Head-Tripped: A Sexy Rock Star Romance (Ad Agency Series Book 2) Read online

  “Effie?” Elias said.

  “Mm-hmm?”

  “What happened here?” He traced the outline of her scar.

  Feeling exposed all of a sudden, she scooted out from under him and buried herself under the blankets. At some point she’d have to reopen those wounds and let the pain spill out. But what if he didn’t want a broken woman?

  She’d have to give it to him in measured doses, build up his tolerance. Just give him little sips of her story at a time.

  “I was mugged,” she said.

  He tore back the covers. “They hurt you?”

  “I was stabbed.”

  His brows drew tight. “Jesus. When?”

  “A few years ago. On the beach.”

  “What did they take?”

  “Nothing really.” Ironically, they’d saved her life. “Pretty ugly, isn’t it?”

  He turned her to her side and kissed the scar. “This reminds me that you’re not a figment of my imagination. That you’re real.” Then he tucked her into his arms and surrounded her with his heat.

  She swallowed a heavy sob. “Do you have scars?”

  He stiffened behind her. “A few.”

  “Can I see?”

  He let out a weighted breath and turned over. Tiny white scars covered his back. They were small, but deep, like holes.

  She pressed her fingers along the seams. “Who did this to you?”

  “My mother. My real mother.”

  “Oh my God. With what?”

  “The heel of her tango shoe.” He let out a papery laugh then flipped back over.

  She felt his childhood pain in the center of her core, more so than her own. She snuggled up to his neck and tossed a leg over him. “My mother was a different sort of animal,” she said. “She beat me with words.”

  He stroked her back and said nothing.

  “How did we both end up with rotten mothers?”

  “My mother doesn’t matter.” He paused for a long while. “I may have her blood in my body and her marks on my back, but she’s not who I am. What happened yesterday won’t happen tomorrow. I choose my destiny now, not her. The past is like an old record. You can play it over and over and make it the theme song of your life. Or you can seal it up in a box and burn it.”

  She kissed the spot behind his ear. “Have any extra napalm lying around?”

  He exhaled a sad breathy laugh, squeezed her tight, and gave her a soft kiss. “Soñá con los angelitos, mi vida.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Dream with the angels, my little life.”

  26

  Energico

  “‘How do you like the Queen?’ said the mouse in a low voice. ‘Not at all,” said Alice: ‘she’s so extremely—” Just then she noticed the Queen was close behind her, listening.’”

  Soundtrack “Empty Room,” Arcade Fire

  Through two-inch feathered false eyelashes, Effie stared at her horror-stricken (or rather whore-stricken) reflection in the mirror. “I look like a whore!” She swiveled the chair and shot daggers at the hair and makeup guy. “What did you do to me?”

  “Honey, you look fabulous,” Kyle said. “Wait until you see your outfit.”

  “What outfit?”

  The woman who’d taken her measurements a few days prior held up a black leather bustier and boy-shorts attached by straps. “I’m not wearing that.”

  “Queen Bitch’s orders.”

  Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who despised Gail. “Give it to me.” She snatched it from him and slipped behind a screen panel set up at the other end of the room.

  “Well?” Kyle asked.

  “I look like I’m ready to strip in an S&M show. This is awful.”

  He flopped a pair of boots over the screen. “Don’t forget these.”

  “I can’t walk in those. No way.”

  “Those shoes cost more than you made in the last five years,” Gail said on the other side of the screen.

  Effie’s ribs closed in around her lungs. She peered around the screen and found Gail in Kyle’s chair. Had it not been for the manager’s mocking smile and cold glare, one would have mistaken her for someone almost laid-back.

  She stepped out from the screen. “How do you know what I made?”

  Gail examined her blood-red nails. “Because you don’t have any employment history, or housing records, or credit cards, or auto loans. In fact, according to our background check, you didn’t exist until you enrolled in school last year.” She propped her chin in her hand. “Who are you, Effie Murphy? I’m dying to find out.”

  Effie wiped a trickle of sweat off the back of her neck.

  “Let’s start with the basics, shall we? Like why you’ve never played violin anywhere before Juilliard. What were you doing before? Stripping?”

  Her mouth fell open.

  “I’m sorry what was that?” She cupped her ear. “I can’t hear you.”

  “None of your business.” She sounded more desperate than defiant.

  Gail shot up. “You are my business.”

  “What does it matter?”

  “This is my band. And if you’ve got secrets, I need to know.”

  Effie balled her hands into fists and said nothing.

  Gail flashed a demonic smile and strode toward the door. “Don’t worry. I’ll find out. Get those boots on, and get your ass ready to play.” Then she disappeared like a puff of red smoke.

  Missy traipsed into the tent, wearing a modest black sheath dress. Her eyes bugged out. “Jesus, you look like Madonna.”

  Effie felt a massive breakdown coming on. She fanned her face and bit her tongue to keep it at bay.

  “You okay?” The keyboardist seemed sincerely concerned.

  And that just made it harder to stave off the tears. She slipped on both boots, straightened to her new five-foot-ten frame, and squared her shoulders. “I’m fine,” she lied, then hobbled outside to find Elias.

  “This is my dream. I’ll decide where it goes from here.”

  Soundtrack “Dirty White Boots,” Lenny Kravitz

  I can’t do this sober. I can’t play tonight. I should just pack up and go home.

  She clomped over to the tour bus where Hal blocked the door. “Is Elias in there?”

  “Whoa! Is that you, Effie?” He dipped his mirrored shades. “Holy Mol-ee. What’d they do to you?”

  “Open the door.”

  “Can’t. He’s with Annie.”

  She grabbed his tit and twisted. “Open the door.”

  “Ow! Shit.” He jumped out of the way.

  In the back, Annie hovered over Elias’s needle-covered face.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  He sat up and gave her a once-over. “What are you . . . not wearing?”

  “Oh, just a little something Gail picked up,” she said through her teeth. “You like?”

  The needles in his temples jerked down with his brows. “No. What the fuck?”

  She bit her trembling lip.

  “Annie, take these things out. I need to talk to Effie for a minute.”

  His mother mumbled something in Chinese, took out the needles, and left the bus.

  He crooked a finger. “Get over here, you sex kitten.”

  She sat down and caressed his forehead. “What’s wrong? Do you have a headache?”

  “I . . .” He swallowed and licked his dry lips. “I have stage fright.”

  “Why?” She took his clammy hand. “What are you nervous about? Me?”

  “No. Yes. This show could make or break us.”

  “One show?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “Lots of things.”

  “Like what?”

  “I split my pants once.” He squinched one eye closed.

  She slapped a hand over her mouth and snorted.

  “The great leather pants incident of 2014,” he said solemnly.

  “I’m so sorry. It’s
not funny. Did anyone see?”

  “Just the band.”

  “That’s the only embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you?”

  “That was enough to last a lifetime.”

  He split his pants? That’s it? Her whole life was an embarrassment. Nothing was more humiliating than being an addict.

  She needed a cigarette. “Know what we need?”

  He pulled down her top and plucked her nipples. “Boobs?”

  “Bob Ross.”

  “I like boobs better.” He tried to kiss her, but ended up with a mouthful of stiff hair. “I’m not a fan of this vamp look. It’s hot. But it’s not you.”

  “I’d kiss you for saying that but I can’t move my face.”

  “Take it off. You look better without all that junk.”

  “I’m sure your manager had her reasons for making me look like a ho.”

  His jaw clenched. “I’ll talk to her.”

  “No, don’t.” The last thing she needed was to give Gail more ammunition. “Just leave it alone.”

  She jumped up and retrieved her phone. Once she found her favorite episode, she settled in the crook of his arm and pushed play.

  Bob’s fruity voice rang out. “It is my world,” Bob said. “And everything in my world is happy.”

  “This is kinda weird,” he said.

  “Not doing it for you?”

  “Not really.”

  She slid her hand over his crotch and caressed him until he stiffened. “I’ve heard endorphins help with anxiety.”

  “Is that right?” His mouth curled into a delicious smile.

  She unzipped his pants. “Look at that rock star cock.”

  He lowered her bustier, freeing both nipples. “Oh, yeah?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Didn’t we skip a base?”

  “You can make it up to me later.” With her feathered gaze anchored to his, she slid down to her knees then ran her tongue down his shaft. “Mmm.” He tasted so good. She kissed his swollen head then consumed him.

  He pinched her nipples harder as she lowered her mouth. “That’s it, suck my cock.” He dropped his head back and groaned. “Stand up so I can touch your pussy.”

  She kicked a leg over his lap.

  He ducked. “You almost took my eye out with your heel.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Bend over,” he said. He slipped his hand under her shorts and ran a finger down her center.

  A spasm of heat rushed straight to her clit. She closed her eyes and moaned.

  “Continue your anxiety treatment, por favor.” His voice was as smooth as his touch.

  She licked the vein running down his length. “You taste so good.”

  He stuffed himself into her mouth and dove two fingers inside her. “Guiero cogerte esa boca linda.”

  She stroked him faster, bobbing her head and circling her tongue.

  He matched her pace and flicked her clit with his thumb, hitting the perfect spot.

  Hal banged on the door. “Showtime.”

  “Be right out.” Elias grunted and pumped faster. “I’m so close. Don’t stop.” His hand slapped against her pussy. “Can I come in your mouth?”

  The dirty question sent a thousand vibrations straight to her vagina, and an orgasm ripped through her body.

  At the same time, his heat blasted the back of her throat. And she swallowed every last drop as if it were the nectar of the gods. It was amazing how much she enjoyed getting him off.

  Hal thumped the door again. “Now!”

  “How do you feel now?” she asked.

  Elias zipped up his pants and tongue kissed her. “Like a fucking rock star. How about you?”

  She adjusted her leather shorts over her slick lips. “Fantastico!”

  He grinned. “Let’s go make some music.”

  “Elias?” She squeezed his hand. “What’s it like out there?”

  “Crazy. Fun. Once I get into it, anyway. It’s addictive—the best high ever.”

  That terrible jittery sensation swept over her. “Elias?”

  He wiped the corner of her mouth. “Yes, flaquita?”

  “If you get scared, just think about me giving you head.”

  He kissed her neck. “I never stop thinking about you.”

  She hugged him tight. “Let’s go make some music then.”

  Total Music Magazine

  URBAN’S INTOXICATING NEW VIOLINIST

  By Len Neal

  I’d all but buried Urban in the has-been stack, but after last night’s Liverpool show, I’m putting them back on the best-fucking-band-ever shelf.

  The show was like sculpted sonic art. I almost had an orgasm when they introduced their new songs.

  They were loud and tight and intense, seamlessly transitioning into the next songs, whipping the crowd into a psychotic frenzy. People were practically herniating themselves to get up on stage.

  Apparently, Love took my advice and found a new drug—violinist, Effie Murphy—and from the looks of it, he’s hooked.

  I don’t blame him—Murphy’s a bombshell. And her bubbly stage-banter was even hotter.

  Later in the show, she broke the heel off her boot and joked that Love made her dance her boots off—and those boots weren’t made for dancing—they were made for hookin’. Cato Lawson played a funky bassline to her boot striptease. At the end, she tossed them into the audience and shouted, “Dance your boots off!” then did a flying stage dive into the crowd.

  According to several sources, Murphy and Love collaborated on the new songs. Believe me when I use this filthy cliché: they’re a match made in heaven. Not only is their new material nothing short of brilliant, their performance together was like watching soft porn with a badass soundtrack. Her humorous I-don’t-give-a-shit attitude combined with his cool charisma made for some serious drool-worthy cinema.

  Forget what I said in the last review, hold onto those tickets everyone, because Urban’s about to blow your mind.

  27

  Adagio

  London, England

  “‘Living backwards!’ Alice repeated in great astonishment. ‘I never heard of such a thing! But there’s one great advantage, in that one’s memory works both ways.’”

  Soundtrack “More Today Than Yesterday,” Spiral Staircase

  Callie didn’t return Effie’s text, most likely because she didn’t need dildos anymore. And soon, neither would Effie. Yippee!

  A mob greeted Urban in front of their London hotel. They threw themselves at the bus like zombies needing human flesh. A crazy woman slammed her face up against the door. LeStrange drove the bus like a tank through the horde, and the woman clung on for dear life until he opened the door and knocked her off.

  “How are we going to get up to our room?” she asked.

  “Find another entrance,” Hal told LeStrange, and they zoomed around back.

  They dashed through the restaurant kitchen and rushed toward the service elevator. Everyone hugged their limbs protectively around their bodies. Elias looked like he was about to crawl up the elevator shaft and escape.

  “Oh, bugger!” she said in a British accent. “Wherever is the lift?”

  They ignored her attempt to lighten the mood.

  “Someone’s taking a piss,” she went on. “What a bunch of tossers!”

  Everyone stared at her.

  “She called you a masturbator, Cato,” Griffin mumbled.

  “Your mom’s a masturbator,” Cato retorted.

  “My mom has ten kids. She doesn’t have time for that,” Griffin said.

  Effie jumped back. “What! Ten kids! Holy fertility goddess. Doesn’t she believe in birth control?”

  “Don’t talk about my mother.”

  She still couldn’t believe it. “Which one were you?”

  Missy answered for him. “He’s the oldest and the only boy.”

  The Italian stallion flicked an annoyed glance at Missy. Elias coughed a laugh into his fist. The elevator door dinged.
Annie pressed the top button, and the doors slid closed.

  Inside, the same seventies’ band her father used to listen to piped through the overhead speaker. She broke out into a dance routine, grooving her ass off, and singing along.

  “What are you doing?” Missy asked.

  “I love this song.”

  Elias’s mouth twitched. The rest of them stared at her as if she were a deranged lunatic. She poked Cato’s ribs. “Come on! Shake that money maker.”

  The bassist busted a groove, shaking his head, and caressing his body. He grabbed his crotch and ground down to the floor.

  Hal sniggered.

  She backed up against him and twerked.

  “Oh hell naw,” Cato backed away. “No female booty up against my groove thang.”

  She cracked up. “You must be gay if you don’t want my booty.” Truthfully, she had no booty whatsoever.

  “Ding, ding, ding,” Missy said.

  She halted her performance. “Wait? You’re gay?”

  “Gay is such an outdated word,” he said. “I prefer the term vagina-challenged.”

  “No way! Wow! I would have never guessed. You’re so . . .”

  The elevator dinged and everyone got out.

  “I’m so what?”

  She struggled to find the right term to describe his ultra-masculine sexual appeal. “Pimpish.”

  He stopped mid-stride and stared down at her. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “Please do,” she said.

  Cato shook his head and strutted down the hallway. The rest of them bolted to their rooms, including Elias.

  This sneaking around crap was for the birds. She let out a heavy sigh and slid her card through the lock. Wow! That wasn’t a hotel room—it was more like a palatial suite. Marble floors, gold drapes, a giant tub—a chandelier for Christ’s sake—hell to the yes. Now that’s more like it. Real rock star accommodations.

  She did a running leap onto the ginormous bed and jumped on it until it cracked. Not even a second later, someone knocked on the door to the adjoining suite. She froze. Had someone heard her?