Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
T he central glass cube plummeted into the triangular base and shattered, spraying glass and making those around them leap back. Then, in a staccato pattern, all the suspended art around the room did the same. The bulb above their topiary fell to the ground, sending shards their way.
Dylan stepped in front of Mallory, covering her head with his arms.
Crashing sounds rang in her ears, along with guests’ screams and exclamations. Pricks of pain hit her legs through her sheer stockings.
There was an odd silence after the crashes, but the guests quickly made up for it with the sounds of them fleeing the room—footsteps on marble, the crunch of glass, and emergency phone calls.
In the chaos, Dylan gripped Mallory’s hand and rushed her away.
Dylan caught up to his driver, and he and Mallory took his car back to the hotel, parking at a side entrance. He helped Mallory out of the car. She was exquisitely pretty in her fancy dress, but pale and a touch stunned. Why wouldn’t she be? The event lighting had fallen from the ceiling.
He’d been shocked himself.
What a night. Mishaps had been shadowing his band for the last year, even at private events. He needed a California guru to sage the band. Rain was Catholic. He could get his hands on holy water and splash them. No, forget the splash; they needed to be dunked.
Dylan shook out his jacket, and glass sprinkled down onto the hotel’s sidewalk with high-pitched clinks
The doorman hurried forward. “I’ll take that, sir.”
“Sorry.” Dylan moved to bin the jacket.
“Really, allow me.” The doorman took the jacket from him.
“Careful, there’s glass in it.”
“I can have that cleaned.”
“Don’t bother.” His stylist wouldn’t let him repeat a look that distinct.
The doorman stared at the jacket, easily six inches too long for him. “I shouldn’t ask, but if you’re discarding it, sir, may I?”
Should have thought of that. The guy could sell it. “It’s all yours.”
Mallory moved to go into the hotel. Dylan extended a hand to catch hold of hers but stopped himself.
Champagne and shock were rough on discretion. What was he thinking? Arriving with her was enough of a risk.
He followed her into the foyer, hoping Mallory understood why he didn’t have her at his side.
Heads down, they crossed the marble floor to the back elevator bay and went straight up to the top floor.
Dylan followed Mallory to her suite, and she held the door open, inviting him in.
His heart slammed against his chest.
What was it about her that fascinated him so much? She was fun company, a flicker of sweetness after a rough year, a vanilla-scented beauty after a pressure-filled week. The promise of her soft skin under his hands, the taste of her tongue, a moment of bliss he hadn’t thought he could have right now. Shouldn’t have.
The press…the fans…the drama of tonight. This simple affair was getting complicated.
Still, he didn’t turn away. He could handle this. He strode inside the suite.
Mallory shut the door behind them and kicked off her shoes. She had pretty feet and lovely legs.
Small shards of glass had shredded her stockings. He hadn’t known she was injured. Tension hit him again. He’d thought he’d blocked her from the flying glass. Dylan gestured to her legs. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Mallory rubbed her arms, her knuckles white with strain.
She wasn’t fine, but she was holding herself together.
He should have concealed her better, pulled her away faster, left with her earlier, not let her near his bad luck band.
No .
There was no such thing as bad luck. Sometimes good rolled his way, sometimes bad. It kept them on their toes. He’d be more careful next time. He’d keep a better eye on her.
His jaw tensed. If he were about to step on stage, he wouldn’t have been able to get the first note out.
Mallory grimaced. “I’ll go change.” She went into the bathroom.
That unfroze him. Dylan followed behind her, needing to know she was all right.
“That was wild. I still can’t believe that happened.” Mallory gave a shudder and got the small first aid kit from the toiletries supplied by the hotel. “Are you cut?”
“No.” Dylan took the kit from her and guided her over to sit on the side of the large tub. He knelt before her and kissed the inside of her soft wrist, unable to let go, realizing how much he wasn’t in control.
The soft scent of vanilla with a hint of daisy teased his senses. He wanted to pull her closer, but he also wouldn’t blame her for unloading on him. He hadn’t hung out with her enough. She’d gotten hurt on his watch. Their week-long fling in France had been shortened to a long weekend.
Dylan let go of her hand. “I’m so sorry you were hurt. Let me take care of you.” This was one of the reasons they couldn’t date. Women needed to be looked after, and he wasn’t in a position to offer his protection. Not in a public way. Not in the way she deserved.
Mallory flushed pink. She gripped the side of the tub with her hands. “I’m sorry tonight got derailed.”
“I am too.” Dylan shot her a look that pinkened her cheeks even more. He clicked open the kit. The first aid box contained ointment for mild abrasions. He squeezed the gel onto a square pad of medical gauze. He could do this much for her. Damage control, when he should have prevented the injuries in the first place. Being one step behind had let her down. He’d do better.
Dylan hooked a finger in the top of her right stocking and lowered the hosiery.
The soft skin underneath his fingertips and the intimacy of the action made him pause. His logic urged him to take care of her. His fingers wanted to stroke and tap and glide upward. He shot his gaze to hers.
Her pupils dilated, and the flush moved down her neck to the curve of her breasts.
“This okay?” Dylan’s voice thickened.
Mallory quirked her cherry lips, making him want to crush them under his. “Yes.”
Sexy. His spine tingled. Her lips definitely had a way with that word. He’d get her to record it, whisper it. He’d fit her “yes” into his next track, follow the hushed sound with a thumping rock beat.
She also looked a touch helpless, as if whatever was tangling them together had her equally confused and enthralled.
Dylan put the gauze aside and gently removed her stockings, one after the other.
She wasn’t injured badly. Still, the red scrapes must burn. She wasn’t complaining though, just watching him touch the gauze to each wound through the disheveled strands of her hair. She was tougher than she looked.
After he finished, he touched a strand of her silky hair that had escaped her updo. “Tell me what I can do for you.”
Her lips parted, delicately plump and feminine. He knew how sweet she tasted and he wanted to know more.
He tightened his shoulders. Don’t be selfish . He rose to his feet, putting away the first aid kit. “I should let you rest. Ring me if you need anything.”
Mallory stood behind him. She reached out and clasped his hand. Her touch was as soft and feminine as her voice. “Do you want to stay?”
Yes . Dylan’s body tightened, and he knew he was greedy enough to take each moment she would give him. Before he could draw her into his embrace, his phone rang with the tone dedicated to the agency for urgent calls. He took a look at the screen. Oliver. That was expected. Dylan put the phone to his ear.
“Press is going crazy. Rumors have you in a French hospital with a scarred face, others have you trapped under a sculpture at the party. Your fans are starting prayer vigils. Your driver said he’d already dropped you at the hotel. Meet me in the executive lounge. Let’s prepare a statement to reassure them while showing concern for the other guests.”
No.
Dylan wanted to curl up with Mallory in his arms, even if tonight hadn’t gone as he’d fantasized. But the professional in him knew his duty. This wasn’t the company taking advantage. This was legit. Tonight had happened. Texk needed to respond. His fans deserved to know he was okay. “Yeah. Give me a minute to shower off the glass and change. I’ll be right down.”
Dylan clicked off and touched Mallory’s cheek. “I have to meet Oliver. Call me if you need anything.” He gave her a quick kiss and closed his eyes, breathing her in. “Okay. Right. I have to go.”
Sunday was swamped with the fallout press and interviews from the party. Then, somehow, it was Monday. Mallory’s week in Paris had gone by in the blur of a rock star’s life.
This was their last night in Paris, and Dylan’s schedule had refused to relent, much like the weather. Rain poured down in gray sheets.
Large umbrellas shielded Mallory and Dylan as they ran from the square into the Paris Opera House, the Palais Garnier. They sheltered together from the rain; there was a mystique in that which only Paris could deliver.
The opera house’s ornate beauty and Chagall ceilings were stunning, from another time, but no less powerful for the century that had passed. Mallory tipped her head back. “Why did I ever think a week here was enough? I haven’t even scratched the surface of what there is to see.” Or do.
She hadn’t had enough of Paris or Dylan.
Their love affair wanted to soar, but between his schedule and crushing commitments, they couldn’t seem to make it begin. Were they simply not meant to be?
Disappointment streaked through her. That was fate’s message if she opened her eyes and read the writing. The fact that they’d met at all had been a fluke, not destiny. Fate couldn’t be forced.
“This is the largest stage in Europe but I only want to think about you.” Dylan frowned. “We have one night left. I’m being selfish, aren’t I? Keeping you at my side? I know I am, but I’m still asking.”
She loved that he wanted to spend more time with her too. From the dark intensity of his eyes to his focus and the way he directed his body toward hers, it all told her without words that he wanted more.
Mallory chewed on her lip and lifted her eyes to his. “Very selfish. Be more selfish. Pull me closer, selfish.”
Dylan’s brown eyes lit up with the challenge and a hint of pleasure. She wanted to take him from tense and impassioned to relaxed and pleased. Was that a possibility in their last hours together? Maybe. But not here, not in public.
“I’m teasing.” She’d only been half teasing. The other half of her intent was to express how she was feeling without burdening him, to give him an out.
“I accept.” He held out his hand.
There was no way she could resist. Mallory grasped his masculine fingers and let him tug her closer.
Dylan led her behind a pink marble column.
His warm grip was sure and comforting. She longed to be closer, to be wrapped in his arms.
Dylan stole a quick kiss.
Pleasure flashed through her, so drugging and deep, she wound her arms around his neck and pressed against his hard body. His muscles supported her softness with no give. Mallory parted her lips and kissed him back.
The sexy kiss deepened her craving for more.
Footsteps and chatter came from a floor above them, dousing their intimacy, leaving behind a touch of panic.
They were in the public Paris Opera House. A famous landmark, a beloved tourist attraction, a mecca for anyone who loved music. She pulled back and sucked in a breath. Reason warred with risk. Her body tingled from being pressed against his, and she wanted more.
But here they were in public. Not two normal, anonymous-to-the-world lovers. He was Dylan Lee, world-famous, loved-by-billions rock star. Stealing a moment to hold hands was one thing, an excusable, explainable lapse, but sharing a kiss was not. Kissing in public exposed him to very real problems.
When Dylan kissed her, she lost her composure, and thoughts of his security and their privacy melted away. They couldn’t be affectionate in public, much less kiss. She knew this. He knew this. This was no complex issue to convey. “We’re too public.”
Dylan’s face took on an adorably defiant expression.
He was the one who’d shared Texk’s rules. Rules she agreed with. She honestly didn’t need the press either. The drama and fallout would be disproportionate to their relationship. She didn’t want fans and media to dissect her life over a brief affair.
Texk, for all their heavy oversight, was simply trying to protect Dylan.
She needed to support him, not make his life more difficult. “Your label, Texk…” How to say this? Mallory chewed on her bottom lip, her teeth pierced away the sweet sensations his kiss left behind. “I don’t think they’re exactly wrong.”
Dylan scowled.
“Your every move gets posted online. I can’t imagine what that does to your relationships.” How many failed after one date? How many never got to a date? How restrictive.
Not that his fans were precisely wrong either. To love him at a concert? Cheers. But to prevent him from having a private life? Yikes. But that was the reality.
If his fans saw him kissing a woman in Paris, they would not be cheering. His true fans would be fine, but not the delusional ones. He needed people around him to protect him, not make his life harder. She wanted to leave his life better, not worse.
But she didn’t quite know how to say what she was feeling without making it seem like she was making more out of their fling than it was. “From what I’ve seen this week, your schedule is crazy hectic. And I’m sure I don’t know a fraction of the demands your career puts on you.” She kept her voice low. “But if kissing me makes the press, that’ll cause drama at minimum, or worse—damage your reputation. I wouldn’t want that.”
His gaze softened. “No pushing me to take the risk for you?” His gaze heated. “I will, you know.”
Wow. That weakened her knees. He felt their chemistry too. That was lovely and made her want to reach for him, but she kept her resolve firm. “I don’t need you to risk any part of your career for me. Not for a brief moment in Paris. We’re temporary.” Temporary. Ha. They had twenty-four hours left. She was definitely making this a bigger deal than it was. At this rate, their relationship barely had time to qualify as a one-nighter. She had to lighten up.
“What do you need?” Dylan lowered his voice.
Mallory did her best to ease the mood. “What do I need?” She pursed her lips as if in deep thought. “The eternal question one must ask oneself.”
Dylan kept his focus on her. “What’s the answer?”
Mallory went with the truth, but a truth that had nothing to do with their relationship. “A t-shirt from the gift shop.”
“Of course.” He nodded.
She was on the right track. “A dragon clawing his way up the lattice of the Eiffel Tower.”
“Naturally.” His voice curved around the word.
Dylan was a good sport, and a delicious kisser. Mallory wanted him. If only for this moment, if only for tonight, nothing was permanent anyway, and temporary could be divine.
Mallory lowered her voice. She wanted to confirm that tonight would be enough. What did she want that she could have? “A kiss behind closed doors after the sun sets, an evening with you without risk of exposure, a memorable highlight for my time in Paris.”
Dylan’s face softened. “You got it. You and me. Tonight. No interruptions.” His voice was low, rich, sexy, and utterly committed.
Mallory didn’t know what Dylan had canceled to make it happen, but by eight that night, he stepped into her hotel room holding a bunch of pink daisies tied with a red ribbon.