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

She’s with the band . . .

Tension filled the room. Emmie looked uncomfortable, like she needed to do something. But there was nothing she—or anyone—could do. It took time. Violet wasn’t worried. She watched as the guys tore open the pizza boxes, twisted the caps off the beers, and dug into their dinner.

“Are you as cool inside as you look on the outside?” Derek reached for a slice of pizza. “Because nothing seems to faze you. Not even Pete’s stanky dreads.”

Emmie nearly snorted lemonade out her nose. Everyone laughed.

Violet noticed the look of affection in Pete’s gaze as he regarded Emmie. A pang of envy struck her—these guys were so tight. No matter their troubles, they really liked each other. They were better than a family because they’d chosen each other.

She looked at Derek, who was laughing. That night in the bowling alley? She’d wanted so badly to let him in. Feel the stroke of his tongue in her mouth. Have him pour that energy, that passion into her. She wanted to know what it would feel like to have his possessive hands all over her body.

Titles by Erika Kelly

YOU REALLY GOT ME

I WANT YOU TO WANT ME

An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with EK Publishing LLC

Copyright © 2015 by Erika Kelly.

Excerpt from
You Really Got Me
copyright © 2015 by Erika Kelly.

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eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-18040-6

PUBLISHING HISTORY

Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / July 2015

Cover photograph of lead guitarist copyright © indigo lotos / Shutterstock.

Cover design by Rita Frangie.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book is dedicated to Tom, who filled the second half of my life with all that was missing from the first.

• All my love goes to you, Superman, for your boundless love, support, and dedication.
  
• There’s no denying it. I wouldn’t be published without you, Sharon. Yes, for your insightful critiques, but also for keeping me sane.
  
• My angel, Olivia, my most ardent supporter, thank you for being with me every step of the way.
  
• Joshua, your support and music industry expertise have been invaluable to me. You, sir, are awesome.
  
• I am wildly grateful to my publishing team. Thank you Leis Pedersen, Courtney Wilhelm, Bethany Blair, Courtney Landi, and Rita Frangie and the art department (I love my gorgeous covers!).
  
• Kevan Lyon, you’re the best agent. Thank you for all you do for me.
  
• The romance community is filled with the most generous people I’ve ever known. My writer friends in CTRWA, WRW, CoLoNY, and COFW have lit the path for me, and I can’t thank you all enough for your help.
  
• Thank you to the wonderfully supportive bloggers who shared my first book with their readers. You all made my debut a joy.
  

“You’re gonna give a girl a complex.”

Derek Valencia looked up from his phone to take in the woman coming out of his hotel bathroom. Licking her glossy lips, she cupped her big tits and leaned forward, giving him a view of lush cleavage. His pulse quickened, and he got hard.

He probably shouldn’t be fucking the woman who did publicity for the band, but it was rare to find a woman like her. One who genuinely wanted exactly what he did—the occasional night of hot, freaky sex, no strings attached. And when it ended, they’d both move on, neither letting it affect their business relationship. Careers came first.

And whichever role she played, Genevieve Babineaux played it balls-to-the-wall, whether she was in business, social, or sex kitten mode. He just happened to be the lucky bastard currently starring in her sex life.

Unfortunately, though, sex would have to wait. “You look gorgeous, sweetheart. But you gotta get dressed. Ray Montalbano’s on his way up.”

“Ray?” The seductiveness dropped right out of her tone, and her arms fell to her sides.

“Yep.”

“How’d that happen?” She didn’t look happy, but then she hadn’t been the one to set up the interview.

“Ran into him in the green room tonight. Said if I had a few minutes, he’d like to ask a few questions.”

Music blasted through the walls of the adjoining suite, and he checked the time on his laptop. He hated to shut the party down so early, but with the most revered music critic in the country on his way up to the room, he couldn’t risk any problems.

Especially after the gig they’d just played. Only ten days into their tour to promote their first album, and they were killing it. He had no doubt they’d go gold by the end of summer.

They
had
to go gold. Not only would it be a reward for all the hard work they’d put in the last several years, but it’d ensure the tour would continue beyond the summer.

And, of course, it would shut his dad up. Irrefutable proof his son had talent.

“I love it.” Another thing he liked about her. No issues, no tantrums. Just business. She turned back into the bathroom, flipped the light on. “I’ll get dressed.”

Just as he got up to talk to the guys, he heard the knock at the door.
That was fast.

No time to shut down the party, he pulled out his phone, and shot Ben and Cooper a text. Didn’t bother including Pete. He’d be too wasted to check his phone.

Shut it down. Ray Montalbano’s in my room right now.

A while back, when the partying had started getting out of control, the band had signed a contract with each other. Sure, they wanted the rock star lifestyle, but they wanted longevity in the business even more. So they’d made a line they wouldn’t cross—no drugs, no trashing hotel rooms . . . basically, nothing destructive.

The guys got it. He could trust them. Besides, Ray had said he’d only be there a few minutes. It couldn’t get too out of control.

On his way to the door, he leaned into the bathroom. “He’s here. You good?”

She smiled. “I’ll be better when he leaves and we can have some time to ourselves. It’s been too long, and I’m
desperate
for you.”

Fuckin’ A. He had a hot woman in his bed, they were taking the festival circuit by storm, and Ray Montalbano was here to interview him.

Life couldn’t get any sweeter.

Unlocking the security latch, he took a moment to get his head on right. He needed to be sharp for interviews, especially with the bombs his dad kept dropping all over the press. No matter how down and dirty his dad got, Derek would not respond. He’d stay focused on the band, the tour, on the
music
. The stuff that mattered.

He opened the door, and Ray gave him a chin nod.

“Hey, thanks for seeing me on such short notice.” With his scraggly dark hair and ill-fitting clothes, the guy came up to Derek’s shoulders. Seemed crazy a guy so unremarkable could wield such power in the music industry.

“Happy to do it.” He shook the guy’s hand, noticing the old Snatch T-shirt he wore. “Come on in.” He gestured to the shirt. “We’re gonna have to get you a new one.”

“I want this one. It’ll be a collector’s item one day.”

First order of business with Irwin had been changing the band name to Blue Fire. Derek had to smile at the original image of a beaver they’d come up with nearly ten years ago. They’d come a long way since then.

Leading the critic to the desk, he pulled out the chair. “Have a seat.” Derek sat on the edge of the bed.

“Awesome.” The guy flopped into the chair, took out his phone, and set it on the desk. He played with it for a moment. “You mind if I record this?” He touched the phone.

“Not at all.”

“Fuckin’ great show, man.”

“Yeah, thanks. It was pretty incredible.”

“How the hell’d you get those guys onstage with you? Was it planned?”

Pretty much everything Derek did was planned. Sure, they had a great label, they had Irwin Ledger, the best A&R guy in the business, and everything that came with it but, bottom line, it was
his
band. No one cared about his success or failure as much as he did. He couldn’t just hope things worked out. “Sure. We had a list of celebrities in town for the festival, so we invited the guys we knew played in bands to jam with us.”

“Brilliant idea—especially for a new band. Talk about generating buzz. That was fuckin’ awesome.” He shook his head, smiling, as though still in the audience, watching the jam. “You seen any reviews yet?”

“Just got back to the room, so no. You post yours already?” After a show, he and Slater had to do press, spend some time in the green room shaking hands. It ate up a lot of time.

Ray nodded. “You should check it out.”

“I definitely will.”

“No, I mean now. Read it now.”

An uneasy feeling crept down his spine.
This
was why he always took that moment to get his head on right. The look in Ray’s eyes . . . the guy was up to something, and it wasn’t good.

At that moment, the bathroom door opened, and Gen’s expensive scent came billowing out. She sashayed over to them, always the seductress, even in business mode. “Ray.” She reached for him, but the critic didn’t even get up to greet her, just stared, jaw hanging.

Gen did that to people.

She pushed right through the awkwardness, air kissing the guy on each cheek. “Was that a spectacular show tonight or what?”

Ray swallowed.

“Honestly, Irwin’s convinced these guys are the next U2.”

That snapped him out of it. “They are. Huge potential. That’s why I wanted to talk to you tonight.” He homed in on Derek. “Go on and read the review.”

Derek reached for his laptop on the desk and dragged it closer. Once he logged onto the Beatz website, his pulse kicked up a notch in anticipation.
Let it be good.
It was one thing for his dad to fuck with
him
, but he couldn’t let it hurt the band.

He had to be careful. Ray wouldn’t want him reading the review right then if Derek’s reaction didn’t mean something. He had to stay cool and manage the situation. By tomorrow morning, everyone in the industry would have read this article.

Gen leaned around his shoulder. “So?”

A thrill shot through him seeing his band’s name in the headline.

BLUE FIRE ROCKS MIAMI JAM, STEALS THE WHOLE DAMN FESTIVAL

“Oh, Ray, that’s just wonderful.” Gen’s voice sounded sultry.

Derek gulped whole sections of the article, basically skimming all the praise—fuck yes, only good shit about Slater and the guys—and then his gaze slammed into his father’s name. An electrical charge rocked his body.

When asked how it feels to watch his son onstage performing with the likes of Russell Crowe, Jared Leto, and Johnny Depp, just like he used to do twenty years ago when Fusion Stream filled arenas, Eddie Valencia said, “I suppose the comparisons are inevitable. But I really think you’re dealing with apples and oranges.” He laughed. “Not sure you can compare ‘the jazz virtuoso’ to the ‘sex god,’ but okay. Let’s just say I’m glad to see him achieving the kind of fame he craves.”

“When did you talk to Eddie?” Gen spoke in the brisk tone she used for damage control. “He wasn’t at the show tonight.”

“I called him,” Ray said. “He’s been in the press a lot lately, right? It seems weird. He’s been out of the scene for years, and the minute his son breaks out, suddenly Eddie’s back? So I was curious. Wanted to find out his game.”

Derek really needed to say something, but the loud music from next door merged with the noise in his head, making it difficult to think.

The kind of fame he craves.

Fucker. What was his dad’s problem?
Jesus,
I’m his son
. But he had to pull himself together. He couldn’t lose his shit in front of the press. Which was exactly what Ray wanted.

“Oh, it’s not a game,” Gen said. “He’s genuinely proud of his son. Tells him all the time.”

Ray’s gaze slid to Derek. With every bit of restraint he could marshal, he kept his features impassive. He would not give the critic a poisoned arrow to fling back out into cyberspace.

Think of the band. Think of your brothers.

“So they’re not digs?” Ray asked. “The sex god remark? Not a dig?”

“Well, come on, just look at him.” Gen practically purred. “Nicknames are given for a reason. Just ask his last two girlfriends.”

Why the hell had she brought that up? Like he’d dated them because they were supermodels.
Give me a break.
He’d worked with Adriana on a music video, for Christ’s sake.

Okay, this was bullshit. He wasn’t going to just sit there and let this guy try to provoke a reaction out of him.

Determination rose like a motherfucker inside him. He would not let his dad get to him. Would not let him into his head. Derek had left home at seventeen and never looked back for this very reason. His dad was toxic.

“You have to know my dad’s sense of humor. He’s just giving me shit because I play bass, where he played sax. He was the boss, and I’m in the background. He likes to joke around that I use the tats and girlfriends to make up for the fact that I stand behind Slater onstage.”

The taste of his father’s words on his tongue made him sick. But he knew he sounded convincing, and he hoped Ray printed it word for word.

“I guess I can see that.” But no, Ray
didn’t
look convinced.

Smart guy.

Glass shattered in the adjoining room.
Shit
.

“Are you coming to any more shows?” Gen reached out to touch Ray’s arm. Her silky dark hair spilled over her shoulders, drawing the guy’s attention to her plump cleavage.

Great distraction.
Thanks, babe.

“I’ll be at Madison Square Garden, of course.” He paused, shifting in the chair. “Your dad’s invited me into his studio, wants me to check out some new stuff he’s working on.”

“Yeah? Cool. It’s great. You’ll love it.” What new stuff? The old bastard hadn’t played a note in years.

“You got all those celebrities onstage with you tonight,” Ray said. “Ever think about jamming with your dad?”

“Apples and oranges, remember?” Gen laughed. “Trust me, Eddie’s brilliance would get lost on the stage with these five rockers.”

Derek blocked out the implied cut in her comment. Had to. “My dad can open his own show on any stage in the city. He doesn’t need to get up on mine.”

Ray enlivened. “I think he wants to. How would you feel about that? You and Eddie Valencia, jamming at MSG?”

A body thumped against the wall, the voices growing louder.
Dammit.
Derek got up. Fortunately, Gen continued the conversation with the guy, giving Derek a chance to go over there. He’d kill the party and, at the same time, grab a minute to calm his shit down. “Excuse me.” He headed for the door to the adjoining room.

His father wanted to
get up onstage with him
? After shutting him out of everything—every jam session, every road trip, every fucking meal or cup of coffee he’d ever had with his musician friends. And ten days into his son’s first headlining tour, his dad wanted in? What a prick.

An image flashed in his mind. Him, the little boy, standing outside his dad’s basement studio—the sound of laughter, deep voices, an instrument being tuned—peering in to see the greatest jazz musicians in the world preparing to jam. To this day, that feeling of desperation lingered within him. Talk about
craving
something? He’d craved being a part of his dad’s world. Nothing hurt worse than seeing his dad’s features harden at the sight of him. Watching the legendary sax player storm over and slam the door in his son’s face.

The boy’s whole body vibrating with the sound of it.

Why
the fuck
did that still hurt?

It didn’t.

Unlocking the door, he pushed into the suite.

And froze. What had started out as a couple dozen people had turned into a full-on rave. His skin chilled. What if paparazzi had gotten in? They didn’t need any bad press.

Quickly, he made his way through the large room, scanning faces, looking for his friends. Finding Cooper in the
kitchen, he grabbed him by the back of his shirt. “Shut this down right now. Didn’t you get my text? I’ve got Ray Montalbano interviewing me next door.”

Cooper’s eyes looked glassy, and he swayed.

“Snap out of it, Coop. I’m serious. You have to get everyone out of here.”

He had to get back to his interview. The last thing he needed was for Ray to come looking for him and find his bandmates getting fucked up.

Trusting Coop to get it done, he wove his way back into his room to see Gen at the door with Ray.

Thank Christ.

“Hey, thanks for coming by, man.” He shook Ray’s hand. The noises coming from next door grew louder, something else hitting the wall. Something heavy. Was furniture being thrown? He was going to kick some asses.

“Yeah, sure. Appreciate the time. Listen, hit me up when you get to the city. I’d like to sit down with—”

A piercing scream cut through the thumping bass.

Adrenaline punched through his system. He shot Gen a look, making sure she understood to get rid of Ray. Not a chance could that guy see what was going on in there.