The Forbidden Beat (A Stepbrother Romance) (3 page)

"You're more than a skilled drummer," he said.
"You have talent. And that is a compliment. However, you are taking
advantage of an unfortunate situation."

"My stepbrother's death," I said.

"Yes," he responded. "And I just want to make
sure you are aware how I feel about that."

"I saw exactly how you felt with the parade of
reporters you invited to his funeral," I snapped.

He put a frail arm loosely around my shoulders, his voice
low. "You're a savvy young woman. You know why we had to do that."

"Yup, I know you are marketing the tragedy for all it's
worth. And now you need to capitalize on that work. Because footing the bill
for their tour was a huge miscalculation."

"I beg to differ," he said.

"Mr. Grimm, you and I both know that Rogue Nation is a
mid-list band at best that will not be the hit machine that Anthem was for your
label."

"And how do you know this, Miss Benson?"

"I grew up around failed musicians, not successful
ones," I said, thinking about my own father, now working as a plumber
somewhere in Maine. "That gives me a very different perspective."

"You know what, Miss Benson, I believe I will sign your
band by the end of this tour," he said, his rheumy gray eyes twinkled.
"Welcome to the Grimm family."

CHAPTER THREE

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Dion roared. He
paced along expensive Aubusson carpet in the library before coming to a stop in
front of me. "Why do we have to take Pamela's little brats out on tour
with us? Haven't we shared enough with them?"

"You can take that up with your manager," I said,
nodding towards his dad Vince, who vexed me with his silence on the whole
matter.

"What about us?" Jett chimed in. "I'll have
to drop out of this semester at UCLA."

"Hey Ginger, you just got handed the opportunity of a
lifetime," Rafe scoffed. "And you're worried about college?"

Jett pushed a few rogue red curls behind her ears and gave
librarian bun a pat. "College is what smart people worry about. And I
wouldn't call traveling with you two much of an opportunity."

"Shut your bitch mouth," was the best he tossed
back at her.

"There's more to life than your asinine band," she
sighed.

"Yeah, big tits, wet pussy," Rafe countered. He
and Dion shared a fist bump. Heat creeped up my face as I recalled Dion talking
about my wet pussy in the room just below us. My double-crossing heart skipped
at the memory.

"Boys, please," Vince barked and I was grateful to
refocus my thoughts on the situation at hand. "There will be plenty of
tits and pussy on tour." All three of them shared knowing smirks.
"But you need to get on the road to get some. Think of this as a means to
an end."

"Maturity level of a 12-year-old, and that's the three
of them combined," Jett mumbled, snatching one of Vince's leather-bound
books off the shelf beside her.

I turned to Dion. "We are saving your tour. You think
Grimm is happy at the prospect of losing millions of dollars?"

"Our record sales will more than make up for it,"
he boasted.

"Not without a tour, son," Vince said, finally
speaking to reason and not their libidos. "You need the tour; the label
needs the tour. And you need Nikki. End of story."

"We don't need the tour," Jett muttered, flipping
through the book.

"Speak for yourself," Presley hissed.

"You mean you don't want to tour with Fleetwood
Mac?" Jett asked, glaring at her through her shaggy black bangs. "You
said singing with Stevie Nicks is the opportunity of a lifetime."

"It's not like I'm duetting with her," Presley
snapped, twirling the end of the ponytail that held back her platinum blond
hair. "I mean, it's better to front my own band. Right, Vince?" She
turned coquettish, knowing exactly how to play our stepfather.

"Absolutely," he said. "This is opportunity,
for all of you. Jett, you can always hit the books when you get back. UCLA
isn't going anywhere."

"Maybe there's an online class or two you can
take?" I suggested.

"It's not the same," she sighed, looking between
at Presley and my hopeful faces. "But maybe."

"This is bullshit," Dion raged, pointing a finger
at me. "I am not touring with some little cock tease in my band."

"Way to be a sexist—" I started, but Vince cut me
off.

"Tread carefully, son," he said. "Grimm said
that if you flipped out over this, he'd replace you with Presley."

That just pissed Dion off even more. "Replace me?
Everyone knows that I am the reason why fans love Rogue Nation."

Rafe narrowed his eyes. "You're the reason?"

"You know what I mean," Dion started, then he gave
up. "Oh Christ. Dad, come on, you can't make us do this."

"Out of my hands," Vince said, shaking his head.
"The label's on the hook for a lot of money. She knows the songs. She goes
on tour."

"But, Dad, you can talk to Grimm—"

"I did talk to Grimm, Vince said. "And this is
what he agreed to."

Dion rounded on me. "You do know why you even get to do
this, right?"

"Are you going to accuse us of nepotism?" I asked.

"No, I'm going to accuse you of using my father for
your own gain."

Jett snorted.

"Dude," Rafe said, shaking his head. "That's
nepotism."

"It is?" Dion asked Vince. Vince nodded.

"You may want to think about how you landed a deal with
Grimm records after one shitty gig at the Whiskey a Go-Go," I barked back
at him. "So I'd be very careful about who you accuse of nepotism."

"Kids, please," Vince stood, agitation finally
propelled him to lay down the law. "You need a drummer and your tour
starts tomorrow. Nikki's the only drummer who knows the songs."

"You keep saying that," Dion fumed. "How the
hell does Nikki know the songs, anyway? Are you, like, our number one fan or
something?"

"Your label called me in because I am the best drummer
for hire out there right now. Those are my beats on your album," I fumed.
"Every. Single. Song."

Dion tossed up his hands. "But Kyle was our
drummer!"

"Your junkie brother was so damn high he couldn't lay
down the drum tracks. Maybe if you paid more attention to what the hell was
going on with him, you'd have noticed that!"

Presley sucked in her breath and even Jett looked up from
the book had her nose buried in. Dion and Rafe gawked at me. The ticking of the
grandfather clock was only sound in the room. Dion turned and stormed out of
the room, with Rafe nipping at his heels.

"That was way out of line, Nik," Vince said, his
voice a near-whisper.

Vince glared at me, hands on his hips, waiting for me to
issue an apology. I bit one back. What I said was harsh, but it was truth. And
I wasn't going to apologize for telling the truth simply because it was
something they weren't used to hearing. When Vince saw that he wasn't going to
get it out of me, he followed Rafe and Dion out of the room.

 Presley rolled her eyes at me. "Would it kill you to
learn a bit of tact?"

"It's the truth," I argued.

"Too soon, hon," Jett said, agreeing with our
sister. "It's been what? Two weeks since the funeral?"

"Dion and Rafe both had their heads up their own asses
so they didn't even notice how wrecked Kyle was," I said.

"Dion and Rafe had their heads in groupie pussy, that's
where their heads were," Jett agreed.

"Grimm Records and Vince literally yes’d Kyle to death
and Dion and Rafe were just as culpable," I continued. "It's about
time they were told something honest."

"Vince was trying to deal take care it, getting Kyle
into rehab before the tour," Presley said, glaring at me. "You hurt
him, just now. You hurt him."

"Why do you always take Vince's side?"

She pursed her lips. "I do not."

"Yes, you do," I argued.

"Jett?" she turned to our sister, who only
shrugged.

"You do," Jett agreed with me.

"Well, he's the only one in the room who had a successful
and lucrative music career, so who do you think is the best person to listen
to?"

"I'm just saying—" I started but though the better
of it. Presley gravitated towards successful men, not unlike our mother, once
she cut lose from our dad. But at least Presley was career focused, and not
simply trying to bag a rich and famous husband.

"The point is, we need to stick together right
now," I said instead. "This is going to be a rough tour, especially
for me."

"She is playing with two of the biggest assholes on the
planet," Jett pointed out. "At least we don't have to interact with
them on a daily basis. She does."

"I'll give you that, along with my sympathy,"
Presley sighed. "Sorry for being a bitch. Forgive me?" She flashed me
a mock pout.

"If there was ever a bitch to forgive, it's you,"
I teased her and then she rushed me. Before I could get out of her way, she
planted a giant kiss on my cheek, leaving a bright red lipstick outline on my
face. Jett howled with laughter.

"You think that's funny?" Presley teased Jett.
"You're next!"

Jett jumped out of her chair but I tackled her, holding her
still while Presley slobbered all over her.

We collapsed onto the antique rug in hysterics. When we
finally stopped laughing, we lay on the floor, arms intertwined.

"We haven't been on tour in a long, long, time,"
Jett said. "It may be fun."

"We've never been on tour," I said.

"I mean when mom used to drag us around," she
said. "Not us as a band."

Presley groaned. "You guys remember touring with Mom,
right? That was not fun. At all." 

"It'll be different this time," I promised.
"Mom was a groupie hauling around three kids. Now we are the opening act.
We'll get treated better."

"Hope so," Presley said. "You were too little
to deal with that shit, but I remember ducking lecherous old roadies. Being 16,
most of them thought I was the groupie, not mom."

"Devlin wasn't like that, was he?" I asked,
recalling my favorite roadie.

"Devlin was the bomb," Jett agreed. "He used
to buy me books. Loads and loads of them."

"You mean he stole you books," I corrected her.
"He stole them out of the libraries in each town we went through."

"Still, it was more than anyone else did for me,"
she said.

"Devlin was a prince," Presley said. "But I
remember more assholes than Devlin’s on the road."

"Yeah this time it'll be different," I promised.

"I think so, too," she said. "I mean, wow.
Our first tour. That's pretty cool."

Jett groaned. "Guys, what if we become famous?"

Presley punched her in the arm. "You say that like it's
a bad thing!"

"How will I ever go back to school?" Jett whined.

"Famous people go to college all the time," I
said. "Look at that actress who played Hermione in the Harry Potter
movies. She went to an Ivy League university too."

"We're only young once," Presley said. "You
can go to college when you don't have the stamina to play anymore!"

"And think of how great this will be for your
writing," I said, egged on by Presley's enthusiasm. "You'll get so
much material by traveling around, seeing the world."

"More poems means more songs," Presley agreed.

"Fine fine fine," Jett said, feigning enthusiasm.
"I'm excited about it, really."

Presley rolled her eyes. "You'll come around, you'll
see."

"But let's just make a deal to stay far away from our
stepbrothers. They are trouble with a capital T," Jett warned.

"Agreed. We don't need no stinking boys anyway," I
laughed.

"Speak for yourselves," Presley sighed. "It's
been so long for me, I think I'm falling in love with my vibrator."

And with that, we collapsed into giggles.

CHAPTER FOUR

Nirvana's classic album In Utero was cranked up on the sound
system. I surveyed my closet, trying to decide what to bring with me. T-shirts
seemed like a tour staple. I tossed a few of them into the open suitcase on my
bed.

Loud knocking interrupted my work flow. I tightened my short
silk robe around me and pulled off the turban that wrapped my wet hair and
raced to the door. Carne Asada fries from Taco Love were just on the other side
and I was starving. I peeked through the peephole, ready to see my favorite
delivery guy. Instead, an emerald green eye stared back at me. I knew that eye.

"Who is this?" I asked through gritted teeth.

"Your brother," Dion's voice answered back.

"What the hell do you want?" I called through the
door.

"I want to talk to you," he responded.

"You lost my phone number?"

"Come on, Nik," he said with another thump on the
door. "Let's not do this so your whole building can hear, please."

I rested my hand on the door knob. He was right. My
neighbors didn't need to know our family drama, and there was a good chance
they would sell it to the highest bidder anyway. Rogue Nation was always
turning up on TMZ and all those other gossip web sites. It's partly why their
debut album was doing brisk sales.

I opened the door an inch. Dion shoved himself in the rest
of the way.

I backed into the wall behind the door. "Really, make
yourself at home."

He kicked the door closed and turned on me. "You are a
first rate little bitch."

I stepped towards him, hands balled into fists. "Whoa,
you can't come in my home—"

He thrust both arms out on either side of my head and
slammed his hands against the wall, pinning me into a corner.

"You don't talk right now," he said, leaning into
me. "I don't know how the hell you blackmailed Satan's Sister onto the
bill, unless... Are you fucking Grimm?"

I shoved at his chest, trying to push him off. "Are you
insane? How can you even say that?"

"It wouldn't be the first time a Benson woman spread
her legs to get ahead, now would it?" he growled.

My back stiffened at the reference to my mother. "Your
father didn't have to marry the woman. That decision was on him."

"My father was high on pussy," he growled. I felt
his body tense through the thin silk of my robe and my knees went a little weak.
“That’s a hard thing for a man to resist."

"At least my daddy didn't buy my way into a record
contract," I hissed, hoping what I felt was anger burning through my body.

"Because your daddy's standing in a methadone line in
the backwoods of Maine," he said.

"At least he's functioning," I snapped back at
him. "Not to mention alive."

Dion, stunned, finally backed off. We both needed breathing
room, and bringing up addict family members were low blows on both our parts.

I crossed my arms. "We both have junkie history to
throw up in each other's faces. So what the hell did you come here for,
Dion?"

"I don't know," he said. "I just
thought...."

He stood in the middle of my living room and raked his hands
through his supple curls.

"You thought you could bully me off the tour?" My
tone was calmer than I anticipated.

"No," he raised his head and met my eyes.
"Yes. Maybe?"

"You need at drummer, I know the songs," I said
with a shrug.

"Why did you insist on Satan's Sisters touring
too?"

"You think I want to be on that tour bus with you and
Rafe by myself?" I asked. "You boys made it quite clear how you felt
about all of us for the past seven years. I'm not up for a several-months-long
hurl abuse at the little stepsister tour."

"I think we've grown up by now," he said.

"Have you really, now? Your dad married my mom because
he was high on pussy? How adult is that?"

"Well, let's not count tonight," he said, a smile
tugged at the corner of his mouth, giving his face a rakish charm. "You
got a beer or something?"

Before I could respond, Dion made a beeline to my kitchen
and opened the stainless steel SubZero fridge.

"Guess you don't eat," he quipped as he surveyed
the contents. "But you do have an open bottle of something French here so
let's drink that. Celebrate the tour."

He pulled out a bottle of Sauvignon blanc. With two wine
glasses in hand, he settled onto the couch and poured the wine, singing softly
to Heart Shape Box. I closed my eyes and listened, caught up in the vocals. He
was gifted with an extraordinary voice, just like Vince.  

"You know Dad was supposed open for Nirvana back in the
day," he said. "Then Cobain OD'd."

"Yeah, I remember my mom telling me about it," I
said. "She was a huge Courtney Love fan."

"Of course she was," Dion snorted. "Courtney
Love, the ultimate groupie."

I bristled. "Courtney may be a hot mess but Live
Through This was an exquisite album. And before you even say it, the only way
Cobain had a hand in that one was from the afterlife."

"I'm not going to fight with you on Kurt vs.
Courtney," he sighed. "For the sake of this tour, we need a
truce."

"A truce," I repeated. I sat at the opposite end
of my couch, keeping some distance between us. My short robe rode up my thigh,
and it did not go unnoticed by Dion.

"Do you do that on purpose?" he asked, handing me
my glass.

 I pulled at the edges of the robe. "Do what?"

He sipped at his wine and stared at my legs. "Tease
me."

"God, Dion, of course not," I said. "You are
the one that showed up unexpected at 10 o'clock at night."

"Right," he said. "So about the tour..."

"I'm listening."

He glanced around the room. "So this is your place?
It's nice. Small."

"Venice Beach is expensive so small is all I could
afford," I said. "What do you want?"

He ignored my question. "Dad's allowance not big
enough?"

"Allowance?" I snorted. "What am I, ten? I'm
paying for this. There's no allowance."

"Really?" he asked, looking at me over the rim of
his wine glass. "I just assumed."

"Well, I make my own way gigging," I bristled,
gulping down some wine. "What do you want, Dion?"

"God this is such a distraction," he said, staring
at the outline of my nipple as it grazed against the silk robe. "Do you
always wear that robe when you're home?"

"My robe?" I asked, my face heating up. I took
another swallow of wine.

"It's distracting." He raised his eyebrows and
looked down at his crotch. "If you think I'm lying, you can check for
yourself."

"Dion," I said. "If you want to talk about
what happened between us the other day—"

"Nope, we need to talk about this tour."

"Okay," I said, little red flags waving in my
head. "So talk."

"We need to set some ground rules."

"Ground rules," I repeated, downing the rest of
the wine from my glass.

"You can keep a beat, I'll give you that," Dion
started. "But I don't think we'll be giving you any drum solos just yet.
That said, you've grown up to be a fine piece of ass. And I think some of our
fans could appreciate that."

I opened my mouth to protest but he leaned over and poured
out half a glass of wine.

"Like if you wanted to wear that robe behind the kit,
that'd be cool. Or one of those smoking hot bra tops with a pair of short
shorts. That sort of thing." I scowled, snatched the wine bottle from him
and filled my glass while he continued. "Show some skin. You got the body.
Fuck knows you've definitely got the tits." I crossed my arms in front of
my breasts and glared at him. "The point is, let’s make the male fans want
to fuck you and the female fans want to be you. Then maybe I'll forgive you for
blackmailing Satan's Sisters onto my tour."

I jumped up, fuming. "You think I can't play because I
have boobs?"

In my haste getting off the low couch, the bottom half of my
robe flew open, and Dion got a full accounting of my freshly groomed mound.

"That. And a very lickable cunt," he said, licking
his lips.

I pulled the edges of my robe closed while a familiar ache
settled into my lower region. Dion, now on his feet, stalked toward me. He
backed me against the breakfast bar. He pressed his body against mine, his
rigid cock straining in his jeans.

"What the fuck are you doing to me?" he asked, his
breath labored.

"I'm not doing anything," I whispered, as he
pressed his length against my leg.

"Then why is it that every time I am in a room with
you, I want to fuck you?" he asked. He ran his tongue along my neck,
sending shockwaves of pleasure straight down to my toes.

My body fought to respond to his. I grit my teeth to keep
that from happening. "Dion—"

He untied my robe. "Tell me you don't feel it,
too?"

His hand reached into my open robe and caressed me from my
hip to the curve of my waist.

"Dion," I said again this time with a sigh. My
resolve weakened with each stroke of his hand as it moved further up my rib
cage.

"You feel it too, I know you do," he whispered.
His warm breath in tickled my ear, and my self-control disappeared. I gave into
him.

I shrugged out of my robe and it landed on the floor in a
heap. I guided his left hand to my breast, where his fingers teased my nipple
into a rigid peak. Then he gripped my ass and lifted me onto the counter. The cold
marble countertop was a pleasant shock against my hot slit, and I gave a small
moan.

That wasn't lost on Dion. He leaned on me, his hardness
pressing into me further, and stretched over to the fridge where he pressed the
ice dispenser. Cubes spilled from his hand and shattered on the floor, but he
brought the handful that he caught to the counter.

One cube in hand, he drew a wet line from my clavicle to my
breast, circling it before gliding the ice over my nipple, which hardened
instantly. I drew in a shaky breath as his hot mouth then wrapped around its
rigid tip and his tongue flicked back and forth. He repeated this on my other
nipple, back and forth, until my ass squirmed against the marble, my inner
thighs wet with need.

He placed the ice in his mouth and pushed my legs apart. His
cool fingers brushed along my labia, teasing it into a bloom. His head dipped
down and his ice cold tongue pressed on my clit. I wrapped my fingers around
his curls holding his head as his tongue heated against my nub. A finger
separated my outer lips he worked brushed it in and out, the slow, shallow
movement made me ache for more. My breath ragged when he curled a second finger
into me, plunging deeper into me. His mouth worked faster against my clitoris,
edging me closer to climax. I bared down on his fingers as he nipped at my
hooded nub with his front teeth. Just as a wave of pleasure began to wash over
me, he pulled away, leaving me naked on the counter, a puddle of my juices
under my ass.

 "I don't get why you play when you make a perfectly
fuckable groupie," he said. "I almost see why my dad married your
whore mother. Almost."

He turned his back and tears stung at my eyes. I scrambled
off the counter and snatched up my robe, pulling it tightly around me.

"So you still want to tour with me?" he asked,
gulping down the rest of his wine.

"I'm on this tour, Dion," I said, biting back
tears of anger. "Hell, I am saving your ass by going on this tour. Don't
you forget that."

"I'll make your life hell every day we are on the
road," he promised. "Every. Fucking. Day."

He turned and stormed towards the exit. I threw my wine
glass at his head, just missing as he slammed the door. The glass shattered
against the wood instead.

I fled to my bedroom, pushed the suitcase so it tumbled onto
the floor and flopped on my bed. I shoved my face into my pillow and screamed
out my frustration. Then I reached into the drawer on my night table and pulled
out my vibrator. I settled it between my legs and ramped up the speed,
climaxing as angry sex with Dion fueled my fantasies.