Rock All Night (The Rock Star's Seduction #2) (37 page)

I woke the next morning and winced as sunlight flooded the room.

Damn… should’ve shut the drapes…

I thought about getting up and closing them, but… ugh. I really didn’t feel like moving.

Then I remembered that I wasn’t in the bed alone.

All the memories of the night before – ‘99 Problems,’ his ignoring me at the after-party, our final conversation before going to bed – played out in my mind.

Even though I was angry again, I didn’t want the sun to wake him. I looked over at the other side of the bed –

But he wasn’t there.

He was sitting in a chair on the other side of the room, quietly pulling on his boots.

“…what are you doing?” I asked groggily.

He looked up. “Did I wake you up?”

“…no… I…”

The details began to register in my foggy brain.

He was already dressed, for one.

I looked at the alarm clock by the bed.

9:28 AM.

Derek was
never
up at this time of the morning.

“What… what’s wrong?” I asked, puzzled.

“Nothing.”

“Why are you dressed?”

He was quiet for a moment, as though steeling himself. Then he said simply, “I need to get out for a little bit.”

Dread began to rise in my chest.

I sat up.

“…why?”

“I just need a little space.”

“At 9:30 in the morning?!”

He stood up, walked over to the bed, and sat down beside me.

I had conflicting desires. Part of me wanted to withdraw from him, to physically move away, because he was scaring me, and I resented him for it; the other part wanted to throw my arms around his neck and never let go.

I ended up doing nothing but staring at him.

“I just need a little space,” he said. His face was a blank mask, neutral and composed.

I couldn’t tell if it was the words or his expression that frightened me more.

“…are you… are you breaking up with me?!” I asked, my voice trembling.

“No!” he said, and reached out his hand to my arm. “No. I just need a little space, that’s all. A little time apart.”

The touch of his skin on mine felt warm, reassuring.

His words were meant to be, but felt anything but.

“Why do you need space?”

He sighed. “Because we fight so goddamn much.”

I wanted to yell,
If you stopped looking at other women and flirting with them and being a dick –

But I knew that would be the end of it, that he would just walk out on me.

So I caved.

I’m not proud of it now, but at that moment, it seemed like the only option I had. I was terrified of him walking out that door.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

He smiled and brushed the hair away from my face. “It’s both of our faults. I’ve never had a girlfriend before. I’m not real good at it.”

“You’re good at it,” I said – a little white lie. Actually a
big
white lie, but I wanted to keep him there no matter the cost.

I moved right up next to him and put my arms around him. He held onto me, drew me in closer.

“We’ve just been spending so much time together,” he murmured. “I think that’s the problem. Twenty-four hours a day for the last five weeks… no wonder we’re fighting all the time. I just want to back it off for a little bit, take a breather.”

It sounded reasonable.

It sounded logical.

…so why was I so afraid?

“But… what about…”

“What about what?”

“Your plans… everybody’s leaving today…”

“We’ll stay in Vegas till I figure it out. You stay here – I’ll talk to Miles, get it set up. You can go to the spa, go shopping, whatever you want. Just charge it all to the room. I’ll be back in a day or two, I just need to get my head clear. Then we’ll spend a couple days going crazy. Crazy
fun
, I mean.” He pulled back, looked me in the eyes. “Okay?”

I was so, so afraid.

But what else could I do but say ‘yes’?

He wasn’t breaking up with me.

He wasn’t ‘leaving’ me.

He just wanted a little time apart.

I mean, we
had
been together so much, it had become claustrophobic in a way. I just hadn’t seen it until now because I wanted him so badly. No matter how miserable he might make me, I
wanted
him.

Which was scary to admit to myself.

There was something even scarier.

“…you’re not doing this to go party with… other women, are you?” I asked quietly.

He grinned. “If I wanted to do that, I would have done it last night. I would’ve just not come home.”

Come home.

I was ‘home.’

I relaxed a little.

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“No other women?”

“No other women.”

“No strip clubs?”

“No strip clubs.”

“No… groupies, or whatever?”

“No groupies, no fans, no call girls, no topless Vegas shows. You want to add in no nuns, too?” he teased.

I glared at him, then caught myself. Glaring at him too much had gotten me into this mess in the first place.

“Then what’re you going to do?”

“I don’t know. Probably gamble some. Drink some. Maybe call up some friends in LA, see if they want to come out and party.”

My immediate thought was,
You could do that with me,
but I didn’t say it out loud.

“But no women,” I reiterated.

He held his hand like he was taking the oath in court. “No women. You want to check for a Gideon Bible in the night table so I can swear on that?”

That’s not a bad idea.

“No,” I murmured, and leaned my head against his neck. “I’m going to miss you…”

“I’m going to miss you, too,” he said soothingly, “but it’s only for a couple of days. I think we need this. I think we’ll both be in a better mood when I get back.”

“…yeah…”

He put his hand on my chin and tilted up my head, then leaned in and kissed me. Softly, sweetly.

For a moment all was right with the world, and I lost myself in that kiss.

Then he pulled away and winked. “Don’t have too much fun without me.”

“You either.”

He grinned. “I won’t.”

“…okay…”

He leaned in and kissed me one more time, a delicate brushing of his lips on mine.

“See you soon.”

He got up, gave me one last smile as he reached the edge of the room, and then walked out.

For a couple of minutes I just sat there numbly, thinking
What the hell just happened?

Then I lay back down in the bed and cried silently into my pillow.

After an hour moping around in bed feeling sorry for myself, I decided to seize the opportunity. I would make the most of my solo flight! I would go have fun! I would have an
awesome
time recharging my batteries – alone!

I was a good enough liar that I was able to get myself out of bed, shower, and go down to breakfast without crying again.

After three mimosas, and feeling my spirits temporarily lifted, I decided to go see what the rest of the band was doing.

Up in the penthouse, Killian was standing amongst a pile of suitcases playing his guitar. Ryan was sitting at his laptop, and Riley was nowhere to be seen.

“You’re leaving already?” I asked Killian.

“Got a noon flight to Heathrow,” he nodded, and took a puff on his joint.

I remembered the stories Ryan had told me about Dr. Killian turning into Mr. Hyde… but wasn’t sure if I was supposed to let on that I knew. So I just said jokingly, “How are you going to survive the entire flight without any weed?”

“Private jet,” Killian informed me. “Do anything I want on it, short of bring it down over the ocean.”

I looked at him, stunned. “You got a private jet just so you could smoke out the whole way there?”

“Perks of being a rock star, luv.”

“Wow… I thought Derek buying a
car
was crazy…”

Killian looked momentarily confused. “I didn’t
buy
it. It’s just the one flight.”

“Ohhhh… okay, well, that’s better.”

“Although, that might be an idea worth considering,” Killian mused, and glanced over at Ryan. “Perhaps a group purchase by the band?”

“No,” Ryan said, never looking up from his laptop screen.

“Why’d you look at Ryan?” I asked.

Killian shrugged. “He handles 75% of the money, doesn’t he? After Miles’s cut, of course.”

Ryan’s, Derek’s, and –

“That’s right – you handle Riley’s, too!” I exclaimed, suddenly remembering her conversation on the phone with her sister.

Ryan sighed. “…yes.”

“Are you sure you’re a rock star and not an accountant?”

He laughed. “Sure feels like it sometimes.”

I turned back to Killian. “Well… enjoy your private ganja tour,” I teased him.

He smiled. “I shall.”

“What about when you get in, though? You can’t exactly walk into Customs with a bunch of marijuana, right?”

“No, that would be frowned upon by the authorities. But I’ve got a bloke standing by with a care package and a private car.”

I laughed again and shook my head. “You’re one of a kind, Killian.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Miles suddenly barged in the room.

“Well, the car’s ready – ah, you,” he said on seeing me. “Seems the thorn’s not out of my paw yet.”

“I missed you too, Miles.”

“Derek says you’re to mooch off his account here for the next several days. Did he set you up with any cash?”

“No,” I said, suddenly embarrassed. I wondered how much my ‘boyfriend’ had told his manager – and the rest of the band.

“Here,” Miles said, whipping out a roll of bills and peeling off 10 hundreds. “That should keep you for a bit.”

“I can’t take that,” I said, aghast.

“Of course you can, it’s that stupid git’s money, not mine,” he barked as he crushed the bills into my palm. Then he turned to Killian. “Alright, you Rastafarian bastard, out to the car with you.”

For the first time in weeks, Killian took both of his hands off his guitar and embraced me. I hugged him back, though it was a little awkward with a Fender Stratocaster in the way.

“You’re a lovely bird, Kaitlyn. I hope I get to see you when I get back.”

Despite the slightly ominous meaning behind his words, I teared up. “Thanks, Killian… me, too.”

He smiled, then went back to playing his guitar with one hand as he waved at Ryan with the other. “Later, mate.”

“See you, Killian,” Ryan called out.

“Tell the Holy Terror I said goodbye, as well.”

(By that I assumed he meant Riley.)

“Will do.”

And then Killian and Miles walked out of the penthouse.

I went over and sat down next to Ryan. He set his laptop on the coffee table in front of him and looked at me sympathetically. “You okay?”

I exhaled loudly. “You know, don’t you.”

He nodded. “He stopped by earlier.”

All the feelings of sadness I had successfully stuffed down for the last hour began to well up. I tried to choke them back, but they still came out in a half-sob. “Am I being an idiot?”

“No. No, not at all. He just needs some time.”

I looked at him dubiously.

“He gets like that sometimes,” Ryan assured me. “Yeah, he’s usually Mr. Extroverted, but sometimes he gets really moody and just takes off without telling anybody.”

“He didn’t seem moody when he left.”

“He was probably hiding it pretty well. Or he knew that it was going to hurt you, so he didn’t let it show. He never really cared how I took it, so I always got a full blast. Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.”

I looked at him desperately. “You promise?”

“Yeah. It’s fine. He just needs some time on his own. Like ‘Cold November Rain.’”

I stared at him in confusion.

“…Guns ‘N Roses? …off of
Use Your Illusion?
” Ryan saw I had no idea what he was talking about. “Well, it was a good allusion. Ha – ‘allusion’… ‘illusion’…”

“You’re such a dork,” I teased him.

“And you’re functionally rock ‘n roll illiterate,” he kidded me back.

“I know all the important songs.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Like yours,” I said in a playfully saccharine voice.

“Awwww… you’re so sweet, I’ll ignore how full of crap you are.”

“I’m not full of crap!” I protested, mock-outraged.

“Okay… just a quarter full, then.”

“Be careful, your mother wouldn’t approve of you saying ‘crap.’”

He grinned. “Well, as long as you don’t rat me out, I’ll be fine.”

I had a weird reaction to that last statement.

Like,
I don’t WANT you to think of me as your sister.

But I just let it go and moved on to something else.

“What are you working on?” I asked.

“Oh, just our social media accounts.” He shifted the screen so I could look. A single program with windows for Twitter and Facebook took up the entire page. Tweets were appearing one by one and slowly scrolling up the screen. “Just keeping in contact with the fans. I’m going to write some stuff about the end of the tour, post a few photos. Thought now would be a good time to wrap up some things before I take off.”

“Oh yeah – what was that about South Dakota?”

“My dad’s originally from there, and my grandparents owned a ranch out in the Black Hills. Nothing spectacular – some land, some cattle, some horses. Anyway, my grandmother died a few years ago, and my grandfather died last year – ”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

He gave me a gentle smile. “Thanks. When they passed on, my parents and aunts and uncles weren’t really sure what to do with the ranch. They finally decided they were going to sell it – but I’d spent at least a month every summer there since I was four years old, and I didn’t want to lose it. It would have been like losing a part of my grandparents. So I bought it instead.”

“Wow, that’s great.”

“Yeah. So I pay the ranch hand who takes care of it, and I try to go there whenever I can.”

“That’s really cool, Ryan.”

“You know what? You should come out and visit for a while.”

I couldn’t help but think back to that first night I joined the band on tour.

It means that Derek wasn’t the only one who fell for you years ago.

Oddly enough, it didn’t make me uncomfortable anymore so much as wary.

“Um…”

Ryan seemed to sense what was going on with me, and course-corrected so smoothly I wondered whether I had misread him in the first place. “It’ll probably take some convincing to get Derek out there – he’s not exactly big on wide open spaces and horses. I’ve been trying to get the band out there for a year, but unless there’s bud for Killian, and booze and women for Riley, it’s a hard sell.”

“Well, at least you know what you need to bribe them,” I joked lamely.

I felt bad. He had made me a really nice offer, and I had treated it with suspicion. And now flippancy.

“That sounds wonderful,” I said. “I’d like that. I’ll try to work on Derek about it… when things improve.”

He smiled and nodded. “Okay. When he gets over his snit.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“Ryan Miller,” I teased, “I thought you almost said another dirty word.”

“Nope. Don’t want to give you more blackmail material for my mother,” he grinned.

Just then his cell buzzed. He looked down at the screen, then glanced up at me. “Sorry, I need to take this.”

“You need me to leave?”

“No, no – hang out,” he said as he stood. Then he answered the phone. “Hey, Sammy. Yeah, man, everything looked great in the contracts – but I want to add a few clauses before we sign it.”

As he walked off through the penthouse, I sat there numbly with my own words ringing in my ears:

When things improve.

When was that going to be?
I wondered.
Two days? Two weeks? Two months?

Never?

I felt a growing sense of desperation rise up slowly inside me.

What if things
didn’t
improve?

What then?

Was there anything I could do to
make
them improve?

As I sat there stewing in my sadness and unease, my eyes drifted over to Ryan’s laptop, which was still open and facing me.

And a pretty wild coincidence happened. Something right out of a movie.

It didn’t happen immediately, mind you. In fact, I was probably sitting there for a good five minutes, just wrapped up in my own angst, my eyes dully watching the computer screen. My brain was on autopilot as I listened to Ryan’s murmuring voice in the background, only vaguely registering the parade of new tweets about Bigger:

Noooo! Missed their tour this SUCKS need petition to get another one NOW

OMG I <3 Derek Kane he is so hot I need to marry him NOW #DerekKane

So overrated. Really shitty band think they’re Led Zeppelin or the Doors IDIOTS

Riley is one badass bitch! #badass #bitch #punkrock #drums #Riley

Another hundred entries slowly scrolled up the screen before I saw it:

Holy shit, I just saw Derek Kane checking in at the Wynn in Vegas! #DerekKane #mindblown

And then, beneath it, there was a slightly blurry shot of Derek at a fancy concierge desk, dressed in the same clothes he had been wearing when he left my room earlier that morning.

My eyes opened wide as I comprehended what I was reading. I leaned over to take a second look, but the information disappeared off the screen in the slow and steady march of tweets.

I looked up in distress at Ryan, but he was still on the phone at the other end of the penthouse. I didn’t want to bother him, and I didn’t want to mess with his laptop – but I was desperate. And I didn’t think he would mind.

I scrolled up with the touchpad and found the tweet and picture again:

Holy shit, I just saw Derek Kane checking in at the Wynn in Vegas! #DerekKane #mindblown

The picture was
definitely
of him.

My mind began to race (well, as much as it can race when fueled by three mimosas):

I knew where he was.

I could go to his hotel room at the Wynn and surprise him!

Not all clingy-like, though. Just show up, hot and willing, totally seduce him, fuck his brains out, and leave! Give him a taste of what he was missing!

I could make things up to him!

I could clear up the bad vibes between us. Give him a reason to come home earlier.

I could let him know that I knew it would be okay.

That I wanted ‘us.’

That I
believed
in ‘us.’

But… how would I find him when I got to the Wynn?

I could ask for the room number, but I didn’t think they would give it to me.

Shit.

Then I thought,
I’m a journalist, goddamn it.

Would a REAL journalist let this stop her from getting a massive break in a story?

But, barring a miracle or a brand-new employee – which I didn’t think was likely – I couldn’t see any way around the problem.

The hotel wasn’t going to give up the room number of a guest, much less a famous one.

Unless…

…unless someone really ‘official’ was asking for it.

Suddenly I had my plan.