Rock My World
Erica was aware of Adam lying still beside her
Too still. Was he holding his breath? Was he afraid he might accidentally brush against her? She turned on her side toward him. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she could make out his profile. “Do you think the security camera can really see anything in the dark? she asked.
“They can see. They probably have infrared technology. You know, like night scopes.”
“Do you think they can see what we do under the covers?” She slid her hand over until it brushed his thigh. The muscles contracted at her touch.
“We shouldn’t do this,” he said, his voice sounding strained.
“Why? You do want me, don’t you?” She scooted closer, her hand moving up his thigh while her other hand rested on his chest.
“Yes.” The word was a hiss, like air escaping an overpressurized balloon.
“And I want you.” She kissed his shoulder and felt his fingers drift toward her. “So what are we waiting for?”
Dear Reader,
When I was a little girl, I read From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler by E. L. Konigsburg, about a pair of children who run away from home and live in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The idea fascinated me, but being a small-town girl, with no big museums nearby, I decided that if I ran away, I’d hide out at the furniture store. I could sleep in a different bed every night and watch twenty TVs at the same time!
Those childhood imaginings were at work when I came up with the idea for Rock My World. Of course, I and my characters have to return to the real world of jobs and friends and, well, life after our time hiding out at the furniture store. That’s where the real challenge of any relationship lies. I hope you’ll enjoy reading how Adam and Erica face their challenges—and how they fulfill their fantasies.
I love to hear from readers. You can e-mail me at Cindi@CindiMyers.com, visit me on the Web at www.CindiMyers.com or write to me at P.O. Box 991, Bailey, CO 80461.
Happy reading!
Cindi Myers
Books by Cindi Myers
HARLEQUIN BLAZE
82—JUST 4 PLAY
118—RUMOR HAS IT
149—TAKING IT ALL OFF
168—GOOD, BAD…BETTER
180—DO ME RIGHT
HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION
902—IT’S A GUY THING!
935—SAY YOU WANT ME
HARLEQUIN SIGNATURE SELECT
LEARNING CURVES
ROCK MY WORLD
Cindi Myers
Thanks to John Craft for answering my questions about radio. Any mistakes in this manuscript are my fault, not John’s.
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
1
“I TELL YOU, NICK, this is gonna be great. The whole city will be talking about this one.”
Erica Gibson froze outside the office of the station manager of radio station KROK, her arms full of demo CDs, press packets, contest entries and miscellaneous envelopes that had arrived in the day’s mail. Six months of working as an intern/assistant/general flunky at the station had taught her that these were dangerous words. Station manager Carl Husack was forever hatching wild schemes to promote KROK (pronounced kay-rock, not crock he had warned her, her first day on the job. This despite the cartoon drawing of a dancing crocodile that appeared in almost every advertisement for the station.) Staff didn’t want to get too close to Carl when he was in full gonzo promo mood or they’d find themselves dressed like chickens passing out flyers in the parking lot at a Broncos game or hurtling down a ski slope wearing nothing but flesh-colored bikinis and strategically placed KROK stickers—both stunts to which previous interns had been subjected.
“Tell me again, because I can’t believe I heard you right.” Morning show host “Naughty” Nick Cassidy sprawled on the leather sofa across from Carl’s desk. Erica could just make out the silver-tipped toes of his black alligator boots.
“A bed-in,” Carl said. “You broadcast for seventy-five hours from a king-size bed in the main showroom of Mattress Max’s Furniture Gallery.”
Erica made a face. Mattress Max was the station’s biggest advertiser, known for his in-your-face, used-car-salesman approach to selling furniture. “You can’t beat a Mattress Max deal!” he screamed in commercials that aired on KROK twenty times a day.
“A bed-in.” Nick’s trademark sultry drawl tended to sound more like a croaking frog when he wasn’t “on.” “What’s so fascinating about me sitting in bed cuing up CDs?”
“You don’t just cue up CDs. We’ll make it a fund-raiser. People come by and donate money for the new homeless shelter the Salvation Army is building in Aurora. Get it—a bed-in to raise money for more beds for the homeless?”
The more Carl talked, the more he sounded like Mattress Max, with that same frantic quality.
“I don’t know, Carl. It sounds boring as hell.”
“Not boring. Not boring at all. It wouldn’t just be you in the bed. We’d put one of the female jocks with you. The public will love it.”
Nick leaned forward. Now Erica could see the wave of ink-black hair that dipped over his forehead, and the end of his nose jutting out like the prow of a ship. He had, as Carl himself said, “A face only radio could love,” but that didn’t stop him from making time with every female who crossed his path. In fact, the whole Naughty Nick show was based on the premise that he was the biggest player in Denver. And as of last month, it was the top-rated morning drive-time show among the coveted demographic of twenty-four to fifty-four-year-olds.
“Now I’m getting interested,” Nick said. “Who’s the lucky lady?”
“I don’t know yet. It’s not like we’ve got a lot to choose from. There’s Audra Benson, the late-night gal.”
“She’s seven months pregnant!”
Erica stifled a laugh at the horror in Nick’s voice.
“What about Bombshell Bonnie? She’s hot.”
“Bombshell” Bonnie Remington was the station’s weather and traffic “girl,” a bleached blonde whose main claim to fame was once having posed for a Playboy feature on “Wild Women of Rock Radio” and her short-lived affair with afternoon drive-time jock Adam “the Hawk” Hawkins. Right before Erica came on staff Bonnie and Adam had apparently had a very public bust-up and in the months since the chill between them could have air-conditioned the building.
“Bonnie’ll never do it,” Nick said.
“Why not? She’s always whining about wanting more airtime. And she’s already proved she’s an exhibitionist.”
“Let me put it another way—I won’t do it with Bonnie.”
“Why not? She’s a knockout. The two of you will go over great together.”
“No way. The woman’s a ball breaker. You heard how she raked the Hawk over the coals when they called it quits.”
“We won’t have any more problems like that. You know the rules.”
“If you think forbidding dating among the on-air staff is going to solve all your problems, you don’t know Bonnie. I tried flirting with her once and she ripped me a new one before the commercial break was over. I don’t want anything to do with her.”
“Then who? It ain’t like we’ve got two dozen females hanging around the station who aren’t going to freeze up in front of a microphone.”
“What about that intern—Erline or whatever her name is?”<
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“Erica? You mean Erica, who managed to piss off not one, but two advertising accounts and draw an FCC fine the one and only time I let her near a microphone?”
Nick laughed, and Erica stifled a groan. Was it her fault she’d been shoved on the air at the last minute to fill in for Audra, who was in the ladies’ room, puking up her dinner? Anyone could have mixed up the commercials. And she hadn’t realized her microphone was still live when she started cursing her inability to straighten things out. She’d had to beg Carl not to fire her, and since then, he hadn’t let her near the broadcast booth.
Nick’s laughter finally subsided. “Come on, Carl. It’s not like she screwed up on purpose. And she’ll have me there to show her the ropes.”
“Just make sure that’s all you show her,” Carl said. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to give her a try….”
Did that mean Carl was going to let her do this? A live promo? She hardly had time to absorb the idea before the stack of mail shifted and began sliding. As CDs and Tyvek mailers tumbled to the floor, she let loose a stream of words that definitely were not allowed on air.
“Who’s making all that racket? We’re trying to have a meeting in here.” Carl stuck his head out the door. “Oh, Erica, it’s you. Come in here a minute.” Not waiting for an answer, he took her arm and hustled her into the office.
Nick looked her up and down and offered one of his trademark smarmy smiles. “Hello, beautiful.”
Nick called every woman “beautiful,” even if she was dressed like a bag lady and wearing a fright wig. “Hey, Nick.” She turned to Carl, trying to look innocent. “What’s up?”
Carl leaned against the desk. He was a short man with a wide face and jug-handle ears, dressed in green cords and a striped button-down shirt and red Chuck Taylors. He reminded Erica of a garden gnome. “How long have you been working here, Erica?” he asked.
“Six months.” As he very well knew.
“I think it’s about time we gave you some more airtime, don’t you?”
She cut her eyes over to Nick, who was grinning at her as though she was the special of the day. As if his player act impressed her. She focused again on Carl. “That is the reason I took this job.” It was bad enough a few detours in her career path made her one of the oldest interns in the history of the station—she didn’t plan to spend any longer than she had to shlepping mail and fetching coffee. She had her sights set on an on-air slot at the top rock station in Denver.
“Great!” Carl clapped his hands together. “We’ve got a fantastic new promo coming up that’ll pair you on air with Nick for three days next month. Not just the morning show, but live spots during the day as well. Terrific exposure.”
She glanced at Nick again, who leered at her. Three days in bed with that. She shuddered. “What exactly is the promo?” How would Carl spin this one?
“A fund-raiser for the new homeless shelter. Great, huh? Mattress Max came to me with the idea and I knew we had to get on board. Such a great cause.” He wasn’t looking directly at her anymore, a sure sign he was up to something shady.
“What exactly would I have to do?” she asked.
“Oh, nothing difficult. Just broadcast from the showroom floor of Max’s Furniture Gallery with Nick here.”
“You’d better level with her, Carl.” Nick stood, his six-foot-three, thick-set frame towering over her. “You’re gonna be spending three days in bed—with me, darlin’.”
She glared at the two men, trying to come up with a suitably scathing—yet not job-endangering—answer.
“She’s overcome with joy!” Nick patted her back. “Don’t worry, darlin’. Naughty Nick will take care of you.”
She curled her lip in a close approximation of a snarl. He actually took a step back. It was enough for her to find her voice again. “A bed-in?” She turned to Carl again. “Isn’t that a little sleazy?” She thought it was a lot sleazy, but this was, after all, rock radio.
“It’s perfectly respectable.” Carl put his arm around her. “Think of the great exposure. Think of the homeless shelter. Think how long it’ll be before you get another chance like this if you turn this one down.” His smile faded, along with the gnomelike jolliness. Now he looked like the hard-nosed businessman who had made KROK number one.
She glanced at Nick again. He was still leering. But could any man who ran his mouth that much be serious when it came to action? Besides, she was a grown woman. She could protect herself. And three days on the air! This could make her career. If she passed this up she might as well turn in her resignation and look for another job right now. She turned back to Carl. “All right. But I want a bonus for those three days.”
“A bonus!” Carl shook his head. “No can do.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “If I’m going to be on-air talent, I deserve a bonus.”
“She’s got a point there.” Nick’s hand was heavy on her shoulder. Since he was taking her side, she made herself stand still and not shake him off.
Carl frowned at them for a moment and shook his head. “All right. I’ll pay you the same thing an entry-level DJ makes. But just for those three days.”
She grinned. “Then we’ve got a deal.”
Carl dropped into his chair. “Great. See Belinda in marketing about getting your picture for the ads. And find something suitable to wear.”
Her smile faded. “Suitable?”
“It’s a bed-in. People are going to be stopping by, donating money. The two of you need to wear what you’d wear to bed.”
Nick chuckled. “In my case, that would be nothing.”
She glared at him. His smile vanished. “But I guess since this is for the public, I’ll find something a little less revealing. Don’t want to shock the folks.”
“You don’t want to get arrested,” Carl said. He turned to Erica. “Sex sells, so let’s see some kind of silky lingerie or something. Remember, it’s for a good cause.”
Right. For a good cause. Her career was a good cause, wasn’t it?
She backed out of the office, all chance of a graceful exit ruined when she stumbled over the pile of mail in the doorway. She gathered up the mess of envelopes and mailers and headed down the hall, dizzy from the thoughts racing through her head. Was she crazy? She’d just agreed to spend three days in bed with a man who thought he was a rock and roll Romeo—and she was expected to do it while wearing lingerie? She was out of her mind.
She took the stairs two at a time, racing toward her basement cubicle. Too late, she heard someone coming toward her and looked up in time to collide with a tall, very solid man.
Strong arms steadied her, and her cheek pressed against a broad chest which smelled of starch and Irish Spring. Who would have thought that could be such a sexy combination? She smiled, tempted to plead a sudden weakness and thus stay in his embrace a little longer.
Instead she sighed and pushed out of his arms. “Hey, Adam,” she said, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “I’m sorry. I was in a hurry and didn’t see you.”
“That’s okay.” Adam Hawkins’s brown eyes held an expression of concern. “Everything okay?”
She smiled, trying not to look as flustered as she felt. The truth was, within days of her arrival at the station she’d developed a serious crush on the afternoon jock. Not that he’d paid much attention to her. He was polite, of course, and had at least bothered to learn her name, unlike Nick and some of the others, who expected her to respond to “Hey, you.”
But Adam mostly kept to himself around the station. On air he was friendly and warm, but once he took off the microphone, he was a quiet man.
Was there anything sexier than the strong, silent type? Especially when the type in question had broad shoulders, fudge-brown eyes fringed with soot-black lashes, and a bass voice that vibrated right through her whenever he spoke.
Looking at and listening to Adam for hours every day for the past six months, Erica was certain the man had emotional depths and sexual skills just waiting
for the right woman—meaning her—to discover.
Too bad their “relationship” so far consisted of mundane comments exchanged in the hall and a few long moments of eye contact.
One more reason to suffer through this gig with Nick. If she did a good job, maybe Adam would start to see her as more than a co-worker. Maybe he’d even wish he were in Nick’s place in that bed.
Of course, there was still Carl’s rule about on-air talent not dating, but she wasn’t official on-air talent yet, was she? It was a small loophole, but she wouldn’t mind exploiting it with Adam.
“You sure you’re okay?” He peered into her face. “You look a little pale.”
She nodded, and shifted the stack of mail in her arms. “I’ll be fine…eventually.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? What happened?”
She studied him through lowered lashes, debating how to break the news. Should she go for sympathy or triumph? “Carl’s giving me a new promo gig.”
“Oh?” Little worry lines creased his forehead. “What is it this time?”
“It’s nothing that bad. It’s good, really. Three days of on-air time, raising money for the Salvation Army.”
The tension went out of his face. “Three days on air? Hey, that’s great.”
“Yeah, the only drawback is I’ll be working with Nick. Not that he’s not a great DJ,” she hastened to add. “It’s just…”
“It’s just that he’s Nick.” He frowned. “Want me to talk to Carl? See if he can find somebody else?”
The thought that he cared enough to stick up for her made her go weak in the knees. She put her hand on his arm, as much to steady herself as for the chance to touch him. “That’s really sweet of you, but I’m okay with it, really. It’s a big chance for me.”
“Three days is a lot. What’s the angle? Some kind of contest or something?”
“Not exactly.” Why did she suddenly feel embarrassed? After all, he—and the rest of the city—were going to find out soon enough. “It’s a fund-raiser for the new homeless shelter.”