****
“Uh, Malcolm…? What is this?” Summer used her thumb to point to the bus, as if she were hitching a ride.
“I told you I was taking you to brunch.”
Malcolm walked ahead of her, but as he sauntered past, she saw he was fighting a smirk. He used the side of his fist to pound on the door of the tour bus, then stood to the side of the opened door.
Summer reached down and wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans. This was definitely a first. And he was definitely looking for a rise out of her. So there was no way he was going to get one. She raised her eyebrows and chewed the inside of her lip.
Summer waltzed by Malcolm and grabbed the handrail of the bus stairs. She tossed her long, loose hair as she spoke over her shoulder. “Oh, nice car, by the way.” She smirked at him and turned back, hoisting herself up the stairs, feeling his eyes on her backside.
Just then a Golden Lab, nearly the size of Summer, jumped out and hugged her, his front paws resting on her waist.
“Oh!” Summer laughed happily, rubbing the dog’s head. “Who is this?” She turned to Malcolm who was making his way onto the bus.
“Winston.”
“Hello, Winston.” Winston placed his paws on the ground but would not leave Summer’s side. He pushed up against her legs, nearly knocking her over. Summer laughed, grabbing the pole at the stairs to balance.
“Sorry,” Malcolm made his way around, trying to pull Winston off of Summer. “I guess I should have warned you.”
“Warned me?” Summer kept petting the dog’s head, playing with him. “Don’t be silly. I love dogs.”
“I can see that.” Malcolm latched his hand to the back of his head. “I’ve never seen him react this way to anyone before.” Malcolm suddenly went dark, and he walked to a window, gazing out.
“Oh, hey…” Summer followed Malcolm, with Winston at her heels. She giggled at Winston’s whimpering, and then gave her full attention to Malcolm. “I’m sorry. Really. I’m just new and animals sometimes respond to someone new…that’s all. I’m sure he’d be doing the same thing to you—and more—if I wasn’t here.”
Malcolm turned to face her. “That’s what you think? I’m jealous?”
Summer shrugged. “Not jealous…”
Malcolm smiled in a way that touched Summer deep in her core. He reached out and placed his hand on her cheek. Summer inhaled and closed her eyes.
“I’m glad he likes you.”
Malcolm dropped his hand, and Summer shivered in the void.
“He doesn’t get to see many people, so I’m glad he’s making a new friend.”
Summer warmed with the idea of being one of the only people to meet Winston. Yes, it was irrational, but sometimes irrational felt good. “Well you should take him out more often. He’s spectacular.”
“Yeah,” Malcolm nodded. “He is.”
Malcolm offered Summer a seat on a forward facing couch. As soon as she sat, Winston put up his front paws and wiggled his backside, trying to jump onto Summer’s lap.
Summer reached for him. “Is it okay?” Summer’s eyes were big as she craned her neck to speak to Malcolm. “Do you mind if he sits up here with us?”
“Do I mind?” Malcolm chuckled. “I think I should be asking you that.”
Summer smiled and hoisted Winston up onto the couch. Discreetly, she let her hand linger at Winston’s leg and felt the stiffness in his hips. She wondered if Malcolm understood Winston was a very old dog, and what, ultimately, that meant. Before anyone could say another word, Winston plopped his head on Summer’s lap and closed his eyes.
“I haven’t seen him do that in…a very long time.” Malcolm sat next to Summer, with Winston between them.
“Jumping up?” Summer tried to question him casually.
“No.” Malcolm shook his head. “Put his head on someone’s lap.”
Malcolm leaned forward, his legs relaxed, resting his elbows on his knees. Summer fought the urge to reach out and touch his back. He seemed like he could use a friend, and her desire to touch him was becoming intense. Instead, she busied her hands rubbing Winston’s head, and discreetly studied Malcolm—his wide shoulders, his arm muscles straining to break free of his t-shirt… Uncomfortable in her current state of possibilities, Summer decided to fixate on something less distracting. Her eyes danced around the inside of the bus, glancing from the high-end kitchen to the areas separated by curtains.
“This is some bus. I never knew buses could be this nice.”
“No?” He raised an eyebrow, looking at her.
“Nope.” Summer scratched behind Winston’s ears, lifting one and then the other.
“You’ve got an incredible gift with him.”
“Thanks.” Summer shrugged. “Anyway, it’s only the three of us on the bus?”
“Plus the driver.”
“Oh? You’re not driving?” Summer smirked.
Malcolm grinned at her. “Not today. Anyway, that’s why I brought Winston along. Just in case you thought I was up to something despicable.”
Summer fidgeted in her seat, and Winston whimpered when she moved. “Listen,” she lowered her voice not to bother Winston. “I really want to apologize about last night. I was wrong to think what I did and—”
“You were wrong. But I get it. I mean, with my reputation…I can only imagine what you must think.”
Looking at Malcolm sitting next to his dog, there was no way he could possibly know what she was thinking. They took turns petting Winston’s head.
“But I said terrible things. To you and Jimmy. Please send him my apologies. Or, I can write him a note and have Jeanette give it to Elijah—” Summer rubbed Winston’s head so aggressively he whimpered. “Oh, sorry.”
She pulled back, and Malcolm smiled.
“Summer, relax. Tell him yourself if you wanna.”
“How am I going to do that?”
“I’ll arrange it. Later in the week. Whaddaya say?”
What could she say? They were only minutes into their non-date, and already Malcolm had asked her on another. Or had he?
“Uh…Sure. Thanks. That would be really nice to have the opportunity to apologize—that is, if it’s not too much hassle for you.” Perspiration drenched the back of her neck, and her cheeks warmed. She fidgeted again.
Malcolm smiled. “Whaddaya say we head to brunch?”
“Sure.” Summer busied her nervous hands by rubbing Winston’s ears, much more carefully this time. “So uh, can you just do that?”
“What’s that?” He turned to her, leveling his eyes on her.
Why did he always look at her like he was amused by her? Where was the joke?
“Can you just show up in some random place and have brunch? Won’t you be stampeded or something?”
“Could happen.” Malcolm shrugged. “But what are you gonna do? And besides, what makes you think any of this is random?” He raised an eyebrow.
The bus began to pull forward, and Summer lurched back in her seat. “Oh.” She placed her hand on her chest to calm her racing heart. “Didn’t know we were moving…”
Malcolm reached out and took Summer’s hand in his. Summer turned to him, her eyes wide. She looked at their hands, his—so strong and capable—wrapped around hers. Her knees weakened, and she was thankful she was sitting down. It felt so…good…to have Malcolm’s hand around hers. Too good, in fact. And as exciting as it was, she also felt safe—thanks to him. And safe was a feeling she couldn’t ever remember feeling.
Summer looked away, and Winston readjusted, settling back to sleep. Summer breathed deeply, attempting to fight the sympathetic activity in her autonomic nervous system, oh the heck with it, the butterflies in her stomach—thrilled that Malcolm didn’t move his hand from hers, not even when they picked up speed.
“Where are we going?” Summer finally found the nerve to look at Malcolm. When she did, she immediately shied from his relentless stare.
“It’s a surprise.” He spoke with his eyes lock
ed on hers.
Summer nestled back, beaming. In the course of just a few hours with this man, he had unknowingly achieved nearly every to-do on her summer of irreverence checklist. She stole a peek at him out of the corner of her eye. Yes, Malcolm Angel was definitely a man. And she was definitely ready to be had by him.
****
When the bus pulled up beside the building on the Upper East Side, Malcolm silently prayed he could pull this off without fan interruption. He was certain Summer could handle it—the gawking, screaming, and crying—but the point was, he didn’t want her to have to.
He had no idea why he was taking her to brunch. He could have easily asked her to rejoin him at his hotel—she might have said yes. But after last night’s debacle, he didn’t want to assume anything. Plus, he liked the fact that she stood up to him, so many other women simply said yes to whatever, because he was a famous singer. He never had the opportunity to be real. Didn’t they understand that underneath the designer clothes he was a man? A man who wanted to be a man—and who wanted to treat her like a woman?
And besides, he liked prolonging the inevitable with Summer. It was the longest amount of foreplay he’d ever had…and it felt so good, he didn’t want it to stop. Watching her breasts in that shirt was driving him wild. He had forgotten how much he loved full, voluptuous breasts. He also loved the curve of her jeans. He liked the feeling of anticipation. He hadn’t felt that in… who knows how long. Everything was given to Malcolm immediately—from a table at a restaurant to sex—and this time he was spending with Summer was a very exciting, and welcomed, change.
“We’re here Mr. Angel, sir.”
Malcolm snapped out of his daydream and reluctantly let go of Summer’s hand. Winston poked his head up and yawned. He whimpered in anticipation. Malcolm understood entirely.
“Sorry, ol’ boy. Not for you. And if you’ll let your date go, she is expected upstairs with me.”
Summer giggled, wiggling out from under Winston. Carefully, she laid his head on the seat.
“Good boy.” Summer ruffled his fur, and Winston yipped in appreciation. She paused for a moment. “Um, Malcolm, how old is he?”
“Winston?”
She nodded.
“Not that old.” He shrugged.
“Oh, okay.” She looked back at Winston, petting him again.
“How old do you think?”
She stood up straight and tall and spoke with the most confidence Malcolm had ever seen from her.
“My guess? Seventeen or eighteen.”
“That’s a pretty accurate guess. He’s eighteen.”
Summer nodded, pursing her lips.
“How’d you know that?” Malcolm glanced at her sideways.
“Lucky guess.” Summer adjusted her blouse and stuffed her hands into her front pockets.
Malcolm smiled at her—it was amazing that in the middle of Manhattan, she could look like such a clean, fresh, burst of nature. But still, he refused to be sidetracked.
“Really, how’d you know?”
Summer shrugged. “The gray hair I guess.”
Malcolm ran his hand through his own hair. “Guess I should start taking him to my colorist.”
Summer smiled, but Malcolm could see something was different in her eyes.
She recovered quickly, throwing her bag over her shoulder. “So, where are we heading?”
“You’ll see…”
A knock on the bus door sent Malcolm into action. He walked to the back of the bus and grabbed a zip front sweatshirt. He pulled it on and threw the hood over his head. Summer was staring. “Don’t worry. It’s just ’til we get inside.”
“Okay.”
She still had that serious look on her face. The one that made Malcolm smile. He walked past her and stopped to tweak her nose before the door of the bus opened and his bodyguard walked in, carrying two sets of dark sunglasses. He handed one to each of them.
“It’s just—”
“Until we get inside. I get it.” Summer smiled and slipped on the glasses.
Her willingness to help and comply relaxed Malcolm. He never knew who he could ultimately trust. He looked over at Winston. Except, of course, for him.
****
Call it a vet’s intuition, but Summer was greatly concerned about Winston. His age was obvious—sure his hair was graying, that really didn’t mean much in the life of a dog, but he also appeared lethargic. No doubt he had the best medical care in the world, but even that couldn’t stop the cloudiness in his eyes and the way he jumped up…with her needing to help scooch him upward. Summer sighed, fairly certain Winston was already, or would soon begin to, battle arthritis in his hips. What’s more, she was sure he was showing signs of hip dysplasia; fairly common in larger breeds like Labs. And since Winston’s condition was beginning later in life, it probably stemmed from the preexisting condition of osteoarthritis, which means even further deterioration of the joint was probable. Soon, Winston would need help to stand up and sit down, let alone to jump up onto a couch.
This was the part of her job she hated, having to relay bad news to pet owners, especially to someone like Malcolm who was so very attached to his pet. She sighed, hating more than her job right now—she hated herself for perpetuating the lie of being a model. For not coming clean and telling Malcolm he should have a support system in place, because the inevitable may be sooner rather than later. Watching Malcolm with Winston, all she wished was that she could tell the truth, but Jeanette warned her, over and over again, not to. To confess she was a vet would mean losing her one chance with Malcolm. And come on, he must have plenty of people to help him through whatever crisis he may face.
Gritting her teeth and deciding Malcolm surely had a team of veterinarians far more knowledgeable than herself on staff, she let the bad feelings pass. After all, she could be entirely wrong…although she knew in her gut she wasn’t.
With her dark glasses on, Summer followed Malcolm and his bodyguard through a revolving door in an old, art deco hotel on the East Side.
She stifled a giggle when she walked in. “Do you ever go anywhere but hotels?”
Malcolm grinned at her, and taking her hand, he scooted her through the small hotel lobby, and silently led her into an old elevator, lined in ornate brass. Once inside, they both removed their glasses, and he pulled off his sweatshirt, exposing a fitted t-shirt and way too many muscles. The elevator was gorgeous, but tiny. She stood close to Malcolm, and heard the audible sound of her breath racing, as she wondered where, exactly, he was leading her?
The elevator fought its way up, toward the top floor. Strangely, Malcolm kept his eyes focused on the floor, as if he didn’t want to see his own reflection. Summer shook her head. Why would that be? She could stare at him all day, every day.
As they climbed higher and higher, excitement had replaced the tension Summer was feeling earlier. When the elevator dinged, Malcolm stood to the side, holding his hand out to guide her way. She stepped through the elevator doorway and straight into… a construction zone. They were in the penthouse of this old hotel, and the building appeared to be falling down around them.
Summer shot a look at Malcolm, but there wasn’t a single crack in his veneer. He remained stoic.
“C’mere…” Malcolm tossed his head. He held out his hand for Summer, and she slipped hers into his. “This way. Watch your step.”
As they walked, making their way through a maze of rubble, cement blocks, and half erect walls, their hands stayed connected, momentarily bridging the endless gap between them. Finally, they stopped, and there, in front of her, in the middle of the chaos, sitting just before a floor to ceiling wall of windows, was a table, elegantly set for two.
Chapter Eight
A white tablecloth was draped over the small table, and two large, covered silver platters sat before two white upholstered chairs. The table and chairs rose above the rubble, sitting in complete juxtaposition to the rest of the room. Fresh daisies in a thin silver vase adorned the m
iddle of the table. Water waited in crystal flutes, and a bottle of champagne was chilling beside the table.
Summer turned to Malcolm. “I…”
“Shh.” He shook his head and squeezed her hand. “Just look.” He nodded out the window.
Looking out at the city, Summer was certain she was trapped in a three-dimensional puzzle, with high rises both above and below her. Once, when she was a child, she played just such a game, where she rolled a silver ball along curved barriers inside a transparent globe. Looking down and then up, growing dizzy and then regaining her balance, Summer was now certain she was that ball. And looking at Malcolm, she knew he was the barrier.
“We’re so high.” Summer’s voice was tiny and weak. She had never before felt so small.
Malcolm squeezed her hand and walked her to another window, this time, facing west. “I live over there.” Malcolm raised his free hand, pointing to the opposite side of the city. “Jeanette’s on the west side too, but way downtown.”
Summer stood on her tiptoes to get a better view, and Malcolm smirked at her. He took her by the hand and pulled her into the space before him. He turned her shoulders to the left and leaned forward, letting his chin drop level to hers.
“That’s Downtown.” He pointed. “That’s where you’re staying.”
Summer nodded, but as spectacular as the city was, he was even more so. She closed her eyes and leaned back into Malcolm’s embrace. He turned her to face him, and they both grew very quiet. She could hear the sound of their breathing, both audible—although hers was much quicker. Malcolm didn’t just stand in front of Summer, he commanded the space before her like he commanded a stage. She licked her lips, gazing up at him. He appeared younger now, not as haggard and tired. Although she could barely hold a cohesive thought, it made her happy to see him more relaxed. She was even happier to think she was the one who made him feel this way.
Malcolm leaned forward, framing her body with his arms, resting his hands on the metal window casings. He pushed her gently to the closest hard wall, readjusting so his hands could resume their possessive position behind her head. He leaned forward, and she nestled into the space created by his torso. She breathed in the feel of Malcolm, shrinking into herself, while his incredibly strong presence sheltered her. Her eyes traveled up his arms—hairy, scarred, and muscular—arms that could only belong to a man…and stopped when they made their way to the top of his t-shirt, where they feasted on one or two stray black hairs fighting their way free from his shirt. What were they thinking? If she had the opportunity to lie against Malcolm’s chest, she would never leave. She shifted from foot to foot, fighting the growing ache in her body, caused entirely by his proximity. She arched her back slightly and sighed. Malcolm smiled.
Summer of Irreverence: The Rock Star (The New York Artists Series) Page 7