Beached with the Bad Boy (Bad Boys on Holiday #3) (10 page)

T
hat’s
my rock star up there…

Layla’s eyes glazed with tears. Trick’s sultry, gravelly voice ran over her in waves like the warmest ocean, the current of him pulling her close, sucking her in.

Of all the women packed into Perk tonight, all the women fantasizing about taking him home,
she
was the woman he sang to.

She was so proud of him. So happy to see him up there, doing what he loved most, the way that he’d always wanted to do it.

Layla sighed. She still couldn’t believe she was there, front row, Trick’s first new show, New York City. Though she’d kept their communications light and playful these past few months, she’d never stopped thinking about him. He was with her when she wrote, when she listened to his albums on repeat, when she ate French fries, when she crawled between the sheets at night.

So when she’d opened the mail a few weeks ago and found that ticket, that note, she didn’t even have to think about her decision. It was already made. It’d been made the first time he kissed her, that night with the fries in the dining room at Starfish Cove.

Now, her heart expanded in her chest, damn near bursting. She’d never felt so much, so all-at-once, so everything.

She loved her song. She loved every one of his songs, all of them such a part of him. It felt like he was giving her a glimpse into his soul, and she cherished it more than she could even say.

Layla could’ve listened to Trick sing forever, but when he’d finally stopped to take a set break, she almost cried with relief.

She needed to touch him. To feel him. Three months was way too long, and her imagination could only go so far.

After setting his guitar into the stand on stage and promising the crowd he’d be back shortly, Trick hopped down, walked right over to her table, and grabbed her hand, pulling her through the throng of people and into an empty office at the back of the cafe, shutting the door behind them.

He had her pinned against the door in a heartbeat, his hands in her hair, his mouth covering hers, devouring every bit of her. Her lips, her jaw, the shell of her ear. As he kissed the pale skin of her neck, her soft sigh turned into a laugh.

“I missed you, too,” she said, looping her arms around his neck. His spicy scent enveloped her, bringing her right back to their time together on the beach, flooding her with desire. “Why do you seem so surprised to see me?”

“Surprised? No way. I knew you’d come.”

“Cocky boy,” she said. God, it felt so good to be in his arms again, teasing him, making him smile that mischievous, bad boy grin. “Always assuming you can make me come on command.”

“That sounds like a dare, Sunshine.” He kissed her again, sliding his hand up the inside of her thigh, stroking her soft skin, his fingers seeking out her warmth. “You’re so wet.”

“Told you I missed you,” she whispered into his mouth, arching her body against his hand. “So much.”

Trick slid two fingers inside her, groaning as she tightened around him. With his thumb, he traced agonizingly slow circles over her clit, his touch so soft, she thought she’d die from the epic tease.

“Trick, please,” she begged, sliding her hands into his silky hair. “Don’t—”

“Shh.” He cut her off with a kiss, cupping her in his warm, rough hand, pushing his fingers in deeper, his thumb gliding over her clit harder and faster. Her hips rocked forward, matching his rhythm, urging him deeper inside as her body wound tighter and tighter, heat gathering in her core, pulsing through her limbs…

“Come for me, baby,” he whispered.

That’s all it took. She shattered in his arms, pressing her mouth to his shoulder to muffle the sound of her cries of pleasure, her body writhing against him as she came with a shudder. Her legs nearly gave out, but Trick held her tight; she knew without a doubt he’d never let her fall.

“My beautiful Sunshine,” he whispered, making her smile once again. “I believe that was a record.”

A rap on the door startled them both.

“Trick?” Sounded like the manager. “Ready for the second set? Got about three minutes to go.”

Trick grumbled under his breath, but Layla knew how excited he was to get back on stage. She pulled away, straightening her dress.

“Be right out, Tasha.” To Layla, he whispered, “We’ll pick up where we left off after the show.” He pushed her glasses back up her nose and kissed her again, a gentle promise of more to come. “Unless you have other plans tonight?”

“You mean, with someone
else
who sent me a plane ticket and a limo, and wrote a song for me, and pulled me into an office on his set break and made me come in record time?”

“Someone
else
? Don’t even joke about that, Sunshine. Someone Else would get his ass kicked.”

Layla laughed.

For a moment they held each other’s gaze, taking each other in. Layla felt breathless and alive, hopeful, like she was standing on the precipice of something great and had only to jump.

“This is my gig now,” he said softly, tracing the edge of her jaw with his fingers. “Small stage, local places.”

She nodded, but there was something strange in his voice now. He sounded… nervous, almost. Uncertain.

Her brow furrowed with concern. “Trick? Are you—”

“I just…” He pulled away from her and ran a nervous hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up everywhere. If there was room in the tiny office, Layla was certain he’d be pacing.

“I want you to know that whatever I decide going forward,” he said, “I’m not doing a damn thing that keeps me away. Not anymore.”

She pulled him close again and smoothed down his hair, fixing the mess he’d made. “Away from what? Trick, what are you saying?”

“I’m going on tour again,” he said. “But a different kind. Full year. All local places, small like this. Cross-country. No flying, no bus, no roadies—just me in my car on the open road.”

“That sounds… that sounds amazing.” She took a step back, trying to process it. Tour? For a whole year?

Trick gripped her shoulders, forcing her to look into his face. His sea-blue eyes blazed with something powerful and huge.

Not nerves,
she realized.
Hope.

“Come with me, Layla.”

“But… what?”

“This whole time… I never stopped thinking about you. Not for a fucking day. And I don’t want to spend another three months or even three minutes on the wrong side of the country from the only woman I’ve ever written a song about.”

Layla’s heart hammered in her chest. He was asking her to… for a whole year… together… “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes.” Trick flashed that cocky, all-knowing grin, sending her stomach tumbling. “Hey. Twelve months on the road together? The way I see it, we’ll either kill each other or end up married.”

Married?

Layla’s heart leapt up into her throat, and she waited for the fear to take over. To remind her that she didn’t deserve another chance at happiness. That taking a risk like that would only end in broken hearts and tears.

But she waited… and waited… and… nothing. That fear just wasn’t there. She’d kicked its ass in California, and in the months that’d followed, she’d replaced it with strength. Inspiration. Hope. Love. Possibility.

Anything
is
possible…

On the road for a whole year. With Trick. Seeing the countryside, listening to his shows, writing in every state…

The timing was actually perfect. Her next Royal Hearts on Fire project was well underway, and as long as she had a laptop, she could write from anywhere. A change of scenery had always inspired her, and so had unexpected adventures. After all, it was a change of scenery and an unexpected adventure that had brought her into Trick’s life in the first place.

No more thinking. No more doubting. She’d come this far, gotten on that plane with no more than a spark of hope in her chest. Now, it was time to leap off that precipice and see what awaited her on the other side.

Layla slid her arms around his neck again, a smile stretching across her face. “All right, Boy Band. I’m in. But I’m bringing my hippie farmer’s market incense with me. I can’t write without it.”

“Fine. Long as you don’t bring your tape gun. I don’t plan on respecting your boundaries this time.” He kissed her cheek, her jaw, her lips. “In fact, I plan on being on top of you, below you, or inside you pretty much any time we’re in the same square mile radius together. Hope you’re good with those terms.”

Layla smiled against his lips, melting once again into his eager kiss.

Those were definitely some terms she could sign her name to. Tonight. Tomorrow. The next day.

And maybe,
her heart whispered, fluttering warm and excited in her chest,
forever.

W
riting is
a dream come true for me, and I wouldn’t be able to do it without the help and encouragement of my wonderfully supportive readers, book bloggers, colleagues, and friends. So if you’re reading this book, know that your support means the world to me, and I look forward to bringing you many more sexy, swoony stories!

I’d also like to give a special shoutout to my Boneyard girls—Jessie, Michelle, and Eva; to super-reader Janice Owen; to Lauren Blakely; and most importantly, to my husband, still singing in my ear after all these years.

S
ylvia Pierce is
the author of seductive erotic romance stories, including the BAD BOYS ON HOLIDAY series and the BARED TO THE BILLIONAIRE series. Sylvia loves writing about kick-ass, headstrong women and the gorgeous alpha guys who never see them coming. She believes that life should be a lot like her favorite books—smoking hot, with happy endings and lots of temptations, twists, and trouble along the way. She lives in the U.S. Pacific Northwest with a strong, sexy husband who appreciates her devious mind, loves making her laugh, and always keeps her guessing. Like the heroes in her stories, Sylvia’s man didn’t see her coming… but after sixteen years together, he’s finally figured out who’s boss!