You Really Got Me (Rock Star Romance #1) (31 page)

“Maybe not. But what did you do?”

The fog in his brain cleared a little, giving him some clarity. “I didn’t manage Piper well. If I’d . . .”

“Did you fuck her?”

“Of course not.”

“Did you fuck Caroline?”

“Obviously not.” He looked away. “If I’d managed her better, she wouldn’t have gotten so crazy, and I wouldn’t have lost Emmie and the record deal.”

“Shit, dude, I’ve never met anyone so caught up in failure. It’s like you expect it, man. But you didn’t fail. Dude, you got us there. You got us all the way to Irwin fucking Ledger. Do you get that?”

Slater looked away.

“What?” Derek said. “You think Irwin wanted to sign us as a favor to Emmie?”

Slater looked beyond Derek to the table of middle-aged women laughing, their sequined dresses sparkling in the overhead lights, to the waitresses twisting through the crowd with their drink trays.

No. Irwin didn’t operate like that.

“You think Irwin’s got some time on his hands, so he’ll give the fuckups from Austin a go? What, we were some project to him?”

No
.

“He wanted to sign us because of your songs. Because of you. I mean, yeah, we’re a good band. We’ve got a great sound. I’m a fucking great-looking guy.” His smile quickly faded. “But, dude, no lie, you’re the talent. We all know that. Why don’t
you
know that?”

Slater could feel himself straighten, could feel energy flowing back into his body.

“You’re not your dad. You’re nothing like your dad. You gotta stop expecting failure.”

Hard to argue with that.

“You know what’s on you? You were so fucking worried about failing that you let that crazy bitch manipulate you. You’re too smart for that shit. But you had Irwin, you had fucking Emmie, and you didn’t think you deserved either of them.
They
knew you did, or they wouldn’t have given you the time of day, but you didn’t. So you didn’t trust your gut. Your instincts are good, man. Your instincts got you Irwin, got you Emmie. So stop worrying about fucking up and just be the good guy you are.”

Slater’s blood turned cold, his skin prickly. “I don’t want to be like my dad.”

“And you’re not.” Derek shrugged. “You’re nothing like him.” He let out a breath. “Listen, it’s not like me and the guys haven’t talked it to death. Behind your back, of course.” He smiled. “You had a choice to make. You could’ve played along with the VaughnLee thing, and we’d be signed. We’d be in the studio cutting our first single right now.”

Slater closed his eyes, immersing himself in it. How completely he’d let down his friends.

“But the choice was yours to make. And whether or not we agree with it, you stuck to your guns, man. That’s pretty badass. And, you know, who’re we to judge? None of us had anything to lose, not the way you did, so . . . I’m saying we respect your decision.”

“But why? You wanted success more than any of us.”

“Ah, fuck it. I wanted it for the wrong reasons. And you know what? I really don’t give a shit about proving anything to my dad anymore. What I care about is music. And us.” He motioned to the guys. “We talked about it. Decided we’re brothers first, a band second.”

A painful knot formed in Slater’s throat, his body heated with emotion.

Derek shrugged. “Hey, man. We got time. We’ll get there.”

Slater didn’t know what to say. Emotion had a grip on him. He started to speak, but the knot hurt too much.

Derek clapped Slater on the shoulder. “So . . . just sayin’, you’re talented enough to get Irwin Ledger’s interest, you’ve got some pretty impressive integrity, and you won my sister’s heart . . . not seein’ you as a failure here.”

Slater nodded, his brain focusing, energy rushing in. “Fuck.”

“Yeah. Fuck.” Derek smiled.

Restless energy had his nerves jumping. “I gotta get out of here.”

“Where you going?”

“Home. I’ve got some shit to do.”

And suddenly it seemed absurd that he was sitting around feeling sorry for himself, allowing Irwin to ignore his calls. He’d go to New York, talk to Irwin—like a man, not like some groveling fuckup. And if Irwin still didn’t want to work with them, he’d find another A&R guy who did.

And then he’d get his girl back because,
goddammit
, he hadn’t failed.

Emmie sealed up Zuzu’s Petals’ press kit and stuffed it in the messenger bag she’d take to the post office in the morning. She reached for her to-do list, scanned the many items. As much as she needed to write a few paragraphs for her article, she really ought to blow-dry her hair. She didn’t want to be late for her interview, and taking care of her hair now would be one less thing to do in the morning.

Oh, crap. Honestly? The energy it took to keep busy exhausted her. But she pressed on. Every minute of every day. Because if she didn’t, she’d curl up in bed and cry her eyes out.

Not going to happen. But how long before she bounced back? When she’d broken up with Alex, she’d been hurt, deeply hurt, but she hadn’t dragged like this. Why did nothing feel right? Her clothes didn’t fit right, and food tasted funny. She didn’t fit in her own skin anymore.

Slater. Oh, damn him. Damn that charming, sexy man who’d turned out to be so much more than she’d ever imagined he could be. No one had ever loved her as unconditionally, as wholeheartedly. As
passionately
. She loved the way he looked at her, his eyes wild with love and want.

God, what was she doing torturing herself like this?

Grabbing the bag, Emmie brought it to the front door. She pulled out her phone to let the guys know in a group text that their press kits were going out the next day.

Carl, the lead singer, responded right away, good businessman that he was.

Awesome. Thx.

Alex had been right. Zuzu’s Petals rocked. Working with them until she found a permanent job would be fun.

The doorbell rang, startling her. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Two of her roommates were out, and the other had already gone to bed. She wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone, and she wasn’t answering the door in her pajama bottoms and T-shirt, so she ignored it.

When the bell rang again, Emmie wondered if something was wrong. She remained motionless, waiting for whoever it was to go away. They’d give up after ringing twice, right? Anything else would be rude this time of night.

A rapping followed the third ring. Emmie pushed off the wall and peered through the peep hole.

And there stood a big, tall, gorgeous man pacing the hallway like a caged animal. She nearly jumped out of her skin.

Slater.

What was he doing here?

Unlocking the bolt with shaky hands, she closed her hand around the knob. She hadn’t wanted to see him because she knew how easily she’d fall back into his arms. Who was she kidding? She wasn’t that strong. She craved him. One touch and she’d . . . God.

She shouldn’t let him in. Love or not, they were in two different places in life. She couldn’t get distracted again. She had to stay focused. Get her career going.

She shouldn’t open the door. She should let him walk away.

Oh, come on
. He was right there.

She
had
to see him.

She opened the door, heat flooding her body, electrical impulses sparking along her nerves. His eyes went wide when he saw her, and he leaned into her, scooping her off the floor and hugging her tightly.

“Emmie.” Relief infused his voice. He squeezed her to him.

And then his cheek crushed hers, his mouth seeking, finding its home, and good God, he kissed her, their mouths melding, fusing, their tongues furiously mating. He set her down, letting his hands loose on her body, pressing hard as they slid down her back, opening wide over her ass, and clutching it as he pulled her to him.

She grabbed fistfuls of his hair. She couldn’t get enough of him. His scent made her weep with its familiarity, and his seeking hands made her desperate for more of him, all of him. He kissed her with a ferocity that set her on fire, awakened every cell in her body.

Knees dipping, he cupped her ass and lifted her. Her legs belted around him, her hips rocking against his thick erection, making her limbs turn liquid. He carried her to the couch, then turned and sat down, holding her tightly against him.

Straddling him, knees digging into the cushion, she thrust forward, her breasts at his chin, her hands holding his head in place, so she could slant her mouth over his, take him in deeper. Her tongue stroked wildly, her hips thrust urgently.

His hands cupped her head. “Emmie. I miss you. I miss you so fucking much.”

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t speak. She should push him away, but she was too desperate.

His hand slid under her shirt, stroking her skin. He toppled her onto her back, surging into her, his erection sliding over her stomach through layers of clothing. He let out a shaky breath, and she reached between them, rubbing her palm over him. Rough, erratic breaths escaped his throat as his hand slid to her stomach, swept up to her breast.

“Ah, God,” he moaned, his hand closing over her bare flesh, cupping her, fingers running over her nipple. She arched into him, fumbling with the top button of his jeans, struggling to unzip them so she could feel him in her hand.

He scooped her up. “Wrap yourself around me.”

Mindlessly, she did as he asked, never breaking the press of mouths, the swirling of tongues.

“Bedroom.”

“We shouldn’t—”

“Bedroom
.
”

“Down the hall.”

He sat up, his hand sliding into her pajama bottoms and gripping her bare ass, stroking down until his fingers reached between her legs.

Brilliant sensation lit her up, and she gasped into his mouth. Her ass lifted off his thighs, pushing her against him. “Oh, God, Slater. Oh.”

She thought she saw a flash of surprise then disappointment on his gorgeous, masculine features, but then he was shifting forward, getting to his feet. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and her legs wound tightly around his waist as he headed down the dark and silent hallway.

“Second room on the left.”

He kicked the door open, dropped her on the unmade bed, dragged her to the pillow, and kneed her legs open. He positioned himself between them, bearing his weight on his arms and rubbing himself rhythmically over her, each pass igniting a fiery response inside her.

Tugging at her tank top, he yanked it over her head, and his mouth came down over her nipple and sucked it in. His tongue licked and swirled and then gave a long, deep pull. Her hips shot off the bed, and she cried out, the sensations in her clit and nipple aligning into one erotic jolt of desire.

“Pants off.”

She shimmied out of the bottoms as his mouth sucked her other breast and his fingers tweaked and rubbed the damp nipple. “Yes, oh, Slater.”

And then he sat up, shoved the jeans down his hips, and came back over her. His mouth back on hers, he thrust inside her aching, pulsing core.

She cried out, eyes open wide with the intensity of feeling seizing her body. Every nerve ending responded to his sensual assault. He held nothing back as his hands caressed her breasts, his tongue tangled with hers, and his erection plunged into her with wild force and pure abandon.

His mouth tore away from hers, his neck muscles straining, color saturating his features. “Oh, fuck, Emmie, come. Please come. Oh, motherfucking hell.”

Reaching between their bodies, he pressed a finger to her clit, rubbed it, and she bucked hard. He looked like he was having a heart attack, and his hand left her clit to cup her ass and tilt her hips. The angle had him sliding over her nub with each wild, frantic thrust, and her body lit up in flames, tension tightening and coiling, sensation lifting her to unbearable heights.

As she felt her release roaring through her, she planted her feet on the mattress, lifted her hips, and thrust with total abandon against him. Her climax hit with a stunning explosion, and she cried out again and again, shocked at the sensations rocking through her.

She’d never seen Slater so out of control. He slammed into her ferociously, sweat dripping from his face. He reared back, shouting his release. As his punishing rhythm slowed, he locked their bodies together, his hand on her ass, holding her in place.

Exhaling roughly, he collapsed on top of her, still wearing his shirt, his jeans around his thighs, his boots still on. He rolled over, never letting go of her. He drew her to him. “Sleep.”

His head sank into the pillow. She started to get up, but he tightened his hold on her.

“Stay.”

“I’m just taking your boots off.”

“Stay. I need sleep. Just . . . stay.”

She settled in beside him, knowing she couldn’t possibly sleep. Not after that. She’d wait until he drifted off before undressing him.

It didn’t take long. Within seconds his breathing had deepened, evened. Carefully, quietly, she lifted his arm, but he cinched it back around her.

“Stay
.
”

Okay. She’d stay.

*   *   *

Deep into the night, she felt the heat of his body pressed to her back. His erection pulsed hotly between her legs. Her body thrummed with desire as his hand kneaded her breast, his fingers rubbing roughly over her nipple. His mouth sucked and licked her neck, making her squirm and thrust back against him. And then he pulled away, leaving her bereft, but a moment later he thrust up into her, sliding into her slickness and filling her deeply, deliciously. Sensation skidded along her nerves, infusing her every molecule with dazzling, flickering light.

“Oh, yes, Slater, yes.” She met his thrusts, ramming back into him, covering his hand with hers as he cupped and gently squeezed her breasts.

His choppy breath at her ear excited her, but when his hand left her breast to clasp her hip, holding her tighter to him, and his thrusts shortened, grew fiercer, she turned her face into the pillow, allowing herself to fall completely into this moment—quite possibly her last—with him.

He grunted—once, twice, a third and fourth time. He powered into her, releasing himself inside her. His hand opened on her stomach, and he leaned into her, kissing her cheek. “Goddammit, Emmie,” he breathed. “
Goddammit
.”

*   *   *

The strong scent of coffee awakened her. She felt strangely light and then realized his arm was no longer cinched around her. Rolling onto her back, she found an indentation in the pillow and a terrible empty space beside her. Her spirits plummeted.

He’d come back into her life, reminded her of everything they’d shared, and now she had to leave him all over again.

What did he think would change by coming here? Making love to her? That they’d get back together and forget about everything that had happened with Piper Lee? He wouldn’t want to admit it, but Emmie’d been right. Absence didn’t make the heart grow fonder on the road. No, intimacy developed in intense situations, in confined spaces.

And if not Piper, it would be someone else. That was just the nature of the entertainment industry. Relationships couldn’t hold together, not with that much exposure to so many beautiful people,
artists
, and lengthy stretches away from home.

Forget it
. And, really, did he think she’d go back to Austin and continue to flounder while he pursued his dreams? No. He belonged with his band, and she belonged in the city, where she’d eventually find work as an executive in a record company.

She got out of bed and headed into the bathroom.

Looked like she’d have to skip the post office this morning. She didn’t know how long he’d stay, but nothing would make her miss her interview at BellCap Records. She hoped by going in with a Zuzu’s Petals demo, they’d think of her as an A&R coordinator.

She found Slater in the kitchen, a mug in hand, his broad back to her as he gazed out the window to the neighboring brick wall. “Hey.”

He startled at the sound of her voice, sloshing hot coffee on his bare chest.

She tore some paper towels off the holder, and a bright spot of red caught her attention on the crowded counter. Next to the sink she found the can of frosting he’d given her for her birthday. He’d brought it all the way out here—why? Without taking her eyes off it, she handed him the towels. “Here.” Please. Did he really think
he
could bring her happiness? He was the worst offender of all.

“Thanks.” He wiped up the brown liquid trailing down his chest toward his boxers. Nodding toward the window, he said, “Nice view.”

“Yeah.” Her pulse quickened at the sense something was wrong, off. He just seemed . . . detached.

No, she couldn’t go back to him, but come on. He’d always fought for her. “So, um, what’re you in New York for?”

“For you, Em.” He smiled, but he wasn’t happy. “And I talked to Irwin.”

“Oh. Is he, uh . . . ?”

“Does he want to sign us? Uh, no. He’s not ‘interested in the complications surrounding’ me and Piper Lee.”

Yeah, she could see that. Irwin obsessed over the music, the artists. He wanted nothing to do with drama. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “There are other labels. If Irwin Ledger thought we were good enough, others will, too.”

“Definitely. You guys are so talented.”

“Yeah, well. How important is talent if a label like Amoeba wanted me to fake a romance?”

“No, no. Don’t misunderstand. You’ve already got the talent—no one would bother with you if you didn’t. The point is how to get Snatch to stand out when social media sites are inundated with bands. And that’s what made Piper’s plan so clever. She really did nail it. With your talent, your
GQ
looks, Snatch would’ve slowly found its way to the top no matter what. But with VaughnLee? Meteoric rise.” Emmie shook her head wistfully. “It was pretty brilliant.” She hated reliving these horrible feelings—remembering the pictures of Slater and Piper clutching each other, looking so happy together. So she flashed him a big smile to show she’d moved on. “All you had to do was show up at a few events with her, and voilà, fame, money. Mega rock stars.”

“I’m not interested in
fame
. I want to make music. I want to go platinum because people
like my music
. Not because I’m in the tabloids. I thought you of all people would get that. And if Irwin can’t see that, then he’s not the right A&R guy for me.”

Turning away from him, she pressed her fingers into the cool tile counter. She
had
lost sight of him. She would never have talked to him about publicity plans like he was some artist on her label, instead of this man she
loved
. She did know what success meant to him—and it wasn’t shallow. He needed to know he had actual talent. He needed to know it would last.