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  Thirty-five years old and getting sexier with age he was the ultimate rock star. Six-feet one with messed up short, dark brown hair and amazing deep, almost black eyes, he was very rarely ever seen clean shaven. He had smooth, tanned skin and a multitude of tattoos covering both perfectly toned arms from shoulder to wrists, including the sexiest forearms in the world of rock. He was handsome in every sense of the word. Fit and toned with a look of trouble about him that made him all the more sexy, a smile from him could send women wild and he knew that and he played on it. They loved him, and he in turn loved the adoration. He was never short of attention, and of course he indulged in the odd backstage groupie, who wouldn’t in his position? That’s what he’d always told himself.

  Johnny couldn’t argue with that either. Neither of them could say that the women weren’t a massive perk of the job. The best job in the world as far as they were concerned. Also thirty-five years old, Johnny Jackson was almost as good-looking as his best friend, but not quite. Six-feet tall with incredible blue eyes, long-ish, always scruffy-looking black hair and beard, Black Rock Diamond’s lead guitarist was every inch the archetypal rock star. Quite muscular in build and with tattoos covering his back, neck, chest and both arms, he loved the life he had. He was living the rock star dream and making the most of every second. He’d never wanted to settle down, and even now he still didn’t. He’d never understood why Billy had chosen marriage over everything that came with being in a band but it worked for him so who was he to argue?

  To have the life he had with his best friend beside him was the dream he’d had since being a child. But he couldn’t help feeling sometimes that he was constantly looking out for Mark. His friend was one hell of a guy but he wasn’t always on the ball and after a few drinks too many he had been known to get himself into a little bit of trouble. Mark lived the rock star life almost to the letter, but Johnny was never far away, always there to pick up the pieces and sort it all out because Black Rock Diamond needed Mark Cassidy. Mark Cassidy needed Black Rock Diamond. And both of them needed Stevie Stone.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Stevie looked at Mark as he stubbed out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray. “And what number chance are we up to now then, huh?”

  He shrugged and walked over to her. Johnny shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and looked down at the floor. He more than anyone knew the way these two worked together. And it wasn’t always pretty.

  Mark Cassidy and Stevie Stone had a complicated and volatile relationship. It was and always had been a relationship with no boundaries, no commitment. Some had even described it as dangerous, with the shit they sometimes put each other through. But neither of them could leave the other one alone for long. That’s the way it always had been and nobody could see that changing any time soon. Mark would do something stupid; he’d sleep with a groupie, he’d piss Stevie off - sometimes for no reason at all - and the arguments that nearly always followed were legendary. The screaming and shouting, the throwing things at each other, it was never a surprise when it happened and when it did she’d always come running to him - to Johnny - and they’d sleep together, she’d get it out of her system, and before long she was back with Mark and the whole cycle would start up all over again. Johnny knew it backwards now. He knew the way they both worked, and as he watched Stevie’s face change the closer Mark got to her he knew it was happening again.

  “I’m outta here,” he said, pushing a hand through his long black hair. He’d seen it enough times and didn’t much fancy sitting through it all again. He’d leave them to it.

  “Johnny...”

  “Later, Stevie. You two sort it out, ok? I’m off to find Jack.”

  Mark quickly turned to look at his friend before turning back to Stevie. Stevie Stone. His Swedish fantasy, his permanent vice.

  He still remembered the day she’d walked into his life. Johnny had brought her backstage after a gig they’d done in West London a few years ago, and every head in the room had turned to look at her. With her shock of white blonde hair with its bold, deep red and black streaks and eyes that seemed to pierce right through you, Mark Cassidy had felt as though he’d been hit by a stray bullet the second he’d laid eyes on her. She’d been dressed in ripped skinny jeans, biker boots and a tight black t-shirt that had shown off her toned and tattooed arms; he’d been in lust before she’d even opened her mouth. But once she’d done that, once that had happened he’d been thrown head-first into a Scandinavian fantasy. She’d spoken perfect English tinged with the sexiest Swedish accent and from that moment on he’d wanted her. But she’d been no groupie. He’d got that within seconds of her being there. A lot of the crew guys had known Stevie, known that she was a notoriously hard working and popular roadie for various bands on the scene and they’d filled him in on everything as he’d watched her speak to Johnny and Billy from across the other side of the room. But that had only made her all the more appealing to Mark. She’d been no easy pushover. One smile from Mark Cassidy was never going to floor Stevie Stone. She’d been a challenge, but one he’d been more than ready to undertake.

  So when Johnny had suggested she come on board as a permanent member of their road crew Mark hadn’t needed to be asked twice. Keeping her close had been something he’d needed, and in less than a month of being with the band Stevie Stone was in his bed. The sex had been incredible, she’d been like a living, breathing fantasy girl, with her killer body and that incredible accent and legs that could wrap themselves around him and hold him inside her for what felt like hours. But Mark Cassidy was a rock star, and when temptation came his way he rarely said no. Stevie wasn’t enough for him yet he needed her more than he’d ever needed anything else in his life.

  So the rows were frequent and their relationship turbulent but it was also something neither of them could let go of. She needed him as much as he needed her but if he got too much, if he gave her shit then she’d always run to Johnny. Mark knew she slept with his best friend, nobody made any secret of it, nobody hid anything from anybody. Sometimes it bothered him, sometimes he couldn’t care less. But tonight he wanted her with him, not Johnny.

  He placed his hands on her knees, pushing her legs apart as she sat on the counter. “You know you’re the only one I really want, don’t you, baby?”

  “You’ve got an incredibly twisted way of showing it, Cassidy.”

  He stroked her arm gently, lightly running his fingers up and down it as he kissed her neck.

  “I get crazy, honey. I don’t know why I do it; I don’t know what gets into me.”

  “Too much beer and some bimbo feeding your ego, that’s what gets into you, Mark.”

  Stevie could feel herself weakening again, that familiar feeling of need for this wild and ridiculously handsome man flooding through her as it always did when this happened. She always felt this way because he always did this, he always said these things and smiled that smile and she nearly always let her guard down and let him back in. She was a strong woman, everyone knew that. That’s how she’d got to where she was. She was strong. But when it came to Mark Cassidy, she’d found her weakness.

  He was her guilty pleasure. She’d known of his reputation, known what he was like with the women long before she’d met him. The guys she worked with had told her all about him so she’d been more than prepared for that killer smile and those sexy, dark eyes. But that didn’t mean to say that she hadn’t been knocked sideways as soon as he’d touched her hand. She just hadn’t let him see that. Not straightaway. Just as he’d wanted her from the second he’d laid eyes on her, Stevie had felt exactly the same way about him. He had something about him, from the way he walked to the way he spoke and the little things he did like rubbing the back of his neck when he was nervous which, granted, didn’t happen very often with someone like Mark Cassidy. But he’d done it a couple of times when he’d been talking to her in the early days and it had been cute. Endearing. Because underneath that cock-sure attitude and sometimes over-inflated ego was an ordin
ary guy who just wanted attention.

  “What do you say, baby?” Mark said, his mouth moving closer to hers, his breath warm on her cheek. “Why don’t we go find a quiet corner and I show you just how sorry I really am.”

  She was still weakening, she still really wanted him but tonight she was tired. Tonight she wasn’t willing to forgive him quite so easily.

  “You really think you’ve got this sorted, don’t you?” she smiled, snaking her hand round the back of his neck. “You really think I’m just going to fall back into your arms and everything goes back to normal.”

  His mouth was almost touching hers now and she could feel her heart racing, her resolve weakening.

  “I need you, Stevie. Come on baby, let’s go, let’s get out of here.”

  “Not this time, Mark,” she said, pulling away from him and kicking him in the stomach, pushing him backwards.

  “Jesus, Stevie, what the hell’s wrong with you?” he said, clutching his stomach where she’d lashed out with her biker boot. “That fucking hurt!”

  She slid off the counter and walked over to him, putting her hand to the side of his face, kissing him slowly. He tasted amazing. He always did. A mixture of beer and cigarette smoke and she loved it.

  “You want me, Mark, I get that. But tonight, Mark Cassidy, rock star, isn’t getting what he wants. Deal with it.”

  He smiled that smile as he looked at her. She was incredible. She’d been up for hours, partying all night and she still looked as though she’d stepped straight off the pages of a magazine.

  “Playing hard to get, huh?”

  “I’m not playing at all, Mark,” she said as she walked back outside, turning round to look at him, smiling herself. “Not tonight, anyway.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Daniel Madison pushed his chair away from his desk and ran a hand through his newly cut, light brown hair. He was shattered, but at least he’d been working from home today so he had no commute to contend with. Not that he’d have been driving anyway. He rarely drove himself anywhere these days.

  Daniel Madison was an extremely successful and prominent businessman turned politician. Having made his fortune in computer software he’d decided to follow his lifelong dream of becoming a politician, something he’d always wanted to do from a very young age. He had a degree in Business and Political Studies from OxfordUniversity and he’d always known that one day he’d be involved in the world of politics in some way or another, when the time was right. And that time was here.

  Daniel had been a Conservative MP for a small Berkshire constituency - and shadow Chancellor of the Exchequer - for a couple of years now, but it wasn’t his ultimate dream. His ultimate dream was to become Prime Minister. He loved his country and he wanted the best for it and in his mind he had the ideas and the ambition to make it everything he knew it could be. He didn’t want to just sit back and let everything happen around him, he’d never been that type of person. He’d always been the one to make things happen, not watch while others around him did so. For now though he’d sit back and wait until the time was right, but he wouldn’t give up. He never gave up. His time would come, he was certain of that. Daniel Madison was only forty-three years old, he still had a lot of ambition left in him, a lot of things he still wanted and needed to do. And he wouldn’t settle until he’d done them all.

  Born in Berkshire, the second son of two very well-respected barristers, Daniel was always going to do extremely well in whatever it was he chose to do. He’d been brought up to work hard and achieve as much as he could and he’d never forgotten the drive his parents had instilled in him.

  He was five-feet eleven inches tall with the most beautiful green eyes; think average politician and Daniel Madison didn’t even come close, not to look at, because Daniel Madison was intensely handsome in a very middle-class sort of way, and along with his well-spoken accent and his faultless manners he was almost the epitome of Englishness. But that was all he knew, that was him. He’d never tried to be something he wasn’t. He’d always wanted people to see the real Daniel Madison, that was extremely important to him. Especially if he wanted to achieve his ultimate goal.

  He’d been married to Samantha for almost twenty years. The daughter of Lord and Lady Babbington, Samantha Madison was the perfect politician’s wife. Very slim, very pristine and very upper class, she was forty-two years old with perfectly styled shoulder length blonde hair and alabaster white skin. She screamed elegance. That was Samantha Madison. She ran the local Women’s Institute, took part in many community activities around the village and always made sure she knew exactly what was going on. Samantha liked to be informed and she missed nothing. She adored the lifestyle she and Daniel had and with no children, she had plenty of time to put all her energy into being the perfect partner for her husband, and he loved her. He needed her around, she kept him organised.

  He leaned forward and shut down his laptop, sighing as he looked out of the window at the perfectly manicured lawn outside, the centrepiece of their immaculately landscaped garden. They lived in a large farmhouse in the Berkshire countryside but it wasn’t their only home. They also had houses in Southern Spain, Italy and two homes in America – one on the West Coast in Los Angeles, the other in New York. Not to mention the flat in central London that Daniel used whenever he was there on business or when he needed to be there in his capacity as an MP. But the Berkshire farmhouse was the one he really thought of as home. With acres of land and a number of outbuildings Daniel did sometimes wonder if they really needed somewhere quite so big when there was only the two of them. They didn’t even have a dog. But he knew Samantha loved the place. It was close to her parents, and with him being in London and working away so often it seemed unfair to take her away from what was familiar to her. As far as he was concerned though he could live anywhere really. He’d spent most of his life travelling around the world staying in hotels and rented houses so uprooting himself from any location had never been a problem.

  His office was in a large outbuilding across the courtyard from the main house. Large enough to contain two offices, a bathroom, kitchen and small living area, he spent many hours in there when he was home. Not always because he wanted to escape – he had a lot of work to do, he needed the peace and quiet – but sometimes he saw it as his haven. Samantha very rarely came in to this space. It was totally his and he liked that.

  He closed his laptop and stood up, pushing his chair back behind the large, circular desk. He had a few more calls to make but he knew he should really go and see Samantha. He’d only got back from London three hours ago and he hadn’t seen her for over a fortnight. She’d been over in their Tuscan villa with her parents, sister and brother-in-law and their two children. He’d wanted to join them but other commitments had kept him in the U.K. She’d arrived home about an hour ago; he’d seen the car pull up at the back door in the courtyard from his office window, and she’d have known he was home too because he’d left his coat and suitcase in the front hall, but she wouldn’t have wanted to disturb him. That was Samantha all over. She always knew the right thing to do.

  Daniel turned the light off and closed the door behind him, suddenly just wanting to see his wife. Maybe they could go out for dinner tonight, spend a bit of time together. She could tell him all about Tuscany. He hadn’t been to their Italian home for a while and he was interested to hear all about their neighbours and if anything had changed since he’d last been there.

  He smiled to himself as he walked across the courtyard, a bright and colourful space filled with a myriad of flowering pots and shrubs, all ordered and placed in their positions by Samantha. Pushing open the white stable door he walked into their large and airy French-style kitchen. With it’s powder blue units, huge aga and massive distressed pine table that sat in the centre of the room it was both stylish yet cosy. Samantha had designed it all. She’d designed most of the house. She’d designed most of all their homes really. Daniel had neither the time nor the inclination and Samantha
had been quite happy to do it all so he’d seen no reason to stop her. She had great taste.

  “Darling! You’re home.”

  His wife’s perfectly clipped tones made him turn around and he smiled at her as she walked into the kitchen, tanned and glowing. She looked beautiful. But then, even after twenty years of marriage, he still thought she was beautiful with her baby blonde hair and cornflower-blue eyes. She’d made his life perfect and he adored her.

  She returned his smile and walked over to him, kissing him quickly.

  “You’ve been working too hard,” she said, loosening his tie. “You look tired.”

  He held her loosely around the waist, gently stroking some stray strands of hair from her eyes.

  “You look amazing, do you know that? Tuscany obviously agrees with you.”

  “Well, what is there to disagree with?” she smiled, looking at him. She’d missed him. She really had. “The weather was glorious, the food wonderful and the wine, as usual, was sublime. I’ve brought you back a bottle of your favourite Chianti. How about a glass now?”

  He nodded, letting go of her and watching as she walked over to the dresser at the back of the kitchen.

  “I thought we could go out for dinner tonight,” Daniel said as he took two glasses from the cupboard. “Maybe Maxies? I know you love their sea bass. You can tell me all about the holiday.”

  She poured the wine and handed him a glass.

  “Do you mind if we don’t, darling? I’m really tired after the flight. I was hoping we could have a quiet dinner here, just the two of us. Is that alright with you?”

  Daniel smiled, kissing the tip of her nose. “That’s fine with me.”

  Samantha put down her glass and slipped her arms round his neck. “Maybe, after dinner, you could run me a bath. Then I could give you a much needed back massage; help you to relax a bit. And then, I thought both of us could have an early night.” She kissed him gently. “How does that sound?”