One Kiss With A Rock Star by Amber Lin, Shari Slade Half Life Series #2
Publication Date: November 6, 2014
Genres: Romance
Buy Links: Amazon US
Synopsis
Half-Life bassist Krist Mellas is caught in a PR nightmare after his dirty sex video blew up online. His agent has the solution: a fake engagement with sultry pop princess Madeline Fox. Krist can’t think of anything worse than a charade with the bubblegum bombshell…except losing the band. Madeline knows better than anyone what it means to live a lie in the spotlight. She’s determined to help Krist without ever letting him find out what it costs her—or about her girlhood crush on him. But after a smoking hot back alley encounter with him leaves her breathless, she can’t deny she wants the snarling bad-boy rocker. In a world of glitter and diamonds where the kisses are fake but the climaxes are real, their facades start to crack. And the publicity storm may shatter them both. WARNING: This book contains a scorching threesome, a dirty talking pop princess, and a surly rocker who hits all the right notes.
Excerpt
Watch the
wings.
He couldn't miss them. She was naked but for
feathers and glitter. Untouchable. Two grips ushered her along the catwalk and
affixed her harness to a rig in the rafters. Krist was only a few feet off the
ground on his platform, but he still felt unsteady. She was so high.
An assistant counted down, and the director
shouted, “Action!”
The army of dancers below writhed to the thumping
bass line of the guide track, feet pounding the floor, but Krist only had eyes
for Madeline. She lifted her arms above her head like the ballerina in a little
girl’s jewelry box, stepped off the ledge, and twirled down, singing.
“I break my own wings.”
The power in her vocals, the edge behind the
lyric, knocked him more off balance. He'd expected her to lip sync. He'd
expected her to fucking suck.
“I am falling. I am falling. Lift me up.”
All the dancers below lifted their hands in unison
and swayed like the collective force of their will would boost her higher.
Cheesy pop bullshit, but something about it worked. He didn’t want to admit it,
but she had…something. She could
fucking sing.
Her descent slowed. If he stretched, he could just
reach her perfectly manicured toe. Almost time.
His whole body tensed as a camera swung in his
direction. He grimaced and gripped the railing when the platform beneath him,
mounted on what looked like a cherry-picker truck, shifted closer to Madeline. The
cameraman gave him a thumbs-up. He must look sufficiently demonic.
Now. He reached for her, grabbing her by
the waist, the only part of her body unadorned, and pulled her close. One
breath and he was overcome by her scent. Spicy cotton candy. Unexpected and
strangely perfect. A second breath and he prepared to do his damned job, to
mash his lips against hers and fling her back to her adoring throng. It was
only skin. It didn’t mean anything.
Her eyes flashed mischief. Hi, she mouthed
and hooked her legs around his hips.
He froze. The producer hadn’t mentioned grinding
in the rundown earlier. She shimmied against him, and his traitorous cock
responded. Do the job you came to do.
Before he could, she bent her head and stole the
kiss he’d been hired to deliver. He couldn't help but gasp, and then her
tongue, warm and electric, invaded his mouth. Chai.
Could an angel corrupt a devil?
“I am falling. I am falling.” The guide
track looped in the background, distorted by Auto-Tune, hardly recognizable as
the sultry voice he'd just heard.
It was too much. The wet heat, her teeth
grazing his bottom lip, and the way she rocked against his crotch. It hurt
to touch her, just like the devil
was supposed to react. He pushed, but she only held on tighter, digging her
heels into his ass, twisting his hair in her fingers. Sparks of pleasure-pain
skittered under his skin. She’d chosen him.
He didn’t want to want her. Wanting was a one-way
ticket to disappointment.
She raked her fingers down his back, teasing the
sliver of skin between his shirt and belt, and pressed her mouth to his ear. He
shivered.
“Work with me.” She nipped him.
He could work. And if his body responded? Well, it
was only biology. The hard-on straining against his zipper was as manufactured
and packaged as the Dream Angel in his arms.
He lost himself in the pull and sway, forgot the
crowd of people, the camera, the job. Forgot everything but the taste of her,
the feel of her tight muscles under his palms, the tickle of feathers floating
free.
He kissed her back, violent and hard, reclaiming
what she'd taken: his choice. Her body softened, melted around him. She moaned,
giving in, an unexpected surrender. He hadn’t missed the power she wielded over
the whole production, a queen bee to her hive. But here she was gasping and
shuddering in his arms, the rapid pulse against his chest like wings beating
against glass. He ran his tongue along hers, savoring the honey and spice.
A sound came from the sides, an urgent whisper.
They wanted him to stop. He even felt her lurch away, tugged by mechanical
means, but he held tighter. They’d have to tear her away. They’d have to hurt
her to do it. For one brief moment, he wasn’t letting go. Skin to skin, mouth
to mouth. Heat to heat, and they’d both flown too close to the sun.
The music stopped.
About Amber Lin
About Shari Slade
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