Anyone But You Read online

  Contents

  Anyone But You

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Epilogue

  The Arrangement

  Dear Reader

  Acknowledgements

  Keep in touch!

  About Jerica MacMillan

  Other Titles on Amazon

  Anyone But You

  Cataclysm Book 5

  Jerica MacMillan

  Copyright © 2020 by Jerica MacMillan

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  Mason

  “Dude. Seriously? We have to be on stage in like fifteen minutes.”

  Aaron’s voice interrupts me as I kiss Shawna—Sheila?—something that starts with a sh sound anyway—goodbye and send her away from my dressing room with a light smack on her tight, round ass. Too bad there isn’t time to explore more of her curves right now. All we had time for was a quick blowie in my dressing room, because Aaron’s right. We’re on stage in fifteen.

  I drag my gaze from the bleach blonde’s bubble butt and give Aaron my attention. “You have your pre-show routines, and I have mine. Besides, you’re one to talk. I’m pretty sure I’ve heard your girlfriend moaning in your dressing room before a show more than once. And anyway, why are you wandering around so close to showtime?”

  “I needed more water.” He holds up a full water bottle in illustration.

  That has me wrinkling my brows. “Aren’t we supposed to have a new assistant? Why isn’t she getting your water?”

  But whatever Aaron says, I don’t hear, because my attention is diverted by a new face. One with dark hair in a sleek bob and pouty red lips that I can imagine stretching around my cock or moaning in pleasure, wide eyes that I’d love to see hazy with lust as I sink inside her. Even though I just came not five minutes ago, my dick is already stirring as I fantasize about this new groupie looking around backstage like she’s never made it this far before.

  And I’m just the man to give her the full tour. In fact, I’m the only man available for that, since my other three bandmates are taken. Hell, two of them even have kids.

  Stepping into this new vision’s way, giving her a once-over, taking in her tight black tank and tighter leggings, I can really tell she’s new to the whole groupie thing—she’s far more covered than most groupies, though her outfit does a stellar job of showcasing her pinup curves. Her tank gives a hint of her cleavage, but her makeup is too soft, with the exception of those scarlet red lips, the sole color making their plump softness stand out even more. Maybe she won some contest and isn’t a true groupie, just a normal fan. But those women are usually an even wilder ride, breaking out of their prim shells at the chance to fuck a rock star.

  For the last few years, their hopes were all dashed. Danny knocked up a groupie midway through our first tour, and with the shitstorm that created, we all dialed way back on the rock star party circuit. Marcus and Danny turned into monks, more or less, and got more dictatorial and grumpy as a result. Aaron and I both hooked up with the band’s assistant, Blaire. Until Aaron got back together with his high school sweetheart-slash-baby momma. I’m still not sure why that spelled the end of my arrangement with Blaire, but it did.

  It threw me for a major loop, because I genuinely cared about Blaire. And since Aaron wasn’t in the mix anymore, I assumed that our relationship would naturally transition to just the two of us together. What we had was easy and fun, with no need to worry about getting trapped by some manipulative groupie like Danny did. And I enjoyed the familiarity of being with someone I liked and respected and knew how to pleasure the same way she knew how to pleasure me. Far from being routine and boring, it was grounding. Made me feel like someone cared about me. Not Mason, the hot drummer from Cataclysm, but Mason the man. Blaire knew me and took care of me, and I thought she liked me.

  It hurt when she stopped answering my calls and turned me away, acting like I didn’t matter to her anymore, confirming for me something I’d suspected for a while—that she was hung up on Aaron and the time she spent with me was just because she didn’t have the balls to end our arrangement and try to be with him. So when he reconnected with Sam, she couldn’t be bothered with me anymore either. And me confronting her about that somehow pushed her away, because she was gone within days, taking a new job with a different rock star who she’s now fucking. Except they’re not just fucking. She and Beckett are actually together. Like for real together, committed and in love, just like Aaron and Sam, and Danny and Ava, and Marcus and Kendra.

  Leaving me out in the cold once again.

  So Aaron can fuck right off with his judgment about me and groupies. I’m careful. I use my own condoms. If I can’t get the pleasure of having someone to belong to—because let’s be realistic, the odds of me finding that in the shallow and changeable world I live in are ridiculously tiny—then the least I can do is take advantage of my star status and get a little bit of excitement from fucking new and different women at every opportunity.

  And while I usually limit myself to one backstage blowjob pre-show, I’m not opposed to locking down my post-show entertainment now.

  Giving my target a lazy grin, I nudge Aaron behind me, ignoring whatever protest he’s muttering in my ear, and hold out an arm to my open door. “Would you like to see my dressing room?”

  Her face brightens, just like I knew it would, and her pretty red lips pull wide in an enthusiastic smile. “I’d love to. You must be Mason. You’re the only one I haven’t met yet.”

  “I am,” I confirm. “And I’d love to get a full introduction.”

  “Dude,” Aaron mutters over my shoulder.

  Once again, I ignore him, following this lovely newbie into my dressing room. Turning, I give Aaron a feral smile, closing the door in his face and cutting off his protest. I’m sure he’s just reminding me that we have to be on stage soon. But I can work fast. And anyway, it’s not like they’ll go on
without me.

  Since there’s no time to waste, I don’t bother finding out a name I won’t remember in a few seconds anyway, closing the distance between me and those red lips. With one hand sliding under her hair to cup the back of her neck, I get my first taste of those lips. They’re soft and pliant beneath mine, opening when I slide my tongue along their seam, her lush curves melting into my hard chest. Yessss. I let my hands skate down her back, mapping those curves, giving her pert ass a gentle squeeze. There isn’t enough time to explore her thoroughly right now, so I’ll just have to make this convincing enough to keep her here till after the show. Let her watch from the wings. Blaire would have a shit fit if I tried to pull that with her, but she’s not here anymore. And Chad’s all about keeping the talent happy. Plus, he doesn’t mind the extra eye candy I’ve been encouraging to come around more lately.

  When my hand slips in the back of her leggings, she stiffens and shoves me away, her pretty blue eyes wide and one hand covering those perfect lips. “What are you doing?” she gasps.

  I reach for her, another lazy smile on my lips. “Kissing you. That’s what you came here for, right? Let loose, sleep with a rock star? C’mere and I’ll do it again, though the rest will have to wait till after the show. I’m on in a few minutes.”

  She dodges my hand, shaking her head, her hair flying. “I think there’s been a mistake.”

  “It doesn’t have to be a mistake,” I cajole. “We’re two consenting adults. No one’s around to know what goes on behind closed doors.”

  The deer-in-the-headlights look melts from her face, and she draws herself up to her full height, which isn’t much, but the way she straightens her spine and squares her shoulders tells me she means business.

  And suddenly, my gut sinks as something that Aaron said before I closed the door on him assembles itself in my brain.

  The puzzle pieces click into place as she says, “No. We are not consenting adults. I do not consent. You have made a mistake. I’m not here to sleep with a rock star. I’m your new assistant. Viola.” She checks the watch circling her slim wrist. “You have to be on stage in six minutes. Do you have everything you need?”

  “No,” I grind out, frustrated and irrationally angry. What the hell is going on?

  She arches one eyebrow in a look that’s so like Blaire that if I didn’t know better, I’d think they were sisters. “Oh? And what is it that you need? Because from what I overheard, you just got sucked off by a groupie a few minutes ago. I passed her in the hall. I actually tried to introduce myself to you earlier, but when I came by, you were … occupied.” Her words drip with disdain, so like the judgment and contempt I grew up with that I can’t help the way my shoulders draw up tight, my jaw clenching and my anger coalescing in a knot in my stomach.

  Deflecting, I thrust a hand at the empty shelf in front of the lit up mirror. “Your job is to keep us all supplied with water and snacks. I had one protein bar and a single bottle of water in here. I need more.”

  She surveys me coolly, her arms crossed, pushing her tits up so I get an eyeful of cleavage. Cleavage that I apparently no longer get to touch. Good riddance. If she’s going to treat me like I’m lower than shit, I don’t want her around anyway. Except she’s my fucking assistant, so I’ll have to put up with her. Whatever. As long as she keeps my supplies stocked, we won’t have to interact too much.

  “I’ll see to it that you have a full supply of water and snacks,” she says stiffly. So formal. I guess that’s better than screaming vitriol, spit flying, like I got from my dad. “I apologize for the oversight. It’s my first day. I was unaware that you required more.”

  I block out the memory of my father, focusing on the present and driving home my point. “The stage lights are hot, and we sweat like pigs out there.” No need to sugar coat anything now, since I clearly have no chance with this chick. I’m not sure I want a chance with her anymore anyway. “We need water. Lots of it.”

  She nods again. “So noted. Is that all?”

  I give a jerky nod, and she stands staring at me, unmoving. “What?” I growl.

  “Could you move, please? You’re blocking the door.”

  The asshole part of me wants to stay rooted to the spot, force her to brush past me to get out, make her touch me again, since she so clearly doesn’t want to. But after a long moment where we stare each other down, reason takes over and I step to the side.

  She’s gone in three steps, breezing past me and opening the door in one smooth motion, leaving only the faint scent of lavender and vanilla in her wake.

  Aaron stands in the hallway, one shoulder propped against the opposite wall, smirking at me. “So you’ve met our new assistant now.”

  “Fuck off, Aaron.”

  Cackling, he saunters away in the direction of his dressing room. “See you on stage in five.”

  Chapter Two

  Viola

  Heading back to the greenroom, my emotions dip and soar like the ocean when a storm blows in, veering wildly from one extreme to another.

  Mason Gray just kissed me.

  I’d been so stunned that my body just reacted, my lips parting for his questing tongue. Because holy hell, that kiss. Dominant and skilled and masterful, his lips ignited parts of me that have lain dormant for too long.

  I haven’t been kissed like that in … ever.

  It was amazing and wonderful and lit me up from the inside.

  But when his hand slid inside my pants and grabbed a handful of my ass, I came back to myself with a start.

  Number one, Mason is one of my employers. While Marcus, the lead singer, seems to be the guy in charge, I’m responsible for handling all four guys. Which Mason so kindly pointed out that I’m already failing at by only providing them one bottle of water and one snack. But no one told me how much they usually get of anything, or any special requirements they have. I probably should’ve asked someone, but I’m terrified that they’ll think I’m too incompetent to keep on if I ask too many questions and just fire me. And then I’ll have to crawl back home with my tail between my legs and face the censure and I-told-you-sos from my parents.

  My parents weren’t thrilled about me quitting my “good, steady”—read mind-numbingly boring—job and taking off to follow in my cousin Blaire’s footsteps. While they love Blaire to death, they didn’t like her following in her “unstable” and “irresponsible” parents’ footsteps either. Said parents are the reason that Blaire is more like a sister to me than a cousin, because she moved into my house when I was four, and we shared a room until we graduated—minus the summers she spent touring with her mom or dad, contract musicians for multiple famous acts.

  Blaire used to have this job—personal assistant to Cataclysm—but she took a job as the tour manager for Beckett Stone and called me to see if I was interested in taking over for her here.

  I agreed before she even told me what the job was, so desperate was I for a change of pace. She got me on a video call with Marcus and the other three guys—Danny, Aaron, and Mason—the next day.

  But I guess Mason wasn’t paying much attention. To be honest, I barely caught a glimpse of his face when Marcus pointed the camera at him, and he gave a distracted wave. Because Mason clearly had no idea who I am when he escorted me into his dressing room. I followed him, thinking he must want to discuss his particular requirements.

  I didn’t think those requirements included pre-show dressing room quickies, but clearly he had other ideas.

  And that thought has me swooping back toward anger. I know he had some kind of arrangement with Blaire, and whatever, that’s fine, but to just assume I’d be down for the same thing? What the hell is that?

  And I literally passed a groupie on the phone bragging to her friend about sucking him off like five seconds earlier?

  Scowling, I wait in the greenroom for the band members to arrive. Marcus enters first, hand in hand with his girlfriend Kendra. They both give me warm smiles, though Marcus’s falters when he notices my face.
“Everything alright? Is someone giving you trouble?”

  I open my mouth to respond, but close it when Mason files in behind Danny and Aaron. Danny and Aaron both offer me smiles, but Mason’s scowl I’m sure matches my own.

  Forcing my face into a more neutral expression, I return my attention to Marcus and shake my head. “Nope. Everything’s fine.” I can handle Mason by myself. I’m a big girl. And I don’t need to tattle to Marcus about a misunderstanding. Besides, Mason backed off as soon as I pushed him away. I doubt we’ll have a problem like this again.

  Pasting on my sunniest smile, I check the time and pull my case of in-ear monitors from the pocket on the side of my leggings. “It’s showtime, guys. Break a leg.”

  They all chuckle, except Mason, who stops next to me and in a voice barely more refined than a growl, says, “That’s theatre. We’re not superstitious about wishing each other good luck here.”

  Before I can even respond, he’s gone.

  Shaking my head in bemusement, I stand and watch the show from the wings. I’m transfixed. Marcus knows just how to work the crowd, amping them up, getting them to sing along on their radio hits, all of them moving to the music.

  I spend a lot of the first half of the show watching Marcus, but I have to force myself to focus on him. And each time, my gaze gets dragged back to Mason behind the drum kit—that’s what Blaire told me they call it, not a drum set—his arms flying, muscles flexing, beads of sweat dripping off him by the end of the first half.

  When he raises his shirt to wipe his face, my mouth goes dry at the sight of his abs, and I’m completely unsurprised by the crowd screaming and cheering, piercing whistles cutting through the ear protection I’m wearing. I want to whistle for those abs too.

  Grinning at the audience, he stands and whips his shirt over his head, sending it flying to the front of the stage. Marcus, who’s now shirtless too, picks it up, wads it into a ball, and throws it high above the people crowding the barrier keeping them back from the stage. Glancing around, I realize none of them have shirts on anymore.