The Complete Rockstar Series

  “That’s too cold!” I yelp, my abdominal muscles clenching from the chill. When he dips his head again, his tongue tracing the icy path, his dark hair brushing against my breasts, I melt along with the ice cube. The groan Adam makes when his mouth reaches the frilly edge of lace undoes the rest of the fight I had left in me.

  He feels my tense body surrender and lets go of my hands. I immediately tangle them in his soft, messy hair, holding on tight. “Fuck you’re sexy,” he rasps, tossing the ice on the floor and taking the scrap of fabric in his teeth, slowly lowering my panties to my knees. Adam shoves them the rest of the way off with his hands and grips my hips firmly, the hard callouses on his fingers pushing into my skin.

  I nearly buck off of the bed when Adam lightly flicks his tongue across the sensitive nub. “Holy….” I moan, unable to say anything coherent as that clever tongue swiftly works me into a panting, writhing mess. I have to beg him to release me or else I’ll pass out from the pleasure. “Stop, no more… please. God, Adam!”

  Adam leans back on his heels, giving me a scorching hot look as he grabs a condom off the nightstand and quickly rolls it on. I nearly come just from the wicked glint in his eyes that hold a hint of what’s to come. “God I’ve missed you,” he sighs as he climbs on top of me and slowly, excruciatingly, enters me until he’s buried deep inside. “Jesus, El…” He chokes on his words, lowering his body onto mine, propped up only by strong arms as he rests his head in the crook of my shoulder. Adam’s quick breaths brush over my neck, sending chills straight to where we’re connected.

  “Adam, please… move. I can’t… I-I need more.” I shift my hips to encourage him to give me what I so desperately crave.

  He takes a deep breath, and I hear it hitch in his chest, the honesty exposed by that simple sound stabs straight into my heart. It says I love you, without using words. When he finally lifts his head and starts gently rocking against me, I see tears shimmering in his beautiful hazel eyes.

  “Are you okay?” I murmur, reaching up to touch his flushed face. He nudges his cheek into my palm and nearly sobs at the contact. The day old stubble feels amazing against my skin, and his sweet, almost childlike response touches my soul.

  “I just…” He shakes his head and closes his eyes. “I just love you so much.” A single tear escapes only to disappear under my hand. Emotions, so many, so strong my heart feels as if it might burst, race through me fast enough to nearly make me collapse.

  “Come here.” I pull on the back of his neck to bring his beautiful face closer. Adam complies, resting on his forearms until our mouths almost touch. “Make love to me, Adam.” His breath hitches again and he skims his soft lips across mine.

  Adam picks up the pace, starting slow, quickly driving us both closer and closer to that desperate release we crave. Our mouths get hungrier, tasting and biting each other’s lips and necks and shoulders as the pleasure builds. Beads of sweat form on his temple and I watch, riveted, as one trickles down and drips off of his skin and onto mine.

  “God, Adam…I… I” I can’t make a coherent thought, tightening my thighs around his narrow waist, encouraging Adam to give me all of him, all the years we’ve been apart, everything we’ve missed, coming together in this one intimate act.

  My entire body stiffens as I tumble over the cliff, sparks sizzling down my spine through every nerve ending. Intense tremors wrack through me on the way down from indescribable bliss.

  “Shit! Oh fuck! Oh holy fuck, El…” Adam cries out a bunch of random nonsense as he dives deep one final time. Spent, he collapses on top of me, both of us sweaty and sated and emotionally raw.

  We lay still for a while, the only sound in the room is our heavy breathing, which is gradually returning to a normal rate. I bring up one hand to pull my fingers through Adam’s silken hair, scratching his scalp the way I know he likes. A moment of sorrow overcomes me as I recall the way I used to do this same thing back home, before everything was ruined. We’d stay in my narrow bed all afternoon, laughing and making love. I would play with his hair and he would kiss every single part of my body.

  I struggle to hold in the sobs that threaten to escape from my aching chest, blinking hard to keep the tears from falling.

  “Hey, what’s going on Sweetheart?” Adam’s deep, caring voice is close enough to my ear that his lips brush against it when he speaks. “Am I hurting you?”

  Not in the way you’re thinking.

  I shake my head and hoarsely tell him, “No.” He rolls off of me, positioning us so we’re face to face on our sides. Adam disposes of the condom, returning so he can press back up against the length of me, our heated skin touching from chest to knees.

  “Tell me what’s wrong?”

  What can I say? That everything will be okay? That no one is going to be hurt by this?

  “El,” Adam demands, “tell me. I’m starting to freak out here Sweetheart.”

  “Nothing. It’s nothing Adam. I just wish we didn’t lose all those years,” I lie, too afraid to give him the whole truth. That I have no idea what I’m doing, that I’m scared to death to leave everything I know to be with him, but equally scared to let him go.

  He gives me his brilliant smile and leans in to rub his nose against mine. “Well, we’ll just have to make up for lost time.” He grins playfully, using that charming way he has to turn the somber moment around.

  I decide to leave the serious discussion for another day and enjoy what I’ve been given… another chance at happiness.

  * * *

  I sigh and sit up on the edge of my bed.

  Why can’t I have that chance? My life hasn’t gone the way I imagined, but whose does? I should have fought for what I wanted, not let him get away.

  I’m so tired of leading the pity party parade. I wipe the stupid bloody tears from my eyes and get ready for sleep, determined to live the life that I want, go after the things that make me happy. Even my mum is getting on with life, finding happiness after all of the dreadful things she’s been through, losing her home, her job, surviving cancer, losing my dad.

  When I climb into bed and turn out the lights, I’ve got a plan and a smile on my face for the first time years. I just have to get up the courage to go through with it.

  35

  Adam

  The biting wind cuts right through my wool cap, turning my ears into shards of ice the second I step out of the car. Dodging half-frozen puddles from last night’s storm, I hurry into the famous Ritz-Carlton at Central Park. I’m supposed to meet a reporter from GQ here. I check my phone, whoops, ten minutes ago.

  I whip off my hat on my way to the massive front desk, running my fingers through my hair to sort out the mess. When I get there, I ask a visibly stunned clerk where the club lounge is located.

  “Ummmm,” her cheeks redden and she nervously tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.

  Really? Isn’t this the Ritz? Don’t they get loads of famous people in here? My patience for crap like this is wearing thin. Used to be I’d have her out of her knickers in less than fifteen minutes. Now it’s irritating. Maybe I’m getting old.

  “Mr. Reynolds…” An older man steps over to help out his mute coworker, “it’s right this way.” He directs me to the lifts and tells me how to get to the club.

  “Thank you, I’m running a bit late.”

  “Well, sorry about Lacy, she’s new here.” He sighs as if embarrassed by her. “I’ll speak with her about proper decorum.”

  “No problem, apologize to her for me, maybe I surprised her or something.” He nods and I hop into the lift to head upstairs.

  “Mr. Reynolds, right this way. Your party is waiting for you.” An elegant host at the club entrance leads me over to a table framed by a large bank of windows overlooking the park. The beautiful fall colors of last month are gone, replaced by barren trees that give the landscape a harsh, cold feel.

  “Mr. Reynolds, so nice to meet you.” The young man at the table jumps up from his chair and eagerly shakes my h
and.

  “Please, call me Adam. I feel about ninety years old with all of this Mr. Reynolds nonsense and I’m not even thirty for two more months.” The reporter smiles nervously and sits back down. I take the chair across from him.

  “That’s right, February 29th, right?” I nod. “Not an easy one to forget,” Leo says smiling. “Coffee?” he asks, reaching for the carafe on the table.

  “Tea, actually, PG Tips if they have it.” He raises an eyebrow and gives me a cheeky grin. “Stop,” I laugh, “I know what you’re thinking and yes, I’m English and do love tea, but I also enjoy coffee and have some almost every morning. Since it’s no longer morning, I thought tea might be a better option.”

  He chuckles and signals the waiter, ordering up my tea. “I’m Leo Grey from GQ magazine. I spoke to your relations manager and she said I have permission to discuss,” he checks his notes, “the solo album, your work with Sphere of Irony, and any other topics you chose to bring up. Also that we are not to speak about your relationship with Kiera Radcliff or any other personal subjects except for those regarding your music, is that correct?”

  Christ, I hate this crap. What can and can’t be discussed in interviews, but if you don’t spell it out ahead of time, they pounce all over you like a piece of fresh meat in a lion’s den.

  “Yes, that sounds right.” I casually stir creamer into my tea, trying not to let my irritation show. Being with Kiera, now that she’s on the rise in Hollywood, has become a bit of a nuisance when it comes to interviews. Everyone wants the gossip, the inside scoop on our relationship. Apparently it’s much more interesting to readers than my music.

  The waiter takes our lunch order and as soon as he leaves, Leo pulls out his phone, setting it on the table between us. “Do you mind?” he asks, setting it to record.

  “Not at all.” I wave my hand at him, letting him know it’s fine.

  Leo begins by asking me about the band, the usual questions that I’ve learned to expect. “How did you meet?” “Where did you get your start?” Then he moves into more recent events. I tell him that I’ll be leaving New York City at some point to tour and finish up the album with the band. We discuss the Grammy Awards, how Sphere of Irony won album, record, and song of the year.

  “So tell me about Unconscious Devotion.”

  I stiffen up when he mentions the song I wrote in rehab. There’s no way Leo doesn’t know that I don’t like to talk about it. I haven’t told anyone in the media anything about that song, and they’ve tried. God, they’ve tried. Only the guys know what it means… well, and Ellie, if she’s ever even heard it.

  “What about it?” I ask coldly, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms. That song is way too personal for me to chat about casually.

  My hostile body language flusters the young reporter, something he’ll need to work on if he wants to make it in this business. A more experienced journalist wouldn’t have batted an eye at my less than enthusiastic response.

  “Ummmm, uh…” Leo fumbles to recover his composure. “It’s said that you wrote it in rehab. Is it about someone specific?”

  Crap. The kid is better than I thought. He got his footing back and went straight in for the kill.

  “It is.” I fold my hands and place them on the table, waiting for him to ask another question, refusing to do his work for him and make his job easy.

  Leo’s mouth drops open in shock. He didn’t think I’d answer him, obviously. He’s gotten more of a response than anyone else who’s asked me that. “Care to elaborate?” I can see the excitement dancing in his eyes, at being the one to crack the ‘notoriously tight-lipped rocker’s’ mile-high walls.

  Deciding I like Leo, I throw him a bone. “I let someone very important to me drift away. Well…” I stop and think for a moment, tapping on the table with one finger, “actually, I pushed her away. Then, I thought I got her back, but I guess the damage I’d done was too much.”

  Taking in a deep breath, I continue, “Being sober forced me to figure out who I am and what I want. I don’t want to be that guy anymore.” I shrug. “The song is about what happened instead of what should have been.”

  Leo’s eyes are as big as saucers at my admission. He struck interview gold and knows it. “Would you tell us who she is? I’m sure our readers want to know who the woman is that inspired that song, what she’s like.”

  I shake my head and frown. “No, Leo. I’m not going to do that to her. You know full well what would happen if I gave you her name. She knows who she is.” My brows pull together as I think about it, “Well, I think she knows. Honestly, I haven’t spoken to her in years, so I haven’t a clue.”

  “Well, if she’s heard the song, I’m sure she knows what it’s about.” Leo’s eyebrows rise as he waits for my reaction.

  “Yeah, probably.” I drop my gaze and fiddle with my glass of water, not wanting to talk about Ellie anymore.

  “So,” Leo takes the hint and moves on, “you’ve been in New York for the last three months recording your solo album, do you have any favorite haunts in the city?”

  Smiling, I think about Sydney and the Village Coffee Bar, where I’ve meet up with her loads of times since we met in September. She’s so sweet and kind, and Leah, who owns the café, is always funny and not at all a star struck fan. They’re both like little sisters to me, especially Sydney, who reminds me so much of Ellie. I’ve stayed sober partly because of them. I want to protect them both, make their lives better. Maybe I can help them out by doing something nice.

  “Well… I’ve been right busy, and the studio hours are really early, but Galaxy, a nightclub in SoHo is brilliant. And there’s a neat little café, the Village Coffee Bar, in the West Village that makes the best specialty croissants you’ve ever had.”

  Leo laughs, “Who knew you were a croissant lover?”

  “I know,” I laugh with him, smacking my abs. “I can’t eat too many, it’s too painful to sweat off later in the gym. I’m hoping to make it back to New York soon, because a friend of mine is redesigning Verve, the nightclub at the Warren Hotel, I’ve seen some of her work and she’s quite the talent. I’m keen on checking it out.”

  “I’m sure the Warren will send you an invite to the opening,” Leo jokes.

  “Hopefully,” I tell Leo, crossing my fingers in pretend excitement. I could care less about the club opening, I just want Sydney to have a great and successful night.

  Leo finishes up with his questions and we eat the rest of our lunch without the recorder. He likes to discuss American football, which I know nothing about so we settle on discussing our favorite cities and the best places to go in each one.

  Exhausted, I stand up and shake Leo’s hand. “Thanks Adam,” he says sincerely. “The article will be great. I’ll send a copy to your publicist to review before publication, but I’ve been told it’s next month’s cover story and you’ve already done the photo shoot, right?”

  “I have. Last week, and thank you for being good company and knowing when to push and when to back off. You’re good at this, Leo.”

  He smiles and I leave feeling good, something that doesn’t happen very often. I take it and embrace the happiness while it lasts, knowing it won’t last long.

  * * *

  “Have you seen my silver heels, honey?” Kiera comes out of the giant walk-in wardrobe in my hotel suite and begins searching the bedroom for her shoes.

  “No,” I answer crossly. “Everything of yours that’s here is in the closet, I expect.” I wave my hand in the direction of the walk-in. She travels with way too many clothes. Kiera’s only in New York for the weekend to attend this big post-New Year’s party I promised Ross I would go to, and she brought three massive pieces of luggage with her.

  “It’s good for your image, Adam. Get out there and mingle with the Hollywood ‘in’ crowd,” Ross said. “Kiera helps you with that now, the tabloids love you two together and that helps the band.”

  Like I give a toss about the Hollywood crowd or tabloids. Pl
us, that prick Andrew Forrester is supposed to be there, and I still haven’t gotten over the way he had me shut out all those years ago. If I had been able to score just a single small role in a film, I might have had enough money to fly home and tell Ellie what an arse I was at that party and beg her forgiveness. He may very well have been the one who cost me my future with her.

  I shake my head and curse myself. I can be as pissed off at him as I want, it was no one’s fault but my own for everything going arse over tit that night. Why he blacklisted me I may never know, but I’m the one who went off on Ellie and sent her running.

  “Adam, are you listening to me?”

  “What?” I turn my focus on Kiera who is standing by the bed with her hands on her hips, her blue eyes narrowed and a scowl on her gorgeous face.

  “Have you heard a single thing I’ve been saying?”

  “Sorry love, no,” I admit. Kiera loves to talk about herself, so much so that I’ve gotten in the habit of tuning her out when she’s on a long-winded discussion about how perfect she is. She still gets angry when I do it, which is silly, because I tune her out all the time.

  She pouts and stomps over to the bed, snatching up her handbag and giving me the side-eye as she sulks. “Well, let’s go,” she says sharply.

  I ignore her attitude, something I’m also very good at doing, and give her a quick peck on the lips. “Alright, after you love.”

  Kiera squints at me as if she’s finally figured out that I’m completely mental, then turns and leaves the suite. Smiling at her irritation, I trail behind, eager to get this weekend over with so she can go back to Los Angeles and I can stay here and work on the new album.

  The novelty of Kiera looking like Ellie has worn thin, no longer holding the sick fascination it used to. She’s such an unbelievable bitch sometimes, it’s a wonder that anyone can stand being around her. Of course, I think of it as a fitting punishment for my past sins, but even that excuse is getting old. I’ll have to do something about Kiera soon, maybe after the tour.