Rock Dirty (Rock Candy #2) (2 page)

My smile fell and the girls seemed to notice my change in mood as they got more quiet and reserved too. “He’s not. He’s taking some hiatus time, but I’ll let him know the fans are thinking about him.”

If the prick gets his head out of the love nest long enough to answer some damn texts…

“That’s good,” the blonde replied then eyed her cellphone. “We have to go or we’ll totally miss our flight. Thanks so much.”

“No prob,” I said, glad they scattered once the big Liam question came up.

I had to stop thinking about Liam’s actions as betrayal or the end of the band. He couldn’t help who he fell for and Abby was good for him. I was happy to see my bud happy, but I just wanted my band to be standing at the end of it. That didn’t seem like too damn much to ask. Did it?

Flipping over the baggage claim ticket was enough of a distraction for me.

Hmm,
some lucky lady was flying to Charles De Gaulle.

Paris. Nice. I’d been there once, years ago, and had always wanted to go back. So the insane thought hit me—why not?

It would be a crazy thing to do, but a little crazy was exactly what I needed at the moment. It’s not like I had plans. And hell, I had loads of money thanks to what Point Break
had been raking in the last few years. If I wanted to divert to Constantinople or Tokyo for a few weeks, I could.

That settled it. I was booking my fine ass back to the counters, buying a First Class ticket, and rerouting my luggage. I had the money, I had the time, and I had one amazing and sexy woman to track down.

* * *

The beauty of the set up at LGA was that the First Class lounge for international flights was swank and spacious. I was pretty sure I’d find her there. Her clothes, especially her couture boots, screamed she was definitely not a coach kind of girl. I almost patted myself on the back when I found the buxom beauty sitting in a leather seat and sipping pre-flight champagne. She was thumbing through her phone and I wondered if she was the workaholic type or just bored and playing Angry Birds.

I was going to find out.

Tucker Benning, intrepid explorer, was so me especially if it was the digits or address of a lovely lady I was looking for.

I coughed to get her attention. She looked up and frowned back at me.

“Hi, I’m Tucker Benning and you’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.”

She arched an eyebrow and her frown melted into a small smile. “Are you stalking me?”

“No way,” I answered, hoping I was playing it all off as well as I wanted to. “I’ve got a friend in Paris.” Well, I could make one, anyway, so not that big a lie. Groupies were everywhere. Besides, I’d always wanted to check out Morrison’s grave. Paris would be a kick. “However, you did manage to drop your baggage ticket, uh, Dominique Lorenz.” I held it out to her and she took it with a huge sigh of relief.

“You just saved my life. You have no idea how big a favor you did me. Not that I necessarily need the ticket, but you can never be too sure. I’m carting precious cargo, and I really need this to go off smoothly. Come on, sit. You’re like my white knight in leather and cut off sleeves.”

I laughed and, maybe just a little, flexed my biceps to accentuate the tribal tattoo on my arm. It seemed to drive women crazy. The blush on Dominique’s face told me right off that she wasn’t immune to my charms.

“I’ve never been called anyone’s white knight before.” It was true, and I found I liked the moniker.

She nodded. “Well, I’ve rarely been called Dominique. That’s what Mom calls me. I’ve never liked it. I’ve been Nikki since I was a kid,” she said. She extended her hand and I shook it, just barely refraining from kissing her knuckles. I couldn’t be that predictable. “So Tucker, what’s your story?”

CHAPTER TWO

Nikki

I wasn’t quite sure what to make of the rocker-wannabe in front of me. He was cute, that much was true. Not overly tall, just an average six feet with a sleek build and the most piercing green eyes I’d ever seen, like emeralds sparkling in the sun. He had torn jeans, thick motorcycle boots with loose laces, and a leather vest over a white tank top. The series of inked spirals on his left bicep could be one of those “I was super drunk and the tattoo artist said it was cool” mistakes. Looking at him, the kid couldn’t be more than twenty-two. Far too young for me. Granted, I was only about to hit twenty-seven, but when you were trying to build an international brand and working your ass off to design runway shows and open stores, well, twenty-two and tatted up seemed even younger than it already was.

Still, he was trying very hard, coming up to me with his swagger and bluster set on eleven.

“Nikki, huh? I like that,” he said, and when he smiled it highlighted his eye teeth, making me think of fangs in the most sensual, give-it-to-me-Dracula, kind of way.

It was charming, but the rocker type wasn’t my thing anymore. At least that was what I kept telling myself even as heat flared through my belly.

“Well, Tucker’s not so bad.”

He laughed. “That’s not a ringing endorsement there, either, princess. So, Nikki, first you have to tell me what you do. Then you have to tell me how the hell you walk in those kick-ass boots.”

I blushed. My shoes had been the talk of fashion week in Milan last year, and I was making a name for myself apart from my mother, Anna Lorenz, and her fashion magazine empire over at
Lifestyle
. That was great. I was on my way to becoming a couture shoe fashion maven and I was thrilled, only I knew I was gaming the system a bit. I had noticed that the more outrageous and impractical the designs at fashion shows, the more critics (and that included my mom) went ape-shit over them. The boots I was wearing now would be perfect if the heel was an inch lower, but it was that extra inch that took them from fabulous to kick-ass, just as Tucker had said. They were a prototype for what I’d be headlining in Paris, but they were uncomfortable as hell to walk in and the only thing that kept me from falling on my ass when I wore them was the fact I’d taken years of ballet.

But they were extreme and extreme sold, even if it wasn’t exactly what fulfilled me as an artist. Someday, however, once I’d made a big enough name for myself, I’d get back to designing shoes with a better balance of flair and function.

My mental musing had obviously gone on too long because Tucker suddenly looked uncertain. “Did I say something wrong? I’ve been on the road, and I’ve seen a lot of group…
women
in all sorts of platform boots or pleather numbers. They look like they’re either strippers or superheroes, but I’ve never seen anything like yours. I’m amazed you don’t fall right over.”

I sighed and stuffed my phone in my purse. “I designed them, actually.”

He grinned and hunched down while leaning back. “You what? Tell me more because I’m impressed.”

“I’m impressed you could take up the whole damn row. Talk about man-spreading,” I said, eyeing his lean form and imagining what fun lay underneath. “But you stopped to chat with me, so you go first. You were talking about being on the road. You’re in a band, right?”

He frowned back at me. “I told you my name. You’ve really never heard of me?”

“Well, no. Tucker Benning, right? Oh wait! Tucker! Oh my god!” I slapped my forehead with my palm. “You’re the drummer for Point Break.”

“Are you going to squeal now and ask for selfies because I got that from the fifteen year olds at the security check and you seem too cool a chick for that,” he teased.

I shook my head and tried to keep myself from blushing. It was a flaw I’d always had, some part of my fair French heritage. I’d dated some of the trust fund set of Manhattan, and had also had a few wild flings with minor B-list movie stars. I wasn’t star struck, even if Point Break was one of the bigger bands out there today. But I did feel dumb for not recognizing him. He’d seemed familiar but I supposed I deserved a break—I’d been putting in ninety hour weeks to prepare for the show and was practically seeing pink elephants.

“Well, I can’t be that cool since I didn’t figure out who you were sooner.”

“Actually, you get extra points for that. It’s been a while since I met a person who didn’t know me. Besides, I’m sitting next to a bona fide designer, and I didn’t even know that.”

“Yeah, you must have missed my music videos and my cover of
Rolling Stone
.”

“I don’t know. I’m sure some designers have done those things.”

“You know a lot of designers?”

“Honestly? I probably wouldn’t recognize Calvin Klein if he punched me in the nuts. Keegan makes shit though.”

I whistled. “Are you two tight?”

“No, but Point Break and Keegan had to present an award together at the Grammys. He went on a five-minute rant about something and we all just stood there uncomfortable as shit, staring dead-eyed at the camera. Fun times.”

“Yeah, I remember now. I saw that clip online. Your bassist looked like he was going to slug him.”

“Yup. So you see, the life of a rock star, not all that glamorous.”

“Right. Well make that double for shoe designers. I have my first Paris show coming up and I can’t even remember what day it is. I’m like a damn cobbler in a fairy tale, just making things for weeks and hoping someone likes my shoes. Uh, it is still July, right?”

“For about five more days, sure,” he replied. “So, if you know who we are, do you have a favorite song?”

“
Save Me
,” I said, thinking about the first time I’d heard the ballad.

I’d had a huge fight with my mother. So what else was new? But this had been a doozy when I’d announced I was opening my store in New York. She’d been on me since I graduated from the Fashion Institute to work with her on editorials. It was the first time she’d truly realized that no amount of threats or cajoling would get me to live my life the way
she
wanted. She’d cut me off, thrown me out, and I’d been holed up in a small rat trap apartment in the village (paid for with the small inheritance I had from my dad) and eating ice cream. Then I’d heard
Save Me
play, and I’d been lost in its haunting cello score. It had offered me solace when nothing else had. Now my mom and I were on speaking terms again. She was showing interest in my designs, even if most of the time that interest was critical.

“Really? Most people still name the bigger songs.”

I shook my head and traced my fingers over the pendant I wore, which my dad had given me for my twenty-first birthday before he’d died suddenly of a heart attack. “For me, the combination of rock with strings is so amazing. I don’t know, it just transports me every time I hear it, even if it’s just for five minutes.”

“Hmm.” He pulled at his lip, suddenly looking depressed.

That was a rapid mood change. I wondered what I’d said to make him close down on me. “What’s going on?”

He hesitated and I was sure he was going to give me some bullshit flippant answer. Instead, he said, “Confidentially?”

Wide-eyed, I nodded.

“We’re not sure when we’ll be back touring. We had to put the current one—our first world tour, mind you—on hold because Liam, our lead singer, is in this massive honeymoon period with our cellist, Abby. I mean, I’m happy for him. I’ve never seen him this gone for anyone
ever
, but, at the same time, there are four of us in the band and we have lives and bills too. It’s like someone cut my tightrope and I’m free falling.”

“Hence the trip to Europe?” I offered, reeling for him. It would be terrible if all of a sudden your job—no, I could tell playing drums wasn’t just a job for Tucker, it was his
identity
—was ripped out from under you. Besides, I was sure that like trust fund kids or designers, rock stars got used to all the perks and comforts of that fast and luxurious lifestyle. If he had to start pinching pennies again, it was going to be a rude awakening. “Maybe clearing your head isn’t the worst idea.”

“You’re right. But I’ve got an even better idea brewing in my mind, Nikki,” he added, his voice a husky purr that transformed the warmth flaring in my belly to a full-fledged fire. When he talked to me like that, I was more than willing to entertain any idea he had.

I’d had more than my fair share of fun in my youth, but lately…not so much.

I’d left my identity as a prep school partier and a debutante brat behind me. I was a businesswoman and a damn good one. I had too much riding on the opening of my new Parisian boutique and my subsequent fashion show to mess it up.

But if I could take the edge off, have a little fun without going overboard, that wouldn’t be so bad. In fact, giving in to the temptation that was Tucker Benning might just do me a world of good so long as I kept him right where he belonged. A nice little distraction before the real work in Paris began.

“So,” I said, crossing my left leg over my right, letting him get a full glimpse of my soft skin beneath my black skirt. “What did you have in mind?”

“The flight isn’t boarding for over an hour and there’s a private family bathroom nearby. Not at all what a classy woman like you deserves, but I promise to more than make up for it.”