I Want You to Want Me (Rock Star Romance #2) (10 page)

“Huh, then why’s he all over the press?” She shrugged her shoulders like she didn’t much care what Eddie Valencia was doing.

Slater chuckled. His closest friend knew what Violet was doing. And Derek loved her for it. His fingers wove between hers, pressing into his thigh. To his surprise, she turned her hand over, locking their fingers together.

His heart gave a powerful thump.

“So any more questions?” Slater asked.

“Just one.” The woman had a glint in her eye as she motioned between Derek and Violet. “So this is new. What happened with Genevieve Babineaux?”

He was used to rude questions, rarely let it faze him. What did he care? But this one involved Violet. Not okay.
Releasing her hand, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and tugged her tightly against him. He kissed her soft cheek, inhaling her unique and beautiful scent. “Sorry, sweetheart. They can be rude sometimes.”

The woman reporter laughed. “Not trying to be rude, tiger. Just trying to keep up with your dating life.”

“So if that’s all you’ve got, we should get going.” Slater got up, reaching to shake hands with the reporters.

“Hang on,” the guy said. “One picture?”

Slater had already walked off, so Derek used it to his advantage. Gesturing to his friend, he said, “Next time, I guess.”

“No, I meant of you two.”

“Hey, band’s fair game, but leave her out of it.” But before Derek could finish his sentence, Violet was already shifting onto his lap. She wrapped her arms loosely around his neck, tilted her head against his, and her ass squirmed on his thigh, like she was getting comfortable.

A current of electricity pulsed beneath his skin. He had to ball his hand into a fist to keep from planting his face into the softness of her breasts and tasting her nipples right through the cotton material of her dress.

When she cupped his cheek, pressing a kiss at his temple, that fist uncurled and settled on her bare thigh, sliding under the fabric. He went rigid from the sensation of warm, smooth skin.
Jesus fuck
, she felt good.

He heard a click, and it startled him. He had no idea what image they’d gotten, but he figured he’d had a pretty depraved look on his face since he’d been thinking about sucking her tits.

Oh, fuck. He should not be thinking about sucking Violet’s tits. She would so not be down with that.

“Thanks so much,” the reporter said. “This’ll go live in about an hour or so.”

“Great, thanks.”

Violet started to get off his lap, but he held her firmly. She gave him a questioning look, but he just closed his eyes and let out a slow, tight breath. Honestly, his reaction to this woman made no sense. He hooked up with women who seduced, who wore their sexuality front and center, like a
calling card. Women who grabbed his dick or sucked on his earlobe to let him know exactly what they wanted.

And they didn’t want dinner and a movie.

But this one? She wasn’t trying to seduce him. She actually believed he wouldn’t find a woman like her attractive. But she was wrong. Maybe she wasn’t sexually aggressive, but she was . . . sweet. So fucking sweet. And fierce. And protective. And . . . yeah. He was in so much trouble.

“You ready to go?” she said softly. “Booked you a gym and everything.”

He didn’t want to expend his energy in footwork. He wanted to strip off her clothes, suck her nipple into his mouth, and thrust into her slick heat. That was seriously all he wanted in the whole damn world.

When he still didn’t release her, she sat back a little. “I’ve got a question for you.” She cupped his cheek, lifting his face to hers. Her mouth was a breath away from his. “Instead of cooking up all this publicity to cover the horrible things your dad says about you, why not just do Buck’s show? Show the world your talent so you never have to worry again if anyone believes a word your dad says. Isn’t that the obvious solution?”

What hit him like a roundhouse kick to the solar plexus was her absolute belief in him. She had no doubt whatsoever he had the talent. And that all he had to do was expose it. But the truth was, the truth he’d never utter even if they took a flame to his balls, is that he
didn’t
know if he had it. Talent. How did someone know something like that?

Slater had one of the best voices in rock history. Some critic said it best when he said Slater’s gift came from the “ecstasy of surrender he inspires.” Fuck, if someone said something like that about him, he’d . . . well, he’d be done. No, seriously. Done. That was really all he wanted. It wasn’t the money, the fame, the nymphs. It was just
knowing
he was good. Truly, brilliantly talented.

Her thumb caressed his jaw. “What’s the worst thing that could happen if you did it?”

Holding her gaze, confiding in her and only her, he said, “I could suck.”

That thumb brushed over his bottom lip, sending a flare
of heat and light soaring through him. “And what would be the best thing?”

He shrugged, not willing to say it out loud. “It’d go well.”

She didn’t say a word, just kept her fingers sifting through the hair at the back of his neck. When he didn’t give her more, she arched a brow.

He laughed. “Fine. I could be recognized in the industry.”

“A Grammy?”

“No.” What the fuck, right?
Just say it.
“I could make the Ledger List.” He watched her expression—maybe she’d never heard of it. Maybe she had, and she thought he was full of himself. He was twenty-eight, a month into his second tour. Who was he to think he could make the Ledger List at this point?

“Well, then, I guess it’s going to take a lot of courage to make it happen. You have to decide if it’s worth the risk.”

Glad she got it—the
risk
of doing the show—instead of dismissing it, he also got what she was saying. And she was right. It all came down to whether or not he had the balls to expose himself.

She was also right in that it would shut down his dad for good. No one would listen to him anymore.

Including Derek.

•   •   •

Everyone
crowded into the van, ready to head to the gym. Except Pete. Where the hell was he?

“Dammit.” Derek started to ask if anyone had seen him but noticed Violet striding back into the venue. “Wait,” he called; she didn’t. He jumped out of the van and ran to catch up with her.

She threw open the door and headed down the long, windowless hall.

“Violet.” A hand on her shoulder got her to slow down. “I’ll get him. You just go back to the van.”

“That’s okay.” She peeked inside the first room they came across, before closing the door and carrying on down the hall.

He really didn’t want her finding Pete, not when Derek
had a pretty good idea what the keyboard player was doing. “V, come on. You don’t need to see this.”

“Actually, I do. I need to see who he’s with and what he’s doing, otherwise I can’t help him.” She opened another door, but the farther down the hallway they got, the louder the music coming from one particular room. People streamed in and out of it. Closing the door, she set her sights on the action ahead.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

“Don’t worry. There isn’t much I haven’t seen.”

So she thought. She hadn’t been in the music industry long enough to fully understand the depravity. Underneath the bass pounding through the walls, other sounds rose, carried, and sharpened his protective instincts.

The sounds of sex.

He stepped in front of her. “Wait here. Let me get him.”

“Derek, whether or not I want to see Pete snorting coke and having sex with multiple women is irrelevant. I need to see who he’s with. I need to see who’s supplying the drugs. Have
you
figured it out yet?”

His guts tightened at the implication. “No, I haven’t. It could be anyone. It could be different people at each venue.”

“It’s the same baggie full of the same drugs every week. It’s one person. And we need to find out who it is and get him away from the band.” And then she softened. “I appreciate you looking out for me, but what I’d really like is for you to go in there with me and help get Pete out. Then, when he’s sober, I need you to talk to him.”

“I will.”

“No, really talk to him. He’s deeper into drugs than you guys want to believe. I need you to consider the possibility that he might need to take a break from touring.”

“No.”
What?
He wasn’t some drug addict. “I’ll talk to him, but I’m not kicking him out.”

“I didn’t say to kick him out. I’m suggesting you get him the help he needs.”

“He’s not that far gone.”

“Derek, he is. He didn’t just start using on this tour.”

“’Scuse me,” some guy said, stepping around Derek to get into the room. Derek used the interruption to think. He
couldn’t deny the erratic behavior he’d seen in the studio. They’d attributed it to booze and staying out too late. “No. I think he’s been doing it longer than that.” They hadn’t really accepted Pete had a drug problem.

“Then he can’t stop just because you ask him to. You’re not talking to Pete. You’re talking to the drugs. He needs help.”

He nodded curtly. “I’ll talk to him.”

“There are a lot of alternatives. After Madison Square Garden, you’ve got a few days off. Put him in a detox program. It’ll clear his head long enough for you guys to have a conversation. With real consequences if he chooses to use again.”

“Yeah, I can do that.” In the meantime, he knew he could get through to Pete. He wouldn’t have to kick him out of the band—Derek wouldn’t let it get that far.

They heard a thump, and then someone screamed. Derek burst into the room to find Pete dancing on a table, trying to hump some girl. His hands moved wildly at her jeans, trying to peel them off her body, his hips pumping and thrusting so hard she fell off the table, landing in a knot of people. Violet rushed to the girl, while Derek headed for the table.

“Jesus, Pete.” Derek grabbed him around the waist and pulled him off. He checked on Violet, who talked to the girl gently, making sure she was okay. It looked like she hadn’t gotten hurt.

Wild-eyed and crazy, Pete took a swing. Derek easily ducked.

“What the fuck, man?” He had to get Pete out of there, but not until he knew the girl was okay. He shot a look to Violet, who nodded. Everyone was all right.

He motioned to the door, letting her know he was heading out. Then, he practically carried Pete out of the room. “You’re starting to freak me the fuck out.”

“What? I was getting some action, man. What’s your problem?”

“You knocked her off a table. You’re out of control.”

“Fuck you. I’m having fun. You ruined it. You’re always ruining my fun. Pussy.”

Violet was right. Talking to him in this condition would do no good. He needed to get out of the stadium without
being seen by the paps. He shot a quick text to Slater.
Go to the gym without us. Meet you at hotel later.

“Where we going?” Pete tried to twist out of his hold. “I wanna get laid.”

“Not tonight.”

“Yeah, tonight. Every night. That’s the whole point.” His head tipped back and he growled. “Christ. I’m fuckin’ horny as hell.”

A heavy sadness fell over Derek. He hated seeing Pete this messed up.

He got Violet’s point. It
was
getting worse. And he couldn’t risk Pete hurting someone.

But he knew Pete. He knew his insecurities. Knew how badly he wanted to be in the band, on this journey with them.

So, fuck, Derek had to get through to him. Kicking him out of the band wasn’t an option. Getting him help, yeah, obviously, but when? He’d like to put it off until the end of the tour, if possible. He had to find a way to get through to him, because deep down he knew Pete wanted to be in the band more than he wanted to get wasted.

He just had to get him sober enough to remind him.

“Hey, man.” Derek peered into the bathroom, filled with steam, and found Pete leaning against the sink, head hung. “We need to talk.”

His friend didn’t turn around, didn’t look at him through the foggy mirror. He just exhaled and said, “Yeah.”

“Come into the living room. Everyone’s gone to sleep.”

Derek made a stop to the kitchen first, eyeing a cold beer, but then he thought about Pete and realized he didn’t want to go there. Instead, he grabbed the pitcher of lemonade and poured two glasses.

Pete made no eye contact as he quietly shut the bedroom door behind him and joined Derek on the couch. Dreadlocks tied back, shirtless and in navy gym shorts, his friend looked tired and wan. He reached for the glass Derek offered. “Thanks, man.”

“So, tonight.”

Pete barely acknowledged him.

“We were all in the van, heading to the gym. Had to go back in and find you.”

“I’m not here to
box
.” He eyed him meaningfully. “Are you?”

Derek shrugged. He got it. “No.” He thought about it some more. “No, I’m not here to box. But you know what? She’s right about something. We party all night, sleep most of the day, then hit sound check and do it all over again.”

“So?”

“So is that what we’re in this for?”

Pete didn’t answer.

“We’re not . . . it’s not actually
fun
.”

Pete shrugged, draining his glass. “It is for me.”

“How about that girl tonight?”

His friend gave him a hard look. “What? Nothing happened.”

Derek shifted onto the coffee table, so he could face him. “Thing is, I saw you, man. You weren’t there. You were so high you didn’t even know you were trying to fuck a chick on a table.”

“Nobody got hurt.” When he exhaled, his body slumped forward. “Yeah, okay, I’ll ease off. I get it. She wins.”

“This isn’t about Violet.”

“Are you fucking her?”

Anger welled so fast and hard, Derek nearly went dizzy with it. “No, I’m not
fucking
her. And don’t talk about her like that. You’re . . . Jesus, Pete. What’s happened to you?” He got up, scraped a hand through his hair. “I don’t even know who I’m talking to right now. This isn’t you, man.” He strode to the window. How the hell did he get through to him? What were the magic words? “She’s the
solution
, Pete.
We
caused the problem. We almost lost Irwin. She’s here to help. And she
is
helping. Come on, I’m actually waking up in the morning and wanting to write. I haven’t written shit in a year.”

“I’m sorry. Okay? I’m fuckin’ sorry.”

Derek turned to his friend. “I’m worried about you.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Can we talk about it? Figure out a way for you to have fun but keep it under control?”

Pete scratched the side of his head roughly. “I can tell you what you want to hear right now. That I’m fucking up, and that I won’t do it again. But when I’m in the situation,
when I’m surrounded by chicks and people who want to party with me . . .” He closed his eyes.

“Is there someone in particular who wants to party with you? We could eliminate the temptation, you know.”

“Are you serious? If you eliminate the temptation, we wind up on the prairie. In a tent. Nothing but cows for miles.”

Derek smiled. He understood. There were very few good people in this industry. Even fewer who had the artists’ best interests in mind. “There’s no one in particular supplying you with drugs?”

Derek didn’t miss the way Pete’s gaze cut away. “No. You know how it is. Everyone’s got something. Everywhere I turn, someone’s offering me something.”

“Yeah, but the greenies? The Ambien? Who’s giving you that baggie?”

Pete sharpened. “You’ve seen that?”

Derek stayed still.

“You going through my shit?”

“Yeah, man. Had to. And I’ll keep doing it until you get straight.”

“That’s fucked up.” His body tensed, like he wanted to bolt. But to his credit, Pete stayed put on the couch. “Fuck. I get shit from everyone. But those ones? I put those aside ’cause I use them the most. That’s on me, man. I do that.”

“No one’s giving it to you?”

“No. No one’s giving it to me.”

“You’d tell me, right? For the sake of the band? You’d tell me if someone was supplying you with drugs?”

Pete had a wary look in his eyes. He tapped his fingers on his knees, features pinched in concentration. Then, his gaze swung back to Derek. “Yeah, I’d tell you.”

Derek turned his forearm outward, and Pete looked at the Hand of Eris ink. “We agreed to be smart about this shit. We’d have fun, but we wouldn’t ever take it to the edge.” He paused. “You’re there, buddy. You’re taking it to the edge.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“So you’ll stop?”

Pete looked down at his hands. He didn’t say anything for the longest time, and Derek wondered if he’d have to make a threat. He didn’t want to do it, but he would. If Pete
wasn’t willing to give up the partying, he’d have to pull him off the tour.

But then Pete blew out a breath, looking defeated. “I’ll stop.”

Thank fucking Christ.

Pete got up and grabbed him in a tight hug, fists punching his back. And then he went to his bedroom and shut the door. Derek stood there, relieved, but also uncertain.
Could
Pete give it up so easily?

Derek would have to make changes. Just for a while, break the pattern, get Pete’s head clear. No more partying after a show. Not even for an hour. Straight to the gym or bowling alley or whatever Violet had planned.

After the rush of the encounter died down, his thoughts turned to the woman in the bed on the other side of the wall.

It was getting dangerous. Sharing the same bed, pretending to be a couple. It was becoming too real. He’d started finding reasons to be with her in public just to feel her fingers linked with his. Her hands in his hair.

Tonight, when he’d touched her bare thigh . . . the sensations flooded him.

He wasn’t used to being so close to a woman and not fucking her. Except . . . that didn’t ring true. That wasn’t the issue.

This is different.
It wasn’t the same kind of raw, purely sexual drive he had to be with Gen. It was . . . intense. And incredibly sexy. He
liked
it. He liked her.

Too much. He pulled the blanket and pillow out of the hall closet by the door, but even as he headed back to the couch to make up the bed, his body knew where it needed to be.

And it sure as hell wasn’t there.

The moment he opened the door, he knew she was awake. The sheets rustled, and she turned to face him, hitching up on an elbow. “You talk to him?” Her soft voice made his skin pebble.

He nodded, wanting nothing more than to be near her. The pull was inexorable. He threw back the blanket, slid under those cool sheets, and it took everything in him to keep from scooping her into his arms.

He couldn’t figure out this draw, this need to be near
her. To breathe in her unique scent. He pressed his nose to her hair. “What is that smell?”

“You like it?”

“Yeah.”

He could see her smile, her hand flat on the white sheet. “It’s wildflower perfume. I make it myself.”

“You make perfume?”

“It’s very rudimentary. I’m not going to sell it anytime soon. I’ve got to figure out how to make the scent last longer.”

“Sell it?” He shifted closer to her, gaze fixed on her sexy mouth.

“Those wildflowers I planted for Jed? I’m trying to find ways to use them in products so I can live on the farm full-time. Live off the land, just like Jed wanted.”

“That’s . . .” He had to clear his throat. He thought she was probably the most interesting woman he’d ever met. It was like without role models, she’d had the freedom to completely invent her life. “You really want to live on a farm?”

“You haven’t seen it. It’s the most beautiful place in the world.”

Yeah, but a farm? At the tip of Long Island? That was damn remote. “What flowers do you put in this perfume?”

“The most fragrant ones. Sweet pea, four-o’clocks. Roses.”

“Sweet pea, huh?”

She nodded, her lips curling into the sexiest smile. “I named my farm after the four-o’clocks.”

“I like it.”
Four O’Clock Farm
. “What other products?” A lock of hair spilled across her cheek, and he reached for it, brushing it back. It slipped through his fingers like silk.

“Right now we sell tea to several gourmet shops around Long Island and a few in the city. And we’re doing pretty well with it. We’re also developing soap, honey, and stationery.”

“How do you make stationery with flowers?”

“Oh, Mimi, a friend of mine, makes her own paper, and she uses the petals to create a scene. It’s really beautiful.” She pulled back a little, studying him. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

“Because you’re fucking amazing. I mean, look at you. You just do it. Make your life happen. You don’t wait for anything or anyone. Everyone thinks we’re so cool ’cause
we’re in a band, but you’re the creative one. Everything about your life is creative. It’s awesome. You’re awesome.”

“Oh. Well.”

“Do you get lonely?” She had no family. He rarely saw her on a personal call. He thought of himself, surrounded by four band members—they were inseparable. Not to mention Emmie, who’d always been a big part of his life. Add in the record company and roadies and engineers and nymphs . . . he was never alone.

“Yes,” she whispered.

He might never be alone, but he sure as shit didn’t have this closeness with anyone. This intimacy. That was what drew him to her. When he was with Violet, he didn’t feel lonely. He felt whole. Alive. Happy.

He tipped her chin up. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

She shook her head.

“You’re not seeing anyone?” He needed the clarification.

“It’s impossible to have a relationship when I’m on the road most of the year.”

He smiled. “I can relate.”

“That’s why you have Gen.”

“I don’t have Gen. I use Gen.” When her features pinched in disgust, he added, “And she uses me. I’m a man, V. I have needs.”

“And since you don’t avail yourself of nymphs . . .”

“Exactly.”

“Why don’t you?”

“They’re scary. They’ll fuck anything. I don’t know, it just doesn’t interest me.”

“What does interest you?”

“You.” He shrugged, completely unapologetic about it. He saw it now. He got it. And he wasn’t about to play games.

“We . . . that’s not going to happen.” She started to get up, and he realized his fatal error. She’d never let him sleep beside her again if she thought he wanted to fuck her.

“I know that.” He pulled her back down. Not a chance would he let her get away. He’d just have to rein it in. For now. “You asked me a question, and I answered. I’ll always give you the truth. You do interest me. I’ve never met anyone like you before. And I like you.”

She threw back the covers. “Derek, look, this isn’t my world. I’m not some girl you can have casual sex with.”

“I know that. Jesus. I’m not . . . I don’t want to fuck things up with us. I know we’re not . . . you’re not . . .” He rolled to his back. “Fuck. Why do I say whatever comes to mind?”

“Because you’re an artist. You can get away with it.” She was all tense and stiff now, and he hated that he’d done that to her. He didn’t hate telling her the truth, but he hated her reaction.

He grabbed her arm. “Don’t go. I’m not going to make any moves. I just . . .”

“Look, it’s not your fault. What else would you think when I let you in my bed every night? It’s just . . . I’ve never . . . I’ve never had this kind of closeness before. And I
like
it.” She let out a shaky breath. “I like it too much. But it’s selfish of me. Of course you want more.” And then her eyes went wide. “God, do the others know you sleep in here?”

“You know they don’t.” He tugged her back onto the bed, waited until she settled under the covers, head on the pillow. “I make up the couch every night, and I don’t come in until they’re asleep. And you, Christ, you get up at ungodly hours. Why the hell do you get up so early?”

“I’ve never needed much sleep.”

Meaning, she’d never gotten much sleep, living in foster homes where child care fell on her shoulders. “Obviously.”

“Plus, how do you think the magic happens? I do my grocery shopping, schedule our activities, all that stuff in the early morning, when you guys are sleeping.”

“I didn’t know that.” He brushed a thumb across that delectable mouth. “So, yeah, no one knows.”

“Why
do
you sleep here? I mean, if not to have sex with me?”

“Those pull-out couches are hell on my back.” He gave her a smile because she already knew the answer. The way he held her in his arms all night
was
the answer.

“I told you I’d sleep on the couch. I can sleep anywhere. A pull-out couch is a luxury compared to the places I’ve slept.”

“I think you know I’m not letting you sleep on a couch while I get the king-size bed.”

The lines between her eyes spoke of the tension within her.

He couldn’t resist stroking them with a finger. “I like sleeping with you.” He leaned closer. “Never slept better in my life. Must be that wildflower perfume.”

She closed her eyes and for one moment pressed her forehead to his. But then she seemed to snap out of it, and she withdrew. “Um, okay, so you talked to Pete?”

And just like that the wall went up, and they were back to business. He’d let her get away with it. For now. “Yeah. He gets it.”

“You sure? Most of the time they say that to shut us up.”

“No, he does. We’re going to come straight to the bus after shows. No more partying.”

“That’s a good idea. It’ll make it much easier to see where he’s getting his stuff.”

“He’s not going to do drugs anymore.”

She gave him a challenging look.

“He’s not. We talked about it. He knows he’s out of control.”

“It’s not that easy, Derek. Please believe me. Don’t ease up on him.”

“I won’t.”
I won’t let you down
. “I can let Slater handle more of the interviews, and I’ll stick by his side.”