Cover Me: A Rock Star Romance (3 page)

“Whoa. I was only teasing.” He held up a hand in surrender. “Won’t happen again. Won’t even refer to the burgers as Bessy.”

I knew he didn’t remember the summer after eighth grade when he called me thunder thighs when we were swimming. I lived on Diet Coke and salads with fat free dressing that summer. I didn’t hold that against him though. Boys that age are all insensitive and obnoxious. But calling me Bessy wouldn’t fly.

About five minutes off the highway, Derek turned up a winding road and pulled through a gate enclosing a steep driveway. The enormous house was as expected of an L.A. mansion: square and modern with a lot of glass. It was a far cry from our identical, small ranch houses in Santa Cruz. It didn’t look like somewhere I would picture Derek.

“It’s corporate owned,” he said, explaining the style not matching his taste—unless it did now.

“Do you like it?” I asked.

“No. It’s too new. No character. You know me, I need creaky front steps and peeling paint.” He smiled at me and my insides thawed. Maybe I did still know him a bit.

We got out of the car and entered the house through a door in the garage. It opened into the hallway off the kitchen. A wall of windows lined the back where a cedar deck enclosed an enormous crystal blue pool. The kitchen was manly and mammoth with black marble countertops and cherry wood cupboards. “I’ll grab a bottle of wine and we can sit on the deck. Once you’re comfortable, I’ll fire up the grill and start cooking.”

“I can help,” I offered, then was smacked with the sense of playing house. Getting cozy with Derek Bast was dangerous. I had to remember that.

“I’ve got it covered. You’re my guest and I had to practically tie you up and drag you here, so I’m not going to make you help me.”

Tie me up? Those words sent another flash of heat through my body.

I watched him take two wine glasses out of the cupboard and select a bottle of red. “When did you start drinking wine?”

One New Year’s Eve when we were young we sneaked a bottle of wine into my bedroom. We each took a big gulp, gagged and grimaced and swore never to drink anything but the cocktails they made with juice or soda to mask the pungent, bitter taste of the alcohol.

He looked over his shoulder while uncorking the bottle. “When did you? Or don’t you?”

“I do. Started drinking wine in college, I guess.”

“I started when the business dinners with the big wigs came along. At first I hated it, but it grew on me.” He grabbed the bottle and two glasses and strode to a sliding glass door. “Come on out.”

The sun was just above the trees. A bright orange ball in the sky. To the right and down the side of the mountain, the ocean roiled and waves crashed. “I can’t believe this is where you live,” I mused.

“It feels like a hotel. It isn’t home to me. Home is still in Santa Cruz even though I haven’t lived there for nearly a decade.” He poured me a glass of wine and handed it to me, pulling out a chair at an umbrella table beside the pool.

I sat down and he claimed the next seat around the circular table. “Should I turn on some music?” He picked up a remote from the middle of the table. “Nothing by me. Promise.”

A pang of regret struck. “I don’t hate your music. I have strong opinions about this Unholy Union project you’re doing with Adrian, but that’s not reflective of your work as a whole.”

He smiled. Below the corner of his lip where his chin creased, a small dimple dented in. If I remembered correctly, it rarely ever showed, only when he smiled his most sincere smile. No smirk, no grin, only his true smile. “Thank you. That’s nice to know.”

Derek turned on some mellow music, then leaned forward and picked up my foot. He slipped one shoe off, then the other. “Those hurt me just looking at them. Not that I don’t love looking at them on you. But, they have to kill your feet.”

I stretched out my toes. “You get used to them. I love high heels so I’ve learned how to wear them.”

He eyed my fishnet thigh highs. Was he going to dive in, hook his fingers around the tops and pull them down my legs? “You have goose bumps,” he said. If only he knew they were from the path his eyes made over my skin and not from the breeze that was rather warm. “I’ll find you something to change into.” He stood and held out his hand.

I hesitated before taking it and letting him lead me inside. “This is the great room,” he said, as we strolled through. The cream colored carpet was thick and lush under my feet. A fireplace was built into a stone wall that climbed from the floor to the cathedral ceiling, and a second-story balcony jetted over the far end. “The master suite is down here in the back corner.”

Master suite. In my apartment that meant a room big enough for a double bed and a chest of drawers that you can barely stand between. Forget about pulling the drawers all the way out.

We turned down the hallway and Derek opened a set of double doors at the end. “I’ve never slept in here,” he said, pausing on the threshold. “It’s too big and reminds me of a place I shouldn’t be allowed in.”

I knew what he meant. It was pristine. Filmy curtains, porcelain figurines, crystal vases of flowers. It was straight out of a design magazine. “Where do you sleep if not in here?”

“The couch.” He shrugged and ran a hand over his messy hair. “I don’t know. Things happen so fast. Sometimes it doesn’t sink in, I guess.”

Or maybe he didn’t want it to sink in.

I stood there and studied him, not caring that he watched me right back. It never occurred to me that stardom strips you from being anyone else. Once you board that train, there’s no return trip. Your mark on history is made, your page written in the books. Derek Bast was a sensation. A star. He could quit and take up plumbing, but the world would always know him as the lead singer of G.O., and if he was lucky, the world would forget to note his foray into Unholy Union.

“What?” He asked. The word was almost a whisper, a hoarse rasp. His eyes were sullen, like I knew a terrible secret about him that I wasn’t letting him in on.

“Do you
want
to live here?”

He leaned back against the door jamb. “I’ve never really thought about it. I’ve been on tour the better part of the past five years. I’m not used to living alone. I don’t know what to do with myself and all the time I have when I’m not in the studio.”

I leaned against the jamb across from him. “Why Adrian? What made you join him?”

He looked into the bedroom, linked his fingers and rested his hands on top of his head. “It’s not easy to stay relevant if you don’t change. Fans are fickle. They love you one minute and are onto the next great thing the second you look away.” He tracked his gaze back to me, looking at me out of the corners of his eyes. “I don’t know anything else, Bess. If I wake up tomorrow and don’t sell another record, I’m done.”

I almost asked him about the millions of dollars I know he had stocked away in savings, but I didn’t think he was talking about making money. He was talking about being someone. Who would he be if he wasn’t making music?

His mark was already made—written in the books.

Derek

T
he look on
her face said it all. Without being Derek Bast, lead singer, I was nobody. I couldn’t let that happen. Not because of her review. Not for any reason.

“Twice today you’ve mentioned being worried about your career,” she said. “Is there a reason you’re concerned?”

I let my eyes fall to the floor and found her small feet, encased in the black diamonds of her fishnet stockings. Her toenails were painted purple. “It’s nothing. Only hypothetical.” Except it wasn’t. If Joe was questioning the tracks Unholy Union recorded, it was only a matter of time before he cancelled the contract altogether. I’d seen it happen a hundred times. Never to me. I was one of the untouchables. One of the best. The one the studios all wooed to get me to make a deal.

I was still on top, but feeling like I was teetering on the edge ever since that damn review came out this morning. “How can one person’s words make you question everything you’ve worked so hard for?”

My eyes snapped up to hers. I knew the anger brewing again inside me showed. She blinked and looked away. Her fingers came up to her mouth and pressed against her lips.

Oh God, was she going to cry? “I just meant, why do I let it get to me? You know?” I tried my best to backpedal. “Everyone is entitled to their opinions. I can’t be loved by every person who hears my songs. It’s statistically impossible.”

Bess looked back at me, her eyes watery. “I…” she shook her head, took off her glasses to dab her fingers at the corners over her eyes, then dove for me. Her hands cupped around the back of my head, pulling my lips down to meet hers. The heat of her mouth filled me. I devoured her. She tasted like the past and present, things known yet unknown, roots grounding me and wings setting me free. “Bess,” I whispered, just to hear myself say her name. Bess. The girl next door.

I lowered us to the floor and held her against me, exploring her lips and tongue with my own. I rested my thumb over the pulse in her neck, feeling it thrum and pound. I kept my eyes open, wanting to see her, to catch every flicker of pleasure that crossed her face.

I didn’t know where we stood with the review or with her hating me or not hating me. I wanted my mind to stop bringing up these questions. I lowered my hand from her neck, trailing down along the bare skin revealed by the deep V in her t-shirt. I pressed my palm against her breast bone, wanting her to feel secure. I told her I wouldn’t throw her on the floor and ravage her, after all.

Not that I was the one to start this, but I sure as hell didn’t want it to stop.

Her delicate fingers stroked my cheek, ran along my jaw, followed suit with mine and rested on my chest.

I slid my fingers inside the V of her shirt and dipped them under the edge of her bra. My fingertip skimmed her pebbled nipple and she fisted my shirt in her hands. Her kiss quickened and deepened. I pushed her shirt aside, heard the seam give, and pulled her bra back freeing her breast. I cupped her and squeezed gently, massaging the tip with my thumb.

She pulled away from my mouth slightly, panting, her tongue flicking out to meet with mine. I could only imagine how wet she was. My dick throbbed inside my jeans, begging to be let out. My balls ached with heaviness, needing release that would come from being deep inside this sensual, amazing woman I’d overlooked for so long.

I dipped my head and flicked her nipple with my tongue before taking it in my mouth and giving it a hard suck. She arched her back and let out a whispered cry. Her hands dug under my shirt to make contact with skin. As we kissed, I freed her other breast and rolled the nipple between my thumb and finger, plucking it gently. It drove her mad. I could tell by the way her legs kept shifting.

Since I could stand some friction between my legs myself, I hooked my hands behind her knees and pulled her onto my lap, straddling me. God, she was beautiful with her tits out, wet from my tongue, with her skirt hiked up around her waist. Her underwear were black boy shorts and she still had those fucking fishnet thigh highs on. I decided I could live without the glasses and heels.

I grabbed her ass and pulled her hard against me. The pressure of her pussy against my jeans set my cock on fire. Fuck, I wanted to be inside her. She gripped the bottom of my shirt and tore it off over my head. We grinded our hips together, panting and moaning. Her mouth was all over my neck and chest. Her fingers tracing my ink up over my shoulder and down my arm.

I slipped my fingers inside her boy shorts. She was fucking soaked and swollen. She groaned and thrust against my fingers as I pushed them inside her. Her fingers went to work on my button and zipper, tugging my underwear down as far as she could to get her hand on my cock. She freed me and pressed my head against her clit with only the thin fabric of her boy shorts between us. It would’ve only taken a second to push the material aside and shove my cock home.

Her wetness slicked my dick through her underwear. She rolled her hips and rocked on my lap seeking release. I thrust with her, dick ready to go off like a rocket, and watched her head fall back the same time her pussy clenched around my fingers. She shuddered, cried, “God, yes!” and I exploded.

Bess collapsed against my chest. We didn’t move, just sat there together catching our breath and letting the last waves roll through us. It had been a long time since I’d gotten off with a woman without being inside her. Bess and I humped like horny, teen virgins, but it seemed right. That’s where we were picking up from anyway.

I stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d wanted to stay still, not move from one spot, but this was a pretty damn good spot.

She sniffed and I felt something wet trickle down my abs. “Bess?” I held her back from me and lifted her chin. Tears streaked her cheeks. “Did you not want that? I thought—”

“I wanted it. But, I know I’m going to regret it.”

I held her face between my hands and kissed her forehead. How could she be crying when I was on top of the world? “It was only—”

She covered my mouth with a hand. “It’s never
only
anything with you.”

Since her proclamation was said with tears this time, I got the gist that it was a bad thing. “It’s whatever you want it to be, Bess. Okay?”

I helped her stand up, found her glasses and tucked myself back into my underwear. We were both a bit wet and sticky and needed to change. I ran a hand over my hair and walked to the dresser, pulled out a G.O. t-shirt and a pair of my boxer briefs for her. “Of everything I own, these will probably fit you the best.” Any of my pants would fall right off of her. She’d need to roll the waistband down on the underwear as it was.

I handed them to her and led her to the master bathroom. “You can take a bath or a shower if you want. Take as much time as you need. I’ll meet you back outside.”

I didn’t know what else to do. I’d never made a woman come then immediately cry before. My odds didn’t look good for getting to next time.