Dangerous Rock: A Rock Star Romance (Dangerous Noise Book 3)

by Crystal Kaswell

  I want her seeing every inch of me.

  The ugly shit too.

  Her hand goes to the back of my head. She pulls me into another slow, deep kiss.

  Fuck, the way she's rocking her hips, groaning into my mouth like she needs my pleasure—

  A few more thrusts and I'm there. I groan into her mouth.

  I dig my fingers into her skin.

  I pin her to that fucking wall as I fill her.

  Once I've spilled every drop, I set her down.

  She looks up at me, her brown eyes filled with affection. Then her hands are in my hair and she's pulling me into another deep kiss.

  And it's like when I play.

  I know this is where I belong.

  23

  Bella

  It's night now. The light streaming through the windows is a dark blue, marked only by glittering silver stars.

  With the quiet murmur of the waves pounding the sand, Joel's bedroom feels like our beach view, our safe haven, our universe.

  Joel slides his arms around my waist and pulls me closer.

  I nestle into his body. He's warm and hard and the skin on skin contact is filling me with a pleasant buzz.

  He's offering forever.

  The potential of forever.

  If I don't do something to throw up guardrails, I'm going to fall for him.

  I'm not there yet. But I'm close.

  If he doesn't catch me…

  I don't know what I'll do if he doesn't catch me.

  His lips brush against my neck. My body fills with that same buzz. It's a beautiful mix of need, desire, affection, trust.

  My eyelids flutter closed.

  For a moment, I let my thoughts float away. I let everything but the sensations in my body float away.

  His lips are soft against my neck.

  His chest is hard against my back.

  His strong arms are around me. And I feel so fucking safe.

  One hand is on my forearm. He drags his fingertips over my skin, that absent minded lovers' gesture.

  His touch gets closer.

  Closer.

  Almost…

  My teeth sink into my lip. My stomach tenses. I haven't told him this. Aside from my college therapist, I haven't told anyone this.

  Ever.

  He murmurs something incomprehensible against my neck.

  "You falling asleep?" I whisper.

  "I could. But no." He strokes me with that same gentle touch. "You're getting tense again."

  I can tell him now.

  But what if that changes his opinion of me?

  What if I transform from the woman I might want to spend my life with to the damaged freak I need out of my bed, ASAP?

  I try to make my voice light. "Is that a surprise?"

  He murmurs a no. "It does mean I'll have to make you come again."

  I close my eyes and try to push my thoughts away. He's touched me plenty. Even my wrists. He hasn't noticed yet.

  Maybe he won't.

  Maybe this can stay a secret forever.

  "Hey." He runs his fingers through my hair. Over my ear. "You're going off some place."

  I nod.

  "Take me with you."

  "I… I don't know if I can."

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah." I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. Still, my chest is tense. My stomach is twisting. "I don't want you to think differently of me."

  "You kill someone?"

  "Nothing like that."

  "You secretly love Justin Beiber?"

  My laugh breaks up the tension in my chest. "No."

  "I'd forgive you for bad taste."

  "I appreciate that."

  He nods. Again, he runs his fingers through my hair. The joking tone drops from his voice. "This is a big deal?"

  I nod. "I wasn't exaggerating to get in your pants earlier. I think you do know me better than anyone." I press my lips together. "But the way you look at me… it's like you really think I'm this good girl who could never do bad. You really think I am an angel."

  His touch is soft. Sweet.

  I want to tell him.

  I want him to know and not think of me differently.

  But there's no way to guarantee that.

  My breath catches in my throat.

  This is a risk.

  I've spent my life avoiding risks.

  This time, I'm not running away from potential hurt.

  Here goes nothing.

  "Joel, I…" I take his hand and bring it to the inside of my wrist. "I used to cut… though… I guess 'used to' is a little strong."

  "You still do?"

  "A few times over the semester."

  He runs his fingertips over my skin in a back and forth pattern. Then his finger catches a scar. He traces its line.

  "Only when it was really bad. The pressure from the tests… I didn't know how else to handle it."

  He keeps tracing scars.

  He doesn't say anything.

  Fuck.

  What does that mean?

  My eyelids flutter closed. My body goes numb. I can't feel anything but the crushing weight of expectations. This is changing how he looks at me. I can feel it.

  "Bella." His voice is still soft. Still sweet. "When was the last time?"

  "Finals."

  "Where?"

  "Here." I take his hand and bring it to my upper arm. That's an easy spot to hide. I've gotten smarter as I've gotten older.

  "That was what, two weeks ago?"

  "About that."

  "Bella… Fuck." He turns me around. His hand goes to my chin. He tilts my head so we're eye to eye. "Thank you."

  "Thank you?" A tear stings my eye. I can't make sense of any of the feelings whirling around my stomach. Why is he thanking me?

  Why isn't he reacting… why…

  "For telling me. I know that shit is hard." His hand curls around my wrist. Gently he brings my arm to his mouth and places a soft kiss on the inside of my wrist.

  My chest is still heavy. But this… this seems good.

  Is this really okay?

  Is he really accepting this?

  I barely manage to exhale. "You're… you're not horrified?"

  "No."

  "Nothing?"

  "If you're still doing this, then I'm not gonna fucking rest until you're getting help."

  "But… you don't think there's something wrong with me?"

  "Of course there is. Angel, you hurt yourself because you bottle up everything you feel instead of asking for help. But that doesn't make you a bad person."

  "You do that too."

  "I know." He takes my other arm, brings it to his mouth, plants kisses on my wrist. "I can't talk shit about coping mechanisms. I've drank, fucked, or laughed my way out of everything that bothered me for a long time." He sets my arm down. His eyes find mine. "I get it."

  I blink back a tear. "You do?"

  He rests his palm on my cheek and brushes a tear with his thumb. "Not exactly, but enough."

  "Joel, I…" Fuck. There's another tear. Another. I can't stop them. He's not running away. He's not calling me a freak.

  He's accepting this broken, ugly part of me.

  The tension in my body is releasing.

  The relief is overwhelming.

  This time, I don't blink back my tears. I let them fall. I've hidden this for so long. And now he knows… and he's not running away.

  He presses his palm between my shoulder blades. "You don't have to justify it. But you can explain." His eyes find mine. "I want to know every part of you, Bella."

  "Even the ugly parts?"

  "Especially the ugly parts." He leans down to press his lips to mine.

  Relief pours out of me. He's here. He's not running.

  He's kissing me.

  Holding me.

  Is this really possible?

  When our kiss breaks, I'm shaking.

  I look into his gorgeous green eyes. They're filled with understanding.

 
This time, my exhale isn't quite so heavy. "It started after my mom died. My family, we're not feelings people. I didn't know how to process it. I was mixed up all the time. One day, I bombed some test and I felt like shit. And I didn't know how to deal with that. I don't even remember how I thought of it. Maybe it was a friend or a TV show. The first time I tried, I was so scared I passed out before the razor hit my skin."

  He pulls me closer.

  "I tried again. That time, it worked. And that pain was concrete. Real. I felt like I deserved it. I felt better, punishing myself. It became a habit. A way to hurt physically instead of mentally. A way to punish myself for failing." My voice drops to a whisper. "The only person I've ever told was my college therapist."

  "Yeah?"

  I nod. "Stan, my ex… he saw the scars once. He looked at me with this horrified expression. I could tell he knew. And he could tell I knew that he knew. But neither one of us said anything. We never mentioned it. It wasn't that he was a bad person. Just not really… he thought I was this girl who had it all together. I was stepping into that role with him. I never let him see the cracks."

  "I get that."

  I press my forehead to his. "Tell me you're not getting ready to run away."

  "It's going to take a lot more than this to get me to run off."

  "You promise?"

  He nods. "Cross my heart and hope to die."

  24

  Bella

  The next day, we get up early to meet Joel's mom for breakfast.

  She's all smiles and stories about Joel. She doesn't mention our fight, or that I ran off, or that we're clearly moving faster than we should here.

  She carefully avoids the subject of work as she asks about my life and my interests. I tell her everything I can about my dad, the strong but gruff lawyer who lets us know he loves us in a stoic, I'll take care of you but don't expect any hugs kind of way.

  I tell her about my sister Anne, the party girl turned life of the party wife, who loves shopping and clothes and Medieval European history. Anne is as smart as I am, smarter even, but she's never had an interest in academics.

  I tell her about my tiny apartment by Columbia, about how I've painted the walls a pastel pink, and adorned them with rose decals. I tell her about how I've always loved roses, especially the thorns. How my mother used to garden. I took over her garden when she died, but I was helpless.

  I tell her about my undying love of reading. Not just Harry Potter and assorted YA books, but anything and everything I can get my hands on. I read plenty of contemporary stories, but fantasy is what really grabs me. There's something about escaping into another world. It takes me away from my life. It convinces me anything is possible.

  Thankfully, Trish reads as much as I do. It was her main hobby while she was a stay at home mom—which was pretty much until Joel went to college. She doesn't say it aloud, but it's clear that the trouble in her marriage started when she went back to work.

  When she realized she wanted her own life.

  Mostly, we talk about books. And about Joel. All through coffee, shopping, lunch, more coffee, we talk about books and we talk about Joel. I don't feel like a failed law student around Trish. I don't even feel like I'm only here because I'm Joel's wife.

  I feel like a human being who loves tea, reading, and long cardio sessions.

  Maybe I don't know what the hell I want out of life right now, but I'm starting to figure out what I don't want.

  We spend the entire day with her. By the time we get home, Joel and I are exhausted. He's still shaking his head over all the ways his mom mocked him.

  "I can't believe how much you enjoyed this picture of me as a child," he says.

  "You looked cute with braces."

  "I'm going to get you back when I meet your dad."

  I laugh even though the thought of Dad meeting Joel is terrifying. "Dad doesn't share pictures. He's not sentimental."

  "No?"

  "No." I collapse on the couch and grab the remote. "He'll probably have one of his investigator's get background on you then grill you about every horrible thing you've ever done."

  "Law firms really have investigators?"

  "Yeah, and his investigator is even tougher than Calinda," I reference the tough as nails investor on The Good Wife. "Not as pretty though. He's more the type who could beat you up."

  "You saying I couldn't take him?"

  I laugh. "Shouldn't you protect your hands."

  "Drumming is more in the wrists. You should know that."

  I nod.

  "I'll take it you're concerned about my hands for your sake."

  I admit nothing.

  Relaxation spreads through my chest as I sink into the couch. I'm ready to have a quiet night with Joel. This is the perfect Christmas Eve, the two of us on the couch.

  Maybe we'll make some cookies too.

  The kind we can decorate with frosting and sprinkles.

  But Joel's phone is ringing.

  It goes to voicemail.

  It rings again.

  "I don't mind if you get that," I say.

  He nods. There's something in his eyes, some apprehension.

  Still, he pulls his cell from his pocket and glances at the screen.

  His voice is bright as he answers the phone. "You shouldn't booty call me anymore, Strong. You know I'm married now." He laughs into the phone. "You do realize it's Christmas Eve?"

  Joel looks to me and motions come here.

  I do.

  He slides his arm around my waist and brings his mouth to my ear. "Mal's organized an emergency recording session."

  "Has he?"

  Joel nods. "You want to come?"

  I like watching them work. There's something about seeing people who know they're exactly where they belong. It's thrilling.

  He turns to the phone. "You're lucky my wife gets off on watching me play." He ends the call and tosses his cell aside. His eyes meet mine. "We have an hour till we have to leave."

  "Do we?"

  He nods to the bedroom.

  Well, I'm only human.

  An hour later, I follow Joel into the non-descript building downtown. It's dark and the streets are dead. Nobody is at work today. Nobody but perfectionists like the guys in Dangerous Noise.

  There's no one at the front desk of the lobby, but that doesn't stop him.

  He leads me through the door on the right, down the hall, to the suite.

  It's like something out of a TV show. Mal and Ethan are already here, in the other room. That must be the sound booth. It's encased in glass and the other three walls are some padded beige material.

  Ethan is strumming his guitar. He has no idea we're here.

  Neither does Mal. Both of them are lost in the song.

  There's a guy here with his hands on the controls. He nods hello to us, but he keeps his attention on his task.

  I wait until Mal is finished with the song to whisper in Joel's ear. "Does this really need to happen today?"

  "Fuck no." He pulls me closer. "But you know artists."

  "I don't, actually."

  "They're temperamental."

  "You included?"

  He shrugs, feigning innocence.

  "Bullshit."

  "Maybe," he says.

  The door opens behind us, and a deep voice flows into the room. "Joel, bullshitting, that's hard to believe."

  That's Kit. His dark eyes really are intense.

  He offers me his hand. "Nice to see you again, Bella."

  "You too. Thanks." My shoulders relax. He isn't looking at me like I hail from outer space.

  Kit motions to Joel. "Did this really need to happen today?"

  "Wasn't my idea," Joel says.

  "You've never had trouble getting your way before," Kit says.

  "I've been preoccupied," Joel motions to me.

  "You buy that Joel ever gives up on what he wants?" Kit teases.

  I shake my head. I don't buy that.

  "She's smart. I like
her." Kit greets the operator, then he's pressing the button to communicate with the soundproof room. "You have one hour, starting now."

  Joel looks to me and raises his brows. You think we can do it?

  I'm not sure. I better tease him. "Anything is possible."

  He smiles. "I like you brutal, angel." He winks as he makes his way into the sound booth.

  I sit next to the sound operator and I watch the guys attempt to record the song.

  The sound guy is friendly and he likes having someone who wants to listen to him for once. He explains every step of the process to me. Each of the guys needs to record his track separately. In theory, if they get the first take perfect, the recording can take half an hour.

  In reality, an hour is not anywhere near enough time.

  They make a valiant effort, but they spend half their time debating changing this note or that riff or this line of the chorus. No one is shy about making suggestions or shooting down ideas. It's real collaboration. Real team work.

  At the end of the hour, Kit does leave, but the other three guys stay. And they go at it for another hour.

  Another.

  Ethan leaves.

  Another hour.

  We take a coffee break.

  Another hour.

  I'm exhausted just watching them, but Mal and Joel are ready to go all fucking night. Never mind that it's Christmas Eve. Hell, by now it might be Christmas.

  As far as I can tell, the sound guy would rather be here than anywhere else.

  He doesn't say anything about his personal life. I fill in the blanks. He could be a recent widower. Or perpetually single. Or someone with no interest in love or dating.

  Or maybe he's freshly divorced and his heart is about to break and he has to fill every moment with work.

  I lose my ability to take even breaths.

  In a week, that may be me.

  Not even a week.

  Our settlement conference is three days away.

  In three days, I might be a divorcée.

  I might not get Joel anymore.

  25

  Joel

  I nearly tumble out of the booth. I think I'm seeing stars. My arms are aching. My head is aching. My entire body is stiff and strained. And I never fucking want to see Mal again.

  Really, the only thing I want is Bella in my bed right away.