Bad for Me: Rock Me, #6

By Lee Piper

I'm not supposed to crave the drummer of the hottest new rock act.

I'm not meant to notice his tortured green eyes.

 

I shouldn't care that he pushes everyone away—except me.

I'm a journalist and I have one job to do.

 

Get the story.

     

But selling his secrets for tomorrow's headlines would not only ruin him, it would destroy me.

Yesterday, I had a future.

Today, I have a choice—career ruin or protect a drummer who hates me.

 

*BAD FOR ME is a standalone in the Rock Me series

 

The Rock Me Series

ALL OF ME

LIE TO ME

END OF ME

SING TO ME

SONG FOR ME

BAD FOR ME

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lee Piper
• Release date: Apr 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393432876

Book preview

Prologue

Tobias

The second she enters the hotel, I know I’m fucked.

With legs for days, a tight body, and curves in all the right places, she’s a goddamn wet dream. Her tits beg to be sucked, and her lips would look sensational wrapped around my cock.

Images of her naked and screaming my name have my dick twitching. I want to wrap her long hair around my fist and yank her head back, exposing her neck. I want to leave bite marks on her skin so every sorry fucker knows she’s mine.

Jesus.

I slam my hand against the elevator button, needing it to hurry the fuck up. I’ve got enough shit to deal with, I don’t need another woman messing with my head.

It takes its sweet-ass time.

When the doors eventually slide open, the chick’s next to me, and fuck if she doesn’t smell like cherries.

I march inside and find the furthest corner.

She follows, darting a small smile at me.

Crossing my arms, I sure as shit don’t return it.

Less than a minute later, we both exit on the same floor. When I pause, she does too. I’m not a stalker, I promise. She tucks some hair behind her ear. The fact our hotel rooms are on the same floor was a total fluke.

Sure it fucking was. Leaning against the wall, I cross my arms and give her a long look. Are you after my autograph or some shit?

Her smile slips. I’m not a groupie, Tobias.

Tobias.

My hands fist. What’s with people thinking they know me?

I’m serious. She takes a step forward.

Straightening, I growl, Back the fuck up.

Surprised, she stops. "Your band manager gave me the name of this hotel. He said it was close to your studio and the distance would make writing the article for Riff Online—"

Fuck. No.

The last time I trusted a chick was the last time I got screwed over. It won’t happen again.

I glare. You’re the reporter who wormed her fucking way into writing a piece about my band.

After a moment of silence, she licks her lips. I’m Mae.

I don’t say shit.

And she’d better get used to it, because that’s all she’s getting from me.

1

Mae

No. Without sparing a glance, Tobias brushes past.

His broad shoulder bumps into me, forcing me to take a step back. Frustration simmers, pricking beneath my skin. My heels echo on the porcelain tiles as I follow him down the hallway.

Tobias, it wasn’t a yes or no question. I want to know what bands influenced your drumming style. You know, like, a list? I wave my phone at his shirtless back.

The light from the phone’s display illuminates strong, corded muscles.

I won’t get distracted by his wide shoulders tapering into a trim waist and tight ass. I need an answer.

Any answer.

Tobias strides into the kitchen of the hotel room, refusing to respond. In a practiced move, he dumps his sports bag on the benchtop and unzips it.

My gaze tracks his movements, searching for a way to pierce his impenetrable wall. It’s been three days, and I still haven’t managed it.

If he doesn’t start talking soon, I’m screwed.

My hand drops to my side, and, with an irritated swipe of my thumb, I turn off the recording app. Look, I grit out, I get that you want your privacy, but I need something to work with.

Unhurried, he retrieves a water bottle from his bag.

Despite powerful biceps, cut pecs, and a damn six-pack winking at me from across the kitchen island, my grip on the cell intensifies. I’m also woman enough to admit that throwing questions at you after a workout isn’t a good time.

He twists open the lid.

But you’re not giving me any other choice. I need background information to start this article. We’re meant to be working together on this. Forcing my fingers to relax, I slip my phone into the pocket of my steel-gray suit pants. Your bandmates gave me great information earlier….

Stoic, he strides past.

Ignoring the tingles that shadow his touch, I straighten my shoulders and follow him into the bedroom. The moment I cross the threshold, I know I’ve made a mistake.

His heady scent surrounds me. It’s in the closed curtains, unmade bed, and discarded T-shirt hanging limp over the back of a chair.

I’m not supposed to be here.

Stupidly, I inhale.

My knees turn weak, and my breasts grow heavy. I blink and shake my head, but it’s difficult to focus. The worst part is, I don’t want to. Strangely, I like this feeling. Falling victim to his scent is a thrill I’ve never experienced. I haven’t let myself get this close to the enigmatic drummer with carefully guarded eyes for good reason.

Now I know why.

Tingles erupt before cascading down my spine. Goose bumps form, causing the hair on my arms to stand to attention. A small smile teases the corner of my mouth.

I shut it down.

Despite knowing I shouldn’t, I step deeper into the room. If my boss knew where I was, he’d yell for me to tread the line between professionalism and a potential lawsuit like my job depends on it—because it does.

But I’m past caring.

Time is a luxury I don’t have anymore.

Images of my grandparents’ townhouse, foreclosure reminders, and my dwindling bank account flash before me. Like lightning heralding thunder, the familiar tug of panic follows. It constricts my chest, choking me from the inside. Reminding me of why I’m here.

I need this story.

Steeling myself, I move further into the room. Tobias’s intoxicating scent be damned, I’m getting answers.

With renewed determination, I clear my throat and stride toward the en suite bathroom. "Tobias, this article is about sharing your band with the world. Riff Online has millions of subscribers. It’s my job to tell them what’s hot on the music scene."

He doesn’t respond.

His aroma teases my senses, and for a split second, I let it wash over me. There’s only so much I can learn about you from your feed.

Tobias stands in front of a double sink. With his body in profile, he lifts the water bottle to his mouth and drinks.

As much as I try to fight it, my gaze takes in his hair. It’s pushed away from his face, a shade deeper than his usual midnight. Perspiration lends it a glossy sheen, and I trace the short, wet strands to where they meet his neck.

Warmth pools in my core.

Tobias’s Adam’s apple bobs on a swallow. He lowers his arm, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Thoughts, unbidden and unwanted, tease my subconscious. I wonder what his skin tastes like. Would it bruise if I bit it?

I shake my head. Readers want to know about the man behind the drumkit, not the one you put on for show.

He places the empty bottle on the marble benchtop.

I step forward, my eyes surreptitiously sweeping the room—shaver, crumpled jeans, and cedarwood-scented bodywash.

A heady combination.

The soft lace of my bra is abrasive against my sensitive breasts. Annoyed by my body’s response to his indifference, I level Tobias with a direct stare. I’m not going anywhere, you know. I’m staying in Bayside until you give me what I need.

He slips long fingers beneath the waistband of his gym shorts.

My eyes widen. What are you doing?

He pushes the material past his hips.

Tobias, I choke out, I didn’t mean—

It slips to the ground.

My gasp echoes off the mirror, bouncing back and hitting me square in the chest.

Seconds later, black boxer shorts follow suit.

Oh.

My.

Christ.

Air is trapped in my lungs.

I know I should do something with it, but I’m not sure what. My mind demands I exhale before running from the room, and my burning lungs agree. Only, I’m frozen.

Thick, long, and with a perfect bell-shaped head, Tobias’s cock is fucking beautiful.

It would fill me completely. With deep, rhythmic thrusts, I’d be on the brink of orgasm in no time.

He eclipses everything I’ve ever seen.

He’s either unknowing or uncaring of the mayhem he’s causing as he leisurely reaches for a towel.

My guess is the latter. And the pounding of my heart is a painful reminder of why I need to keep my distance.

I want answers.

But not at the expense of what I cherish most.

If Tobias catches me staring at his cock, he’ll throw me out, call my boss, and my ass will be fired.

Swallowing, I lift my gaze.

Oh, shit.

All the blood drains from my face as deep, green irises glare back.

Dropping the towel, Tobias takes a deliberate step closer. With measured movements, his long arms brace the doorframe on either side of my motionless form. The veins snaking their way up his powerful, albeit scarred, arms are a map leading to professional suicide.

He’s an inferno set to engulf me.

Dipping his head, Tobias parts his full lips. You got what you wanted. Get the fuck out.

My mouth opens and closes. I try to justify why I was caught staring at the most impressive cock I’ve ever seen.

Only, I’m mute.

Pushing away from the doorframe, Tobias straightens. His tall, sculpted body towers over me. Jade eyes pin me in place, daring me to admit that I crossed a line.

Oh. My. God.

The fate of my career, home, and future now rests in the hands of a drummer who hates me.

With my pulse pounding in my ears, I beg for the words to come. Tobias, I— They fade to nothing, lost in his dark expression.

Stepping back, he slams the door in my face.

2

Tobias

The shower burns my scars. The latest are angry and sore, while the older ones are numb.

Not that it matters.

No one notices. People don’t look, which is fine by me.

I’ll wear the shadows like a goddamn noose if it means they leave me the hell alone.

My hands ball into fists. I press them against the tiles, tension turning my limbs granite.

I’d rather cut off my dick than give that woman my backstory. I don’t care what Bradley fucking Reading says. Our band manager can’t force me to do jack.

The shitshow of my life isn’t public property. I won’t purge my sins for the sake of cheap entertainment.

If people want a performance, they can watch me play. I’ll give them a show they’ll never forget. I’ll blast their eardrums with my floor toms, high hats, bass, and snare. If I’m in a generous mood, I’ll even throw my sticks in the air and catch them behind my back before continuing to rock their motherfucking world.

Scrubbing my face, I drop my head. The water turns into a curtain, separating me from the outside world. It’s full of users that take until the hollow relics left behind are no use anymore.

Tell me your secrets.

Smile for the camera.

Let me cash in on your life.

Piss off.

I don’t take orders from anyone, least of all a sex-starved brunette with legs for days who thinks she can manipulate a story out of me.

Fuck her innocent blushes and cock-sucking lips. I don’t give a shit if she makes me hard just from smell of her fear. She’s not getting a goddamn thing from me.

Disgusted by my thoughts, not to mention my traitorous hard-on, I blast the cold water.

3

Mae

Once safely in the hallway, I slump against the wall, my shaking hands covering my flushed face. Jesus, Mae. You’re going to be fired for sure when Jerry hears about this.

Mind whirling, I consider my options. I could call my boss, explain the situation, and get shown the door, or leave my fate to chance and hope for a miracle.

I’m not a fan of either.

Before I can figure out what I’m going to do, my phone vibrates in my pocket. Hoping it’s not who I think it is, I fish it out. Fuck.

Jerry’s name lights up the screen.

If I don’t answer, he’s going to keep calling. Journalists don’t call him the Shark for nothing. The man can smell the blood of innocent victims from miles away. It’s probably why he phoned.

Heart in my throat, my finger hovers above the accept call button. Screw it. I press down. Forcing the phone to my ear, I adopt an upbeat tone. Jerry, hi. How are you doing? Terrified he’s going to sense my inner turmoil from hundreds of miles away, I carefully tread the plush carpet to the door opposite Tobias’s.

Mae. My boss’s raspy voice pauses as he inhales from his cigarette. It’s been seventy-two hours. Give me an update, kid.

Kid. I hate when he calls me that.

At twenty-three, I might be one of the youngest journalists on the team, but I’ve earned my spot. I write better than the senior assistant editor, take amazing photographs, and know good music when I hear it.

Only, it’ll all count for nothing after he learns what I’ve done.

If he finds out.

Inserting the room key into the lock, I use my body to push the door open and walk inside.

Well? Jerry exhales.

If Tobias or I admit what happened, Jerry will send me back to Seattle. He’ll tell me to pack up my desk and go home. Only, I won’t have a home to return to. With an unfinished, unpaid magazine article, there’s no way I’ll be able to afford what’s left of the mortgage before the bank seizes the townhouse. And they won’t exactly offer another loan to someone who couldn’t repay the first one.

I’ll be fucked.

But if neither of us say anything….

Determination strengthens my resolve. "I’m interviewing the band that came runner-up in Rising Star. You know, the talent quest that aired a couple of months ago?"

You’ve told me this already. I wouldn’t have signed off on the business trip if I didn’t know who you were writing about.

Okay then. Anyway, I’m partway through collecting primary background information on each of the band members. They’ve got an interesting story, but I have a feeling they’re hiding something. Something big. I want to know what it is. Not so I can exploit it, of course. You know I’m not that kind of journalist. I want to know what I’m working with so I can figure out my angle.

He snorts. The angle won’t matter if you don’t get all the interviews. Why’s it taking so long?

Images of Tobias’s naked body flood my memory.

I bite my lip. They’ve got hectic schedules. Between recording, band practice, and planning the release of their debut album, it’s hard tracking them down. And coercing the stupidly gorgeous drummer to open his damn mouth.

Try harder.

I walk through the hotel room and beeline straight for the balcony. Sure. I’ll get right on that.

Jerry exhales. You know what? You’re wasting your time. At this rate, you won’t have an article written by the submission date.

I pause midstep. But—

It’s been three days, kid. If you can’t get foundation information in that time, what hope have you got for the rest of the write-up?

With furrowed brows, I move into the afternoon sunshine. I’ll figure it out, Jerry. You know I’m good for it. I just need more time.

Kid, I know you fronted the cash for this story. It’s a personal thing, I get it. No one will think any worse of you for admitting you screwed up. This story is a dead end.

I clench my free hand into a fist, my nails digging deep into my palm. The pain that follows is a necessary reminder that what’s worth fighting for is never easy.

Hurt comes first.

My boss continues, oblivious. If you can’t find a way to get the band to talk to you, the story’s over.

Forcing my fingers to relax, I press them flat against the glass that separates the balcony from the ocean sixteen stories below. The heat from the smooth surface warms my chilled skin, giving me the strength I need. Jerry, like I told you in our last briefing, I believe in these guys. Bradley Reading signed them to his label, remember? Bootleg Records doesn’t contract just anyone. When their album releases, this band’s going to explode on the music scene.

He snorts.

"And Riff Online will be right alongside them."

Silence falls on the other end of the line. I picture Jerry watching the ashes tumble from his cigarette, deep in thought.

Sensing his weakening resolve, I go in for the kill. "Think of the exposure. Our website will be the first to report on their rise to fame as it’s actually happening. The timing will be perfect. It’ll be a Riff exclusive."

Jerry inhales more smoke.

Taking his reserve as a positive sign, I continue. I’ll get stories, anecdotes, and interviews. I’ll get the kind of information no one else can and turn it into amazing posts for fans to fawn over while I’m putting it all together. It’s what I’m good at, you know this.

Until Tobias.

Shaking my head, I push away all thoughts of his dark looks and godlike physique.

After a long pause, Jerry exhales. Fine. But you’d better come up with something soon, or I’m canning the article.

The line goes dead.

I lean against the glass, relief turning my muscles weak. Thank fuck.

Slipping the phone away, I tip my chin, willing the waning