Hard Rock Kiss Read online

  I gaped.

  Nathan Walker stood in front of me.

  But this Nathan Walker didn't look like the creeper guy skulking through the hospital. There was no ball cap in sight.

  This Nathan Walker wore an open leather jacket and bare chest, showing off every well-defined muscle and a colorfully inked torso. His black jeans looked spray-painted on. He wore studded accessories all over — belt, wrists, even a leather collar around his neck.

  My tongue went dry and thick. I couldn't form proper words.

  Was that a hint of eyeliner rimming his deep blue eyes? I'd never thought that was my thing but I was being proved wrong with every passing movement.

  Nathan cocked his head. "That was cool of you."

  "What was?" I managed to ask.

  "Helping that tech," he said. "You could have told him to shove it."

  "I was just being nice," I said.

  "Nice," he repeated.

  "What?" I asked, unnerved.

  "Nothing." A small smile played on his lips.

  I wasn't going to let him patronize me. I lifted my chin. "What's wrong with being nice?"

  "Nothing at all. I like it," he said. "Most people in this industry are self-absorbed bastards."

  "Yourself included?" I asked.

  Nathan laughed. "Only sometimes." His eyes left mine, flicking down my body in a quick pass. Then he looked up slowly, taking his time, lingering over every inch. When his eyes met mine again, there was a teasing glint in them. "I can be very generous in some situations."

  There was no doubt in my mind what he meant by that.

  "I'm glad you're here," he said. "I didn't think you'd come."

  "Why?" I asked.

  "I didn't think you were a fan."

  I'd meant, why was he glad I was here, but I didn't ask again. I wasn't sure what kind of answer he would give.

  "I like your music," I said. "I just didn't recognize you the first time I saw you. Especially with that ridiculous ball cap."

  He spread his arms out, gesturing to his current outfit. "Is this better?"

  Leather jacket and eyeliner? I couldn't think of anything that would suit the guy better. As I stared at him, my eyes went hazy again, taking in the delicious sight.

  "Like what you see?" he asked.

  I snapped my eyes back up to his to find a wide smirk creeping across his lips.

  "It definitely does look more rock star," I managed to say. "You're only missing a guitar to complete the look."

  His eyes drifted over my shoulder and he nodded his chin. A crew member came over and handed him exactly that. He shrugged the strap around his shoulders and settled the body of the instrument against his hip. My face grew warm when I remembered that familiar pose from his modeling ads.

  "You're stroking that thing like it's your lover," I noted.

  Nathan paused with his hand flat on the body of the guitar, stopping his slow caress back and forth. He blinked down at his instrument as if he hadn't realized what he'd been doing.

  "This girl's been with me a long time," he explained. "I don't like to play favorites, but there's something special about her."

  "It's a her?"

  "All my guitars are hers."

  "I suppose they would be," I said, "considering you spend hours feeling them up."

  "We do make sweet music together," he grinned.

  "Have you been playing for long?" I asked.

  "My mom bought me my first guitar at nine," he said.

  "Is this one her?"

  "No. I had to get a kid-sized guitar. But once I started growing, I bought this one myself."

  "Yourself?" I raised an eyebrow. "Aren't those things expensive?"

  "Sure are," he said. "I saved up all my money from odd jobs. Paper routes and mowing lawns, stuff like that."

  "That's very mature of you." I tried not to sound surprised and insult him, but I had a feeling maturity and Nathan Walker didn't really go together. "Most kids wouldn't think to save like that."

  "Wait, say that again." Nathan cupped his hand to his ear in an exaggerated motion. "I need the guys to hear someone call me mature."

  "That rare of an occurrence, huh?" I asked with a laugh, knowing my suspicions had been right.

  "It isn't the first thing that comes to mind when people think of me," Nathan said. "What about you? Were you mature? Did you save up money from your odd jobs for something cool?"

  How weird would it be to admit I'd never had the opportunity to do odd jobs as a kid? Didn't most girls at least babysit or something?

  "I never really saved for anything special like that." I nodded to the guitar again. "So the two of you go way back. No wonder you seem so fond of her."

  "You sound jealous," he said. "Maybe you'd like my hands caressing something else?"

  I might have protested, but that leather jacket and eyeliner was doing something to my insides.

  I couldn't deny a part of me was jealous of the way he fingered those strings.

  "Hey asshole!" someone yelled from near the stage. "Stop flirting, we're on in five."

  Nathan threw whoever it was the middle finger, not bothering to turn his attention to them.

  "Show starts soon," he told me. "You watching from the pit or from backstage?"

  "I'm not really a mosh pit kind of person," I said. The thought of being jostled and trampled sent a pang of anxiety running through me.

  "You'll be safe if you watch from the wings," he said.

  "It is kind of exciting," I said, "being able to watch your concert backstage."

  "You've never seen Cherry Lips perform live before, have you?" he asked.

  "I've never seen any rock band perform live," I confessed.

  Nathan looked shocked before a delighted grin spread from ear to ear.

  "So you're a virgin?" he teased. "I'm going to be your first?"

  My tongue went heavy and thick again.

  "Nate, come the fuck on," the guy called again.

  "Sorry, sweetheart, gotta run." He eyed me thoughtfully. "Stick around after the show, all right?"

  "Why—?"

  But he'd already sauntered off. I stared after him as the lights went low and he took his place. I hurried toward the curtain. The audience had reached a fever pitch.

  Lights blasted from the ceiling, shining down on the stage. The female lead singer shouted something into the microphone and the crowd cheered. Each band member positioned their instruments to start playing. Fans in the front row shouted out names and waved their hands widely.

  I barely noticed any of it.

  My eyes were focused solely on Nathan Walker.

  3

  I hadn't known what to expect from my first rock show. I'd thought it'd probably be loud, but I didn't realize it would nearly burst my eardrums. I'd figured the fans up front would be excited, but I never would have imagined they'd have tears streaming down their cheeks.

  I also had no idea just how sexy someone could look holding a guitar. Because Nathan was beyond sexy. He took command of that stage, strutting back and forth, edging toward the pit so low he could touch the crowd's flailing hands, and throwing teasing winks and grins at the girls, and even a few boys, who cried out his name.

  I tried to stay out of the way of the crew members, but with my eyes trained on Nathan the whole time, I found myself jostled and nudged to the side when I wandered too close to the stage. I wanted a closer look at the rock god playing to his audience. I wanted a closer look at the man who made my head go fuzzy. The man who sent my heart racing. The man who made my insides squirm and spark.

  As much as I was enjoying the music, I was secretly counting down the minutes until he finally left that stage and came back to me. I didn't know what would happen when he returned, but I was more than happy he'd asked me to stay.

  The concert wound down. The band played their last encore song and threw guitar picks and drumsticks to the surging crowd of bodies. Assistants and crew members rushed to their sides as they left the sta
ge. I lingered a few feet away, not wanting to impose. Nathan was toweling off his sweat-dampened hair when our eyes met. He handed the towel to the girl standing next to him and made his way over to me.

  "Hey, gorgeous," he said. "Enjoy the show?"

  I nodded enthusiastically. "You were great out there."

  "Always am." His grin was so boyishly cute I didn't even mind the display of ego. "The band's heading over to a club after this. You should come."

  "Club? I don't know…" I hesitated.

  "Don't tell me you're a club virgin, too?" he asked.

  I stayed silent, pursing my lips.

  "You can't miss out on this," he said, oddly earnest yet insistent. "This club is awesome. They make the best drinks. I'll buy you one."

  "I don't really—"

  I stopped when he chuckled and shook his head. "Let me guess. You don't drink, either?"

  "I'm not against it. I just don't make a habit of it."

  "I'll get you something weak and sugary, how's that?"

  I contemplated the offer. Going clubbing and getting drunk with a rock star and his friends. It didn't sound like real life. It didn't sound like my life.

  But maybe it could be. What was stopping me from going ahead with this crazy adventure? I'd missed out on so much of life already. Wasn't it about time I lived a little? And who better to do that with than a cocky rock star? I was sure Nathan knew how to have fun.

  "Sure," I said. "Let's go clubbing."

  "Awesome." He looked more pleased than seemed reasonable. "It's just around the corner. Let me change and we can head over."

  I waited around until he returned wearing a plain black t-shirt. He'd kept on the tight jeans. Without any input from my brain, I found my eyes roving over his inked arms and broad shoulders.

  "So what's your preference?" he asked when he noticed me staring. "Creepy-stalker-mode or rock star sex god?"

  I decided to play along. "Ball caps do nothing for you, but spiked accessories are a bit too much. You can't go wrong with jeans and a t-shirt."

  Especially when they looked painted on.

  "I'll remember that for next time," he said.

  Next time. My heart thumped a heavy beat.

  "You're also the jeans and t-shirt type," he noted, gesturing to my outfit.

  "Is there something wrong with that?" I asked. "I've been getting weird looks all night."

  "It's not just your clothes," he said, his eyes roving all over my body. "It's you."

  That sounded a little too close to the questioning you? the bouncer had thrown at me.

  "Is there something wrong with me?" I challenged.

  "There's not a single thing wrong with you," he said. "Just different." Nathan discreetly pointed to where his lead singer was standing around, chatting with another band member. "See her?"

  I certainly did. The young woman looked maybe one or two years older than me, with long, striking red hair flowing down her back, matching red lips, a leather kilted skirt and black combat boots. She was the definition of bad-ass rocker-chick.

  "And see them?" Nathan pointed to a trio of girls still in the pit in front of the stage, snapping selfie after selfie.

  They also had faces full of dark, dramatic makeup, in contrast to my own quick swipe of mascara and tinted lipgloss. Two had bright neon hair, one pink and one green. The green haired one had half her head shaved. Their outfits ranged from tight black leather bodycon dress to artful shredded band t-shirt and miniskirt. All three of them were effortlessly fashionable and painfully cool.

  And I was definitely not.

  "At least I'm wearing black," I joked.

  "There's nothing wrong with what you're wearing," Nathan said. "You just don't look like our typical fans, that's all."

  "That's because I'm not."

  "Ouch," he faked a wince. "A blow to my ego. I thought you said you liked my music?"

  "I won't turn it off if it comes on the radio."

  "You're killing me here, gorgeous."

  Nathan put an arm around my shoulder. I stared as his finger ran slow circles along my collarbone. He took a step toward the exit. I nearly tripped, still focused on the way his thumb pressed into my skin.

  "Come on," he said. "The club isn't far away."

  We went out the side door. The bouncer/bodyguard gave the two of us a look before snapping his eyes forward. I remembered what he'd said before. I was the only name on that list. Were there usually multiple names on Nathan's list? How many girls did he regularly invite to his rock shows?

  How many did he invite out clubbing after?

  The thought made me uncomfortable, so I shoved it away. I was having a fun night. I didn't want to ruin it by overthinking. It didn't matter, anyway. His playboy ways would only make this easier on both of us.

  As we walked, the crisp night air sent chills though my body. Nathan hugged me closer to his side.

  "We're almost there," he promised. "The body heat from dozens of sweaty bodies will warm you up."

  "Ew." I crinkled my nose up. He laughed.

  When we reached the club, Nathan breezed through the front door with a single nod to the bouncer, ignoring the others waiting in line. Being a rock star had its perks.

  "Aren't you worried you'll get mobbed by fans?" I asked.

  "This is a more upscale club," he explained. "Socialites and wannabe internet celebrities, mostly. They know better than to cause a scene."

  I nodded as if it made complete sense, but inside I was taken aback. A club just for the rich and famous? I didn't know those things existed in real life either.

  It seemed like Nathan and I were both surprised at the way each of us had experienced the world. I couldn't think of two more different lives people could lead. It wouldn't have surprised me if we had nothing in common.

  Nothing aside from the heat in his eyes when he looked at me, because I was sure my own reflected the same.

  "Let me get you that drink," he said.

  Nathan led us to a bar and lifted his chin to get the bartender's attention. He ordered some multi-colored concoction with a layer of something dark pink at the bottom, blue in the middle, and white on top. Little round red things floated in the glass. I looked at it skeptically.

  "Try it," Nathan urged. "Those are just pomegranate seeds."

  I took a small sip. My eyes went wide. "This tastes like a Popsicle!"

  "It's called a Rocket," he said. "Like it?"

  "I love it," I said. "I can't taste the alcohol at all."

  "Better make sure I don't get you drunk," he said with a wink. "Don't want you falling down and throwing up all over my shoes."

  "Gross," I laughed. Nathan could be charmingly cute, when he wasn't being arrogant.

  He had gotten himself a plain beer. He guided us to a free table in a dark corner. This time instead of putting his arm around my shoulder, he put it around my waist. His warm hand rested on my hip. I felt the heat of him through my jeans. The flush on my face had nothing to do with the body heat in the club.

  Nathan took a sip of his beer and eyed me over the bottle. When he put it down, he pinned me down with a stare. I played with my glass, wondering what was going through his head. Wondering what he was going to say next.

  "So you enjoyed the show?" he asked.

  Whatever I'd expected, that wasn't it.

  "You were awesome," I said. "I don't know if I would have liked being shoved around in the mosh pit, but it was nice listening backstage."

  "Nice?" He chuckled. "Our shows have been called a lot of things, but I don't think nice is one of them."

  "There's nothing wrong with nice," I said. "It's a compliment."

  "Usually people say our shows fucking rock."

  "All right, you fucking rocked."

  He mocked a gasp. "Did I really hear those words from such pure lips?"

  "How do you know I don't swear?" I challenged. "Maybe I have a mouth worse than a sailor."

  "You called my rock show nice," he pointed out.
/>
  "Why did you even ask what I thought of the show?" I said with a laugh. "You must know how amazing you are."

  "I do," he agreed. "But it's always nice to hear it come from someone else's mouth."

  "You have no shortage of ego, do you?"

  "It's not ego if it's true." His eyes twinkled. "I'm hot shit at what I do and I know it. But…" he trailed off. A brief look of hope crossed his face. "I would like to do something on my own, some day. Maybe even just write a solo song for the next album. Play it acoustic on stage. Or whatever," he said quickly, turning back to his drink, looking flustered. "It's just an idea."

  "I think it sounds wonderful," I said. "If you want to do something solo, I'm sure you'd be great at it."

  He lifted his gaze from his drink, giving me a considering look. "So what do you kick ass at?" he asked, changing the subject.

  "I—" I closed my mouth, thinking. "I'm not sure. I know I definitely haven't found my calling like you've seemed to."

  "Don't you work with kids?" he asked.

  "I'm not a nurse or anything. I just volunteer there." I could feel his eyes on me, even as I concentrated on my drink. "I mostly keep to the children's ward. The little ones can get kind of stir crazy, being cooped up. Playing with them helps take their minds off everything, you know?"

  "I get that," he said.

  His quiet tone made me look up. His eyes were clouded over and distant, a somber expression on his face.

  "Is your friend okay?" I asked.

  He blinked. His expression turned questioning. "Friend?"

  "The one you were visiting," I said. "I hope they're doing better now. If they're stuck in the hospital for much longer, maybe I can do something? Keep an eye out to make sure they've got stuff to keep them entertained. Maybe visit a few times to keep them from getting lonely?"

  The questioning look on Nathan's face faded. His eyes turned almost soft as he stared at me. "That's sweet of you to offer. But I think she'll be out soon." His lips twitched downward, fighting back a disheartened frown. "It's just a few more tests."

  I knew all too well a few tests didn't always mean things were going well.

  "Are you sure everything is okay?" I asked him.

  "Yeah," he said quickly. "Everything's cool."

  Everything clearly wasn't cool, but I wasn't going to press. Rock star or not, this guy was still a stranger.