The Last Love Song (A BWWM BDSM Romance) Read online

  Get excited! Romance enthusiast Lyn Rosella is here with her debut novel.

  Zenaida. She only needs one name. She’s the ultimate diva, an award winning singer, the Baddest Bitch, the boss. Always in control. She’s beautiful, rich, famous. She has everything she wants.

  And yet, she isn’t happy.

  Zenaida goes through staff members faster than a box of tissues. Nobody can please her. Nobody can live up to her standards.

  Until Vaughn.

  Zenaida is the boss, but Vaughn wants the diva on her knees. She has the voice of an angel but he only wants to hear her whimper his name. Everyone else always tells her “yes,” but Vaughn wants to make her beg.

  Strong wills clash and sparks fly. He awakens a need within her that she didn’t know was there. But the spotlight has a way of revealing secrets, and the pasts they longed to leave behind will come crashing back into their lives.

  With her pride, her image, her whole career on the line, just how deep does she dare to fall?

  This is a standalone novel, no cliffhangers!

  Copywrite 2015 Lyn Rosella

  This book is a work of fiction; any names, places, and/or situations portrayed within are products of the author’s imagination; any similarity to real persons, living or dead, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

  This book contains mature content that is suitable for adults only.

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  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

  A Note From the Author

  “I don’t do love songs.”

  This interview was getting on my nerves. It was the same as every interview before it - “Why don’t you do love songs? Have you never been in love? Can you tell us about the rumors regarding your firing half of your staff last year? Did you really punch a fan in the face?”

  I didn’t do love songs because I wasn’t a sentimental person. I had been in love before, yes, but it had been a waste of time. I did fire half my staff over the course of the year but they all deserved it. And I punched a stalker in the face, not a fan. Couldn’t I just send this woman a transcript of my last interview and save us both a bunch of trouble?

  “Thanks so much, Zenaida, it was lovely to meet you.”

  Oh gosh, is it over already? I must have answered the rest of the questions on automatic pilot. I shook the blond woman’s hand as I rose from the uncomfortable hotel room chair. Why did it seem like journalists’ budgets were getting smaller and smaller? They used to take me out to dinner and drinks before I answered their list of questions. Now I was lucky if they made any plans at all. Half the time they wanted to come to my room to speak. As if I would ever allow that.

  “Where’s the car?” I demanded as soon as I stepped out of the room. Members of my staff waited just outside the door. I didn’t even look at them as I passed through the small sea of bodies crowding the narrow hallway. I was a busy woman and didn’t have a moment to waste.

  “It’s waiting out front,” my first assistant Lexi said just over my shoulder. She tossed her meticulously straightened hair over her shoulder. The green-eyed biracial beauty could have been in front of the camera in some capacity herself if she’d just smile once in a fucking while.

  “Good.” I slipped on my sunglasses. My second assistant, the freckled, red-haired Gavin, bolted down the hall ahead of us to summon the elevator. We were also flanked by three bodyguards, and my stylist had tagged along for good measure. My manager and driver would be outside waiting with the vehicles. I would have had more staff with me if I could stand it, but frankly I was trying to cut back. I needed to fire less people - and that meant hiring less in the first place.

  We rode the elevator in silence. If I didn’t speak, they didn’t speak unless it was something important. Idle chatter would get on my nerves.

  Yes, it’s true. I, Zenaida, was a huge diva. The baddest bitch any of these unfortunate souls had ever had the misfortune to work for. Lexi was incredibly smart and driven, Gavin a sweet boy just brimming over with charisma, and I’d had them both pick up dry cleaning and fetch me lunch that very week. They were so overqualified - and so starstruck I wanted to slap them.

  I wasn’t always such a hard-ass. Some would say that it was just a show, a PR stunt, an elaborate act to gain as much media attention as I could. Some would say that the fame and the money all went to my head.

  And some - or rather, one person in particular - would say that it was because with all my hard work, all I’d achieved, I was still missing something.

  That “someone” was my mother, and that “something” was a man, according to her.

  I didn’t think about it. I didn’t have time for a man. I was checking my watch and preparing to gripe about the speed of the elevator because after the interview with the blond blogger, I had exactly twenty-five minutes to get down to the studio across town to appear on a live afternoon talk show, after which I had to rehearse for a concert that I would perform that very evening for some dull corporate event. The men and women there wouldn’t listen to my music. They’d simply tell everyone they knew that they’d seen me in order to make themselves feel hip. I hated those types of events, but my goodness did they pay well.

  “Lunch?” I asked Lexi as soon as we were on the road. Only one of the bodyguards rode in the short limo with Lexi, Gavin, and I. The other two would ride in the SUV leading the way. I’d have another car following behind us later that evening on our way to and from the concert. It could get pretty scary out there sometimes.

  “Lunch is already waiting in your dressing room,” Gavin said, “We ordered from that sandwich place that you like, got you a couple different ones to choose from.”

  “The stylists will be on standby as soon as you get there so they won’t keep you waiting,” Lexi said.

  I looked between their young and eager faces and almost complimented them on a job well done. The day was going smoothly so far.

  Still, there was a lot of time left for a screw-up. I’d save the praise for sundown. Instead I nodded at them and silently watched LA roll by through the window.

  “Natural hair is on its way back in!” my stylist nearly shrieked for what felt like the twentieth time just that week.

  I’d leapt down from my seat in my dressing room in a fit of anger. I needed to hire a stylist with a gentler touch before this woman ripped my scalp out. The only reason I hadn’t done it yet was because the woman knew what she was doing and did a damn good job of it. One screw-up is all we nee
d. I’m just waiting for it.

  “I’m not arguing with that, Nikki! I’m just telling you to calm this beast the fuck down!” I took two handfuls of my my hair and tugged at them in impotent rage. Sometimes I wished the woman would just do my hair in the complicated braided styles that she employed on her own. It was far from trendy at the time but goodness would it be nice to have it not snag in every costume or get caught in every errant tree branch I passed by.

  Yes, the curly, wild madness was a signature part of my style at the moment, but shit did my hair eat up a lot of time and product. Nikki had the patience of a saint - and probably no fingerprints left. I wasn’t actually angry at her. Much as I fantasized about firing the woman, it wasn’t going to happen. No sane person on the planet would want her job.

  I sat back in the tall director’s style chair and let her get back to work. The longer it took for her, the less time my makeup artist would have. She’d want to contour my already contoured face, frame my almond-shaped golden brown eyes with as many fake lashes as she could fit, and color my lips to look even plusher than they were. “Exaggerate everything!” was her her motto.

  Someone knocked on the door. “I know, I know, we’re on in twelve!” I shouted. I used to get excited about doing live shows - I got to perform in front of a small, intimate audience, while meanwhile it would be broadcast to millions. It was the best of both worlds. But this whirlwind media tour had sucked the fun out of everything. It had been going on for too long and now I couldn’t wait for it to be over.

  “It’s me,” Lexi announced, opening the door open a crack and peeking her head inside. “Got a new member of the security team here, are you decent?”

  “Do I look decent?” I gestured at the frizzy mass atop my skull. But I was fully dressed, and that was all she cared about. She swung the door open and led the man inside.

  “Why do I need another?” I asked, watching the suited man walk in. He was a big guy - I was a tall woman, but I could see right away that he would tower over me if I wasn’t wearing heels. Broad, too, and thick, but not in an overweight way. No, I’d be willing to bet there was nothing but pure, hard muscle hiding under that dark jacket.

  His head was shaved completely bald, which wasn’t all that uncommon amongst the bodyguards I’d employed before. It was his piercing blue eyes that stood out. Shadowed, intense, and completely unimpressed by his surroundings. Good. A starstruck security guy doesn’t do anyone any good.

  “You fired Tom,” Lexi reminded me.

  I sighed heavily. “I don’t even remember.”

  “This is Vaughn,” she said, “He started working for Vision Security pretty recently, we have him until we return to LA, and then he’s assigned to us again for that award show in a month and if it all works out he’ll be part of the staff for the tour in four months. Former military, he’s also worked as a bouncer-”

  I cut her off. I wasn’t interested in his resume and was growing steadily more agitated as Nikki tugged a comb through my hair, yanking my head this way and that. We had nine minutes until air. “Nice to meet you,” I barked, sticking out my hand. His hand completely enveloped mine as he shook it.

  “You, too,” he said. I didn’t like the way that he was looking at me. It wasn’t solely unimpressed. It was… almost amused. He had to be put in his place, and fast.

  “Are we through?” I asked, peeling my eyes away from his and turning to Lexi. She was frowning.

  “Yeah. We’re through,” she said.

  I felt a momentary pang of guilt as she led the guy back out, apologizing the whole way. I’d let my frustration get away with me - he was a veteran, I could have at least had some manners.

  Maybe I’d make it up to him later somehow. A welcome-to-the-team gift or something. If I remembered.

  But I probably wouldn’t.

  “Well that was a fucking nightmare,” I muttered to myself. The show was finally over - the last task of the day complete. My performance that afternoon for the talk show had been smooth and unremarkable. It was a low-key setup so there weren’t as many opportunities for something to go wrong as usual. Then that evening, the concert had gone just fine as well, but the audience left a lot to be desired. Some of them cheered and danced along. Most of them looked like they’d be more comfortable locked away in a conference room somewhere.

  “Everybody out!” I announced when I reached my rented trailer. It was one of my stipulations for an outdoor event like this one. I needed a private area to get changed, to eat, to wind down. It wasn’t the most luxurious setup I’d seen but it would do for the time being. At least the couches were comfortable and the television worked without much trouble.

  My crew scattered, off to take care of the business of breaking down the stage and arranging the travel home.

  “We’re having trouble with the cars,” Gavin said as he turned to leave me. “Some of the suits got really drunk and had a fender bender near the exit, so you might need to hang tight for a little bit.”

  “That’s fine, as long as I can do it alone,” I said, waving a dismissive hand. I wasn’t interested in their troubles, I knew that whatever was going on, they would be able to straighten it out. If we didn’t need to run for the airport then I would happily take a few minutes by myself. I was tired, and frustrated, and all wound up. I needed a drink and a little silence.

  But when I finally took the three steps up into my trailer and the two steps into the kitchen area, I realized I wasn’t alone.

  A man in a suit stood next to the couch. “If it isn’t the queen of pop!” he said, beaming. His words slurred and his face was a little too slack. “Nice to meet you, Miss Zenaida!”

  Oh, God, not another one of these. Drunk executives were the worst. They already thought the world revolved around them. Add too much alcohol and all pretense of being civilized were thrown out the window. Who’d let the asshole backstage anyway? Where were my bodyguards?

  “Why don’t you go on back to the party, sir?” I asked, gesturing back towards the door.

  He scowled as if confused. “We paid good money to have you here.”

  “You paid for a show, sir, and the show’s over.” The door was still open, and I spotted the new bodyguard just outside. The bald one. He wasn’t looking in my direction, he was looking away from the trailer, watching for danger approaching. He didn’t realize someone had already gotten in. Shit, what was his name? I almost felt guilty for forgetting it. “You!” I hissed. He didn’t turn. I didn’t want to shout - I was afraid it would piss this guy off, and then who knew what would happen.

  “Why don’t you sing me a private song?” the man said. He took a seat on the couch. On my couch, my expensive black leather couch. At least, mine for the evening.

  I planted a hand on my hip. “I didn’t give you permission to sit down. Please leave.”

  He ignored my words and pulled a flask from inside his suit jacket. I hissed with impatience. “You! Hey!” Still the new bodyguard ignored me. “Security!”

  “What the hell are you shouting about?” the man scowled. He stood back up and took a step toward me. Oh, hell, no.

  “Security!” I shrieked, no longer worried about agitating the man any further. It was time for him to get the fuck out.

  Finally the bodyguard turned around. He took in the scene for less than a breath - then he was in the trailer and on the guy in less time than it took for me to blink. “How did you get in here?” he growled, shaking him by the collar of his suit.

  “Fuck you, buddy, get your hands off me!”

  “You’re leaving.” He hauled the man to the front door while he spluttered and cursed.

  “Do you have any idea who I am?”

  “Don’t care.” He hurled him out the door. The man stumbled violently forward a few steps. For a moment it looked like he was going to faceplant, but he regained his balance and remained on his feet. I half-expected him to keep on arguing, but instead he tugged his jacket straight and kept right on walking away from the
trailer as if nothing had happened at all. Real smooth, buddy.

  “Are you okay?” my bodyguard asked. He held me still by my shoulders and looked me up and down once before turning me and checking my back. When he whirled me around again, I knocked his arms away.

  “Don’t you manhandle me,” I said, “I’m fine.”

  He did a quick lap around the trailer, presumably checking for any more stowaways. “It was just the one guy,” I said when he peered behind the couch.

  “He shouldn’t have been able to get this far.” He checked the closet and the bathroom before finally stopping. He turned his attention to me - that intense, piercing, blue-eyed attention that had made my knees tremble earlier. “Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

  I shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “I tried.”

  “You forgot my name.” His eyes flashed. With what, I wasn’t sure. Anger? Who the hell does this guy think he is?

  “Yeah,” I said, “I forgot. What of it?” I threw all of my weight behind my words. It wasn’t right to take my stress out on him, but he was the only one there and besides, as he’d said, that guy shouldn’t have been able to get into my trailer. Whose job was it to make sure that didn’t happen? Not mine. “If you were doing what you were supposed to do then I wouldn’t have needed to call you at all!”