RockMeTonight

Lisa
Carlisle

Third in the Underground Encounters series

Lily Everett needs sex, but won’t
consider a permanent relationship, because she harbors a secret she’s certain
no one will understand. When she meets the singer of a rock band at an
underground nightclub, she’s disarmed by his sensual voice and mischievous good
looks. After an icy introduction, Lily warms up to Nico’s charms.

A computer geek by day, Nico dons a
rock singer persona by night. He’s tired of women pursuing him just because
he’s in a band—the sex may be handy, but he wants something more. He’s
intrigued by Lily’s reticence.

Keeping her emotional distance
proves difficult the more Lily uncovers the intelligent, considerate man hiding
behind Nico’s bad-boy persona. Their encounters are hot-hot-hot, but Nico wants
more from Lily than sex. When Lily lets down her guard and reveals her other
side, Nico’s shock destroys their closeness and they both doubt they can
overcome their differences.

A
Romantica®
paranormal/shapeshifter erotic romance
from Ellora’s Cave

Lily

“The band is the shit!” Ally said.

We hadn’t checked the club’s calendar before we went out. I
was looking forward to a night of dancing. I didn’t go out often, but tonight
was a special occasion. So I put on a hot little red-and-black plaid dress,
spiky-heeled boots and chunky gold bracelets to go all out. But when we arrived,
a loud rock band was playing.

My senses were assaulted by not only the sound, but also the
scent of alcohol all around us and sweat coming off people dancing up near the
stage. I wasn’t used to the nightclub scene and it took a few moments for my
unusually sensitive senses to adjust.

“Yeah, I guess. They’re all right,” I agreed. I tried not to
sulk, but it was a challenge.

“Give them a chance, Lily. I didn’t know you’re not into
rock, but look at the crowd—they’re going nuts. We should join them.” She motioned
to the people dancing in front of the stage. “Besides, the DJ will come out
later and you can shake your fine little booty to some funky-ass music soon.”

“Little? Ha! You definitely need glasses,” I said. “I’m
going to grab a drink first. Want one?”

Ally shook her head. “I’m going to get closer to the stage.
See ya in a bit.” I watched her as she slunk into the crowd. She was hard not
to miss with her dirty-blonde hair in shiny, thick curls hanging down the back
of her slinky electric-blue-and-black dress, which definitely stood out among
all the people wearing black. Within moments, the crowd filled in the spot into
which her tiny body disappeared and I couldn’t see her anymore.

Might as well get a drink. When I scanned the menu for
something tasty, the Fruits of Temptationcaught my eye. Plenty of fruit
and plenty more alcohol. Perfect to hit the spot. I found an empty stool under
one of the many gargoyle statues mounted at the end of the bar and focused on
my drink. Mmm, yummy. I took little sips through a tiny straw. It went down so
smooth, but I had better watch it or I’d be on my ass before I knew what
happened.

When the crowd starting singing along with the next song, I
was distracted from my cocktail. Who wouldn’t be—they were chanting the chorus to
Let’s Fuck All Over Paris.
What kind of crazy-ass song was this? My ears
perked up as I tried to catch lyrics over the crowd.

No money, no hope

But in Paris, I cope

Sad ghosts fill the air

Joy and despair

Then the crowd revved up again to sing the chorus, “Let’s
fuck all over Paris, Under the moon, under Polaris.” I looked for Ally but
didn’t see her. She was probably one of the jumping figures wearing black up
near the front of the stage. Was she singing along too? From this vantage
point, I only caught glimpses of the band through the pulsating crowd waving
their arms.

I had to admit, Velvet Cocks rocked hard. Real hard. I knew
very little about them except they were popular in Boston’s underground rock
scene. Now hearing them play live at Vamps,I understood how word spread
fast. Their energy spilled over into the crowd as they played short original
songs and punk-style remakes of classics.

I’d never been to this club Vamps before, never even heard
of it. When Ally suggested we go out to celebrate my new promotion, she said,
“I know just the place.”

I only had time to check out the homepage of the website at
work. It introduced itself as an underground club with live bands, Goth music,
punk, new wave, techno and the best music from the vault, whatever that meant.
There were no pictures of people on the homepage, only a few images of
gargoyles and a spooky-looking sign reading “Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter
Here.” I wasn’t sure what to expect.

With the number of gargoyle statues around, from the ones
guarding the front door to the ones hanging inside the main dance area, I
understood why they were the prominent theme on the website. What struck me was
the crowd. They wore all kinds of sexy outfits designed to attract attention,
mostly black. Leather pants, catsuits, tight black dresses, schoolgirl outfits
and outfits consisting of tiny vinyl straps I assumed were purchased from a
fetish shop.

“Wow,” was all I could say when we walked in.

“What is it?”

“I’ve never seen so many—freaks—in one place at a time.”

Ally said, “Keep an open mind. Don’t make judgments, dance
without a care in the world, and you’ll have the time of your life. I promise
you that.”

“I didn’t mean freaks in a bad way necessarily. They’re
just—wow.”

“You’re just wow. And I bet you’re a closet freak.”

“Ha. Hardly. What you see is what you get, baby.”

She laughed. “Your outfit doesn’t leave much the imagination
tonight.”

“You said dress slutty. This is the best I could come up
with.”

“I know. I know. You look great.”

I tried to keep her words about having an open mind as I
listened to the band. They finished the song about fucking in Paris on a heavy
rift and the singer said, “This next song goes out to Maya, a very special
lady, from her eternal admirer.”

When he spoke, I detected a slight accent, maybe English,
which wasn’t very noticeable when he sang.

Damn, that dedication was sweet. It must be nice to have
someone so into you they’d request a singer to send a shout out to you
declaring their feelings. I quickly ran through the guys I’d dated the last few
years. Not a chance any of them would ever take that initiative. They were all
too emotionally cut off to ever reveal something as personal as feelings. Then
again, I wasn’t exactly professing any kind of eternal love either. Definitely
not in the way this admirer was professing for this Maya. In fact, with my
exes, I’d insisted we keep things from getting too serious.

But that was my hang-up. I knew no guy would be able to
handle my secret.

My thoughts were distracted as I strained to hear the
opening of the song. He sang so softly at first I barely made out the lyrics.
Then his croon turned into a seductive opening of a song I recognized.
#1
Crush
by Garbage, an admittance of obsessive love
.
How the hell did
he make it sound so tormented and yet so damn sexy all at once?

I had to get a better look and see this guy who was exacting
complete control over the crowd. He had them worked up in a frenzy during the
last song and now they had settled into a hypnotic sway as they listened to him
sing with such intense longing. He delivered it with such a painful croon,
almost haunted. That’s when I finally caught a glimpse of him.

Holy hell.

My recent encounters with punk rockers led me to believe
they were all a bunch of ugly bastards so I was not expecting someone
so—so—like him.

He was wearing a plaid green-and-black cap, but I saw his
dark brown hair was cut close to his scalp. He looked so young and innocent at
the same time. I pegged him to be in his late twenties. Maybe my age or a
couple of years younger than me since I was about to celebrate the first of
many twenty-ninth birthdays later this year.

I stood up on the rung of a stool to get a better look and
that’s when I saw he was also playing bass guitar. He wore torn camouflage
pants tucked into tall, black Doc Marten-style boots and held up by a
silver-studded black belt. His torn black shirt sported the Velvet Cockslogo—a
rooster wearing a smoking jacket and an ornate V and C, which appeared very
Victorian and proper. Misdirection perhaps as to the actual naughty words?
Tattoos galore extended from beyond his shirtsleeves. The whole combination
gave him a hardcore look of a total badass. Dangerous and sexy.

My mouth half dropped as I listened, entranced, to his
voice. And his face. It should be a crime to look so good and yet sing so
hardcore.

As if reading my thoughts, the guitarist launched into a
punk riff, transforming the song to a hard-and-heavy tempo and diverting my
attention to him. While the singer had more of a military/punk rock look, the
guitarist wore some crazy outfit. He sported a brown, sleeveless tunic that
covered his torso and ended in strips over his upper thighs after being
fastened by a thick black belt with a giant silver piece. His legs were bare
and his feet were covered with giant black boots covered with spikes. With his
mussed-up shoulder-length hair, he looked as if he stepped out of another time
and place, like from one of those fantasy video games. I pictured him wielding
a giant, silver, jeweled sword or some other weapon rather than the modern
electric guitar he shredded the new tune on.

The singer followed suit and his croon turned from soft and
haunting to an almost primal scream of yearning. The singer motioned to a
couple of people in the crowd.

“Come on up here for the next song. I think we all know this
one. We put our spin on it. Come on, everyone now, sing along.”

The Velvet Cocksthen sang a version of
Witchcraft
,
only their style was fast and heavy, so unlike Frank Sinatra’s version it was
like another song. The two women he pulled onstage were on either side of him
now, singing along. I turned away from them to face the bar as I became aware I
had started feeling uncomfortable.

Why?
I focused once again on my drink as if I’d find
some insight there. But then I was afraid of what I’d come up with so I focused
on the crowd.

Some songs later, the two women who had climbed onstage
approached a couple of men at the bar. I hadn’t noticed the men before, but
they were both attractive, although in different ways. One was dark and
somewhat mysterious looking with eyes always on the move, scanning the entire
club. The lighter one sported facial stubble and looked far more suave and
comfortable in his surroundings. The tall woman with straight black hair and
bangs spoke to the dark one while the one with auburn hair walked up to the
other one. Their close stances clearly signaled they were couples. For some
reason this made me feel better knowing neither of the women were with the
singer. I didn’t want to analyze why.

A woman near me spoke loudly enough to her friend for me to
overhear. “I think that guy’s the owner. And that’s his girlfriend.” When I
followed who she was looking at, it was the dark-haired couple.

Her friend replied, “But didn’t the other guy near him own
this club before the fire?”

“Yeah, I think you’re right. I haven’t seen him here for a
long time.”

Fire? What fire? Obviously these women had been regulars for
a while to know the club’s history and who’s who.

When the set ended, Ally found me at the bar. “Awesome,
right?” she said.

“Yeah, they’re cool,” I said with a shrug.

“Did you see the guitar player? Chee Keydood. He’s so
friggin’ hot it almost kills me. I want to run my fingers through his mussed-up
hair and oooh.” She scrunched her hand to mimic the action.

Ally waved a twenty-dollar bill at the bar. It didn’t take
long for her to get noticed by the male bartender although several others were
vying for his and other bartenders’ attention. With her long blonde hair set
into soft curls and a dress so short and tight that it left nothing to the
imagination, I doubt anyone that night could ignore Ally.

“Nice name.” I took a sip of my drink. “I couldn’t see too
well. But yeah, he looked all right. Not my type though. I’m not into guys with
long hair.”

She widened her eyes as if I were crazy. “I guess that’s why
we’re such good friends. We have such different taste in guys that we’d never
fight over the same one.”

“Guess so.” I smiled and took a sip. “I thought the singer
was pretty cute.”

“Leggy Bones? Really? Guess that proves my point.”

“Leggy Bones?” I repeated. “That’s his name? Where do they
come up with these names?”

“Stage name, obviously. They’re a bunch of cheeky bastards.”
As the bartender walked over, Ally looked at my glass. “Ready for another
drink?”

I shook my head. “I still have this one.”

“We need to celebrate your promotion. Check you out—still in
your twenties and already a director,” she said. “Not bad for a bookworm.”

“I’m barely still in my twenties. And I’m not just a
bookworm. I go out.”

“Oh real-ly,” Ally said with skepticism dripping from the
end of the drawn-out word.

“Yes. I go—places.”

“Going to bookstores or the gym doesn’t count as going out.
I mean out-out. Nightlife. Music. Dancing. Like this.”

“Well, I’m here now.”

“Yes, we are. Now let’s check out the eye candy after I get
my drink.” While Ally ordered her drink, I scanned the club. Most of the crowd
stuck around after the band played and the DJ took over. He began with a short,
fast song to keep the energetic vibe. Also to keep the people around who only
came to see the show, I imagine.

After the bartender brought Ally her drink, she said, “A
toast. To my beautiful, brilliant, best friend. Congratulations. You worked
hard to get here and you deserve it.”

I tried not to blush. “Thanks, Ally.”

“What are we celebrating?” a male voice interrupted from
behind me.

I rolled my eyes at Ally as if to say
can you believe it.
Some guy totally creeping in on my time celebrating with my girlfriend.
However, she was widening her eyes in a
shut up, shut up
gesture.

Why? It wasn’t that shocking to have some guy hitting on you
in a club.

“
We
are
not
celebrating anything,” I said
sharply as I turned to face the intruder. Then my voice caught in my throat
when I processed the interruption was spoken by a male with a slight English
accent.

Yes, it was him. The singer of the Velvet Cocks. His face
had appeared angelic under the spotlights up onstage. Now that he was only a
foot from me, I saw a downright mischievous look about him, from the twinkle in
his eye down to a slight smirk on his lips. His eyes were a bright hazel. I
couldn’t miss the color and intensity highlighted by the lights in the bar
area. And those lashes—so dark and thick.