The Bad Boy Next Door: Lance & Chastity (44 page)

Before I met Lance, I had never been any place outside California other than Illinois to visit my dad. But here we are in Paris, high above the City of Love.

It’s almost closing time at the tower, but the outdoor summit deck is still active with tourists. The moon is full and hovers high overhead in the midnight sky. Across the river
Seine
, the
Arc de Triomphe
glows in the distance, floating like an island oasis of light in the dark twinkling ocean that is Paris at night. To my right, the
Cathédrale Notre Dame
—the most famous church in the world—stands proudly in the heart of the city.

“Oh my goodness,” I sigh. “It sure is beautiful.”

“So are you,” he grins his angelic grin.

We kiss quietly, trying not to attract too much attention from the crowd.

Ever since Lance’s video for
Opera
went up on the internet, life has turned upside down. At first, the video languished. We thought it was a dud. Then something happened. It shot up to eight million views in one week. We were checking the view count every hour. Then the song was playing on the radio. We heard it in Micah’s car one afternoon coming back from lunch. That night, Beaver told us it was all over internet radio. When it hit a hundred million views, Julian Whittaker threw a party at his mansion. Lance didn’t want to go, but I told him he didn’t have to worry about Julian and that we deserved to celebrate and owed Julian our thanks at the very least. We went and had a blast. Julian really knows how to party. The things that went on at that mansion… I can’t even begin to tell you. Hot, wet, electric. The memory makes me shiver.

When the video hit two hundred million views, Julian called about booking an international tour immediately.

And here we are, eight months later, on tour with some of the biggest names in EDM.

Lance’s song
Opera
now has over eight hundred million views.

His shows are packed with screaming fans.

Lance is a celebrity.

I am too. Because I’m featured in the video.

Almost everywhere we go, someone recognizes us. It’s overwhelming. Despite all the makeup I wore in the video, I’ve been photographed at Lance’s side a million times. My face is all over the internet, just like Lance’s. More insane is the fact that I’m officially on the tour payroll. I go on stage every night with Lance, in costume as Christine, to reenact some scenes from the video when he closes his set with
Opera
. I can’t get over how crazy the crowd gets when they hear it and when Christine and the PH4NTüM kiss.

Sadly, Lance and I haven’t had sex on stage since that time at the surprise rave in downtown LA, but we make up for it by having sex backstage in Lance’s dressing room after almost every show. And did I mention I’m a member of the Mile High Club now? Many times over.

And lest I forget, yes, there is video of me being fucked on stage by Lance at that surprise rave. I mean, it’s not like you can see Lance’s dick going in and out. But the look on my face when I come leaves nothing to the imagination. The video
is
grainy, so I could just be having a muscle cramp that Lance is massaging with rhythmic hip thrusts from behind me. Yeah, right.

I’m an international celebrity slut.

I smile at the thought.

“I am the luckiest man in the world, Chastity,” Lance sighs as he hugs me from behind and we gaze out at the view of Paris.

I hold up the engagement ring sparkling on my finger. Not the ridiculously expensive eight-karat one Lance tried to buy me yesterday at Cartier on the
Rue da la Paix
. Which, by the way, is a five minute walk from the Paris Opera House, a.k.a. the
Palais Garnier
. Before going to Cartier, we toured the opera house and saw the Phantom’s fabled Box Five, the falling chandelier, the catacombs, and even the real lake beneath the opera house, just like in the book. It was incredibly romantic and beyond anything I imagined while reading it.

When Lance took me to Cartier afterward and tried to buy me that ring, I said no. Not because it cost some ungodly amount of Euros. With the ad revenue alone from the
Opera
video, Lance is set for life. With the royalty payments he insists I accept because I’m in the video, I am too. The reason I said no to the extravagant ring at Cartier was because I wanted to keep the small ring he bought at the mall in Glendale before the money started pouring in. The ring he presented that night at the
Opera
video shoot. The ring that came in a pink velvet box. I smirk at the thought. The ring I haven’t taken off once since I said yes and he put it on my finger. This is the ring I want, the ring I’ll treasure forever. All the money in the world can’t buy the love that Lance has given me. “Me too,” I sigh, overcome by the romance of the moment.

“You’re the luckiest man in the world?” Lance jokes.

I turn around, grinning, “You know what I mean.”

His angelic eyes lock on mine. “I love you, Pink. From the day we met, I’ve never loved anyone like I love you, and I’ll love you ten times as much in a year, and a hundred times as much in ten years.”

“How much will you love me in a hundred years?” I giggle.

“I can’t count that high,” he jokes. “Now we just have to plan the wedding. Maybe we can have it at the Paris Opera House.”

I laugh, happier than I’ve ever been. “Do they do that sort of thing?”

“I have no idea,” he grins. “But we can ask. I mean, I’m the PH4NTüM and the managers of the opera house have to do my bidding, right?”

We both laugh and gaze out at the opera house to the northeast, which is clearly visible in the distance.

I haven’t spoken to my mom more than a few times in the past year. She’s always cold and distant when I call. I feel bad for her, but she doesn’t want my help or good wishes or anything like that. Sometimes when I call, she doesn’t even bother to answer, but I know she’s home.

I guess not every ending is happy.

As I expected, Mom never showed up at the
Opera
video shoot, and she turned us down when Lance offered to fly her out to visit us in London recently. She’s never been but I know she’s always wanted to go and see Buckingham Palace, the Tower of London, Westminster Abbey, all that stuff. But she skipped it. I think she’s still grieving Charity being in Illinois.

Charity loves living with Dad. I’m happy to report that she hasn’t worn whore’s paint once since she moved out there. When I asked her why not, she shrugged. She also told me she isn’t running around with any more random boys. To everyone’s surprise, she asked Dad if she could take Krav Maga classes. Krav is a self-defense thing. It wasn’t good enough for Charity that Dad has two black belts, although neither are in Krav. Dad offered to take Krav classes with her, but she said no, she wanted to do it herself. She’s fourteen. It’s normal. She also surprised everyone by joining the photography club at Palatine High School. Go Pirates! Charity hates organized sports. She says they remind her of church. But she loves the photography club, and none of the boys in it have neck tattoos.

Anyway, she and Dad flew out to see us in London. They even took the Chunnel under the English Channel to see Paris, but that was weeks ago and they’ve since flown home. I know they had a ton of fun on the trip. Charity is in love with Paris and can’t wait to come back and spend more time at the
Louvre
. The thing that struck me most about Charity when she was in London was that she just seemed so light and happy and not nearly as crabby in the mornings like she used to be. I asked Dad if she was like this at home, and he said she was. He also said she was seeing a therapist every week, and seemed excited about continuing. What a relief.

As for Mom not coming to London, my guess is that she didn’t want to make the trip because of Dad and maybe partially because of Lance, who she still blames for Charity’s move to Illinois. Maybe one day, Mom’ll let go of her need to blame everyone else and control everything and accept that life is full of surprises and you have to just go with it. Maybe she’ll realize that Dad isn’t her enemy and Lance isn’t either. It would make her a lot happier.

Who knows.

But I’m happy.

Because I have Lance.

“Let’s go back to the hotel, Pink,” Lance says right before slapping my ass.

“Hey!” I laugh and glance at one of the uniformed gendarmes who smirks at me and Lance. “People are watching!”

“So? I’ve been dying to fuck you since we came up here. Something about standing on top of a giant steel dick makes me think I need to show it who’s boss.”

I laugh at the image of straddling the Eiffel Tower like a steel dildo.

“What?” Lance asks.

“Forget it,” I giggle.

“Tell me you wouldn’t want me to bend you over the railing here while I fuck you from behind in front of the most romantic view in the world?”

“How about we go back to the hotel?” I glance over at the gendarme, who is still watching us. “It has a pretty good view.”

“As long as I’m looking at you, the view is always perfect.”

My heart melts.

He gestures toward the elevators. “After you.”

“Such a gentleman.”

“No, I just want to stare at that perfect ass of yours.”

“You’re too much, Lance,” I smile.

“Wait’ll you feel my cock inside you. That’ll be too much. You’ll be begging me to stop because it feels so damn good you think your pussy is gonna explode. But I won’t stop. I’ll just keep fucking until the orgasm tears your pussy apart. The French do call orgasms
la petite mort
, right?”

“What?”

“The little death. How close do you think I can take you to the edge without killing you?” His devilish grin returns. His smokey eyes burn with the promise of exquisite danger.

Okay, I’m wet.

What else does a girl need?

I mean, other than her very own
little death
machine?

++++8++++

That night, after we die our little deaths in each other’s arms, while I lie beside Lance in the rumpled hotel bed, I can’t help but thank goodness for sending him into my life.

++++8++++

Fin.

We all know Rod McKnight and Faith Shields have some unfinished business. Want to know how that time bomb blows up?
 
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Personal thanks from Devon Hartford:

Thank you so much for taking the time to live with Lance and Chastity and their families for a while. If you enjoyed
The Bad Boy Next Door: Lance & Chastity
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++++8++++

WANT MORE DEVON NOW?

THEN TRY:

COVER MODEL

A Steamy Standalone Romantic Comedy

BY DEVON HARTFORD

The following sample is the opening of COVER MODEL, Devon Hartford’s #1 best-selling romantic comedy and fan-favorite novel.
 

They called him Connor HUGE.

Connor Hughes f**ked his way through every girl in my high school.

Except me.

We
hated
each other.

That arrogant a**hole insulted me, tormented me, and
ruined
me without ever laying a finger on me.

After graduating near the top of my class, I escaped to UCLA, got my degree, and threw myself into a career as a serious journalist. But I never forgot the damage Connor did.

At least I’ll never have to see him again.

Until my editor at
Trending Magazine
tasks me with writing a tell-all article about Connor. Turns out my insufferable bad boy nemesis grew into the ultra-gorgeous model whose perfect body steams up the covers of half the romance novels on the bestseller lists.

Now I’m stuck shadowing him all weekend long at the world’s largest Romance Convention. I’m forced to watch in disgust as 45,000 women throw themselves at him and worship his shirtless body while he taunts me incessantly.

We hate each other as much today as we did seven years ago. But I can’t stop stealing glances at his perfect abs and perfect a**.

My better judgment tells me to drop everything and run, but
something deep inside me is dying to know if he’s as HUGE as the rumors…

***Cover Model is a steamy standalone with an HEA***

PROLOGUE

ELECTRA

GRAD NIGHT, 2008.

“Not on your life,” I chuckle, staring into the most beautiful blue eyes I’ve ever hated.

I stand toe to toe with Connor Hughes, the gorgeous young man I hate more than any other human being on the planet.

“You totally want me.” He flashes his insolent grin, the one that makes all the girls in school drool over him and write his name in their notebooks and stalk his Facebook page in hopes that he’ll mention them. “You’ve
always
wanted me.”

My anger rises and I snort, “I’ve
never
wanted you.
Connor.
” I spit out his name like it’s filthy. “You must think I’m pretty stupid if you think I’m going to let myself become yet another notch on your bedpost.”

In the distance, a flickering rainbow of lights beam from the grad night carnival set up behind our high school. All that frolic and fun seems a million miles away.

Ten hours ago, Connor and I walked separately across the stage in the North Valley High School gymnasium and got our diplomas from the principal. When Connor got his, he took a bow to an uproar of cheers and applause. Everybody loves Connor Hughes. Except me. When I took my diploma, nobody made a sound, not even the crickets.