“You were supposed to check in an hour ago.” Dante could hear Brenda’s clipped tones across the tiny space that separated him and Lacey, but he didn’t mind the interruption. He needed to chill. Something about Lacey was making him forget every rule he’d ever forged with women, and if she hadn’t been stopped by her phone going off, he certainly wouldn’t have stopped either.
He hadn’t expected to have sex with the woman in the first three hours they were alone together. And he was having a damnably hard time convincing himself that that was a bad idea.
Lacey still lay beneath him, impressively serene as she fielded one icy question after another from her bitch of a boss. Yes, they were almost to the hotel. Yes, the YouTube crew was dedicated to getting plenty of footage for the premiere in a few days. Yes, their warm-up shows were on track from last report, with sold-out crowds expected in small amphitheaters and impassioned fans promising to watch the YouTube series and flood the Internet with social media love when the tour started up in earnest.
As she talked, Lacey eased her way up the couch in tiny increments, careful not to make a sound while still giving herself slightly better leverage to talk with Brenda. It was clear she needed to keep her cool.
But he found he didn’t want Lacey to keep her cool. He wanted her hot and writhing beneath him, ideally naked, ideally now.
“What do you mean, where am I?” Lacey asked, still trapped beneath him. “I’m on the bus with Dante. We’re discussing the sub-vendor contracts.” Pause. “Yes, those agreements, too. And we still have to figure out the—oh!”
Lacey shuddered and shot him a glazed look, and he realized that his hands had begun kneading the backs of her thighs in rhythmic palpitations, his fingers now splayed over her ass. “Right, Brenda, of course,” she managed.
He looked at Lacey more fully and took in her flushed cheeks, liquid eyes, her mouth falling open to breathe in and out fitful little gasps of air. Her hair was a tousled mess, and he felt the hard punch to his gut again, same as he had when he’d kissed her. She had started out kissing him like he was some sort of angel—something worthy of being put on a pedestal. But he wasn’t that guy. He’d never been that guy.
And he didn’t know how much help he should give her in figuring that out.
She set him on fire, but it wasn’t like she realized what she was doing. Beneath all of that desire she probably didn’t even know was inside her, she was sweet—hell, even innocent. He had no idea what kind of life she’d led up to this point, but chances are it hadn’t included road-toughened rock stars who had sex offered to them twenty-four hours a day.
Dante fought a grimace, careful to mask his thoughts while she stared at him, still talking to Brenda. When Lacey looked at him, he wasn’t even sure what she saw. It wasn’t just the boybander he’d once been, though some of that was mixed up in her gaze. That kid was easy enough to peg. The middle class parents, the loving family, while he had always been a little bit of a loner, a little bit of a show-off. He’d fallen into music early, and had been lucky enough to have parents who didn’t hover too closely or for too long. They just figured that his playing out in his buddy’s garage had been a better alternative to video games or Internet porn. But it wasn’t everything there was to Dante, and he wondered just how deep Lacey’s clip file went.
He should let her keep her fantasies intact. Perfect. Far away from the truth of what he really wanted to do with her—to her—right now. Lacey needed to be off-limits to him, or he couldn’t be held responsible for his own actions.
Even as she babbled something unintelligible to an increasingly shrill Brenda, he lifted himself off the couch, and kissed her chastely on the forehead.
Then he turned toward the back of the bus, promising himself the mother of all long showers. If he didn’t work off some of his pent-up energy and fast, nobody was going to be safe around him. Least of all Lacey Dawes.
Lacey stared at Dante’s retreating back, barely registering Brenda’s words. “Are you listening to me?” Brenda snapped, and she jolted back to where she was and to whom she was speaking.
“Yes! Yes, of course,” Lacey said. “I will follow up with the drivers to ensure we aren’t having any issues with the vehicles. I’ll coordinate the techs you’re sending to do a full service on the buses before we head out again. We leave in a couple days for Baltimore—we’ll have plenty of footage by then for the video crews to work with. Then everything’s set for a launch after the show on the twelfth. It should be great.”
“Immediately after the show,” Brenda clipped back. “As in Dante may be in encores still—and you need to let the roadies know that one of the screens will be flashing the video as he finishes his performance. We want to capitalize on the captive audience while we have it.”
Lacey frowned into the receiver. “Isn’t that going to take the crew by surprise? They’ll be watching the full premiere episode for the first time right along with the rest of the world.”
“Good point,” Brenda said thoughtfully. “Maybe we don’t tell them it’s going to happen that way.”
“Whoops, Brenda—I gotta go. The groupies just got into a catfight. I gotta—” Lacey shut the phone off before Brenda could squawk a response, and slumped back against the couch. She needed to let the roadies know what IMO was planning—and Dante, as well. Now, before Brenda called her back with specific orders not to do so. No way in hell was she going to let IMO’s little “reveal” catch them off guard. It was going to be bad enough as it was.
She got up, smoothing her tunic down and ruing how thin the fabric was. She felt almost naked. How had she thought this outfit was a good idea when she’d gotten dressed that morning? Probably because she hadn’t expected Dante’s hands to be all over her within a few freaking hours of them boarding a bus together.
Dante had wanted her with him to act as some sort of glorified babysitter, but she was the one being schooled it seemed. He’d caught on right away to her weird internal battle over which version of Dante she wanted. The guy in her fantasies, or the guy right in front of her, who could be grumpy, pushy, and downright exasperating … and so incredibly hot that he set her very thoughts on fire.
I mean, seriously … Lacey let the shiver take hold of her body, feeling her breasts tighten, her nipples harden into stiff nubs at just the thought of his mouth on hers, his hands lightly stroking over her clothes. He’d been gentle—almost restrained. He’d let her call the shots. He’d almost seemed to be begging for her to push him on, ask him to take her, demand him to …
Lacey frowned. What the hell was she waiting for? She was in a bus with Dante Falcone, at the very start of a two-week tour that could blow up in her face at any moment. Anything could happen in the next few days—let alone the next few weeks. Dante could kick her out. Brenda could horn in. Lacey herself could sprain her ankle stepping out of the bus. Was she really prepared to let this one brief shining moment pass her by, when the man was practically dangling in front of her, gift wrapped for her pleasure?
Was she insane?
And then she heard the shower turn on.
Lacey closed her eyes. Oh, God. She could picture the flow of water over those tight muscles, those long, lean legs. The shimmering tattoo that she knew wrapped around his upper left shoulder and stretched out over his back and chest. Steam and heat and the smooth wet slide of hands, skin … and it was right there for the taking. Hers to have, if only she could muster up the courage to do what she’d been fantasizing about for years.
But she was a professional agent, not a groupie, she reminded herself sternly. She couldn’t take advantage of this situation like that. She wouldn’t.
The flow of water pounded harder.
Forget it. She totally would.
This could be her one shot at seeing Dante naked. All of her teenage imaginings could not compare to a gorgeous, hard-bodied male stripped and glistening wet in a shower with six built-in nozzles and enough water pressure to blast even the tightest muscles into submission. Just thinking about him leaning up against the wall—dripping with water, clouds of steam all around …
Lacey swallowed. It was now or never.
Trying to act as nonchalant as any single woman who was trapped on a bus with a bare-assed rock star, Lacey kicked off her sandals and tip-toed her way down the narrow walkway of the main cabin, her face flaming even as her palms began to sweat. If he’d left the door to the bathroom closed, she wouldn’t go in. That was her hard line. Maybe she’d shout out what she’d learned about the show from Brenda, and leave it at that. She needed to let him know—but, okay, the first webisode was like three days away. So she didn’t have to tell him about it right this minute. But if Brenda called back with an injunction, Lacey would be required to listen to her boss and follow her instructions. So really, time was of the essence.
She was doing this for him.
And maybe to see him naked. But that’s all. Just a glimpse. Really. She had standards.
She cleared the soft corner of the bathing/dressing area, and confirmed what she already suspected. Dante hadn’t shut the pocket door to take his shower. Steam was billowing forth from the compact room, and she could imagine the custom-built shower beyond. Had already imagined it with him in it, actually, when she’d gotten the schematics from the bus company. There was enough room for two people in that shower, as long as they were really good friends.
She could be friendly. Not that she’d do that—but she could. She would. Be friendly, that is. She was a very considerate friend.
And again, he’d left the door open. Clearly, he wanted her to see him. After all, they were the only two people on the bus. Of course he wanted her to see him. But if she walked in on him … Oh, God, what was she thinking? Could she really be contemplating interrupting a naked man in his shower? Had she zero pride left?
Then again, could she really be contemplating not doing this? Was that a regret she could live with?
Lacey squared her shoulders. Dante was like a sports star, she told herself. He probably didn’t even think twice about walking around naked on his own bus. If you were one of his bandmates or crew members, you just got used to it and acted normally. She could act normal. She was the queen of normal. She could have taught graduate courses in normal.
Lacey took three very normal steps to the bathroom and then, like the completely abnormal goober that she was, peeked around the edge of the door, trying to see into the steaming shower area.
“Looking for something?” Dante’s voice was husky, inviting … and right behind her.
Lacey jumped, but before she could scramble out of the way, Dante’s right arm locked her against the doorway, and she realized immediately that she would have to tunnel her way through a wall of rock god to escape back out into the corridor. She gaped up at him, focusing intently on his face, never mind that his body was only barely covered in a towel slung low around his hips. His spray of tattoos gleamed at her from over one shoulder, glistening in the moist air, but her eyes didn’t seem to be able to tear themselves away from Dante’s intense, predatory stare.
He leaned down to her face until he was close enough to kiss her, his lips inches away from hers, and his scent riding the heavy air—exotic and spicy and—
“Did you need me, Lacey?” he rumbled.
“What? Oh!” she managed, trying to grab on to her last shred of sanity. “Ah, yes. Something—um, there’s something you need to know. About the first YouTube show.” Her hair was already halfway out of its scrunchie and the humidity from the shower was turning it into a writhing mass of brunette curls around her face. She pushed it away irritably, jolting as her fingers grazed Dante’s chest. She maintained the skin-to-skin contact for too long, pressing against him, willing the heat from his body to not feel so right, so good, so unbelievably perfect.
She dragged in a long, unsteady breath. “Um, I can wait until you’re out of the shower.”
“You can go on.” He settled his other hand on his hip, and despite herself, Lacey looked down.
Mistake.
The towel that Dante wore was draped low enough that she could see the contours of his hip bones, and the easy ripple of his abs as they stretched down, down—oh my God. Her mouth fell open, her legs quivered, and her entire lower body seemed to dissolve into swirling, wet heat, the need building in her so intense she could barely breathe.
“Lacey.” Dante’s voice was impossibly gentle, and it set off a new layer of sensation inside her, turning and tightening and pulsing with a steady, driving, impossible-to-ignore desire. “It’s okay, sweetheart. But unless there’s something you need to tell me right now, I think you’d better—”
“I want to take a shower with you,” Lacey blurted.