Dangerous Fling: A Rock Star Romance (Dangerous Noise Book 4)

by Crystal Kaswell

  "Every time my parents come around, my head fills with ideas about how things will change. Even now, I'm working out how to best invite Piper and Ethan over for a family dinner. Then we can watch a movie or play a board game after. Take another walk on the beach. Talk about our lives. Anything."

  "Is that what you want?"

  "That's all I've wanted for a long time. I want us to be a family again."

  "Is that really the only thing you want?"

  "No, but it's top of the list." My gaze goes to the window facing the port of Long Beach. The water is that same beautiful shade of blue as always. What the hell else do I want? Everything is muted compared to how much I want my family happy and healthy and together.

  But I don't get that.

  I have a great fucking life. One that will never involve the five members of the Strong family together again.

  Deep down, I know that.

  But no matter what I do, my heart won't get the memo.

  I look back to Lacey. "When Ethan learned to play guitar, that was the only thing he wanted to do. His passion was contagious. Like yours. You couldn't look at him while he played without thinking this kid is doing exactly what he's meant to do."

  She nods. "He does get this look in his eyes."

  "You get it too."

  "Yeah?"

  "I love it."

  Her cheeks flush. She stammers something then promptly swallows her tongue. It must be the word love. That word has a heft.

  I've never told a woman I loved her. I've never felt anything approaching romantic love. There's something in my heart pounding for Lacey, something suspiciously like the shit in every pop song I've ever heard.

  I push past my uncertainty. "Ethan, even now, he has that boyish excitement. Imagine that times a hundred."

  She nods. "That's a lot."

  "That's what he was like. Everyone could see it. Mom and Dad could see it. But whatever I did, I couldn't get them interested. They'd promise to sit down and watch him play, then they'd get home late from work and delay until tomorrow. Then they'd do it again. And again. It took months to get them to finally listen to one song, and when they did, they sat there, their attention still at work."

  "That must have hurt."

  "It broke his heart. I hated them for it. I've hated them for a million things. But I still have this stupid fucking hope that things will be different. That Mom being sick is going to change things. My hope is a fucking weed. No matter what I do, it blooms."

  "What's so bad about that?" She leans in closer. "Dandelions are beautiful. And the way they float on the breeze… it's a great shot." Her cheeks flush. "Sorry, I shouldn't bring it back to that."

  I shake my head. "Don't be sorry." I do love the way her eyes light up when she talks about work. Her enthusiasm is still contagious. My heart is still beating. My blood is still pumping.

  "People always insult weeds, but they're resilient. They survive everything. They thrive everywhere. They take what they want, everyone else's will be damned."

  "You saying I'm a dandelion?"

  "No. You're too strong. They blow away with the wind." Her eyes fix on mine. "Everyone holds onto hope. I did with Adam. I have with my mom, for a long time. I had that low point can I really live like this a million times before I decided I couldn't. With Adam and with my mom. Hope made me stupid. It made me hate myself. But it was the only way to keep going."

  She's right.

  But I still want to destroy every fucking wisp of hope weighing me down.

  28

  Mal

  Lacey and I linger at the diner, talking about nothing over cup after cup of tea, for ages. Everything feels right at that table. On the walk to her car. On the drive back to the restaurant so I can pick up my car—she insists.

  As I plant a long, slow goodbye kiss on her lips.

  Even on the drive home.

  As soon as I step inside the house, everything goes wrong.

  Mom is sitting on the couch with a legal pad in her hands. Dad is sitting next to her, his eyes on the police procedural on TV, his thoughts on Mom.

  He looks to me with a nod. "Malcolm, son. How is your girlfriend?"

  "Good. She has a lot to do before our video shoot." I toss my keys on the counter.

  Mom and Dad nod uh-huh. There's no enthusiasm in their eyes.

  "We're scouting locations tomorrow."

  They make that same uh-huh.

  I have to be sure. "We're all going to be naked in the video."

  They nod the same uh-huh.

  I should change and head to the gym. I should get the fuck out of here. I should make like Piper and shatter whatever part of my heart creates this toxic hope.

  Instead, I move into the kitchen and put on the electric kettle and a pot of coffee.

  I stand there and watch the stainless steel appliance until it's steaming.

  I pour tea. I fix Mom and Dad's coffee and bring it to them. I sit next to Mom on the couch and try to convince myself she's not always going to be a million miles away.

  "How about I make dinner tonight?" I offer.

  "Maybe sweetheart. I'm not very hungry lately." Mom offers a weak smile.

  "When's your appointment?" I ask.

  "Tomorrow is the first one. I'll have tests all week," she says.

  "How about I invite Piper and Ethan for dinner?" I offer.

  Mom nods okay. "It's strange, them not being here."

  Dad nods.

  They have no fucking idea what's going on in our lives.

  I try to catch Mom and Dad up on Ethan and Piper's last few years, but they only half listen.

  It isn't until I change the subject to work that Mom perks up.

  Even in this state, her blue eyes light up and her voice jumps an octave.

  Everyone in our family is this way. We're all passionate about what we do.

  We all make sacrifices for it.

  Am I really different than Mom? I left Piper alone half the year she was seventeen. And again the year she was eighteen. I promised her no one would ever leave her again, and I left.

  I sit there, talking with Mom about work until she excuses herself for a nap.

  Her apathy is palpable.

  But I still want to spend time with her.

  I still want my family back together for whatever time we have left.

  29

  Lacey

  I spend all of Sunday worrying about Mal. Okay, I spend a lot of it binge-watching Futurama and texting Carrie about my mystery boy toy and how difficult he is.

  And there's the gym. But my workout doesn't bring its usual satisfaction. Instead, I think of the hurt in Mal's eyes and the softness in his posture and all the ways I want to soothe him.

  He arrives at exactly eleven on Monday. We make small talk about the weather, about the movies we watched, about his Mom's condition (still no word) for the drive to the first beach. He sits back as I make notes, then we have a silent drive to the second beach.

  We pick up lunch silently.

  We drive to the last beach silently.

  It's beautiful, perfect for the shoot, but that doesn't thrill me the way it should.

  Mal arranges our lunch as I scribble in my notebook. Even with the heaviness in the air, this place is paradise. Even with the waves crashing into the sand, the air feels quiet. Still. Even with wedding gear up on our left—there's a ceremony at sunset—the place feels desolate.

  "It's romantic, don't you think?" I bite my lip, even as I motion to the white altar decked with big pink flowers. The chairs have turquoise bows and those same pink flowers. But Mal doesn't want to hear about weddings, not with everything changing.

  His blue eyes fill with something I can't place. "It is."

  I look back to my notes for some help in changing the subject. "Next weekend is our best bet. Saturday and Sunday. I think this is the beach. But we'll have limited time. There are sunset weddings on Saturday and Sunday."

  His eyes stay on the altar. "It's
perfect."

  "Good." I push off the blanket. "Can the food wait twenty minutes?"

  "I can't be held responsible for the disappearance of any sashimi."

  "Too many carbs in the sushi rolls?"

  His smile is more sad than anything. "Go, do your thing."

  "Thanks." I move around the beach, lining up all my future shots, scribbling our shooting schedule into my notebook. This should work. It will be tight doing everything in two days, but we can make it happen. And if not, we can squeeze in a third day.

  When I'm finished, I come back to the picnic blanket. Mal is sitting there, watching me with a proud smile.

  "Yes?" I slide my notebook into my purse.

  He pulls the plastic lids off our containers of sushi and grabs a piece of a salmon avocado roll. "You remind me of my brother."

  "Baby, don't stop with the dirty talk."

  He smiles. "I won't." He pops the roll in his mouth, chews, swallows, moves closer. "You have the kind of passion that's contagious."

  "That's good?"

  "Fucking amazing." He grabs another piece salmon avocado roll and brings it to my lips.

  I take the whole thing into my mouth, chew, swallow. It's good and I'm starving. "More."

  He does it with another. This time, his fingers skim my lips. I can taste the salt on his skin as much as I can taste the nutty brown rice (of course), the soft, rich salmon, the creamy avocado.

  He does it again.

  Again.

  Until I've eaten the entire roll.

  With the next, we take turns.

  We take turns feeding each other until we're done with our sushi.

  There's something sweet about him feeding me. Strange, but sweet.

  This really is the perfect place for a picnic. The sun is high in the sky but the ocean breeze keeps the air temperate. The crystal blue water is lapping at the pristine sand gently.

  I want to throw myself into the water.

  Then Mal pulls me into his arms and I want to stay there forever.

  Even with all the ugliness surrounding us, this is a beautiful afternoon.

  But I want more than being next to Mal.

  I want to do something to wipe his pain away.

  I turn back to him and run my fingers through his hair. He stares back at me with those deep blue eyes of his.

  God, the hurt in his eyes.

  But there's something else too. His posture is softer. Easier. He isn't trying to fight his pain or put on a poker face the way he does with everyone else.

  He's here with me.

  And he's hurting.

  This is something that hurts, but he can't take on the pain of it all the time. He needs a break.

  I move closer. "You don't want to talk?"

  "No."

  "You sure?"

  "Yes."

  It's fair. It's an ongoing crisis. He's powerless to stop it. Getting his mind off it will help more than anything else.

  Or maybe that's a lame excuse and I'm thinking with my libido.

  Either way, I'm not leaving without making sure he feels good for at least a few minutes.

  I open my mouth to speak, but I fail to find the words. They aren't my strong suit.

  I let my eyelids flutter closed and I press my lips to Mal's.

  His kiss is hard and hungry. He doesn't waste any time. He slides his hand under my dress and rubs me over my panties.

  Fuck, that feels good.

  I kiss him harder.

  I shift against his hand.

  I forget about everything but how much I want to make him feel good.

  He nips at my ear. "Take off your panties."

  I have to shift off his lap to do it. "Someone might come to the wedding early. They might see."

  "And?"

  It's a compelling counterpoint.

  I pull my panties to my ankles and kick them off.

  Mal slides his arm around my waist and pulls me into a deep kiss. God, all the need in his kiss…

  Right now, this is exactly what we both need.

  I melt into his touch as he pushes my dress to my waist and does away with my bra. He breaks our kiss to drag his lips down my neck and chest. Then he's sucking on my nipple.

  Fuck.

  We're here, on the beach, where anyone could walk by.

  It's a secluded spot, but it's easy to find.

  We could get caught.

  Someone could see.

  That thought should terrify me. But it doesn't. It makes my sex clench. It makes my nipples tighten.

  It gets me unzipping his jeans.

  Mal groans as I cup him over his boxers. As I stroke him over his boxers.

  He sucks harder. Then it's his teeth. A bite hard enough to make me yelp. But the pleasure that comes with it…

  Fuck.

  "Mal…" I should keep my voice down. The ocean is quiet here. The breeze too. There are no sounds of footsteps or faraway cars, but still…

  I shouldn't scream his name.

  I want to scream his name.

  He pulls away from my body enough to look me in the eyes. "You want to be in control, baby?"

  "I want to make you feel good."

  There's nothing in his expression but that mix of desire and control. I don't have a better way to describe it.

  The look in his eyes is commanding and satisfied at once.

  He lets out a low groan as he lowers himself onto his back. "Come here and sit on my face."

  I shift onto his body, like I'm about to straddle him for cowgirl and move forward.

  "Facing my feet."

  Oh.

  Fuck.

  My sex clenches. "I've never."

  "You'll like it."

  I nod, even though my thighs are shaking so hard I can barely hold myself up. I never even thought about sixty-nining with Adam, but the thought of giving Mal pleasure as he's giving it to me…

  Fuck.

  I barely manage to get myself into position, my knees planted outside his ears, my thighs against his cheeks.

  "Take me into your mouth, baby, and don't stop until I come."

  I groan something vaguely resembling a yes as I sink into my knees.

  His lips brush against my sex.

  He teases me with those soft brushes of his lips. Then with soft licks. His hands go to my hips. With a tight grip, he holds me in place, working me with those torturously slow licks.

  Fuck, the pleasure spreading, pooling in my core…

  I push his jeans and boxers down his thighs.

  And there's Mal, hard and ready for me.

  I place one hand on his hip for leverage then I bring my lips to his cock.

  He shudders as I take him into my mouth.

  As I flick my tongue against him.

  He licks me harder.

  I take him deeper.

  He groans against my inner thigh.

  I groan against his cock.

  Every flick of his tongue makes the knot in my core tighten. The pleasure spurs me on to take him deeper.

  Harder.

  Fuck, he feels so good in my mouth, soft skin over hard flesh. And he tastes so fucking good, like salt and like Mal.

  I suck on him as he licks me.

  We bring each other to the edge.

  Damn, that soft, wet tongue of his. I'm almost there.

  I buck against his mouth.

  He digs his nails into my hips, holding me in place, and he works me harder. Faster.

  Fuck, my sex clenches. Almost. Almost.

  There.

  I press my thighs against his cheeks, working him harder and deeper, as I come. The orgasm spreads out through my legs, to my toes.

  He keeps working me.

  It's intense enough it hurts.

  Fuck, that's a lot of sensation.

  Then the hurt breaks through and it only feels good.

  And I'm almost there again.

  I press my palm against his hip bone, doing what I can to pin him in place, and I teas
e his tip until he has to break to groan against my inner thigh.

  Then his lips are on me again and I'm taking him deeper.

  And I'm almost there.

  And from the way his groans are vibrating over my sex—he is too.

  I suck harder. Hard enough to hurt him.

  His hips buck as he thrusts into my mouth.

  Then his cock is pulsing.

  And my sex is clenching.

  And he's spilling into my mouth, digging his nails into my skin as he comes. Once he's spilled every drop, I swallow hard and push myself up.

  One more flick of his tongue and I'm there again.

  This time, I scream his name as I come.

  I groan and writhe and claw at his thighs.

  Mal licks me through my orgasm. Damn, the second one is more intense. Fast. Hard. Short.

  But fucking intense.

  I shake through it.

  When I'm done, he shifts our positions, bringing me onto the sand next to him. He pulls my dress back over my shoulder, pushes its skirt to my legs.

  I pull up his jeans and boxers and redo his zipper and button.

  He stares back at me with all this affection.

  And he kisses me.

  And I completely forget about everything but his body against mine.

  Our afternoon together passes too quickly. We find another beach and watch the sunset. We buy ice cream—coconut milk ice cream, of course—and eat it parked on the top of a high hill, next to some twenty-million-dollar mansion.

  We drive back to my place with the windows down and the radio blaring. Mal attempts, and fails to make a meal out of the food in my apartment, then we go back to that snooty seafood place.

  We fuck in my bed. Twice.

  We shower together.

  We fall asleep together.

  I wake up alone. There's a text on my cell.

  Mal: I have to get to the hospital. We'll talk soon.

  It's a reasonable explanation.

  But I still feel alone.

  30

  Lacey

  All week, I stare at my phone.

  I rub the screen like it's a genie’s lamp.

  All week, my texts with Mal are limited to small talk and finalizing shoot details.

  We agreed, no strings attached. Even with all this going on, neither one of us has said a word about changing that.