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I wheeled my crappy little rolling suitcase over to the front desk. A bellhop tried to take it from me, but I politely declined. Then I talked to the supermodel concierge about the cheapest room they had, which I’d only gotten because Rolling Stone was footing the bill and had to maintain appearances.
I looked around the lobby, filled with men in Armani suits and women who had more silicone in them than body fat.
Thank God I’d worn something halfway nice on the plane – designer jeans, suede boots, and a silk camisole top. I was going to change into something better, though, before I met the band.
Halfway through check-in, though, the supermodel behind the desk changed my plans.
“You’re Kaitlyn Reynolds?” she asked, reading her screen with a slight frown.
“Yes.”
“You’re here to interview guests of the hotel?”
My stomach twisted. “Yes… how’d you know that?”
Then I quieted down.
I was from Rolling Stone, baby! They probably got Rolling Stone journalists here all the time, interviewing rock stars. No big deal.
But that wasn’t why.
“Derek Kane left a message for you as soon as you checked in. He said to tell you he’s waiting for you in the bar.”
My stomach dropped through the floor.
“In the… the bar?” I asked, my tongue suddenly numb.
“Yes,” she smiled, and pointed across the lobby to my left. Two hundred feet away was a restaurant, a dark alcove set into the white and black marble.
“I… okay, I’ll just go up – ”
“He was very insistent that you should join him as soon as you arrived.”
Out of nowhere, the bellhop materialized and snagged my bag.
“Hey – ”
“He’ll take it up to your room for you. Here’s your key,” she said, handing over a little plastic card in a paper slip. “Mr. Kane said to send you right over.”
What if I don’t WANT to go right over?!
What if I want to go hide in my room and never, ever come out?
Instead, I just nodded dumbly.
“…okay…”
I don’t remember turning away from the front desk. I barely remember the long walk across the marble floor, my heels tck tck tck-ing in the vast, cavernous openness.
I sort of remember navigating through the dark wooden tables and leather chairs, past the maître d’, who smiled like I was expected.
But I will always remember my first sight of him.
He sat there against the far wall of the restaurant, his arms spread out atop the booth like he owned the place – the cock of the walk, the king of the world, the emperor of rock. He was wearing ripped jeans… a designer t-shirt that probably cost several hundred dollars… and his trademark sunglasses, even in the dim light of the bar.
I could see the tattoos on his muscular arms, even from far away.
Even more clearly, I could see the cocky grin he wore as he watched me walk slowly through the bar towards him.
I reached the table and stared down at him.
Before I could say anything, he peeled off his sunglasses. I was instantly transported back four years as I stared once again into the most beautiful green eyes I’d ever seen.
“Kaitlyn,” he said in that sexy, low growl of his. “I’ve been waiting a long, long time for this.”
ROCK ALL NIGHT (Part 2 of the Rock Star’s Seduction) should be available in January 2014!
For an email when it (and any other future book) is published, sign up for my email list at OliviaThorneBooks.com!
Meanwhile, if you haven’t read it yet, here's the first part of my previous erotic romance series: ALL THAT HE WANTS (Part 1 of the Billionaire’s Seduction)!
ALL THAT HE WANTS
The Billionaire’s Seduction
Part 1
1
I’m writing this because I’m heartbroken.
I’m writing this because I’m in love.
I’m writing this because more amazing, astounding, mind-blowing things have happened to me in the last two months than in my whole life before I met him, combined.
I’m writing this because I’ve lost more than I ever thought I would be able to bear.
And even though I hate myself for doing it, I pray to God I can hold him…
…kiss him…
…make love to him…
…just one last time.
• • •
Okay, enough of mopey beginnings. I’m really not that kind of girl, I swear.
I guess I should say ‘woman,’ not ‘girl.’ I am 24, after all, and, well, you know – ‘yay feminism,’ right?
It’s just that I never really felt like I was an adult. In a lot of ancient societies, they had some sort of ritual that women go through where you know you’re a woman afterwards. ‘You passed the ritual? Congratulations, you’re a woman by definition!’
