Rock Me Hard (The Rock Star's Seduction)

by Thorne, Olivia

  “English Lit. We’re doing Chaucer.”

  “The Canterbury Tales?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Which one?”

  “You know the Canterbury Tales,” I said in amused disbelief.

  Mr. Rock Jock, Biceps-To-Drool-For, Out-Of-This-World-Body spends his spare time reading medieval literature. Riiiiight.

  My attitude came through a little too strongly.

  “Well, aren’t we snobbish,” he teased me.

  “That’s not what I meant,” I said, flustered – though, yeah, that was actually exactly what I had meant. I tried to recover. “Did they teach it at your high school?”

  “No. There’s a Procol Harum song where they mention the Miller’s Tale – ”

  A memory sparked in my mind. “I know that one – ”

  And we both said “Whiter Shade Of Pale” at the same instant.

  “Jinx,” Shanna sneered angrily as she flopped down on her narrow single bed.

  I ignored her and focused on him. “That’s a good song.”

  “Hell yeah it is. So, anyway, I read the Miller’s Tale and a few others. You’re not reading the Miller’s Tale, are you?”

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  I gave him a quizzical little frown. “Why ‘good’?”

  “It’s fucked up. It’s a little too… naughty for a nice girl like you,” he said, nodding in mock solemnity.

  The way he said ‘naughty’ made parts of me want to get naughty.

  “Ohhh, is it,” I nodded back, turning up the ‘doe-eyed and innocent’ to 11.

  “Yeah. People sleeping around… having sex… kinky sex… it’s not for impressionable young minds like yours.”

  Unhhhhhhh…

  The way he said ‘kinky sex,’ in that rumbling, deep voice… hoo boy.

  “Well then, I’m safe,” I assured him, still playing along. “I’m reading the Wife of Bath’s tale.”

  His eyes opened a bit wider. “Ohhh, the horny chick.”

  I smiled tightly. “Yes. That was Chaucer’s original title for it. ‘The Horny Chick’s Tale.’”

  He arched one eyebrow. “Am I wrong?”

  Actually, no, he wasn’t. The Wife of Bath brags that she’s been married five times, all to guys with great chests and large, um… packages. At one point she speculates on how much her hoo-ha would get at auction. Hint: she thought it would break records.

  I didn’t want to get into those details, though, so I just gave a noncommittal “Mmmm…”

  He didn’t pursue it, thank God.

  “That’s the one with the knight who has to figure out what women want, right?”

  I cocked my head and stared at him. “I’m impressed.”

  “What, just because I’m incredibly hot, you think I don’t have a brain?”

  He said it in a way that was supposed to be self-mocking… but it was pretty apparent that he knew he was hot. Which was annoying.

  “I think you meant, ‘just because I’m incredibly in love with myself,’” I said with a prim smile. “And as for the brain thing, no, it’s the tattoos and rings. I would’ve figured you more for knowing the complete works of Whitesnake.”

  He laughed – and oh my God it was sexy.

  Apparently he wasn’t insulted, because he said, “I know those, too, but obviously you don’t, because you missed the obvious hint that I’m not a huge fan.”

  “Which is?”

  “No head-bangin’ hair.”

  It was true. No poofed-out mullet or cascading locks. His hair was just long and tousled enough to make him look disreputable… and damn sexy.

  “Ah. You have to have the hair to be in the Whitesnake fan club, is that it?”

  “Yes you do.” He grinned, crossed his arms, and locked his gaze with mine. “So… what do women want?”

  “I know what I want,” Shanna said grumpily as she stretched out on her bed. “And I’m not gettin’ it.”

  “I have my own Wife of Bath as a roommate,” I joked.

  Derek frowned, mildly confused.

  “Um… horny chick,” I explained, blushing a little.

  “HELL YEAH,” Shanna shouted.

  Derek grinned. “Gotcha. So… what do women want?”

  “I haven’t finished the story.”

  “I’m not talking about the story.”

  “Then why are you asking?”

  His smile was ohhhh so seductive. “It’s an interest of mine.”

  He was too cocky for his own good. I couldn’t let him get away with it.

  “One you do a lot of field research in, huh?” I asked, nodding.

  He shrugged, gave me a half-smile. “A little.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “…so?”

  “So, what?”

  “So what do women want?”

  His green eyes felt like they were undressing me.

  I forced myself to keep staring into them, and not let my eyes drop down to what I really wanted. “Why are you asking me?”

  “You’re a woman. I’m a man. I want to know.”

  8

  The answer sent thrills through my belly.

  It was obvious that he was flirting with me… and brazenly, at that.

  But I struggled to keep the upper hand.

  “It’s the wrong question,” I said.

  “Oh? What’s the right question?”

  “What does an individual woman want? Women aren’t all the same. They don’t want the same things.”

  “Well… what do you want?”

  Oh my God.

  His voice…

  I was melting at the sound of it.

  And then my roommate spoke up.

  “I know what Shanna wants,” Shanna slurred from her bed. “Shanna wants to get laid.”

  Then it hit me how much of a bitch I was being. She’d gotten this guy; she’d brought him back; and here I was, stealing him away from her.

  Me, with a boyfriend.

  Well, an ex-boyfriend… who would probably be my boyfriend again within 24 hours.

  Time to bail.

  “I should leave you two,” I said, and moved to go.

  Derek put out his hand. “No – stay. We’re having a very interesting conversation here.”

  “About the Wife of Bath,” I gently mocked him, totally not believing him.

  “And the Wife of Bath’s tale. And the deeper meaning.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “About what women want.”

  “About what one woman in particular wants. So?”

  I paused and looked him square in the eyes. I had to be careful – I could have gotten lost in those beautiful green depths so easily…

  “Why do you care?”

  He shrugged. “Why shouldn’t I?”

  “I don’t go around asking random people I meet what they want.”

  “Well, people aren’t all the same,” he said with a sly smile. “They don’t all want the same things.”

  Okay… using my words against me like that? Pretty clever.

  I grinned. “Touché. But before I tell you… what do you want?”

  “Right now, I want to find out more about you.”

  It was so obvious he was flirting with me.

  And any casual observer would think I was flirting with him.

  Maybe I was.

  My stomach twisted a little, and I got a little afraid.

  Afraid that I was flirting…

  …afraid that I liked it…

  …and maybe, just maybe, a little afraid that if I opened up too much, I might get hurt.

  “So… what do you want?” he continued. “Specifically, what do you want out of life?”

  I brushed my hair behind one ear, looked down at the floor, and gave my standard answer. “I want to be a journalist.”

  “That’s cool,” he said in a positive but laidback voice.

  I looked at him out of the corner of my eyes. “Is it?”

  “I think so. What kind of a j
ournalist? I mean, do you want to run off into warzones, or write for a city paper, or – ”

  “No, I want to write for magazines. I want to do a whole lot of different things, go different places… live life to its fullest. And I figure it would be great to get paid to do it.”

  “That’s cool.”

  “Yeah?” I asked, a little shyly.

  Why the hell did I care what this guy thought about my life’s dream?

  I don’t know… but for some reason, I did.

  “Yeah,” he nodded, completely sincere.

  “Huh…”

  He frowned the tiniest bit. “What?”

  “I wouldn’t have thought you would think that was cool.”

  “Why not?”

  “I just don’t see you thinking journalism would be that interesting.”

  “Hunter S. Thompson was one of the coolest people ever. He was a journalist. A great journalist.”

  “A gonzo journalist,” I added, pretty much throwing in the only thing I knew about Hunter S. Thompson, except that he wrote Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas.

  “Yup,” he agreed. “For the greatest music criticism magazine in the world.”

  “But, you have to admit,” I said, “he is arguably one of the coolest people who ever lived.”

  “True.”

  “I don’t think I’m quite going to live up to that,” I joked.

  “Don’t give up so soon.”

  I laughed. “Yeah… okay…”

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I didn’t think I was going to get a pep talk on ‘journalism is cool’ from Mr. Rock ‘n Roll.”

  “Just because I’m Mr. Rock ‘n Roll doesn’t mean I can’t think other people’s dreams are cool.”

  He said it in a friendly tone, but also with the tiniest bit of rebuke… like I was only judging him by his appearance, and being an ass about it.

  And he was absolutely correct.

  “You’re right,” I agreed grudgingly. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” he grinned. “Nothin’ to be sorry for.”

  I looked at him for the longest time… and yes, I got lost in his eyes. They were mesmerizing.

  Probably ten seconds went by before I realized I was staring. I broke it off and tried to be all jaunty and witty. “So… what do you want? Other than to get into drunk girls’ pants?”

  “Do you see me getting into drunk girls’ pants?” he asked.

  “NO,” Shanna shouted from her bed.

  I’d totally forgotten about her. She was lying on her back, eyes closed, otherwise dead to the world.

  “No,” I admitted and then laughed, mostly at Shanna’s unexpected reappearance in the conversation.

  He grinned, too. “Okay, then.”

  “…so what do you want? Out of life.”

  He looked at me for a long moment before he answered – like he was gauging me. Like maybe he was wondering how much he should open up to me.

  Then he started talking.

  9

  “The first time I ever knew what I wanted was when I was four years old and I heard the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ ‘Under The Bridge’ for the first time on the radio. You know that song?”

  “Of course.”

  “I remember being hypnotized by the guitar at the beginning. The way John Frusciante’s fingers just dance over the strings. And then Anthony Kiedis comes in, and it’s so sad… him singing about the hills, and about how Los Angeles loves him… and then he goes into the chorus, about how he doesn’t want to ever feel bad again… and then, later in the song, the backup singers come crashing in, and it goes from being this sweet, plaintive love song, to this dark, disturbed, lost, painful, wail about him betraying that love… God. I didn’t know it at the time – I mean, I was four years old, I couldn’t have explained it – but that song took me on a trip. It made me feel something I’d never felt before.”

  I watched his face as he told it. He meant every single word. He was absolutely transported as he told it…

  …and, I have to admit, I was moved by how passionate he was about it.

  He smiled and continued. “My dad was a musician – that’s where I think I got my love of music from. Anyway, he was sitting there watching me the entire time, and after it was over, he asked me if I liked it. And all I said was, ‘Again!’”

  I had to laugh. He said it exactly the way a four-year-old would say it – full of exuberance and innocence and ‘Right NOW!’ impatience.

  “So my dad picked up his electric guitar and he played the song, and we both sang it together. He taught me the words, and I made him sing it over and over and over.” Derek smiled, a little ironically. “Other kids have Goodnight, Moon. I had ‘Under The Bridge.’”

  His eyes trailed off into the distance, and his voice took on an edge of melancholy.

  “It’s one of the best memories I have of my father. Things got pretty shitty between us later on, but I know – I know that he loved me, because he kept playing that damn song over and over and over again. Never said ‘no, let’s stop’… he just kept playing it.

  “But it’s also a great memory because it was like a lightning bolt hit me. It was the first time I ever realized, Hey, my dad DOES this. He plays guitar and sings. That’s what he DOES. That means I can do this, too.

  “Not only that, but… the song just made me feel. In the space of three minutes, I went from hypnotized and happy, to in love, to feeling pain and loss, and every fucking second was beautiful. And from that moment forward, I knew what I wanted to do in life: I wanted to be like my dad. I wanted to make music and sing. And I wanted to make other people feel, the way that song had made me feel. Feel everything.”

  He stopped talking and looked back at me – a little shy, a little hesitant, a little embarrassed.

  It’s hard to explain my emotions.

  His words had the same effect on me that “Under The Bridge” had on his four-year-old self: I’d felt, totally and completely.

  I could see the passion and the realness in him. It was unmistakable.

  And after that story, I was so totally into this guy.

  If he’d walked over right then and kissed me, there was no way I could have resisted.

  Thank God he didn’t.

  Although… looking back… I really wish he had.

  10

  Derek was still watching me hesitantly, like he was afraid I might be judging him.

  That was the exact same way I’d felt before, when he’d asked me what I wanted out of life.

  Afraid of judgment. Afraid of being made fun of.

  Only difference was, he’d opened up to me, totally and completely.

  “That was really beautiful,” I said softly.

  He relaxed. “Thanks,” he said, and flashed that sexy, charming grin.

  I think it was the grin that broke the spell.

  I went from seeing the magic and wonder of a child entranced by music, to seeing the incredibly good-looking guy who knew all the girls were into him.

  I mean, I still felt like everything he’d said to me was real… but for the first time, I considered the possibility that it had also been a performance.

  I gave him an impish little smile. “And you’ve never told that story to any other girl, have you.”

  “No. Never,” he said solemnly, though he nodded his head ‘yes’ as he said it.

  I laughed – at least he was honest (or semi-honest) about his bullshit.

  Except… it wasn’t bullshit. And I knew it.

  “I think you really meant it, though.”

  He nodded, and he was serious. “I did.”

  Suddenly, a giant, blatting noise split the air.

  “SNNKKKZZ,” Shanna snored from where she lay on the bed.

  “Wow, is she always that loud?” he asked incredulously.

  “Only when she’s plastered. Too bad she missed your speech.”

  “She wouldn’t have appreciated it.”

  I looked at hi
m, my head tilted slightly to the side. “No, she wouldn’t have,” I agreed softly.

  We kept staring at each other in silence – until Shanna’s snoring started up again.

  “Jesus, it’s amazing how something that loud can come out of somebody so small,” he marveled.

  I laughed. “Yeah, maybe we should go outside in the hall.”

  He looked at me. “Yeah?”

  My heart suddenly thumped hard in my chest.

  I had just spontaneously said it without thinking.

  Not, Well, it was nice meeting you, or, Well, I’ve got to study.

  No.

  Maybe we should go outside in the hall.

  Because I didn’t want him to leave.

  11

  Derek and I ended up talking for hours, about everything and nothing. We went out in the hallway and sat out there on the floor and drank Cokes and ate Little Debbie snack cakes and laughed as drunk club-goers and late-night partiers came stumbling back to their dorm rooms.

  Finally I thought to check my phone.

  It was 3:10 in the morning.

  “Oh my God,” I gasped. “It’s after 3 – I’ve got a test in the morning – ”

  “The Wife of Bath, right?” he asked, sprawled out lazily on the floor. Just totally relaxed, completely confident in his own skin.

  “Yeah,” I said, trying not to look too long at his sleek, muscular body. “And I need to finish the story, so – ”

  “Tell me what you’ve read so far.”

  I looked him in his emerald eyes.

  I really, really didn’t have time for this.

  But…

  …damn he was hot.

  “Okay. So, there was this knight in King Arthur’s court who was really bad, and he basically raped a woman.”

  “Fucking asshole,” Derek said.

  “Total fucking asshole,” I agreed. “And King Arthur was going to have him killed, but Queen Guinevere gave him a second chance. If he could find out what women want most, she’d spare his life. So the knight goes out riding, and he asks every woman he meets, but they all give him different answers. Some want a rich man, some want a handsome man, some want somebody who’s dependable, some want somebody who’s quiet and won’t give them any problems… it’s all over the place.