I Want You to Want Me (Rock Star Romance #2) (7 page)

He narrowed his gaze at her.

Guess he didn’t like that idea. “Or a record company executive. Whatever you guys want. I just don’t want to cause problems for you and Gen.”

He practically glowered at her. “I already told you she’s not gonna give a shit. And you’re not going to be anyone else’s girlfriend. Just leave it as it is.”

“I’m not sure you understand what it means to have me pose as your girlfriend. I’ll be with you all the time. I’ll be . . . you know, touching you. Making it look believable. Trust me, Gen’s not going to like what she sees.” He remained still, quiet, and it made her uncomfortable. “We’re going to be together a lot.” All the time.

“Gen won’t see you as a threat.”

Heat shot up her neck, burning like a rash. She wasn’t suggesting a woman like Genevieve Babineaux would feel threatened by
her
, specifically. More that no woman wants to see her boyfriend with some woman hanging on him, even if she knows it’s only pretend.

A finger tipped her chin. “You can’t be a threat, believe me.”

Mortification burned a path from her neck to the tips of her ears. Her mind blanked out, but she wouldn’t let him see his successful kill shot. She turned to stone. “I’ll take care of it in the morning.”

He clamped a hand on her hip, preventing her from flipping over. He practically yanked her back toward him. “No, you won’t. You’ll leave it as it is.”

She would not let him hurt her. She barely even knew him. What an idiot to let herself develop feelings for a client.
Obviously
she wasn’t his type. He’d dated two supermodels before hooking up with Genevieve Babineaux.
Of course
she wasn’t his type.

“Besides, she’s not my girlfriend.”

“Well, whatever you call it in your world, she’s the woman you’re sleeping with at the moment. I don’t want to embarrass her. I’ll take care of it tomorrow. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m sure your sister’s gone to sleep by now.” She swung a leg over him to get out of the bunk, but he blocked her with his body.

His fingers touched her chin. “I hurt your feelings.”

In spite of the cold air circulating on the bus, her skin felt clammy. Perspiration beaded over her lip. “This is a job. I have no feelings.”

“I don’t know what I said, but I’m sorry.”

“That’s such a stupid thing to say. If you don’t know what you said, then you can’t
be
sorry. Let me go.”

“No. You’re going to wake everyone up. Just get back in bed and let’s go to sleep.”

“I’m not sleeping with you. It’s unprofessional.”

“You’re my girlfriend. It’s not unprofessional.”

“I’m your
fake
girlfriend in public. There’s no one around but you and me.”

“And me,” a voice from below said, all sleepy and rough.

“Go back to sleep, Coop,” Derek said. He gave her a look that said,
See, you woke him up.

“Then shut the fuck up,” Coop said.

His fingers tightened on her chin. “Lay down.” He tugged her, so she fell over him, lengthwise. Seeking purchase, her hand came up and brushed across something
hard and long and thick. When he grunted and pulled his knees up, she knew she’d touched his erection.

“I’m so sorry.” She quickly scrambled off him, but he only dragged her to his other side, trapping her between his big body and the wall.

He leaned into her, whispering in her ear, “If you can keep your hands off my dick, I might let you sleep here.”

She couldn’t help the snuffling laughter that came out of her, so she turned her face into his pillow.

“You’ll never get to sleep in the lounge, not with that talk radio going all night long. Okay?”

She got a hold of herself, and gave him a short nod. Then, she turned away from him, curling up and folding her hands under her chin.

After several moments of silence, during which she used her relaxation exercises to calm down, she felt his heat near her face. “You look adorable like that.”

Her foot kicked out, jamming him in the thigh.

“Ow.”

“Go to sleep.”

“Fine.” He hovered over her. “But I
am
sorry I hurt your feelings.”

She turned to look up at him, seeing the genuine worry in his eyes. “We’re going to forget all about feelings, okay? We work together. Now, good night, Derek.”

He didn’t answer, and she didn’t know what he was thinking.

But then she heard him exhale, then shift closer to her, one arm banding around her waist and pulling her in close.

Hot water slid over his body, and Derek lowered his head. The music still coursed through him, making his fingers twitch. And when he closed his eyes, he saw the fans screaming, arms in the air, as though the guys were offering food to a starving mob instead of tunes.

He let the water pummel his head, his neck, his shoulders, as he fought back the shame of having a minder. Of Irwin thinking he needed a minder. That he couldn’t handle the band.

Worse, he didn’t think he
could
handle the band. During the tour with Piper, he’d come up with the idea of the contract. And it had worked for a while. The guys had finished out the tour with no drugs and way less booze. But then they’d moved to New York City to record the album, and things started changing. Initially, nervous about pleasing the producer and Irwin, the guys had gone back to the rental in Brooklyn each night and fallen asleep. But over time, they’d started accepting invitations from the record company people, going out to clubs, staying out later and later. He’d thought they’d be okay, since Irwin had assigned them his assistant, Bax.

Derek had breathed a little easier¸ knowing they were
under Bax’s watch. The guy had the extreme good luck to work for the hottest A&R guy in the business. It was in his best interest to keep Irwin happy—and that meant keeping his bands in line.

Still, Derek had taken it upon himself to make sure everyone showed up to the studio on time. Performed to the best of their ability. And when things had started to get out of hand—like Pete being too fucked up to play his part some days—he’d tossed the guys into a cab and taken them to a tattoo shop in Greenwich Village. They’d gotten inked, gotten back on the same page, and kicked some ass in the studio. They got it. Partying and decadence killed the music. Ended careers. They weren’t going to fall into that rabbit hole. The tats were constant, permanent reminders.

He’d thought they were good. And now, they were unraveling all over again.

And it felt like shit that Irwin thought they needed a minder to keep them focused on their damn job.

Shutting off the water, he stepped out of the communal shower and grabbed his towel.

Well, fuck, how
did
you control the behavior of five guys? Four of your closest friends?

He couldn’t. And now they’d find out if Violet could.

•   •   •

“Fucking
bowling
?” Pete scowled as he took in the crowded bowling alley.

“You’ll love it.” Violet grabbed her shoes from the clerk. “Thank you.” Her radiant smile made the kid blush. She took off, leaving Derek in a cloud of the light, floral perfume that he’d come to associate with her soft body tucked up against him.

Not good. Not good at all.

“Why am I bowling instead of getting laid?” Pete asked Derek. “I’m a rock star, not a plumber.”

Plumber?
When had Pete become such a snob? Sure, his parents were both doctors, but Pete hadn’t even gone to college. After spending middle school beating off in his closet with a stack of
Playboy
magazines, he’d landed a gig in a garage band. He and Slater had found his name on a
corkboard in the first club they’d played during their junior year of college.

“Because our babysitter thinks it’s a healthier way to let off steam.” Coop had his hands on his hips, checking out the patrons. “We could still get laid.” He did a chin lift toward a group of high school girls wearing skimpy clothes and thick eyeliner.

“They’ve got
braces
.” Derek didn’t want to bowl either, but what could he do? Undermine her first effort to find them healthier alternatives to working off their post-show highs? “Come on, get your shoes.” He didn’t think she could understand the level of adrenaline punching through their system after a gig. Nor why having sex with three women at once would take the edge off for these guys better than tossing a big ball down a lane.

As he headed toward his friends, Slater came up to him, looking all stern and pissed off. “You invited them
here
?” He tipped his head toward the door. “Your boy just walked in.”

Derek spotted one of the reporters he often texted when he thought the band could use some good PR. “Yeah, I did. It’s a good thing.”

“Really? We’re
bowling
. Last time you tipped them off because of the celebrities who came to the show. What’s the excuse this time?”

“Gets our name out there.”

“Why do you need this shit?”

When his friend’s voice softened, when the anger turned into genuine curiosity, Derek calmed down. “Every time my dad says shit about me, it turns the spotlight on the band. Makes people look at us the wrong way.”

Slater rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful. “Yeah, okay. I can see that.”

“Matt’ll get a few shots of our good, wholesome fun, post ’em, and Eddie Valencia’s ugly shit’ll be spun into what a neat bunch of guys we really are. And bonus, Irwin sees we’re doing healthy shit.”

Slater nodded, bumped his fist into Derek’s upper arm. “Got it. Sorry. I just . . . I hate this shit.”

Emmie came up just then, throwing her arms around Slater’s neck. “You ready for me to blow a rack?”

Slater sputtered. “What?”

She laughed. “It’s a bowling term Ben just taught me. It means a solid strike hit. I’m a git me one of those. Come on, let’s do this.”

She dragged him off to their lane, which had attracted more than a few hangers-on. Good, it would generate even more buzz.

As Derek approached, he watched Violet sitting in a chair, leaning forward, tying her shoes. When she sat up, her dark shiny hair swung back, settling around her, all silky and smooth. She caught him watching, and her features broke into a smile so genuine his breath caught in his throat.

He dropped his shoes, sank into a chair, and kicked off his boots. His pulse beat too fast. What the fuck was his problem? Another pretty girl. So what? He had to get a hold of himself around her.

“So is this what you normally dress like?” he heard Emmie ask her.

“Oh, you wouldn’t want me dressing like me. I don’t think anyone would buy Derek dating a girl in shorts and a T-shirt, no makeup, and her hair fresh from a shower. No, this is for my role with you guys.”

“Well, I like it. That’s a really pretty dress.”

Derek couldn’t help taking in the white sundress with bright red strawberries toppling all over it. The top part hugged her spectacular breasts, and then it opened into a swingy skirt. She looked something between a farm girl and a sex kitten. And it made him hard.

“Thanks.” She lowered her voice, leaned closer to his sister. “I had to really think about it. Derek doesn’t hang around nymphs, so I had to kill that look. And since he only dates supermodels and women like Gen, I knew I couldn’t even begin to go there. No outfit can make me look like his type.”

His head snapped up. He stared at her, last night finally making sense. He’d hurt her worse than he’d thought.

“So I had to come up with something that would seem believable. You know, why would he trade a sexpot like Gen for a regular woman like Violet Davis? It’s not as easy as you think to fit into these roles.”

She had it all wrong. He was such a dick.

“Hm.” Slater nudged him. “What
would
an actual girlfriend of Derek Valencia look like? I’m not sure even he knows, since he’s never given anyone a chance.”

Derek looked away from his teasing expression. He grabbed Violet’s arm. “Come here.”

“Derek,” he heard Emmie call, but he didn’t care. “We’re about to start, where are you going?”

He ignored his sister, towing Violet back near the vending machines.

“What’re you doing?” Violet yanked her arm free.

With a hand at either side of her head, he pinned her to the wall. “You took it the wrong way. Last night, when I said you weren’t a threat to Gen.” His gaze trailed down her very hot body, down to the red-tipped toes peeking out of the sandals. Then, he let it crawl back up, unable to stop himself from taking in the luscious cleavage in the V-neck of her dress.

When he captured her gaze, her eyes widened, and her pretty pink tongue came out and licked her lips. “Okay.”

“You thought I meant you couldn’t compare to Gen. But you got it wrong.”

“I don’t care.” Her tone sounded completely together, but her eyes showed something else entirely. “Remember what I said? No feelings. We work together. I was just trying to look somewhat believable as your girlfriend.”

“Gen’s not even in your league. I’ve never met anyone like you before. You’re so fucking real.” He didn’t know how to describe her, but the way she held her breath, waiting, made him want to try. “A hundred shiny people can be in the room, but you’re the one I’m drawn to. Because you’re all calm and cool, like there’s nothing you can’t handle. And yet you’re sweet and kind.” The opposite of Gen. “But underneath . . . Christ. You’re fierce. And that makes you about a thousand times sexier than she could ever be.”

Standing this close, thighs touching, he felt the tremble run through her. “Okay. It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. I hurt your feelings last night.”

“You can’t hurt my feelings if I don’t have them. You’re my client.”

“Oh, I hurt your feelings. And I’m telling you I’m sorry.
I never thought I had a type before, but that’s because I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Her lips parted, her features softening, and color spread across her cheeks.
Oh, damn.

His gaze lowered to her cleavage again, and when she drew in a sharp breath, her breasts rose. Lust gripped his spine and his balls. “Fuck, Violet.”

“Don’t do this. We have to get back out there.” She pushed off the wall, her breasts pressing against his chest through his thin gray T-shirt.

Just as he started to step away from her, he caught movement in his peripheral vision. He recognized the reporter’s red flannel shirt. Derek set his hands on her waist, holding her in place.

She took in a sharp breath. “You have to stop . . . possessing me like this. It makes me uncomfortable.”

“Good uncomfortable or bad uncomfortable?” He didn’t need an answer. He could see it. The heat burning in her eyes only lit a match to his own desire. He lowered his mouth to hers.

When she flinched, when he saw her expression turn angry, he said, “There’s a reporter over there. Can I please kiss you? Just for the shot?”

“I don’t kiss clients.” But her gaze lowered to his mouth, and her expression turned outright hungry.

“You’ve never wanted to kiss a client before.”

“It’s one of my rules. No kissing clients.”

“Tonight, just this once . . . break a rule. For me.”

“Easy for you to say. You have no rules.”

“I don’t need rules. Neither do you. Kiss me.”

“No. It’s unprofessional.” Her breathing turned shallow, and her breasts quivered.

“Violet, please? Please fucking kiss me.”

“No.”

His semi had turned so hard he had to press it against her stomach for relief. Her eyes widened, and she sucked in a breath.

“Derek,” she breathed. “Don’t do this.”

“Okay, how about this?” He set his hands on her waist, lowered his mouth to her ear. “Can I do this?”

“I guess so.”

“And this?” He licked the shell of her ear.

Her hands fisted in his shirt and her body shuddered. “You jerk.” But he could hear her laughter.

“Is this unprofessional?” His hands skimmed up her rib cage, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts.

“Yes, you ass. It’s completely unprofessional.” But she’d tipped her head to his shoulder and he could feel her body shake with laughter.

“What about this?” He tipped her chin up, so he could trail kisses along her soft, smooth cheek, her silky hair tickling his face. When he caught the corner of her mouth, she gasped.

Caressing the bare skin of her back, he felt it pebble underneath his fingertips.

She let out a shaky breath. “Stop, Derek. Seriously, that’s enough.”

If he moved, Matt would get a whole lot more than a romantic moment between lovers. He’d get something R-rated. Desire blazed deep inside, and he seriously needed to grind against her sweetly scented body. But he wouldn’t do that to her.

“I mean it. He’s gone. You don’t have to do this anymore.” Her hands left him, and she straightened, letting out a shaky breath.

And then she walked away, leaving him with a hard-on so painful he had to lock himself in a bathroom stall until it settled down.

•   •   •

Violet
held back her laughter as everyone stared at the steaming casserole of grain and vegetables in the middle of the table.

It might as well have been sautéed roadkill for the looks on their faces. No one moved a muscle. They just stared.

“Well.” Slater clapped his hands together. “I’m going for it.” He plunged the serving spoon into the dish and brought some to Emmie’s plate.

“Thanks.” Violet saw how hard her friend tried to keep a pleasant expression. It wasn’t working. “What is it exactly?”

“It’s not as bad as it looks. And I’ll admit it doesn’t look as appetizing as, say, a bucket from the Colonel. But it’s just quinoa, spinach, garlic, onions, and sweet peppers. It’s actually pretty tasty.”

Slater served himself, then passed the spoon to Cooper on his right. Cooper shook his head. Slater offered it to Derek, who spooned himself a small portion.

Spreading his napkin across his lap, Slater said, “So, the pills.” He gestured to the tiny paper cups she’d placed in front of each of them.

“Right. Well, it’s a little different for each of you. I noticed that Ben occasionally sneaks a cigarette—”

“What? No. I—shit. Hardly ever.”

“Ben, I don’t care what you do. But since you do
sometimes
smoke—and it’s usually right before a show, I figured I’d try some lobelia with you, plus some kava pills to calm your nerves but not make you lethargic. We’ll just give it a try, see if it doesn’t curb your nicotine cravings and alleviate some of your anxiety. If it doesn’t, we’ll try something else. Why not, right?”

The table remained silent. Ben and Cooper scowled, but Pete looked mutinous, ready to upturn the table and storm out of the suite.