Bad Beats: A Rock-Star Step-Brother Romance (16 page)

A shiver of anticipation unravels in my midsection as several men turn to watch my arrival. One man approaches, his smile widening as he strides closer. I recognize him immediately.

It’s impossible not to see that other women also recognize Jagger Hewitt and are interested. Their gazes follow his steps…his steps toward me.

He stops dangerously close, and my body takes notice.

“Miss O’Shea, may I call you, Cadie?”

I manage a slight nod.

His brow arches, and he reaches for my hand. This time I’m prepared, though no less intrigued, when his bigger hand encloses around my much smaller one, bringing it to his lips.

I shiver at the contact.

“Are you cold?” His eyes flash with understanding and a hint of mischief.

Goosebumps appear on my arms, and my nipples tighten. “Maybe a little.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that.” He slides off his suit jacket, and places it over my shoulders. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“That would be nice, thank you.”

“Can I suggest our specialty? It’s made with real coconuts.”

“That sounds delicious,” I agree, too nervous to protest. Sweet drinks are my favorite anyway.

He takes my elbow and leads me to an empty stool at the end of the bar. Once seated, we angle our bodies toward each other to make talking easier. He signals the bartender and places our order.

“I didn’t mean to upset Mr. Steal earlier. I wasn’t aware you two…”

Shaking my head, I hurry to cut him off. “It’s nothing. Shag has a sense of ownership when it comes to his employees. I’m the newest. I replaced his former PA just a week ago.”

“Hmmm…I’m certain he was jealous, and I can understand why. You are a very sensuous woman.”

The bartender chooses that moment, thank God, to bring Jagger a shot glass of amber liquid and me a white frothy concoction with a tropical fruit kabob poking from the glass.

As delicious as my drink looks, the handsome billionaire looks tastier. Everything about him makes my toes curl. Perhaps a fling with Jagger Hewitt is what I need to cure my Shag obsession. It’s not as if Shag isn’t going to be getting up close and personal with his contestants, and if what Lillian Richards said is true, there could be wedding bells in the near future for the former lovers.

“I apologize. I can be a little forward,” Jagger explains, covering my hand with his. “But what I said is true. You are going to be quite the temptation.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” I gush before I can stop myself.

Grabbing my drink, I make quick work of consuming the delicious mixture of coconuts and a flavor I can’t quite place but my tastebuds applaud.

“It’s refreshing to be around a woman without an angle.”

Deciding to be playful, I give my nerves a solid shove and surprise him with my next words. “How do you know I don’t have an angle? I might be after your money. The island is pretty spectacular too.”

He chuckles, but before he can reply, the big man I saw him with earlier appears at his side, reminding me of Omar with his uncanny stealth. They whisper and Jagger rises, throwing back his shot.

“My apologies, Cadie, but business calls. Even at this hour. Please, order whatever you like, on me. I hope to continue our conversation very soon.”

“I hope so too. And thank you.”

He surprises me again, leaning down and kissing my right cheek. “Until next time.”

Watching him walk away, I can’t help but admire his confident stride. He might look like a rock-star, and I don’t think he’s much older than Shag, but he is very much a gentleman who knows what he wants. I’m flattered he’s taken an interest in me, though I can’t imagine why with so many beautiful women at his disposal.

Oh no! His jacket!
I’m wearing it; one more reason to meet again soon.

I turn back to my drink and find a second already waiting. Finishing off the first, I start in on the fruit that includes several bite-sized pieces I don’t recognize. Before I can ask the bartender about them, someone brushes by and claims the now vacant stool next to mine. At first I think its Jagger back for his jacket, or Shag.

Not even close. It’s the last person I want anywhere near me.

“I can see why he likes you,” Lillian says. “He always wished I had bigger tits.”

Not sure how to respond to her unusual introduction, I take a long pull from drink number two’s straw, putting the fruit stick aside.

“You can call me, Lila.” She waves at the bartender and orders what I have.

With the liquor finally kicking in, my courage rises, as does my irritation. “I don’t know what you think you know about me or Shag, but I can assure you, I am simply his assistant.”

She laughs, the sound is harsh and humorless. “Don’t be coy. I have my own inside sources. I know about your cruise affair. I know more than you think. You’re lucky Shag was able to keep your relationship off the tabloid covers.”

“O-kay…you think you know so much. Why are you telling me this?” I slurp down the rest of my drink and prepare to leave.

Lila’s eyes narrow, and she finally gets to her reason for confronting me. “If you don’t want your family, friends, and the entire world to know about your seedy sex life with my future husband, make sure you keep it business only, moving forward. No more secret rendezvous. Sean isn’t easy to handle anyway. You’d be happier with Jagger Hewitt. He seems interested, and he’s a class act.”

It’s my turn to laugh. “So you’re trying to help me while you help yourself to Shag, am I right?”

“Something like that. I’m giving you a way out of a messy situation. If you’re smart, you’ll take it.” Leaving her drink untouched, she slides off the stool and disappears into the shadows with such swiftness I almost think I imagined her threats, but her untouched drink is a glaring reminder of her unwanted presence.

Not wanting the yummy cocktail to go to waste, I pick up the glass and begin my journey back to the villa, wishing I hadn’t left in the first place.

Shag

“When I grew up, what was interesting for me was that music was color and life was gray. So music for me has always been more than entertainment.”

-Pete Townshend

My call with Slyder ended an hour ago, and I can’t sleep. After listening to his impartial reasoning, I decided to forgo the whole Skype session with the rest of the band. There is no cause to add extra stress to their lives unless it’s absolutely necessary. According to Slyder, it isn’t, and I have to agree with my right-hand man. Not only is he my longest standing friend, band-mate and business partner, he has a level head when it comes to emotionally charged situations, unless, of course, those situations involve his wife-y dearest, Chloe.

Though I have to give credit where it’s due; Slyder has become less pussy-whipped since the cruise, refusing to put up with Chloe’s constant bitching. Even with their infant son who they both dote on, now in the picture, their relationship is shifting. If Chloe doesn’t watch herself, she might end up curbside.

Not really. He’d never make the mother of his child suffer to that extent, but her days as his wife may be numbered, something I never would have imagined, not until I heard him order her out of the room for our phone call. He wasn’t going to deal with her eavesdropping, something she is notorious for.

It was nice, for once, to bare my soul without censoring my words.

Chloe sure as hell didn’t censor her ranting when she made an overly dramatic exit. As usual, she’d had a few choice comments for me — passive aggression at its best.

Following her eviction, Slyder spent the next thirty minutes, filling me up with facts, reminding me I am the success story, not Lila. He also agreed; she is up to something, yet to be determined. And, my oh-so-wise guitarist made sure to remind me, if I choose run from my responsibilities, and we (meaning I) violate our recording contract, Lila will ultimately win, while we all would lose in a very public, very humiliating manner.

There is no fucking way Lila is winning anything, not if I have the means to stop her.

The final fifteen minutes of our conversation centered on all things Cadie. I spilled the affair’s details to Slyder, who was already well aware, along with the rest of the band. I’d made little effort to keep our romance a secret from them to begin with. It was like the cruise had been a different world with different rules.

Now things are different yet again, and I need to let Cadie go with grace.

None of this is her fault. If I truly love her, the best thing I can do is pay the promised salary, along with a hefty bonus, and send her on her way. Slyder suggested the bonus, something I should have thought of first.

Cadie O’Shea is a distraction I can’t afford right now.

With Lila up to her old tricks, I need to be vigilant. Like any plotting terrorist, she’ll do everything in her power to sneak by my defenses unnoticed, detonating her destruction at the opportune moment, just when everyone least expects it. There is no way she is here to make amends and ‘win’ my love. I definitely don’t need my BS meter to gauge her high deceit level.

As of right now, I have my own private investigator, shining a spotlight into her life, searching for evidence that will expose her game plan. Having Cadie mixed up in the middle of my showdown with Lila is not in anyone’s best interests.

If only I didn’t have to deal with the situation sober.

Slyder reminded me that I’m new to the recovery thing and that I need to give myself some grace too. However, we both know, I’ve never been good at the whole woo-woo, self-love shit.

Cocky, confident, and cool — I’m all those things and then some. I know I’m good at what I do…better than good, and I’ve learned to play my role accordingly. What I’m not good at is forgiving
me
for my mistakes, and giving myself the time needed to embrace the changes I started to make in rehab.

Fuck
. Life was so much simpler when it was booze, blow, bitches, and a blunt. Four B’s! Three were never enough.

Now I have zero.

“Stop!” I caution out loud. If I don’t stop, I’ll find myself headed back down the pity-party-path, and I can’t afford to take a U-turn, especially not now. There’s too much at stake.

I’m also procrastinating.

Grabbing the keycard that will give me access to the woman I love and a discussion I I’m dreading, I stare at the door separating us. I can’t put it off any longer.

Unsure if I should knock first, I hesitate before sliding the card into the slot. The lock disengages with a mechanical click, the sound amplified in the late night silence.

I’m surprised to see Cadie sprawled across her bed, completely naked, the silk sheets tangled around her shapely legs, and her arms stretched over her head.

I step all the way inside, tearing my gaze from her to scan the room. A few things catch my immediate attention. The first is the stack of colorful file folders, twins to the ones on my desk. There’s no doubt my girl takes her work seriously. She has everything organized for tomorrow’s meeting. That triggers a fresh stab of guilt. Releasing her from a job she only just started isn’t going to help her self-esteem, one more reason for her to hate me.

I move closer to her bed and my nose twitches. Damn if she doesn’t smell like a Happy Hour regular. To confirm what my nose already knows, I see the glass. The jumbo-sized, totally empty glass, with a half-eaten fruit cabob that weeps juice on her three-drawer nightstand, is all the evidence I need.

Shaking my head, I realize we’re not having any type of serious talk tonight, not a chance. I turn to leave, starting to feel like more like a stalker than a lover, and for sure not an employer, but I don’t get far before noticing one, final, telltale clue to her earlier actions.

An expensive, high quality suit jacket hangs over a chair, the chair closest to the bed, offering an obvious indication that Cadie wasn’t alone in her drunken debauchery. I can’t be certain who the jacket belongs to, but I have a pretty good idea.

My chest tightens, and I shove my hands inside my jean pockets, afraid if I don’t, I’ll punch a hole in the villa’s pristine wall. Worse, the overwhelming urge to turn Cadie over my lap and spank her bottom until it’s covered in my handprints surges over me like a tidal wave.

Once she’s been punished, I’ll tie her up and fuck her until she screams my name. Then I’ll brand my name on her ass; a tattoo will do. Next I will put a ring on her finger and a baby in her belly. Nobody would dare touch her then. She’d be mine in every way.

What the fuck am I thinking? A ring? A baby?

I can see the tattoo, but this kind of thinking is light years beyond crazy. The last time I felt jealous was over Lila, on the day of my failed proposal, and I don’t recall feeling anywhere near as insane as I do right now. I’d been with Lila for years. I’ve only known Cadie a couple of months.

How is this possible?

I’ve been with hundreds of women since my breakup with Lila, and not once was I jealous or upset to see them with someone else. In most cases I was relieved, knowing I was off the hook.

Cadie, the one woman I shouldn’t want and the one I can’t have — for several compelling reasons, is the woman who has laid claim to my heart and makes me behave like a caveman — her word to describe me.

If I find proof she did more than drink with her admirer, she’ll know what a cavemen really acts like. A vision of me, beating on my chest before beating down that prissy rich asshole gives me reason to smirk.

From what I see, the evidence looks pretty damning:

1.    
   Cadie naked and drunk, sleeping with a smile.
   
2.    
   Sheets in disarray.
   
3.    
   Man’s jacket left behind.
   
4.    
   Her clothes on the floor.
   

Picking up the jacket, I look for the label. It’s been designed specifically for the owner, which means he has money. There are a few men on this island with big bucks, especially with all the evening arrivals. There are a number of possibilities, yet Jagger Hewitt is the guilty one. I know it.

I toss the jacket back over the chair. Before I act, I need to be certain. Cadie will inevitably return the garment, giving me the confirmation I need. What I’m going to do about it, I really don’t know. The guy I suspect owns the fucking island that I’m stuck on for the next month. Should he be culpable, my caveman vision will have to wait for me to finish taping. Besides, after what happened on the cruise ship, I know things are not always what they first appear to be. Just because they had drinks together doesn’t mean they got naked.

Okay…so Cadie got naked, that’s been already been established, but she could have been hot.
Right?
It is stuffy in here.

“Shag? Is that you?” her soft voice startles me, and I stumble back.

She doesn’t open her eyes.

“Come back to bed, babe,” she whispers before letting out a deep sigh and turning over, giving me a perfect view of the ass I want to paddle.

At least she’s dreaming about me.

Taking great care not to wake her, I slink back to the open door between our rooms. With a final look at her sleeping form, I change my mind, all over again. I am not releasing her from the PA position. As foolish as my decision may be, I’m keeping her with me.

I’ll follow her new rules of
non
-engagement and fulfill my contract on
Roping a Rock-Star
. And…I intend to do everything possible to fall out of love with my future step-sister. If she’s going to test the water, I’m diving in too.

Tomorrow is a new day. Professionalism at its finest for me, at least where Cadie’s concerned. Lila better beware too. I’m not the man she remembers. She’s overdue for a well-deserved payback.

* * *

Cadie

The pounding between my ears has taken on very real quality. It’s like someone is banging a drum, trying to torment me.

“No-o-o-o…” I groan, reaching for my phone.

It is 8:00am, island time. Due to the time zone difference, I am in sad shape. My hangover isn’t helping.

The hammering continues, and I realize it’s not just inside my skull. “Shut up!” I cover my head with a pillow, trying to drown out the racket. It doesn’t stop.

Who is knocking this early?

“Are you decent?” The answer to my ‘who is knocking question’ demands from the other side of our connecting door.

I’m not decent.

Holy hell! What happened last night? Why am I naked?

My head swims as I struggle into a sitting position and inspect my room, hoping to make sense of things. A man’s jacket is tossed over the closest chair, reminding me I’d been out consuming coconut cocktails, courtesy of Jagger Hewitt, billionaire and island patriarch. I’d then had the pleasure of meeting Shag’s former flame, who had been kind enough to warn me away from Shag, or as she referred to him, Sean…his real name. How quaint.
Bitch!

More pounding, crap.

“Up and at em’, Miss O’Shea. We’ve got work to do.”

“Go away!” I yell. “The meeting isn’t until ten.”

“I’d like to get an early start. I think we should discuss the red file.”

His cheerfulness sounds forced. I’m not surprised.

Dragging myself out of bed, I scout for the complementary robe I spotted last night. I slip it on and run my fingers through my hair, which of course, is a tangled mass of curls.

Crap. Jagger’s jacket.

I shuffle over to the chair and grab the coat, stuffing it into my nightstand’s top drawer. The sight of my cocktail glass triggers a gag. The fruit that looked and tasted so fresh last night looks soggy in the early morning sunlight.

Why is it so bright in here?

Finally, I make it to the door. The minute I turn the latch, Shag barges in, coffee in hand.

“Where’s mine?” I plead before realizing, as the personal assistant, I should have found us both a cup.

“Didn’t know I was in charge of your caffeine consumption.” He takes a sip, letting his gaze travel around the room.

I’m sure it’s just my imagination, but it seems like his gaze lingers on the chair where Jagger’s jacket had been.

“Let me hop in the shower. Can we meet in thirty minutes, or better yet, forty-five?”

He gives me a look I can’t read. “I can be generous. One hour. Bring the files and an alert Cadie to the back patio. We can prep for the meeting there.”

The words pour out before I can stop them, “Why are you acting so weird? One minute you can’t get enough of me the next…”

“Whoa, hold on. You made it crystal clear that we were business associates and future siblings, nothing more. Whatever happened between us, no matter how recent, is in the past, right? We’ve turned a new page in our re-la-tion-ship.”

He’s right, of course, but I don’t like how it feels or the way he’s talking. Everything is off. I’m not sure what I expected, but this patronizing version of Shag annoys me.