The Complete Rockstar Series (87 page)

Calloused hands sift through my hair. He uses his fingertips to tilt my head to the side. My eyes flutter closed as Hawke brings me in to touch his lips to mine, and in that moment, I do what I did so many years ago. I let go, allowing myself the pleasure of his touch without the analytical overthinking my brain tends to do.

He tastes so good, I part my mouth on a groan. Hawke takes advantage of the opening, thrusting his tongue into my mouth with a deep growl. His hands grip tighter in my hair. When the stud in his tongue brushes across the roof of my mouth, memories of long nights spent making out with Hawke, gaining intimate knowledge of exactly what that piercing can do, flood my mind and I know, I’m already right back where I was as if the last seven years apart never happened.

I’m still in love with Hawke Evans, a man incapable of ever truly loving me back.

Abby’s body is rigid under my hands, her muscles tense when my mouth first lands on hers. The familiar scent and taste of her flood my system, tearing a groan from deep in my chest. The assault of memories mixed with primal need has me diving deeper into her mouth with my tongue.

She moans, and I sense the exact second Abby lets go and sinks into the kiss. Every curve, every dip of her body melts into mine, becoming soft and pliable. Taking advantage of the moment, I slide my hands around to her face and tilt her head further so I can deepen the kiss. Abby responds by running her tongue along mine and grinding her hips down in my lap.

“Jesus, Abby,” I murmur against her wet lips. We stare at each other as my heart beats an erratic rhythm. Memories of hours spent kissing those same lips has me both excited to have her in my arms again, yet scared shitless of revisiting all the reasons we didn’t work out.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispers, sliding her hands around my back and under the hem of my shirt.

“God. You feel so good.” A ripple of pleasure shudders down my spine at her touch on my bare skin. I haven’t been touched like this since Abby, and I didn’t know how much I
need
it. I need her contact, her affection, her love. My fears vanish, replaced by the need to connect with someone, someone who knows me—the real me, not the one they see on TV or in magazines. Abby knows me. Better than most, and the thought is both terrifying and comforting at the same time.

Our mouths crash together once more, tasting, exploring, remembering… Abby groans and shifts on my lap, and I tear my mouth away. The friction on my cock is nearly too much to bear, especially with the near painful restriction of my jeans.

I’m so turned on, I’m gasping for air. “I need to put out the fire.”

Abby leans back, practically panting as she shifts on top of me, dragging a low moan from my throat. Her eyes dart around and land on a large glass of water. She grabs the glass and tosses the liquid on the fire. The flames hiss and crack, and thankfully, die out almost immediately.

Abby’s heels dig in behind my back and her arms wind around my neck. When she pushes down on my lap again, torturing my cock with a long, slow rub, I lose my mind. My mind is wiped of everything except the need to get inside her as soon as possible. I grip Abby’s ass and stand with her wrapped around my body. She gives me a wicked grin and I laugh. This is exactly what she wanted, to drive me crazy until I lost control.

Playing with my insane need to claim her, pushing my limits—she always did know how to wrap me right around her little finger.

Pushing away any negative thoughts of waking up tomorrow with regrets, I lower my mouth to hers and carry her inside the house while exchanging wet, sloppy kisses.

When I lie her down on the guest bed, Abby whispers into the crook of my neck, her hot breath gusting over my skin. “Henry.” Hearing my name come from her lips sends intense tremors zapping through every nerve in my body. Abby is the only person in my life who ever uses my given name, and she only used to say it when we were making love.

Is that what we’re doing? Making love?

Before I can get wrapped up in my thoughts, Abby traces her short fingernails around either side of my face, sliding them up into my scalp. She digs them into the hair at my temples, scratching those tempting fingers down to the back of my head, leaving a trail of goose bumps behind.

I lie on top of Abby, pushing her down to settle my body between her legs on the bed. “You smell so fucking good.” I bury my nose in her hair and inhale deeply, reveling in the familiar scent. “Like the beach. Always like the beach.”

Her wicked hands skate down my back, where Abby grips the hem of my shirt. I sit back on my knees and strip the fabric off. “Now you.” I reach out, tugging the tight
Sphere of Irony
T-shirt she borrowed from Kate over her head.

I suck in a breath, gently tracing the scalloped edge of her satiny bra. “Blue. My favorite color,” I murmur.

Abby flicks her gaze up to meet mine. Her tongue darts out to wet her red, swollen lips. “I know.”

My heart stutters, then restarts, pounding hard against my ribcage. Did she wear blue on purpose? Was she planning for me to see the lacy undergarments?

“Henry, stop thinking and get down here.” Abby reaches up and grabs me by the shoulders, pulling me back on top of her. She looks just as good as she did in college, tall, tan, toned… her wavy blonde hair still long and currently spread out like a halo on the dark pillowcase. A deep rosy color stains her high cheekbones and the soft curve of her throat.

“Gorgeous,” I moan, touching every available inch of exposed skin. When I lick a path down to her collarbone, her back arches up off the bed.

Beneath my mouth, I feel Abby’s pulse pick up speed as I nip along her neck to her ear. Remembering a sensitive spot of hers, I plunge my tongue in her ear and she goes wild.

“Get undressed,” she demands, her breath fast and shallow as her hands attempt to work my belt loose from between us. I slide off the bed and watch Abby strip. She removes her skintight pants, tossing them to the floor.

When she sheds her remaining clothes, I’m so desperate for friction, I palm my hard cock through my jeans. “Fuck.”

“Now you.” Her voice is husky, laced with desire, her pupils so wide the blue of her eyes is barely visible. She sounds as if she spent the night screaming herself hoarse, something I hope I can say is true by tomorrow.

Abby’s eyes lock onto my hands as I undress. First, I remove my glasses, still able to see clearly since they aren’t a prescription but a part of my armor. I rub my palms down my naked chest and abs, fingering the waistband of my pants as she watches, entranced.

“Hurry. I need you.”

I clench my jaw and mutter a string of curses, but somehow manage to stay in control. Slowly, I pull my belt out of the loops and let the strip of leather and metal buckle clatter to the floor. I flip open the button on my jeans and lower the zipper. The sound of each tooth releasing is magnified, seemingly as loud as my heavy breathing.

“You have new tattoos.” Abby’s hand glides down her body, stopping between her thighs. She moans and pushes a finger into her slick channel, then pulls it out to draw damp circles on her clit.

“Holy fuck.” My mouth falls open and my own hand finds my rock-hard dick, wrapping around it to begin fisting the length.

Abby pushes two fingers in and groans, writhing on the bed wantonly. That, and the fact that my balls are already tightening, pleasure quickly growing to a crescendo, snaps me out of my daze. I let go of my dick and grab a condom from my wallet, quickly rolling it on, praying I don’t shoot in my own hand before I even get inside Abby’s tight heat.

I climb back on the bed, positioning my cock at her entrance. Our eyes lock as I sink in, and mine nearly roll back in my head at the feel of her body gripping mine.

“Jesus Christ, Bee.” The pet name I used to call her slips out of my mouth without thinking. My brain has officially detached from my mouth. Impatient, Abby raises her hips, forcing my entire length all the way in. “Ohmygod… holy…” I drop my head into the crook of her neck and squeeze my eyes shut.

Don’t come, don’t come.

“Henry, please. Move.” Abby’s hands run up and down my back, settling on my ass, where she digs her fingernails into the hard muscles.

Still struggling to keep my orgasm under control, I find her lips and devour her sweet mouth to keep her from saying anything else. I can’t take it. It’s too much. If she continues begging, I’ll fucking explode before this begins.

Abby releases my ass, bringing her legs around my waist. Without breaking our kiss, I grab her hands and shove them over her head, pinning them to the mattress. She moans, encouraging me to take her faster, harder, but I can’t. Not tonight. It’s been too long since I’ve been with her. If I don’t keep this slow, I’ll lose control. And losing control with Abby isn’t something I’m willing to risk.

Instead, I begin to fuck her with long, slow thrusts. My hips move evenly, slamming in hard, our skin slapping together, then pulling nearly all the way out before doing it again. Quickly, much too quickly, I feel my release building again. My entire body is on fire, hot licks of flame engulfing every inch of my skin. I move faster, and Abby writhes and moans with each hard jab of my cock as I drive us toward climax.

When Abby stiffens beneath me and her hands tighten around mine, I rotate my hips, grinding my pelvis down. Abby screams, and I swallow the sound with my lips. The viselike grip of her body spasms around my cock, and I plummet over the edge. My thoughts shatter to pieces and my breath hitches as I thrust in one final time, emptying all of my pleasure, all of my emotion, every bit of my remaining soul into the condom.

Sweaty and dragging in deep lungfuls of air, I collapse on top of Abby, knowing she won’t mind. If anything, staying close to her will prolong her pleasure.

After a few minutes, my muscles begin to complain and the scorching heat between us becomes unbearable. I roll over, pulling off the condom to ball it up in a tissue from the nightstand.

Silence pervades the dark room, neither of us having anything to say. And what would we say? That was one of the top three fucks of my life. The other two also belong to Abby. We can work out everything in the morning. For now, I’m content to let my mind rest, and drift away into a deep sleep.

F
uck
!

I wake up in a pool of sweat, my pulse racing, my heart working so hard it’s painful. Sitting up, I grab the sides of my head and run my fingers through my damp hair.

Fucking nightmares!

It’s difficult to expand and contract my lungs as I try to calm my breathing before I hyperventilate. Gulping down air, I roll out of bed in a panic, scrambling to find my clothes in the dark. Lightheaded and on the verge of flat-out losing my shit, I pull on my jeans and shirt and stuff my feet into my shoes. As quietly as possible, which seems fucking loud as hell in the silent room, I slide open the closet door and grope around until my fingers find my duffel bag.

When I open the bedroom door, a shaft of light from the hall casts a faint glow across Abby’s sleeping form.

She’ll fucking hate me when she wakes up, but I can’t stay here. I can’t think. All I know is I have to get away. The pictures in my head are suffocating, slithering around my neck and pulling tight like a noose.

I allow myself one last mournful glance at her beautiful face and what we could have had before I close the door and leave.

T
hree months
later

I
can see
Dax’s head above the sea of photographers as the pack makes their way through baggage claim at LAX. Actually, it’s the forceful way he’s speaking that first gets my attention in the crowded airport.

“Move! Now. Or I’ll pound you into the ground.”

The paparazzi buzz loudly, eager to snap photos and film Dax’s red, scowling face. I bounce on my toes, hoping to catch a glimpse of my best friend somewhere in the mass. The chaos makes my stomach cramp with nerves for her and the baby.

“Back the fuck off! If you touch my wife or daughter, there won’t be a barrister in the world who can save your arse!”

I recoil from the viciousness in Dax’s angry voice. Not that I blame him. Poppy Mirin Davies is only eight weeks old and according to Kate, Dax’s overprotectiveness grew exponentially after the baby was born. I watch his facial expressions and wonder if he’s going to have a nuclear tantrum right here in baggage claim.

Kate, huddled under Dax’s arm and surrounded by three huge bodyguards her husband hired while she was still in the hospital recovering, glances my way and grins. Poppy is swaddled in her arms and covered with a light blanket to shield her face from the swarm of flashes and nosy photographers.

“Keep moving,” Dax grumbles when they reach me. I pivot on my heel and follow them out of the terminal, into a waiting SUV.

“But my car—”

Dax snarls, turning to grimace out the back window at the paparazzi who are scrambling into cars in an attempt to follow us. “I’ll have security come back and get it once we get to the rental house.”

Kate finishes strapping Poppy into a waiting car seat. “There,” she smiles, throwing her hands up in the air. She gives the sleeping baby a kiss on her forehead and slumps back against the headrest. “Don’t ever fly with a baby,” she groans.

I laugh. “She’s gorgeous, Kate. I can’t wait to hold her.”

The SUV hits a bump and the baby’s arms shoot out to her sides, her little fists curled up tight. Thankfully, she doesn’t wake up. Her fuzzy blonde head rubs against the car seat and she settles back down.

“She’s a good sleeper,” I comment.

That earns me dual scowls, one from Dax and one from Kate.

“Fuck no!” Dax chuckles. “She’s up all bloody night! This…” he points at the car seat, “is how she is all day. When we want to sleep, she screams her head off.”

“Oh. Well, I’m sure she’ll get better.” I wince when Kate narrows her eyes at my useless platitudes. “Anyway,” I wave them off, “when do you start recording, Dax?”

Dax and Kate are in LA for a while to record Sphere of Irony’s latest album. “Monday.” He scowls and pulls his vibrating phone out of his pocket. “Fucking Zane.” Dax furiously types a response.

Zane is Dax’s personal assistant. The poor guy. Not only does he have to deal with Dax’s mood swings, but Adam used to borrow him all the time as well.

“Adam and Ellie arrive Saturday,” Kate says, her eyes closed. “I wanted to get here early to get settled in the house. She’s used to traveling with a baby so they didn’t want to come until last minute. Both of them hate LA. Plus, being newly pregnant, she’s been pretty ill.”

“She’s pregnant again?”

“Oops,” Kate murmurs when Dax glares her way.

I shrug. “I’m not telling anyone.”

Kate grins. “She’s due right after the Grammys. Ha! Good luck with that!” Kate cackles like a maniac.

“You’re not very supportive.” Dax chastises his evil wife, shaking his head.

“She knows I love her. Just better her than me walking that carpet like a beach ball.” Kate’s eyes light up with glee.

“You’re mean.” I gently shove her knee.

“Come to dinner Saturday, Abby. The place we rented has an unbelievable patio overlooking the city. It’s already turning cold at night in New Jersey, so I want to take advantage of a few extra months of good weather.” Kate waits for my answer while Dax goes back to tapping on his phone.

“Sure. I don’t have plans.” Which is sad, really. I tried dating, but after the whole thing in New Jersey with Hawke and him disappearing the next morning, my ego and my heart took a pretty big hit. I’ve stayed in most nights since then. The icing on the cake is that Hawke never called, texted, or made sure I was okay.

I shouldn’t be surprised he took off. Some things never change.

And you would think I would have learned by now. I’m a clinical psychologist. I studied people with issues just like Hawke’s. I’ve
treated
people like Hawke.

Einstein said the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.

I guess I must be insane.

Once I’m in bed after a long day visiting with Kate and getting my fill of the adorable Poppy, I revisit that night three months ago, just like I’ve done dozens of times since. Again I wonder if I should have mentioned I know about the accident that changed his life forever.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

On a logical level, I know I didn’t do anything to make Hawke leave in the middle of the night. I know better than to think it, yet no matter how much education I have on the subject, it’s hard not to take it personally when a man you used to love ditches you after sex. As a counselor, I’m upset that I didn’t at least try to discuss what happened between us when we were dating, or find out if he was any better at coping with his issues.

On top of that, I’m pissed at myself for falling right back into bed with Hawke without asking if he’s done anything over the last few years to deal with his grief. I would bet everything I own that he hasn’t, especially after the midnight escape.

No, it’s not right that I know the secret he kept hidden from me all those years ago. The incident that tormented him to the point of not caring whether he lived or died. Unfortunately, the media is nosy and intrusive, and the public insatiable when it comes to celebrities. Hawke and the rest of the band are A-list and very well known all around the world, therefore big targets. With the release of their first album after the
U2
tour, they shot up the charts and won multiple Grammys, including Best New Artist. That pretty much sealed their fate as far as popularity, and they’ve never looked back.

After the Grammys, the guys became moving targets, appearing frequently in any and every tabloid magazine and TV show, hassled, interviewed, when touring, at public appearances, in private moments. I remember when they got Kate at one of her soccer games back in college, effectively driving Dax and Kate apart for years before they reunited.

My heart broke for Hawke when I read the article about the death of his family in a car accident. His mother, his father, and his sister all died when their car was sideswiped by a drunk driver, who also died at the scene. Hawke, who was seventeen at the time, was the only survivor. My skin crawled at the knowledge that this very personal incident in his life was exposed on the pages of some crappy magazine, the horrific details laid out as entertainment without a single thought as to how Hawke would feel about it.

I
know
how he would feel about it—and what having everyone know his darkest secret would spur him to do. It wasn’t that long after the article printed that Hawke was involved in yet another headline-grabbing incident, this time breaking his arm in a BASE jumping accident. The injury ended up pushing back the release of one of their albums.

What hurt the most about the revelation, besides knowing how raw the outright violation of his privacy made Hawke, was knowing he couldn’t confide in me when we were dating. Maybe things would have been different if I had known why he was so reckless with his safety, why he had such severe mood swings. Or maybe things would have been exactly the same.

I’ll never know. Plus, who am I to talk? I never told Hawke about Nick. It was too painful. Talking about my brother was like having my very soul yanked out of my body, torn to shreds, and stuffed back inside the hollow shell in a jumbled mess. It still is.

My heart clenches at the memory of my brother lying in the ICU, my parents sobbing over his lifeless form. I realize that maybe neither one of us has healed at all. Not one tiny bit. Maybe we’re both destined to be haunted by our pasts for the rest of our lives. Maybe we can’t be friends, and this entire thing will end up exactly like it did seven years ago.

Maybe it will, but even that knowledge isn’t going to stop me. Doctor heal thyself? Yeah, right. I’ll work on that in my next life. For now, I’m diving headfirst into an empty pool, praying I won’t split my skull on the concrete bottom, all for the chance to help my sometimes friend, my ex-lover, the without a doubt most important person in my life.

Hawke is hurting, and it will be worth every bit of pain I suffer if I can take away even just a little bit of his.

“Can you guys stop sucking face for half a second?”

I fake a glare at my best friend, Gavin, and his boyfriend, an ex-FBI profiler named Mitch. I’m not actually mad—I mean, how can I be? If anyone deserves happiness, it’s Gavin. Especially after the way his dad treated him growing up and the more recent events involving a crazy, murdering stalker.

Gavin tears his mouth away from Mitch’s to raise an eyebrow at me while Mitch lifts a hand to his own face to hide his amusement. “Jealous?” Gavin asks.

I lean against the granite countertop in Gavin’s gleaming white and stainless steel kitchen and stare out the wall of windows to watch the Pacific crash against the beach. Gavin and I spent the early morning hours surfing the rolling waves. My eyes flick back to Gavin and Mitch. Grinning, I shake my head.

“Not jealous, dude. But we’re going to be late and Kate is going to have our balls. Personally, I have no problem letting her know we’re late because you two were all over each other.”

I smirk when Gavin inhales sharply and winces. Mitch’s mouth falls open at the betrayal. “You wouldn’t,” he says.

“You think
I’m
going up against Kate?” I snort. “Hell no! I wouldn’t hesitate to toss your sorry asses right under the bus.”

“Maybe you should finish getting ready,” Gavin murmurs to Mitch. Gavin turns and pushes his worried boyfriend toward the stairs. “Hawke’s right. She’ll kill us.”

Mitch scowls, but does as he’s told. He’s halfway up the stairs when he calls out, “You know Adam is going to be later than everyone.”

Once the door to the master bedroom closes, Gavin grins. “He’s right. Plus, even if we are late, once Adam strolls in an hour later, Kate will forget about us and be all over him.”

I laugh. “You do realize she does that because she loves giving him a hard time?”

“I know.” Gavin smiles and runs a hand through his unkempt blond hair. “Doesn’t make it any less entertaining.”

A few minutes later, Mitch’s heavy footsteps thump down the stairs. “Are we leaving?” He shoves his wallet into the back pocket of his faded jeans and checks a small black handgun before securing it in a holster on his ankle and tugging the hem of his pants over it.

“A gun? To a party at Dax’s?” I ask, gaping. “There’s going to be children there.”

Mitch shoots me a look. “After what happened with Gavin, I take my gun everywhere.”

Yesterday, I spent the night so I could surf with Gavin this morning. Now we have to drive separately since I have my car here. We head out to our cars as Gavin locks the house.

“Don’t argue with Utah about guns,” Gavin says, using his
Point Break
-inspired nickname for his boyfriend. “You won’t win.”

I nod, and honestly, I can’t blame Mitch for being overprotective. About six months ago, Gavin almost died at the hands of a psychotic stalker. That’s how the two of them met. When our manager and my uncle, Ross, hired Mitch to run private security and find out who was leaving the horrific notes and gory gifts for Gavin in our hotel rooms, backstage at our shows… everywhere. It was a very stressful time for everyone.

We end up thirty minutes late getting to Dax and Kate’s rental house. Traffic was horrific. Even on weekends you can count on at least one major incident on the LA freeways, if you’re lucky. That’s why I live in West Hollywood. It’s convenient. No way could I live an hour outside the city like Gavin, and now Mitch since he moved in a few weeks ago.

Mitch nods at the large, intimidating man guarding the front door. “Good. They have extra security,” he says approvingly.

We wait outside while the guy speaks to someone on a wireless link to confirm we’re on some list, which is ridiculous in my opinion. Who the fuck doesn’t know that Gavin and I work with Dax? After getting the third degree, we’re allowed inside.

“Gavin, Hawke, Mitch!” Ellie, Adam’s wife, greets us from the kitchen, where she’s wiping their daughter’s hands with a paper towel.

“Shit,” Mitch hisses, halting his steps. “Adam beat us here.”

“Damn. I forgot about El,” Gavin whispers back. “She always rides Adam’s ass to make sure they’re not late.”

Annoyed by the human roadblock, I push past the two men and greet Ellie with a big hug. “El, you look fantastic.”

She steps back and rubs her tiny belly, wrinkling up her nose. “I feel like rubbish. This pregnancy seems harder than my first.”

“Hak! Hak!” Sadie, Adam and Ellie’s little one, holds her arms out, impatient for me to pick her up.

I scoop the toddler up and swing her high in the air. She squeals and giggles uncontrollably, her silky dark hair tumbling around her face. “How are you, Miss Sadie?” She responds by blowing a raspberry at me and grabbing my glasses off my face.

I wrestle them back from what has to be the strongest toddler on earth, and tuck them in my shirt pocket so she can’t get her tiny hands on them again.

“You’re just like your daddy,” I chuckle. “Always getting into trouble.”

“I’m not always in trouble,” Adam announces, entering the house through the back door as Gavin and Mitch slip out. Sadie squirms and struggles in my grip, whining for Adam.

“Fine,” I pout, handing her over to Adam. “Leave me for another man. I’ll remember that, little one.” I touch my index finger to the tip of her button nose.