I Want You to Want Me (Rock Star Romance #2) (24 page)

The moment Irwin left, the crowd swooped in, surrounding them, jockeying for attention.

But instead of indulging their fans as they usually did, the guys pulled in tighter. No one looked particularly happy.

“What the fuck just happened?” Cooper said.

“He hires a dude for the keys and fires him two seconds after the show?” Ben said.

“The guy was great.” Cooper looked confused. “Irwin’s a fucking scary dude, the way he makes decisions like that.”

“Paul was high,” Violet said.

“No, he wasn’t,” Ben said, surprised.

“He was?” Derek asked her.

“Slater-fucking-Vaughn, can I get your autograph?” A girl rammed herself into the band’s circle.

“Give us a moment, okay?” Slater said, in his charming, sexy voice. And then he turned his back on her, effectively pushing her out.

“He couldn’t concentrate on the conversation,” Violet said. “And his pupils were dilated.”

“His hands were shaking,” Slater said.

“Bloodshot eyes,” Ben said.

Violet just nodded.

“Too bad,” Cooper said. “The guy was good. Hey, but Irwin likes the new stuff.”

“It’s fucking awesome,” Ben said.

“Sorry Pete isn’t here,” Derek said.

The guys shared a quiet, somber moment.

“Derek, my man.” Everyone turned to see Buck O’Reilly. “Great show. Fuckin’
unbelievable
show.”

Buck popped the barrier, and all the fans rushed in, asking for autographs, touching the guys. It was mayhem, and Violet wanted out.

Until she heard Buck ask, “You ready to come on my show?”

Way to ruin his night. She stepped forward, ready to distract Buck, when Derek said, “You bet.”

Buck’s jaw dropped. “You serious, man?”

“Absolutely.”

“Fuck. Really? That’s awesome. When do you get into town?”

“Derek Valencia, oh, my God, will you sign me?” A buxom girl thrust a Sharpie in his hand and lifted her shredded tank top.

Derek gently lowered the girl’s top. “Do you have a napkin or something?”

A trio of women slammed into Violet, knocking her off balance, but strong hands gripped her waist. She swung around to find Randall.

“Hey.” He smiled warmly.

“Oh, hey.” She righted herself, stepping away from Derek. “What’re you doing here?”

“Heard about the show. I’m in town through the weekend.”

She nodded. Just seeing him brought up all her anxiety about the farm. “Do you have any news?”

“I do. Do you want to go somewhere?”

God, yes. “Is it good?”

He shrugged. “At this stage, no news matters all that much. It’ll come down to the judge who hears the case.”

“I can’t lose this farm, Randall.”

“I know that.” He touched her arm. “I know.”

“It would kill me.”

“Slater,” a girl shrieked, throwing herself at him.

“Let’s go somewhere quieter,” Randall said.

Violet wanted nothing more than to get out of there, but she couldn’t go without telling Derek. “Hang on. Let me just tell them.”

She tried to press forward, but a girl elbowed her in the stomach and said, “Watch it, bitch.”

The press of bodies, the noise level, all started to weigh on her. Dozens of girls surrounded Derek, hopping like Chihuahuas to get his attention. He wouldn’t even notice if she left.

She pulled out her phone.
Heading home. Leaving truck keys with Emmie.

Then she smiled at Randall, who cupped her elbow and led her out of the chaos.

Derek had lost sight of Violet a while ago. Handing the pen back to a woman who had to be in her forties, he wended his way out of the pack and climbed a few steps toward the stage, looking for his girl. He saw Irwin and Francesca leaning toward each other over a small table, a single candle glowing between them. He saw his sister on Slater’s lap in a corner of the club, talking to a couple of people. But he didn’t see Violet.

Pulling out his phone, he found she’d sent a text.
Damn.
She’d left him. Of course she had. This wasn’t her scene. He checked the time stamp, saw she’d texted a half hour ago.

He shot her a text.
Are you home? On my way.

Skirting around the crowded dance floor, he made his way to Slater’s table. “Hey.”

The others at the table looked up at him. He’d rudely interrupted their conversation.

“Sorry.” He focused on Slater and Emmie. “Just wanted to let you know I’m heading back to the house.”

“Everything all right?” Slater asked.

“Violet left a little while ago. She must’ve taken a cab.” Derek didn’t miss the look that passed between him and Emmie.

Fortunately, his sister didn’t fuck with him. Ever. “Randall was here.”

Derek didn’t like the hot rush of anger riding through him.

“He took her home.”

“Yeah, so I’m going. You guys coming?”

“Sure,” Slater said. “It’s late.”

“And the new guy’s coming first thing in the morning.”

Derek didn’t wait for them to say their good-byes. He took off to get Ben and Cooper.

Fucking frat boy.

•   •   •

Derek’s
hands flexed on the steering wheel of Violet’s ancient pickup. The guys chattered on and on, excited about Irwin’s response to their music—not to mention the fact he couldn’t wait to get them back in the studio.

All Derek could think about was Randall taking advantage of the situation and escorting her out of the crowded club. Taking her home. A real hero.

He’d be back on tour in a couple days . . . and Randall would be right there for her, fighting to make sure she kept the farm.

But Derek wouldn’t give the guy room to get in. He remembered what Slater had gone through with Emmie. He’d skip breakfast with the band or sightseeing, whatever, just to talk to her on the phone when the bus was empty. Skype with her, fly her out.

He’d do that with Violet. Wouldn’t give her feelings a chance to cool.

Thing was, the situation was different. That’s what kept spiraling through him. Emmie had worked in the business. She’d had the freedom to come on the road with them. Not so for Violet. She’d move on to the next job. Get consumed in a new role, a new life. They’d both be on the road for extended periods of time.

And worst of all, the idea he couldn’t get out of his head was that Randall
was
the better guy for her. No matter what Slater said about unconditional love being the true stability, a musician’s life didn’t give Violet a husband who came home every night.

What could he offer other than a visit every couple of months?

Fuck. They had nothing in common. Their lives didn’t intersect.

He should leave her alone. Leave her to the preppy lawyer.

The truck hit the top of the rise, and the sky opened up before him. A million stars glittering against a black backdrop. He turned into her gravel driveway, the yellow Ferrari parked right in the middle.

The fucker leaned against his car on the passenger side, arms folded over his chest, laughing at something she said. Derek jerked the gear shaft and threw open his door. He strode right to her. She kept her usual cool façade, not the least moved by the frustration that had to be rolling off him.

“Hey, guys.” Emmie got out of the truck.

Doors slammed, boots crunched on gravel, greetings were exchanged. And Derek held her unflappable gaze. He wanted her to say something, feel something. To claim him, dammit.

But she showed nothing. Not a damn thing.

Fuck it. He strode past her and went into the house.

•   •   •

Alone
in the barn, Derek strummed his guitar. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face. Her beautiful hazel eyes and that tender smile she only gave him.

There were two Violets. The warm, loving, sensual woman in his bed, and the cool professional.

He knew without a doubt he got the true woman—the heart of her—when they were under the covers. But the other one? The one with the armor up? That one told her heart to shut the fuck up so she could do her job the only way she knew how. It was how she survived.

He set the guitar in its case, hit the lights, and strode out of the barn.

Energy crackled through him, making his skin burn. Lights in the kitchen drew him up the back steps. Laughter, conversation . . . he could picture everyone high on
tonight’s success, imagine Slater and Emmie all tangled up together. And Violet reserved, feeling like an outsider.

Ah. That was it right there.
That
was the problem.

Why hadn’t he seen it before? She’d spent her whole life looking in on other families, other groups of friends on the playground. Even her job had her pretending to be part of a client’s life, before moving on to the next one.

Well, that was something he could fix. He needed to show her she was one of them, take away the distance she felt in her own mind. Like Emmie, she’d gotten into everyone’s hearts. She’d become part of them. He just had to make her see it.

He passed through the laundry room, breathed in the lavender scent of her fabric softener.

It struck him how he’d never seen a single picture of her. In her bedroom, she didn’t have posters or stuffed animals or anything chronicling her childhood, the mementos of a life lived. Jesus, that made him sad.

Her only “possessions,” the things she hauled with her from place to place, were the memories of her four years with her grandmother. And, damn, he could see it so clearly, that little girl with dark hair and big eyes tucked in tightly against her grandma, reading books together.

This farm. This was the one place she belonged. She thought it was her home.

She was wrong. It was just a piece of land.
Derek
was her home.

The guys sat around the table, Emmie and Slater’s hands clasped tightly, as Ben retold the story of a night they’d spent in the studio, working on the same song for twelve hours.

“Fuckin’ Irwin comes in at . . . What was it? Four in the morning?” Ben said.

“Wide awake,” Cooper said. “Like it was the middle of the day.”

“He just shuts off the power, shuts the whole place down. Didn’t say a word, man.”

“We had to use our phones to find our way out.”

“But he was right.” Emmie participated as if she hadn’t heard the story a hundred times. She was so patient with
them. “He made you take a day off, and when he let you back in the studio, you guys nailed it. He knows what he’s doing.”

Derek came straight for Violet. She sat up as he neared her. He lost track of the conversation, couldn’t see anything but the way Violet’s chest rose and fell with each breath, the way the lights gleamed in her hair, spilling loosely around her shoulders.

“Hey, Derek,” Emmie said. “You all right?”

But he’d locked on to his girl. Had to hold her, feel her against his body. As soon as he reached her chair, he leaned over, slid his hands under her ass, and scooped her into his arms.

“Derek,” Emmie cried.

Violet’s arms went around his shoulders, and she tucked her face into his neck, her breath warm on his skin.

“Hey, caveman, forget your club?” Cooper called.

“Let the poor guy get some,” Ben said. “He’s gonna be blue-ballin’ for the next month.”

Crossing the living room, his heavy steps making the vases and knickknacks rattle, he climbed the stairs, kicked open her door, and set her down on the bed.

He reached behind his neck and pulled off his T-shirt. “You went home with the douche.”

Finally, a crack in the cool façade. “You were busy.”

“I’m never too busy for you. Never. All you had to do was tell me you wanted to go home.”

“You have to work. You have fans.”

“Yeah, so? Check in with me. Don’t just take off like that.” He strode to the door, slammed it closed, and locked it. Then he came back to her. He unbuckled her sandals, tossed each one aside. His hands caressed her smooth calves, gliding up her thighs until he reached her panties. “Take these off.”

She stood up and pulled them off. When he reached for the tie at the back of her neck, her hands closed around his wrists. “Derek.” She sounded needy, restless, a lot turned on.

But that reserve in her eyes? The uncertainty only urged him on.

He’d fight through it. It was the only way to prove himself.
“You told me you don’t know how to love, but you’re wrong. You think there’s some chapter in the book of life that you missed out on, but that’s bullshit. Loving is just what we do. Just because you didn’t have it growing up, doesn’t mean you’re destined to a life without it.”

He peeled the cotton top down, exposing her breasts plumping out of a strapless bra. “Off.”

As she reached behind her to unclasp the bra, he quickly tore off his clothes. Flicking the light switch, the room plunged into darkness. A wide shaft of moonlight cut across the room, falling right across her chest, bathing her in its milky light.

He covered her with his body, claiming that mouth that sent him reeling every single time. “Why’d you go home with him?”

“I’m worried about the farm. No matter how valid my contract, no matter what anyone says in my defense, I might get a judge who favors Jed’s kids. I could lose it. I could lose everything.”

“Not gonna happen. If we have to pool our cash together and buy the fucking place outright, you’re not losing the farm. I promise you, V. You hear me? I promise you. You’re not losing the farm.”

Her fingers sifted through his hair, her hips shifted beneath him, making him even harder. “God, Derek, I . . .”

“You what?”
Fucking tell me already.

“You overwhelm me. I can’t think straight around you.”

“I don’t want you thinking. That’s all you do is think. I want you in this with me.”

And then her defenses crumbled, her body relaxing into the mattress. “I am.”

She didn’t seem happy about that, but he was. Damn happy.

“Get that macho smile off your face.” She squeezed his bicep. “It’s not a good thing.”

“It’s a fucking great thing.” His knee nudged her legs apart. “Kiss me.” He took her mouth, demanded a response from her tongue. “Give it all to me. Everything.”

“You make me crazy. You make me lose my mind.”

“
That’s
where love is, V. Right there.”

She jerked her mouth away from him. “Have you ever said it before, you know, that you love someone?” Her vulnerability split his heart wide open.

“Never.”

“You
love
me?” Her pulse ticked in her neck, and he gazed into questioning eyes.

He knew his answer meant everything. So he waited. Waited for emotion to consume him, for his worries to dissipate and his feelings to rise, spread. And when it did, it released a stinging electricity in him. When he said it, she couldn’t possibly doubt it. “Yeah, V. I love you.”

Her smile unfurled slowly, softly, tenderly. “You’re crazy.” She gave him a look so imbued with love, it swept his remaining doubts away. “I . . .”

“I know.”

“But . . .”

“You own my heart, sweet V. That’s all that matters.”

•   •   •

The
guys came into the kitchen, laughing and jostling each other. Violet turned from the sink, where she’d been cracking eggs, and watched Derek break from the others and come right to her.

His hands went around her waist, his face into the curve of her neck. She breathed in the fresh air and sunbaked cotton that wafted off him, reveled in the strength of his hold. She loved that he
needed
to touch her.

“Good session?” she asked.

“Best music we’ve ever written. The new guy’s all right.”

“He’s here?” She turned in his arms, curious to meet him.

Derek stepped back. “X, come meet my girl, Violet Davis.”

Slater stepped aside and—oh, holy mother of God—the guy was huge. Tall and wide as a fullback, he looked like a badass biker with his shoulder-length dark hair, facial scruff, and a sexy wide mouth drawn into a wicked smile. The guy gave her a chin nod.

“Hey. Calix Bourbon.” He gestured with both hands to the room around him. “So this is where the magic happens.” Long lashes framed intense, dark eyes.

“Well? What do you think?” she asked him. “Think you can hang with these guys?”

“If it means I get to hang out on a wildflower farm with enchanted women, then hell yeah.”

“Oh, we’ll be hanging out here, all right,” Slater said. “Emmie’s meeting the inspector at the house today.”

“You’re serious about this?” Ben asked.

Slater nodded. “Gonna build a studio. Record out here.”

“
If
we can find a producer who’ll work with us on this sand bar on the tip of Long Island,” Cooper said. But he didn’t sound grumpy. “There are no hot chicks out here.”

“Come to one of our bonfires.” Calix’s mouth cocked in a half smile. “I’ll introduce you around.”

“You live around here?” Violet asked.

“Marsapeague.” When he got nothing but blank stares, he said, “South Fork. About half hour from here.”

Derek’s big arms came around her. “What can I do to help?”

“Can you grab the milk from the fridge?” Violet gestured to the thick slices of crusty whole grain bread she’d cut and laid out on the chopping block.

Emmie came up, watching them work. “French toast? Yum.” She spun around to the guys. “Stuffed French toast, you guys.”

“Fuckin’ A,” Ben said.

“That’s awesome,” Cooper said.

Emmie stepped back so Derek could set the jug of milk on the counter. “God, I love your food. I don’t know where you even find bread like this.”

“We’ve got a great bakery in town. I’ll take you there. We’ll get croissants for breakfast.”