Kiro's Emily (Rosemary Beach #10)
Abbi Glines
February 14, 1992
Emily
Seeing other women naked wasn’t something I enjoyed. Not even a little bit. Seeing other people have sex wasn’t something I enjoyed, either. Not that I had ever seen that before in my life. Until now. But I couldn’t blame this mess on anyone other than myself. What I was witnessing was all my fault. Bleaching this from my brain would be impossible.
I pressed farther back into the corner of the room and closed my eyes tightly so I could focus on how the heck I was going to get out of here. Watching the live porn in front of me wasn’t helping me concentrate, though. I was too busy trying not to vomit in my mouth.
It wasn’t that I was a prude. I mean, I hadn’t had sex yet, but I wanted to, eventually, with the right guy. The scene I was being forced to bear witness to was not by any means what I wanted. Ever.
Sure, these guys were becoming rock gods. Slacker Demon had just nailed their first multiplatinum record, and the world loved them. They were taking over the Billboard charts with one hit after another. Add to that the fact that three of the five members were really very attractive, in a bad boy kind of way. Women threw themselves at all of them.
Including my cousin, Sonya. She had been lusting after the drummer, Dean Finlay, from the beginning. He was nice to look at, I would give her that, but from what I was seeing tonight, this was not what Sonya wanted. Surely.
It didn’t matter how gorgeous and famous these men were, being a one-time screw for them wasn’t something any female should want. Besides, they had to be carrying diseases. I’d seen so many women on their knees tonight it was unreal.
Sonya saw it differently. She had always turned heads. Even when we were kids. Long blond hair, the biggest blue eyes, and eyelashes a mile long were just the beginning. Sonya was five foot ten and nothing but long, tanned legs and a really nice pair of boobs that she’d purchased with her graduation money from high school. Our grandparents had given us each ten grand in hopes we would invest it wisely and use that money to our advantage to start our lives.
I invested mine with the help of my grandfather. Sonya bought herself a set of double-Ds.
I tried to search through the crowd for her, but she had been missing ever since I saw her flirting with the bassist, Trac Trace. He wasn’t one of the beautiful ones, but he was talented.
I hadn’t realized how talented until I had seen him perform at the last four stops on their tour. Why had I seen the last four tours? Because I loved Sonya, and she needed me. Her father had just left her mother for another man, and Sonya was falling apart. When she had needed to hit the road and get away from all the mess at home, I had told her I would go with her.
So now I was a groupie who hid in corners and closed her eyes. Tonight was the first night we had actually made it back to the after-party room. Sonya had slept with several guys to get us here. I had spent a lot of nights waiting for her with my can of pepper spray held tightly in my hand while I hid in the shadows. I was drawing the line tonight, though. I couldn’t keep doing this. I wanted to go back to South Carolina.
“You OK?” a deep voice asked, close enough that I felt the warmth of his breath. My eyes snapped open, and I stared right into the eyes of a guy I didn’t know. His hair was normal, and so was his clothing. I also noted that his breath did not smell like alcohol.
“Yes,” I replied, watching him carefully. Although he appeared not to be drunk or high, I didn’t know him. I wasn’t trusting him just yet.
He studied me a moment, as if to make sure, and then grinned. “You don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself.” He glanced out at the wild orgy going on in front of us.
“Not exactly, no.”
He placed a hand on the wall beside me and tilted his body toward mine. This was not a good thing. I took a step back and watched him to make sure he didn’t make any sudden moves.
He chuckled. “Can I ask why you’re here? It isn’t exactly easy to get back here. Most babes have worked hard for it.”
Small talk wasn’t on my list of things I wanted to do, either, but talking to this guy was better than watching the love fest. “My cousin wanted in. She has the looks to get noticed. I’m just here waiting on her.”
The guy’s dark eyes did a quick scan of my body, lingering over places I would rather he didn’t. I crossed my arms over my chest protectively.
When his eyes made it back to my face, I scowled at him.
“You could have gotten in all by yourself. I can assure you of that,” the guy said.
Who was this, and why was he bothering me? I shifted farther away from him and focused my attention on the floor.
But that didn’t last long. A crash caught my attention, and I snapped my head up to see what all the laughing and squealing was about.
Standing in the center of the room, wearing nothing but a pair of black leather pants that hung off his hips, was the lead singer of Slacker Demon and the most beautiful man I had ever seen: Kiro Manning. His blue eyes were startlingly clear. His corded arms and washboard stomach were decorated with colorful tattoos. Then there was his hair, just long enough to keep pulled back in a ponytail. Which he did often.
Problem was, he was also the biggest man-whore in the band.
The smile on his face right now, as he commanded everyone’s attention in the room, was wicked. There wasn’t another word for it. He knew he was wanted, and he loved it. “Broke my f*cking bottle of vodka. Need a new one,” he announced, then held out a hand and crooked his finger at a redhead who was currently topless and wearing only a thong. She hurried over to him, and he pulled her into the crook of his arm and laid his palm over her breast.