Bend (A Stepbrother Romance) (2 page)

The shoulder of the model’s super-tight. blue mini-dress slid down, nearly baring a tit to the whole hallway. Keir rolled his eyes. “I’ve had it, Kelly. Get the hell out.”
I should go. Shit, I should get out of here.
But I couldn’t help wanting to know what was happening. I was a terrible eavesdropper, and I sure as hell didn’t have the willpower to peel myself away now, not in the middle of a fight. Instead I snapped another photo.
They’re celebrities. Cameras are just white noise to them, anyway.

“What about the dance tomorrow?” she said, hanging onto his shoulder for support.

“What is this, high school? It’s not a fucking dance. We’ve been over this. And you’re officially uninvited.” He pushed the door open. “Out, crazy fucking bitch. Out!”Kelly stamped one foot, the clack echoing down the hall like a gunshot. “Fine.” Suddenly she sounded just a little less drunk, a little less airheaded. “Screw you, Keir.” She straightened her dress, squared her shoulders, and pulled her phone out of her tiny, sparkly purse. Then she nodded her head in my direction as she tapped at her screen. “Enjoy the tabloids tomorrow.”

I gaped after her as she lifted her phone to her ear and stepped outside.

And then I clamped my mouth tight as the door clicked shut, leaving me in the hall alone with Keir Sonder. He regarded me with tight lips and narrowed eyes.
Uh-oh. Not good
. I glanced behind me—security guy was gone. The party continued in the nearby room but nobody emerged. Keir strode toward me with the confident arrogance of every rock star that had crossed a stage before him. Jagger, Farrell, Levine—he embodied every oversexed leading man in rock and roll history.

And, in inevitable slow motion, he was coming for me.

CHAPTER TWO

Keir

"Did my publicist let you back here?" I didn't mean to bark at the girl cowering two feet away but my patience for the night was spent. If Kelly begged me one more time to put her onstage, I’d have thrown her off of it. The break-up was premature—her people, my people, they all wanted a few more red carpet photos before they’d let us part. But they could go screw themselves. They didn’t have to listen to her insipid whining, her pouty begging—and not the sexy kind.

I’d forget all about her before she’d even gotten a ride out of the parking lot. But now I had another girl to deal with—the one in front of me with the damp, auburn hair and the trembling hands. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes glittered with reverence.
Oh, God. A fan.
Hopefully, this one wouldn't tear out a chunk of hair when I tried to get away.

But she finally found her voice and said, "I'm the photographer."

Her lips caught my attention first—plump and pink, even when she pressed them together.
Don't think dirty thoughts
. My cock was already hard enough after spending the last hour and a half onstage. It didn't need any more encouragement.

I forced my gaze up to her eyes. They were real attention-grabbers, too—bright hazel, swirling greens and browns and golds that I could write a damn song about if I stared into them long enough.
A muse
. I did need a new one...

"Sorry," she said, gesturing behind me at the door. “I didn't mean to intrude."

"Couldn't resist snapping a few photos anyway, though," I said, and she cringed. I felt bad right away, but I hid it. “Who do you work for?”

She lied. I saw it in her darting eyes before she spoke. “Just a new fan blog,” she said, “Jackal’s Reign specifically. Mostly.”

I planted my hands on my hips. “That’s the story you’re going with?”

Her eyes darted again. “Sorry about your girlfriend.”

"No worries." I shrugged. She could change the subject and lie all she liked. I knew a superfan when I saw one. She’d probably pulled a few family strings or something to get in. That was fine. She seemed harmless enough. And I was starting to like what I saw now that her camera was lowered. "Kelly's time was up."

Those pretty pink lips quirked. "You have your girlfriends on a stopwatch?"

“Something like that.” It was a watch that measured fun instead of time, and Kelly had stopped being fun somewhere back in Texas. When a girl starts a sentence with "my third time in rehab" and you don't run, you're just asking for all the crazy that comes after. Still, she'd been good for my image and our publicists loved our little fling. Besides, what wild and dirty rock star didn't “date” a few models?

I was tired of models, though. Tired of actresses, tired of every fame-hungry stereotype that surrounded me. This girl, though… she could be fun. I could imagine hanging out with her while I was in LA.

There was one important test for her to pass, first. “Turn in a circle.”

"Pardon?" Her fingers tightened around her camera and she clutched it to her chest.

"You got a good eyeful of me, now I want to see you, photo girl."

“Oh. Uh, okay.”

I grinned. I’d expected more of a protest. But she turned in a circle, expression uncertain, blushing when I blatantly stole a glance at her perfectly curvy ass.

That plus the worshipful look in her eyes made me harder than I’d been all night.
Yeah. She’s the one.
I’d hung out with fans before, this wouldn’t be the first time. I got to feel like a goddamn deity, they got the thrill of a lifetime, everyone came out a winner.

I would have to assess her for craziness, though. My tolerance was low after Kelly. “Join the party. Have a drink.” I held out my hand.

Her eyes went wide as if I was offering a fistful of gold.

Sometimes it felt really good to make some girl’s dream come true. It was one of the real bonuses to this whole gig. Maybe I’d even fuck this one, if I was feeling especially beatific. Or especially horny. I was already pretty much there after just looking at her.

Assess for crazy; stop diving headfirst into it.

But when her fingertips brushed my palm, when her hand settled into mine, I felt that rare tingle of warmth. Instant chemistry.
Shit. This might be tougher than I thought
.

═ ♪ ♫ ♪ ═

The post-concert party was still in full swing when I dragged my little photographer girl inside. She snapped a couple photos as we slid past the couch where the rest of my band lounged—my bass player and guitarist with girls on their laps, my drummer with some young guy—and I brought her over to the beer cart and the mini-fridge in the corner. The tiny room was crowded but people slipped out of my way and made space for us.

Some crew member hovered over the cart, mixing orders shouted at him from across the room. But he halted mid-pour when I reached him. “What’ll it be, Keir?” he asked.

“Jack and Coke.” I had to caffeinate my booze if I didn’t want to become a walking zombie before the night was through.

“And your friend?” He looked a little confused, but he was smart enough to not ask about Kelly. After the scene we’d caused, I doubted anyone would be asking. It was enough to know how it ended—her ass out the door.

“The same,” the girl spoke up.

“I didn’t catch your name,” I said as the crew guy scooped ice into two red plastic cups.
Classy place
.

“It’s Cadence,” she said. She held her camera before her like a shield.

“Tell me something about yourself.” I took our two cups from the guy and led her toward a second couch, this one further back in the room. It was full of other crew members but they scattered when I nodded at them.

She shook her head and laughed as I sat down. “Do people always do that?” she asked, settling at my side. She bent her knee to sit on one foot; the other barely touched the ground.

“Do what?”

“Whatever you want them to?”

I shrugged. “Generally.” She sipped from her cup gingerly. Not much of a drinker, I guessed. “Come on, you were gonna tell me a bit about you.”

She blinked, confused, as if she couldn’t understand why I was interested. “Um, well, I’m twenty-three. I grew up in Philadelphia. Or near it, rather. But I moved here to LA right after college. Or, kinda near LA. I’m still confused by all the areas and neighborhoods. And I’ve been a fan of yours since I heard your first single in my senior year of high school.” She giggled at that.
Fuck, am I that old?
I was only six years older than her, so we weren’t all that far apart, but how many more years could I keep chasing college grads before it became creepy?
Oh, please. I can do what I want
.

“Tell me something more interesting,” I said, downing half my drink in one gulp.Cadence smiled and bit her lip. “I pirated your first album. I think I owe you about fifteen dollars.” Then she reached into her purse and pulled out her wallet.

I laughed. It burst from me unexpectedly, earning a few glances from crew and band members alike. I wasn’t a big laugher, I had an image to uphold—but I decided right then that I liked this girl. I liked that she clutched her camera and jiggled her foot. I liked that she was genuine, no matter that she was lying about how she’d gotten backstage.

I accepted her fifteen dollars in cash with another barely-contained laugh. She giggled and covered her mouth.

A wicked idea entered my head—one that would buy me more time with this Cadence girl, but even better, would drive my publicist crazy. She hated spinning stories around me appearing with an unknown, a non-celebrity, any sort of non-showbiz person at all.
Fair enough revenge for her setting me up with that awful model.

“I like you,” I said, tipping my cup at Cadence. “I have a proposition.” Her eyebrows went up. “Not that type of proposition,” I said, “I’m not sure you could handle how badly I’d rock your world.” And that was the damn truth. The cute and shy girls like her never recovered after getting fucked by a guy like me. I’d ruin her for all the overfriendly businessmen that she would have dated otherwise. She’d never stop craving a bad-boy’s touch after mine.
But hell, if she really wants it…

“Keir?” Fuck, I’d zoned out. There went my one-track mind again. Her eyebrows furrowed. “What’s the proposition?”

“I want you to come to a charity dinner with me tomorrow night.”Cadence swallowed, then hid her smile with her cup.

“Me?” she squeaked.

“Well there isn’t anyone else on this couch.”

“I mean, why me? You just met me!”

She was still hiding her face, so I reached out and pushed her cup down. She was smiling. And blushing. Shit, it was almost refreshing to be with a girl like her. Kelly would have been striking a pose on the edge of her seat the whole time, tossing her hair and fluttering her overdone eyelashes and simply flattering me until she asked for something—some gift, some favor.

This Cadence girl was something different. “I just told you, I like you,” I said. “Now that Kelly’s out, I’ve got an extra ticket. You’re a local. You’re pretty enough.” I looked her up and down. “Well, you will be. I’ll send my stylist your way.”

“Hey!” she teased, swatting playfully at my hand.

“I can’t have you hanging on my arm with your hair looking like that,” I teased back. The messy bun on her head was cute, if sweaty, but it wasn’t red-carpet ready. On impulse, I brushed a loose strand of it back behind her ear, brushing her cheek with my fingertips.

Her face changed. Her smile sank into something dreamier.
Oh, yeah. This could so be on. She could be mine for days
.

But I was taking it slower. I’d sworn that to myself even before Kelly, and before the girl I was with before her—Mandy? I swore it over and over, but never seemed to manage it.

I could with Cadence, though. She was a normal girl, a nice girl. She wasn’t a fame-chasing star-fucker or a grasping gold-digger like every other halfway-attractive girl that ran in my circles.

She also didn’t seem to know that she was attractive. Another positive quality, in my book.
Definitely pretty enough for an evening in the public eye
. Though I could think of a few fashion writers who would call her “plus-size” or something shitty—but those people were fucking stupid. She was slim in the waist and soft in all the right places, and those tits… if only she’d stop clutching her damn camera to them, I suspected they were just as perfect as her ass.

And if she turned out to be hiding some serious crazy, well, I had a security team.

“So I’ll send a car at five?” I winked. “Pretty sure you owed me six years of interest on that stolen album. Come with me tomorrow and we’ll call it even.” I leaned in as I spoke and inhaled, breathing in the scent of her—sweat and spilled beer from the concert, but something else… shit, I wanted to know more all around.“Say yes.” I laced my words with all the sexual promise I could project—and she didn’t lean away. Her eyes grew darker, and her chest heaved with a shaky breath.

“Yes,” she breathed, her eyes locked on mine, and I smiled with satisfaction.

A boring evening rubbing elbows with executives and pretending to care about some disease I’d never heard of suddenly seemed a hundred times more promising. It took a herculean effort to sit back instead of pouncing on her.
Later.
Maybe I was playing it slow tonight, but tomorrow would be another story.