I Want You to Want Me (Rock Star Romance #2) (23 page)

Francesca pulled a mug down from the cabinet and poured herself some coffee, then joined them at the table.

“You smell like roses.” Emmie looked up from the list she was making.

“Rose petals.” Francesca closed her eyes, breathed in. “Isn’t it divine?”

“It is.”

“You know, I grew up with and married unimaginable wealth.” Francesca stirred cream and sugar in her coffee. “But I never knew beauty until I moved out here. Creating our products, living on this spectacular piece of land . . .” She closed her eyes and sighed. “Heaven.”

In spite of the early morning heat, Violet cupped her hands around the mug. She needed to fix this—but what could she do? He didn’t want an apology from her—that would make it worse. She couldn’t say the words back—she just couldn’t, not yet. She needed time. But that was the whole point. He was
leaving
. They didn’t have time

But damn him, he just kept pushing. She couldn’t move this quickly. No, she’d never felt like this before, but
love
?

“Shame you all have to leave.” Francesca tipped her head forward, unwrapping the towel from her head. Her dark hair tumbled down. She sat up and ran her fingers through it. “I’ve so enjoyed having you all out here. And
not just for the bits of home improvement that’ve made our lives so much easier.”

Violet remembered a time the woman wouldn’t even let her husband see her without makeup and hair done.

Emmie gave a shy smile. “I have a big favor to ask you. I know it’s short notice, and I know you don’t know where you’ll be in a month, but Jonny and I have our hearts set on getting married out here.”

Hope jolted Violet’s heart. “Really?” They’d be back. Derek would be back.

“We’re interested in a property down the road, but since we haven’t even put a bid on it yet, do you think . . . well, what would you say if we wanted to get married here? On Four O’Clock Farm?”

Francesca’s face lit up, and Violet smiled. “We’d love it. We’d absolutely love it.” But then just as quickly, reality shot through.
It’s not mine.
“I mean, of course, I don’t own it yet,” she said in an altogether different voice. “And I’m not sure what will happen with the property.”

Francesca neatly folded her damp towel. “Nothing will happen in a month. Right now it’s up to Mr. Walker’s children to prove the contract was forced on a man with dementia. That won’t happen, but even so, the whole process will take longer than a month.”

“I’ll most likely be on a job,” Violet began.

“But I’ll be here,” Francesca said. “And Violet will come home for the wedding.”

“Of course.” Thinking about the future scared the bejesus out of her. Would she still be with Derek?

“It’s not too much trouble?”

“Trouble?” Francesca said. “Are you serious? Nothing would make me happier.”

“We’d love to have you get married here,” Violet said.

She reached for Emmie’s hand, but Emmie lunged forward, sweeping her into her arms. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

An engine sputtered, then roared to life. All three women turned to look out the windows. The tractor came rumbling out of the shed, followed by Slater, Cooper, and Ben, all jumping around it like little boys, shouting and red-faced.

The engine shut off, Derek jumped to the ground, and the guys came running into the house. Suddenly, the quiet kitchen exploded with noise and vitality.

“They found the shed,” Francesca called over her shoulder on her way out of the room.

“Got the tractor running, I see.” Violet ran her gaze over Derek’s grease-stained shorts and T-shirt.

He scooped her off the floor, set her on the counter. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

She smiled. “Tell you what?” She searched his eyes for hurt but didn’t see it.

“You gave us a
football
, V.” Cooper scowled. “A fuckin’ football. When you’ve got a whole shed full of shit.”

“That stuff hasn’t worked in years.” Violet bit back her smile.

“Surfboard works,” Ben said. “And I’m gonna use it.”

“You found a surfboard?” Emmie asked.

“Couple of them.” Slater stood behind her, lifting the hair off her neck and placing a kiss on her shoulder. “We hit the mother lode.”

“ATVs, dirt bikes,” Derek said. “Surfboards, bikes . . .” He shook his head, like he couldn’t believe the treasure trove she’d kept hidden from him.

“That place is filled with fun stuff.” Cooper grabbed a soda from the fridge. “I’m changing. Let’s hit the waves.”

“You don’t know how to surf,” Ben said.

“So? How hard can it be to learn?” Cooper turned to Violet. “Waves are for shit on that side, but what about the other side?”

“Oh, that’s just a bay. The Peconic Bay. If you want waves, you have to go to the other fork.”

“You don’t have time for that,” Emmie said.

“Fine, then I’m taking the dirt bike out.”

“Got to get it running first.” Derek’s thumbs stroked her thighs.

He was okay. They were okay.

“You guys,” Emmie said. “You’ve got a show tonight. The new guy’ll be here in a couple of hours to go over the set. No one’s getting the dirt bike running or learning how to surf.”

“How ’bout we come back out here after the tour ends?” Derek asked them, keeping his gaze on her.

“I would love that.” Emmie gave Slater a knowing look. “Especially since we have a wedding to plan.”

Derek leaned in close. “See?” He kissed her on the mouth. “We can do this.”

She cupped his cheeks, kissed his mouth. His generosity in loving her even when she couldn’t say it back filled her with more hope than her body could stand.

•   •   •

When
the song came to an end, the audience went wild. Violet, seated at a small table near the stage with Emmie and Francesca, couldn’t take her eyes off Derek.

Even onstage, he led the band. It was a fascinating dynamic, the way the guys constantly shot him looks, and he responded with a nod or a slight shake of his head. Or he’d tap his foot, everyone watching to sync to the beat.

And the new material? It was sensational.

Slater lifted his shirt to wipe the perspiration off his brow. The girls went wild.

“Oh, my God, Slater-fucking-Vaughn,” a girl shouted. “I want some of that.”

“You are so fucking hot,” another one shouted.

Catcalls went up, and the place exploded in laughter and shout-outs.

Emmie watched calmly. She didn’t get possessive, didn’t seem to need to let the crowd know Slater was hers. She just seemed to enjoy it all.

“We gonna play or what?” Derek asked, and the crowd finally quieted to hear the exchange.

Clutching his mic, Slater came to the front of the stage. “Hang on a sec. Wanna share my good news.” He crouched, mic in his hand. “So you all know about my girl, right?”

The intensity pouring off him kept the crowd quiet, riveted.

“Yeah, so I did something a few days ago.” He unleashed his devastating smile. “Haven’t told anybody about it. Wanted to make sure my friends and family heard first. We’re all friends here, right?”

The crowd burst into shouts, claps, and whistles.

“And friends keep secrets, so I know I can trust you with mine.” He looked to Emmie, eyes blazing with love. “I convinced my girl to marry me.”

“Noooooo,” someone cried in a keening voice.

Raucous laughter filled the club, until some of the fans shushed and begged him to go on.

“Still gotta put a ring on her finger, but she said yes. My girl said yes.”

This time the crowd exploded with clapping and good wishes. Violet couldn’t keep the smile off her face.

“Yeah, so you know how I work shit out through my songs, right? So when my girl said yes, I had to write about it.” He trained all that energy and love on Emmie, who literally squirmed in her seat. “This one’s for you, angel.”

Slater stood up, turned to Derek, and murmured something.

The ballad began with this achingly sweet melody, with Slater giving Emmie a look so filled with love every woman in that room had to feel it, long for it, and realize in that moment nothing but that kind of love would ever do.

Which made Violet look at Derek, because, God, she wanted him to look at her like that.

And he was. He
was
. Her heart thundered, and her blood pounded.

Sometimes at night

I hear you breathe

Your body pressed into mine

Restless, like you can’t get close enough

She felt pinned in place. Couldn’t move a single muscle. Slater might’ve been singing, but she felt those words in Derek’s eyes.

You turn in my arms

Your hands on my skin

You whisper my name

And that’s it, I get it

“Don’t you dare let your fears hold you back.” Francesca wrapped an arm around her.

Easier said than done. Violet leaned against her, unable to think, unable to take a full breath. “He’s leaving.” She didn’t even know if Francesca heard her.

“The strong walk right through fear to get to the other side, where fools turn and walk away.” Francesca gave her a hard look. “Don’t be a fool.”

I’m home

With the last note, Ben tossed his drumsticks, Derek lifted his guitar over his head and hefted it twice. The crowd roared, girls screamed, and boots stomped.

And then, “More, more, more, more.” The chant was deafening.

Francesca pushed her gently away. “Go get him.”

That was all the prodding she needed. She took off through the crowd, heading backstage.

So many people surrounded the guys, they got swallowed up. But Derek and Slater towered over everyone. Her guy saw her and pushed his way through, grabbed her, and lifted her off the ground.

She scraped the damp hair off his face. “They loved you.”

“I don’t care about them.”

“You were amazing. The new songs are unbelievable.”

He kissed her, carrying her down a dark hall. At the end, under a bright red exit sign, he pressed her to the wall and kissed her like he hadn’t tasted her in years. Like he was starved for her. He slammed his hips up into her as his fingers dug into her ass.

“Come with me.”

She knew he meant on tour, but she couldn’t talk about it just then. Wouldn’t ruin his night. So she stroked his hair, giving him her mouth and rocking her hips into his thick hard-on.

“I’m serious, V. Don’t let it end. Come on tour with me.” He growled deep in his throat and licked into her mouth.

“Dude, hey, asshole, get back out here,” Ben said. “Irwin wants to talk to us.”

Derek pulled away, not looking at his bandmate. Slowly, he set Violet down, never taking his arms from around her. His hand slid down her back, squeezing her ass through the thin cotton of her dress. Then, he inhaled, took her hand, and led them back to the club.

The guys stood around Irwin Ledger, with his black jeans, black T-shirt, black boots, and a thick head of salt and pepper hair. Handsome and lean, he had an aura about him. Something that kept people away. Not the arrogance of a movie star, but the intense concentration of a guy with extremely important things on his mind that no one dared interrupt.

Francesca came up to the group, handed her a pink drink with a bright red cherry in it.

Irwin’s gaze shifted to Derek, coasted over Violet, and then slammed to a screeching halt on Francesca. His jaw slackened, his eyes glazed, and he lowered the hand that held his beer bottle.

Cupping her elbow, Derek introduced Violet. “Irwin, you remember Violet Davis?”

“Of course. Lovely to see you, Violet.” The man swallowed, looking like a lost little boy, as he stared at Francesca.

“I’ll meet you back at the house,” Francesca said quietly.

“Irwin.” Irwin stepped forward, into the heart of the group, holding his hand out to Francesca. “Irwin Ledger.”

“Francesca Romano. So nice to meet you.” Francesca had no idea who Irwin was—nor would she care. She offered her hand, and Irwin took it as though it were a precious artifact.

And then he looked down at their joined hands with a baffled expression. A moment later his features split wide open in a brilliant, unfettered smile. “Hello.”

Emmie’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. Slater stared in amusement.

“I’ll leave you to your business,” Francesca said to the group.

“No,” Irwin said.

Francesca stiffened. “Excuse me?”

“Right, business. A moment, please.” He turned to the guys. “Sensational music. Haven’t heard anything like it
since the Smiths. Finish up this tour, take some time to pull together a record’s worth of songs, and then you’re going right back into the studio.”

“Sounds good,” Derek said.

Irwin motioned to the new keyboard player, a lanky fellow with long, stringy hair. Since he’d arrived at the farm that afternoon, he hadn’t stopped fidgeting. Even then, in front of Irwin and his new band, his gaze ricocheted around the club. “Paul. Excellent performance. Thank you for coming out here tonight. Unfortunately, it’s not a good fit for us, but Emmie will be sure to compensate you for your time.”

The guy’s jaw dropped, his features turned crimson. Agitation morphed into aggression. “What the fuck? I thought I got the gig.”

Irwin shot Emmie a look. Some kind of silent communication went on that had Emmie looping her arm with Paul’s and leading him away from the group.

He turned to Derek. “I’ve got just the guy for you. I can have him out in the next day or so to prepare for Madison Square Garden.” And then he pressed his lips together, brow furrowing. “How’s Pete?”

“He’s okay,” Derek said. “Getting the help he needs.”

“Good, excellent.” Irwin looked between Derek and Slater. “So, business done?”

Derek nodded. Slater seemed more focused on watching Emmie talk to the agitated keyboard player.

Irwin’s demeanor changed, calmed, as he turned back to Francesca. “Sit with me?”

She seemed surprised. Knowing her friend had endured a twenty-year marriage to a business-obsessed husband, Violet suspected Francesca would hesitate to spend time with a commanding presence like Irwin.

“Don’t be a fool,” Violet said in her friend’s ear.

Francesca gave her an indulgent smile. And then gave Irwin a nod. “Sure.”