by Elle Greco
“Something like that.”
“Are you close?” he asked. “Because I don’t think I can hold it much longer, baby.”
I nodded, and he put his thumb in my mouth, wetting it. Then he pressed it against my clit, rubbing the nub while he pumped inside me, driving me toward ecstasy. I dug my nails into the skin of his chest, just on the brink of orgasm. My muscles clenched around his pulsing cock, and then we both cried out as we rode the explosive release.
I crumpled onto him, exhausted. He wrapped his arms around me and caressed my back, his lips feathering soft kisses along my shoulder.
“Dion, what are we doing here?” I whispered. Cradled in his arms, I felt so vulnerable. I wanted to know that he felt the same way. If not, we needed to stop this before I got any deeper. Because it would ruin the band, and there was no reason to pretend otherwise.
“You need me to explain what we just did?” he asked, his voice teasing.
I lifted my head from his chest and looked at him. “Actually, yes. I think I do.”
His face turned serious. “Honestly, Nik, I don’t know what this is. But I can’t seem to stop myself from doing it.”
“We can’t keep doing this,” I said. “The band. Our families. Jesus, Dion, my mom and your dad.”
“I don’t want to think about that now,” he said, cupping my face. “I just want to be right here, right now, with you. No Vince, no Pamela. No Rogue Nation. No complications. Just us.”
He pulled my head to his and pressed his mouth to mine. Our kiss was deep, filled with a promise that I worried neither one of us could keep.
16
I blinked rapidly as my eyes adjusted to the dark room, a sliver of weak light peeking around the heavy drapes covering the windows. A weight splayed across my abdomen as my sleep-clouded mind processed exactly where I’d woken up. That weight was Dion’s arm, and I was completely naked under the sheet. I closed my eyes, and a quiet sigh escaped my mouth.
We did it again. Actually, more than once.
Spectacular was putting it mildly.
He was attentive. He was gentle. He followed my lead and knew when to take over, going from tender to all-out bonkers. And when we were done, he’d tucked my body into his and cocooned his arms around me, holding me to him until we’d both drifted off to sleep.
It was perfect.
He was perfect.
Crap.
This was Dion. Of course he was a phenomenal lover. Of course he knew exactly how to caress me. The man was a first-rate stud.
And if I was honest, I’d admit that I was falling in love with him.
I twisted my neck and studied his face. Blond curls tumbled haphazardly around his forehead. In the peace of sleep, he looked exactly like he did when I first met him. The hard edges that life had etched on his face over the years softened.
No, I wasn’t falling in love with him.
I was in love with him. I had been since I was twelve.
My body felt like someone had chucked a bucket of ice water on me. I was in love with Dion. If there was one thing I was intimately aware of, it was that no one should fall in love with Dion Davis. Falling in love with Dion equaled heartbreak. My heart wasn’t equipped to handle that.
I rolled out from under his arm and off the bed. I hit the bathroom to pee, then snatched up a postage stamp–sized towel to cover myself while I tiptoed through the room, hunting for my clothes.
I had just stepped into my panties when Dion rolled over. I froze, underwear at my knees. But his breath settled back into a slow rhythm, and I finished pulling them up. Towel now clutched to my chest, I located my pants and T-shirt, but my bra was missing. Had Dion shoved it somewhere as a souvenir? I wasn’t going to stick around to ask.
I tugged my Converse on my bare feet, leaving my socks, because who knew where those were, then crept out of the room, cringing at the squeak of the door hinges. Only when the door clicked closed behind me did I release my breath, escape the only thing on my mind.
Head down, digging in my bag for the key card to my room, I plowed right into someone walking the opposite way.
“Whoa, Nikki! Where you going?” a familiar voice called out while a set of hands steadied me and kept me from landing on my ass.
I looked up, and Devlin’s eyes met mine. “It’s barely six in the morning. Where the hell are you coming from?”
It was too early for my brain to process his question and come up with a good fib. So I “Uh”-ed at him for about five seconds. His eyes darted to the door of Dion’s room and then back to me.
“Well, shit,” he said, pushing his long hair back from his face. “How long has this been going on?”
“There’s nothing going on, Devlin,” I said. “I swear.”
“Nik,” he said, his tone a warning. “Do not lie to me.”
“I can explain—”
“I’m sure you can, and while I would love to hear the whopper of a lie you are about to tell me, I’m not going to give you a shot. Instead, you’re going to listen. Yeah?”
I nodded, casting my eyes down at the pavement, ready for Devlin to go ballistic.
Instead, he placed a gentle hand on my shoulder while he tipped my head up with delicate fingers under my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. They were kind eyes, but they were filled with concern.
“I know you’ve cared for that boy since the day you laid eyes on him,” he said, his voice gruff but kind. “And trust me, I know those feelings run deep. But Dion was always a wild child. Had a way with the women. Him and Rafe, two damn peas in a pod. More like brothers in some ways than Kyle, who wore his demons on his sleeve. Dion, though, has his buried deep. Keeps him restless. Keeps him from settling down.”
I sucked in a breath through my nose and shuffled my feet around, not wanting to hear the rest. His hand moved from my chin to behind my neck, where he gave me a light squeeze.
“I’m sorry, kiddo, it pains me to say this,” he said. “And I hope to fuck I am wrong. But it’s going to take more than the love of a good woman to settle him. And I don’t want to see you broken, Nikki. I don’t want to see the band broken. You three have a good thing. An excellent thing. You are about to take the rock and roll ride of your life. But what you and Dion are playing at? That’s the shit that breaks up bands.”
“It was just a wicked night,” I said, pulling my fingers through my spectacular bedhead. “You know, with the RockPlay reporter. I just fell asleep in his room.”
It wasn’t exactly a lie. Dion and I did have a wicked night. Very wicked.
Devlin snorted and shook his head. “If that’s the way you want to play it. I’m just saying, I love that boy like a son, Nik. And you like a daughter. I don’t want to see either of you hurt.”
“Oh, we’re just… you know how we are…” I stammered when my phone chirped a welcome interruption. I pulled it out of my bag and read a group text from Vince.
Which one of you jackasses pulled this shit, because it’s not fucking funny.
“What the hell?” I muttered, pressing the link that came with Vince’s angry text.
When the screen loaded, my heart took a slow plunge into my stomach. I knew it before the music started.
“Someone recorded a bootleg copy of ‘Ruined’ at the gig,” I whispered as the jerky YouTube video rolled.
“Jesus” was Devlin’s one-word response.
“Is that bad?” I asked him, but I kind of already knew the answer.
“Vince pissed?” he asked. I nodded. “It’s bad.”
“Shit.”
“Do we know who recorded it?”
“It could have been anyone.” I held out my phone. “But Vince seems to think it was us.”
Devlin leaned back on his heels. “Was it?”
“God, no!”
“Maybe Presley? Jett?”
“Definitely not.”
“Okay. I won’t ask again.”
“Good,” I snapped. I returned his look with a hard stare. “So there�
��s a video out there. So what?”
Devlin’s breath came out in whoosh. “Well, this just screwed with Alice’s release plan, that’s ‘so what.’ You think Vince is pissed, wait till you get a load of Alice in top form.”
“But this is not our fault,” I croaked.
The door to Dion’s room opened then, and Dion poked his head out. His hair was sticking up in a few directions. “What the hell is going on out here? You okay, Nik? Dev?”
“Yeah, fine, just heading, you know…” I nodded toward my room.
He opened the door wider and leaned against the doorframe. My knees buckled at the sight of the sheet pulled around his narrow hips and taut abs. “Yeah?”
“I’m going to get the bus squared away,” Devlin said.
“What time we rolling out?” Dion asked.
“Not sure yet. Need to check with Vince,” he said, and then he turned to me. “Think about what I said, Nik, yeah? Think about what you want. And what you don’t want to lose.”
I nodded. “Thanks, Dev.”
Then I pulled Devlin in for a hug, holding him tight, as if he could ease the pain sinking into my heart.
Devlin was right. Dion and I were playing a dangerous game, one that had repercussions far beyond a broken heart. Even the RockPlay reporter said Rogue was heading for an Anthem-level rise. A relationship gone bad would completely kill the band.
Dion and I were like absinthe, smooth going down but extremely toxic.
“What was that about?” Dion asked, his eyes following Devlin as he stalked toward the parking lot to the tour bus.
“What was what about?” I asked.
“Devlin. What did he say that you’re supposed to think about?”
“Nothing,” I said. “It was just about my arms. Getting some physical therapy appointments on the books.”
“You should do it,” he said. “We should see about bringing a therapist on the tour.”
“That’s going to cost—”
“It’s not going to cost as much as you losing your ability to play,” he said.
I planted my hands on my hips. “I can take care of myself.”
“That’s not even a question,” he said. His eyes left my face and landed on my chest. I was braless, and my nipples were definitely responding to Dion’s near nakedness. Shit. “But your decisions impact the band now. You need to stay healthy.”
I crossed my arms to cover my chest. “Of course. For the band.”
He scowled but changed the topic. “Did you get the text from Vince?"
I nodded, dropping my eyes to his muscled midsection. My body trembled at the memory of just a few hours before. I shook the image from my head.
A smile spread across his face. “Cool, right?”
“Cool? Vince is pissed.”
“So let him be,” Dion said with a shrug. “I’ve been bugging Alice to let us release something on YouTube for months. But the entire back office at Grimm is stuck in 1997. Like they’re waiting for CDs to make a comeback.”
My eyes lifted to meet his. “Dion, did you—” I didn’t even have to finish the question when that irresistible grin came back. “Oh, Dion, why?”
“What? I thought you’d be thrilled.”
I cradled my forehead in my hand. “Because they’re gonna think it was me!”
“I won’t let you take the heat for this,” he said. “Now, come on.”
He shoved the door open enough so I could see the unmade bed, that damn Cheshire-cat grin still on his face.
I steadied my breathing. My body wanted to take him up on it. But in the glowing light of first dawn, our mistake weighed on me like a boulder.
I shoved my hand in my bag and pulled out the key card to my room. “I really should get to my own room.”
“Did you forget something?” he asked. He was eyeing my chest.
“Like what?”
He reached around behind the door and pulled out my bra. It dangled from two fingers.
I moved to snatch it, but he yanked it away and tucked it behind his back. I held out my hand. “Come on. Give it.”
He tossed it behind him, and it landed on the bed. “Go get it,” he challenged me. His eyes pierced into mine. Desire washed over me. If I walked into that room, I wasn’t coming out anytime soon. I took a deep breath, shook the cobwebs loose from my brain, and steeled my resolve.
“Keep it,” I said, my voice sounding more sure than I felt. “As a souvenir.”
“Really?” he asked. “It’s a nice one. You sure?”
I hesitated. “Dion, last night was great. I mean, really, really great.”
“I could tell you enjoyed it. So did I.”
“But I think maybe, well… Dion, did we do the wrong thing?”
“The wrong thing?” he asked.
“Yeah, you know, is this—” I waved my hand between the two of us. “Is it a mistake?”
His face went sullen. “We’re just blowing off steam. Getting it out of our system.”
“Right,” I said, the weight of his words dropping to the pit of my stomach.
“Right,” Dion repeated. “Later, Nik.”
I took a step toward the door. “Dion—”
But he had already retreated into his room, slamming the door right in my face. I heard the scrape of the chain latching. I lifted my hand, my fist hovering at the door, ready to knock. But Dion’s words replayed in my head, along with Devlin’s. I dropped my hand in defeat and headed to the quiet sanctuary of my motel room, ready for a cold shower.
17
“Okay, what’s with you and Dion?” Presley whispered.
We were sitting around the table in between the bunks and the driver’s seat, tucked into the rich leather armchairs that surrounded the faux mahogany table. Rafe and Dion had spent the afternoon pounding cheap beer in some asinine drinking game. They were crashed out in their bunks, sleeping it off. Devlin was driving. He’d had us on the road by eight a.m. It was now a little after four p.m., and according to the highway signs, we were just about through Idaho.
“What do you mean, what’s up with me and Dion?” I asked, refusing to meet her eyes.
“You guys are barely speaking,” she said. “I mean, that YouTube video is up to over one million views. You’d think there’d be some conversation happening. That’s huge. Instead…” Her eyes flicked to the bunks. “Nothing.”
“If ‘Ruined’ wasn’t leaked—” I snorted, making air quotes with my fingers.
“Yes, air quote that. But still, one million views?” Jett gestured at Presley, who was glued to the open YouTube app on her phone.
“Over one million two hundred and sixty-seven thousand views, and counting,” Presley announced.
“There you go,” Jett said. “It’ll be at two million by the time we get to the next gig. Which is where? I don’t even know where the hell we’re going next.”
“So why’s Dion being such a dick?” Presley continued her line of questioning.
“Because Dion is a dick,” I said, with what I hoped was a nonchalant shrug. “Whatever.”
“Not whatever,” Jett said, plucking at a string. “He and Rafe should be kissing your ass right about now. ‘Ruined’ was your idea, and it’s the thing that’s blowing up Rogue.”
“I’m not worried about it,” I lied.
“Why would you worry?” Presley asked. She pursed her lips. “You want to tell us what’s going on?”
After a curt shake of my head, I looked out the window at the dense forest cocooning I-90 leading into Montana. Bozeman was the next tour stop. I had the itinerary memorized.
Jett thumbed a quick chord progression. “We haven’t written a song in a while.”
Presley grinned at her. “You miss it!”
“No, I just—” We both stared at her. “Yeah, okay, I miss it,” Jett admitted. “I like it when we write together. It reminds me of slumber parties in the forts we built when we were kids.”
“Aww,” Presley teased. “Look at you all
nostalgic! You love your sisters.”
“Of course I love my sisters, even the half-witted one,” Jett sassed back. “But come on, our forts were epic.”
“They were only epic after you stole that engineering book from the library,” I said, a smile finally cracking through, my first of the day.
“Oh God, I remember that,” Presley said with a groan. “Jett insisted we built it her way or the entire thing would collapse on us and we’d die.”
“Well, we could have,” Jett argued.
Presley pushed her hair away from her face. “Oh my God. They were made out of blankets!”
“Blankets that could have suffocated us,” Jett said.
“You’re going to die on that hill, aren’t you?” I asked.
“Damn straight,” she said with a chuckle. “See? Reading saves lives.”
I took in Jett and Presley’s teasing faces, and my heart felt like the giant crack that sliced through it was starting to heal. I’d be okay. Thanks to my sisters. Always thanks to my sisters.
“It sure does,” I said around the lump in my throat.
Jett lifted her hips and started digging in her pocket. “Come on, Pres, pull out your acoustic.”
Presley’s eyes lit up. “Oooo, Jett’s been working on something.”
“Shut up,” Jett said, a blush creeping up her neck. “Just do it.”
Presley jumped to her feet and headed to the end of the bus that held our instruments.
When she settled on the couch, we got to work on a new song. Jett’s lyrics were tight and didn’t require many changes. Presley and I worked up the melody.
“Crap,” Presley muttered, and cleared her throat. Her soprano vocals didn’t like the minor keys. Forcing her voice into the right range was taking a toll.
“Stop,” Jett cut her off before she tried again. “We still have, like, two hundred gigs left on this tour. We need that voice.”
“It’s not two hundred,” I said, silently thanking the music gods that Jett’s number was indeed an exaggeration. I could barely handle the remaining forty-four gigs with Dion.
Jett rolled her eyes. “Way to miss the point. She still needs to save her voice.”