Rock Stars Do It Harder Read online

  "Who said anything about fucking, or hooking up? It was just a kiss."

  Jamie snorted. "Sh-yeah. Just a kiss. Right. And I'm the Virgin Mary."

  Chase smirked, the first real humor to enliven his face. "Then what would you consider it?"

  "A gateway drug?"

  Chase laughed, a belly laugh. "A gateway drug, huh?" He sobered and closed in on her; Jamie wanted to back away, but she was rooted to the spot, pinned by his intense gaze, his fierce presence. "Then I'd be interested in seeing what the hard stuff would be like."

  Jamie forced herself away again. "No, Chase. That can't happen. How can you be thinking about that at a time like this?"

  "You expect me to pine for Anna forever? I've had weeks to forget her, to move on. This was the clincher. Just...salt in the wound. I can't live my life in the shadow of her rejection."

  "Bullshit." Jamie poked his broad chest with a finger. "You're not over her. I saw the look on your face."

  Chase's face closed down. "I didn't say I was over her. I said I had to move on."

  "Well, this isn't the way. Hooking up with me isn't the way."

  Chase frowned. "You keep talking about hooking up. I never said or did anything to suggest that. You did."

  Jamie clenched her teeth and turned away. "You're right. My bad. Have a nice life, Chase." She walked away again, and this time he didn't follow her.

  Jamie found herself tensed and expecting to feel his hand on her; she was torn between hoping he would and fearing the consequences if he did.

  CHAPTER 2

  Chase watched Jamie leave, wondering why his heart was palpitating. It might have had something to do with the way her fine, round ass swayed, cupped by denim so tight it left little to the imagination. It also might have had something to do with the searing memory of her kiss on his lips.

  Ten seconds of time, but he knew he was ruined for other women, other lips. He'd gone from limp to raging erection in a single breath, a single brush of her balm-slick, strawberry-tasting lips.

  It also might have had something to do with her unequivocal rejection. She'd kissed him, then bolted as if stung. Chase understood her reservations, and damn it all if she wasn't absolutely correct, but that didn't make it any easier.

  Neither did how soft she was, how perfectly she fit in his arms, how her curves had molded to his body like puzzle pieces snugging into place. She'd enjoyed the kiss as much as he had; she could deny it all day long, but Chase knew she'd felt the same things he had.

  He wanted Jamie, hard.

  But the way she'd walked off with her jaw set and her emerald eyes blazing with determination left little doubt that he'd ever see again.

  Which really, really, really sucked. Chase knew he'd walk through the Mojave desert stark naked if it meant getting just one more kiss from her. But she wouldn't let that happen.

  Chase turned away with a whispered curse. She was right. Goddamn it, she was right. He had to forget about Jamie. He was still broken up over Anna.

  Being faced with her so suddenly, apropos of nothing...that fucking hurt. She'd seemed so surprised, so conflicted. As if merely seeing him had pained her. Which just went to show that she wasn't as over him as she'd tried to make it seem.

  One look at Anna's sweet, innocent face, blue eyes and blonde hair and lush curves...and Chase had been lost all over again. Wishing he could hold her, kiss her, hear the low, passionate moans she used to make for him as she came. She'd been so eager, so hungry, like no one had ever paid attention to her, like she just had no clue how sexy she was. It was a turn-on all by itself, her strangely erotic innocence. She'd changed the way he saw sex. He'd thought he was teaching her, and all along she was showing him how much more than mere hormones and pheromones and orgasms it could be. Sex had always been fun for him. When he first met her and invited her back to his place, he'd thought it would be an enjoyable night in the sack with a hot girl who had some killer curves. But then it had changed. No warning, no clue. Just...it was more. From the first kiss in the car, stolen as she drove away, Chase had seen her hang-ups and had wanted to fix them. She didn't see her own sexiness, and he'd made it his mission to show her what she was, what she had that men wanted.

  In the end, she'd shown him that sex could have meaning. And goddamn if he didn't want that again.

  But Anna was gone forever. She'd chosen Jeff over him. Chase had seen enough to know she really, truly loved Jeff. She was happy with him, and Chase wasn't going to begrudge her that. She deserved happiness.

  He wished it could have been with him, but that wasn't meant to be, and he had to move on.

  He just didn't know how. That random groupie who had seduced him...he could have pursued her. She might have distracted him for a while. But he hadn't.

  Now Jamie had to go and show up, kiss him, rock his world, and ruin the little bit of progress he'd been making.

  What now?

  "Hey, Chase, there you are." Gage popped his head out of the door. "We need you inside, dude. Cleo from Murder Doll Asylum is looking for you. She wants you to do a couple songs with her."

  Chase followed his bassist inside and through the backstage area. "Murder Doll Asylum?"

  Gage shrugged. "Yeah, I know, right? Bizarre-as-hell name, but I listened to a couple of their songs on the way down, and they're fucking brutal, man. She's got a killer voice." He quirked an eyebrow at Chase, grinning. "And having met her, she's got a killer body to go with it. Could be fun, if you know what I mean."

  Chase waved his hand. "I'll do the set, but that's it, man."

  Gage made a disgusted face. "Dude, listen. You're all hung up on that chick. I know you liked her, but you've gotta get over her. You've been a mopey fucktard for weeks, man. Distract yourself. That one chick a few weeks ago, Shannon? The one with the black hair and the huge tits? You tapped that, right? She was asking us at the after-party why you weren't there. She wanted you, bro. Like, hard."

  Chase could only shrug. "Yeah, I hit it. She was hot and all, and it was good, but...I just don't know. She didn't hold my interest. I don't know what else to say. I'm just not interested."

  Gage shook his head again. "Well...I guess it's whatever you want, man. But we've been friends since ninth grade, man, and this ain't you. You're all...depressed and shit. We're on the way up, man! We're playing Madison Square Garden next week--how huge is that?"

  "We're opening for the openers, Gage," Chase said. "But I know. Okay? I know. Just give me some time. I'll come around."

  Gage slapped him on the back, playfully hard. "Just do me one favor?"

  "If I can."

  Gage grinned lecherously. "Don't count Cleo out before you've met her, bro. She's hot. Like...hot. And I'm pretty sure she's into you. I mean, fuckin' every girl on the planet is into you, but Cleo is fine as hell, and she can scream like a banshee, man. Their tracks are sick."

  Chase forced a grin and a laugh so Gage would get off his case. "I'll try to keep my mind open."

  "That's all I'm asking."

  Murder Doll Asylum was an all-girl screamo band led by Cleo Calloway. They'd made a name for themselves as a band that could rock as hard on stage and play as hard off-stage as any of the all-male metal outfits. Six Foot Tall wasn't strictly metal, but they had enough hard numbers that they could fit in with billings that featured harder acts. This gig in Vegas was with a ton of metal bands of several subgenres, headlined by acts like Hatebreed, Devil Driver, and Otep; it was the hardest grouping of bands they'd ever played with, and all the guys in Six Foot Tall were finding the process of adjusting from the tamer rock acts they usually played with to the darker, harder thrash, screamo, and death metal bands on this gig to be a strange but fun adventure.

  Chase idly twisted the spiked bracelets on his wrists as they neared the stage. He could feel the music in his bones and his belly before he could really hear anything specific. Until you were close enough to hear the feed from the monitors, the music heard backstage was a wall of sound, thick and impenetrable,
rumbling and grumbling in your body.

  Now that he was in the side-stage curtains watching, he could hear the band's signature sound, a steady, growling bass line overlaid by high, squealing, technically stunning lead guitar work. Through it all, the drums pounded maniacally, topped by Cleo's unintelligible but emotive screaming, chanting vocals. Chase wasn't usually a huge fan of screamo bands, preferring a more melodic and artistic approach himself. He could appreciate the talent he was seeing, though. Cleo's face twisted and contorted with angst and rage, her thin, porcelain-pale features curtained by a thousand thin dark purple dreads as she bent over at the waist, mic held sideways to her lips, cupped by her other hand. He couldn't make out a damn word she was saying, but she sure did seem to feel it from the depths of her soul.

  The number ended, and Cleo stepped off-stage as the lights darkened between numbers.

  She grabbed a water bottle proffered by stagehand and stood next to Chase. "Hey. Wanna do a couple numbers together?"

  Chase grinned at her. "Sure. I don't know any of your stuff, though."

  She waved a hand dismissively. "We can do some covers. We're more than just screamo, you know."

  "Cool. What do you want to cover?"

  "You know 'Cowboys From Hell'?"

  "Hell, yeah." Chase bobbed his head; the boys were all huge Pantera fans.

  The bassist, a tall, willowy girl with blonde pigtails, tapped in a thrumming line, followed by the kick drum, and then the lights came on, bathing Cleo and Chase in twin spots. Cleo leaned in close to the lead guitarist, a short but svelte girl with black spiky hair and earrings rimming her ears from lobe to tip, muttering the song they were going to do. The guitarist nodded and strummed a few chords as the rest of the band cued in.

  Then they were off, blazing through the beloved metal anthem, Cleo and Chase alternating verses and harmonizing on the chorus as perfectly as if they'd rehearsed it. They did "Sanitarium" by Metallica next, and then closed the set with "Killing in the Name of" by Rage Against the Machine. Chase was skeptical when Cleo suggested it, but Cleo assured him the band knew it backward and forward, and had covered it before. He found himself pleasantly shocked when the guitarist did indeed do justice to Tom Morello's guitar work.

  Chase had paid close attention to Cleo while they performed, and she was as sexy as Gage had suggested. She was thin and pale, with small breasts and boyish hips, which was as far from Chase's taste as you could get, but she was beautiful, with wide hazel eyes and an expressive, kissable mouth.

  Maybe she would provide enough distraction to help him forget; he had a lot of forgetting to do after all. Anna, Jamie...between the two, he wasn't sure he'd ever truly be able to forget, but he had to try.

  *

  It was midnight, and Chase was hammered, more than half-naked, and about to lose his third straight hand of strip poker. Of course, he wasn't necessarily playing to win, and neither were the girls from Murder Doll Asylum. Chase smirked as he thought, Losing has never been so much fun. And neither had winning. He was down to his leather pants, earplugs, and his socks, but then, the girls were faring about as well. He'd won twice as many hands as he'd lost, so Cleo was down to her bra and panties; Leah, the bassist, was topless in her Catholic schoolgirl-style miniskirt; and Kylie, the guitarist, was in a T-shirt and panties.

  They'd been partying for hours, ever since their set ended earlier in the evening, with the drummer and rhythm guitar from MDA having gone with the other guys from Six Foot Tall to some after-party somewhere in Vegas.

  Which left Chase to entertain three hot chicks on his own. He figured he could handle it.

  He fanned his cards and examined them again, as if they might have changed. Ace of hearts, ace of diamonds, and three of hearts. A pair, but not enough. He was pretty sure Leah had a straight, and Cleo was holding something to beat that--a full house, maybe. He wasn't sure what Kylie was holding, but he was pretty damn sure it beat his hand.

  Chase sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. Leah had just raised on his bet, which meant he was beaten three ways. "All right, ladies. I'm not gonna see that. I've got a pair of aces."

  He laid his cards down and tried to keep his face neutral.

  Leah whooped. "Hells, yeah! Straight, baby. Take 'em off, Delany."

  Chase grinned and stood up, ran his hands over his abs teasingly. He watched as all three girls froze in anticipation. He decided to toy with them; he drew off one sock, and then the other.

  "That wasn't the bet!" Cleo yelled. "Your pants, Chase. The bet was, if you lose, you take off those sexy leather pants."

  Chase looked down at himself, as if surprised to see his customary leather pants. "The pants?" He glanced with overdone incredulity at the three girls. "You want me to take my pants off?"

  "YES!" all three girls said in chorus, and then burst into a fit of giggles.

  Which was funny in and of itself, since none of them were the giggling type. They were the type of girls who could hold their own in the most brutal of mosh pits, who could breed a sonic massacre onstage and then drink half their male counterparts under the table afterward. And they were giggling.

  Chase laughed, swaying in place. Those last two shots of Patron were starting to catch up to him. "Well, let it never be said that Chase motherfucking Delany ever welched on a bet," he announced, a little too loudly.

  He eyed each girl in turn, his gaze lingering on Leah's perky C-cup breasts, and then unbuttoned the top of his pants. He grinned when Cleo licked her lips, shifting in her chair. The zipper went down, and now they were loose around his hips, his semi-rigid cock bulging in his skin-tight CK boxer-briefs.

  And then he paused. "I have an idea. How about the three of you play one last high-stakes hand." He poured a shot for each of them, handed out limes and the salt, and then, when everyone was ready, he lifted his shot glass in a toast. "Winner of the last hand helps me take off my pants."

  Leah, Cleo, and Kylie exchanged looks, then grinned. Cleo scooped up the cards, shuffled, and dealt. Chase planted himself unsteadily into his chair, blinking at the double images he was starting to see. Time to slow down a bit; they were just starting to get down to the fun part of the night.

  He watched the girls play, each one keeping her face straight and hard, giving nothing away. Watching them play, he started trying to figure out each girl's tell. Leah was worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth absently, fingering one of her cards with her thumb. Kylie was blinking a lot and uncrossing and recrossing her legs--either nervous, or she had to pee. Cleo was the hardest. She was perfectly still, no obvious sign of nerves or excitement. Then she glanced at Chase and licked her lips, pink tongue swiping with exaggerated slowness between her black lipstick-painted lips.

  She's going to win, he realized. She wasn't nervous or excited, only confident, which meant she had a killer hand and she knew it. Chase found himself hardening at the thought of Cleo's hands stripping him of his pants. She was pretty sexy, in her own way. She had knowing eyes, busy hands, porcelain-doll features. Like a china doll turned goth-anime.

  Chase shifted in his chair. This would definitely be a welcome distraction. He'd hoped the night would provide a few hours of forgetting, but he hadn't dared hope it would go this well.

  He pushed away the doubts concerning what was about to go down. He owed no one anything. He could do what he wanted. If he wanted to spend the night in a menage a quatre or whatever this would be called, then he had every right to. He was a goddamn rock star, for fuck's sake. Rock stars fucked three girls at once.

  Cleo's whoop of triumph jerked him back to the present. Leah and Kylie were pouting while Cleo stood on the table, gyrating her hips and pointing at Chase. "Get over here, Delany. You're mine, now, bitch."

  Chase stood up slowly, eyes on Cleo across the table from him, Leah and Kylie between them. He circled behind Leah. He paused with his lips at her ear and put his index finger on her bare knee near the hem of her skirt, then dragged it up her thigh, hiking her skirt higher as h
e went. He felt her breathing cease entirely as his finger moved up her hip to her naked side. She gasped when his finger traced the underside of her breast, and then whimpered when he flicked her rigid nipple.

  "Don't worry, sweetheart," he whispered in Leah's ear, his eyes fixed on Cleo's. "I haven't forgotten about you."

  He pinched her nipple, nipping her earlobe, letting his hot breath huff into her ear. She tipped her head sideways to offer him better access, and he took it, planting a hot kiss on her neck.

  She deflated when he moved away, letting her breath out, her head lolling back on her shoulders. Kylie was next, and she was watching him out of the corner of her eye, palms flat on the table, drawing slow, deep breaths. He paused behind her as he had Leah, but instead of immediately touching her, he simply stood behind her, mouth against her ear, his hands planted to either side of hers. She was frozen, head turned slightly so she could see him. He waited. Chase could feel the anticipation rolling off her in palpable waves.

  "I haven't forgotten about you, either," he whispered.

  Kylie turned in place so her lips brushed his. Chase felt a bolt of lust hit him when her soft, moist lips touched his.

  "What are you gonna do?" Kylie asked, breathless.

  "I don't know. What do want me to do?"

  She shrugged. "I'm awful hot in this shirt."

  Chase grinned and touched her lip with his tongue, tasting the salt and the tequila and faint traces of lipstick. "Hmmm. I might be able to help you out with that."

  Kylie sucked in her belly when Chase's fingers brushed the skin of her abs, lifting her tight red baby-doll T-shirt up over her head and off. Her spiky black hair was mussed by the shirt's removal, so Chase took the opportunity to run his hands over the spikes. She shivered when his palm grazed down her neck and across her shoulder, hesitating on the shoulder blade before plunging down her chest to her breasts, cupped by a plain black bra.

  Chase dug his fingers into the cup and lifted one breast free, tweaking the rosy bud of her nipple. He lifted the strap and let it snap back. "Is this in the way, too?"