So I Married a Rockstar (3 page)

His eyes bore into me as I stand before him, mute and stupid. Then it gets worse. They start to twinkle with amusement.
 

"Pretty good turn-out, wouldn't you say?"

He's thrown me a life preserver and I clutch it like a drowning woman.
 

"Yeah," I croak, clearing my throat and my mind. "Very much so, considering the location. Not a lot of metal-heads in The Castro."

His chuckle rumbles through me like a train. "No joke. How did that happen, anyway? Nepotism?"

A wink sends ripples of sizzling electricity buzzing through my body. I swear to all that's holy -- or
un
holy, in this case -- I almost sigh like a groupie. I manage to get a hold of myself and force something resembling a smile to my lips.

"Kinda. The store you were originally booked at canceled after they realized they'd double-booked the day. I called my dads as a favor to Harry, and they were -- and I'm not kidding -- ecstatic about it."

"Well, thank you and thank them. Lola to the rescue!"

I blush at the compliment. I'm loathe for him to leave but I'm not sure how much more of this I can take. If I had a few minutes to myself, I'm sure I could settle down enough to finish this gig.
 

"You only have a couple hours before you need to be at the venue," I remind him.
 

It's an outdoor amphitheater across the bay that holds a little over eight thousand. Not a stadium, of course, but the show is nearly sold out. That's not shabby at all in the world of rock concerts. Too bad I'll have to listen to it.

Drax crosses his arms and rests one narrow hip against the table in that oh-so-delicious bad-boy way that gets my insides boiling.

"Trying to get rid of me so soon?"

Seems as if there should be a limit to how red a person can turn but apparently my skin didn't get the memo.

 
"No, not at all," I stammer. "I just didn't know...I mean, if you want to eat or..."

I can't believe he just stands there and watches me squirm. I swear, he's actually enjoying it!

"Tell me, Lola. You like my music?"

My eyes widen at the question. What a sight I must be: Red face, bulging eyes, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

"I, uh, well, um..."

He smirks. "It's okay, I can take it."

I swallow hard and look everywhere but directly into his eyes. It's less out of embarrassment and more out of survival.

"Actually, I kinda hate hard rock."

"Hard alternative," he corrects.

I shrug. "Whatever you call it, it doesn't suit me. I'd rather listen to Taylor Swift or Tom Waits."

"That's a pretty diverse range, right there."
 

He doesn't laugh outright but I can hear the amusement in his voice. That raises my hackles a bit, so I lift my chin defiantly and meet his gaze.
 

"What can I say? I grew up in a funky record store. I'd also rather stay home on a Friday night with some hot cocoa and an old Hitchcock movie than go to a rock show. What do you think of that?"

The twinkle spreads into a dangerous smile. "Mmm, I think that sounds like an invitation."

With a wink, Drax turns to duck behind the curtain and my eyes automatically drop to his leather-clad butt. So firm...
 

GAH! Stop that!

I gather up what's left of his head shots and pens, and follow him back. No good can come from being in such close quarters with this man, my brain tells me, but my feet seem to have a will of their own.
 

My head's down as I duck through the curtain, hoping to avoid awkward eye contact, which is why I'm taken by surprise. The moment the black drapery swooshes closed behind me, Drax's muscular, tattooed arms wrap around me, pulling me into his very big, very firm body.
 

One part in particular is especially big and firm. Rock hard, as a matter of fact.

I'm so shocked by this unexpected turn of events, I can't even think how to react. My body does the reacting for me, dropping the armful of head shots so I can snake my arms around his neck. Somewhere in the recesses of what's left of my brain, I register the sound of pens clattering and paper swishing to the floor, but they're background noise and almost drowned out by the sudden pounding of my heart.

"I've been waiting to do this all fucking day," he growls low in my ear, his hands skimming my hips and ass. Every cell in my body seems to explode at his touch. Finally, his hands venture up my back to my hair, where they bury themselves as if holding on for dear life. Or trying to drag me back to his cave.
 

Fine by me.

I'm breathless, speechless, thoughtless. I can't make sense of what's happening, or why, and I find I really don't care. All I care about is touching him and him touching me. I've never felt such need before, such urgency.

I long to feel his lips on mine but they're tucked into the nook of my neck, licking and biting like a hungry animal at a tasty meal. Each nip causes
my
nips to tighten harder and harder until I gasp at the pleasurable ache.

When he reaches my earlobe, I moan.

Loudly.

"Shh," he breathes, giving my ear another lick before drawing back just far enough to gaze into my half-lidded eyes. His lips are so close that his hot breath mixes with my own frantic pants, overwhelming me with heat and passion.

My fingers slide along his arms -- I can't help marveling at how chiseled they are -- until they're resting on his wrists, as his hands cradle my face. Fire erupts in my core just from his gaze, and my knees threaten to give out.
 

His eyes drink me in and then his lips are on mine, gently at first. I'm surprised by just how gentle, almost as if he's coaxing a response. Barely a brush, a hint of wetness, the tip of his tongue tracing the seam of my mouth. My lips part, inviting him in to play, an invitation he eagerly accepts.

I'm trying to stay quiet but it's almost impossible to contain the tiny mewls of agonizing pleasure he draws from me with his mouth. I want more, harder, now, and he's happy to give it to me.
 

His hands are everywhere, from my face to my ass to that sensitive spot at the nape of my neck. Mine are freely roaming, too, and I discover his butt is as tight as it looks. When he presses his full length into my stomach and groans quietly into my mouth, I nearly collapse with need but he holds me upright, supporting me.

Confusion laces the lust tearing through me like a hurricane. One minute, we're having a perfectly professional chat, the next we're locked in each other's arms like lovers. Spasms rock my body at the very idea. If his kisses do this to me, what would it be like to...

"Shh,
mi cielo,
I tink they
chichando
in there."

Papi's voice on the other side of the curtain is as jarring as doing the Ice Bucket Challenge in Antarctica. My body folds in on itself, contracting all its sexual energy down into a hardened black pebble of horror.

I can't believe he just told Dad that we were fucking!
 

I gasp and pull away, but as soon as Drax is no longer holding me up, I stumble backward. Thank God the big comfy chair I tossed his autographed photo on earlier is there to catch me. Even in my rattled state, I'm keenly aware that I'm sitting on his face.
 

Wrong one, but still...

Drax is standing where I left him, his hot stare lighting my skin afire again. I might as well cut out my own eyes for how painful it is to look away from his, but somehow I find the strength. I try to speak but all that comes out is a faint croak. I try again.

"You don't want to be late for the sound check."

I don't dare look at him, so I keep my focus on the curtain, reminding myself that my dads are -- ew! -- eavesdropping. If anything can kill a mood, it's that.

He stands there a moment longer, breathing hard, then snatches his coat from the rack and heads for the curtain. Stopping before he reaches it, he looks over at me. He's caught me like a deer in headlights.
 

"See you at the theater." He's not asking it as a question but I can tell he's waiting for an answer just the same. Behind the curtain, I hear my dads scurry away.

"Okay," is all I can manage. But it seems to satisfy him. In a swirl of black fabric, he's gone.

Before I can so much as think, Dad and Papi are peeking through the curtain, all wide eyes and hopeful smiles.
It's Raining Men
tinkles overhead as Drax leaves. If I hear that song one more time...

"Out!" I shout, horrified that they heard me making out with a guy. Not just any guy, but a rockstar. In their store! Papi squeaks out an "Ay" as they duck out of view.

What the hell did I just do? How did it even happen? I'm going to lose my job, which isn't even really a job yet. But any chance I had just followed Drax out the door and onto the bike he's roaring away on.

I bow my head into my hands, distraught and still vibrating from his touch. Under me, something crinkles. Right, I'm still sitting on his face. Tugging it from under me, I'm once more hypnotized by his eyes, even though I can now see a subtle difference. His eyes have a hint of violet near the center, and when he's turned on, they darken and flash in a way a camera could never capture.

For the first time, I read what he wrote and my jaw drops.

Lola,
 

Marry me.
 

Drax

San Francisco is full of lunatics wandering the streets, and most of them are standing in line at Pepper's Pot on their lunch breaks from their high-salary jobs. My best friend, Pepper Pike, owns the tiny hole-in-the-wall boutique soup shop, which has become
the
spot in town to grab a quick, nutritious lunch. The place is a madhouse.

Normally, I wouldn't bother her during the lunch rush, but I'm in desperate need of girl-talk before I see Drax again. My dads were acting like they'd just met their future son-in-law so I had to get out of there. The cafe, if you can call it that, is not too far from the record store, and heaven knows I needed the walk to sort out my ping-ponging thoughts.

Through the mass of people trying to have lunch, I can see Pepper's short and fuzzy hot pink hair bobbing around inside. Even though she's up to her elbows in bowls of soup, she spots me right away and waves me in. A few of the people standing in line -- mostly men wearing custom suits and power ties -- grumble as I pass.
 

"Take it up with the owner," I say, knowing full well they won't say a word. Pepper makes a point of living up to her spicy name, and will happily go all Soup Nazi on someone who gives her any trouble. This place is so trendy, no one wants to risk being banned for life.

Passing two bowls of steaming clam chowder to a waiting tourist, Pepper gathers me in her arms like a long-lost sister, even though I saw her yesterday.

"Baby girl, you look totally fuckable!" she says, pushing me back to get a better look. "Guys!" she shouts to, oh,
everyone
in the cafe. "You'd fuck this hot piece of ass, wouldn't you?"

I want to die. I want to curl up into a tiny ball of embarrassment and die. But I can't help smiling at the chorus of manly -- and more than a few feminine -- cheers I get. I've never had this many men looking so appreciatively at me before. Just gotta say, I could get used to it.

A frown creases her brow. "You okay? You seem weird."

Yeah, I'm weird all right. I'm dying to tell her exactly how weird, but not in front of all these people.

"I swear you're psychic, Pepper."

"More like psych-
o
," mumbles a scowling businessman who's squeezing past. Uh oh, big mistake, buddy.

With no hesitation, Pepper whips out her phone and shouts, "Hey! Limp dick!"

The offending jerk spins around, surprised that she heard him. Before he can blink, she's snapped his pic.
 

"Banned! Now get outta my shop!"
 

Pepper may be short and squat but she's got a big personality and an even bigger voice. Everyone in the cafe stops what they're doing and turns to watch the drama unfold. The guy sputters and turns crimson. His head looks like it's about to pop right off his shoulders with rage, but the dude he's with drags him out by the arm.
 

"Keep your mouth shut, Spencer, or she'll ban me, too!" Ah, self-preservation is a beautiful thing.

Once they're gone, Pepper smiles broadly. "You know what this means, right, folks? A round of Pepper's Poppers on the house!"

A rousing cheer erupts from the patrons as she guides me through the throng to the kitchen. The tourists look bewildered but the regulars know that every time Pepper bans a customer, she gives everyone else in the place one of her famous Pepper's Poppers, baked jalapeños stuffed with gorgonzola and bacon. Just like everything on her menu, they're to die for.

"Poppers for the house, Raul," she says as we pass her sous chef, who shakes his head.
 

"Third time this week, boss," he reminds her.

She grins and ushers me out the back door. "Must be the full moon, Raul. Either that or people are assholes."

The tiny alley back here stinks of garbage but it's the closest to privacy we can get. Pepper's warm brown eyes bore into mine, concern etched on her pretty, round face.

"Spill."

It's all she has to say for me to launch into my story about Drax. About what a jerk he is, how irresistible he is, how he planted the hottest kiss on me without so much as a 'by your leave', and how terrified I am to go to the show tonight.
 

She doesn't say a word or react until I get to the part about running out of the record store to come see her. She leans back, tapping a sparkly green fingertip to her plump red lips, and gives me another full-body assessment.
 

"First of all, I can certainly see why he stuck his tongue down your throat. I'm half-tempted myself."

I bark out a laugh and the release of tension feels great. Trust Pepper to know how to get me to chill out.