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“Fuuuck me,” he said, staring down at the image on the front cover. “Damn, you look sexy as hell.”
With a moan, I slumped over the island, my head on my arms, and Viper chuckled.
“You don’t like it?”
I lifted my head. “My parents are going to see that.”
“I’m sure they’ve seen worse. They can put it out on their coffee table.”
“Half of America’s gonna see it. This is basically my introduction to the world, and it’s like, hey, wanna see my ass? Great first impression. Really.”
Viper turned the magazine sideways to get a better view. “Shit, I wish this had been my first impression. People are gonna cream their fuckin’ pants. I think I’ll frame this.”
As he lowered the magazine, I got another glimpse of the image. Instead of using one of the group shots—clothed, I might add—they’d gone with the naked, oiled-up shots of me and Viper in a very compromising position. Viper stood there like a sex god with his guitar hanging strategically over his body, while half my bare ass was on display, my body turned toward his and my arm reaching across him to grip the neck of his guitar.
Fuckin’ hell. If people didn’t already know we were together, there would be no doubt after seeing this shot.
“Hey,” Viper said, coming around the island to stand behind me, his chin on my shoulder. “Look at this. Look at us. Forget what anyone else thinks. This? It’s gonna fly off the fuckin’ stands.”
“No one’s gonna take us seriously.”
Viper snorted. “First lesson in rock ’n’ roll, Angel. Sex sells. This is gonna make people curious. It’s gonna make them check us out. They’re gonna talk about us. Word will spread. And you know what that means?”
“I’m gonna have to hide under my bed for the rest of my life?”
“It means album sales. It means sold-out fuckin’ tours. It means people coming to see you so they can scream out our lyrics and throw their goddamn bras on the stage. That’s what it means.”
I stared down at the image of us and tried to see it the way Viper saw it—as a good thing. “You really think this’ll help?”
“Mark my words.” He trailed his lips down the side of my neck, and I shivered.
“But what about the guys? Won’t they be pissed it’s just us on the cover?”
I could feel him shrug and continue kissing along my shoulder. “Wasn’t our call. Wasn’t theirs either. They’ll get over it.”
I reached back to hold the back of Viper’s head while I flipped through the magazine to the feature on Fallen Angel. That was where they’d posted the group shots, and I had to admit, those looked good. I stood in the middle, all in white, while the others wore head-to-toe black, and the effect was visually stunning. And the interview wasn’t too bad, either.
“Imelda did a good job on the interview,” I said. “I half expected her to write, ‘Halo is the woefully unprepared newbie. Let’s hope he can hack it.’”
Viper chuckled and reached past me to shut the magazine. The image of us stared back at me, all that glistening skin on display. The photographer had been right about not shooting porn—my cock was thankfully hidden behind Viper’s body, but damn. I was just so…naked.
Then again, so was Viper. I concentrated on him instead, taking in the sexy pout, the strong lines of his body. Fuck, he was beautiful. He was wrong that it would be me everyone was looking at. There was no way anyone could take their eyes off him once they caught a glimpse. The look in his eyes was so full of sex and desire that it was like a tractor beam pulling you in.
When I told him as much, Viper laughed. “That’s because your hard dick was rubbing up against me. The photographer better be glad I didn’t bend you the fuck over right then and there.”
“Mmm. That would’ve been a much more indecent photo.” As Viper’s fingers flirted with the waistband of my jeans, my head fell back to rest on his shoulder. “You know, this is actually the only picture we have of us.”
“Good, ’cause I’m a fuckin’ fan.”
I grinned, and Viper’s hand moved down over my zipper, and then he began to massage my cock through my jeans.
“I thought you were hungry for breakfast,” I said.
The pressure of his hand increased as he practically growled, “I am.”
Hell, I wasn’t about to say no to that, and as his mouth crashed down on mine, I thrust my hips forward into his touch.
Eleven
Viper
I HAD TO hand it to Rolling Stone: they had a bunch of smart motherfuckers working for them, because the photograph staring up at me from my kitchen counter was spectacular.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen such a controversial image splashed across the front of a magazine. But as my eyes roamed over the smooth, tanned skin of Halo’s back and ass, my reaction told me that what I was looking at was something that was going to make one hell of an impact.
