“I take risks—in business and in my personal life. Sometimes it pays off and sometimes I get royally fucked over. But where’s the fun in playing it safe?” ~Johnny Outlaw
Jack Dalton fascinates me. He has so many sides to him and I want to discover every one of them. Sometimes I feel anxious, like if I don’t get to know all of him right now, I might lose the chance. Being at the beach is one of these moments.
“You live close. Do you come down here a lot?” Dalton asks as we cross the street to the beach. He walks straight to the ocean, kicks off his shoes and lets the water cover his feet.
“Every day if I can,” I reply. The sun is lower and from this position behind him, his body is silhouetted much like when he’s on stage.
“You’re lucky,” he remarks, looking around.
“Is your life that sheltered?”
“Sometimes.” Turning back to me, he asks, “Can I buy you an ice cream?”
The innocence is so darn charming. “Sure.”
He takes my hand and picks up his shoes and socks with the other, and we start walking. “What do you like to do, Holliday? For fun, when you leave work behind?”
“I like meeting friends. I would rather hang out with a small group then party at a bar with all of L.A. What about you?”
“This might destroy any illusions you might have had of me, but I like to have video game tournaments with my friends. Pretty geeky, but since going out is… complicated, it’s easy to hang with friends at home or somewhere private. Favorite cocktail? Old-fashioned like you ordered in Vegas?”
“I needed something strong that night,” I say, laughing. “There’s no way I could have survived that event sober. I like margaritas if I have a choice. There’s this restaurant down the street that makes really good ones. It’s a neighborhood place, very low key. I should take you there sometime. What’s your favorite drink?”
“A good lager, but whiskey does a better job most of the time.” He stops, causing me to stop, and stares ahead.
“What is it?”
He starts walking again and replies, “Nothing.”
I follow the direction his eyes have narrowed on but all I see is a couple taking pictures of each other.
When we reach the sidewalk, he sits, putting his shoes back on while I order ice cream from a cart. “What do you want?” I ask, glancing at him over my shoulder.
“Nothing.” He’s next to me and his response is clipped as he hands a five to the ice cream man. “We should go.”
Taking me by the elbow, he starts to leave. I grab the popsicle from the guy just before I’m dragged away. “Okay, okay, Dalton. I’m coming. Geez, let me get the ice cream.”
He stops abruptly and turns to me. “Go straight home. If you’re followed, go somewhere else, somewhere public like a shop or a restaurant. Just anywhere other than your place. Okay?”
“What? Is someone following us?”
“The paps are here. Just go. I’ll meet you soon. I’ll call if it’s going to be longer.” He walks away from the nearby food carts and meandering people, leaving me standing there with a melting popsicle and fear growing inside my chest.
Fortunately, nothing weird or suspicious happens, but this cloak and dagger act is worrisome. A couple of hours later, I watch him, much like I did earlier at the beach. He might realize I am because I’m not exactly hiding the fact, but he’s letting me without making it weird… or so I thought. “Are you just going to stare at me all night?” he asks with his arm stretched out, remote in hand, as he channel surfs.
Shrugging, I say, “I like staring at you.”
“Everyone stares at me. Makes me feel like a freak show sometimes.”
I look away, pretending to busy myself on my laptop. When he gets up, I take a peek again as he sits on the arm of my chair. “I kind of like when you do it.”
My grin is big as I laugh. “How do I do it?”
Kissing my temple, he slides his hand up the front of my shirt finding my breast and squeezing gently. “You,” he starts, his breathing changing, his mood dictating his actions, “see beneath all this. You see the real me.”
“I only see what you give me, Dalton.”
“Lies. All lies.” There’s a tease to his tone, but his voice remains direct. “You’re wiser and more observant than you let on. I know this because I watch you too.”
Leaning back, I give him easier access. His hand slips inside the top of my bra, his palm hot against my skin. He perks my nipple, then the other, and whispers. “Come with me.”
In the bedroom, we take our clothes off, the act itself routine at this point, but the anticipation just as strong as the first time in Vegas. Standing at the end of the bed, he takes a quick look around. When his eyes come back to me, he moves closer and kisses me. His hands are strong on my neck, with pressure he slides them lower to my hip, digging just enough to feel a claim being made.
I slide my hands around his middle to the spot where the muscles indent in his ass and squeeze, staking claims of my own.
We move to the bed, and he asks, “Any requests?”
I’m not usually vocal with my sexual preferences, but with him, it’s different. “From behind.” I turn, climbing onto the bed and position myself on all fours. Looking down at the rumpled duvet, I wait.
And wait.
I’m tempted to look behind me, to find him, and figure out why he’s keeping me waiting, but something in the room, something with the thickening tension, tells me to keep my eyes forward.
His hand covers my ass and my breath catches, memories of telling him I don’t like to play games never included the ones of the sexual variety. I gulp just as his other hand rubs small circles on my hip, distracting.
Thwack!
I jump, my breath knocked from me as his other hand meets my ass again, the spot rapidly heating. I jerk around and am about to say something, but his eyebrows are raised and a small smile plays on his lips, which makes me hesitate.
He waits, keeping his eyes directed on mine. The corner of his mouth goes up as his hand rubs my sore ass. “Just testing.”
I release a breath, much calmer than seconds before, and Dalton climbs onto the bed behind me. “Did I pass?”
Caressing me, he presses himself against me, a slow movement of his hips against my backside. His hands slide up my sides and grabs hold of my breasts while his hardness inspires me to wiggle. With his mouth pressed to the shell of my ear, he whispers, “You most definitely passed.”
I close my eyes, wanting to feel, wanting my senses filled with all of him, wanting to experience everything. Cold air covers me and he disappears. I remain in place, waiting for his return, secretly yearning for more.
The sound of a package ripping open, causes me to grip the covers beneath, preparing. “Feel Like Making Love” starts playing as warmth invades my insides, my breath forced out. Erratic and out of control, he plays, toying with my body, testing boundaries by touching forbidden places. I leave no room for misunderstanding of what I like and what I don’t. His body falls forward, his chest against my back with quickening thrusts and jagged breaths that foreshadow his release.
Fingers slip around and down my stomach until they find that place I’ll never turn him away from. His rhythm found is my reward. As I tremor, he comes. Moans fill the bedroom before we collapse, exhausted.
Twenty minutes later, we’re soaking in my jetted tub, bubbles covering our bodies and I ease back, resting against him. Dropping my head back on his shoulder, I close my eyes. The sudsy water makes my skin feel silky and his hands roam. His sweet words cover me as he pushes water up and over my chest, “You’re incredible.”
“You’re pretty incredible yourself,” I say, returning the compliment. When his hand dips, I wiggle. “I think I might need a little recovery time.”
Bringing my hand up from under the water, he places my wet palm to his mouth and kisses it. “I’m sorry. Was I too rough?”
“Not too rough. I enjoyed it, but I’m starting to feel the effects.”
Strong arms wrap around my middle and a kiss is placed on my cheek. “I can give it time.”
While drying off, I admire his tattoos, running my finger over his ribs. “You told me you’d tell me about the gun tattoos one day.”
“Each one represents an album that hit number one.”
“Three guns. That’s impressive.” I wrap the towel around me and stop, shocked I didn’t know he’s had that much success. “How many records have you recorded?”
“Four,” he replies, tucking the towel around his waist. He chuckles. “But our first was complete shit. We were so fucking arrogant and wouldn’t listen to our producers. They did the best they could. We just sucked back then. That album should have never been made.”
I slide onto the bathroom counter, leaning against the mirror and watch him. “What about the hula girl?”
“Wish I had a cool story to go along with it, but I don’t. That was just a drunken night in Hawaii.”
“You’re lucky it turned out so well.”
“Damn lucky.”
I don’t ask about the tiger tat on his chest. I love to lick the skin of that tattoo in particular and don’t want to find out he got it on a dare or something ridiculous like that, tainting it.
After changing into pajamas and pulling my robe on, I walk downstairs and find him in the kitchen.
Dalton holds a big box in the air, and says, “I love that you buy the family size frozen lasagna.” I barely notice the box because he’s standing there naked except for a pair of boxer briefs, and frozen dinners don’t compare to how good he looks. I watch as he reads the directions and starts the oven. “It’s getting late and these take almost two hours to cook.”
“I can wait if you can. Do you want to watch TV to pass time? I blew off work earlier and need to return a few emails.” I straighten the belt of my robe at the waist.
“Can I hang out with you?”
“And watch me work? Ummm—”
“I want to watch the magic happen.”
“There’s no magic,” I say, laughing. “Just a lot of wasting time online, looking out the window and praying for inspiration to hit.”
He feigns offense. “It’s okay if you don’t want me in there. I can hang out here.” Adds puppy eyes, and says, “I probably have a few emails and messages to return too.”
Tugging him closer by the waistband, I say, “Join me in the office when you’re ready and we’ll work together.”
Dalton is noisy. He also has trouble sitting still. More insight is good, but Mr. Wiggles-Around-A-Lot is distracting. Kicking his feet up, he flops back on the couch in my office and starts playing drums against his legs.
I can’t concentrate. I should be annoyed, but he’s too cute to be irritated by. When he reads, he whispers and responds aloud. I don’t think he even realizes he does it. When he huffs, I ask, “Everything alright?”
“A wedding invite,” he replies, keeping his eyes on his phone.
“Whose?”
“An ex.”
Wow. Okay. Guess they left on friendly terms. “Impressive that you remained friends.”
“We didn’t.”
I get up, walk across the room, and sit down next to him. He’s bothered. I can tell by the way his forehead is crinkled. I’m curious, so I ask, “Why would she invite you then?”
“I have no fucking clue other than she’s crazy.” He looks me in the eyes. “I mean like a nutball, out of her mind, batshit crazy.”
“I see the attraction.”
“Ha! Yeah.”
Curling my legs under me, I lean closer to him, and run my fingers along his neck and into his hair. “Tell me what it’s like for you to date.”
“Why do you want know that?” His tone is even, but his expression curious.
“I want to know you and how you ended up single in Vegas with me.”
He smiles. “I’m a player… or was, am, supposed to be. Something like that. I don’t keep score or anything, but I’ve slept with a few women, sometimes several at one time. I was always free to do it, even when I was in relationships if that gives you any indication of how dysfunctional they were.”
“That won’t happen with me.” I don’t bother beating around the bush. “That’s cheating in my opinion.”
“Good to know.” He seems to make a mental note, but deep down, I don’t think he’s the same guy he was back then.
“How many serious girlfriends have you had?”
“Serious. Hmmm. Tricky.”
“Rephrase. How many girlfriends have you had?”
“Three in the last seven years.” He sighs. “Women date Johnny, not me. I’m just the baggage that comes along with the image and fame they desire. One was an actress. She forced me to go to these big Hollywood events, would do a lot of schmoozing, and eventually started landing small roles.” His eyes meet mine, and he raises an eyebrow. “When I say schmoozing, I mean she did anything to get the job, anything. She broke up with me when she hooked up with her much more famous than me co-star. The dude was twenty-two years older than her and recently separated. He’s since dumped her. When she turned twenty-five, he traded her in for a nineteen-year-old lingerie model from Eastern Europe. It was a big tabloid scandal. I almost felt bad for her. Almost. She’s the one who sent the wedding invite. I didn’t even know she was dating anyone.”
“Maybe she found true love.”
“Maybe she found an asshole who fell for her tricks.”
“You fell for her.”
“But I’m an asshole.”
I laugh and hit him on the arm. “I’m hoping you’re not. I’ve dated enough of those to last me a lifetime.”
“And I’m hoping you don’t turn batshit crazy on me.”
I kiss him. “Guess we’ll find out, now won’t we?”
“That’s half the fun, right?”
I giggle. “Totally. Now carry on and tell me about the others.”
“The other two were models—big mistake. I figured since my relationship with the actress went south, maybe hot models were the way to go. The thing about hot models is they’re hot and everyone wants a piece of them. I ended up dumping one when she couldn’t kick her blow habit. The other, I caught in bed with a famous photographer. He walked away with a bloody nose and a broken camera. She treated me like I was the bad guy. The crazy one for flipping out on them.”
“So you could sleep with whomever, but she couldn’t. This is starting to sound a bit like a double-standard.”
“I couldn’t fuck whoever I wanted. I could fuck my girlfriend and whoever she brought home to fuck. There’s a difference.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay.”
When I lean back, he reaches for me, and I can tell he senses the distance I’m putting between us. “You asked me. I was honest. This is the past, the distant past, so don’t hold it against me. I’ve changed a lot since then.”
The oven timer sounds, drawing our attention toward the door. I stand up, but he grabs my hands. “I’m asking you to trust me, Holliday.”
Although relationships and boyfriends don’t come with guarantees, I look into his eyes, seeing his truth and believe he’s changed. “I trust you, Dalton. I do.”
He stands up, still holding my hand tightly in his. With a kiss to my head, he says, “Thank you.”
We’ve been asleep for hours when I feel the bed move and the warmth of Dalton pressed against me disappears. Rolling over, I sit up when I hear him rummaging downstairs in the fridge. I head down to join him. The fridge door is wide open and he’s standing next to it. “What’re you doing down here?” I ask, rubbing one eye.
“I was hungry,” he says with the leftover lasagna pan in his hand. “Want some?”
“That’s why I buy the family size. Let me get you a plate,” I say, taking it from him. I serve up two portions and heat his up in the microwave first, then set it in front of him at the bar. “It’s good cold, but better warm.”
“It is good. Really good.” He looks around while chewing. “How long have you lived here?”
“Almost two years,” I say, sitting down next to him.
“I like it.” He takes another big bite. When he’s through, he says, “It’s been a long time since I’ve sat still and listened to nature. I can hear it here even with the windows closed. I can hear seagulls and the wind. Not much traffic. That’s nice.”
“The sound of breaking waves is my favorite.”
“Why did you buy blocks away then?”
I look at him. “Nothing was for sale in this area that was located on the beach and I couldn’t afford Malibu.” I’m not offended he asked, but it does feel like he’s a little out of touch with reality.
“Yeah, I like your place,” he says, pushing his plate away. “I didn’t know what to expect, but it really suits you and it beats being stuck in a hotel suite, isolated from the world.”
I take him by the hands and pull him to his feet. “Let’s go back to bed.”
We curl up under the covers together and he kisses me—deep and needy, sweet and sexy all at once.
Our lips part and I smile in the dark. “If I get more kisses like that, I may never let you leave.”
“You’d have to deal with some angry fans, so maybe it’s best if I just sleep on this side of the bed,” he teases, scooting away from me. “You know, for your safety.”
“Your kisses are worth the risk. Now get your ass back over here.”
Reaching over, he pulls me to him. After a long, hard kiss, he rubs his erection against me and says, “There’s more where that came from.”
With a giggle, I say, “I was hoping you’d say that.”