"A little."
He smiles, but there's a sadness to it. Then he's shaking that off, and he's all smile. "We got there right as the water show was starting. The song was My Heart Will Go On."
"The Titanic song?"
He laughs. "And you wanted to do the Titanic."
"That's a thing?"
"According to you, yeah." His laugh lights up his eyes. "You grabbed the railing and you screamed 'Joel, come on. I want to be Queen of the world.'"
"I did not."
He nods. "You did. I tried to talk you out of it."
"Really?"
"Yeah, I figured security would get there fast. I don't mind extra arrests on my record, but I could tell you would."
He's right I would. "I appreciate that."
"Don't. I failed. You started climbing over the railing."
I let my eyes flutter closed. I can hear the Celine Dion song. And Joel's laugh. The spray of the water. It was a cold night, but I was warm from the buzz, then Joel's arms were around my waist, and I felt safe.
Happy.
The memory is faint, but I can still feel every bit of happiness.
Of ease.
It was fun.
I did climb over the railing.
He stayed on the other side of it to hold me tightly.
To protect me.
And I really trusted him to protect me.
His voice gets soft. "You remember?"
"Yeah." I stare into his gorgeous green eyes. "Most of it."
"You agreed I could draw you wearing only your necklace?"
I raise a brow. "Did I?"
Joel shakes his head. "No, but I'm happy to do it."
"You draw?"
"I know how to wield a pen."
I have to laugh. "Brooms, wands, and pens. Joel Young, you have an obsession—"
"You forgot drum sticks."
"I did."
"Guitars." He mimes holding a guitar, the body over his crotch, the neck jutting forward. Then he's fretting his air-guitar like he's touching himself.
Ahem. "You're obsessed with phallic imagery."
"You're thinking about me naked."
"The point stands."
"If it was good enough for Kubrick, it's good enough for me."
My lips press together. "Kubrick, really?"
"Really. I'm not a cretin. I know film."
"I wasn't saying—"
"You were."
I shake my head. "No."
He nods. "A little."
"Maybe, a little." I let my knees tap together. "You don't seem like a Kubrick fan."
"You either."
"Because I love Harry Potter?"
"Well, yeah." He takes a step closer. "Kubrick movies are cold, unemotional. Harry Potter is full of heart and guts."
"I don't like Kubrick movies."
He smiles. "I figured."
"Do you?"
"Not really."
"Too boring?" I suggest.
He laughs. "Because I have a short attention span?"
"If the taste in movies fits…"
He nods. "They're a little dry." His lips curl into a smile. "And you don't like them because they're cold, and you already do enough thinking all fucking day. You want movies to make you feel something."
It's a perfect description of why I watch movies, read, listen to music. Only I've never thought about it in those terms.
I'm always thinking. And it gets exhausting. Being able to turn that off and get lost in a book and feel—
That's why I read.
How does Joel know that?
Until this very moment, I didn't even know that.
"How did you know that?" I ask.
"You think I don't know you 'cause we met two days ago?"
"That's not a reasonable conclusion?"
"It is." His lips press together. "But reasonable conclusions aren't always right. If I saw you at some club, in that tight all business dress, those work heels, the glasses and the bun—I'd think you were some uptight chick who wouldn't beg me to come on her tits."
My cheeks flush.
"But it turns out, you're an uptight woman who fucking loves when I come on her tits." His smile widens.
I try to reach for something, anything to say. I need my senses back or I'm going to get lost in beautiful, filthy mental images. "You're a know it all."
He shakes his head.
I nod.
He takes another step closer. "I bet I can guess another three movies or books you love."
"You're proving my point about being a know-it-all."
He smiles. "Even so." He places his body between my legs. "I should get something if I win."
I force myself to push past my inhibitions. "A blow job in the shower wasn't enough?"
He slides his arms around my waist. "You're fucking adorable when you blush."
I shake my head.
He nods.
"You…" I lean into his touch as he slides his fingertips under his t-shirt. "You didn't answer the question."
"That was fucking amazing."
"Really?"
"Fuck yes." He looks up at me. "Don't tell me I didn't verbalize that."
God, I'm going to die of embarrassment. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. Joel is still looking up at me with this you're cute when you're nervous smile.
I stare back at him. "I've never been particularly confident about my abilities."
"You mean sucking cock or sex in general?"
I trip over my tongue.
He smiles. "You're amazing on all counts, angel." He slides his hand up my back.
"Really?"
He nods. "Fuck yes." He presses his lips against my neck. "You're giving me ideas about how we should spend the rest of the day."
I clear my throat. "Yeah?"
He nods.
I press my lips together.
Then he's smiling.
And laughing.
Oh.
"You're about to say Harry Potter, aren't you?" I ask.
"Am I getting predictable?"
I nod.
"Even so, the offer stands."
"I accept."
Joel and I spend the entire day watching Harry Potter movies. We only get up to make dinner, or maybe it's a late night snack.
We're in each other's arms the entire time, but when I go to bed, he doesn't invite himself.
He stays on the couch.
And I toss and turn…
Until I give in to all that desire racing through me and stroke myself to orgasm.
That knocks me out.
I sleep like a log, but when I wake up alone, I feel… well, alone. My eyelids flutter closed. I want to go back to bed.
But my phone is ringing.
And it's ringing in the main room.
And it's a familiar song.
The one I set for my dad.
Shit.
I get out of bed and find my cell charging on the floor. Joel stirs from his spot on the couch.
I grab the phone and bring it back to his room.
Call from Chase Home. It's the landline.
Fuck.
I bring the phone to my ear. "Hello."
My dad's voice booms through the speakers. "Isabella, who the hell is this Joel Young you've married?"
14
Bella
My stomach drops. Already, my legs are wobbly.
Dad knows.
I'm going to throw up.
Or maybe I'm going to fall down first.
That would be a hell of a rock star wife way to go, falling face-first in a pile of my own vomit.
I press my back into the wall, but it doesn't give me the stability I need.
"Isabella. Are you there?" Dad's voice is snippy, but there's concern in there too.
I have to say something. "Daddy, you know I prefer to go by Bella." I slink to my feet and pull my knees into my chest. I already feel like I'm back to being fourteen, like I just got caught making out in t
he living room with the high school bad boy. Only I was never cool enough to kiss any bad boys.
"Your sister tells me he's in some rock band," Dad says. "Where in the world did you meet a musician?"
I can't say that I met him in Las Vegas. But I can tell him most of the truth. "At a bar. I was blowing off some steam. We had a great conversation, and one thing led to another."
"How long have you been serious about this man?" His voice fills with concern. "I suppose that doesn't matter. You two are getting an annulment."
He says it like it's a fact, not an order, but it still catches me off-guard.
"We are?" We can't, not legally. Not unless one of us wants to allege the other was not of sound mind. And I'm not about to do that to him.
"Your sister was reading some article about your impending divorce. It was on that awful gossip website. It had a lot to say about your husband."
Joel may be sporting tattoos and a bad reputation, but he's also sweet and funny and supportive. Those aren't things Dad can see, but he can see that Joel is successful.
He could trust my judgment.
He could want me to live my own life.
"Bella, honey?" Dad clears his throat.
I press my lips together. It should be easy to say of course I'm divorcing Joel, even if Dad is being judgmental.
I open my mouth but the words don't fall.
Dad continues. "You're young. You want to have fun. I understand that. I felt the same way when I was your age. But this guy is a fling. You don't marry a fling."
"Of course not." Dad's facts are objectively correct, but they feel wrong. Hell, even the fling part is technically correct. Joel and I agreed to a week of fun. That's all. My stomach shouldn't be twisting. My heart shouldn't be heavy. Dad's words shouldn't feel hollow in my ears.
This is a mess.
I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. It doesn't help me find clarity.
"Are you two getting an annulment?" Dad asks.
"I don't know. We probably have to get a divorce."
"Do you have a settlement conference?"
"After Christmas."
"I have a few friends in Los Angeles. I'll send someone to represent you."
"I don't want his money. It's going to be simple and clean. Neither of us is asking for anything."
"I hope you're right, but just in case—"
"I don't need a lawyer."
"Sweetheart, all lawyers and future lawyers think the 'you always need a lawyer' rule applies to everyone but them. I'm sending a lawyer."
Right. I'm still a future lawyer. That's still the family plan. That's still what I want.
Good law school, good job, well-mannered husband, well-maintained penthouse in Manhattan.
That's supposed to be my life.
The plan makes my stomach churn. But the thought of throwing away the plan and walking into a huge question mark—that's just as bad. Worse even.
Dad is right. It's always best to have a lawyer, just in case. And there's no reason for me to believe that our week is going to end in anything but divorce. This makes sense. "Okay. I have to check, but I think our appointment is at eleven."
"It will be okay, sweetie. This will be over soon. You'll get back to your life."
Right.
I'll be home soon.
I'll be able to get back on the good school, good job, good future track.
"I'm going to set this up, then I'm going to call you back tomorrow," he says. "I love you, sweetie."
"I love you too." I end the call.
I should feel relieved, but I don't.
I feel empty.
Lonely.
Like I have no idea where home is anymore.
Like I'm never going to fit into the prodigal good girl box.
Like I'm never going to be good enough.
After twenty minutes of sinking into the carpet, I force myself to get up, brush my teeth, wash my face, put on a pot of tea.
Joel is still asleep on the couch.
I want to be in his arms. I want his comfort wiping everything else away. Dad's voice is still echoing in my ears. You're not good enough, Bella. You made another mistake. You failed again. You'll never been good enough.
I'm on my second cup of tea when Joel stirs. He throws off his blanket, nods good morning, and moves into the bathroom.
I don't want to mold myself into the shape that pleases everyone else anymore.
But what fucking shape pleases me?
What the hell do I want out of my life?
I don't know.
But there's one thing I'm sure I want.
And the second Joel is in the living room with me, I'm going to have it.
15
Bella
Joel steps out of the bathroom and stretches his arms over his head. He's wearing nothing but boxers and damn does his pose give me a nice view of his sculpted torso.
He looks like a magazine cover model.
He is a magazine cover model.
And he's looking at me like he wants to devour me.
I try to channel a version of Bella who goes after exactly what she wants, everyone else's wishes be damned.
It doesn't happen.
Joel moves into the kitchen and places his body behind mine. He rests his head on my shoulder as he wraps his arms around me.
He presses his lips to my neck. "You're tense."
"Yeah." Very, very tense.
"Was it that phone call?"
I nod. "How much did you hear?"
"Only the ringing. Your dad?"
"Yeah. He wants to make sure I have a lawyer at our meeting."
"Prudent."
"Yeah." I press my lips together. Tension is already creeping into my shoulders. "Can we not talk about this right now?"
He drags his fingertips over my forearms. I cringe as they drop. He's close.
But I need his comfort right now.
I can't let him know how much I don't want him feeling my scars.
I take a deep breath. With my exhale, I melt into his body.
His voice gets low and flirty. "How about I get your mind off it?"
"How will you manage that?" I try to make my voice just as flirty, but I sound more apprehensive than anything.
He slides his hands to my hips then pulls my ass against his crotch. "That's a surprise."
I very much like the direction this is going. I tease back. "You want to eat now or… after."
He plays coy. "After what, angel?"
"Whatever you're doing to get my mind off things." I press my lips together. If he's playing coy, I'm playing coy. No matter how badly I want the comfort of his body against mine.
"After." He takes my hands, leads me to the couch, and sits me down.
He goes to the TV. I enjoy the view of him crouching over to grab something from the cabinet, but I have no clue what he's doing.
The more I take in the hard lines of his back and shoulders, the less I care.
The TV turns on. The screen flashes with a familiar logo. Joel moves to the couch with two Nintendo-64 controllers.
He hands the purple one to me. "We're playing Golden Eye."
I cock a brow. "We are?"
He takes a seat on the couch then he pats his lap. "Come here so I can show you how to play."
I'm not big on video games, but I like where this is going.
I slide into Joel's lap.
He wraps his arms around my waist and places his hands on top of mine. He walks me through the game's controls, then through a tutorial level, then we're starting the single-player mode.
It's difficult. My lack of hand-eye coordination doesn't help. Computer characters keep finding me. And I'm incredibly bad at aiming well enough to kill them before they kill me.
Joel laughs as he helps me finesse my skills. By my fifth death, I get the hang of aiming.
I actually enjoy the second level. Even if it takes me far too many tries to get through it.
By the third
level, I finally get why people sink hours and hours into video games. This is fun.
Joel presses his lips to my neck. "You're kicking ass, angel."
I laugh as I die, again. "I'm not sure about that."
He drags his lips over my skin. "Want to test your concentration?"
He slips one hand under my t-shirt.
His fingers brush my stomach.
He slides his hand up my torso.
"Joel," I breathe.
"Yeah?" His voice gets rough, needy.
The controller slips from my hands and lands on the floor with a thud. I no longer care about the video game.
I no longer care about anything but Joel's hands on my skin.
He cups my breasts, rubbing my nipples with the pads of his thumbs. The friction sends waves of pleasure to my core.
I need this distraction.
But I also need his touch.
I trust him.
I want him.
Fuck, there are too many feelings swirling around my stomach. I want this to be just sex.
But I want more than that with Joel.
I press my neck against his mouth.
He growls as he sucks on my skin. His hands stay on my breasts. He toys with my nipples again and again.
I get achy.
Desperate.
"Don't stop," I groan.
He rubs me with soft, slow strokes. His groans vibrate down my neck as he drags his lips over my skin. The softness of the gesture makes me achier.
I need more of him.
I rock my hips to grind against his cock. He's hard. He's hard because I'm in his lap, because his hands are on my breasts, because he wants me.
There's too much fabric in the way of our bodies connecting.
"More," I demand.
He lets out a low grunt of approval as he pulls my t-shirt over my head. Then he's adjusting our positions so I'm straddling him.
One hand cups the back of my head.
The other toys with my nipple.
He pulls me into a deep kiss. It's messy in the best possible way.
It's deep.
Intimate.
Like this is more than sex.
When our kiss breaks, he looks up at me, his green eyes wide with desire. "You want to come on my hands or my face first?"
My sex clenches. I want to be as dirty and bold as he is. I muster up all my confidence as I stare back into his eyes. "Your face."
He lets out another one of those low deep groans. Then his lips are on mine. Desire pours between us.
Dangerous Rock: A Rock Star Romance (Dangerous Noise Book 3) Page 10