Rock God (Hearts of Metal Book 3) (11 page)

“You will,” he said. “Inspiration never dies.” Then his lips brushed across hers.

They were whisper-soft. Shayna’s nerves tingled and sang. She melted against him, returning the kiss, but just as she reached up to caress his hair, Dante released her and moved away.

“For luck,” he said, giving her a slight smile. “Now get to bed. You have a busy day ahead of you.”

Shayna opened her mouth to whisper his name, but the word died in her throat as she watched him pour himself another drink. He kept his back to her.

Despite her trembling legs, she slid off the bar stool and fled the room. In a trance-like state, she washed off her makeup and got ready for bed, but Dante’s kiss replayed in her mind.
It didn’t mean anything,
the logical half of her brain protested, but her heart and body didn’t listen. Her skin continued to tingle.

“I feel like one of the heroines in my stories,” she whispered.

It took forever before sleep claimed her, and when it did, Dante strode into her dreams. He did more than just kiss her.

***

Dante sighed as he pressed his finger to lips that still tingled. “Shouldn’t have done that,” he muttered to the empty room.

It was just for luck,
he feebly rationalized. Besides, she shouldn’t have looked so damn sexy in that dress.

His eyes strayed to the stack of books at his elbow. He’d never read a romance novel before, but he enjoyed all things medieval. He was curious to see if Shayna’s stories were accurate.

Polishing off the rest of his beer, he took the books upstairs. An hour later, he lay in bed with
The Duke’s Bride
, turning the pages as fast as his eyes could devour them. He’d heard romance novels alternately described as insipid fluff or porn for women. This was neither. Shayna’s novel was well-written, with captivating characters and a thrilling plot about a man and a woman from rival noble houses uncovering a dangerous secret to the crown and falling in love in the process. And she’d clearly done her research. Even little things, like scarcity of paper in the period, or which particular nobles were favored by the king, were accurate as far as the history books he’d read stated.

The heroine was brash and mischievous, completely unlike the Shayna he knew, and when he reached the first love scene, he was astounded by the incredibly sensual prose. To call it porn would demean the passion emblazoned on the pages. Shayna wielded great power as an author. With mere words, she had him hard and aching—and he couldn’t take care of the problem because the story had woven a spell over him. He had to know what happened next. The hero had won the heroine’s body, but would he win her heart? Dante was surprised by how much he cared. It was almost impossible to believe that the tiny, vulnerable woman in the next room was capable of creating such an intense story.

He finished the book with a satisfied smile and reached for the next. Then he looked at the clock. It was three a.m. His eyes burned with exhaustion, and reluctantly he put the novel back on the end table.

Sleep didn’t come right away. Dante couldn’t stop thinking about Shayna. After reading her book, it seemed he knew her better, yet he couldn’t help but feel he didn’t know her at all. That contradiction was infuriating.

However, there were two things he did know. One: After reading Shayna’s sex scenes, it would be impossible to think of her in a platonic manner ever again. Not that he’d been able to do so in the first place, but her sensual imagination threw a wrench in his efforts to view her as an innocent that he’d corrupt with his desire. Two: It would be a crime for her to never write another book.

Dante was lost as to how to handle the former, but he had a plan for the latter.

Chapter Nine

Shayna woke to the sound of knocking on her bedroom door.

“What?” she called groggily, rubbing her eyes.

“Are you decent?” Dante called.

“Yeah.” The bedside clock read ten a.m.

Dante opened the door and turned on the light. He held something in his hands, but Shayna was blinking too much from the sudden brightness to see what it was.

“Happy early birthday,” he said, flashing that smile that made her belly flutter. Then her eyes widened as she saw his gift. It was a new laptop. From the look of it, the thing was ten times more expensive than the ancient monstrosity she’d broken over the head of the thug outside the stadium where they met. Jeez, that seemed so long ago.

“Now you can get started on your next book.” Dante’s grin broadened, accentuating his dimples. “I’m going to take a nap. I stayed up too late reading.” His smile remained, though he spoke in a somewhat stern voice. “By the time I get up, you better have something for me.”

He sounded just like her old critique partner, who’d motivated her to write every day, no matter how bad she felt. After Shayna’s world collapsed, she’d broken contact with the woman, not wanting to hear a word about writing when all happiness had died.

Before she could respond, Dante left the room. Shayna closed her eyes and opened them. The laptop was still there. She hadn’t dreamt it. And, last night wasn’t a dream, either. In one evening, Dante had learned more about her romance-writing career than her husband had known in their almost four years of marriage.

He’d also kissed her. The brief touch of his lips on hers may have been chaste, but it had filled her with a desire that she’d before only thought existed in her imagination.

For luck, he’d said. To find inspiration—today, he was now saying.

She got out of bed and yanked open the dresser drawers, at a loss for what to wear. At a loss, period. Dante expected her to write today, and she had
nothing
. Her characters hadn’t spoken to her in months. And here she was, somehow supposed to face a blank page.

Why did he care so much about it, anyway?
she wondered again.
It’s not like he reads romance novel—

She paused, fingers frozen on the button of her jeans as his earlier words sank in.

“I stayed up too late reading.”

He’d read one of her books. Dante Deity, heavy metal icon, had read one of her novels.

Another horrifying thought followed:
He read my love scenes!

Did Dante now think she was a sex-starved nympho? Although she didn’t write erotica, her books had some steamy pages. Shayna was well aware of the opinion most men held of her genre. They thought it was sappy crap or porn for women. Like all other romance authors, she’d challenged them to read one before passing judgment, but now that one had risen to the challenge… She agonized over his possible reactions to her work as she yanked off the jeans and threw on a pair of yoga pants. Then she propped the laptop on a pillow and fired it up. There was no way she had the courage to go down to his office.

Taking a deep breath, she set up the computer and opened the word-processing program. The white screen was like liquid nitrogen, freezing her instantly, cutting off all potential ideas. For what seemed like an eternity she sat there shaking, fingers poised over the keys, trying to summon a noun, a verb…anything. Finally, she let out a huge sigh, slumping her shoulders in defeat. Her eyes darted around the room to look at anything but that damn white screen, the bane of all writers.

Damn him for telling her to do this! Why was she even trying to follow his orders? Did she have some kind of complex that drew her to bossy, controlling men? He was just like her husband, always telling her what to do.

No, he wasn’t.

Dante might be an autocrat, but only about things pertaining to her well-being. And he really hadn’t even been
that
autocratic about that. When Shawn told her to do something, it was always to please or benefit himself in some way. Dante saved her when she was about to be raped. Shawn likely would have walked away from such a situation. When Dante found out she was hurt and had nowhere to go, he’d taken her in. Shawn wouldn’t have taken in a stray cat. Dante had told her to rest so she could heal. Whenever Shayna was sick, Shawn had still wanted her to cook him dinner and bring him beer. Dante wanted her to write because it was important to her. Shawn would have been happy if she quit. In fact, Shawn had thrown a fit when she tried to write in bed. Dante wouldn’t care where she wrote as long as she did it.

Shayna closed her eyes and pictured the man who’d saved her, who was helping her still. Aside from sometimes being pushy, he was almost too good to be real. He was too…chivalrous. Truly like he was a knight of old reincarnated. And he was far too handsome, too.

Unbidden, she relived the feel of his kiss. He’d said it was only for luck, but it had felt like so much more.

Slowly, a new thought arose. How would one of her heroines react to a kiss like that, from a man like that? What would a man like Dante be back in the days she wrote about? He was so noble, but music was an integral part of him.

Recent events had broken through the barriers of her grief. Piece by piece,
The
Disinherited Duke
formed in Shayna’s mind. She typed up the notes at a feverish pace. When the duke—she couldn’t think of a name for him yet—lost his title and lands, he consoled himself with music and became a minstrel. Why did he lose his title? Because, she wrote, an evil duke framed him, leading the king to believe the hero was plotting against the Crown. Then the hero fell in love with the daughter of one of the king’s favored earls, and the lady was to become betrothed to none other than the evil duke. Now the minstrel had to win back his title or the lady would be lost to him and suffer a dreadful fate at the hands of his enemy!

Three hours later, Shayna had three pages of notes and the first chapter written. Her neck cramped and her stomach rumbled, but she leaned back against the pillows with a blissful sigh. She’d done it! She’d written! She had a
story!

She saved her work, checked it for typos, then emailed it to Emma, praying she’d like it. She headed to the kitchen then, suddenly famished and surprised Rosa hadn’t popped in with something to eat. Still, the story continued to weave in her mind, and her minstrel knight spoke to her in Dante’s voice. And God, that felt so good.

It had been his kiss; she knew it. Never before had she been so inspired. With her previous books she’d researched some sexual content through online forums where women discussed their sex lives and exchanged tips, but most of her scenes had been from her own longings and imaginings. Shawn had been more of a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am type, which wasn’t very inspirational. But now she had experienced
real
desire with Dante’s kiss. That made all the difference.

Rosa greeted her with a broad smile. “Hello,
Senorita
Shayna. Would you like breakfast or lunch?”

“Lunch would be good.” It occurred to her again that the housekeeper hadn’t interrupted her while she was writing. Dante must have told her not to. She wondered if he was still napping or if he was down in his studio working.

Her suspicions about his direction seemed confirmed as Rosa prepared a quesadilla. “
Señor
Deity tells me you are a romance writer.”

“Yeah.”

Shayna braced herself for an outpouring of matronly disapproval, but the housekeeper grinned and placed a plate on the table. “Good, he needs some romance in his life.”

Shayna didn’t respond, but her cheeks burned. It seemed more like it was Dante who’d brought romance into
her
life. Thanks to him, she had her writing back.

She had to do something to thank him. As she finished eating, an idea occurred to her. She got up and looked around in the fridge and cupboards, taking stock of the ingredients. If she could just…

“What are you doing, Miss Shayna?” Rosa asked.

“I want to cook something.”

Rosa’s voice was muffled when it reached her in the spice cupboard, but it clearly rang with confusion. “You are still hungry? You may ask me anytime if—”

Shayna turned and smiled. “No, thank you. I want to make something special for Dante, to thank him for all he’s done for me.”

Rosa grinned. “Ah. The best way to a man’s heart
is
his stomach.”

“No, that’s not why,” Shayna said quickly, though the thought of reaching his heart made her knees go weak.

Rosa ignored her protests and hummed cheerfully while Shayna tried to decide what to make. The choice was obvious. There were cream cheese, eggs, sugar, graham crackers and the other necessities…

Cheesecake!

***

Dante put down the second book in Shayna’s series with a frown. He’d meant to check on her progress hours ago, but this novel had sucked him in. He gave the paperback a baleful glare and headed downstairs.

She wasn’t in the office. Dante frowned again. If she had ignored him and was in the library or the pool procrastinating… A sudden whiff of heaven distracted him. He followed the scent to the kitchen and froze at the sight of Shayna’s delicious rear as she bent over the oven.

“Something smells good,” he said, straying further into the room.

She jerked upright, eyes wide like a startled doe.

“Stay out,” she commanded, charging forward and putting a hand on his chest to stop him. Heat flared at the contact, though she jerked away. “I want it to be a surprise,” she added in a murmur, her cheeks turning an adorable pink.

Lust ignited Dante’s loins. After being aroused by her sex scenes, her presence now bordered on physical torture. He forced himself to focus on his priorities. If she’d been wasting time in the kitchen, he’d have to give her the same lecture he gave his bandmates when they slacked off.

“How much writing have you done?”

Instead of wide-eyed denial or excuses, her face lit up with a brilliant smile, the first pure one he’d seen from her. “I have a rough three-page outline and the first chapter!” Then, without warning, she threw her arms around him. “Thank you so much for pushing me, Dante. It was exactly what I needed.”

He hardened instantly. Damn, she felt so right in his arms. Dante gave her a brief squeeze and pulled away. “I have some work to do, so I guess I’ll see you at dinner. And I’ll want to read that chapter.”