Bad Beats: A Rock-Star Step-Brother Romance (7 page)

For some unfathomable reason, my mind makes a hasty and highly unanticipated detour, conjuring up Misty and her earlier comments. I can’t believe she called my Irish goddess fat.

“Need some help with that?”

Speaking of the curve-shaming she-devil. My PA is in my room and she wants to play.

“Misty, I thought we talked about this. You can’t just let yourself in without…”

I forget my rebuke as she glides toward me, dressed in some sexy-as-fuck lingerie that reveals her toned abs and pushes up her fake tits.

So far, I’ve managed to keep my dick out of her pussy, convincing myself that oral sex with my employee isn’t as bad as fucking her would be. One former Commander and Chief seemed to agree, setting public precedence with his ‘sex free’ blowjobs, courtesy of a willing intern.

At least I’m not the only man to take flack for my bad behavior, besides; I’m not a world leader, just a lead singer who loves to shag women. It comes with the territory. Rock-Stars are expected to behave badly. I wouldn’t want to let down my fans. 

“You disappeared. Where were you?” Misty has the nerve to demand, like I owe her an explanation and reminding me that I sure as hell don’t love her.

As it stands right now, I’m questioning if I even like her.

I don’t bother with an answer, instead watching as she leans over the well-polished desk and dumps a pile of white powder on its shiny surface.

This is not what I wanted.

What I wanted was to smoke a little weed, drink a beer, and write a song about my woes, without any female interference. Thinking about Lila’s betrayal and feeling like an asshole over how I’d left Cadie stranded isn’t the best prelude to partying with a woman I am trying to keep my distance from.

But… since the blow and the babe are already here, it would be a shame for them to go to waste. I’m only human, right? And who says I have to like her to party with her?

An hour later, with Misty preparing to ride me like a cowgirl reversed, my cell buzzes, and buzzes…and buzzes.

Huffing, she stops with the head of my cock teasing her entrance and grabs the phone, which happens to be by my feet. She glances at the screen. “It’s your mom.”

My mom never calls this late, early, whatever you want to call the current hour.

“Mom? Are you all right?”

Misty uses the interruption to maneuver off me and proceeds to fill her nose with more from our shrinking powder pile.

I listen while my mom explains how her latest lover proposed. Apparently, she was so excited she couldn’t wait to call. They intend to get married in the next few months, and she wants to schedule a meet-my-latest-stepfather dinner date.

We’ve been down this same road already.

More accurately, she’s been down the aisle, doing the wedding march, three times prior.

“You’ll have a stepsister too,” she practically squeals. “I can’t wait for us to spend time together. I know he’s the one. I feel it, Sean. This is it.”

My mom is the only one who still calls me Sean and gets away with it. She’s also the only one who can spew bullshit and avoid my BS-busting tactics. I’ve never been shy about voicing my opinions, especially when my BS-meter detects sizable amounts of crap.

I chuckle. I’m so fucking high my brain is overflowing with its own BS right now.

“No Mom! I’m not laughing at you. I’ve had a little too much to drink. You know how it is,” I lie. There’s no way I’ll ever admit my drug use to her.

Pacified by my explanation, she shares some more family gossip and we end the call with me agreeing to meet the latest groom-to-be and my future step-sister as soon as I’m back on US soil. The guy lives in Portland, Oregon, Cadie O’Shea’s hometown. How convenient. The meeting will provide a good reason to drop in on Cadie.

“Shag, baby. Want another line? And I’m ready to ride. I’ve waited so long for…”

I tug the condom off my shrinking cock and toss it into the nearest trash basket.

The phone call provided just enough of a pause for my sanity to return. Shagging my PA was, is, and always will be a bad idea.

“Misty, I got carried away. I can’t fuck you. You work for me. Things are already complicated enough. If you wanna suck my dick, I won’t complain, but…”

“Oh, fuck off, why don’t you? You fuck anything with a cunt, but when it comes to me, you suddenly have morals. You’ve been acting different lately. It’s that fat cow, isn’t it.”

Okay. Now she’s pissing me off. “Do you value your job?” I don’t give her time to answer. “Do I pay you well? I think we both know the answer to that. I pay you way more than you’re worth.”

“Your point?” She glares at me, the cocaine giving her a careless sense of confidence.

“I have several points. Why don’t I remind you of a few?” I’m on a roll now.  “It would be wise to remember my word is law. You work for me. Not the record company. Not the band. Me. I’m done spending time with you like this. If you want to keep your job and the salary you seem to like spending, you need to fucking act like my PA not some sick version of a girlfriend. I don’t do girlfriends. Not now. Not ever.”

“Shag?” Cadie’s soft voice penetrates the unwanted memory.

I shake my head, dislodging the final image of Misty slamming the door behind her, and instead allow Cadie’s presence to anchor me.

“Sorry, I was just thinking. That’s some heavy stuff. I’m sorry you lost your friends. I can see why you’re so protective and cautious.”

She shrugs, her gaze darting towards the pool where Robin is screeching as some guy dunks her without mercy. Roxie is in the middle of her own showdown.

“No swimming and water fights for you, huh?” I am eager to change the subject to something less intense and bury last night’s mistakes for good.

“It’s not because I don’t enjoy the water. The sun and I just don’t get along. I’m surprised you didn’t notice that my skin is dangerously close to matching my hair color. And the burn happened in about thirty minutes,” she laughs, taking the bait for lighter conversation. “Why else would I be hiding here when the action is over there?”

Her smile does something to me, and I want to do whatever it takes to keep it on her face, because a happy, smiling Cadie O’Shea is even hotter than the serious version.

My stomach does a twist flip thing, something I’m not sure I’ve ever felt, even with Lila, and once again, I’m torn. Part of me wants to get the fuck away from the unfamiliar feelings she continues to trigger anytime I’m near her. The other part wants to see how this, whatever
this
is, progresses. And I haven’t forgotten my commitment to worship her voluptuous body before our ship docks, back in Miami.

As for ports…there’s the stipulation that I am required to spend at least three hours, per day, in the company of our guests, but thankfully, there is nothing on Rod’s itinerary that specifies how many guests, which makes my plan perfect.

Tomorrow is our first port stop, Grand Turk. I’ve already determined I’m renting a private four wheeler and visiting the island’s historic light house. The general public isn’t allowed inside the aging structure, but I’m not the general public. Taking Cadie with me will be the perfect-solution to my guest-pleasing-quota and my whole romancing scheme.

If I play my cards right, I could be earning my nickname by tomorrow night, maybe sooner.

“You’re spacing again,” she teases. “We were talking about my sensitive skin.”

“And you smiled,” I point out. “Love your smile.”

She looks away, but not before I see her sun-kissed cheeks blossom into a deeper shade of pink. I feel strangely triumphant knowing that Miss O’Shea is not as immune to my charms as she pretends to be. It would seem that now is a good time to invite her on an island excursion. I’m actually nervous.

Fuck.
I need to get a grip.

I’m a famous rock-star. Women will do anything to be with me, and men want to be me. I’m fucking rich and damn good looking, two qualities that normally pave the way to getting who and what I want. If Cadie O’Shea turns down my offer, some other female will be honored to accompany me.

The problem is I don’t want some other female.

“So…” I start.

She turns her face towards mine.

“Tomorrow is our first stop. Wanna go on a private light house tour…with me?”

Sighing, she glances at the pool. “What about Robin? She’s the contest winner. I don’t want her…”

“What if Roxie keeps her busy? We’re all supposed to socialize with our guests. They seem to get along.” That’s no lie. The two appear to be having a splashing good time drinking and flirting up a storm with their growing harem of men.

Cadie seems onboard with the idea. “As long as Robin has someone to go with…”

“So it’s a date?” I don’t give her time to reconsider. She sounds uncertain enough as it is.

“Like a
date
date?”

“It can be whatever you want it to be, Miss O’Shea.”

Misty chooses that second to appear at our table, shielding her eyes with her hand and making no effort to hide her disapproval. “Rod called a band meeting in ten. He wants to go over tonight’s set.”

Hoping to avoid a scene, I push out of the chair.

“See you later?” I rest a hand on Cadie’s shoulder, ignoring Misty.

“Sure. Have fun.”

“I’ll have fun tomorrow,” I say, letting the innuendo hang between us.

She glances from me to Misty and back to me before nodding. “Sounds great. I’m looking forward to it.”

Misty makes an annoyed little huffing sound, but Cadie simply picks up her Kindle, dismissing us.

I can’t help but grin. She’s not going to let my PA push her around, one more reason to like her.

Misty, on the other hand, shoots me a look I don’t like at all. It’s a warning and challenge wrapped into one spiteful sneer. I curl my own lip up, matching her expression.

There’s no longer any doubt what I need to do. Find a new PA the minute this cruise is over.

Cadie

“I used to think the only way to be truly alive is to confront your mortality.”

-Nikki Sixx

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” I groan, squinting at the clock.

I can’t believe I slept through dinner and have less than an hour before Crude Element’s performance.

Robin continues to rifle through the closet where my ‘cruise wardrobe’ was stored away and then organized by our personal attendant when we first arrived.

He displayed my clothing choices by category and color, lightest to darkest, prints before solids. Tops are on one end, working down through shorts, pants, and skirts, ending with dresses and my two evening gowns, neither of which I intend to wear. I’m still not sure why we were asked to purchase them.

“I did try to wake you. You were zonked. ‘Sunburn sleep’ is what my mom used to call it. I forgot how little sun it takes to
zonk
you,” she laughs before turning serious. “Now spill. I want to know what is going on with you and Shag Steal. I’m not blind nor am I stupid. Roxie noticed too, so don’t try to deny it.”

“There’s nothing to deny. We’re just friends.”

What I don’t say is; we might be friends now, but there is something brewing beneath the surface that could easily explode, taking our friendship to the next level―the lovers’ level.

It doesn’t matter
what
I don’t say. Robin isn’t convinced and as usual must be reading my mind. “Uh, do you remember who you’re talking to? I’m not just your best friend, but I’m also Crude Element’s biggest fan. That means I know all there is to know about Mr. Sexy Singer. He doesn’t have ‘friendships’ with women. He shags them.”

“Well, he’s not shagging me. And besides, I think his PA likes him. I’m guessing they had or still have a thing. I’m not getting in the middle.”

I hope I’m wrong about them having
a thing
, present tense; but I can tell, at the very least, Misty is seriously into her employer.

“Roxie hates her,” Robin says, giving me one more reason to like Crude Element’s rhythm guitarist. “I guess she started as Shag’s personal assistant but is pretty much helping with band management at this point. She is obsessed with him, and Roxie said she can be a real bitch.” Robin holds up a black T-shirt with rhinestones and silver studs forming a skull and crossbones design. “What do you think?”

The trendy tee isn’t something I’d typically wear, but nothing I’m doing right now is typical. “Okay, fine. Toss it here.”

She does and follows the throw with a pair of black suede capris.

Relieved that I showered before my extended nap; I search frantically for my miracle body-shaper. There is no way I’m shoving my ass and thighs into those tight pants without it. At least my calf muscles are defined and will look good with the cropped bottoms.

“Me and Roxie think you should just do it,” she says, shocking me.

“Like do it as in
do it
?”

“He wants you, and no matter what you say, I know you want him too. Have a fling. Fuck someone famous. Enjoy yourself for once, Cadie Cat. Just remember, he’s not relationship material. Sex for sex’s sake. You should try it.”

I don’t bother replying, but I can’t help thinking she might be right.

I’m on a cruise. Cruises are meant to be crazy, like a trip to Vegas but on water. And tomorrow we’re going to be exploring a tropical paradise together.

What will it hurt, as long as I keep my emotions in check?

I mean, it’s not like I’m planning to marry the guy. Having someone to compare with Mitch isn’t a bad idea either. As much as he complained about sex with me, I sure as hell didn’t enjoy it with him. His penis was short and stumpy, and he had no idea what to do with it.

At the thought of Mitch, I inwardly cringe.
What will Shag think of my body?
Mitch was disgusted by my appearance and took every opportunity to remind me, which was often.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Robin scolds, catching on like she always does to my Mitch-triggered self-loathing. “Shag is not Mitch. Roxie said she has never seen him pursue anyone the way he’s pursuing you. The man’s attracted to you. You’re gorgeous. Plenty of men aboard this ship want a piece of my Cadie Cat.”

When she winks, I have to laugh. “God, what would I do without you?”

“You wouldn’t have kinky sex with a rock-star; that’s for sure. Now get ready! Should I call Tony?”

Should she?
I wouldn’t mind his expert skills again tonight.

She’s already punching numbers on the cabin’s phone. I hurry to the bathroom so I’m dressed when he arrives.

“He needs an hour notice. We waited too long,” she says the minute I’m out.

“What do I do now?” My excitement is fading. I was counting on Tony’s magic touch again.

“I think you should wear your hair wild. Maybe even tease it up. I’ll help you with your makeup. Tony left samples of what he used, right?”

Nodding, I let her take over.

Forty minutes later and I’m seated on a cushy loveseat, directly in front of center stage. I’ve been fluffed, puffed, powdered, and primped by my BFF, and I’m feeling pretty good. I hope Shag approves.

I’m in his direct line of vision, and there’s no one between his microphone stand and where I’m seated. Talk about an intimate concert experience. I wonder what pants he’ll be poured into tonight. I’m hoping for some leathers.

Robin is perched on the loveseat’s arm, talking with Roxie about their plans for tomorrow. It appears Shag made good on his promise to keep my friend occupied.

Roxie is the only band member present that I can see. There are just five minutes remaining before show time, though I assume delays are sometimes planned to ramp up the audience’s energy and increase their excitement.

I certainly don’t need anything to energize me. I’m practically vibrating, anticipating Shag’s sure-to-be stellar performance and expecting the show to blow me away.

Craning my neck, I scan the crowded lounge.

Behind our roped off, stage-front real-estate, the room is over-stuffed with tables. All the seats are taken and the area by the bar is packed. There’s a dance floor in the center of everything, it’s full too. People are already dancing to the background music.

Mr. Tall, Dark, and very Handsome, from the pool this morning, has his eyes locked on me, his expression hungry.

Had it been Shag leaning against the wall, looking like he wanted to devour me, I might have felt different, but this guy makes me feel dirty. Maybe Robin was right about giving him the third degree earlier. Most of the time my weirdo-radar works fairly well; it must have malfunctioned by the pool, because tonight, the guy creeps me out.

There’s no time to worry about Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome turned Mr. Stalker because a screaming guitar riff cuts through my tension, and I turn back toward the darkened stage, just in time to see the shadowy figures of Crude Element take their places.

I can’t help myself. Like everyone else, I jump to my feet, eager to experience their music the way I should have at the first concert. Robin screeches in my ear.

The lights on the small stage explode to life, revealing the band. I don’t waste a second looking at anyone but Shag. He’s all I see, bathed in a blue spotlight and looking like the rock god he’s been referred to so often.

“Welcome winners!” he yells, as if he’s on massive stage, in a stadium of thousands, not a room with three hundred people.

The audience cheers their approval.

“Let’s fucking rock this ship right out of the water!”

And they do.

For the next hour, Shag and his band weave a web of musical madness that’s impossible to resist. Shag’s the spider, luring us in with his dark and dangerous persona. He’s an impeccable front-man, giving the audience everything they could possibly want and then some.

More than once his smoldering gaze finds mine and he grins. Another time he winks. There is no hiding his interest. Shag Steal may be entertaining everyone else, but he’s enticing me with a personal performance that has my heart racing and my panties damp.

Just so you know, I’ve read more than a few romance novels where the heroine refers to her wet panties. I always discarded the over-used reference as an exaggeration specific to the genre.

Now I know the books were right and I was wrong. Damp panties are real, and I’m wearing them.

I’m also positive I am not the only one in desperate need of a cold shower, especially with Shag looking like he does. His bare chest and six-pack glisten with sweat, drawing my gaze to his body-hugging leathers, a different pair than he wore during the Portland concert. They lace up the front, reminiscent of David Lee Roth’s signature eighties style.

But what makes the pants so hot is the way Shag fills them. He’s packing some serious size beneath those laces. The drool-worthy bulge is even bigger than I remember from that first, hometown show. Considering at this venue his crotch is just a few feet from my face, it’s no wonder he seems larger than life.

Two songs ago, he tossed me his T-shirt, and I’m clinging to the sweaty garment like it’s my life preserver. Every few seconds, his uniquely male scent drifts up from the shirt, adding to my desire. It takes all my self-control to resist the insane urge to bury my nose in the cool cotton.

Robin isn’t helping matters. She keeps passing me straight shots. I don’t do straight shots. At least I didn’t use to.

Because of those shots, I’ve surpassed the tipsy phase, something that’s happened more in the past week than in the last year. The night we used our gift cards to shop for the cruise, I was buzzed. By the pool today, I was feeling no pain. And now…now I’m ready to seduce Shag and worry about the emotional price tag tomorrow.

So much for my stance on limiting any self-indulgent behavior…I’m failing miserably in that regard and can’t make myself care. What I do care about is the man who owns the stage and perhaps even a tiny piece of me.

His next words lodge in my heart, like an arrow from Cupid’s bow, sending a surge of heat spiraling through me. I lean into Robin, and she nudges me, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“I’d like to play you a song I wrote while most of you were enjoying a kick ass meal. My band doesn’t know about it yet, and I don’t have a title. I hope you’re cool with an acoustic version of what I believe is a future hit. Did I mention I’m turning into a certified cat lover?”

Robin pokes me. “Cat lover, huh? Whatever could he mean?”

I take the shot glass from her and throw back my head, letting the bitter liquid burn a fiery trail down my throat. “Maybe he likes felines,” I tease back.

She raises her brow and I stick out my tongue.

Someone from Shag’s crew brings him a stool and hands over a guitar, putting an end to our banter.

The room quiets and chairs shuffle as people sit. Robin pulls me down with her, giving my thigh a pat. I sink into the cushions, keeping my gaze trained on Shag. He adjusts the instrument, his expression thoughtful.

After what feels like forever, he looks up and shoots us his trademark smirk. It doesn’t matter that he’s about to premiere a song he wrote while I was napping and everyone else was eating, he appears cool and utterly confident.

He fixes his gaze on me and strums his fingers across the guitar’s strings, launching into a soulful rock ballad that makes my arm hairs stand up and take notice. Goose bumps trail over my skin and I’m immediately lost in the lyrics.

The song is about a man longing for a woman so bad it hurts. He refers to the woman as Cat and makes use of several clever word plays to insert some petting and purring references into the story. Rather than being cheesy, the cat contrasts add a hint of humor to an otherwise serious song of seduction and bring a unique twist to a tale about a tormented man desperate for a torrid affair with a woman he should leave alone.

Mentions of emerald eyes and a red halo of hair…his very own Tabby Cat, eliminate any mystery about who he’s longing for.

He. Wants. Me.

He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s going to get me.

Tonight.

Just the thought of us together sends a coil of heat through my core. I shift, trying to relieve the pressure and refocus my attention on the lyrics not the ache between my legs.

The verse that touches me most describes how the woman he wants is out of his league and explains he is no good for her, and then goes on to clarify that in the end he will corrupt her, destroying her innocence.

Had the lyrics been lacking, it wouldn’t have mattered, because Shag’s voice is intoxicating, like the finest wine, aged to perfection. It wraps around me like a lush fur blanket, caressing my soul and making me realize how much I want to be corrupted, as long as it’s Shag doing the corrupting.

The man has far more going for him than simple charisma and charm, and he’s not just talented, he’s undeniably gifted. He shines brighter than any star and easily makes the sun pale in comparison to the energy that emanates from him.  As for sex appeal, he has it in spades, no one could ever question his shameless sensuality, but it’s more than that.