A Rocker's Melody (Dust and Bones) (14 page)

With him.

God, he was getting to her. Trying to make her fall into the dark, scary unknown of what they might be together. The worst part was, the little swoon-worthy, panty-melting shit
knew
it, too. But that knowledge didn’t make Melody as irritated—or frightened—as it once might have. Now it only served to excite her.

They were playing two nights in Billings—“Cowboys love old school rock ‘n’ roll,” Jesper informed them—which meant they were getting a hotel room when the gig was done tonight. Melody wanted to weep at the thought of having a large, soft hotel bed and a proper bathroom all to herself. She was going to scrub every inch of that tub and then she was going to take a long, well-deserved bubble bath.

The show was going well. The crowd was eating up the music, screaming and cheering themselves hoarse. Melody could feel that there was a different energy in the band tonight—perhaps because they had all been inspired by Dylan’s new song.

“Now, you all know we don’t normally do covers,” Dylan was currently saying to the crowd, “but there’s an artist that means a great deal to me, personally. He’s a hero, for lack of a better word.”

Melody frowned and glanced down at the set list by her feet. There were no covers listed on it. She looked up at the guys, but they didn’t look blindsided at all.

“Tell me something, Melody,” Dylan said, his attention still on the crowd. At least, he made it seem that way. She got the impression that his attention was solely focused on her.

“What would you like to know, Mr. Bennett?” she asked into her own microphone, injecting some sauce into her voice for the sake of performing for the crowd.

“Could you recognize a famous song with only the first few notes, and play me its bass line?” He grinned at her because he knew damn well that she could. She was a huge fan of Dust and Bones, but even the truly dedicated couldn’t memorize every song without the ability to play by ear.

“I guess you should test me and find out,” she answered teasingly.

A few moments and notes later, she took a stab at it. He lobbed her an easy one:
I Want to Hold Your Hand.
Grinning, she played the bass part easily. Dylan responded by trying out another:
I Can’t Get No Satisfaction.
Again, she played the bass, though this time she smirked at him while she did. When he stopped playing, she stopped as well.

“Try this one,” he said.

She recognized it immediately. Bob Dylan:
Lay Lady Lay.
It was the kind of song that got hard wired into the brain. It conjured images of big brass beds and long afternoons full of lazy love. She caught his eye and slowly, determinedly, started playing the bass line. This time, he didn’t stop. He waited until the rest of the band joined in, Tank riffing wildly on the melody.

It sounded amazing. And that was before Dylan opened his mouth.

“I’d like to send this one out to a special girl tonight. Now, you all know I love parties, drugs, sex, rock ‘n’ roll, the whole nine. But every now and then you meet that special someone that challenges the way you see the world. And tonight I’d like to dedicate this song to her,” he told the crowd. Melody’s heart beat faster, but her hands didn’t falter. This suddenly seemed too important for a stupid mistake. And as he started to sing—his gaze never wavering from hers, his intent in every phrase that spilled from that wicked mouth—Melody, for the first time began to embrace those feelings she had been denying for so long.

**

As soon as the final encore was over, Melody bolted. Her palms were sweaty, and she felt like she wanted to throw up in a dark corner. This was exactly what she had sworn she wouldn’t let happen. Even though he was sexy and compelling and talented, she was supposed to remember that he didn’t have any layers—except he did—and that he was a bad idea for her already damaged heart—except maybe he wasn’t—and that he would never love anything more than he loved himself—she was still pretty worried about that one.

Melody heard Dylan call her name, and she did something she had never done before: she panicked. Ducking into the greenroom backstage, she stared around for a place to hide, and, in a fit of desperation, climbed inside an equipment closet and pulled the curtain shut behind her. The fabric was ancient and frayed in spots, so threadbare that she could actually see through it into the room.

Her heart was still going nuts, and her brain was joining in for the first time, disgusted by her cowardly behavior. But she just needed a minute to think and collect herself before she faced him. After that…that declaration, or whatever it had been, she needed time to process, because her first instinct was to throw herself into his arms, and to hell with the future.

Just like you did with Ian.

I never wanted Ian like this.

It was the truth. Ian had been an act of rebellion from a girl who should have known better. She knew that Hop would hate the idea of her with Dylan—maybe more than he’d hated the idea of her with Ian—but she realized her father’s opinion wasn’t affecting her at all in this situation.

She wanted Dylan because she wanted him. She wanted him because underneath all the layers there was a genuine person, and that was the person she was finding herself drawn to more and more. She wanted him because his bandmates were like brothers to him, and she wanted him because when he looked at her,
really
looked at her, without any pretense or bullshit between them, there was a fraction of a second where she couldn’t remember her own name.

The guys piled into the greenroom. Rip already had a blonde on each arm. Dylan came in last, scouring the room as if looking for something.

“Have you guys seen Mel?” he asked.

“Not yet,” Jesper said, looking up from his phone.

“She seemed really into the idea of a private hotel room,” Tank said.

“I think she was going to take a bath and sleep for a week,” Jesper chuckled.

“Her loss. You snooze you lose,” Rip quipped. He jerked his head in Dylan’s direction. “You wanna hang out?”

“Yeah, Dylan,” one of the girls breathed, her chest heaving in anticipation. “Come hang out with us.”

The blondes breathed sex, amped up from the concert and infected with the excitement of being backstage with rock stars. Melody knew how easy it was to fall into that kind of desire; it was fun but empty. A momentary release that never left you satisfied for long.

Groupies were the sexual equivalent of eating Chinese food.
Three hours later and you’ll just be hungry again.
She was certain that he hadn’t been with any groupies since she’d run into that brunette at the beginning of the tour—they were in such close quarters that it was easy for her to keep an eye on him—but there was no way he’d just walk away from a golden opportunity like this. A pain rent its way through her chest...it wasn’t jealousy, it was more like disappointment. Maybe even heartbreak.

Dylan shook his head, looking distracted. “I’m good,” he said, pulling out his phone. Melody perked up at once—he was turning down the groupies. It seemed too good to be true. She watched him carefully as he turned away from the girls. It looked like he was texting someone.

Her back pocket vibrated. Melody jumped, glad she hadn’t banged into anything and drawn attention to herself. She pulled out her phone, anxious and excited at the same time.

Way to leave a brother hanging. Enjoy your bath. I’ll enjoy picturing you in it. ;) - Dylan

She read it twice before she believed it. She watched him walk away from Rip and the blondes and pull out a bottle of ginger ale before she could force her brain to catch up with her heart.

Little girls who didn’t know their minds hid in closets and panicked because they were afraid of the unknown. But Melody wasn’t afraid. She knew what she wanted and if she got hurt...well, then she got hurt. Denying what she wanted had never been an option for her. She pulled out her phone and sent Dylan a text.

The bath can wait. Meet me by the piano at the hotel lobby? xoxo Mel

She watched him run a distracted hand through his hair as he glanced down at his phone. It must have still been on vibrate, too. A little smile tugged at his mouth as he read. She loved that smile. It was real. It was beautiful.

And, if she wasn’t very much mistaken, it might finally be
hers.

Dylan checked his phone for the third time. Melody’s text hadn’t been ambiguous, yet he’d been waiting almost half an hour for her to arrive. Part of him wondered if she was just messing with his head...no, it couldn’t be. She wasn’t that kind of person. Melody meant what she said, and she said what she meant.

To the point where I’d like to strangle her sometimes.

The bar had already been closing by the time Dylan had gotten there. He’d slipped the hotel manager some cash in order to reserve the space for a couple of hours. Now he was already down thirty minutes. He checked his phone again to discover that a new text had appeared. Uncertainty clenched at his stomach; was she canceling? Had she decided that she didn’t want to waste her evening with the jerk who did nothing but pick fights with her all day? Swallowing his anxiety, he looked at the text.

5 more minutes. So sorry. I couldn’t get away. :) xo, Mel

That was an odd way to put it, but Dylan didn’t care. A wide smile spread slowly across his face, and he felt as though it would be etched there permanently. Nothing could remove it, not now. He started whistling, and realized the tune that had popped into his head was the one they’d been working on the last time they’d sat at a piano together.

He slid onto the bench of the bar’s piano, his fingers finding the right keys effortlessly. The melody flowed out of him, as simple and natural as breathing. Every note was a work of art, a song that told of sun-gold hair and sparkling green eyes. When had she become such an obsession?

He heard the soft patter of footsteps behind him, and felt her slide into place on the bench next to him. Her hands joined his on the sea of ivory keys, and they fell into a rhythm together, just as they had before. That rhythm heated up; the notes remained light and playful, but now there was a deeper, sensual longing to them, as well. Whenever his hand brushed one of hers, the touch sent a frisson of excitement racing through him. Their legs were pressed so close together that he could feel her body heat radiating through her well-worn jeans.

This wasn’t just about creating music—they were stoking the fire they had ignited, performing a mating ritual. He had never experienced this with any other woman.

Because you’ve never been with someone you knew this well. Because you’ve never risked falling for someone who could rip your heart out if she left.

God, it would hurt when things ended...and things
always
ended. That was how the world worked. But for the first time in his life, Dylan didn’t care; he knew that the time they would have together would be worth the pain that followed, when she remembered what a fuck-up he was and left.

The song slowly came to a close. The notes tapered off gently, as if neither of them wanted the music to stop. Dylan knew he didn’t. He wanted to simultaneously exist forever in this moment, yet also move onto the next one. He was greedy when it came to Melody; no matter how much she gave him, he wanted more. And he was starting to believe she wanted more from him, too. He wasn’t sure why she’d had such a change of heart—he knew he didn’t deserve it—but he was smart enough to take whatever she offered without thinking twice.

Melody broke the silence first. “Hi,” she said softly, one side of her bow-shaped mouth quirking upwards.

“Hi,” he repeated. Then he leaned in and kissed her.

Her lips were soft, wet and open the moment he reached them. That was Melody: open, giving, warm. He wanted to drown in her, to consume her. He was doing it again—wanting this moment to last while even as he longed for the following moments, which held the promise of even deeper intimacy between the two of them. He slid his tongue over her lower lip. Her taste, a perfect mix of sweet and spicy, made him groan with desire. This girl was everything he hadn’t known he wanted, and she had him tilting at windmills, wondering if he was capable of having something real, after all.

Melody leaned into him farther, her hands clutching at his hips, one of them sliding up to grip the side of his head. Her fingers tugged at his hair in the most tantalizing manner. His hands were all over her, running up and down her back, sliding underneath her jeans, never settling in any one spot because he was desperate to touch them all. It would be so easy to make her clothes disappear, to press her against the piano as he pressed himself inside her and found a different way to play with her...

Dylan pulled away, putting space between their bodies. It was, hands down, the most difficult thing he’d ever had to do.

“Don’t get shy on me now,” she laughed, moving toward him again, her mouth searching for his. He wanted her to find her lips more than anything, but he knew he had to say this. He owed it to her.

“Sweetheart, the last thing I am is shy,” he muttered, sliding off the bench entirely. He didn’t trust himself to allow her to keep her clothes on while he sat so close to her.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “Then why are you so far away?”

“So fucking perfect,” he whispered. “You’re mine now.” 

“Dylan—”

“I know what you’re thinking. But it isn’t like last time.” He had to get it all out now or he’d never have the nerve to try it again. “You told me I needed to know this was something worth getting my heart broken for. And it is, because you’re not like anyone else. You’re the melody I didn’t know how to find, and if you don’t believe me, if my words aren’t enough, I’ll make you a recording of that song. The magic we both are feeling now, it’s all right there.”

“I know,” she whispered. Her eyes were wide and over-bright, like he’d finally managed to surprise her.
God please let it be a good surprise for once.
“I want to kiss you and strangle you all the time.”

It was a bizarre declaration, but somehow perfect—the echo of the own words he’d thought to himself over and over again. He smiled and moved forward to kiss her, but she was already there. Her fingers were in his hair, her mouth was hungry and open against his. She was the best and worst thing that had ever happened to him, because she had ruined the life he’d thought he was perfectly happy living. He could never go back to the bread and water of dime-a-dozen groupies, not now that he’d tasted the ambrosia of her lips and tongue.