Rock Romance: Needles and Pins by Lyrica Creed International Sale


     he doorbell and the subsequent woofing of his large mutt was an unwelcome intrusion into his comatose state. Another peal rang through the house and five seconds later beeped the app on his phone. The clarity of the bell confused him until he roused enough to remember he was in a downstairs guestroom and not in the muffled sanctity of his bedroom. Never did he hookup upstairs. Swiveling his head, he groaned when he saw he still had company.
     Again with the doorbell and fresh barking.
     He flung aside the sheets and fumbled through the clothing strewn around the room for his phone.
     Jeans on the floor. Not his.
     A bra entangled on his foot and he kicked it aside.
     Another chime. He trailed the sound to the adjoining bathroom floor. Jabbing at the flashing icon, he tilted the screen to a side view of a hot babe, leaning slightly as she peered into the leaded glass sidelight. Stepping back, she punched the doorbell again.
     “You gonna get that?” The disgruntled voice from the bed was hoarse from the crack she’d smoked earlier and surely from all the screaming she’d done.
     He shuddered in revulsion. Some men he knew were flattered, but he labeled the screamers ‘attention whores.’
     Swiveling around, he glared at the long tan limbs and mass of platinum hair against the cappuccino color of the sheets. “What’re you still doing here?”
     His question had the desired effect. He turned from the insulted fury in her eyes and the perfect D’s that remained stationary on her naked torso despite the angry way her chest heaved as she rose to her elbows.
     He felt bad for two seconds—that was better than dealing with her after daylight.
     The afternoon and evening was coming back to him. He wouldn’t be finding his clothing among hers. His things were still strewn around the pool. The only reason she’d had to be undressed is she’d bailed from the pool long enough to run up the road for more party favors.
     Discovering a pair of board shorts in the closet, he stepped into them and looked hopefully for a shirt. When he didn’t find one, he padded barefoot down the tiles of the hallway as the doorbell rang a fourth time. This time, the woman on his doorstep followed with a knock on the door. Persistent little bitch.
     This scenario might have been common a few years ago―several women or a whole crowd of acquaintances arriving at all hours and partying all night. But gradually his late nights had dwindled to partying alone or with a hookup or two or few. The dope went farther that way. Less drain on his bank account—and less people to throw out of his house when he’d had enough.
     The mystery woman was bedraggled but beautiful. His defenses shot up. He wanted to be irritated. After all, a late night booty call who was only vaguely familiar had shown up, without texting first.
     Then again, tonight, she might be just what the doctor ordered.
     Despite him pissing her off, Trish, or Tanya, or whatever the gal’s name in the bedroom was, would surely be up for staying now that a little extra fun had arrived. And if she didn’t, her loss.
     “Hey, you!” He shooed his dog aside and pulled the door open wide. “Step inside mi casa!”
     Ignoring his easygoing flirty manner, the young woman brushed around him with a rude scoff. It was then he noticed the suitcase. It clinked on the tile as she rolled it along, and then she released the handle, allowing it to rest upright.
     Suitcase? Never had a woman arrived with luggage. In fact, if they had, he would have ejected them from the premises immediately. Afterward, he would have made sure women from then on knew it was a hard and fast rule: no bags larger than a purse allowed.
     “So?” Folding her arms across her chest, she seemed to wait.
     He was distracted for a moment by the way her stretchy vee-necked tee hugged her tits. They weren’t huge like the ones he’d had at his sexual disposal a few hours ago. But they definitely moved when she moved—unlike those of Tinni/Tabbi.
     As if summoned by his brief thought of her twins, Tabbi/Tania entered stage left. She carried her heels in one hand, purse in the other, and she’d done nothing while dressing to smooth out her wild, face-fucked hairdo.
     Her entry set off Rascal. A series of fresh barks echoed the entryway until Gage signaled to the dog who promptly dropped to his haunches. The animal hated a few people on sight—Tania/Tracy being one—and always made his aversion known.
     From behind the veil of her long lashes, the mysterious newcomer seemed to size up the other disheveled woman. And then she laughed. A sarcastic, sexy tinkle that sent a stab of remorse through his heart for some reason.
     “Never mind.” She tugged at her long, auburn ponytail. “I understand. It’s exactly what I thought.” Her arms fell to her sides, and she shifted her weight from one skinny, jean-clad leg to the other as she swung her eyes his way.
     Obviously, she was wanting—expecting—more from him than his almost naked state and come-hither grin. He raised a hand to his forehead, forking his fingers through a mane of hair he knew looked no better than that of his bed guest. Tracy/Trish slowed to a seductive prance as she reached the commotion in the entry hall.
     The two women assessed each other, at first, neither flinching in their gaze. Trish/Tonya gave in first, not only breaking eye contact, but also dismissively turning her entire body away from the ginger beauty to face him.
     Ignoring the scream queen, he looked beyond her, struggling through his foggy mind to place the familiar eyes, the arch of her brows. The red hair didn’t belong. He was certain of that much. Whoever she was in his memories was slightly different. He tried to buy a few extra seconds while his fuzzy mind worked, substituting brunette hair, then lighter hair… Who was this intimate stranger?


Finding my best friend and getting the hell out of California is top priority. Especially as my relationship with rocker Gage Remington becomes more complicated with each passing day...
    I’m on the tour bus partying!
    The text from my best friend, Ivy, is one of her last. When weeks stretch with no further contact, I travel to L.A. to track down the band known as Rageon and find Ivy.
    As the daughter of a groupie mom, and of a rock star father who fatally overdosed, I know the dangers of the world my friend disappeared into.
    My childhood friend, Gage, a musician who’s just come off tour invites me to crash at his place.
    The last time I saw Gage in person, we were teens. He’s everywhere on social media, so I’m prepared for the tattoo-covered rocker who answers my knock. What I’m not expecting to find is the sweet, sensitive teen I grew up with is now an irresponsible, partying playboy who lives for his next fix.
    As the search for Ivy narrows, my relationship with Gage becomes more complicated. The tingling tug of attraction toward him is unexpected--and unacceptable. I’ll never allow myself to fall for a musician, especially one with a drug addiction.
    Gage teams up with me to find Ivy, introducing me into the right circles and guarding my secrets.
    My search for Ivy takes me places I never wanted to go... And my heart is an unwilling passenger on that dark ride.
    Strung Out: A Needles and Pins Rock Star Romance is 90k words which is around 300 print pages. It may appear to be double that as the download contains 2 versions of the same book, allowing readers to choose their favorite reading style of 1 POV or 3 POV


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