His, His or His

Lust & Lyrics – A Celebrity RH Trilogy

His, His Or His?

All Mine

Less Than Conventional

Lust & Lyrics

Table of Contents

CLOVER

RIGBY

CLOVER

JETT

CLOVER

NASH

CLOVER

ZIGGY

NONA

CLOVER

RIGBY

JETT

CLOVER

NASH

ZIGGY

NONA

RIGBY

CLOVER

NASH

JETT

CLOVER

RIGBY

NASH

CLOVER

ZIGGY

JETT

CLOVER

JETT

CLOVER

CREED

CLOVER

JETT

Preview of All Mine

Preview of Cursed by the Crown

THANK YOU!

Hanleigh Bradley’s Newsletter

About Hanleigh

Hanleigh Bradley’s Books

Dear Reader,

Love doesn’t always come to us the way we want it to.

But when it comes, we should definitely embrace it.

Hanleigh

CLOVER

M

y mum’s addiction to plants went overboard the day she named me. I mean seriously, who names their daughter Clover?

Fortunately, she didn’t name my twin brother. That responsibility had fallen to my dad and he’d called him Creed.

I blame the drugs.

They’ve told us countless times that they haven’t done drugs but who are they kidding? I’ve heard the stories. I’ve seen the articles.

Having a pair of rock stars for parents definitely gave Creed and I cool points in school but to us they were just like every other set of parents on the planet, except maybe slightly more absent. They got pissed if we didn’t do well in class, they grounded us if we spoke back to them and all the rest of the usual shit that parents do.

They’d pushed us to succeed but their idea of success looked a little different to my friends’ parents. My friends’ parents wanted them to become lawyers or doctors… professionals.

Adults.

But my parents?

They wanted me to become the princess of rock. No exaggeration – those were their very words. Even now, that’s their goal for my life.

Fame, fortune… and all that.

Everything I’ve never wanted.

It’s not that I don’t like music; I bloody love it. I just don’t want to be famous. I don’t want to stand on a stage and be gawked at by strangers. I don’t want to be chased down the street by my supposed fans aka crazy stalkers.

Creed loves all that stuff. He’s a complete attention whore.

Me? Not so much.

If my parents had actually asked me what I wanted to do when I was growing up, I’d have told them I wanted to write music for film. I’d always had a bit of an odd celebrity crush on Hans Zimmer. I mean seriously, that guy isn’t on my most attractive list and he’s like a zillion years too old for me but if I could compose the way he can… I’d lose myself.

Instead of asking what I wanted to do, my parents had pretty much guaranteed that I had every possible opportunity… or at least where it came to music. If I’d wanted to spend my time playing a sport, they’d have lost their shits but if I wanted to play an instrument, they never said no.

I’d learnt the piano, violin, guitar and bass guitar before I even knew all my times tables and that was not because I was shit at math. The teachers said I was a fricking genius but what would they know.

They called it genius. I called it hard work.

Clo, aren’t you going to answer that? the barista asks me as she hands me a fresh coffee.

I’ve been coming here a lot in the last few weeks. I managed to wrangle a deal with my parents that has allowed me to take a year out traveling before becoming their perfect daughter. One year of freedom before locking myself into the cage that my loving parents have crafted for me.

Her voice breaks into the fog that’s currently taking up residence inside my mind and I divert my eyes from the window I’m staring out of to look at her. It’s only then that I hear the screeching of my phone.

The ominous word MUM lights up the screen and I find myself begging the universe that I’m not being called back three months early.

It’s not like she’d be ringing just to check up on me. My parents don’t do that. Out of sight, out of mind. Just the way I like it.

I take a breath and swipe the screen before bringing it to my ear.

Hi mum.

I’ve booked you a flight. You need to come home.

What? Why? I’ve still got three months. I shouldn’t have answered the phone.

It’s your brother. He’s in the hospital. Those aren’t the words I was expecting, and they leave me a little lost for how to respond.

Er… what happened? Is he okay? The questions are barrelling out of my mouth as I gather my things together and drop some cash onto the table.

He was in a car accident.

Is he… I’m too scared to ask.

What if he’s dead? She sounds insanely panicked and fear grips my heart. He can’t be dead. Twins know that sort of shit, right? They say that twins have some crazy assed bond, right? Where they can sense stuff… I’ve never felt like that but if it was ever going to kick in, this would be the moment… wouldn’t it?

He’s in theatre. They’re operating. You need to come home.

I’m nodding my head as I practically run down the road, pushing people out of my way. This is no time for a leisurely stroll through the Parisian streets.

I’m on my way, I say before preparing to hang up the phone.

I stop dead, finger hovering over the call button, feet firm on the ground when she says, you know your brother’s songs, right?

Huh? Why the fuck does that matter, right now?

This is a perfect example of one of those moments when I wonder if my parents are perhaps still on crack.

His band! Clover? You know their songs, right?

Yeah… I say hesitantly. What the hell is she up to?

Good. Rush back. Your flight leaves in two hours. It’s only an hour’s flight so I should see you at Heathrow at five. That will give us two and a half hours to get you ready.

Ready for what?

The concert! She’s exasperated. I can hear it in her tone. I don’t have a clue why she expects me to be following her delusional ramblings. Surely the concert is cancelled…

Concert?

Your brother’s concert. Now she sounds like she thinks I’m the one on drugs. Just hurry up.

I’m tempted to refuse but I’m not daft. She’ll have someone on the next flight here if I don’t come home right away.

She can’t seriously expect me to take my brother’s place though, can she?

Fuck! Of course, she can. My mum’s mental.

If I Was Your Boyfriend

Faded Love (#1)

You know you love me, just bleed whenever

And I’ll be there. I know you care

You are my girlfriend, the only one I want

And I can’t let you go

If I was your boyfriend, I’d never let you run

Keep you in my arms, you’d never be alone

I can be your heart, anything you want

If I was your boyfriend, I’d never let you run, I’d never let you run

Darling. Darling. Darling. Don’t run.

My heart. My heart. We can’t be apart.

Darling. Darling. Darling. Hold on.

Your heart. Your heart. Beats inside my chest.

Darling. Darling. Darling. You’re mine.

If you need me, I’ll come running

From a thousand miles away

When you call me, I’ll come running

Faster than a high speed train

If I was your boyfriend, I’d never let you run

Keep you in my arms, you’d never be alone

I can be your heart, anything you want

If I was your boyfriend, I’d never let you run, I’d never let you run

Darling. Darling. Darling. Don’t run.

My heart. My heart. We can’t be apart.

Darling. Darling. Darling. Hold on.

Your heart. Your heart. Beats inside my chest.

Darling. Darling. Darling. You’re mine.

Na na na, na na na, na na na na.

If I was your boyfriend.

Na na na, na na na, na na na na.

If I was your boyfriend.

My friends say I’m a fool to think

That you’re the one for me but

You know you love me, Just bleed whenever

And I’ll be there, I know you care

You are my girlfriend, the only one I want

Don’t leave me

Don’t go

I said, don’t leave me

Don’t go

RIGBY

"W

hat do you mean, he’s not answering his phone?"

They have got to be joshing. This is a fucking joke.

We’ve got just a handful of hours before tonight’s gig and our bloody lead singer and guitarist is fucking AWOL.

Nash looks up from his phone.

But he wasn’t at rehearsal earlier, either… He better be fucking coming.

Then he’s looking back at his phone as Nona, our stylist tries to attack his face with makeup. He’s batting her away as best he can as he texts whatever girl he plans to fuck tonight.

You can do my face if you like, Nona, Ziggy says bashfully, causing me to shake my head with disdain. That lad has it bad. I get it. She’s fit. But I don’t mix lust and lyrics.

I have this whole philosophy going; it’s a fucking way of life.

My lyrics are for my fans. I don’t write songs for girlfriends, not ever and I don’t fuck or date anyone I work with. I don’t have a lot of rules, just those two and so far, things are working out pretty well.

Point is, that for me, Nona is off limits.

She’s fit but she falls into the category of lyrics… she’s work. But Ziggy doesn’t have the same rules as me and so right now, he’s on a mission to win over the pretty little stylist at all costs. Except he’s completely missed the fact that’s she’s lost in lust over