Rock Star Romance: Dan (Contemporary New Adult Rockstar Bad Boy Romance) (Hard Rock Star Series Book 4) (94 page)

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As they hustled back
to the apartment, Rachel’s head was spinning over the information Brock had
given her. She glanced over at Dylan, embittered by what little she had been
able to pull out of him about his assignment and the man who paid him for it.

Just then, Dylan’s
phone rang. Without stopping, Rachel watched as he pulled it out of his pocket
and began talking the moment he tapped the accept icon.

“Yeah,” he said. “I
know. Yes—yes, we were just with him. No, we didn’t stay for tea. I’m going to
get her out of the city as fast as I can.
It’s all gone to shit
.”

He hung up without
waiting, and Rachel’s mind reeled; once more, she realized she had no idea what
the hell was going on in her life—and now, she had no idea if she could even
trust the man who was supposed to be protecting her.

PART THREE

Rachel found herself
at a table, on the terrace of a tiny brasserie, in a tiny town whose name she
was no longer even sure of, somewhere in the border territory between France
and Switzerland. On the table in front of her were a pack of cigarettes, a tiny
coffee cup with deep, dark coffee thick as syrup, a shot of myrtille eau-de-vie,
a lighter, an ashtray, and her phone. As she looked out from the terrace from
behind a pair of sunglasses, she watched a man re-loading his beat-up van with
leftovers from the market that was dispersing. She took a deep breath and
exhaled slowly, reaching for her packet of Gauloises bleus.
Note to self: if
you ever do quit smoking, do it in a country that doesn’t love cigarettes so
much.
She had never been much of a smoker before she had met Dylan; but
then, Rachel thought wryly, she had done a lot of things she wasn’t accustomed
to since Dylan had dropped into her life.

Dylan was no longer,
technically, in her life. Rachel lit a cigarette and took a long draw of the
smoke, closing her eyes behind her sunglasses as she exhaled. She had left him
a little over a week before, after she had met with the man Dylan had painted
as her enemy, and learned that the situation regarding her mysterious newfound
fortune was much more complicated than it had even initially seemed.

Rachel’s phone buzzed
and she started; even without the constant suspicion that every blind corner
might bring a henchman to grab her off the streets and carry her away to be
either killed or somehow forced to relinquish her fortune, Rachel had grown so
accustomed to the jittery feeling of anxiety that it was hard to give up. She
didn’t want to admit to herself that she missed the feeling of protection that
had come along with Dylan’s presence. She picked up her phone and unlocked the
screen, taking a deep breath again to steady her nerves. She set her lit
cigarette down lightly on the rim of the ashtray and picked up the jigger of
myrtille-flavored liquor. It didn’t, technically “go” with the coffee, but the
eau-de-vie was more popular in the Alps than Calvados, and of the flavors
available, Rachel had favored the wild blueberry sweetness more than any of the
others.

The number listed was
unidentifiable; it wasn’t even a European number. Rachel frowned; she knew it
couldn’t be Brock—he wouldn’t be calling her quite so soon to get her decision.
She bit her bottom lip for a moment before knocking back the burning, faintly
sweet liquor to steady her nerves. She set the tiny glass down and brought the
phone up to her ear. There was a message—another sign that it wasn’t Brock
contacting her. Rachel swallowed convulsively, deciding that she might as well
hear whatever it was.

The message started
with a gritty riot of rhythmic electric guitar, almost too loud. Rachel winced
slightly, listening to it.
“I feel you/ your sun it shines…I feel you/within
my mind…You take me there, you take me where, the kingdom comes/ You take me
to, and lead me through/ Babylon…this is the morning of our love/ It’s just the
dawning of our love…”
Rachel felt her throat tighten in a way that had
nothing to do with the eau-de-vie and knew, suddenly, exactly where the call
had come from. Her eyes stung as the song played, far beyond the usual limits
of what her voicemail would allow.

Dylan. Jesus.
Rachel shuddered and put her phone down, the sound of shrieking, distorted
guitars and yearning wails of lyrics filling her mind. She picked up the tiny
cup of coffee and sipped at the syrupy-bitter liquid, a hot tear rolling free
of one of her eyes as she sighed. She could remember the events that had led to
her current state, sitting on the terrace, in the middle of nowhere, as clearly
as if it had been hours instead of days before.

They had gotten back
to the apartment after her meeting in Brock’s car, Rachel trailing in Dylan’s
wake as he led her through the streets of Rouen. Rachel’s mind had still been
reeling from the information she had received from Brock. “We need to get the
hell out of here as soon as we get the call, so you’d better start packing,
Love,” Dylan had told her, propelling her through the front door and towards the
bedroom.

“Why do we need to
leave?” she had asked, stumbling slightly as she stopped her headlong run and
turned to face him.

“Listen; I know he
came off nice in the car, but Brock is not a man who has your interests in
mind.” Dylan’s slightly swarthy skin had been pale.

“He’s offering me more
money to give up what I got illegally,” Rachel countered. “While I’m sure he’s
not Santa Claus that doesn’t seem like a terrible offer.”

“He’s faking you out,”
Dylan had told her. “I know him. I’ve worked for him.” Rachel’s insecurities
began to rise up inside of her mind, along with all of the questions she had
been asking herself since their sexual liaison had begun.

“Yes, you have,” she
had said, pinning him down with her gaze. “And now you’re working for some dude
who apparently thinks endangering my life and forcing me to live as an
international fugitive with a fake name are great enhancements to my life.”

“That wasn’t in the
plan,” Dylan had countered. “The plan was just to give you the money, instead
of going through a merger that would have hurt the company.”

“Why’d he have to do
it an illegal way, then? Just what is your boss hiding?” Dylan had rolled his
eyes at her, sighing with exasperation.

“We don’t have time
for this,” he said. “Once we’re out of the city, I’ll explain what’s really
going on.” Dylan had closed the distance between them, his hands falling to her
waist. “I know you’re anxious and worried,” he had said quietly. “We’ll get the
hell out of here and hopefully it’ll take Brock a while to track you down
again.”

“I’m not anxious, and
I’m not worried,” Rachel had said, pulling away from Dylan’s touch. “I’m
frustrated and I feel like I’m being lied to by everyone.”

“Have I ever given you
a reason not to trust me?” Dylan had asked her.

“Plenty! You have
given me plenty of reasons not to trust you. Until Brock’s people torched my
apartment building you wouldn’t even tell me anything about anything! And now…”
she shook her head. “I don’t know who to believe.” Dylan grabbed at her waist
carefully, pulling her towards him, and Rachel found her body beginning to
respond in spite of her irritation and distrust, reacting to the proximity of
his muscled body, the scent of his cologne, the heat of him.

“Believe me,” Dylan
had told her, his voice dropping to a low almost-growl. Rachel had struggled
slightly in his arms, not quite resisting as his lips brushed against hers, as
his hands tightened on her hips, pressing her body against his. She couldn’t
honestly say that she didn’t want him, but Rachel wanted answers more—she
wanted answers to her questions, she wanted to know who to trust, what to
believe.

“You said we don’t
have time,” Rachel had murmured as Dylan’s hands slipped underneath her blouse,
caressing her bare skin with a feather-light touch that trailed up from her
hips to just underneath her breasts.

“We always have time
for this,” Dylan had replied, claiming her lips once more to stop her from
talking. He cupped her breasts, giving them a slow, firm squeeze through the
fabric of her bra, and Rachel had moaned, arching into his touch as her
thoughts and questions began to evaporate like alcohol in the desert. She broke
away from Dylan’s lips, intending to tell him that he couldn’t expect to
distract her—that she was going to pursue the issue—but before she could form
words, Dylan’s mouth dropped to her throat, his lips, teeth and tongue teasing
her sensitive skin until Rachel moaned again, her head falling back to give him
better access.

Dylan had slipped her
blouse over her head in a flash of a movement, his lips trailing down from her
neck to her collarbones, and Rachel found herself groping for the hem of his
shirt, irritated by the separation between their bodies rather than her
unanswered questions. She wanted to feel his skin pressed to hers, she
wanted—needed—to feel him inside of her. Rachel’s body heated up, and she felt
the slick, hot feeling along her labia as her inner muscles flexed
convulsively. Dylan tugged the thin, lacy fabric of her bra down, freeing her
breasts and bringing first one and then the other up to his mouth. Rachel let
out a cry, her breath catching in her throat as Dylan claimed each of her
nipples in turn, worshipping them both with lips and tongue and careful grazes
of his teeth.

He guided her towards
the bedroom, lifting Rachel up into his arms almost effortlessly when she
tripped over her own feet, no longer certain they were real; they certainly
seemed rather remote and abstract as her brain focused almost entirely on the
sensations Dylan was creating in her breasts and tight heat that built up
somewhere deep down in her hips as she became wetter and wetter by the moment,
more and more turned on. Dylan laid her down carefully on the bed, pulling back
from her breasts to look down at her with such unmistakable lust in his dark
hazel eyes that Rachel decided—for the moment—that nothing mattered as much as
the satisfaction she knew she was going to get from him. She gasped as Dylan
tugged her skirt down over her hips, pulling the fabric along her legs and
casting it aside without any concern for where in the room it would land. “See?
You must trust me,” he said, his voice little more than a murmur as his hand
slid along her inner thigh, moving up to cup her soaking wet pussy through her
panties. “Or else you wouldn’t let me see you naked, would you, Love?”

“If you don’t stop
talking,” Rachel had told him, tugging his shirt over his head and throwing it
across the room. “I am going to start remembering why I don’t trust you.”

“Can’t have that, can
we?” Dylan asked, raising a dark eyebrow with a faint grin as he began to rub
her slowly. Rachel pulled his face back down to hers, kissing him hungrily as
the heel of Dylan’s palm pressed to her clit through the fabric, sending
tingles of hot-and-cold electricity through her body. Dylan nipped at her lips
playfully as his fingers slid underneath the lace, brushing against her bare
skin, stroking her, slipping along her soaking wet folds to find her clit. “You
want me, don’t you, Love?” Dylan asked her lowly, barely breaking away from the
kiss.

“Mm,” Rachel had
replied, pushing her hips down to meet his touch, for better contact between
his fingers and her pleasure-center. “I told you to stop talking.” Dylan had
chuckled, his fingers withdrawing for a moment; just long enough to hook into
the flimsy, thin fabric and pull it down over her hips.  Rachel reached out,
grabbing at the fly of Dylan’s jeans, struggling to locate the button or the
zipper—anything that might bring her closer to getting him naked. Dylan broke
away from her lips and began to kiss a path downward along her body, lingering
at her breasts to kiss and lick and suck, making it impossible for Rachel to
focus on anything. She growled with frustration, tugging at the waistband of
Dylan’s jeans, and he chuckled against her ribcage, nipping sharply at the
ticklish skin as his hands left her body.

She felt him shifting
against her, pushing her hands away, and then there was nothing between them
but the thin fabric of his boxer-briefs; Rachel moaned as the heat and hardness
of his erection pressed against her thigh, slightly damp where his precum had
begun to flow at the tip. Dylan continued his path down along her body,
nibbling playfully just below her navel, and Rachel shivered, combing her
fingers through his hair as her hips moved automatically, pushing down and
twisting to meet him. Dylan slipped down below her hips, and spread her legs
wide, and Rachel moaned long and low as he nuzzled his lips against her labia
slowly. He parted her labia, his tongue darting out to lap at her fluids.
Rachel clutched at Dylan’s hair, breathing in sharply through gritted teeth as
he teased and tasted her.

Rachel squirmed and
writhed as Dylan flicked his tongue along her slick folds, probing and tasting,
working his way upward towards her clit slowly. She moaned out and grabbed at
his shoulder, tugged at his hair as he teased her, barely missing her pleasure
center. She felt the vibration against her skin as Dylan moaned, his tongue
sliding closer and closer to the bundle of nerves that needed attention the
most, and Rachel’s hips moved as if with a mind of their own, twisting and
pivoting, her body trying desperately to get the contact it craved.

She cried out as he
thrust two fingers inside of her, his tongue sweeping up at the same time to
lap at her clit, swiping at it playfully before beginning to flicker faster and
faster. Her nails dug into his skin as Dylan sucked the bead of nerves between
his lips, his fingers working inside of her, rubbing along her inner walls as
her pleasure built up more and more. She heard the wet, slurping sounds of his
attentions as her fluids flowed more freely, felt her muscles tightening around
him as if her body itself didn’t want to let go of him, didn’t want to let him
leave.

Rachel reached her
climax seemingly all at once—a shockwave of pleasure crashing through every
nerve ending, making her muscles tense in spasms as more and more waves washed
through her. Dylan was relentless, continuing his assaults on her only too
willing body as Rachel pitched and arched up off of the bed, grabbing at him in
the desperate need to hold onto something. He only backed off as the spasms
began to abate, pulling back gradually, his tongue slowing against her clit
before he retreated.

Dylan kissed a path up
to her mouth, his hands soothing her just enough for Rachel to stop trembling,
and just when she felt the last of the tremors abating, he began to rock his
hips against hers. She felt the heat of his cock brushing along her drenched
labia and wrapped her legs around his waist, bringing his face up to hers to
kiss him hungrily. Dylan nipped at her bottom lip as he guided himself up
against her pussy, rubbing her clit with the tip of his erection in a final
tease before he thrust into her, filling her up in one fast movement.