BOOK 7 in The Forbidden Men Series
Contemporary New Adult Romance
Orginally published November 2015
136,610 words, 408 pages
4-Flame Sensuality Rating
Here's the same old "girl posing as a boy" story but with a rock-n-roll twist.
Remy Curran dreams of one day being in a band, except the group she wants to join refuses to hire a girl drummer. So, she auditions as a guy...and makes the cut.
Becoming "Sticks," a member of Non-Castrato, isn't quite what she dreamed it would be, though. She spends most of her time keeping up the subterfuge and learning how to walk, talk, act, and drink like a man.
But what's even harder to deal with is acting oblivious when the band's heartthrob lead singer, Asher Hart, treats her like one of the guys and not a woman. She never imagined he'd be so much more than a pretty face with a nice voice. But he's better than perfect. He's perfect for HER.
When love and lies combine, Remy must keep up the act or lose everything. But who knew lying to reach one dream could prevent you from attaining an even bigger dream?
I opened my bleary eyes, half-awake from postcoital bliss as the naked woman on top of me shifted, the soft, smooth warmth of her flesh caressing my own. She slid off the bed and presented me with a spectacular view of the most perfect ass ever, and my smile grew eager...until she pulled on a pair of panties and then reached for her bra.
Wait, no, that wasn't supposed to happen. Blinking my-self back into better consciousness, I tried to sit up and found it damn near impossible. "What're you doing? What's wrong?"
She didn't answer, which wasn't surprising. I hadn't been able to pull more than a dozen words from her since we'd met, and nothing she'd said so far had been in English. But in the lyrics of Jason Derulo, her booty hadn't needed explaining. Not then, anyway.
Apparently, it did now since she'd gone and hidden hers under a silky piece of black lace. And damn, she looked really good in those silky black panties, especially from the back, where I could see two tanned cheeks peeking out the bottom of all that swirling lace.
"You're not leaving, are you?" I tried to sit up again. Still wasn't happening. I frowned at the fur-covered handcuffs constraining me to my headboard and spent a few seconds muttering until I could twist into a somewhat upright position.
Across the room, she pulled on her stretchy black yoga pants I'd taken off last night with my teeth. I guess it was time to pull out my high school Spanish. This was going to get ugly, but I didn't care. "Sentarse." Shit, no. That was sit, not stay, wasn't it?
"Quedarse," I tried again, finally remembering the correct word for stay.
The waistband of her pants indignantly snapped into place on her hips as she spun around to send me a lethal glare; not that I blamed her. I had just given her dog commands.
I winced and repeated, "Quedarse," then added a pathetic little, "por favor."
She sighed and rolled her eyes before jerking on her top and reaching for her purse. "No! Don't go. Please, don't go. I'm sorry. I don't know what I did wrong, but I'm sorry. Shit, what's sorry in Spanish?"
"Lo siento," she said, her voice a quiet, sexy hum that was damn near a whisper.
No idea what lo siento meant, but it sounded stimulating as hell coming from her lips. My body responded, and I had to bend a leg to try to cover my exposed hard-on, so she wouldn't see how aroused I was while she was trying to ditch out on me.
"Elisa!" I cried, my voice cracking with desperation. I even banged my cuffs against the metal rails of my bed's headboard to get her attention.
When she paused at the doorway, her back to me, I held my breath. Such a crucial moment. Whatever I said now could be the deciding factor for her to stay or go. But all I could think to say was, "I'm sorry." And I didn't even know what the hell I was sorry for. I just knew I'd done something wrong, and it was making her leave. It couldn't have been the sex. Last night and this morning had totally rocked my casbah. It had hers too; the minx definitely wasn't quiet when she came. So, what—
She turned back slowly. My heart stuttered in my chest when I saw the tears streaming down her face. "Elisa?" I whispered, worried as hell.
What in God's name had I done wrong?
"En serio lo siento tanto," she choked out, her face red as she began to sob into her hands. "Tengo que hacer esto."
I shook my head. Derulo was freaking whack. This definitely needed explaining.
But as I opened my mouth to spit out more broken Spanish, begging her not to go, Elisa whirled back to the exit and raced up the stairs until I could hear the door at the top slam shut.
"Hey!" I yelled, my frustration morphing from the worried kind into the pissed kind. "What the hell? Elisa! You can't just start crying and then run off like that. Get your ass back here and uncuff me from this fucking bed!
Tell me what I did wrong. Please! ELISA!"
She didn't return. And I couldn't chase after her.