The Forbidden Beat (A Stepbrother Romance) (14 page)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Beep. Beep. Beep. It was long. It was sustained. It was high
pitched. It was annoying.

My eyes fluttered open. The bright white around me was
blinding so I slammed them shut immediately.

Was I dead?

I shifted my position, and a dull ache in my side turned
into screaming pain. I gasped, my throat too sore to handle much more
vocalizing than that.

Nope, not dead.

"Nik?"

I opened my eyes at the sound of Dion's voice, squinting
through the bright white to see him slumped in an uncomfortable arm chair.

"You look like hell," I croaked after clearing my
throat.

"You look beautiful," he said. I immediately felt
bad about the hell comment.

"Is there water?" I asked.

He poured out a cup of water from the pitcher on the side
table. He lifted it to my lips and I took a sip, the cool water a relief on my
ragged throat.

"Where am I?" I asked. "And what the hell is
that annoying beep?"

"You're at Cedars-Sinai," he said.

"In LA?" I asked, pushing myself up on my elbows
and immediately regretting it. I dropped back down moving my IV'd hand around,
looking for a comfortable spot to rest. "Weren't we in Vegas?"

"You were Medevac’d to Cedars."

"Medevac’d? Like in a helicopter?"

"Nik, you were shot," he said. "Don't you
remember?"

I closed my eyes and tried to recall Vegas. I remembered the
gig, the crowd going nuts, the encore with me singing. Oh god, I groaned. I
sang. In front of like a zillion people.

"You remember?" he asked, scrambling up from the
arm chair.

I shook my head. "Dion, I sang in front of all those
people."

"That's your takeaway from all this? I tell you that
you were shot, and you're embarrassed because you sang."

"Did I get shot because of my singing?"

The tension around his mouth released when he smiled. He
shook his head no.

"Any other ailments? What part of me was shot?"

"The left side of your abdomen," he said.
"You really don't remember what happened?"

"No," I said, watching his face darken. "Is
that bad? Why do you look like that's bad?"

"It's not bad, Nik," he said.

"Stop lying," I said. "Did you beat the
shooter up or something?"

"Well, actually, yeah. I did."

"Crap," I said. "And you need me to be a
witness, don't you?"

"No, the cops believe me. There were ballistics."

"Damn this is like a real live episode of CSI. We were
even in Vegas." I watched Dion pace the room, his brooding silence a
little unnerving. "Dion, why does my throat hurt?"

"They had you on a ventilator. It was shoved down your
throat. It scratches the hell out of your throat when they remove it."

"A ventilator?"

"You almost died, Nik," he said. His eyes went
rheumy and he blinked in rapid succession.

"I almost died," I repeated.

"Grimm and Vince wanted you treated at Cedars," he
said.

"Of course they did," I scowled. "The nurses
on Grimm's payroll can feed the gossip rags information."

"Now's not the time, Nik," he said. "Vince
has been cool. Really. Grimm, too. They've been cool."

"Okay," I said, taking a shaky breath. "So,
why don't I remember anything?"

"The doctor said trauma could do it."

"As long as you're off the hook," I said.
"Jail isn't all that friendly to pretty boys like you."

He didn't laugh at my joke. "There were some things we
said, just after. I wish you remembered."

"Like what?" I asked.

"Doesn't matter," he said. "You're going to
be okay. No long term damage."

"Did the song chart?"

"What?"

"Our song. Ruined. Did it chart?"

He gave me a small smile. "It's holding at Number
5."

"Damn," I said. "Can't catch a break. If I
died, I bet it would hit number 1."

"That's not funny," he said.

"It's called gallows humor," I said, trying to
suppress a chuckle. It hurt my stomach.

We remained in silence for a moment, Dion standing over my
bed like the world's most warped guardian angel.

"Here, come sit," I said, patting space on the bed
next to me. "You're making me nervous with all the hovering." He
settled onto the edge of the bed, tentative around all the machines. "So
you going to tell me who shot me?"

"Brian," he said.

"The EMT guy? Rogue Nation's biggest fan?"

Dion just nodded and settled onto the edge of the bed.

"Wow. I Didn't see that coming," I said.

"Neither did we."

"Why'd he shoot me?"

"Because he's nuts," Dion said as if that
explained it all away. "He was the one leaving the threats, Nik. Just an
unhinged guy. It happens."

"My sisters?"

"They're fine," he said, running his fingers
around the IV tube at the top of my hand.

"They're not here?"

"They were here earlier," he said.

I glanced around the room. Dion's clothes were half stuffed
in a hospital bureau, and from the open closet door I could see his dirty
laundry heaped on the floor. A blanket and pillow rested on the chair he was
snoozing in. "From the looks of this room, you've pretty much moved
in."

"I'm just glad you're okay," he said, getting up
from the bed.

I grabbed for his hand but the IV tube yanked me back.
"Dion, what's going on? You're weird."

"I'm just exhausted."

""Right," I said, closing my eyes. "You
may as well go get some sleep in a real bed. I'm okay, the doctors have
everything under control."

"You know what, Nik? You're an asshole."

My eyes snapped open. "Excuse me?"

"You blamed me for those threats," he started.

"Like I ever imagined there'd be a crazy fan on the
lose?"

"I told you it was a nut job, but no. You'd rather have
your own imagined scenarios about asshole Dion rather than, oh I don't know,
listening to me."

"Dion," I started.

"And then, I saved your ass. I went out there and faced
off with a dude with a gun. Dude with a gun, Nik," he fumed.

"Dion," I repeated.

But he kept going. "Then I road in the damn ambulance
with you. I covered the wound with my Metallica concert t-shirt. There was so
much blood, Nik. So much fucking blood. I flew in a Medevac to LA with you.
I've been by your side the entire time."

"Okay, Dion, okay. Sorry. I didn't mean any offense.
I'll alert the press that you're a goddamn hero, okay."

"Fuck, Nik, I don't want to be a goddamn hero," he
snapped. "What I want is for you to realize that I am not the guy you
think I am!"

The beeping on the monitor sped up as my anger rose.
"Fine, hot shot. Tell me. Who do I think you are?"

"I am not Vince Davis, screwing anything that
moves," Dion exploded. "And you are not some throwaway groupie to
me."

I blinked at him. "What do you mean, I'm not a throw
away groupie?"

A nurse rushed into the room. "You're awake! Mr. Davis,
why didn't you tell us she was awake?"

He rounded on her. "Because we're talking here."

"Mr. Davis," she said, her tone sharp. "You
need to calm down. Her heart rate should not be that high right now. I'm
getting the doctor."

Dion turned to answer her but the nurse's exit from the room
was swift. Dion sank down onto the bed. "Shit. I'm sorry, Nik."

"Your Metallica tee? The one from their 30
th
 anniversary
show at the Fillmore?"

"The very one."

"Damn," I said with a smile. That was an epic
concert, and he ruined the prized souvenir he took to remember the night.
"You did that for me?"

"Of course for you," he sighed. "Fuck it,
Nik. You could have died and that scared the shit out of me, and I don't care
if I wasn't anything to you. Because you are something to me. And I almost lost
you once, and not going to risk losing you again."

"But what about Vince and Pamela? You think they'll
understand?"

"Does that even matter?" he asked, jumping up from
the bed and pacing the small room.

"I don't know," I admitted. Did it matter what my
mom and Vince thought of the whole thing? We were all adults.

"And even if they don't understand, I don't give a
goddamn," he said. He paced the room faster, hands flying, adding emphasis
to his words. "And I don't care if people think it's weird. Or Rafe gets
all shitty about it. And I don't care about Lindsay Buckingham and Stevie
Nicks. Or Meg and Jack White."

I smiled. "Or Sonny and Cher?"

"Especially not Sonny and Cher," he said. "I
care about you. And me. And us. Together. And if that means Rogue Nation gets
kicked to the curb, well, Rafe'll be pissed but I'm not going to risk losing
you."

"Dion?"

"No, don't argue with me," he said. "I know
you feel the same way. You have to feel the same way."

"Dion."

"You don't feel the same way?"

"Dion, shut up and kiss me," I said.

"Seriously?"

I nodded. He leaned over, about to put his lips on mine. And
I turned my face at the last minute and he planted a kiss on my cheek.

"That's not exactly what I was going for, Nik," he
said. "I thought we were okay."

"I don't know when I brushed my teeth last,' I
admitted. "My mouth feels like something died in it."

He laughed and got up. After poking around the room, he came
up with a crappy toothbrush and a small tube of generic toothpaste. We
make-shifted a sink with one of those kidney shaped buckets and a plastic cup.

"Open wide," Dion said, slipping the toothbrush
into my mouth. He brushed my teeth, focusing on all sides of each tooth,
careful not to scrape my gums with the stiff brush.

"Better?" he asked when he finished. I swished
water around in my mouth and spit it into the kidney shaped bowl.

"Much," I said. He wiped my mouth with a paper
towel. "You're not completely turned off right now?"

"Not even close," he said. "Now, can I kiss
you for real?"

"How's my hair?" I asked, running the hand without
the IV through the tangles.

"Shut up and kiss me," he said.

He leaned over me and his lips touched mine, gentle at
first. The kiss lingered and he sat back down on the edge of the bed, lips
stronger, more forceful. He teased my mouth open with his tongue.

"Minty fresh," he teased without lifting his lips
off of mine.

He caught the back of my neck with his hand and his mouth
pressed into mine harder, his tongue probing my mouth with more urgency. His
hand moved down, tracing the curve of my breast through the thin hospital gown.
I trembled when his hand swept over the bullet wound.

"You okay?" he asked. "Hurts?"

"A little," I admitted.

He pulled back, but I grabbed his hand. "Where do you
think you're going?"

"I don't want to hurt you," he said.

"I trust you," I whispered.

He kissed me again, and his hand wandered under the sheet,
creeping up my bare thigh. He found my sex, already slick with desire.

The beeps from my heart rate monitor went off the charts. I
yanked it off my finger to shut the damn thing up.  Then with my free hand, I
tugged at the top of his jeans.

"Right here?" he asked, helping me release the
button.

"Right here," I said.

"What about the nurse? She said she's coming back with
the doctor."

"Then we better speed it up then, don't you
think?"

I eased his zipper down and pulled out his hardening cock.
He moaned as wrapped my hand around his shaft and stroked.

He pushed the sheet off of me and I spread my legs open. He
pulled his jeans down to his hips and nestled in between my legs, careful not
to dislodge the IV. I recoiled when his ab bumped against the bullet wound.

"Dammit," he said, pulling back again.

"No." I gripped his cock harder and yanked him
back towards me. He leaned over and planted his elbows on either side of my
body, careful not press on me.

I guided his penis to my wet opening, teasing the head
against my swollen lips. He pushed into me gently, easing it in.

He paused. "Okay?"

I nodded. He maneuvered his body around mine, careful not to
lean on me. I lifted my hips a bit, impatience getting the best of me.

"Easy there," he said with a sly smile. "We
have to take this easy."

Leaning on one elbow, he tugged up my hospital gown. He
feathered kisses along the curves of my breast, stopped to tease my nipple firm
with his tongue. He brushed his thumb over the other one. I gasped in pleasure
when as he pushed further into me.

He kept up this slow tease, working my breasts with his hand
and mouth, inching his thick, rigid cock into me. When I finally took all of
him up to the hilt, I came. It wasn't an intense, rushed orgasm, but it was
long, my inner walls pulsing against him, taking him to climax as well.