I Want You to Want Me (Rock Star Romance #2) (21 page)

“No one agrees with your dad. I’m asking about you. What’s more important to
you
, the music or the fame?”

“I want to be good. Really good. Fame
means
I’m good.”

“Does it? I can think of plenty of mediocre bands that had a lot of fame. Actors, too. I think you could go platinum a thousand times over and you still wouldn’t feel good
enough. You could be as famous as Mick Jagger, and you’d still be the little boy whose dad told him he was all flash and no substance.”

Well, fuck. Talk about ringing true. That rang like a bell throughout his entire body.

She turned her face into his neck, kissing him lightly. “Derek?”

“Yeah.”

“What will make you feel you’re good enough?”

“You know the answer to that.” He’d never told anyone but her. He cupped the back of her head and kissed her, poured all he felt for her into that kiss. As always, she responded to him—fuck, did she respond to him—and he tipped her back onto the mattress and pinned her down, sliding his tongue into her mouth. He was so fucking hard, he couldn’t stand it.

She pulled her mouth away. “The Ledger List?”

He didn’t bother answering, just sucked her earlobe into his mouth.

Her body tightened around him, nipples hardening against his chest. “How can you make that list, Derek?”

He blew out a breath of resignation. “You’re fucking evil.” She’d led him right into the mouth of the lion. She’d known what she was doing all along. “Buck fucking O’Reilly.”

He could feel her smile against his cheek. “Then I think you should do it.”

He dropped his head to the mattress. “What if I suck?”

“What if you’re brilliant?” Her hand slid down his side, pushing between their bodies. He lifted up to give her room, and she grasped his throbbing dick. “Only one way to find out.” She fisted him, sliding her hand up and down his shaft. “Hm, let me see.” Letting him go, she cupped his balls, gave them a squeeze. “Yep, you’ve got the balls all right.”

Violet awakened to pure quiet. A rare sound in her house lately.

No wall of heat against her back, she rolled over, taking in the empty space beside her.

This is what it’s going to feel like when he leaves.

She’d never minded it before, of course. She’d always loved waking up to the peace and quiet of her farm. Now, though, she would have something to miss.

And she would. She’d miss him as surely as if she’d carved out a piece of her own heart and handed it to him to go in a doggie bag. Her pulse quickened, and her breathing turned shallow. The impulse to run hit her hard.

That was all she knew, really. Running. From one home to another, never making any attachments. Never even trying. Just knowing any day now, she’d move on.

But this time . . . this time she didn’t have to run at all. She could try. Just go for it. Try and see if he meant what he said, if they really did have something special.

She threw back the covers, unable to lie still and worry over something she couldn’t control. It wasn’t like she could make someone love her, make Derek choose her. Either it worked—and her story ended up like Emmie and
Slater’s—or it didn’t—and he moved on to the next woman he worked with, breaking her heart.

But it wasn’t like she could quit now. She’d gotten in too deeply. So all she could do was try.

At least I have a heart to break.
That meant something, right?

After a quick shower, she headed down to the kitchen to find Francesca and Emmie at the table. A platter filled with crumbs, one croissant, and half a muffin sat off to the side. Mugs crowded the counter by the sink.

“Where is everyone?”

Francesca looked up. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

Violet looked to the clock on the stove to see it was nearly ten. “I never sleep this late.”

“I’m glad you did. Your friends were up early, taking measurements. This one went around the property with them and made a big list.” Francesca nodded to Emmie, giving her a warm smile. “I sent them into Riverhead, to the Home Depot.” She looked worried. “I hate taking business away from Sal, but they needed a lot of things, and they don’t have time to wait while Sal orders them.”

“Wait, I don’t understand. Are they building something? It’s probably not a good idea because I don’t actually own the land yet.” A pinch of fear rattled her nerves. But she reminded herself she had a great lawyer and a strong case.

A big smile warmed Francesca’s features. “No, honey, they’re fixing things.”

Violet’s gaze shot to the faucet. “Really?” It was no longer dripping.

“The guys are pretty handy,” Emmie said.

“Oh, God. The last thing they should do with their time is bother with my house.”

“Don’t even go there. There’re plenty of hours in the day. They’ll fix stuff, jam, write songs . . . believe me, I haven’t seen them this happy in ages. There’s something about this farm.”

“I know.”
It’s magical.

“Francesca was showing me your products.” Emmie lifted the stationery. With wildflower petals, Mimi had
made a picture of a svelte woman in a straw hat, carrying a picnic basket across a field and heading toward the beach.

“That’s gorgeous.” She looked up to Francesca, who beamed a proud smile.

“I love this.” Emmie ran a finger over the pulpy paper.

“Isn’t it lovely?” Francesca said. “My daughter makes it. I wish she’d do more of it. She’d be in her element out here.”

“I think I could be, too,” Emmie said. “And the guys? They’re writing new material. I know how important this tour is, but I’m telling you, seeing them reconnect like this—to each other, to the creative part of their work—it’s unbelievable.” She ran a finger around the rim of her mug. “Last night, Jonny and I came back along the road instead of the beach, and we saw a property for sale. We’re thinking about buying a house out here.”

“Seriously?” Her heart pounded. “What about your place in Austin?”

“Slater only bought the house for the guys to live in while they tried to make a go of the band. Everything’s changed now. We’re getting married. We’ll need our own place, and I’m just really loving it out here.”

“You haven’t seen winter,” Francesca said.

“I’m from White Plains. I know all about winters in the Northeast. I actually like the change of seasons.”

“But what about the band? Don’t the two of you need to be near them?” Of course, she was only thinking of Derek, who lived in Austin when he wasn’t touring or in the studio.

Her smile widened. “Come on, Violet. You know he’d move out here in a heartbeat. He’s got no ties to Austin. Besides, Jonny’s talking about building a state-of-the-art studio. Wouldn’t that be amazing?”

It would.
God, it would
.

Could this be happening? Could she really have Derek Valencia?

•   •   •

“Guys,
seriously, dinner’s been ready for a while now,” Emmie shouted into the barn.

Violet smiled at the way Slater instantly stopped what he was doing. He seemed to know how far he could push his
woman, who’d been asking them to come in for at least twenty minutes. They’d been so into their jam they hadn’t wanted to stop. But this time, Ben set down his drumsticks and said, “Francesca’s making
biscuits.
”

Violet got up off the old, dusty hay bales, and Derek held up a finger, asking her to wait. They shut down their amps, put their instruments away, and filed out of the barn.

Once everyone left, Derek dove onto her, tackling her. She laughed, welcoming him in her arms.

“I missed you,” he said.

“I’ve been right here for the last half hour.”

“I haven’t been alone with you all day.” He nuzzled her neck.

She loved the way he kissed her, overwhelming her with all that desire and need. He put his whole self into everything he did, including loving her. And when his hand slid beneath her linen shorts and panties and squeezed her bare ass, she stopped thinking at all.

Her hands glided up his back, curving around his shoulders to draw him more tightly to her. She loved the way he smelled, like fresh air and clean soap. She loved his powerful body, the grip of his hands that claimed her so possessively.

And he kissed like he never wanted to stop. Like kissing her was enough in itself.

Until it no longer was, and his hands jammed under her shirt so roughly, he popped a button off.

“We’re not doing this in the barn.” Although her body told him something else entirely, as her hands cupped the back of his head.

“I need you.” He thrust his hips against her, his very hard erection pressing into her belly.

Desire churned, making her hot and hungry for him. She moaned from the assault of his hands, his deliciously sweeping tongue, and the insistent thrust of his hips. He had her shirt unbuttoned and shoved off her shoulders before she even knew it was happening.

She still had a hope of stopping things—anyone could come into the barn—until he jerked down the cup of her bra and his hot mouth covered her nipple. His tongue licked and swirled and then pulled hard.

“God.” Reaching into his shorts, she grasped his hard length. “I want you in my mouth.”

“Fuck, yes.” He stood up, shucking off his shorts as he held out a hand and pulled her to her feet. “Take off your bra.”

She shrugged the shirt off, unhooked the bra, and dropped it. His greedy hands cupped her breasts, sensuously squeezing them. She sank to her knees, licked him from the root to the head before sucking him deep into her mouth. He gasped, his hands threading through her hair, his hips gently rocking.

“Violet.” Her name, spoken with such reverence, had never sounded so beautiful before. “Oh, fuck, V.” His legs shook as he pumped faster, losing control. Her hands gripped the hard globes of his ass, as she took him even deeper into her mouth. And then he was chanting her name, fisting his hands in her hair, and thrusting hard enough to knock her off balance. But she held on to him, her body hot and restless for him.

“I’m coming. Oh, Jesus, V, I’m coming.” He clamped his hands on either side of her head, holding her in place as he pumped in rough, unsteady strokes, releasing himself into her mouth. He moaned in ecstasy as he slowed and pulled out.

And then he dropped to his knees and held her, his face lowering into her hair. “My sweet V.”

•   •   •

By
the time they came out of the barn, twilight had fallen, so she didn’t immediately recognize the figure striding toward them. Derek had his arm around her waist, holding her close, kissing her cheek. “After dinner, let’s take a walk on the beach.”

He gave her a smile, but it was in that exact moment that the crisp haircut, the light blue button-down, khakis, and boat shoes of the approaching man clicked into recognition. “Randall?”

The lawyer’s gaze flitted between her and Derek, settling in a look of shock. “You have a boyfriend?”

She disentangled herself from Derek, thinking about the button missing from her shirt. “No, it’s not—”

“No?” Derek snapped.

“No. God. I meant the last time I saw him”—she gestured to Randall—“I didn’t have a boyfriend.”

Randall’s features hardened. “But you do now? You said you weren’t looking to get involved with anyone. It’s been, what? A few weeks and you’re already with someone?” His arms came up in an apologetic gesture. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I guess . . . I’m just surprised.”

“Who is this guy?” Derek asked.

“Derek Valencia, this is Randall Oppenheimer.” She held on to his biceps. “I knew him through my last job.”

“That’s it? That’s all I am?” She’d never seen Randall so worked up. “Some guy you knew through a job?” Beads of perspiration popped on his forehead, and the tendons in his neck strained.

“I can see why it didn’t go any further.” Derek slung an arm around her shoulder.

Ignoring Derek, he looked to her with a challenging expression. “So, should I call you Violet or Scarlet?” His tone and stance might’ve been aggressive, but underneath she saw the hurt.

Oh, brother. How did she explain the situation without compromising Joe Capriano? She had no idea. “How did you find out my real name?”

“Funny thing, I wanted to call you, but there wasn’t a listing for Scarlet Davis. So I asked Joe.”

“He told you?”

“Told me to look for Violet Davis. That’s all he said. And I still can’t figure out why you were dressed like a hooker the last time I saw you.” Under his sarcastic tone she sensed genuine confusion.

Derek stepped in front of her. “I’m going to tell you one time, watch how you talk to her. Understand?”

“Everything okay out here?” Slater came out the back door. Cooper and Ben crowded behind him. All three made their way down the porch steps.

As ridiculous as the whole scene was, Violet could honestly say she’d never felt more protected in her entire life. All these big, badass guys had her back.

And it felt good. So good.

Her hand slid down Derek’s arm to clasp his fingers. Really, she wanted to jump into his arms and have him hold her there forever.

“Who are these people?” Randall asked incredulously.

“They’re my friends. What’re you doing out here? How did you even find me?”

“
Find
you? Are you like a grifter or something? A con artist? Is that why you stood there with absolutely no emotion at your ex-boyfriend’s engagement party?”

“Think I told you to watch how you talk to her.” Derek came right up to him, his presence forcing Randall to step backward. Within seconds, all the guys stood to one side of him.

Randall just shook his head, letting out an uncomfortable laugh. “Can you get your boys here to back off?”

“You’re not exactly making a good impression,” she said.

“
I’m
not? I’m sorry, Violet—or is it Scarlet? Am I talking to the polished piece of ass I met on Joe’s arm or the hooker in thigh-high boots?”

Derek threw a punch before anyone could stop him. Slater and the guys grabbed his arms and pulled him back before he could swing again.

“Whoa, whoa, dude,” Ben said. “Chill out.”

Reeling back, Randall straightened, looked at Derek with shock, and then rubbed his jaw, eyes wide. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“You called my girl a piece of ass.” Derek looked angrier than she’d ever seen him. “Who the fuck do you think you are coming onto Violet’s property and talking to her like that? You got something to say, you do it with respect.”

“He’s right, dude,” Cooper said. “Uncool.”

“Way uncool,” Ben said. And then he jerked his chin toward the road. “That your Ferrari?”

“Ben,” Slater said.

“Can we talk privately?” Randall asked her.

“Not a fucking chance,” Derek said.

“He’s not going to hurt me, Derek. You go in and eat. Let me hear him out, okay?”

Derek clearly didn’t like her response. Breathing a little too heavily, he gave Randall a hard look. “You upset her, it won’t go well for you.”

“Jesus Christ,” Randall said. “I can’t believe this.”

It wasn’t like she’d dated him. She didn’t owe him anything. Why was he this upset?

Derek got right up in his face. “Are we clear?” He snapped each word out.

Randall rolled his eyes, still rubbing his jaw. When Derek wouldn’t back down, he nodded—vaguely.

The guys went back to the house, but while the others went inside, Derek pulled up an old wicker rocking chair on the back porch and sat down, facing them.

“Really? He’s going to sit there and listen?”

“Looks like it. Why are you here?”

“Paula Rackson.”

Oh, that.
“I didn’t think you’d find out. It’s such a small case, and such a big firm.”

“It’s my father’s firm. Your name came up in the Monday morning partner’s meeting.”

“I didn’t want to go with your firm. Derek’s mom gave me Paula’s number. I need the help, so I called.”

“Everything okay, V?” Francesca came around from the front of the house, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. She obviously hadn’t witnessed the pissing match.

“Francesca, this is Randall Oppenheimer.”

Recognition lit her features. “Nice to meet you, Randall.” She looked at Violet with a quirk of her brow.