Karyn Gerrard - Heart of Rock

Carly exhaled a shaky breath, and with it went her annoyance. Byrne stood and walked to her. The look on his face was tender and concerned. Her legs were threatening to give out. This damned man . He touched her arms, and an electric current sizzled, snapped, and covered her whole body.

"It will be all right, Carly. I'm so sorry this happened. I swear, I didn't know. I wouldn't do anything to upset you."

Brogan Byrne did upset her on so many levels and in so many ways. She curled her fists. Carly wanted nothing more than to roam her hands all over his damned gladiator chest and through the ebony and ivory silky hair on his head. She wanted to hold him close and protect him, but she also wanted to kick his stupid, careless ass. Her eyes roamed over the glorious torso on display.

Oh, daammmmnnnnn—

Brogan released her arms and they returned to their seats. He honestly didn't know how the dope got in there. When did he last use that set of luggage? He had more than one. He racked his brain. Fourteen months ago on the southern tour, he got the weed in Kentucky. He remembered. Brogan really didn't know it was there. If he did, he would have smoked it long ago.

He could feel the irritation rolling off Carly like waves cresting at the beach. The emotion was beyond anger. He could sense her irritation. He also sensed something else. It was like she cared. Surely, he was mistaken. What could he say? She was right. He fecked up royally. He didn't like her being angry at him or disappointed. For her, he tried to be a better man, and he failed miserably.

Brogan's heart clenched. He didn't want her replaced. He had grown accustomed to her face, her voice, and her commanding presence. He liked the frank way in which she spoke to him and her no-nonsense attitude. Never mind those lush curves, sexy freckles, and her long, glorious legs. He closed his eyes and thought of the kiss on the beach again as he had been for the last ten days. He wanted to do more than kiss. Back in the VIP lounge at the Philly airport, he had thought he would fuck her for sport, a conquest. It no longer appealed. When Brogan's unused heart compressed in his chest, he knew. He was falling for her.

Hotel Marquis De Montcalm

Downtown Montreal, Quebec, Canada

After being printed and charged in Toronto, Brogan's concert went off without a hitch. Of course it made the papers. There was a shot of him in cuffs being led into the police station. He had to call Nevan to tell him the details and to get him to explain to the rest of the family back home in Dublin. Explain what? That he made a fool of himself—again? He knew he would have to call his parents soon. Somehow talking to them about his mishaps would make it all too real. He would be the cover story for next week's Rock Reports magazine. Bloody great.

Brogan sat in his private suite. He glanced at the finger foods on the nearby table. The snacks didn't appeal. He wanted a drink or three. The concert at the Montreal Forum was tomorrow night. He would give credit to the Canadians fans. They didn't care about his arrest for drug possession. The story made more of a sensational splash in the States than it did here. Typical. When this tour was finished, maybe he should head back to Dublin for a while. He might have to if US Customs Service made a stink about his arrest. They could refuse him re-entry across the border. He wasn't a citizen. The American government could revoke his work visa. What a muck-shite mess.

Carly stepped into the suite. She drew a sharp breath. She had been avoiding Byrne as much as she could since the arrest. The phone call to Nigel had not been pleasant. He blamed her as she knew he would. Her job hung in the balance, though Nigel didn't come right out and say so. The next day he called back and in a calmer tone stated he was giving her another chance. Did Byrne have anything to do with Nigel's change in mood?

Her gaze scanned over his stunning body. His tie-dyed undershirt hugged every muscled plane of his chest. She should walk away and continue to avoid him, but the forlorn look on his face drew her to him. The lost little boy thing he had going appealed.

Carly sat down on the leather sofa next to him. "You talked to Nigel, didn't you? On my behalf."

"Aye. Why not? I have some sway. Why not use it? You're a good manager, Carly. You're not to blame for my feckin' disasters. I swear I didn't know the weed was there," Byrne whispered.

"I believe you."

To her everlasting shock she found she did believe him. She more or less had believed him in Toronto, but she hadn't spoken it aloud until tonight. It was her experience these petulant rock stars would lie through their teeth to get their way. She could tell when they were lying. Byrne was not being untruthful here.

He moved closer and put his arm around her. "You don't know what it means that you believe me. I think we make a good team."

Carly couldn't help but snort. "You're so full of shit, Byrne. Irish blarney, that's you."

The good-natured ribbing was soon replaced by something else: a blast of raw sensual heat very similar to the night on the beach. His skin sizzled and enveloped her in his sexual aura. The wave seared her where her side touched his. In a smooth, quick move, Byrne pulled her onto his lap. She didn't fight it. His hand caressed her bare leg with decided purpose and thoroughness. The feeling sent sparks to all parts of her body.

"What in hell are you doing?" she whispered.

Byrne nuzzled her neck. "Touching you."

The hardness of his cock was very evident under her ass. Carly had already seen his impressive equipment on the beach. She couldn't help imagining it now, considering she was all but impaled on him. He pulled her in tighter, his hand stroked her back, and his lips moved closer.

"I like sitting women on my lap, always did," he murmured.

"Byrne… don't."

She didn't move off him or push him away. He laid light kisses on her cheeks and her chin while purposely avoiding her lips. He teased her, and his sensual mouth was the weapon of choice. The Irish bastard.

"Don't what? Touch you? Kiss you?"

Oh, God, she wanted him to do more than touch and kiss her. She had closed the door when she walked in, but she hadn't secured it. Would it be frigging obvious if she jumped to her feet, ran to the door, and locked them in? Carly was weary. The emotional roller coaster ride she'd been on since taking this assignment chipped away at her resolve to stay immune to Byrne. She didn't want to fight it anymore. Her hand touched his cheek. Freshly shaved. His greenish, whiskey-colored eyes were clear, lucid, and filled with desire. Holy hell.

She kissed him with a long, deep, and passionate purposefulness that bordered on wantonness. In return he growled, and the snarl sounded sexy and animalistic. In a single slick move, Byrne placed her on her back with him on top. All the while their kiss continued as his hands explored her body. Before she could blink, her top was unbuttoned and her bra pushed toward her chin to expose her breasts. Byrne groaned again.

"Bloody stunning. I knew they would be."

His mouth clamped on one of her nipples, and she cried out. His tongue swirled, his lips sucked, and her spine arched upward. Her hands tunneled through his silken black and white hair. Oh, God, she was so turned on. She wanted to be fucked, hard and deep. One of Byrne's hands cupped her breast and squeezed as he bit on her nipple. The electric sensations sparked her lust to even greater heights. Carly had never been this damned horny. She spread her legs as far apart as she could in invitation.

"Fuck me, Byrne. Fuck me." She didn't recognize her own voice. It was harsh and raspy like the possessed kid in the Exorcist movie. She crossed her legs tightly behind his ass with her high heels pressed into his lower back. She was seconds away from begging and pleading. She would do anything to have his cock pound her fast and furiously. She moved her own hips and moaned her frustration.