Rock Star Romance: Dan (Contemporary New Adult Rockstar Bad Boy Romance) (Hard Rock Star Series Book 4) (93 page)

She could feel the
hard ridge of Dylan’s erection pressing against the curve of her back as she
rubbed against him instinctively, her deeper need overriding any concerns about
his intentions or feelings towards her. Dylan wanted her; that was enough for
the moment. Rachel twisted and squirmed as Dylan’s fingers continued to work
her, his other hand leaving her breasts to tug the hem of her shirt up along
her abdomen, past her ribcage. His lips trailed along her neck and shoulder,
barely parting as he pulled her blouse over her head and cast it aside.

Dylan made quick work
of her clothes, and in an instant Rachel found herself down to nothing more
than her panties, soaking wet and tingling all over with hot and cold flashes
of sensation. She reeled as he turned her around quickly in his arms to face
him, pulling her up and kissing her hungrily, his hands squeezing her
newly-bared breasts. Rachel tugged at the hem of his shirt, distracted by
Dylan’s lingering caresses and the sharp jolts of pleasure that shot through her
as he rolled and twisted her nipples between his fingers.

In an abrupt movement,
Rachel felt Dylan lift her up. He cradled her hips in his strong arms, holding
her body flush against his with her legs dangling on either side of his waist,
her feet no longer on the floor but somewhere in the space behind him. She
could feel the hardness of his cock straining at the confines of his jeans,
pressing against her through the fabric of her panties, rubbing slightly as he
carried her to the bedroom.

Dylan tumbled Rachel
onto the bed. She looked up, her eyes drinking in the sight of him from where
she sprawled, her legs spread wide. Dylan stripped out of his clothes in quick,
determined movements, tossing his shirt across the room. He pushed his jeans
down over his hips and kicked off his shoes at the same time, leaving him in
nothing more than his boxer-briefs. The late afternoon light seemed to almost
gild the ridges and lines of muscles across his broad chest and narrow waist,
highlighting his strong shoulders, tinting his dark hair reddish.

The next moment, Dylan
launched himself onto the bed with her, covering her body with his own, his
lips descending on Rachel’s before she could even form any kind of
objection—not that she could think of anything else she wanted more at the
moment than to feel his body against hers. Her hands wandered over his back,
exploring the crests and valleys of his shoulder blades, the knobs of his
spine, as Dylan rocked his hips up against hers, pressing the ridge of his cock
seemingly right against her clit through the fabric of their underwear, rubbing
against her constantly. “Isn’t it so much nicer when we’re like this?” Dylan
murmured, barely breaking away from her lips. “Let’s see how long I can make
you stop thinking.”

Rachel moaned as
Dylan’s lips trailed along her jaw, dropping down to the column of her throat,
his breath hot against her skin. His hands slid down her body, lingering only
briefly at her breasts to give her a teasing caress on their way to her hips.
Rachel felt his fingers hooking into the waistband of her panties, tugging them
down—somehow never losing contact between their bodies. Dylan’s teeth grazed
the pulse in Rachel’s neck, making her gasp and arch against him, her eyes
falling closed, her body beginning to move with a will of its own. He reached
down between her legs and began to stroke her slowly, teasing her—barely
touching her at first and then pressing more and more firmly along her inner
folds. Rachel became wetter and wetter by the moment, her pussy tightening
convulsively as she reacted to Dylan’s touches, the feeling of his lips against
her skin, the pressing of his body weight into her.

His mouth moved down
over the mounds of Rachel’s breasts, his tongue darting out to lick and tease
each nipple on the way. Rachel threaded her fingers through his hair as he
continued his descent, taking his time. When he nuzzled her hip, nipping
sharply at the sensitive skin just at the inner curve, she was trembling with
anticipation, moving in reaction to his fingers playing away at her clit. Dylan
buried his face against her pussy and Rachel cried out, arching up off of the
bed, her grip on his hair tightening as her legs moved to close around him
instinctively. She heard Dylan’s low, self-satisfied chuckle the moment before
he began to lick her, dragging his tongue along her drenched slit, teasingly
avoiding her clit until she was convinced she couldn’t stand it anymore—that he
was actively attempting to torture her to death.

Dylan sucked her into
his mouth, his tongue flicking back and forth against Rachel’s clit; she shook
with pleasure, twisting and writhing against the sheets as he lit up her
nervous system. She moaned out, words tumbling from her lips that she barely
knew or even paid attention to. While his lips and tongue worked her clit,
Dylan spread her folds apart, plunging two fingers deep inside of her fast
enough to wrench a half-surprised, half-delighted cry from Rachel’s throat. He
broke away from her, fingers and lips retreating at the same moment; Rachel
keened, writhing and pushing her hips down, hungry for the orgasm so close she
could nearly taste it.

“Patience, Love,”
Dylan said with a chuckle, pressing a kiss to the curve of her hip. He
slithered up along her body, dragging his lips along her skin, teasing her as
she shivered. Dylan shifted against her and Rachel felt the heat and hardness
of his cock brush against her soaking wet pussy, tantalizingly close. She
moaned against his lips as Dylan rocked against her, rubbing the length of his
erection along her sex, teasing her already-sensitized clit with the tip.

“Not that I don’t love
the way you taste,” he murmured against her lips, “But I couldn’t wait much
longer.” Dylan thrust into her slowly, pushing past the instinctive flex of her
muscles as pleasure rippled through her. Rachel held him close, kissing him
everywhere her lips could reach as they moved together. She moaned as Dylan
pushed deeper and deeper inside of her, rubbing along her inner walls, the
friction steadily building up between them. Rachel’s legs tightened around
Dylan’s hips as she pushed down to meet his thrusts, every nerve in her body
tingling.

In a matter of
moments, it seemed she was no longer on the edge as wave after wave of pleasure
crashed through her. Rachel clung to Dylan, her hands slipping against the
sweat of his back, her hips moving automatically as her orgasm intensified. She
kissed him hungrily as she felt his cock beginning to twitch inside of her.
Rachel gasped, shuddering; he drove up into her harder and faster until
reaching his own climax. Slick heat gushed into her as they both continued to
move, touching each other everywhere, twisting and writhing as spasms of
pleasure took them both over. Rachel felt Dylan slump against her, his hips
slowing to stillness, and slipped into a deep, satisfied sleep; her cheek
pressed to his shoulder, her body—for the moment—content.

She was soaking in the
tub when her phone—playing Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ “Phenomena”—chirped. Another text
message.

If you want to know
the truth,
the text message read,
make sure to be at the entrance of the
Joan of Arc church at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon.

Rachel frowned;
obviously they knew she was in Rouen. Did she really want to go through with
it? Could she trust the people pursuing her? They torched her apartment,
outright threatened her, and sent some kind of hired heavy to attack her. But
if they knew what city she was in, they surely had sussed out where she
lived—and yet they hadn’t attacked her. At the very least, Rachel thought, they
had clearly decided another approach was in order. What would happen if she
showed up at the rendezvous? Would they attack her and Dylan?

Rachel set her phone
aside as the message magically disappeared, climbing out of the tub. She would
sleep on it; the next day, she would decide if it was worth the risk. A little
voice in the back of her mind suggested that if she hadn’t told Dylan about the
text messages yet, she had already decided her course of action—but Rachel
pushed it aside.

****

Rachel’s heart pounded
in her chest as she and Dylan neared the church of Joan of Arc. She had made an
excuse of wanting to see it during lunch. She didn’t know if Dylan was
suspicious of her sudden interest, but he went along with the plan anyway,
barely giving her a glance as he lit a Gauloise.

“For a woman with no
religion, you’ve got a keen interest in churches,” he’d commented as they
started to make their way across the city. At least, Rachel thought, it wasn’t
entirely out of character for her; she had visited several cathedrals within
the city during their stay so far—she just hadn’t made a point of visiting this
one as of yet.

She wondered if the
people looking for her—intent on giving her the truth of the situation, or so
they said—knew that it was a meeting place where she could go without
attracting much suspicion from Dylan. Did they know her habits that well? Or
was it simply a lucky guess—a tourist destination within the city that wouldn’t
raise many eyebrows?
Assuming I’m making the right choice, I guess I’ll know
about it soon enough,
she thought.

Rachel glanced at the
time on an enormous clock set up on one of the buildings nearby. It was ten
minutes to 2. Her skin crawled as she tried to imagine how exactly this was
going to go down—was someone watching for them, already in position? They had
to be.

They arrived at the
front of the church with only a few minutes to spare; beads of sweat started to
form on Rachel’s brow. She stopped short of actually going onto the grounds,
telling Dylan, “It’s not like we’re on a schedule here—I want to look at the
outside first.” Against the stately, picturesque gothic and medieval cathedrals
of the city, the modern lines of the 1970s-built church were almost a
disappointment, though she had to admit that the sweeping, curved lines of the
roof were at least breathtaking.

Suddenly, she saw
something move in her peripheral vision. Rachel felt Dylan’s grip on her hand
tighten as they were abruptly surrounded by a group of men in the uniform of
Gendarmes de Rouen, quietly penning them away from the flow of people moving
through the city center. Dylan immediately moved to pull her away, but there
was no way for them to escape—and he saw it in an instant.

“Mademoiselle, venez
avec nous s’il vous plait.”

Dylan refused to let
go of her hand, and Rachel realized that the men were not—as their uniforms
suggested—actual police officers. The uniforms were too clean, too immaculate,
and too new. They were ushered quickly away from the public street.

“No one here is
authorized to harm either of you,” one of the fake police officers told them,
as they were gently, but inexorably, led towards a waiting car. “But if you
struggle, we will immobilize you, and then silence you.”

Dylan looked at her
and Rachel felt her heart lurch in her chest. He knew. None of the men tried to
attack them. “You couldn’t have just told me what was going on, could you?”
Dylan asked her.

“Why should I? You’ve
never given
me
that courtesy.” Rachel pressed her lips together, feeling
guilty without being certain of why; Dylan hadn’t told her anything more than
he absolutely had to for the entire time they’d been stuck together.

Rachel saw the car
door open. The next moment, the crew of false police officers pushed them both
towards it; Rachel ducked her head, climbing in, not knowing whether or not she
had made a horrible mistake. Dylan’s grip on her hand fell away as he slipped
in behind her.

“Thank you,
gentlemen,” she heard someone say. Turning her head, Rachel saw the car door
close, and then spotted the man they had been brought to.

He was seated across
from them at the back of the low limousine. The man’s hair was graying at the
temples, the rest of it a dull dark brown, combed immaculately back from his
forehead. The car began to move, and the man smiled slightly. “Thank you for
joining me, Rachel,” he said. He glanced at Dylan. “It’s good to see you again,
Dylan. Though I’m sure you probably have a million places you’d rather be.”

Rachel looked over and
saw that Dylan’s hands were behind his back, his wrists bound by handcuffs—when
had that happened? She remembered his touch falling away from her as she went
into the car.

“Okay,” Rachel said,
feeling the sweat building up on the small of her back; her palms getting
clammy. “Just what the
hell
is going on here?”

“My name is Jeffrey
Brock. I am the current CEO of Vantech Incorporated, having taken over the
position after my predecessor, James Whitley, was ousted for erratic and
irresponsible behavior.”

Rachel glanced at
Dylan; his jaw was set, his lips pressed firmly together. She turned her
attention back to Brock. “That doesn’t exactly answer my question.”

Brock smiled again,
more broadly this time. “Very astute of you.” Dylan shifted as the car turned,
pressing against Rachel. She felt his fingers grope for her hand to communicate
something he wasn’t willing to say in front of whoever this man was. “As for
what’s going on...I’m sure you’re probably less than inclined to trust me.”

“Well, considering
that you—or at least, some people working for you—threatened me, tried to attack
me, and then burned down my apartment, no. I’m not.” She caught a flash of a
smile on Dylan’s face.

“How do you know that
all of those things were done by me, or at least by my command?”

Rachel furrowed her
brow. “I suppose there’s a possibility that someone decided to give me a ton of
money and then torture me with the fear of being killed over it to get his
jollies off, but I kind of doubt anyone’s that depraved.”

“I didn’t say none of
those things were at my behest,” Brock countered. “Just that not
all
of
them were.” He glanced at Dylan. “The phone call, regrettably, I have to take
credit for. It wasn’t me who made it—but it was made under my directions. The
man who broke into your house was an agent of mine, much like Dylan here on
retainer. He exceeded his instructions and, Dylan, I’d be glad to pay you a
reward for taking him out of circulation.”

Rachel looked at her
bodyguard and erstwhile lover; the tension in his shoulders, above and beyond
the constraints of the handcuffs, was unmistakable. “So then you’re telling me
that the fire in my apartment building had nothing to do with you,” Rachel
said, looking from Brock to Dylan.

Brock shrugged. “I
didn’t order it, and none of my people on the ground reported having done it. I
had already decided that the best course of action was to appeal to you
directly and without threats. So you should ask yourself a question, Rachel:
who would benefit the most from getting you away from me?”

Rachel stared at
Dylan. He couldn’t have set the fire—he had been with her all along. “Dylan,
what do you know about this?” she asked him, her throat tightening with a
growing sense of betrayal.

“I don’t know
anything,” Dylan said. “I told you, I don’t ask questions.”

Brock sat back in his
seat. “Dylan is excellent at following orders—in fact, that was why I
originally brought him to Jim’s attention. He goes where the money is. How much
is Jim paying you for
this
escapade, Dylan?”

“That’s between me and
him,” Dylan said, his voice nearly a growl.

Brock turned his
attention back onto Rachel. “By my estimate, he’s making about as much as you
are from this transaction—it’s rather arduous, guarding someone who thinks
they’re being constantly pursued.” Brock’s lips twitched. “Which brings us to
the main problem—and also an opportunity. The money James Whitley gave you
wasn’t his to give—it belongs to the company I now control. It was earmarked
for a merger that we still very much want to go through with, and the
accounting for it is…let’s say, less than amicable to the IRS. If we don’t get
it back—if it stays as a mark in our ledgers as it stands right now—we could be
in serious trouble.”

“So basically you’re
trying to convince me to give it up. Doesn’t sound like an opportunity to me:
Rachel, you’ll be stranded in a foreign country—but you’ll have our eternal
gratitude for keeping us clean with the IRS!” She shook her head in disbelief.

“The opportunity would
come with the
reward
earmarked for the fund’s return,” Brock said
quickly. “You have to understand—I don’t necessarily care that the money came
to you. In the overall scheme of our profits, it’s a drop in the bucket. What I
care about is a long, drawn-out audit that costs us a fortune. If you’re
willing to return the money to us, I have the authorization to give you a five
million dollar reward—provided you are also prepared to testify against James
Whitley in an impending lawsuit we have filed against him.” Rachel stared at
the man in shock, barely noticing the fact that the car had come to a stop. “As
a gesture of good faith, I will give you two weeks to decide what you want to
do. You can leave freely right now.”

Rachel glanced at
Dylan. “He’s handcuffed, you ass,” she said to Brock. Brock’s eyes widened and
then he nodded, evidently only just realizing the significance.

“There are some
more…personal police standing outside the car. They’ll free him the moment you
step out,” he said. Rachel looked from one man to the other incredulously.

Brock reached over and
pushed the car door open. Dylan followed her out of the car, and true to
Brock’s word, there were several more fake police stationed around it,
apparently at attention. Rachel caught a flicker of movement and then Dylan’s
hands were freed. The car pulled away and the “police” began to drift off, one
by one, as if called by other duties.

“We need to get back
to the apartment, get your things together and go,” Dylan said quickly. Rachel
opened her mouth to protest; for a moment, she saw a flicker of fear in Dylan’s
eyes. “Don’t argue with me right now. I swear, I will explain it to you later.”
He grabbed her wrist and started pulling her down the street, still shocked by
everything that had happened.