(Sinful Serenade #1)
Publication date: Fall 2015
Genres: New Adult, Romance
Good girls don’t date rockstars.
They certainly don’t take rock stars as fuck buddies.
Still a virgin at 21, Meg Smart walks a straight and narrow path. She aces her classes, excels at her part time job, and carefully avoids the black hole that is mourning her sister. There’s no room in her life for trouble–no drinks, no drugs, and especially no boyfriends.
Fine with Miles.
Rock star Miles Webb doesn’t do boyfriend. He doesn’t do intimacy, or love, or anything that isn’t effortless and casual. The only time the singer reveals himself is on stage. His gorgeous, tortured voice hints at the kind of unspeakable pain Meg understands all too well. Only the second he steps off stage he transforms into a cocky, know-it-all player.
Their chemistry is red-hot. He’s tattooed, tall, and totally irresistible. She can’t handle a one-night stand, and a relationship is totally out of the question.
That only leaves one option:
Friends with benefits.
Just sex. Just fun.
No secrets, no feelings, no falling in love.
Only neither one of them can quite abide by the terms.
Peek inside the book
I try to make small talk, but nothing comes to me. Instead, I press my back into the seat and watch the city fly by the windows. “You want the Wilshire exit of the 405.”
“Yes. That’s all.”
“Nothing else you’d like to discuss?”
I play with the seatbelt. “We’re friends by association, so how about we agree never to discuss this again? I am sorry, and it was an accident.”
A smug smile spreads across his face. “I can’t agree to that.”
“You’re too cute when you blush.”
“I’m not cute.” I bite my tongue so I don’t snap. “Let’s pretend it never happened.”
“If it bothers you that much.” He stops at a red light. “But it’s not a big deal. Nothing you haven’t done before.”
Right. Because I’m a twenty-one-year-old college senior. And no normal college senior is quite so sexually inexperienced.
“Of course,” I say.
Miles looks at me. That smug smile gets wider. He says nothing, but he’s practically screaming with his eyes.
I try my most confident voice. “I’m very experienced. I had a boyfriend last year.”
“There’s no shame in being a virgin.”
“I know, but I’m not.”
He raises his eyebrow.
“It’s not really any of your business.”
The light turns green. Miles steps on the gas. Changes gears until he’s going way over the speed limit. “What’s your favorite sexual position?”
“I’d rather not discuss that with a stranger.”
“What happened to us being friends by association?”
A compelling point. I shrug like I’m as unaffected as he is. “Missionary.”
He turns to me for a second, shaking his head. “Now, I know you’re lying. I’ve never met a girl who wanted to do missionary.”
“Out of the ten thousand girls you’ve screwed, none wanted to do missionary?”
“Not one.” He stops short at a yellow light. “If you want your first time to be good, I’m happy to throw you a bone.”
His eyes find mine. His expression is the epitome of cocky. “You do want to fuck me.”
“I do not.”
He shakes his head. “You do. The way you were staring at me in the living room–you were picturing me naked.”
“Because I saw you naked. I couldn’t help it.”
“Mhmm.” The light turns green and he slams on the gas. He turns the corner and speeds onto the freeway onramp. “And now you’re thinking about it.”
“I’m better than whatever you’re imagining.”
“Did you even know that girl’s name?”
“What was it?”
“Stephanie. Pretty sure it was Stephanie.” He shrugs. “It’s just sex. You’d know if you ever–”
“Whatever.” I cross my legs. “I don’t need your pity sex offer.”
“There’d be no pity about it,” he says.
That same blush spreads across my cheeks. “What do you mean?”
His eyes turn towards me. “I want to fuck you, too.”
“There’s no ‘too.’ I do not want to have sex with you.”
I bite my tongue. It’s only getting me into trouble.
We drive in silence for a few minutes. It’s too much, so I turn the car radio on. It’s tuned to KROQ and, God help me, the station is playing a Sinful Serenade song. The vocals are a low moan, a sound meant to express an extreme outpouring of emotion. I can’t get past the moan. Is that what Miles sounds like when he’s mid orgasm?
My cheeks are still scalding. They’ve been hot for the last fifteen minutes. I scramble to change the station. The next preset is another rock station. That won’t do. There. The oldies station is sure to be free of Miles’s voice.
He laughs. “You’re cute when you’re nervous.”
“I’m not nervous.” I fold my arms over my chest. “Just not in the mood to listen to rock music.”
Whatever. I watch the sky whiz by outside the windows. The rest of the drive, I only open my mouth to give Miles directions. It feels like an eternity passes, but, finally, we arrive at Kara’s apartment.
I help her out of the car and up the stairs. I fish through her purse for her keys.
She looks at me with concern. “Thanks for coming out, but Meg–”
Her gaze drifts to Miles. “Be careful. I know Miles is cute, but he’s a heart breaker.”
“Drink some water.”
“Seriously. Not worth the trouble. Okay?”
“Since when have I found any guy worth the trouble?” I ask.
She steps into her apartment. “You’re looking at him like he’s way worth it.”
“You’re imagining things.”
She shakes her head, certain she has the right idea about things.
I shrug, attempting an effortlessly cool expression. It does nothing to convince her.
“Goodnight.” She shuts the door.
I turn around and rush down the steps. Now it’s not just this Miles guy who’s certain of my attraction. My best friend is in on it, too.
I set my foot on the last step, only it’s not the last step. It’s the ground. I try to steady myself, but it’s not good. I go down, landing on all fours.
Ow. I inspect my wrists and knees. Nothing serious except for some scraped skin. Nothing a washcloth and a Band-Aid won’t fix.
Someone offers his hand. Must be Miles. Fine. I take it, allowing him to help me to my feet.
He stares at me. “You went down hard.”
He said it that way on purpose. He must have.
“I’m fine,” I say. “I can walk home from here. It’s close.”
“Uh-huh. Drew will kill me.”
“He won’t kill you for offering to take my virginity?”
“Some things are worth dying for.”
Miles kneels, expecting my knees. But I’m more concerned with how short my skirt is and how close his head is to the hem.
“That’s a bad scrape,” he says. “You have a first-aid kit?”
“Yeah. At home.”
“I’ll bandage it.”
“I bruised plenty of knuckles in my day. I’m bandaging that.” He rises to his feet. His eyes meet mine. “Either we do it at your apartment, or we go to a twenty-four hour pharmacy.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“Consider it a perk of our mutual friendship.”
“Fine.” I get back in the car. My knee doesn’t hurt at all. And what the hell could he possible know about scrapes that I don’t? I’m an ER scribe. He’s a rock star. It’s clear which of us has the experience.
Crystal Kaswell writes steamy new adult and erotic romance books. She loves when flawed characters fall head over heels for each other. Especially if they fall into bed first. She loves police procedurals, tea, and The Hunger Games series. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband.