Rock Starred: Love My Way (2 page)

One month later.

We both spoke English, but not much in the way of communication was taking place. The cabdriver grinned and nodded into the rear view mirror each time I insisted that he wasn't hearing me correctly.

"Sir. Please. The Mandarin. Man-da-rin." The air in the taxi was unbelievably stuffy. I gathered my hair, twisting it behind my shoulder.

"Yes. No problem," he said in a thick, Eastern European accent. "Mondrian."

"He's going to take us to fucking South Beach," I muttered to Gwen.

"You sure?" she asked. She would never force the issue, even if someone were driving her twenty minutes and twenty bucks out of her way.

"Sir," I said, my voice growing hoarse. I scooted forward on the seat. "We are not going to the Mondrian. No South Beach. We're staying at the Mandarin."

"The Mandarin Oriental," Gwen added.

"Oh," the cabbie said. "Mandarin Oriental. No problem."

I exhaled and slumped back against the seat. "Thank God. Thank you."

"No problem," Gwen said and slapped my leg.

Fifteen minutes later, we arrived at the Mandarin—sleek, modern and ultra-luxurious. The doorman, unbearably handsome with dark hair, darker eyes and golden-caramel skin, greeted us with a blazing smile and more than a hint of flirtation in his voice. "Ladies."

Gwen snickered and shied away as we sauntered through the door.

"One last cocktail?" I nodded toward the bustling hotel bar. My buzz from the wine at dinner had fizzled and my inability to sleep well in a hotel prompted my need for a nightcap.

"Um," Gwen said, the hesitation in her eyes plain. She rarely stayed up past ten—too tired from her job at the hospital or exhausted from another argument with her live-in boyfriend, Ted. They were still on shaky ground after the last fight, which was the point of our getaway weekend. Gwen needed a break.

"How often do you get to dress like that?" I asked. She looked incredible, closer to twenty than twenty-eight, in a black silk top with beading at the plunging neckline and a pair of jeans that showed off her butt. Her coppery-brown hair rolled past her shoulders in waves. "You look way too hot to go to bed. Come on. Don't be a wimp. There's no going to bed early on girls' weekend."

The bar was packed, dozens of men in suits—gray, navy and more gray—a room full of tipsy businessmen.

Gwen came to a halt and grabbed my arm. "I don't know if I'm up to this," she said above the din of voices. "I was hoping we could just talk."

An attractive guy with sandy-blond hair and an expensive suit sat at the bar. He slyly grinned at me and took a sip of his drink while he raised his eyebrow.

"It's just one drink. And I think I can convince somebody to buy them for us." Not that I needed anybody to buy me an overpriced martini. This was merely for fun. As far as I was concerned, there was no point in escaping to Miami for girls' weekend if we weren't going to do at least one thing that was completely out-of character.

I strode through the throng of men, swishing my blonde locks over my shoulder, hoping Gwen would follow my lead as she trailed behind me. It was not my usual approach. I eased into the spot behind him at the bar, resting my elbows and flagging the bartender. "Two mojitos, please."

Mr. Expensive Suit turned on cue and spoke to the bartender while looking at me. "Put them on my tab." He stared as if it were a form of seduction.

I looked him in the eye, unafraid but curious why he'd chosen the creepiest approach imaginable.

"Actually, these ladies are with me. I'll get their drinks." A deep, velvety voice sounded behind me.

A smile rolled across my face.
Whoa. A bidding war?
This might keep Gwen's mind off things.

I turned to a sight so out of context that my brain noticeably sputtered—Peter. My breath caught as our eyes connected and he unleashed his familiar, devilish smile.

I straightened, making a conscious effort to play it cool. "Peter."

He grasped my hand, holding on for a few extra heartbeats, sending a tantalizing shiver through me. "Katie, hi. This is a surprise. You in town for our show?"

"Your show?" I'd forgotten how wonderfully imposing Peter's tall, broad frame could be. I'd spent a lot of my life being "the tall one". I loved the way I felt petite next to him.

"We're playing tomorrow night." His gray t-shirt clung to his shoulders. If I were a t-shirt, I would've clung, too. His hair was its usual, well-arranged mess. He was a complete one-eighty from every other man in the bar, in the best possible way. He turned to the hulking figure approaching behind him. "You remember Tony."

The Slump drummer nodded and pushed his sunglasses up on to his forehead. "You're that photographer chick," he mumbled, pointing.

Peter grimaced and smacked Tony in the chest with the back of his hand. "Where are your fucking manners?"

Mr. Expensive Suit gruffly cleared his throat and grabbed my elbow. "I thought I was buying you a drink, gorgeous."

Before I could answer, Peter grasped my hand. "Sorry, guy. She's with me." He led me to the other end of the bar while Tony and Gwen tagged behind us. "What a loser." His lips might have been delivering words, but they were carrying on an entirely separate conversation with me. "He tries to buy you a drink and he thinks he can grab your arm like that?"

I raised an eyebrow and glanced at Peter's hand, still wrapped around mine. "Some guys will do that."

 Gwen cleared her throat and parked her hand on her hip.

"I'm sorry," I said, shaking off the spell that Peter had cast on me. "Peter, Tony, this is my best friend Gwen. We're here for a girls' getaway."

Gwen smiled wide. Apparently running into a few rock stars was enough to improve her mood. "Hi. I love your band."

That was all the invitation Tony needed. "Gwen, is it?" He took her hand and blatantly peered into her cleavage. He towered above her, swaying, closing his eyes as if he might nod off at any moment.

I leaned and whispered in her ear. "They call him Stony."

Tony wasn't quite the stunning specimen that Peter was, but he was attractive in a primitive, muscle-bound way. His beefy arms strained against the sleeves of his t-shirt and his head was shaved bald, which I already knew was one of Gwen's big turn-ons.

The bartender brought our drinks and Peter leaned into me as he picked up the glasses. "Katie." His steely blue eyes suggested several indecent acts in a tiny amount of time. "Why don't the four of us take this outside?"

Peter was dangerous territory. I'd known that the day I'd photographed the band. He was way too handsome, way too nice, way too willing to discuss photography, a topic I'd gladly go on about all day. Plus, I didn't have to guess with him. He'd made it clear he was interested, persistent with phone calls, emails and text messages over the last month.

We'd flirted during those exchanges. Big time. Things escalated, edging toward naughtier, more suggestive quips. Maybe I shouldn't have done it, but I'd wanted to. It was fun to have a back-and-forth with a witty and dead-sexy guy. More importantly, it was safe. Distance meant there was no risk of things getting physical, little chance of me getting overly attached. That led to hurt if I truly liked a guy and I couldn't help but like Peter.

He opened the door that led out to the terrace overlooking the pool. I attempted to go first but he pulled me aside and Gwen and Stony went ahead. Gwen turned to me as she walked, shrugging.

"I'll be out in a sec," I said.

Peter let the glass door close and gripped my elbow. "Katie, I have to say that I'm really excited that we ran into each other. Talk about luck." His thumb rubbed back and forth across my skin, his voice softened and became husky. "I hope you're happy to see me too. Your last text said you would think about it. That was a week ago and I've heard nothing since then."

He was just close enough that his smell was disorienting, a heady waft of musky man. "Sorry. I've been really busy. I had a photo shoot in England last week. Travel. Jet lag." The stuff about being busy was absolutely the truth, but it wasn't everything. The other piece of the puzzle was what I'd said I would think about—an invitation to fly out for a weekend to see his band. It had sent familiar panic through me and all I could do was put my head down and get back to work. Work was safe.

"Okay." He glanced down at his feet and when he looked back up, his eyes were hypnotic, as if they were shiny pools of molten metal. "It's just that I like to know where I stand. I don't want to make an idiot of myself, you know, if I don't have a chance. Sometimes I have a very hard time reading you."

I tried to imagine a scenario in which Peter wouldn't have a chance with a woman. That seemed impossible. It was no surprise he had a hard time reading me, I was torn between a crushing dose of attraction and my rules of no attachments and no sleeping with guys I might want to keep as a friend. It wasn't fair to him, but that was already Strike One against Peter.

"We talked about this the day we met. I don't get involved with clients."

"Ah, but I'm not really a client anymore. It's been a month since you photographed the band."

"True."

"So? My chances? Because I'll leave you alone if you want me to."

Of course I didn't want him to leave me alone. I was dumb, but I wasn't stupid. "Why don't we just have a drink and see where that gets us?" Even that much felt as though I'd stepped too close to the fire.

"Talk about a non-answer."

"Surely you appreciate the challenge of the unknown."

He laughed and shook his head. The soft light in the bar made his blue eyes blaze. It was enough to make me forget my name. "I love a challenge. When there's a payoff."

"Regardless of what happens, I'm sure you'll sleep like a baby tonight." I patted his arm, my breath hitching at how firm it was.

His eyes narrowed. "You're really just going to leave me flapping in the breeze, aren't you?"

"Sorry. No promises." I opened the door and glanced over my shoulder. Apparently the fit of my jeans was doing the job, as Peter seemed to have difficulty closing his mouth. "Shall we?"

The thick, late-May Miami air filled my lungs in the darkness, a sliver of a moon the only light out on the terrace. Stony and Gwen were seated at a table at the far end, but we were otherwise alone. Stony's arm draped across Gwen's shoulders and I was dismayed to see that she wasn't objecting. Her boyfriend Ted was a good guy and although they argued a fair amount, they were good for each other.

"She has a serious boyfriend," I grumbled as we approached.

Peter snaked his arm around my waist and tugged me closer. He leaned down to mutter into my hair. "I'm sure she can take care of herself." The tip of his nose grazed my ear, the most innocuous brush of skin against skin, and yet it made me desperate for air.

We each took our chair and Peter scooted his right next to mine.

"So, girls' weekend. What does that entail? Picking up strange men and dancing on the bar?" Peter asked.

"Oh yeah," I quipped. "Body shots. Orgies. You name it."

 "Sounds suitably hedonistic for the life of a beautiful rock photographer." Peter reached under the table and smoothed his hand over my thigh.

I took a sip of my mojito to cool the heat he'd just created between my legs. Every time he touched me my defenses dropped. "Actually, it's just an excuse to order expensive wine at dinner and sleep in."

"That sounds even better." Peter trailed his fingers north at an achingly slow pace.

Words were my only way to stay on equal footing, to counteract the ways he broke down my resolve with his hands. "That's one way to start things," I said quietly.

He slid his hand back down to my knee. "I'll start this any way you want." He cocked his head to the side. The look in his eyes became impossibly welcoming. He was up for anything and everything. No question about that.

"Good to know," I mumbled, bristling with curiosity at the gentle swell of his lips. What would it be like to kiss him? Sweet and soft? Fast and furious? Part of me was dying to know. The other part, the part that spends way too much time thinking, delivered a surprisingly helpful reminder—Peter could have any woman he wanted. Worrying that he'd want anything more than one night was worse than presumptuous, it was idiotic. He was in a band, on to the next town and the next girl after tonight.

So maybe this could work. Maybe I could give in to what I wanted and not leave Peter wondering any more. We could have our one night. If I were honest, it was perfect—it was all he was asking for, and all I was prepared to give.

Gwen smiled and her eyes flashed when Stony whispered in her ear. "Did you say something, Katie?" she asked with a giggle before she chugged the rest of her drink.

I cleared my throat and sat back in my chair, swirling ice cubes with the straw and glancing over at Peter, who bent his eyebrow before winking at me. He absolutely knew that I was putty in his hands. "No. Nothing."

Stony leaned closer to Gwen. "Another drink, babe?"

"That would be great. These are so yummy. I think I could drink them all night."