Racing to Rhapsody: A Rhapsody Novel Read online

  Before I even know I’ve done it I’m taking a step toward her. Her eyes widen, and it’s as if she can sense it, this new predatory streak I have going on. Her nostrils flare and she swallows. I take another step closer, my voice husky. “Come to dinner, Shannon.”

  Her breath is faster, I can see her chest rising with each tiny inhalation, and a flush is crawling up her throat. My dick, which I’ve always had well under control, even as a teen, pushes hard against the fly of my jeans and my hands curl into fists at my sides.

  “Please,” I grit out.

  She gives one quick nod. “Okay. But you have to go now,” she says so quietly it’s nearly a whisper.

  I know she’s right, I’m not in a good place. For the very first time in my life I feel like I don’t have a handle on my emotional shit. It’s like I’ve been possessed by this ravenous creature and the only thing that will satisfy his needs is this woman.

  “Yeah, I have some stuff to take care of.” I clear my throat and back away. “I’ll come by at seven and we’ll all walk somewhere together.”

  “Okay. Seven then.”

  I give her one last look, watching the way her long lashes brush against her high cheekbones when she blinks. I refrain from letting my eyes drift lower, and head to the door as fast as I can without breaking into a run. When her door slams shut behind me I fall back against the wall in the hallway, my breath coming in gasps. I hurt—physically hurt—in my chest, in my cock, in my gut. I knew that Shannon made me feel things I never have, but I didn’t realize that being near her without being with her could be like this—painful, agonizing, soul crushing.

  And for one brief moment, standing alone in the hallway of some generic hotel in Philadelphia, I wonder if I’ve made the error of a lifetime. Giving in to my attraction to Shannon Gunn may have shown me a new world of feeling, but it might also be the kind of feeling that fucking ends me.

  “Dude, you have it bad,” Blaze, my best friend and our lead guitarist says as he chuckles over the FaceTime connection.

  I rest my elbows on my knees as I sit in my hotel suite. I run a hand through my hair and squeeze my eyes shut. “It’s not funny, man.”

  “Yeah, it actually is. For years I’ve watched you be this perfectly controlled, Zen master. You’re always so temperate, the voice of reason, and compassion, and all kinds of sensible shit. I’ve seen you take people home to fuck them and you’re always happy, and focused on them, but you’re also so goddamned under control. I didn’t think I’d ever see the day that you met your match.”

  “She’s not my match, she’s the exact opposite. She’s anything but temperate, man. Hot, cold, up, down, pissed off, drunk, she’s a fucking mess, dude.”

  He laughs harder now. “I didn’t mean she was your match that way. I meant she’s your match in life, Dez.”

  I freeze, mid-angst, my heart stuttering, and I swear to God, skipping a beat. And I think it’s crawled up into my throat as well because I’m choking on something for sure.

  “You there, man?” Blaze asks, his voice still infused with laughter.

  I clear my throat. “Yeah, right here.”

  His face softens, and I see the sympathy now. “Look, I get that this is scary as hell. When I realized I was falling for Tully I was a fucking disaster. And the shit I pulled with Lush was just proof that I hadn’t really admitted to myself that she was it for me.”

  I remember back a few months ago when Blaze exposed Lush’s biggest, darkest secret and set the press on them. It was without a doubt the lowest point in his life.

  “I risked losing her forever because I was too scared to say that she was my match. But, dude, only the one who’s it for you can make you feel things you’ve never felt before. For me that was a conscience. For you it’s the loss of your Zen.”

  I stand and pace the length of the room, reminding myself of Garrett earlier. “I don’t know what to do with this. I don’t know how to keep from fucking it up.”

  He sighs long and loud. “Oh, dude, I hate to break it to you, but you’re guaranteed to fuck it up, several times at least. It’s what we do. But you have to keep trying, and I know you won’t screw things up nearly as bad as the rest of us.”

  I laugh. Blaze thinks I’m some sort of superior human being. I disagree with him, but right now it’s good to have his vote of confidence, it does good things for all of this nervous energy I’m churning through.

  After we disconnect I watch the sun set outside and imagine Shannon in the gym, sweat glistening on her face, chest heaving with exertion, her long legs bunching and lengthening as she runs, her thick red hair cascading from the pony tail she had it in. I imagine what it would be like to peel that tight fabric off of her, licking up her torso afterwards and tasting the salt on her skin, my mouth closing around those plump, hard-as-diamonds nipples.

  I daydream about bending her over the nearest weight bench and driving into her until I’m buried so deep I might never find my way out. Her soft walls clenching around me as I slide in and out, in and out. I have to put a hand against the wall of glass in front of me and breathe deeply for a moment to calm the waves of need that wash through me.

  I remember what Blaze said about Shannon being my match, and I have to wonder if I even had a choice about pursuing her. Maybe not and maybe all of this is part of the universe’s plan. I can only hope that the plan is for me to win her over soon. I’m not sure my soul can survive without her for much longer.

  Shannon

  Dez, Garrett and I walk to a chic Philly restaurant a few blocks from our hotel. The walk over is fine, but once we’re inside, things rapidly turn into a shit show. The guys are to the point in their careers where they get recognized in certain circumstances. In a town where they’re appearing in concert they’ll often be recognized because fans are on the lookout for them. When they’re in L.A. people know them, but no one really cares since you can see a celebrity on every street corner some days.

  But normally, the guys in Rhapsody aren’t being accosted every time they go out the door. Tonight seems to be an exception to that. We’ve been in the restaurant for ten minutes and they’ve already been approached by three separate groups of women. Oddly, it’s making Garrett uncomfortable, and I can’t figure out why.

  “I’m sorry,” he says to fans numbers six and seven who have just walked up. “We’re here to have some dinner, no autographs tonight.”

  I can see his agitation growing and I’m going to have to step in soon, but then the table jostles, and I turn the other direction just in time to see one of the girls plop herself on Dez’s lap. She throws her arms around his neck and gushes, “I don’t care what everyone says about Blaze, you’ve always been my favorite Rhapsody guitarist.”

  Dez smiles at her, and my vision goes red. Dark, bloody red, like the blood that’s going to be running down this woman’s face in a moment if she doesn’t unhand him.

  In the back of my head I hear Garrett’s voice getting louder. “Look, I’m sure you’re great, but I’m just not interested.”

  “But word is you’re always interested. It’s not like I’m chopped liver. Seriously, what kind of rock star turns down tits like these?” she answers him.

  But my gaze is glued to Dez as he reaches up and takes the other woman’s hands from around his neck and gently puts them in her lap. “Maybe we could take a selfie together before you go back to your table?” he asks her, moving to stand even though she’s still on top of him.

  Her voice is husky as she leans closer to his face and purrs, “How about a selfie of my mouth wrapped around your cock, gorgeous?”

  Then she plants her lips on his and I lose it.

  My hand is on her shoulder before I even realize I’ve moved. “That’s far enough Juliet,” I growl, pulling on her shoulder and then grasping her arm in my hand. I squeeze—maybe harder than I need to—and yank her off of his lap. She stumbles on her five-inch stilettos and bumps into the table, rattling the wine glasses and water pitcher.
r />   “What the fuck, bitch?” she hisses. “What are you, his girlfriend or something?”

  Wow. Now she thinks about that possibility?

  “No,” I answer, adopting my coldest, contract negotiation voice. “I’m his manager, and he’s not on duty tonight, so you need to take a walk.”

  Before she can respond, the table jostles again, this time so hard that things fly off of it, crashing to the floor.

  “Get the fuck off of me!” Garrett yells.

  I turn in time to see him shove the first woman away. She’s also unsteady on her heels, and probably a few drinks to the worse, so she promptly falls on her ass, short skirt climbing so high her bare crotch is on view to the entire restaurant.

  “Oh. My. God!” her friend shrieks, bending to help her up off the floor. “You bastard,” she snarls.

  Garrett is breathing hard, and his face is red. I’ve never seen him angry or even close to it, and I’m shocked. His brow furrows, and he shrugs his shoulders, hands out to the sides of his body.

  “I just want to eat my fucking dinner,” he laments, his gaze going first to Dez, then to me. The anger is rapidly replaced by despair, and I’m not sure what’s going on, but I know this is already a P.R. nightmare. I need to get both of them out of here. Luckily, Dez seems to understand it too.

  “Come on, man,” he tells Garrett softly. “Let’s see if there’s a back door to this place.” He tips his head to me indicating I should follow, and grabs one of the waiters who has stopped to help out, whispering something in the guy’s ear. The waiter leads them away and I look at the two women who are still fussing over their clothes and telling their sad story to a couple sitting at the next table.

  “He’s a celebrity,” the one who fell on her ass says. “He has to expect that people will approach him in public. All I did was ask for an autograph.”

  I pick up my purse and pull a business card out of my wallet, then approach the snake who was climbing Dez like a tree.

  “This is my card,” I tell her. “Contact me and we’ll discuss what it’s going to take to get you to sign a non-disclosure agreement about tonight. If I see one hint of this in the press though all deals are off.” I narrow my eyes. “And if it does hit the press I’ll be sure to set my investigators on your ass. Anything at all that you don’t want people to find out, I’ll ensure it becomes public knowledge.”

  Her eyes are wide, now, her jaw dropped open. “Trust me, it’s in your best interests to sign the NDA.”

  Then I walk out the back and order an Uber to take us to the hotel.

  I stop off at my room to change before I go to Garrett’s room. When I arrive, Dez is already there, still wearing the white linen button-up and dark wash jeans that he had on at dinner. His olive skin glows against the white shirt and it’s unbuttoned further than it was at dinner so that I can’t help but see the taut pecs beneath the thin linen. It’s distracting and it’s all I can do to keep from telling him to button up. But then it’ll be obvious that I’ve noticed something I shouldn’t.

  Garrett is striding around the room like a caged animal when I walk in.

  “She wouldn’t fucking stop,” he rants. “She kept touching me and saying shit. Describing the fucking blow job she was going to give me.”

  “Okay,” Dez says calmly as I sit on one end of the sofa. “And it’s fine if you didn’t want to deal with that, but I’m trying to understand why tonight? That kind of thing has never bothered you before. Why the sudden change?”

  Garrett stops, looking first at Dez who leans against the bank of windows on one wall, then at me. There’s a pause full of things unsaid that I can’t decipher, then he returns to the pacing. “I just want a break, you know? I need a break from all of it.”

  Dez glances at me, his brow furrowed. I shrug lightly, not sure what to make of all this either.

  “Well, you’re going to have to figure out a better way to say ‘no’,” I tell Garrett. “That little event will probably end up costing us a pretty penny, and that’s only if they don’t go to the press.”

  “Is there anything we can do?” Dez asks.

  “No. I warned them, and told them we’d play ball to get them to sign an NDA, so all we can do now is wait. The next move is theirs.”

  Garrett throws himself down on the other end of the sofa. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “You know I’d never hurt someone, right? Especially not a chick. But I needed her to stop touching me. She wouldn’t stop touching me.”

  He leans over, elbows on his knees and puts his head in his hands. I have never, in three years, seen Garrett like this. He’s Rhapsody’s man-child. Cheerful, irresponsible, easy to be around as long as you don’t expect him to be on time or serious about anything. Now he’s dead serious, and I’m not too sure what to do with that.

  “Okay, man,” Dez says in that comforting voice of his. “We get it—” he shoots me a look that says I need to act like I get it whether I do or not, “—you’re touched out for now. It’s cool.”

  “As for damage control,” I say, focused on the part that’s mine—their public image— “I want both of you to stay here, no going out, no inviting anyone over either.” I look pointedly at Garrett who groans and lays his head back on the cushions. “We’ll know where this is heading in the next twenty-four hours, and then we’ll take it from there.”

  Garrett nods then and hoists himself to stand, going directly to the in-suite bar. He grabs every mini liquor available as well as a few beers.

  “I’m going to bed, man,” he says to Dez. “Get me up when I need to get ready tomorrow. Until then I’m out.”

  Dez watches him go with those deep eyes, his concern etched in the lines around his mouth.

  “Any idea what’s going on with him?” I ask Dez after Garrett’s left the room.

  “None.” Dez stands and goes to the mini bar. “Want a beer?” he asks.

  I sigh and glance at the time on my phone. “Yeah, what the hell.”

  He returns and sits down next to me, handing me a beer poured into a glass at the same time.

  I take a long drink, trying to organize my thoughts. It’s been a hell of a few days. I’ve stopped by the tours the guys were on in the past, but I’ve never travelled with them full-time, so I’m amazed at how draining it can be.

  “You think they’ll play ball?” Dez asks.

  “I don’t know,” I tell him honestly. With a lot of clients I wouldn’t be sitting here letting it all hang out, I’d be focused on giving the impression that I have it all under control. But with Dez it seems like we’re far past that. He’s not a friend exactly, definitely not a lover, but he’s so much more than a client. “They both seemed pretty wasted, and it could be that once they sober up they realize that the best choice they have is to take some of your money and call it a good night’s earnings.”

  Dez chuckles. “Your business is crazy, you know that?”

  I nod. “Yes, I know it, but it’s your business too, and you’re good at it. You and Blaze have managed to take Rhapsody to a level only a tenth of a percent of bands will ever reach. Unfortunately stuff like this comes with the territory.”

  We sit there in Garrett’s room for another hour, just talking about people we know, bands we’ve worked with, some of the craziest contract stipulations we’ve heard of. I win the contest when I tell him about the time Jessa Narath, a Hollywood prima donna, insisted her contract for a movie include a caviar break every day complete with champagne and hand crafted gluten-free crackers, served at exactly four p.m., and attended by the director, male lead, and a taster to make sure that the food was up to Jessa’s standards before she ever let a morsel pass her delicate lips.

  Dez is still laughing over it as we walk out of the elevator on my floor.

  “Is your room on this floor too?” I ask, tripping over the seam on the floor between the elevator and the hall. I’m not sure if it was the two beers in Garrett’s room or the headiness of being so close to Dez, but I’m surprisingly unstea
dy. Dez catches my elbow deftly, sliding his hand down until he has his fingers wrapped around mine.

  “Nope,” he answers cheerfully. “But yours is.”

  I hold my breath, not saying anything else as he walks me to my door. When we arrive, I pull out my keycard and paste on my most neutral smile. “Thank you so much for helping with Garrett,” I say. “I hope he can pull it together by tomorrow afternoon.”

  Dez doesn’t answer me, but his eyes are searching, his gaze hot, and he still holds my hand captive.

  I press back against the door as if I can escape him—escape this thing pulling between us.

  “Shannon,” he says quietly. “I don’t want to talk about Garrett anymore.”

  “Well, that’s good since it’s past time for hardworking band managers like me to be in bed,” I quip.

  Again, he’s silent, and he moves closer to me, backing me against the cool wood of the door to my room.

  His head drops to my ear, his lips brushing against my hair.

  “How long are you going to fight it?” he whispers. “I’ll wait as long as it takes, but I miss you.”

  A strange sound comes from my chest and I realize it’s want. Pure, without ulterior motives, my body—my soul—wants him so badly it’s protesting the denial my mind is doling out.

  “How can you miss me?” I ask, melting against him even as I know I shouldn’t. “I’m right here.”

  He pulls back a touch, gazing at me with such adoration and wonder I know without a doubt that I don’t deserve it.

  “I miss who we’re going to be together. It’s all played out for me already, and I know that’s only a tiny fraction of what the reality will be. I can feel it—” he takes our joined hands and presses them to his chest, “—here. I feel what it will be like to be inside one another. I feel the future. I feel us.”