I Want You to Want Me (Rock Star Romance #2) (25 page)

“Em, Violet?” Slater called. “Come here. You have to hear this beat we just put down.”

“V’ll be out in a minute.” Derek turned serious. He looked almost troubled.

Emmie snatched a piece of bread before going out with the others, leaving them alone.

Fiddling with the crust on a slice of bread, he tossed it into the sink. “So you know I’ve got Buck’s thing tomorrow, right?”

Violet set the whisk down and faced him, giving him all her attention. “You okay about it?”

He shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “Will you come with me?”

She looked away, heart squeezing. “I can’t. I’m sorry.” She loved that he wanted her there. Performing solo was such a source of fear for him. But she’d already made an appointment.

“Why not?”

She let out a shaky breath. “I’m meeting with a potential client.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“You know I have to take a job. I’ve put it off so I could spend this time with you, but now that you’re leaving, I have to meet with clients and choose the next job.”

He blew out a hard breath. “I’m not leaving
you.
”

“I know that. But once you go back on tour, I have to get back to work, too.”

He studied her for a moment as if he needed to figure out her motives. “What kind of client? Where will it take you?”

“Actually, it would keep me in the music industry. You know that pop star who’s out of control?”

“Jason Becker?” She wasn’t surprised at how shocked he sounded. It
was
a strange choice for her.

“He’s heading off to Japan for the next leg of his tour, so I thought it would be the perfect opportunity for me to help him when he’s out of the American media glare.”

He looked frustrated, but he had to know she couldn’t give up her career to wait for him. “You said you didn’t want to work in the music industry. And that kid . . . Jesus, V, he’s a mess.”

“I know. But it would be for three months. And the pay . . .” She set her wrists on the counter. “I could pay for the farm outright, Derek.” And never worry about being homeless again.

“So if you take this job, you’ll go to Japan?”

Anxiety tightened her gut. “Yes.” She drew in a tight breath.

“Don’t take it.”

“It would pay enough for me to
own
the farm.”

“And what about us?”

“What about us, Derek? You’re going on tour, remember?”

She could feel the heat radiating off his body. “Yeah, I’m going on tour for the next month. You’re talking about going overseas for
three
months. We won’t see each other, the time difference will fuck things up.”

“Derek, I have to work. I have to take jobs when they come my way.”

“You don’t have to take this one.”

“Are you serious? You’re telling me not to take the job that’ll enable me to own the farm outright? Come on, Derek. You can’t ask me to give that up.”

“There are other jobs. Don’t you have other jobs to choose from?”

“It’s not like that, Derek. I don’t have an office and a website. There’s no marketing department. My work is based on referrals. Besides, the money being offered is unlike anything I’ve earned before.”

“Jesus, V. Do you care at all? You stand there so unemotional. Is everything just business to you? I don’t get you at all. Do you
want
to end it right now? Do you want me to get on that fucking bus and never come back? Is that what you want?”

Her heart pounded so hard she could hear it in her ears. Her throat tightened into a hard knot, preventing words from escaping. She stood there, terrified, scared to death to lose him.

Scared, even more, to believe in him.

When she didn’t answer, his features crumpled. She was destroying him. “Fucking say something.”

She threw herself into his arms, and he held her so tightly he lifted her off the ground.

His mouth turned to her ear. “Fight for us, V.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

He set her down. “You don’t take a job that’ll keep us apart for three months.”

“But the farm . . . I can’t lose it.”

“But you can lose
me
?”

She looked at him, stunned. “You can’t make me choose. That’s a terrible thing to do.”

“I’m not making you choose between me and the farm. You can take a different job.”

She would do almost anything to keep him; of course she would. God, if she thought for a second she had a chance with him, that she could have a
life
with him, she’d give up just about anything. But he was going back on tour. Sure, he might stay in touch for weeks, maybe even a month or two. But his life would sweep him back out into the world. Women would come at him, woo him, seduce him. He was too intense, too passionate to hang on to a woman he saw occasionally. He needed full contact. He was a physical person.

And if she took the bet and lost . . . and then lost her farm, too? Her home. Her livelihood?

He closed his eyes, looking pained. “I knew it. I knew you’d pull away. Fuck, V, what do I have to do to make you see that I want us to be together? I’ll do whatever it takes. We can make it work. I’ll fly you out to shows.”

Fear pierced her as vividly as stepping on a piece of broken glass. She jerked back from him. He didn’t even realize he’d just dumped her in the same bin as all his other women. He’d treated her like Gen.

He called them when he needed to get laid. Oh, hell, no. She wasn’t going to become that woman to him.

“Can you do me a favor, V? Can you postpone making a decision about this job until after Madison Square Garden? We’ve got three days off after it. Can you promise not to take a job—any job—until we talk some more? I can come back out here if you want, spend the three days with you. Will you hold off giving them an answer?”

“Sure.” Whatever. She wasn’t going to make a scene.

God, he wanted her to believe she was different, that they had something special—but hadn’t Adriana thought that? Certainly Gen did. Derek could say whatever he wanted, but Gen was possessive around him. She definitely thought they were in a relationship.

This is what he does.
He sweeps women away. She turned back to the counter, grabbed the bowl, and brought
it to the stove. She transferred the saturated, dripping bread onto the butter-drenched griddle.

“Oh, my God, that smells so good,” Emmie said as they all came back inside.

“What can I do?” Cooper asked.

“You want to get the orange juice?” Violet asked.

“Sure thing.”

“I’ll get plates,” Emmie said.

The front door slammed hard, rattling windows.

“I’m telling you he’s a fucking asshole, and I’m not going back,” a familiar voice shouted from the foyer.

All conversation in the kitchen shut down. Heels clacked on wood flooring.

Violet turned to find Mimi Romano tossing her big black purse onto the table. Shaking with anger, she looked up, but her gaze slid right past Violet and her eyes widened. “Oh, shit.” Her hand covered her mouth. “You’ve got company.”

“Meems, what’s wrong?” Violet went right to her, giving her a hug.

Mimi pulled away. “I finally get a job, a good one. And it turns out to be
completely
and
totally
full of shit. The guy who hired me? Turns out he’s using me to get to my dad.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I know. Big surprise, right? I’m the idiot who thought it would be different this time.”

Her phone buzzed, and she scowled when she read the screen. “Oh, seriously, fuck a
duck
.” Taking a breath, she answered in a totally different voice. “Hi, Dad. Yeah, sorry I didn’t get back to you.”

Violet shot a look to the others, wondering what the guys made of Mimi. The beauty standing before them in a charcoal gray pencil skirt and cream silk shirt didn’t look like the kind of person who would swear like a sailor.

“Listen, I’m right in the middle of something, so can I call you back?” Her mouth snapped shut. Violet could hear her dad’s loud voice through the receiver.

“No, I don’t have another job to go to. Unless, of course,
you’ll
finally hire me.” She grimaced. “Oops, train’s coming. I gotta go. I’ll call you tonight.” Mimi disconnected,
tossing the phone on top of her bag. She looked up to see everyone staring at her. “Do not judge me. Yes, you heard me lie to my dad. But I am not going to listen to him go on and on about how I need real world experience before he lets me join the company. Blah blah blah. ”

Violet stepped forward. “Mimi, I’d like you to meet the guys from Blue Fire.”

Each one in turn reached out and shook her hand, then retreated.

And then Francesca came down the stairs. “Mimi? Sweetheart, what’re you doing here?”

She gazed up at her mom. “I quit my job. And before you judge me, I had no choice. I mean, give me a freaking break already. I graduated from Cornell. I grew up in the business. I have great ideas. But does he care? No, he wants my dad to invest in his next chain of restaurants.” She turned back to the guys, shrugging. “I’m totally screwed. No one will hire me on my own merits, and yet my dad won’t hire me until I’ve worked for a few years. God, I’m sick to death of this.”

“Can’t you just put in the time?” Francesca said. “For goodness sake, Mimi, so what if he wants access to your father? Make the introduction and let your dad handle it from there.”

“Okay, not even discussing this. You know how important it is to me to get hired on my own merit. But, fuck me, does
everyone
want me for my last name? You know what he said to me today? He said he really didn’t see a future for me if I couldn’t help him launch his next chain. In other words, unless I bring in Dad’s money.”

“Maybe your father would be interested.” Francesca gave her daughter a meaningful look.

“Oh, my God. Do you hear a single thing I say? I’m not taking a job unless it’s based on my own achievements. I interned with the Hazard Group three summers in a row. I know my stuff.”

“Fine.” Francesca glanced to the others. “We’ll talk about this later. Have you eaten? How long are you here for, sweetheart?” Francesca ran her hands through Mimi’s dark red curls.

“The whole freaking weekend. I want comfort food and blow-’em-up movies. I want to see body parts flying.”

“Oh, Mimi, please,” her mom said.

Mimi looked at the line of rockers. “Sorry about my outburst. I didn’t know you guys were in the house.”

“Come on, let’s finish making breakfast.” Emmie led everyone back into the kitchen.

Just as she turned to join them, Violet caught Derek heading up the stairs. Her body willed her to follow, but her mind couldn’t stop playing back his words.

I’ll fly you out to shows.

She believed he had the best intentions. She even believed he thought he loved her.

But she also knew he was a passionate man who got carried away.

And there wasn’t a chance in hell she’d become the next Gen.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and rain pattered on the roof. Derek liked that Violet kept the windows open in her room, even if she had to lay out towels on the floor beneath them to absorb the splatter. The cool gusts felt good on his heated skin.

On this last night together, he wanted her all to himself. He’d run out of words to convince her, so he’d used his body. How did you keep someone who didn’t want to be kept?

Pressed up against him, her head nestled into the crook of his arm, her silky hair in a tumble all over him. It was a restless sleep, so he kept his arm loosely around her, letting her know he was there—would always be there—but giving her the room to move as she needed.

Her palm opened on his chest, her fingers gently stroking. “Can’t sleep?”

He didn’t bother answering.

“I don’t know if I’ll take the Becker job.” She went quiet. “I’m just going to talk to his people.”

His arm tightened around her, and she turned onto her back, keeping a hand on his forearm. He kept his mouth shut. She didn’t believe his words anyway.

“Derek?”

He squeezed her wrist in response.

“You’re going to do great tomorrow.”

Fuck, really?
He pulled his arm out from under her, rolled on top of her. “You think I can’t sleep because of Buck’s show? Jesus, V. I can’t sleep because this might be my last night with you.”

“Aren’t you coming back after Madison Square Garden?”

“Am I?” He studied her eyes, her mouth, the way she swallowed like it hurt. Looking for the truth. “Or will you be in Japan?”

“I don’t know yet. But I’ll do what I have to do. And don’t look at me like that because it’s the same for you.”

“It isn’t the same. You can take any job. I have to finish this tour.” Hands on her head, he kissed her, teasing her tongue into play. When her hands came around his shoulders, clutched at his back, when her hips shifted ever so slightly toward him, he sighed, “Violet.”

“We’ll have our three days, okay? I won’t make any decisions until we have our three days.”

Three fucking days
. He wanted so much more. When his rocking hips pushed harder, his dick pressed between her damp curls, giving him a hint of slickness. A rush of electricity flashed across his skin. “Oh, fuck.” Jesus, he’d already loved her twice tonight.

Her thighs spread wider, her hips tilted, allowing him to sink more deeply into her heat. Christ, she felt so good. His beautiful, gentle, strong Violet. Lifting up on his arms so he could see her, he slid back and forth along her hot length, watching her breath hitch, her eyelids lower.

Lightning flashed through the room, and a crack of thunder preceded a rush of heavy rain.

Holding her gaze, the hair on his body rose, his skin tingled. She brought a hand between them, stroking the top of his dick. Holy fuck. Her gentle hand petting him, her slickness coating his sensitive underside. He quickened his pace, sinking deeper into the honeyed embrace of her channel. Every time he surged forward, her thumb made a swipe around his head, sending pleasure flashing through him.

He was going to come. Jesus, he was going to come so
hard. The look in her eyes told him she loved him, even if she didn’t think she knew how. His arms trembled with the weight of his body; his ass muscles clenched. He didn’t know if he could hold out much longer.

Her other hand went to his balls, and they tightened. The steady patter of rain, the gentle but firm stroke of her hand, the hot rush of desire as he glided through her, all sent him straight out of his mind.

Tension gripped his spine, blood roared in his ears, and he started panting, gasping. Jesus, he couldn’t hold it in—the tension kept building—the pressure, the indescribable
pleasure
. He didn’t want it ever to stop. He never wanted to be anywhere else but here, in this flower-scented room with her hands on him, their gazes locked.

“Oh, Jesus, V, I’m going to come.” He knew he sounded surprised, but come on, just her hand stroking him, his dick sliding along her length? When he’d already come twice?

He shouted with a release that powered through him in a blinding, blazing roar of heat.

His arms shook, his muscles ached, and he still couldn’t get enough of her. Slowing his thrusts, he pumped a few more times. Exhausted. Sated.

Bliss.

Collapsing onto her side, he held her tightly, burying his face in her neck. Tremors wracked his body.

“Not giving up, V,” he said into her neck. “Never giving up.”

•   •   •

Derek
stood outside Buck’s brownstone. Music from the studio merged with the dull buzz of a window unit air conditioner. He had to set his Fender case down to wipe his damp palm. Christ, the bowels of hell couldn’t be hotter than Manhattan at the end of July.

Hand on the waist-high wrought iron gate, he hesitated, not ready to head down the stairs. Had to get his head on right for this show. He couldn’t mess up. Too much at stake.

But fuck,
Violet.
Last night had been intense. He hadn’t wanted to leave her bed, her bedroom, her house, her farm. Leaving her had felt like tearing muscle from bone.

He blew out a breath, wiping the sweat off his forehead. Here’s what he knew. If she took a job overseas, their relationship would end. She needed to be physically connected to him or she’d drift away. She wouldn’t trust his feelings—or her own—to hold true.

So he had to convince her to take a different job. A job that would keep her close to him. He shot off a text to his sister.

Don’t want V taking this job that’ll keep her overseas 3+ mos. Can you find her one that’ll keep her closer to us? Can’t lose her.

Trust his sister to get right back to him.
Aren’t you at Buck’s? Get your head on right! Let me talk to Irwin. See you for sound check at 2, k?

He didn’t need to say another word. His sister got him, and he had absolute faith in her. Shoving his phone into his pocket, his head cleared. The music drifting up to him came into clearer focus. Jazz. Great, a reminder of his dad before his big acoustic, televised gig.

Shake it off.

Unlatching the gate, he headed down the stairs into the ground floor studio of
Artists Unplugged
. He rang the bell, peering through the iron screen. Male laughter and deep voices carried over the loud jazz music.

“Come on in,” someone shouted.

He stepped inside the windowless foyer. To his left was the studio—with lights hanging from the ceiling, microphones, and video cameras facing a couple of chairs. Straight ahead, a plain wooden staircase that led to the main floor, probably where Buck lived. He wandered down a short, dark hall then turned into the kitchen.

With a quick sweep of the room, he took in Buck, some scraggly-haired dudes, and . . . his
father
.

Fucking hell. “What’re you doing here?” He had to keep a lid on it. No matter the energy roiling through him, picking up speed to the point he could hurl the refrigerator out the sliding glass doors, he had to rein it in.

“There’s my boy.” Eddie Valencia smiled warmly.

My boy?
A horrible sensation rose from his chest, the wrenching pain of the boy who desperately wanted his dad
to spend time with him, to acknowledge him, to just give him a smile. Any-fucking-thing other than the palm of his hand in his face, pushing him away.

His dad stood there as if this past year in the press—all the cracks and put-downs—had never happened. Somehow he could call his son a poseur in the press, but in front of Buck O’Reilly he was suddenly
my boy
?

Get a grip. Not the time or place for anger.

Buck looked concerned. He motioned to someone in the studio, and the music shut off.

“So what’s the deal?” Derek said, unable to keep the sharpness out of his tone. “Did you double book?”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get your exposure, son.” His dad chuckled.

My boy, my ass.

“Whose idea was this?” Derek needed to know who’d played him. If Buck had done this for ratings, Derek was out of there.

His dad clapped his shoulder. “It was my idea. Come on, father and son musicians. It’s a great angle. Every show needs a hook. That’s how you get ratings.”

“We don’t play the same kind of music. What’s the point?”

“Hey, it’s me.” His dad moved toward him. “Don’t be intimidated.”

Intimidated?
Derek’s hand tightened on the guitar case handle.

“This isn’t the sex god versus the virtuoso, for Christ’s sake. Relax. It’s father and son. Old generation and new. I’m the old school guy, on the Ledger List for ten years. You’re just starting out. Come on, it’s a great story.”

Derek looked to Buck. “Was that your plan when you asked me to be on the show?”

The guy looked uneasy. “No.”

“You want your first time on the show to go well, right?” His dad gave him this look like he was doing him a huge favor. Like he had to carve time out of an otherwise packed schedule, when in reality he hadn’t performed or recorded in years. He’d only been interviewed because of his son’s newfound fame.

Son of a bitch.

Derek cut a hard look to Buck, letting him know he felt sabotaged.

“It’s your
dad.
” He seemed bewildered as if he’d assumed Derek was in on it.

“This’ll be great.” Eddie clapped his hands together. “We haven’t played together in years. You’ve been down in Texas, and I’ve been in the studio.”

Ugly energy pounded through his veins. He needed to get out. Fuck it. He didn’t have to do the show, not like this. He started to go, but then Violet filled the screen of his mind. He saw her face, felt her calm and gentle spirit. She’d asked him once if he’d ever talked to his dad. If he’d ever
communicated
, given his dad a chance to see how he was hurting his son. And he thought about all the situations she’d handled, never losing her cool, always winning people over to her perspective by being reasonable and keying into what
they
wanted.

“Can I talk to you a second, Dad?”

“Sure thing.” He gestured to Buck. “You want to get the cameras rolling?”

“No,” Derek snapped. Then he took a breath, filling his lungs, calming himself down. “I’d like a minute to talk to you off-camera. Alone.”

“No problem.” Buck motioned for the other guys to head into the studio.

Derek led the way through the sliding glass door and outside. A tiny triangle of dirt and brown grass, the backyard was littered with beer cans, cigarette butts, and some worn beach chairs.

“What’s up?”

Christ, he wanted to get the hell out of there. But if he bolted, his dad would let it be known all over the press that his son didn’t feel confident enough yet to play with the great Eddie Valencia.

But he knew himself. If he performed right then, he’d fuck up. Too much energy, too much anger.

He didn’t know where to start, so he’d just go right to the heart of it. “You know my biggest memory, Dad?”

Eddie’s gaze flicked inside, like he didn’t want to eat
into his time on the show. “How about we talk about this later? Get a drink after we tape?”

“Dad, I’m playing Madison Square Garden tonight.”
Thanks for paying attention.
“I don’t have time for a drink. Besides, I’m not gonna tape until we talk.”

His features hardened. Good-time Eddie had left the building. “Can you for once get your head out of your ass and be a professional? We’ve got an hour, that’s it. This isn’t the time—”

“
I
have an hour.”

“What?”

“
We
don’t have an hour,
I
do. This is my time slot. Buck invited me.”

“And what’re you going to do with your hour? Talk about your big-tittied girlfriend? The keyboard player who’s in rehab? Or how about the supermodel who trashed the restaurant because she caught you boning a groupie?” Eddie leaned in close enough so Derek could see the deep grooves around his mouth, the heavy bags under his eyes. “I’m here to help you. So the world takes you seriously, since you’re so set on playing the fool.”

“You’re helping me?” He was about to go apeshit over all the quotes Eddie had given to the press, but he felt the calming hand of Violet and he settled. Took a step back.

He started again. “My biggest memory is when I was nine years old. Chet Baroni—remember him? He came upstairs, looking for a glass of water. He saw me all pissed off, and he asked me what was wrong. I told him I wanted to be in the studio with you guys, but you wouldn’t let me in. That you never let me in. And he asked if I knew how to play. I told him I was learning. I took him into my room and pulled out the guitar I’d bought at a garage sale—and he sat with me, teaching me fingerplay. It was . . .” Derek could not believe he was getting all choked up over something that had happened nearly twenty years ago.

“What’s your point, Derek? Can you hurry it along so we can get inside and do what we came here to do?”

“My point is that Chet gave me something. It was small, and it might not seem like much, but it’s the reason I’m here today. You wouldn’t let me in the studio, wouldn’t let me
touch your instruments. But that day, Chet took the time to teach me something. And I’m telling you, man, I remember making the transition from noise to music. I swear, Dad, that was the moment I got it. It just clicked into place. I formed a band as soon as I hit middle school, and I never stopped playing and learning. So what I’m saying is I’m here today because of
me
. The only thing
you
ever did was fuck with me. And that includes my reputation. Do I invite publicity? Yeah, I do. But we live in a different age. It’s all about social media. I’m working it. And if I fuck up here and there, well, hey, I’m learning. Just like I learned to play bass all by myself.”

“Jesus, fuck, you were always such a whiny baby. It’s a wonder you’ve made it this far. If you think you can blame me for your fuck-ups, think again. Everyone had shitty parents. The ones who wallow in that shit, sink. The ones who shake it off, rise to the top.”

Talking with his dad, it was like shaking up a carbonated beverage, all that pressure building, threatening to explode. The only thing keeping him in check was knowing Buck waited for him, cameras ready to roll.