Yours to Love: Bad Boys and Bands Read online

  Yours to Love

  Adele Hart

  Contents

  Also by Adele Hart

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Also by Adele Hart

  Devour Me-Sneak Peek

  Kiss Me-Sneak Peek

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2017 by Adele Hart

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Also by Adele Hart

  Alphas and Virgins Titles

  Thrill Me

  Tempt Me

  Take Me

  Choose Me

  Kiss Me

  Devour Me

  Make Me Titles

  Make Me Yours

  Make Me Crazy

  Make Me Wet

  Make Me Wild

  Make Me Happy

  Make Me Love You

  Hot Heroes Titles

  My Toy Boy

  My Cocky Cowboy

  My Naughty Professor

  Bad Boys and Good Girls

  Slow, Hard Puck

  Fast, Hard Ride

  Long, Hard Pass

  Boxsets

  Alphas and Virgins Volume One

  Alphas and Virgins Volume Two

  Make Me Volume One

  Make Me Volume Two

  Deliciously Dirty

  Guilty Pleasures

  My Hot Hero

  Hard

  Foreword

  Hey Girl,

  Have you ever been to a concert and looked into the eyes of the singer and wondered if he had that much talent in bed? Did all that singing strengthen his lips? Was his stick as skilled as the drummer’s? Would his fingers play you as expertly as the guitarist? Would he make love to a beat or was his rhythm only found on the stage?

  No? Only me? Well, Abel Kincaid is in the house and he’s going to show you how to perform on the stage and in between the sheets. He’s one sexy singer who needs the love of a good woman. Could that be you?

  Stand in line, girlfriend, because I saw him first.

  Peace Out,

  Adele (drops mic to toss underwear on stage).

  Chapter One

  Gia

  He could ruin me.

  The folder in front of me held at least a hundred pages. Pages filled with pictures and details of my new assignment—my only assignment because once a girl hits the spotlight she isn’t used again. A face could only be fresh once.

  Arm Candy was particular about their employees, but not so much when it came to their clients. The more troubled, the better. The farther they fell, the higher they could rise.

  Abel Kincaid had hit several layers beneath the surface. He was almost in the pits of hell, hanging on to the bedrock with raw, bloodied fingers.

  Bullet points detailed his lesser transgressions.

  Public Drunkenness

  Public Nudity

  Shoplifting

  Destruction of property

  And that’s where I come in. Basically I’d be a highly paid babysitter. Babysitting was a job I excelled in. I’d been watching over my father for years.

  Dad limped into the living room. “Morning, Gia.” His face had lost some of the purple bruising he’d received from last week’s beat down.

  “Coffee?” I asked.

  He groaned as he sat. “Thank you, honey.”

  My chair screeched across the linoleum floor of my tiny kitchen. My apartment wasn’t much, but it was paid for and no one was coming knocking because I owed them money. My job as receptionist at Arm Candy barely paid all my bills, but they were paid.

  “I don’t want you doing this. You’re not selling yourself to a man to pay my debts. He’s worse than me.” Dad shuffled through the papers and shoved them aside.

  I handed him a cup of coffee. He took his bitter and dark. He said he liked it in its purest form. I thought he liked the way it blended with his personality. Dad had never been the same since mom left him five years ago. That’s when all the trouble started.

  I plopped into the chair beside him and straightened the pages. My eyes continued to focus on one photo. It was a candid shot of Abel smiling. He was caught in an unfiltered moment. That was my goal. To get him to smile like that again.

  “I’m not selling myself. I’m simply running adult day care.” I looked at the man who was supposed to be looking after me. At twenty-eight, I hadn’t outgrown the need for a father figure, but it had been a long time since I had one. “As for being as bad as you? Something tells me he doesn’t owe a loan shark ten grand with interest compounding daily.” I held up the latest photo of my new project. Abel was a handsome man with a beard to die for. “He seems to have missed the meaty fists of Igor.”

  Dad touched his Rocky Balboa eyes and winced.

  “If he does anything to you, I’ll—”

  “Beat him with your cast?”

  Dad’s shoulders sank.

  “Consider us lucky that none of the usual recruits wanted the job.” The assignment came up so fast that no one was available to take it, which is why it was offered to me.

  Dad shifted in his seat to get more comfortable. Along with his broken arm and beaten face, he had two broken ribs, and contusions all over his body. I was pretty sure there wasn’t a place on his body that didn’t hurt. Most people would think Dad would learn his lesson and not borrow money from bad men only to give it to worse men at illegal poker games, but this was the second time in two years he’d fallen short of being able to pay his debt. Two times the interest he owed was taken out in flesh.

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “I’m following him on tour, making sure he gets from point A to point B. Keeping him focused and on his game.”

  “Where will you sleep?”

  I sipped my creamy, sweet coffee and decided to pull my dad’s chain. “On the tour bus, spooned between the lead guitarist and the bass player.”

  “If I wasn’t so sore, I’d throw you over my lap and paddle you.”

  I gathered the papers and put them in the folder. “You lost that privilege years ago, but it might be nice if you took up adulting again.”

  “I’m trying.”

  I gently patted him on the back. “Try harder.” I finished my coffee and put my cup in the sink. “Behave yourself while I’m gone. If I find out you stepped foot in any backroom poker game or spent a dime on anything that didn’t nourish your body, I’ll beat you myself.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I love you Dad, but sorry doesn’t pay the bills.”

  “I’m done gambling. It’s become too painful. I promise to pay you back.” He drank his coffee. “How much are they paying you for this job anyway?”

  I wasn’t giving him an exact number. There was no way I’d tell him I was getting five hundred a day plus expenses. No doubt he’d figure out a way to gamble away my future earnings. “Enough to get you clear so you can get back to work without fear someone’s going to murder you.” Grateful didn’t begin to describe how I felt when they broke his arm instead of his legs. At least he’d be back on the construction site in a few weeks. “I’ve gotta pack.”

  When dad moved in last month, I gave him my room. It seemed the respectful thing to do. No matter h
ow irresponsible Frank Simone was, he was still my dad. In the tiny room at the end of the hall, I yanked the black suitcase covered in flower stickers from under my twin bed. Was it possible to pack a month’s worth of clothes in so little space? Did I have a month of clothes? The answer to both questions was no. Pack smart.

  I rolled and folded nearly everything I had and when I finished I laid on the bed and stared at the smiling photo of Abel. What put that grin on his face? The key to my success was finding out.

  Arm Candy didn’t send their receptionists on most assignments. In fact, this was a first, but the record label hiring me didn’t want a bombshell beauty to distract Abel, and they needed someone fast. They weren’t looking for the kind of woman pretty enough to be mistaken as a love interest. They needed a woman who could get him from point A to point B. That was something any grown man should be able to do for himself but Abel didn’t seem that able.

  I pulled my computer on top of my thighs and began my personal research. Everything was in the details. Mr. Kincaid was a paparazzi favorite. As hard as it was to take my eyes off of him, I looked in the background. Abel was quite a surprise. While people around him drank Cristal and top shelf booze, my bad boy was never without an orange soda in his hand. In several photos, his crew raced around on Ducatis and various other crotch rockets. My troublemaker went old school with a Harley.

  I had to say, the wind caressed his hair into a perfect, just-got-laid look. That took my mind in a totally different direction. Obviously, Abel had his choice of women, but he rarely had one on his arm. I wrote down my stalkerish findings just as the theme song from Survivor played on my phone. Martine didn’t make me eat worms, sleep in a tent, or wear a buff, but she threw down challenge after challenge. This assignment felt like a tribal council. If I screwed up, I’d be voted off the island.

  “Hello, Martine.” No surprise she was calling. I’d been briefed on the client a dozen times, but she wasn’t confident that I could pull it off. “Before you ask, I’m packed and ready to go.”

  “You have—”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

  “You were going to ask if I had his schedule memorized. If I knew the passcodes to his tour bus? Then you were going to ask me if I’d packed my hard outer shell because he won’t be receptive to the idea of a shadow.”

  Martine was silent, unusual for a woman who was never at a loss for words. “How did you know?”

  “You pay me to know.” She didn’t pay me enough. Fifteen an hour only made ends meet. Even at five hundred a day, I was getting paid fifty percent of the standard rate. “I’ve got this. Don’t worry.”

  “All right,” she huffed. “Call me when you get to Los Angeles.”

  “No problem.” Lord, I hoped there wouldn’t be any problems. How difficult could a spoiled musician be?

  Chapter Two

  Abel

  “I don’t need a fucking babysitter.” I slammed my hands onto the steering wheel of my parked car, accidentally hitting the horn. The sound sent the geese that were walking across the cemetery lawn into flight. I watched as they disappeared into the cloudy sky. “Call it off. I don’t want some chick hanging all over me pretending to be my girl.” Arm Candy was a go-to for my record label when they needed a public relations fix. It was no surprise that my manager called them up. He wanted it to look like I’d moved on. I had, but not the way he expected.

  “Don’t do anything stupid like last year,” Felix said. “I don’t want another call from the cops telling me to pick your drunk ass up at the cemetery on the date of her death.”

  I looked around at the green grass and the granite markers. “No chance of that. You booked me a tour so that couldn’t happen.” In the distance under the oak tree sat Deb’s grave. “I gotta go.”

  “Where are you at?”

  “The cemetery,”

  “Fuck,” he responded.

  I pressed end and climbed out of my car. The phone rang right away. I saw that it was Felix again and tossed my cell onto the seat before I walked away. Had it been three years already?

  I made my way up the hill and stood in front of her gravestone.

  Debra Tyler

  Beloved Daughter

  Singer

  Song Writer

  “I’m early this year, Debs,” I began. “Normally, I would have brought a bottle and shared it with you, but I’m sober now for six months and staying that way.” Last year I’d brought a case of her favorite wine and we drank it together. Each time I tipped one bottle back, I poured another on the grass where she was buried. “I start a new tour tomorrow.”

  It’s funny how I waited for her reply. A reply that never came except for her voice in my memory. Somewhere in my head, I heard her tell me to knock them dead.

  “I’m getting a babysitter.” My legs folded under me as I sat on the grass and picked the dandelions from around the granite marker. “Can’t really blame them for wanting to protect their investment, but honestly I only get in trouble one time a year.” The anniversary of Deb’s death was the hardest day of the year for me. She was in the business like me. Traveling around and making her mark on the world. People compared her to Janis Joplin and she died the same way. Heroine was a stone cold killer. What really dug at my heart was the fact that I didn’t even know she was using. I blamed myself because a good friend should have known.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m sorry our careers pulled us apart.” Deb was my best friend, sometimes lover, and always confidant. We couldn’t have a traditional relationship because we rarely crossed paths, but when we did, it was amazing. I’ve often thought about what would have happened had I been there. Would I have seen the signs? Could I have stopped her from spiraling out of control?

  “You fucked it all up.” It was the same thing I told her every year when I visited her grave. She’d just won a Grammy. As soon as she left the stage, she called me. I was in Scotland where I was doing a benefit concert for cancer. She rambled on quickly, about a thousand words a minute. That should have been a clue. I thought it was excitement, but after watching the replay of her acceptance speech and seeing how dilated her eyes were and how much she fidgeted on the stage, I knew she was on something stronger than wine. “You really fucked it up.”

  In the silence I listened for her reply. Other than the wind, nothing moved and not a sound could be heard until the familiar sound of a shutter clicked in the distance. I looked over my shoulder to see the long lens of a camera. They never left me alone. They were like a black cloud that followed me everywhere.

  I lifted my hand in the air and gave the photographer the finger. That should make some news.

  I lowered my hand, pressed my fingers to my lips and touched her name. “See you next year.” I rose and shoved my hands in my pocket. Hanging my head low, I walked to my car and climbed inside. In the fifteen minutes I was gone there were as many calls—all from Felix.

  I texted him back.

  I’m headed to the studio to lay down those tracks. See … no babysitter needed.

  He responded immediately.

  Glad to hear it, but Gia is on her way. If nothing else she can be good company for you. You could use a friend.

  Company was the last thing I needed, and I didn’t want any more friends. I liked my quiet life. Isolation was infinitely less painful.

  The car started with the push of a button. I left the cemetery but not without my tail. The press always seemed to stick to me like lint on tape. The last three years I’d made the headlines getting drunk and being stupid.

  This year, they would be sadly disappointed. I’d be like Waldo and everyone would wonder where the hell I was when I wasn’t on stage.

  It took me two hours to lay down the tracks Felix needed to finish the album. I walked down the street to the local barbershop to get a trim with the paparazzi hot on my heels.

  I turned around. “No story here.”

  If the pr
ess wanted to follow me, that was fine. Sober, I was an average guy. I woke up in the morning like every other man and took a piss. I might live in a million dollar house in the hills and drive a fancy Mercedes Benz, but I was still an ordinary man living in extraordinary circumstances.

  Who would’ve thought that a homeless guy playing for dollars on Sunset Boulevard would make the big time? I still didn’t believe it myself. It’s in these times of reflection that I miss Deb the most.

  We met at the recording studio. She was a newbie too. All starry eyed and motivated. Not beautiful in the traditional sense. I was never drawn to women who looked like they stepped off a magazine cover. Debs was trouble with a big T and it showed from her purple hair to the tattoos that covered her body. In fact, she wasn’t really my type either, but I loved her energy and the way she attacked life without reservations. It was probably the thing that got her into trouble. She rode life hard.

  We were polar opposites, which was why it hadn’t really worked out for us. If I’m honest with myself, I was a whole lot more attached to her than she was to me. She got me. She understood the business. Over the last six months, in my sober state I’d questioned our relationship over and over in my mind. I thought I was more than a willing cock when we got together.

  Having grown up on the street with no one and nothing, I needed to belong to someone. In my mind I belonged to Deb. Sadly, the truth was Deb belonged to everyone. She was a free spirit and belonged to no one.