A shadow uncoiled in front of her. A long, lean, rocker-hard body.
“I was wondering when you’d get here,” Dante said.
Lacey stilled in the shadows, but Dante moved with calm assurance, crossing to the wide controls console. A single flipped switch, and the bus was locked down tight—from the inside. With another pressed button on the intercom, a few spoken words, the engine roared to life.
“What are you doing?” Lacey squeaked, scrambling for purchase. She felt the weight of Dante’s stare on her, his slow curving smile, even in the semidarkness. She was grateful for that darkness, but she didn’t have it for long. Another swipe of Dante’s fingers and low lights flared throughout the bus—just enough to see and be seen by.
Dante stood before her looking like absolute perfection in a loose button-down shirt and jeans. The intimacy of his bare feet transfixed Lacey, like she had walked into his living room. Like he had been expecting her. She took a step backward as he paced toward her, not missing the hunger in his gaze, thrilling to it. Wanting it. But none of this could be happening! “You can’t just take this bus,” she tried, struggling for reason.
Dante shrugged. “I bought this bus.” He chuckled at her reaction. “What? It’s a nice bus. I have a lot of good memories about this bus. And I plan on having more. Starting tonight.”
“Dante, you can’t be serious.” Lacey backed up as he stalked toward her. “You can’t even look at me! I feel like I have seventeen pounds of makeup on. And this wig—” She stopped short as he passed right by her, not even stopping to kiss her. She tried to beat down the momentary surge of disappointment, then Dante was grabbing her hand and pulling her behind him down the luxurious main cabin of the bus. “What are you—”
“The other reason why we needed the bus to be moving,” Dante said. She could hear the smile in his voice, the easy command. He led her into the compact but state-of-the-art bathroom, and gestured to the counter—where the rocker groupie’s makeup bag sat, complete with every cream, pouf, and lotion made by man. “We need to get you out of those things.”
Dante didn’t want to give Lacey time to think. He didn’t want to give himself time to think. Not because this wasn’t what he wanted—needed to have happen. Not because he couldn’t feel the heat pouring off of Lacey every bit as much as the confusion, hope, and frustrated desire. But there was almost too much between them at this moment. Too much for them to think about. She’d known him, in her way, for more than ten years, and he’d been looking for her just as long. Someone who saw him for who he was—and who he could be. Someone who reminded him of what was important. Someone who was standing in a room full of steam, makeup, and hair and silky dress and—
Dante turned back to Lacey, laying a finger on her lips when she would speak. “Let’s just start with this,” he said, and he realized something was wrong with his voice. It was too raspy to his ears, too choked. Schooling his emotions, he helped Lacey detach the wig. As it came away, her hands immediately went to her plastered hair, touched her cheeks.
“I must look like hell,” she groaned.
“You look amazing.” Dante couldn’t help himself at that point, and he couldn’t slow down. He moved to Lacey’s silky dress, zipping her out of the sheath in a long quick slide and—his mouth tightened—leaving her with only a thin scrap of material at the vee of her legs, and no bra at all.
The flush that climbed up Lacey’s skin set his own blood racing. “There was a bag of clothes that Harry bought—I don’t know where he got this.”
“Harry is getting a bonus,” Dante said. “Come here.”
“My face—”
“Shhh.” Dante pulled Lacey to him, and finally gave himself leave to hold her against his body, her soft breasts pressing against his chest, his hands on her perfect face as she tilted it up to him. Not perfect because of the makeup, or perfect because of some rock star standard of beauty, but perfect because of how her lips parted as she gazed at him, how her breath came fitfully between her teeth, how her eyes were so wide and so serious and so intense with a passion she still couldn’t quite let go.
He kissed her then, a soft, simple brush of the lips, and Lacey’s moan beneath his mouth was all he needed to know that this was right, this was true, this was what she wanted. He deepened the kiss, pulling her up almost roughly against him, and then her fingers were at his own shirt, pulling the buttons apart, her hands splaying on his chest, his abs, dropping to the waistband of his jeans. “This is just supposed to be the shower part,” he tried, but she didn’t stop, peeling away the dark materials and shoving it down. As she curled her fingers around the waistband of his boxers, his hands found hers. “A shower, Lacey,” he groaned again. “I want to do this right.”
“Well, I want to do this wrong.” And then she’d freed his cock, her cool, strong hands wrapping around his erection and Dante straightened, the growl low in his throat as he slid open the shower door and they both stumbled inside, the stream from a dozen jets immediately capturing them in a whirl of sensation. “Oh!” Lacey spluttered, and her eyes blinked against the spray.
“Keep your eyes closed, sweetheart,” Dante said roughly. And he was right there, with something from one of the jars he’d been given, some sort of white frothy goop that he spread against Lacey’s skin, watching the colors blend and stream away, each pass like seeing a rare portrait come to life beneath his hands. The ever-more-beautiful woman beneath all the paint and glitter. A second later it was gone, but he watched her a moment more, breathing in the wonder of her, and then, when her fingers crept up his abs, he felt the need roar back into life.
“Lacey,” he said brokenly, but she didn’t have her eyes closed anymore. She was staring at him, her body stretched up, her curves molded against his straining muscles. If she got any closer to him he was probably going to lose it. And he didn’t want that, he still didn’t want that—
“Dante,” Lacey whispered in his ear. “Please. Please make love to me here. You can do it again, anywhere you want, but please—now—this moment. Please just do this for me.”
She didn’t have to ask him again.
Dante grabbed both sides of her waist and lifted Lacey up, pressing her against the wall of the shower, arching his head toward her as he cradled her close. Her legs naturally went around his waist, his erection pressed up against her belly, the water slick and hot between them. He leaned away—fumbling against the piles of products, until he found what he was looking for. Lacey took the small foil packet from him and grinned. “I’ve always wanted to do this, too,” she said. “One of the other girls showed me how.”
“She gets a bonus, too,” Dante gritted out, as he resettled her feet on the floor of the shower stall. Lacey opened the packet and with a dexterity that left him breathless, and more than a lot harder, she smoothed the sheath around him with her mouth. Dante stood stock-still as she stroked him, afraid to move or he would explode. Then she was up again and he pushed her back against the wall, unable to stop now, unable to even breathe. She took him inside her, impossibly tight, both of them gasping at the exquisite mix of pain and pleasure as he buried himself in her, then drew back only to feel her pull him in again, and again, the pressure mounting between them and Dante’s half-laugh of desperation breaking the silence. “Lacey, slow down. We’ve got time. I’m not going to last here.”
“You don’t have to,” Lacey whispered, half moaning as her hands slid over his back, his shoulders, tangled in his hair. “You don’t have to do anything, Dante, just whatever you want—however you want—”
“Fuck,” he muttered and he pulled her against him tight. “Just give me a second.”
But Lacey had apparently decided she didn’t want to give him a second. She sighed beneath him, arching her hips even as her legs tightened and everything around him squeezed in a rhythmic, driving pulse, again and again and again. And he couldn’t speak, couldn’t see, could barely even breathe as he stared down at her, her mouth loose, her lips open, her eye
s hooded, her gaze intent upon his. Even as his hands fisted against her, his legs shuddered, and he climaxed in a roar of emotion and power and something he wasn’t sure he could articulate but knew he wanted to feel over and over and over again, for as long as he drew breath.
They stood there, the water sluicing over them, for a long minute more. Then Dante leaned down and kissed Lacey on her neck, smiling as she shuddered beneath him. “Sweetheart,” he promised. “We’re just getting started.”
She smiled up at him, and there were tears in her eyes again, even though she refused to shed them. Something about those tears made his breathing go a little ragged, a little desperate, but then she reached up and pressed her lips to his, and he gave himself over to the sensations she stirred within him, letting his doubts slip away.
This song wasn’t over. It couldn’t be over.
Dear Dante,
This is the last letter I am going to write to you—and I shouldn’t even write this one. I never thought I’d get the chance to meet you in person. To be with you, fall even a little more in love with you. But I know that we have to go back to our lives, follow our dreams, and be the people we’re meant to be.
Please don’t worry about me—even if IMO fires me, which they still might, I’ll land on my feet. The opportunity of working with you and your tour has been a career-changer, and I am truly excited about what lies ahead for me. And I’ll never forget these few weeks we’ve spent together, where you helped bring all my fantasies to life.
I promise that I’ll start listening to amazing music again, as long as you promise to keep making it. If only you can dream it, it just might come true, right?
Most Love Always,
Lacey Dawes
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Lacey sat, mooning over her coffee, safely ensconced in Erin’s bright kitchen. It’d been three days since she’d seen Dante, but it already felt like a lifetime.
“So what are you going to do?” Erin asked again, settling in beside her. She’d asked that question every morning since Lacey had returned, even though the answer still hadn’t changed.
“I really don’t know.” Lacey smiled ruefully. But she could finally talk about it now, and she pushed on for the first time. “Everything I’ve done up to this point was to get the internship or get the job or get the chance, and I was working so hard for that perfect break, I didn’t think any further beyond it. And now it’s happened, right out of the gate.” She raised her mug. “Only, I don’t have a job anymore.”
“Not at your current employer, maybe,” Erin raised her mug in return. “But that’s about the only place in town. If I have to field one more call on your behalf in the wake of the PR blitz of the century, I’m going to demand my own salary.”
“Yeah.” Lacey shook her head. It was Monday morning at nine A.M. Normal people were at work, including Anna, who’d been Lacey’s number one cheerleader the entire weekend, mapping out the pros and cons of taking jobs with the biggest names in the entertainment biz. Not-so-normal people—like Dani—were out running through the streets of Boston, causing havoc of the not-quite-criminal-but-close kind. So that left an artist and an in-between-gigs junior entertainment exec to figure out next steps over coffee and scones. “IMO has been completely silent, but everything there has to be over other than the paperwork.”
“I still don’t think they’re going to let you go,” Erin said, shaking her head. “The news agencies were full of your ‘wealth of opportunity.’ ”
“They kind of have to, I think.” Lacey took a long sip of coffee, reveling in the heat of it. Simple pleasures were always the best. “I did break every rule in the IMO playbook, even if it turned out to end well. And it’s been three days. Three days of absolute silence—not a text, not a phone call, nothing.”
“Maybe they’re watching the Internet.” Erin grinned at her. “You blew it up for most of the weekend. The webisode series is being hailed as an advertising model for the future, even if Brenda did try to take the credit for its success.”
“Well, the webisodes were her original idea.”
“Yeah, but you made them great,” Erin said staunchly. “And Dante’s had nothing but good things to say about you.”
“Yeah …” Lacey still had a hard time believing she’d pulled it off. It was nearly—almost—the perfect story. She’d spilled every detail (well, mostly) of the last few weeks to her eager brownstone mates, and just remembering the entire odyssey should’ve been enough for her. Would be enough for her. Needed to be enough for her. In fact, the only scratch in her glass slipper was that Dante wouldn’t be around to be her Prince Charming. She didn’t need him to be, of course, she reminded herself for the millionth time. She could be Cinderella all on her own. But still … “He’s been the soul of grace through all of this.”
And he had been. Up to and including getting them both back to the hotel discreetly, at the end of their impromptu bus tour. They’d left the bus for a waiting limo at some wee hour of the morning, which had then whisked them back to Dante’s gorgeous presidential suite. With all of the YouTube cameras packed up, they could finally spend a relaxing night in a real bed, and they’d luxuriated in it, neither of them talking of the future, because of course there was no future to discuss.
She’d woken up in his bed hours later, alone, and all of a sudden she’d felt like she’d felt that first morning, after he’d assured Harry that nothing would ever happen between them. And nothing really had, after all. She wasn’t a groupie, and she wasn’t an idiot. She didn’t want to be the one responsible for ruining the perfect fantasy. So she’d drafted a brief note to Dante on the hotel notepad, slipped out the door, and headed back to her own room.
Dante hadn’t tried to stop her. He hadn’t called or texted. And, she realized hours later, they hadn’t even kissed goodbye.
Lacey didn’t want to think about how much that hurt. This was her time to shine in the sun, and she didn’t need to be hauling around her own shadows and spoiling it all.
Still, she would treasure everything she’d experienced over the past few weeks for more than just the career boost it had turned out to be. She would treasure the Dante part of it, too. Her secret fantasies come true, giving her enough memories for a lifetime. It was enough. Her future was set, the world was hers. She hadn’t exactly made it, but she was on her way.
And she was going to find a way to make all of that matter—right after her next cup of coffee. And maybe after a few more tears.
Her phone buzzed to life on the table. Lacey eyed it with surprise when she saw it was a text from IMO.
“Another job offer?” Erin piped up, her eyebrows lifted high as she looked pointedly from the phone to Lacey. To her credit, she didn’t leap across the room and grab up the phone herself. She wasn’t Anna, after all. The thought brought a smile to Lacey’s face, no matter how rueful.
“Not exactly,” Lacey said. “More like an offer being rescinded. It’s IMO, apparently ready to fire me at long last. This still isn’t going to be fun.” She thumbed open her phone, read the terse words: 10 A.M., conference room B. “Here we go.” She keyed back for them to make it eleven—she would never make it there in an hour, and she hadn’t even showered in two days, let alone gotten out of her pajamas. They could wait on her.
“You don’t know that,” Erin said, ever positive. “They could be preparing to offer you the corner office.”
Lacey snorted but gathered up her coffee mug. If she was going to get her own ass handed to her, corporately speaking, she at least was going to be well caffeinated with the best java in Boston. “I’ll keep you posted on that.”
“You can’t tell me we can’t move faster than this,” Dante said, the first edge of his irritation showing through. From the severe look the other passenger in his limo was giving him, maybe it hadn’t been the very first edge. But still. He was being remarkably patient for not having slept in something like seventy-two hours. There’d been an insane round of publicity touring
to do after the Dream It tour had wrapped, and every moment had seemed incredibly harder than it had needed to be without Lacey there. He’d called the agency, but they’d confirmed that her role with him had ended with the tour. The team of handlers IMO had assigned him were better equipped to handle media than Lacey.
They’d had a long conversation about exactly what their plans were for Lacey, and Dante had resolved to let it go. She’d been very clear in her note to him. Sweet, professional, but firm. They were over. She had everything in the world waiting for her, and she deserved for him to honor her wishes.
And yet …
“Are you going to stop drumming your fingers or am I going to have to kill you?” Harry growled. “Never did like Boston.”
Now that was a sentiment that Dante could understand. They were navigating their way through an unusually clogged downtown—well, unusual to him—but he never had noticed such things before. He got places when he got places.
But this time … “We’re almost an hour late,” he muttered.
“And now we’re here.” Boston was unusually hot and sticky this June morning, but to hear Harry talk, that was only to be expected in a city where so many uptight people were crammed together in such a small space. His manager seemed ratcheted up with stress the closer they got to this meeting, but Dante couldn’t blame him. Change was hard. He’d get over it.
They rode up the pristine elevator in silence, but when they walked into the offices of IMO Entertainment, chaos ruled.
“What do you mean you’re not going to fire her?!” was the first thing that Dante heard, and he grinned. He’d really missed Brenda. He followed the noise to the conference room, leaving Harry to deal with the receptionist, and leaned against the doorframe, drinking in the sight.
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