There's no return.
There's no going back.
The pull hypnotizes and fascinates.
Life, Death, we dance the tango, with dips and sways and long smooth glides.
Teetering there is such a rush.
I open my arms and prepare to fly.
But I feel a hand grip mine.
Life, but I fight to be free.
But she won't let me go.
She won't let me turn away.
Evie glanced at Bellamy, who had turned over and was sleeping on his back. His features remained relaxed in sleep. When had he written this? Tonight? She didn't recognize the haunting lyrics that were close to the truth of what he battled inside his head. She glanced at the paper again, wanting to finish reading the rest of it.
Life, Death, we dance the tango, with dips and sways and long smooth glides.
She tears at my armor.
Bit by bit, she slices through the metal.
Exposed, terrified of what she'll see.
But her lips curve and there's light.
The shadows are chased away.
Life, Death, we dance the tango, with dips and sways and long smooth glides. We dance the tango...
She feared this song was the truth. Bellamy teetered between wanting death and choosing life. Even now, even when she held him in her arms and they'd made love. When they laughed and talked long hours into the night. He never shared the depths of his depression with her, only hinted at it. She put the papers to the side as her gaze landed on a folder with Attorney at Law printed in bold letters.
She glanced at the bed once more expecting Bellamy to be staring at her accusingly, but he slept on, his chest rising and falling with even breaths. She quickly tossed the paper towel she'd been holding into the wastebasket behind her then reached for the folder, opened it and skimmed the contents.
It was a will. A Goddamn will. She closed the folder and stared at Bellamy. Her heart thumped hard, so hard, it hurt, and she rubbed her chest. Why was he making out a will?
Bellamy perhaps sensed her staring at him or maybe her heart was indeed audible to him as it was to her, thrumming between her ears as it was. He sat up, leaning on his elbow with half-lidded eyes, still bleary with sleep. His hair… Well, his hair was Bellamy hair, giving him the sexy come hither look with the way it fell over his one eyebrow.
"What are you doing out of bed?" he asked. "Though I'm digging you in my shirt. It's a good look on you, Babe."
She lifted the folder, not caring how it appeared. "What's this?"
"A will," he answered without hesitation as if it didn't mean a thing.
"Why?" she asked and it sounded like a desperate cry even to her own ears. Drawing up a will meant putting everything in order before one died.
He must have heard the distress in her voice. He slid out of bed, of course, naked and not caring. Didn't he have any respect that she couldn't concentrate when he strode around in all his natural beauty?
"What's this all about?" he asked her. "It's just a will. I have it redone every time I sign a new record deal." He folded himself around her, and she leaned back against him. His chin rested on the top of her head.
"I-I didn't know. I thought…" She shook her head, but her fear hadn't totally subsided.
"You thought I was sick or something? Dying? Let me assure you, I'm as healthy as a horse. A well-hung horse," he amended and pushed up against her backside.
"Is sex all you think about?" she scolded half-heartedly.
"Yes, when I'm with you. I can't get enough of you." Through the flimsy shirt, she could feel the velvety steel of him and she pressed back, causing him to groan and lose any restraint he may have had. His hands lifted the shirt to her waist and his hand caressed her behind as he leaned her forward on the table and pressed into her. Her body was ready to receive him. Her body always seemed to be in tune with his.
"Oh God," she moaned.
He only stayed for a few strokes, though. "Wait here," he whispered and kissed her cheek. Protection, she realized, and was glad that one of them could think straight. He was back then and continued the slow slide in and out as he reached around her, arousing her further. Thoughts about the will, about death, didn't exist when she was with him.
He turned her around then and kissed her long and deep as he lifted her onto the table. He swept the folder and papers onto the floor and she wrapped her legs around his waist. "I don't want you to go," he said. "Stay with me."
They had a week left together. She didn't want to go either, but she would. Kelsey told her she would. She'd go back to 2007, ten years from now, ten years from Bellamy. She clung to him, digging her hands into his back, willing him not to take his life. Even if she never saw him again it would be worth it, knowing this bright, sensitive man still existed in this world.
She'd traveled in time on a whim and in hopes of saving a man she didn't really know. She loved his music, the lyrics, the way his voice made the songs come alive. Like other fans, she mourned the passing of a rock and roll legend, but now she did know him. She knew him, not the legend, not the rock star, the man. This sometimes shy and sweet man made her laugh. He had an outrageously funny side, and then there was this, him inside of her, making love to her. How could she go back to her time and find out nothing had changed? How could she not be there when he truly needed her?
"Hey," Bellamy said as he brushed her hair away from her face. "Are you crying?"
She hadn't realized she had been. "Saying goodbye sucks," she tried to joke but it came out flat.
"I'll talk to Sonya. See if–"
She placed a finger on his lips. "You know that's not going to happen. You're going to be so busy anyway. We wouldn't have time together." She cupped his face, and kissed him. "And I have a job too, you know. I can't take another leave of absence. We both knew this job was only temporary."
"Maybe I still need you," he said stubbornly. "Who's going to get my ass out of bed?"
"You don't need me for that," she said with a sad smile. "But if you do need anything else, anything, call me. Promise me you'll call me. Day or night, no matter where you are. I'll be there for you."
His blue eyes searched her face as if wondering if he could trust her words. "Even in the dead of night?" he asked.
"Especially then. Especially then," she repeated and kissed him for all it was worth.
He picked her up and carried her to the bed. This time, he took things slowly when they made love. Every part of her soul wanted to hold him, keep him close, as if her arms alone could save him from himself.
Chapter Nineteen
Know the Difference
"Time to rise and shine," Bellamy said as he crawled into bed next to Evie and nuzzled her neck with sweet kisses. He murmured how beautiful she was in Romanian, since he knew how the language turned her on, turned him on too, but then he remembered why he'd crawled into bed with her and sighed. "Photo shoot is at ten."
She opened one eye and peered at him. "Shouldn't I be waking you up? This is a change."
"Maybe you're rubbing off on me." He reached around her for the mug he'd placed on the nightstand. "I come bearing gifts – coffee with two creams."
"You're an angel in disguise," she said and scooted so she could sit when he handed her the mug.
He took in her appearance, admiring her attributes in the morning light, and lingering on her nightie, where the shadow of her nipples kissed the fabric. Naked was always good in his opinion, but this would do for starters. His gaze traveled over her nicely toned arms that hugged him tight when they made love, then to the lovely curve of her neck where he liked to nuzzle and give her sweet kisses. His gaze then traveled to her full lips that had a magic all their own, and her expressive, unique eyes always did him in, but then he frowned at the light purplish color that marred the tender skin beneath them. "You look tired," he commented with concern.
"So many late nights," she said with a sigh. "Someone's been keeping me up to wee hours of the ni
ght." She took a sip of the coffee. "Mmm…that hits the spot."
"If you want to stay here and rest today, why don't you?" He was worried about her. He knew how the lack of sleep could wear a person down. He'd had so many sleepless nights where his thoughts plagued him, dragged him down until leaving the room seemed impossible. The shrink he'd seen briefly at the rehab told him it was a sign of depression. No shit, Sherlock, he'd wanted to tell him, but kept his mouth shut, seeing as the good doc wrote him a prescription for Prozac.
"I want to go," she told him. "Believe it or not, I like watching what goes on behind the scenes. Let's me experience what the band goes through to promote a new album. It's interesting."
He sat next to her and scooted closer so he could rub her back.
"Thanks," she said with a sigh and closed her eyes as his palms caressed and kneaded where she seemed tense.
"The photo shoots can be boring," he told her, just in case she needed an out. "I'm bored most of the time." Antsy would be more the word he should have used. Smoke breaks were few and far between and he hated being ordered around like he was a trained dog. "Too much sitting around for my taste," he said to her, "and posing like a statue is a killer."
She laughed. "Yeah, I don't see you being the sitting around type either. You must drive the photographers batty." She glanced over her shoulder at him and he leaned forward and kissed her. "It's settled then, I'd better go and keep you in line."
"What if I'm a bad boy today?" He pouted, exaggerating the part, then winked. "Will you spank me?"
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" she teased.
"You know me so well." He leaned closer and cupped her breast through the fabric, her nipples hardening from his touch. She kissed his nose. Not exactly what he was going for.
"I better get dressed," she said next. "Don't want you to be late." She scooted from the bed and out of reach of his roaming hands.
"Party pooper," he called after her as she closed the door to the bathroom.
They were using one of the banquet halls for the photo shoot, with a green screen in one area of the room. Props were in another area that might or might not be used. He spotted a motorcycle and hoped for a photo sitting on it. He'd always wanted a bike. Maybe he'd think about buying one after the tour.
Wardrobe had racks on wheels for each of the band members, loaded with clothes with the appropriate sizes and styles. Makeup had their own part of the room staked out with table units on wheels sporting large mirrors. The chairs reminded him of what the hair salons used, only these could be rolled in and out, with a handy lever that activated the break so the chair didn't roll away while the makeup was being applied.
Briana in makeup waved to him as he strode by. "Good morning, sweet thing," Bellamy said as he headed to wardrobe. He spotted Evie with her brother. Bryce appeared to be in a good mood. Hopefully, the good humor would continue on throughout the day. Bryce had been with the band a while. His photos were exceptional, made him look good, but Bellamy never really spoke to him outside of work. He might have to rectify this. If by chance Bryce mentioned Evie's name, after she headed back home, he could casually inquire about how she was doing. Like was she seeing anyone?
His hand slid the hangers one by one on the rack, and casually glanced at the T-shirt, slacks, jeans and other items of clothing, but not really seeing them. His thoughts had fixated on Evie leaving and what it would mean to their fragile relationship. He wasn't sure if he'd ever been in a healthy grown-up relationship ever until Evie.
The psycho bitch he broke up with a few months ago didn't count. She'd burned his clothes and spray painted his living room in his Malibu house with, You Suck, in broad black letters with an explanation mark at the end, as if he wouldn't know she was shouting those words, even if they were in print. The woman did love to yell. He couldn't imagine Evie ever stooping so low, even if she thought he sucked.
Once Evie left here, Bellamy wondered how long it would be before she replaced him. And what about himself? Would he find some woman to hook up with, after months on the road? He hadn't thought about finding anyone else since he'd been with Evie. Being in a relationship was all new territory for him.
He tried to imagine someone else kissing Evie, taking her to bed, touching her, and her touching him. With all that touching going on, the bastard was bound to take her to bed. That ruined his good mood.
"What's with the scowl?" Evie said as she walked over to him.
She wore her traditional black slacks, but she was wearing a T-shirt today, instead of a loose fitting blouse. He liked this look, it showed off those great tits of hers without revealing too much. Cheered him right up again. She even wore her hair down today, since she experimented with some of the products Anton had left her. She didn't like her frizzy hair, but he never minded it. Gave her character, made her real somehow when all he'd been used to before her were women who plastered their hair with hairspray so it wouldn't dare move out of place.
"Not sure what to wear," he told her, not wanting to share his dark thoughts and ruin the day. "Hate this part really, trying to choose the right outfit."
"You'll look good in anything you put on, I'm sure."
His gaze slid over her features. What was it about this woman that made him feel so special? She gave him compliments but they weren't bullshit to boost his ego. She meant what she said, and just as she was good with the compliments, she'd shoot him down if the situation called for it.
"How about this?" she offered and reached for a hanger.
He shifted his gaze to the outfit she had in her hand. White pants with blue stripes on one leg, and stars on the upper corner of the other. She'd chosen a button down shirt to go with it. He had a lot of button-down shirts in all kinds of styles and colors. Something his producer insisted upon. Said the fans would go crazy if he showed a little skin. Whatever.
"You think I'll look good in this?" he asked, curious to know what prompt her to choose the outfit.
"You'll look hot," she said with a smile but it was the gleam in her eye that persuaded him.
"No, not that outfit," Kim Mays said as she stomped toward them. She was assigned to him today for wardrobe changes. Her hand ripped the outfit from Evie's hands.
"I think I will wear it," Bellamy countered. Kim frowned and appeared as if she'd fight him on it.
Kim had been with the band for ages. Brunette, light eyes, cute smile, and nice ass, but he'd never made a pass at her. Sometimes he wondered if her curtness toward him was because he hadn't, but she wasn't his type. Too bold, too outspoken, and he didn't date someone who looked like they could kick his ass. He wanted to make love not fight. Kim's muscled arms and thighs had him imagining that chokeholds would be her form of foreplay. Not happening.
Despite their personality conflict, Kim did know clothes and usually was spot on in choosing the right outfit for him. But today, he was going with Evie's selection.
"Are you sure about that?" Kim seemed to be giving him the decision, but her tone hinted that she thought him a fool.
What the heck? Fool he was going to be then. "Yes."
She sighed ridiculously loud but handed him the clothes and he disappeared behind the makeshift dressing area, which was really a quickly put together box with a curtain on a rod. He changed into the clothes and came back around for Kim to supply the boots he'd wear with the outfit.
He was in a good mood and goofed off by singing little ditties. Kim grabbed a belt from the bin and began to loop the leather through the belt loops, which always made him want to laugh when she did this. Didn't she think he could loop his own belt? But did he stop her? Nope. He let her do her job, no matter how silly it seemed.
He glanced at Evie, who was smiling at his antics and he sang a little louder, then did a little sway of the hips, which had Kim tsking him and telling him to stand still.
"Will you be quiet?" Forrest Derns, one of the cameramen, bellowed. "I'm trying to have a conversation here."
Bellamy raised his brows
at him, and then looked at Evie who was covering her mouth and trying not to laugh. "Maybe he's not a fan," he whispered.
"Finished," Kim finally said. "Go on to makeup. We're running behind schedule."
"Wasn't my fault." He lifted his hands and walked backward away from her.
"For once," Kim replied and actually smiled.
He turned then and took hold of Evie's hand and made his way over to the makeup area. He plopped himself down in Briana's chair.
"I'm glad to see there are no bruises I have to cover up," Briana said.
"What can I say, it's been a slow week."
"Smartass," she murmured as she dabbed his face with whatever she used to make him pretty.
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