling in thought. "If that’s how you feel about it, how about I make us even."
I was still mildly pissed. Even though I now knew he’d been playing a joke on me, I hadn’t changed my mind about leaving and calling it a night—the damage had been done. "And how do you plan on doing that?"
He took a step forward, entering my personal space. I touched my pendant instinctively. "Just so you know, this necklace is full of pepper spray. So don’t try anything funny." I intended it to be less of a threat and more of a warning against doing something else douchey.
He raised a brow. "Oh?" He reached for my star-shaped pendant and fingered it curiously, touching my fingers gently as he did so.
His hands were soft, but the pads of his fingers were rough with calluses, probably from playing guitar. Embarrassed by the thrill of pleasure I felt from his touch, I let go of the pendant. "Yeah."
Smiling, he moved his attention from my necklace to my face. He gently brushed a strand of my strawberry-blonde hair away from my cheek with his finger. I shifted on my feet but didn’t pull away; I didn’t want him to see his effect on me. "You know," he said, "with the necklace, the hair, and the attitude . . . you’re quite the package, Pepper."
A thrill shot through my core and I raised my brows. A glint from the overhead lights reflecting off something hit my eye. I looked down at his spiky belt. It was unclasped and hanging loosely around his waist; he probably put it on in a hurry after getting out of the shower. My hands clenched against the urge to run my fingers over the shiny silver studs. If I was going to be "Pepper," then "Stud" fit him well.
"So what I’m suggesting," Stud continued, "is an eye for an eye. Since I ogled you, I’ll let you ogle me."
I narrowed my brows. "That’s not an eye for an eye—I’m not having you line up next to other guys with bigger muscles and longer cocks."
His mouth curved in displeasure. "Look around. There’s no one else here, so we can’t do that. You’re just gonna have to settle for something else."
"Well I’m not settling for what you’re offering. If you’re gonna offer something, it had better be higher stakes."
"Higher stakes? Let me think about it . . ." He looked toward the ceiling, once again lost in thought.
I took the opportunity to stare at the sculpted pecs in front of me. They were at eye level, and I couldn’t avoid looking at them—even if I’d wanted to, which I didn’t. Although I was ogling him, it was hardly the same situation as the one he’d put me in. So I felt no shame.
He had sexy nipples, and the silver rings that hung from them only added to the effect. My g
aze slowly trailed down his bare torso to the chiseled contours of his abs.
Gawd. Dayum.
They were so well-defined that I could’ve sworn they were airbrushed. I imagined that if the rock star thing didn’t work out, he could always make a living as a human cheese grater in a pizza kitchen.
I got to his navel—an innie—and from there began a trail of fine dark hairs that led down the center of his pelvis, disappearing into the top of his low-rise pants. Hard lines on the edges of his hips angled downward in the shape of a "V". It seemed like everything was pointing toward his crotch—which was impressive, from what I could tell. The tightness of his leather pants left little to the imagination. Even if he did line up next to other guys, I wasn’t sure there were any guys with bigger muscles and longer cocks.
An unwelcome desire grew in my core the longer I looked at his body. I gulped. Maybe I should forgive him. Stud’s ego was huge, but his cock might almost be just as big . . .
As I thought about his cock, his hands drifted to his fly. He easily unclasped the top button, and yanked down the zipper.
I caught a glimpse of bare skin and my mouth dropped. He wasn’t wearing any underwear. "W—What are you doing?!"
He smiled. "Making us even. You wanted higher stakes. Here it is." He ripped back the leather flaps, exposing himself. I cupped my hand over my mouth, shocked. The treasure trail I’d followed earlier continued down his pelvis, fading into a patch of neatly-groomed pubic hair set above a massive cock that hung halfway down his thigh.
OMG.
Cheeks burning, I picked my jaw up off the floor and collected myself. "This is the opposite of making us even. You humiliated and embarrassed me with those trashy groupies. But this isn’t embarrassing you. It’s more like you flashing me!"
Stud raised his scarred brow. "Embarrassed or not, I’m naked. You weren’t. We should be more than even. In fact, I think you owe me now."
I couldn’t help a laugh from escaping. "Owe you? Owe you what? A slap in the face?"
"We can start with a kiss."
A puff of air escaped my lips. His persistence blew my mind. But a part of me found it admirable. Charming, even. And if he hadn’t acted like a douche and then made it worse with his misguided attempt to make up for it, I would’ve been all over him in a heartbeat. He shot me an arrogant grin, and I realized his stubbornness rivaled my own. Debating him would be fruitless. Still, I couldn’t leave with him having the last word—not after all of this.
Taking a deep breath, I decided to get even on my own terms.
"Okay, a kiss," I said.
Stud’s eyes widened. He looked at me doubtfully for a moment. I gave him my sweetest smile, and he seemed to buy it. "Good," he said. "Glad we could get this resolved."
I could tell he was still skeptical about my quick change of heart, so I trailed the tip of my finger down his chest seductively. The excitement I felt from touching him made me wonder if I wasn’t seducing myself at the same time. "Me too," I purred.
He grinned slyly and cupped my cheek. "You’re dangerous," he said with a low, intimate voice. Traces of a vibrating rasp hinted at his velvety vocal timbre. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t witnessed it earlier in the night, but I knew that with his voice alone he could make a woman come.
I licked my lips to wet them. He tilted his head, his lips hovering perilously close to mine. My pulse beat erratically. "So are you," I breathed, just before our eager mouths collided.
Electric pleasure coursed through me. The kiss deepened, our tongues darting out to softly clash against one another.
His hand fisted my hair and he pulled me deeper into the kiss. I gripped his ass and squeezed firmly. With my other hand, I reached my down to touch his flushed skin. He groaned into my mouth, and my moan echoed his in response. Using feather-light touches, I stroked him until he stiffened, his full erection hot and needy against my palm. A sizzling ache heated the area between my thighs. My toes curled against the Persian carpet as I struggled to resist the urge to grind myself against him. I wanted him. Badly.
Summoning every ounce of willpower I had, I pulled away, breaking the kiss.
"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice dripping with frustration and desire.
"What does it look like?" I took a step back and smiled at him. "I’m giving you blue balls. Now we’re even."
With that, I stepped toward the door and left the rock god alone with his boner.
Chapter Four
HUNGOVER
BZZ! BZZ! BZZ!
An incessant beeping woke me up the next morning. I kept my eyes closed, trying to silence the noise through mind power alone.
It didn’t take me long to realize that I didn’t have superpowers. I pulled the pillow tighter against my head, but since I was completely hungover, concentrating only made the pounding in my skull worse. The annoying ring tone meant one thing and one thing only: a message from work.
Argh, it’s probably Palmer finally giving me the details of my assignment.
After giving the rocker blue balls in his green room, I’d filled in Jen on both my encounter with Stud and this mystery work assignment. Apparently, Hans-Peterson needed me to travel for an urgent, last-minute assignment but they couldn’t give me any details by the time I left the office on Friday.
So now I get to spend my Sunday morning dealing with work. Fantastic.
Groaning, I rolled over and grabbed my phone off my nightstand. The email was clearly from Palmer because the subject line was written in all caps. I opened it and quickly skimmed it.
When I finished, my heart was beating fast.
This wasn’t just any assignment. I wasn’t going on special assignment to Chicago or Seattle. I was going on the road as a tour accountant . . . with a band.
Memories from the night before came flooding back, in brief, bright flashes. My thoughts immediately jumped to the taut muscles of the sultry rock god. Jesus Christ, Riley, get ahold of yourself. Hans-Peterson only worked with high-profile clients that could afford our rates, not small-time bands that played in hole-in-the-wall bars on a Saturday night. Besides, the email referred to the band as "HC" and Stud’s band was called "The Cocks." All the wishful thinking in the world wasn’t going to make that bolt of lightning strike twice.
I went back to reviewing Palmer’s memo. It looked like one of my biggest tasks was going to be managing and curbing expenses. Checking out the dozens of attachments, I saw that each one was a zipped file full of numbers, spreadsheets, contracts, and tax forms.
Even though I’d been inundated with information, I couldn’t find anything that explained what the hell HC actually stood for. I did a quick Google search, but the only results that came up were those for hemorrhoid creams. Whatever, I’ll find out tomorrow.
As I scrolled through one of the spreadsheets, a call came in. I smiled when I saw the name: Kristen, my ex-roommate, was just about the only person I could tolerate when my head was spinning.
"H-Hello?" I answered, trying my best to sound normal—which was tough, considering my mouth was as dry as a cotton ball. I took a big gulp of water from the glass I’d left out the night before and it was like finding an oasis in the desert.
"Hello, yourself, sleepyhead," Kristen said, sunny as ever and sounding like she’d been up for a few hours already. "Do you want to call me back when you’re a little less of a zombie?"
I cleared my throat. "No, no, it’s fine. I’m good." We’d both been busy the past few weeks, so in spite of my throbbing headache, I was eager to catch up with her. "What’s up? How’s Vincent?"
"Pretty busy as usual, but he’s starting to slow down, delegate more responsibilities to his VPs. He’s really trying hard to make things work for us, and I’m really grateful for that."
Her hubby was a busy man. It had actually been a sticking point earlier in their relationship. "And how’s the baby?"
"It’s getting pretty real, Rye," she said. "I can already feel her kicking . . . which is actu
ally why I was calling. I wanted to go over some ideas I had about the baby shower."
It was still over a month away and she had a professional planner taking care of all the details, but as one of her best friends, I had a major role as a sounding board.
She went through a laundry list of minutiae that required my personal opinion. Even with my hangover, I did my best to offer up what few ideas I could muster. I was so happy for her and Vincent; I just knew they were going to be amazing parents.
After settling on some choices, she asked, "So what else is new with you? Wait, do you have a guy there?" Her voice crackled with curiosity. "I’ll let you go if you do. Tell me first, though, just say yes or no."
"Nope, no guy. Just me and the pillows." I yawned, throwing off the covers and looking at the other side of the bed, which was empty except for a small, pink cylindrical object.
Just me and the pillows and . . . my vibrator!
I faintly remembered leaving the bar with Jen and then coming home and being so ridiculously turned on after my encounter with Stud that I couldn’t fall asleep. I shook my head, disappointed in myself—I must’ve eventually dozed off, drunk on alcohol and high on battery-operated orgasms. My plan to give him blue balls had ended up being a double-edged sword, but I was still the victor. After all, he knew nothing about what I’d done between the sheets.
"Oh? No crazy night then?" Kristen asked, sounding slightly disappointed. "Don’t tell me you’re starting to settle for quiet nights in."
Pulling myself out of bed and rubbing my temples, I dragged my feet toward the kitchen. I intended to make my patented hangover cure: broccoli, oatmeal, orange juice, a banana, and yogurt—all thrown together in a blender.
"I can have quiet nights in when I’m dead." As I made it to the kitchen and started preparing my smoothie, I began telling her about my outing with Jen last night, making sure to highlight the show and how I dealt with the crazed fans. The more I told her about the night, the more my excitement grew. "Kris, I’m telling you, it was bananas! Some girl came right there on stage, just from this guy’s singing."
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