Manhandled: A Rockstar Romantic Comedy (Hammered Book 2)

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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

M
ANHANDLED
- Hammered Book 2

© 2016 Taryn Elliott & Cari Quinn

Cover design: LateNite Designs

All Rights Are Reserved.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

F
irst ebook edition
: April 2016

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F
or all those
that live with songs in their head at all times.

You are our people.

“
D
um-dum-da-dum
, dum-dum-da-dum.” I hummed under my breath as I fluffed out my skirts.

“Keys, if you don’t stop humming that, I’m going to strangle you.”

I stuck out my tongue at the all-around pain in the ass I usually called friend. Hudson Wyatt, our drummer, had been a bear lately. Actually, everyone in the band had been.

Well, except Hunter. He was wearing googly-eyes with hearts for irises. Our lead singer was whipped in a serious way. Don’t get me wrong, it was adorable as hell. I just never thought I’d see the day that a woman—and a pair of dogs—would wrap him around their fingers—and paws—so tightly.

“Why are you so bitchy?”

“Because this wedding has fiasco written all over it. Who the fuck has three dogs in a wedding?”

“People who love animals.”

“Love animals on your own time. I’m the one that has to try and keep white hair off my tux.” Wyatt pulled a mini lint roller out of his breast pocket and started attacking the four hairs that dared mar his lapel. “Armani should not have fluffy white fur on it. Ever.”

“Not your wedding,” I said in a singsong voice. It was a refrain I’d been singing for three weeks.

“I hate you.”

“Nah. You love me.” I had to tip my head back to meet his arctic gaze. I was still in my stocking feet, because I refused to put on the stupid ankle breakers that I had to wear with my dress until the last possible moment.

In fact, I wondered if Kennedy would notice if I wore my Chucks down the aisle. I had cute lilac ones that would coordinate well with the deep purple dress. I didn’t really do heels unless there were boots involved. I could rock a pair of boots.

I was actually looking forward to boots weather. It was late August and I was bored with sundresses and shorts. I was a fall girl. Not that there was much of a fall in Los Angeles, but enough that I didn’t sweat my butt off when I was wearing cute sweaters or jackets with my jeans.

Man.

Jeans.

Can I explain how sick I am of shaving my legs?

But alas, that’s not the topic of conversation today. Wyatt stomped off, muttering about crazy animal people. I wasn’t going to let him ruin my good mood. Today was all about wedding rings, the wedding march, and a kickass end to the whirlwind courtship of one Kennedy McManus and Hunter Jordan.

Our lead singer and the PR princess who loved him to pieces. Kenny had been the one to save our bacon when Hunter had gone a little bananas with the infamous Rolling Stone cover.

I couldn’t really blame him. Personally, I thought it was pretty hilarious that he got a taste of what women dealt with on a daily basis. I couldn’t count the number of times men stared at my girls instead of into my eyes when we were at fan events.

Actually, scratch that—any event. The suits—aka record execs and marketing people—were worse than any fan. Since I was the one and only female in the band, they thought I was pretty much party central. I disabused them of that fact quickly, but it was a never-ending battle.

Long story short, I had to force myself to feel sorry for Hunter. Especially since that cover shot our careers back into gear. Our careers had been languishing for a long damn time. Now, we had a sold-out tour to get ready for and a triple platinum album.

And not all of it had been because of Hunter’s goods outlined in a tight pair of jeans. Who knew a male appendage held this much power? I mean they all believed it did, but the actuality was mind boggling.

Hammered, our band, was in a really good place right now, so I tried not to focus on the pissy nature of half my friends. There was something more than dog fur up Wyatt’s ass, Hunter waffled between basket case and sickeningly happy, and Bats was either silent or missing in action.

Owen was my rock lately, and Zach was his usual brand of crazy. Zach was our co-lead guitarist with Bats. We usually called them the Terror Twins for a reason. And the fact that Bats was MIA so much was definitely messing with the band mojo.

I was hoping this wedding would put us all back on an even keel. No one could duck out of the festivities. There were enough bottles of bourbon on the bar of the suite we were in to lubricate a good mood, at the very least.

We were back where it all began. The Ace Hotel had been the scene of the crime, so to speak. It was where Hunter and Kenny met, so it was only fitting to have the wedding here. It sure didn’t hurt that Hunter’s famous chef bestie, Tristan, also had a lot of pull at the hotel.

Hunter paced up and down the length of the room. Noah, Hunter’s brother, had left to make sure everything was running smoothly. I went over to the bar and cracked open the bottle of Belle Meade Tristan had sent up.

I splashed some into a glass for myself and sipped. Smoke and the sweet bloom of caramel and cherry notes pulled out a low moan from me.

“You’re sharing that, right?” Bats asked from the far side of the room. His knee was still bouncing as he gripped his phone.

I pulled down five other glasses and dealt them out around the bar top. “You know it.” I dumped bow-tie shaped ice cubes into each one.

All the important men in my life came forward in various levels of suited-up status. Zach had his tie around his forehead like an ’80s video reject, Owen was almost as impeccable as Wyatt, Bats had his tie askew and his sleeves rolled up.

Hunter drummed his fingers against the bar, sweat rolling down his temple.

I slid the glass in front of him. “Relax. The wedding is going to be beautiful.”

“I just want it over with.”

I arched a brow at him.

Hunter flushed. “Not like that. I just want her mine, then I can breathe and know nothing is going to happen. Right now, all I can think of are reasons for her to turn around and say she changed her mind.”

“If she didn’t change her mind after you got arrested—almost twice, mind you—then I think you’re golden.”

Bats’s ears went red. He dug his phone out and flipped it around and around in the palm of his hand. When the screen lit up, he quickly flicked a message away.

I managed to cut the growl growing in my throat to a purr. Bats glanced at me and shoved his phone back into his pocket.

Today was not the day for him to pull his bullshit with Victoria like he had been for the last few months. We’d been on tour for the last eleven weeks, and Bats’s regular sightings with Hunter’s ex-fiancée were wearing on everyone.

If she showed up today, there would likely be bloodshed. And if Hunter did strangle Bats or Victoria, then there really wouldn’t be a wedding. I wasn’t sure there was enough subtext in the universe for me to relay in one look at Bats, but I was going all in.

He downed his glass and poured another.

Point made, me thinks.

I splashed refills in everyone’s glasses. “To Hunter and his beautiful bride. Today is going to be perfect.”

All my guys raised their glasses. “To Hunter,” everyone said.

“
C
ome on
, Cujo. Give me a break here.” I settled the little Morkie on my lap out of the sun. There was a light murmur of people talking as the wedding party made their way down the aisle.

“Look at Daddy right down there waiting for you. You have a very important job today.”

Cujo’s little pink tongue lolled out the side of his mouth. A purple bow wove through his studded black collar. Two wedding rings clinking together with each hiccup the dog made.

“Here.”

I looked up to find Tristan standing beside me with a Dixie cup full of peanut butter. “Really?”

“Works for humans,” he said with a shrug. He had on a plum-colored chef’s jacket with tight black jeans and motorcycle boots. He was Hunter’s best friend, but had deferred to Hunter’s brother for best man status so he could cook for us instead. He was the head chef here at the Ace Hotel.

I took the cup and held it out to Cujo. He happily inhaled the peanut butter then licked my face.

“Oh, man. All right.”

Hunter shot out his cuffs again and rolled his shoulders.

“Okay, Daddy really is going to have a heart attack. And you know you want to see Mommy with her pretty dress, right?”

Cujo yipped.

“See?” I set him on the floor and the little dog danced around my ankles. “If you trip me, I’ll take away the huge pack of rawhide I smuggled into my hotel room.”

He plopped his butt down and lifted both his front paws.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re cute.”

Sammy popped up from his seated position. The Australian Border Collie was dapper in his purple bandana with the single platinum ring hanging from his neck.

Tank, Kennedy’s childhood dog, was sitting pretty next to Hunter at the end of the long white-silk runner that bisected the one hundred white chairs that made up the intimate ceremony. Lilacs and white lilies were tied to every other row, and Los Angeles had blessed us with a serene afternoon with only a touch of smog.

“Okay, we can do this, right boys?”

Cujo pranced and Sammy wagged his tail.

“Of course we can.” I patted both dogs and straightened as the last bridesmaid made her way down the aisle accompanied by Zach.

I grabbed my bouquet and gave the dogs their signal. Kenny had been working with them both for weeks.

“Nice and easy,” I said quietly. The dogs stopped at the end of the runner and barked. The guests laughed, as they should. Cujo—Hunter’s dog, of course—changed his mind about following directions, and went up on his back paws and danced down the aisle.

“Stealing the show,” I said out of the side of my mouth at Sammy, who walked patiently at my side.

He leapt into Hunter’s arms for praise. Wyatt rolled his eyes and stared up at the sky.

The priest patted Cujo’s head before he was set down to stand between Noah and Hunter. I moved to the bride’s side and Sammy sat beside Carter, Kenny’s best man/maid of honor—because why would any part of this wedding be traditional? It so wasn’t them.

When everyone was settled, the wedding march started. Instead of an organ and strings, Bats played a twelve-string acoustic guitar for Kennedy’s walk down the aisle.

He’d slowed down the song and spun it out until it was a beautiful version that immediately put tears in my eyes. Things had been so strained between Reed and Hunter, the fact that he’d obviously put so much thought into the traditional song gave me the first burst of hope in a long damn time.

Kenny paused at the end of the runner, her simple off-shoulder dress falling in a swish of white silk that trailed behind her with a short train. She was radiant and perfect, with just a touch of amethyst at the gathered silk at her midsection that left the rest of the silk flowing behind her in perfect folds. A matching cluster of amethyst fastened her veil into her sweep of auburn curls.

She walked up the aisle with her father, but her eyes were for Hunter. No hesitation, no trembles, just a woman walking down the aisle to the man she loved. Down to her future.

Hunter’s gray eyes were shiny. A huge smile lit his face when he saw her.

My eyes misted again.

I wanted a man to look at me like that.

I couldn’t remember anyone looking at me like that, to be honest. Pride and love shining brighter than any jewel, or sun, or light.

That was them.

It may have been a whirlwind romance, but there was no way anyone could deny the love between them. When Kenny’s father handed her off with a kiss, Hunter clasped their hands and didn’t let go.

The vows were said with very little preamble. Kenny sniffed a little during the embellished vows that Hunter had added to his side of the deal.

Never in all her life had I thought Hunter was secretly a big ol’ smushball, but he was. At least for Kenny. Anyone else would probably see the receiving end of his fist if they called him on the sensitivity thing.

It was refreshing, and jealousy-inducing.

I’d had a few dozen boyfriends in my twenty-nine years, but none had ever looked at me like that. Not even a hint of it. A few friends and family members had gotten married over the years, and none of them had choked me up like this either.

Man, what the heck was wrong with me?

I wasn’t the girl who pined for suits and lace. I’d rather have a guy who could party with me in a mosh pit at a show, drive two hours for a hamburger, or backpack around the mountains. Even Hunter and Kenny were way more conventional than I was, and that was saying something.

But as Noah crouched down for the rings from Cujo, and Carter unfastened the ring from Sammy’s collar, I had to blink away tears. This was the perfect ceremony for them.

Some of the traditional touches with a twist of animal crazy.

When the rings were exchanged and the slightly inappropriate kiss signaled the end of the ceremony, I was happy to get my bearings again.

I laughed and clapped with everyone as Hunter swept her up into his arms and stalked down the aisle. Instead of going into the covered areas for the reception, he stalked off to a door along the edge of the pool.

Where the heck was he going?

Hunter looked over his shoulder at the wedding guests and waved as he ducked inside the “Employees Only” door.

I rolled my eyes. He probably had some ridiculously fun version of a scavenger hunt in store for her. The tunnels of the Ace Hotel were their particular playground. Or they were going to do things I didn’t want to think about. Possibly a few I saw on YouTube, from the dozens of videos that caught the two of them on more than one occasion.

Hunter was quite the exhibitionist for someone who wanted to keep his life private.

And that was enough of that thought train. I linked my arm through Noah’s. “Good job, best man.”

“Not so bad yourself, dog wrangler.” He grinned down at me with those ridiculous dimples. If the idea of hooking up with Hunter’s brother didn’t feel so incestuous, I’d be on him like a rash.

“Care to join me for a drink?” I asked.

He nodded and we headed into the covered area of the reception. He was good at casual conversation, and was unusually good at listening.

He was light where Hunter was dark. Golden-toned skin and light eyes that bled more into blue than Hunter’s gray-washed green. The two men also couldn’t be any more different in temperament.

Probably why I had to talk myself out of a crush a few times a day when he came to visit. I’d kill Hunter if he was my significant other, but Noah was a bit aloof and had an air of badass that seemed to permeate the room when he was in it.

He was only alluring because I saw him for approximately fourteen hours total every few months. Oh, and he smelled like leather and sin even when he was wearing a suit.

Hunter and Kennedy didn’t want a formal affair for the reception, so a buffet was set up on either end, with open bars available at a few different stations around the rooftop.

Noah waded into the fray for a tumbler of bourbon for me.

Fat white lights were strung along the rafters of the covered areas. A large dance floor was set up with a band that could play every cover song under the sun. The four corners had towering spires that criss-crossed with lights for when the sun went down.

I smiled and nodded at people I knew, feigned a polite half-smile for those I didn’t. When I spotted my sister, my heart sank.

I’d hoped she and my parents would disappear after the ceremony. They were only here because it was proper. And they’d leave an equally proper card in the large white wrapped box at the bride and groom table.

Hope Driscoll sailed across the sea of people, her fingers loosely linked with my brother-in-law’s. She was wearing a slim rose-colored dress that emphasized her bump just enough to ensure people knew she was expecting prodigy number two, and not carrying baby weight from el numero uno.

Hope reached me and pressed an air kiss to my cheek. “You look beautiful, Faith.” She clutched my fingers quickly before backing up to stand beside the hubs.

Andrew nodded at me. “Hey, sis.”

“Aren’t you two all glowy?”

Hope twisted her fingers with Andrew’s and looked up at him with adoring eyes. “We’re having another girl.”

A small twinge hit me low. I wasn’t even close to ready for the baby train my sister was on, but again—someone in my life with stars in their eyes for a man. It seemed so foreign to me.

Would Hunter and Kenny be just like them this time next year?

Perish the thought.

“Mom and Dad were looking for you as well.”

“They’re still here?”

“Yes. Dad ran into a few clients, so they decided to stay for the reception.”

Fabulous.

Noah came up beside me, and I practically snatched the glass out of his fingers. He gave me that Noah arched brow he’d perfected when I downed it and relieved him of his own. Today was going to require far more alcohol than I’d first thought.

Hope eyed Noah before slanting a look at me. “Who’s your friend?”

Oh, no. I could see the matchmaker gleam in my sister’s eye. She wanted me as blissfully attached as she was.

My family didn’t understand any part of my lifestyle. From the full ride at Berkeley that I’d turned down to go on tour with Hammered, to the trust fund I’d created with my fame. None of it made any sense to my high-powered, very rich family.

I may have grown up with a silver spoon—literally—in my mouth, but I’d never really cared about the huge house and labels, unless I counted my Chucks. There were no other shoes that would do as far as I was concerned. Probably why I had a good twenty-seven pairs at last count. Nor did I like the list of acceptable men that my father seemed to have for his girls.

Hope had fallen in line quickly, but then again, she liked the Santa Barbara country club set. She’d grown up playing tennis and “doing lunch” with my mother. I’d been too busy sneaking into bars. Not to drink—okay, well, not only to drink. I loved music. I learned how to play the blues and hard rock on the Strip. Any kind of music I wanted to experience, it was there.

Consequently, I’d never really been all that close to my mother or sister. Didn’t stop them from trying to get me to turn my life around—their words, definitely not mine.

“This is Noah Jordan, Hunter’s brother.”

Hope’s eyes sparkled as she held out a very dainty hand with its perfect sheen of pearl polish to accentuate the platinum and diamonds she wore. “What is it that you do, Mr. Jordan?”

“I’m in a security firm.”

“Oh.” Hope’s blue eyes widened. “What exactly does that mean?”

I slurped down the last of Noah’s drink. “It means he carries a gun and shoots people.”

“Faith,” Hope gasped.

I shrugged.

Noah slid his hand along my lower back and thwacked my zipper. I just smiled wider and plucked out an ice cube and crunched loudly.

“I handle some bodyguard duty, but mostly just a lot of babysitting. Kind of like what your sister needs on occasion.”

I squinted my eyes at our personal bodyguard. “I have Patrick.” I craned my neck and pointed at the hulking redhead with his arms folded in perpetual pissed off-ness. His hair was buzzed tight to his head and he wore aviators so people didn’t know he was constantly skimming the room for trouble.

Whether it was from the band members, or outside trouble, was always a crapshoot.

“He takes care of us on tour. Makes sure the handful of crazy fans stay at a distance.”

Hope frowned. “What do you mean, ‘crazy’?”

I glanced down at my short bronze nails and dozen rings stacked on my long fingers. It wasn’t exactly my favorite conversation. For the most part, being a musician was amazing. The tours could be grueling, but the fans were awe-inspiring. Mostly. “Not a big deal. Just some fans get a little overzealous in their love.”

“Like men?” Hope whispered.

I glanced up. “Sometimes.”

“Women?” she squeaked.

I grinned. “Sometimes.”

“Wow.” Hope’s eyes were the definition of owlish. A tiny wrinkle formed between her brows, then she chewed on her bottom lip.

If she actually asked the question brewing in that good-girl brain of hers, I’d eat my favorite pair of
Dr. Who
Chucks.

I hadn’t been with a guy in a while, and I resisted any and all fix-ups from her and our mother. She glanced at Noah, then back at me, then finally made a “hmm” sound.

“Patrick keeps me safe. Not to worry.” I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop the smile. Hope was just too easy to tease.

She opened her mouth as if to say more, but snapped it shut when our parents waved and made their way over.

On second thought, maybe I could bribe Noah into playing my boyfriend for the night. It was better to get a disapproving look from my father than to endure the list of eligible bachelors my mother probably had in her iPhone.

My mother was wearing a baby-blue dress with a slim black belt that was a throwback to Jackie O’s style. Her hair was a perfect champagne blonde and swung in a knife-blade sweep of straight hair just above her shoulders. My father wore a sand-colored suit with a matching blue tie.

Prom.