Romance: Rockstar Romance: Rock My World (A Bad Boy Rock Star and a College Girl Romance) (Contemporary New Adult Second Chance Romance) (5 page)

''Olivia Halfpenny.''

''Really?''

''Please don't laugh. I've had years of teasing about it. It's an English name, my great grandfather's fault, he could have changed it when he came to the States.''

''Daniel Raleigh.''

''Oh, that's a
nice
name. It sounds very noble,'' Olivia said.

She wondered quite what she was doing at his house. She was going to get a hotel, but when he'd offered to put her up, she'd heard herself say yes before she'd
really
thought it through. Sitting in his car on the way from the airport, she'd wondered what on earth she was doing.  For all she knew he could be a killer. The real reason, she later admitted to herself, was that she wanted to sleep with him.

Olivia was speechless. The house was like something she'd seen in the movies, a huge palatial residence built, she guessed, somewhere around the nineteen thirties. It had an enormous
yard to
the front and rear, with a pool and a few tennis courts. The house itself was white with timber inlay. It had a terrace running across the front elevation and a lovely antique conservatory to the side.

''You have to tell me what you do for a living. You can't buy this kind of place by robbing banks,'' she joked.

''There's time for that. Come in and have a drink.''

The interior took her breath away. It was
straight from
a design magazine. It was just how she would have decorated it, lots of white colonial furniture with palms and marble floor tiles.

''It's a lovely house,'' she said. He handed her a glass of red
wine,
and she took a sip. 

''I'm glad you like it,'' he said.

''Why did you ask me here?'' she said.

''Because I took pity on you. It's not nice trying to find a hotel on your own.''

She looked at his expression and instantly knew he was lying. Her father had run a building
business,
and many of the guys that had worked for him had looked at her like Daniel was.

''Actually, I'm fibbing,'' he said as he took her wine glass from her. ''As soon as I saw you I wanted to have you. All that small talk was just a smoke screen. I usually get what I want.''

''So you persuaded me to come here so you could......'

He took her in his arms and kissed her.

''I didn't persuade you, you couldn't wait to say yes,'' he said when their lips parted.

'' Admit it. You want me just as much as I want
you, I
can sense it.'' Had she been that obvious? She
really
hadn't shown him her bra on
purpose, that
had been a genuine mistake. ''You looked at me like a bitch on heat,'' he added.

He pulled her tighter to him and kissed her again. When his lips finally left hers, he spun her around and pushed her face first against the wall. ''Tell me you want me.'' When she was
silent,
he put his weight on her. ''Tell me,'' he demanded.

''Yes,'' she moaned as his erection pushed against her buttocks.

''You came here because you want me to fuck you. You will do
exactly
as I say, understood?''

This was
what she loved, craved even. A man to tell her what he wanted. A man to demand things of her and make her feel things.

''Take off your blouse,'' he said sternly.

She pulled the material from the waistband of her pants and tried to step back from the wall. ''No, stay where you are and take it off.''

''But I....''

''Do as I ask,'' he commanded. ''Don't argue.'' She put her fingers
between
the wall and her blouse and undid the buttons. When it was almost open, he ripped it from her back and threw it onto the floor. ''Now I want you to unfasten your pants. I'm going to pull them down.'' Again she tried to move from the wall, but he held her. When the button was open, he pulled her pants down over her thighs and tossed them away. Instead of feeling humiliated, standing against the wall in bra and panties, she felt aroused as never before. When she felt his hands unhook her bra, she gasped. The cold wall made her nipples stiff.

''Now I'm going to push your panties to once
side,
and I'm going to take you. Here, against the wall.'' She felt his fingers playing with the soft
material, then
she heard the sound of his zipper. He bent his knees slightly to get the right angle and pushed. Olivia screamed as he entered her. His thrusts began immediately, crushing her to the wall. She put her hands on the wall and pushed her behind toward him.

He put his arm around her neck and pulled her head back to him. He kissed her neck and cheeks as he continued to hammer her.

''Oh my God,'' she gasped as his onslaught continued. She loved the way he was dominating her. The only role she had to play was one of complete surrender.

He looked down and watched as his penis
disappeared into
her. She reached back under them and tried to cup his manhood, but he shoved her hand back to the wall. ''I'll tell you what to do, do you understand?''

''Yes,'' she moaned.

In one unexpected movement, he turned her around and pushed her over the arm of the sofa. He put his hand on her
back
and forced her down until he was able to penetrate her more deeply. Again he thrust hard
against
her. She felt herself coming and began to paw at the material under her. He was everything she wanted in a man. Handsome,
rich
and dominant.
She was so close now.
She pushed back against him, willing him to take her over the top, and when he did, it was wonderful. She couldn't stop shaking. Her legs turned to jelly, but he held her upright and continued to thrust just as hard as he had done before.  He made her come time and again. There was no end to his
stamina,
and she was insatiable for it.

Eventually, he laid her on her back and took her missionary. ''I want to see your
pretty
face when I come,'' he said. She was eager to feel his desire flooding into her. She put her legs around him and pulled him to her. Moments later, he came. She felt a warm wetness envelop
her,
and it was the most
wonderful
sexual experience she'd ever had.

*****

Olivia didn't go to London the next day. When she woke up next to Daniel she was already so in
love; she
felt unable to leave.
She
asked herself if she
was being
stupid falling from a man so soon after meeting him. She
knew nothing
about him at all, yet she felt so close to him. She wasn't able to explain it. It was just a feeling, a hunch.

She was brought severely back down to earth when he woke up, showered and told her it had been nice, but she had to go home because he was going to London. She'd wanted to hang around with him, have breakfast, talk some more. Surely his trip could have waited. Or maybe all he'd
wanted
in the first place was a one night stand. That was a though she certainly didn't want to contemplate.

When she said goodbye to him, her dreams were shattered completely. He didn't kiss her, not even a peck on the cheek. He patted her on the back when her taxi arrived and thanked her for
a nice
time.
A nice
time, not
a wonderful time
, a fantastic time or even a pleasant time. Just
a nice
time. That's all she had been,
a nice
fuck.

When she
got
home,
she went to bed and tried to figure out why she felt this way.  She was an adult and perfectly sensible most of the time. But now she'd opened herself up to a world of
hurt,
and she hated herself for it. During the next few days she checked her phone
constantly
, just in
case,
he texted her. But he didn't. She stared at her cell willing it to happen. Just once please, she thought. But nothing.

Days later she felt awful. He hadn't been in touch, and she realized all she'd been was another notch on his belt of conquests. Her energy spent after days of
heartache, she
neither had the will nor the inclination to go to London.

''Hi Olivia,'' George said. ''I thought you'd gone to England.''

Olivia sat down at the bar and ordered a cappuccino. ''No, changed my mind.''
She was so vulnerable she was sure if George asked her on a date she would say yes.
She may even go to bed with him. To her
relief,
he didn't ask. Beaten into submission after years of refusal, he'd managed to move on. He was dating Anna,
a pretty
German who gave him more than she took. 

''You don't look well, are you okay?'' he asked. She didn't want to cry, but the urge to do so was so overwhelming she couldn't stop the sudden torrent of tears that rolled over her face. ''Don't cry. Talk to me,'' he added.

''I've fallen hopelessly in love with a man I hardly know. A man who doesn't care about me,'' she sobbed. George all too aware that women don't need to be given solutions, just an understanding ear, waited until she spoke again.
''I've been so dumb.
I hate feeling like
this; I
wish I could press a button and turn my feelings off.''

''Is he
a nice guy
?''

''No he isn't. He's handsome, assertive and very
rich
but I wouldn't say he's nice.''

George got up and began to make her some coffee. ''If he isn't nice, why do you love him?''

''That's the point, I don't know. It's irrational, one of those things I can't explain.''

He poured the hot milk into a mug, added the coffee and stirred. ''Here, you'll feel better after one of my world famous cappuccinos.''

''Thanks. You're a good man George. I'm sorry I have been such a bitch to you over the years.''

He chuckled. ''You haven't. You're like a sister to me. I've realized that now. If you
really
want this guy as far as I can see, you have two options. Either you do cold turkey and forget him, or you make him fall in love with you,'' he said unable to resist the
manly
urge to solve her situation.

''I guess. I don't think I'm strong enough to forget him. He's so.......'' she couldn't find the right word.

''Fucking hot,'' George said in an attempt to assist her.

''Yes, but more than that. Shit, I can't put my finger on it, but there's something about him that drives me wild.''

''Then make him fall for you. Go for it.''

''And how do you expect me to do that?''

That part of the solution was more
difficult,
and he didn't have an answer. ''I'm sure you'll think of something.''

*****

''So Olivia, thank you for coming to see us today. I must say we are very impressed with your college grades and the trial piece you wrote for us. What makes you think you are the best person for the job?'' Gretta Starr asked.

Olivia had wondered if the name Gretta Starr was a real name or a name she used professionally, as editor of New York Street Scene. When she'd seen the job ad for a junior journalist, Olivia had sent an application immediately. It was just the kind of job she wanted. What could be better than writing about up and coming New York musicians?

Gretta was somewhere toward the end of her
thirties,
and she looked the part. Olivia would have guessed she was in publishing just by looking at her. It was her short dark hair and the designer glasses that gave it away. She was thin and Olivia would have wagered all she had on her being a feminist.

''That's a difficult question to answer,'' Olivia started. ''I am confident that my application is the best because my grades at college were the best the Boston School of Journalism has ever had. I am a curious person by nature. All I ever want to do is get to the bottom of a story. I like in-depth reporting which seems to be the kind of journalism your magazine
covets
.''

''Thank you, Olivia. Mark do you have any questions?'' Gretta asked. Mark Goldsmith looked up from his notepad and nodded.

''Olivia I would like to ask you what you would do if one of the musicians we reported on asked you on a date.''

Why he'd asked that question, she had no idea. What should she answer? ''I'd say no because I have a high standard of professionalism,'' she replied.

''Great. That's just what I wanted to hear. If we give you the job, you'll get hit on all the time. I can see you're a very attractive woman. Bear in mind that most of our interviewees are young and horny. You'll get hit on by both sexes. Just so that you're aware of that.''