Slow Burn (Feverish #4) Read online

  Closing his eyes, Brian leaned his head back against the door now, waiting to feel her mouth wrap around him. He could feel his pulse in his cock as he sucked a deep breath in through his nostrils and he felt like a horse stuck behind the gate, so eager to run free. As she ran her hand down his shaft again, shivers rippled over his flesh in anticipation.

  Then she said, “Um, no,” and she let go of him.

  Brian’s eyes popped open in a snap. “What?”

  “No,” she said, standing up and dusting off her hands as if she’d just accomplished a task. “I think you’ll have to take care of yourself, Mr. Zimmer.”

  He looked down at his cock, wondering if something was wrong. Did he have something down there that he’d missed in the shower? Was he showing signs of disease or was something else amiss? But as he scrutinized, his good ol’ boy looked as good as ever. “What’s going on?”

  “Obviously, I’ve changed my mind.” Cocking her eyebrow, she moved to the side, reaching for the doorknob.

  “Yeah, I get that,” he said, still in shock, painfully trying to shove his engorged cock back into his underwear nonetheless. And then his brain went back to middle school sex ed—or high school. He couldn’t quite remember which, especially right now. “And that’s your choice. That’s fine.”

  “But don’t you want to know why?”

  Something didn’t feel right. “Well, yeah. Of course, I do.”

  Pressing her pointy index finger into his chest right between his pecs, she then looked straight into his eyes. She wasn’t quite smirking, but the way her eyebrow cocked up didn’t help him get himself under control. “After you broke up with Cookie Brown, you made some particularly vile comments about models.”

  “What the fuck does that have to do with you?”

  “I am a model. Most of the people I know are models. And we are not stupid. It just so happens I was working on my law degree and trying to find a way to pay for it. I started modeling lingerie to do that—and the more I modeled, the more I made. I chose to become a full-time model, Mr. Zimmer, because it paid the bills. In fact, it’s become quite lucrative.”

  “So this was all just a ploy?”

  “Yes, you could call it that. I wanted to get your attention, because you think you’re so funny.”

  “Wait a second.” Brian’s cock had softened enough that his brain could focus. His balls ached, but that was another story entirely. “You’re telling me that you spent money on a concert ticket and a VIP after party just so you could get my attention, hold my cock in your hands, and then turn me down?”

  “I wanted to send a distinct message—and it will work. If you say another nasty thing about models again, I’ll tell the world I decided not to sleep with you because you have a thin penis.”

  Brian would have started laughing, but those were fighting words. His cock was anything but thin. “I think you’re the one with a problem, lady.”

  “Maybe so. But I’m not gonna have to rub one out in a few minutes.” With that, she turned the doorknob and stepped out into the hallway.

  Brian watched the door close and thought some of chasing her, ultimately deciding against it. In the grand scheme of things, he considered himself lucky. After all, she could have done some serious damage to his good ol’ boy and instead she only disappointed him.

  And made him slightly angry—but he’d get over it.

  In the meantime, though, she’d been right about one thing—and he was going to have to take care of that before heading back down to the party…

  Chapter Two

  Sophia Buckley sat in the tiny kitchen of the apartment she shared with her roommate. As she sipped her first cup of coffee, she posted a selfie that she’d taken a couple of weeks ago.

  The message, however, she composed while drinking the coffee:

  Never let anyone tell you who you can be.

  There was a famous musician who said recently that models are vain airheads. His words ate at me for a while, because we are NOT. We are intelligent people who merely use the gifts that the universe has blessed us with.

  But this musician has made similar statements more than once and I just couldn’t take it anymore—so, last night, I got my revenge. I actually met him and flirted with him. I made him believe I was totally into him, so he took me back to his place. And, just when things got hot and heavy, I stopped.

  Oh, yes, I did. Left him with his jaw hanging.

  Who’s the stupid bimbo NOW, dude?

  #modelsofig #SmartModels #fashionmodel #rockstarsarestupid #sweetrevenge

  With a grin, Sophie set her phone down after finishing the post. It had seemed to take forever, but she finally had just shy of ten-thousand followers on Instagram. While her goal wasn’t to be an influencer on the platform or model products there, she wasn’t averse to it. For now, though, it was a place to speak her mind and post pictures of beautiful things.

  “Soph,” said Rory, walking out of his bedroom in a royal purple robe, “are you working today?”

  “No.”

  “Want to ride the train with me anyway?”

  “And what in the name of heaven would I do downtown while you were doing your thing?”

  “We talked about this,” he said, sashaying the few steps fully into the kitchen. “You need to be seen. You need to be around influential people.”

  “And how exactly does riding the subway do that for me, Ror?”

  “You have to think outside the box, sweetie.” While he talked, he poured a cup of coffee at the counter. “While I’m at my audition, you go to that coffee shop where everybody goes—and then, when I’m done, the two of us can go to lunch at the Peppermill.”

  “It’s probably too late to make reservations.”

  “Soph,” he said, reaching in the fridge for the hazelnut creamer, “that’s why you need to read the NYT. If you did, you’d know that even though the Peppermill is still trendy and one of the places to be, it’s much easier to get in nowadays.” Slamming the door shut punctuated his next phrase. “Without a reservation.”

  Letting out a long sigh, Sophie watched Rory stir his coffee before sitting down next to her. She said, “Your point is valid—but I’m going to have to go easy on the spending for now.”

  “You just had to go to that stupid concert. And how did that work out for you anyway?”

  “I feel better, okay? That guy was such a jerk—and you should have seen his face, Ror. Totally worth it.”

  “I’ll see what you think next week when you’re starving—and not by choice.”

  “Still worth it.”

  When she peeked at her phone, Rory sat up, his brown eyes practically glowing. “Oh, my God. You didn’t.”

  Sophie made her eyes wide, hoping she’d appear innocent. “What?”

  “You did. Oh, my God, you did. What platform? Sophie?”

  Taking another slow sip of coffee, she hoped Rory would give up and believe her—but the way he stared her down as if he could see into her soul made her let out another sigh. “Instagram.”

  “What the hell photo did you pair with it? It’s not something trashy, is it? You don’t want to destroy the audience you’ve worked so hard to curate.”

  While she didn’t know that curate was exactly precise, her roommate was right about one thing: she’d wooed and maintained her Instagram audience with care, feeding them selectively. But, for once, her life was a little juicy and she hadn’t had the heart to deny herself. Not this time.

  “It was just a selfie I took at the park the other day.”

  “That’s fine. They love intimate photos of you. But what did you say?”

  Sophie pursed her lips together—because she hadn’t told Rory just how far she’d planned to go for revenge.

  “Soph? What did you say? You might as well tell me. It’s not like I can’t look at it on my phone.”

  “Fine. Go ahead.”

  “You’re impossible.” In a huff, Rory got up from the table and rushed into his bedro
om, returning in just seconds holding a phone with a sparkly fuchsia cover. He was humming something, probably his audition song, as he sat down, already swiping at the screen. “Oh. My. God.” He was such a drama queen.

  “It’s not that bad. I tried to sound empowering. You’d—”

  “No. Look at this.” He handed Sophie his phone, the Instagram app open, Sophie’s post front and center.

  “Oh, my God!”

  “That’s what I said!”

  Sophie set down her cup and clicked so she could start to read the comments—but it was clear that her post had gone viral. Already she had hundreds of hearts and dozens of comments, and it wasn’t just from her followers. “Do you think it was because of one of my hashtags?”

  “I have no idea. Hand that to me,” he said, hand extended.

  After giving him back his phone, Sophie picked up hers. Opening the Instagram app again, she read through her words. Her hashtags weren’t anything special, and she hadn’t even used as many as she usually did. What had made this particular post blow up when she’d been trying to intentionally do this very thing for months, years?

  “Holy shit. What do you think sparked all this attention?”

  “I have no idea…but we need to figure out how to capitalize on this.”

  “How exactly do you think I could capitalize on it? I don’t think any of my followers are people in the industry.”

  “You never know, but that’s beside the point. This is free publicity.”

  “Again, Rory, I’m not seeing your point.”

  “Haven’t you ever heard that there’s no such thing as bad publicity? You can call the papers or magazines—or email them—and point them in the direction of your post.”

  “I am not gonna do that.”

  “Girl, you need to think outside the box. You can call them as your publicist, not as yourself, because of course someone of your celebrity wouldn’t deign to self-promote.”

  Sophie wasn’t sure if she should take her roommate seriously or not, but it was no matter. She wasn’t about to call the media to alert them to her post.

  That had already doubled in views since she’d last peeked. “This is insane. It’s freaking me out.” With Rory’s words in mind, she started scanning the comments to see if, perhaps, there were any influential people who’d seen it who could help her out. Instead, the top remarks all said similar things:

  OMG! Who is the guy?

  This musician…you said he’s famous? Don’t be shy. Dish.

  DYING to know who this a$$hole is!

  Holy hell. Call him out, girl. We wanna know!

  Sophie had to stop scrolling. Too many people were asking too many questions that she couldn’t—and wouldn’t—answer. “This is stressing me out.”

  “Maybe instead of my audition we could have a spa day.”

  “No way, Ror. You don’t dare miss it. I know you really want this role.”

  “There’ll be others, petunia.”

  “Stop it. Go get ready. I’ll figure it out. Maybe I’ll take a run around the park.”

  “That’s a great idea.”

  It sure as hell was—but Sophie was afraid that post would be even more insane when she got back home. Maybe, though, a run would clear her head enough that she would know what to do next. Because Rory was right about one thing: there was no such thing as bad publicity. Sophie just wasn’t sure yet how to spin it to make her life better.

  * * *

  After securing his hair in a tie, Brian exited the hotel room to wait for the gang. The plan was to have a quick breakfast either in the hotel restaurant or a nearby café before hitting the road. Ordinarily, they would have already been on the bus all night heading to their next venue.

  Brian stood in the hall kind of pacing, full of nervous energy, wanting to be around his friends to get his mind off last night’s shit. Unfortunately, everyone was taking their sweet time. When he saw a man and woman with a pre-teen boy heading down the hall, he moved out of the way, pretending to look at a painting on the wall. But the kid approached him.

  Of all days, now wasn’t the time—but when Brian glanced to his side and looked down at the kid, his heart softened a bit. The boy, maybe ten or eleven, looked up at him with wide brown eyes, so Brian said, “Hey, how’s it goin’?” He could only imagine his parents were probably feeling horrified.

  “You’re Brian Zimmer, the bassist for Last Five Seconds?”

  “Ollie, leave the man alone,” his mother said.

  Brian made eye contact with her and saw a mixture of fear and embarrassment. “That’s okay.” Looking down at the kid, he said, “Yep, that’s me.” Then he stuck out his tattoo-covered hand. “Put ‘er there, pal.”

  Grinning from ear to ear, he shook Brian’s hand vigorously. “Can I get your autograph?”

  “We can take a picture if you want.”

  The kid’s eyes grew wide. His mom expression continued to be one of distaste, but his dad gladly snapped a photo of the two of them standing against the wall away from the painting. Finally, even his mom acquiesced, handing Brian a small notebook and pen. While he signed the first sheet of paper, he asked the boy, “Are you going into music when you grow up?”

  “I already am. I play drums for my school’s marching band. But I’m learning to play bass.”

  “Keep it up, bud. It’ll pay off.”

  “We have to go, Oll.” After Brian shook the kid’s hand again and the family started walking down the hall, his dad mouthed Thanks to Brian, and he reciprocated with a nod. As much as he hated being eyed everywhere he went, that was the kind of encounter that warmed his heart.

  He was still smiling when Clay and Emily finally exited their room. Clay said, “Hey, man. Who was that chick you were with last night?”

  The last thing Brian wanted to talk about was Sophia or Sophie—if that was even her name. If she could lie about who she was until they were in a compromising position, what else could she have fabricated? She’d said at first that she was a lawyer but she was really a model? While he had to admit she’d gotten him good, to go to the trouble of sucking on his dick with the sole purpose of making a point just emphasized his earlier words, and he’d double down on them.

  Models were fucking stupid airhead bimbos.

  And what happened last night was a secret he’d take with him to the grave. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to do some research on her later after the sting faded a bit.

  “Some dumb model.” Brian said, hoping that would be the end of that. Because Emily was along, Clay wouldn’t say anything suggestive or ask for details, so that would probably end the small talk about the woman.

  Then again, he also knew that his love life could become speculative fodder for his attached bandmates to vicariously experience the fun of the road.

  “How do you attract them, man? It’s like you have a model magnet in your cock.”

  Emily did roll her eyes at that but said nothing. As if on cue, Sam exited his room just as Dane opened his door closer to them. Sam asked, “Everyone ready?”

  “Hell, yeah,” Clay said. “I’m starving.”

  Everyone was in general agreement as they headed to the elevator. Brian, realizing now that he’d have to keep any attention deflected off him, asked, “So when are Sam and Dane’s old ladies gonna be joining us on tour? I’m sure Emily wouldn’t mind the company.”

  Clay’s partner smiled, raising her eyebrows, and then shrugged. Brian remembered how, back in the day, Sam’s old girlfriend Debbie would corner Emily, practically holding her hostage, and it was evident to everyone else how uncomfortable Clay’s girlfriend was around Sam’s. Emily’s answer surprised him, though. “I would love to be around a little less testosterone on occasion.”

  “Babe…” Clay almost looked hurt.

  “You have time with your bros every day. I would like the same for myself. You’re who I want to come home to at night.”

  Clay grinned and kissed her, placated.

 
Sam said, “Grace is finishing up her degree—and she’s not against coming along for at least this summer. But then she’s gonna be going to grad school. I’m not sure what that’s gonna look like yet.”

  Dane agreed. “Her and Charlie both. I don’t know that Charlie’ll ever come on tour. But we’ll still make it work.”

  “Wait, guys!” Clark, one of the roadies, hollered from down the hall. He caught up while they waited in front of the elevator. “You guys mind if I grab breakfast with you?”

  “That’s cool,” Sam said. The man wasn’t just their frontman; they often deferred to him as if he were their actual leader. Because Sam tended to be a peacemaker and a generally good guy, it worked out just fine that way.

  The six of them got onto the spacious elevator but, suddenly, it was as if no one had a word to say. The elevator creaked at one point on its way down, but no one seemed to notice. In just seconds, they were all stepping out into the hotel’s cavernous lobby, complete with shiny white marble floors and ample lighting.

  It started with the two twenty-something females by the furniture midway in the lobby, whispering and pointing at the group. Brian peeked at himself and the guys and realized they stuck out like sore thumbs in this high-class place. All five men had enough tattoos for a small town on their arms alone, and Sam was the only one of the bunch with short hair, something he’d changed a few years ago. Emily was the only person there without obvious ink, but even with her height, she was overshadowed by the men surrounding her.

  Were the women looking at them scared or intrigued? That was something he never knew until they spoke.

  The other guys didn’t seem to notice. Maybe it was because they were talking about last night’s concert—but Brian’s attention was focused on other things he didn’t want to share. He even missed when the group settled for the restaurant in the hotel just to keep things simple. As they walked en masse through the lobby, the two women tentatively moved closer to their path. Then one of them thrust out a small notebook, asking, “What band are you guys with?”

  Sam, ever the diplomat, kept it simple. “Last Five Seconds.”