Rockstar Untamed: A Single Dad Virgin Romance

  Table of Contents

  Free Gift

  Rockstar Untamed

  Rockstar Untamed Extended Epilogue

  The Reconstruction of Cyprian

  The Intern Installment

  Focus

  Savage Hearts

  A Dangerous Woman A Rockstar Untamed Story

  Filthy Commitments Sneak Peak

  Free Gift

  Subscribe to Michelle Love’s Newsletter

  and get a FREE book exclusive to Subscribers.

  The Book is related to Dirty Little Virgin and it’s

  Called Dirty Dom

  Dirty Dom

  The water’s cold…She’s red hot!

  She sits on the white, rocky shore as I stalk her from behind.

  Her aspirations are as big as the Texas sky.

  I have other plans for the Yale College girl.

  Kinky plans!

  I’ll command her body and she’ll command my heart.

  The first step in my plan, make her crave my c*ck.

  Then everything else will fall into place.

  My only fear is that one day she’ll go away.

  Leaving me alone to miss her…

  Sign up now, and read the story that will take you on whirlwind ride, sure to please.

  Click here to get your copy

  Rockstar Untamed

  A Single Dad Virgin Romance

  By Michelle Love

  Facebook Michelle Love

  Sign up for my email list to be notified of new releases and get TWO Billionaire Romance Series for FREE!

  Click the link or enter

  https://ilovelearning.leadpages.co/michelles-free-romance-series/

  into your browser.

  ©Copyright 2017 by

  Michelle Love- All rights

  Reserved

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights are reserved.

  Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

  Rockstar Bodhi Creed is blindsided when his ex-girlfriend, Gemma, turns up with a six-year-old son, Tim, and tells Bodhi that it’s his turn to play house with his son. Completely out of his depth, he none-the-less tries his best to juggle his superstar career with his paternal duties, but his son is reluctant to bond with him.

  Sailor King is working as an assistant to a Hollywood agent, Maurice Winston, unhappily. Her boss is a leach and a creep, and the day he gropes her, she retaliates by slapping him. To her horror, the incident is witnessed by the incredulous Bodhi, who, to her surprise, backs her up and fires Maurice as his agent. Maurice vows to destroy Bodhi’s career and tells Sailor she’ll never work in Hollywood again. She shoots back that that would suit her fine. Bodhi tells them both Sailor has already got herself hired by him.

  Sailor starts her new job as Bodhi’s assistant, but soon gravitates to caring for Tim, with whom she finds common ground. Both were the product of a one-night stand and both lead confusing childhoods. But Sailor hides a bigger secret; less than a year ago, she escaped from a cult in which she had been raised and still carries the scars of that experience with her. She is still freaked out by the concept of freedom, but also chaffs against any kind of control. Looking after Tim gives her a sense of stability and under her care, the boy starts to thrive.

  Bodhi, whose reputation as a man-whore is well-known, is grateful to the young woman and is drawn to her, but Sailor keeps him at a distance. He doesn’t blame her, he revels in his promiscuity, but he also makes the decision to spend more time with Tim, and by extension, Sailor. Soon, the two of them begin to be more than friends and when their relationship goes to the next level; Sailor confides her past to him as well as one more surprising revelation: she is a virgin.

  Chicago, Illinois

  January

  Bodhi Creed breathed in the scent of the crowd; sweat, excitement, almost frenzied adoration. He stood at the front of the stage, taking in the love of his fans as he finished his song, putting everything into the final few chords. His voice soaring and dipping with perfect pitch. He knew he could make people shiver with the sound of his voice. He finished the song and took his final bow, taking his time to wave to the crowd as he left the stage, his whole system flooding with adrenaline. Who needed drugs when performing could make you feel like this? He grinned to his crew and his band as he walked back to his dressing room, thanking each of them personally.

  There was a reason people loved Bodhi Creed. It wasn’t just that he had pulled himself out of a hellish path from a drug-fueled death during his early career or that his face could sell anything as much as his singing voice. It was that he was genuinely a humble man, offstage and on. He had his demons, what rock god didn’t? But now, nearing forty, he still appealed to fans of all ages.

  Bodhi walked back to his dressing room, pushed the door open and almost choked. Poppy, his personal assistant of two months, had been ‘cleansing’ his space again, burning sage and wafting it around the windowless room. She grinned at him. “Hey, boss.”

  She had bright pink hair, tattoos up and down her arms, and wore clothes that would make a fetishist blush. She looked like a real rock goddess, Bodhi smiled fondly at her more than he ever did.

  God, he was tired. This had been the last date of the tour that had lasted well over a year, and he was exhausted, drained, ready for some down time. Bodhi knew himself, it was times like these he would have, back in the day, reached for the bottle or the white stuff. The thought of cocaine now made him feel sick. Jimi Hendrix, Layne Staley, Scott Weiland, Shannon Hoon, he used their names as a mantra to stay away from drugs now, even when he was depressed.

  NowAs he ran his hand through his dark curls and slumped down onto the sofa, a cold soda in hand, he looked for respite in other ways. His good friend, Claudio Fonseca, an artist, had invited him to go stay at his farmhouse in the Tuscan hills for the summer, picking olives and chilling out. Bodhi couldn’t wait. Two months of Italian sun, wine, food and relaxation in the company of good friends. He could see his mom at her home in Florence. Bodhi longed to go back to Italy. His American father had brought the family over to America just after Bodhi had been born, and growing up in Seattle, Bodhi had longed to know the place he had come from. When his dad died, his mom sold her house and went back, begging Bodhi to go with her. But by then, he was a star, and he needed to be in Los Angeles for his career.

  He looked up as the door opened and Franklin, the theater manager, stuck his head in.

  “Sorry to interrupt, Bodhi, but there’s a kid out here to see you.”

  Bodhi was surprised. A kid? Usually, his groupies were nubile young women. “Show them in, please. Thanks, Frank.” He always, always took the time to talk with his fans, despite how tired he was, without them, he was nothing.

  A kid with dark curls, not older than ten, pushed shyly into the room, and Bodhi got up to greet him. “Hey there, what’s your name, kiddo?”

  The kid blinked his huge green eyes up at Bodhi, seeming dumbstruck. Bodhi didn’t see the woman who had entered behind the child until she spoke softly.

  “His name is Tim, Bodhi.”

  Bodhi, recognizing the voice immediately, looked up, and a shock ran through him.

  “Gemma?”

  The blonde woman smiled at him. “Been a long time, hasn’t it?”

  Bodhi stared at her, still stunned to see his former lover. She was Bodhi’s senior by five years, had not dulled her beauty, but the
re was a haunted, desperate look in her eyes.

  “Must be about ten yea…” Bodhi broke off, realization dawning, and he gazed down at the young boy standing between them. Dark hair, bright green eyes. Bodhi’s eyes. There really was no question.

  Gemma looked at him, her eyes filling with tears as she watched him put the pieces together. “I’m sorry to do this to you, Bodhi…I really am. But I’m not doing so well. I need to go away for a while, alone. And I thought it’s time. It’s time for Tim to know his daddy.”

  Bodhi’s whole body felt as if he’d been hit by a sledgehammer as he gazed down into the face of his son.

  Miami, Florida

  Sailor King followed her minder through the mall. It was cool, almost chilly, inside the spacious building, but Sailor didn’t mind. Even January in Florida was too hot for her. Her dark hair stuck to her forehead and to the back of her neck. Monica, her minder, gave her an annoyed look.

  “What’s wrong with you today? You know Bartholomew will punish me if we’re more than two hours. We haven’t even found your wedding dress yet.”

  Sailor stared back at Monica blankly. She felt so tired lately, so hopeless that she had stopped taking the anti-depressant tablets they had given her all her life, and now she felt as if her brain would go mad. She didn’t want this, didn’t want to be married to a man more than twice her age. She knew within the ranks of the organization that she was ‘lucky.' Other girls were clamoring to be partnered with Bart Foy, their leader, their captain.

  But Bart had chosen her. She had known the unease of his lascivious gaze on her body; her curves, her flat belly, her full breasts since she was a teenager. He had held her face in his hands when she was just fourteen, an entire decade ago. It had been decreed, she would be his new wife when she reached the age of womanhood, in their ideology, it would be her twenty-fifth birthday, which was in a few weeks.

  Bart Foy had been married twice before. His first wife was Tamsin, about whom nobody knew much. They had been married before Bart formed the ‘Children of Love’ commune, deep in the Florida Everglades. His wife had left him after refusing to join him in his ‘mission.’ Bart’s second wife, Clotilde, was a beautiful, loving, Frenchwoman with dark brown hair tumbling down her back and a sweet nature. She had joined the group as a teacher for the children and Sailor had been one of her wards. She had been particularly close to Clotilde, Tilly to those who loved her, and when, one shocking, horrific night, Tilly had been found dead, Sailor had been devastated.

  Bart made them all walk past Tilly’s body, laid out on the shrine in their temple. “I want you to look, children. Look what sin can bring.”

  Sailor had always wondered what he meant. When she found out, from hushed whispers in the schoolyard, that Tilly had been having an affair with another man, and that she had been stabbed to death, at around eleven, Sailor knew what that meant.

  The terror when Bart had chosen her for his next wife had been all-encompassing, but she had buried her head in the sand, thinking the day would never come. Then three months ago, he had summoned her.

  “My dearest Sailor, your womanhood is fast approaching, and to me, it seems the perfect time for us to become one. Your birthday will serve as our wedding day, do you understand?”

  She nodded, the fear inside overwhelming her ability to speak. Bart smiled and touched her cheek. “Good. Now, I’m afraid we have to deal with a little unpleasantness before you go. As you know, I take my role here very seriously, and in choosing you as my wife, I need you to be an ambassador for us all.” He paused, studying her. “You were very close to Clotilde, I know. She betrayed all of us, Sailor. All of us. Her punishment…well…”

  He picked up a folder and handed it to her. “I’m going to leave you alone here for a few minutes to study what’s in that folder. When I return, this matter will be closed. This is what happens when my women betray me, Sailor, understand? That’s the only reason why I’m showing you these photographs.”

  Sailor nodded again. “Good girl. I’ll leave you alone.”

  He left his office and Sailor heard the lock being clicked from outside. She opened the folder, feeling nausea rise up in her, and a small moan of despair escaped her as she looked at the first photograph. Tilly looked terrified as the two men in the picture held her down, obviously making sure the photographer got a good shot of her. The next photograph made Sailor cry out. The knife was buried deep in Tilly’s stomach, and her face was contorted in agony. Sailor was trembling as she looked through every photograph of Tilly’s murder, each one more stark and brutal than the last. The last image broke Sailor and she whimpered in despair. There was another man now, strapped down to a chair, gagged and bound, his face contorted with grief as he gazed down at his dead sweetheart’s body. Tilly’s lover. They’d made him watch while they killed her. Sailor started to cry. Bart’s meaning was obvious. Step out of line and you die.

  It was at that moment that Sailor knew she had to risk everything and escape the only life she had ever known.

  Monica was chatting with the saleswoman in the wedding shop. She was used to Monica and Sailor coming now, Sailor had deliberately been picky over her choice, giving herself time to check out the fitting rooms, and any potential escape routes. She’d nearly been foiled by Monica insisting on accompanying her to the fitting rooms. Sailor had used her only weapon, she was Bart’s chosen one. “I don’t think,” she’d told Monica knowingly, “that Bart would be too pleased that you laid eyes on my body before the wedding. I am his, Monica, and his alone.”

  Her implied threat hit the mark, and Monica let her change alone. Sailor was careful, never taking too long between changes to reappear but still, she managed to figure out the layout of the store.

  Now, she could barely wait. Careful. Careful. She took her time choosing then took the dress with her. It was a huge, completely inappropriate choice, layers and layers of tulle that she would never wear in a million years, but Sailor knew what she was doing. The shirt she was wearing today was too big, plaid and her combat pants. In the many pockets, she had stashed the money she had been saving for the last three months, squirreled away and stolen from the commune’s money cache, a little at a time. Her birth certificate, with only her mother identified on it, and social security number, and any other thing she found in Bart’s office that terrible day, that she could use. She even had a small penknife, tucked in the back pocket of her pants. In all, she only had a couple of hundred dollars, but it was enough for a bus ticket. After that, she’d figure something out.

  Monica didn’t even blink as Sailor walked toward the fitting rooms, calling back to her, “I won’t be a sec.”

  Monica smirked. That atrocity that Sailor was carrying would take more than a ‘sec’ to change into. Stupid little whore. Lording it over her like she was some special kind of shit. Look how that worked out for Tilly, bitch. She turned back to the saleswoman, who knew all about the commune, all about Bart’s proclivities. Monica had told her all about them one night in bed. The girl, Bettina, had been a good, inexperienced, lay and Monica wouldn’t mind another go around.

  The alarm started screeching through the shop, and both women said. “What the fuck?”

  “The fire escape door,” Bettina looked terrified as Monica cursed loudly and drew out a blade, darting towards the fitting rooms.

  “Fucking bitch…” She saw the fire escape door standing wide open, and the wedding dress dumped in the doorway. “Fucking whore bitch cunt!” Monica screamed, racing down the corridor and around the corner towards the exit, Bettina close behind her. They both trod on the dress in their eagerness to get out, but Sailor had ripped the tulle to shreds, and their feet got caught, tangled, and they both fell. Bettina shrieked as Monica’s knife came way too close to her neck.

  “Shut up, you stupid bitch,” Monica sliced away at the fabric, trying to free them. Out of the fire escape, they could see the parking lot, and Monica raked it with her eyes, trying to spot Sailor.

  Sailor drop
ped from the top of the fitting room wall and slid silently into the main room. Inspiration striking, she went to the register, hoping against hope that some rich musketry-muck had paid with cash. She was in luck. She scooped a wad of twenties out of the register, raking every note and coin in there into her pocket. Listening intently to make sure she could still hear Monica cursing away in the back, she quickly took stock and grabbed the wigs from the mannequins in the window. In a high-end store like this, they used real human hair wigs, and she could use them to disguise herself and then sell them. She stuffed them all into a plastic bag and then she was free. Running to the exit of the mall and out into the Florida sunshine, she flagged down a cab and asked the driver to take her to the bus station. In a half-hour, she was on the bus, hunched down, hiding…

  And breathing freely for the first time in her young life.

  Los Angeles, six months later…

  Bodhi ate a piece of toast half-heartedly as he watched his son push his cereal around his bowl. “Kiddo, that will get all mushy if you do that.”

  “I like it mushy.”

  Bodhi sighed. Well, at least Tim was speaking to him now. “Okay, then.”

  Tim glanced at his father briefly, then looked away when Bodhi met his gaze. “Can I go to school now?”

  Bodhi nodded, not knowing what else to do. Since, Gemma had left Tim with him, this had been their routine. Tim, thankfully, had settled into his new school happily, but at home…

  At home, Bodhi thought, bitterly, it’s been a Cold War. Tim hadn’t taken to him at all. He was rude, silent, and resentful. Bodhi knew Tim blamed him for his mother leaving him, but Bodhi had no idea what else to do. Poppy, his assistant, had suddenly quit, telling him she was sorry but looking after a kid hadn’t been in the job description.