Rockstar (2 page)
Authors: Lexi Adair
"How else would you look at it?"
"
Stripped
isn't exactly after the human interest side of the story. We want sex. It's empty, it's meaningless..."
Her words trailed off, chased away by the disapproving dip of his brow. “People don't want empty sex. They want the intimate connection. It should never be meaningless. It's the details, not the act that matters."
Summer's heart dipped as if it had dislodged from her chest and fallen with a heavy thump into her stomach. It wasn't so much what he said as how he said it. The desperate ache of his words. The tremble of his lips. It made her ... he made her ... want. He made her desire. He made her care. The worst of the four letter words. She didn't
care
about the people she interviewed. They never stirred her. They never got under her skin. They never made her think. Never made her
feel
. She shivered at the thought of another one of those four letter words.
"Can I quote you on that?"
Anthony shook his head. Disappointment etched his face. Unmasked and completely naked. There could be no misinterpretation of his reaction to her bold question.
He rose from his seat and snatched up a pair of dark sunglasses. Turned the collar up on his leather jacket as he walked away without so much as backward glance, without so much as a word.
Summer sat, stunned and speechless. Her heart reached out to him as she struggled to think of something, anything to keep him from walking away.
For one fleeting moment she thought not of losing the story but of losing the man.
Clever girl, Anthony mused as he forced himself to walk away. She'd almost made him forget who she was and what she was after. Hell, for a moment he'd even felt like himself. Not Anthony Phoenix, the rock-and-roll playboy, but Tony, a guy from the south side of Seattle. A guy who, for at least one fleeting moment, had been smitten with the pretty little blonde sitting across the table from him.
But then she'd broken that strange little spell she'd cast over him and reminded him that she wasn't interested in the man but the story instead. It was business. Just business. And though for a brief moment he'd taken leave of his senses and spouted off some romantic bullshit that was completely beyond the scope of the hard-edge rocker he'd become, he'd gotten himself under control.
He fought the urge to look back at her. If she wanted him, if she really wanted his story, then she would come to him. He hadn't decided if he was going to let her smear his sex life across the pages of her glossy magazine. He couldn't deny that the P.R. would probably be worth whatever ribbing he would take from his family and friends. Still, Anthony never gave in that easily. If she wanted it she was going to have to work for it. He certainly wasn't selling himself that cheap.
Trigger was leaning against the car when Anthony stepped out of the café. His bodyguard and closest friend fell in step silently beside him.
Outside, the evening sky was gray, cast with shadows and threatening rain. He drew in a breath of salt-licked Seattle air. It always smelled like home to him with its strange concoction of city fumes and crisp coastal waters.
He paused in front of the car and waited for Trigger to unlock the door. Footsteps echoed against the concrete behind him and somehow he knew exactly who they belonged to.
"When you're ready to give me the details—” she held out a business card for him, “—I'll be here ‘til Sunday."
Anthony took the card. His fingertips grazed her skin as she let her hand fall away. It sent a flush of heat, a surge of desire to snake down the length of his body. Did she feel it too? That electrical charge that seemed to breathe life from her touch and command his need?
He watched her go. But something called to him. A strange desire drew him down the street after her.
Had he completely lost his mind? The last thing he needed was to chase down some damn reporter. He certainly didn't need anyone nosing into his life and exposing his secrets on the pages of some smutty magazine. But he had to follow her, despite the fact that he was skirting danger with a woman who had the power to destroy him. Yeah, he was fucked.
From a distance, he watched her long golden hair stir about her. The fluid sway of her hips as she took each step away captured his interest and sent a flame of unwanted desire licking up his body. Damn, he really didn't need this.
Trigger rested his hand on Anthony's shoulder, drawing his attention. “You're a jackass,” he laughed. There were few people in this world who could get away with calling Anthony a jackass and his bodyguard was one of them. “You do realize who she is, right?"
"Yeah.” He knew but he couldn't seem to help himself. “I think I'll go for a walk."
Trigger's brows dipped in a concerned scowl. “A walk?"
"Yeah.” He stepped around Trigger and took off in the direction she had headed. “I need some air."
"You need a kick in the ass,” Trigger joked, but beneath the levity was a hint of concern. “You've got rehearsal in two hours, Tony. We don't exactly have time for sightseeing and I really don't think it's a good idea for you to go wandering around downtown. What if someone recognizes you?"
"What are you, my mother?” Anthony shot a glance back over his shoulder and because he knew Trigger would fall in-step dutifully behind him, he pressed on. There were few people in his life he could count on. Few people he could trust with his life. Trigger topped that list, and so he knew that despite whatever dangers Summer posed he would be safe from the outside world.
Pike Place Market with its old-world charms of bellowing fish mongers brought Anthony back to another time and place.
The scent of seafood wafted up through the air. The pungent odor of fish collided with the aroma of fresh-cut flowers. The blooms, swollen with life and as fragrant as perfume dotted the market stalls, adding splashes of color between the sullen grays and pale oranges of the catch of the day.
Old hippies plucked out a rock-and-roll tune on their battered guitars and sang about lost wars, lost loves and lost freedoms. There were days when Anthony wondered if this wasn't where he belonged. Down at the market, lost in a crowd, just him and his guitar. In fact, if it weren't for his pushy agent this was probably where he would still be. And he'd have been just as happy here, if not happier than when he was paraded beneath a flood of blinding lights on the stage.
He found Summer and thoughts of what would have been gave way to thoughts of what could be.
She leaned back against the half-wall separating the market from the street. Her jean-clad legs were crossed at the ankles, the long hem of her pants spilling over her sandals as she tapped her foot to the beat of the old guitar-picker's song. Her black camisole dipped down in a V-shape at her breasts. If he had approached he would have been offered a generous view of her shapely breasts. But he held back, watching her, feeling a bit like a voyeur but unable to make himself turn away.
Her head was tipped back and her eyes had fallen closed as if she were not merely listening to the music but absorbing it. She licked her lips. His groin tightened painfully and he was cursed with an overwhelming desire to taste her.
Her girl-next-door façade was dangerously deceptive. In truth, beneath the wheat-colored locks and vivid emerald eyes, she dripped with sensuality. It seeped from her brazen tongue, her sultry smile, the hypnotic sway of her hips. She affected him like no woman had before. She was like cocaine in the system. It made him edgy, high and completely stupid.
What the fuck was he doing here? Looking to score another hit? Asshole.
He made himself turn away before he did something he would truly regret. He left the seductive Summer Staite and the soulful old guitar-picker to their private concert.
The gloomy thump of “Numb” echoed from her cell phone as it rang to life at the bottom of her purse. Summer dragged her bag onto her lap and fished through the contents. She tossed her digital voice recorder, a pocket-sized notepad and a pen on the loveseat in her hotel room before her fingers finally wrapped around her Blackberry.
She turned the device over in her hand. Ironically, Phoenix's smash hit blared from the speaker, making her smile. So perhaps she was just a little bit of a fan.
But Spencer's name displayed on the screen chased her amusement away. She gave a groan in protest that was drowned beneath the beat of the ringtone as she answered it. “Hello?"
"How's the article?” Spencer's voice crashed over the phone. As usual, his tone was neither pleasant nor friendly but rather curt and abrasive. Apparently, his mother had never taught him that you catch more flies with honey. That was something Summer had learned early on.
"It's going.” She hadn't gotten anything yet. Just a few notes she'd taken for herself, observations of their encounter at the café. But there was the promise of tomorrow and so she remained hopeful. “I spoke with him today."
"Good."
"I'll have the story to you by the end of the weekend."
"I'll be looking for it.” The phone went silent in her hand as he hung up without so much as a goodbye.
Stupid little prick
. He didn't like her any more than she liked him. Spencer had no idea how to handle a woman who was twice as smart, twice as cunning and twice the writer he was. He was put off by women who knew what they wanted and set out to get it. She had no doubt that was why they too often butted heads.
Summer let out a sigh as she flipped off her phone and headed to the adjoining bathroom. Some days there were just far too many men in her life. Two was more than she had the patience to handle. She just had to nail this story and then she would finally be free to do things her own way. She wouldn't have to seduce stories. She wouldn't have to kiss Spencer's ass. Creative freedom. That was the prize at the end of the finish line.
She flipped the wall switch, bringing a pale glow of light from the twin crystal chandeliers hanging above the mirror. Light caught in the mirror, casting a play of subtle tones over the painted cabinets. The fixtures in plated gold caught the light, adding a sparkle to the Italian tiles lining the double sinks.
The white marble flooring was cold beneath her bare feet as she kicked off her sandals. Summer knelt on the rug, set her phone down on the ledge and turned on the faucet.
As the tub began to fill she rose and grabbed her bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon and a single wine glass.
She filled the glass as the water filled the tub, then set it on the ledge next to her phone and peeled off her clothes.
Summer slipped beneath the surface and nearly moaned aloud as the warm water soothed the tension that had settled in her muscles.
Like the shadow of a ghost, his face formed from the vapors of her mind. Thick, dark hair, slightly mussed, toyed at the nape of his neck. Long, dark slashes of brows dipped over his eyes. God, those eyes, she thought as her hand stole out, her fingers fumbling over the controls on the tub. She flipped the switch and the jets sputtered and sprayed then settled into a pulsing stream that beat against her back, teased the crook of her knee, and tickled her toes.
She licked her lips, letting her tongue slip over the lush swells. In her mind she traced the line down his straight nose and settled on his mouth. His top lip was thin, well cut, the bottom fleshy, bite-sized. Oh God, she thought as an ache drew up between her thighs. Even the thought of him made her body slick with desire. The vision of his perfect face, his dark brooding features, the fantasy of how his lips would feel pressed against hers made her clit throb beneath the warm water.
The gloomy thump of her ringtone sliced through the silence with a wiry, seductive beat. Summer almost ignored it. Considered settling her hand between her thighs and letting her fingers work away the need in her swollen clit instead. The phone rang again, demanding to be answered. She lifted it to her ear. Her voice was soft, almost dreamy, as it drifted over the phone. “Hello?"
There was a pause. “Ms. Staite?” His raw-edged voice wafted over the phone, humming into her ear and down the length of her body.
Lost in her personal fantasy, Summer could do no more than murmur into the phone. “Humm?"
"There'll be a ticket for you at the box office for tomorrow night's show."
Recognition flamed within her mind. That heavy, thick voice, those hesitant yet strangely confident words ringing inside her ear. She sat up quickly, sloshing water over the side of the tub. “Mr. Phoenix?"
"Yeah.” The word came out hoarse, strained, as he breathed it into the phone. There was another brief hesitation before he finally broke the silence drawing out between them. “What's that noise?"
With the phone pressed against her ear and the water bubbling at her breasts, Summer searched the room. “Shit,” she cursed beneath her breath as she reached out and flipped off the jets. Real fucking professional. “Nothing."
"Sounds like water running."
"It's the tub."
"You're in the tub?” There was a fleeting note of amusement tinged with something darker, something perhaps resembling desire in his words.
Summer slid down, letting the water overtake her as she lifted her chin and tilted the phone away. Why the hell had she said that?
He let out a huff of amusement that filtered over the phone and brought a smile to her lips. “Take your phone to the bath do you?"
"When I'm waiting for a call."
"Whose call would that be?"
"Yours.” She said it with all the conviction of a woman who was rarely wrong. True, she hadn't known he was going to call. She could only sit and wait and hope. Now that he had, triumph settle warmly inside her like the heated waters lapping at her skin. It radiated from within, making her palms moist and her heart thump. Or maybe it was the sound of his voice that stirred her. She couldn't be sure what caused her discomfort but beneath the water her body was alive and humming.
"Hmmm ... Don't know if I've ever had anyone wait naked for my call."