But I'm not that guy.
And I don't want to be that guy.
Even if the way Lacey is groaning as I pin her arms above her head is incredibly tempting.
I want her in my bed.
Naked and wanting and begging me to let her come.
Fuck, I can't remember the last time I was this hard. I need to send the genius who added spandex to skinny jeans a very long thank-you note.
I shift my hips to pin Lacey to the bed. For the life of me, I can't imagine how this footage fits into our video.
As much as I hate to extricate myself from between a sweet brunette's legs, I'm about to ask.
But the door swings open and a perky voice carries into the room.
"Sorry. We're late, but we're here." Footsteps move closer. The woman lets out a soft gasp. "Oh my God, Lacey? You look right at home. Tell me you're finally going from stand-in to actress."
Lacey clears her throat. She looks up at me, her eyes still hazy with lust. "I should get back to it."
She should. My cock is screaming no fair that we're shooting a video. We should be having fun.
I shift off the bed. The girl talking is a short, perky blond with a face full of makeup and an asymmetrical haircut. She's holding a square black bag. She must be the makeup girl.
The redheaded model our label picked out is next to her. She's undeniably pretty, but it's in a way that screams of fakeness. Fake hair, fake tits, fake nails, fake eyelashes. The hair and makeup I get—the camera doesn't see stuff the way the eyes do. But the tacky tube top, the heels, the long, red nails—
Her look screams cheap groupie.
Which means I'm going to be starring in a video that screams Malcolm Strong spends a lot of time and energy pining for cheap groupies.
That isn't my image.
I don't fuck groupies.
I don't fuck women who have think of me as anything more than attractive man I want in my bed.
Or maybe attractive man I want spanking me and tying me to my bed.
Lacey is slow about pushing herself to a seated position. Her expression gets sheepish as her eyes meet mine. "I'll get out of your way."
Her cheeks flush.
Her eyes go to the floor.
She must know she's not in my way. Not even fucking close. Damn, she's cute when she blushes. Maybe I have a thing for innocent women, but my head is filling with all sorts ideas about introducing this girl to pleasure.
Her dark, messy hair frames her face in a way that brings out her brown eyes.
Those eyes are expressive. And right now they're screaming I want you.
I tell myself to shake it off. Lacey is my colleague. Fucking a colleague is a bad idea. And I don't let my cock talk me into stupid decisions.
It's good she's leaving.
Even if my body is still whining.
Slowly, Lacey pushes off the bed and moves to Danielle. They whisper something that gets Lacey letting out a nervous laugh.
The makeup girl looks to them. "Danielle, can I please, please, please borrow Lacey for half an hour. I want to give her a night look."
"Only if I get to do something fun with her after," Danielle says. Her voice isn't irritated the way it was earlier. It's amused.
Lacey clears her throat. "That's more than enough time in front of the camera."
"But you looked good in his bed." Danielle turns to me. "What do you say, sweetheart? You want to make this a threesome?"
"I prefer one woman at a time," I say.
Danielle's expression is something between incredulous and full out please, don't lie to me. I know it's supposed to be the dream—two women at the same time. But I've had enough of that particular flavor of fantasy.
"Okay, one at a time." Danielle chuckles. "First the sweet one, then the experienced one." She nods to the model. "Have you two met? Mal, this is Sandy. Sandy, this is Mal."
The model nods hello then she goes back to staring at her fake nails.
She's not going to be fun.
That's for the best. My cock can't take any more stimulation.
I watch the makeup girl and Danielle negotiate for who gets Lacey. Eventually, Danielle sends the two of them away. They scamper to the bathroom down the hall.
And then the sweet brunette is gone.
And the day is back to being yet another responsibility.
You don't grow up thinking you'll complain about rolling around a bed with a stacked model, but here I am.
I push it aside.
This is my job. It's a weird fucking job, but it's still a job. That means doing shit I don't want to do.
I plaster on a neutral expression and shift back into character.
This is terrible.
It's not the model. It's not me. It's us.
We don't have chemistry.
We don't look right together.
We don't get shit done.
I play my part for the hour that we have the light. I get into my poses. I act out my scenes. But this is all pretend. I don't feel it the way I did with Lacey.
It's hard to explain. Acting is just like singing. You can pretend or you can be there, in that moment, living every fucking word. If I was as good of an actor as I am a singer, I could be in this moment, living pinning this pretty redhead to the bed.
But I'm not.
It's fake.
It's bullshit.
I can feel it.
When Lacey and the makeup girl return from their powwow, the this isn't right looks are written all over their faces.
Fuck, Lacey looks cute with her hair in curls and her makeup dark. She looks like a good girl trying to play bad.
She looks like she belongs in my bed.
I play my part for the rest of the shoot, but it never gets quite right. When Danielle calls a break, I'm glad to climb out of bed.
She smiles. "I think we've got it, sweetheart. Unless you have something else in mind." She looks to the clock. "I have a little time before I absolutely have to leave for my meeting."
My eyes go to Lacey. She's behind the desk in the corner. And she's looking back at me. She motions no, you're done.
She's right. I am done.
But how does she know that?
"We're good." I nod a thanks to Danielle. "Nice working with you."
"You too, sweetheart." Immediately, she directs all her attention to her camera.
I say a goodbye to the video vixen, then I grab my clothes off the floor, and I clean up in the bathroom.
I entertain myself with my cell until I hear the model, the makeup girl, and Danielle leave. I want to talk to Lacey alone, but I'm not about to get her into trouble with her boss.
I don't pull that kind of celebrity shit.
The moment I step into the main area of the studio, my gaze goes to her.
She's still sitting behind that desk, her attention on the screen, her eyes lit up with enthusiasm.
She really is cute.
And not just in a fun pretend playmate kind of way.
She tugs at her light tank top like she wants it gone. Her cheeks flush as her eyes meet mine. "Did you want to see the footage… I guess I don't need to call you Mr. Strong after that."
"Mal is fine."
"How do you get Mal from Malcolm?"
I cock a brow. "You have a whiteboard? I can break it down letter by letter."
Her eyes go back to the footage. Surprise registers over her face for a moment but she swallows it. "A lot of people would eschew a nickname that means bad."
"I failed Spanish."
She laughs. "I don't believe you."
She's right. I didn't fail Spanish. I've never failed at anything, and that includes the classes that fell to the wayside senior year.
I look back at her. "A lot of people would reject an offer to get into bed with a stranger."
"Not a lot of women. Not if it was you." Again, her cheeks flush. She clears her throat. Taps her fingers against the desk. "Besides, it's part of my job description."<
br />
"Making out with rock stars?"
"It's in my contract. I only act like the quiet, innocent stand-in. And you bought it, too." She holds her hand over her mouth and fake whispers. "They always buy it."
"Anyone stand out?"
"Nah. Made out with one rock star, made out with all rock stars." She laughs, but there's something in her eyes.
She's nervous.
Because we were rolling about that bed?
Or because she's got a thing for Malcolm Strong, Dangerous Noise singer?
She looks up at me. "What did you think of Sandy?"
"Not my type."
She bites her lip. "For the video?"
"Still not my type."
Her eyes go to the screen. She focuses on it for a moment then her eyes go back to me. "Can I trust you?"
"Depends on what you're about to offer."
"To keep what I'm about to say between us."
I nod. "Scout's honor."
"Ah, I know how that one goes. I ask were you a Boy Scout. And you say no, but I know how to tie a knot." She swallows hard. "I'm sure you do. Your reputation precedes you."
"The bondage?"
"Yeah." Her cheeks flush. "I do Danielle's research. It was my job to look you up. To watch all your videos, read all your interviews, listen to all your albums. I have to know exactly what image you're selling to the public." She manages to hold my gaze, but her expression screams except I already know your image. I'm a huge fan. I think about you every night. "I'm supposed to make sure you sign the release." She points to a contract on the table.
I take a seat and skim over it. "Is that your secret—that you do Danielle's research?"
"No." She watches me sign the release. "We both get it, the tortured bad boy image."
"We do?"
"The first day I worked for Danielle, I walked in on my second favorite musician doing coke off a prostitute's stomach." Her voice lifts. "While his wife went to pick up their daughter from school."
"Second favorite is specific."
She clears her throat. "I don't have a ranked list."
"Still."
"You think you're my favorite?"
"I am."
She clears her throat. "That's not relevant to the point."
"But that's why you're interested in my image."
"No. That's my job. But… I am a fan. I do know your image."
I shoot her a not buying it look.
Still, she stays composed. "Give me a break. You're super hot and you sing like you're about to fuck someone. Most women my age are a little bit in love with you."
"You can't be a little bit in love with someone."
"I understand that you're playing a role. Maybe it's 99 percent you, but it's still a role. We can agree on that."
"If you admit I'm your favorite."
She blushes.
Fuck, she's not like any fangirl I've ever met. She's holding her own in an actual conversation.
It's interesting.
Her smile lights up her dark eyes. "You're used to getting what you want. But I'm used to dealing with people who are used to getting what they want."
"Admit it and we can move on to your point."
She presses her lips together. Her eyes meet mine. She studies my expression. She must decide I'm worthy of validation, because she nods. "You are my favorite musician. Happy?"
"Ecstatic."
"You shouldn't be. It's mostly the whole singing like you're about to fuck thing. And your looks. Not your musical talent."
"You wound me."
"Good."
"But I don't believe you."
The blush in her cheeks deepens. "Well, that doesn't matter. What matters is that we can agree that your label sells you as Mal, the damaged brooding bad boy who hurts deep in his soul."
"And I'm not that guy?"
"How should I know? We just met." She turns the monitor so it's facing me. "This girl, this model. She's pretty, yes, but she's not someone the damaged bad boy fucks. That's not what your fans want to see."
"And you would know?"
She stares back at me. "Dangerous Noise has never done the video vixen thing before. I'm sure that's for a reason."
It is.
"This is a small industry. Word travels fast. You have a reputation for getting what you want."
True. I nod.
"If this is what you want, you've got it." She hits play and motions to the screen.
It's a clip of me with Sandy. Neither one of us looks all that interested. And she does look like a cheap groupie. Which makes me look like a tacky asshole who not only fucks cheap groupies but fucks them without any enthusiasm.
"Danielle has some image of you with a redhead. I don't know. I don't get it." She presses her lips together. "I know I'm fighting way out of my weight class here, but she won't listen to me. If I suggest a big change, she'll either throw a fit or fire me on the spot. But you… you have a bunch of rights in your contract. You're in charge of the video. You own all this footage. You can fire her and hire someone else to cut it together. I'm not saying you should do that, but she knows you have that right. She knows she has to listen to you if you demand a change."
"Go on."
"This… this could work with this footage. But only if you tell a story other than Mal likes to fuck groupies." She turns towards the computer and scans through the footage. Something in her posture changes.
It's the same thing I see in my younger brother Ethan. He falls into this trance when he's working on a song. And he doesn't snap out of it until it's perfect.
Lacey has that same passion for her work.
That same excitement in her eyes.
She hits play. "This, this tells a story."
She points to the image of me, staring out the window with longing. Then it's me and her in that bed, kissing, touching, groaning. She stops on a frame of me pinning her to the bed.
"This footage is raw, but I can already imagine it cut together. Women everywhere would swoon over this. Mal Strong, tender, passionate, in control." She goes to a frame of me sitting in the bed with a miserable expression. "Heartbroken. That's the Mal Dangerous Noise fans love."
I nod. She's right.
"And it's hot. Women everywhere would touch themselves to this video."
That same red flush spreads to her cheeks.
There's something knowing about her expression.
She's one of these women.
"You'd be okay with that?" I ask.
"Oh, well, this is just hypothetical. You'd want to reshoot with a new actress. A professional."
"What if I want you in the video?"
"But I… I'm not a model. Or an actress."
"You agree this footage is good?"
She nods.
"And Danielle won't use it?"
"I don't think so. All her stuff is pretty and glossy in this Hollywood kind of way. Did you watch any of her videos?"
"A few, but it's not my expertise." I can almost see what she means when I squint and recall Danielle's videos. They were lacking a certain raw energy. "What would your version of Hurt Me, Baby look like?" I ask.
She stops on a shot of me pinning her to the bed. "This raw power… that's the Mal everyone wants to save. Or to fuck. Or both." She pushes past her blush. "And that's the song. It's about wanting to hurt someone you love because they've hurt you. You need that half of it."
My chest tightens. She's dead on. But nobody looks past the way I sing like I'm in the middle of a fuck to get to the actual content of the lyrics.
"What's the other half?" I ask.
"There's a vulnerability there too. It's not just fuck you, asshole. It's also I love you, why did you hurt me? Something like this." She scans the footage until she gets to something of me sitting on the edge of the bed, staring off into the distance. "You want the mix of pleasure and pain. The I love you and the I hate you." She pushes back from the desk. "Stop me if I'm wrong."
"No. I like your i
dea." I stare back into her eyes. "Cut that together."
"No… you should tell Danielle. Suggest it."
"I'll pay you for it."
Her pupils dilate. Her lips press together. "A payment for editing the footage?" She pushes herself up from the desk and takes a step towards me. "You have any idea the standard rate for an editor for a band at your level?"
"No. Name a number and I'll tell you if I can make it happen."
She bites her lip. "Make an offer."
"You work tomorrow?" I ask.
She nods.
"Over the weekend?"
"No."
"Get it to me by Sunday night and I'll pay your rent for three months."
She stammers. "Three months?"
I nod.
Her eyes go wide. "Okay. Three months. It will be a rough cut."
"Sure." I pull out my cell and hand it to her. "Give me your number. I'll text you about meeting Sunday."
"Right." Her hands are shaking as she takes my cell, but she programs her number into my phone, shoots herself a text, and hands it back. "I better get to work."
I nod. "It was nice to meet you, Lacey."
"And the making out in bed for the camera part?"
I cock a brow. "I'll see you Sunday."
She nods. "See you then."
The expression that spreads over her face is anything but calm professionalism.
It screams I'm going to spend every night between now and Sunday fucking myself thinking of you.
Not that I can talk.
3
Mal
I spend the afternoon with my Kindle and an iced green tea. Not that I read much of this fucking book. Mostly, I think about canceling my, well, it's not a date.
Natalie and I are fuck buddies, heavy on the fuck, light on the buddies. We don't chitchat, we don't make small talk, we certainly don't share secrets.
I trust her to tell me what she wants.
She trusts me to tie her to her bed.
Our relationship starts and ends in her fancy downtown apartment. She lives a few minutes from Kit's old place.
She's pretty.
She's eager.
But she's not interesting. Not anymore.
My thoughts keep falling back to Lacey. She didn't stop me because she wanted fame. She wasn't looking for my attention.
Dangerous Fling: A Rock Star Romance (Dangerous Noise Book 4) Page 2