Illicit Behavior: A Bad Boy Rockstar Romance(9)

By: Nikki Wild





His eyes glistened with delight. His voice began to sound more familiar now – it could definitely be close enough to be behind that song. I mean, I hadn’t heard it often, but it was one of the few rock songs that really drew my attention.



It had always been sung so soulfully.



The singer’s voice really rang with emotion.



But he could still be making this shit up. Wouldn’t be the first time some asshole came into my bar pretending to be something he wasn’t.



“Sing it,” I demanded, crossing my arms.



He looked surprised. “You want me to sing for you?”



“If you expect me to actually believe this bullshit you’re spewing, then yeah, I definitely do.”



“You do realize that people usually pay me thousands of dollars to sing, right? And I just saved you from, from…”



“Classy as fuck, Trent,” I laughed. “You’re right. You just saved me from being raped. Low blow, much? But I distinctly remember whipping out a shotgun when you went down, so I think you and I are one for one. Besides. I don’t think it’s that big a request. You’re making a total fuss over a few lyrics?”



Trent flashed a grin. “Good point.”



“So, go on, then,” I waved at him with my wrist. “Prove that it’s you. Work your magic.”



“What if I’m an impersonator?”



“I’ll know if you’re full of shit.”



Trent shook his head, smiling softly. He looked deep into my eyes, as if searching to see if I was being serious. After a moment, he smile settled in a big, arrogant grin.



“Fine. Have it your way, then.”



While I sat next to Trent Masters, he turned to me, looking deep into my being, and his sturdy voice yarled the rugged chorus to his alleged rock hit single:



“Reeee-yee-yee-ead my bones… broken, laid, and / Heeee-yee-yee-eed my moans… whispered, taken / Seee-yee-yee-eee my frown… buried, bathed in / Feee-yee-yee-eel my crown… dust and vapor”



Trent’s deep voice rang in the small space, digging into a dark octave and pouring out his very soul against the walls.



My head flashed to the alternative rock heroes of the Nineties – Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Stone Temple Pilots, guys like that. They’d never been my jam, but as I listened, I knew the truth. I was tending to the wounds of a real-life rock star.



He was so young, and oh so fucking hot.



Maybe I could give up on country… Just this once…



“You believe me now,” he smiled cockily.



“That’s…definitely you, on the radio.”



“Me, and my band,” he added.



“What the fuck are you guys doing here in the middle of nowhere?” I asked breathlessly. “I mean, what brought you to Riverton? How did you wind up in my bar?”



“We’re playing the RipFest, just an hour or so over from here. It’s the biggest music festival in the state. The after-party wasn’t my scene. I decided to hit the road and find somewhere a little quieter to nurse a beer.”



“Well, if you wanted quiet, I guess you probably picked the wrong bar…” I told him.



“No...” Trent said, his hand covering mine, “I think I came to the right place.”



I gulped. It was a total move, but it was working.



“Is that so,” I strained to say dispassionately.



“Yeah,” he agreed, his widening smile exposing a few bright white teeth. “That’s so.”



I knew how he was looking at me. His eyes tenderly slid along the curvature of my skin. I could have stopped him… I should have stopped him… The problem was, I wanted him to look at me like that.



Goddammit, I want him.



I want him BAD.



And the worst part is…he knows it.



As my throat grew tight and my cheeks reddened, I became suddenly aware that I was still dressed for work… Barely. My shirt was torn half open by the bikers, exposing the pink bra beneath. The miniskirt had hiked itself up my thighs as I patched Trent up. Now I was sitting in bed beside the hottest hunk of man flesh I’d ever laid my eyes on.

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