Wild Thing Read online

  Wild Thing

  Billionaires in Disguise: Georgie

  and

  Rock Stars in Disguise: Xan

  Book 2

  By: Blair Babylon

  Billionaires in Disguise: Georgie

  Rock Stars in Disguise: Xan

  Books

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  Every Breath You Take, Book 1

  Wild Thing, Book 2

  Lay Your Hands On Me, Book 3

  Unforgettable, Book 4

  Wild Thing

  Billionaires in Disguise: Georgie

  and

  Rock Stars in Disguise: Xan

  Book 2

  By: Blair Babylon

  The music calls Georgie.

  Every night, she stands offstage, watching Xan Valentine set fire to the crowd with music until they would burn down the city for him. His music wraps her until her fingers dance, desperately wanting the piano, but her terrified legs could never walk onto a stage.

  Most nights, when Xan Valentine strides off the stage, his dark eyes shift, blurring, and he becomes Alexandre de Valentinois again.

  Sometimes, Xan won’t let go.

  Some of the other band members, Rade and Grayson, are caught in a death spiral of booze, drugs, and groupies.

  The drummer, Tryp, is too infatuated with his new wife to do more than show up to play.

  Xan is the only one who can compel them onto the stage. He’s holding Killer Valentine together with the force of his will.

  This can’t go on.

  Something has to break.

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  Published by Malachite Publishing LLC

  Copyright 2015 by Malachite Publishing LLC

  Wild Thing

  Table of Contents

  Runner

  Crawling into Bed

  Running into A Burning House

  Walk and Talk

  The Intruder

  Band Meeting

  Unplayable

  Xan in Full Glory

  Showtime

  Encore

  Cheating on Alex

  Xan in Darkness

  Flicka Calls

  Lizzy's Demands

  What Alex Likes

  Clubbing with The Terror Twins

  Time

  When Xan’s Will Isn’t Enough

  The Getaway

  Fake Fire and Artificial Heat

  Incident

  The Second Set

  Cancellations

  Who’s Domming Who

  Tagged

  The Butorins and Money

  Change of Plans

  Eating Fugu

  My Second Dead Art Form

  Sound Check

  Ambulances

  Falling Apart

  Black Magic

  Alexandre Grimaldi and the Violin

  Grayson

  Band Meeting, Minus One

  The Garden

  Alwaysland

  Music Is A Bitch Mistress

  Unforgiven

  More Rock Stars and Billionaires from Blair Babylon

  Special Sneak Peek of Someone to Love (Rock Stars in Disguise: Tryp)

  Frequently Asked Questions

  Copyright and Notices

  RUNNER

  Georgie

  Georgie sprinted through the concrete corridor, flanked by a group of tall men and running flat-out as fast as she could. Their footsteps thundered off the raw walls and exposed rebar. Her brown braid flew out behind her, and her purse with all her worldly possessions bounced on her hip.

  The men in black suits glanced behind as if the rioting crowds routinely spilled over the stage and down the hall, giving chase. Uniformed venue security personnel stood at every juncture, directing their group by swinging flashlight beams through the darkness.

  Alex ran beside her, grinning with a manic glint in his dark eyes.

  No, not Alex.

  Xan Valentine, the rock star, stomped his motorcycle boots on the cement beside her as he sprinted. His long legs stretched over the ground, and the blond tips of his long hair blew behind his shoulders. His earring, a chain with a large green crystal on the end, bounced on the square line of his jaw and snarled in his hair. A duffel bag bounced on his back, the strap slung across his broad chest.

  Georgie ran hard to keep up, her legs and arms pumping. Good thing she ran half-marathons.

  Neon light shimmered at the end of the dark tunnel, and two black SUVs idled in the packed parking garage beyond, acrid smoke fuming from their tailpipes.

  Xan caught Georgie’s hand as they emerged from the tunnel and tugged her, leading her toward the first SUV. “Jonas!” he called, his hoarse voice cracking, “Ride with security!”

  Jonas, the band manager, hollered, “What!”

  Xan shoved Georgie into the back seat of the SUV, clambered in behind her, and slammed the door. He pounded on the seat back. “Go!”

  Georgie swiveled, looking out the back window at the security guys diving into the other black SUV behind them, leaving Jonas shaking his head, his brown curls swishing, as he jumped in the trailing SUV.

  Their SUV lurched out of the parking line and roared down the exit ramp, throwing Georgie against the back of the seat.

  Xan dumped the black duffel bag on the floor and grabbed Georgie, dragging her to him. Heat enveloped her like it was pouring off him, and one of the shark’s teeth that he wore on a satin cord around his neck poked her chest. His mouth came down hard on hers, kissing her and pressing her into the seat. Georgie slid her hands up and around his neck. When his lips opened, the scent of whiskey floated between them. His tongue touched hers, gently at first, then insistence pervaded his entire body as he stretched against her, his hand slipping under her shirt to caress the skin over her ribs. Her skin shivered, and she reached up his broad chest to his neck.

  Georgie caught the driver steal a peek at them through the rearview mirror. There wasn’t even a privacy screen between the seats. “Alex.”

  Xan pulled back, and the anger in his dark eyes shocked her. “Xan. It’s Xan.”

  “Right, Xan. The driver’s getting quite a show.” She pointed to the front seat.

  His strong arms, tight around her, started to shake. She looked down at his arm, stroking her hands down to his biceps. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” His teeth were clenched tight, and the words squeezed out of his ragged throat. “I’m fine.”

  His whole body quaked in her arms.

  She said, “You’re not. What’s going on?”

  His teeth chattered, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Cold.”

  Georgie gathered him to herself, trying to keep him from shaking. Her body heated when she ran, which was miles every day, and that quick sprint to the cars had warmed her up.

  He clutched her, not with passion this time, but like he was falling. His arms tightened around her waist and back. He gasped against her shoulder, and his breath grated in his throat.

  His skin was turning clammy under her hands. Panic slammed her. “What is wrong with you? Are you epileptic?”

  His voice rasped in his throat. “Cold. After the shows, I get cold. Blanket, in the bag.”

  Georgie scrambled for the duffel bag on the floor, which slid away from her fingers as the SUV whipped around a corner, and yanked a dark plaid, flannel sheet out. She reached around Xan, wrapping it around his wide shoulder
s and pulling it tight. His hair was damp with sweat all the way down to the ends. He tucked his chin to his chest and shivered.

  “Does this happen every night?” she asked, trying to figure out some way to help him.

  “It’s worse with runners,” he whispered, still curling his long limbs into a ball on the car seat.

  The duffel bag on the floor buzzed.

  “My phone,” Xan said, his fingers tight around the blanket, clutching it to himself.

  Georgie felt around in the bag, her fingers finding cold bottles and hot thermoses among more fabric, until she found the vibrating phone. She snatched it and held it out to him.

  He glanced at the screen, took the phone from her fingers, and thumbed the screen to answer. His wrecked voice hissed as he forced out, “Rhiannon?”

  A woman’s voice lilted from the phone, “Xan? You want to cool down together?”

  Georgie scooted back in the seat and turned to stare out the front windshield. This was none of her business. Indeed, if there was another woman, Georgie was probably the side chick. She had met Alex at a wedding a week ago, and then he had shown up at her dorm for a few days, and then she had flown away with him to this show.

  Their mutual derision for relationships didn’t mean that he wasn’t in one.

  One of Xan’s dark eyebrows twitched as he stared at the phone. “No.”

  “Um.” The woman’s voice got panicky. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” he growled, his voice almost gone.

  The woman said, “Your voice sounded great tonight after the couple of days off. You made it through the whole show without even once—”

  Xan tapped the screen. The phone went silent. He thumbed the side of the phone, silencing even the buzz, and tossed it in the bag.

  Georgie glanced at him. “That sounded important.”

  “It’s not.” Xan drew the blanket more tightly around himself and leaned his head on the seat back. He drew his legs to his chest.

  “If I shouldn’t be here—”

  “You should be here.” He squinted like he was trying to keep his eyes from squeezing shut.

  Might as well throw it out there. “If she’s someone important to you—”

  “She’s my backup singer. I don’t have to push my voice as much if I have a female voice on the stage with me.”

  “If she’s more than just a backup singer—” Georgie pressed.

  His laugh was a caustic bark. “She’s Jonas’s woman. Not mine.”

  “Oh.”

  “I wouldn’t fuck a band member. This band has been nearly torn apart twice by women.”

  Georgie settled her arms around his neck. “Then it’s a good thing I’m not a band member.”

  Xan slumped against her, resting his head against her shoulder. Tremors ran through him, ebbing only to return and nearly shake him apart. Georgie wrapped her arms more tightly around him and pressed her body against his, still trying to warm him up. His arms were crossed over his chest. He growled again like he was trying to clear his throat.

  Georgie stroked the back of his neck, where his tendons were knotted. “If you need to cool down, you should.”

  “I don’t need to.” A tremor ran through him, and his fists clenched on the flannel, his knuckles brushing her collarbone.

  Under Georgie’s hands, his back vibrated with cold. “Back when I used to accompany vocalists—and I didn’t do that very often because I was a soloist, not filler noise for some screecher—but the opera singers all used to cool down.”

  His voice sounded strangled. “I’m cramping. Speaking hurts.”

  “Then don’t.” Georgie stroked his hair.

  His voice forced through his chattering teeth. “We’ll be at the hotel in half an hour. I don’t want you to leave.”

  “I’ll stay the night. I said I would stay. Let’s talk in the morning.”

  “Promise you’ll be there in the morning.” He closed his dark eyes, his lashes fluttering on his cheekbones.

  “I promise,” she said, a throwaway promise. Her new life was waiting for her somewhere out there, but it was late at night, she was far away from the men who wanted to kidnap her, and Xan’s security men stood sentry around her. She was safe for now. Leaving was the worst option.

  Over the next fifteen minutes, Xan slowly stopped shivering, and his body loosened from the knot he had tied himself in. Georgie loosened her arms, relieved.

  He leaned against the back of the seat, closing his exhausted eyes, and choked out the words to “Alwaysland.”

  Because while I live,

  Because while I breathe,

  Because while my heart beats in my body,

  I will love you like we live

  in Alwaysland.

  Xan’s long, exotic eyes cracked open, and he watched her from under his dark lashes, singing, and the tone of his voice sounded like he was telling her all those things.

  Georgie was acutely aware that a lot of women would gnaw their left arms off to be in a car with Xan Valentine, his tall, strong body sprawled across the seat, his hand warming the small of her back, with him singing that particular song to them.

  But for Georgie, the dark car seemed to close in.

  Claustrophobia battered her.

  She had to leave in the morning. She had to gather her few, meager possessions together and run somewhere safe, somewhere far away from anyone who knew the name Georgie Johnson or Georgiana Oelrichs, and far, far away from any man who sang that he would love her like they lived in Alwaysland.

  Even the thought of always terrified her. She was constantly ready to bolt to save her own life so she could pay back what she owed to so many people.

  Xan sang other songs, softly, under his breath, and then scales, and then rummaged around in his duffel for frozen blue ice packs, pressing them to his throat.

  His breath came easier, and his hand on her back drifted lower and rested on the seat. She saw the moment that he fell asleep, when the anger and relentless drive of Xan Valentine slipped away.

  Georgie held him while he slept, feeling his body warm against hers, and he breathed far down into his chest.

  A small part of her liked this, liked it a lot, but she shoved that part away from herself.

  She liked Fabergé eggs, too, but those had no place in her life anymore, either.

  When the SUV coasted to a stop under the bulb-lit porte-cochère of the hotel, Xan opened his eyes. He glanced at the window and sighed.

  She reached for the door handle, but Xan grabbed her hand and dragged her toward him for one more lingering kiss. His lips were gentle on hers, and for a moment, he felt like Alex, the man she had known for a week who spilled music out of his soul at every turn.

  The car door opened behind Xan. Light flooded the compartment.

  A woman poked her head in. Her blond hair was screwed tight to the back of her head, and scarlet lipstick wetted her lips like fresh blood. “Mr. Valentine, you have a scheduled appearance at a casino nightclub at midnight and another personal appearance at two. You have twenty minutes before we need to leave for the casino. I’ve secured your room and laid out your clothes.” The woman saw Georgie, sitting in the seat with Xan, and her tone changed, tightening with sarcasm. “Oh! I see you’ve brought someone with you. How delightful. Will she be joining you at the events tonight?”

  Xan turned away from Georgie. When he straightened, it looked like resolve steeled his spine. “No. Ms. Johnson is camera-shy. Adrien will be staying in the room with her while I’m gone.”

  The woman insisted, “You need both your security men.”

  “We’ll be fine, Yvonne.”

  Georgie blurted, “You’re leaving?”

  Xan turned back, his quick glance not dismissive, but just like he didn’t have time to explain. “I’ll be back when I can.”

  “But I thought—”

  His voice was still hoarse, but he grated out, “Remember that you promised to still be there in the morning.” He stepped
out of the car. “Yvonne, Boris, with me,” and he strode into the hotel, leaving Georgie gaping in the car.

  A dark-haired man stuck his head into the car, holding out his hand. “Madam, I am Adrien. I will be your security for the evening.” His throaty accent sounded far more French than Alex’s.

  And Xan’s.

  Because when he was in the character of Xan Valentine, his accent was working-class British, clipped consonants that bit off the vowels.

  When at Flicka’s wedding, Alex de Valentinois had spoken with a very upper-class British accent like a Shakespearean actor, but Alex sometimes let slip the lilting cadences of other European accents, sometimes French, sometimes something like Italian.

  “Does he do this often?” she asked the security guy, climbing out of the car and blinking in the bright lights. She kept her expression neutral. No one needed to know how pissed she was that he was blowing her off.

  “Work all night? Oh, yes. Ditch women? No. He usually doesn’t bring women from the show to the hotel.” Adrien led the way into the hotel lobby.

  “I’m not from the show,” Georgie said quickly. “We met last week at a wedding.”

  “I am well aware of who you are,” Adrien said, looking around the lobby over her head while he hurried her to the elevator. Sheets of crystals hung in curtains on the enormous chandeliers above them, throwing light so bright over the wide lobby that it looked like daylight.

  He said, “I was driving the SUV when we picked you up to take you to the airport this afternoon. We also tailed you and Alexandre all week, in the Southwest and in Paris.”

  “You call him Alexandre,” she said, trotting to keep up with him.