Sparks (Wild Irish Silence Book 1) Read online

  Sparks

  Sherryl D. Hancock

  Copyright © Sherryl D. Hancock 2017

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without prior written permission from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by Vulpine Press in the United Kingdom in 2017

  ISBN 978-1-910780-87-9

  Cover by Claire Wood

  www.vulpine-press.com

  This book is for the lovers of music and the dream of love! To music makers everywhere! You are the air I breathe! Thank you for your talent!!!

  ♫

  One ♫

  Los Angeles, 1998

  Brenden Sparks lay on his bed, asleep. He was on his stomach with his arms wrapped around the pillow under his head, his well-toned arms and back on full display. His rich auburn hair curled just at his shoulders, making him an extremely attractive sight to behold. He woke slightly to the sensation of lips pressed against his shoulder. Then he felt nails on his back, gliding over his skin.

  “Mmmm …” he murmured, still half asleep.

  “Mmmm …” came the reply in a distinctly familiar voice.

  The nails proceeded to move downward until he was fully awake, and he turned over. His eyes were still closed, even as his hand wrapped around a handful of hair. His lips took possession of hers and he knew exactly who he was kissing.

  He pulled back, looking into molten gold eyes.

  “Good morning, Jordan,” he said, in his clear English accent.

  “Good morning, B,” she replied, smiling warmly down at him.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, as he pulled her down next to him on the bed.

  “I thought you were still in the studio?”

  “Yeah,” she said, sighing deeply, “I am, but we’re just about done. Bobby’s being a pain about edits.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why? You trying to get rid of me, Beege?” she asked sounding hurt.

  Brenden grinned. “Of course not, my love. I just thought you were still hard at it,” he told her.

  “Well, I am so quit buggin’ boss,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “Fine, then you’re going to hang out with me for a bit?”

  “I could …” she said, her voice trailing off as if she were considering her other options.

  “You will,” he told her knowingly.

  “And you know this how?” she asked, raising and eyebrow at him.

  “’Cause I know you,” he said. “You’ve already closed up the beach house, and now you’re just killing time while you wait for Bobby to yell at you to get your ass back there. Then you’re running with your butt on fire to go play for a bit.”

  “I don’t consider time with my best friend as killing time, Brenden James,” she told him with narrowed eyes.

  “Okay, okay, so that wasn’t the right choice of words,” he said, laughing and holding his hands up in surrender.

  “Damned right it wasn’t,” she said, giving him a vile look.

  “You’re so cute when you’re mad, you know that?”

  “You’re gonna get your cute ass kicked, ya know that?” she replied, slapping his arm.

  He laughed unrepentantly. “Yeah, yeah, hurt me.”

  Jordan laughed. They had a very casual relationship.

  She was in an extremely good mood. Her third album was due to be released in four weeks. And she knew it was going to be great. She trusted Brenden, her mentor, and was using Bobby Nichols to produce her album. Everyone was predicting a hit. Her first album had done well and her second had done even better, making her a household name. But Brenden had known she was destined to do better. He wanted to see that happen for her. He adored the woman and knew that she wanted more than anything to be an extremely successful rock star.

  He and Jordan had been friends for a few years. She’d been signed to his label when she’d been discovered. They’d met while Jordan was making her first album. As the studios she was recording in, Wild Irish Silence Studios, were owned by him, it was only a matter of time before they bumped into each other. And they had, by design … by Brenden’s design. He’d wanted to meet her from the moment he’d seen her. She was beautiful and had the most irresistible sexiness that he had to get near. And so he had. He was already the consummate rock star in a band named after him: Sparks. The night they’d finally met, she’d been leaving the studios after a long day, and he’d been heading home as well. They’d run into each other in the hallway. Jordan had been predictably nervous at meeting him, but he’d told her that he’d listened to some of her stuff and that she was a great asset to the label. That had put her at ease; she’d heard what a hard ass BJ Sparks could be.

  He had invited her to coffee, and in his usual direct manner, had told her that he that he’d love to find out just how sexy she really was. Jordan, who was usually turned off by such overt sexual come-ons, found herself responding to this charismatic rock icon. She told him she felt like a silly little groupie. His response had cemented the deal and their friendship for good. He’d sat back, looking at her seriously through his light blue-green eyes.

  “Jordan, you’re no groupie. You’re going to be a star. I’m going to make sure of that, whether you sleep with me or not.”

  She’d been taken back by his directness, but appreciated what he’d said. She’d also believed him beyond a shadow of a doubt. BJ Sparks could have any woman he wanted, he didn’t have to lie to get them into his bed. That night she’d gone to his palatial estate, and had the best sex of her life. In him she’d found a soul mate of sorts. They wanted the same things in life: to be the best at what they did. In the end, they hadn’t stayed together; Brenden wasn’t a one woman kind of guy. He enjoyed the sexual freedom his stardom allowed him.

  At thirty-seven, he was one of the hottest singers in the industry. He’d received critical acclaim, which was virtually unheard of in the rock and roll industry. He had Grammys all over his rambling estate in Beverly Hills, for everything from Best Lead Vocalist, to Best Album of the Year, to Best Songwriter. He did it all. Anything Brenden James Sparks touched, turned to gold instantly.

  Their sexual relationship became a very deep friendship, and she found that whenever she needed him, he was there without hesitation. Even times when she didn’t want him there, he was there if he thought she needed him. She’d told him her deepest darkest secrets, as he did her. She knew all there was to know about him, and he knew all there was to know about her.

  “Babydoll,” Brenden said soothingly, his hand caressing her arm as he held her against him, “you know I enjoy spending any and all free time with you, so don’t give me so much shit, huh?”

  Jordan looked up at him, making a sour face, then nodded. “Okay, you win,” she said, grinning.

  “I always do,” he replied, still as cocky as ever.

  “Yeah, yeah,” she said, shaking her head. “So what have you been up to, rock star?”

  “Doing that album thing,” he said.

  “Yeah, how’s that going?” she asked, knowing he worked his ass off when he was in the studio.

  She also knew he was probably pushing it once again. He’d just gotten off a yearlong world tour. His last album “Dead of Night” had just gone multi-platinum.

  “It’s goin’ alright, gotta stay on top, ya know,” he said, grinning.
r />   And he was still on top. He was in the top five of multi-platinum record holders, coming in just under Led Zeppelin. He was in good company with Elvis Presley and the Eagles. Every concert he’d scheduled had sold out, many of them in mere hours. It was one hell of a statement, considering he’d been in the business for over thirteen years. He was still selling out shows, albums, and any number of memorabilia items.

  He still had women willing to kill each other to get near him too. It was an incredible ego boost to still have women willing to do anything and everything just to say they’d been with him. He dabbled every so often with groupies, but for the most part stuck to women he felt were of a different quality. Jordan had been a staple in his life for over three years. She’d been with him through a lot, good times and bad. And there had been plenty of bad.

  They’d done a lot of partying together when they’d first met. As her career had started to take off, however he’d seen her drug use and drinking get out of control. He’d gotten a handle on his addictions a couple of years before he’d met her. He’d just about killed himself when he wrapped his Lamborghini around a lamp post on Hollywood Boulevard. That had been when he’d decided to quit. He’d gotten clean, and then took on the challenge a couple of years later of getting Jordan clean.

  She’d fought him mightily, telling him that she wasn’t an addict like he’d been. But he knew an addict when he saw one, and hadn’t let up on her. It had taken a number of physical confrontations, where she’d scratched, bitten, punched, and kicked him to keep him from stopping her. In the end, he’d taken the attitude of “I’m helping you whether you like it or not,” and had given back as good as she’d dished out. His superior strength and fire had quelled hers quickly. Jordan had learned very quickly not to challenge him when he made a threat.

  He’d threatened once to put her “ass” in the trunk of his car if she didn’t calm the hell down. She’d been sure he was bluffing and had told him so using a heeled boot to kick at the dashboard. To her shock, he’d slammed the brakes on, skidding to the side of the road. He’d gotten out, yanked open her door, and pulled her out of the passenger’s seat. Ignoring her screams and her nails raking his neck and arm, he’d unlocked the trunk, picked her up in his arms, dropped her into the trunk, and slammed it shut.

  She’d spent an hour in his trunk that night, and had learned that challenging him was dangerous. She’d made the mistake a few more times, when she’d been high or drunk, but in the end, she decided challenging BJ Sparks wasn’t beneficial to her well-being or pride. At six foot three and just over two hundred pounds, BJ outweighed her by an easy hundred pounds. He could toss her over his shoulder as if tossing a doll, and they both knew it.

  “So do you think you’ll meet the March deadline?” she asked, snuggling close to him, always enjoying the security she felt when she was with him.

  “Oh yeah, we’re more than halfway through initial recording,” he said, turning over on his side to look down at her.

  His light green eyes, with the slightest hint of blue to them, searched her face.

  “You look tired babe,” he said

  “I know,” she said, nodding. “I can’t sleep. I’m on edge too much.”

  “Well, stay here and rest a bit, you’ll feel better in no time.”

  She smiled, nodding. “You always make me feel better.”

  They lay together on his bed talking for the next hour. Eventually, Brenden glanced at the clock and started to get up.

  “Studio, right?” she asked knowingly.

  “Yup,” he said. “Wanna come watch? We can have dinner after, if you want.”

  “Sounds good,” she said.

  Later in the studio, she watched in her usual awe at the way her friend sang. He took the simplest note and made it sound so incredible. She envied his range. He could hold a note for so long, increasing in intensity to a crescendo. It was something she hoped to learn from him eventually. But he had a God-given talent and there was no denying it. He also involved himself in every aspect of the recording. He would sit with a pad of paper and listen to the playback, making notes about changes he wanted made. No one argued with him, with the exception of Devlin McGregor, the lead guitarist.

  Devlin had always been irreverent where Brenden was concerned. Jordan was fairly sure that was because Devlin had a lot of power behind him too. He was the perfect strength behind Brenden’s voice. Brenden told Jordan that Devlin had made the band the way it was now, that Devlin was the kick in the ass Sparks had needed. For that reason, Devlin could argue with Brenden for hours on end, and Brenden would never threaten to kick him out of the band. He would threaten to kill him in any number of ways, but never kick him out. It was a source of amusement among the people that knew them.

  Jordan spent the day being re-acquainted with how exactly Brenden could be in the studio, watching take after take. Bobby was a perfectionist, even more so than Brenden, but Brenden wasn’t a producer, he was the artist. He had, however, produced his last three albums, receiving accolades all around.

  By the time they left the studio late that afternoon, she could hear Brenden’s voice was ragged. He’d done a lot of voice work that day. Instead of dinner, she took him back to his place and made him chicken soup. She knew he had to keep his voice in top shape, and it was usually easy for him, but he’d been fighting a cold, and she was afraid it was about to down him. That night they ate in front of the fire and relaxed with wine, talking until the wee hours of the morning again. He’d scheduled himself a day off the next day, so they had all day to relax.

  They slept in the same bed that night, and as he always did, he laid behind her, holding her to him, his lips against her neck. She smiled in the darkness of the room, knowing this was his favorite way to sleep. It was a habit from his ex, which Jordan knew all about.

  It was a source of a lot of misery for him. Jordan wished beyond anything that she could help him through what had happened so many years ago, but he never even wanted to discuss it. He’d told her the entire story one stormy night when he’d had way too much to drink. It proved to her that his life wasn’t quite the great fairy tale everyone had been led to believe it was. Everyone thought he’d come to America when he was twenty-one and had been a rock star by the time he was twenty-three. It was true enough, but not the whole truth.

  Brenden was touted as being “Rock’s Baddest Bad Boy” and Jordan was considered his “love interest” and “sometime girlfriend.” She was also known as a “wild child” in her own right, having caused any number of scandals with her outrageous antics. They both lived life on their own terms. They enjoyed each other a great deal, and both were glad they had someone to rely on that knew them so well. It was comforting.

  The next morning when they woke up, she got out of bed and glanced down at him as he turned over on his back and stretched. She thought about what most women would do to be able to watch Brenden Sparks wearing no shirt and stretching like some big cat.

  “I’m hungry,” she said, her tone matter of fact.

  “Aren’t you always?” he asked, moving to get up off the bed.

  “No!” she said, giving him a dirty look. “I just have a fast metabolism.”

  “Yeah, the metabolism of a gnat,” he replied, grinning as he pulled on a pair of faded jeans.

  “Shut up, brat,” she said haughtily. “Can I help it if you can eat anything and everyone and not gain an ounce?”

  “Anything and everyone?” he asked, chuckling. “I like the sound of that.”

  “You would,” she retorted as she followed him out of his bedroom.

  They spent the next two hours getting lunch, and sitting out by his pool.

  “When will Tabbie be back from her trip?” she asked him, taking another bite of her salad.

  “Not for another month,” he said.

  “Bummer,” she said, knowing he was missing her.

  Tabitha was Brenden’s eighteen-year-old daughter. She meant the entire world to Brenden. He’d
sacrificed a lot to raise her, and she’d been the reason he’d gotten off drugs. The accident that had almost taken his life, had almost left his daughter an orphan. It had been too much for him to bear.

  Tabitha had been in New York for six months. After graduating from a private high school in Los Angeles, she’d gone to New York to explore and decide what she wanted to do with her life. Brenden hadn’t been happy about the trip, but he also knew that Tabitha needed a little bit of independence.

  “She informed me,” he said, grinning, “that she’s coming home to whip my ass into shape.”

  Jordan laughed. “Does she have any idea how impossible that is?”

  Brenden gave her a narrowed look, throwing a cherry tomato at her. Jordan ducked the flying fruit, and laughed again.

  “She wants to be my assistant,” he told Jordan. “I think it’s rather sweet, myself.”

  “Sweet?” Jordan echoed. “Beege, she will have to work her ass off, if she tries to get you organized.”

  “I’m not that bloody bad!” he growled.

  “Like hell you’re not!” she growled right back. “You forgot to show up on the Tonight Show, Brenden!”

  “Oh Jesus fucking Christ that was three fucking years ago, am I ever going to live it down?”

  “Nope,” Jordan replied with a grin, her eyes twinkling with humor.

  “Bitch.”

  “Bastard,” she shot back.

  “Still love me?” he asked.

  “Yep,” she replied promptly. “Still love me?”

  “Nope.”

  They both grinned at each other. It was a litany they did often.

  “So are you going to pay her?” Jordan asked.

  “No,” he said. “I thought I’d make her work for free, just to get the experience.” His tone was sarcastic and Jordan gave him a sour look.

  “I’m just asking, because I’m sure she could get lots of experience elsewhere, without the stress of your busy life to organize,” she said, giving him a stern look. “You have to admit, Beege, that you’re busier than the average musician.”