Then he turned toward the back of the bus, promising himself the mother of all long showers. If he didn’t work off some of his pent-up energy and fast, nobody was going to be safe around him. Least of all Lacey Dawes.
Lacey stared at Dante’s retreating back, barely registering Brenda’s words. “Are you listening to me?” Brenda snapped, and she jolted back to where she was and to whom she was speaking.
“Yes! Yes, of course,” Lacey said. “I will follow up with the drivers to ensure we aren’t having any issues with the vehicles. I’ll coordinate the techs you’re sending to do a full service on the buses before we head out again. We leave in a couple days for Baltimore—we’ll have plenty of footage by then for the video crews to work with. Then everything’s set for a launch after the show on the twelfth. It should be great.”
“Immediately after the show,” Brenda clipped back. “As in Dante may be in encores still—and you need to let the roadies know that one of the screens will be flashing the video as he finishes his performance. We want to capitalize on the captive audience while we have it.”
Lacey frowned into the receiver. “Isn’t that going to take the crew by surprise? They’ll be watching the full premiere episode for the first time right along with the rest of the world.”
“Good point,” Brenda said thoughtfully. “Maybe we don’t tell them it’s going to happen that way.”
“Whoops, Brenda—I gotta go. The groupies just got into a catfight. I gotta—” Lacey shut the phone off before Brenda could squawk a response, and slumped back against the couch. She needed to let the roadies know what IMO was planning—and Dante, as well. Now, before Brenda called her back with specific orders not to do so. No way in hell was she going to let IMO’s little “reveal” catch them off guard. It was going to be bad enough as it was.
She got up, smoothing her tunic down and ruing how thin the fabric was. She felt almost naked. How had she thought this outfit was a good idea when she’d gotten dressed that morning? Probably because she hadn’t expected Dante’s hands to be all over her within a few freaking hours of them boarding a bus together.
Dante had wanted her with him to act as some sort of glorified babysitter, but she was the one being schooled it seemed. He’d caught on right away to her weird internal battle over which version of Dante she wanted. The guy in her fantasies, or the guy right in front of her, who could be grumpy, pushy, and downright exasperating … and so incredibly hot that he set her very thoughts on fire.
I mean, seriously … Lacey let the shiver take hold of her body, feeling her breasts tighten, her nipples harden into stiff nubs at just the thought of his mouth on hers, his hands lightly stroking over her clothes. He’d been gentle—almost restrained. He’d let her call the shots. He’d almost seemed to be begging for her to push him on, ask him to take her, demand him to …
Lacey frowned. What the hell was she waiting for? She was in a bus with Dante Falcone, at the very start of a two-week tour that could blow up in her face at any moment. Anything could happen in the next few days—let alone the next few weeks. Dante could kick her out. Brenda could horn in. Lacey herself could sprain her ankle stepping out of the bus. Was she really prepared to let this one brief shining moment pass her by, when the man was practically dangling in front of her, gift wrapped for her pleasure?
Was she insane?
And then she heard the shower turn on.
Lacey closed her eyes. Oh, God. She could picture the flow of water over those tight muscles, those long, lean legs. The shimmering tattoo that she knew wrapped around his upper left shoulder and stretched out over his back and chest. Steam and heat and the smooth wet slide of hands, skin … and it was right there for the taking. Hers to have, if only she could muster up the courage to do what she’d been fantasizing about for years.
But she was a professional agent, not a groupie, she reminded herself sternly. She couldn’t take advantage of this situation like that. She wouldn’t.
The flow of water pounded harder.
Forget it. She totally would.
This could be her one shot at seeing Dante naked. All of her teenage imaginings could not compare to a gorgeous, hard-bodied male stripped and glistening wet in a shower with six built-in nozzles and enough water pressure to blast even the tightest muscles into submission. Just thinking about him leaning up against the wall—dripping with water, clouds of steam all around …
Lacey swallowed. It was now or never.
Trying to act as nonchalant as any single woman who was trapped on a bus with a bare-assed rock star, Lacey kicked off her sandals and tip-toed her way down the narrow walkway of the main cabin, her face flaming even as her palms began to sweat. If he’d left the door to the bathroom closed, she wouldn’t go in. That was her hard line. Maybe she’d shout out what she’d learned about the show from Brenda, and leave it at that. She needed to let him know—but, okay, the first webisode was like three days away. So she didn’t have to tell him about it right this minute. But if Brenda called back with an injunction, Lacey would be required to listen to her boss and follow her instructions. So really, time was of the essence.
She was doing this for him.
And maybe to see him naked. But that’s all. Just a glimpse. Really. She had standards.
She cleared the soft corner of the bathing/dressing area, and confirmed what she already suspected. Dante hadn’t shut the pocket door to take his shower. Steam was billowing forth from the compact room, and she could imagine the custom-built shower beyond. Had already imagined it with him in it, actually, when she’d gotten the schematics from the bus company. There was enough room for two people in that shower, as long as they were really good friends.
She could be friendly. Not that she’d do that—but she could. She would. Be friendly, that is. She was a very considerate friend.
And again, he’d left the door open. Clearly, he wanted her to see him. After all, they were the only two people on the bus. Of course he wanted her to see him. But if she walked in on him … Oh, God, what was she thinking? Could she really be contemplating interrupting a naked man in his shower? Had she zero pride left?
Then again, could she really be contemplating not doing this? Was that a regret she could live with?
Lacey squared her shoulders. Dante was like a sports star, she told herself. He probably didn’t even think twice about walking around naked on his own bus. If you were one of his bandmates or crew members, you just got used to it and acted normally. She could act normal. She was the queen of normal. She could have taught graduate courses in normal.
Lacey took three very normal steps to the bathroom and then, like the completely abnormal goober that she was, peeked around the edge of the door, trying to see into the steaming shower area.
“Looking for something?” Dante’s voice was husky, inviting … and right behind her.
Lacey jumped, but before she could scramble out of the way, Dante’s right arm locked her against the doorway, and she realized immediately that she would have to tunnel her way through a wall of rock god to escape back out into the corridor. She gaped up at him, focusing intently on his face, never mind that his body was only barely covered in a towel slung low around his hips. His spray of tattoos gleamed at her from over one shoulder, glistening in the moist air, but her eyes didn’t seem to be able to tear themselves away from Dante’s intense, predatory stare.
He leaned down to her face until he was close enough to kiss her, his lips inches away from hers, and his scent riding the heavy air—exotic and spicy and—
“Did you need me, Lacey?” he rumbled.
“What? Oh!” she managed, trying to grab on to her last shred of sanity. “Ah, yes. Something—um, there’s something you need to know. About the first YouTube show.” Her hair was already halfway out of its scrunchie and the humidity from the shower was turning it into a writhing mass of brunette curls around her face. She pushed it away irritably, jolting as her fingers grazed Dante’s chest. She maintained the s
kin-to-skin contact for too long, pressing against him, willing the heat from his body to not feel so right, so good, so unbelievably perfect.
She dragged in a long, unsteady breath. “Um, I can wait until you’re out of the shower.”
“You can go on.” He settled his other hand on his hip, and despite herself, Lacey looked down.
Mistake.
The towel that Dante wore was draped low enough that she could see the contours of his hip bones, and the easy ripple of his abs as they stretched down, down—oh my God. Her mouth fell open, her legs quivered, and her entire lower body seemed to dissolve into swirling, wet heat, the need building in her so intense she could barely breathe.
“Lacey.” Dante’s voice was impossibly gentle, and it set off a new layer of sensation inside her, turning and tightening and pulsing with a steady, driving, impossible-to-ignore desire. “It’s okay, sweetheart. But unless there’s something you need to tell me right now, I think you’d better—”
“I want to take a shower with you,” Lacey blurted.
Chapter Eleven
Dante leaned in close to Lacey, inhaling her vanilla-scented hair, now going wild with the steam from the shower. “I think you need to be very careful what you wish for, honey,” he said, but his own words dripped more promise than warning, and he could tell by the way her eyes dilated that she was so far gone that rational thought just wasn’t happening here. “And you gotta stop looking at me like that. I’m hanging on by a thread here.”
“I don’t want you hanging on by a thread,” she whispered, and the urgency in her voice sent another shock wave of need through him. “I want you—this … oh, forget it. If you’re not going to get in, I am.” She angled away, crossing her arms to pull off her tunic with an angry little yank. Despite the boldness of the move, she immediately bunched up the material in her hands in front of her breasts as she whirled back to him, and her breath came fitfully through her lips, her cheeks still red.
The ping-ponging back and forth between idolizing fan and needy woman wasn’t new in Dante’s world. He got it all the time, and he was used to it by now. But on Lacey, it looked different. This was the same woman who had managed to reach into the back of his brain and tickle memories he hadn’t let himself think about in too many years. She’d shown flashes of seeing more in him than just what he appeared to be—or even what he’d been. And now she was standing in front of him, clearly not sure what the hell she was doing anymore. He didn’t know either, and the idea teased and tantalized him like nothing he’d felt in years.
“So beautiful,” he murmured, as he reached out lazily and pushed her tunic-clutching fingers down, down, until Lacey’s smooth black silk bra was all that remained between him and the soft, round handfuls of her breasts. He slid his fingers under the tight material of her bra, and was rewarded with a soft hiss from Lacey. Her eyes darkened, and her mouth opened in a round, lush O.
He leaned into her then and covered that mouth with his own, palming her breasts through the thin material now damp with steam and Lacey’s own heat. Her nipples had hardened into tight, mouthwatering buds, and he dragged his thumbs over them, delighting in the moans that Lacey couldn’t quite hold back. He dropped one hand down the curve of her waist to the small of her back, molding her body to his. He knew the exact moment she felt his erection nudge against her belly by the strangled hiss of her breath as he teased her mouth open with soft determination. When she opened to him on a sigh he deepened the kiss, branding her mouth with his, pushing into it with the same intensity that he wanted to apply to every other inch of her body.
“Dante,” Lacey gasped against his mouth. She tried to move back again, but the room was only so big. There was no place to go. She’d dropped the shirt at some point and was now holding on to the towel at his waist. He doubted she knew that she was the one holding it in place, not the flimsy knot he’d tied. He traced a line along the curve of her jaw, pausing on the erratic pulse point at her throat, grinning with the knowledge that he was doing this to her, he was taking her places she hadn’t expected to go. And he wasn’t done yet.
“I think you’re still overdressed, honey.”
Lacey couldn’t track all of the sensations rocketing through her, but when Dante leaned back from her and she felt the catch of her bra spring open, spilling her breasts more fully against his chest, she couldn’t stop her surprised exhalation.
“So beautiful,” Dante murmured again, and he tilted her with the palm of his hand splayed against her lower back, leaning down to drag his mouth along her overheated skin to where her body ached for him to go. He took too long to get there, though, exploring the curve of her right breast as it flared out and around, licking, nipping, and tasting its soft fullness until she felt her hands fisting at his sides, the thick white terry cloth of his towel caught in a stranglehold as he finally blew a cool whisper of breath over the tight nub of her nipple and then turned her inside out as he drew the tip of her breast into his mouth, sucking gently at first, and then with more insistence as her hips instinctively shifted forward and she felt the hard length of his erection fit more securely into the vee of her thighs.
Then Dante was grinning at her and she blinked, confused, until through the swirl of sensations she realized he’d slipped his hands beneath the waistband of her leggings, the soft material giving him easy access to her bare ass and the tiny scrap of a thong that clearly didn’t cover anything at all. “I really like these,” he said, kneading her butt with fingers so long and strong she felt like she was going to come apart if he got them anywhere closer to her center. “But I think we can get rid of them now.”
He slid her leggings down her legs and somehow, impossibly, followed the movement with the rest of his body, until his face was right at her hips and he was staring—oh dear God, thank heavens she’d shaved this morning, but it’s not like she … She hadn’t thought … And then Lacey’s world rolled completely sideways as Dante leaned forward and circled her hip bone with his tongue before pressing his teeth against her and drawing her skin into his mouth. Lacey came unglued, her hands in his hair, her fingernails raking Dante’s shoulders, something unintelligible coming out of her mouth as she felt rather than heard the shushing sounds of his mouth against her inner thigh. She felt naked, exposed—hell, she was naked and exposed—but as he shifted again she took the tiny opening of space to step back into the open shower stall. And under a torrent of superheated water.
“Oh!” she managed to hide her distress, her relief as she tilted her head back and allowed the water to stream the hair from her eyes until it fell into a thick heavy coil behind her head. She wasn’t ready for Dante to kiss her so intimately, not there, not all at once—she wasn’t ready for any of this, and yet she wanted it so desperately, so desperately, as if one brief moment with him would create enough memories to last a lifetime. If she could just keep her cool, just keep her sanity long enough for it to happen, she could put it away in a box and treasure it for the rest of forever.
She peered out through the fall of water as Dante slowly straightened, the grin on his face making it clear that he knew she was running away from him, but that where she’d run to was by no means safe. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled the towel off his hips and tossed it aside. His erection sprang free and she stared, mesmerized by the sight for the bare second he gave her to process it before he stepped into the shower with her and pressed all of his hot, hard, and now soaking wet body against her, crowding her up and back against the walls that seemed to come alive with half a dozen sideways nozzles, one of them apparently right under her—
“My God!” She squirmed as a burst of warm water pounded against the back of her thighs, causing her legs to part instinctively even as Dante reached his hand into the flow of water, cupping her sex, his fingers swirling against her, parting her to experience the pulse of water more intimately, more forcefully. She gasped and his mouth was on her again, his tongue pushing into her mouth even as she molded herself against him, wa
nting more, wanting everything. Her hands skimmed over the muscles bunched in his chest, the slick slide of tattoos that trailed over his shoulders and flowed down his arms, the hard angles of his waist and bare curve of his hips before the long, hard muscles of his legs took shape beneath her questing fingers. He was angled slightly away from her to give himself access, but two could play that game, and she gathered the hard length of his erection in her right hand, giving it a long, firm stroke up before softly rolling the tip in her fingers. The hot, agonized hiss that escaped Dante’s mouth as he sagged against the shower wall melted her bones. She had done this to him, had caused that sound. She wanted more. She wanted him to break open. He had to be close—he was breathing hard already. She circled his thick shaft with both her hands once again, one dipping down to cup his balls, and the hiss turned into a low, warning growl.
“Lacey, that’s really not a good idea,” Dante said tightly, and his voice commanded her attention, drawing up her gaze so they stared at each other for a moment, spray all around them. Lacey shook her head, pushing his hands out of the way so they stopped the impossible stoking of heat between her legs. At this point the man just needed to whisper in her direction and she’d shatter. But she wanted to be in control, she wanted this.
“Let me,” she said, her voice more intense than she’d ever heard it. “Let me try to—”
“Honey, there’s no ‘try’ to it,” Dante said. “I’m ready to explode as it is—God, your hands. You’re so good—so fucking good.”
“Then show me, tell me,” Lacey said. She had never gotten a guy off quite like this. Her sex life hadn’t been completely vanilla but—Dante’s shaft was quivering, thick and heavy, and her thoughts unhinged for a moment just imagining what it would be like to have him at her mercy that way, too, the taste of him—the feel of him in her mouth. Not possible in this shower but at least—at least she had her hands, and it seemed more dangerous, more exciting than sex, and—
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