Rock God (Hearts of Metal Book 3) (20 page)

“Now?” he whispered again.

“I…”

Both of his hands were under her gown now, gripping her panties, sliding them down her legs. He moved in front of her again, claiming her lips. And as Dante kissed her, he slowly walked her back to the couch. It was as if they were dancing.

“Believe me now?”

His voice was husky and teasing as he laid her upon the cushions, lifted the skirt of her dress, and before she could reply he knelt between her legs and plunged his tongue inside her wetness. Shayna cried out, shocked, and her hips bucked but he restrained them with a firm grip on her thighs. She thrashed and moaned as he licked and sucked her throbbing arousal. The first and last time her ex-husband had done that, it had felt slimy and gross. Dante’s ministrations, however, were sweet torture.

When she was on the verge of screaming from the intensity of her pleasure, he stopped and turned her around, hoisting her over the back of the couch. The sound of his zipper made her breath hiss inward, and delicious tension at the tearing of a condom wrapper was palpable in the air. Hiking up her dress, Dante put a firm hand on her hip, and Shayna’s fingers dug into the cushions as she felt his cock rubbing against her slick heat.

“Do you believe me now, Shayna?” he growled.

“Yes!” she cried out.

He entered her in one long thrust, sheathed himself to the hilt, impossibly deep. For an endless moment he remained still, and Shayna reveled in the feeling of fullness.

A low moan escaped her throat as he began to move in a slow, intoxicating rhythm. She could feel every inch of him sliding inside her, and clinging to the sofa she spread her knees farther apart and lifted her hips, needing him deeper, harder. Dante was happy to oblige. He pounded into her with a fervent tempo that sent shockwaves of pleasure careening through her being. His touch and scent overpowered her consciousness, weaving an inescapable spell over her.

Suddenly, his hand reached under her body to stroke her core. Shayna cried out at the sensation and writhed beneath him, but he was merciless; his other hand slid up along her breasts, pinching her nipples. He caressed and teased her clit until orgasm roared through her, electrifying her cells with earth-rocking force, bringing a scream past her lips. Still Dante continued the exquisite torment, thrusting into her as she squirmed and pulsated around him.

Just as she was beginning to see white spots behind her eyes, Dante let out a harsh cry. His hands moved upward, and he cradled her gently in his arms. He pulsed within her, shuddering, and the sensation drew out her climax until she couldn’t bear it any longer.

They lay motionless for some time. He slowly withdrew then, making her quiver with each pulsing inch. Shayna collapsed onto her side, panting with blissful exhaustion as she gradually came back to herself, and swimming with dizziness she struggled to sit up and work her skirt back into place. Her panties were only a few feet away, but in her boneless state the distance seemed like miles.

Dante appeared at the bathroom door. She hadn’t known he’d left. His eyes were full of sensuous knowledge as he looked at her, and a satisfied smile curved his lips, making her cheeks blaze.

He sat down on the couch and pulled her onto his lap. The scent of him and their lovemaking made her dizzy.

“Well,” he said conversationally, “I’m glad that’s settled.”

For the longest time they held each other, then, basking in luxurious afterglow.

Finally, Shayna found her voice. “We didn’t even get undressed.”

Dante’s wicked smile returned. “We can do that later—before we try out that waterfall shower. And I have some ideas about the bathroom in my master bedroom back home.”

After his impassioned words and passionate lovemaking, Shayna finally dared to speak of their future. “You’re going to love the huckleberry shakes tomorrow. We’ll have to ask Kat where they are in this area, so if we ever come back I can take you huckleberry picking. Or if we ever go to Montana, I’ll show you where I used to go.”

“I think I would like that.”

He kissed her forehead, and Shayna’s heart soared with hope. Maybe her fantasized courtship was coming true after all.

Chapter Eighteen

Two months later, Dante reached out with one hand to open the curtain of his office window while he held the phone with the other. His relationship with Shayna had just passed into more serious territory, though she didn’t know it yet.

He had just told his father about her.

“You’d really like her, Dad,” he finished, watching Shayna lounging beside the pool with a book in her hand. His eyes devoured her curves, again accented by that blue bathing suit. He felt a twinge of regret that summer was ending.

“Good, so when’s the wedding going to be?”

Patrick’s gruff voice was teasing, and Dante rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Dad, we’ve only known each other for three months.”

His father laughed. “I only knew your mother for a week before I knew she was the one.”

A dull pang of wistful grief washed over Dante. His mother had been dead for almost two years, but he still missed her every day. He just tried not to fixate on it. “Times were different then.”

“Well, you’d better not take too long to figure things out. Neither of us are getting any younger, and I’m still holding out hope for a grandkid or two.” Before Dante could argue, his father continued, “Anyhow, I’d best get going. Joe’s gonna be here any minute to watch the game. Nice talking to you, son. I’m proud of you, and I look forward to hearing your next album.”

Dante sighed and hung up the phone. That was his dad all right: terse and to the point. And he had a
valid
point. These months with Shayna had been the happiest Dante had ever had. Their days formed a blissful perfection now as if they’d been together forever, and their nights were just as intense—as if it were always their first time in bed.

His eyes roved over her again, an appreciative smile curving his lips she stretched. She had started off as a project to him, and in some ways she still was one. So far it was a successful endeavor. After returning from the wedding, Shayna had finished her manuscript a month before deadline, signed with an agent and gotten an impressive advance from her publisher for a new series. Dante was so proud of her he could burst.

And the last was an excellent book, too. Possibly her best. He’d cajoled her into letting him read her final draft, and he had finished it one sitting. He was even able to help her with some esoteric historical details. But the tale of the sword-wielding nobleman-cum-minstrel had stuck in Dante’s mind like very few other books ever had.

He watched Shayna set her book down and frowned as that distant look of sadness marred her beautiful face. She wasn’t out of the woods yet, he realized, although she’d made definite progress in recovering from her grief. Dante smiled as he remembered the joy in her eyes when she’d taken her divorce decree to the Social Security office to change her name back to Gray, and then went to her bank to change her name on her account and get new checks. But she’d waved off his offer to take her to get a California driver’s license.

With a sigh, he reminded himself to be patient. These things took time. With all she’d been through, he couldn’t expect her to fully commit to settling down with him, especially not after such a short period of time. Hell, she still had nightmares sometimes. Dante ached whenever he heard those agonized whimpers, though he was relieved to be there to hold her.

Outside, Shayna was staring off into space with that melancholy frown on her lips. She’d been doing that a lot lately, though she’d been trying to hide it from him. Dante’s fists clenched impotently at his sides, because he hated seeing her in pain. Was this love then? He supposed it was.

Letting the curtain drop, he paced across the floor of his office, overcome with anxious frustration. The recent honeymoon period was quickly drawing to a close. No matter how much he wished their blissful peace could remain, reality would soon intrude. For one thing, his usual antsy urge to be back on the road was creeping in, killing his appetite and making sleep difficult. The songs for his new album were all written, and the band would be heading into the recording studio next week. Dante was always on edge at these times, and now the feeling was worse than usual.

Work. His devotion to his craft and his fans. Because of that, none of his relationships had ever worked out. Part of it had been mistrust and jealousy about groupies on the road, but most of the problems surfaced when he was recording an album. The women always felt neglected. And though he couldn’t blame them, there was nothing he could do about it. The work always came first. It had to.

Would Shayna understand? He’d found himself hoping. He prayed she would understand why he was anxious to get back into the studio and onto the road. It had nothing to do with her. He truly got itchy if he stayed at home too long and away from the music. Would she be able to handle being alone for this first challenge, the week or three that it would take for him and the band to record their project?

He hoped so. At least she had her writing to occupy her. But what would happen when he came back and then went on the road? Some of his tours lasted as long as eighteen months.

Actually, to his surprise, his concern was not so much with whether she could take such a long separation, but whether or not
he
could.

You could take her with you,
a voice whispered, and Dante nodded, conceding the possibility. After all, she could write on the road.

But would that be fair to her?
another voice asked. Could he expect Shayna to deal with the rough company of the musicians and roadies, sleep in the often less than glamorous accommodations—often the cramped tour bus—and deal with the constant noise and flashing cameras? Because he loved her, he didn’t want to make her unhappy.

The sound of the sliding glass door pulled him from his thoughts. He heard Shayna walk to the kitchen to start dinner, and Dante sighed. Those practicalities just didn’t reduce his wanting to take her with him.

Maybe he should just present it like it was a done deal.

***

Shayna watched Dante toy with the pasta on his plate. He’d only eaten half of his dinner again. Had she suddenly become a bad cook? Rosa had ceded the duty to her two nights a week after Dante promised that there’d be no reduction in pay. In fact, the housekeeper had smiled. And of course Shayna cooked on the weekends when the Rosa was off.

“Did I put too much garlic in the sauce?” she asked, hoping her worry wasn’t too pronounced.

He shook his head and gave her a reassuring smile. “No, it’s delicious. I’m just not very hungry when I have work on my mind.”

Shayna managed a sympathetic nod and poured him some more wine. It probably was just the work. He’d been distant and fidgety for the past week. God knew she felt on edge and out of her skin when her writing got especially intense, but still, she couldn’t help but worry that there was something else.

The conversation she’d had with her mother that morning echoed in her mind, and she tried to drown it out with more wine. After the usual guilt-injecting remonstrations for not calling more often, her mother had said plainly, “I saw you on TV over
two months ago
kissing some rock star. Is that the ‘friend’ you’re staying with?”

“It is,” Shayna had said firmly, though her grip on the receiver trembled. She should have just sucked it up and called last month and gotten this over with, but she hadn’t wanted anything to intrude on her happiness.

“Why didn’t you tell me in the first place, Shayna?” The hurt accusation in her mother’s voice was plain as a stab to the heart. “Why did I have to learn on a gossip show that my daughter is shacking up with a big-shot rock star? And you’re only
now
telling me?”

“He doesn’t act like a big-shot, Mom, he’s very nice.” A pleading little girl voice had crept into her tone, and Shayna hated it. Gathering her breath, she’d told her mother all about Dante’s rescuing her and getting her to write again. And had then brought up her recent success.

Janet Gray was merciless as ever. “You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?”

Shayna had sighed. “Yes, Mom, I am.”

Her mother had then launched into an acerbic monologue full of contradicting and ever cynical witticisms:
“Isn’t he a little old for you?” “Why should he buy the cow when he’s getting the milk for free?” “Well, that type isn’t usually the marrying kind, and even if they are, it’s never permanent. I mean, look at how many times Paul McCartney has been married!”

The urge to slam down the phone had grown stronger each second, but she’d fought back. “We’ve only been involved a little over three months. It’s a bit early to be thinking of marriage,” she’d claimed. Though she’d had to fight the little pitter-patter of her heart at the word.

“I know, dear. I just worry about you.” Her mother sighed. “You’re not getting any younger, after all. And
what
are you going to do when he goes back to doing his concerts? Are you going to stay at his house and wait while tramps from every city paw at him backstage?”

Those words had hit her like a bucket of ice water, dousing every vestige of her good mood. She’d struggled to remember why she even called in the first place.

“Shayna? Shayna, are you there?”

“I got a six-figure advance on my latest book,” she’d announced when she remembered. Her voice was cold, emotionless, as if she were describing a sale on toilet paper. “I received the contract and signing payment today.”

“Oh, dear, that’s wonderful!” Her mother’s enthusiasm had remained for a nanosecond before… “You’re not sharing it with
him
, are you? All that money—”

“No, it’s going in the bank.” Shayna didn’t bother explaining yet again the process of installments, taxes, or her new agent’s cut. The conversation had soured enough to ruin her entire week and reinforce her policy of calling her mother as rarely as possible. “Anyway, I have to go. Edits, you know.”

“Wait, Shayna. I almost forgot to tell you.” And, here, Janet had delivered a final unsettling blow. “Shawn called. About a month ago. He wants to know your new address.”