Blow My Fuse (Hollywood Demons Book 2)

by Autumn Jones Lake

  Shit, that must’ve been a while ago.

  Brenda takes her friend’s hand and squeezes. A dozen unspoken words seem to pass between the girls.

  “I listen to it a lot,” Melissa says softly.

  The undercurrent of what Melissa’s saying hits me in the gut, and I reach out to awkwardly pat her on the back.

  “I’m really glad you’re here. Talking to you has been the best part of my day so far.” I’m not lying either. Everything about today sucked. Saying goodbye to Mallory. Listening to Jacob’s bullshit. Behaving myself when I want to punch Davey in the face a couple dozen more times. The craptacular show.

  This moment puts it all in perspective.

  The girls beam mega-watt smiles at me.

  Maybe letting the suits exploit that very personal song isn’t so bad if it means it reaches more people. If it can make more girls like Melissa feel less alone.

  “So, do you want to meet the rest of the guys?” I ask.

  Brenda bounces on her toes and clasps her hands in front of her face in a worshipful pose. “Yes, please. Thank you so much. That would be so totally awesome.”

  Hearing totally awesome in her crisp British accent makes me chuckle. I wrap an arm over each of their shoulders and walk them to our meet-and-greet room. It’s about the size of a closet. I’m pretty sure it was a toilet at some point. Sure smells like shit. But it’s what we have to work with tonight, and the girls don’t seem to care.

  Flashes go off, and my head snaps up, seeking the source. One of Revolver’s roadies. I barely resist the urge to flip him off.

  I did, after all, promise Val I’d behave tonight.

  “Yo, Jacob, Alvin!” I shout to get their attention. Garrett’s family was supposed to come to this show, so I assume he’s off with them.

  Alvin’s his usual goofy self. The girls chatter a mile a minute with him. Jacob engages in some harmless flirting that makes the girls blush and stammer.

  After a couple minutes, I pull Alvin aside. “Make sure they get out of here safe.”

  “They jailbait?”

  “Probably. But be nice, please.”

  “You leaving?”

  “Yeah, I’m done.”

  Satisfied Alvin will take good care of the girls, I back out a few minutes later.

  A song I recognize from my own teenage years reverberates through the building. Bloody Revolver must have taken the stage. Their sound seems to be working fine.

  Christ, if I’d known back then Davey was such a lowlife, I would’ve tossed his band’s tape in the trash. Thank fuck, I never hung any Bloody Revolver posters up in my room.

  At the front desk of the hotel, the clerk waves me over. “You have a message, sir.”

  I grab the paper. “Thanks.”

  At Audrey’s for the night. Mallory.

  When I spoke to Audrey earlier, she mentioned that she was living somewhere new, so I’m not worried. “Do you know when she called?”

  “I don’t, sir. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s all right. Thank you.”

  Val’s gonna kill me when we check out, and she’s handed the whopping international phone bill I’ve racked up, but too fucking bad.

  Guess she should’ve thought of that before she tried to sell my girlfriend to Davey Revolver.

  Chapter Six

  Mallory

  The week home without Chaser seems to drag, giving me a glimpse of what being in a relationship with a musician will mean long-term.

  I try not to dwell on it too much.

  The time difference and the expense of long-distance calls has kept our communication to a minimum.

  I couldn’t stay at Audrey’s for too long. Eventually, I return to the apartment. Tiptoeing upstairs past the guys’ place only worked for a few hours. The second I started moving around, the girls were knocking on my door.

  Explaining why I was home so early was an uncomfortable conversation.

  A few nights later, Holly and Vickie stop by to cheer me up. Well, that’s what they say.

  “Um, you should probably see this,” Vickie says, handing over a popular tabloid. “Turn to page six.”

  Chaser Adams Bounces Back After Big Break-Up!

  After Chaser’s relationship with model Mallory Dove blew up, the guitarist for heavy metal band Kickstart finds comfort in the arms of two young groupies.

  My hands shake as I scan the photos. The pictures are innocent enough. He’s signing something for a girl—I assume a fan. Then there’s another photo of him with his arms around two girls with worshipful expressions on their faces.

  Chaser, on the other hand, looks tired. He’s wearing the polite smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

  A source close to the band says Adams rocked the young ladies all night long to get over the heartbreak of Dove storming out in the middle of their U.K. tour.

  “Bullshit,” I say, thrusting the magazine back at Vickie. “The ‘source close to the band’ is probably Davey Revolver trying to start more trouble because he didn’t get his way.”

  “Keep reading,” Vickie says, handing the magazine back to me. The twitch at the corner of her mouth suggests she’s enjoying this a little too much.

  Maybe pouring my heart out to them when I came home was a bad idea. But how else was I supposed to explain why I was home so early?

  Sources say Adams caught Dove in a compromising position with Davey Revolver, lead singer of Bloody Revolver, who is headlining the tour. Revolver had no comment.

  There’s a picture underneath that paragraph of me sitting next to Davey. Chaser’s been cut out of the photo, but his disembodied hand still rests on my shoulder.

  The rest of the article goes on to talk about Revolver’s long career, the current tour, and the band’s new album.

  “That asshole!”

  “We tried to warn you,” Vickie says. “Rockers always cheat on the road.”

  “Not Chaser. Davey. He couldn’t get what he wanted, so he used me anyway. Look at the rest of the ‘article’—it’s all about him and his band.” I’m fuming but don’t know who to be more angry with—the tabloid, Davey Revolver, or myself.

  “Maybe he’s still into you, Mallory. And this is his way of reaching out,” Holly says.

  “Huh? Who?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Davey. Honey, I can’t believe you turned him down. Like, I totally get it, Chaser’s way hotter, but Davey is loaded. This whole apartment building could fit inside one wing of his mansion.”

  “So what?” I grew up surrounded by wealth. No matter what items my father gave me, it never made up for the loss of my mother or the lack of his affection and attention. A man like Davey would be no different. When I outlived my usefulness, he’d replace me with a younger model.

  No amount of money or “stuff” would ever fill the empty, aching little girl in me who has always longed to love and be loved.

  I finally have that with Chaser. I love him whether or not he ever makes it ‘big.’

  “Holly’s right,” Vickie says. “Davey is a fantastic catch. It wouldn’t hurt to see what he has to say if he reaches out to you again.”

  Anger simmers in my blood. “Sure. Hey, look, I’m tired. Think we can hang out tomorrow instead?” I fake a yawn to go along with the brush-off.

  They’re full of false, syrupy sympathy as they give me air-kisses and make me promise to call if I need anything.

  I shut the door behind them and lean against it, closing my eyes. What’s Chaser doing right now? Who is he with?

  My gaze lands on the tabloid the girls conveniently left behind.

  I love Chaser way too much to lose him.

  And I know he loves me, too.

  Sighing, I lock the door and toss the tabloid in the trash.

  But not before giving it a second read-through.

  Please don’t let my blind faith in Chaser be wrong.

  Chapter Seven

  Chaser

  “That fucking piece of shit!” I bellow when
Val cautiously explains some tabloid claims I cheated on Mallory. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “I warned you something like this would happen if you confronted him.”

  So help me, I’ve never hit a woman in my life, but Val’s begging to be the first. “What was I supposed to do? Let him nail my girlfriend?”

  “Maybe there’s a chance Mallory hasn’t seen it. Won’t see it.”

  I shake my head and let out a bitter laugh. “Nah, someone will make sure they show it to her soon as possible. Guarantee it.” The three little nosey bitches currently watching the guys’ apartment won’t be able to help themselves. As soon as they see it, they’ll run right up to shove it in Mallory’s face under the guise of ‘concern.’

  “Look at it this way, it’s exposure for you and the band. Your name is in the headline. You look like a young, virile, rocking stud in the picture. All press is good press.”

  I shoot a glare at her for the stupid stud comment. “Yeah, I hope Mallory sees it that way.”

  “We’ll be home in a few days, and you can explain it to her.”

  Fuck waiting around for that, I need to talk to her now. But we’re on the fucking road for the next two nights.

  I’m a moody, irritable dick all day, every day except for the forty-five minutes we’re on stage and the thirty minutes after the show that I take to meet with fans and sign everything they shove in my hands.

  Once we’re done, though, I’m out.

  Bloody Revolver doesn’t offer us their private jet on the way home—go figure.

  I book the first flight I can, not wanting to wait another minute. I also didn’t want to be on the same flight with Jacob. We may have worked things out to finish the tour, but I’m still pretty fucking pissed at him and don’t know if I’ll be able to resist the urge to toss him off the plane without a parachute once we’re thirty-thousand feet in the air.

  The flight’s long, and it’s late when I finally slide the key into the lock. Our apartment is dark. No sound, except traffic noises from outside.

  Christ, I hope she didn’t move out.

  I drop my stuff inside the door and kick off my boots, before padding through the apartment.

  I find my girl curled up on her side of the bed, so achingly beautiful I stop to watch her for a few minutes before heading into the bathroom for a quick shower.

  Mallory’s still asleep when I slide into bed next to her.

  Needing to bask in her warmth, I gently shift closer. Not gentle enough, because she startles awake. “Chaser?”

  “It’s me, little dove,” I whisper. “I’m home. Go back to sleep.”

  She rolls over and snaps on the bedside lamp. “Oh, Chaser.” She tackles me, kissing and laughing at the same time. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home, so I could meet you at the airport? Oh my God, I’ve missed you.”

  The frost that enveloped my heart the second I sent her home finally melts. “Missed you too. So much.” I wrap my arms around her, holding her tight.

  The weight of her soft body against mine wakes another need. To connect and claim my woman in the most primal way possible.

  No woman has ever had such an effect on me. I’ve been dreaming of her warmth, the scent of her skin, her uneven breathing when I pleasure her.

  My whole body aches for her. I slide my hands under her T-shirt and fill my hands with her soft, full breasts, rubbing my thumbs over her nipples.

  “Oh.” Her breathing hitches, and her eyes close.

  The air around us crackles with desire.

  I strip off her shirt and fit my hands into the curve of her waist, pulling her fully on top of me. My rock-hard dick snuggles up to her cotton panties. Heat pours off her as I lift my hips, rubbing against her. Showing her how much I want her.

  Her fingers slowly slide through my hair, and she stares down into my eyes. “I saw the article. The pictures.”

  Well, doesn’t that put our reunion on ice.

  “Mallory.” I try to sit up, but she presses her hands against my chest. She straddles me, rubbing her hot, wet center against my cock.

  My jaw clenches, my fingers digging into her firm little ass cheeks.

  “I know it was all lies. Probably planted by Davey.” She keeps drilling me with that probing stare, searching my eyes. Not for hints of guilt. No, I think my girl wants me to understand how much she trusts me.

  It’s a powerful feeling, being so deeply connected to someone else. A few days apart didn’t alter our soul-deep link. If anything, I feel even closer to her.

  I press my palms to her cheeks. “Baby, you’re the only face I see every night before I go to sleep. You’re on my mind, in my heart, every day, all day.”

  “I know, because I feel the same way,” she whispers.

  “I wasn’t with anyone after you left. Couldn’t be.” I grind my cock against her again. “You got the keys to my heart and my dick.”

  “Hmm…do I?” She kisses my chest and reaches down, palming my hard-on. “You came to bed naked?”

  “Didn’t want to wake you.”

  “I like it.”

  I’ve missed her, needed her so bad, this performance will be laughable. I’m ready to come right this second.

  I reach down, pulling the thin strip of cotton between her legs to the side. Her breathing hitches, and she spreads her legs wider to take me inside her.

  “Oh, fuck,” I growl, as her slick heat surrounds my cock. Squeezing so fucking tight.

  No random groupie will ever satisfy me. No woman can ever take Mallory’s place.

  She eases down, taking me in slowly. Gasps and raises up when she hits bottom. “Easy, little dove. I’m not going anywhere.”

  I’m home. My cock’s back home where he belongs—and never wants to leave. So good. Tight. Warm. Wet.

  Fuck.

  My hands lock on her hips, urging her up and down. Faster. Harder. Her nails dig into my thighs as she detonates. “Ch…Chaser. I’m…uh.”

  “I feel you. Come for me. Ride it out. I got you.” I’m not sure that’s true. I’m ready to blow.

  She falls down over me, pressing her forehead to mine, our breaths mingle. The sexiest whimpers pass her lips. “I love you.”

  Done. Pleasure rocks down my spine. The sensation so strong, every muscle in my body tenses as I release inside her.

  “Come here.” I pull her closer for a long, melting kiss.

  “There’s no one but you, Mallory.”

  And that’s how I always want it to be.

  Chapter Eight

  Chaser

  Jet lag is one mean bitch.

  “Babe,” I groan, throwing my arm over my eyes to block out the sunlight streaming into our room. “Why are you up at this hour?”

  “It’s eleven o’clock.” Damn, her voice is so soft and silky. Missed waking up to it every morning. I blindly swing my arm out, reaching for her.

  “If you were in England, you’d be getting ready to go on stage right about now.” The bed dips. Velvet fingertips brush against my skin.

  I open my eyes to find her staring down at me, her hair tickling my bare chest. “You’re pretty.”

  “Good morning.” She kisses my cheek and darts away before I can grab her, stopping in the doorway.

  I sit up. “Where you goin’?”

  “To see my agent. She said she has something for me.”

  “Want me to go with you?”

  “You don’t have to.” She hesitates. “Get some more sleep.”

  “I sleep any longer I’ll be even more fucked up.”

  “What are your plans now that you’re home?” she asks from the doorway.

  “I feel like ‘fuck you in every position possible’ isn’t the answer you’re looking for?”

  She chuckles. “Besides that.”

  “Alvin and I will probably get together to do some writing this week.” I stand and stretch, long and slow.

  “Mmm, looking good, Chaser Adams,” she murmurs. Her greedy gaze sw
eeps over my body.

  Love the sexy humming noises Mallory makes every time I show off the goods.

  “Band meeting later,” I add.

  “I hope that goes well.”

  “It’ll be fine.” I slip on a pair of shorts, leaving the button undone. “I want to talk Valerie into booking us some time at the studio over on Vine. They have an echo chamber that’s supposed to give this amazing reverb. I’ve always wanted to record something there.”

  “You’re sexy when you talk all music-y.” She slides her arms around my waist, molding the front of her body to mine and slipping her hands down the back of my shorts. “Am I allowed to come watch?”

  “Do you want to after that shit show over there?”

  “Oh.” She steps back, taking all her warmth with her. “I didn’t think about that. I was only thinking of you.”

  “That’s perfectly fine with me.”

  We spent most of the night catching up. I filled her in on the truce with Jacob, hoping she didn’t think I was too much of an asshole. But that’s not Mallory. She’s practical and understands this business better than I do sometimes. She filled me in on the girls bringing over the tabloid and how she knew it was all bullshit. As much as I love writing lyrics and words, even I can’t express how much her belief in me, in us, means.

  “Hey,” I tug her close again. “Thank you.”

  “For what?” she asks, grabbing her purse off the doorknob.

  “Believing in me.”

  She stops, her face softening. “I’ll always believe in you.” Her gaze strays to the door. “I’m running late. I’ll try not to be too long.”

  “No, do what you gotta do. I’ll unpack, maybe give my dad a call before meeting with Val.”

  She tilts her head. “You should. He’s probably worried about you.”

  Emptiness rings through the apartment after she’s gone. I glance at my bag. My dirty T-shirts and grungy jeans won’t take long to unpack, so I might as well call Dad first.

  My father answers with a gruff greeting—somewhere between “hello” and “who the fuck is this?”