Rock Starred: Love My Way

by Karen Booth

  "Oh. Sure." I blew out a breath quietly. Stop worrying.

  There was another string of muffled sounds on his end of the line. "Katie, hey, sorry. I guess everybody's ready to go. Can I call you back in ten minutes?"

  "I need to get to my studio and prepare for that shoot. I have a million emails to answer. Can we talk later?"

  "Of course."

  I chewed on my lower lip. "Tonight?"

  "Yes. I'll call you before we play."

  * * * * *

  The time I'd spent preparing for Tuesday's photo shoot, with a young, hot shit band called No Picnic, had been time squandered. The session started in a nightmarish fashion and slid downhill from there. After a hellish day of dealing with bratty rock stars, I left my studio in Tribeca to walk to my loft apartment in SoHo. I had so much annoyance and anger coursing through me that I wondered if I might summon the strength to stomp a hole through the sidewalk.

  Normally I'd call and bitch at Gwen, but my only urge was to talk to Peter. I kneaded my forehead, a headache brewing. I just needed to get this out of my system and Peter was the perfect sounding board. He knew bands. I figured he could relate.

  "Katie," he answered after the first ring. "This is a nice surprise."

  "Oh, hey, thanks. How are you?" I kept up with my ultra-fast New Yorker walk, even though I wasn't in a rush. The summer heat rose from the asphalt, creating what felt like an oven.

  "Are you okay? You sound stressed."

  "Do you know the guys in No Picnic? They're that new band from Dallas that did all of the big festivals earlier in the summer."

  "Oh, right. Talk about flavor of the month. Is that who you were shooting today?"

  "Yes, it was a disaster."

  "What happened?"

  An annoyed grumble escaped my throat. "Sorry. I'm not mad at you, just letting off some steam."

  "No. It's fine. Tell me everything."

  "Are you sure?" I stopped at the corner and waited for the walk signal. "This is stupid. You know, I feel better just hearing your voice."

  "Well, good. I'm glad that helps, but I still want to know what happened. And I love hearing dirt about other bands."

  I smiled and crossed the street, continuing on my way. "They showed up two hours late and then they had the balls to tell me they were on a tight schedule."

  "Amateurs."

  "Oh, and you'll love this. The lead singer had about fifty pimples including a giant one right between his eyes."

  He laughed. "Classic. It sucks being a kid. I'm guessing he spent a long time in makeup."

  "You have no idea. It took forever. It was this huge ordeal. The whole band kept complaining to me about the makeup artist and then I overheard one of the guys tell his manager that I was not only a bitch, but not that great of a photographer. They all basically scowled at me whenever we took a break in the shoot. Of course, they had no problem posing when I was taking their picture."

  "What a bunch of punks. I can't believe they treated you like that. They'd better hope we never end up on the same show. I'd love to give them something to complain about."

  I turned the corner on to my street with an embarrassing grin plastered to my face. The thought of Peter sticking up for me, of being protective, made everything brighter. "Are you offering to be my muscle?"

  "Uh, yeah. You’re an insanely talented photographer. They're lucky you agreed to take the job in the first place."

  I keyed my way into my building, still smiling from Peter's potent brand of macho sweetness. "You're so sweet, but I'm not that talented. I'm good. I won't say that I'm not good." After grabbing my mail, I continued up the stairs.

  "Are you kidding? I put my foot down about hiring you. The rest of the band wanted that hotshot L.A. guy, Bruce what's-his-face."

  "Bruce Flack? He's freaking amazing."

  "He's no Katie Stillman."

  My cheeks flushed. "You really are way too nice to me." There was a note from Mrs. G waiting on my door when I got to my apartment. "Hey, Peter, I should run. My neighbor accepted a delivery for me. I need to go get it."

  "A delivery, huh?" he asked in an oddly quizzical voice. "Keep me on the line. I want to talk more about the photo shoot."

  "I didn't know you were behind the band hiring me." I stuffed my mail into my bag and started down the stairs to Mrs. G's unit.

  "Full disclosure, I'd also seen a picture of you, but you know that wasn't the only reason I wanted to hire you. I swear."

  I knocked at Mrs. G's door. "We'll have to talk about that later. Hold on the line for a minute." I tucked my phone into a mesh pocket on the front flap of my messenger bag.

  "Katie," she chirped when she answered. "You won't believe the flowers that came for you today."

  I twisted my lips. "That's weird. I got flowers yesterday. Maybe they delivered them twice by accident."

  She padded back into her apartment as I stood in the doorway, surveying the fussy perfection of her unit, resplendent with pristine fifties furniture and a china cabinet full of vintage cookie jars. Mrs. G. shuffled toward me with another vase of lavender roses. "These are just lovely. They're such an unusual color. Are they from the young man you met in Miami?"

  I blushed, wondering if Peter could hear. Young man. Mrs. G made it sound as if he was courting me. "Probably. He sent me flowers yesterday," I said softly. I took the card and opened it before she handed me the arrangement.

  Dear Katie,

  Yesterday's romantic gesture didn't seem like enough. Miss you.

  Peter

  I tapped the card against my chin as heat again flooded my cheeks.

  "Well?" she asked.

  "Yes. They're from him," I said loudly, for Peter's benefit. "What a goof."

  She smiled and placed her hand on my forearm. "I'd say he's a keeper."

  Flowers in tow, I returned to my apartment and set them on the flea market coffee table in the living room, next to the previous day's arrangement. I fished my phone from the pouch and plopped down on my modern gray sofa.

  "I'm back."

  "So I'm a young man, a keeper and a goof. Good to know."

  Now I was certain my face was several shades of crimson. "Thank you for the flowers. Again. It's so nice of you. You really didn't have to do that."

  "Katie, come on. Doesn't a guy get any bonus points for being extra romantic?"

  I cradled the phone between my ear and shoulder and settled back on the couch, my headache and miserable day a distant memory. "You get all kinds of bonus points. It's up to you to decide how to use them."

  Chapter Eight

  The rest of my workweek was a blur—scouting locations, sending proofs to clients and booking my travel. I was exhausted by the time I stumbled home each night, although the arrival of another dozen roses every day improved my mood considerably.

  The flowers always came with a different note.

  Wednesday's said he wished we were in Miami again, together.

  Thursday's said that all he wanted was to see was the flecks of purple in my eyes.

  Friday's flowers carried a request for me to help him with his mojo.

  I deliberated about picking up the phone as I changed into workout clothes. I'd had to fight the urge to call him all day because my schedule had been so packed. I was eager to say "thank you", but I also knew I'd blow off my thirty minutes on the treadmill if I didn't get it over with.

  My water bottle went in the cupholder, my iPod in an armband and my phone on the magazine rack. Ten minutes into my run, I had a text from Peter.

  Whatcha doing?

  I grinned and slowed to a jog. Running.

  And texting? Dangerous.

  Talk later?

  Run later?

  I smiled, pushed the red "stop" button on the treadmill and hopped off. Sitting on the wide plank hardwood floor with my legs splayed, I leaned against the sofa. Max looked up at me and went back to sleep. I was still catching my breath when I called him.

  "So, which is it? Texting acc
ident or did you decide to give up on fitness for today?" Peter asked.

  "You're so impatient."

  "I'm bored."

  "I thought you spent all your time on the phone with the florist. Thank you for today's flowers. I love them just as much as I loved the others."

  "You're welcome. I can't help myself. It's habit now."

  I blinked several times, still thrown off-kilter by every sweet thing he did for me. "Only a week until we get to see each other." I shook my head at the seductive tone of my voice.

  "Only a week? The anticipation is killing me. Please tell me we get to have a sleepover at your place."

  I laughed. "Is that what we're calling it?"

  "Do you have another suggestion?"

  "Pajama party?"

  "There will be no pajamas."

  "Excellent point." I glanced at the clock. It was only a few minutes after six. "When do you guys go on tonight?"

  "Not until ten. I'm just sitting in the hotel room. The rest of the band went to dinner."

  "Aren't you hungry?"

  "Nah. I'd rather talk to you."

  Max jumped down from the couch and stretched, waving his orange-and-white-striped fluffy tail and rubbing against my leg.

  "What do you want to talk about?" I asked.

  Peter cleared his throat. "What are you wearing?"

  "What?" My cheeks warmed.

  "Tell me what you're wearing right now. Tell me everything."

  "I just got off the treadmill. I'm wearing black workout pants and a tank top."

  "Katie, come on." He groaned adorably. "Work with me here. I miss you. You gotta sell it. Are you sweaty?"

  A peculiar mix of embarrassment and fascination crept over me. Phone sex? Could I do phone sex? "Oh. Okay. I'm sorry." I walked across the apartment to my bed, kicked off my shoes and took off my tank top before stretching out. "I'm super sweaty. I had to take off my top. I have yoga pants on, but they're kind of hot."

  "Keep going."

  "Do you want me to take those off, too?" I asked, my nervous voice squeaking at the end.

  "God, yes." His voice wasn't the slightest bit hesitant. It was low and rough and impossibly sexy.

  I wriggled out of my pants. "Okay, then. There go the yoga pants."

  "Mmm. That's better. What else?"

  "Wait. You haven't told me what you're wearing. And where are you? Are you on the bed?"

  "I am. I'm wearing a black t-shirt and I was wearing jeans, but I took them off."

  I shut my eyes and conjured the visual—his lean legs, his tempting stomach, his irresistible chest. "Take off your shirt. I love it when you aren't wearing one." I sucked in a long breath, my shoulders rose to my ears as I imagined stretching out next to him, digging into his hair, his tender lips all over me. My chest ached at how much I missed him.

  "I'll take everything off if you will."

  "Deal." I set the phone next to me and ditched my undies and workout bra in a pile next to the bed, thankful that Max had no idea what was going on. "I'm back."

  "Good. I didn't want to start without you." He cleared his throat lustily, which sent a thrill through me. "Where are your hands, Katie?"

  I was about to answer, but realized that the leading questions made this so hot. "Where do you want them?"

  He groaned. "Your breasts."

  I placed my palm on my chest, my nipple responding to both my touch and his voice as it puckered. "They're there. I'm imagining your lips on them, your tongue. It feels incredible." My fingers traced delicate circles against the taut flesh.

  "I can taste your skin right now. It's making my cock throb just thinking about it. I want to know if you're wet."

  My palm smoothed over the plane of my stomach as I rolled my head to the side. I didn't have to reach my destination to know that just the thought of him had my juices flowing. Heat settled between my legs. Still, I was surprised when my fingers ventured between the tender folds. "Dripping." I proceeded with tiny circles, arching my back. "I want you. I need you."

  His breaths were heavy. "Tell me what you want."

  "I want to make you happy. I want you in my mouth." The tide was steadily rising as my fingers continued to circle in the slickness. I lightened my touch, teasing to draw out the pleasure. "Can you feel my lips on your dick?"

  He groaned again, deeper and more forceful than before. "I love it when you suck me. Everything you do with your tongue is so hot. Jesus, Katie. The shower in Miami. That was the best blowjob I've ever had."

  My lips hummed with pride. "I can make your eyes roll into the back of your head if you let me."

  "Oh God. I want to be inside you."

  Desperation took root in my body, craving his words just as much as I wanted his touch. "Make love to me." My hips bucked against my hand and I went faster and harder.

  "You know I want to. Uhhhh. I can feel you around me." His voice grew guttural and he drew out his words. "You're so tight around my cock. How do you want it?"

  I turned my head against the pillow and cradled the phone between my ear and shoulder. My free hand trailed down my stomach and I slipped a finger inside my slick opening. "Be slow with me. I want to feel every inch of your cock." My mind swirled with thoughts of his careful thrusts and I clamped my eyelids tighter, not wanting to leave the world in my head, where I was with him again.

  "Oh God, Katie. Come with me."

  "Just a minute. I'm close. Talk to me."

  "Do you remember the day we met?"

  "I do." My tongue ran along my lips.

  "I had a hard-on all day. It hurt to keep it in my pants. I just wanted to take down your ponytail and have you on that big table in your studio."

  "Tell me more." I increased the pressure with my fingers, rolling back and forth across my clit.

  "I couldn't stop staring at your breasts in that little black top. I would have torn it off you if I could have. And your ass. I almost went off in my pants every time you bent over to pick up a camera lens."

  I let my fingers laze over the tight bundle of nerves. It felt so good to hear him talk about me that way. "You had the funniest look on your face that day. I had to tell you to stop. Remember?"

  He laughed, quietly. "I couldn't stop looking at you. And when we talked, that was when I knew I was in trouble. You were so smart and funny and sexy. I've never wanted a woman the way I want you."

  I gasped, but not from the physical sensation. His words were more than my body could take. My skin flooded with warmth, my shoulders froze, my mind spun with thoughts of him and desire and opening my heart.

  "You're almost there, aren't you?" he asked.

  "Yes, hurry." My hands worked faster and with purpose as my breaths sputtered between my lips.

  "Oh God." His voice was ragged and deep. "I'm there Katie."

  "Me too."

  I heard him call out just as my body clutched and released, over and over again, shuddering in steady waves. My chest heaved as I sucked in necessary air, my head became wonderfully fuzzy. Relief took me floating back to earth. I sank into the bed, rocking my head on the pillow.

  "Peter?" I asked between breaths. "Are you there?"

  "Just barely. Jesus. That was hot."

  "Smoking hot." I bit my lip, taking delight at losing my phone-sex virginity, quite the naughty milestone.

  "I miss you so much. It feels like next Saturday is never going to get here." He blew out an exhalation. "Listen to me. I sound like a kid."

  "No, it's sweet. I love it when you're sweet." My eyes began to mist, my inescapable reaction to him. "I miss you too."

  Chapter Nine

  "Every day?" Gwen asked.

  I grinned, cradling the phone on my shoulder as I dried some silverware. "A dozen, every day." In all honesty, I'd been wondering if perhaps Peter would eventually send me every lavender rose in the tri-state area.

  "Does he say the same thing on the card every time?"

  I stifled a laugh. That morning's bouquet came with a note asking
if I'd had a chance to stock up on loofahs. "No, he says different things."

  "Like what? And why are you giggling?"

  "I don't know. It's all sweet and romantic." I stopped short of more, wanting to keep Peter's sentiments to myself. Those notes were our secret, our silly inside jokes, and that made me feel closer to him. It was a poor substitute for the real thing, but it was something. "Is that good enough?"

  "Not really, but you're entitled to be secretive. I have to say I'm impressed that you aren't freaking out yet."

  I pursed my lips. "I think I'm doing really well." The truth was that talking on the phone was easy. Aside from overcoming a few jitters about phone sex, it had been effortless. I was still nervous about what would happen when I saw him again, as eager as I was for it to happen. Would it be as amazing as it had been in Miami or was that just the excitement of something new? Would he still want me when saw me again? The way he wanted me in Miami?

  "So what are you going to do for Peter? I mean, in exchange for the flowers, aside from the obvious. Sexual favors and whatnot."

  "Cute. Real cute. I actually made a print for him. It's beautiful."

  "What's it a picture of?"

  "I went through everything from the day I photographed the band. I found one shot of him that's breathtaking." My voice caught in my throat. "I converted it to black and white and layered it with one of my New York photos that he said he liked. I hope he likes it. I sent it to arrive at his hotel tomorrow morning."

  "Sounds serious."

  "It's just a print." In reality, I'd spent hours on it, most often distracted by the beauty of his features. "I wanted to do something. He's so sweet to me."

  "It's not an accusation. You made him a gift. That sounds serious to me." Gwen said something off the line and I could hear another voice in the background. "Katie, I'm sorry. I gotta go. Ted's got dinner ready."

  "Back to the normal Sunday routine? That's good."

  "We're hanging in there," she said, plainly hedging her answer. "Hey, are we still on for dinner Friday?"

  "Of course. Wouldn't miss it."