Heart Of A Star

Chapter Six - Rylan

The calendar on my phone was set to count down the final days of the tour. This one was wearing me down quick. Probably had a lot to do with all the things going on outside the tour. Once we got back, I could focus on sorting it all out. But for now, the main goal was just getting the band back to London in one piece.

JT wasn't exactly making that easy. Between his impromptu hook up with that up-and-coming advertising agent, or so she claimed, and his even more spontaneous decision to come off his prescriptions, I couldn't keep up. He was up, he was down, and he was leaving a trail of trouble every direction he turned. And his kind of trouble usually came with price tags and severe consequences. We had cancelled two shows when he and his new girlfriend split from the rest of the band and disappeared in Vegas. And when he all out attacked a photo-journalist, sending the kid to the hospital in need of seven stitches and a personally injury lawyer, it required forfeiting our one and only day off between cities to reschedule yet a third cancelled show while we posted his bail.

Sammi, as usual, ran cleanup for us. She made things disappear, though I'd rather not ask her how. That was one reason why she was with us. She was the best at what she did. But even she was growing worn by JT's antics. We had been discussing it last night over dinner. Something had to be done, though trying to control him was like trying to dam a tsunami. Pointless. All you could do was just get out of the way and do what you could to fix it afterward. And yet somehow, Sammi had managed to keep both the girlfriend and the antics out of the eager eyes of the press. God bless Sammi - the woman had a power that was unmatched, even in our business, and we were incredibly lucky to have her - myself in particular.

The best part of my morning was about to happen, as it did most mornings, like clockwork. The alarm in the bedroom of my hotel suite would go off, loud obnoxious music pouring through a tiny speaker, sounding like shit, but music to my ears all the same.

Then, exactly ten minutes later, the door would open, and she'd be leaning against the door frame in my t-shirt and nothing else, her copper red hair still tousled from the pillow and sticking out in every direction, her eyes fixed on me. I'd cross the room, sweep one arm around the small of her back, then the other I'd slide behind her neck, kiss her gently once for good morning, then, needing so much more of her than just that, I'd pick her up and we'd fall right back into bed. The clock on the nightstand would read exactly 8:11 am. That's how she operated, much like me, on a tight schedule.

This morning, just as I was about to pull my t-shirt up over her head, a cell phone went off on the nightstand, buzzing furiously against the wood. I considered ignoring it, as my hand ran along that light, soft skin that tasted so good when we made love. But Sammi couldn't. It could be anyone: venue managers, the media, record producers, or any myriad of all the hundreds of people that she corresponded with on a daily basis. A missed call was a delay that could potentially ruin a show, and cost us upward of a half-million.

She reached for her phone, took a quick look at the caller ID, and wiggled out from under me before she held it to her ear.

I nibbled on her free ear as she talked. "Right then, the Westshire Room. That'll be much appreciated." She slid the phone back on the nightstand and without turning, reached her hand behind her to run her fingers through my hair. "We've arranged an after show party with the editors of Rolling Stone Magazine tomorrow night here at the hotel. I'm putting you in charge of getting JT there."

I was glad she couldn't see me roll my eyes at her, but I couldn't hide the displeasure from my voice. "I hate these things..."

I was sure she was rolling her eyes right back at me, but she kept her tone even keel. "We need to do a better job of marketing the band in the States, Rylan. Record sales are falling here. America is a major market, and even though you're huge in the rest of the world, you're not where you could be over here."

"Fuck the States," I grumbled, standing up, "they wouldn't know good music if it bit them in their ass. The record companies pay a fortune for these semi-talented half-wits who play canned music and make it big as long as they conform to whatever's popular at the moment. And that's all these kids over here know. It's a damn shame."

She had heard it all before, I knew. It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last that the American music industry would fire me up. "So I guess you won't be looking for an American to kick-start Lucas' brother's band then?"

I growled at her, my eyes narrowing. "Don't wind me up, Sammi. You won't like the consequences."

She made a sound like a giggle, but it came out more like a sensual purr, and it had me crawling all over her again. My lips touched the bare skin on her belly, my tongue tracing a crooked line up between her breasts, firm with hard pink nipples that loved to be clenched between my teeth. My fingers ran from her wrists up the delicate skin of her inner arms, and back down her sides to hook the bottom of whichever one of my shirts she was wearing through my fingers, lifting it up over her head and slinging it off to the floor. And as I came back down, my lips played casually over hers, teasing and playing against her chin, her cheeks, her neck, until I finally chose a spot to dive into. This morning the soft skin just under her ear smelled of the slightest bit of a new perfume, and I let my nose brush against it over and over as I gnawed at her neck.

Her hips rose against me, as though she might try to fight me off, and she gave a half-laugh-half-moan, "Rylan..." Her long fingers dragged through my hair, then clenched tightly as I thrust into her. The heat that surrounded me was enough to make me want to start and finish in one powerful blow, but I pulled back and paused just long enough to nearly send us both over the edge before driving back into her, deeper and harder this time, dragging the next moan from deep in her throat before I covered her mouth with mine. She tasted sweet, sweeter than most mornings, and I indulged in the every sense that I could pull from her. She made it all worth it for me. The long hours, the tireless travel, all the bullshit drama, she made it all disappear the second her breasts, sweating with pleasure, pressed against my chest.

Every muscle in my body was rock hard against her soft, porcelain skin, and if I didn't know my Sammi as I did, I'd have been careful as not to break her. But it had never been like that between us. I'd known her for years before ever once touching her, and I'd long known by that point that the woman was tougher than most men I knew. But her body said otherwise.

Her body was feminine to the core. She held a class and an elegance like no other, and in the bedroom, this was far more apparent. But I knew what she liked, what drove her to the brink of insanity, what made her bite her bottom lip and turn her head to the side, clenching her eyes shut, curling her toes and grasping me tighter than any woman ever had, enough to force it out of me in a way that I couldn't control any more than she could.

"Rylan..." she repeated, breathing heavily and sliding out from underneath me. I never grew tired of hearing her say my name. I let my eyes lay upon her, enjoying the sight of what I'd done to her, damp hair and glistening skin that made me want more of her already. I loved the sound of my name on her lips. I could listen to it all day. Fuck the show tonight. The fans could pull up our band on any number of internet sites, slide a CD into the player, tune us in on their car radio. But I had to rely on hearing Sammi's voice only when I was with her. And I wanted her all day, all night. Was that too much to ask? To blow off work just one night so that I could spend the day in bed making love to the most beautiful woman in the world, listening to her over and over say my name in that sweet, sensual whisper?

And that was it. I wanted her again. Already. I leaned in closer, about to kiss her neck, my fingers tracing downward, below her belly...

"We've an interview with the local rock radio station in a half-hour."

I froze for a moment as she slipped off the bed and headed for the shower. "I fucking hate my job."

She tossed me a half-grin through the doorway to the bathroom, "No you don't."