Rock Mayhem: 8 Complete Rock Star Romance Novels

by Candy J. Starr

  I found the store easily, but the only thing available was some weird sandwiches. That bread didn't look good, but it was either eat that sandwich or starve. It was probably soggy and tasteless, but I needed something in my belly. I got a bunch of other things, too, just in case the sandwich was inedible. I paid and gathered up the sandwich, the snacks and a bottle of orange juice in my arms. I didn't need a bag.

  When I got back to the hotel, I heard yelling in the lobby, but I kept walking. None of my business.

  Then I glanced over. It was her. Of course it was. She was most definitely trouble.

  Other than her, the lobby was empty. At this time of night, not many people were coming or going.

  "I need my keeeeey!" she screamed.

  I pressed the elevator button. I could pretend I hadn't seen her. She was way too busy yelling to notice me, and I didn't need to get involved.

  The elevator doors opened, and I got in.

  I had no obligation. Her people could look after her. That was their job, after all.

  She screamed again. I couldn't make out the words, but there was a whole load of anger in that scream. That woman was a mess of emotions, all bubbling near the surface. I had no idea how a person could live like that. I liked my emotions buried deep down inside me. I put my emotions into my music, not my everyday life.

  As the doors shut, I lunged forward, pressing the button and almost dropping my sandwich in the process. The doors opened again, and I sighed. I'd regret this. No, I regretted it already. That sandwich was squished now.

  She'd left the desk and was stomping across the lobby, her footsteps heavy on the marble floor.

  "Polly?"

  She turned, looked at me and kept walking. I rushed after her.

  Before she could get out the door, I grabbed her. The orange juice tumbled onto the floor. We both moved to pick it up at the same time, bashing our heads together.

  "What's up?" I asked her.

  I rubbed my head. She rubbed hers, then handed my orange juice back to me.

  "The damn staff here," she huffed. "I lost my key, and--"

  "You lost your key? That's not good. You have to look after those things. Security and all that."

  "Well, anyway, I lost it. That damn clerk won't let me go up to my room. Says I need my passport. Which is in my damn room."

  She bashed her fist against the doorframe. Frustration eked out of her. I wasn't going to explain that legally, she should have her passport on her at all times. If she could lose her key that easily, she'd probably lose her passport too, and that would cause even more problems.

  Despite the anger flashing in her eyes, her lip quivered.

  "Can't you get someone to come down and vouch for you? I'm sure if one of your band members or your manager spoke to them, they'd get this sorted out. There's no need to get emotional."

  "They're all out. This damn drinking party. I've tried calling, but no one's answering. If they did, I'd probably not get a bit of sense out of them at this time of night. Screw it. I'll just sleep on one of these couches in the lobby."

  Oh, yeah, she had a point. The entire crew would be rotten by now.

  I gave her the once-over. That heavy makeup now smeared on her face, the short skirt and the mud-caked boots. There was no way she'd be sleeping in the lobby. She looked like a bag lady. A sexy bag lady, but a bag lady nonetheless.

  "They'll kick you out."

  "For real?"

  "You think they let people just come in and sleep on the sofas? If they did that, they'd have a lobby full of homeless people. You need to get into your room. I'll speak to the clerk."

  That was easier said than done. I walked across to the desk, and the clerk looked up and smiled that fake customer service smile. I explained the situation. He folded his hands on the desk in front of him. His fingernails looked so manicured and glossy, it seemed wrong. If a guy wants to keep his hands looking nice, that's his business, but something about those shiny nails struck me as excessively pompous.

  "I need your passport," he said.

  "It's in my room. I'll go get it. Then you'll give her a key?"

  "Are you the one who made the booking? Only the person who made the booking can authorize that."

  That would be Fartstard, who was out drinking.

  "I can authorize it. This is my tour."

  The clerk gave me a blank look. He wasn't buying it. I didn't want to resort to some lame "Don't you know who I am?" kind of thing, but seriously, didn't he know who I was?

  "We have rules, and we must abide by them."

  As much as I agreed with that sentiment, just this once he could've bent them. It was obvious that I wasn't some criminal off the street trying to break into a room or anything. As much as I hated emotional displays, I was beginning to see why Polly had screamed at this guy. Pompous jerk.

  I went back to Polly.

  "He's not going to budge on this."

  Her body slumped.

  "Damn it. I'll talk to him again," she said.

  I could just imagine this scene escalating into something fierce. She'd been angry enough earlier; another attempt might get her thrown out of the hotel. That would be a bitch for the tour.

  It was all about the tour. Only the tour. That's where my priorities lay.

  Beneath all the makeup and the toughness, she looked so vulnerable. What would she do? Wander around the city all night? It was cold out there, and she didn't even have a coat on.

  I sighed. "Come up to my room. We can sort something out from there. Maybe the others will be back soon."

  She followed me to the elevator. I might live to regret this, but I had no other choice.

  Polly

  I GUESSED I DIDN'T have much choice but to follow Damo to his hotel room, even though I knew it'd be a bad idea. Not that I thought he'd try to make the moves on me, but in the way that he'd judge everything I did. Like, if I dropped a crumb on the carpet, I'd be judged. But, then, he was the one with the sandwich, not me. He didn't strike me as a convenience store food kind of guy, but I guess at 2 a.m., everyone is a convenience store food person.

  As we waited for the elevator, the silence became awkward. I hated that.

  "Thanks for... err... this," I said. Real interesting conversation starter.

  "I can't have our reputation ruined by fights with hotel staff. If you look bad, the whole tour looks bad."

  Then he smiled, and the sternness of his comment softened.

  "Sorry, Polly, but I have to think about these things. I also have to have a comfortable environment. Conflict and tension make it really hard for me to work."

  I could've told him a thing or two about that, but I didn't want to drag up my personal problems. If I could get rid of all the conflict, I'd definitely do that, but without getting rid of Miles, I couldn't see how.

  The elevator arrived.

  "What were you doing?" Damo asked.

  I looked at him, unsure of exactly what he was referring to.

  "Between the end of the concert and now? The others went off drinking, but you weren't with them, and you seem quite sober."

  "Aha. Gotcha. I've just been walking around."

  "In a strange city. Where anyone could approach you in the street."

  "Sure. Why not? I met some fans the other night, and we went out drinking."

  His expression was more surprise than disapproval.

  "You do that?"

  "Yeah, don't you?"

  Damo shook his head. "Not ever." He moved his hands in front of him as if to make a wall. "I'm here, and the fans are there. I like being admired from afar."

  That would've been a really snotty thing to say if he hadn't had that self-deprecating smile. Maybe there was more to Damo than I'd first thought. That snooty attitude might not be pure snoot. Like, maybe he had social anxiety or some other condition. There are stranger things in this world. I'd only ever seen him around the other guys in his band. He might not cope well outside of that. The tortured genius thing.r />
  The elevator arrived at our floor.

  "Ah, if you're not comfortable with this, I can try to pick the lock on my door," I said. "Or I could curl up in the hallway somewhere."

  "You'd be on the security camera."

  I looked up to where he pointed.

  "Crap!"

  I was sure that if I'd thought about it, I'd have figured they'd have security cameras in a place like this. I just hadn't thought. And it wasn't like I'd been making out with anyone in the hallway. But there'd been that time I'd left my room and had been adjusting my boobs in my bra because I thought there was no one around...

  "Come to my room. You'll be fine."

  He said that, but I bet inside, he wasn't so keen on the idea. Damo had hated me from the start, and I hated him. I did, right? But, suddenly, the idea of spending some time with him seemed, if not exactly fun, at least interesting.

  He swiped his card, and I walked in.

  Wow, his room. It was nothing like mine.

  "Sweet," I said.

  "Yeah, because it's a suite."

  Had he made a joke? A lame joke?

  For reals, he had a massive sofa and everything. This place was about four times bigger than my room. I guessed that was the difference between being the opener and the star. Man, I wanted to be a star. I wanted the big, comfy sofa and the dining table and the luxurious sound system. But mostly, I wanted the opportunities.

  I shrugged off my jacket and threw it onto the sofa. My dress was on the skimpy side. It was my onstage outfit. I pulled at the hem, but that didn't make it any longer.

  "Take a seat," he said. "I hope you don't mind if I eat in front of you."

  I sat down on the sofa while he took the armchair.

  "No. Go ahead. I had a kebab while I was walking around. I'm stuffed." I patted my belly.

  He opened the packet of sandwiches.

  "Thanks again for helping us out the other night. You picked up the song so fast."

  I laughed. "Not really. I've played it a few times in rehearsal. Just mucking around. It's fun to play it with you guys. The way you all work together is amazing."

  'Your band doesn't do that?"

  I shook my head, but I didn't want to get into that with him.

  "Why didn't you go out drinking?" I asked.

  He finished chewing before he answered.

  "Not my thing. I'm not much of a drinker. I prefer the quiet."

  I nodded. I wasn't really a quiet person, but going out drinking with Miles would be even worse. He was a nasty drunk. Nasty sober, too, but the drink didn't help.

  "I guess if I had a fancy suite like this, I'd be making the most of it, too."

  He sighed. "No 24-hour room service, though. What's with that? Instead, I have to go out and buy soggy sandwiches."

  "That sucks. But, hey, we have room service? I never even knew. I've been too scared to even drink the Coke from my fridge in case they charge me $50 for it."

  He leaned forward with a smile. "Me too," he said. "Mini-bar prices are a crime."

  We smiled at each other for a moment. I went to put my feet on the coffee table, but mid-lift I realized that was sure to annoy him. For some reason, I wanted him to keep smiling at me like we had secrets shared only between the two of us. Even if they weren't really secrets, just an issue with mini-bar prices.

  He jumped up and put some music on. That sound system sure was amazing.

  I took my boots off and curled my legs up on the sofa. That might still annoy him, but it seemed better than putting my feet on the coffee table.

  I could barely keep my eyes open, but it'd be rude to nap uninvited.

  Damo played around with the music. I glanced over at him, and he had his eyes glued to me. For some reason, that made me uncomfortable. That gaze was way too intense. I reached up and adjusted my hair.

  He kept staring. I looked away. Things seemed to swirl around inside me, emotions that I didn't want to have when I was alone in a hotel room with him.

  I wouldn't look back. I'd keep my gaze well away from him. I didn't need to see him. But, without my even thinking about it, my head turned in his direction.

  He still kept looking. Did I have something wrong with me? I bet I had panda eyes and my lipstick half-off, but it was rude of him to stare.

  Heat flooded through me. The way he looked at me--it wasn't the earlier disapproval. I quite liked it, but I didn't want to like it. The antagonism between us had become comfortable.

  Then I realized my skirt had ridden up. I pulled down at the hem. Had he been looking? Not just at me, but at my panties? Hell, I should be embarrassed, or maybe annoyed, but that rush of heat left my face and settled between my legs.

  I wanted him to want me. I liked that look on his face. As much as I tried to deny it, I had a huge girl-boner for Damo. And that was the worst possible thing I could do.

  He coughed, breaking the silence.

  "Maybe I should get you a blanket. You could spend the night on the sofa. It seems quite comfortable."

  Damo

  I TOLD MYSELF I ONLY let her stay so she wasn't wandering the streets until the rest of the band returned. But there was more to it than that. This girl I'd thought was some clueless groupie had something. And it was something I should stay well away from.

  I had to. It'd be totally unprofessional of me to start things up with her. A fling like that could screw up the whole tour. Elijah could do that shit; I couldn't.

  But, hell, when she curled her legs up like that, the whole curve of her butt on display, my cock twitched like it hadn't in a long time. I had to get myself under control. A glimpse of her panties shouldn't get me all revved up like a schoolboy. God, though, you could make out the outline of her pussy lips. My first impulse was to spread those legs of hers wide open and bury my face between them. She'd taste so fucking sweet.

  My tongue almost lolled out of my mouth at the thought. I pretended to fuss around, finding the right music to put on, but my hand trembled. I hadn't felt desire like this since--hell, ever. No woman had ever shaken me this way. Sure, I'd wanted women before. I'd played around enough when I was younger, and I'd had brief infatuations, but those feelings had been like a gentle slap compared to the sledgehammer she'd smashed into my emotions.

  She looked back at me, but I couldn't stop staring. I'd get a hard-on right in front of her if I didn't get my thoughts off that gorgeous mound. I had to think of other things. Crow's stinky socks on the tour bus. That was an instant boner-killer.

  But then I glanced over again.

  She was a hot mess. Smeared makeup, over-emotional and out of control. But she was so much more than that. She had a sweetness beneath that image and a lot of sense. Not to mention, she played bass like a demon. I didn't just want her body, I wanted to get to know her, to explore those hidden depths. I wanted to drown in her liquid eyes.

  No. I didn't.

  I couldn't drown. I wouldn't drown. I'd stay safe on shore. The only way to survive was to stay well clear of her.

  I grabbed a blanket and told her to sleep on the sofa. I'd go into my room and pull the door firmly closed between us. I couldn't stay in the same room as her and keep myself under control, and that, in itself, worried me. At least with her in one room and me in the other, I could remove the temptation. Because right now, my hands ached to stroke her soft skin and my lips craved her taste and every part of me buzzed with the nearness of her.

  Then she got up to go to the bathroom.

  She gasped when she walked through the doorway. It was a damn luxurious bathroom by any standards. She moved around, brushing her teeth, then she went quiet.

  "Everything okay in there?" I asked.

  "Yep."

  I hoped I hadn't made her uncomfortable by letting her know I could hear her. This situation had become incredibly awkward.

  I didn't want to undress for bed until she came out, since she'd have to walk through my bedroom. I didn't want her catching me half-undressed. That would make this situ
ation worse instead of better.

  Finally, she walked out.

  "Thanks for letting me stay," she said.

  She lingered in the doorway. I tried not to look at her, but the air buzzed between us. I'd keep that distance, no matter what.

  "That's okay," I said without looking up.

  Then I glanced at her. I should not have done that. I yearned to reached out, just to stroke her face.

  I tore my gaze from her. That would not happen.

  "Do you want to borrow a t-shirt to sleep in?" I asked.

  "Sure."

  I opened the wardrobe to find a shirt. She moved over and stood beside me, so close that I could smell her perfume. Close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from her skin.

  "Wow, you unpack? Even for such a short stay?"

  I had my clothes folded neatly in the wardrobe.

  "Of course. I'd never find anything otherwise."

  She gave a throaty laugh. "My stuff is all over the place. I never find things."

  I didn't doubt that. She seemed the type who'd upend her suitcase onto the floor. We were so opposite that it was scary.

  I reached over and grabbed a t-shirt to give her. She took it but didn't move away. She stared at the wardrobe as if my organization system amazed her. I didn't move away either. I didn't want to break this moment. Her arm brushed against mine, barely a touch. Just the flesh brushing against the hairs on my arm.

  She sucked in her breath, then backed away.

  "Err... I'll try on the t-shirt," she said, disappearing back into the bathroom.

  With a bit of space, I tried to get my thoughts together. This was wrong. I could resist her. I'd had every kind of temptation thrown at me over the last few years and had ignored it all. She was just a girl. Nothing more.

  What was going on between us? I should go out and maybe get a glass of water, or at least do something so I wasn't just standing around gawking when she came out.

  She came out of the bathroom in the t-shirt. Hell, I should've found a longer one. That t-shirt just skimmed the tops of her thighs. Hell, those legs.

  She flicked her hair, not breaking eye contact with me.