Savage RhythmBy: Chloe Cox
Just a quick note…
I don’t know if I’ve ever wanted two characters to get their HEA this much.
I know that’s weird to say, but any author will tell you that there comes a point where the characters kind of…start talking to you. They have their own opinions, their own reactions, their own pain—and it’s your job to continue to put them through hell for a little while. And like many people I’ve known in real life, Declan and Molly have traumatic pasts that they cope with as best they can. It meant a lot to me to be able to help them find their way to each other—and then find the strength to face up to those pasts because of that.
But not before they discover that they can’t keep their hands off of each other, of course. ;) And let me tell you, everyone should have a guy with Declan’s particular, um, talents.
You’ll see. :)
Molly Ward was seriously reconsidering her choice of clothing.
She had wanted to look respectable. In control. Smart. A woman who was not to be messed with, a woman who could hold her own with Declan freaking Donovan, lead singer of Savage Heart. Instead she felt constrained and fake, the too-small conservative blouse pulling tight in all the wrong places, her skirt scratching at her, her shoes pinching, even while the heels kept getting stuck between the wooden slats of the dock. She was on a dock, for chrissakes, not at some corporate whatever. She’d just been so worried about meeting the man himself and losing the upper hand right away, so terrified that she’d blow this life-changing opportunity before it even got started, that she’d overcompensated. Even her hair was in a severe bun.
Someone like Declan would no doubt prefer that she show up in no clothing at all.
Oh, that is a bad thought. Molly couldn’t afford distracting thoughts like that if she wanted to nail this job. She had no idea how many people had applied for the ghostwriting job advertised out of Club Volare L.A., of all places, but Molly had gotten it, and she was determined not to screw it up. Adra Davis, one of the founding members of the L.A. club, had believed in her, even when Molly gasped a little when Adra told her the subject of the book would be Declan Donovan. It made sense, in retrospect—Declan’s image needed a major overhaul after his fight in Philadelphia and his stint in rehab—but that didn’t make it any less insane.
And that didn’t make Donovan any less of an irresistible, womanizing force of nature. The man was legendary.
So, of course, she’d been having lots of bad thoughts about this job, starting right when she’d heard the name Declan Donovan. She’d had lots of excited thoughts, too, and lots of scared thoughts, and, most of all, lots of sexy thoughts, because not only was she touring with Declan and the remaining members of Savage Heart with the express purpose of getting to the bottom of Declan’s fight with Soren, the lead guitarist, and the original band’s break up—yeah, only the question everyone and their mother wanted answered—but, and this is what had obsessed her since she’d put two and two together, she had been hired for the job through Club Volare L.A.. Which meant that Declan Donovan was into BDSM.
Which, if Molly was any judge, meant that Declan Donovan, confirmed rock star sex god, was also a Dom.
Molly had always fantasized about dominant men. She’d been drawn to the Club Volare posting because she wanted to learn more about their world. About the sorts of things a Dom might do with her. But never, not once, in her wildest dreams, had she imagined that Declan Donovan might be one of them.
Fuck. She could not afford to get carried away thinking about Declan in a sexual way, and not just because of the job, either. No way was Molly setting herself up to get fucked over by a guy like that again, even if Declan was the real deal, where Robbie had been a cheap facsimile.
No freaking way was she going to lose control. It cost too much.
But apparently she’d have to allow herself the occasional randy thought, because there seemed to be no stopping them. Also the occasional terrified thought, because, well, holy crap.
Molly took a deep breath, set her eyes on the clubhouse at the end of the dock, and walked forward. What kind of a privacy-obsessed sex club would throw a party on a dock? Maybe she didn’t have the right to question, considering she was crashing said party, but it seemed incongruous. No matter. She was crashing this party, specifically, to get the upper hand with Declan Donovan, rock god Dom or no. She was here to let him know that she would get to the bottom of his fight with Soren Andersson, no matter how much he didn’t want to talk about it. She was here to announce that Declan Donovan would not be dominating their interviews.