Black Girls and Bad Boys: Changing his Tune Read online

  Also by Neneh J. Gordon

  Black Girls and Bad Boys

  Black Girls and Bad Boys: Changing his Tune

  Black Girls and Bad Boys: Stealing Loretta

  Her Midnight Ride

  Her Midnight Ride Omnibus (BWWM erotic romance novel)

  Her Midnight Ride: Bar, Bike, Bed (BWWM erotic romance)

  Her Midnight Ride 2: Strings Attached (Interracial erotic romance)

  Her Midnight Ride 3: Decisions, Decisions (African American erotic romance)

  Her Midnight Ride 4: Shocks and Surprises (African American erotic romance)

  Her Midnight Ride 5: Who's the Daddy? (Multicultural erotic romance)

  Watch for more at Neneh J. Gordon’s site.

  Table of Contents

  BLACK GIRLS AND BAD BOYS: CHANGING HIS TUNE | by Neneh J. Gordon

  Changing his Tune | CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  Connect with me online:

  BLACK GIRLS AND BAD BOYS: CHANGING HIS TUNE

  by Neneh J. Gordon

  Copyright 2013 Neneh Gordon

  French Letters Press

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is written in UK English and is set in a fictional part of England.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Adult Reading Material – not intended for those under the age of 18.

  Changing his Tune

  CHAPTER 1

  As Noah surfaced from the depths of a dreamless sleep, he slowly came to realise that the banging wasn’t just going on between his temples – it was happening on the door to his room as well.

  He groaned and tried to weigh the pain getting up would entail against the benefit of stopping the noise hammering its way into his brain. It was too much effort to get out of bed. He pulled the covers up over his head and begged the world to go away.

  The door opened and the sound of the curtains swishing open made him glad he’d covered his eyes. “Go away.” His plans for the day consisted of lying very still until his headache got tired of tormenting him and then possibly thinking about having something to eat.

  “Noah, you’ve got company.”

  “I don’t care, John.” When would that guy learn that he couldn’t function before midday?

  The quilt got yanked away. Noah pulled it back up, but John was more determined. “You remember Miss Jones.”

  He squinted into the daylight. A shapely black woman in a white shirt and black trousers looked down at him with a world-weary expression. She did look familiar. Her long, dark hair was tied up in a ponytail. As far as he could tell, the only make-up she wore was a couple of flicks of eyeliner. Not that she needed any more than that – she had a pair of cheekbones you could use to slice prosciutto and dark full lips with a perfect cupid’s bow.

  “Mr Trent?” She held out her hand.

  He sat up automatically and his head throbbed so hard he couldn’t take the hand she offered. “Excuse me.” He fell out of bed and half-ran, half-crawled to the en-suite. While he was emptying his stomach, he realised she was from The Cloister. She was the rehab assistant he wished had been assigned to him. For all the wrong reasons.

  Crawling back into the bedroom, he had vivid fantasies of the thick pile carpet parting so the floorboards could give way and swallow him up. At least he’d worn his underwear to bed the night before. “What’s she doing here?”

  “She’s your new assistant.”

  “I’ve never needed an assistant before.” He sat on the floor, propped up against the foot of the bed. The room taunted him by refusing to stop spinning. His manager wasn’t fooling anyone with that euphemism. She was his new babysitter. “No offence.” The delay was down to his hangover, but he finally cottoned on to the fact he was being rather rude. He couldn’t imagine what she must think of him – back on the booze, throwing up, a tangle of long, greasy hair covering half his face. Whatever. She’d have seen worse in her line of work.

  “John thought you could use some support while you get ready for your next tour.”

  “Who says I’m going on tour?” He glared at John through a gap in his dark hair. Touring was the last thing he wanted to do. The novelty of travelling the country on a cramped bus and not knowing any local dealers had long since worn off.

  He looked up at the woman his manager had brought into his inner sanctum. She impressed him by not looking completely disgusted. Having an assistant might not be so bad. But she was too pretty. She’d scare away the groupies.

  “Your bank manager says so. If you want to keep a roof over your head, that is.” John threw up his hands.

  Watching the movement made Noah clutch his throbbing head.

  “Look, I’m this close to finding another job. You can’t afford me any more.”

  “So you’re taking on more staff?”

  “I’ll pay for her. Get your arse on tour and you can pay me back.”

  Things must have been bad if John was putting his hand in his pocket. “But I’ve got no new material. I can’t do a nostalgia tour.” It would be so embarrassing. Like taking out a full-page spread announcing he was creatively bankrupt.

  John got down on his knees. Another wave of nausea washed over Noah, but he held it down. The stern look on John’s face made him feel even sicker.

  “Noah, get over yourself. You need to bring in some money, or you’re finished.”

  He met John’s stare. He was serious. How had things got this bad? Stupid question. He was in this mess for the same reason he’d ended up in The Cloister. Too much booze, too much blow, too many bad decisions.

  “Okay. But I’m writing a new album first.”

  “If you can get it recorded in a month, that’s fine, but you’re going on tour.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll do it.” Maybe John wasn’t worried, but Noah’s mouth was making the kind of promises the rest of him would have trouble keeping. He turned his attention to his new assistant. “Looks like you’re stuck with me, love.”

  She gave him a bewildered smile. “If I’m staying, we’re going to need some ground rules.”

  “I don’t do rules, love.” There was no point agreeing to all this if he couldn’t have a bit of fun.

  She looked at John and then back at Noah. “I’m not your ‘love’. Rule number one, no drugs. Rule number two, no alcohol—”

  “Don’t tell me, rule number three is no sex?” He waited for the discomfort to show on her face, but she lifted one corner of her mouth in a smirk.

  “That’s probably a good idea, but I don’t think you’ll have to worry about it looking like that.”

  He looked down at his pale body. He’d always been snake-hipped – more of a swimmer’s build than anything else –
but now he was bordering on painfully thin. “I doubt you’d look too great in your undies after a night like mine,” he muttered, but he knew he was talking rubbish. She had a seriously impressive set of curves. He’d be lucky to get a glimpse of her in her lingerie – whatever the circumstances.

  “Think you can follow those rules, Mr Trent?”

  “Call me Noah.”

  “Then you should call me Angelique.”

  “Angie’s snappier.”

  She gave a micro-scowl and he realised he’d hit a nerve. Good. It might have been childish, but he’d get a kick out of calling her by a name she didn’t like. Especially if she didn’t want to admit she didn’t like it.

  John circled the room, retrieving several nearly-empty bottles of various spirits. Even the one hidden under the bed.

  “Come on man, you don’t have to take those.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.” Angie ignored the interruption.

  “Whatever. Just get me through the tour, okay?” The morning was spinning way out of control. All he wanted was for them to go away.

  “Okay. We’ll have you fighting fit in no time.”

  He narrowed his eyes. Why did health professionals have to use the royal ‘we’ all the time?

  “I’ll let the label know the good news.” John almost bounded out of the room.

  When Angie left too, he lay down on the floor and went back to feeling sorry for himself.

  ***

  Now the introductions were done with, Angelique was free to unpack her things. John gave her a hand carrying her bags up to Noah’s suite – they’d felt it best not to mention she was moving into the room that adjoined his. It was the easiest way for her to keep an eye on him. After his little outburst, she was quite looking forward to seeing his face when he found out.

  Addicts were like big kids. She should know – she’d only been sober herself for a couple of years. But putting away the bottle hadn’t been enough to stop her losing custody of her son.

  She pushed down the guilt and the hurt. Concentrate on the work. Looking after the famous Noah Trent would earn her enough money to take her ex-husband back to court. She was good at her job – so good The Cloister had agreed to keep her position open while she did this. Her life was back on track. With a more expensive lawyer, she stood a shot at joint custody of Lewis.

  In the meantime, she was moving into the biggest house she’d ever seen outside of a magazine. John had explained the whole situation to her – Noah had made a down-payment on the place with the money from his third album, but he was still paying the mortgage and his descent into addiction had put a real dent in his ability to keep up the repayments.

  Which was where she came in.

  It didn’t take long for her to empty her clothes into the chest of drawers and set out her row of toiletries. She wasn’t sure if the ornate gilded furniture was antique or reproduction. If the stories of excess and conspicuous consumption were true, she’d go for the former.

  Running her fingertips over the highly polished wood, she looked at herself in the mirror. Could she do this? The guy had a real attitude on him. She kissed her teeth. That went with the territory. Damn rock stars were nearly always the worst residents at the clinic. Once you got used to thousands of screaming fans it was difficult not to think you were above everything else.

  She hadn’t had much to do with him while he was at The Cloister, but she’d hoped he would stay clean once he left. Her main client at the time had been pretty friendly with him and he hadn’t seemed like a bad person. In fact, he’d come to her aid when one of the residents had treated her to a torrent of verbal abuse in the lounge.

  Just as she sat down on the chintzy chaise longue and pulled out a paperback, Noah emerged from the room next door looking a lot more human than he had earlier.

  “Mr Trent?”

  He stared at her, stared at her bags. “You’re not staying here. You can take a room down the hall.”

  “Mr Trent, I need to be close at hand.”

  “So you can spy on me, you mean?” He looked so different now he’d cleaned himself up. More like the sex symbol on the front of all those magazines. He even looked a bit bulkier in his trademark skinny jeans and a plain black t-shirt. His dark brown eyes bored into her and she had to remind herself she was there in a professional capacity.

  “How have you been finding it since you’ve come home?”

  He looked at her for so long her skin started to prickle under the scrutiny. “I’m going out.” He flounced over to the doorway, his dark hair bouncing.

  “I’ll come too.” She couldn’t risk him leaving to score on her watch. She got to her feet.

  He stopped with his hand half-way to the door handle, turned and gave her an icy look. “I think I can manage by myself.”

  “You know I can’t let you do that.”

  “So I don’t get to go anywhere on my own now?”

  “I’m only looking out for you, Mr Trent. It’s what I’m paid for.”

  They stood in silence, locked in a stalemate. Eventually he sighed and gestured towards the exit. “Tag along then. But I don’t think you’re going to have much fun.”

  Fun wasn’t part of the deal. She went out into the corridor and waited for him to take the lead.

  CHAPTER 2

  If Angie wanted to be his shadow, he’d make damn sure it wasn’t a comfortable ride. Some pills had dulled the ache in his head, but he was still feeling fragile. Instead of jogging down the stairs to the front door, he took his time and put on his sunglasses before they hit the full glare of the sun coming in through the windows.

  “Where are we off to?”

  He thought about ignoring her, but he didn’t want her to think even less of him than she already did. “To get some fresh air.” Actually, that gave him an idea. His mouth curled into a smile. She wouldn’t approve. But then, that was the point.

  He grabbed a set of keys from the table by the door and stepped out into the mild autumn day. He took in a good lungful of air and immediately felt less jaded. To think he’d got himself in a position where he could lose this place. He shook his head. No way would he let that happen.

  “Do you play an instrument?” He asked as they walked down the steps to the drive.

  “No. I’m not very musical.”

  He stopped. “But you like rock music, right?”

  She shook her head. “Not really. I’m more into jazz.”

  “Jazz?”

  “Yeah, you know – John Coltrane, Charles Mingus.”

  Great. So she was going to be precisely no use at all when it came to the new album. “Have you listened to any of my stuff? No, don’t answer that.” He didn’t need her to leave footprints all over his ego.

  He unlocked the black Mercedes coupe and lifted open the gullwing door. Angelique stared for a moment, then recovered and opened the passenger door. That reaction was the main reason he’d bought the car. Even after owning it for two years, seeing those doors swing upwards never failed to put a smile on his face.

  He climbed into the driver’s seat and closed his door. Watching her stretch up and struggle to do the same was a small victory.

  “Buckle up.” He turned the key and drove them out onto the road.

  ***

  They drew more than a few stares as they drove into town. Noah parked up in the street and she turned as if she was about to say something, but she changed her mind and got out.

  Saying nothing, he strode down the pavement and into his favourite shisha lounge. He could feel her bustling along behind him. The air was thick with fragrant smoke that brought back memories of lost nights with friends.

  “Aren’t these places illegal?” she whispered as he headed for the counter.

  He got a mouthpiece and some flavoured tobacco. “Do you want a drink?”

  She peered around them, looking worried. “I don’t think we should be here.”

  “Relax.” He ordered them two coffees and made straight fo
r a table in the far corner. There wasn’t a lot she could do, so she sat down opposite him. She was still staring at the hookah in front of her when the drinks arrived. He had to admit it was an impressive one – an undulating silver body sitting on top of delicately engraved blue glass. He got it fired up and took a puff. The disapproval on her face made him choke on the smoke. “Do you want some?” He held out the hose to her.

  She wrinkled her nose and shook her head.

  Watching her discomfort wasn’t as much fun as he’d expected. “It’s not what you think. It’s not even real tobacco – they aren’t allowed because of the smoking ban.” He offered it again.

  “What is it then?”

  “Herbal.”

  She looked sceptical.

  “Smell the air. There’s no proper tobacco.” He watched her take a look around the room. “And none of the other, either.”

  “It doesn’t smell like tobacco.”

  “See?” He held the hose out one more time.

  “No. I’ll pass.”

  Sitting back, he took a long drag of the vanilla smoke and closed his eyes. His headache was trying to make a return. He blew out a perfumed cloud, doing his best to exhale his tension along with the shisha. He wasn’t being very fair to her. John had only been trying to help.

  When he opened his eyes, she was still sitting on the edge of her seat, her hands jammed under her thighs.

  “So, what do you do for fun?”

  She looked at him like he’d asked her for her murder weapon of choice. “I don’t get out much.”

  He could believe it. Barely any makeup, no jewellery whatsoever – not even a wedding ring. And less chat than any woman he’d ever met. “You always this talkative.” He took another drag on the pipe, blowing the smoke up towards the ceiling.

  “Sorry.” She wrapped her hands around her coffee, looking down into the mug. “I’m a bit distracted at the moment.”

  “Man trouble?”

  She looked up at him, her eyes huge and sorrowful. Then she made herself smile and he wondered if he’d imagined it.