Built to Fall: A Rock Star Romance

ADAM HANDED ME A beer and slipped his hand behind my back. “Don’t go.”

“I have to. It’s my job.”

Last night, I’d been looking forward to watching Dominic perform. I’d laid in bed, thinking about him onstage, the way he’d move, his voice, his nimble fingers dancing over his guitar…

“If I had Dominic Cantrell money, I’d pay you to hang out with me.”

He stuck out his bottom lip in a pout, which was completely incongruous with his sweaty, leather-and-denim rocker look. He was so cute and hot, I wanted to feel more than flattery from his attention. And I was so very flattered. Having a guy like Adam so obviously into me gave me a huge boost of confidence.

Clearly too much, considering how much of a fool I’d made of myself by showing up at Dominic’s room this morning.

The Seasons Change had already performed their set, and now the second opener was on. Soon, I’d have to make my way to the audience, and I really didn’t have a choice about it.

“Unlike Dominic, I’d hang out with you for free.” I tipped my beer, taking a deep drink. “You could come watch with us.”

He cocked his head, considering my offer. “I might. Gotta finish up some band stuff back here. Save a spot for me, okay?”

“I will.”

I strode through the stadium’s backstage tunnels with only a vague idea of where I was going. Marta and I planned to meet in the audience at showtime, so I was on my own. I glanced at the signs on the walls, trying to figure out if I was actually on the right path.

I ground to a halt when I slammed right into someone. Strong hands caught my arms, steadying me. With an embarrassed smile on my lips, I looked up, meeting stern, coal-black eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I rasped.

“You have to be more careful, Claire.”

“I wasn’t sure if I was going the right way…” My words trailed off seeing the crowd of people just behind Dominic. His backup band, stage manager, and a few people I didn’t know all peered back at me expectantly. “You’re going onstage?”

His hands were still on my arms, and he didn’t seem like he would be letting go anytime soon. “That’s the plan. You’re going to watch?”

“That’s the plan.” I gave him a tight smile. “If I can find my way.”

Dominic released one of my arms to snap his fingers. A young guy with a headset on scurried forward. “Ms. Fontana needs an escort to the VIP area.”

The guy nodded. “I can take her.”

Dominic’s attention returned to me. “Are you going to wish me luck?”

“Do you need it?”

From the way he’d eagerly dismissed me this morning and then given me the cold shoulder during his press, I wasn’t sure how to behave toward him anymore. I understood, as someone who was famous, Dominic had to set firm boundaries. I just didn’t understand exactly where his were.

His palm slid from my bicep to my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It’s the polite thing to do.”

“Well, then good luck, sir.” I slipped from under his hold, twisting around to face the guy who’d be taking me to my seat. I glanced back once. Dominic’s bottom lip was trapped between his teeth, and the look he gave me was the boundary-smashing kind.

“See you, Claire,” he murmured before turning away and continuing on his path.

Marta waited for me in a cordoned-off area at the front of the stage. There were seats, but neither of us took them. Instead, we stood, plastic cups brimming with beer, drinking and chatting until the lights dimmed and excitement pulsed through the thousands of Dominic Cantrell fans surrounding us.

“Are you ready?” she asked beside my ear.

“Twelve-year-old me is pissing her pants.” My pulse thundered when Dominic’s tall, lithe silhouette became visible through the dim, smoky gray lights.

Marta bumped shoulders with me. “And twenty-six-year-old you?”

A light snapped on, illuminating Dominic in all his glory. Head tipped back, his silver hair sparked, and the expression on his face was rapturous, like he’d been elevated from the dregs of this earthly plane to where he truly belonged.

I whimpered without realizing it, and Marta laughed.

“Girl, he hasn’t even started singing. Don’t tell me you’re a fainter.”

I wasn’t, but when Dominic’s fingers moved over his guitar, my breath caught. I didn’t want to miss a single chord.

His backup band joined him, flowing into one of his most popular songs. The stadium filled with cheers, and then we were all singing along. Marta and I held up our drinks and swayed, belting out the words with Dominic and thousands of our closest friends. His eyes met mine once, and I didn’t mistake the curve of his lips when he saw me singing with him.

The show was incredible. Dominic never stopped moving, using every inch of the stage and catwalk jutting out in the middle of the audience. There were some pyrotechnics and tricks with lights and video, but for the most part, Dominic was the main attraction.

And what an attraction he was. Offstage, he was gorgeous and dreamy, but so human, sometimes I forgot how famous he was.

Onstage, those words didn’t even begin to touch him. He transformed into a rock god, confident and full of swagger, in slim jeans with a chain dangling from his hip and a black T-shirt barely skimming his waistband. Somewhere in the middle of the concert, the T-shirt came off, leaving his golden, tattooed chest bare and shiny with sweat. Dominic breathed his stardom; he proved why he was worshiped and had been for two decades.

I didn’t worship him, but I did become swept up in the tidal wave of Dominic Cantrell. Marta and I sang along, drank, danced, and listened. She’d been to dozens of his concerts, but she seemed to be enjoying every second the same way I was.

Dominic strode to the center of the stage and clutched the microphone in both hands. The ends of his eyebrows hooked up, giving him a devilish appeal.

Maybe she wasn’t enjoying him exactly the same. The heat pooling in my belly was undeniably lust. The fiery, dangerous kind that would cause a less level-headed woman to become stupid. Luckily, I’d have time to recover from this feeling before I got up close and personal with him again.

“The next song we’re going to play is an old one. To be honest, it’s a B-side track. But recently, someone told me it got her through some pretty fucking tough times, and I had to wonder, why the hell am I not playing ‘Angel Moon’ more often?” He plucked at his guitar and huffed a short laugh. “Let’s see if I remember how it goes. I might need your help, okay?”

Marta’s hand around my shoulders flexed. “I wonder who he’s talking about.”

I shook my head, not because I didn’t know, but because I did. This was the song I told him I listened to in Annaliese’s closet in the days and weeks after I left Derrick. It had buoyed me, brought me peace and hope, and now he was playing it for me—to me.

Maybe I was a fainter. My entire being wobbled. I closed my eyes, allowing the lyrics to steady me the way Dominic had steadied me backstage.

A girl I know likes to walk alone at night

She says that’s when the time is right

To look at herself on the inside

And ask the hows and whys

Of how she got here and where she’s going

Oooh, wind like wings

Leaves like feathers

Walk along the clouds, girl

I’ll be right there too

Don’t hide your sad from me

I want to see it all

You go down

We’ll both take the fall

Let it go without a fight

Cry those tears and take flight

Let it go without a fight

Cry those tears and take flight

She’s never lonely in the light of the moon

Got a smile that lights up the room

Even though those black clouds loom

She says it’s all gonna be clear soon

And she keeps dancing down that dark road

Fingers made for weaving

I’m holding on tight

You’re not leaving

I’m here beside you, girl

I want you to start believing

We’re in this together

If you’re bruised and hurt

Then I’ll be bleeding

Let it go without a fight

Cry those tears and take flight

Let it go without a fight

Cry those tears and take flight

Nothing is forever

Even if it feels like dying

Lift your broken wings

And start flying

Like an angel over the moon

You’ll get there soon

I opened my eyes, finding Dominic’s gaze locked on me as his fingers glided over the final chords of the song that had comforted me out of my darkness. My pulse pounded, and I couldn’t seem to wrap my head around the torrent of emotions he’d unleashed by singing that to me, tonight of all nights.

Strong arms banded around my middle, lifting me off my feet. I squealed, and the moment with Dominic was broken.

“I’m here,” Adam announced as he set me down.

I pushed him away playfully. “I noticed.”

He kept his arm around my waist as he moved beside me. “Having fun?”

“Yeah. He really knows what he’s doing.” Vast understatement. Dominic was masterful, both in his showmanship and his musicality. His voice, smooth and low, belted out lyrics like paint on a canvas.

Adam snorted. “He should. He’s been doing this since I was a kid. He’s like fifty, right?”

“He’s not that old and you know it,” I argued.

Adam tugged his ear. “Huh? Can’t hear you.”

I rose on my toes, my mouth beside his ear. “He’s not that old!”

He turned before I could move away, and his lips grazed mine. It wasn’t a kiss, but from the way he grinned and dragged his tongue over his lips, it might as well have been.

“You’re so fucking sweet, Claire. Best vibes ever.” He stole my beer from my hand and took a long swig, wriggling his eyebrows over the brim of the cup as he drank.

Marta reached around him, hitting the bottom of the cup, and Adam sputtered as beer spilled over the sides and down his chin. I braced myself for his anger, but he only laughed and wiped the dripping liquid with the hem of his T-shirt.

Marta wagged a finger at him. “We don’t steal beer.”

“Noted, girl, noted.” He chuckled, and I was in awe of his good nature. Derrick would have seethed until we got home, then lectured me about my friend making a fool of him. It took leaving him for me to see how controlling he’d been during our marriage, and I was still getting used to the fact that his behavior wasn’t normal.

My attention was pulled back to the stage when Dominic stopped mere feet in front of where we stood, hips thrusting forward as he shredded on his guitar. Again, his eyes found mine, but this time, they were full of thunder.

I raised my arms over my head and moved with him, rolling my hips to the rhythm he set. Adam still held onto me, but I barely felt it. Dominic’s music flowed through me like lava in my veins. He moved on, striding across the stage like it was his very own.

Marta danced in front of me, hooking her arm around my waist and pulling me against her and away from Adam. We caught the same beat, moving to the heady, intoxicating sound. When she threw her head back, I did too. The crowd went wild for Dominic, and I screamed right along with them.

By the time the lights went down and Dominic had left the stage, I was sweaty and a little drunk, both on beer and adrenaline. Marta, Adam, and I made our way backstage, flashing our passes to security to bypass lines. At Dominic’s dressing room, we stopped.

“You coming back to the hotel?” Adam asked.

“Later. I should probably go in there and check in with the boss man,” I said.

“Sure thing.” He tugged one of my damp waves. “Hit me up if you’re not quite ready to sleep. I’ll be around.”

Marta and I watched him amble down the corridor, then she shot me a wicked grin. “That boy is lovestruck.”

I rolled my eyes. “He isn’t. I barely know him.”

“Well, he wants to know you. And have your babies. And take your last name.”

I snorted. “That’s so backwardly heteronormative, Mar. I’m surprised at you.”

She hung her head. “You’re right. I’m ashamed.”

Grabbing her hand, I tugged her into the dressing room. Only a few reporters were inside since Dominic had done most of his press earlier. The man himself had his arms crossed, clutching a water bottle in one hand, listening to a pretty woman speak.

Since it was my job to be there for any interviews, I marched up to the two of them, ready to intervene if needed.

The pretty woman with the hourglass figure and long, blonde hair, let out a throaty laugh and touched Dominic’s arm. “You have to tell me who you sang ‘Angel Moon’ for, Dom. There were a few thousand jealous women in the audience wishing it was them.”

His dark eyebrow arched. “Were you one of them, Ariana?”

She laughed again. “It would be unprofessional of me to say. Let’s just leave it at I’ve never been serenaded before, but I wouldn’t mind it.”

Marta mimicked the reporter behind her back, scrunching her face and mouthing the words she’d just said. I had to cover my mouth to hold back a giggle. Dominic’s heated gaze landed on us, and it only became more molten.

“Excuse me. You have my assistant’s number. Call if you need to ask me any further questions.” Dominic pushed off the wall, swerving around Ariana, the pretty reporter, and stopping in front of the two of us. “Are you drunk?”

“No.” I shook my head. “We’re just having a good time.”

Marta jerked her thumb at me. “Claire’s beer was stolen, so I know for a fact she isn’t drunk. I’m questionable.”

“Go home,” he growled. “I won’t need you anymore tonight.”

She saluted him with two fingers. “All right. Good show tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She held out her hand to me. “Let’s hit it, C.”

Dominic’s fingers curled around my upper arm. “Claire needs to stay. Her job isn’t over yet.”

Marta left without argument, and I stuck around to watch Dominic give a few casual interviews and meet a fan or two. He didn’t need me, but I imagined it wasn’t fun to be alone in the middle of all this either.

On her way out, Ariana stopped by Dominic, raised on her toes to whisper to him, and unmistakably slipped a piece of paper in his tight pocket. She gave him a lingering look before leaving with a swing of her curvy hips. Dominic licked his lips as he watched her go, driving an unwarranted spike of jealousy straight through my chest.

In the car to the hotel, we sat across from each other, the glowing lights wrapping around the ceiling the only illumination. Shadows swirled over Dominic’s stern face, giving him an even darker, scarier countenance.

“Does that happen often? Reporters slipping you their number?” I asked.

“What do you think?”

“It probably does.”

He shifted forward, his palms pressed together between his spread knees. “What you’re really wondering is how often I use the number. Right, Claire?”

My teeth bit into my bottom lip to stop myself from reacting. But nothing could halt the goose bumps rising on my flesh. “I would never ask that, sir.”

His fingers dug into the sides of his hair, and a deep exhale left his lungs. “Jesus, girl.” He shook his head hard, like he was trying to clear something unspeakable from it. “It happens often, and I take them up on it on occasion. I don’t really like when details of my private life end up on a blog or in a magazine, so reporters aren’t my first choice.”

“But she was hot,” I pressed, though I wasn’t sure why.

“She was.”

That was all he said, and I was relieved. This line of conversation made me feel like I had spiders crawling beneath the surface of my skin.

In the elevator to our floor, I sucked in a breath and gathered a bit of courage. “Thank you for playing ‘Angel Moon.’ I know it wasn’t for me, but I loved every second of it.”

He nodded, and when the doors slid open, he stepped through them, holding his hand out to keep them from closing on me. I walked ahead of him, and when I reached my room, he paused beside me while I fumbled for my key.

“Who did you think I played it for, if not you?” he asked softly as I pushed open my door.

My head jerked up, meeting his gaze. “I don’t—”

“I’m glad you loved it, Claire. It made me happy to see you loving it.”

With those knee-liquifying words, Dominic Cantrell casually walked away like he had not a single care in the world.

How had this man—who’d made it crystal clear he wanted nothing to do with me outside of our professional relationship—managed to knock me sideways at every turn? And even more importantly, if he had no desire for anything more from me, why did he keep doing it?