Heart of Rock (7 page)

"I almost died in New York." He said the words in a firm strong voice. "Wasn't my intent, I just… Abbie broke up with me and I didn't take it well. I drank, swallowed down some pills, and almost choked to death on my own vomit. Carly saved me with CPR."

Nevan kept silent, but his steady, assessing gaze did not waver from Brogan.

"You think me a stupid wanker, don't you, Nevan? You always did. I can see the disdain in your eyes."

Nevan shrugged. "No more a wanker than the rest of us. But lately, aye. Do you blame the lass for giving you the kick? I don't. And Reese? You did some damage there. I'm not sure he will forgive you anytime soon."

Reese. God knows what he said in Philly. It had to be bad. Reese could be slow to anger, but once he was riled it would take the devil's own shoulder to shift him. "I'm a feckin' mess."

"Aye, my brother, you are. And the mess is not of a recent event, I'll wager. Whatever is smashed inside you manifests itself with this destructive behavior. I thought your music would be a productive outlet for whatever damage, but it seems to have made things worse."

Before Brogan could answer there was a sharp rap on the door. Carly entered, teetering precariously on red and orange platform shoes through the long shag carpet. Brogan's face lit up like the boardwalk in Blackpool at her appearance. The flush spread to his entire body.

"Nevan Byrne, you made it. Do you like your room? Only the best for the brother." She smiled warmly.

She sat down next to Nevan on the sofa. "You must join us for dinner tonight, Nevan, I hope you like steak. Let me know your preferences, food- and drink-wise, and I'll see it done."

"You make a bloke feel welcome, Carly. Thank you."

"I'm looking forward to some conversation. Your brother isn't much of a talker," Carly teased, glancing briefly at Brogan.

"Well, lass, I'm not much better, but for you I will try."

"Tell me, are there more brothers besides you two and the younger one—what was his name—Reese?"

"Aye, there's Brogan, myself, Reese, and two in their late teens, Barry and Shane," Nevan replied.

"Wow. You have sisters too? You have a big family. I always wished I had siblings," Carly replied, her tone friendly.

Brogan watched the conversation and byplay between Carly and Nevan and his heart clenched in his chest. She hardly glanced his way. She didn't speak to him. He might as well not even be in the bleedin' room. Since the night on the beach she only spoke to him when needed, or she sent Gio with her orders. He let her walk away from him. He should have gone after Carly on the beach, but he was stunned by the feel of her lips and her body on top of his. Brogan nearly came right there when she pushed him down on his back. He ached for something and someone he had never ached for before in his life. Not even Tarrah. He knew nothing, nothing at all. And Abbie? He loved her in his way, but she didn't move him like this. How quickly he seemed to have gotten over her. Not much substance there at all. Not much substance in himself, truth be told.

Carly stood. "I'll check on dinner. Also don't forget the sound check is at eight, Byrne. Bring Nevan with you." She headed for the door without a backward glance at him. His eyes scanned those sexy platforms all the way up those gorgeous legs to the tight denim skirt. Shite, he was getting hard. He shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. The door closed softly behind Carly.

"All right, what in the feck is going on, Brogan? You could cut the bleedin' tension, sexual and otherwise, in here with a knife. You got over Abbie quick enough."

Brogan glanced at his brother. "Aye, I guess I did. Makes me a prat, I know. I can't help myself. You're right, I'm smashed, a mess, and I don't know how to fix it." He paused, trying to steady his voice. "Can you stay for a few days, Nevan, please?"

Nevan remained quiet for a few moments. "Aye. Until you leave for Canada. I'll stay, my brother."

Chapter Six

Toronto International Airport

Toronto, Ontario, Canada

Carly couldn't believe this. The customs officials had their luggage torn apart and the guitars out of their cases. They were fondling her panties, for God's sake! Gio seemed amused, but she wasn't. God, it was only Canada; why all the fuss? Well, since Hendrix was caught with drugs back in 1970 they were cracking down on anyone who even had a whiff of rock star about them, or so Carly assumed. Byrne looked the part in his trademark leather pants, boots, black silk shirt unbuttoned to his waist, and leather vest. Carly frowned. Hendrix again. The parallels were spooky. Be damned if Byrne would die in some anonymous hotel room. She would make it her mission to keep him safe, from himself most of all.

"Whose luggage is this, Mr Byrne?" the officer called out.

"Mine."

The officer reached in between the lining and pulled out a small plastic bag. Byrne groaned aloud.

"This appears to be cannabis, around fourteen grams, which is about an ounce. You are aware this is an illegal substance, Mr Byrne?"

"Yes."

Carly snarled. "Gio, I thought you checked his luggage!"

"I did! I wasn't aware I had to cut the damned lining and check there!"

Carly's stomach did cartwheels. They were in deep shit. Again, the headlines rolled through her head. Nigel would be livid as he hated scandal and drama.

The customs officer approached the trio. "If you'll take a seat, I'll call the police. You've broken a federal law, and it has to be reported. We will be here some time, as we will be going through everything again, and we may insist on a strip search."

Carly glanced at Gio and Byrne and then stared at the ceiling. Could they be humiliated any further? Trying to keep her voice steady, she replied. "Of course, no problem."

All three moved to the wooden seats against the wall. One customs officer remained behind to watch them while the other went in the next room to call the local city police.

"Carly, I swear I didn't know it was there. I'm assuming the grass is from a tour months ago."

"Byrne, do you know what this means? Headlines and bad publicity. We didn't need this. Jesus, you could be in real trouble here! You are lucky this isn't some third world toilet. As it is there might be prison time," she whispered furiously. "You have the world by the balls and you are ruining everything. You and your damned whores and drugs." Carly exhaled and then continued. "What will Nigel say? He will blame me, and he'll be right. I should've been more vigilant. He'll replace me."

"It won't come to that, I promise," he replied, his voice sounding contrite. "No one is getting fired. Or replaced."

Carly took a deep breath, stood, and approached the customs officer. "Look, I don't know what the laws are here in Canada for cannabis possession. Is it as bad as the States?"

The man shook his head. He motioned toward Byrne. "He will be charged. The Toronto police are on their way. First offense could be a fine or up to six months in jail, but it's mostly fines. Get a lawyer. There is a discharge option."

"Is there any way to avoid any publicity on this?" Her voice sounded desperate.

"Probably not. Sorry. You know how it is. As soon as they take him in the word will get out."

Carly exhaled a shaky breath, and with it went her annoyance. Byrne stood and walked to her. The look on his face was tender and concerned. Her legs were threatening to give out. This damned
man
. He touched her arms, and an electric current sizzled, snapped, and covered her whole body.

"It will be all right, Carly. I'm so sorry this happened. I swear, I didn't know. I wouldn't do anything to upset you."

Brogan Byrne did upset her on so many levels and in so many ways. She curled her fists. Carly wanted nothing more than to roam her hands all over his damned gladiator chest and through the ebony and ivory silky hair on his head. She wanted to hold him close and protect him, but she also wanted to kick his stupid, careless ass. Her eyes roamed over the glorious torso on display.

Oh, daammmmnnnnn—

* * * *

Brogan released her arms and they returned to their seats. He honestly didn't know how the dope got in there. When did he last use that set of luggage? He had more than one. He racked his brain. Fourteen months ago on the southern tour, he got the weed in Kentucky. He remembered. Brogan really didn't know it was there. If he did, he would have smoked it long ago.

He could feel the irritation rolling off Carly like waves cresting at the beach. The emotion was beyond anger. He could sense her irritation. He also sensed something else. It was like she cared. Surely, he was mistaken. What could he say? She was right. He fecked up royally. He didn't like her being angry at him or disappointed. For her, he tried to be a better man, and he failed miserably.

Brogan's heart clenched. He didn't want her replaced. He had grown accustomed to her face, her voice, and her commanding presence. He liked the frank way in which she spoke to him and her no-nonsense attitude. Never mind those lush curves, sexy freckles, and her long, glorious legs. He closed his eyes and thought of the kiss on the beach again as he had been for the last ten days. He wanted to do more than kiss. Back in the VIP lounge at the Philly airport, he had thought he would fuck her for sport, a conquest. It no longer appealed. When Brogan's unused heart compressed in his chest, he knew. He was falling for her.

* * * *

Hotel Marquis De Montcalm

Downtown Montreal, Quebec, Canada

After being printed and charged in Toronto, Brogan's concert went off without a hitch. Of course it made the papers. There was a shot of him in cuffs being led into the police station. He had to call Nevan to tell him the details and to get him to explain to the rest of the family back home in Dublin. Explain what? That he made a fool of himself—again? He knew he would have to call his parents soon. Somehow talking to them about his mishaps would make it all too real. He would be the cover story for next week's
Rock Reports
magazine.
Bloody great.

Brogan sat in his private suite. He glanced at the finger foods on the nearby table. The snacks didn't appeal. He wanted a drink or three. The concert at the Montreal Forum was tomorrow night. He would give credit to the Canadians fans. They didn't care about his arrest for drug possession. The story made more of a sensational splash in the States than it did here. Typical. When this tour was finished, maybe he should head back to Dublin for a while. He might have to if US Customs Service made a stink about his arrest. They could refuse him re-entry across the border. He wasn't a citizen. The American government could revoke his work visa. What a muck-shite mess.

* * * *

Carly stepped into the suite. She drew a sharp breath. She had been avoiding Byrne as much as she could since the arrest. The phone call to Nigel had not been pleasant. He blamed her as she knew he would. Her job hung in the balance, though Nigel didn't come right out and say so. The next day he called back and in a calmer tone stated he was giving her another chance. Did Byrne have anything to do with Nigel's change in mood?

Her gaze scanned over his stunning body. His tie-dyed undershirt hugged every muscled plane of his chest. She should walk away and continue to avoid him, but the forlorn look on his face drew her to him. The lost little boy thing he had going appealed.

Carly sat down on the leather sofa next to him. "You talked to Nigel, didn't you? On my behalf."

"Aye. Why not? I have some sway. Why not use it? You're a good manager, Carly. You're not to blame for my feckin' disasters. I swear I didn't know the weed was there," Byrne whispered.

"I believe you."

To her everlasting shock she found she did believe him. She more or less had believed him in Toronto, but she hadn't spoken it aloud until tonight. It was her experience these petulant rock stars would lie through their teeth to get their way. She could tell when they were lying. Byrne was not being untruthful here.

He moved closer and put his arm around her. "You don't know what it means that you believe me. I think we make a good team."

Carly couldn't help but snort. "You're so full of shit, Byrne. Irish blarney, that's you."

The good-natured ribbing was soon replaced by something else: a blast of raw sensual heat very similar to the night on the beach. His skin sizzled and enveloped her in his sexual aura. The wave seared her where her side touched his. In a smooth, quick move, Byrne pulled her onto his lap. She didn't fight it. His hand caressed her bare leg with decided purpose and thoroughness. The feeling sent sparks to all parts of her body.

"What in hell are you doing?" she whispered.

Byrne nuzzled her neck. "Touching you."

The hardness of his cock was very evident under her ass. Carly had already seen his impressive equipment on the beach. She couldn't help imagining it now, considering she was all but impaled on him. He pulled her in tighter, his hand stroked her back, and his lips moved closer.

"I like sitting women on my lap, always did," he murmured.

"Byrne… don't."

She didn't move off him or push him away. He laid light kisses on her cheeks and her chin while purposely avoiding her lips. He teased her, and his sensual mouth was the weapon of choice.
The Irish bastard.

"Don't what? Touch you? Kiss you?"

Oh, God, she wanted him to do more than touch and kiss her. She had closed the door when she walked in, but she hadn't secured it. Would it be frigging obvious if she jumped to her feet, ran to the door, and locked them in? Carly was weary. The emotional roller coaster ride she'd been on since taking this assignment chipped away at her resolve to stay immune to Byrne. She didn't want to fight it anymore. Her hand touched his cheek. Freshly shaved. His greenish, whiskey-colored eyes were clear, lucid, and filled with desire.
Holy hell.

She kissed him with a long, deep, and passionate purposefulness that bordered on wantonness. In return he growled, and the snarl sounded sexy and animalistic. In a single slick move, Byrne placed her on her back with him on top. All the while their kiss continued as his hands explored her body. Before she could blink, her top was unbuttoned and her bra pushed toward her chin to expose her breasts. Byrne groaned again.