Suspended: A Bad Boy Rockstar Romance

by Zoey Oliver

  Despite every ounce of determination I have, I turn my face toward him, part my lips, and allow him to kiss me. And oh, does he kiss me.

  He starts off so gentle, little butterfly kisses at the corners of my mouth, his lips soft and slow. And they build, his kisses getting deeper and stronger, teasing and sensual, and then his lips are pressing against mine with a fiery passion, consuming and demanding. He groans and whispers my name, running his hands up my neck, into my hair. I melt into his arms as he covers my mouth with his, his tongue caressing the inside of my mouth, tasting me, searching and hungry.

  “I need you, Abi,” he whispers, his voice crackling with desire.

  I gasp for air, my heart pounding. Between my legs, there’s a slick, fresh wetness that has nothing to do with the water in the tub. The soaking room, indeed.

  Henry’s kisses trail down my neck, his tongue tracing a hot line across my skin, his teeth nipping at me gently. I let out a moan, and he squeezes me tightly in his strong arms, lifting me off the floor. I wrap my arms around him. Three long strides, and he slams us against the wall, holding my left leg up to his hip, leaning into me with unmasked urgency.

  His erection is straining against his pants, pressing into my sensitive, bare flesh under the towel. “I need you so badly,” he groans.

  He runs his hands to my chest and yanks the towel down, his mouth on my breasts as soon as they’re exposed. He swirls his tongue against one nipple and then the other, sucking and kissing until I’m panting.

  I reach for his belt and zipper, undoing it as fast as my trembling hands allow me. I want him so badly, he’s like a drug every fiber of my body’s been craving.

  His cock is hot and hard when I wrap my hand around it and ease it out of his pants. I stroke him, savoring the feel of his thickness, of the smooth skin and heat in my hand. Words can’t convey how much I’ve missed him — his touch, his tongue, his voice whispering huskily in my ear.

  Slipping a hand under the towel, he reaches between my thighs and lets out a long hiss when he finds me hot and wet for him. “Fuuuck, yes,” he groans slowly, his eyes burning with lust.

  He places his hand over mine and guides his cock between my legs, rubbing it against me. When it hits my clit I shudder and nearly come on the spot.

  Henry’s lips return to mine with a fury, kissing me so hard I can barely breath. I clasp my arms around his neck and buck my hips against him. More, I need more.

  He grinds into me, stroking the base of his cock as he slides the head against my clit. “Oh, God,” he breathes. “Abi, I want you. Please…”

  I’m so close to giving in, saying to hell with everything and being with Henry the way I’ve fantasized about for years. I want him more than he knows. I want to be his, and only his. Only his… the photographs from the folder flash through my mind and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block them out, but a bolt of agony hits me right in the chest and a sob escapes my lips.

  What am I doing? I’m playing right into his hands. All those women… I’m just a game to him. This new-found obsession with having me, after all the times he promised to never rush me? It’s because I’m so close to being unobtainable. He’s desperate for one last chance to claim me.

  Henry’s breath is hot and needy in my ear. “Be with me, Abi. I need you so much.”

  I release my grip from his neck, pulling my hands to my chest, the words of the advisors ringing painfully in my head. This is what he wanted all along. To draw things out until he could claim me like this, for bragging rights — right before I become another man’s wife. No matter how much I want him, if I do this, he’ll only be using me, and it will ruin everything for my family.

  He nuzzles my ear, rubbing the head of his shaft against me, going lower and lower little by little. Even as terrible thoughts race through my mind, my knees have gone weak from his touch and my pussy is pulsing with anticipation of him sliding that thick, powerful cock of his inside me.

  Goddammit. Tears well in my eyes as my heart shatters all over again. I’ve wanted this moment for so long, but this isn’t how I want it. This isn’t how I’ve pictured my first time, not with the images of all those women dancing in my head, not with this pain in my chest.

  “Don’t give yourself to him, please,” he whispers. “Be mine, only mine.”

  His words snap me out of limbo. I push my arms against his chest and shove him backwards. “That’s all you care about, isn’t it?” I cry.

  “What?” He looks at me, bewildered as I grab at the towel, pulling it around me tightly.

  “You just want to claim the prize,” I say softly, my body shuddering with sobs.

  “What prize?”

  “My virginity. I’m just another notch on your bedpost.” My voice cracks, and I look away.

  “No, Abi, that’s not true,” he pleads, reaching for me.

  I slink away from him, heading for the door.

  “Just leave me alone, please, before you wreck everything,” I say, my voice growing firmer. That’s it. Be strong. You can do this.

  “How? Please tell me what I did wrong,” he begs. “I swear to God, Abi, I would never do anything to hurt you.”

  I sniff loudly, my anguish giving way to anger. “How about beating the shit out of Finley? What was that, the jealous tantrum of a spoiled prince, used to getting whatever he wants?”

  He swallows hard, his eyes lighting up fury. “He deserved it, Abi. You don’t know what he’s really like.”

  “I bet,” I snap, my face drawn into a snarl. “I bet you’d love to tell me just how awful he is. Him and every other man on earth who stands between you and this,” I say angrily, pointing between my legs. “Well, I don’t care what you think, Henry. You’re only making things harder on me.”

  “Give me a chance, I’ll fix it, I swear.”

  “You’ll fix it?” I ask, my eyes wide with incredulity.

  “Yes. I mean, I’ll try my damnedest, I swear. I can’t stand to see you like this.”

  I tap my fingers to my chest. “This is who I should have been from the beginning, not the weak woman who fell into your arms every chance I got. I should have been strong and said no to you from the get-go, for my own sanity and for the sake of my family, instead of indulging in my girlish fantasies.”

  “You think that’s how I see you? Abi, you’re smart and beautiful and funny. You’re the most—”

  “Stop it,” I hiss, cutting him off. “It’s not going to work, Henry. No matter what you say, or how sweetly you say it, or how desperately you want me to believe your lies — my virginity is not up for grabs. I’m getting married, so just stop it.”

  He steps closer and grabs me, squeezing my arms. “Why? What is this obsession you have with getting married? We had a good thing going, didn’t we? I’m sure I’ve made mistakes with you, but we were having fun, weren’t we?”

  “That’s the problem, Henry. Life’s not always about the fun. Sometimes, you have to do the right thing, whether it’s fun or not. My family is counting on me. Just like your country is counting on you. It’s time for both of us to grow up and stop sneaking around like infatuated teenagers.” I pull away from him. “Now, excuse me, I have people waiting on me.”

  “Wait, Abi!”

  I pause at the door and take a deep breath before looking back. His shoulders are slumped, and his eyes are pleading, desperate, but I keep my face blank and ignore the knots of longing twisting inside me.

  “Please,” he says, “do one thing for me, just one thing, and I’ll stay out of your hair. I’ll leave you alone forever, if that’s what you want. Just do one thing for me.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t marry Finley, please. I don’t understand why you’re in a rush to get married, but if you’re determined to do it, please, just pick anyone but him.”

  I throw up my hands in exasperation. “Okay, why, Henry? Why shouldn’t I marry Finley, other than that you just don’t like him?”

  “He doesn’t deserve you. He�
��s not a good person. He’s shady, and dishonest, and he’ll only hurt you, Abi.”

  I swallow hard. “Funny, that’s exactly what I’ve been told about you.” I turn away from him and walk out of the room.

  Chapter 20

  HENRY

  There’s a knock on the hard mahogany of my bedroom door. A fire burns in the hearth, but my private suites are quiet and dark, every other light extinguished in the West Wing.

  I have a very, very limited list of approved visitors, so I don’t hesitate. “Enter.”

  The three-hundred-year-old door creaks open, and I see a familiar silhouette.

  “Spencer, my dear old friend!” I call loudly. “Come, have some scotch!”

  Spencer halts in the doorframe, scanning the room.

  I glance around as he does. Looks like the same as it did yesterday, and the day before, and every day since I was turned away from Abigail’s door that night after learning I’d somehow fucked up the best thing to ever happen to me.

  My bedroom is decorated with limp, shriveling honeysuckle blossoms strewn amongst the shards of broken vases. Smear marks dot the walls where the vases smashed against the plaster. Small pools of water marring the finish of the rich hardwood.

  I’ve refused the maids from entering. Leave it. It looks like my insides — a fucking wreck. I need it to remind me of the monster I am. The monster who does not deserve the love of a woman like Abigail.

  “Henry?” Spencer’s voice cuts through the darkness.

  “Here.” I hold my bottle of scotch so the firelight catches the green hues. “Want a pull?”

  I stare at the fire, mesmerized by the dancing flames, almost forgetting that my former best friend is still standing at the door. He can come or go, it makes no difference to me. I can drink alone just as easily.

  There’s a long silence before I hear footsteps and then the rustle of fabric as Spencer takes the chair beside mine — a high wingback, nineteenth century antique.

  “I heard you caused quite a scene at the spa in Doremont a few days ago,” he says after he settles.

  “Probably. Sounds like me.”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “Of course I fucking remember,” I bark, shooting a glare at Spencer. “I remember every goddamn excruciating detail of your sister rejecting me for Finley motherfucking Prescott. But hey, there’s enough alcohol in this place — I’ll forget eventually.”

  My bitter words hang between us for a long while and I return to staring at the fire. I haven’t seen Finley since the night the guards pulled me off him, but my fists are still sore from smashing into his chest and face, my knuckles bruised and covered with slow-healing gashes. Apparently, his face looked ten times worse than my hands, as there was no engagement announcement the next afternoon during the garden concert, nor the day after, nor the day after that.

  It gave me hope, which led me to hunt down Abigail at the spa, praying that Finley had just been spinning lies to piss me off. But it was a false hope. My heart shattered all over again when she slayed me with her words… I am marrying him. The announcement came later that evening, at an awards banquet in Doremont. I haven’t left my suite since.

  “He’s an asshole,” Spencer says quietly.

  “Who?”

  “Finley.”

  “I know,” I say.

  He takes the bottle of scotch from my hand and picks up an empty glass from the small side table. If a man can pour scotch angrily, it’s Spencer Strathmore. The amber liquid sloshes in his glass.

  “A real asshole, you know. Not the kind who gets mean when he drinks, or the kind that puts on airs and acts like a prick in front of the Council. I mean a genuine through-and-through asshole, Henry.”

  “I know.” I take the bottle back from him and turn it up. “I’ve always known.”

  “He’s being a total jackass to Abigail.”

  I grip the bottle of scotch so hard I’m sure it’s going to shatter in my hands. Spencer has brought my worst fears to my doorstep. His news stabs me straight in the gut. But what can I do? Abigail wants nothing to do with me, and Finley is everyone’s golden boy.

  “What the hell do you care?” I snarl at Spencer.

  The rage burning inside me at the idea of Abigail being mistreated is too big to keep tampered down. It pours out of me as I continue, my words laced with it. “I thought it was none of your business, that she doesn’t need anyone looking out for her?” I throw his own words back at him, the ones he said when the festival was just beginning, and my heart was still my own.

  Spencer sighs and tosses back his drink in one swoop. “I’ve been a pretty shitty big brother,” he says quietly.

  “About time you figured that out,” I growl.

  He takes a deep breath and stares at the floor for a long while then opens the stopper on the scotch, pouring himself more. “I can’t believe my sister’s marrying that asshole.”

  Spencer has no idea how badly I don’t want to believe it, either. It’s put me in a no-win situation, her insistence on marrying that fucking piece of shit. If I press forward with my investigation, she’ll find herself married to a man the world will quickly grow to despise, and the entire Strathmore family will be dragged through the mud. Worse, if I don’t pursue charges against Finley, it’s hard to tell what kind of pain he’ll put Abi through in private, safe from public outrage, free to continue his hellish behavior. The thought of it has crushed me completely. The only thing that dulls the pain even a little is the bottle of scotch — and the bottle yesterday, and the one before that.

  I shake my head. “I can’t believe it either. But she’s determined, and I couldn’t change her mind.” I grit my teeth as the sounds and images from our conversation in the spa play through my head. “The goddamn Royal Army couldn’t stop that woman once she decides she wants something,” I say bitterly.

  Spencer lets out a joyless laugh. “You really think she’s marrying Finley Prescott because that’s what she wants? Because she loves him and wants to have his babies?”

  My chest seizes, and my grip tightens around my glass. “So, what the hell is it? Why’s she marrying that scum?”

  “I shouldn’t have said anything.” Spencer waves his hands, the scotch in his glass sloshing wildly, a stalwart defiance in his voice. “Just stay out of it, Henry. There are things you don’t know.”

  “There are a lot of things you don’t know,” I snap. “Like did you know Finley is running that drug ring with Galloway Johnston?”

  Spencer’s eyes widen.

  “Oh yeah,” I nod emphatically. “They’re partners. I tried to warn you to stay away from him.”

  “I’d heard a rumor here and there about that, but nothing concrete.”

  “This isn’t just a rumor or smack talk,” I say, leaning forward in my chair. “Finley has a record a mile long, and I’m not talking about bar fights and speeding tickets. He’s had the money to pay people off and the political power to persuade investigations to get dropped. That’s the only reason everyone still thinks his shit is made of gold.”

  “I figure people talk smack, you know? They probably say terrible shit about us, too. So, I just dismissed it.”

  “It gets worse. He’s committed at assaults on women. Half a dozen, so far, that I’ve been able to uncover. Those are sexual assaults, Spencer. Is that the kind of man you want anywhere near your little sister?”

  Spencer stares back at me in stunned silence, shaking his head. “Fuck,” he says finally, the word drawn out in a breathy sigh.

  We sit quietly for a few minutes as Spencer digests the news.

  “Well, there’s nothing I can do about it,” he says finally, staring at the flames in the hearth.

  “Why the hell not?” I growl, my temper rising instantly. “Surely you still have some influence with Abi. Tell her about this shit — she’ll listen to you.”

  He shakes his head. “There’s no point.”

  My hands tighten into fists. “You’re her goddamn
big brother, fucking act like it!” If he still doesn’t understand how much Abi needs him, I’m prepared to beat it into him, old friend or not. I’ve had it with his apathy.

  “It’s not that,” he says. Spencer opens his mouth, closes it, and then tries again. “We owe a debt.”

  I practically jump from my chair. “I’m fucking loaded, Spencer. What’s the debt? I can pay it. Name the price.”

  The room is encapsulated by darkness and shadows, but the flickering firelight exposes Spencer’s watery eyes. “When has it ever been that simple?” he asks, defeat in his voice. He turns up his glass and drains it in one swallow.

  “What?” I beg. “What the fuck are you talking about? If I don’t have enough, I’ll take every goddamn cent from the Royal Treasury, I don’t care.”

  He just stares into the fire and shakes his head. “Money can’t solve this. Only Abi can.”

  “Why Abi? What does that mean?”

  He falls back against the upholstered high-backed wings, clutching the bottle of scotch. “The debt isn’t about money, it’s about her hand in marriage. Either she gets married before she turns twenty-three, or we’re all out on our ass. We lose everything — our titles, all our properties, our home, all our belongings. Everything.”

  “What?”

  Spencer shakes his head. “Yeah, that was my reaction.”

  He sloppily pours more scotch into his glass then sets the bottom on the floor as I stare at him, flabbergasted. “Why didn’t you tell me your family had run into trouble? How did you let this happen?”

  “It’s not us, man. It’s some ancient agreement from the beginning of time apparently. And Finley is the heir to this legal abomination. It just came to light recently, but it governs the ownership of the entire Beauregard estate. We didn’t make this mess, we just have to live with it.”

  It’s my turn to stare at Spencer in disbelief. My mind is reeling so hard it takes me a full minute to come up with words. “That’s… that’s just… damn.”

  “Exactly,” he sighs, futility in his voice. “There’s nothing to be done.” He tosses his head and downs the scotch.