I Want You to Want Me (Rock Star Romance #2) (28 page)

The sobs dried up. The ache dulled. She stood up. “I don’t really care what I wear. I hurt him. Just like his dad, I rejected him. That’s the one thing he can’t take, being pushed away.” The need to get to him compelled her into the bathroom. She closed the door and stripped off her clothes. Walking through the billowing steam, she stepped into the hot water and closed her eyes, letting determination seep in, replacing the pain.

She’d get to him. She’d talk to him. She’d tell him she loved him.

And then everything would be all right.

Love doesn’t just evaporate.

•   •   •

Thank you so much!
Violet hit Send. She’d added the exclamation point only to cover for the absolute fear she felt as the elevator rode up to the twenty-first floor. She hoped the roadie didn’t get in trouble for giving out Derek’s hotel room to someone who no longer had access to it.

When the car landed, she touched the wall, fear turning
into full-blown panic. What if he wasn’t there? What if he
was
there but with Gen?

Oh, God. Oh,
God.
She couldn’t bear it. She just couldn’t bear it.

Placing a hand over her heart, she stepped into the hallway, staring too long at the wall plate indicating which rooms she’d find to the left and those she’d find to the right. She saw the numbers but nothing registered. Her mind was on lockdown.

Three days, she hadn’t heard from him. The three days they were supposed to spend together. Figuring things out.

He’d check out tomorrow, head back on the road, driving away from her. This whole bubble of time they’d shared together—six weeks—would be a memory, like all her other jobs.

Stop it.
She’d made the decision to come here. She’d fight for him. For them.

Reading the wall plate again, she turned in the direction of his room.

On the train she’d looked through the texts she’d sent him. She’d made herself perfectly clear on all but one point.

She loved him. And really, nothing else mattered. So she’d tell him. And get him back. They just needed to talk.

Standing outside his door, she pressed an ear, listening. She heard the TV, nothing else.

She knocked, her stomach twisting, palms sweaty. Wiping them on the pretty pink and white sundress she’d chosen, she looked down at her patent leather pink wedges. She’d bought them for a job last summer. She’d always associate this outfit with that time on the yacht.

And so she needed a new wardrobe. Needed clothes that didn’t tie to a job—just to her. Whoever she really was.

She knocked again, louder this time.

Finally, the door swung open. Derek stood in a towel wrapped around his waist, droplets of water on his muscled chest. His smile dulled. He looked a little too long at her left eye, and emotion whipped across his features. “What happened to you?” But as soon as the words were out, he turned expressionless.

“Will you talk to me, Derek, please?”

He stepped aside to let her in. “I thought you were someone else.”

Opening the security latch, he propped the door open and then strode into the bedroom.

She followed him, looking around the suite for signs of a party, of women.

But she didn’t see anything other than a room service tray, a pair of his big, black boots by the coffee table, and his Fender leaning against the couch.

He was ignoring her, going about his business, so she headed into the bedroom.
Please, God, let him be alone in there
. If she found Gen in there—getting ready? Naked in bed?

Oh, God.

“Derek.”

He dropped his towel, digging into his suitcase for a pair of clean boxers. “What’s up?”

“I hate that I hurt you.”

He stepped into the boxers. “Got it. Read the texts. We’re good.”

“Please don’t be like this.”

“Like what?” He looked at her like she was some nymph he’d slept with the night before. Then, he grabbed his jeans and put them on.

“It took me by surprise. I don’t—”

“I get it. My bad. Now we move on.”

“I don’t understand why you won’t talk to me. If you loved me enough to propose to me, how do you just shut me out the very next day? How real could it have been?”

“That’s what I always liked about you. Sharp as a tack.”

His phone buzzed. He picked it up off the nightstand, read it, and smiled. Then he looked up at her. Total stranger. “We done?”

“No. Stop this. We need to talk about what happened. I thought we’d—”

“Babe, I’ve had a lifetime of rejection. Not interested in hearing yet another version of why.”

“I’m not . . . I’m not rejecting you. I want us. I just . . . we’re not ready for marriage.”

Laughter heralded the arrival of his guests. “Yoo-hoo,” a woman called.

“Let’s get this party started,” another said.

“Fuck me, do not put a shirt over that chest,” a third one said, striding into the room and coming right up to him, running her hands all over his abs.

Violet watched three overly made up, underdressed women surround him.

“Not until I lick it all over.” The woman licked a path from his nipple to his belly button.

The pain hit her full in the chest. A shrill noise screamed in her mind, and her heart curled into a tiny little ball of pain.

“Well, aren’t you just a breath of sunshine?” one of the women said to her. “She work for you?”

“Not anymore.” Derek’s voice sounded different, not so cocky.

“Oh, my God, what happened to your eye?” another one asked.

Violet’s hand automatically went to her cheek. Numbness seeped in, leaving her with a dull sense of emptiness.

He’d done it. He’d moved on. She was just another notch on the neck of his guitar.

All three of the women spoke over one another, vying for his attention. He laughed, turned on that charm and cockiness. He was gone. He’d left her completely.

“You wanna fuck around here first or you wanna meet up with everybody?” one of them asked.

“And miss the celebration?” Derek said, all full of energy and joviality. “I waited a long time to go gold. We’re gonna party first. “

“Then let’s do this shit.” And the women headed out of the bedroom, one of them holding his hand.

He was going to walk out on her, leave her alone in his hotel room.

“Derek.”
Screw
him.

He snapped around at her tone.

“I’m hurt, too. I don’t have a dad in my life to keep the wound open and fresh, but if I don’t always respond the way you want, it’s because
I’m hurt, too
. I gave you more in the six weeks I’ve known you than I’ve ever given anyone else. My feelings go deeper, take longer to build, but when they take root, they last. That might not seem like a
good thing to someone who wants everything from me all at once, but it’s a good thing for someone who actually wants to
marry
me.” She waited, gave him a chance to put his hurt aside, come back to her. To them.

But he stood there stonily.

“Come on.” The woman tugged on his arm.

“Yeah, yeah.” And then he turned away.

“So I was right after all. I’m no different than all the others.” She pushed past him, past the women raiding his mini fridge, and out the door.

She forced her feet to move, feeling like her spirit had left her body.

Would he come after her? He’d come after her, right? He couldn’t be that detached, that bloodless. She stepped into the elevator, nerves strung so tight they hummed. She pressed the button to keep the door open, waiting. But he didn’t come. So she let go.

And the elevator doors closed.

As soon as she hit the lobby, she knew she couldn’t take another step. Collapsing in the nearest chair, she pulled out her phone. She had to keep blinking away the tears in order to punch in the numbers.

Francesca answered on the first ring. “Violet?”

Emotion rushed her so hard, it burned like a rash on her skin. Her throat muscles tightened into a hard knot.

“Sweetheart?” She could hear Francesca talking quietly to Mimi in the background. “I don’t know. She’s not saying anything.”

Mimi got on the phone. “Talk to me, V. What’d the fucker do?”

“Mimi?”

“I’m right here.”

She’d never asked anyone for a favor in her life. Not once. She didn’t lean on people. She didn’t put them out in any way. But she literally could not move a muscle. Could not get her ass off this chair if the building were on fire. She needed her friends. “Come get me. Please?”

“Of course. Stay right where you are. We’re on our way.”

The phone dropped in her lap. She closed her eyes, imagining curling up into a little ball, hardening like a marble.

He’d gone twenty-eight years without her in his life, so why couldn’t he stop thinking about her? Why did her scent still come to him as if she were in the room?

He’d known her all of six weeks.

Derek yanked back the shower curtain and stepped out of the stall, covering his face in a clean, white towel. Shittiest week of his life.

Should have been the best—his record had gone
gold
. Critics loved Blue Fire. Life couldn’t be better.

A knock on the door jerked him out of his thoughts. He’d told the guys he didn’t want to party with them. Just wanted to crash early after tonight’s gig in Syracuse. If they’d come to lure him out, they could forget it.

Shoving his legs into jeans, he peered through the peephole.

Oh, shit.

He opened the door to the vision of Genevieve Babineaux. Dark hair gleaming and tumbling over her bare shoulders, she stood there with her red-glossed lips and strapless skintight dress, her tits mounding over the top.

“Hey, baby.” She breezed in, her expensive scent floating in the air around her. “Ooh, this is just how I like you.”
She ran her hands over his bare chest, then cupped the back of his neck and pressed a kiss to his mouth, her tongue flicking out.

Okay, this was good.
This is what I need
. He needed to go back to the man he was before Violet Davis.

Baby Jane Doe.

Why the fuck did Mimi keep torturing him? He didn’t need to know details about the woman who sure as fuck didn’t want him.

Didn’t need the guilt she kept piling on.

But fuck, it charged him hard, knocking him flat on his ass. Because like everyone else in Violet’s life, he’d left her. And why?

Because she hadn’t wanted to discuss a future with him in front of twenty thousand people?

Fuck. He couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand what he’d done.

He would never forget her eye, the white turned a livid red. He’d made her cry so hard she’d burst a blood vessel.

Gen squeezed his biceps. “Mm, you smell so good. God, I’ve missed you.”

He had to stop thinking about Violet. No matter her past, no matter the time they spent alone together, where he’d seen a side of her he suspected few people ever got to see, no matter any of it, she still wasn’t going to open up for anyone. She couldn’t.

He remembered Ferrari dude. That guy had been crazy about her. But she’d just stood there, all quiet and reserved. She didn’t have it in her.

An image of Violet straddling him, their hands clasped at either side of his head as she rode him hard, hips swiveling, grinding, her head jerking back as she came with a wild cry of release.

She opened for him.

The heel of Gen’s palm rubbed his dick. Instead of a shot of lust, instead of going rock hard, he felt a mild tingling. She just . . . wasn’t his girl. He stepped back, let her in.

“I expected to see you out with the guys. When they told me you were staying in, I figured you could use some cheering up.”

“Appreciate it, but not tonight. I’m just gonna crash.”

She cocked her head. “Still licking your wounds? That’s not like you at all.”

Christ. He didn’t want to deal with her shit. Ignoring her, he headed to the desk, where he’d left his water bottle.

“Derek, I could’ve spun this for you. I don’t know why you let the whole world think she rejected you. I had a great story we could’ve run with. We could’ve milked this thing for weeks.”

“I don’t want it going on for weeks. I need it to end. I need it all to go away.”

“Oh, please. Since when do you let media attention go away? You work it. You build it to your advantage.”

“Not at Violet’s expense. She has a job, an identity, and if I let the press get to her, it’ll ruin things for her.”

“Ah, that’s so sweet. Looking out for someone other than yourself. But she
rejected
you. So no need to be sweet anymore. Well, in any event, we can keep the story going by being quiet about it, too. We’ll just show up at events together, keep everyone speculating about who you’re with. That’ll work just as well.”

It would destroy Violet. Literally hit the target and blow up her heart. Her greatest fear realized, that she’d been just another chick in his string of short-lived, passionate relationships. He couldn’t do that to her.

He already had.

His fucking heart. Would it ever stop aching?

He closed his eyes, letting the humiliation blaze across his nerves. Who springs a proposal on a girl he’d known six weeks? “Just gonna let the whole thing fade away.” Just like the feelings he’d had for her.

Although not doing such a good job on that front.

“So you’re just going to wallow in your room? You don’t care about going gold? Making the list? Nothing?”

He sat on the edge of his bed, just wanting to be left alone. “Look, Gen, no offense, but I’m not in the mood for company tonight.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, you should be celebrating. Gloating. Shove it in your dad’s face. I can help you do that, you know. In a way that won’t make you look like the bad guy.”

“Going gold doesn’t mean shit to him. He’s multi-platinum a dozen times over. It doesn’t mean I’ve got talent.”

“I’m not talking about . . .” She looked stunned. “You don’t know, do you? What’re you, living under a rock? Where’s your phone?”

“Turned it off. I just want to go to sleep.”

She cocked a hip, tipping her chin down. “Derek, babe, you made the
Ledger List
. It came out tonight.”

She may as well have sprayed him with a fire hose. “What?”

Coming at him with her arms open, she wrapped herself around him, gripping his ass, and pulling him in against her. “You’re on it, baby. You’re the best rock bass player in the world.”

Fuck. Oh, fuck.
He pulled away from her, heading toward the window. Jesus Christ, he’d made the list? How was that possible? He’d sucked on
Artists Unplugged
. Let himself get rattled by his dad’s constant interruptions.

He was too young, too new on the scene.

The
Ledger List
? He smiled, imagining Violet’s expression. She wouldn’t be jumping up and down; she wouldn’t be gloating. It’d be a private moment between the two of them. She’d give him the time and space to let it really sink in.

He’d made the Ledger List.

Violet. He closed his eyes remembering the last text she’d sent him.

You swept me away, and despite my reservations, I let go, let myself fall for you. Tonight you showed me you’re exactly who I feared you were. Next time choose your targets more carefully. Choose women you won’t destroy.

Soft hands slid around his waist, Gen’s breasts pressed into his back.

Violet was gone. Over. And he was free. Free to be a rock star. His album had gone gold; he’d made the Ledger List. Everything he’d wanted, he’d earned.

He closed his eyes, the impact spreading through him. Jesus.
The Ledger List.
He had talent.

He should go out with his friends. Celebrate. Biggest moment of his life, and he was alone. Well, with Gen, but she didn’t count.

Oh, fuck him. She didn’t count. Adriana didn’t count. He chose women who didn’t count because they couldn’t tear his fucking heart out the way Violet had.

But what
had
Violet done? She’d rejected his idiotic marriage proposal. She’d come back, tried to talk to him, and what had he done? Pretended to be banging three nymphs.

He was such an asshole.

Gen’s hands caressed his bare skin, skimmed down into his unbuttoned jeans. “Mm. I missed you.” Why did her
mm
’s irritate the shit out of him? Because they were fake. Everything about her was fake. He shrugged her off. “I’m gonna call Slater.” He headed for the door, wanting her gone. He should be with his friends. Of anyone in the world, Emmie and Slater knew what this moment meant to him. The fucking
Ledger List
.

Except . . . Emmie and Slater might be able to
guess
what this moment meant because they’d known him so long. But Violet—she was the only person he’d ever talked to about it.

He opened the door, eager to get Gen out. “Thanks for stopping by.” He turned, but Gen wasn’t with him.

She stood at the window. Standing there bare ass naked, she licked her lips. Cupping her big breasts, she offered what he would’ve welcomed two months ago. “Come here, baby. Let me be your present for making the list. You can have me any way you want all night long.”

“Gen.” He knew he sounded as bored as he felt, and he didn’t want to hurt her. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m just not . . . I think I’m still tied up in someone else.” Grabbing his phone, he turned it on, waited for it to boot up.

There was only one person he wanted to share this moment with. Could he call Violet, let her know? She’d be so excited for him.

Yeah, right.

You’re exactly who I feared you were.

•   •   •

The
guys stood around him, Emmie’s hand on his shoulder, as Derek sat at the desk in his hotel room. The Beatz logo filled the screen of his laptop. The music faded, and then Cassandra Miller, the music blog’s top reporter, smiled at the camera.

“And so it’s out. What everyone who’s anyone in the music industry waits for each fall. The Ledger List. Started by the most illustrious name of all, Irwin Ledger, it’s a list of the world’s best musicians in jazz and rock, voted on by a select group of the biggest players in the industry. Now, everyone’s heard of Irwin Ledger, of course, but few have ever seen him. Why? Because the bastard gives no interviews. No matter what we offer him, how we bribe him, the twat rarely shows his face. Well, tonight, friends, we’re about to pull back the curtain on that elusive wizard. Yes, I, Cassandra Miller, have scored the interview of the decade. Ladies and gentleman . . .”

A cartoon image of a green curtain opened to reveal Irwin, sitting there looking annoyed.

“Irwin Ledger,” Cassandra said.

“Look at him,” Ben said.

“Dude looks like he’s sitting on spikes,” Cooper said.

“Why’d he do the interview anyway?” Ben asked. “He never does shit like this.”

“Shh.” Emmie waved a hand.

“You never give interviews,” Cassandra said. “So I have to start out by thanking you.”

“Well, I didn’t really have a choice now, did I? Beatz has boycotted Amoeba artists for the past year, so in order for my bands to get the exposure they’ve earned, you’ve
convinced
me to have this bloody little chat.”

The camera zinged to Cassandra, and she gave a comical expression of being shocked, accompanied by sound effects. “You are
not
editing this out,” she said to someone in the room. She burst out laughing.

“All righty, then. I’ve got you here, let’s do this.” She turned serious. “Normally, of course, we’d edit out a comment like that. But we’re not going to, and I’ll tell you why.
We are a cynical generation. We don’t trust award shows or lists. We think everything’s rigged or bought somehow. Well, I think you can see for yourself who Irwin is. He takes no shit, and he pulls no punches. He tells it like it is. So the Ledger List? It’s the real deal. These truly are the best musicians in the world.”

“Shall we get to it, then?” Irwin looked impatient.

“Yes, absolutely. The moment we’ve been waiting for has come. The list is out.”

Irwin shrugged. “Not sure why so much is made out of a silly list.”

“There’s a hell of a lot of talented people out there. The market’s flooded with musicians. Thanks to social media, new bands spring up every day. Weeding them out, sorting through them to find the true talent? That’s important. That’s meaningful. Tell us how the list came about?”

“Bunch of blokes going out for a pint after work each night, sitting around arguing about the best musicians. Someone started writing down our answers, and somehow, my list found its way to my boss at the time.” Irwin shrugged. “For some reason my list became formalized. An annual expectation. It wound up in
Billboard
,
A&R
, the trade magazines of the time. Ridiculous, really.”

“And you got promoted, and here you are twenty-seven years later, with a string of the most famous bands in the world to your credit. And now you’ve got Blue Fire, formerly known as Snatch.”

Irwin winced; Cassandra laughed. “I’m going to guess you had a hand in changing their name. So let’s start with the rockers. Specifically, the bass player. Talk to me about Eddie and Derek Valencia. It’s interesting that you chose Derek, considering all the press his dad’s got out there on him. Tell me the truth, did Eddie—a jazz virtuoso who stayed on your list for ten years—influence your decision at all?”

All humor left his eyes. “The man hasn’t been relevant in years. How could he possibly influence anyone’s decisions?”

Emmie’s hand on Derek’s shoulder squeezed. He smiled.
Hasn’t been relevant in years
. Fuck, yeah. He
laughed, and the band around his chest snapped, giving him room to breathe for the first time in . . . ages.

“You want to know why I chose Derek? ‘Four O’Clock Farm.’”

Every time Derek thought of the song, he was taken right back to the barn, Violet on his lap on a bale of hay, arms wrapped around his neck. Fuck, he could still smell her sweet scent. Still picture the sea of wildflowers rippling in a warm breeze.

“Did you happen to catch him on
Artists Unplugged
?” Irwin continued. “I can’t even tell you what they blabbered on about or what songs were played, until he did an acoustic version of that song. It’s not out yet, so I can’t offer you a copy, but when you get a chance, close your eyes and listen to it, really feel it. At first you’ll hear Slater Vaughn’s vocals—you have no choice. The kid’s brilliant. You become a vessel for his feelings. That’s why he took the spot for best rock vocals. The next thing you’ll hear is a haunting melody that will make you weep. And if you don’t believe me, come to their next show and look around the arena. You won’t find a dry eye in the place. But let me tell you
why
that song is so haunting. Because of the bass. People think bass is nothing more than the background. Just the guy keeping time for the band. They’re wrong. The bass gives the track its groove and rhythm. Derek is the rhythm of Blue Fire. He’s the heart and soul of it. Slater’s the voice, the lyricist, the face, but Derek’s the heart.”