by Knight, JJ
This time, when I take the ring, I know what it comes with.
“You can think about it,” he says.
“I do want to marry you.”
“Then take the ring and say yes.”
I try to move my hands, but my whole body is frozen. Something isn’t right.
“It’s been a long day,” I say.
He takes the ring between his fingers and examines it, turning it in the light. “Jess, it’s just a ring. If we let a ring have any power over us, or intimidate us, it’s no different than letting in fame, or the press, or anything from the outside world.”
I force myself to look up into his eyes. “What are you saying?”
“That I don’t need a ring on your finger to know that you’re mine. Or that you love me.”
“I love you, Dylan. I honestly do.” I look down at the ring again, confused by everything. Now that it’s not on my finger, I feel lighter. I’m not here with Dylan because it’s expected of me, but because I want to be here.
“Look around you,” he says. “Do you care that it’s just the two of us here, on a mattress on the floor?”
“Of course not.”
“Nobody knows we were going to get married here this weekend. There’s nothing arranged, nothing to cancel.”
“Okay,” I say slowly. “Um. What?”
“Let’s spend the weekend here together. Instead of standing in that atrium out there with a bunch of people staring at us, let’s…” He trails off, like he had a plan in mind, and we’ve just reached the end of it.
“Camp out together?”
He grins. “Yes. Let’s both take a few days off work and just relax.” He holds the ring out to me. “And if you want the ring and all the other stuff, that’s okay, too. My purpose in life is to make one person happy, and that person is you.”
“Dylan, I don’t need the ring. All I ever wanted is you.”
He tosses the ring over his shoulder, into a pile of laundry.
I squeal in horror. There’s a heater vent nearby, and it could have fallen into the vent.
Dylan chuckles at me. “You do like the ring.”
“The ring is gorgeous.” I playfully swat him on the chest.
“You’re gorgeous.”
He wraps his arms around my torso and leans down to kiss me.
One kiss turns into another.
He hooks his hands under my armpits and lowers me back onto the bed. We keep kissing, until he’s inside me, and our bodies are moving as one.
Yes, I tell him with every arch of my back. Yes, with every sigh on my lips. We’re together because we want to be together. I never wanted a ring, I only ever wanted him.
Chapter Nine
In the morning, my brain is fuzzy and I’m confused about where I am. But I don’t care, because I can feel Dylan beside me.
I open my eyes and look around the room. Something on top of a pile of laundry glints in the morning sunshine. It’s my engagement ring, still sitting where Dylan tossed it last night.
The ring is out of reach, but I make a mental note of where it is. My phone is next to the bed, so I grab it and check for messages. I talked to Riley and Amanda last night using Dylan’s phone, since mine is still hacked. I let them know I hadn’t been kidnapped by a stranger—just by Dylan.
Amanda has sent me a text message this morning: Now that you’ve finally dumped him for good, I’ve got some great guys to set you up with!
I’m startled for an instant when I see her message, then I remember we planned this last night, before I finally went to sleep. We don’t want to let on that I know about my hacked phone, or that Dylan and I are back together. If these people find out I’m back in his arms, I don’t know what they’ll do. I don’t want to find out.
I send Amanda a message: Find me someone who’s not a sensitive artist. After everything with Dylan, I don’t want anyone who is even remotely like him.
She replies: I know just the guy. He’s an MMA fighter, not an artist. Look at the picture. This is Parker. I’m not sure if he’s single right now, but I’ll make some calls and check for you.
She has included a photo of a really muscular guy, in a boxing pose. He’s got beautiful tattoos running up his bicep onto his shoulder. Looking at the photo makes me feel a touch guilty, like I really am setting up a date with this guy.
Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing, though. I could see this guy for dinner and a photo opportunity. The Los Angeles MMA guys don’t mind getting their pictures in the press.
I send Amanda a message: Wow, he’s gorgeous. Where do I sign up?
She sends me a message with some suggestions about what I might do with this Parker guy to calm him down after one of his fights. Her message makes me blush, and I guiltily toss my phone back into my purse.
Dylan stirs beside me and flops one arm over my side, then pulls me into him. I’m still feeling funny about pretending to make dates with an MMA fighter, so I let out a nervous giggle.
“Hey,” he growls, his voice thick and raspy from sleep. “What’s so funny?”
“Amanda, mostly. And us. And this whole situation.”
“Life is funny.” He squeezes me tight, pressing my back to his chest.
“It wasn’t so funny yesterday when you kidnapped me and brought me here. You know, you could have just asked me, in the car ride.”
“You might have said no.”
The glinting engagement ring catches my eye again. How can he just leave it there, sitting on top of crumpled jeans? No, I can’t talk to him right now about the engagement. He’s right about us needing some time together with no pressure. I try to push the ring out of my mind.
“You’re a kidnapper,” I say, teasing him.
“Mmm. I’m gonna keep you here forever. My prisoner of love. I’ll buy an island and put you in a tower on the island.”
I pull my eyes away from the glinting diamond ring and look around us at the messy room. There’s a crumpled McDonald’s takeout bag over in one corner.
“You went to McDonald’s without me?” I roll over to face him and pretend to be deeply offended. “That’s our special place. How could you?”
He grins and rubs his dark beard thoughtfully. “I shouldn’t have gone, because it only made me miss you more. Then I had to eat all of the fries by myself, and now I’ve got a french-fry belly.”
I reach down under the covers and try to squeeze his so-called french-fry belly. There’s nothing but muscle and smooth, warm skin. He flexes for me, showing off.
I let my arm relax, resting my hand on the side of his waist. It feels good to be together and naked, with nothing between us.
He grabs the arm I’m using to prop up my head and stretches it out toward him. He lays my arm along the bed and uses my bicep as a pillow for the side of his face. He shifts his body closer to me, so our knees are touching, and gazes into my eyes.
With my hand on his waist, I feel like our bodies are forming a closed circuit of intimacy. In between us is love.
“I’m glad you stayed over.” He closes his eyes and rolls his head forward to kiss my bare shoulder. “This place really needed a woman’s touch.”
I let out a small chuckle. “And a housekeeper.”
He kisses my shoulder again, shifting even closer to me. He nudges my knees apart with his leg, then rests his firm thigh between my thighs.
Gruffly, he says, “Do you know what else needs your woman’s touch?”
“Let me guess.”
My hand is still on his waist. He flexes his muscles with a suggestion. I let my hand slide down, then let out a surprised sound at what I find.
He moans in response, then kisses my shoulder again. As I squeeze him and move my hand up and down, the space between us fills with energy.
We’re both quiet as I use my hand to tease him. The energy between us grows, and I start to rock my hips in rhythm with my moving arm.
He inhales deeply, then slides his leg up between my legs, opening me to him
. He reaches over to me with a slow, gentle hand.
His touch is a revelation, making me gasp. His fingers slide along, my excitement making his fingertips glide. He applies pressure, finding my nub.
I let out a soft moan. It feels so good, I’m utterly distracted, and my hand slows to a stop on his length. He doesn’t need my touch there, anyway, because it couldn’t get more hard than it is.
He brings his thigh up between my legs, and as he pulls away his fingers, he presses his leg against me. In response, I squeeze my legs together on his thigh and rock my hips, grinding against him.
He lets out an encouraging groan and grabs my hip to press me against his leg and increase the pressure. I keep rocking my hips, and now I’m breathing heavily. This feels good, but it’s not enough.
We kiss, both of us breathing heavily as the energy between us becomes more electrified. He holds me steady with one hand on my hip, so I’m riding his firm thigh, and he kisses my neck, my shoulder, and then my neck again.
I softly call out his name, and he nibbles my earlobe in response.
I tell him I need him inside me, and he immediately pulls away and rolls onto his back. He grabs me by the waist and lifts me over to him.
The sheets fall away, and we’re bare and naked on the plain white sheets, in the golden sun.
He sets me down slowly. My legs are spread wide, around his hips, and I lower myself onto him. I’m sensitive from last night, and the initial friction pulls at my skin as he slides in. The pressure is nearly enough to send me over the edge, but I hold on, taking it slow.
I keep myself upright, sitting astride him, and I can feel his eyes on my breasts. He reaches for my legs and slides both palms up the sides of my thighs.
I flex those muscles to ride up on him and then slide down, taking him deeper. I can see the tension in his body as his chest and stomach muscles flex with even the smallest movement of his hips beneath mine.
He reaches up further, to my breasts, and cups them tenderly. While looking in my eyes, he splays his fingers and catches my nipples between his fingers, pinching them.
The squeezing pressure on my nipples floods me with lust.
I murmur for him to squeeze them harder, and he does.
I cry out and tip my head back, eyes closed. His touch is addictive. I forget about everything below the waist and just focus on the sensation in my breasts.
He’s all too happy to keep pleasuring me like this, squeezing and playing with my breasts.
I cry out that I’m coming, and he begins to move underneath me like a wild beast. He lifts his hips from the bed, throwing me upward with the momentum so I come crashing down on him.
He keeps bucking, and I feel him go so rigid inside me, thick with pressure before he releases.
He starts to come, and as I feel the hot warmth inside me, I crumble inward and then explode outward.
I feel like I’m falling, but he’s got me.
He’s catching me in his arms.
Everything is fireworks. Fireworks inside my head, all around us.
Now we’re rocking slowly, and he’s sitting up. I’m no longer on my knees, but my legs are wrapped around him, and he’s deep inside me.
We keep rocking, soothing each other, pulsing deep within.
Chapter Ten
Dylan is serious about keeping us hidden away in the rented Malibu mansion so we can reconnect in private.
I’ve got the rest of the week off work to recover from my jet lag, but even if I didn’t have the time, I’d demand it. Our relationship is more important than my career… and more fun.
After we shower and get dressed—me in the work clothes I wore yesterday—Dylan suggests we leave the house just long enough so we don’t get cabin fever.
We take a taxi to Morris Music and pick up my BMW. Unlike Dylan’s bright blue Maserati, nobody looks twice at my car. Of course, if we were in my old hometown, everyone would stare at my relatively fancy car, which I find amusing.
Dylan is overjoyed to find the frizzy red wig I wore as a disguise when I visited Ryanna. He jokingly puts the wig on and asks how he looks as a woman with red hair. With the thick, dark brown beard he’s been growing, he is not a convincing redhead.
The wig is very handy, though, and the fake glasses. Since I don’t have any clothes with me at the mansion, I put on my disguise so we can go shopping undercover.
We drive around and decide to look for clothes at a discount outlet, inside a shopping mall. It’s a weekday, and not very busy inside the mall. Nobody even looks our way, let alone recognizes us.
Dylan visits a bank machine so we can pay for everything we need in cash. I laugh and tell him I feel like we’re on the run from the CIA. But the truth is, most people will meet a celebrity and not realize why the person seems so familiar. Sometimes, it’s that moment where Dylan is paying for something with his credit card that we’ll see the waitress or cashier’s eyes bulge out at his name on the card.
We buy our new clothes with cash, and the guy ringing us up casually asks what we do for a living in L.A.
Dylan nods to me and says we’re a folk-rock duo trying to break into the music business.
The guy nods and says he’s a screenwriter, but he also runs an open mike night at a local cafe. “Hey, why don’t you drop in and play a set one night?” he asks.
“Cool. I’d do that,” Dylan says.
The guy hands Dylan a flyer for the coffee house, and they talk for a few minutes about which nights are best for new people.
As Dylan turns away, he is so fixated on the coffee house flyer, he forgets the bags on the counter. I quickly grab them and chase after him.
“Are you really going?” I ask him.
He frowns and stuffs the crumpled flyer into his pocket. “I’m sorry, Jess. I really was thinking about it for a minute, but I caught myself. Today and this weekend are about me and you, not me and music.”
“That guy seems nice.”
“I guess.” Dylan puts his arm around my shoulders and steers me through the mall, toward the scent of popcorn. “Want to catch a matinee?” He grins. “Like normal people do when they’re at the mall?”
I agree, and we walk up to the marquee. There are so many movies playing right now that I’ve never heard of. If it’s not a movie that’s licensing music from one of our artists, I don’t know anything about it.
“Wow,” I say. “These are all new to me. I must have been in Italy for a long time.”
He leans over and kisses me. “A lifetime. But next time you go, we’ll both go together. Maybe we’ll do something special.”
Special? At the mention of something special, my bare ring finger twitches. After wearing the engagement ring for a year, my finger feels naked without it.
Dylan must have scooped up the ring when I wasn’t looking. It had been lying on top of some clothes, and I’d memorized the spot because I was worried about it getting lost. This morning, I tidied up the room a bit. The ring wasn’t there, but he hadn’t moved anything else.
As we look over the movie posters, I nuzzle up close to him and say, “Where’d you hide my ring, anyway?”
He chuckles. “Somewhere safe.”
“I hope you didn’t return it to the store.”
He smiles and keeps looking straight ahead at our movie options. “You’ll see your ring again, I’m sure.”
“Is this a game we’re playing, or are you mad at me for not saying yes right away?”
He turns his head just enough to give me a sly look. “I’m not mad.”
“So, it’s a game?”
“I’m not going to put it in the bottom of a bucket of movie popcorn, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Now I have to laugh. “Do people do that?” I stop laughing and sigh. Great. Now I’m going to be digging around in the bottom of the popcorn bucket for my ring.
We pick a movie, get a fortune’s worth of junk food, including popcorn, and head into the dark theater.
Throughou
t the movie, I keep thinking about the ring, and what Dylan said about doing something special in Italy. Is he planning to propose to me again, in Italy? Do I have to wait that long?
The ring isn’t at the bottom of the popcorn bucket, but he gives me a knowing grin when we finish the popcorn. This is a game for him, I think. I should try to roll with it and be more fun.
I feel so confused about last night, about how he proposed, and how I didn’t say yes and take the ring right away. He seems so happy now, like what I did was actually the right decision.
Maybe he doesn’t care about marriage as much as I do. He was married once before. What if he doesn’t want to get engaged again? What if part of his meltdown in Italy was pressure from the upcoming wedding? Now that our secret wedding ceremony is cancelled, he sure seems a lot happier.
In fact, he doesn’t seem at all worried about anything, including his upcoming album. The last we heard from Morris, it was on hold. He should be freaking out right now, but he’s stuffing his mouth with junk food and watching an action movie.
I do like this new, relaxed Dylan, but I feel unsettled. We still don’t know who hacked into my phone, or who’s trying to sabotage us.
The knot in my stomach tells me that no matter how long we hide out in our disguises, eventually we’re going to be in the spotlight again.
Chapter Eleven
We’re not married, but I feel like we’re on a honeymoon.
Dylan and I spend every waking minute together, and hold each other close at night.
By Sunday, we’re in a comfortable routine. I really don’t want to return to work on Monday.
Dylan makes us waffles for a late breakfast and we eat out in the rented mansion’s garden, sitting cross-legged on towels because the house doesn’t have loungers out here. After we finish, he takes the plates and disappears inside the house to make some phone calls. I take a nap on a towel in the sunshine.
I wake up after about an hour, go inside the house, and make a fresh pot of coffee.
I’m sitting at the kitchen’s bar counter reading a magazine when Dylan comes into the room. He frowns at the bag of coffee grounds.