One Kiss from the King of Rock (The One Book 2) Read online

  “I got it wrong. I didn’t know you’d leave. I thought it would all sort out. You’d find another band to play with while you learned your craft and Evie would make her own way onto the stage.”

  That wasn’t good enough. He starred Errol down. This bastard he’d once credited with helping him become a success, helping him become a decent man.

  “Because I knew, Jay.” Errol put both hands to his head of graying hair, dug his fingers into this skull. “I knew then that you had it in you to become an incredible musician. But you were a dreamer. I thought you’d either burn out and take us all down with you or you’d swallow us whole. Everyone would be second to you. You’d soak up all the sunshine and air and the rest of us would have to scrabble around in the shade to find warmth. Evie was never going to place herself above you and she was ready to shine then, when there was no certainty you ever would. Yes, I wanted you out of her life. I wanted Abel to sack you and he wouldn’t, so when you didn’t stick around to fight for yourself I figured I was right about you burning out. You weren’t mentally tough enough to make it.”

  “You were fucking jealous.” That such a dirty low-down, cut-price emotion could cause so much misunderstanding and pain.

  Errol shook his head. “You were a wildcard, too big a risk. I had to be pragmatic.”

  “You didn’t trust your own sons. Your own daughter to make decisions they could live with.”

  The impact of that hit Errol like nothing already said, making him take two steps away as if Jay had physically threatened him. There was the guilt, the apology, he needed.

  “You were right. I wasn’t tough enough. I didn’t know how to fight for what I wanted. I burned out on rejection before I found my focus. I would never have wanted to outshine my brothers. I would never have held Evie back.” His life had come undone over nothing but Errol’s fears and manipulations. “Thanks to you, it looks like I’ve done both.”

  “Jay.”

  He wheeled back around. “Does Abel know what you did? Does Evie?”

  “No, I—” Errol looked panicked. Like a thief who knew he’d stolen from his own kids.

  Jay was tough enough now. He knew how to fight for what he wanted and which fights were without honor. “I won’t say anything. I have no need to take from you what you took from me.”

  Errol’s shoulders slumped. “Thank you.”

  “I’m not doing it for you.” He was done with Errol. He turned to go, his mouth full of bitterness, his hands tense from being clenched. “A word of advice, unless you want to see vengeance on a historic scale, keep it to business with my mother.”

  He didn’t mention the encounter with Errol to Mum. He didn’t relish an I told you so, and for the sake of the tour it was better not to create a bunch of new wounds. He told her he wished he could head off with the rest of World’s End and play tourist this weekend as a cover for the bad mood he was in. She didn’t buy it, but she was smart enough not to push him.

  They watched the broadcast and both winced at how ill at ease Abel was on camera. And then Jay lay in bed trying to recall what Wizard had said. That encounter already seemed a long time ago. It only comes when you risk and something about not making other peoples’ decisions for them. It felt prophetic.

  Errol wouldn’t risk his family on Jay.

  Evie was worth the risk of being hurt again.

  Next morning, he had cause to wonder what drugs Wizard was on because Evie had conscripted Grip to risk Jay’s physical well-being.

  “Before you start rehearsal, I want Jay to teach you how to avoid trouble at meet and greets,” she said.

  “What kind of trouble?” Abel asked.

  “Gropes, inappropriate touching, creeping,” Evie said. “We’ve been through this before.” She listed the appropriate places to touch a fan: hand, shoulder, elbow, mid back. Definitely nothing below the waist. Depending on the height differences, it was fine to lean your shoulder into theirs. You could get out of trouble by kissing a hand, even touching foreheads.

  “Who has a problem with any of that?” Oscar said.

  Evie shut him down with a look. Then she stage directed Grip in the role of overly enthusiastic fan. “Go at Jay for a hug,” she said.

  “Time to make lucky for my new pants,” Grip said.

  He came in arms wide. Jay reached for one of his hands and turned it into a shake.

  Grip laughed, stepped back and changed his tactic, coming in with one arm high, the other low on an angle, Jay offered his hand in a high five, making it hard for Grip to land the hug.

  “Whoa,” Grip said. He rushed Jay, arms wide again. Jay took both his hands in his, brought them together in front of Grip’s body, let go of one and they were shaking hands again.

  “This is some Ninja shit,” Grip said.

  “What, you don’t ever hug back?” Abel said scornfully.

  “You need to use your discretion but mostly it’s better to avoid it because—” Grip jumped Jay, pinning his arms and lifting him off the floor. He broke the hold with his elbows and two of them fell apart.

  “It’s better to avoid it because once you’re in a hug it’s not easy to get out of it, and also that’s where other things go wrong,” said Evie.

  “The accidental boob grope,” said Isaac. “The fan who makes you look bad when you force their arms away. What do you do about the cock gropes. I hate that,” he said.

  “Try it,” Jay said to Grip and then groped Grip before he had a chance to stop clowning, by coming in for a hug Grip didn’t avoid and grabbing his tackle.

  Grip laughed. “Now my new lucky pants are lucky.”

  Next up, Grip approached Jay with much more stealth and tried a distraction technique, offering his hand to shake but stepping slightly in front of Jay and going for the grope with his other hand.

  Jay put his hand to Grip’s shoulder and stepped back, holding him off and neatly avoiding the grope. Grip countered with a cheek tap. Still the point was made.

  “Any tricks to avoid those dudes who want to crush your hand?” Isaac said.

  “You can generally see those dicks coming,” Jay said. “Vary the greeting. Go for high fives and ice your hand later.”

  “And the boob press?” said Abel.

  “I like the boob press,” Grip griped. “Evie can demo that one.”

  “Evie is not doing that,” Evie said. “I am also not going to be your character witness when you get accused of assault.” She motioned at Grip who tried to come in close with his chest puffed up and was foiled by Jay’s hand to his shoulder.

  She paired them up after that, Abel with Oscar and Isaac with Grip. They messed around, but they still got it. Jay was watching Isaac neatly block every attempt Grip made to get to him when he felt a hand trail across his arse and turned his head to see Evie do it again, sculpting his butt cheek, then sliding her hand in his side pocket.

  She’d come in from behind, which was cheating. He should’ve expected it.

  “Well, hi,” he said and then groaned into his own chest when he felt the drag of Evie’s nipple cuff across his back through their shirts. That hand in his pocket was hot on his hip inside the cotton lining of his jeans and her fingers were dangerously close to his highly excitable cock. It starved his brain of thinking juice. She’d lifted his shirt and hers and pressed her naked boobs to his naked back before he knew which way was up.

  “Evie,” he whispered. Did she want them to get caught so she’d have a way to call their deal off?

  “Thanks for the lesson,” she said and withdrew.

  The lesson was seduction. Payback.

  He wasn’t game to look at Evie, in case everyone in the room guessed they were up to no good. The thrill of it was likely already all over his face. He shoved his hand in the pocket where hers had been and discovered she’d given him her number.

  But he’d finally stalked her social presence for the first time in years, and had it already. Now in more ways than one.

  NINE

  Pa
tience wasn’t one of Evie’s strong points, and the atmosphere inside the Grumpy Fiddler was making her itch while she waited for the guys to arrive.

  The place was miraculously as nasty and greasy and held together by beer spills, old smoke, sweat and aggression as she remembered it to be. The lighting was strategically bad and it smelled like something ancient that might kill you if you breathed too deep.

  The regulars didn’t care. They were happily beer spilling, shouting conversation at each other over the house band and fortifying their constitutions against killer diseases by marinating in the toxic air.

  It was fantastic.

  Except for the part where it was difficult not to think about how the first time she was here she’d been terrified the band would get beaten up by bikies. And electrified by her proximity to Jay.

  Don’t go there.

  As soon as the guys had tumbled off stage, humiliated and grateful no one had glassed them, bumping out in shamed silence, only to find their van wouldn’t start, she’d lured Jay into a dark corner and he’d kissed the meaning of life into her.

  Too late.

  He’d been desperate and dangerous, and she’d been ready and willing. Looking back at that night, it was inevitable they’d come together. Rock music, solace and sex drive were heady companions.

  That dark corner was still there. It was possible her handprint against the old blacked-out window was still there too.

  And the motel behind the pub belonged in the TV show Supernatural, where Sam and Dean Winchester ended up in out of the way places with hilariously dated accommodation. That is, if that show had wanted to endanger their cast and crew.

  While the Supernatural motel sets were retro Americana or joyously 70s kitsch, the Grumpy Fiddler Motel had last been painted about thirty years ago and you could tell by the mix of room doors which ones had been kicked in and had to be replaced.

  She had a key to one of those rooms, original faded puke-color green doors, to save the effort of any kicking, and she couldn’t believe how nervous she was about using it.

  Ah, this was a phenomenally bad idea. She couldn’t recreate the past with Jay; didn’t want to, they were different people now, and it’s not like they had a future. Last time Jay slept in anything as low-budget thriller as the Grumpy Fiddler Motel was probably the last time he was here. His six-star, jet-set, rolling-in-it life wasn’t compatible with dusty venetians, threadbare sheets and stuttering hot water.

  It’s not compatible with you either.

  She shot footage of the pub, dark and mysterious, hard to see the stains, and posted it on the fan Facebook page where she’d set up to go live during the performance, and then loaded a video of a set of shabby barstools and a couple of willing victim’s butts trying them out.

  Cryptic responses to fans’ comments kept her hands busy but not her mind. She’d never been kissed like Jay had kissed her two days ago. She didn’t know that kind of relentlessly attentive mind-peeling making-out existed. It was the sweetest, the most savage ravishing she’d ever experienced. It was weaponized to absolutely slay her and leave her devastated. She’d had to sit in that hairdresser’s chair for a good fifteen minutes before she could face the idea of the outside world, before she could break the spell and make herself move.

  Jay had been so cool, not saying a word, simply walking out as if kiss-slaying was his everyday thing. Maybe it was. Sticking her hand in his pocket was the antidote to that. She’d made the hair on his arms rise, made the back of his neck redden. Made his cock stand up and pay attention.

  And better, she’d made him nervous. Jay who performed in front of millions of people, got edgy because she’d surprised him and he was worried they’d get caught, which was a deal breaker.

  God, that was hot.

  But not as hot as being alone, naked and going for it was going to be.

  Having sex with Jay was ill-advised, the presumably skimpy towels and possible bedbug infestation aside. It was also one of those memory-making experiences you know you probably shouldn’t do, but can’t resist, like steal a car or making a sex tape.

  And she’d made two hard drives, not backed-up, no cloud storage, private-viewing-only sex tapes, so really, what was she worried about?

  Teela had wanted to know if she was keeping her heart safe, and in an emotional sense Evie was. She wasn’t giving Jay the intimacy he wanted. Without lip locks they’d have to focus on the specifically genital part of getting down and dirty. Straight to orgasm making, do not pass spit, do not clash tongues, do not look deeply into the other’s eyes.

  Why did he want that intimacy anyway? It hardly went with his original idea of hate sex. Come to think of it, did you lip lock during hate sex? Yeah, you probably did, those biting, punishing kinds of kisses that went with a slam-bam style of getting off. There was something she’d have to cross off her bucket list, have genuine hate sex because it looked like Jay, with his goddamn tender, sexy kisses and studied caresses was not going to hold up his end of that bargain.

  Typical. Flake. Can’t be trusted.

  Eyes back on her phone, she checked on followers and messages. The house band was finishing up, the guys would be here in the next half hour. There was a message from Teela that said Don’t do it. Made her want to headbutt someone. Like the sister she’d never had, Teela knew how to hit where it hurt, because that was Evie’s problem in life. Getting an idea set in her head and good or bad, committing to it with everything she had. That’s how you get two sex tapes and an infraction for stealing a car. She’d known that was a bad idea, but the keys were in the ignition, it was begging for it and she’d put it back where it came from a day later.

  Don’t do it.

  Don’t permanently alter your body. Don’t be your own boss. Don’t deny your talent and forever disappoint your Dad. Don’t have sex with the last man you can guard your heart against.

  The first two of those things had worked out fine, and what were parents for if not to be disappointed in you. Errol eventually got over what he saw as her betrayal of Mum’s legacy. And even if he still harbored thoughts of Evie changing her mind, at least he’d stopped setting her up with agents.

  Don’t do it.

  With regards to Jay it was good advice.

  Fuck you very much, Teela.

  And fuck singers who got so shit-faced they couldn’t go on stage. Evie nearly missed the start of the guys’ performance because one of her employees had a problem with the band they managed.

  She was outside in the relative quiet of the car park on the phone trying to talk the venue manager out of canceling a two-week booking because of a no-show, arriving inside right on cue to start filming as Abel climbed on the stage.

  “Good evening, Grumps. I’m Abel Tice. These are my brothers,” he pointed, “Isaac and Oscar. On the drums, the disastrous Mark Grippen,” Grip played a double rim shot and then kept up a beat. “On rhythm, making a special guest appearance is our old friend, Jay Endicott.” Jay took up Grip’s beat. “For one night only, this is Property of Paradise.”

  No reaction. The general noise level didn’t drop, only a few people turned to face the stage. Evie laughed. Abel looked shocked, and Jay wore the most delighted grin, as if not being recognized was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

  Grip counted them in and as they played the first bars of their biggest hit, awareness began to build. Conversation slowed, faces turned, someone started whistling, a woman screamed. When Abel sang the first line, recognition set in. There was surge of people towards the stage, shouts and cheers. By the time Abel sang the chorus, the whole pub was aware something special was happening.

  Perched on the rungs of a stool, Evie captured it all on camera, streaming to a much bigger audience, knowing fans were going insane about Jay being onstage with the guys. She might be going a little insane herself, the music thudding through her body, the excitement around her contagious, and seeing Jay move on stage, addictive.

  Don’t do it.

&nbs
p; She’d be dancing with the devil.

  Don’t do it.

  Even knowing the trouble she’d caused she’d still have stolen that car, still have broken Errol’s heart.

  She gave her inner turmoil a flick pass and concentrated on her streaming broadcast, watching viewer numbers climb higher and higher as the performance went off. Her notifications were running hot and her pulse was part of the music, a steady beat inside her body, a thrum that fed upon itself, rolled around in the good time everyone in the room was having and got a little high on the moment.

  The guys played a full set, all PoP’s hits, well known to everyone at the Fiddler. They jumped around, they were loud, played tight, they got sweaty. The more they played, the more obvious it was to Evie that the rift between Jay and the band was all but scar free. When Abel motioned for Jay to sing lead she knew all was forgiven.

  Men, so fickle. Couldn’t hold a good grudge if you paid ’em to. She’d be angry about that, but she didn’t have room for the emotion, it wasn’t bigger than the sheer enjoyment of watching her guys entertain the hell out of a room full of unsuspecting Saturday night pub goers.

  It wasn’t bigger than the throb of lust she felt when she looked at Jay, when over the heads and through the waving arms of the rocking crowd, they made eye contact. The intensity in his eyes might’ve burned her retinas, made her lose her footing and almost drop the camera.

  There was a powerful energy in Jay. On stage his height, long legs and lean muscled body, and the way he used it was a deadly shot to the libido. He might play to millions, but he simply loved performing for any audience and that was evident in the way he sparked with electric fervor and entertained with musicianship he’d fought for. She could resent him and admire him in the same instant.

  But she couldn’t not do it with him. No matter how bad the idea was. She was committed and besides, his keys were in her ignition.

  TEN

  The Grumpy Fiddler was a time warp. When they walked in through the delivery bay into the back of house area it was like they’d stepped into a time-traveling Tardis that broke down in 1980.