I Want You to Want Me

Book 2: A Rock Star Romance

by Erika Kelly

Genres: Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance; New Adult Romance

Synopsis

From the award-winning author of You Really Got Me comes the next romance in her red-hot Rock Star Romance series, about a rocker who lives for his music—and loves with all his heart.

Derek Valencia finally has the success he’s worked so hard for. His band is touring its debut album and great reviews are rolling in. But when pictures of him tossing naked groupies off a balcony go viral, it’s damage-control time. He’s assigned a “babysitter” whose sole job is to keep him out of trouble.

Violet Davis swore she’d never work in the music industry again, but being a minder for a rock star will earn her enough to pay off the mortgage on her wildflower farm. And for a girl brought up in the foster care system, owning her own home means more to her than anything.

Though at first the two bang heads, the rocker and the farm girl soon grow close and realize that they make sweet music together. But can a girl who craves the stability of life on a farm really make it work with a man whose life is spent on the road with his band?

Release date: July 7, 2015

Publisher: Berkley

Print pages: 352

Sample

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

   • All my love goes to you, Superman, for your boundless love, support, and dedication.
   • There’s no denying it. I wouldn’t be published without you, Sharon. Yes, for your insightful critiques, but also for keeping me sane.
   • My angel, Olivia, my most ardent supporter, thank you for being with me every step of the way.
   • Joshua, your support and music industry expertise have been invaluable to me. You, sir, are awesome.
   • I am wildly grateful to my publishing team. Thank you Leis Pedersen, Courtney Wilhelm, Bethany Blair, Courtney Landi, and Rita Frangie and the art department (I love my gorgeous covers!).
   • Kevan Lyon, you’re the best agent. Thank you for all you do for me.
   • The romance community is filled with the most generous people I’ve ever known. My writer friends in CTRWA, WRW, CoLoNY, and COFW have lit the path for me, and I can’t thank you all enough for your help.
   • Thank you to the wonderfully supportive bloggers who shared my first book with their readers. You all made my debut a joy.

ONE

“You’re gonna give a girl a complex.”

Derek Valencia looked up from his phone to take in the woman coming out of his hotel bathroom. Licking her glossy lips, she cupped her big tits and leaned forward, giving him a view of lush cleavage. His pulse quickened, and he got hard.

He probably shouldn’t be fucking the woman who did publicity for the band, but it was rare to find a woman like her. One who genuinely wanted exactly what he did—the occasional night of hot, freaky sex, no strings attached. And when it ended, they’d both move on, neither letting it affect their business relationship. Careers came first.

And whichever role she played, Genevieve Babineaux played it balls-to-the-wall, whether she was in business, social, or sex kitten mode. He just happened to be the lucky bastard currently starring in her sex life.

Unfortunately, though, sex would have to wait. “You look gorgeous, sweetheart. But you gotta get dressed. Ray Montalbano’s on his way up.”

“Ray?” The seductiveness dropped right out of her tone, and her arms fell to her sides.

“Yep.”

“How’d that happen?” She didn’t look happy, but then she hadn’t been the one to set up the interview.

“Ran into him in the green room tonight. Said if I had a few minutes, he’d like to ask a few questions.”

Music blasted through the walls of the adjoining suite, and he checked the time on his laptop. He hated to shut the party down so early, but with the most revered music critic in the country on his way up to the room, he couldn’t risk any problems.

Especially after the gig they’d just played. Only ten days into their tour to promote their first album, and they were killing it. He had no doubt they’d go gold by the end of summer.

They had to go gold. Not only would it be a reward for all the hard work they’d put in the last several years, but it’d ensure the tour would continue beyond the summer.

And, of course, it would shut his dad up. Irrefutable proof his son had talent.

“I love it.” Another thing he liked about her. No issues, no tantrums. Just business. She turned back into the bathroom, flipped the light on. “I’ll get dressed.”

Just as he got up to talk to the guys, he heard the knock at the door. That was fast.

No time to shut down the party, he pulled out his phone, and shot Ben and Cooper a text. Didn’t bother including Pete. He’d be too wasted to check his phone.

Shut it down. Ray Montalbano’s in my room right now.

A while back, when the partying had started getting out of control, the band had signed a contract with each other. Sure, they wanted the rock star lifestyle, but they wanted longevity in the business even more. So they’d made a line they wouldn’t cross—no drugs, no trashing hotel rooms . . . basically, nothing destructive.

The guys got it. He could trust them. Besides, Ray had said he’d only be there a few minutes. It couldn’t get too out of control.

On his way to the door, he leaned into the bathroom. “He’s here. You good?”

She smiled. “I’ll be better when he leaves and we can have some time to ourselves. It’s been too long, and I’m desperate for you.”

Fuckin’ A. He had a hot woman in his bed, they were taking the festival circuit by storm, and Ray Montalbano was here to interview him.

Life couldn’t get any sweeter.

Unlocking the security latch, he took a moment to get his head on right. He needed to be sharp for interviews, especially with the bombs his dad kept dropping all over the press. No matter how down and dirty his dad got, Derek would not respond. He’d stay focused on the band, the tour, on the music. The stuff that mattered.

He opened the door, and Ray gave him a chin nod.

“Hey, thanks for seeing me on such short notice.” With his scraggly dark hair and ill-fitting clothes, the guy came up to Derek’s shoulders. Seemed crazy a guy so unremarkable could wield such power in the music industry.

“Happy to do it.” He shook the guy’s hand, noticing the old Snatch T-shirt he wore. “Come on in.” He gestured to the shirt. “We’re gonna have to get you a new one.”

“I want this one. It’ll be a collector’s item one day.”

First order of business with Irwin had been changing the band name to Blue Fire. Derek had to smile at the original image of a beaver they’d come up with nearly ten years ago. They’d come a long way since then.

Leading the critic to the desk, he pulled out the chair. “Have a seat.” Derek sat on the edge of the bed.

“Awesome.” The guy flopped into the chair, took out his phone, and set it on the desk. He played with it for a moment. “You mind if I record this?” He touched the phone.

“Not at all.”

“Fuckin’ great show, man.”

“Yeah, thanks. It was pretty incredible.”

“How the hell’d you get those guys onstage with you? Was it planned?”

Pretty much everything Derek did was planned. Sure, they had a great label, they had Irwin Ledger, the best A&R guy in the business, and everything that came with it but, bottom line, it was his band. No one cared about his success or failure as much as he did. He couldn’t just hope things worked out. “Sure. We had a list of celebrities in town for the festival, so we invited the guys we knew played in bands to jam with us.”

“Brilliant idea—especially for a new band. Talk about generating buzz. That was fuckin’ awesome.” He shook his head, smiling, as though still in the audience, watching the jam. “You seen any reviews yet?”

“Just got back to the room, so no. You post yours already?” After a show, he and Slater had to do press, spend some time in the green room shaking hands. It ate up a lot of time.

Ray nodded. “You should check it out.”

“I definitely will.”

“No, I mean now. Read it now.”

An uneasy feeling crept down his spine. This was why he always took that moment to get his head on right. The look in Ray’s eyes . . . the guy was up to something, and it wasn’t good.

At that moment, the bathroom door opened, and Gen’s expensive scent came billowing out. She sashayed over to them, always the seductress, even in business mode. “Ray.” She reached for him, but the critic didn’t even get up to greet her, just stared, jaw hanging.

Gen did that to people.

She pushed right through the awkwardness, air kissing the guy on each cheek. “Was that a spectacular show tonight or what?”

Ray swallowed.

“Honestly, Irwin’s convinced these guys are the next U2.”

That snapped him out of it. “They are. Huge potential. That’s why I wanted to talk to you tonight.” He homed in on Derek. “Go on and read the review.”

Derek reached for his laptop on the desk and dragged it closer. Once he logged onto the Beatz website, his pulse kicked up a notch in anticipation. Let it be good. It was one thing for his dad to fuck with him, but he couldn’t let it hurt the band.

He had to be careful. Ray wouldn’t want him reading the review right then if Derek’s reaction didn’t mean something. He had to stay cool and manage the situation. By tomorrow morning, everyone in the industry would have read this article.

Gen leaned around his shoulder. “So?”

A thrill shot through him seeing his band’s name in the headline.

BLUE FIRE ROCKS MIAMI JAM, STEALS THE WHOLE DAMN FESTIVAL

“Oh, Ray, that’s just wonderful.” Gen’s voice sounded sultry.

Derek gulped whole sections of the article, basically skimming all the praise—fuck yes, only good shit about Slater and the guys—and then his gaze slammed into his father’s name. An electrical charge rocked his body.

When asked how it feels to watch his son onstage performing with the likes of Russell Crowe, Jared Leto, and Johnny Depp, just like he used to do twenty years ago when Fusion Stream filled arenas, Eddie Valencia said, “I suppose the comparisons are inevitable. But I really think you’re dealing with apples and oranges.” He laughed. “Not sure you can compare ‘the jazz virtuoso’ to the ‘sex god,’ but okay. Let’s just say I’m glad to see him achieving the kind of fame he craves.”

“When did you talk to Eddie?” Gen spoke in the brisk tone she used for damage control. “He wasn’t at the show tonight.”

“I called him,” Ray said. “He’s been in the press a lot lately, right? It seems weird. He’s been out of the scene for years, and the minute his son breaks out, suddenly Eddie’s back? So I was curious. Wanted to find out his game.”

Derek really needed to say something, but the loud music from next door merged with the noise in his head, making it difficult to think.

The kind of fame he craves.

Fucker. What was his dad’s problem? Jesus, I’m his son. But he had to pull himself together. He couldn’t lose his shit in front of the press. Which was exactly what Ray wanted.

“Oh, it’s not a game,” Gen said. “He’s genuinely proud of his son. Tells him all the time.”

Ray’s gaze slid to Derek. With every bit of restraint he could marshal, he kept his features impassive. He would not give the critic a poisoned arrow to fling back out into cyberspace.

Think of the band. Think of your brothers.

“So they’re not digs?” Ray asked. “The sex god remark? Not a dig?”

“Well, come on, just look at him.” Gen practically purred. “Nicknames are given for a reason. Just ask his last two girlfriends.”

Why the hell had she brought that up? Like he’d dated them because they were supermodels. Give me a break. He’d worked with Adriana on a music video, for Christ’s sake.

Okay, this was bullshit. He wasn’t going to just sit there and let this guy try to provoke a reaction out of him.

Determination rose like a motherfucker inside him. He would not let his dad get to him. Would not let him into his head. Derek had left home at seventeen and never looked back for this very reason. His dad was toxic.

“You have to know my dad’s sense of humor. He’s just giving me shit because I play bass, where he played sax. He was the boss, and I’m in the background. He likes to joke around that I use the tats and girlfriends to make up for the fact that I stand behind Slater onstage.”

The taste of his father’s words on his tongue made him sick. But he knew he sounded convincing, and he hoped Ray printed it word for word.

“I guess I can see that.” But no, Ray didn’t look convinced.

Smart guy.

Glass shattered in the adjoining room. Shit.

“Are you coming to any more shows?” Gen reached out to touch Ray’s arm. Her silky dark hair spilled over her shoulders, drawing the guy’s attention to her plump cleavage.

Great distraction. Thanks, babe.

“I’ll be at Madison Square Garden, of course.” He paused, shifting in the chair. “Your dad’s invited me into his studio, wants me to check out some new stuff he’s working on.”

“Yeah? Cool. It’s great. You’ll love it.” What new stuff? The old bastard hadn’t played a note in years.

“You got all those celebrities onstage with you tonight,” Ray said. “Ever think about jamming with your dad?”

“Apples and oranges, remember?” Gen laughed. “Trust me, Eddie’s brilliance would get lost on the stage with these five rockers.”

Derek blocked out the implied cut in her comment. Had to. “My dad can open his own show on any stage in the city. He doesn’t need to get up on mine.”

Ray enlivened. “I think he wants to. How would you feel about that? You and Eddie Valencia, jamming at MSG?”

A body thumped against the wall, the voices growing louder. Dammit. Derek got up. Fortunately, Gen continued the conversation with the guy, giving Derek a chance to go over there. He’d kill the party and, at the same time, grab a minute to calm his shit down. “Excuse me.” He headed for the door to the adjoining room.

His father wanted to get up onstage with him? After shutting him out of everything—every jam session, every road trip, every fucking meal or cup of coffee he’d ever had with his musician friends. And ten days into his son’s first headlining tour, his dad wanted in? What a prick.

An image flashed in his mind. Him, the little boy, standing outside his dad’s basement studio—the sound of laughter, deep voices, an instrument being tuned—peering in to see the greatest jazz musicians in the world preparing to jam. To this day, that feeling of desperation lingered within him. Talk about craving something? He’d craved being a part of his dad’s world. Nothing hurt worse than seeing his dad’s features harden at the sight of him. Watching the legendary sax player storm over and slam the door in his son’s face.

The boy’s whole body vibrating with the sound of it.

Why the fuck did that still hurt?

It didn’t.

Unlocking the door, he pushed into the suite.

And froze. What had started out as a couple dozen people had turned into a full-on rave. His skin chilled. What if paparazzi had gotten in? They didn’t need any bad press.

Quickly, he made his way through the large room, scanning faces, looking for his friends. Finding Cooper in the kitchen, he grabbed him by the back of his shirt. “Shut this down right now. Didn’t you get my text? I’ve got Ray Montalbano interviewing me next door.”

Cooper’s eyes looked glassy, and he swayed.

“Snap out of it, Coop. I’m serious. You have to get everyone out of here.”

He had to get back to his interview. The last thing he needed was for Ray to come looking for him and find his bandmates getting fucked up.

Trusting Coop to get it done, he wove his way back into his room to see Gen at the door with Ray.

Thank Christ.

“Hey, thanks for coming by, man.” He shook Ray’s hand. The noises coming from next door grew louder, something else hitting the wall. Something heavy. Was furniture being thrown? He was going to kick some asses.

“Yeah, sure. Appreciate the time. Listen, hit me up when you get to the city. I’d like to sit down with—”

A piercing scream cut through the thumping bass.

Adrenaline punched through his system. He shot Gen a look, making sure she understood to get rid of Ray. Not a chance could that guy see what was going on in there.

Another shriek drove Derek to the connecting door of the suite. Once inside, he bolted the lock to keep Ray out. Gen could come in the other door with her key card.

It took him a few seconds to size up the situation. The sea of bodies seemed to be moving toward the balcony.

Derek pushed and shoved, fighting his way through the packed crowd. Once on the balcony, he found Pete greedily sucking on a girl’s tit, then lifting her naked ass and hauling her to the railing. Derek lunged, grabbing the girl around the waist and pulling her out of Pete’s hold.

“Hey.” Pete reeled, completely spaced out. “Give her back.”

Cooper slammed into him from behind, laughing hysterically, completely drunk. “Dude, toss her.”

Disappointment slammed him. Not Cooper. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

Derek glanced over the railing, saw naked women treading water in the turquoise blue pool two stories below. “I told you to shut it down. Jesus, Coop. Look down there.”

It took a moment for Cooper to get it, but Derek saw the moment his friend sobered up. “It was just fun.”

He cuffed the back of his head. “What if one of them cracks her head on the side of the pool? Breaks her neck on the bottom? What’s the matter with you?”

A wash of color spread over his friend’s features. “Fuck, I don’t know.”

“Help me out, man. We gotta get everyone out of here.”

Cooper sucked in a breath, then made his way through the throng into the hotel room.

Derek set the naked girl down. She reeked of booze. “You okay, sweetheart?”

Eyes glazed, she nodded, reaching for the railing to steady herself.

“Where are your clothes?” He dropped to a crouch, looking on the ground, when a hand squeezed his ass.

“Oh, my God, you’re Derek Valencia,” a girl said.

“Hey, I saw him first.” This one pulled at his hair.

Derek got up, forcing the girls back.

The music shut off, and he heard Cooper shouting for everyone to clear out.

Someone moaned, and Derek swung around to find Ben sitting in the corner, his back against the railing. One girl kneeled between his legs, swallowing his dick; another straddled him, naked, her pussy in his face, his hands clamping her ass.

Jesus Christ. Derek snatched a T-shirt and some jeans off the ground and handed them to the girl. “These yours? Can you put them on?”

And then he turned to the crowd. “Everyone out. Right now. Party over.” Arms opened wide, he swept them off the balcony. Shooting Pete a hard look, he realized the keyboard player was too far gone to help. With an arm slung around a girl for support, his friend’s legs barely held him upright.

“Ben,” Derek shouted. “Get up and help us clear the room.” When the drummer didn’t immediately move, he snapped. “Get your fucking dick out of her mouth and get dressed. I need your help now.”

Ben jumped to action, wobbling before righting himself and throwing on a T-shirt.

Derek fished his phone out of his back pocket, texting Abe, the bus driver, to bring the bus around to the back of the hotel. He sent another to Vince, their trusted roadie, asking him to make a quick check around the pool to make sure no one was hurt. And a final one to Slater, letting him know the plan.

Finally, he gathered up all the clothing on the balcony and dropped it onto the patio below, so the women could get dressed.

Now, he just had to get the guys packed and on the road before the paparazzi got hold of the story. Heading back into the main room, he watched the stream of partiers making their way out the door. Gen stood among them, herding them out. When she saw him, she hustled over. “What the hell’s the matter with these guys?”

“They’re having fun. It was a big night.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “I thought you guys had some deal about how many they could take home with them.”

“How many of them?” Sometimes her detachment creeped the shit out of him. “Jesus, Gen. It’s not a deal. We’re just careful about it.”

“Well, obviously not. Can you imagine if Ray had seen what went on in here? Bad enough he heard it. Maybe I should set something up with him in New York—something with you and your dad—to buy his discretion.”

“Not a chance.” She had no idea what she was asking of him, but he didn’t care. At the moment, he had to get the band safely on the road. He checked the bedroom on the other side of the suite, found it cleared. Bathroom, too.

Fortunately, things hadn’t gotten too out of hand. Now, he just had to hope no one had recorded anything with their phones. Irwin wouldn’t stand for this shit.

“Okay, it’s cool.” Cooper met him in the living area. “Everyone’s gone.”

“Great, pack up. We’re heading out.”

“What?” Cooper said. “No. I’m too tired to hit the road. Let’s crash here.”

Ben joined them. “We’re not supposed to leave until tomorrow.”

“Yeah, that was before you tossed naked girls off the balcony. Let’s go.”

Pete slumped on the couch, head rolling back. “I didn’t get laid.”

“Guys.” He said it so sharply Pete’s head snapped up.

He didn’t need to give them a lecture, didn’t need to chastise. He simply held out his forearm, displaying the tattoo they’d all gotten last year. The Hand of Eris. It was a permanent reminder of the contract, of their promise to one another not to wade too deeply into the chaos of this industry.

When all of them looked away, Derek knew they got it. “Listen, the hotel’s swarming with press from the festival, so we’re getting out now. Pack up your shit.”

He needed to take one more look over the balcony, double-check no one had gotten hurt. But it should be all right. It was all under control.

They’d wake up in a new town, with a fresh slate. He’d talk to the guys, remind them what they were about.

He peered over the railing, and it took a minute to make sense of what he was seeing. The naked women formed a chain in the pool, arms wrapped around one another’s shoulders. Smiling for . . .

Oh, shit. For Ray Montalbano. Who aimed his phone right at them. Someone noticed Derek, and the girls looked up to the balcony. A minute later Ray swung the phone up, trained it on him.

With a chin nod, the critic said, “Smile.”

TWO

So . . . this is awkward.

Standing at the back of the restaurant, Violet Davis watched her former client tap his knife against his wineglass, quieting his friends, family, and colleagues.

He rose, resting a hand on the back of his fiancée’s chair, and addressed the room. “Thank you all for coming tonight.”

In his six-thousand-dollar custom-made Brioni suit, Joe looked nothing like the man she’d known three months ago. Back then, he’d worn soiled clothes, a greasy beard, and bruises. He’d also smelled like a man who’d been locked up in a hotel room with prostitutes on a three-day binge.

Probably because he had been.

This man? The one lifting a champagne flute, smiling with warmth and humility? This man was healthy, clean, and reunited with his former fiancée.

“I can’t begin to express what it means to stand here before all of you and announce my engagement to the love of my life,” he continued. “Yes, for the second time.” Some in the audience laughed. “But this time, I’m not letting her go.”

His future bride, a stunning blonde in a sparkling blue cocktail dress, wiped tears from her eyes. She reached a hand up to his. He clasped it, brought it to his mouth, and pressed a kiss on her palm.

The dissolute partier had regained his life, his company, and his soul mate. Violet could not have been prouder of him.

And now it was time for her to go and leave him to the people in his life who mattered.

“Am I the only one who thinks this is freakishly awkward?”

At the sound of the familiar male voice, Violet quickly shoved her foot back into the stiletto she’d kicked off.

Breathing in Randall Oppenheimer’s very masculine and expensive scent, she laughed. “Oh, no. Believe me, by the looks I’ve been getting all night, you’re in good company.”

Besides board members and Joe himself, of course, everyone in the room thought she was his ex-girlfriend. They’d “broken up” less than a week ago. All night long people had given her furtive and pitying glances. But she didn’t mind. She’d likely never see any of them again.

Randall tipped his champagne flute back, looking effortlessly sophisticated and cultured. With his khakis and light blue button-down, his short-cropped hair and boyish features, he could’ve been the poster boy for Yale frat life.

“You want to get out of here?”

I’d love to. Fortunately, she caught the words before they flew out of her mouth. “I’d better not.”

“Oh, come on. You don’t seriously want to hang around your former boyfriend’s engagement party, do you? Come on, we’ll get on my hog and ride like the wind.”

One eyebrow rose in disbelief. “You have a motorcycle?”

He looked away, half his mouth curling. “Nope. But it sounded pretty badass.”

More likely he’d arrived in his family’s limo. With his parents. The Oppenheimers’ law firm did a lot of work for Joe’s company, so she’d run into them often during the course of her “relationship” with Joe.

“Can’t really see myself straddling a hog in this dress anyway.” She’d chosen the sleek Armani sheath to fit in with the wealthy crowd but not stand out. In her line of work, invisibility worked in everyone’s favor.

“Oh, I can.” Still looking away, the other half of his mouth joined the first.

“Someone’s frisky tonight.” The worst part of her job? The lies. “You better go easy on me. I just got my heart broken.” But then, after tonight, she’d never see Randall again. They didn’t exactly move in the same circles.

“Come on.” He leaned in, so close she could see the ghost of his beard. “You don’t really think I’m buying the whole you-and-Joe thing.”

A jolt of fear shot down her spine. Did he know? Nothing mattered more to her business than client confidentiality. Her reputation was her bond. “Now, why would you say that?” She tried to play it cool, but his answer mattered.

“Because he’s old. And you’re . . .” His gaze took a slow ride from her mouth to the stiletto she was glad she’d put back on. “You’re . . . you.”

Oh, thank God. He didn’t know anything about her job. He just couldn’t picture her with Joe. Well, he was right about that. At forty-eight, nearly twice her age, Joe Capriano was definitely not her type.

“Well, thank you. But Joe’s a great guy, and I enjoyed my time with him very much.” Once he’d stopped fighting her anyway.

“You enjoyed your time with the guy? Doesn’t sound like he got anywhere near your heart.” He said it with a cute smile, but she couldn’t tell if he knew the truth or not.

He was a lawyer and worked closely with the board of Joe’s company. He could have found out. “Your point?”

“Date me.”

“Date you?”

He nearly spit out his champagne. “So you’ll date a man twice your age with a comb-over, but not me?”

What did she say to that? She couldn’t date anyone she met through clients. “That’s not a comb-over. That