The Duke and the DJ: a Sweet Royal Romance (The Rebel Royals Series Book 3)

by Shanae Johnson

  "Are you conscious? Can you open your eyes?" The voice was decidedly European with a bit of a Spanish lilt. But the face peering down at her was decidedly Asian.

  Spin felt a calloused finger run along her temple. She frowned at the texture. It didn't match the smooth, cultured voice. She wasn't complaining. The combo of refinement and roughness felt perfect.

  His skin was more honey golden than sandalwood umber. His long nose was proud, and his chin was strong. Spin watched in fascination, her mind recording every note as his lips moved, making more words. He spoke in English. Then switched to French. And finally, he repeated the words in Spanish.

  All the while she watched him as though under a trance. She wanted to take the different languages and layer them into the song as well.

  He looked up and away from her, concern on his brow. "I think we need a medic."

  That's snapped her out of her stupor. She avoided doctors like they were the plague. They asked way too many questions and had access to way too many personal files.

  “I’m fine," she managed.

  She motioned to sit up as he motioned to peer down at her. In the uncoordinated move, she bumped her for head on his chin. But his lips brushed her temple, and she shuddered.

  Aiming to avoid another collision, Spin pressed her hand against his chest intending to push him away. But she felt his heart pounding at her fingertips. The feeling of it reverberated through her entire body. That beat, coupled with his words, played in her head on repeat. She worried that the song of him would get stuck inside her head.

  “Spin? Are you okay?"

  Spin looked beyond her muse to find Parker making a beeline for them. At the sight of Parker, Spin’s savior rose to his full height to greet the woman.

  "It's all my fault,” he said.

  "It was an accident," said Parker, her attention on Spin.

  “I’m pretty sure it was my dance moves," he said, with a self-deprecating grin that Spin was certain had demolished many a woman’s defenses. “I’m much more adept in a ballroom than on a club dance floor. There it’s acceptable to sweep a girl off her feet."

  A few of the girls present giggled, their defenses clearly knocked down and busted wide open for him to ransack if he chose. But his gaze was firmly fixed on Parker.

  Spin chided herself for thinking that he could’ve been remotely interested in her. He was clearly there for Parker. He was probably one of her employees aiming to impress her.

  Spin rolled to her knees in an effort to regain her footing. But before she could rise, he gave her back a fraction of his attention and put his hand out to her. Not waiting for her to take his hand, he wrapped his big hand around her wrist and hauled her up as though she weighed nothing.

  Once again, Spin felt as though warm honey were running over her skin. That shock of pine scent went straight to her head. But her feelings were apparently only one-sided because as soon as she was on her feet, his attention turned back to Parker.

  Spin couldn’t help but frown at the total opposites. Parker was dressed to party, while he was dressed for business. Who wore a button down shirt, a tie, and pressed slacks to a rave? And were those dress shoes? He looked like he stepped out of GQ while Parker graced the cover of Wired magazine. This guy was clearly out of his league.

  “Of course, I’ll pay for any damages,” Parker was saying.

  "It was my fault," said Mr. GQ. "I'll cover it."

  "It's my party, Your Grace.”

  Your Grace?

  "Please, no need to be so formal," he said. "Just call me Zhi.”

  "Zhi, I insist I cover the damages. Give me your bank account, Spin d’Elle.”

  Spin looked between the two. She’d never had people fight over giving her money. Her gaze finally settled on Parker. "I don't have a bank account.”

  "PayPal account?” Parker asked.

  "Nope."

  "Bitcoin?"

  “I’m a cash-only enterprise.” Spin shrugged, unapologetically. “Besides, the set up isn’t mine. And there’s no need. There’s no permanent damage."

  Turning back to the tables, she righted the equipment and flipped a few buttons. The music roared back to life. The crowd cheered. Parker fist bumped Spin.

  His grace, Zhi, watched the whole exchange with a grimace. Spin had noticed that the grimace had appeared as soon as the music was restarted. But he plastered on a smile when he turned to Parker.

  He held out his hand for Parker, like something out of a BBC period movie. Parker looked confused. But she shrugged and took his offering.

  Spin turned in the opposite direction, as far away from the graceful Zhi as possible. She knew that honorific was for the titled nobility. She'd be sure to steer clear of him. Nobles were the wrong kinds of people. She didn't appreciate the riffraff coming into her world.

  Chapter Nine

  Sleep eluded Zhi. The party went on into the middle of the night. Music blared until dawn. Just a few hours after sunrise, he finally gave up the pretense of sleep and rose to greet the new day.

  All was quiet on deck. The sight was as loud as a riot. The ship had sailed across a calm sea, but the deck looked as though it had been through a war zone.

  Bodies littered the chairs and the floor. A few partygoers leaned over the railing paying respect to the sea god with an offering of last night’s meal. There were even a few still on their feet, bopping about with earbuds plugged in.

  Even at the height of his partying days, Zhi hadn't done it like this. Clubbing had never been his bag. He preferred exclusive clubs with expensive vintages and velvet topped off sections where he and his friends could hear each other’s witty remarks. The crowd sat upright. The music was refined. Before turning in for the night, the people had the decency to throw up in their own toilet.

  If this was Parker's world, could he see himself in it? He could barely keep his eyes open past two last night. Meanwhile, he’d easily spied her still at the center of the dance floor moving as though she had the energy for another five hours.

  The only way he could fathom pursuing her was if they truly had something in common. So far, their music tastes were vastly different. Their sense of style was at polar opposites. They’d barely shared a few sentences let alone a whole conversation.

  Maybe this was a mistake. It had to be a mistake. The genesis of the idea had been uttered by his father.

  What had Zhi been thinking? He hadn’t been thinking. He’d just been desperate for a solution, and this was the lowest hanging fruit.

  As soon as the boat docked, he’d have to face reality. He wasn’t quite sure what that reality would look like? But he’d stare it down until he had a handle on it or more likely, a wrench.

  "You're alive."

  Zhi turned to the droll voice. Omar sat perfectly upright at the bar with the stoic posture of his ancestors. He knew the man had likely drunk a few glasses of something, but since his youth, Omar had always been able to hold his drink with no adverse effects. He was also a night owl; he could spring into action on little to no sleep.

  “Have you been up all night?" Zhi asked.

  Omar shrugged, tipping back an amber liquid. The crystals at the bottom of the mug gave away the fact that the drink was likely tea.

  "Most of it,” Omar answered. “Been reading scripts and looking over audition tapes for a new show.”

  "You were able to work with all that racket going on?" Zhi slumped into the seat next to his friend and ordered a black coffee for himself.

  "This is your generation." Omar chuckled.

  “You’re just a few years older than me.” Zhi looked at the last ones standing. He couldn’t help but notice that the lot of them looked younger than his years. "These people were raised in the wild."

  "Snob,” Omar snorted.

  And maybe he was right. Zhi did like the finer things in life. But he also was partial to modesty when it came to the women he actually wanted to date. A number of girls were walking around in lacy bras that were clearly no
t waterproofed to be considered as bikini tops. Sure it was a ship’s deck, but that was still no cause to walk around barefoot out of doors. Yeah, perhaps he was a snob.

  "I like refinement.” He had to raise his voice over the pulsing electronic beat that sounded from somewhere in the distance. “I also like real instruments."

  "You sound like my mother."

  Zhi turned to look over his shoulder. Parker approached. Her riotous colored hair was a divided rainbow in two pigtails. She wore a halter top that was higher than her belly button. He suspected with a stretch of the arms the cropped top would rise immodestly high. The jeans she wore looked as though they were painted on. And her feet … were bare against the floors.

  "My mother hates EDM,” she said as she sidled up to the bar.

  Zhi struggled with his expression. Should he smile in commiseration? Or should he offer condolences? EDM? Was that a good thing, a bad thing, an actual thing?

  “Is that some type of disease?" he asked finally.

  Parker’s eyebrows rose. It looked like she now struggled with which way to land her expression. The side of her lip tugged in preparation to laugh. But the corner of her eyes narrowed as though preparing to dole out compassion.

  “Yeah," said a voice from behind Parker. “My mom wasn't a fan of electronic dance music either."

  Last night’s DJ enunciated each word from the acronym. Her gaze was on Parker, a grin on her face as she did so. But she slid Zhi a glance, clearly letting him know that she knew that he didn’t know what he was talking about.

  The moment she slid him her gaze, he latched onto it. The memory of crashing into her, of holding her body in his arms, of tasting the salty sweetness of her skin muddled his mind. He gave himself a shake, freeing him from her glance, and turned back to Parker. He’d finally found a kernel of a thing they shared in common.

  "I have to confess," said Zhi, "I like live music and instrumentals better."

  "Yup," said Parker. "Just like my mom.”

  Zhi held his sigh. So maybe not something directly in common with her. But sharing a passion with her mother, whom he knew she adored, wasn’t a bad thing.

  “I keep telling her she loved rock 'n' roll,” Parker continued. “Which her parents thought was the devil's music."

  “My mother loves classical music," said Zhi. “Especially full orchestras. She loves all parts playing both individually and then together as a whole."

  Parker nodded thoughtfully, her eyes sliding off into the distance. Zhi’s eyes came again to the DJ. Her blue gaze sparkled, as though they delighted at his words. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard her whisper mine too.

  "My mom and I don't see eye to eye on music," said Parker. "But she supports me in my business. She's the best person in the world, and I’d do anything for her."

  Parker’s dark brown eyes were actually focused on him this time. Zhi felt a warmth spread through his chest. Finally, a true thread between the two of them. The devotion to one’s mother was something to build on. But before he could form a sentence, Parker changed the subject.

  "Last night was a rage, right?” Her dark eyes were animated. Her brows pulsed up as though she were remembering the loud cacophony from the other night.

  Zhi’s raging headache from the music threatened to come back. He was certain she didn’t share his feelings of annoyance about the noise from the other night. So, what could she possibly mean when she said rage?

  Was she using the word as a noun? A verb? Maybe an adverb? But the verb in the sentence was was, wasn’t it?

  "Yeah," DJ Spin spoke up. "We sure did party hard all night. Well, some of us anyway."

  Zhi ignored the last bit which she said under her breath and focused on her helpful definition. Oh. Parker had meant the party was a success. Well, maybe not by his standards, but he didn’t need to let her know that.

  "You didn't look like you were enjoying yourself," said Parker. "You disappeared a little after midnight."

  "I … yeah." Zhi fidgeted. “Well, it wasn’t exactly my kind of music. No offense."

  That last bit was tossed over to the DJ who was standing with her hands resting on her hips. She shrugged her shoulders. She was also wearing skinny jeans, but her t-shirt was tucked in, and he got no hint of skin. What he did get was a look at the graphic on her t-shirt.

  There were two stick figures beneath the five horizontal lines of a music staff. Over top, the head of one stick figure was a rest note. The caption read “Stop. You’re under a rest.”

  When Zhi’s gaze traveled back up to DJ Spin’s, she simply quirked an eyebrow at him. That eyebrow smirked at him as though to say “Oh, the words on my chest you can comprehend?”

  "No offense taken,” said Spin. “I’ll hook a Stradivarius into the turntables the next time I gig.”

  "A what?" Now it was Parker's turn to not understand the lingo.

  "It's a violin,” DJ Spin translated before Zhi could. “It's expensive. Top-of-the-line. But it does make a beautiful sound. I’ve sampled one before."

  “I thought I heard some Bach last night in your …” Zhi struggled to find the word.

  “The word you’re looking for is music.” Spin’s hands moved from her hips to cross over her chest, covering up the rest notation.

  There was something about her stance that made him want to go forward, not take a rest, and accept her challenge. He reminded himself that he was in pursuit of someone else. And so he turned back to Parker. "It was a great party."

  "Yeah," Parker nodded her agreement. "People got pretty turnt.”

  Zhi turned back to the DJ, waiting for the translation. She pursed her lips together for a long moment, but finally, she spat it out, spelling it out for him.

  "Yeah, things got a little wild."

  Oh. Turnt meant wild.

  "Yeah," said Zhi. "It certainly was turned. Turned me around."

  “Well, people are coming down now,” said Parker.

  "Down to eat breakfast?” said Zhi. “Good, I'm starved."

  Parker’s raised eyebrow and quizzical expression let Zhi knew he’d misinterpreted again. He looked over to the DJ who rolled her eyes and huffed a sigh.

  "I'm sure people will want to eat now that they're coming down from their hangovers.”

  She spoke in a slow, enunciated fashion as though he were a child. Zhi felt like he was. He swore he'd need a translation guide to keep up with this conversation. But blessedly, Parker ended his misery when she turned to greet her rising employees.

  "All right, I'm gonna go check on my people,” she said, turning away from Zhi. “Be PLUR."

  Zhi looked to the DJ for translation, but Spin only quirked a brow at him and then sauntered off in the opposite direction, leaving him hanging. It didn’t matter. No one was left to see his floundering.

  "That was extraordinary," said Omar. “I’ve never seen you bomb before.”

  Zhi turned back to his friend. He’d completely forgotten the man was there. He hadn’t said a word the whole time. Likely because the producer had been far too entertained to stop the show.

  “I said come and let your hair down,” said Omar. “Not get it tangled up in knots trying to be someone you aren’t.”

  “Was it just me? Or did you only understand about a quarter of that conversation?”

  “It’s just you.” Omar downed the last of his tea. “I live in this world of slang and double entendres. If you want to stay in this magical land for any length of time, maybe you’ll want to get yourself a translator.”

  Omar snorted at the recommendation. He didn’t notice that Zhi’s look turned thoughtful at the suggestion.

  Chapter Ten

  “You want to do some shopping here before we head back across the sea tonight?” Lark slung her day bag over her shoulder as they left the room they had shared last night. They had each been given their own room. But Lark had wandered in behind Spin at three in the morning. The two had gabbed all night and then fallen asleep in their clothes.
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  Spin wheeled her carry-on sized suitcase out the door behind Lark. Everything she cared about was stuffed in its belly. She was the queen of minimalism and the diva of thrifting, which was how her wardrobe always looked so varied and plentiful. Her Bohemian sense of style allowed her to mix and match the essentials and layer on a vintage shirt that only costs a few Euros.

  All her music was on a hard drive backed up to the cloud. She could plug into any turntable anywhere in the world and play. By this time tomorrow, she would be somewhere else in the world, and that place wasn’t Nice.

  She still hadn't told Lark she wasn't coming back. She would. She wouldn’t chicken out and slip away without a word. Even if she and Lark couldn’t do any more sleepovers, she still wanted access to sliding into her DM whenever she wanted to. Spin knew she’d only get a response if she didn’t disappear into the night like a one-night stand.

  Since Spin’s mother’s death, Lark had been the closest thing to family. Spin hadn’t attached herself to many things. As she followed behind a chattering Lark, Spin realized she wasn’t quite ready to let her friend go.

  A day of shopping wouldn’t hurt anything. She was certain that Crepe Man wouldn’t be searching for her here on the island nation of Cordoba. It had no connection to her father or his family. Spin’s hand went to the necklace resting on her chest.

  "Why don’t we hang out in Cordoba for the weekend?” she said to Lark. “You don't have a show until next Thursday. I don't have anything lined up for a minute."

  "We can't just take an impromptu vacation."

  "Why not?"

  “We can’t afford it for one.”

  “We can grab a cheap hotel for a few days with the money I just made from Parker.”

  “And then what?”

  Spin shrugged. She’d find a way. She always did.

  "Excuse me, Miss …? I’m sorry, I don’t actually know your name.”

  Spin turned to find his grace himself hurrying up after. She looked left and right and was surprised that Parker was nowhere to be found. The man was clearly into the tech mogul. Though Spin couldn’t fathom why. They clearly had nothing in common.