Rock Me Slower (Licks Of Leather Book 3) Read online

  ROCK ME SLOWER

  Licks of Leather, Book 2

  Jenna Jacob

  Published by Jenna Jacob

  Copyright 2020, Dream Words, LLC

  Edited by: Blue Otter Editing, LLC

  ePub ISBN: 978-1-7325731-6-1

  Print ISBN: 978-1-7325731-7-8

  If you have purchased a copy of this eBook, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book. This purchase allows you one legal copy for your own personal reading enjoyment on your personal computer or device. You do not have the rights to resell, distribute, print, or transfer this book, in whole or in part, to anyone, in any format, via methods either currently known or yet to be invented, or upload to a file sharing peer-to-peer program. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. If you no longer want this book, you may not give your copy to someone else. Delete it from your computer. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.

  Rock Me Slower

  I command the keyboard,

  but the only woman to command my heart is back…

  bigger, badder, and more beautiful than ever.

  Ozzy Page has it all—fame, fans, and a fortune too massive to spend. As keyboard player for renowned rock group Licks of Leather, he’s on top of the charts—and the world. But living his dream cost him the only woman he ever loved. His secret fling with Mia Harris was consuming and intense—and crushing when she used him to springboard her career. Seven years after their devastating breakup, watching her rise up the charts—on her new rock star lover’s back—has nearly destroyed his heart all over again.

  Mia Harris didn’t curl up and die when Ozzy Page chose his career over their love. Like her namesake, she rose from the ashes and reinvented herself as Phoenix, the sultry-voiced siren taking the male-dominated rock scene by storm. But when her personal life goes to hell, their mutual agent blindsides Mia with the news that she and Ozzy will be touring together for six long, close-quarter months.

  Will they finally learn to understand and forgive each other…or will their unforgettable longing end in flames?

  Dedication

  To those of you who’ve loved and lost,

  and found the strength to love again.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Thank You

  About the Author

  Also by Jenna Jacob

  Chapter One

  Ozzy

  “What the fuck did you just say?” I barked.

  Shock and panic rolled through me as I jerked a gaping stare at Quinn MacKinnon—owner of Fusion Productions and agent/promoter of our famed rock band, Licks of Leather—seated on the opposite end of the stretch limo.

  Had he seriously just dropped that fucking bombshell seconds before we were to walk the red carpet at the Grammy Awards? When my fellow bandmates—lead singer, Burk Jennings, guitarist Darren Ash, drummer Ross Walker, and bass player Syd Wilson, each locked a collective oh, shit stare on me—I knew I’d heard Quinn correctly. Even his wife, Ava, Burk’s fiancé—and our former road manager—Sofia Jackson, along with Darren’s soon-to-be wife, Tori Combs, turned their curious stares my way.

  Dread pounded me like a sledgehammer, keeping time with my thundering heart.

  “I said I just signed Phoenix to a seven-year contract,” Quinn repeated, grinning as he popped the cork on a third bottle of champagne. “Time to celebrate.”

  When the Grammy nominees were announced last November, Mia Harris, also known by her rock persona, Phoenix, was among them, and vying with Licks of Leather in several categories. Mia’s voice was a mesmerizing mixture of sultry, raw sensuality and guttural command. She had an impressive vocal range that spanned five fucking octaves, and the odds of her snatching those trophies out from under us were fifty-fifty. I honestly didn’t give a fuck about reaping another Grammy. My focus was on steeling my spine and not showing an ounce of emotion when I came face-to-face with my ex-lover. Mia’s gifts weren’t limited to music. She was beyond talented in bed. A fact validated by the cock-stirring memories roaring to life in my psyche.

  Dammit. I hadn’t spent the last two months erecting a wall of indifference to have my eager dick destroy my defenses. Though every cell in my system ached to clap eyes on Mia—making me wonder if I was a closet masochist or just a pussy-whipped moron—I had to stay strong and ignore my hungry hormones.

  If there’d been a way for me to bow out of this dog and pony show, I would have. But I was obligated to attend, and pride wouldn’t allow me to let the other guys in the band down simply for being a coward. Tonight’s agenda was simple—stay away from Mia and block the painful memories of the past. Unfortunately, Mia “Phoenix” Harris was still indelibly scored in my soul.

  The instant the willowy blonde had stepped onto the tiny stage during open mic night at a dive bar in Lincoln Park, Chicago, seven plus years ago, I’d lost my heart. And when she’d locked her hypnotic hazel eyes on me, I’d lost my soul.

  Mia’s compelling stage presence ruled the eclectic crowd. The room fell so utterly silent you could have heard a mouse fart. When she’d wrapped her slender hands around the neck of a beat-up acoustic guitar, I held my breath. Strumming a few chords, she’d parted those succulent lips and started to sing. The power and beauty of her sultry voice had wrapped each note like a lover’s embrace.

  My heart had started racing.

  My lips had tingled with an unparalleled need to taste her.

  My palms had itched to glide over every inch of her silky, smooth flesh.

  And my cock had stirred, lengthening so fast and hard it felt as if it would burst from my jeans. The demand to drag her beneath me and drown in her soulful cries of ecstasy was unlike anything I’d ever felt before…or since.

  Fuck! This wasn’t the time or place to trek down memory lane. Shoving images of the past away, I clenched my jaw and scowled as Ava slid a glass of champagne into my hand. Clearly, I wasn’t as prepared to see Mia tonight as I’d hoped.

  “And if all goes according to plan,” Quinn continued, lifting a glass of champagne in the air, “Phoenix will be the opening act for your next tour.”

  My heart sputtered and skipped, then slammed against my ribs. Christ, this couldn’t be happening. No. No. This was a nightmare. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Maybe I’d been sucked into a wormhole and shot out into some alternate universe. That had to be it, because I’d done nothing so horrific to piss off the gods to this extent.

  “She’s opening our tour in March? That’s only two months away. Are you fucking kidding me?” I barked.

  Quinn’s smile faded. His brows slashed and he pinned his narrow gaze on me as if I were a bug under a microscope. Long seconds later, he glanced at my fellow b
and members’ somber expressions.

  “No. Why would I be kidding? Phoenix is the hottest new artist in the industry. Combining your established fan base with this up-and-coming star is going to make the fans lose their minds and your concerts sell out in seconds. Is there a problem with that…with her?”

  “We’ll defer your question to Ozzy,” Burk volunteered.

  I shot the prick a glare.

  “You got a problem with Phoenix, Oz?”

  A problem? No. Try a million and one.

  My once comfortable cotton tee and suit jacket suddenly felt six sizes too small. So did my skin. The limo seemed like a coffin. I wanted to put a fist through the heavily tinted window and escape so I could breathe again.

  “Her name’s Mia… Mia Harris,” I bit out.

  Quinn arched his brows. “I’m well aware of that. Why are you on a first-name basis with her? You two aren’t involved, flying under the paparazzi’s radar, are you?”

  Not anymore.

  “No.”

  Without another word, I tossed back my glass of bubbly, draining it in one long gulp. Beside me, Ross lifted the half-empty magnum wedged between his knees and refilled it with a concerned stare.

  “Look, you don’t have to like her. Hell, you don’t even have to work with her,” Quinn explained. “All you need to do is exactly what you’ve been doing…play your music and feed your fans. But if there’s an issue with Phoenix, speak up now. I’m sending out a press release Monday morning, naming her your opening act.”

  “There’s no issue,” I assured as the limo rolled forward, only to stop again.

  Adding an opening act wasn’t the issue. Sharing a cramped tour bus with Mia for six endless months was. A big one. It was an episode of the Twilight Zone in the making.

  Face lined with suspicion; Quinn nodded. “Good.”

  “How the hell did you manage to sign Phoenix?” Darren asked. “I thought she was under contract with Gerry Huber.”

  “Well, suck my womb broom and call me a two-timing monkey whore. Check this shit out,” Syd cried, holding up his cell phone.

  Squinting, I tried to see what was on the screen, but he was too far away.

  “Like we can read that from here, dickless?” Ross drawled.

  “What’s it say?” Burk asked from the other side of me.

  “Put that away.” Quinn scowled. “You know better than to buy into any webloid’s bullshit. I’ve talked to Phoenix about the rumors and she assures me—”

  “What rumors?” I demanded.

  Since none of us in the band were industry climbers or attention whores, we’d skipped most of the pre-event parties. They were dull and rife with frivolous gossip that was gobbled up faster than the Michelin star meals served. Whatever rumors surrounded Mia, they likely held a modicum of truth. Still, if they’d been horrific, I knew Quinn would never have signed her.

  “You’ll have to ask her yourself. I don’t share my clients’ personal information, even the unbelievable shit you clowns have pulled over the years.” Quinn smirked.

  Ask her? Ha. Not my monkey, and definitely not my circus.

  “What shit? We’re your perfect clients,” Syd preened.

  Ignoring the bark of collective laughter and the ensuing banter, I tapped the screen on my phone as the limo inched forward again. My finger was poised on the Celebrity Access website—the tackiest tabloid of all—when the driver announced it was time for us to take the carpet. With an inward curse, I pocketed the device.

  “Remember, smile and wave, boys…smile and wave,” Quinn reminded.

  We knew the drill. This wasn’t our first red-carpet rodeo. Walk, stop, pose, smile, and always give the illusion that you’re thrilled to be there. Whatever.

  “And for fuck’s sake, when you beat Slash Devils for Best Rock Performance, try not to point and laugh at them this time.” Quinn chuckled.

  Honestly, I gave zero fucks about anything but keeping my shit wired tight.

  As the limo door opened, anxiety slammed up my spine. Hanging back, I closed my eyes and imagined I was back home, lounging by the infinity pool, drinking a cold brew, and basking in the sunshine. The six-acre estate nestled along the majestic Camelback Mountain in Scottsdale, Arizona, was my oasis of sanity. Savoring my happy place a couple of seconds longer, I dragged in a deep breath, then followed Burk, Darren, Ross, and Syd from the limo.

  I took the strobes from flashbulbs, shrieks of adoring fans, and cameras clicking off photos like machinegun fire in stride. The paparazzi yelled out our names, in hopes of capturing a money shot to sell to the highest bidder, while reporters shoved microphones in our faces and pelted us with questions.

  Quinn, Ava, Sofia, and Tori waited patiently on the sidelines, observing the chaos.

  “Breathe, man,” Burk instructed without his lips even twitching.

  “I’m trying,” I mumbled through a fake-assed smile.

  “I know this is a total clusterfuck but try to relax. We got your back, bro.”

  His reassurance sent a sliver of relief wending through my taut nerves, but it was short-lived. As a flashy pink limo pulled to the curb, the crowd went wild again. Some innate sense implored me to turn and walk away, but I couldn’t. My feet had suddenly turned to cement, refusing to move. Standing like a statue, I watched a beefy bodyguard climb from the vehicle and extend his hand to…

  Mia.

  The air in my lungs turned to sand.

  My heart hammered like a piston against my ribs.

  There she was, as dazzling and beautiful as ever.

  Flashing a blinding smile, Mia slid her hand in the man’s palm and extended her sexy legs from the vehicle. Legs she’d once wrapped around my waist, neck, and head as her screams of ecstasy resonated in my ears.

  Gut clenching and heart still chugging, I stamped every inch of the beautiful viper to memory again as she stepped out of the limo.

  Her blonde hair, now adorned with purple streaks, spilled over her shoulders like an amethyst waterfall and shimmered in the afternoon LA sun. Her full, lush lips—that I’d religiously wrecked…that had equally destroyed me when she’d wrapped them around my swollen cock—were stained a glossy plum color and stretched wide with an elated smile. Her green eyes glistened like diamonds beneath the glittery shadow dusting her lids. As I dragged my stare over the scraps of black leather and lace clinging to Mia’s wicked body, a flood of ancient emotions tore through me like a cat-five hurricane. Bittersweet memories of love and laughter crowded my brain, causing my all-too-forgiving cock to roar and claw from self-imposed hibernation.

  I hated how devastatingly gorgeous she still looked. But what I hated worse was wishing I’d never let her go. The amalgam of conflict churning within made me want to howl.

  “Come on, man.” Burk clapped me on the back. “Let’s give the carpet to dragon lady and find a drink. If I need one, I know you do.”

  “There’s not enough booze on the planet,” I groused.

  As if sensing my presence, Mia turned and locked her hazel pools on me. And just like the first time our stares clapped together, I felt our souls collide again. The force rocked the ground under my feet and momentarily erased the war that had annihilated our once blissful world.

  A flash of love and longing softened her expression, but Mia quickly banked it and sent me a brittle, arctic smile.

  There’s my little cutthroat, fame-and-fortune junkie.

  I knew Mia couldn’t hide her true colors for long. At least I’d been smart—unlike the dipshit still inside the pussy-pink limo, probably guzzling Cîroc—and cut all ties with Mia before she could sink her opportunistic claws into my flesh.

  As if on cue, the crowd stared expectantly at the limo’s open door and began chanting “Iron.”

  Mia’s smile faltered slightly, but like a well-trained actress, she recovered quickly, forcing her lips to spread even wider. But instead of Nigel “Iron”—Mia’s bad-boy British lover—emerging and flashing his usual cocky smile, the bod
yguard shut the door and the limo pulled away.

  Interesting.

  Why the hell was Mia attending her first Grammy Awards alone?

  The bottom-feeding tabloids would stroke out if they couldn’t gorge on Mia and Iron’s high-profile relationship.

  Maybe there was trouble in paradise. Or maybe Nigel had finally pulled his dick out of her pussy and figured out Mia was only using him as a springboard to launch her own career. Or maybe after soaring to the top of the charts and tapping out all of Nigel’s connections and influence, she’d got rid of all her excess baggage and kicked his ass to the curb.

  I’d soon find out. Keeping secrets in this industry was like owning unicorns.

  Burk nudged me again, mutely urging me toward the entrance of the Staples Center, but I shook my head.

  The reporters had turned on Mia, rabidly hounding her with questions regarding Iron’s whereabouts. To the pouncing paparazzi, her fake-as-fuck smile appeared as if she were cool as a cucumber. But I knew Mia inside and out. Panic was swirling like a tornado beneath her carefully crafted façade.

  The few shards of my heart she hadn’t crushed beneath her signature stilettos begged me to intervene and save her from the merciless onslaught. But seeing her had exhumed all the old anger and bitterness from their graves. Thanks to Mia, I wasn’t a naïve, love-struck fool who believed in soul mates or happy-ever-after bullshit anymore.

  You made your bed, sunshine.

  Clenching my jaw, I peeled my gaze from her.

  “Oz,” Burk whispered tersely, draping an arm around Sofia’s waist. “Let’s go.”