CHAPTER ONERoman Campbell took a sip of his sparkling water and observed the two men taking to the floor for their first dance as a married couple.
Carter Wilson and Elijah Davis looked blissfully happy as they swayed to a classic Sinatra song, fingers interlocked and arms around one another while their bodies brushed sensuously. It was clear to everyone in the marquee that the grooms only had eyes for each other.
A twinge of jealousy stabbed through Roman at the happiness radiating on the two men’s faces. Carter laughed at something Elijah said and took his husband’s mouth in a hot kiss that had their guests clapping and wolf-whistling.
The newlyweds turned and extended their hands toward a pretty little blond girl in a cream taffeta and lace dress who stood watching them from the sidelines. Maisie, Carter’s niece and his and Elijah’s newly adopted daughter, squealed and ran out to join them. The couple caught her into their arms and resumed their dance, their mouths split in beaming smiles.
Roman swallowed a grimace.
I really am an asshole. I should be happy for them.
He’d been somewhat surprised to receive an invite to what was being touted as the most exclusive celebrity wedding of the year. Though he was friends with Carter, they hadn’t spoken for a while, their busy lives meaning their paths rarely crossed except at social events.
They’d met five years ago, at an exclusive sex club in L.A. It was the kind of place where the world-famous clientele could indulge in their private desires and fantasies to their heart’s content, without fear of their secrets becoming fodder for the paparazzi.
It had been Roman’s first time at the club. He’d hit on Carter the minute he’d walked inside the place, not realizing that the tall man with the dirty blond hair and the body to die for was the A-list Hollywood actor who had practically dominated entertainment news ever since he exploded on the movie scene with his first blockbuster.
Though Carter had flirted with Roman, he hadn’t obliged his invitation to visit one of the club’s private suites for some down and dirty time. He had, however, kept a close eye on him.
Roman had been more than a little drunk and high on drugs when he’d made the impulsive decision to visit the club that night and hook up with a stranger, a fact he had been lambasted for at length when his manager and best friend James Lang turned up and dragged him from the place a couple of hours later.
“At least you had the decency to pick somewhere the paparazzi couldn’t find you!” James had snapped the next morning while Roman lay recovering from his monumental hangover on the sundeck of his L.A. penthouse. “It’s a good thing Carter messaged me when he did.”
“Carter?” Roman had frowned at the unfamiliar name. “Who the hell is Carter? And could you pipe down? This headache is killing me,” he’d added on a groan.
James had clenched and unclenched his hands in a way that told Roman he’d wished they were wrapped around Roman’s neck.
“Carter is the guy you were hitting on last night,” James had explained icily. “He’s a friend of mine.” He’d paused and narrowed his eyes at Roman, a muscle dancing in his cheek. “That headache isn’t the only thing that’s gonna kill you, Roman. You need to cut back on the booze and the drugs. You’re not just ruining your health. You’re sabotaging your career!”
The guilt and anger that had rotted Roman’s insides for as long as he could remember flared into life and had his mouth curving in a nasty smile.
“Are you saying that as my best friend or as my manager?”
The hurt in James’s eyes had Roman immediately regretting his harsh words.
“I’m sorry,” Roman had mumbled in the stiff silence. “I promise I won’t do anything like this again.”
James had watched him for a moment before blowing out a heavy sigh. They’d both known it was a lie.
It wouldn’t be another two years until Roman finally kept his word. By then, the whole of L.A. and the world knew that the lead singer of Crazyknot was damaged goods.
Paradoxically, Roman’s soul-crushing fall from grace only boosted sales of their albums and propelled the band to international stardom. It also turned him into an overnight icon, one he’d assumed the entertainment industry would soon forget. Which made his and Crazyknot’s shockingly successful comeback twelve months ago all the more humbling. Apparently, the world loved nothing more than seeing a former bad boy reform.
Roman’s lips tilted in a self-deprecating smile. Well, almost reform.
He might have ditched the alcohol and the drugs. It didn’t mean he’d turned into a monk. He scanned the marquee, the restless feeling that had been gnawing at his insides a sure-fire sign that he needed to let off some steam in a way that didn’t involve getting intoxicated.
Now, let’s find a guy I can have some fun with.
“I know that look,” someone said next to him.
Roman closed his eyes briefly. He twisted on the bar stool and studied the man who’d taken the seat beside him with a faint frown.
James Lang looked his usual cool and elegant self in a bottle green tuxedo that matched his eyes and framed specs.
Roman pursed his lips.
If it wasn’t for the fact that he’d known James for thirteen years and had seen him puke his guts up on more occasions than he could count when they were teenagers, he might have taken a stab at the guy. James was attractive in the kind of way that made people pause and wonder what lay beneath the impeccable suits and hard exterior.
The only ones who truly knew the infamous manager were the members of Crazyknot and their close friends. For behind the cool, controlled facade James projected burned a fiery and surprisingly passionate soul.
To this day, Roman didn’t know what had turned the outgoing and fun-loving boy he had come to know during what had been the most challenging years of his teenage life, into the stern and reserved man who now sat facing him. It had happened shortly after their first national tour.
Roman and the other members of Crazyknot had long questioned James about his almost overnight transformation, but the manager had always remained tight-lipped on the subject.
“Oh yeah?” Roman grumbled presently. “And what kind of look am I wearing, pray tell?”
James arched an eyebrow. He took a sip of his champagne before leaning in closer. “The kind that says you’re looking for a good fuck.”
Choked off laughter erupted close by.
James stiffened and looked over Roman’s head.
Roman turned, a frown on his face and his mouth parting on a biting remark.
His breath locked in his throat.
Gunmetal blue eyes sparkled with mirth opposite him. Though the stranger straddled the bar stool in a relaxed pose, Roman could tell he was tall and would tower over him by a good few inches. His overlong, sun-kissed brown hair teased the collar of his classic, black tuxedo, the suit doing little to hide the hard angles and solid muscles beneath the expensive material. Silver peppered his short beard and sideburns, framing a rugged, tanned face that wouldn’t look out of place on the cover of an outdoor sports magazine. His fingers were hard and callused where he held a half-empty beer bottle.
The man smiled and tipped his drink at them with a nonchalant dip of his head. “Don’t mind me. I’m just here for the beer.”
Roman’s cock stirred. He swallowed.
Fuck.
Mr. Sideburns was one hundred percent his type. And he looked exactly like the kind of trouble Roman needed to avoid tonight.