Rock Hard

Chapter 20

Sed stalked down the wide sidewalk, oblivious to the crowds milling along the Vegas strip. The throngs of people parted before him like the red sea. Apparently, his pissed-off aura preceded him and alerted them to get the fuck out of his way. He didn’t even know where he was going. Back to the tour bus maybe. Or a bar. He could use a drink. And not that watered down shit they gave away at the casinos.

“Oh my God, it’s Sedric Lionheart!” a feminine voice wailed.

Sed froze. He wasn’t in the right state of mind to deal with rabid fans. He glanced around, looking for an escape route or a place to hide.

“It is him. Sed!” a voice said from the opposite direction. “Sed. Sed. Sed! I love you.”

He spun on his heel, wincing at the large group of young women racing toward him. His only means of escape was the busy street beyond the sidewalk. He headed in that direction, but hesitated on the curb. Cars zoomed past.

Several bodies careened into him and he stumbled, one foot landing in the road. A car blared its horn as it swerved, barely missing him.

His fangirls wouldn’t push him to his death, though. Several hands grabbed his T-shirt and pulled him back onto the sidewalk.

Fabric tore along his back. While he’d regained his balance, within seconds, he’d lost his shirt. Again. Why did they always have to rip his shirt off? Christ. There was a reason he kept his hair short and didn’t wear jewelry. If they could grab it, they considered it fair game for their collections.

Hands, belonging to various females in the growing mob, touched, caressed, squeezed, poked, and prodded any bare skin they could get their hands on.

A few of the more bold ladies copped a feel of his ass beneath his jeans.

Another grabbed his crotch. “So that video wasn’t enhanced,” someone murmured into his ear from behind. “You are a monster.”

He pulled a hand away, only to have it replaced with another. Camera flashes were going off all around him. The excited twitters of high-pitched voices made his head swim.

Normally, it didn’t bother him to be fondled and groped by appreciative female fans, but he’d had enough of being used for one day. Jessica thought of him as a toy, and all these chicks just saw him as an object for their amusement.

No one gave a shit about him. Not the real him. He tried to be a good guy. To treat Jess right and she reminded him of how little he really meant to her? Fuck her. He didn’t need her. He didn’t need anyone.

“Back off!” he bellowed.

Everyone froze.

Hesitated a few seconds.

Continued their game of who can touch Sed in the most invasive manner.

“Sed!” a familiar masculine (thank you, God) voice called from just outside his circle of admirers.

An engine revved loudly and girls dashed aside as a Harley Davidson bumped over the curb and onto the sidewalk. The bike stopped next to Sed and its driver slid forward on the seat.

Jace. Bassist. Savior.

“Get on,” Jace said, jerking his helmeted head toward the back of the bike.

Sed peeled his fangirls’ leech-like hands from his body and climbed onto the motorcycle behind Jace.

“Can I have your autograph, please?” a young woman asked, her grip like iron on his wrist. “Please!”

“Some other time.”

Sed tugged free of her hold. The motorcycle shot forward, hopped the curb and entered traffic. Several horns blared as Jace cut across three lanes.

“Man, you saved my life. Did you just happen to be driving past?”

“I saw the chaotic crowd of females. Figured it was you in the middle of it. Or Brad Pitt.”

Sed chuckled. “I thought you were visiting Trey.”

“Eric doesn’t want me around.” The bike rumbled loudly as Jace accelerated, whipping between cars in the heavy traffic. The guy was a maniac. Sed’s heart raced after the first near fatality. By the third, he just wanted off the fuckin’ bike.

“Hey, slow down. Shit, man, are you trying to kill us?”

“Just don’t want to be seen riding with a half-naked dude on the back of my bike.”

Sed laughed so hard he almost fell off the motorcycle. He wrapped his arms around Jace’s waist, the cool, smooth leather of Jace’s jacket against his bare chest. Sed rested his chin on Jace’s shoulder. “Is this better, snookums?”

“Ack!” Jace scooted forward, but Sed tightened his arms to keep him from shifting onto the shiny red gas tank. “Get back.”

Sed snorted. “Slow down and I’ll let go.”

Jace slowed and carefully moved to the lane closest to the sidewalk. As promised, Sed released him and scooted to the back of the seat. A moment later, they turned into the parking lot where the tour buses were still parked.

“Home sweet home,” Sed murmured as Jace pulled to a stop next to the front bus.

“Did you want to go somewhere else?”

“In this outfit?” Sed climbed off the back of the bike and let himself into the empty bus. Jace followed.

Sed found a spare shirt in the bedroom that didn’t smell like stale sweat. He donned it and returned to the common area.

Jace, who was seated at the dining table, watched Sed pass as if he wanted to talk. Rare for Jace. Better humor him.

Sed slid into the bench across from him.

“So what have you been up to lately?” Sed asked. “Haven’t seen you around much. You’re always taking off on your bike.”

Jace shrugged, rubbing the small hoop earring in his lobe between his thumb and the side of his index finger. “Stuff.”

“You’re probably just sick of Eric harassing you all the time.”

He shrugged again. “Eric’s cool. He was here first.”

“Eric can be real a douche bag, you know? Don’t let him get to you.”

“No, really, he’s cool. You should cut him some slack.”

“Me?”

“The dude idolizes you and you cut him down all the time. He just laughs it off, but…” Jace shrugged again.

The quiet ones always surprised him with their insight. Was he too hard on Eric? Sed scratched his forehead, scowling in thought. He did cut Eric down, but Eric needed that to keep him on an even keel. Didn’t he? Yeah, as an outsider, Jace just didn’t understand their dynamic.

And why did he just think of Jace as an outsider? He was a part of the band just like the other guys. Just because he’d only been with the band two years…

“Do we make you feel like an outsider?” Sed asked.

Jace dropped his gaze to the table. After a long moment, he said, “Not exactly.”

“If there’s anything I can do—”

“Where’s your girlfriend?” he interrupted.

“I left her back at the hotel. She pissed me off.” Actually, she’d hurt him, but it pissed him off that she could do it so easily.

“You want a ride back?”

Sed sighed, annoyed by his own weakness. He should just stay away from her. It would make things easier. He knew she’d lashed out at him because she was hurting. He wasn’t sure how to take that hurt away, but he had to try. “Yeah, if you don’t mind, but I need to do something first.”

He pulled his lyrics journal from under the cushion of the bench seat and started to write. It would help to get these feelings out of his head, where they churned incessantly.

He labeled the page: “Used.”

He then scrawled beneath the title, in barely legible script:

You don’t see me.

Blind to the real me.

I’m not who you think I should be.

But I can’t be someone I’m not.

He paused, chewing on the end of his pen.

I’ll try to be who you need,

what you need,

I fail again

tear me, cut me, make me bleed

if it opens your heart to me.

Just don’t leave me with nothing.

Less than nothing.

Like the last time.

Use me.

It’s better than existing without you.

He closed the notebook and shoved it back under the seat.

“Are you writing lyrics?” In his enthusiasm, Jace looked younger than his twenty-four years. Brown eyes wide with eagerness, his typical cool veneer slipped aside for at least three seconds.

“Just a few lines as inspiration strikes.” Sed slid out of the bench. “Are you ready to go?”

“Huh? Oh yeah. So do we have enough for an entire new song yet?”

“Several, actually. I’ve got most of the lyrics down, but I’ll need Eric to get the arrangements worked out.”

“Eric?”

“Fucking gifted with arrangements. He’s got a golden ear. He can take a bunch of disjointed riffs, solos and lyrics, and like magic churn out a song, complete with one of his amazing drum tracks. Have you ever seen him compose?”

Wide-eyed, Jace shook his head and followed Sed off the bus.

“He and Jon Mallory used to work well together. They’d disappear for a weekend with a stack of music—Brian’s guitar work, my lyrics—and return with fifteen or twenty new songs, ready for the recording studio. They wrote the entire last album that way. Not sure how he’ll do now that Jon is gone.” Sed scowled. That might turn out to be a problem, actually. It hadn’t occurred to him until that moment. “Eric will just have to compose with me this time. And you.”

“Me?” Jace sputtered. “I don’t know a thing about writing music.”

Sed laughed. “Me neither, but that won’t stop me.”

Jace grinned. “I’ll try to stay out of Eric’s way, but I would like to see him work.”

Sed had never recognized it before, but Jace admired Eric. Even though Eric treated him like a kid and continually picked on him about his size. Weird.

Without warning, a blinding light hit Sed in the face and a microphone appeared under his chin. “Sed Lionheart, every music fan out there wants to know, is this the end of Sinners?” Bright flashbulbs went off all around him. Damned paparazzi. How did they know he was here?

Sed lifted a hand to block the glare from his eyes. “What?”

“With Trey Mills out of commission, will the band break up?” the reporter shouted.

“What? No. Trey will be fine. Jesus, give him a few days to recover before you start talking about the band breaking up.”

“I see. And do you often engage in public sex with prostitutes and then post the videos online?”

“Prostitutes?” Sed was too stunned to do anything at first. His next instinct was to kick some ass. “Jessica isn’t a prostitute, you asshole. She’s… she’s…” What was she to him exactly? He wasn’t sure, but he did know what he wanted her to be. “She’s my fiancée!” Sed tried to take a swing at the prick, but Jace grabbed him from behind and pinned his arms to his sides.

“Don’t make this worse, Sed,” Jace said. “Let’s get out of here.”

“If you write anything bad about her, I’ll fucking kill you, do you hear me?” Sed yelled at the journalist as Jace forced him to move in the general direction of his motorcycle. Several roadies and the head of Sinners’ security came out of the pigsty bus. They quickly diverted the journalist and gang of photographers so he and Jace could make their escape.

Jace climbed onto the Harley and started the ignition. It roared to life between his thighs. “Let’s go.”

Sed preferred to go kick that reporter’s ass for referring to Jessica as a prostitute, but somehow he pulled it together enough to climb on the motorcycle behind Jace and not fall off as they sped away.

As the surge of testosterone and adrenaline in his blood stream began to wane, he realized he’d told the reporter that Jessica was his fiancée. That would fix a few things, wouldn’t it? God, he hoped so.

“You okay back there?” Jace asked.

“Yeah. Just get me to the Bellagio.”

They took some less-traveled road that ran parallel to the Vegas strip and Sed found himself standing behind the hotel within minutes. “Thanks for the ride. Are you going to go see Aggie again?”

“Maybe.” Jace shrugged. He drove off before Sed could blink.

Sed had planned to ask Jace if he wanted to have a drink with him while he avoided returning to the hotel room. He wondered how pissed Jessica would be because he’d left without saying a word. If he had to guess, he’d go with excessively pissed. He stopped at a blackjack table on his way through the casino. Played a few hands. Drank one watered down Jack and Coke after another. He still wasn’t ready to return to the room. He wasn’t in the mood to get yelled at, and he wasn’t nearly drunk enough to stop caring. By the time he was drunk enough, it was close to two a.m. He cashed in his chips, surprised to find he was a couple grand ahead, and took the elevator back to their floor.

He hesitated at the door. She’d probably left immediately after he had. The room would be empty. Lonely. He’d probably never see her again.

No sense in wasting a comfortable bed though. He didn’t want to go back to the bus and sit there by himself. Or potentially get harassed by some stupid journalist again. He could go play a few more hands of cards. The dealers would keep him company.

Coward, a little voice inside his head accused. Yeah. So?

He took a deep breath, slid the keycard into the lock, and pushed the door open. The bathroom light and the lamp near the bed were still on. Together they gave off just enough light to reveal Jessica sleeping in the chair wearing nothing but a towel and a slack expression. Had she fallen asleep while waiting for him?

He put out the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign, closed the door, engaged the dead bolt, and crossed the room to stand beside the chair. He watched her sleep for several moments. Her face was squashed against the chair arm and drool trickled from the corner of her mouth. Attractive? No, not really. Endearing? Completely.

He leaned forward and touched her bare shoulder. Her skin was cold as ice. How long had she been passed out in the chair?

“Jess, let me put you to bed.”

She opened her eyes and grinned sleepily when she recognized him. “Sed,” she murmured. “I was looking for you.” Her words were slurred as she spoke.

He grinned. “In the chair?”

“I hurt my toe. Sorry.” As if that explained anything.

“Why are you sorry?” he asked, scooping her into his arms and carrying her toward the bed.

“For calling you an amusing toy.”

He grinned down at her as he carried her. An apology? Good enough for him. “I’m not amusing?”

“No.” She shook her head and then giggled. “I mean, yes, you are amusing. You’re not…” She sighed, her expression vacant. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she snuggled against him. “You know what I mean. I like you.” She kissed his collarbone through his T-shirt. “I like you. You.”

Well, it was a start. A far cry better than hate. “You, Ms. Chase, are very drunk.”

“Yes I am,” she agreed loudly and burst into delighted peals of laughter.

He grinned and laid her down across the bed. He tugged her towel loose and opened it, leaving her naked to his eager gaze.

“Whatchoo lookin’ at, Sedric?” she said. Giggled. Snorted. Covered her mouth with her hand and laughed again.

“The most beautiful woman in existence.”

He crawled up onto the bed and stretched out on his side beside her. He bent his elbow and rested his head on his hand, trailing the fingertips of his free hand over her belly. She shivered.

“Are you going to ravish me now, Mr. Lionheart?” she asked, her voice husky.

“Every inch of you,” he murmured and kissed her shoulder tenderly.

“It’s about time!”

She giggled again, but her smile faded as his fingertips moved along the side of her belly to the protrusion of her hipbone. He stroked the ridge there—back and forth, back and forth, watching gooseflesh rise over her skin and her nipples harden with need. He leaned forward and kissed her waiting lips. She tasted of champagne and strawberries.

He enjoyed exploring every inch of her. He used his lips, his hands, fingernails, the smooth inner surface of his forearm, his teeth, his tongue, all the various textures of his body to stimulate her skin. He began with her forehead and worked his way down to the tips of her toes. She made no protest when he turned her onto her stomach and started the process again, moving up her body from the soles of her feet to the tender spot on the back of her neck.

He paused, noticing she’d stopped moving and sighing with pleasure. He brushed her hair back from her face and found her eyes were closed.

“Jess?” He shook her shoulder and she started, snorting as she regained consciousness. “You aren’t into this, are you?”

“Feels so good I fell asleep,” she murmured. “Tired.”

“You never could hold your liquor.”

He pulled back the covers and shifted her body over to the sheet. He covered her and tucked the blanket under her chin. She snuggled into the covers and immediately went slack. The least she could have done was use him for her amusement before she passed out in a drunken stupor. Well, there was only one thing to do when faced with this level of sexual frustration.

Sed stood, stripped off his T-shirt, and dropped to the floor.

Push-ups.