A Lush Rhapsody: A Rhapsody Novel (9 page)

I slide both hands under the hem of her shirt and up over her rib cage, landing on a lace bra that barely covers half of her tits. I’ve got two hands full of her glorious rack when I hear a door slam down the hallway and a voice call out, “Where the fuck did he go? We’ve still got an hour of stage time left and Garrett’s going to disappear again if we don’t get a mic in his hand right away.”

Shit. It’s Dez, and I’m supposed to be at band rehearsal right now. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I pull my hands out from under her shirt, and she makes a small noise of complaint.

“I’m sorry, short stack. I hear my band. We’re supposed to be rehearsing.”

She blinks at me with glazed eyes, her lips puffy from being kissed. She’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.

“Listen,” I say, discreetly adjusting myself. “Would you be up for another get together? Maybe tonight back at the hotel where there aren’t so many interruptions?”

She touches her hair self-consciously, and I see her eyes dart to the mirrors that run along one wall of the room.

I put a finger under her chin and tip her head toward me so I can look her in the eyes. “I want to see you again. Like this, I mean.” I lean forward and whisper in her ear, “I want to sink into you until you forget your own name.”

She shakes her head and when I pull back to look at her she’s blushing. It’s darling on such a little hellcat.

“It’s probably not a good idea,” she whispers giving me a sad smile.

“You’re right, it’s a great idea. Nine o’clock, my suite, 342. I’ll be ready and waiting.” I take her hand and bring it to my cock so she can feel how hard I am. “And I do mean ready,” I growl.

She snatches her hand back. “Oh my God, you’re unbelievable.”

I laugh as I stand to leave. “You have no idea.” I lean down and kiss her hard on the lips. “Take your time in here, we’ll be onstage for the next hour. I’ll see you tonight, short stack.”

She watches me leave, and I bounce my way to the stage, too high off of Tully to even chew out Garrett. She’s fucking amazing, and tonight I’m going to make her come so many times she won’t be able to remember that her band hates the ground I walk on.

I
’m riding
from the amphitheater back to the hotel with Colin and Joss. And I feel like I’m going to burst out of my skin. I can still imagine Blaze’s touch on me, hear his low, raspy voice as he says dirty words in my ear. I’ve only known him a few days, but it’s obvious I can’t think straight when he’s around. And if the guys sitting next to me ever found out what I was doing fifteen minutes ago they’d toss me out of this car and the band so fast I’d have road rash for weeks.

“What happened?” I ask, seemingly out of the blue. “Between Rhapsody and you guys? Is it all of Rhapsody you hate, or just Blaze?”

Colin shifts uncomfortably, and raises an eyebrow at Joss who sits across from us in the limo.

“Fuck. You’re going to make me do this, aren’t you?” Joss asks, looking resigned.

“Yep.” Because I need to know what I’m dealing with here. How bad is it? How deep does it go?

“It all started with Mike and Blaze.” Big surprise. “They were opening for us at a couple of shows about four years ago. Rhapsody was new, working their way up the food chain. They seemed like good kids, hardworking.” He pauses. “I don’t think Blaze had his little powder problem at that point.” My stomach sinks. Powder problem. I conveniently keep forgetting about that. A guy can only have so many strikes against him before you have to face the fact that you’re being an idiot. I’m teetering on that edge right now.

“But Mike is a little territorial, and Blaze is exactly the kind of guy Mike hates, no matter how rock and roll he gets, you can tell Blaze comes from money, he’s sort of shiny and golden, you know?”

Yeah, I do know. There’s definitely a sense of entitlement to him, an air of confidence that comes from having grown up with the world as your oyster sort of thing.

“So, Mike took a disliking to him, and Blaze wasn’t all that friendly. And you have to know, this was Mike before Jenny.” Joss pauses. “
That
Mike wasn’t a great guy a lot of the time.”

Colin chokes and starts coughing. Guess Joss just made a huge understatement.

“Mike ended up nailing Blaze’s girlfriend in the dressing room at one of our shows, Blaze caught them and went fucking nuts, they got into a fist fight, and Blaze vowed that we were Rhapsody’s enemy number one.”

“So that’s it?” I ask, astounded at what morons these guys all are. “One fist fight over a woman who obviously didn’t deserve anyone’s loyalty, four years ago, and you guys are all still mortal enemies?”

“I wish,” Joss answers. “That’s just how it all started. Since then there have been skirmishes, a lot of smack talk, and then the Seattle incident.”

I shake my head. “Good God, what is the Seattle incident?” I’m trying not to laugh, these guys are like giant twelve year olds.

Colin rubs a hand across his face and sighs. “We were all playing a show for charity in Seattle last year. It was a mental health benefit, and that’s something really close to Mike’s heart because of his family history.” I look across at Joss and see the grim look on his face. I think I remember reading something about Mike’s mother being mentally ill. No wonder he’s not always the easiest guy to deal with.

“Rhapsody was playing the benefit too, and they’d already done their set. We were about fifteen minutes from going on, and we went to grab our gear and get ready. When we walked into our dressing room we found both of Mike’s guitars destroyed.”

“What?” Holy shit. That is something that just doesn’t happen in the music world. Instruments are sacrosanct. If some rock star gets drunk and smashes his own shit no one cares, but you never touch another person’s equipment, and the backstage at any concert is always secured. Musicians assume that their dressing rooms are safe havens for their instruments.

“Yeah,” Colin continues. “He’s always got at least two with him at any show, of course. Someone had taken both of them, ripped the strings off, taken a hammer or something to the bodies, smashed them into chunks, and snapped the necks in half. They made damn sure that no one would ever play those guitars again.”

I stare at him, my heart racing. “And you think it was Blaze.” It’s not even a question when I say it.

“We’ll never know for sure,” Joss says quietly. “But when we went looking for someone to borrow a guitar from so that we could play our set, Blaze refused to lend Mike an instrument. We were the headline act, the ones who were raising the bulk of the money for the cause, it was a cause everyone knew was near and dear to Mike, and there he stood, unable to go on because he didn’t have a fucking guitar.”

I swallow, the excitement I’d felt earlier from being with Blaze turning to lead in the pit of my stomach.

“Luckily,” Colin adds, “we were able to track down a guitar from another band, and we went on only a few minutes late. The police looked into the vandalism, but couldn’t find any real evidence of who might have done it. Rhapsody backed Blaze, said there was no way he’d have ever done something like that, but Mike’s never forgotten, and whether Blaze destroyed the guitars or not, what kind of a guy won’t lend a guitar at a benefit concert?”

Colin shakes his head sadly. He’s in charge of Lush’s foundation that they started. He’s all about the charity and giving to worthy causes. The number one best way to ruin his view of you? Refuse to help out at a philanthropic event.

I don’t say much the rest of the way home, mulling over everything they’ve told me with what I’ve seen of Blaze. He’s got this sweet streak—how he checked on me when I was dealing with my mother, protected me from my brother, the way he kissed me in the dressing room, so tender at first, almost as if he was afraid I might break. But then there’s the other side, the darker one. And that side picks fights with Mike, and smashes up dressing rooms, and maybe even sabotages a benefit concert. That side’s also had a cocaine addiction, and that side scares me, because I don’t know what it might do, and I can’t afford to have my chances with Lush ruined.

* * *

I
t’s
ten o’clock when the soft knock comes on the door of my hotel room. Even without answering it I know who it is. Because I didn’t go to his suite at nine, and he doesn’t strike me as the type to take rejection lying down.

I look through the peephole, and yes, there he is. Big, hot, and scowling.

“The fact that I didn’t show up should be a clue to you,” I say as I swing open the door and glance around the hallway, fearful that someone might see him. He obviously notices my trepidation because he rolls his eyes before pushing me aside and stepping in, then shutting the door.

I cross my arms in front of my chest. “And I didn’t invite you in.”

“Did you want me to stand in the hallway while we discussed this?” he answers, one eyebrow raised.

Gah! “No. Of course not. I just don’t see that we have anything to discuss.”

He strides across the room and moves the curtain aside to look out for a moment, then spins back to face me. “Really? After that kiss this afternoon? You’re going to try to convince the both of us that we don’t have anything to discuss?”

It was an exceptional kiss. My core tingles at the memory. Stupid, traitorous girl parts.

I stomp over to the kitchenette and fuss with getting myself a soda. That way I can turn my back to him. “It was a good kiss, I’ll give you that, but it hardly means anything. I kiss people all the time. It’s meaningless.”

I hear him snort, and then I feel him right behind me, all hot and hard.

“’I kiss people all the time?’ Is that a thing?” he asks settling his hands on my hips before he nuzzles the side of my neck.

“Who you been kissing, short stack?”

“Why do you want to know?” My voice is breathy now, and my head is sort of fuzzy as his lips trace the shell of my ear.

“So I can hunt them down and castrate them,” he murmurs. “Because I’m thinking you shouldn’t be kissing anyone but me for the foreseeable future.”

I give up on the cup and the soda and the ice, planting my hands on the edge of the counter I’m facing. I gasp as his hands work their way around my waist and under the hem of my t-shirt. They’re rough, the callouses on the tips of his fingers a symbol of the work he’s put into becoming a world-class guitarist.

“Blaze.” I sigh.

“God I love it when you say my name,” he growls.

“We can’t do this. That’s why I didn’t show up. It’s too dangerous.”

He gently turns me to face him, and cups his hand to my cheek. “One night then. Just one night. We’ll get it out of our systems and move on. But give me one night so I’ll have something to remember.” He leans down and takes my bottom lip between his, sucking seductively. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

I’m tingling from head to toe now and my heart is racing. And in spite of what I told Blaze about kissing people, it’s actually been a really long time since this girl got any action. Libido is rapidly winning out over common sense.

“Okay.” I stand on my tip toes to reach his lips, brushing mine across them once, twice. “One night.”

I take his hand and start to lead him toward the bedroom when he stops, looking at me with an amused expression.

“No way, short stack. I’m not that kind of guy.”

My brow wrinkles as I try to figure out what he’s talking about.

“You have to go out with me. On a date.”

“What?” What the hell is he talking about?

“You heard me. We’re going out, so get dressed and I’ll meet you in the parking lot out back.”

“We can’t. What if someone sees us?”

“Don’t worry about a thing. I know the perfect spot. No one will recognize us or bother us. Just get your hot ass in something sexy and I’ll see you downstairs.”

With that he slips out the door and I’m left staring after him. The guy who just begged to have one night with me, but turned me down when I offered him sex. I shake my head in disbelief. Just when you think you understand boys.

I
’m sitting
in the backseat of the limo when the door opens and she slides in across from me. It takes approximately three seconds for my heart to stop beating. She’s encased in leather—black leather—from the tips of her toes to the top of her skin-tight bustier. I swallow and my throat is as dry as the deserts to the east of here.

I struggle to take a breath and get my heart pumping again. “Fuck, short stack,” I gasp. “Are you trying to kill me?”

She gives me an angelic smile and a lock of her thick, shiny hair cascades down her shoulder, drifting over the top of her breast. My eyes track its path, until I come to all that luscious cleavage. I’ll admit it, I’ve always been a tits man, and goddamn she’s got a set.

“You okay?” she asks, looking genuinely concerned.

I knock on the partition to let the driver know he can go, and as the car starts up I shift in my seat trying to find a way to sit without strangling my poor rock-hard dick.

“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “You uh, you look incredible.”

She gives me a knowing look. Little witch. “Thank you,” she finally answers smugly.

I chuckle and lean back against the seat, content just to have her here in the car with me. I’m going to touch her more tonight, but I can wait. She’s a feast for the eyes and that’s enough for now.

“Where are we going?”

“A little bar in Hillcrest. The guys and I spent a summer here a few years ago. We had a standing gig every Wednesday and Friday, so we just stayed for the summer and soaked it all up. Junie’s is a neighborhood bar. No one will even notice us there.”

She uncrosses and recrosses her legs and the blood surges somewhere well below my belly button. Fuck. This is going to be a long night.

“Tell me about it—living in San Diego.”

I cock my head, trying to figure out what she’s after, but she seems to be simply curious. “It was good. It’s a great city, friendlier than L.A., warmer than San Francisco—or Portland.” She laughs at my reference to her hometown.

“How many years ago was that?”

I calculate it in my head. “Probably five. We’d only been together about two years at that point. We’d just picked up Garrett and we didn’t have our current manager yet. It was right after that summer that we got our first recording contract, and things kind of spun out from there. San Diego was our last time as some guys just making music and hanging out, you know?”

She nods. “When did…” Her voice fades and with no further explanation I know what she’s asking. Because everyone asks it, and if I were her I’d be asking it too. No one with any sense gets involved with an addict, and Tully doesn’t strike me as a girl lacking in sense.

I hate this part, but I own my fuck ups. I always have. It’s something my dad taught me early on. When you play on a team you have an obligation to lead them, and if you don’t for whatever reason, you own it, you apologize and then you work twice as hard to make up for it. It’s yet one more reason why I want this Super Bowl gig for us so badly. I wasn’t there for Rhapsody for a long time. I owe them twice the effort now. And twice the success.

“You want to know how it started? Or how it ended?” I ask quietly.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m asking you to sneak around behind your bandmates’ backs, the least I can do is answer your questions.”

“Whatever you want to tell me.” Her face is full of concern, but I won’t let it rattle me. I can do this. I’ve done it before. It’s clinical, surgical, the way I dissect my weakness in front of others. I can lay myself open for them to prod and poke. It only hurts a little.

“It started about two years ago. We were touring continuously and it was affecting us all. The label was putting a lot of pressure on us to come out with a new album, and the writing wasn’t going well. Garrett was on a binge of women that never seemed to end. We had groupies in our dressing rooms, our hotel rooms, our tour bus, our limos.”

“And you hated it?” Her voice is dripping with disbelief.

“I didn’t hate it,” I admit. “But it was wearing. And distracting. The whole thing was fucking with my head, with my focus.” I pause and reach forward to grab a bottle of water that’s sitting in the built-in cooler. I offer her one but she shakes her head. I crack open the bottle and take a long pull.

“Something you should know about me, short stack. I don’t do anything halfway. When I started a band it was always with the intention of becoming the best rock band in history. And everything I do is to that end. But two years ago I was having a hard time remembering that and figuring out how to make it happen. I got confused by all the noise—the parties, the women, the drugs.

“The thing about cocaine is, it starts off so simple. It gives you a burst of energy, makes everything seem easier, faster. I would do a little before we tried to write, a little before we went onstage. It seemed harmless.

"But then the writing didn’t get any better, and the pressure from the label didn’t go away, and I started doing a little every morning because I didn’t want to get out of bed and face the mess that everything was becoming. Then I was doing more before shows because for the first time since I’d started I didn’t love playing. I didn’t want to face the crowds, and I wasn’t excited to be onstage with my band. Eventually I was using every day, all day.”

I hear her little sound of…something. Disgust maybe. Horror is another possibility. I’ve seen pretty much every variation.

“It was costing thousands of dollars a day, so when I asked Dez to float me a loan he knew I was in trouble.”

“Oh.” It’s all she says, and I can’t tell from her expression what she’s thinking. Her eyes are deep, unfathomable, and so beautiful it makes me wish I’d never taken a single grain of cocaine because then I might possibly be worthy of her.

“Amazingly, since I’m a pretty stubborn son of a bitch, he didn’t have much trouble getting me into rehab. I hate losing more than anything, and I know damn well that junkies are always the losers in any equation. So I went.”

I don’t tell her that I also left early. I’m a rehab dropout so to speak, but that’s something I don’t tell anyone. Dez knows, but no one else. The rest of the guys think I finished up my program like a good little soldier, and there’s no reason to tell them otherwise because I won’t use again. No matter what.

She reaches over and places her hand on mine for a brief second, sending tiny sparks of electricity up my arm. “I’m glad you did.”

I give her a wry smile and nod my head. “I know the politically correct answer is that I am too, and I am, in the bigger picture, but I won’t lie to you—moment by moment I wish like hell I never had.”

“Is it hard?” she asks softly.

I reach forward and run a finger along her bare skin just above the boot but below the hem of her skirt. She shivers and her eyelids droop slightly as her lips part. My dick roars to life again.

“It’s getting harder by the moment.”

She chuckles and shakes her head. “You know what I meant.”

I let my entire palm rest on that patch of bare skin now and her breathing hitches. Her skin is hot and silky, and I can almost feel what it would be like to lick her thigh, working my way from the top where my hand rests to the tender flesh on the inside, then up, up, up, to the apex. My balls ache as I imagine what she would taste like. Her juicy little pussy, hot and slick under my tongue. I’d lap her up like a cat with a bowlful of cream.

“Enough about the fucking drugs,” I growl. “You look far better than any drug I’ve ever tried.” Her head rolls back against the seat and her eyes drift shut for a split second before she snaps her head up and looks at me with eyes full of sex and heat.

“You’re bad for me.”

She’s right. I’ll only bring her grief one way or another. But I’m a fucking selfish bastard, and I want her so much it’s choking me. I’m not sure I can breathe if I don’t get at least a taste of her.

“I know I am, short stack. And I’ll leave you alone—after tonight. Let’s have this one time though. We can make a great memory and then I’ll get out of your way.”

She considers it a moment, her eyes hooded, her chest rising and falling rapidly as my hand moves up higher and higher on her thigh, heading toward Nirvana.

Finally she gives me a small nod and I reach the juncture between her legs, rubbing my finger along the seam of her core. She gasps, and I can smell her arousal. It’s making me crazy. I lean forward, breathing in her sweet apple hair as I reach for the intercom button to the driver.

“Drive us around for a bit, will you?” I instruct. He answers in the affirmative and I turn the intercom off before burying my face in her long locks. I dig my hand into the dark mass and press my other thumb against her clit through the tiny silky panties she’s wearing.

“Ohhh,” she breathes as her hands land against my chest, her fingertips digging into my pecs.

I place a series of tiny kisses along her jawline, sipping her before I get to the devouring part.

Feelings are rushing at me and I’m captive to them—desire, need, awe. I’ve fucked a few women since I got out of rehab—but I did it almost just to say I had. I haven’t had any strong urges of any sort since I left the center. Keeping myself from doing more coke has taken up most of my physical and mental energy. Whatever I’ve had left has been for the band—writing new songs, building our business, making up for my absence. But now, with Tully, I can’t remember ever wanting someone this badly. Not before rehab and definitely not since.

I reach her lips with mine, and before I kiss her I whisper, “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” Then I devour her, crushing my mouth to hers like I haven’t kissed anyone in years.

And truly, it feels almost new. Even though I was kissing her earlier today this feels different. That was fun. This is deeper, so much more poignant it hurts inside my chest, and I almost can’t breathe for a second.

Her tongue tangles with mine and I groan, nipping at her lips, plunging into the velvety depths of her mouth over and over as our breathing gets louder and harsher.

Her hips thrust against my hand and I press on her core, finally reaching up to her hip and giving a hard yank to the little silk strap that holds her panties on her. With one side torn the scrap of fabric falls open and I finally touch heaven. She’s bare, hot, and dripping wet and I nearly come in my jeans when I feel her.

“Christ, short stack,” I growl. I run a finger through her slit until I come to that most beautiful of places, the entryway to heaven. She’s a tiny thing, but I don’t spare anything as I thrust two fingers into her at once.

“Oh!” she cries out, rocking against my hand over and over.

“Not too hard for you, baby?” I ask, gently kissing her lips then her cheek, working my way to her neck and back up again.

I pull her closer and she slides forward onto my lap, her knees on either side of my hips. Then she buries her head in my shoulder and rocks faster.

“God, you’re good at this,” she gasps.

I chuckle and pump my fingers in and out of her, making sure to hit that little rough patch deep inside each time. I find her tits with my other hand and pull the lacing that holds her bustier in place, sliding the ribbon free from the eyelets until she falls out into my waiting palm. Her tits are heavy and soft, the nipples big and rosy. She arches her back, her head rolling as she moans, and I take the chance to bring my mouth to one of those gorgeous mounds, sucking it deep and hard.

She comes like a fucking freight train and it’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. Her skin is flushed, her eyes closed, long lashes fanned out over her cheeks. She rocks against my hand, and I feel her channel clamp down on my fingers in wave after wave of pleasure. She cries out, and when it’s my name on her lips I decide I don’t give a damn if I get off or not tonight. To hear her cry out, “Oh God, Blaze, fuck me that’s incredible” is better than any orgasm I’ve ever had. That shit might last me for days.

As she comes down I draw my fingers out of her, rubbing lazy circles around her clit giving her little aftershocks until she begs me to stop.

“Please,” she half laughs and half cries. “You’re going to kill me.”

“But baby, what an amazing death it would be.” I kiss her on the mouth again, because I can’t seem to stop myself.

She wiggles a little and I reluctantly take my hand out from between her legs, putting my fingers to my mouth and licking them slowly while she watches me with wide eyes. She’s tart and creamy and I want more.

But almost immediately I can feel her pulling away—mentally and physically. She starts to climb off of me and my chest lurches. I’m bereft and she’s still touching me.

“Not so fast,” I murmur as I lock my arms around her hips and force her to settle back on my lap. She stares at me, eyes dark and filled with a sadness that breaks me into pieces.

She opens those amazing lips to talk and I press a finger over them, stopping her. “Shh. Just relax. Be with me for a minute before you run off to feel guilty.” She huffs out a little laugh as I stroke her hair and rub the soft skin above the waist of her skirt.

“All the leather’s a good look on you,” I tell her.

She snorts. “You think?”

“Not as good as your bare skin, but it’s up there on my list of ten favorite things for Tully to wear.”

“Can I see it now?” I ask, my hand moving around to her ass that’s bare under her bunched up skirt.

“See what?”

“The tattoo.”

She looks at me for a moment as if she’s not sure I’m serious, but then she shrugs. “Sure.”

I raise her skirt more and lean sideways as she twists so her butt cheek is in better view. There, spread across the smooth, silky skin of her ass is a beautiful bird, its head a deep blue, while its chest is red fading to orange and its wings are a mixture of green and yellow. The colors are vibrant, the lines clean.

“What kind of bird?” I ask, my fingers tracing the outlines of the lush plumage.

“A painted bunting.” She clears her throat. “They’re one of the most beautiful songbirds in the world, but they’re endangered, and they spend their lives hiding in bushes and underbrush.”