Claimed By The British Rockstar Read online Flora Ferrari

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Romance Tags Authors:
Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 28477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
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Claimed By The British Rockstar

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Flora Ferrari

Language:
English
Book Information:

The tattooed, six-foot-seven, muscular lead singer of one of the biggest rock bands in the world spots me in the crowd and immediately claims me as his.
This forty-two-year-old possessive older man knows how to take what he wants, and soon he has me wondering if I can be more than just an inexperienced eighteen year old girl. Can I please the British rock star?
The problem is that I wasn’t at the show to see him. I was at the show to see my dad, who just so happens to be the lead singer’s bandmate and oldest friend.
And yet I can’t stop dreaming about Maddox Copper claiming me like the inked primal savage he is, a man a million cuts above the immature douches my age.
I have dreams of getting a degree in zoology and opening an animal sanctuary, but when Maddox and I come together in irrepressible lust, it’s like we’re the animals. This silver fox knows how to press all the right buttons.
But he and my dad have been friends since they were eleven years old and bandmates for almost as long. How the heck is that supposed to work?
And what can a naive younger woman like me do for a man like Maddox Copper, a rock star among rock stars, a man who must’ve had about a million groupies throwing themselves at him over the years? What if I can’t get over my insecurities, the voices whispering in my head that I’m just not good enough?
What if my past demons come back to haunt me and it all comes crashing down?
Books by Author:

Flora Ferrari



Chapter One

Maddox

“So I guess you’ll be settling down now, eh?” Freddie calls over to me as he twirls his drumsticks around his tattooed fingers, bobbing his head along to the opening act’s beat. His long hair falls over his eyes, shifting with his movements. “What’d you reckon, Si? Time for Maddox to settle down?”

Simon grins, a wiry man with a jet-black ponytail and eyeliner, still clinging to the look the Shadow’s Crow had ten years ago.

“We got more chance seeing pigs do synchronized flying.”

I shake my head, leaning back and taking a sip of water. I’m wearing a black T-shirt and blue jeans with chunky boots, but gone are the days of long, wild hair. My arms are still covered in the same sleeved ink, but our days of touring are almost behind us.

I’m forty-two years old.

And they’re right.

The need to progress to the next chapter of my life is like a drumbeat in my chest.

But there’s another feeling throbbing in my chest, and that’s the knowledge that I haven’t and probably never will meet the woman who will rock my rock star world. I always assumed I’d know, like a punch in the bloody face, when I saw her.

I’d just fucking scent her, like a wild animal on the Savannah, but it turns out this bloke is destined to be alone.

Fine, fair enough, no use crying over spilt milk and all that.

“Seriously, mate,” Si says. “Are you gonna be alright once it’s all said and done? I mean, we’ve all got families and kids to keep us busy.”

He’s grinning, bantering, and I can read a teasing note in his eyes.

“I’m sure I’ll cry myself to sleep every night, mate,” I laugh grimly.

“Yeah,” Freddie says, rolling his eyes. “All he’s got to keep him busy is his record label, not to mention about a dozen other businesses. He’s gonna have a real tough time.”

We all laugh and then the door opens, letting in a slice of cluttered backstage hallway and then Lenard, our lead guitarist.

Lenard and I first met when we were eleven years old, starting a punk band in his mom’s shed, singing badly and playing worse.

But we never gave up the dream, and at seventeen we started Shadow’s Crow, and got signed three years later, and since then it’s been like a fever dream of shows and albums and jet-setting madness.

Lenard moved here to the States, while I stayed in the UK – though I have properties here – and as he walks into the room, I can’t help but let a smirk touch my lips. My old friend’s got an LA tan and he’s wearing flip-flips and baggy shorts.

“The fuck are you wearing?” Freddie chuckles.

“I’m late,” Lenard says, as if that explains it. “I’ll be ready before we go on stage, fellas, don’t worry.”

“He’s running on LA time now,” Simon grins.

Lenard walks to the adjacent door, across the landscape of posters and flowers and gift cards and guitars and wires, and closes it quietly behind him.

I lean back and let myself relax, willing the calm to come over me that has given me safe passage through thousands of performances. I work my mouth and let my vocal cords relax, not bothering with warm up exercises.

I never have.

Be ready to attack, always.

Our manager told us that the day after we got signed, meaning that at the drop of a hat we ought to be ready to perform, wherever, whenever.

Those were words I lived by in my craft, but also in my search for a woman, the woman.

I always knew my body would swirl with primal need when I sighted her, my body would surge and I’d know to take her, with no doubts, no hesitation.

Take her and put my seed in her waiting, aching womb.

But as the years drifted by and as Shadow’s Crow got more and more popular, I never saw her, not even a glimpse of what I’d come to expect would come if given only time.

“What’d you think about our last show being in LA?” Simon asks, a subtle smile on his gaunt face. “I’d have preferred London, man. Imagine that. A sea of pasty English faces grinning up at us. All sun-starved and ready for some real rock and roll.”

“Remind me why he doesn’t write the lyrics again?” Freddie guffaws, tossing his drumsticks around like batons. “Sun-starved and ready for some real rock and roll. Mate, just shut up. Let your guitar do the talking.”

Simon flips him the bird and then Lenard emerges, wearing his baggy black shirt with his hair spiked all over the place with product, his face more wrinkled and fuller than we would’ve believed a face could get back in the day. But if I look close, I can still see the excited twenty year old kid, leaping around our rundown flat in London, yelling about how we made it and we’re going to be huge.

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