The Forbidden Beat (A Stepbrother Romance) (12 page)

"My god, Nik, you feel so good," he breathed.
"You are so good for me."

I pressed my hands on his chest and road him. Faster.
Deeper. Then even faster. Fuck Lindsay Buckingham and Stevie Nicks. Fuck Jack
and Meg White. I was exactly where I wanted to be. Where I needed to be.

"Hey, Nik, you okay" he whispered, brushing a tear
from my cheek.

"I'm perfect," I replied, moving my hips faster to
match his thrusts.

"You always cry before you come?" he rasped out.

"Something like that," I lied.

 His expression changed from concern to pure ecstasy.

 "Are you close?" he asked. "Because I don't
think I can hold it much longer."

I nodded, and he put his thumb in my mouth, wetting it. Then
he pressed it on my clit, rubbing the nub while he pumped inside me. I dig my
nails into the skin of his chest, just on the break of orgasm. My muscles
clenched around his pulsing cock. And then we both cried out as we rode the
explosive release.

I crumbled onto him, exhausted. He wrapped his arms around
me and caressed my back.

"Dion, what did we just do?" I whispered.

"You need me to explain what that was to you?" he
teased.

"Actually, yes I think you do," I said.

He stilled. "I don't know what this is, Nik. But
whatever it is, I can't seem to stop myself from doing it."

"We can't keep doing this," I said. "The
band. Our families. Jesus, Dion, my mom and your dad."

"I don't want to think about this now," he said,
cupping my face. "I just want to be right here, right now, with you. No
Vince, no Pamela. No Rogue Nation. No complications. Just us."  

He pulled my head to his, and pressed his mouth to mine. Our
kiss was deep, filled with a promise that neither one of us could keep.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I blinked rapidly as my eyes adjusted to the dim room. A
heavy weight splayed across my abdomen as my sleep-clouded mind processed
exactly where I woke up. That weight was Dion's arm, and I was completely naked
under the sheet. I closed my eyes and a quiet groan escaped my mouth.

I did it again. Actually, a few times.

I rolled out from under his arm and off the bed, crab
walking my totally naked body up onto my feet. I rushed to the bathroom to pee,
snatching a natty postage-sized stamp towel to wrap around myself while I
tiptoed through the room, hunting for my clothes.

I had just stepped into my panties when Dion rolled over. I
froze, underwear at my knees. But his breath settled back into a slow rhythm
and I finished pulling them up. Towel now clutched to my chest, I located my
leggings and t-shirt, but my bra was missing. Did Dion shove it somewhere as a
souvenir? I wasn't in the mood to stick around and ask.

I jumped into my Converse barefoot and shoved my dirty socks
in my bag. I crept out of the room, cringing at the sound of the door clicking
shut. After releasing my held breath, I ambled towards my room. Head down,
digging in my bag for the key card, I plowed right into someone walking the
opposite way.

"Woah, Nikki!" a familiar voice said, while a set
of hands steadied me and kept me from landing on my ass.

I looked up and Brian's eyes met mine. "Man, you were
not kidding. You are Rogue Nation's biggest fan." I kept my tone light,
but my heart beat so hard I was certain he heard it.

"You just getting back from a party or something?"
he asked. I glanced at the sun just peeking over the parking lot.

"Yeah, wicked night," I said, pulling my fingers
through my spectacular bed head. It wasn't exactly a lie. Dion and I did have a
wicked night. Very wicked. Just thinking about it made my nipples jump to
attention. They rubbed against my t-shirt, reminding me I was braless. I
crossed my arms over my chest.

"I didn't see anyone drop you off," he continued.

"No? Oh, I guess...around the way..." I stammered
when my phone chirped a welcome interruption. I pulled it out of my bag and
read a group text from Vince.

Boise gig off. We're going to Vegas, Baby!

"Excuse me," I said. I turned my back to him and
pressed the phone icon by Vince's name.

"What the hell are you doing up at this hour?"
Vince grumbled. He sounded sleepy as hell. "Not very rock and roll."

"I could ask the same of you," I quipped.

"I was just putting my head down. I've been up all
night," he said. "You sound too awake for that. What do you
want?"

"The text message...Vegas?"

"Yeah, Vegas."

"Vague much?" I chaffed. "What are we doing
in Vegas?"

He yawned. "Jeeze kid, can this wait?"

"No this cannot wait."

"I'd rather tell everyone together."

"I'll come over to the Four Seasons—" I started.

"No!" He sounded wide awake now.

"Then spill."

"Someone recorded a bootleg copy of Ruined last
night," he said.

"Someone?" I asked. "Seriously? Or do you
mean someone from our team."

"I'm not answering that," he said. "Anyway,
it was loaded to YouTube and it's got like over a half a million views so far
and climbing. It's making the social media rounds. Grimm wants the band in
Vegas for a special set at the Hard Rock."

"What's the special set?" I asked.

He paused. "Opening for Anthem."

I let that sink in. "Are you serious?"

"I've been up all night working this out," he said
behind a yawn. "One night only, nothing more. Just to boost Rogue Nation.
You cannot tell anyone, Nik. Got it? I want Dion and Rafe to hear this from
me."

"Got it," I said to dead air. Vince had already
hung up.

 I turned around and nearly walked smack into Brian again.

"Vegas?" he asked.

"Yeah, I gotta go," I mumbled, pushing past him.

He caught my elbow and spun me around. "Come on, tell
me."

"We're detouring to Vegas, that's all," I said,
yanking my arm away from him. "Don't do that again."

The door to Dion's room opened, and Dion poked his head out.
His hair was sticking up. "What the hell is going on out here? You okay,
Nik?"

"Yeah, fine, just heading, you know..." I nodded
towards my room.

He opened the door wider and leaned against the door frame.
My knees buckled at the sight of the sheet pulled around his narrow hips and
taught abs. He looks Brian up and down. "You sure?"

"Yeah, I, um, Brian here was just...," I
stammered. "You remember Brian?"

"Vaguely," Dion said. "Why are your hands on
my drummer?"

"Yeah, Dion I was just—" Brian started but Dion
cut him off.

"You were just leaving, right?"

Brian blinked a few times, and I wondered for a split second
if he was going to cry. "Yeah, I'm out."

"Good," Dion said, watching Brian turn and walk
the other way. He rubbed a hand through his rumpled hair. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I said. "I mean, it was no big deal.
I had it handled."

He eyed me. "I don't want to see his hands on your
again."

"Dion, it was no big deal," I insisted. "He's
just—"

"Too familiar is what he is," Dion interrupted.

"I can take care of myself."

"I'm not questioning that," he said. "I am
questioning why that Brian guy put his hands on you so easily."

"He's pre-med, maybe he's used to touching."

He scowled but changed the topic. "Did you get a text
from Vince?"

I nodded, dropping my eyes to his muscled midsection. I felt
my lower lips swell just remembering the few short hours before. The next ten
seconds of awkward silence felt like an hour. I shook the memory from my head.

"Want to come in?" he asked. He shoved the door
open enough so I could see the unmade bed, a Cheshire-cat grin on his face.

I steadied my breathing. My body wanted to take him up on
it. But in the glowing light of first dawn, our mistake weighed heavy on me.

I shoved my hand in my bag and pulled out the key card to my
room. "I really should get to my own room."

"Did you forget something?" he asked.

I noticed he was eyeing my chest. "Like what?"

He reached around behind the door and pulled out my bra. It
dangled from two fingers.  

I moved to snatch it but he yanked it away, and tucked it
behind his back. I held out my hand. "Come on. Give it."

He tossed it behind him and it landed on the bed. "Go
get it," he challenged me. His eyes pierced into mine, and I desire washed
over me. I felt my knees start to buckled so I caught onto the door frame. If I
walked into that room, I wasn’t coming out anytime soon. I took a deep breath,
shook the cobwebs lose from my brain and steeled my resolve.

"Keep it," I said, my voice sounded more sure than
I felt. "Souvenir."

"Really?" he asked. "You sure?"

I hesitated. "Dion, last night was great. I mean,
really. Really. Great."

"I could tell you enjoyed it."

"But I think maybe, well... Dion, did we do the wrong
thing?"

His face clouded over. "We got it out of our
system."

"Right," I said, the weight of his words dropping
to the pit of my stomach.

"Right," Dion said, stepping into the shadows of
his room so I could barely see him. "Later, Nik."

I took a step towards the door. "Dion—"

But he had already retreated to his room, slamming the door
shut right in my face. I heard the scrape of the chain latching. I lifted my
hand, my fist hovering at the door, ready to knock. Dion's words about getting
it out of our systems echoed. I dropped my hand in defeat and headed to the
quiet sanctuary of my motel room, ready for a cold shower.

Once inside, I kicked off my sneakers and flopped on the
bed. My phone buzzed from inside my bag. I thought about ignoring it, but a
part of me wanted it to be Dion begging me to go back to his room. I dug it out
of my bag and gave it a look. It was from a number I didn't recognize.

You've 'Ruined' Rogue Nation. Say goodbye bitch.

My body went numb and I tossed the phone to the bottom of my
bag like it was possessed. I curled into a ball on the itchy motel bedspread.
If this was Dion's idea of a prank, it was taking a sinister edge. After a
night like last night, how could he still be carrying on like this? Tears
welled in my eyes and this time, I let them pour out. I cried myself to sleep.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

"What's with you and Dion?" Presley whispered. We
were sitting around the table in front of the bunks, tucked into the rich
leather arm chairs that surrounded the faux mahogany table. Rafe and Dion spent
the afternoon pounding cheap beer in some asinine drinking game. They crashed
out in their bunks, sleeping it off. Devlin was driving. He had us on the road
by 8 AM. It was now a little after 4 PM and, according through the street
signs, we were almost through Idaho.

"What do you mean, what's up with me and Dion?" I
asked, refusing to meet her eyes.

"You guys are barely speaking," she said. "I
mean, Vegas? Opening for Anthem? You'd think there'd be some discussion. That's
huge."

"And in no small part it's because of you," Jett
agreed. She had her bass guitar in her lap rather than her usual book. "If
Ruined wasn't leaked—" I snorted. "Okay, air quote that. But still,
you're up to..." She gestured towards Presley, who looked at the YouTube
app on her phone.

"Over 868,422 views and counting," Presley
announced.

"There you go," Jett said. "It'll be at one
million by the time we get to Vegas."

"So why's he being such a dick?" Presley continued
her line of questioning.

"Because Dion is a dick," I said with what I hoped
was a nonchalant shrug. "Whatever."

"Not whatever," Jett said, tuning her G string.
"He and Rafe should be kissing your ass right about now."

"I'm not worried about it," I lied. Dion icing me
out was not that unusual, but texting me threats from an anonymous texting app?
That was kind of freaking me out. It harder to convince myself that he was
doing it for kicks.

"Why would you worry?" Presley asked. She pursed
her lips. "Did you get another note?"

After a curt shake of my head, I looked out the window at the
flat, brown landscape of US-93 in Jerome, Idaho.

"She is such a liar," Jett said. "She won't
even look at us."

"Spill it," Presley demanded. "Let's see what
the asshat sent this time."

I handed over my phone without a fight. At this point, maybe
I needed a second and third opinion.

"Jealousy is not pretty," Presley muttered as she
read over the text.

I blinked at her. "Jealousy? Of who? His
groupies?"

"He's so clearly jealous of you," she clarified
and handed the phone off to Jett. "Why would you be jealous of groupies?
You're in the band, girl, you don't need to sleep with it."

Jett wrinkled her nose as she looked at the text. "I am
still not convinced this is Dion. I mean, just because he's a narcissist
doesn't make him a sociopath. And this textbook sociopathic."

"This assessment brought to you by Freshman year
Psych101," Presley razzed. "Come on! It's so totally Dion taking the
piss."

"Shhhh," I shushed both of them. "Keep your
voices down."

"Those two put away a case of beer between them,"
Presley scoffed. "There is no way they are waking up until we hit
Vegas."

Jett thumbed a quick chord progression. "We haven't
written a song in a while."

Presley grinned at her. "You miss it!"

"No! I just—" We both stared at her. "Yeah,
okay, I miss it," Jett admitted. "I like it when we write together.
It reminds me of slumber parties in the forts we built when we were kids."

"Awwwww," Presley teased. "Look at you all
nostalgic! You love your sisters."

"Of course I love my sisters, even the half-witted
one," Jett sassed, pulling a crumpled piece of paper out of her pocket.

"Pull out your acoustic," I told Presley.
"Jett's been working on something."

"Cool," she said, heading to the end of the bus
that held a few instruments that were not in the van.

Presley settled on the couch and we got to work on a new
song. Jett's lyrics were tight and didn't require many changes. Presley and I
worked up the melody.

"Crap," Presley swore. She cleared her throat. Her
soprano vocals didn't like the minor keys. Forcing her voice into the right
range was taking a toll.

"Stop," Jett cut her off before she tried again.
"We have a major gig coming up in Vegas. You need that voice."

"Let's call it," I said, putting down the lyric
sheet and my pen.

"No," Presley insisted. "This is a good song.
We need to finish it."

I shook my head. "Not if it costs you your voice."

"Then you do it."

"What?"

"You," she said, pointing at me. "You take
vocals on this one."

Butterflies danced in my stomach and I swallowed a giggle.
"I'm not a vocalist."

"No, you're not," Presley agreed. She didn't
bother buffering that one. "But this one is so in your kit. It's like we
wrote it for you or something."

"Or something," I grumbled. "You know I can't
do this."

"You can be all Dave Grohl like and sing from behind
the drum kit," Jett teased, referencing the former Nirvana drummer and
current Foo Fighters front man. "It's not like it hasn't been done."

"I can't replace Presley."

"Who said anything about replacing me?" she
sniffed. "You can do this one song. But replace me? Please. You are not a
front woman."

Presley just sent my competitive streak a call to action. My
stomach burned with ambition. Presley wasn't the only one who could front a
band.

"Give me that chord again," I said to said to her,
sitting up straight. She cradled her acoustic guitar and strummed the first few
notes. My voice picked up the song. I warbled at first, but once my vocal
chords warmed up and I fought off some crippling self-doubt, I lost myself in
the music.

I wrapped up the final note when Dion's applause shattered
the silence on the bus. "That was stunning."

"Sorry I woke you up," I mumbled. The heat I felt
coming off my face told me I

Rafe suck his head out from behind the bunk curtain.
"Me too."

"Sorry," I repeated.

"Actually thatwasssrillygood," Rafe said.

Jett stared at him. "What the hell did you just say?
Are you still drunk?"

"He said that was really good," Dion clarified.
"And it was. Really good. I didn't know you sang too."

I stood up and stretched my legs. "I don't."

"But you just did," he insisted.

"But I don't, not really. I only did that because it's
in the wrong key for Presley. Not a good time to fuck with her voice."

"So if it's the wrong key for your singer, who gets the
song?" Rafe asked.

"I didn't really think about it," I said.
"Jett?"

Jett shrugged. "Me neither. We just write them."

"You could sell it," Dion suggested.

"Who would buy one of our songs?" Presley asked.
She crossed her arms and slumped further into the leather chair.

"Plenty of singers," Rafe said. "You do know
the majority of pop singers don't write their own songs, right?"

"Of course we know that," Jett scoffed.

"So then why aren't you selling yours?" Rafe shot
back.

"I guess we never really thought about it," Presley
said with a shrug.

"Our songs are our songs," I added. "We write
them for us."

"Not if you write them in the wrong key," Dion
pointed out. He bent over and pulled a bottle of water out of the mini fridge.
I admired his ass while it was in the air.

"Have you sold any of your songs?" Jett asked
Rafe.

"Sure," he said, dropping out of his bunk.
"All the time."

"You guys don't save them for Rogue Nation?" Jett
continued to prod him.

"Nah," Rafe said. "We'd have too many songs.
What do you do with your rejects?"

"Reject them?" Jett said.

"And that means what?" he asked.

"We throw them away."

Rafe whooped. "That's like burning money, girl."

"Why are we even discussing this?" I moaned.
"We write for us. For Satan's Sisters. Not for pop tarts."

"No wait," Jett said, holding up her hand. "I
want to hear this."

I looked at Presley. "You want to hear this too?"

She shrugged. "Jett and I do the bulk of the
songwriting. It'd be nice to not just toss the rejects."

"But I do the arrangements," I cut in. "And I
can't arrange shit if we start selling our songs."

"Wait, you side gig all the time," Presley started
to argue.

But Jett jumped up and paced the narrow corridor. "What
do we do with a song like the one we just wrote? Presley can't sing it."

"We can change the key," I argued.

"Or you could sing it," Dion said, his tone off
hand.

"Me?" I asked with a laugh. I shook my head.
"No way. I can't sing in front of anyone."

He smirked at me. "You just did, Nikki."

"No, I sang in front of my sisters."

"And me and Rafe," he said.

"You were sleeping."

His eyes crinkled and he flashed me a smile. "What are
you afraid of?"

"Nothing," I said, jumping to my feet.

"Not like a performer to have stage fright," he
continued.

"I don't have stage fright," I insisted. I squeezed
past Jett, who was still taking out her agitation by pacing the push carpet of
the bus. I moved to my bunk.

"I'm not judging," Dion said, following me.
"I just think you have that works and you should sing it."

I ignored him and climbed into my bunk, pulling shut the
privacy curtain.

Dion pulled the curtain back. "Are you upset?"

"No," I lied, turning my back to him. "I'm
tired. Some of us didn't nap the day away."

"Shove over," he said, climbing into my bunk.

I didn't budge from my spot. He squeezed himself into my
bunk, his firm body pressed against mine. "Stop it, get in your own damn
bunk."

"Come on, shove over," he said, pushing me back
towards the wall. I was no match for him physically so, despite my protests, he
snuggled into the narrow bunk with me.

"What the hell are you two doing?" Presley called
out. They all watched Dion scramble into bed with me. I pulled the pillow over
my head.

"Having some sibling time," Dion shouted back at
her before pulling the curtain closed again. "Now that I have you
alone," he whispered, crawling under the covers with me. "That song
was kick ass. You were kick ass singing it. Now what do I have to do to
convince you?"

His hands snaked around me and wandered into my yoga pants
before I could answer.

"We can't do this here," I whispered, straining my
ears to listen to Rafe, Presley and Jett discussing how to sell our songs to
pop tarts more famous than us.

"Why no?" he asked. "Our siblings are
otherwise engaged."

I steadied my breathing in as his fingers brushed over my
panties. "I mean, we can't do this. At all."

"It's not like we haven't done this before!"

I closed my eyes, forcing myself to focus on anything but
his hand coaxing my vulva to slick attention. "Come on, Dion. After what
you did this morning."

He stilled beside me. "What I did this morning? How
about we talk about what you did?"

"Me?"

"You walked out, Nik, not me."

"And your pissed enough about me doing things on my
terms that you decided to send me another stupid threat."

He pulled on my shoulder, turning me to face him. "What
are you talking about?"

"You're behaving like a spoiled little boy. It's not
funny anymore. In fact, it's downright weird now, and kind of freaking me
out."

"Dammit, Nik," he said, raising his voice.

"Shhh," I pressed my finger over his mouth.
"Keep your voice down."

"How many times do I have to tell you, I have nothing
to do with those threats," he whispered.

"Dion, who the hell else can it be?" I asked.
"Rafe?"

"Why the hell would you think it's Rafe?"

"Because you guys don't want me on this tour—" I
started.

"Didn't," he corrected me. "We didn't want
you on this tour. But now we do. I told you before, you are an asset to the
band. Why can't you trust me?"

I bit my lip. "Because, you're Dion Davis. You're an
asshole."

"Really? That's what you think of me? After everything
we've shared?"

"Shared? What have we shared?" I asked my own
voice rising. "Apart from body fluids?"

"According to you, not much," he fumed. "You
were a decent fuck. Pity it meant so little to you."

"Meant so little to me? I was just another notch on
your well-worn bed post. You made that very clear."

"Did I?"

"You wanted me for a threesome. Or a foursome.? Or, how
many other women were there in Seattle?"

"You were about to go off and screw that Brian guy! I
figured you may be up for whoring around. Your mother was."

I shoved him, hard. He lost his balance and fell out of the
bunk. But before he plummeted to the floor, he grabbed onto me and we both
tumbled out of the bunk and onto the floor. We stared at three sets of feet
tapping the floor beside us.