Rising Star (A Shooting Stars Novel Book 1) Read online

  “A beautiful, passionate one,” he offered before rolling her until she lay sprawled atop his chest. “And my name is Dylan Monroe.” Cupping her ass, he smiled. “If it’ll get you out of those shorts, I’ll tell you anything else you want to know.”

  Sexy. Smart. And seductive. She could get addicted to this boy real quick.

  Which was the exact reason not to get too personal. A contradictory thought considering her bare and still swollen breasts lay pressed against his naked chest, but she had to draw the line somewhere. And right now, she was skating dangerously close to crossing every boundary in the book. The one absolute in her life was that Charley did not want a relationship.

  “Only one question really matters at the moment,” she said, tapping his bottom lip and keeping her tone light. “If we take this night to its logical conclusion, are you prepared to protect us both?”

  Another roll and Charley found herself flat on her back, blanketed by six feet of delicious male. Without a word, Dylan opened a drawer on the stand beside the table and withdrew a blue box.

  “I’ve got the night covered, and maybe a couple times in the morning.”

  There would be no morning sex, but Charley saw no reason to burst his bubble. Squirming her legs free, she danced her nails across his ribs as she pulled up her knees to hug his hips between her thighs.

  “In that case, I’d like to unwrap the rest of my present.” Never breaking eye contact, she reached for the top of his jeans, and Dylan lifted his weight to give her access. “I’ll try not to scream this time,” Charley said truthfully. She’d never been a screamer in the past, but then she’d never experienced anything close to Dylan’s skills.

  “And I’ll do my best to make sure you do,” he promised, doing a push-up to drop a kiss on her lips.

  Charley worked the zipper down. “Impressive,” she offered, enjoying the sight of pure muscle flexing above her. “How long have you been practicing that move?”

  Dylan leaned to the side and caught her hands. “I’m not a player, Charley. I don’t practice moves, and I didn’t bring you here to put another notch in my bedpost.”

  She hadn’t meant to insult him but had a hard time letting go of her assumptions. “Then why did you bring me here?”

  Dropping onto his elbow, he brushed the hair off her forehead. “Because I like you. And because you let me.”

  Well, hell. “I like you, too,” Charley admitted, unable to lie when he looked at her that way. A little too much for her comfort, which meant she needed him to stop looking at her as if she were the girl of his dreams. “Now, where were we?”

  “Right here.” He smiled, and like a scene in slow motion, Dylan kissed her, not with mindless lust, but with care and restraint. Falling into a relationship with this man would be the easiest thing in the world. And in no time, her life would be about him. About them and not the career she’d come here to build.

  Locking her walls in place, Charley clamped down any thoughts of tomorrow and put the focus back where it belonged—on the feel of his thigh pressed between hers and the taste of his kiss.

  Convinced he’d found the most alluring and unpredictable woman in town, Dylan turned his attention to finishing what they’d started. Kissing as he went, he tugged the shorts down her endless tan legs to find a delicate white thong, the last barrier between him and his destination. Before he could examine the feminine wisp of satin, Charley lifted her hips and shoved the undies down to her ankles, kicking them into the air.

  “Now you,” she demanded, nodding toward his jeans. The woman meant business.

  “The boots have to come off first.” Dropping onto the foot of the bed, he tugged off one Tony Lama and then the other, before standing to remove the denim. More than happy to give her dinner and a show, he watched her watch him undress. When his dick sprang free, brown eyes went wide with surprise, which quickly heated to appreciation. “You like what you see?” Dylan asked.

  Charley licked her lips. “God, yes,” she breathed, rising to her knees and crawling toward him. Elegant fingers traced his abs. “Perfection.” The exploration traveled lower, and his lungs constricted when she took him in hand. “I’m a lucky girl tonight.”

  The moment she kissed the tip, his control snapped. Within seconds, he had her back on the bed and was ripping open a condom with his teeth. “Slide it on,” he ordered. Charley followed his bidding without question. Sheathed, he balanced between her legs and took her mouth in a kiss that left them both burning with need. Every lunge and suck was returned with hot demand.

  Bracing a hand behind her knee, he opened her wider and held his body in check, giving her the tip and nothing more.

  “Dylan, don’t do this to me,” she begged. “Please. I want it now.”

  As earlier, he kept her on the edge, withholding the ultimate prize. “What do you want, baby?” A couple more inches slipped inside. “You have to tell me.”

  Charley dug her nails into his ass. “Deeper,” she moaned, arching against him. “All of it. Now.”

  Losing the battle, he gave in and plunged to the hilt. Charley clenched around him, whimpering with gratitude as she met him thrust for thrust. Lost to everything but the woman clawing at his shoulders, Dylan kept a steady pace as he took her mouth in a series of bites and licks, before sinking his teeth into her shoulder. When she bucked, he drove harder and tasted the sweat on her skin. Salt and lust flooded his brain as his blood surged in one direction.

  Knowing he couldn’t hold off much longer, he reared up and rolled his thumb over her clit. “Come on, baby. Come with me.”

  Her body bowed as she cried out, panting with every roll of his hips. Gripping her thighs, he felt her tremble into oblivion as his own release ripped through his chest. Muscles locked as he gritted his teeth and buried his face in her neck. Dazed and spent, he dropped to the bed, coherent enough not to crush her. Charley’s chest heaved with her efforts to breathe, and he couldn’t resist the tight peak inches from his chin.

  An aftershock took her hard when his lips closed over her breast, her languid curves tightening for a second more before the quiver reached her toes.

  Lying in a tangle on top of the covers, Dylan couldn’t make himself stop touching her. “You okay?” he asked when she grew quiet.

  He felt more than saw her head nod. “I may never recover from that.”

  “Sure you will,” he replied, kissing her temple. “A few more rounds and we might get good at this.”

  Even her laughter was sexy. “A few more rounds my ass.” Turning in his arms, she pressed her back to his chest, and he pulled her in tight. “Let a girl recover, would you?” With a deep sigh, she closed her eyes.

  Dylan gave her a squeeze. “Are you going to sleep?”

  “A quick nap,” she replied, voice fading fast. “You wore me out.”

  Accepting her need for sleep, he reached up for a pillow and tucked it beneath his head as Charley seemed content to rest on his arm. An arm that would be asleep and tingling within minutes, but it was worth the pain to have her tucked up against him. As her breathing grew more even, Dylan picked up the rhythm and drifted off himself.

  Charley floated into consciousness, uncertain of where she was. The pillow didn’t smell like her pillows. Easing one eye open, she slammed it shut again. Why in the world was she sleeping with the light on? The whirl of a ceiling fan penetrated her foggy brain. Charley’s room didn’t have a ceiling fan. Cool air danced across her skin, and she reached for the blankets only to make contact with warm skin that wasn’t hers. Skin covered in a light dusting of hair that definitely was not hers.

  Both eyes popped open, and she mouthed oh my God as reality hit. Her movements stirred the man behind her, and a heavy leg landed on her bare thigh, bringing another part of Dylan Monroe’s anatomy into contact with her ass.

  Lungs seized as she held her breath, praying he wouldn’t wake up. Three seconds. Four seconds. Soft snores set a steady rhythm. She released her burning lungs but stayed a
s still as possible and assessed her situation.

  Yes, she’d gone home with a man. Yes, she’d had sex with him. No, she did not regret that choice—especially considering how good the sex had been—but dammit, spending the night had not been her intention. Dylan had made repeated comments that indicated he saw their little roll in the sheets as the start of something, not the sum of it. Staying would lead to more sex, and then an awkward morning after, and Charley knew without a shadow of a doubt that she would not be able to look this man in the eye and tell him, “Have a nice life.”

  Which meant she had to get out now. Nip this in the bud, as Grandma had liked to say. Though this was so not the time to be thinking about Grandma, rest her soul.

  First step—disengaging.

  Charley slowly eased toward the edge of the bed, dragging her legs from beneath his. Please be a heavy sleeper, she thought, inching her way to freedom. Listening for any change in his breathing, she closed her eyes and crept a little farther until her toes cleared his calf. Dylan snorted and she froze, feigning sleep, but the snores resumed, even and subtle. Of course he’d be a considerate snorer. The man was freaking perfect.

  Too perfect. Too kind and sweet and caring. The urge to stay knocked on her chest, and she cast a glance his way. Sweet baby Jesus, look at all that muscle. And those lips. No man should have lips like that. Perfectly full with a little curve in the top one, as if he’d been born with a built-in sexy grin.

  No. No way. This was a complication she did not need. Clothing. That’s what she needed.

  Shuffling around on her hands and knees, she located her panties first and shimmied into them. Her socks and shoes were next. She shoved the anklets into her Justin boots and continued the hunt. The shorts and bra were on the floor on his side of the bed, which slowed her progress. Crawling like the coward she was, Charley snagged both items, along with her cell, and did a visual search for her tank top as she slipped on the bra.

  The blasted thing was nowhere in sight. That would teach her to pay attention the next time she let a virtual stranger strip her naked. Not that she’d be partaking in this level of lunacy again anytime soon. Blast Ruby and her stupid advice. And blast Charley’s libido for buying into the birthday sex idea without a solid exit strategy.

  Something black caught her eye next to a chair in the corner. Dylan’s shirt. That would have to do. Forced to reach between two guitars balancing on stands, she eased onto her knees and extended an arm as far as she could without touching the instruments. One wrong move and she could kiss her narrow escape goodbye.

  The tip of a finger touched the cotton, but she couldn’t get close enough to grab it. Sucking in, as if that might somehow make her boobs smaller, she tried again, but the lace of her bra caught the edge of a string, wringing out a low bong.

  Suppressing the urge to curse aloud, she sent up a silent prayer for luck and waited for any sound from the bed. When the snoring continued, she let out a slow breath and switched to plan B. As gently as possible, she lifted a guitar off its stand and leaned it against the chair. After snatching the shirt and pulling it on, she put the guitar back and collected her boots.

  Blessed freedom lay less than ten feet away. Forcing herself to move slowly, Charley crawled to the door, turned the knob with excruciating care, and slipped into the hall, using the same measured touch to close the door behind her. Back to the wall, she exhaled with relief, amazed that she’d actually done it. Looking down, she righted her clothes. The shirt fit more like a dress, so she fastened enough buttons to cover her chest and tied the rest in a knot around her hips.

  A quick hand through her hair and she headed for the stairs, checking the time on her phone. Three a.m. If she hurried, she could probably get a car still out waiting for the late bar-hoppers. Entering her info, Charley realized she didn’t know Dylan’s address. Had she ever thought anything through less than this night? Pausing halfway down, she racked her brain for a solution.

  The restaurant. The Pharmacy was right up the street. Surely a driver could find that. Keying in the location, a car popped up on the screen. Ten minutes away.

  “I sure hope this is a safe neighborhood,” she muttered, hurrying the rest of the way down. At the bottom step, she sat and put on her socks and boots, debating whether or not to use the bathroom before running out the door. The pressure on her bladder won out, and she did a one-eighty back toward the kitchen, hoping one of the doors they’d passed might be a powder room.

  Unfortunately, what she found was a woman.

  “Well, hello,” the blonde said, eyes wide over a red coffee cup.

  Charley went with the first thing that came to mind. “Please tell me you aren’t his girlfriend.”

  “Depends,” the woman said, setting the mug on the counter. “Which room did you come out of?”

  “Top of the stairs. On the left.”

  The eyes went wide again. “Not my boyfriend. But you must be something special. I’ve lived here two years, and Dylan has never brought a woman home before.”

  He really was the most decent guy on the planet.

  “Actually, I’m nothing special. A car is coming to get me at the restaurant up the street, but I really need to pee. Is there a bathroom down here?”

  The high ponytail bounced as she nodded toward the door on Charley’s right. “In there. I’m Pamela, by the way.”

  “Charley,” she said, shuffling toward the restroom. “I’ll be right out.”

  With quick movements, she took care of business and washed her hands before stepping back into the kitchen.

  “If Dylan comes down soon, could you not tell him that we ran into each other?”

  Perfectly penciled brows arched. “Unusual, but I suppose you have your reasons. Do you steal a shirt from all the guys you do and ditch?”

  So much for female solidarity. “I couldn’t find the shirt I had on last night. If you’ll give me this address, I’ll send it back to him.”

  Pamela shook her head. “That would be too easy. Better go catch your car.”

  A check of her phone showed the driver was only blocks away. “Right.” Charley spun toward the door, but she couldn’t leave without making something clear. “I know that Dylan is a good guy. That’s why I have to go.”

  Blue eyes softened. “You’d better hurry then.”

  Without another word, Charley hustled to the door and made her final escape.

  Chapter 7

  The soothing sounds of AC/DC ripped Dylan out of a sound sleep.

  “What?” he mumbled, opening his eyes only to close them again. Between the sun slicing through the window and the glaring bulbs overhead, he’d be seeing spots for hours. As Angus shredded on guitar, Dylan felt around the nightstand for his phone and knocked the clock to the floor. The first order of business once his vision cleared would be changing that damn ring tone.

  Dylan leaned up on an elbow and peeked through shuttered lids to notice two important facts. He was naked. And he was alone.

  “Damn,” he sighed, dropping back to the bed. When the drums kicked in, he followed the sound to the chair in the corner and answered the call. “Hello?”

  “About time,” greeted Clay Benedict. “Where were you last night?”

  Double damn. “I forgot you were coming out, man. I left early.”

  “So I heard. Casey didn’t appreciate you ditching him for a girl.”

  “When I left Casey, he had his own girl on the line.”

  Clay chuckled. “If you mean that gorgeous blonde, she broke his heart just as I got there. He left for Tootsie’s before I had my first drink.”

  Swiping his boxer briefs off the floor, Dylan tucked the phone against his shoulder and slid them on. “I warned him he didn’t stand a chance with that one. Really sorry I cut out on you.”

  “Was she worth it?” the record exec asked.

  Glancing to the bed, Dylan smiled. “Yeah, she was.”

  “Good. Write a song about it.”

  Clay had been
nagging him to write his own stuff since their first week in the studio. Dylan had pointed out all the great songs they already had to choose from, and assured the label owner that if he ever wrote something worth cutting, Clay would be the first to know.

  “I’ve got good news,” the older man continued. “Eagle 101.5 is going to add your new single starting tomorrow, and they want you to do it live on the air.”

  Dylan dropped to the mattress. “Are you serious? During the morning show?” Ruby Barnett’s Country Crew, a syndicated show, aired on hundreds of stations across the country.

  “The news isn’t that good. Aldean is already scheduled during Ruby’s show, so they’re giving us a late-morning slot. You’ll be on the air with this new girl, Charley Layton, between eleven and twelve.”

  If that wasn’t a sign, Dylan didn’t know what was.

  “I’ll take it,” he said. “Have you let Mitch know?” Dylan hadn’t heard from his manager in a week, but news like this should have gone through him first.

  “I called, but no answer,” Clay replied. “Since this is tomorrow, I didn’t want to hold off letting you know. This is it, Dylan. Eagle has a huge audience here in town, and what the station adds, other stations pick up. You’ll be nationwide within a month.”

  He appreciated his boss’s confidence, but Dylan preferred to stay cautiously optimistic. Too many of his friends had gotten this far only to fade into oblivion by the time they’d signed their first autograph. “Sounds good, man.”

  “Are you ready for your life to change?”

  Smothering his inner realist, he replied, “Yes, sir. Bring it on.”

  “That’s what I like to hear.” The sound of a door opening echoed down the line, and Clay’s voice tightened. “Dylan, I’ve got to go. Be at the station at ten forty-five in the morning. I’ll meet you there.”

  “You’ve got it, boss.”

  The line went dead, and Dylan settled back on the bed, letting the phone drop to the mattress beside him. “See, Charley? You should have stuck around,” he muttered to the ceiling fan. “We could have learned the good news together.” Then again, maybe she wouldn’t see this as good news at all. He’d thought they’d made a connection, but then he’d been wrong about women before.