Mr. Rockstar (2 page)

“
Wow,” Marvin lifted his eyebrows. “So, you’re going to ignore her, right?”

Ian grunted.
“Isabelle’s tough, and I don’t want to piss her off.” He suddenly grinned up at Marvin, his expression going from frustrated to gleeful in a split second. “She’s amazing, actually. She kicked this kid’s ass one time when she found him beating me up by the bus stop. I was in middle school and she had just gone into ninth grade, but she was still this little bitty thing, hadn’t hit her growth spurt yet. It was awesome. She’s so shy, no one saw her coming. She usually stayed so quiet, wouldn’t talk to anyone. When she lost it, everyone freaked out.” He chuckled. “She wouldn’t be upset over her douchebag ex, except for one thing.”

Marvin
grinned at the thought of a shy female version of Ian beating someone up. “So, what’s this one thing that Amazing Isabelle can’t deal with?”

Ian
’s smile faded. “Her asshole ex is the best man at
her
best friend’s wedding this weekend.”

Oh, wow, that just… sucked.
“Wait, shit,” Marvin said, thinking about all the crap that went into weddings. “Her best friend’s wedding? Let me guess, she’s the maid-of-honor?”

“
Yup.”

“
Well, damn.” Marvin sat back down in his chair and started listing all the traditional things. “Rehearsal dinner? Sitting next to him at the reception?”

Ian nodded.
“Exactly. And Isabelle didn’t tell her best friend exactly why they broke up, because she didn’t want to upset her. Of course, the asshole ex is bringing the blonde he banged to the wedding.” Ian looked disgusted. “If everyone didn’t know I was her brother, I’d fly home and be her date for the weekend, just so she could give the asshole ex the finger. Figuratively speaking.”

All Marvin
’s instincts were telling him to help. He squashed them firmly. The last time he’d tried to help a woman, she’d stabbed him in the back.
Except, this is Ian’s sister,
a little voice inside his head insisted.
You have to help.
Ian was the best friend a guy could have. When Marvin had found the picture of his ass all over the net, Ian had helped him send all the takedown notices. When Marvin’s manager had screwed his girlfriend, Ian was the one who’d helped him find a new one. Shit. He had to do something.

“
Does your sister know who I am?” he asked.

Ian gave him an exasperated
look. “Of course she does. She has all your albums.
Everyone
has all your albums.”

Marvin pinched the bridge of his nose.
“No, I mean, does she know you work with me?”

Ian frowned.
“No. I don’t tell anyone my client list, you know that. She knows I work in the music industry, but she doesn’t know the particulars. The last thing I want is paparazzi following me all over the damn place hoping to get a photo of
your
ugly ass.”

Marvin coughed to cover a laugh.
“You are such a hermit, Ian.”

“
So what? I’m an introvert. What’s wrong with that?”

Marvin rolled his eyes.
“Is your sister nice? She’s not crazy, is she?”

Ian stared at him.
“I just got done singing her praises, Marvin. No, she’s not crazy. She’s a decent person who seems to attract asshole loser boyfriends. Why?” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

Marvin
’s gut clenched.
Hell. I’m really going to do this.
He couldn’t leave Ian in the lurch like this. “I could go.”

“
Go where? What are you talking about?” Ian grabbed a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and cracked open the top.

“
Go to the wedding with her,” Marvin said quickly, like pulling off a bandage.

Ian choked on his drink, sputtering.
“You’re joking,” he said flatly, when he’d finished hacking the water from his lungs. “You want to take my sister to her best-friend’s wedding?”

Marvin nodded.
“You’re a good friend. If I can help—” He broke off, shrugging. He ignored the tiny kernel of terror lodged in his gut.

“
Marvin, people with cameras follow you to the damn toilet. You can’t take her to a wedding. It’ll be chaos. And Charlie will never forgive me,” Ian said, mentioning Marvin’s bodyguard and driver.

“
So, I’ll cut my hair. I’ve worn it long for years. No one will recognize me.” Marvin had no idea why he was pushing this. He didn’t even know what Isabelle looked like, not that it mattered. She could be hideous and he’d still go. If she was Ian’s sister, she had to be good people.

Ian blinked.
“You’re serious.”

“
As a heart attack.”

Ian
’s eyes flicked down to Marvin’s tattoo. “What about that? Everyone knows the tat.”

Marvin pursed his lips. Ian was right, but—
“Yeah, but think of how many copycat tattoos there are out there. Everyone will just think I’m a big fan of Vin Clementine.” He wrinkled his nose. “They send me pictures of their ink, you know. Big doves. Little doves. Purple doves. On all kinds of arms and other unfortunate body parts. I even saw one on this guy’s hairy back.” He shuddered.

Ian laughed.
“I can’t believe you’re actually thinking about this.”

Marvin swiveled back and forth in his chair, warming up to the idea.
“I like traveling. I like doing new things. It’ll give me some new song material.”

“
Don’t you dare write a song about my sister,” Ian threatened, holding up his water like a club.

Whoa, protective much?
Marvin thought, amused. He held up his hands. “I won’t, I promise. I’ll write something awful about asshole exes and how weddings suck. It’ll be great.”

Ian chewed on his bottom lip.
“I’ll have to ask Isabelle. I’m not springing you on her without any warning. She’d kill me if I did that.”

Marvin had a sudden thought.
“Just tell her your friend Marvin is coming. Don’t mention the music.”

“
What?” Ian looked aghast. “No. No way. I’m not lying to her.”

“
She’s not gonna go for it if you tell her who I am.” Marvin was disappointed. He’d warmed up to the idea, and now Ian wanted to throw a stick in the spokes.

“
You underestimate her,” Ian said. “She likes your music.”

That was even worse.
“I don’t want her agreeing because she’s a fan. No, forget it.” Marvin rubbed his eyes. “Just forget it.”

“
I already told you she’s not crazy. No backing out now. You already offered.” Ian had his cell phone in his hand. “And she’s not that kind of fan. Or person. She’s
my
sister. Seriously. When have you ever known me to be insane?” He waited, finger poised above the phone’s display.

Marvin looked at his friend. He had a point. Ian wa
s nice to the point of idiocy. And he went out of his way to avoid publicity. “Just because you won’t throw me to the dogs doesn’t mean your sister will be the same.”

Ian sighed loudly.
“She works in marketing and knows all the tricks. She’s really shy. Honestly, she’s too nice for her own good, and I know that you think I’m too nice, too.”

Marvin held up his hands in surrender.
“Okay! Okay. Call her. Don’t be surprised if she says no once she finds out who I am, though.”

“
She won’t,” Ian said, sliding his finger over the call button.

Marvin watched him, heart suddenly in his throat. He had a weird feeling everything in his life was about to change.

Chapter Two

“You what?” Isabelle said, voice rising. “One of your friends is willing to fly out to be my date at the wedding? Hell, yes! I accept!” She jumped off her couch and began to do a victory dance around her living room. “I don’t care if he looks like a dog. Or a frog. Seriously. This is the answer to my prayers, Ian. You said he’s taller than Preston? Perfect.”

She thought about showing up at the wedding with a man who could look down his nose at her ex
’s perfect hair and sneer indifferently. She hoped he looked like a big, mean bulldog. That would be awesome. Preston was a coward at heart. The only good thing that had come out of discovering him with the blonde in the kitchen was also finding out how easy it was to scare the shit out of him.
Throw a few pots around and Preston runs for his life.
She smiled evilly, baring her teeth. She’d chased them out into the hall naked that day.

“
And is he muscular? Because that would be even better. Preston is such a weeny,” she continued, not letting her brother speak.

“
I don’t know if he’s muscular! Geez, Belle. I don’t notice shit like that.” The dismay in her brother’s voice came through the connection loud and clear.

Isabelle laughed, picturing her brother
’s face all screwed-up as he tried to figure out how to answer her. Before she could press him, though, the low tones of a man’s voice in the background interrupted her train of thought. Was that Ian’s friend?

“
Okay, wait. He says he could probably bench press
me
, the jerk. He thinks that’s funny. Is that good enough?” her brother asked.

Isabelle almost squealed with glee. Her brother was five feet eleven and solidly muscular.
“Yes! That’s perfect!” He was her brother’s friend, so he wouldn’t be an asshole, and she didn’t have to worry about introducing herself or going out and finding a date or anything.

Her brother sighed.
“There’s more.”

More? How could this get any better? Isabelle hugged herself. Her brother was her hero.

“He’s, um, kinda famous.” Ian stuttered over his words.

Wait, what?
“Famous? Famous how?” she asked suspiciously, stomach sinking. “He’s not a porn star or anything, is he? That would
not
be cool, Ian.”

“
No, he’s not a porn star. Jesus, Belle,” her brother replied, outraged.

She heard masculine laughter in the background.

“Is that him?” she asked. His laugh sounded familiar for some reason.

“
Yes, that’s him. Shut up, Marvin. It’s not
that
funny.”

Isabelle grinned as her brother snarled at his friend. She already liked this guy. If he could laugh while she and Ian bickered, he was probably a keeper.

“Well, who is he, then?” she prodded when her brother didn’t elaborate. “An actor? Does he do commercials or something?”

Another loud sigh.
“He’s a singer.”

Isabelle waited for him to explain. The man could be a backup singer for a two-bit show in Vegas for all she knew. Her brother didn
’t elaborate and she finally lost patience listening to him breathe on the other end of the line. “I swear to God, Ian, if you don’t spill—” she began to say, but then her brother squawked in surprise. A deep voice in her ear made her entire body shiver.

“
Since Ian doesn’t seem to be able to speak in actual sentences for some reason, I’ve liberated his phone. I’m Vin Clementine. I’d be happy to come be your pretend boyfriend for the weekend, Ms. Reeves.”

She nearly dropped the phone.
The
Vin Clementine? Rockstar extraordinaire? The guy with a million fans? She blinked, trying to process what he’d said. When she opened her mouth, like an idiot, all she could think to say was, “Wait a second, your real name is
Marvin
?”

Isabelle paced her apartment, wondering if she should go change again. She’d already tried on three dresses, a pair of shorts with two different t-shirts, and a pantsuit, before finally settling on jeans and a sleeveless scoop-neck top. It was green. Fiona told her the color made her eyes look awesome. She sure as hell hoped so because Vin Clementine would be knocking on her door any minute now and she wanted him to look at her face before he realized that she wasn’t some skinny supermodel. She was already dying inside at the thought of meeting him.
He’s a total stranger
, she thought unhelpfully.
And you suck at making small talk.
Not for the first time, she cursed her shyness. All her life it had held her back because she meeting new people gave her anxiety attacks. When Ian moved to Los Angeles three years, she couldn’t bring herself to go with him, knowing she’d have to go on job interviews and find an apartment.
Ugh. You are such a loser, Isabelle.

When the tap on the door came, even though she was expecting it, she almost jumped out of her skin. She took a deep breath, smoothed her suddenly clammy hands down her thighs, and walked over to
the door. When she peered through the peephole, she frowned, confused. The man standing in front of her apartment didn’t look like Vin Clementine, Mr. Rockstar with long hair and tattoos and leather bracelets. No, the man out there had short hair. No leather bracelets, just a silver thumb ring. He wore a soft gray sweater that hugged his muscles—
of which there are many
, she admitted to herself, impressed—down to his wrists. He had on sunglasses, so she couldn’t tell what color his eyes were.

He
’s definitely built
, she told herself, chewing on her lip. “Who is it?” She kept her eye on the peephole.

The man cleared his throat.
“It’s Marvin. Your brother Ian sent me?”

She straightened up. She knew that voice.
He’s really calling himself Marvin?
she mouthed to herself, then peeked out the hole again. He’d taken off his sunglasses and tucked them in the neck of his sweater. Vin Clementine’s distinctive green eyes twinkled out of this stranger’s face. Now that she was looking more closely, she noticed that he’d replaced the dangling silver hoops in his ears with small diamonds. Five studs winked at her as he turned his head.

Holy hell, he cut his hair
, she thought, stunned.
How can that change how he looks so much? He’s even more gorgeous like this!

“
Um, just a sec!” she called, pressing a fist to her chest to calm her racing heart. It didn’t help. She bit the inside of her cheek, hard.
Okay, that should do it
, she thought, wincing. She tasted blood in her mouth as she put her hand on the lock.

“
Isabelle?” he called through the door.

She unlocked it and swung it open.
“You cut your hair,” she blurted, then immediately wished she could disappear. Her face went hot.
You are an idiot
, she told herself. She tried to look him in the eyes but her gaze kept straying to the soft locks of hair falling over his forehead. He looked even better this way than he had with it long.

He smiled and ran a hand through his hair, ruffling the top a bit.
“Yeah. I thought it would help keep me incognito for a while. So far so good.”

“
Uh, yeah. That makes sense.” Isabelle stared at the top of his head. Even mussed, he looked like sex on a stick.

“
Are you going to let me in?” he asked.

She dropped the doorknob like a hot potato.
“Yes! I mean, come on in,” she stuttered, backing away from the door.

His eyes twinkled at her kindly as he walked inside. He dominated her apartment the moment he entered—he was taller than Preston, and more muscled. He paused, eyes wandering over her old brown sofa to the brilliant splash of color on the far wall.

I wonder what he thinks of that
, she mused, biting her lip nervously. When she’d first moved in, she’d painted a giant abstract mural along the largest uninterrupted space. She’d hoped to offset the depressing beige of the rest of the apartment, but when her landlord had gone apeshit over it, she’d had to pay him an extra month’s rent as a bribe. Even so, the brilliant magenta and orange still had the power to both soothe and energize her. That’s why she’d placed it so that it could be seen from the couch.

“
That’s gorgeous,” he murmured, startling Isabelle.

“
Uh, thanks,” she muttered, closing the door. He liked her painting? Wow. She didn’t really expect him to say anything about it.
I mean, not that it isn’t totally obvious, because it takes up the whole wall. And everyone mentions it,
she stuttered silently to herself. She closed her eyes in mortification.
Oh God, I can’t even talk to myself, in my head, without being an idiot.

He didn
’t say anything else, just stood there, looking at the wall.
Now what? Do I offer him a drink?
She wrung her hands, trying to ignore the weirdness she felt growing between them.
Is it just me who wants to hurl?
Mr. Rockstar didn’t seem to be having the same problem. He walked further into her small apartment as if checking for something, then spun around and stared into her kitchen. The dirty dishes she’d piled in the sink screamed “loser” at her and she winced, wishing she’d cleaned up before he got there.

“
You painted it, right?” he asked, not seeming to notice her discomfort.

She blinked.
“Uh, yeah.”

He smiled again, the perfect white of his teeth startling.
“Ian told me you were an artist.” He glanced around. “For some reason, I thought your place would be bigger.”

Isabelle swallowed.
“It’s a tiny apartment. That’s part of the reason I painted the wall. What you see is what you get.” She swept her arm out awkwardly. “The bathroom and bedroom are down the hall and that’s about it. I can’t really afford more right now.”

He shrugged.
“Size doesn’t matter.”

Isabelle stared at him, her face going hot, then a giggle escaped despite her best efforts to keep it in. She couldn
’t believe he’d said that!

He quirked an eyebrow at her.
“What?”

“
Nothing, nothing,” she muttered, looking down. Against her will, her eyes landed on his groin. The slim cut of his dark jeans did nothing to hide the impressive size of his junk. She snapped her gaze away and whirled around. “Would you like a drink?” She headed for the kitchen. She needed ice. Lots of ice. She needed to apply it to her head so that she could stop being a moron and start using her brain for actual conversation.

“
Thanks, some water would be great.” His stupid gorgeous eyes were still twinkling at her.

Oh God, he knows I was checking him out
, she thought, but then, while she watched, his eyes deliberately dropped to her chest, then flicked down her waist to her feet. Isabelle’s heart gave a hard thump when he smiled at her. Nothing gross or overtly suggestive, just… appreciative.

Oh my God, Vin Clementine just checked out my boobs
, she thought faintly, hand on the refrigerator door.

“
Water?” he asked gently.

She jerked open the fridge and grabbed two bottles of spring water.
“Yes, okay. Here.” She held one out to him, still feeling lightheaded. “Sorry, I’m acting like a total idiot,” she managed to say, completely humiliated.

“
Hey, it’s no problem. You’ve been under a lot of stress.” He cracked open the bottle and took a swig. “I understand.”

Isabelle watched the long, gorgeous line of his throat as he swallowed.
“Yeah,” she murmured, sticking her bottle against her cheek. The cold felt good. “Stress. You could say that.”
Less like stress and more like rage
, she thought.
Or embarrassment.

Vin sighed and leaned against her counter, right next to the pile of unwashed dishes. He looked like a million bucks next to her dingy old sink.
“I understand,” he said again quietly, his eyes suddenly shadowed and startlingly vulnerable. “I really do.”

She recalled the gossip that had been splashed all over the news through the years about him, some of it good and some of it nasty, and she abruptly realized that he hadn
’t asked for any of it. Marvin Clementine was not Vin Clementine, rockstar. He was just a man. A really nice, decent man that her brother had sent to bail her out. A man who was kind enough to fly across the country to help out a friend’s sister.
Well, damn
, she thought, amazed.

And
suddenly, Isabelle’s awkwardness melted away as she finally let herself see the person behind the image.

An hour later and they were in her car, driving to the rehearsal dinner. “I really appreciate this,” Isabelle said, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. The streets were wet, so she had to pay attention to her driving, but the man was just so damn distracting.