The Peabody in Memphis wasn’t Derek’s usual brand of comfort for a concert stop. Not ultra modern. Not accustomed to dealing with rockers and their entourage and fans. And I doubted the hotel management would be as forgiving of the noise that invariably accompanied a late night jam. Because of his recent Instagram posts, most fans probably thought he was staying on his band’s tour bus, but I knew better. This close to home, he couldn’t resist a trip to watch the ducks parade through the lobby. When he was a kid, his dad father treated him to a trip to the Peabody to see the odd parade. Something he still laughed about.

As I strode through the lobby, past the fountain where the ducks splashed away, I wished I’d worn a hoodie. Heads turned. Cell phones came out. I lifted my chin and pasted on my famous, vacuous smile. It didn’t take a second before the first nervous fangirl ran gushing to my side.

“Oh, Ms. Cornish! I follow your Candygrams! Do you mind?” the flustered teenager said as she thrust her cell phone toward me.

Because she’d be sharing the shot with me, I reached into my bag, produced a new tube of my signature lipstick, and waited while she slid the color across her bare lips. I took her cell phone and held it away. “Pout for the camera,” I said, and then puckered my own lips to take the shot.

After I’d taken the picture, I said, “Keep the lipstick and be sure to tag me.”

She squealed, gave me a hug, and ran back to her family standing near the reception desk.

With a quick glance around to make sure no more fans would approach, I headed straight for the concierge’s desk. The young man gave me a wink and handed me an envelope.

I slipped him a hundred and headed straight to an elevator. Once inside, I pulled out a mirror and checked my hair. I’d left it loose and wavy, just as Derek liked it. My makeup was perfect—smoky eyes, red lips. Any fatigue I felt was well-camouflaged by concealer.

Sliding the key card out of the envelope, I waited until the doors opened, checked to make sure the hall was clear, and then strode toward Derek’s room. His manager had made the arrangements. A surprise visit. With the launch of my new cosmetics line and the whirl of fashion week in New York, Derek wouldn’t have a clue I was coming. At his door, I took a deep breath. I hoped he’d be happy to see me. That our last spat wasn’t still fresh on his mind. And if by chance he’d moved on, like he’d threatened, I hoped I wasn’t interrupting something that would crush me.

Yes, it was late afternoon, but Derek liked to rest before a gig. And not always alone. When we’d been hot and heavy—before my profile had exploded on Instagram and business opportunities had flown at me at a dizzying rate—I’d been the girl in his bed. The one he’d needed to tame his nerves before a concert.

I let myself into the darkened room and moved through the suite’s living area, toward the cracked bedroom door. I stood in the space, listening, hoping I wasn’t too late.

A soft snore greeted my ears. Just one. And even though the curtains were pulled and the lighting was dim, I made out one figure beneath the covers.

Relieved, I crept inside the room on tiptoe and began to strip. As I shed my clothes, I shed “Candy Cornish”—the latest celebutante blowing up on social media. A funny idea, really, since I hadn’t been born into privilege. Until I’d launched my own line, my fashion and makeup blogs had mostly been filled with department stores finds—things any girl with an eye for fashion and a bit of courage could have managed to do. However, I had one advantage—my association with Derek and his band. Our photo bombs had brought me into the public eye. With only a high school education and a resume filled with cashiering at fast food restaurants and stints in telemarketing, I shouldn’t have succeeded.

But here I was. With my own makeup line in direct competition with Kat Von D’s and my own clothing line set to launch in just a few weeks—with an online catalog company, because, after all, I was an internet phenom.

Nude, I approached the bed, lifted the covers, and slid in behind the long, lean form stretched on the right side of the bed. Smiling, I smoothed my hands over his sides, scratched my nails lightly across his belly, and reached for his cock.

I knew the moment he awakened. His breath caught.

And because I wanted him to know it was me, not some crazy fan sneaking into his bed, I kissed his shoulder and whispered in his ear. “Surprise, baby. Happy to see me?” His cock jerked inside my grasp, and I gave him a squeeze.

“Um, Candy?” His voice was sleep-roughened. Deeper than usual. Sexy as hell.

He rolled to his back, and I came over him, spreading my thighs to straddle his hips. When I leaned downward, a scent I didn’t recognize greeted me. Derek wore Gio.

And something else registered. The penis in my hand was slightly thicker, shorter than I remembered.

Before I could react, the door to the bedroom opened. Lights blazed above.

I heard a soft, “What the fuck?” as I stared down into Jimmy Jones’s amused blue gaze. My jaw dropped. I eased my hand from his dick then quickly scrambled backward, baring both our bodies as the sheets slid downward. I dragged them up again, but realized my crotch was still pressing against Jimmy’s thighs. But what could I do? I crossed an arm over my breasts and turned to meet Derek’s dark glare. “I can explain.”

He shook his head and held up two cups of coffee in his hands. “I only stepped out for fifteen minutes to grab a couple cups. Imagine my surprise when some chick in the lobby squealed about meeting Candy Cornish.”

His words were terse. He was really angry. Color rode high on his cheekbones.

Nothing was making sense. Jimmy was in his bed. The pillow on the left had a deep indentation. I sucked in a breath as my stomach dove toward my toes. “Nooooo.”

Derek’s eyes narrowed further.

I pointed to Jimmy whose mouth was curved in a one-sided smile. “You…and Jimmy?”

Derek shrugged. “You know I need to let off steam before a gig.”

“But…you…and…Jimmy?”

Jimmy’s hands gripped my hips, and he slid my body from his thighs, upward, until his cock slid between my folds. I tensed my thighs, trying to put space between my sex and his, but he was stronger. “Stop that!” I said, swatting at his hands.

Jimmy laughed. “You should see your face.”

Anger flared. “You being here, I can understand. You’d fuck anything with a hole. But Derek?”

“Baby, I’ve got skills,” Jimmy said, waggling his eyebrows.

“Enough, Jimmy,” Derek said, his tone sharp. “Let her up. She needs to get dressed and go.”

Derek’s voice cut through my anger. “But—”

“Candace.”

He never used my full name. He sounded like his dad when he did. I shivered. “But we need to talk.”

One dark brow arched. He waved a hand toward Jimmy and I. “This is how you conduct a conversation?”

I gave him a weak smile even while I clenched my pussy trying to keep more moisture from sliding over Jimmy’s shaft. As awkward as this was, I couldn’t let him eject me from his suite. “We’re talking now.”

Derek’s jaw hardened. His cheekbones became more pronounced as he tensed. “Okay, we’ll talk.” When I started to push against Jimmy’s hands again because he still hadn’t released my hips, Derek shook his head. “Stay there. Just like that,” he said, his voice as smooth as velvet. “And we’ll talk.”