Rock Mayhem: 8 Complete Rock Star Romance Novels

by Candy J. Starr

  Oh God, he had the long tapering fingers. I could not look at those fingers while my juice box flooded. I had to look away.

  "Get over there instead of flaunting your body in front of everyone." I pointed to the screen set up in the corner.

  "Listen, lady, I'm the star of this shoot and if I want to get changed right here, I'll get changed here. No one minds a bit of flesh."

  He winked at the makeup artist and she giggled.

  "Get in the change room."

  A surge of something shot through my body. Anger mainly, although that chest sure did it to me.

  Then he noticed the camera.

  "You're the photographer?"

  He glared at me. I glared back.

  "You realize if you hadn't interrupted me, I'd be fully clothed now."

  "The change room is there for a reason."

  My voice didn't even waver. I'd hold in my lust if it killed me. I'd be working with him for a week? I sure as hell had to show him who was boss from the get-go, otherwise he'd try to defy me at every chance. By now, most of the crew had stopped to watch us. I wouldn't be humiliated in front of them.

  The clothes the stylist had picked out sat on a folding chair beside him. He tried to casually pick up the jeans and put them on. He planned to put them on right here when I'd told him not to. No way.

  I grabbed for the jeans before he could get them.

  I marched over the change room and threw them behind the screen.

  "Get over there and get changed. Try to act like a normal human being for a few hours."

  Then I sighed and walked off. I had a shoot to set up. I had no time for standing around lusting after anyone, let alone someone so damn irritating.

  Savage

  THE MAKEUP ARTIST ROLLED her eyes. "She can be a bitch," she said to me.

  I gave her another grin. Bitch or not, working with a woman photographer would be a helluva lot easier than a man. My manager hadn't mentioned that part of it. She might put on the tough woman act to start with but she'd be eating out of my hand soon. Even better, I'd have those tits in the palm of my hand. I'd have her under me, moaning and calling my name. I just needed to get this shoot over so I could get to the fun stuff.

  I'd never met a woman I couldn't charm. Even tiny, green-eyed dynamos had a soft spot for me at their core.

  God, that glare. It was as though she hadn't noticed that I stood before her almost naked. Most women would break into a sweat or squirm around. She didn't even redden. It was as though she had no reaction to me whatsoever. That must be how lesser men feel all the time.

  But hell, she had great tits.

  She hadn't stopped glaring, her gaze not leaving my eyes. Not even a sweeping glance at the rest of me. She must be made of ice.

  Once I was dressed, I headed over to the set.

  Bloody hell, as I walked, I got a glimpse of her, bent over, fixing some gear. Even in those baggy jeans, that butt had me salivating. Round and luscious. Visions of her bent over like that, all naked and primed as I slipped my hand between her legs came instantly to mind. A week of this could be exactly what I needed. She was no underfed model, that's for sure. A change in style suited my tastes perfectly.

  She stopped fiddling with her camera equipment and looked up to catch me staring. The look she shot me withered every fantasy I had in the bud. Pure hate burnt from her eyes.

  Where was the lust? The aching desire? That look said I was a bother, not worth her time.

  "Ready," she said.

  I shot her my most panty-melting grin. That did nothing though. Or maybe she just hid it well.

  While she finished setting up, I got into position. It was a simple set, no stupid props or anything like that. This whole thing would be over in a flash.

  She started shooting, I started posing. It wasn't rocket science.

  I sat in a chair and looked smoulderingly at the camera. Hell, I could look smolderingly at her boobs. I had a free card for that. I went through the standard set of poses. I'd done this enough times to know what the photographer wanted, which angles, which looks. I could tick them off a checklist in my mind. This would take, what, maybe an hour.

  A few minutes later, she stopped.

  "You have to relax," she said.

  "I am relaxed."

  She just shrugged. That made my blood boil. I'd relaxed. I'd smoldered. I'd done the broody thing. She could just take her photos and get this over with. I knew exactly what I was doing. Did she?

  "Listen, love, I've done this a million times."

  She stood with her hands on her hips, eyes ablaze. That look did something to my insides. I felt a stirring. I did not want to crack a fat on the set like some out of control schoolboy but those tits blazed like headlights and I was the deer caught in their beam.

  "Well, you should be doing a better job then. You look like a plastic doll."

  "I'm posing."

  "Well, you're not in your boy band now."

  Whoa, who did she think she was? Even a great set of knockers didn't mean I'd let her talk to me like that. Screw her if she thought I'd sit around putting up with her shit.

  As I got up, she began shooting again. That was her game - get me riled up, then take shots of me walking out so I looked like a dick. A damn dirty trick. My liking for this woman could not decline more rapidly. It was as if she was purposely trying to make me hate her.

  "What are you playing at?" I asked her. "What's your agenda here?"

  "I'm doing my job."

  "Right. You're trying to make me look bad."

  "I think you're managing that yourself."

  I scowled at her, and she scowled back. The situation grew tense. Her job was to make me look good. It wasn't that difficult. I looked pretty damn great to start with. She obviously had some issues. Was this woman even human? No woman was impervious to my glare.

  I hated her but hell, I also wanted to know what that soft lower lip would feel like pressed against mine. She tried to look all tough girl but that lip ruined it all. She had lips that would look fantastic as she moaned my name. But, fuck it all, I didn't want my cock twitching over her. I'd sure as hell not get hard. You can't get hard and angry at the same time.

  Oh hell, I realized you could.

  "I'm taking a break," I said.

  Not looking at her. Not looking at those green eyes blazing with fire. Just declaring it to the studio.

  "We've only just started."

  I shrugged then grabbed my phone and headed outside.

  Savage

  ONCE I GOT OUTSIDE, I called my manager.

  "Gary, I'm not working with this chick. She's fucking nuts."

  "Which chick now?"

  "This photographer. I'm not sure what she's up to but she's no professional, that's for sure."

  The studio was in the middle of nowhere. An industrial estate. Outside, it was as barren and soulless as hell. Just a gravel carpark with litter blowing around. Inside, it could be any dream or fantasy. All it took was the right lighting and props.

  "She's not hired by us. She's with the magazine. Nothing I can do about it."

  "You could phone them and ask for a replacement."

  I patted my pocket, looking for a cigarette, then remembered I'd quit. Why the hell did I think that was a good idea? My life was way too stressful for me to quit smoking. It wasn't like I could just breeze on down to the nearest convenience store either. Not with my driver gone off somewhere until the end of the shoot.

  "Do you know how hard it was to get them to agree to this feature? You don't exactly have a good reputation with the media and they're a serious rock mag, not some celeb glossy. You want to be taken seriously? Get back in there and let her do her job."

  I hung up on him. If I went back in there, she'd win. I didn't want that. But then Gary was right. I needed this feature. Maybe I just needed to lay the charm on, juice up her panties and she'd be a lot easier to work with. That had to be the problem. She wanted me but she thought I was too high level
for her, so she hid her attraction behind her anger.

  I turned around to find her standing in the doorway of the studio staring at me.

  "We can cancel this now, if you want."

  But one look at her and you could see she wanted me to stick around. Not because she liked me, that's for sure. Maybe she had a family to take care of, maybe she had cats to feed. Whatever. She crossed her arms and those green eyes still glared at me.

  "I'm good," I said.

  She sighed. "I don't have time for your little tantrums. This is going to be a long week, so how about you do your job like a professional and I'll do the same."

  Even her tone of voice annoyed me. She really didn't think very highly of me. I got it. She was one of those "real" music types. The ones who thought the only good music was made by people who were dead. To be on a moral high horse like that in this industry meant you either had to be very inexperienced or very good at your job. I had a feeling she was the latter. Of course, I only wanted to work with the best, but I sure as hell didn't want to deal with attitude.

  "I said I'm good."

  "We need candid shots. None of this posturing. Let your guard down."

  That's exactly what I wouldn't be doing. Photographers had never been my friends. I'd learnt to give them what they wanted. A bunch of set shots that played up the image. That made them happy and made life easy for me. Suddenly, she wanted to change the rules.

  "Listen, this isn't art. Just take the shots and get them to your magazine. You might think you're too good for this but the truth is, you're not."

  When she huffed, her tits rose in the most alluring manner. I wouldn't let that distract me. I wouldn't let the tingle over my skin distract me either. Or the way my cock thought about being buried in her. My cock didn't rule me, despite all the rumors.

  She lingered in the doorway, leaning on the door frame. Her eyes drooped as though she just wanted to get this over with.

  I walked over but, instead of going inside, I stopped in front of her, leaning my body into hers. Emotion flickered over her face. She might act the ice queen but I could melt that ice. Her chest rose, proving how fast her heart beat. She might hate me but her body definitely responded.

  She didn't move away and I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of touching her. If I laid a finger on her, it'd give her another excuse to bust my balls. But she'd yearn for it, hell yeah, she'd yearn. I didn't break eye contact with her. I needed to establish my ground.

  Heat radiated from her body. She stayed stock still, not even a twitch from her.

  Then she straightened up. She even reached out and patted my cheek.

  "That's perfect," she said. "Go with that level of intensity and we might have this shoot wrapped today."

  She went back inside, leaving me scratching my head.

  When I got inside, the makeup artist came running over to touch up my face. The standard thing. I stood still while she worked but the photographer chick came sweeping back in.

  "Forget it," she said.

  "Huh?" The makeup artist looked confused.

  "Wipe it off. All of it. Go back to square one. Put on enough to even up his skin tone but nothing fancy. We want him looking as rugged as that pretty boy exterior will allow."

  I didn't want to say that's what I'd asked for in the first place. And she could can it with the "pretty boy" talk. Even when I was fifteen, they'd had to pack the makeup on to get that fresh-faced look. My jaw was too square and my cheekbones too sharp to look like a teenage girl's dream. Rugged was what I did best. I couldn't help having good skin and eyes that sparkled.

  While I had my makeup redone, the photographer chick came over to me.

  "The outfit's no good either. It's too... " she waved her hands trying to express what she meant. "Too pizzazz."

  I nodded. If people just listened to me in the first place, this would not be happening. I hadn't wanted to wear anything designer. Hell, if that photographer had seen the first lot of stuff the stylist had shown me, she'd have freaked. The ruffle thing. I almost called to the stylist to bring it back out.

  "Jimmy," the photographer called. "Get your shirt off."

  One of the lighting guys came over.

  "Huh? But I've got nothing under it."

  "Go see the stylist. She'll find you something. In the meantime, give Savage here your t-shirt."

  The guy wore a basic grey tee. Nothing fancy. The kind of thing you'd wear to do yard work. He stripped it off. Sure, it was okay for him to strip off in the middle of the studio but she'd thrown a hissy fit when I'd done it. If I could mention that without sounding petulant, I would've.

  "Change into this before we start shooting."

  Whoa, what a bitch. I couldn't even argue with her since she was doing exactly what I wanted. It just irritated me. I didn't want to look like a pussy, taking orders from her. I'd do it but I'd win in the end.

  Alice

  GOD HELP ME, THIS WAS a disaster. Didn't the guy understand that this was meant to be an image change for him? A change, not more of the same cheesy poses. When he did that half-turn with the grin, I almost died. Sure, I could see how women would love it but jeez, it was not the look we were going for here.

  I thought once he'd had his tantrum and returned to the set, we might get some decent shots but it was just more of the same. And that game he'd tried to play with me, I had no idea what that was about. Well, yeah, I did actually. He thought he could charm the pants off me, literally. Then I'd be so crazy for him that I'd do exactly what he wanted. It took more than a few lustful glances to get me worked up.

  Even if my body had responded, even if he'd sent my heart rate soaring and raised my body heat a few degrees, it was only a physical response. It wasn't like I was going to throw everything down the drain because he turned on his charisma.

  At least I'd been able to tone down the cheesiness in the outfit. What the hell had that stylist been thinking? And the makeup. I wanted something raw and powerful, not pretty. I might not like Savage, I might not like this job, but I'd get this done properly. No matter what. I wouldn't screw up my career just because he wanted to be difficult.

  The trouble with Savage was that he thought he was so damn irresistible. Sure, he had above average looks and a hot body but I'd shot a lot of hot guys. It took more than looks to get to me. I liked a guy with something going on beneath the surface. I had to claw beneath his skin and find out what was there. I just worried that under the surface, I'd find nothing.

  I sighed and took my cap off, ran my fingers through my hair then put the cap back on. It was getting hot under the lights and it'd been far too long since my last coffee. It wasn't like there was a handy local shop around either. I'd just have to suck it up until I got back into the city. Anyway, I needed to change this up, get something happening so the day wasn't a complete disaster.

  "Okay, we're going to do some seated shots now."

  The last thing I wanted was for him to have another tantrum and walk out. God, it was like he'd been brainwashed into being an automation. The perfect popstar who smiled and turned on cue. Not one original thought or genuine emotion in the entire shoot. At least he'd turned up sober and lucid, even if he'd been hungover. He must want this to work out, it just seemed like he had no damn clue how to break out of that box he'd been put in.

  I didn't want my time wasted, and I didn't want all the people working on this shoot to have their time wasted. The whole crew worked hard to get this done and I could pretty much guarantee none of them wanted to hang around any later than they needed to. Well, except for the makeup artist. I'm pretty sure she'd be happy sticking around all night making cow eyes at Savage.

  One of the assistants brought over the chair and placed it on the set. Then they added an acoustic guitar. That'd be fun. I wondered if Savage knew how to hold one, let alone play it. Faking it would work in one of those teen magazines but this was no teenybopper shoot. Our readers would spot that instantly. Not only would they spot it, they'd rip him
apart for it. Those readers wouldn't let it slide if someone used a guitar just as a fancy prop. They wouldn't go easy on him looking too smooth either. It wasn't the clothes or the makeup, it was the look in his eyes and the posture. He put up a barrier between himself and the camera.

  Savage took the guitar from the assistant. He ran his fingers over the body. Oh, nice attempt at looking seductive there. He fixed me with his big, brown eyes. Those eyes gleaming with mischief, as his fingers toyed with the frets. That man had sexy hands and he knew it. He sure as hell had experience using his fingers too.

  He could be as seductive as he liked though, it had no effect on me. I wouldn't even think about those long fingers and how they longingly teased along the neck of the guitar. It was too damn hot in this studio. I called for a bottle of water before I started on the next lot of shots.

  Savage fooled around with the guitar while he waited. I didn't ask if he wanted water. He could ask for himself and, anyway, if he got a bit sweaty, it might improve things.

  "Can you actually play that thing?" I asked.

  He didn't answer, he just turned that guitar around and cradled it in his arms.

  I picked up my camera and moved in closer.

  He began strumming, without looking up. The sound filled the studio and a couple of the crew stopped working to watch him play. I didn't stop. The cocky spark in Savage's eyes disappeared. His body relaxed as he curled around that guitar. The playboy vanished, replaced by a serious expression and a sharp focus. He'd become a totally different person.

  These photos would be gold. My heart raced. This was exactly what I wanted. Real. Raw. No bullshit. I pushed my excitement down, not wanting to ruin the shots. I had to stay calm, even if it meant not breathing.

  I hated to admit it, even to myself, but he played well. He knew what he was doing, he wasn't faking a thing. I had never heard the song he played before but it haunted me. A pretty thing on the surface but with some depth behind it.

  As he played, emotions flitted over his face. That told a story. It'd draw people in, leave them wondering what it meant. There was pain in those eyes, a pain that he normally kept well hidden.