Rock Dirty (Rock Candy #2)
Read Rock Dirty (Rock Candy #2) Online
Authors: Virna DePaul
ROCK DIRTY
Rock Candy Book 2
by
Virna DePaul
BOOK DESCRIPTION
As one of the hottest drummers in the world, rock star Tucker “The F***er” Benning lives life hard. But when his band’s world tour is cancelled, Tucker finds himself stuck in an airport with no destination in mind…until he spots a red-headed knockout hurrying through the airport on her way to Paris, France. She’s classy, sexy, and turns heads. Why not buy a first class ticket and follow her? That’s when the real fun begins.
Dominique “Nikki” Lorenz, heiress to her mother’s magazine empire, is headed to Paris, hoping to leave behind her celebutante tabloid reputation and make a new name for herself. She’s amused when the famous Tucker Benning sits next to her and starts flirting—could he BE any more of a rock star? But when he presents a naughty proposal, she figures why not have one last wild experience before settling down?
Once they land in Paris, though, Nikki makes a stand—no more naughty stuff. She has a fresh reputation to build, and being seen with Tucker won’t help. Yet Tucker’s bad boy allure is impossible to resist and so is his softer side, which makes her feel cherished and worthy. Tucker has a decision to make—does he fight for his band, or does he commit to the woman he’s come to care about, a woman who longs for love and stability his rock star lifestyle can’t give?
Tucker’s life has always been about fame, fun, and f***ing around. But now Nikki needs him and he’ll do whatever it takes to win her heart…including fighting dirty. Because love is worth risking everything.
MORE FROM VIRNA DEPAUL
CHAPTER ONE
Tucker
Life sucks and then you die.
At least that was how I felt at the moment. And I was a rock star, for fuck’s sake.
Only I was the band’s drummer. The Ringo to our band’s Paul. That meant in the end I was pretty much filler. And the fact that I even thought that, when I knew I was one of the luckiest sons of a bitches on the planet, made the nickname I’d been given way back in high school—Tucker the Fucker—completely justified.
I
was
a fucker. A selfish prick who had money, women, and fame, all the things a guy could want, and I was still pissed my best friend, Liam Collier, lead singer of Point Break, had decided to risk everything for a girl.
I’d been tight with Liam for years. Together, we’d started the band in a basement (we weren’t good enough at the time for garages), and it had been our baby for seven damn years. Now we’re one of the hottest bands around but thanks to Liam that might not be true for long. We’d just completed an encore show at Madison Square Garden, finishing the North American leg of our first world tour, and now it was over before it had barely begun. And all because Liam was in love. Earlier in the tour, he’d rekindled his fiery passion with his cute little Asian Persuasion, aka Abby Chan, the band’s back-up cellist, but it wasn’t until a few weeks ago that he’d dropped the bomb, wanting to postpone the international leg of the tour to think things over but mostly to spend time with Abby here in New York.
Me? I was headed back to Southern California, even though I had fuck all idea what I was going to do there. Our future really was up to Liam. If he decided after a few months of R&R with Abby that he was done with the rocker lifestyle, then I wasn’t sure that Point Break could go on without him. Sure, we could get a new front man, we could change the band’s name and rebuild everything from scratch, but it wouldn’t be the same. It wouldn’t be as fun. Chances were it wouldn’t be as successful.
I was twenty-three, a high school dropout and I could beat a mean lick on drums.
Just like a billion other dudes on the Sunset Strip.
Without the draw that was Liam and his songwriting skills, I was afraid we might be cooked.
As if all that wasn’t enough, now I was stuck in a huge ass line checking in my luggage for my evening flight. It was a pain in the balls to be stuck in a line a mile long anytime, but especially when I was nursing a hangover—and I’ll admit, I was
always
nursing a hangover. Admittedly the First Class line I was in was way shorter than the coach lines, but still. Too bad that even as huge as Point Break was, we weren’t huge enough to have our own private jet.
Not yet.
If Liam pulled his head out of his ass? Who knew. But for now, nothing beat the fun of looming unemployment like being stuck in line with a shitload of cranky people while praying no one recognized me. I loved our fans, I truly did, but I was tired. Hell, I was fucking depressed. I just wanted to get on the plane, order a drink, and go to sleep.
Twenty minutes later, as I reached the front of the line, I had to admit Lady Luck or God or the Universe was at least throwing me one small bone. At the check-in counter to my right, I’d just spotted a woman that was very easy on the eyes. Tall. I’m about six feet and she looked to be about the same. She had curves that went on for days, especially a firm little ass that I’d love to wrap my hands around, and a mane of curly red hair. I couldn’t see her face from where she was talking to the desk staff, but somehow I knew it was as epic as her body.
Tapping my foot and pretending to play with my smart phone (there are incognito ways to check out babes, and guys who can’t just aren’t trying hard enough), I took a good long look at her luscious ass then gulped at the boots she wore. I was going to have to scratch that “she’s tall” theory. Nope, she just had massive boots. They weren’t chunky or army style. They had six or seven-inch heels, were made of red leather, and laced up the back. They forced her onto her toes, like those fancy ballet shoes. It was some extreme footwear, but the girl owned it and moved as fluidly as if she was wearing sneakers.
She was getting more interesting by the second.
The woman finished her business. She was just about to walk past me when I “accidentally” stepped forward and bumped into her.
“Whoa,” I said, reaching out to steady here even though she didn’t really need steadying.
“Sorry, I didn’t even see you,” she said, removing huge bug-eyed sunglasses from her face.
It should be a crime for women with blue eyes that gorgeous, that much like a crystal mountain lake, to keep them covered. Her face was pale with a perfect cupid’s bow mouth and thick, red-lined lips that I already wanted around my cock. She wasn’t just a ten from behind.
She was off the charts at all angles.
“Well, it’s hard to see in the dark,” I said, smirking down at her feet. “Nice boots.”
“These aren’t even my A-game,” she mused, winking at me. “Gotta go,” she said. She slipped her glasses back on and walked away, presumably headed to the security line.
I rushed through my own check-in as fast as I could and double-timed it over to the spot next to her in security, and yes, that involved apologetic smiles and cutting to get there. She was talking in French of all crazy things to someone on the phone or, at least, that’s what it sounded like. Don’t quote me on it. All I know about French comes from a few Pepe Le Pew cartoons. I wished she was still available to flirt with, but I settled for watching her.
I wondered what her story was. Clearly she had some fashionista taste in footwear and she was very polished. She was a man-eater if ever I’d met one. Still, that didn’t answer the big questions like who she was or whether I had a chance in hell of getting her into bed.
She finished up her conversation and juggled through her purse, taking out her wallet and…hello. A passport? Obviously she wasn’t heading toward LAX and the sunny beaches of the City of Angels.
She finished going through TSA, even that damn machine that shows off everything. I hate those fucking things, but I’m not fond of having random dudes in blue latex gloves touching my junk either. I was also rabidly jealous of whomever was reading the scanner. Any extra glimpses at Little Miss Hard Body would be appreciated.
As she rushed to whatever far flung locale she was headed for, though, she dropped a piece of paper. The voluptuous redhead didn’t notice and started pounding down the tarmac toward her gate. She took the turn toward the International Terminals so at least my Sherlock deductions over her passport had been accurate. I made my own small talk with the agents, shoved my phone and tablet into the tray and took off my shoes. As I was reaching down to slip off my left boot, I made sure to discreetly sweep up the paper the redhead had dropped.
It was her baggage ticket, but before I could read it, a now-familiar squeal caught my attention.
“Oh my God! It’s Tucker Benning!” someone screamed.
I groaned inwardly. As much as I loved the fans, and as scared as I was that it wouldn’t be like this for much longer given Liam’s love connection, this was
not
the time. I had a hot honey to track down and didn’t need the
Tiger Beat
brigade slowing down my game. Still, this came with the job and the territory.
Turning around, I gave the three girls wearing Point Break concert shirts the biggest megawatt smile I could. Looked like they’d come to New York for our big (and possibly last) show at Madison Square Garden. The tallest girl looked Hispanic with long brown hair and big brown eyes. Her friends were shorter, one was blonde and the other a brunette with braces. They were probably no older than fifteen.
“Hey, did you come see our show?”
The three of them looked at each other and burst out giggling. I tried not to recoil overly much at the amazing pitch and frequency. I’d built up a tolerance over the years in screeching amphitheaters but standing only five feet from it is an in-your-face experience.
“Can you take some quick pictures with us? We tag this on Instagram and everyone’s going to be following us!” the tall girl added.
“Yeah, this is going to make everyone back in Illinois so jealous.” The braces girl—her words whistled a bit through the metal as she talked—clapped her hands.
I nodded and kept my smile planted tight. It was always “on” time, always another chance for good PR. In this world of tweets and instant media, you couldn’t afford to be rude to any fans or it’d be on the news in under an hour. Besides, it was just polite. Sometimes I’d ask for privacy if I was out eating with friends or something, but my flight wasn’t coming up soon, and they were nice enough kids.
Offering up a trademark smirk, I wrapped my arms around the girls and posed for selfies. Predictably, we attracted attention and I had to pose to take other pictures. Then the questions started.
When is your next album?
What’s your favorite song to play?
Did you ever want to sing?
I played nice for a few minutes and eventually the crowd dispersed, leaving me with my three teenage fans. Then tall girl asked a question that bit right into me.
“So,” she asked, pushing a thick braid behind her ear. “Is Liam Collier here too? He’s so cute. It was so adorable how he ended the concert on stage with him and the cello girl.”
