Rock All Night (The Rock Star's Seduction #2) (11 page)

It was a long-ass night.

A long-ass,
frustrating
night.

I laid awake, fitfully turning in bed for over an hour, replaying the scene over and over in my head.

Fuck this.

Him slamming me against the wall, kissing me, stroking me, tantalizing me –

The stench of a dozen other women’s perfume –

I’ve always wanted YOU, Kaitlyn. Just you.

My final refusal –

You want me? I’m yours. But YOU let me know.

It all seemed like a dream.

An incredibly hot, but incredibly disturbing dream.

Why did I have to say ‘no’? Wasn’t that exactly the thing I’d fantasized about for years – him forcefully pinning me against the wall, taking me, ravishing me?

I knew why I’d said ‘no,’ of course. The smell. The perfume. I couldn’t get past it.

Why
did he have to dance with those women?
Why?

Why
did he have to flaunt it in my face?

Why couldn’t we have just left immediately after the concert and come here?

He could have been in my arms
right now.

He could have been
inside
me RIGHT NOW.

I was so hot and bothered I wanted to cry.

I relived our night together in college – his fingers creeping down to my panties… slowly slipping beneath my underwear…

As I imagined it for the fifth time, I finally let my own hand drift down between my legs and pretend it was his.

Imagined it was
his
fingertip gently touching my clit… stroking… circling… caressing…

I remembered the feel of his body against mine… his lips kissing my ear, my neck…

And as I got higher, as I felt my orgasm build, I remembered his cock… I remembered holding it hot and long and thick in my hand, stroking it… using his own pre-come to make him wet and slick… my fingers slipping over the head, circling the shaft. I remembered the passion in our kisses, the look on his face, the ecstasy and the surprise as he cried out and his cock suddenly exploded beneath my fingers, the hot wet spurting over my hand as he called out my name –

And I came.

I cried out, a tiny little whimper, as the contractions raced through me. When it was finished, I rolled over on my side. The pain was still there in my heart, but the tension was lessened. For a few brief seconds I had forgotten how much I hurt.

It still took me another hour to get to sleep.

I awoke to a light knocking on my door.

Tok tok tok.

“Unnnhhh…” I moaned.

Jesus, didn’t they know what TIME it was?

…wait… what time WAS it?

I lifted my head and looked blearily at the clock.

10:07 AM.

Holy shit.

I
never
slept this late. Not only that, but my body was supposed to be three hours ahead because of the time zone difference. Back in New York, it was
one o’clock in the afternoon.

Adrenaline rushed through me. I jumped out of bed and staggered over to the door.

Was it the hotel coming to throw me out?

Was it Miles come to scream at me to be in the limo in two minutes, no exceptions?

Was it Derek, back for round two?

I wasn’t sure how I felt about that last one.

I opened the door the slightest crack and peered out through swollen eyes.

It was a maid in a pristine white uniform, next to a rolling cart of towels and cleaning supplies.

“Cleaning service,” she said.

“Um… can you come back later?” I mumbled.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said apologetically. “There was no ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door.”

“Um… no worries… my bad…”

“Alright. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

“Okay…”

She pushed the cart down the hall, the wheels barely whispering over the thick carpet. A few seconds later I heard another low knock about 20 feet away.

I found the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on my side and fumbled it out through the crack, hung it on the doorknob, and then closed my door.

First thing I did was call Miles’s cell phone. It was the only number that Glen, my editor at Rolling Stone, had given me before I left New York.

“Miles ‘ere,”
he answered on the first ring.

“Hi, Miles, it’s Kaitlyn.”

I was expecting something like,
Hello,
or
Good morning,
or any of a number of possible pleasantries.

What I got instead was a brusque,
“What do you want?”

“Um… I just wanted to make sure you guys hadn’t left without me.”

“Left without you?”
he asked, almost incredulous.

“Yeah… isn’t there another concert in another city tonight?” I asked, recalling one of the few other pieces of information I’d gotten from Glen.

“Irvine – but it’s only an hour away. Bus won’t even be ready till three.”

“Oh. Um… okay… that’s good… are the guys practicing now?”

He gave a short, barking laugh.
“PRACTICING? Those lazy sods aren’t even UP yet.”

Suddenly I felt a whole lot better.

“Oh… okay… what time should I come by, then?”

“Whenever,”
he snapped, then hung up the phone.

Asshole.

But at least I had time to take a shower.

Actually, I had time to take a shower, get dressed, and go down and have a quick breakfast at the restaurant in the lobby. I didn’t eat much – A, the prices were astronomical, even by New York City standards, and B, I didn’t relish hanging out in the place where I’d seen Derek get mauled by a bunch of half-clothed hoochies. But I stayed long enough to eat some toast, a side order of fruit, and drink some coffee. Everything was excellent, especially the coffee. At eight dollars for a ‘bottomless cup,’ it had better be. By the second cup I was feeling halfway human again.

I went over to the penthouse elevator at 12:30 but found out I couldn’t get it to go anywhere without a special keycard. I went to the front desk and explained who I was, but the Ms. Universe contestant on duty said that I had to get authorization from the inhabitants. So I reluctantly called Miles again. He answered again on the first ring.

“What?”
he snapped.

I explained the situation.

“Christ,”
he snarled, then hung up.

A second later the reception desk phone rang. Ms. Universe picked up, said, “Right away, sir,” pleasantly, and then smiled at me. “You can go on up.”

I thanked her and headed over to the elevator.

I was nervous all the way up to the penthouse.

I kept wondering how it was going to be seeing Derek. If the sexual tension was going to be as uncomfortable as it was last night. If he was really going to stick to ‘I’m not going to make a move,
you’re
going to have to make a move,’ or if he was going to go back to hitting on me.

But when I got up to the penthouse, I realized something else I should have been worrying about but had completely forgotten:

Ryan.

He answered the door when I knocked – showered, styled, and neatly dressed in jeans, brown oxfords, and a royal blue button-up shirt with a brown leather jacket.

“Good morning,” he smiled at me.

Suddenly all the discomfort of last night’s conversation came racing back.

“Uh… hey,” I said, my legs frozen where I stood.

He gave me a weird look – probably because of how uncomfortable I was acting – and then stepped aside. “Come on in, we ordered breakfast.”

I was about to say ‘no thanks,’ but then the smell of bacon, eggs, and pancake syrup wafted through the air.

Mixed with the stink of marijuana.

It was a measure of how hungry I still was that I didn’t even mind the pot smell.

But there was something I had to say first.

“Um… about last night…”

Ryan winced good-naturedly, like I was bringing up a disastrous ‘let’s just be friends’ prom date back in high school. “Can we just pretend that never happened?”

Relief flooded through me. “Yeah… sure. Are you okay with that?”

“Believe me, I’m
more
than okay with it,” he said, and smiled, putting me instantly at ease. “You hungry?”

“I could eat,” I said, and walked in.

Immediately my old discomfort returned as I remembered about Derek – but he was nowhere to be seen.

Miles was on the other side of the humongous penthouse, pacing in and out of an open bedroom door, snapping occasionally at whomever was on the other line.

Killian sat in the middle of the room next to a couple of room service tables loaded with silver platters of food. He was dressed in black silk pajamas, which I never would have expected. Black, yes; not the silk part. For once, he didn’t have a joint in his mouth – just a piece of bacon. He
did
have the guitar in his lap, though he was only fingering chords, not strumming it. His free hand clutched a cup of coffee.

“Mornin’, luv,” he said amiably. I could tell he’d already hit the ganja from the mellow way he said it. That, and the invisible herbal cloud rising off him, like a pothead Pig Pen in the Charlie Brown cartoons.

“Good morning. Where’s Derek?”

“Um… haven’t seen him yet,” Ryan said a little hesitantly as he sat back down to his plate of food. I wondered with a tiny bit of panic if he knew about Derek’s late-night visit to me. Then I realized that, no, he was probably under the impression that Derek was still in bed with a girl or two he’d picked up from the dance floor.

Speaking of which –

“How did you make out last night?” I asked.

Ryan grinned. “I thought we weren’t going to speak of that.”

“I thought we weren’t going to speak of you and
me,
” I said mischievously. “I didn’t realize that extended to…
other
parties.”

Killian perked up. “What other parties?”

“No other parties,” Ryan said hastily, then looked at me. “I decided it was a bad idea and hit the hay early. Well… earli
er.
Sit down,” he said, gesturing at a chair beside him.

I sat and started loading up my plate. “Thanks.”

“Orange juice? Freshly-squeezed,” he said, holding up a glass pitcher.

“Sure.”

“We’ve got some champagne if you want a mimosa.”

Mmm.
“Tempting, but I better not.” I looked around. “Are they still sleeping?”

“Who, Derek and Riley? Riley probably isn’t sleeping, exactly. Derek didn’t stay up here.”

I stared at him. “What do you mean? He didn’t come back last night?”

“He sleeps in another room somewhere in the hotel,” Ryan explained. “Always has, no matter where we stay.”

“Oh,” I said, and wondered just how worried
I
should be. “What did you mean about Riley, though?”

Right on cue, one of the giant penthouse’s bedroom doors banged open and a girl stepped out.

She was college age. Definitely cute – and incredibly disheveled. Her black skirt was slightly askew, and her green top was untucked and wrinkled. Her hair looked like she’d been in a wind tunnel. Her makeup was smudged, especially her lipstick. She held her high heels and purse in her arms.

As soon as she saw us, she froze like a deer in headlights.

Ryan and Killian both waved politely.

“Hello.”

“Mornin’, luv.”

I looked from one guy to the other, then followed their leads and hesitantly raised my own arm and waved.

The girl smiled – though it was a sick sort of
Oh my GOD I’M SO EMBARRASSED
grimace.

Then Riley walked out and slapped the girl on the ass.

More like stumbled out, actually. She was barefoot and dressed in a grey sleeveless t-shirt and ripped jeans. Her eyes were swollen shut and her raccoon eyes were even worse than before. Her mohawk was flattened horizontally over one side of her head, with hairsprayed sections jutting stiffly every which way.

As soon as Riley smacked her ass, the girl jerked and then blushed furiously.

“G’wan… I got… band… stuff…” Riley mumbled as she shuffled over towards the table like a blind zombie.

The girl raced past us, over to the penthouse door – and then paused before she let herself out.

“Call me,” she said piteously.

Riley waved her arm like
Yeah, yeah
without looking over at her.

Then the girl disappeared out the door.

“Uhhhhhhh,” Riley groaned as she plopped down in a chair, her eyes no more than puffy slits in her face.

“You’re such an asshole,” Ryan said amiably.

“Shu’ fuck up,” Riley mumbled as she held out her arm.

Killian reached down behind the table and handed her a bottle of Jack Daniels.

I stared at him.

“Hair o’ the dog,” Killian said, like whiskey was the most natural thing in the world for breakfast.

Without a word, Riley unscrewed the cap and took a drink straight from the bottle. A looooong drink.

“Ew,” I whispered.

Without looking at me, Riley flipped me a bird with her free hand – and kept guzzling.

“It’s like her morning coffee,” Ryan explained.

When she finally stopped drinking, she let the bottle dangle from her hand and leaned her head back against the top of her chair. “UGH I hate straight bitches. They never want to go down on you.”

EW.

I put my forkful of eggs back on my plate, uneaten.

“Good morning to you, too, sunshine,” Ryan teased.

“Fuck off.” Riley tilted her head up, opened one eye halfway, and looked at me. “What’re you doin’ here, Blondie? I thought you and D woulda been poundin’ it out all mornin’.”

“Well, you’d be wrong,” I said icily.

She leaned her head back against the chair. “Guess he’s poundin’ somebody else,” she murmured.

I wanted to jump across the table and smash the fucking bottle of whiskey over her head.

But a deep, rumbling voice stopped me.

“Well, you’d be wrong again,” Derek said as he closed the penthouse door behind him.