Rockstar Romeo: A Hero Club Novel Read online

  Rock Star Romeo

  Abbie Zanders

  Published by Abbie Zanders, 2020.

  Rock Star Romeo

  A Cocky Hero Club Novel

  by Abbie Zanders

  Copyright © 2020 by Abbie Zanders and Cocky Hero Club, Inc. All rights reserved.

  Visit my website at https://abbiezandersromance.com

  Cover Designer: Designs by Dana, https://designsbydana1.weebly.com/

  Cover Image: Eric David Battershell, www.ericbattershell.com

  Cover Model: Ryan Harmon

  Editor: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  Proofreader: Carol Tietsworth, Editing by Carol Tietsworth

  Rock Star Romeo is a stand-alone story inspired by Vi Keeland and Penelope Ward’s Stuck-Up Suit. It’s published as part of the Cocky Hero Club world, a series of original works written by various authors and inspired by Keeland and Ward’s New York Times best-selling series.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Thanks for reading Rock Star Romeo!

  About the Author

  Also by Abbie Zanders

  Chapter 1

  Dear Ida,

  Women adore me, but the right one remains elusive. Where can a good-looking, successful guy such as myself find love? – Hot Rocker on Hiatus

  * * *

  Dear Hot,

  Sounds like you have an inflated sense of self-importance. Maybe you’re not all that hot. Get over yourself, and Ms. Right will find you when she’s good and ready.

  ~ * ~

  Jace

  “Have dinner with me tonight.”

  I uttered the command with the utmost confidence that she’d say yes. Most women did on those rare occasions when I found a woman who’d captured my interest. That was my prerogative. I could afford to be selective.

  I stood just inside her office, forcing my feet to remain in place instead of following her across the room. I contented myself with taking a moment to appreciate her toned, curvy legs and the feminine sway of her hips as she walked away from me.

  Only when my view was impeded by her desk did I raise my gaze. She tucked an errant strand of golden silk behind her ear and picked up a folder. The stunning beauty remained standing, choosing to focus her attention on what was in her hand rather than on me.

  “No.”

  No. I rolled the word around in my mind. It seemed vaguely familiar, as if I might have heard it a long time ago. Certainly, no one had said that word to me in recent memory. My interest clicked up another notch.

  “Ross has no problem discussing business over dinner,” I countered.

  Ross O’Farrell—the face, voice, and overall front man and CEO of Backstage Pass Record Studios—loved to wine and dine his clients. The fact that my guys and I generally found such transparent brownnosing particularly unappealing had no bearing whatsoever in this conversation though.

  “I am not Ross.” Her voice resonated like a clear, perfectly tuned note in my head. Her tone held no hint of the usual flattery or flirtatiousness women often employed in the hopes of tempting me. It went well with her natural beauty, unmarred by all but the lightest touch of cosmetics. And those black-rimmed glasses perched on that delicate, slightly upturned nose? Sexy AF.

  “I am quite well aware of that.” I’d have to be without a pulse not to be. My eyes and ears had already been captivated, though her scent alone had been enough to have my slumbering libido wake up and take a nice stretch. My fingers tingled at the tips, and my tongue moved restlessly behind my teeth. Touch and taste wanted to crash the sensory party too.

  She looked up, surprising me with a flash of something that looked like vulnerability. It only lasted for a moment, so brief that I was certain I was mistaken. By the time I blinked my sleep-deprived eyes, she looked just as frustratingly cool and professional as she had all morning.

  “I’m sorry about the sudden change in plans, Mr. Logan.”

  “Jace,” I corrected for the sixth or seventh time.

  And just like the previous times, she ignored me. Surprisingly, I found her obstinacy both arousing and annoying.

  “Ross asked me to convey his apologies. Something unexpected came up, but he wanted me to assure you that he will meet with you as soon as he returns. In the meantime, I will personally oversee things for you and your band.”

  She bit her lip then, and I most definitely saw that. The natural, frosty beauty wasn’t quite as confident as she liked to appear. I could work with that.

  I smiled my trademark cocky half-grin, the one the women in my family joked could melt the iciest of shields. They weren’t wrong, and I wasn’t above using business as a convenient excuse to get what I wanted. Again, my prerogative.

  “Exactly my point. If I’m to place myself in your hands for the foreseeable future, I should know what I’m getting into, don’t you think? Have dinner with me.”

  A twitch of her pretty pink lips suggested she was not completely unaffected, or, at the very least, found me mildly amusing.

  “No, Mr. Logan.”

  “Call me Jace. And why not?” I pressed.

  It was a legitimate question. I was a good-enough-looking guy with a modicum of talent. One top industry publication even heralded me as one of the most desired men in the business. Not to mention, I was insanely well-off, thanks in large part to the marketing and PR efforts of the woman in front of me and some sound investments. At the sake of sounding immodest, I was a damn good candidate for a dinner companion.

  As was she. The enigmatic and elusive Eva D’Agolino—partner of Backstage Pass and music promoter extraordinaire—was an incredibly feminine, extremely attractive woman.

  That wasn’t what had me following her around all day though. It was the sudden flare of interest, the immediate tug I’d felt in my gut the moment she met us at the airport. I’d been instantly drawn to her, and let me tell you, that was a rare thing.

  This instant attraction, for lack of a better word, was definitely enough to warrant a bit of effort on my part. I’d just have to dig deeper for the innate Logan charm since she wasn’t impressed by my money, fame, or looks. That alone shot her up several notches in my opinion.

  “I’m flattered, really, but I’m not what you want.” She smiled, an obvious attempt to soften the rejection.

  A couple hours ago, I might have agreed with her, but that was before I’d sat across from her in the stretch limo, inhaling her unique, feminine fragrance and trying not to stare at her shapely legs, crossed conservatively and leaving me wanting more.

  I mean, I was a mature, success
ful man who’d traveled the world many times over. I’d seen and done everything at least twice, more if I found something particularly pleasurable. When you lived a good part of the year on the road and had hordes of young women flashing you night after night, it was only natural to become desensitized. Something as simple as the curve of a woman’s calf above a slim ankle bedecked with a fine gold chain barely registered on my radar these days. The fact that hers had? It intrigued me.

  So, yeah, maybe I was being uncharacteristically persistent, following her around like an eager puppy, opening doors and trying to get her to go out with me while the rest of the band went back to the hotel.

  Now, before you start shaking your head, mentally chastising me for thinking it was all about the challenge, you’re wrong. Sure, I liked a challenge, but it was more than her pretty face, sexy legs, and cool disinterest that appealed to me.

  I couldn’t explain exactly what it was. I could only tell you that something about her called to me on a level I didn’t understand. Something familiar. As if I’d known her before, like in a past life or something. It was the strangest thing, especially since I wasn’t a big believer in that kind of cosmic crap. I did, however, believe that things happened for a reason, and that included this fortuitous crossing of paths with Ms. D’Agolino.

  We were on a six-month hiatus in between tours. The plan was to write some new songs, lay down new tracks, and shoot a few videos while getting in some much-needed downtime. That left plenty of time for me to solve the mystery of what it was about this woman that so captivated me.

  I wasn’t going to rest until I figured it out. Or until she slapped a restraining order on me. I hoped it wouldn’t come to that because I could be pretty determined when I wanted something. Right now, I wanted her. And clearly, she had no idea who she was dealing with if she expected me to give up so easily.

  “Maybe you are exactly what I want,” I argued. “And for the record, I’m quite pleased at this turn of events.”

  She sighed, tucking another stray curl behind her ear. A nervous tell perhaps? My fingers twitched, wanting to do it for her.

  “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we, Mr. Logan?”

  “Jace. And as long as the chase ends with you agreeing to have dinner with me tonight, then yes, let’s.”

  Her lips quirked again, but her facial expression remained otherwise impassive. Except for her eyes. Dark and expressive, they flashed with something I hadn’t yet learned to decipher.

  She spoke slowly, as if carefully choosing her words. “I’m not your type. I’m well past the nubile rock-chick stage.”

  I chuckled at her soft dig. Yes, she definitely was all woman. “I like mature women.”

  She snorted, an unexpected and strangely attractive noise. “I am not mature. Just ask my kids. I’m middle-aged. There’s a difference.”

  I leaned forward in a slight bow. “I stand corrected.”

  My words were more tongue-in-cheek, spoken only with the intention of playing along. She didn’t look remotely close to what I considered middle-aged. In fact, I’d guess she was younger than me, and I did not think of myself as middle-aged, thank you very much.

  I’d never had a woman so intent on building a case for why I shouldn’t go out with her. The idea that she had kids niggled though. Not because I didn’t love kids—I did—but because it suggested a man in her life.

  Was she married? I didn’t think so. She didn’t wear a wedding ring, and a quick perusal of her tastefully decorated office displayed pictures of two very handsome boys, identical twins by the look of it, at different ages and engaged in various activities. But no men.

  I exhaled quietly, unaware that I’d been holding my breath, and focused on her again.

  She had lovely hair, luminescent gold on top and deep cherry red underneath. It was probably the only thing about her that wasn’t one hundred percent natural, but the effect was striking. It cascaded in loose, billowy curls down her back, held in place by a large clip at the base of her neck, except for those rebellious strands she kept tucking back.

  I stuck my hands into my jean pockets when they began to twitch again. I wondered if her hair was as silky as it looked or what it would feel like while splayed across my naked chest. Or better yet, my thighs ...

  Now my cock throbbed, reminding me of its vested interest. She was loosening up, and unfortunately for her, I found playful Eva even more attractive than professional Eva. A new lightness took up in my chest. She was playing with me. Christ, I liked this woman.

  And I was going to kiss her. I knew that for a fact.

  “So ... dinner?”

  “You are persistent, Mr. Logan; I’ll give you that.”

  “Jace. Is it working?”

  “No.”

  “Damn. Looks like I’m going to have to bring out the big guns.”

  She cocked an eyebrow and waited.

  “Please.”

  She smiled, really smiled, and it lit up her entire face. “That’s it?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t usually have to resort to such extreme measures.”

  I’d meant it as a joke, but her smile faded as quickly as it’d come. She turned her attention away from me again. It was as if a cloud had passed in front of the sun, darkening my world.

  When she turned sideways like that, it was right there, that fleeting flicker of recognition on the edge of my memory. I had seen her before. The delicate features were so familiar; I felt it spark deep in my chest. Yet I was quite sure we had never met before this morning.

  “Don’t you feel it?” I asked.

  “Feel what, Mr. Logan? Annoyed?”

  “No. This connection between us. I felt it the moment I saw you. We’ve just met, but I feel like I know you.” I hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that, but this woman, she was eliciting all sorts of atypical behavior from me.

  Feeling a diversion was in order, I stepped over to the side and poured myself a glass of fruit-infused ice water from the tabletop dispenser.

  I thought I was in the clear until she dismissively waved her hand and said, “You’re just horny. You’ll say anything to get laid.”

  I choked mid-swallow. “What makes you think I’m horny?”

  “Aren’t you?” She pinned me with an accusatory glance that dared me to contradict her.

  “Well, yes, but that’s beside the point,” I admitted, ignoring the triumphant flash in her eyes. How quickly the tables had turned. “Why do you think I am?”

  I resisted the urge to look down and see if my hard-on—the one she had inspired—was visible. I didn’t think so, but it had been an issue since I met her. One whiff of that delicious feminine scent, and I had been done for.

  She ticked off the reasons on her slim, elegant fingers. “Because, one, you’re a male in your prime. And two, because you’re a rock star. Everyone knows male rock stars are like rutting bucks in heat. No offense,” she added afterward, only then seeming to realize she might have said something she shouldn’t have.

  “None taken,” I mumbled.

  I supposed I should have taken some offense, but the bald truth was that she was right—about most famous musicians, that was. Not me. Sure, I had an image, one that sold a lot of music and kept the venues packed, but that was all it was—an image, and one that she and Backstage Pass enthusiastically promoted. The downside was, she had no way of knowing that wasn’t the real me.

  What bothered me more than the words was the way she’d said them, without the heat or judgment that should have accompanied them. Instead of sounding angry, she’d spoken matter-of-factly, as if she were reciting facts about the Constitution or explaining the way a kitchen appliance worked to a moron.

  In a flash of insight, I realized that such acceptance usually came from life experience. I wondered who the dickhead was that had done a number on her. Probably a musician, like me. It would explain a lot, including why she preferred hiding in the shadows and letting Ross take all the credit.

  “Of course,
” she continued, “I suppose it would be hard not to be when you have women throwing themselves at you all the time. You’d have to have the will of a saint to resist all that temptation.” She paused, doing that adorable head-tilt thing again. “I bet you’ve slept with thousands of women, haven’t you?”

  I blinked, taken aback by the direct boldness of her question. Thousands? No, not likely. Flattering though.

  She nodded, interpreting my lack of immediate denial as confirmation. As if that was exactly what she’d expected, she turned and went back to pulling papers from neatly stacked boxes atop her desk.

  Her easy dismissal bothered me. Sure, at one time, I’d been blinded by the fame and the money and the women, but I’d been young. Things were different now. It wasn’t like I got it up for just anybody. I’d become quite discerning in the last decade or so.

  If she knew that she was the first woman I’d wanted to take out in years, she might be flattered. No way she’d believe me if I told her that now though. She’d already lumped me in with all the other stereotypical rock front men. That was something I was going to rectify.

  And I damn sure wasn’t leaving this conversation hanging on that note, not with her thinking that she was no different to me than any other attractive, warm-blooded female.

  “But none of that has anything to do with my current state of arousal,” I said carefully, weighing each word, gauging her reaction.

  Her shoulders stiffened, as if steeling herself before she turned around to face me. Oh yeah, someone had done a number on her. Probably lured her in with soft words and empty promises. There was a hint of innocence in those eyes, innocence that had been abused at some point but still clung valiantly to life.

  This was all new territory for me, this sensitivity and speaking of raw truths. I went for it anyway. No guts, no glory. And I was all about the glory, especially if it would keep her talking until I figured out who the hell she was and why she had every last nerve in my body firing up and taking notice.

  “It’s you,” I told her honestly. “The way you smell. The subtle bit of cleavage you reveal whenever you put your hands on your hips and your blouse pulls open slightly. The sexy, feminine way your hips flare out and then curve into that tiny waist.”