Bad Beats: A Rock-Star Step-Brother Romance (5 page)

During our brief interaction, Slyder and Chloe manage to sneak by unnoticed. Chloe snatches up Slyder’s handout before he can pull out his chair. Shaking my head, I again picture her walking the plank and this time add on the image of her landing in a pool of hungry sharks.

Misty isn’t thrilled with her either. I’m pretty fucking sure she wouldn’t hesitate to help me shove Chloe off said plank. If only Chloe wasn’t the future mother of my best friend’s first kid.

“Why don’t you let Slyder have a look? It’s his schedule, after all, not yours, Chloe.”

I can’t help but grin. With that rebuke, Misty is back in my good graces, at least for now. She’s one of the few women who can intimidate Chloe with a glance. That’s a gift I’m not ready to give up. As long as I ignore her advances and keep things purely professional, moving forward, we should be fine.
I hope.

Chloe, on the other hand, is not fine. She glowers but hands over the paper in question to Slyder. She knows better than quarrel with a more formable adversary.  

Marx groans, sounding frustrated. “This is fucked up, Misty. Shit. This is supposed to be a vacation.” He crumbles the paper in his fist and tosses it on the table.

“No,” she fires back. “
This
is work, not a vacation. You. Are. Working.” She punctuates the final three words with a stomp of her foot. “Besides, Rod wrote up the rules, not me.”

The fact our manager is having Misty do his dirty work doesn’t dissuade Marx. He snaps back and the battle is on. Unlike Chloe, he thrives on conflict with my PA.

The two of them argue like scorned lovers.

Maybe she’s been in his pants too.

Not caring either way, I tune them out and glance down at the schedule and immediately see what has Marx and now Stix up in arms.

The label has decided we should have dinner with our winners at least five out of ten nights, here in the main dining area, no exceptions. The grand prize winner (and personal guest) will join us. I’m more than okay with that particular item. It’s the rest of the list that has my blood boiling.

Two additional guests will dine with us those nights as well, and to make matters worse, the reporter will eat at our table too, just like one big dysfunctional family. I’m surprised they aren’t forcing us to finish all our veggies before we’re allowed dessert.

We are also required to spend an additional three hours, per day, socializing with our winners, on the ship, or when we visit the various ports along the way. If that’s not enough to keep us out of trouble, we will perform a minimum of three times during the ten day voyage, varying our song sets. Oh, and let’s not forget, we’re going to be writing new music.

Just fucking great.

In other words, the label wants us to create an abundance of goodwill and guarantee more good press to make up for my most recent blunders.

Why did I fuck with the senator’s daughter in the first place? And worse, why the hell did I tell a conniving talk show host all about it?

I wish now that I’d paid more attention to the morality clause in our contract before signing my life away. We’d been young and inexperienced, and our manager at the time wasn’t exactly on top of things, but with our fame continuing to rise and our fan-base growing daily, we now have the necessary leverage to renegotiate terms, especially since our original contract is ready to expire. I’ll take the band elsewhere if Rogue Beat Records doesn’t loosen its chokehold.

Misty stops debating with Marx and Stix and scowls toward the far entrance.

Curious, I follow her gaze.

What I see forces me to suck in air like I’m drowning, something I’ve never done at the sight of a woman, no matter how gorgeous; and believe me, I’ve seen gorgeous.

Coming our way, her hand on Omar’s elbow, is a new version of Cadie O’Shea. She’s stunning. Forget breathtaking, she’s absolutely breath-stealing.  

I’ll worry about why my head of security is escorting her later. Right now I want to drink in the delicious woman at his side.

I realize immediately that Anthony Coleman was involved in Cadie’s transformation. He’s an expert at taking a person’s best features and making them shine bigger and brighter and is one of the most sought out stylists on the planet. Wherever there’s a red carpet event, Tony is busy playing fairy godmother.

Now don’t get all offended. I’m not bashing! He frequently wears a t-shirt that says:
Fairy Godmother Extraordinaire.
He’s been known to pose with a wand too. There is no doubt his skills truly are magical. He’s the only stylist I’ll ever work with; the reason he’s on retainer with us.

What he’s done with the Irish beauty is worthy of an award. Not that she wasn’t sexy as hell with her glasses and oversized clothes. But now…now she is a simmering seductress hell-bent on scorching my soul. I’ll sure as fuck risk the burns for a chance to feel her fire.

I chuckle at my descriptive word play but am quickly sucked back into her spell, allowing the simmering storm within me to surge back to life as I fully absorb her presence.

Her curves are on display in a form-hugging black dress that shimmers just enough in the dimmed lights without being tacky, and unlike some women, she manages to leave enough hidden for me to imagine. The neckline is low, teasing me with full, round tits I want to worship, but the dress hits at her knees, turning her legs into a mystery that needs solving. The longer length demands I slide the slinky fabric up her thighs and taste the sweet honey that waits between them.

Robin lets a piercing whistle rip across the room like a drunken sailor, ruining what could have been a perfect moment. She’s clearly reached sloppy drunk, and our appetizers haven’t even arrived yet.

Cadie blushes and turns a worried gaze toward her friend; the atmosphere rapidly shifts from an erotic entrance to an embarrassing event destined to escalate.

“Oh my God!” Robin squeals. “Cadie Cat, you look good enough to eat. Who needs supper with you around?”

A few random chuckles appear to confirm Robin’s sentiment.

Cadie isn’t laughing though and neither am I. She has gone from pink-cheeked to face-flaming-scarlet, in two seconds flat.

“Robin, why don’t we go to our cabin? We can eat there…”

Not bothering to let her finish, my dutiful PA seems to find Cadie’s idea commendable and jumps into action. “That’s a great idea. Omar, let’s get the ladies out of here.”

Omar turns to me, waiting for my answer. He’s my employee, not Misty’s.

“There is no reason for Miss O’Shea to miss dinner. You two can accompany Robin. I’ll make sure Cadie is taken care of.”

Cadie glances from me to her friend and then at Misty and Omar, clearly not sure if she should leave Robin in the care of strangers. I suspect tonight isn’t the first time she’s been forced to make decisions for her overindulgent friend.

Robin’s eyes focus, and she seems to experience a moment of clarity. “I am exhausted. You stay. We’ll have fun tomorrow. I promise. Don’t worry about me.”

“Pathetic,” Chloe mutters, eager as always to get her two cents in. “If you can’t handle your liquor, don’t drink it.”

Cadie’s Irish temper flares to life. “The fact you feel the need to comment; that’s what is pathetic,” she snaps, surprising everyone and earning what might have been a brief look of approval from Misty.

Slyder, to my surprise, whispers harshly in his wife’s ear, silencing any comeback she might be contemplating.

I was right about the whole dysfunctional family thing. We are causing one hell of a scene, and it’s obvious everyone is enjoying the spectacle. A few foolish individuals have broken the no-filming-the-band-rule and are pointing their devices toward our table. Not only are our guests observing us, but Marcus Rodriquez is getting an eyeful and earful for his future cover story. I’m not sure when the reporter joined us, but he is tapping furiously on his tablet, wielding his stylus with expert efficiency.

I nod at Drew, my security detail’s number two man, and then toward one of the rule-breakers. Drew sets off to put an end to any future tabloid nightmares. He’ll remind the offenders of the non-disclosure agreement they signed before boarding and that there are specific times to take photos. Only during those prescheduled slots are their actions permitted.

Thank the gods of Rock n’ Roll. At that instant, four double doors near the kitchen area swing open, and our servers glide into the room, pushing carts of steaming appetizers. People move away from the various cocktail bars, fruity concoctions in hand, and find their seats. Caribbean style music floods the room, setting the mood, and the incoming food steals the attention away from our group.

That’s the best news.

Taking a deep breath, eager to concentrate on my current conquest, I go to pull out Cadie’s chair but am interrupted by a screaming woman who sounds like she’s being slaughtered.

“It’s a rat!” Someone else yells.

Fucking hell.
First Robin’s ill-timed outburst and now this…I can’t catch a break.

The clatter of silverware hitting plates follows more screeches.

Expecting Cadie to copy the women (and a surprising number of men) climbing onto their chairs, I’m shocked when she takes off her heels and dashes in the direction of the first scream.

Collapsing onto my own chair, I run my palms over my smooth scalp, a reminder I cut off my trademark mane on an impulse.

Why stop following my impulses now?

With that question guiding me, I knock back a straight shot and trudge after Cadie O’Shea and the rogue rodent who has interrupted my seduction plan. The sooner I send the furry fiend overboard, the sooner I can get down to some serious shagging.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

Ah…who the fuck knows.

The way things have been going, I’ll probably get a slap across the face. At this point, nothing would surprise me.

Cadie

“Lose your dreams, and you might lose your mind.”

-Mick Jagger

My first rat was called Clyde.

His female cage mate, Bonnie, was his counterpart in crime. Both had provided hours of mindless entertainment and comfort following my mom’s accident, showing me just how ridiculous some people’s phobias are regarding rodents. 

The idea that some ignorant passenger might intentionally harm one is enough to motivate me into action. As hard as it is to leave Shag Steal behind, waiting so gallantly to seat me, I force myself to move. The first thing I do is discard my high heels. Once they’re removed, I have no trouble winding through the tables at a brisk trot and dodging the few brave souls who aren’t huddled on their chairs.

I can’t help but laugh. Too bad Robin is missing the show.

“It’s under my jacket.” A thirty-something man points at a rumpled jacket a few feet from his chair, where he’s perched like a bird on a branch.

I look away, afraid if I give the situation too much thought, I’ll really lose it. The whole thing is hilarious, grown men and women afraid of an itty bitty critter. I’m guessing it belongs to someone, maybe an employee. The ship is too prestigious and clean to house a clan of rogue rats.

“I tossed my coat over it,” the man explains the obvious as if he’s prevented a national catastrophe.

Giving him a nod, I slow my pace and move cautiously toward the rat’s hiding place.

“Need some help?”

I recognize Shag’s voice immediately. He’s right behind me. His warm breath tickles my neck and his presence rattles me.
Why is he standing so close?

“I’m good. Thank you,” I answer without turning around, hoping he’ll take the hint.

He doesn’t listen and maneuvers around me, reaching down.

Swatting his hand aside, I kneel by the bundle. “You’re going to scare him!”

“Him?”

“Him, her…it doesn’t matter. What matters is I don’t want the rat to get hurt.”

“What are you planning to do with him or her?”

I close my eyes and sigh, fighting the urge to give him a piece of my mind, which would end up being a major overreaction. Instead, I tell the truth. “I like rodents. I just want to make sure he’s okay and finds a safe place.”

“Did you find my Rico?” a familiar voice asks, sounding anxious yet hopeful. “He escaped from his cage. He’s quite the Houdini.”

The same man who made me look and feel like a princess rushes over, squatting next to me. “I should have known you’d like my babies,” Anthony Coleman teases while slipping his hand under the only thing keeping a boatload of people from complete hysteria.

God forbid, if this crowd was forced to face a real disaster…we’d be doomed.

“Ah, there you are.” Tony’s affection is apparent as he gently rescues his little pet.

A black and white face, nose twitching, peeks through his clasped hands, another escape plot already brewing.

Women squeal their displeasure, while the guys clamor down from their chairs, clearly embarrassed over their reactions.

“May I?” I hope Tony will let me hold him.

“Only you, darling.”

I cuddle the mischievous mouse, giving its nose a peck, which earns a chorus of conflicting responses. A few tables over, one woman appears to faint and is lowered to her chair.

Handing Rico back, I go stiff.

With so many gazes glued on me, I am bombarded with unfamiliar and uncomfortable feelings. Shag somehow senses my dilemma and places a big hand against my lower back before making his announcement.

“Show is over, folks. Don’t let the food get cold. Rico is going back inside his cage, where I’m sure he’ll stay.”

Nervous laughter follows, and then they actually do what he suggested, turning their attention to their plates as Tony makes a timely getaway with his furry friend.

“Uh, thanks. I’m not real big on being in the center of things,” I babble, hating how frazzled I sound.

“No problem. I can handle it.” He winks and flashes the crooked grin I’ve seen so often captured on magazine covers.

“That’s right, famous rock-stars enjoy attention, or perhaps they need it…” I say over my shoulder, making my way back to our table.

I’m not sure why I have the sudden urge to be so snarky. One minute I’m thrilled he’s pulling out my chair; the next, I’m surprised he’s followed me on my rodent-roundup; and now I’m just plain flustered by his interest.

Considering my history, I don’t have a reference point for someone like Shag Steal. He has my emotions doing summersaults, cartwheels, and maybe even back-flips. I’m so far out of my comfort zone I might as well be on the moon. I wish now I would have gone back to the suite with Robin. Dealing with her drunken ramblings is something I am familiar with.

“Wow, that was a crowd pleaser.” Roxie’s comment brings my mind back to the moment.

I’m standing at our table, and everyone is looking expectantly my direction. I hardly remember the walk across the room.

I shrug, wishing I could disappear. “I didn’t want anyone to hurt it.”

“I hear you. Rodents are cool. Ask Stix. I wanted to buy a capybara. The world’s largest rodent.”

“You’ve had so many animal obsessions,” Stix confirms his brother’s statement. “But capybaras are fucking awesome. I won’t argue with that. When we saw them swimming in Panama…”

“Sit!” Roxie motions to the chair next to her while everyone launches into their own animal inspired stories.

Not sure what else to do, I find my discarded shoes and join her. To my horror, Shag plops down and reclines in the chair to my right.

As hungry as I am, all I can do is nibble. My nerves are already fried and it’s only been a day. How will I survive nine more days at sea with Shag Steal shadowing my every move? Hopefully he’ll get bored and move on to an easier target, someone better suited for his rock-god image.

Is that what I really want?

“Miss O’Shea…? Did you hear me?”

“What? I’m sorry.” I’m not sure who is talking, but I try to look friendly.

A man I don’t recognize offers a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m Marcus Rodriguez,
Rolling Rock Magazine.
I’m covering the cruise. I wanted to ask you a few questions.”

Holy Crap! Rolling Rock?

“Well, I guess…”

Again Shag comes to my rescue. “Man, let the woman eat. Aren’t you supposed to schedule interview times?”

Shag’s PA, back from escorting Robin, confirms Shag’s sentiment. “Mr. Steal is correct. You need to schedule interviews in advance.”

“Fine. I’ll do that. I just wanted to see how she’s enjoying her first day.”

“It’s been crazy,” I hear myself answer. “In fact, I’m tired. Jetlag, I’m sure. I think I’ll go check on Robin and call it an early night.”

“You haven’t touched your food,” Shag protests.

Misty gives Shag a puzzled look that the reporter notices as well.

I can’t get out of here fast enough.

What was I thinking getting all dressed up and hoping for some romantic, high-sea adventure?

Clearly, I wasn’t.

“Goodnight,” I add, not wanting to seem rude or ungrateful. “See you all later.”

Roxie grins. “Get some sleep. We can hook up tomorrow for some girl time. We’ll be cruising the Atlantic all day. That gives us enough time to get into trouble.”

In spite of my overwhelming desire to flee the room, Crude Element’s lone female member gives me a fresh dose of hope. She’s right. Girl time is exactly what I need. I certainly don’t need any man or men to enjoy this experience.

“Sounds good. Mind if I drag a hung over Robin along?”

Her smile widens. “I wouldn’t expect otherwise. Poolside…around ten?”

“We’ll be there.” I scoop up my clutch and move to leave.

Shag is on his feet. He grips my wrist. “I’ll walk you.”

“I…uh. Oh fine,” I relent, not wanting to cause another scene.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers against my ear, sending a spike of adrenaline and a tidal wave of desire crashing through me.

How long am I supposed to resist his advances?

I’m not a one night stand kind of girl, but when he calls me ‘his girl’ I can’t help but wonder if one night of Shag’s shagging might be the medicine required to cure the increasing ache between my legs and the hammering of my heart.

* * *

Shag

“Are you sure I can’t talk you into a stroll outside? With everyone eating, we might be able to steal a few minutes of peace.”
God, I sound like a fucking idiot.

“You did save me from that reporter’s probing,” she says with a hint of amusement.

“Probing? I would have knocked him out for that.”

Her eyebrow arches. “Is everything about sex with you?”

“I like to perform and party,” I toss out one of my standard answers before adding, “
and
probe.”

She’s not impressed. Her lush lips form a tight line that I want to kiss away.

Why won’t she smile?
Women tend to laugh at whatever I say, funny or not.

Not Cadie O’Shea.

That fucking rat had her star struck, but rich successful musicians make her mad. Go figure. Ready to give up, I’m shocked by her next words.

“Okay, let’s walk. I could use some fresh air.”

The dopey grin on my face is impossible to hide, one more sign that she is seriously messing with my mind. Unsure what to say, for the first time in my life, I stay silent and take her hand. She accepts the gesture without commenting, and we make our way to the main deck. I’m hung up on how her hand feels so small in mine, and the urge to protect and pamper her is overwhelming and unexpected.

For fuck sake, I’m just holding woman’s hand.

It hits me then why this situation is so monumental.

I haven’t held a girl’s hand since Lila, the redhead who ruined me for all other women. The only female I’ve ever said ‘I love you’ to besides my mom.

As much as I want to forget our relationship’s explosive ending, I can’t. The memories wash over me.

“Keep your eyes closed. No peeking,” I order softly.

“What is it? Why all the secrecy?” Lila insists. She seems edgy, like she wants to run hard and fast the opposite direction. 

She’s not big on surprises, but I’ve orchestrated what I hope will be an epic event she’ll remember forever. I trust she’ll forgive the surprise element by the time the day is over.

I am eager to settle our relationship status before we head off to Los Angeles. It’s our band’s long overdue break. A chance to showcase our showmanship and unique sound in front of several, highly respected, record label executives. It’s all we’ve worked for these past years, and Lila has been by my side since the beginning, encouraging and pushing me to continue when I was tempted to give up. I can’t imagine taking this next step without her.

Prepared to share any future success with her, it is time to make my intentions known to the girl I’ve loved since seventh grade.

Slipping behind her, I untie the bandana that shields her eyes. I know Slyder is hiding somewhere nearby recording her shocked expression. My guess is the tree in front of us, to the left.

I’ve brought her to the lakeside spot where we lost our virginity. We were way too young. Shit… we’re still young. We only graduated from high school two years ago, but she’s it for me. We broke up once, for a few weeks, about six months ago. I thought I was going to die without her.

Refusing to dwell on the past, I look up at the sign that asks the one question that will define our future.

‘Will you marry me, Lila?’ is professionally etched, across a massive, vinyl banner that’s stretched between two trees. On cue, as planned, Roxie cuts the strings holding a bouquet of fifty white balloons. They billow skyward, creating a stunning spectacle above the lake.

Lila gasps and lets out a cry that sounds more pained than excited.

“N-o-o-o-o!” she wails.

Our friends and family, who have been hiding in a nearby barn, stream out, eager to celebrate and unaware of the developing crisis. The ballad I wrote just for Lila starts playing, courtesy of the state-of-the-art sound system we set up in the barn, sharing the space with our guests. 

Everything is perfect…except her reaction.

I move in front of her and drop to my knee. When I look up, it’s not love I see reflected in her eyes. It’s regret.

“I can’t,” she whispers. “Oh, God. I should have told you. I was going to, but the time was never right.”

Forgetting we’re in a mob of people who have gone quiet, I demand answers, “What are you talking about? I love you. You love me. It’s time, baby. I don’t understand. This is what we always wanted.”

She shakes her head.