Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
M usic pounding in his head, heat pulsing through his body, desire controlling his moves, Dylan was ready for Mallory.
Before his hands even touched the sleeve of her hoodie, the limo door opened again.
Oliver stood in the opening. Francois behind him.
Dylan froze, then dropped his hands. A stream of curses replaced the music flooding his brain. Go away .
Oliver didn’t go. He climbed into the limo, followed by a shivering Francois. “It is too cold today.”
Frustration slammed through Dylan at the interruption, the subsequent lack of privacy, and the realization that he wouldn’t even have this final hour alone with Mallory. He used years of hiding what he was thinking to lean back against the leather seat as if he weren’t fuming.
His fingers ached to reach for her, and he had to shut that down. A desperation built in him along with the need for that sage, holy water, and now possibly a wreath of garlic to ward off the corporate attorney. Buckle in, Oliver. Have a seat, Francois.
Oliver slid down the side seat. His hair slicked back, his manner comfortable. “Glad we caught you. We can all carpool to the airport.”
We? Dylan looked from Mallory to Oliver and back.
Wait.
Since he’d been up all night on calls to his band about drama with the trainee group, it took him a few moments to process what was happening. Dylan arched his eyebrows. Mallory was leaving today too? Back to America?
Had he known that? His ignorance was another example of his own self-involvement. He’d been so focused on his own schedule that he hadn’t asked for details about hers. Had she been able to see all the sites she’d wanted to see?
One day, he could bring her back to Paris and retrieve their stolen week.
No .
That was a dream. Their shot was over.
False hope was cruel, whether it was his own or his fueling hers. He wouldn’t do that.
“Seatbelts,” Mallory said as if reminding them. She clicked hers on.
“A minibar?” Francois sounded appreciative. He opened the door of the fridge. “Corporate perks for our trip. Oui .”
Dylan held up his hand, and Francois tossed him a bottled water. He wanted to shove it against his face to cool off but took a long drink instead.
Francois passed out bottles to Oliver and Mallory too. “If we have to leave Paris, at least Seoul will be warmer.”
Francois needed to check a map. Seoul would be stunning in the autumn, but not warmer.
“Glad we could ride together,” Oliver said. “Corporate appreciates when we can combine travel expenses.”
The disparity of Oliver’s mundane preoccupation with receipts versus his own romantic deprivation was a mood shifter. Dylan resisted the urge to squeeze the plastic bottle and chugged the chilled water.
Mallory’s pink lips pressed against the rim of her bottle as she drank, one swallow, then another. When she lifted her mouth, a touch of lipstick lingered on the clear plastic ridge. He’d had her lipstick on his neck last night when he’d showered.
Her gaze met his and flitted away. Her lively hazel eyes seemed tired. Had he kept her up?
Ha. He wished.
He had wanted her looking exhausted and drinking water while lying soft, flushed, and naked across his chest.
He’d gotten none of that. He hadn’t even made it to the bed with her, much less gotten her out of her clothes and between the sheets.
What would she have been like in the throes of passion? The taste he’d gotten made him want more than he could have. Every sound she’d made had the music flowing harder in his brain.
His body tightened even more. This was not the time or the place. He forced his gaze to the window and his mind on receipts.
“Let’s see if the Asia office is more flexible than the French,” Oliver said to Mallory.
Francois gave a snort.
Asia office? Dylan turned back to Mallory. “Where are you going?”
“Seoul.” Mallory yawned and covered her mouth. “Sorry. I can never sleep before a flight. I’m always too afraid I’ll oversleep my alarm.”
She was headed to Seoul. Dylan blinked. They were going to the same city. Impossible possibilities flashed through him.
Oliver routed the conversation to Seoul’s packed schedule and concessions Dylan would have to make to accomplish what needed to be done over the next month. Stuff he knew but was trying to rationalize away to make room to see Mallory.
Mallory tilted her head, and her eyes widened more, showing the emerald green against the gold. The complexity of her hazel eyes would make a great song.
Dylan listened to Oliver with half an ear while he discreetly observed her.
He could tell by Mallory’s curious expression that she hadn’t realized they’d be together on this leg of the trip.
Had he possessed a touch less self-interest, he would’ve known.
Mallory hadn’t discussed anything beyond this week. He hadn’t either. If the thought had crossed his mind, he would have shut it down. Seoul was twice as booked as Paris, not only with work obligations but with family too, because his parents and sister lived there.
There would be no privacy, no time, no chance.
What was going on in Mallory’s mind? Would she even want more from him? What if she did?
He couldn’t give it.
He didn’t have enough time for a fling, much less a future commitment, not at this stage in his career. Still, she was a beauty, and he couldn’t regret her presence. It was so good to see her this morning after the way he’d left her last night. Having the final image of her with her dress half open, her panties in his hand, and then having to leave would have killed him.
Even if he couldn’t touch her, he could look, admire her prettiness, tease a sexy flush onto her cheeks, and imagine the curves under her thin t-shirt. He could look without staring. He couldn’t. His gaze was glued to Mallory and he knew it.
Oliver was going to notice.
Dylan made himself stop.
He shifted to face the window. The city flashed by. From stellar architecture, to artsy graffiti, to the airport, no solutions came to him. All he knew was that he wished he was alone with Mallory. What an impossible wish. Even if he had Mallory alone, there was nothing he could promise her. They were better off with Oliver and Francois as chaperones.
The limo reached Charles de Gaulle Airport departures, and Dylan knew the drill. He donned a black hoodie, ball cap, and sunglasses. The second the door opened, he was moving. His security team jetted him through check-in, security, and to the gate.
Francois and Oliver met him shortly after, bringing him a cup of steaming black coffee and a toasty French pastry.
Where was Mallory? She had to be on their flight, right? Was she sitting with him? Dylan bit into the buttery layers and resisted asking.
Mallory joined them an hour later with an airport shopping bag hooked over her arm. The white straps dug into her skin, making red marks.
Dylan’s fingers itched to take the weight for her. As if he could have his fingers on her skin and not give himself away. He made himself resist.
Oliver eyed the bag. “Snacks? Souvenirs?”
“Mm-hmm.” Mallory held up a gargoyle trinket. “This one’s my favorite. It’s a dragon scaling the Eiffel Tower. Can you believe I found this at the airport shop?” Delight lifted the ends of her sentences. “On a bracelet, too. I’ve been wanting a new bracelet.” The band was an inexpensive black cord with a hook latch.
“That’s a gargoyle,” Dylan said, his mind playing a riff of notes that lilted like her voice.
Mallory shook her head. “Dragon.” She discarded the packaging and hooked the bracelet on her wrist. The tip of her tongue protruded from her lips as if she were in deep concentration.
Dylan tightened his fingers on the armrests of his seat, unable to help her without wanting more. Touching her skin, soft, creamy, vanilla atop daisies, was his new kryptonite. He could just hold the cord for her, not touch her. Don’t, not here, not at this public gate.
How would she feel about joining the mile-high club?
Stop. How had his mind gone from a cheap bracelet to sex in the sky? He needed more caffeine and discipline.
The speakers crackled on, and the gate attendant spoke in French followed by the English translation. “We’re ready to begin boarding. First-class customers, please proceed to the podium. All others may remain comfortably seated.”
His security team moved ahead of them. Francois hung back with the coach crowd, while he, Mallory, and Oliver checked in. Then they were on the plane, with Oliver and Mallory in the two recliners to his left. An aisle divided them.
Oliver needed to spend time with the other band members who had just as many promo gigs, Bax, Kane, Tae, or Rain. Not with him. The trainees could definitely use more attention. Then they’d be in less trouble. Now that was a solid suggestion.
After takeoff, Mallory reclined her seat and started a fantasy movie on her screen. She put on her headset and immediately fell asleep.
Dylan watched her as unobtrusively as he could, then the motion of the flight and lack of sleep knocked him out too.
The plane touching down at Incheon Airport awakened him.
His dreams had involved strands of musical notes twining around his and Mallory’s bodies, pulling them apart. He didn’t need Freud to interpret the meaning. He could put his subconscious to use. He needed his guitar and blank sheet music.
Frustration, he could accept. It was the unexpected return of Mallory that was throwing him off.
Dylan resisted looking at her. He resisted taking his guitar from his security team. The surest way to get recognized beyond traveling with his band was to sling the case over his shoulder. His longing to feel the polished curves under his hand was welcome after its long absence.
He’d give that to Paris. Mallory had been right about the City of Lights awakening their muses.
What would Seoul do for him?
On the other side of Incheon Airport, a waiting limo took them into Seoul’s city center. The limo stopped at the corporate offices first. Francois got out, looking at the tall glass structure as if he hadn’t expected a high-rise.
“You just gained five hours on your day. Come in. See the offices.” Oliver gave a welcoming wave toward him and Mallory, encouraging them to come up for a minute.
He didn’t need corporate walls containing him, contracts calling for his signatures, or charts pressuring him, not now. Dylan shook his head.
Mallory waved Oliver off. “I want to change at the hotel. Eat. Sleep for two days, explore the city, then I’ll schedule a meeting.”
Oliver turned back to Dylan.
Dylan stared Oliver down, daring him to try to insist Dylan swing inside for a meet-and-greet or paperwork or whatever else was up his buttoned-down sleeve.
Oliver backed off. “See you soon.”
Finally, they were alone.
Don’t look at her. Don’t touch her. Don’t flirt with her. Don’t make this personal.
Dylan turned to Mallory. “So, you’re my roadie now?” Dylan teased. He pulled up the expression photographers loved the most. “Following me around the world?”