His past haunts him. Her past hunts her.
When Grammy winning Marked Love keyboardist, Keys, finds himself face to face with Mia for a week, he thinks his run of bad luck has finally turned.
Mia thinks sheâs in for the week of her worst nightmares.
But as the two collide in an intense affair, two things become obviousâtheir friends want Mia to stay as far away from Keys as she can. And, neither one of them can forget their pasts and open to love. As a result, they crash together and are wrenched apart like pounding waves. As their week comes to an end, theyâre forced to deal with the potent attraction between them and the deadly consequences that follow.
With so much at stake, can they find the key to love?
His past haunts him. Her past hunts her.
When Grammy winning Marked Love keyboardist, Keys, finds himself face to face with Mia for a week, he thinks his run of bad luck has finally turned.
Mia thinks sheâs in for the week of her worst nightmares.
But as the two collide in an intense affair, two things become obviousâtheir friends want Mia to stay as far away from Keys as she can. And, neither one of them can forget their pasts and open to love. As a result, they crash together and are wrenched apart like pounding waves. As their week comes to an end, theyâre forced to deal with the potent attraction between them and the deadly consequences that follow.
With so much at stake, can they find the key to love?
How had Keysâ life sunk to such a festering, pus-filled low? He sank down on top of the young, milk-chocolate-haired womanâs sweaty torso in the cluttered hotel room inâwhere are weâŚChicago? Yeah, thatâs it. We played to a packed house tonight in the Windy City. The haze of too much whiskey and weed, not enough sleep, and extremely unsatisfying sex made it hard for him to think straight.
Heâd already forgotten the womanâs name. Daisy. Or, maybe Kenna. Or, perhaps Cassandra. It didnât matter what she was called. He never remembered their names. She was just one of a faceless sea of bodies. None of them stood out from the next.
They all wanted to have bragging rights to share in their next Beachbody Babe class or Pilates, or whatever fad workout class women did to keep in shape these days. âOoooh, girl, last night, I got down with the keyboardist of Marked Love!â None of them cared about him, beyond what his stage persona could give them.
He wanted to forget about the detritus that was his life, seemingly stretching in every direction like dried carcasses in the desert. Only one bright dream twinkled on his horizon, but it kept getting blurred by all the dust, wind, and noise of his personal desert.
His bandmate, Trevor, whom everyone but Keys called Heat, lay next to him, still banging the butter-blonde babe heâd scored. Trevor grunted as he ground into the woman.
Keys began to mentally rehearse a complex keyboard riff heâd been working on, using Trevorâs grunts to mark time, like a metronome. Propped on his forearms, with his forehead pressed into a pillow and his body still smashed against the babeâs breasts and belly beneath him, his fingers drummed the damp sheet, moving in the elaborate rhythm he hadnât quite mastered. Damn. He lifted his head to stare his fingers into submission, completely ignoring the woman he rested upon.
His favorite piano teacher, Harper, whom he lost his virginity to at age fourteen, started nagging him in his mind. Itâs F sharp, not flat, James. And the dynamics are fortissimo, fortissimo!
The gold rings adorning each finger glinted and sparkled in the diffuse light, which permeated the room. The jewels embedded in some of the ringsâa massive ruby, two diamonds, and a rare, richly viridescent emeraldâwere the only touches of color in his world these days. The rest of it seemed to be a dull brown, like swamp water.
âGet the fuck off me. I canât breathe,â the female beneath him complained. She wriggled her hands beneath his shoulders and pushed, using her pointed fingernails to drive her message home.
Wordlessly, Keys rolled to the side. He removed the condom from his slightly hard, completely unsatisfied dick, tied a knot in the end and tossed it with an overhand throw, managing to snag it on the lip of the black and gold trashcan in the corner. Score! Then, he scanned the mash-up of clothes littering the floor, trying to find the pants that belonged to him.
âYouâre not as good a lay as youâre reported to be,â Milk-Chocolate whined in a high-pitched howl, sort of like the sound a chimpanzee might make.
He gave her a side-eye and reached down to retrieve a pair of jeans that looked like his. He bit back his own commentary of words like, âyou just lay there like a dead fish,â or, âYour breath stinks,â because, well, manners and all that. No need to hurt her feelings.
âDid you hear me?â she chirped.
âYeah, I heard you,â he said, sorting through another clothing pile to find his shirt. âYouâre dissatisfied. Iâm dissatisfied. And yet you just had sex with one of the greatest keyboardists in the world, in the best rock and roll band of all time, Marked Love.â He pivoted, tapped the end of her nose with his fingertip, and smirked. âThink of the bragging rights.â
Her mouth turned down in a frown. âIâm going to tell everyone that you suck as a fuck buddy.â
He shrugged. âWho are they going to believe? You? Or, the thousands of satisfied customers before you?â He regretted the words the minute they launched from his mouth. Lately, Marked Loveâs drummer, Gia, had been getting all up in his grill about his arrogance and lack of empathy. When he looked over at Milk-Chocolate and saw her chin quivering and her eyes getting all shimmery, like she was about to burst into tears at any moment, he wished heâd listened to Gia. Fuck. He stood to tug up his pants and pull his shirt over his body, ignoring her.
âAinsley, donât cry. Did you make her cry?â Butter-Blonde said. âSweetie, stop,â she said.
Keys wasnât sure which sweetie she referred toâTrevor or Milk-Chocolate. Intent on ignoring the drama heâd just ignited like a Molotov cocktail, he strolled toward the coffee table in the spacious suite, picked up the half-empty bottle of Jameson, and took a swig. Then, he plucked the half-smoked joint out of the ashtray, stuck it in his mouth, and lit it with the blue plastic lighter, which sat near the ashtray. He closed his eyes and inhaled, holding the smoke in his lungs as long as possible. He longed to feel something, anything, besides the deadness inside.
âFuck, Keys, I didnât even get to finish. Youâre a royal fucktard sometimes, you know that?â Trevor called from across the room.
âNot my circus, not my monkeys,â Keys said, blowing out the smoke, not bothering to open his eyes. Taking another hit of the joint dangling from his lips, he stretched his legs out and spread his arms on the back of the sofa. âIâm going to jet, anyway. You can stay.â
âWhat? No, Iâm not going to stay if you donât stay,â Trevor said.
Keys removed the doobie from his lips and stubbed it out in the glass ash receptacle. âNah. Iâm not into it,â he said, lifting open one eyelid to glare at his friend. âYou stay and finish. Have a threesome. Iâll meet you somewhere later on.â
âNo way, Keys. Itâs not as fun if youâre not here.â
Ainsley began to sob. Her black mascara streaked her face.
âShhh, sweetie, shhh. He didnât mean to hurt your feelings, did you, asshole?â Butter-Blonde soothed, directing the words at Keys.
Keys huffed out a sigh, visualizing Gia standing before him with her hands on her hips, chewing him a new one. He got to his feet, dragged himself across the room and stood over Ainsley and her friend. âIt wasnât personal. Youâre, uh, sweet. Itâs me. Iâm, uh, going through something right nowâcomplete boredom with random hookups--and my head wasnât in the game.â He did his best to smile.
Ainsley sniffled and wiped her eyes with the sheet. âReally? You can talk to me, you know. Iâm a really good listener.â
âShe is,â Butter-Blonde said, sitting on her knees. Her pendulous breasts hung heavy on her small frame as she emphatically nodded her head. âYou can tell her anything, anything at all.â
âThanks, but no, thanks. Iâll work it out.â Keys turned to Trevor. âYou can stay and satisfy these two fine ladies, right?â
Ainsley started crying again.
Trevor scowled and shoved off the bed. He stalked around, searching for his pants. âNo. Iâm not going to have a threesome if youâre not here. Girls, weâre done here.â He found his pants, retrieved his wallet, and fished out a hundred-dollar bill. Handing it to Butter-Blonde, he said, âHere. Thanks for your time. Sorry, it didnât work out.â
Butter-Blonde eyed the money, eyed Trevor, and pouted. âWeâre worth way more than a hundred dollars.â
âFine,â Trevor said, fishing out another hundred-dollar bill. âHereâs one for each of you.â He reached past Butter-Blonde to hand one to Ainsley.
Ainsleyâs eyes lit up. She snatched the bill from his hand.
âThatâs your cue, sweet things. Get your clothes and go,â Keys said.
âBastard,â Ainsley said, her tears instantly drying. Clearly, sheâd reached the fourth stage of his and Trevorâs personal philosophy of the seven stages of a dead hookup, namely anger.
âIâm not going to disagree with you,â Keys said, dragging his hand through his bright green and blond-roots hair, which was still loaded with hairspray and styling product to keep it spikey-cool. âNow, shoo.â
Both women rolled off the bed, donned their clothes and stomped out of the room muttering something about âtotal assholes,â and âhardly worth their good looks,â and âletâs see if we can find some better action elsewhere.â
Keys chuckled at their too-loud insults, which wafted through the room like smoke, fading into nothingness.
âWhatâs up with you? You havenât been much fun lately,â Trevor said, making his way toward the couch. He picked up the Jameson and took a swig of it.
âI donât know, man. Iâm tired, is all. Weâve been touring hard all year. I think Iâm just burnt out.â Keys strolled toward Trevor and flopped in the easy chair next to the sofa. âWhen we go to Cancun next week, I plan on doing nothing but sleep.â A pang of loneliness squeezed his heart. He picked up the lighter and flicked it into flame, wishing he could strike a match inside just as easily, in an attempt to rekindle his passion for living. âAnd, the bandâs changing, you know? Dante and Kennedy are all cozy now. Giaâs got her giant ex-Marine, Marco, and you and I seem to be left out in the cold doing the same old routine weâve done for a couple yearsâfuck a bunch of nameless faces.â
âI thought you liked our routine,â Trevor said, flashing him a wounded puppy dog gaze. âIf you want to mix it up differently, Iâd be down with that. What do you want?â He grabbed the pitiful remains of the joint and gestured for the lighter.
Keys tossed it to him and reached for the whiskey. He tipped back his head and glugged. Then, he set the bottle down on the coffee table with a thwack. His gaze slid toward the ceiling. âWhat do I want?â I want more than a one-night stand. I want to be able to remember the womanâs name for more than a hot second. I want to love her so hard I carve her name into my flesh. I want to write songs for my elusive muse, thatâs what I want.
Trevor flicked the flame onto the end of the joint and sucked hard, burning his fingers. âOuch! Shit!â He flung the roach remnants on the coffee table. âFucking hell.â Scowling, he shook his hand. âWell? What is it that youâre looking for?â he said.
âI donât know,â Keys said, shaking his desires from his mind.
âYouâre going to the awards ceremony tomorrow night, right? Marked Love, six-time Grammy winner,â Trevor said, sweeping his palm in front of him. âMaybe we can find something different after that. Maybe a couple of black chicks, or Asian chicks, orâŚ?â He shrugged. âName your poison.â
âYeah, I donât want to go. Honestly, Iâm sick of music life. Iâm bored out of my mind with everything. Nothing turns me on.â Keys slung his leg nonchalantly over the armrest.
âWhat? Youâve got to come. Iâll be disappointed if you donât come,â Trevor said, once more flashing puppy dog eyes at Keys.
Keys studied him for a second. âIâm not going to hold your hand if thatâs what youâre hoping. Youâre a big boy and can navigate through an awards ceremony without me, you know.â
âFine,â Trevor said, staring at the coffee table. âDonât come. I donât care.â He lifted his hand over his head and let it fall in defeat.
Keys winced. Trevor, barely legal drinking age, was like his little brother. He hated to disappoint him. âFine,â he said. âIâll come. But no threesomes or foursomes afterward. Iâm just going to go home and crash afterward, got it?â
A strange look crossed Trevorâs face.
Keys couldnât quite discern what it was and didnât bother trying. He had more important things to figure out, like, how to soothe this ginormous ache growing in his heart. Sure, he knew the band all relied on each other. They all loved one another in their own way. But, he wanted more.
Yet, he had to be honest with himself. Who could possibly love me the way I want to be loved? Giaâs right. Iâm an arrogant asshole. So what else is there, if there isnât love in my future? How can I find fulfillment? Am I destined to be lonely?
Sadly, this statement rang true, all the way to his two-million-dollar Lloyds of London insured fingertips. He would no doubt die a bitter, lonely old son of a bitchâunless he could make some changes, stat.
This novel had me hooked from the start. I am a sucker for stories that combine music, intense friendship dynamics, hate-to-love, and super sexy characters. This has it all.
Mia is a super smart, sweet, and headstrong protagonist who is weary of love (and for good reason). She is especially weary of Keys Johnson. He loves the ladies (if only for a night) and has sworn off love and all that comes with it. But from the night that he sees Mia, he just had to have her.
I really enjoyed how the relationship developed between the two of them. Keys and Mia both have tragic and disturbing pasts, and while Keys has escaped his, Mia is still living with and running from the consequences of hers. I immediately fell for Keys (even for all of his arrogance and cliche lines) and sympathized greatly with his struggles. I found him to be strong even in his weaknesses and I was thoroughly pleased with his emotional growth as he grew in his relationship (situationship?) with Mia. The story arc of their relationship had all of the realistic highs and lows, something that I think a lot of romance novels are missing.
The music element of this story was AWESOME! As a music lover, I was fascinated by the dynamic among Keys and his bandmates. While I wish that each of those side characters had a tad bit more development, I understand that can be hard to accomplish in 500 pages, especially when the music aspect was not the main focal point of the story.
While this was an easy read, there were some unexpected plot twists that made my jaw drop and sit forward in my chair.
There was accurate representation of PTSD and anxiety - which I think can be tricky for some authors. It's easy to get wrapped up in stereotypes and writing plot lines for shock-value, but Bardot wrote in way that added to the characters' arcs in an emotional and relatable fashion. Trigger warning for domestic abuse and violence.
I felt thoroughly satisfied with the ending. I grew to really care about Keys and Mia and what happened to them.
What can I say? This book was dark, delicious, and sexy - I couldn't stop reading! Make sure you set aside a few hours because once you open this book, you will not want to put it down.