Savage Rhythm (11 page)

And the whole time, Molly kept thinking,
This looks something like a guy you can trust.

A guy who went out of his way to help out some poor dude who’d been dumped, a guy who used his fame and wealth to make that poor dude feel better, even when he was exhausted after a show, even when Molly knew she’d driven him crazy. He’d driven her crazy, too. She could still remember how hard his dick had felt through his jeans when he’d pinned her up against that amp.

You’ll never get what you want from sex if you don’t trust anyone to give it to you.

Declan had picked her up and carried her through an angry mob. He’d stopped, said “when you’re ready,” like he was so damn certain.

NO, these are crazy thoughts
. He was still Declan Donovan, rock star. He didn’t belong to her, and never would. He belonged to everyone, the way she’d seen him, on stage.

But did she have to trust him with her heart?

Why not her body?

Instantly she felt heat pooling between her legs. Was that possible, though? He’d said he could show her who she was. Wasn’t that the same as trusting him with her heart? Letting him in like that, to help her discover…

Molly’s spidey sense went off, and she looked around. And then she frowned. A redhead and her brunette friend were, to put it delicately, trying to drape themselves over Declan. It grossed Molly out, and she frowned. She wasn’t one of those women who got catty for no reason. Maybe it was the way they were throwing themselves at him with no sense of whether he seemed to be into it. Maybe it was because the brunette had brought her child to this shindig and Molly was judging the crap out of her, fairly or unfairly, or maybe it was the way seeing children always made her a little bit sad. But she smiled to see him disentangle himself, and then went right back to worrying.

Oh man, she was tired.

“Why so sad, beautiful?” Declan asked, slipping into her booth so that she was pleasantly squeezed between him and the wall. There were worse places to be in the world.

“Not sad,” she said, wondering if he knew she was lying a little bit. “Thoughtful.”

He seemed to watch her. Doing his own thinking. She wished he wouldn’t press on her being sad, not tonight, and in a second he seemed to get it.

“You do a lot of thinking,” he agreed, and ran his finger through the remaining syrup on her plate. “But since you’re too chicken to ask me any questions so far—”

“Hey!” she said, pulling her plate back. “I’m not chicken. And no syrup for men who call me chicken.”

He smiled delectably and licked the syrup off of his finger. God.

“I’ve got a question for you. Who is it you’re always trying to call?” he asked.

That threw her for a loop. The only person she was obsessive about contacting was Lydia, but she hadn’t known he’d noticed that. What was she supposed to say? Any explanation of why she was so worried would involve telling him about her past. Molly was not prepared to go there right now.

“Too tough for you right now, huh? Chicken,” Declan said, pulling the plate back in front of him meaningfully. “I’ve got an alternative question. How come you’re scared to interview me?”

“Who says I’m scared? Maybe I’m just doing research,” she said.

“You’ve interviewed everyone else and avoided it with me,” he said, amused. “I think you do want me to tell you what I’d do to you for lying to me if you were my sub.”

Yes
.

“No, I don’t. Look, questions for the other guys are easy,” Molly said quickly. “Questions for you are hard.”

“Chicken.”

And Declan grabbed her hand and pulled her up and out of the booth. That man had become awfully familiar with manhandling her, and Molly just did not have it in her to tell him to stop. She enjoyed it too damn much.

The parking lot was unseasonably cold, and Molly realized they had no ride. They’d come here in Ian’s car—Declan had left instructions for Sierra to get a ride home—and now it was just the two of them, out in a parking lot, while a rocking party raged on in the waffle house.

“What are we doing out here?” she asked.

“That’s your question?” he teased. “I called Davey. We’re waiting for the bus. I’m freaking exhausted, and we have to make time on the road tomorrow. Hey, you cold?”

She was shivering, and not in a good way this time. Her usual shorts and tank top was not cutting it. Declan didn’t wait for her to answer, but instead stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her. The contact alone… She didn’t know if she was better or worse off, feeling warm and wanting him all at the same time. She sighed and leaned her head back into his chest.

“Why do you keep turning down groupies?” she asked. “Did you know I was watching you?”

Yeah, pretend that’s all about the book, Ward.

“No, I didn’t,” he said, and she could
hear
him smiling. Like he’d won something. “I used to bag all of them. Decided to stop about six months ago. That’s a big question, though, Mol. You ready to give me a big answer in return?”

Molly swallowed. In the span of less than twenty-four hours, she had been convinced she was going to die, she’d been saved by the one man who could make her feel…well, the way she felt right now, in his arms, she’d been kissed, she’d partied with a rock star, and now she was facing some difficult truths about herself and what she wanted.

“Maybe we’ll save that for your first interview,” she said. “But what Brian did tonight, even not knowing… Do you think you’ve ever done that?”

Declan was quiet. He squeezed Molly a little tighter, and she felt his chin on the top of her head. When he spoke, he sounded different. Pensive. Humbled.

“I must have,” he said. “Back when I still… Yeah. But I don’t think it’s that different from normal people, you know? Maybe just with the volume turned up. People come in and out of each other’s lives all the time and have no idea of the damage they do, whether they mean it or not.”

Molly turned in his arms, needing to see his face, to confirm the gut feeling she got about what he’d just said. And even more, to see whether not Declan Donovan, the guy who kept secrets, would let her see what he was feeling.

He did. He didn’t tell her more, but he let her see that, whatever it was, it hurt him. The light was bad out there in the parking lot, but he didn’t shy away, and she could see the pain in his eyes. That there was some wound there, something that wouldn’t heal, something that he carried with him. Was it Bethany? Was that what had happened six months ago in Philly?

But Ian had said that Declan hadn’t cared when Bethany started to date Soren. There had to be something more. Something deeper…

“Declan…”

“The bus is here,” he said gently. How had she not noticed a freaking tour bus drive into the parking lot? Molly swore. She could actually lose time with Declan. “You can interview me tomorrow. Tonight let’s just watch
This is Spinal Tap
and go to sleep.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“You have your own bunk,” he said, tightening his arms around her with a smile. “You come near my bed, and you won’t be doing any sleeping.”

A few things happened after that. After coming aboard to find Brian shame-faced and sorry, and everyone so welcoming that it felt like a family already, after all they’d all been through together, Molly noticed when Declan suddenly stressed out and reached for his phone. The lines didn’t leave his face until he’d checked it and evidently saw what he needed to see, and she realized that this was why he’d noticed her stress about getting in touch with her sister. There was someone Declan worried about, too.

And then while watching the movie, Molly fell fast asleep on Declan’s chest, waking only when he kissed her forehead, picked her up, and carried her to her bunk.

chapter
12

Molly dreamed of Declan.

She was backstage, waiting for him, wondering when he would be done with the show, if he would be with someone else. So sure he would rather be with his fans, with all those other women, that nothing she felt with him could be real; he wouldn’t ever choose her. But then he surprised her. She didn’t know how, but she knew it was him suddenly standing behind her.

It was
his
hand on the small of her back.

His hand that went farther now, no longer gentle, groping her ass, pushing between her legs…

His hand that held her still, his hand that reached around, found her breast…

She moaned, and then they were back in the office at Volare, and she turned to face him and her clothes were gone. Just…gone. She didn’t know how, but he had done it. He’d taken them. She heard that growl, and then he clasped his hands around her wrists, forcing them down to her sides, baring her to him, naked. Powerless. His.

She had that thought, that exact thought:
He can do whatever he wants with me
. And it spread through her body like wildfire, and she suddenly wished he
would
…

And then he spun her around and he was bending her roughly over that desk, telling her, “You’re mine,” her whole body thrilling to the words, her breasts pushed into the desk where she’d signed his contract, his hand thrust between her legs, spreading them, his hand on the back of her neck, holding her there…

When he entered her, she came so hard that she woke herself up, panting, covered in sweat.

And totally disoriented.

She had actually come in a dream. Just from freaking dreaming about him. She was still…oh God, still with the aftershocks.

What the hell was that?

Molly lay there, wide-eyed, tangled up in sheets, wishing to God she had a real room with a real door, and wondering what the hell all of that meant. She’d always had a thing for rough sex, for being…well, controlled. Dominated, ravaged, whatever. She’d always had fantasies,
tons
of fantasies, my God, fantasies so much kinkier than that dream, but never about anyone she actually
knew
. Never something potentially real. But that? That was definitely Declan. In fact, it hadn’t even been a particularly kinky dream; it was the fact that it
was
Declan that made it so hot.

The idea of Declan owning her. Having total control over her body. Taking her? Oh God, yes please.

She knew she had to stop thinking about it, or she’d need another orgasm, and she had never found it easy to be quiet once she got going. But not thinking about it was practically impossible. This, right here, in this little afterglow, thinking about Declan dominating her, this was the only relief Molly got. She hadn’t even realized how much she needed a break until right now. Outside her little cocoon of a bunk, wrapped up in dreams of Declan, there was the real world, with all those real responsibilities, with all the pressure of getting it right or having everything collapse around her. Her plans for the future, getting out of Pleasant Valley Park, getting Lydia out. But in here, she could give it all up to Declan. Dream Declan, anyway.

Molly groaned. It was clearly time to start being responsible again. And she was clearly screwing herself over with these kinds of thoughts.

And she had very nearly had gotten a hold of herself by the time she knocked on Declan’s door, hoping to use his shower—until he answered the door in nothing but boxer briefs.

“First interview in ten?” He yawned, leaning against the narrow doorframe and rubbing his face. He was so big he filled the entire doorway, to the point where it looked like a miniature door for hobbits or something. The effect was just a wall of tanned, tatted muscle, moving slightly under his skin as he stretched, reminding her of a wild animal, something that was about to pounce.

Molly gulped.

“Yeah, sounds good,” she said. “Mind if I use your shower again?” She hated using the guys’ shower.

Declan ran a hand over his head and looked at her, wide-awake now. He looked at
all
of her.

“Be my guest,” he said slowly.

She could
feel
his voice on her body. Oh, God.

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

Molly took a very, very cold shower. By the time she was cooled off—at least momentarily—the bus had stopped for a minute and someone had gone and gotten breakfast sandwiches. She smelled them as soon as she stepped out of Declan’s room, and was hit with hunger pangs. She was ravenous. Sex dreams were kind of a workout.

Molly smiled a little bit to herself as she made her way to the booth at the front of the bus. There was something kind of fun about knowing she’d gotten off, however unintentionally, while everybody else slept. Like she’d gotten away with something.

Except that maybe she hadn’t.

Gage seemed on the verge of laughing. Brian looked at her with something like open awe and jumped up to get her a breakfast sandwich from the communal bag in the middle of the table, which was suspiciously unnecessary. Erik was red-faced and silent, chewing furiously on his bacon, egg, and cheese.

And Declan…no one should be able to smolder this early in the day. Or look at her like…what, was he mad? No, that was ridiculous. But there was something going on. That tiny muscle on his jaw bulged out and his eyes were glaring at her, burning holes in her shirt. If he kept doing that, she was going to be in trouble all over again. She’d had more time to think about the previous day now, the kiss, the way he’d carried her, the way he’d looked out for Ian. One by one, her reasons for resisting Declan’s advances were crumbling, and it scared the shit out of her. And now they were all acting as though they’d…

Molly was afraid to ask. She’d never had quiet orgasms, but who knew if that extended to dreams? There were some things it was better not to know. She’d just grab her breakfast and then go hide in the baggage area for the rest of the tour, no problem.

But Declan snapped first.

He jumped up, grabbing the breakfast bag with one hand and Molly’s arm with the other.

“We’ll eat during the interview,” he said gruffly. “Come on.”

And he hauled her off to his bedroom.