Dangerous Fling
A Dangerous Noise Novel
Crystal Kaswell
Contents
Also by Crystal Kaswell
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Epilogue
Dangerous Encore Sneak Peek
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
More Books by Crystal Kaswell
For the broken bad boy I always wanted to save
And the other one too
Also by Crystal Kaswell
Dangerous Noise
Dangerous Kiss - Ethan
Dangerous Crush – Kit
Dangerous Rock – Joel
Dangerous Fling – Mal
Dangerous Encore - coming July 2017
Sinful Serenade
Sing Your Heart Out - Miles
Strum Your Heart Out - Drew
Rock Your Heart Out - Tom
Play Your Heart Out - Pete
Sinful Ever After – series sequel
Sign up for the Crystal Kaswell mailing list to get the Dangerous Fling extended epilogue. You’ll also get extended epilogues for the other Dangerous Noise books.
1
Lacey
For the millionth time, I smooth the sheets on the bed. Now, they aren't mussed enough.
They need to look lived in without looking messy.
No.
They need to looked fucked in.
This bed is the place where Malcolm Strong is fucking a glamour model turned actress. Only, in the music video, she won't be a model turned actress. She'll be…
Well, I'm not exactly sure what she'll be besides the woman Mal is fucking.
I scrunch the sheets. That's closer to where they need to be. Not that it really matters.
Most days, I don't mind sitting here, waiting for our celebrity client to show.
Today…
Fuck. That's a car pulling up outside.
Parking.
Turning off.
Its door opens and slams shut.
Footsteps move closer.
Those are steady footsteps. The footsteps of a beautiful six-foot-three, musclebound, inked-up rock star sex god.
The butterflies in my stomach rise up in my throat.
This is my job.
I can't freak out.
The butterflies ignore my logic. They spread out to my fingers and toes. My chest gets light. My head too.
The door pulls open.
And there's Mal, surrounded by the soft glow of the morning light.
He steps inside.
It's not like with other famous guys. They're always lacking something, plain, ordinary, dull when they should sparkle.
Mal is as brilliant as he is on stage, in photographs, in the band's six earlier music videos.
He's shining like the star he is.
His deep blue eyes fix on mine. His soft lips curl up at one side. It's a half smile. It's a tiny expression but it still lights up those piercing blue eyes.
God, he's beautiful.
His brown hair is hanging in messy waves. His grey t-shirt is snug around his strong shoulders. And his skinny jeans—god damn, this man is the poster child for form-fitting denim.
Get a grip, Lacey. Your number one job description is not fangirling over hot rock stars. So what if Mal is the only guy with a permanent place in your spank bank? So what if you respect him as a writer as much as you lust after him as a tattooed, tortured celebrity bad boy?
Future music video directors don't gush, no matter how many times they've touched themselves thinking of their actor. Musician. Whatever.
Danielle Kubbie's assistant certainly doesn't gush.
Mal takes another step into the studio. Suddenly, it feels smaller than its 800 square feet.
His deep voice flows from his perfect lips. "I thought the actress was a redhead."
He half-smiles at me. Then at Danielle.
He's teasing.
Or… does he really think I'm the video actress? I am standing next to the bed in a tiny, incredibly unprofessional tank top–and-shorts combo. But Danielle doesn't care. The studio air conditioning is crap and she'd rather I "look like a whore than smell like sweat."
Mal gives me a long, slow once-over. There's something about the shift of his hips. About the ways his pupils dilate.
He wants me in that bed.
As the actress in the video.
Or as…
No. I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm letting my sex dreams bleed into reality. There's no way that Malcolm Strong, celebrity millionaire, rock star sex god wants me.
Danielle laughs. "Mal, sweetheart. It's nice to see you." Her eyes go to the clock on the wall then to him. "Traffic?"
He nods. "It's a long drive from Orange County."
She purses her lips. He's late and Danielle doesn't allow anyone else to out diva her.
She forces a smile. "You don't have to explain. You're the rock star." She motions to the bed. "You ready to start?"
Mal cocks a brow. "No foreplay?"
His deep voice is as hard to read as his beautiful face, but I'm pretty sure he's joking.
His eyes light up.
Yes, definitely joking.
"I'm afraid I'm out of time for romance." Again, Danielle motions to the bed.
Her voice is easy to read. She's irritated he's late.
I offer Danielle a smile. I try to direct it towards Mal, but the moment my eyes connect with his, my cheeks flush.
My chest too.
Fuck, I'm hot.
It's too early in the morning for me to feel this hot.
He's moving closer.
Closer.
Three feet now.
He extends his hand. "Malcolm Strong."
Somehow, I shake. "Lacey Waltz." I bite my lip to keep from adding details. I love Dangerous Noise is the only acceptable compliment. I've been picking apart your lyrics for years and I regularly fuck myself thinking of you is far, far beyond an acceptable level of gushing.
Somehow, I pull my hand back to my side. It seems impossible that my brain is doing anything with the way it's filling with familiar fantasies: Mal throwing me on that bed, pulling off his t-shirt, ripping off my jeans, planting his face between my legs, and groaning against my skin the way he groans through my stereo.
Ahem. "I hate to disappoint, but I'm Danielle's assistant."
He nods, an I understand kind of nod. But he's still looking at me like he wants me in that bed.
God, I want to
be in that bed with him, his hard, sweaty body on top of mine.
Snap out of it, Lacey. You are not currently masturbating. You are at work. You are not losing this job because you're in love with Mal's persona. You know better than to buy into image. You're here to help craft his image.
Danielle's voice pulls me back to reality. "Where is your leading lady?"
She's not hiding the irritation in her voice anymore. Rock stars can pull diva shit—Mal is the lead singer and frontman of Dangerous Noise. He's the face of the band. He's irreplaceable.
The music video doesn't happen without him.
The video vixen is just another pretty model. She's one of thousands. Tens of thousands even.
"She's in makeup." I pull my cell from my pocket. My hands are slick with sweat. I can barely keep my phone in my palms. "I'll get an ETA."
Danielle taps her pen against her clipboard. "We need to move into a studio with space for a makeup room. This happens too often." She turns to Mal with a barely apologetic smile. "We're usually on location." Again, she motions to the bed. She does it in a this is the third time I've suggested you hop onto that bed. Are you dense or just difficult? kind of way. "We can get the solo stuff first."
A hint of regret flares in Mal's eyes. He looks back to Danielle. "Sure."
He moves onto the bed in an impossibly sensual manner. How can one person be this sexy? It defies logic.
Danielle goes to the camera, and I take my place behind her, waiting for instruction.
This is as it should be. The hot musician is posing. The brilliant director is taking in the light in the room. And I'm here, learning everything I can from her as I tend to her beck and call.
Only, Mal is still looking at me like he wants me in that bed.
He's not exactly wrong, creatively.
His image is pure tortured bad boy. He's someone who fucks because he hurts, not because he loves pussy and fake tits. The actress on her way is a former Playboy model. She's undeniably beautiful, but she's firmly in the cheap groupie type—as directors, it's our job to sort actors into types.
I'm in the normal girl type. In Hollywood, that means pretty and thin but not drop-dead beautiful.
That's what this video needs. Not me. But a woman who looks a little less glamorous and a little more everyday.
Suggestions rise up in my chest. I have to bite my tongue to keep from spilling my ideas to Danielle. She has a vision. And she doesn't want my feedback. She doesn't want anyone's feedback.
This is a great job. I'm learning a lot. If things were different, if I was still with Adam, maybe I could risk it. But I need the cash more than I need to honor my inner Dangerous Noise fan or my inner filmmaker.
My inner filmmaker whines, but I'm going to keep my mouth shut.
For half an hour, I move lights and hold reflectors as Mal moves around the tiny studio.
He stares out the window longingly.
He tears off his t-shirt.
He climbs into bed, tugging at the sheets, raking his hand down his torso, staring at the empty spot next to him.
The man is somehow expressive and stoic at once. He has a quietness to him. But he still manages to convey this deep pain that goes all the way to his soul.
His blue eyes are filled with anguish.
His posture is heavy. Tired.
Then it's strong. In control. Demanding. I want you. I'll have you. I know you want that too.
He tugs at the waistband of his jeans.
He unbuttons them.
He goes to push them off his hips.
My heartbeat picks up.
My breath hitches.
Malcolm Strong naked.
In front of me.
Yes.
Now.
Please.
This is a fucking dream.
Only it's not.
Because there's this buzzing in my pants. My cell.
A text.
Karen: Twenty minutes. Sorry. She was late and wearing last night's makeup. And hungover. And cranky.
Lacey: Your new favorite model?
Karen: You're my favorite, babe. Let me do you after this. Please <3
A boring sit in the makeup chair is the perfect way to get my mind off Mal nearly naked.
Off Mal nearly naked with some groupie-type.
Lacey: If Danielle doesn't mind.
Karen: Thank you. I'll rush. I promise.
I slide my phone back into my shorts. "Karen will be here with the model in twenty minutes."
Danielle breaks from her cinematography trance. She studies the window on our left. Then the one on our right. "We're losing the light."
We are. It's still early enough that the light in the room is soft and pretty. But this is August in Los Angeles. We're quickly approaching the harsh light.
"Should I hang the blackout curtains?" I offer.
"No." She taps her fingers against her camera.
Her eyes go to the window. To Mal, kneeling in that bed with his jeans undone, all sexy and perfect and yummy.
She looks to me.
Oh no.
I don't like the expression on her face.
"Lacey." She points to me, then to the bed. "Stand in for me." She doesn't wait for an answer. She goes right back to her viewfinder. "I want to race the light."
Standing in is a normal part of my job description. It's usually for the hot celebrity, not the model, but it is a regular occurrence.
This is a normal work duty.
It doesn't matter that I'm standing in as the girl in the Dangerous Noise video.
It doesn't matter that I'm climbing into bed with Mal.
I can do this.
My inhale is sharp. My exhale is shallow. Slowly, I move my left foot. Then my right.
Danielle makes one of those hurry up noises.
I take another step. Another. My knee brushes against the bed.
I plant my palm on the sheet and slide onto the mattress.
This is normal.
Only it's not.
There's nothing normal about being in bed with Mal.
With the one musician who has a place in my heart.
That's Mal, three feet from me.
His jeans unzipped.
His blue eyes on mine.
His hands…
Fuck, his hands are skimming my hips.
My heart pounds.
Breathing—what the fuck is breathing?
"Sweetie, you're fucking him. You can't do it from that far away." Danielle taps her camera in that you're irritating me gesture of hers.
"Right." I'm fucking Mal. As the stand-in. The actress. Whatever.
I took several semesters of acting classes at USC.
I know acting.
I move closer.
There's only a foot between us. This is kissing distance. Fucking distance. The closest I've been to any guy who isn't Adam since high school.
My thoughts evaporate as Mal slides his hands around my waist.
He presses his palm into my lower back to pull me closer.
He stares down at me. "You okay?"
So much for my epic composure. But then he doesn't know I'm nervous because he's my celebrity crush. For all he knows, it's normal stage fright.
I force myself to look up at him.
God, he has beautiful eyes.
I force a smile. "I'm used to being behind the camera."
"Took me a while." His palm presses against the bare skin of my lower back. "It's fun once you get used to it."
It's fun, being in front of the camera with Mal.
I nod.
He raises a brow. You sure you're okay?
Again, I nod.
He doesn't waste time. His hand slides up my back, over my tank top, across my exposed skin.
He undoes my ponytail and drags his fingers through my hair.
I press my lips together. I exhale though my nose. I try, hard, to keep from moaning. Or groaning. Or falling back onto the bed and pleading with him t
o literally make my dreams come true.
Danielle's voice barely registers. "Keep going. You two look perfect." She's happy. She's never happy. "Really, Lacey. You should act."
I'm perfect as the girl in Mal's bed.
I…
He digs his hand into my hair. It's rough. It's tender. It's raw power and it's fucking intoxicating.
That's Mal.
The one in my head.
The one on the album.
The one in that poster that used to hang in my dorm room.
My eyelids flutter closed as he leans in.
Slowly, his lips brush mine.
It's for the cameras.
A fake kiss.
Pretend.
But God, it feels so fucking real.
My entire body is buzzing.
Those are Mal's lips on my lips.
Mal's hands on my skin.
Mal's hard body against mine.
I slide my fingers through his short hair. I tug at his jeans. And I sink into his touch.
Slowly, he lowers me onto the bed.
Then he's pinning me with his hips.
Lifting my arms above my head.
Holding my wrists down with his palm.
He stares at me, his eyes full of desire.
But then he looks to the camera. He is acting.
As we change angles.
As he pins me from behind.
As I climb into his lap and wrap my legs around him.
It's all pretend.
But his body is in this as much as mine is.
He's hard.
2
Mal
It's hard to complain about spending the morning rolling around in bed with a gorgeous woman.
But the whole this is pretend, it doesn't end with her screaming my name as she comes on my face…
That, I don't like.
This Lacey woman is either a hell of an actress or she's fucking desperate for me.
She tugs at my hair as my lips brush her neck.
Her groans vibrate over my cheeks.
Her brown eyes are wide with need. Her dark hair is messy. That tiny tank top is falling off her shoulders.
Fuck, I'm tempted to do away with the thing entirely.
To slide all the way out of these jeans.
To get her out of those shorts.
To ask Danielle the Diva—the director has a hell of a reputation for being difficult, worse than mine even—to get lost so I can fuck her pretty assistant.
Dangerous Fling: A Rock Star Romance (Dangerous Noise Book 4) Page 1