Rock Hard (A British Rockstar Bad Boy Romance)(4)

By: Nikki Wild

“Well, I have many questions. When I write a story, I don’t force it. I let it build from the inside out. I’d like to get to know you better, so why don’t we start at the beginning?”

“The beginning? What - you mean like my childhood, or somethin’, luv?”

“Sure, that’s as good a place to start as any.”

“For fuck’s sake, can’t we talk about something more interestin’? My music or somethin’? Isn’t that what this is about? Selling records?”

“It is. And also saving your reputation, if it’s salvageable.”

“Hardly,” he scoffed.

“You can’t be all bad, Liam,” I said, smiling over at him.

“There are hundreds who would disagree with you, darling,” he replied.

“Liam, think of it this way. You’ve got a clean slate with me. I’m here to observe and listen to whatever you share with me. No judgement. No preconceived notions. If you don’t want something included in the story, just say so. I’m not out to get you, I promise.”

“Well, that’s refreshing to hear, luv,” he said, winking at me. “But you can have me if you want.”

“That’s not what I meant,” I groaned.

His laughter, the mischievous gleam in his eye, the way he looked at me with such unrestrained hunger every time he flirted with me - none of these things were helping me stay professional.

However, they were definitely having an effect on me. I just wasn’t sure that was where I wanted this whole thing to go. I also wasn’t sure I would be able to resist him.

Time would tell, but at this point, I was beginning to see that most of my time was going to be spent putting my energy into keeping my hands off of him. Or, keeping his hands off me.

If I could do that, I’d be alright…




The last thing in the whole fuckin’ world that I wanted to do was talk about my past. But she was sitting there dripping sexy, flashing those doe-like green eyes at me, her blouse plunging to a deep v, showing off a good portion of what I was sure were perfect knockers. Every time she smiled at me, my cock swelled in my pants.

And here she was asking about my childhood. I just wanted to rip off her clothes and take her right there on the fuckin’ couch. Or, better yet, blow the show and take her to a nice five star hotel and give her a proper fancy fuckin’. A woman like Catherine deserved that.

I imagined what she’d look like, splayed out in my bed, naked as a jaybird, her long black hair spread out around her head, her eyes full of desire. She was already so goddamned beautiful, but I could only imagine how much sexier she’d be with my cock buried inside her.

It had been awhile since I met a girl who played hard to get, and I liked it.

She was going on and on about how she was just here to do her job, that she wasn’t judging me, that she had no pre-conceived notions about who I was. As if I cared if she judged me at all. I was used to that shit. Nobody in the whole fuckin’ world knew me for who I really was, not even my bloody brother. He was so sure he did, though. But I’d done an excellent job of not letting anyone in. I’d done that once, a long, long time ago, and it pained me to even think about that now. I’d done my best to make good on that mistake.

“So, if we could just start with you telling me what your parents were like?” Catherine asked.

“My parents? My parents were a couple of dysfunctional assholes that had no idea how to raise children.”

She blinked, and furiously starting making notes in her little notebook. I probably shouldn’t have, but I continued.

“My father was a postmaster. My mother was a house wife who could never do anything correct, according to my father. Hell, in his eyes, none of us could do right. He was angry at the world, and he took it out on us every night when he came home. Ian got the worst of it, being younger than me. I tried to stop it, but I was just a kid, what could I do?”

Her eyes filled with pity, and I looked away. That was why I kept my mouth shut about this shit. I didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for me.

“You had another brother, too?” she prodded. As it always did when Lennon was mentioned, I winced. Sometimes the pain of losing him was still so fresh, I wondered if it would ever fade.

“Yeah. Lennon. My father let me name him. I was obsessed with the Beatles, even then.”

“That’s nice,” Catherine said, her voice soft and quiet.

“Lennon died of cancer when he was five. They found a tumor in his brain when he was three, and he fought hard for the next two. My mother brought us all to Philadelphia to have him treated by the best doctors in the world. He was the toughest little kid I’ve ever known.”

“I’m so sorry, Liam,” she said, her voice cracking ever so slightly. She had to know this shit already. Why was she asking these questions?

“It was a long time ago,” I said, standing up quickly and walking over to the bar. The beer wasn’t hitting the spot anymore, so I poured myself a shot of whiskey and downed it, then poured another. “Sure you don’t want a drink, Catherine? It takes the edge off.”

“It’s a little early - I mean, no, thank you.”

“Sure you aren’t judging me?” I asked, teasingly.

She laughed softly and held up two fingers.

“Scouts honor!” she said.

I smiled and nodded. The whiskey hit me quickly and it felt fucking fantastic. That was more like it. It was exactly what I needed to keep the demons at the edge of my consciousness, instead of taunting me in my head.

The other thing I needed was right between Catherine’s crossed thighs. Her skirt had ridden up, revealing a tiny sliver of inner thigh that I longed to run my tongue along.

I sat down beside her on the couch, and as soon as our legs touched, she scooted over. I smirked.

She was going to make me work for it.

That’s okay, though.

I enjoyed the chase almost as much as the conquering. And she might not know it yet, but I was going to conquer every fuckin’ inch of her creamy flesh.

“Let’s talk about you,” I suggested. Her eyes widened and she immediately shook her head.

“Me? Oh, no, that’s not why we’re here.”

“I couldn’t give a shit about that. I mean, I respect you have a job to do and all that, luv, but seriously, it’s all just horseshit. We both know what the Rolling Stone wants. You’ll write a puff piece about my tortured past and the way my music lets me fuckin’ work through it, and all the teenaged girls will read it and tear up about things that happened a long time ago… Lets talk about you. I bet you’re more interesting than all of my boring drivel…”

“You’re the most famous rock star on the planet, Liam.”

“Rubbish. What is fame but a constant headache? It’s not real. It doesn’t last. Tell me, Catherine, are you single? Have a boyfriend? Husband? Girlfriend?” I asked with a wink.

“None of the above,” she replied.

“I find that hard to believe,” I replied, putting my hand on her knee. To my surprise, she let it rest there instead of puling away.

“I work a lot,” she said. “I’m sure you can relate to that.”

“Unfortunately, yes I can.”

“Let’s talk about that. What keeps you motivated, Liam? What keeps you writing songs and performing? Your career has lasted a lot longer than most musician’s already, and you’re still going strong, still pumping out the hits.”

“Ian writes most of the songs. I’ve written a few, but I mostly just sing and play and look fuckin’ pretty…”

“But what keeps you going?” she asked, ignoring the way I downplayed my accomplishments.

“I guess the fact that I don’t have a fuckin’ choice. Everyone depends on me getting up there on the stage, making it to the next show, paying everyone’s salaries with ticket sales. If there’s no show, nobody gets paid. Nobody buys albums anymore… If you’re going to survive in music today, you’ve got to keep moving. The tour never stops.”

“That sounds like a lot of pressure.”

“Yeah, whatever,” I replied, taking another swig of whiskey. It’s warm embrace felt like home. I couldn’t wait for the show to be over so I could forget about everything. There was a time when I wouldn’t have waited, but I was trying to be on my best behavior and avoid Ian’s incessant nagging.

“Do you enjoy performing?”

“It’s a good escape. Sometimes I wish it lasted longer, because it’s the only time I feel in my element. Off stage, I’m bloody lost. I don’t really fit in the square world, you know? But on stage, I can just be me, and let the music take over.”

“That sounds….freeing.”

“That’s one way to put it. Now, let’s talk about you again.”


“Where did you grow up, Catherine?” I asked. She re-crossed her legs, forcing my hand to fall away.

“New York,” she replied.

“And did you have a happy childhood?” I asked. Her eyes flashed over at me and I didn’t like what I saw there. I recognized the pain of the past all too well.

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