The Rock Star Next Door #1 (3 page)

“We’re home,” he said, slipping the card in the lock to open the door.

Jewel flipped on a light as she went in ahead of him, and he wondered if he should let her go now. But he’d waited so long, anxious just like when she left to study abroad, a desertion that had crushed him for months.

Rage had thought he’d loved a couple girls, but it didn’t take much for him to realize he compared them all to Jewel. He had no idea how to approach her, or if he even should. Hell, if she freaked out, he could lose everything — she might not even want to see him anymore.

“It’s a great room.” She set her phone on the side table and popped open a suitcase on the bed. “Thank you for having the driver bring my things.”

“One of the perks.” He stuck his hand in his pocket and tried to appear casual as he leaned on the doorframe. A couple people came down the hall, laughing. He glanced at them a moment, but they passed on by. “Things just sort of happen — stuff gets delivered, food appears, bills are paid.”

She laughed a little nervously. Was she anxious too? He squeezed his hand into a fist, still feeling the ache from the concert and playing his guitar for hours straight. The adrenaline was wearing off. He held out his hand and splayed out his fingers, feeling the stretch. His wrist too, was aching.

Jewel came back. “Hurting? You used to complain after you guys would practice too long.”

He closed his fist again. “I think I played a little more intensely than I usually do.”

She wrapped her hands around his and pried his fingers open one at a time.

His heart was banging in his chest like Metal was splintering sticks on a rim. She felt gentle and cool where he seemed clumsy and overheated.

“When I had a typing job for a while, it always helped to do this.” She pressed her thumbs into his palm.

The pressure was excruciating, an ache and a release. He swallowed, this throat thick, and hoped she wouldn’t look down because the tight pants were going to show the rest of his reaction.

Her hair obscured her features. Rage wanted to sit down, to really feel her hands on him. He also wanted to shuck his clothes, to get more of her skin, more contact, but he definitely couldn’t do that.

Everything rushed at him now, and he knew he needed to get out of there fast. He had to sort through this, study his motivations, make a plan. He hadn’t thought past the moment of getting her here. And now she was.

But he couldn’t move. The doorframe pressed into his shoulder and her hair brushed his arm. He closed his eyes, relaxing into her touch, the kneading of his hand. She took her time with each finger, pinching and releasing each section. Finally she took his hand fully into hers, threading their fingers together, and squeezed.

He opened his eyes again when she froze. After a sharp intake of breath, she tucked her hair behind her ear and Rage could see she was staring at the bulge in his pants. She bit her lip and looked up at him, a question, confusion on her face.

Shit, he’d scared her. He should have changed. Should have controlled himself.

But she squeezed his hand again. “Weird isn’t it?” she asked.

He had to clear his throat to speak. “What’s weird?”

“How we are the same two people we’ve always been, but we’re also — not.”

Now he squeezed her back. Did she get it? Did he dare hope she felt it too? “Yeah.”

“You’ve been around since we were small.” Her breathing was a little faster now, and Rage's cock jumped. It seemed to know something he couldn’t quite get his head around yet. He waited for her to talk again, as it seemed like she had more to say.

But she let go of him. “I’m tired,” she said. “I guess we can talk tomorrow about what you want me to do? How to help?”

He forced a smile. “Absolutely.”

“Is there anything you want me to look over? A contract? Numbers?”

Rage felt his eagerness dropping like a stone. “Not tonight. We can save it all for tomorrow.”

Jewel nodded. “All right. We’ll figure this out. It seems fun.”

“What will you do if that job pans out in London?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I guess we’ll cross that bridge when it blows up.”

He laughed. God, he’d missed her. He backed toward the door, wishing he didn’t have to. But he had to take it easy. “Have a good night.”

“You too, James — Rage.” She sat on the bed, slender, beautiful in the pink shirt. God, he didn’t want to leave. “What should I call you now?” she asked. “It’s all so strange.”

His fingers closed over the handle to the door. “Whatever works for you.” He’d always hated James, but now that he’d heard her say it, maybe it wasn’t so bad.

“I think Rage suits you,” she said. “You’re all grown up now.”

He thought she might have glanced over his body. He wasn’t sure. He surged with hope again. “It’s nice to feel like I’ve become the person I wanted to be.”

“Just don’t screw it up,” she said, laughing. “Like that time you decided to call yourself Harry Houdini and lock yourself up in chains.”

Rage flooded with embarrassment. She knew everything stupid thing he had done. “How do you think I got the name of the band, Rage in Chains?” he asked.

He walked out into the hall listening to her merry laugh. When it closed, he leaned back against it. She was here. He’d gotten her here. Now if he could just hold on to her somehow.

Jewel hadn’t packed a lot of things, jumping on a flight without a lot of notice. She had almost hoped her boyfriend Ethan would protest, that he would show some sort of actual interest in her or emotion. But he’d just reminded her not to take liquids in her carry on.

She sorted through her bag, wondering how long she’d be here, what she was doing.

There was no denying she was feeling something about Rage that wasn’t there before. But she had Ethan. And probably a job — she should be hearing any day. How had she ended up on a tour with a rock star neighbor?

She sat on the edge of the bed. This was the dream, though, wasn’t it? That some day some hotshot rock star would set his eyes on you, and you’d be pulled into this crazy party lifestyle and live like someone in a movie.

How often would a chance like this come along? Never.

She thought of Rage on the other side of the wall and what he might do if she knocked on his door.

Instead, she decided to Google him a bit. She had followed his career a little, not a lot. Matt sometimes sent her emails linking to stories about him. He seemed sort of pissed that Rage didn’t answer him when he tried to contact him now. He insisted he’d always been Rage’s best friend. But now, Jewel wondered why they had been friends at all. Matt was a science nerd. Jewel loved him. He was her brother. But he and Rage didn’t have much in common. Not even when they were kids. Matt wanted to play with chemistry sets. Rage wanted to blow out amplifiers in his garage.

She pulled up her phone. Apparently Rage had been discovered playing in some dive bar in Santa Fe. He got a contract and it took almost a year to produce the actual album. She found some interviews, some photo shoots, and scattered articles. Then a gossip rag headline caught her attention. “Hot rocker Rage in Chains spotted with daughter of producer.”

Jewel pulled it up. The story was from two days ago! Her body shot through with ice as she read the story about Rage and this girl he was seeing. Pictures of them kissing on stage. All super recent.

She tossed her phone on the bed. What had she been thinking? He had this girlfriend, and if she was part of the whole signing package, then he wasn’t going to be leaving her for the awkward girl next door.

God, she was a freaking idiot. He really did want her here for her business degree. To help him navigate this new world of his. His flirty behavior was probably just part of his rock start schtick.

Uggh. She’d fallen for it.

Jewel jerked off her jeans and t-shirt and dug through her bag for something to sleep in. Rage better be planning to pay her. She couldn’t give up a job in London for nothing.

He wasn’t that damn hot.

Jewel woke up the next morning not feeling any better about her decision to come to California. She should be in London, waiting on that job. She wondered when the girlfriend was going to show, and how bitchy she might be about Jewel hanging around.

What a nightmare. Maybe she should just go back now, trade in her ticket.

She was barely showered and dressed when someone knocked at her door.

An older guy was in the hall with a black Rage in Chains t-shirt a size too small stretched over a fairly tricked-out set of chest muscles.

“We roll out in half an hour,” he said. “Rage is eating breakfast. He wanted me to see if you wanted to come.”

Jewel wanted to turn him down, but her growling stomach gave her away. She glanced back at the room. “I need to pack up my things.”

“Just come down when you’re ready. Leave the stuff inside your door. We’ll get it.”

Jewel nodded. When he was gone, she raced around the room, stuffing things in her bag. She’d go downstairs, tell Rage this wasn’t a good idea, and then — what? She wasn’t familiar with Sacramento. If they all left, she wouldn’t even have a ride to the airport.

She had a degree in international business. She could figure it out.

Jewel dropped the bag by the door and slung her purse over her shoulder. Eat. Cut. Run.

She took the stairs down a flight to the lobby. She could only assume the restaurant was around there somewhere.

The lobby was empty. So much for super fandom. She’d half expected girls throwing themselves against the glass doors. Obviously nobody knew he was here.

A man all in black stood outside the entrance to the restaurant. “Ms. Jewel?” he asked.

Jewel halted. “Yes.”

“This way.” Instead of taking her into the main dining area, where a few scattered guests were eating breakfast, the man led her along the side wall and through a door.

Inside, Rage and several members of what appeared to be crew were loading plates from a buffet.

Rage looked good, she decided begrudgingly. Even in the light of morning, he exuded this confident sexiness. In fact, she wondered why she thought he seemed nervous and anxious last night.

His hair was flipped over in this messy shag cut that suited him perfectly. The stubble on his jaw was just the right length. Jewel forced herself to remember the grubby boy who tried to tag along with her. But that just elicited her sympathy and didn’t help matters.

Rage turned and saw her. His face lit up, and she raged again. Such a damn charmer! Did he think any girl would drop her panties for him?

“Is this the brilliant business partner?” one of the guys asked, nudging Rage.

“It is,” Rage said, setting his plate on a table. “Arnie, this is Jewel. We were neighbors growing up. Now she’s a big-shot international businesswoman.”

Jewel shook the guy’s hand. So this was the manager. He was beefy, round shouldered, and his hair was buzzed super short. He looked like a used car salesman. Her concern prickled, but she simply said, “Hardly that. Just graduated. Nice to meet you.”

Arnie had one of those powerful grips.
 
“And lovely too.”

“Thank you.” Jewel felt awkward. She wouldn’t be able to tell Rage she was leaving in front of all these people. Eat first, she thought. Maybe a moment would come up.

“Grab a plate,” Arnie said. “We’ve got a few minutes yet before we have to hit the road.” He glanced at his watch.

“Details,” Rage said, clapping Arnie on the back. “Arnie loves the details.”

“Details are important,” Jewel said absently.

“Right,” Rage said. “On the bus, we can look over that contract for the second album.”

Arnie sniffed, displeased, and Jewel felt her suspicion rising again. “Rage, have you seen your own books? Do you have even a general idea of how much the tour costs versus earnings, and what percentages go where?”

Arnie steered her toward the buffet. “Rage has to focus on his art. Those aren’t things he needs to worry about.” He handed her a plate. “Eat up, honey.”

Jewel whirled away. She hated men who called her honey or baby or sweetheart. She was starting to feel some panic for Rage. Maybe she should stay a day or two, just to make Arnie nervous. He should be on Rage’s side. But more than a few naive artists got screwed by the people who should have been watching out for them.

She could rein in what she felt last night. It was just a silly starstruck moment leftover from the concert. She’d get on the bus, go through the paperwork, and have a fun few days. Maybe the girlfriend wouldn’t hate her. Maybe it would be all right.

And maybe the sausage links would turn into flying pigs.

Something was up with Jewel. Rage could see it. She’d eaten breakfast in near-silence, ice coming off her as bad as that time he and Matt refused to leave the living room when she was watching
Dirty Dancing
with some high school boyfriend. Rage hadn’t wanted to leave them alone. That jerk was putting the moves on her and Rage was old enough by then to recognize them.

Now they sat opposite each other at the table on the bus. The California summer blazed by in a blur of mountains and trees. She had put on a pair of cute little glasses and was reading over documents in utter concentration. Arnie had been suspiciously obstinate about giving up anything to her, blowing smoke about nondisclosure clauses and privacy.

But Jewel was everything Rage remembered and more. She pressured Arnie with a mix of flirting and logic. He hadn’t shown her any numbers, but she did have the contract for the second record deal, the one no one had signed.

Rage watched her as they bumped along. Her hair was a shiny brown in the light from the window. Her skin was creamy. Today she had on a silky tank top that hugged her body. She had no idea how hard it had been for him to walk away last night. Maybe he shouldn’t have. This morning she was as difficult to read as the face of the moon.

Jewel tucked a long section of hair behind her ear and shook her head. “Rage, I don’t really know what is standard in a contract like this, but I see a real possibility for you getting screwed royally.”