Her Rockstar Billionaire E-Book

Jessa James

• Herausgeber: Jessa James
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: Bad Boy Billionaires
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 90

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

You have to understand. I was shy. Eighteen. And so in love I was ready to give up everything. Only he wouldn't let me. He broke my heart. Pushed me away. Now he's back. He's a rock star, a bad boy, a total egomaniac, a tattoo covered rock god with naked women begging for his attention. He has platinum albums, money, fame. Everybody wants a piece of him. Everyone but me. Been there, done that. My heart shattered into a million pieces when he left. I'm still broken on the inside. I loved him. I trusted him. And he ruined me. Only a complete idiot would let him get close. But when he touches me, I melt. My heart races. I crave him. Guess I'm not that smart after all.

Leseprobe

Her Rockstar Billionaire

Bad Boy Billionaires - Book 2

Jessa James

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Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Epilogue

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Also by Jessa James

About the Author

Her Rockstar Billionaire: Copyright © 2017 by Jessa James as Rock Me

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electrical, digital or mechanical including but not limited to photocopying, recording, scanning or by any type of data storage and retrieval system without express, written permission from the author.

Published by Jessa James

James, Jessa

Her Rockstar Billionaire

Cover design copyright 2017 by Jessa James, Author

Images/Photo Credit: Deposit Photos: VitalikRadko; 4045qd; Ssilver

This book was previously published as Rock Me

1

Kit

Every guy's got a girl that got away. One that rocked his world then fucked up his life. Yeah, I had one. Crystal Kerry. Shit. Just thinking her name was like driving a stake into my heart. Made my balls ache. She'd been perfect. My fucking high school sweetheart. Yeah, sweetheart.

I'd forgotten how fucking crowded New York was and had to cut through all the people on the sidewalk. Shit, it was insane. But, I was a face in a crowd. I wasn't Kit Buchanan, lead singer for Nightbird. I was just a guy lost in a sea of humanity. Thank fuck. My thoughts were on Crystal and I didn't need a fan to grab hold and want a selfie or an autograph across her tits. I wanted to wallow in the one that got away. No, the one I pushed away and crushed, like a tank rolling over a soft, sweet, innocent kitten.

Crystal had been the one. Had been kind and gentle, always a smile for me since the first day of tenth grade. She'd transferred to Whitfield Prep as a scholarship student. Our classmates knew she was from the wrong side of the tracks. Poor. They'd sniffed out her blue-collar background, even though she looked like everyone else in the navy and green school uniform.

It had been hard for her, being new. Being beautiful. All the girls who'd been flirting—and fucking all the guys, suddenly had competition. Not that Crystal ever did anything. Just being pretty was enough. The guys, they called Crystal fresh meat. With her blond hair and pale blue eyes, she was as upper crust looking as everyone else. But unlike her classmates, she didn't know her effect on others. Had no idea she was hot. Not just average hot, that any teenage boy would want to bang, but night after night of wet dreams hot. Or jerking off in the shower just thinking about her perky tits and long legs hot.

That was fine for me to lust after, but not anyone else. Especially not the assholes on the lacrosse team who'd made it their mission to see who'd fuck her first. They'd wanted that scholarship cherry and put bets on it.

I'd shut that shit down fast. My fists landed me with a three-day suspension, but I would have done it again in a heartbeat. No one was going to touch Crystal. No one…but me. She was mine. I knew it the first fucking time I saw her.

My parents had given me hell for getting into the fight. Hell for the suspension. Hell for the hours I spent playing guitar and writing music. I guess I dished it right back. For not being the prodigal son, the future CEO of Bullshit Buchanan Manufacturing, for not being a typical Buchanan. Hell, I'd been born with a silver spoon, but I'd spit it out and grabbed hold of a guitar instead. I'd been the fucking black sheep of the family. Still was. And living in that house after my two older brothers graduated from Whitfield and went on to Ivy League schools, the pressure had been on to measure up.

Whatever. I'd given up the chances for that when I was ten and wanted to take guitar lessons instead of playing Beethoven on the piano. I knew I'd never measure up. It hadn't been worth the effort.

As for Crystal, she'd wanted to succeed at Whitfield. Hell, it had been her chance, her opportunity to get out of the shit hole household she had. With a mother who was a doormat to a father who drank too much and held too few jobs, she'd known it was her escape. And she fucking took it. Got A's in all her classes, was valedictorian. She managed to do all this even with me following her around like a lovesick fool. But I loved her, protected her. She was my life and I was so much more than just her boyfriend. I was her best friend. She’d told me everything. Given me everything.

Yeah, she'd taken one look at me and melted. Somehow, by some fucking miracle, she’d fallen in love with my rough edges, the fact that I didn't fit in, didn't give a fuck. She knew I was her protector, that I'd do anything for her. We might've been each other's firsts, but I hadn't taken that scholarship cherry. No. She'd given it to me one night in the back of my pickup. We'd been in love. Even said the words. I’d spilled my guts as she sank down on my lap, naked and wet and too much for my seventeen-year-old body to resist. Crystal and Kit. We were inseparable. I knew I didn’t deserve her. I was a spoiled silver spoon. I had never worked as hard as she had to. She'd been smart, so fucking smart, and I did what I could to keep her safe from the jealous bitches, and away from the jocks that noticed the same things I did. She wasn’t just smart, she’s was gorgeous, all curves and a killer smile.

I was the worst of them all. One quick smile, one hot kiss, and I would do anything she said, including study. And so perhaps she'd fucked me into graduating. Got my grades up so I could get my diploma, and listen to her sweet valedictorian speech. She’d dragged me along in her wake until we were both on our life paths, until she met me one Friday night with the news she'd gotten the scholarship to Stanford, that she was going to give it up for me.

It was then, I knew. I was no good for her. I was a dead end. I wasn't going to college. Hell, my parents had been threatening to cut me off if I went ahead with my plan to make a career in music. And I didn't mean the fucking symphony.

No, Crystal was going places. But not with me. So, I'd cut her loose the only way I knew how. I made sure news spread that I'd fucked Lindsay Mack, that while I took Crystal's virginity, I hadn't given her my heart.

I didn’t touch Lindsay. But Crystal didn’t know that.

My cell rang, bringing me back from the past. I pulled it from my pocket as I weaved around a woman pushing a stroller.

“What?” I barked into the phone.

“The sound check's set for four.” Tia Monroe was a good band manager, but she could be a pain in the ass.

“Fine. I'll be there. Might be a few minutes late.” I had no idea how long I would need if I was going to see Crystal again.

“Late? Why?”

“I have something to do.” Someone to see.

I heard Tia say something else, but I tuned her out. Ended the call. Thought of Crystal. Tia and the band could wait. I'd devoted the past ten years of my life to tour buses and recording studios, they could wait thirty fucking minutes so I could get a glimpse of Crystal again. Knowing we were in the same town brought it all back.

Shit, after ten years it gutted me to remember the look on her face when I'd said what I'd done. What I'd supposedly done. Lindsay Mack had slept her way through our entire class and didn't care if I spread lies. Hell, she'd hated Crystal and was more than happy to strike her down the only way she could.

With tears streaming down her pale cheeks, she'd turned and run away. Ran right out of my life for good. On to Stanford. Graduate school. And then some. She'd hated me, probably still did, but I could deal. She was too damn good for me, always had been. She could hate me and live her dreams.

She'd done just what she'd set out to do. Succeed. Hell, she'd done that. That was why I stopped in front of the three-story chain book store on Fifth Avenue. She was here for a book signing. I'd lost track of her when she left for California, but just six months ago, I’d turned on the television to see her sitting next to the most famous late night talk show host in the city. The novel she'd written a couple of years ago, had hit the New York Times list, big time. Her story sold in a multi-million-dollar deal and the hottest asshole in Hollywood was sitting next to her, playing the spy-thriller hero she’d dreamed up in her head. Fucker touched her shoulder, flirted with her. And she smiled back, but it was a smile I knew. Brittle. Stressed. So beautiful my cock rose to attention as I watched her, those blue eyes, those pink lips. She blinked, and laughed, made all the right motions for the audience, but I knew Crystal. My girl didn’t like to be the center of attention.

And she was still mine. I knew every inch of her body, how she liked to be touched, kissed, fucked. She was famous. Rich. She was no longer from the wrong side of the tracks. Hell, she made her own fucking tracks.

I was so damn proud of her. What were the chances I'd be in town on tour the same time she was here? When I'd seen her face on a huge-ass billboard, I knew I had to go. I had to see her, to see an expression on her face other than the heartbreak I'd caused her. Those sad eyes, the tears, had haunted me for a decade. I couldn’t let her give up Stanford for me, but that didn’t mean watching her walk away hadn’t ripped my fucking heart out.

The store was huge. Three floors. It was packed with fans wanting a book signed by Crystal. To hear her give a talk about her characters, how she came up with the incredible plot. These people might have read her work, loved it, but I was her biggest fan. Hers. Not her story. Hell, they hadn't walked away from her to save her.