Dirty Like Zane: A Dirty Rockstar Romance (Dirty, Book 6)

by Jaine Diamond

  “Excuse me,” I said, setting my beer bottle on the table and slipping out of my seat. “I need to go take care of something.”

  “Mmm.” Matt sipped his beer and followed the direction of my gaze. “Wouldn’t wanna leave Zane waiting.” His eyes locked with mine.

  And for just a heartbeat, I gave him the iciest don’t-you-dare-fuck-with-me look that I could muster.

  He winked at me.

  I turned and walked away.

  Rock stars.

  Just when you’d met one you thought might be somewhat of a gentleman, he went and busted your lady balls. While you were drunk and defenseless.

  I was, in fact, a wee bit drunker than I’d thought, which I only discovered as I walked across the room and found myself a little less-than-stable on my feet. The heels weren’t helping. I was usually pretty damn comfortable in four-inch heels, but the beers I’d just pounded back were making me feel like I had the ankles of Bambi—all four of them.

  I managed to weave my way to Zane’s table and grab hold of it, steadying myself.

  “Hi,” I breathed.

  “Hey, Maggie,” Shady said.

  Zane said nothing, just sipped his sparkling water. He didn’t even look at me.

  It hurt, but it also reinforced what I’d been telling myself all night. My conviction that I needed to be brave here and let down my wall.

  Just a wee bit more.

  “Mind if I join you guys?”

  “Course not.” Shady got out of the booth so I could slide in between them.

  When we were settled, I chatted with Shady a bit. Just small talk about the tour.

  Zane didn’t say anything. But he didn’t leave.

  After a few minutes, Shady seemed to pick up on the tension—or the fact that Zane had said exactly zero words since I sat down—and made an excuse to slip away.

  As soon as Zane and I were alone, I told him, “I’m sorry.”

  Finally, he looked at me. His arctic-blue eyes met mine—and I felt it, way down deep.

  Fuck, I’d missed that look.

  I’d missed him.

  The way he looked at me now, like he loved me… even when he was pissed at me.

  I cleared my throat. “This may be hard to believe,” I told him, “but I really don’t want to fight. I hate fighting with you. And I really can’t stand it when you’re mad at me.”

  “Really?” he said. “I don’t care if you’re mad at me.”

  My heart squeezed painfully at those words.

  “I mean…” His gaze drifted over my face. “You’re hot as fuck when you’re mad.”

  Oh.

  Relief swept through me. It was a compliment, in a weird Zane way, which meant maybe he wasn’t all that pissed anymore.

  “I’m not mad,” I said.

  He said nothing.

  “The show was really great tonight,” I told him. “You were great. I mean… the last couple of shows, here in L.A., were the best of the tour so far. In my opinion.”

  “I agree.”

  “But tonight, with Wet Blanket, you, uh, loosened up a bit. You seemed like you’d really warmed up. The first few shows you seemed kind of tense. I mean, not a lot. Not like the fans would notice or anything. But I did.” I squirmed a bit as he just kept staring at me. “You were better tonight. Your voice sounded amazing. It sounded like it should sound. I’ve… uh… never heard you sing ‘Maggie May’ quite like that.”

  He just stared at me.

  “So… um… are you okay?” I asked him.

  “Okay, how?”

  “Like… if there’s something bothering you, affecting your performance, we should probably talk about it. Especially if it has anything to do with me. I don’t want to make things hard for you, Zane. I don’t want this tour to be shit for you because of me.”

  “It’s not shit, Maggie.”

  “Okay. But… I think you need to tell me if whatever’s going on between us is affecting you.”

  “Affecting me,” he repeated, staring at me. “Yeah, it’s affecting me.”

  Well, shit.

  Not what I wanted to hear.

  My heart had started thudding in my chest, and I knew I just had to get the words out, as difficult as it would be. It was my job to do whatever was in his best interest. And Matt was right; not all managers saw that as their job, but I did.

  “If you think you should just stay away from me,” I told him, “I can make it so that you don’t have to see me any more than absolutely necessary.”

  “The fuck are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the tour. I don’t have to be in your face all the time. I can stay out of your way so you don’t have to see me. If it came down to it… I probably don’t have to be here at all. I could work it out with Brody. I’m here because he wants me to be here and Dirty wants me to be here. But I don’t have to be. Talia could stay, and I could do my work remotely. I could go back to Vancouver. We could maybe even hire someone else to work with Talia on the road, if it was needed—”

  “That’s not happening.”

  “But if it was needed.”

  “Why the hell would it be needed?”

  “I don’t know. Tonight’s show…”

  “Not happening.”

  “You just seemed like you performed better when you weren’t talking to me. When I wasn’t on your mind.”

  Now he did look kinda mad. His jaw ticked and his eyes went dark. “You think for one second you’re not on my mind?”

  “You seemed to perform better,” I repeated.

  “It’s not happening, Maggie. You’re not leaving the tour. Don’t say another fucking word about it.”

  Then he got up and walked away from the booth, leaving me here.

  Yeah… so he was still mad.

  Definitely.

  Which was maybe why he’d performed so well tonight? Nothing like a little rage to fuel a guy onstage.

  Or maybe it was just that he didn’t have the pressure of it being a Dirty show. Wet Blanket shows were just for fun, the proceeds to charity, the crowd filled with friends and family and generally the pressure was off.

  Or maybe it was because I wasn’t involved in it at all. Because I wasn’t backstage, but out in the club’s VIP section?

  This one’s for a girl I know.

  That’s what he’d said onstage tonight, without even looking in my direction, right before Wet Blanket ripped into a rocking, punked-up cover of Rod Stewart’s “Maggie May.” A couple of people had poked me, knowing the song was for me. No biggie. I’d just tried to smile and probably looked embarrassed, which wasn’t an act at all.

  Zane often dedicated songs at Wet Blanket shows to whomever, and usually with tongue-in-cheek; tonight alone they’d played a song in lament of Elle’s hiatus from Dirty (“Since I Don’t Have You”), and a song for Jessa, since she was visiting (“Brown Eyed Girl”). And they’d closed the show with a ridiculously awesome AC/DC cover dedicated to Ash and featuring a full stage, with Ash on lead vocals and Zane, Seth, Matty and a couple of the Steel Trap guys singing backup (“Big Balls”).

  But Zane had never dedicated a song to me onstage. It wasn’t like I felt left out or anything; in a weird way, without him saying so, I always just knew that some of the songs he was singing were meant for me.

  But this one… this one was something else.

  May was my actual middle name, yet only two people in my life had ever called me Maggie May.

  My mom and Zane.

  Sometime the first year we’d met, Zane had sung “Maggie May” for me by a campfire, just jamming with Jesse on acoustic guitar. He’d done it again a few times over the years, at some Dirty party or casual jam circle; the whole band liked playing it for me, for fun.

  But he’d never played “Maggie May” for me onstage.

  I glanced across the room, looking for him now. He was standing by the bar, talking to Jude; not looking at me.

  The Black Keys were still playing. “Too Afr
aid to Love You.”

  I sighed, and my eyes met Matt’s. He was sitting at a table with Dylan and Amber, and he was watching me.

  I rolled my eyes.

  He grinned.

  I got up and went over to Jesse and Katie. They were alone in a booth, she was still sitting in his lap, and they were making out.

  Too bad.

  I knocked on the table and cleared my throat to get their attention, and dropped into the seat across from them.

  “So. What are we drinking?”

  When a bunch of us eventually found our way back to the hotel, just before the sun came up, it was Zane who walked me to my room.

  I wasn’t even sure when, exactly, he’d glued himself to my side. But he was there with me in the elevator and guiding me along the hall, his hand just barely touching my elbow.

  Shady was in the elevator too, and he was probably right behind us. But I didn’t turn to look.

  After some fumbling around, I managed to find my room key card in my purse. I thanked Zane politely for walking me to my door.

  But once I had the door open, I caught his hand before he could even think about leaving.

  “Please don’t go.”

  I knew this was wrong. I knew I shouldn’t be asking him to stay, pulling him into my hotel room with me.

  He’d told me the night we were married that he didn’t mess around with drunk girls, and though he’d obviously made an exception for me, I knew he had his reasons. Good reasons.

  And I was definitely kinda drunk right now.

  Plus, I’d pushed him away over and over and over again.

  But I still wanted him…

  I couldn’t help that part. There was nothing I could do to stop it, and when my defenses were all muddled with liquor, and he was right here… it was impossible not to reach for him.

  As he stepped into the room with me, even though he held back, watching me with wary eyes, I knew he wanted me, too.

  I also knew, this time, he wasn’t gonna make the first move.

  And not just because I was kinda drunk. Even with all the alcohol in my body, though, I didn’t have the courage to make the first move either.

  I’d hurt him. I’d really hurt him this time, and I couldn’t stand it. I didn’t want him to be mad at me; it hurt way too much. But worse, knowing I’d hurt him was pretty much agony. Pain and suffering and guilt of the worst kind, all rolled into one.

  And I was afraid of pissing him off, of making him walk out like he did the other night.

  So I did the only thing I figured he wouldn’t be able to walk out on. I walked deeper into the room and switched on a lamp, then started taking off my dress.

  “Don’t talk,” I said, even though he hadn’t tried to say anything. “I’m drunk, and I don’t want to talk.”

  When I turned back to him, he was staring at me.

  I definitely had his attention.

  I’d dropped the dress and I was standing in my bra and panties and my high-heeled shoes. I stepped out of the dress as Zane walked toward me.

  “Don’t take off the shoes,” he said, his voice rough, quiet. He stood in front of me and looked straight in my eyes.

  “Don’t talk,” I repeated.

  So he didn’t.

  He felt around in the pockets of his leather jacket and his jeans until he pulled out a condom. His eyes were still on mine, and I swallowed.

  He slipped off the jacket and dropped it on the floor. He put the condom packet in his teeth, and with his half-lidded eyes locked on mine, he undid his jeans. He peeled his T-shirt over his head. One-by-one I watched him remove every piece of clothing on his body and toss it aside until he stood in front of me, naked and gorgeous in the lamplight.

  When I glanced down, a shiver tore through my body. His cock was hard, erect. He took the condom packet from between his teeth, tore it open, and rolled the condom on.

  Then he put his hands on my hips and spun me around to face the bed.

  He kept a hold of one hip and pushed on my back to bend me over, then slid my panties down around my knees. I braced myself with my hands on the bed. He nudged my legs open a little wider with his knee.

  Then he pushed his cock into me and warmth rocked through me.

  This. We’d always been best at this…

  Communicating without any words at all.

  He groaned as I gasped with relief.

  He filled me in one thrust, as my body stretched to accommodate him. But I didn’t quite take all of him.

  He pulled back, then filled me again, deeper.

  One hand on my hip, one hand on the small of my back, he filled me slowly, again and again, working his way deeper each time… until I’d taken every inch of him and he was pressed up tight against me.

  Then he gripped my hips with both hands and started giving it to me hard.

  He grunted as he hammered into me, deep and unforgiving. I wanted it hard. I wanted him to punish me. I wanted him to make me feel bad and oh-so-good.

  I wanted him to forgive me.

  I wanted him to tell me, without any words, that he would always, always want me.

  In the throes of arousal, it didn’t feel so wrong to be selfish.

  I’d take whatever Zane would give me.

  And he gave it to me good.

  Then he stopped, suddenly, and pulled out.

  I cried out.

  He turned me around and laid me out on the bed, on my back, yanking my panties down my legs and off over my shoes. He moved on top of me, wrapping my legs high around his waist as he filled me again. This time, facing me as he fucked me.

  As he fucked me slow.

  With his eyes on mine.

  His blond hair fell over me, his breath warmed my face and his lips hovered an inch from mine.

  I was in his face, and he wanted me in his face.

  Zane always wanted me in his face when he fucked me.

  And with his face so close to mine, it hit me all at once: how afraid I’d been, when he wasn’t talking to me, that he wanted me out of his life.

  I didn’t even think about my job.

  Not once.

  The fear that I might get fired because he didn’t want me around hadn’t even crossed my mind.

  I was only worried that Zane didn’t want to see me again. When I’d thought he might really be mad enough to turn his back on me, that was all I cared about.

  I was afraid of losing him.

  Not my job.

  Him.

  “Maggie…” he whispered, and I kissed him. I didn’t always kiss him while we fucked, but I kissed him now. “Fuck, you taste like booze…”

  “Then don’t taste me,” I panted.

  “You smell like booze.”

  “Then don’t smell me.”

  But I kissed him again, and he didn’t pull away. He kissed me back as I devoured him with desperate, hungry little moans, sucking at his mouth.

  For once, my wall had come crashing completely down.

  Zane had smashed it down, and I’d let him.

  Or maybe the alcohol had.

  Either way, I was totally in this with him right now. I was feeling it. I was feeling him.

  I was feeling everything…

  And it was absolutely fucking terrifying.

  I was drowning in the bliss of him, in the feeling of being his, of wanting to be his. I was suffocating in it as our tongues ravaged each other’s mouths and we fused ourselves together.

  And all I wanted was for this moment to last. To be here with him. No walls.

  To do this, with him, forever.

  No fighting. Just this.

  He reached down between my legs and started rubbing my clit as he fucked me. He groaned as we kissed.

  And I came with a scream.

  The pleasure ripped through my body like lightning, white-hot, as he pounded into me. I made all kinds of whimpering, desperate, pleading sounds I didn’t even know I could make with a man.

  “Yeah… Fuck, you’re
so beautiful.”

  “Ah, Zane…” I moaned and gasped and fucked him as hard as I could, until he rammed into me, harder, and pinned me down to the bed. His hips slammed into me a couple of times, and I felt the spasms of his cock deep inside me as he came.

  “Fuck, Maggie…” He groaned my name. “Christ… I love you…”

  I rocked my hips, and when Zane responded by slamming into me again, I started to come again. I moaned, rubbing my body against his, every-fucking-where.

  I wanted to push him off. I wanted to shove him away when he said those words.

  I love you…

  But instead, I clung to him.

  He kissed me, kissed my face all over with a million soft kisses as the pleasure shook me—body and, yes, soul.

  When we’d taken everything we could get from each other, when we’d finally gone still, he smoothed my hair back from my face and stared at me.

  “Admit it,” he said, kissing me softly on the lips. His weight pressed me to the bed. He was still inside me. Still insisting, with his body, that I was his. “Why can’t you just admit that you want this? That you love me…”

  And in the moment, all the fight had escaped me—leaving me limp and vulnerable. A soft, broken thing, shattered by his touch.

  “Of course I love you,” I whispered, as his blue eyes held mine. “But I just can’t.”

  He stared down at me. “Yeah,” he said, softly, “you can.”

  “No. No, I can’t. I can’t love you, Zane.”

  “Of course you can.”

  “No. I can’t.”

  He stared at me for a heartbeat. Then he let me go. He pulled out. “Why?” He pulled away. “Why the fuck not?”

  “Because,” I said, drawing the bedspread up over me. My voice was barely a whisper. “You’re too much like him.”

  I knew I sounded like a scared, stupid little girl. But it was nothing but the truth.

  The terrible truth.

  My truth.

  “Like who? Like fucking Dizzy?” He moved to sit on the side of the bed and took the condom off. “Is that really what this is all about?” He tossed the condom and scrubbed his hand over his face. “Your fucking daddy issues? Really, Maggie?”

  Fuck me.

  He just didn’t get it.

  No matter how many times we circled around it, he just didn’t get it. I sat up, clutching the blanket around me.

  “You know who I love, Zane? My mom. She was all I ever had growing up, and we were a joke to him. When he was pissed at us, Mom and me, we were a nuisance, a regret and an inconvenience. We were barely an afterthought. He used my mom and tossed her off when it got old and he never, ever looked back until she was dead.”