Fall: a ROCK SOLID romance

by Karina Bliss

  “For the record—” Seth wasn’t even out of breath at the top of the stairs “—I’m also fucking good at cuddling afterward.”

  “Save it for someone who cares.”

  His gaze darkened as he adjusted her weight. “Woman, have you no sense of self-preservation?”

  In response she stretched sinuously in his arms, making the re-buttoned shirt tighten across her breasts.

  Muttering an oath, he stopped outside the closed door and Dimity turned the crystal door knob. She hadn’t directed him to her bedroom—that would have been too intimate—but the guest room referred to as the princess suite. Praying the bed was made up, she reached inside and flicked the switch.

  A massive central chandelier blazed into radiance. Seth paused on the threshold and blinked. His astonished gaze slid over the silk wallpaper, the sly nude in the Rubens print, the pastel pink taffeta curtains with tasseled ties that matched those on the drawers of the Louis XIV parquetry nightstand, then he threw back his head and laughed. “This is so you. In your face and flawless.”

  Dimity smiled. “Yep.”

  He strode across the faded Persian carpet and tossed her on the fairy-tale, four-poster bed.

  She landed with a small oomph of surprise.

  His sexed-up gaze full of evil intent, he said softly, “Let’s mess this place up.”

  She dissolved into a puddle of lust. She’d barely touched him yet and she wanted to, suddenly and desperately. Rip off that plaid shirt, haul down those worn jeans, bite and lick and taste. “Come here.”

  Not bothering to take off his boots, he crawled on the bed toward her, tossing throw pillows left and right in his wake and giving her the strangest sense of being stalked by a jungle cat, golden and lethal. She wasn’t sure whether to offer herself up or run.

  Her eyes must have given away her confusion, because he laughed softly. “Too late for wisdom.”

  Arms braced above her shoulders, he dipped his head and kissed her.

  He smelled of fresh sweat from his performance, not unpleasant on a healthy male in his prime. How long since she’d had sex with a man who wasn’t perfumed by colognes and hair products?

  Catching his jaw between her hands, she held him there, wanting more of his skilled tongue. Her palms rasped on his stubble as he chuckled and pulled away. “Patience, princess.” Straddling her, he removed her bracelets and gold chains and dropped them over the edge of the bed. He fingered the open collar of her chiffon shirt. “Like this blouse much?”

  “It’s my fav—”

  He ripped it in two. Buttons scattered across the quilted satin bed cover. “Oops,” he said in exactly the tone she’d used before sending the text to Mel.

  It dawned on Dimity that maybe, just maybe, she’d underestimated him. And the thought was so extraordinarily erotic it stifled the protest in her throat.

  Unceremoniously, he divested her of clothing, not even lingering over her exquisite La Perla lingerie. Not giving her time to employ any of the usual allure and tease tricks she used to drive men crazy.

  By the time she was naked, her heart hammered against her ribs with such delicious anticipation she worried whether she shouldn’t be reasserting her independence.

  “I think—”

  “Don’t.” Lowering his clothed body on hers, he kissed her hard, his tongue probing and insistent. Her train of thought derailed. Clutching his biceps, she pressed her naked breasts against his chest and kissed him back, so turned on that even the soft worn flannel of his shirt felt deliciously abrasive against her sensitized nipples.

  She shifted, restless as the ache of lust became relentless, and fumbled for the fastening of his jeans. Her fingertips touched skin, sleek and smooth, brushed a velvety tip, tantalizingly close, but the way they were lying stopped her exploring further.

  With a murmur of frustration, she tried to pull him higher. Rolling onto his side, Seth threaded one hand through her hair, twisting the long golden strands around his fingers like a chain that bound the two of them together. “What would make you scream, I wonder.” His gaze devoured her body, and everywhere it lingered—throat, breasts, her sex—responded by growing hot and tight. He hadn’t really done anything yet except kiss her, and she was wet and aching for him.

  “My orgasms are private. And I think women who—”

  He leaned in and grazed his teeth along the tendon in her neck before gently biting the muscle where her neck joined her shoulder. Tension melted from her bones. “Don’t tell me what you think,” he whispered in her ear, his breath like a breeze on still water, sending a shiver through her blood. “Tell me what you want, what you crave. Tell me—and I’ll give it to you.”

  She rolled on top of him and sat up, letting her knees fall open so the weight of his clothed body pressed against her softest flesh.

  “Fuck me hard and do it now. I want to be taken and used and I want to use you.”

  He started shoving down his jeans before she’d finished her shaky command.

  “Hell, I haven’t got protection.”

  Scrambling off him, Dimity yanked open the drawer on the nightstand, fumbling under the box of tissues, chocolates and aspirin for the foil packets that were in all the guest rooms. Thank God she lived with a rocker.

  Seth tore open the packet she thrust at him and reached under the tails of his shirt to sheath himself. While he did, she tried to rip the shirt apart as payback, but the worn cotton was stronger than it looked. Dammit.

  Laughing, he rolled her onto her back and positioned himself between her legs.

  On his first thrust, their eyes met in an agony of mutual relief. He began to move, gritting his teeth as he found a rhythm that worked for them. Her pleasure spiraled and coiled tighter and tighter. She gripped his arms. “Seth…yes, there…keep. Ohh.”

  The chandelier blazed behind him but it couldn’t match the brilliant focus of his gaze. She knew what he wanted. Loud.

  “Don’t. Get. Your. Hopes. Up…”

  His response was to fuck her harder.

  The first tremor of her orgasm hit and she closed her eyes. Oh God, this was good, so good, she was going to co—

  He froze and she opened her eyes on a hoarse scream. “Don’t stop!” Then, seeing his triumph, she pounded his chest with her fists. “Damn you, that doesn’t count.”

  Seth caught her hands, entwining his fingers in hers and began to move again. The laughter left his eyes. She couldn’t look away.

  “Scream for me,” he rasped.

  “I…don’t…”

  He found an even better angle and she stifled a moan.

  “Scream for me!”

  She was losing control, losing her mind… She grabbed his hair, yanked him down and smothered her cry of release in his kiss. Felt his smile before he bucked into her with his own hoarse cry.

  It took them a while to get their breath back, longer to get their senses.

  She was half-dozing when he kissed her forehead and rolled off her to stagger to the bathroom, and she shivered in the chill room and scrambled under the covers. The sheets weren’t much better, and when he returned and spooned himself around her she didn’t protest as she normally would.

  “That was…” He paused.

  “Yeah,” she said. “And as soon as you’ve warmed up the sheets you have to leave. There’s another guest room next door.”

  His chuckle gusted across her neck like a warm breeze from a southern ocean, full of alcohol and pirate glee. “Hard-ass.”

  “I work out.”

  “Yes, you do.” He nudged her butt cheeks, all satisfied male limpness.

  “Seth?”

  “Y’huh?”

  “Promise me you won’t go all weird on me in the morning.”

  “I’ll try.” He was already half asleep. “Does this help or hinder our campaign to get Mel back?”

  “Helps,” she said firmly, because saying made it so.

  * * *

  Seth’s first coherent thought on waking in Dimi
ty’s palatial bed was, What the hell was I thinking?

  He rolled over to apologize for jeopardizing a friendship that was one of the pillars of his new life, but the bed was empty. The sheets smelled of sex and Dimity’s berry-floral perfume—a sensory combination that exacerbated both the guilt and his morning hard-on.

  There was a metaphor for the current state of his life in there somewhere, but his head hurt too much to make the connection. All he knew was that whatever bender of self-pity he’d been on since Mel had announced her engagement stopped now.

  Crawling out of bed, he stepped over his boots and crumpled jeans and stumbled into the shiny, white marble bathroom to relieve himself. Then, ignoring the claw-foot bath, he yanked the gold-plated faucet on the shower to cold and wrestled to remove his shirt and tank. Why was he still wearing them?

  Oh yeah. They’d been in too much of hurry to take them off. With a groan, he leaned his forehead against the open shower door and tried to think.

  Flirting with Dimity had been comic relief for both of them. Neither had taken it remotely seriously, so how the hell had they ended up in the sack together? He was rarely irresponsible and Dimity never…

  Just how drunk was she when she’d made the decision?

  His memories of last night were patchy after they’d arrived at Zander’s mansion, and all to do with Dimity’s eyes and Dimity’s breasts. Steely and soft respectively.

  No, she’d been in charge. Right up until she’d ceded it.

  Jesus. He scraped a hand over his jaw, the scratch of a two-day beard only reinforcing what a state he’d let himself get into.

  When she’d ditched her own plans at the bar to keep him company, he’d realized he was in a bad way. If she hadn’t needed a friend herself after Luther’s graceless rejection—not that Dimity would ever admit that—his pride wouldn’t have let him go along with it.

  Some friend he’d turned out to be.

  Ignoring his sorry reflection in the mirror, he grabbed two tiny unopened bottles of Bvlgari shampoo and conditioner from the basket of toiletries on the marble vanity top and paused, frowning.

  It seemed odd that she’d take him to what was clearly a guest room, but she’d often said she liked her sex impersonal. Which only made their situation going forward so much worse.

  Currently, his life was shit. His dream career—the one he’d chosen over Mel, alienated his father for—was likely over; the love of his life had moved on to a dependable man; and now he’d completed the trifecta of poor choices by jumping a friend and his mentor’s PA. Hell, who was he kidding? After Zander, Dimity was the most influential person in the band, deferred to by everybody from the band’s manager to the grungiest roadie.

  Maybe he was making too much of this—Dimity never did anything she didn’t want to, and she’d wanted to do him. Grimly, he doused a small glow of male pleasure and ripped the tissue off a miniature soap. However she felt about it, he’d used her carelessly, thoughtlessly to ease his grief over another woman, and that was unacceptable to him. Fuck other people’s standards, it was those he set for himself that mattered.

  From here on in, he was fronting up to the consequences of his choices. After all, wasn’t that why he was going home for a visit? To mend fences, and make amends to the people who’d once relied on him to do the right thing.

  Bracing himself, he stepped into the shower, whimpering as the icy needles hit his skin. Too bad. He needed to be fully cognizant for the coming conversation.

  When he’d scrubbed himself human, he cleaned his teeth, shaved, slapped on aftershave for the sharp sting of punishment, then dressed in last night’s clothes.

  Until the reality show that had changed his life by catapulting him into the public eye and then into one of the most famous bands in the world, he’d led a very normal life. In an industry where excess was celebrated, only wanting his share made him a novelty, a good guy. But good was relative, as Mel and his father would attest.

  Really, his reputation in the rock world all came down to saying please and thank you. To waiting his turn to talk, not taking himself or anyone else too seriously, employing the manners he’d been brought up with.

  He only had two real talents—he could lay down drums like no one else, and he didn’t waste mental energy on rationalizations, excuses or denials. By acknowledging his flaws, he freed up the mental energy that most people used to cover themselves up.

  Dimity Graham was in full camouflage, always had been. But her public persona was so entertaining, so ballsy and fun, that he couldn’t stop himself tweaking her camo cap occasionally just to cause a disturbance in the force.

  Last night had changed that.

  What they’d done in bed was fun, nothing more. But what he’d seen in her uncomfortable little conversation with Luther was far more intimate. Vulnerability. It was the reason he’d stood up from the couch to divert the bodyguard’s attention, instead of laying low and saving her further embarrassment.

  She would pretend nothing had changed this morning—he knew that instinctively, having witnessed her response to Luther. But he wasn’t going to let her. Their friendship deserved better than taking the coward’s way out.

  As he sat on the bed to pull on his boots, a memory flickered, as insistent as the headache thumping behind his eyes. Shit, he and Dimity had made some arrangement…she was going to help him make Mel jealous with some cockamamie, pretend-to-be-your-girlfriend plan. He just hoped to hell they hadn’t done anything he couldn’t take back.

  Apart from the sex, you mean?

  Ignoring the taunt from his conscience, he patted the pockets of his jeans, hunting for his cell. They’d sent texts. Saying what?

  His cell wasn’t in his jeans. Or the breast pocket of his shirt. Standing, he threw aside the rumpled covers—nothing—then dropped to floor level to search under the bed. Another memory loosened. They’d started fooling around in the kitchen. Walking to the door, he made a plan.

  One. Find his cell.

  Two. Make coffee and take a pot to Dimity’s office. Likely, she was already there looking as fresh as a daisy, and with half a dozen machinations behind her. God, he hoped so. Hoped he was wrong about the damage this hook-up had done to their friendship. In a town where most people were phony as hell, he needed the few who kept things real for him. Dimity was top of that list.

  Which led him to three. Do whatever it takes to make things right.

  As he neared the kitchen, he heard Luther’s deep growl. “Tell me this doesn’t mean what I think it does.”

  Through the open door, Zander’s head of security stood in profile, holding Dimity’s elegant pumps aloft in the manner of a lawyer presenting exhibit A. Beyond him, the counter still held the detritus of last night’s debauchery, half-empty glasses of booze and plates of leftovers pushed aside.

  Seth waited for her to tell Luther to butt out. But her voice, when it came, was so quiet he barely recognized it as hers.

  “I wish I could.”

  “Goddamn it, you were supposed to watch out for him.” Luther dropped the shoes in disgust. “The guy was heartbroken as well as half-drunk when he left in your care.”

  Seth had heard enough. “If you want to do some slut-shaming, mate, shame me,” he said, walking into the kitchen. “I took advantage of a friend last night, not Dimity.” Ignoring Luther, he walked over to her. “Never explain, never apologize, remember?”

  She lifted her chin. Her makeup was flawless, but she’d missed the beard burn on her neck. “He’s right though,” she said briskly, not quite meeting his eyes. “You were drunk and—”

  “So were you.” He turned to Luther. “This is not your business.”

  “Fine.” The bodyguard’s gaze flicked to Dimity, still full of reproach, and Seth heard her swallow. For some reason, she was ridiculously susceptible to the bodyguard’s disapproval. Luther was a great guy but the former soldier couldn’t see one shade of gray, let alone fifty.

  Sure, he could tell the bodyguard that he
and Dimity were dating now, but that wouldn’t wash—Luther knew where his heart lay. And he’d seen him in pieces only yesterday, which made Seth the victim in Luther’s eyes, no matter what he said.

  There was really only one way to make the big man believe he could act so irrationally, incautiously, so completely out of character.

  Act out of character again.

  So he hit him.

  Chapter Five

  “Fuck, that hurt,” Seth said, watching Dimity empty an ice tray into a crystal bowl. “I don’t know how the pros do it.”

  “For a start, keep your thumb outside the fist, touching the second seam of the index finger.” Carefully, Luther rotated Seth’s thumb through a range of movement. “You’re lucky this isn’t broken.”

  The bodyguard’s jaw was reddening, but that was the only sign of the assault. That, and a mix of astonishment and anger in his dark eyes. He wasn’t looking at Seth as if he was Dimity’s victim anymore, so mission accomplished. Perhaps too well.

  “I can tell you really want to hit me back,” Seth commented.

  “You got that right.”

  “I’d offer, but I’ve discovered my pain threshold is really low.”

  Luther didn’t smile as he released Seth’s hand. “What the hell was that about?”

  “I can’t let you blame her,” he said, gingerly stretching out his fingers, his swollen knuckles. “This was on me.”

  “Then maybe I will hit you,” Luther said slowly. “Dimity?”

  “I’m tempted to say yes.” She whacked the ice tray on the counter to release the last few cubes. One bounced out of the tray and skittered across the floor. “But that won’t teach either of you to let me fight my own battles.”

  The suppressed violence in her tone suggested she was the biggest menace in the room. The two men looked at each other.

  “Clean up this mess before you leave,” Luther said to Seth—and he wasn’t referring to the kitchen. He left.

  “You said you wouldn’t go all weird on me.” Dimity dumped the crystal bowl on the counter, grabbed his hand and shoved it into the ice.