Never fall for a rockstar... Julian Wheaton views the world through a kaleidoscope of synesthesia, seeing the colors of every sound he hears. His life as an iconic rock guitarist was a stressful psychedelic trip that nearly destroyed him. Now he’s abandoned the rock ’n’ roll lifestyle for the peaceful sanctity of his recording studio, but when fiery Cleo Compton comes to work for him, she brings chaos with her. Cleo Compton has had her flings with rockstars—and it’s left her wary and bruised. Julian may have those sexy bedroom eyes and drool-worthy tattoos, but Cleo is determined to keep things strictly professional—until Julian turns out to be every dream she’s ever chased. When he risks it all to hit the road with a band again, Cleo fears he’ll return as the one thing she can no longer abide—a rockstar.
Carol Pavliska began her writing career as a family humor columnist and blogger, a pursuit she abandoned when her children became old enough to realize they were being exploited. To save them from further embarrassment, she turned to writing fiction. The kids are still embarrassed. When she’s not creating unrealistic expectations as a romance writer (ripped abs, dramatic temperaments, and eyes like bottomless pools of Hey Girl), she functions quite nicely in her real world, which consists of a delightfully stable husband and five children. Carol and her husband, both die hard Red Hot Chili Peppers fans, raise their vegan brood of mortified offspring on a cattle ranch in South Texas. No lie.
Her back was pressed up against the wall; there wasn’t even an inch to spare. Julian bent and kissed her neck. People yelled at each other outside the bus, and voices hummed inside, as well. “We don’t have any privacy.” Julian kissed the sweet spot right behind her ear. “That’s true,” he whispered. “Anybody could walk in.” The bus shook as things were loaded into the storage wells. “Excuse me,” someone said, just outside the door. “Hey, has anybody seen Lazros?” Julian put his hand over Cleo’s mouth. “Shh…” He unbuckled his belt, and she heard his zipper go down. “I’m in my bunk,” he said to the door. “What do you want?” Oh, God. He was actually going to carry on a conversation with someone just a few steps away while he…what would he do next? His knee went between her legs, forcing them apart. Oh. “Wayne wants to know if you’ll be keeping your Les Paul with you or if you want him to take care of it.” The voice was so close. Right outside the door! “I’ll keep it,” Julian answered. Then he slipped his fingers between her thighs, inside her panties, and she closed her eyes and tried not to whimper. Julian’s voice was right at her ear. “Oh, Cleo,” he whispered. “Somebody is a naughty girl.” She totally was. He pulled his hand away and stepped back. Cleo thought she’d fall, but somehow her legs held her up. “Onto the bunk, baby,” Julian said softly. “Spread your legs.” She looked over his shoulder at the small door. “What if someone tries to come in?” Her pulse sped up. Julian grinned. “They’ll hit my ass with the door.” He gently pulled on her hand until she sat on the bunk. His fly was already open, and he was very ready to go. He pressed her shoulder until she leaned back. Keeping a nervous eye on the tiny, uninsulated door that led to the narrow corridor, Cleo pressed her knees tightly together. But only because she wanted to hear him beg. Or demand. Or anything, really. “Uh-uh, little girl,” he said. “Spread those legs. And give me the knickers—they’re going on tour.”