Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
IRELAND
The concert is wild, way worse than last night. Even though we're in the front row, it's hard to hear over all the screaming, shouting, and mayhem going on behind us. After having been on the stage today, I have a new appreciation for how it must look from up there.
I'm in awe of the fact that they're up there, gliding around like they own the freaking stage while thousands of people literally scream their lyrics at them. I can't take my eyes off Crue. He's always been an amazing dancer, but he's on fire tonight. They all are.
Every time he looks out at the audience, he looks right at me.
I feel like I'm living out my fangirl fantasies, except for this one is ten thousand times better.
Because I'm not in love with Crue Blake, superstar.
I'm in love with Crue Blake, the bossy, gorgeous, sweet, crazy man I've gotten to know since he jumped off the stage and introduced himself yesterday morning.
And somehow, some way…I think he's falling in love with me, too.
It seems like I've known him forever. In a way, I guess I have.
He's exactly like I always expected, and yet he's vastly different too.
He's so much more than I was prepared for…
bossier, hotter, sweeter, more demanding, harder on himself, funnier, and carrying so many ghosts from the past. Yet his love for his band, the music, and the fans shines.
My heart didn't stand a chance against him.
When the concert ends, he jumps off the stage. Security immediately moves to flank him as he stalks toward me, smirking.
"What are you doing?" I ask, a little worried that he's going to do something crazy. At this point, I wouldn't put it past him.
"Coming to escort you and the girls to the back." He holds out his hand for me and then pulls me to my feet. The rest of the girls stand, too.
"What the heck?" a girl in the row behind us says. "Why do they get to go backstage?"
"What can I say?" I shrug. "When a heartthrob reaches for your hand, be the kind of girl who takes it."
She's still gaping when Crue turns me toward the stage, leading us to the back.
"A heartthrob, huh?" He leans down to shout in my ear.
"Former heartthrob," I shout back to him.
He growls playfully, his hazel eyes light and a permanent smile on his face. It looks good on him. Way too darn good.
We don't say anything else until we're backstage. As soon as we're into the crossover space, he turns, scooping me up into his arms. His lips come down on mine in a hard kiss.
"You're sweaty," I say, laughing.
"How long do you think it'll be before we're all over the internet?"
"Pfft. We're probably already all over the internet," I scoff, wriggling for him to put me down. "They were posting about that little interaction before we even walked away." I shoot him a pointed look. "Why do I have the feeling that's what you wanted?"
He smirks, not denying it.
I shake my head at him. He's not nearly as smooth as he thinks he is.
But the fact that he wants people to see us together is adorable.
I just hope he doesn't change his mind when the whole world finds out we're married, and his face is plastered all over the tabloids again.
Part of me is still a little afraid he might.
It's not because I lack confidence. I don't. I love who I am, and I don't care who approves.
But who I am is a small-town girl. And small-town girls don't live happily ever after with superstars anywhere except in movies.
When people find out about us, they're going to have a whole lot of opinions…
and a lot of those opinions aren't going to be nice.
They've already put Crue and the band through so much.
I don't want to be the reason he goes through it a second time.
And I'm really afraid I will be. I'm equally as afraid that Crue won't handle it well.
What happens when he decides all of this was a mistake? He has an image to protect. Marrying a certified fangirl twelve hours after meeting her doesn't exactly protect that image. If anything, it confirms all the crazy things the tabloids used to say about him and the band.
"We have a band meeting to see who is signing autographs out back."
"This requires a band meeting?"
"It's more like a Rock, Paper, Scissors competition, but band meeting sounds better," he mutters, pulling me toward their dressing room. "You can judge. Mason cheats."
"He does not," I say through laughter. "It's impossible to cheat at that game, Crue."
"Fine. He doesn't cheat. He's just too fucking good, and it pisses me off."
* * *
"Well, this is swanky," I mumble, prowling through our new hotel room…
which is actually a two-room suite on the top floor.
Havoc is posted outside the door. Another security guard is posted at the end of the hall by the elevators.
They'll switch off throughout the night to make sure no one tries to sneak in.
"It's a beautiful view," Crue murmurs from the doorway.
I glance toward him, only to find him staring at me. I smile, unable to stop myself. Anytime we're in the same vicinity, his eyes are on me. I love it far more than I probably should.
But then again, I love everything about this man.
"Mine isn't so bad either." I hop up on the bed and kick back, crossing my legs at the ankles. I let my gaze drift up and down his body, making it clear I'm talking about him. "It's a pretty amazing view, actually."
"Oh, yeah?" He pushes away from the doorframe, prowling across the room toward me. "I think you need a closer look, éire."
"Probably so. I do have terrible vision."
He chuckles, stopping beside the bed. "You know if I get on that bed with you, I'm going to be inside you as soon as I can make it happen, right?"
"Counting on it, rockstar."
"You should also know I have every intention of putting my kid in you."
"I…" I blink. "Wait. Really?"
"Til death do us part, éire," he murmurs, tracing the ring encircling my finger. "They weren't just words. I meant them."
"Crue," I whisper. "I…"
"You're mine, Ireland Blake. You're going to keep being mine until they bury me six feet under. I don't care what I have to do to convince you not to leave me; I'll do it," he says, running his fingertip down my cheek.
"I never planned on leaving you. I just wanted to give you an out in case…"
"In case what?"
"In case you change your mind," I whisper, looking down at my hands. "You're a superstar, Crue. I'm just me. What happens when the whole world finds out about us, and you're all over the tabloids again? I don't want to be a mistake or something else you regret."
"You think I could regret you?"
"I don't know." I shrug helplessly. "I've never had to face having my heart broken into a million pieces. I'm terrified that you're going to shatter it, and I'll spend the rest of my life hearing your stupid voice on the stupid radio, remembering that you didn't love me back."
He inhales a sharp breath. "You're in love with me."
"What? No. I didn't say that. When did I say that?" I say, my voice rising an octave. "You're hearing things. You should get that checked out."
He plants one knee on the bed and then the other, crawling over me, his expression dark. "Don't lie to me, Ireland," he growls, caging me in beneath him. "Tell me what you said."
"I didn't say that!" I cry. "I said something else."
"Tell me."
"I said I don't want to spend the rest of my life hearing your stupid voice on the stupid radio."
"After that."
"I told you that you should get your hearing checked," I say, skipping over the part he wants to hear.
His lips twitch. He knows what I'm doing. "You're pissing me off, sweet girl."
"Fine. If you know what I said, why don't you tell me then, smarty pants?"
"You said you don't want to spend the rest of your life remembering that I don't love you back," he growls. "Which will never fucking happen because my heart has belonged to you since the first damn time you smiled at me, éire." He cups my cheek, holding my gaze captive. "I. Love. You."
"Crue." Tears well in my eyes, threatening to spill over. "Say it again."
"I love you." He leans down, brushing his lips across mine. "I love you." His lips slide across my cheek, landing against my ear. "I love you, Ireland Blake."
I sob his name, flinging my arms around him.
"I love you too. I mean, you probably already knew that because I'm a fangirl, but I mean it, Crue.
I love you. Not your music or your band or the fact that you're famous, have won awards, or can sing or dance.
I love you and how much you love your bandmates.
I love how funny you are. I love that you're bossy, even though it's really annoying. I love everything about you."
"Jesus," he mutters against my skin, his big body trembling against mine. "You're killing me here, sweet girl."
"I don't want you to die. I just want you to know that I don't love you because of what you do. I love you for who you are underneath all of that. That man is kind of incredible, Crue," I whisper. "He's my dream, not the superstar."
"You mean heartthrob."
I try to knee him in the thigh, but he chuckles, grabbing my leg before I make contact. I settle for biting his neck instead. Which is clearly the wrong thing to do because he growls and shoves my legs apart, fitting himself between them.
"Keep it up, Ireland," he breathes against my neck, grinding his erection against my pussy. "You'll be carrying my kid before you can scream my name."
"Yeah? Is that a threat or a promise, Crue?"
"Fuck," he groans, lifting his gaze to look at me. "You want me to breed you, don't you?"
"So bad," I whisper.
A slow, wicked smirk spreads across his face. He rises up on his knees, reaching for the collar of my dress. I open my mouth to ask what he's doing, but he yanks before I can, ripping the fabric right down the center.
"Crue!" I cry, shocked. "You could have asked me to take it off!"