The Rock Chamber Boys : The Complete Series Read online

  THE ROCK CHAMBER BOYS

  THE COMPLETE SERIES

  BOOK 1 - 4

  ~*~

  Written by

  Daisy Allen

  PLAY ME

  A ROCK CHAMBER BOYS NOVEL

  ~*~

  Written by

  Daisy Allen

  Copyright © 2017 Daisy Allen

  Play Me: A Rock Chamber Boys Novel

  By Daisy Allen

  All rights reserved.

  This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the properties of the author and your support and respect is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Prologue:

  Sometimes the noise is so loud that for a moment everything goes quiet.

  Just for a moment.

  An eerie second of complete silence.

  A breath of time for the ears to reset themselves.

  And then the sounds explode back into life.

  The screams from the crowd, the boom from the speakers, the scratches of my cello on the floor, my bandmates’ grunts and heavy breaths of exertion as we bring our passion to life. A million different sounds melding into a complete and utter perfection of cacophony.

  There’s almost nothing that can compare with being on stage and being completely engulfed by the magnificence of music and man coming together.

  Almost.

  She once said that the only thing that mattered was the band.

  She was right.

  Was.

  Now the only thing that matters is her.

  PART ONE

  CHAPTER ONE

  SEBASTIAN

  “SEBASTIAN! OVER HERE!”

  I turn to the sound of my name and a paparazzo’s camera flash explodes in my face.

  “Argh, fuck it!” I throw up a hand to cover my eyes and pull the sunglasses down from my head. “I don’t mind the picture taking but do they have to bloody blind me?” I turn and say to my assistant, Hank, who throws me an unsympathetic look.

  “Oh yes, poor you. Poor wittle musician eyeballs hurt by the wittle fwash.”

  The look I give him is nowhere near as withering as I hope – I know this because his reaction is to double over in laughter.

  “For god’s sake, hurry up, boys.” A voice admonishes us from behind. Our manager, Dennis, looks over at us, like he’s wondering for the hundredth time why he chose this job that’s the equivalent of babysitting a group of full-grown boy babies.

  “Yes, boys, hurry up now. Hup, one, two, three!” Jez runs up between us, mimicking Dennis and throwing his arms over our shoulders, pushing us forward. “These Aussie babes aren’t going to wait forever now!”

  We push through the hordes of people, half our own and half annoyed fellow travelers just trying to get home. We wave and grin gratefully at the crowd of smiling faces of fans greeting us as we walk to the exit, where our SUVs are also waiting for us.

  “Sebastian! Jez! Marius! Brad!” The crowd kicks up into the familiar chant of our names.

  Jez turns to grin at me after winking at a cute, perky blonde obviously vying for his attention. “Welcome to the land down under indeed. I think I’m going to like it here.”

  I elbow him in the ribs and he faux cries out. “Just don’t be liking it too much. We have to go back to gay Paris someday,” I remind him.

  “Not until my skin is brown and my butt crack is filled with sand.” And before I can stop him, he’s pulled out of the safety of our body-guarded entourage and off to flirt with the blonde standing behind the barricade.

  “You got everything, Seb?” Hank asks me, taking my leather laptop bag from me and putting it in the backseat of my assigned car.

  “Yeah, bro. Except, I think I forgot to pack some new rosin before we left. I used it all up during the last practice.” I take a look around to see everyone else getting into their cars and I fold myself into the backseat of mine, moving over so Hank can get in behind me.

  “We can pick some up on the way to sound check, boss.”

  “Stop calling me that, you’re my nephew.” I snap at him.

  “Fine. UNCLE.” He emphasizes the word, knowing I hate how it makes me feel old.

  “Stick with ‘boss’, you little prick.”

  He laughs and he sounds just like my brother used to and the veins in my chest tug on my heart just a bit.

  “To the Shangri-La Hotel, please,” he says to the driver.

  As the car cruises forward we lean back, sinking into the soft, butter-like leather and grin at each other, wondering how we’d gotten so lucky to have ended up here.

  CADENCE

  “You’re killing me here, George.” I tell the shop owner, not for the first time.

  “Hey, you told me to tell you-...” He starts to defend himself.

  I cut him off, “I know, but I have to work to a budget. A tiny ant’s bladder-sized budget at that.”

  “Fine, give them back then.” He reaches for the stack of newly arrived sheet music and I pull out of reach, hugging them to my chest.

  “Just let me...sniff them a bit?” I bury my face in the paper, inhaling the fresh ink scent of the thin lines and little black notes.

  “You’d think I’d be used to musicians after owning this store for thirty-five years, but you crazies get more bonkers as the years go by. Fine, sniff all you like.” He turns back to his ancient register, glaring at the buttons as if willing them to work with the power of his mind.

  I can’t help but grin at him over the top of the stack of music clenched in my hand. I bought my first piano book from this very store, from George, twenty-one years ago. And even now, as a music teacher, it’s here I come for all my supplies. This small, dark and dingy little music store, packed to the brim with all and any supplies you could possibly need. George can tell what you need the second that little bell on his door dings, and will make sure you get the right equipment. As he said, musicians are a crazy bunch and as unique and sensitive as snowflakes, and what works for one, may not work for another.

  I put down the sheet music, resigned to the fact that the school can’t afford any more this month and wander to the back of the store just as the door clangs open and a group of young men barge in, talking loudly, disrupting the quiet sanctity of the store that I love so much.

  I can barely make out what they’re saying, with as many accents among them as there are bodies. They head to the register and through the shelf stacks I can count 1...2...3 of them. They ask George something and I hear him explode into laughter. I scrunch up my nose and slink deeper into the store, annoyed that their loud banter is interrupting my happy browsing time.

  Skimming over the list of things I need for my class, I head for the strings section.

  The sound of laughter from the front of the store drifts down to the little corner in the back. I can’t help but smile to myself as I just make out George’s voice, three against one, and he’s still out-talking them.

  “Pirazzi...pirazzi...” I scour the shelf for my preferred brand of cello rosin. There it is. On sale! And only one jar left. I reach out for it.

  Then a white, painful spark zaps my fingers and travels all the way down my body.

  Chapter Two

  SEBASTIAN

  “Ow! What the flying fuck!” I snap my hand back, shaking it in a vain attempt to
ease the sting. It’s too late, my whole body feels invigorated as the electric spark that zapped my fingertips is still making its way along every nerve of my body.

  But I honestly don’t think it’s from the static.

  I think it’s because of the adorable, curvy brunette standing in front of me.

  And glaring.

  “What?” I ask, rather discourteously, out of a very unfamiliar feeling of nervousness. I think I’m squirming a little under her unwavering stare. I would’ve guessed that it was because she recognized me, but it’s definitely not a look of adoration. Her large, hot chocolate brown eyes obviously don’t give a fuck who I am.

  “There’s no need to swear. I didn’t bite you, it was just a little spark.” She dresses me down in one sentence, still not looking away and I squirm a little more.

  “Geez, what are you, a freakin’ kindergarten teacher?” I try to deflect. Then immediately feel bad. As if I don’t want her to hate me. Though why should I even care?

  “Why?” She answers my question with a question, those beautiful, moon-shaped orbs still fixed on me. It’s almost hypnotic.

  I shrug and force myself to tear my eyes from hers. Their effect isn’t lessened however. Who is this woman? I can’t figure out if I’m scared of her or attracted...or worse, both.

  “No, really, why would you say I’m a kindergarten teacher?” She persists, taking a step closer to me, and in this tiny space it feels almost intimate. Her breath wafts warm and sweet against my face, and I can just make out the soft scent of orange blossom from her hair. For a split second I have to stop myself from leaning forward and breathing her in.

  “Is it just because I question your need to curse in front of a complete stranger even though there was no real reason to? That makes me a kindergarten teacher? Or is it because teachers are stuffy and dull and don’t think that random cussing is ‘cool’? Oh, forgive me, I just thought that meant you had manners and knew how to act appropriately in public, and if you accidentally touched a stranger’s hand, you say sorry. Not vomit out some expletive and flap around like a pigeon with an injured wing!” Her voice grows louder and stronger with every word and she has me backed up against the shelf. She’s almost a head shorter than me and as she’s so close, I can see over the top of her head by just looking downward. The angle’s giving me a pretty good view right down her shirt as well. And something between my legs likes what I’m seeing.

  I throw up my hands in surrender and almost as a form of distraction.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Sorry, Mary. No... that’s not why I asked if you were a kindergarten teacher. Though the lecture hardly disproves my theory.” I add with a little snicker.

  During my response, those intoxicating eyes have found mine again, and this time they’re even rounder and wider than before. Sparkling with life, there’s an internal light of their own that’s dancing around in her velvet brown pupils. I swear I can see a hint of pink in her cheeks that wasn’t there before her rant. Something makes me want to see how far I can make that blush spread down over her cheeks, down her neck, over her décolletage and-...I shake my head. Damn those eyes.

  “Then what DID you mean?” She looks up at me, and for a moment she looks like she’s really asking, and not just being combative. And there’s something vulnerable in her voice that pushes me over the edge. Something that makes me wonder about the woman behind the nagging wench that’s presenting itself to me now. Something that makes me want to really KNOW her, make her know me, trust me, open up to me.

  “Well,” I shrug as if there’s a simple enough explanation, “I just meant...because I feel like laying down over your knee and letting you spank me.”

  Oh yeah, that should make her trust me.

  Her mouth drops open. The action tears my eyes now down to her mouth. Her lips are soft and plump, dewy and pink like she’s just taken a bite of a strawberry.

  Except I have a feeling it’s not the sweet juice of a berry that’s about to come out from those lips.

  “What the-...” She starts, then stops mid-sentence.

  I grin at her, amused that the blush has actually progressed to a full blown tomato rage red.

  “Go on...say it...” I goad her.

  “Say what?” She frowns.

  “Say ’fuck’,” I lean on the word, almost sounding out each letter.

  “I wasn’t going to say...that.” She purses her lips as her eyes follow suit and narrow at me.

  “No, but you wanted to.” I say, matter of factly.

  She starts to protest, but I push on.

  “You wanted to say... ‘what the FUCK did you just say?’ Go on, admit it! Admit that the cussing stranger made you want to cuss right back. At least have the guts to admit it.” I cross my arms and lean back against the wall, grinning back at her.

  She turns toward me, and now that we’re standing a little further apart, it’s not just individual features that have me staring at her, it’s the whole damn package. She’s petite and delectably curvy. Her mahogany brown hair is wavy and pulled into a messy bun, wisps falling to frame her face. She’s dressed in a knee-length, black skirt and a blue pinstripe shirt. She should look plain but she’s anything but. The material of her skirt finds every generous curve of her hips and thighs and her shirt’s buttons struggle just a little to stay secure. Somehow, in the two minutes of standing here and sparring with her, I’ve made a definitive verdict about this woman - I want her.

  “Hey. I wasn’t going to say what you thought I was going to say.” Her words drag my eyes back from roaming her body up to her face.

  “No?” I can’t focus on much more than sounding out one word as I try to regain control of my mind and body around this bewitching brunette.

  “No.” She looks quite defiant.

  “Then what were you going to say, Mary?”

  “Why are you calling me that?” She’s distracted from the topic at hand by the nickname I have for her.

  “Well, I don’t know your name.” I shrug.

  “You could ask.”

  “Would you tell me?” I cock my eyebrow.

  “Sure.” It’s her turn to shrug and I can’t help but find the move adorable on her small frame.

  “What is it?” I take the chance and ask.

  “It’s Mary.” She tries to say with a straight face, but I notice the corners of her mouth twitch a little. She’s thawing towards me. This I can work with.

  “It is not.” I contradict her. Almost out of habit now.

  “What does it matter? You seem to know what I’m going to say before I say it anyway.” She cocks her eyebrow now too. Mimicking me to mock me, and it’s just making her all the more intriguing to me.

  She does have a good point though, about me filling in the blanks even before she’s said a word. The last few years I feel like I’ve been having the same conversation over and over again with women. But to be honest, it’s been a long time since a woman has hated me on sight as I assume she does. It’s refreshingly fun, almost. But I don’t want her to hate me. Time to change tacks.

  “Look, we got off to a bad start.” I hold out my hand to her. “I’m Sebastian.”

  She takes a deep breath and looks at my outstretched hand as if wondering what to do with it. I have to bite the inside of my lip not to move my eyes down a few inches to watch the rise and fall of her chest.

  “I’m... Cadence,” she tells me, still ignoring my handshake offer though. Which is too bad, I’m craving a reason to touch her.

  “Nice to meet you, Cadence. And what are you here for?” I cringe as I hear myself deliver that clichéd bar pick-up line.

  “To pick up some cello rosin.”

  “Oh, me too, actually...”

  We freeze, suddenly remembering what had brought us here in the first place.

  And then we move, her reaching a hand out to push against my chest, but my arms are just that much longer and I grab the last tub of Pirazzi rosin from the shelf.

  Her hand rests hot aga
inst me for a moment before she pulls it away. And I feel my body leaning forward, following her touch.

  She looks up at me, with a pissed off look that has already become too familiar.

  “I need that rosin, Sebastian.” The sound of her voice speaking my name thrills me.

  “Trust me, Cadey, I need it more.” I speak her name hoping to provoke her into saying mine again.

  “Don’t call me that. It’s Cadence. And it’s not for me.”

  “Well, in that case, I get dibs, because it IS for me. Get a different brand. Or somewhere else.” I’m not giving up.

  “I can’t, I have to buy it here. And...it’s....it’s for one of my students. He has his cello exam tomorrow.” She says, resignedly.

  “So you ARE a teacher! I knew it!” I say gleefully, any win is sweet against this stubborn woman.

  “Just give me the damn rosin!” She scoffs, stomping her foot in a way that makes her whole body shake, forcing me to stare her in the eye so I don’t stare elsewhere.

  “Aha! So she DOES swear!” I hold my arms up in victory, garnering a look that almost wilts my manhood.

  “‘Damn’ is not a swear word. It’s just for emphasis. Like you’re a ‘damn’ jerk!”

  She tries to grab the rosin from my hand and the space between our fingertips cracks with electricity again. Her lips stretch against her teeth as she hisses and she wrenches her hand back and something in the sound makes my cock do what it’s been threatening to do since I saw her. It grows instantly hard. Time to run.

  “Fine. Then trust me when I want to emphasize this...it’s been damn nice to meet you, Mary.” I bend over and brush a soft kiss against her cheek. “And I promise I’ll make it up to you,” I say while waving the rosin at her, then turn and jog through the store before she can react.

  “Pay the man, Jez!” I call out to my bandmate as I rush through the store’s front door and into the waiting car, thinking of smelly garbage trucks and fermented Swedish fish to free the blood congregating in my groin.