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

by Jaine Diamond

  This was forever.

  No matter what we let happen between us or didn’t, how long we stayed together, how much we fought it or fucked it up… this thing between us, it was a forever thing.

  Eventually, Zane rolled over, taking me with him and arranging us on our sides more comfortably, wedging me in under his arm with his bicep as my pillow. It was his left arm, and is it wrapped around me, his hand resting on my arm, I could see his ring finger.

  “Please tell me,” I whispered, “that you’ll never regret it. That you’re never gonna look at that tattoo on your finger and regret it.”

  “It’s just ink on my skin, Maggie,” he said, without even opening his eyes. “You’re already in here.” He laid his other hand over his heart.

  And if I’d never been sure that I loved Zane Traynor before this moment, I would’ve fallen in love with him right now.

  Thing was, I’d loved Zane forever.

  “You gonna regret it?” he asked me.

  “No,” I said. “You were right. This thing between us… it’s forever, Zane.”

  He opened his blue eyes and looked deep into mine. “For real,” he asked, “what happens when people see it? You gonna flip out…? Run away?”

  “No. I meant what I said. I’ll wear the wedding band over it. I have it with me anyway.”

  “You do?” He seemed genuinely surprised about that.

  “Yeah. I carry it and the engagement ring you gave me everywhere. I might not wear them, but they mean a lot to me, Zane.”

  “Maggie…” He put his hand on the side of my face, lightly, and drifted his thumb over my bottom lip. “Jesus… you still surprise me.”

  I smiled. He surprised me too, in incredible ways.

  We’d just gotten tattooed together. I’d never seen that one coming.

  “I’ll wear the wedding band,” I promised him, “and a lot of people probably won’t notice it. I’ll wear the ruby ring my mom gave me, too. I wear that a lot. And if anyone has the balls to ask… Our friends have already been told we’re married but not together. If they notice the ring, I’m sure it’ll imply that there’s more going on than they’ve been told. But we’re all adults here. I think my friends can respect that I don’t want to talk about it just yet. Hell, if they can’t respect that, what kind of friends are they anyway?”

  I wasn’t sure what he thought of that; he didn’t say anything.

  “And people who don’t know me…” I went on. “They have no reason to think there’s any connection between you and me.”

  “Other than the fact you’re with me all the time.”

  “As Dirty’s assistant manager.”

  “Maggie. You start wearing a wedding band and showing up everywhere with me, the media is gonna sniff it out sooner or later.”

  “Let them sniff. They’ve got no proof of anything.”

  “You know we could just make this easier on ourselves and tell them, right? Tell everyone.”

  “Yeah. I know. And one day we will. But let’s just give this some time to be real. Just the two of us.” I gazed up at him, wanting that more than anything. To just be with him without any external pressure and enjoy it for a while. Without worrying what other people would think, or dealing with women hating on me or the media swarming. “Okay?”

  “Okay,” he said, with surprisingly little resistance. His eyes searched my face. “Just tell me you’re happy, okay?”

  He’d never asked me that before. I only realized that now, because it stood out. Honestly, from the day Zane had married me, he’d never asked me that.

  He’d asked me to be his wife, yes. He’d asked me to love him and to try to make our marriage work.

  But he’d never asked me if any of it would make me happy. He’d never asked me if I thought he could make me happy, or if I was happy.

  I looked at my tattoo. It was wild and impulsive. It was so like Zane, but it really didn’t seem like me.

  The thing was, it felt like me in a way I wasn’t sure how to explain to him or to anyone.

  It felt right, just like lying here with him did.

  “That’s hard for me to answer,” I told him, honestly. “I’m definitely not unhappy. But this is all so new. I don’t mean our relationship, even though it’s definitely changed some in the last several weeks. It’s grown, and it feels good. But I mean, I’m kind of new.”

  I looked at him, wondering if he understood what I meant by that. If he’d noticed the subtle changes in me, even while he was going through more dramatic changes of his own.

  “I’m different with you, Zane Traynor. I think when I’m with you, I’m more of the person I would’ve wanted to be if my whole relationship with my father hadn’t left me so starving for security and control.” I shook my head. “You know, I never thought I was a fearful person. But the fact is I’ve let fear pretty much rule my whole relationship with you. I always thought I was strong because I was in control of my life. The truth was, I was desperate to be in control because I was so scared. Being around you always scared me because the things I feel for you make me question everything about the way I’ve been living my life.”

  His fingers stroked lightly up-and-down my arm as he took that in. “The thought of being my wife still scares you?”

  “Actually,” I confessed. “It doesn’t. It’s curious and thrilling and… I don’t know… delicious? I don’t know any other word to describe this feeling. The feeling of lying here in your arms and knowing this thing between us isn’t going anywhere.” I looked up into his eyes. “It’s delicious, and I want more of it.”

  “You know you’re just making me fall more in love with you, right?”

  I smiled. “Am I?”

  “Yeah. But it’s not your fault. I pretty much fall in love with you more every day, no matter what you do. It’s pretty fucking ridiculous.”

  “I think I know what you mean…”

  He kissed me, softly. Then he told me, “I love you, Maggie.”

  And for the first time hearing those words from his lips, I truly believed him.

  “I’ve never loved before like I love you,” I told him, and I think he believed me, too. “This kind of love… it’s a once-in-a-lifetime love, Zane.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Zane

  She really should’ve known I wasn’t gonna let this shit lie.

  I mean, my wife knew me by now, right?

  Maggie had to know sooner or later I’d be pressing her to tell the universe we were married.

  Or someone else would tell… and I’d just go along with it. Maybe I wouldn’t blab just yet, but I wasn’t gonna deny it if it came out. I wasn’t gonna lie about it, and I wasn’t gonna be ashamed.

  Fuck shame. I had none.

  As I watched Maggie eating her mushroom risotto, one of her favorite meals, way too quietly, I figured she already suspected I was buttering her up because I was itching to spill. Brag to the media. Shout it from the rooftops. Piss her name in the snow.

  She already had my name tattooed on her finger. Might as well brand her with hickies and start wearing matching shit.

  I wasn’t exactly a quiet, private or subtle dude. I definitely lacked manners, tact, and that impulse control thing she was always going on about.

  I would’ve happily leaked a sex tape, if the thought of random assholes jacking off to my wife didn’t make my trigger finger itch.

  But I had no problem with the entire fucking universe knowing I owned that sweet ass.

  Fortunately for me, it now kinda did.

  Unfortunately for me, Maggie was gonna be pissed about it.

  I was pretty sure about that.

  She hadn’t said a word since she started eating, but she did keep glancing my way through narrowed eyes, like she was reading my fucked-up thoughts. “Aren’t you going to finish your lunch?”

  “I’m good.”

  Truth was I was too worked up to eat. Too antsy going over all the shit in my head I wanted to say but didn’t quite
know how to.

  How to tell her about the Maxxi shit?

  How not to make her pissed at me when I did?

  How not to freak her the fuck out by staring at her too long without saying anything at all?

  I decided to stop staring at her and looked out the window of the jet instead, into the sea of clouds below. I relaxed back into my seat. It was a five-and-a-half-hour drive up to Detroit from Louisville, so I figured we’d fly in style instead. Maggie didn’t seem to find anything suspicious about that, at first.

  But I knew the way I was acting was tweaking her Zane’s-up-to-shit radar.

  Maggie had sharp radar.

  And I was definitely up to shit.

  I’d never actually cared about upsetting people with whatever came out of my mouth before. I definitely lacked a filter, but fuck it. I didn’t like being filtered. Wasn’t used to anyone telling me what I could and couldn’t say.

  Brody and our publicity team gave me “suggestions.”

  I usually ignored them.

  I was used to saying whatever the fuck I wanted and maybe apologizing for it later.

  Maybe.

  Having to consider what my wife would think and how she’d feel about everything that came out of my mouth, before it came out of my mouth, was like a whole new fucking world.

  Seth was right.

  No idea if it was just because I was an addict, and/or because I was an only child or my parents died when I was so young, or because I’d become so successful I was used to getting my way with most things… but I was selfish. And getting used to putting someone else’s needs right up front with my own? Took some getting used to.

  But practice makes perfect, right?

  And maybe Seth was right about something else. Motivation was key. I had to have a reason for doing the right thing, and that reason had to be internal.

  And it was.

  I wanted to ace this husband thing.

  I figured I’d been doing pretty good with it—so far.

  Maggie and I hadn’t gotten into any serious arguments since Vegas—nine weeks and counting. I was keeping up with going to AA meetings, hitting the gym, eating well and sleeping well, and generally keeping my shit together.

  I was making this shit look good, too. I knew I was. People kept telling me so. Even people who had no idea I’d kicked pot and had no reason to comment that I looked or sounded better or whatever.

  I was getting positive feedback left and right; that was a fact.

  And not just from chicks.

  The crew seemed to think I was a nicer dude now, too. Guys who used to steer clear of me backstage were starting to look me in the eye and wish me a good show.

  Felt good.

  Who knew not being such a self-obsessed prick would make life so much more enjoyable?

  I’d even apologized to Talia for threatening to fire her, and apologized to a few other people for various shit I’d pulled.

  I’d gradually gotten back into a routine of promo work; no solo interviews, but interviews with the other members of my band, no more than two a day. And I hadn’t even slipped or put my foot in my mouth at any of those interviews.

  But no one was exactly asking about my sobriety or my marriage, because neither of these topics had hit the media.

  Until this morning.

  It was pretty much my personal version of hell to have to sit through interview after interview fucking dodging every question about my personal life and being all fucking evasive and secretive, but I’d been doing it. For Maggie.

  No; for my relationship with Maggie.

  All the while, I just wanted to shout the truth in everyone’s faces.

  I’m in love with Maggie Omura, oh, and by the way, we’re married. Send gifts.

  Except…

  Maggie would’ve been pissed. And not the kind of pissed that could be channeled into sexual frustration and end in a nice angry fuck. Like seriously pissed—the kind where she stopped fucking me and talking to me.

  Wasn’t going down that road, ever again, if I could help it.

  So, I’d bit my fucking tongue and slogged through the torture.

  And I kept doing my best to make my wife happy. Not something I had a great track record with, but I was figuring it out. I was finally learning all the ways besides sex I could put a smile on Maggie Omura’s face, and I was committing this shit to memory.

  Coffee with honey in the morning, mocha if she could get it.

  Chocolate.

  Yoga.

  A few hours of quiet each day to get work done and some time alone every few days, usually involving a bubble bath or the spa, for “Maggie time.”

  Time to chat with her girls.

  High-heeled shoes.

  Pretty pink shit.

  These were the things that made Maggie Omura happy, day-to-day.

  She also liked it when I washed her hair in the shower, and when I had deep conversations with her that didn’t lead to sex. Go figure. Took me a while to figure that one out, but it definitely went a long way to making Maggie happy when we spent quality time together without me putting the moves on.

  Bonus: it usually made her so happy she ended up putting the moves on me anyway.

  Win-win.

  Oh, and girl-on-top. Because sexual satisfaction was now a guaranteed way to give Maggie that happy glow. And no matter who was calling the shots, Maggie loved being on top when we had sex.

  And let’s be honest; she was usually calling the shots. Even if I pretended it was otherwise.

  Since I loved her being on top, that was another win-win anyway. And even if she was calling the shots… I could still make her lose her shit.

  So no one was complaining.

  Which got me thinking…

  I glanced over at her. She’d finished her risotto and the flight attendant was clearing away our plates. Maggie met my eyes and gave me a hesitant smile.

  I knew I wasn’t supposed to be trying to solve problems with sex anymore… but fuck it. My head was already deep in the gutter. And in my books, it was always the right time for sex.

  I’d once fucked a girl at a funeral, so there was that.

  Shame; I had none.

  If Maggie was pissed at me, I knew it was gonna be harder to make her lose her shit. So instead, I figured I’d make her happy first, before she got pissed at me.

  This was my entire plan.

  One, make her happy.

  Two, make her lose her shit.

  And three, when she was in the happy afterglow phase, break the Maxxi thing to her gently.

  Shouldn’t be too hard… We were alone, on a private jet; just me and Maggie. I’d had the two rooms of the cabin filled with pink flowers for her, and the one in the back had a bed. I’d made sure of that.

  When the flight attendant set the piece of nine-layer chocolate cake in front of her, though, she was definitely on to me.

  “You’re up to something,” she said as she eyed the thick slice of cake. “You know I know that, right?”

  “Can’t a guy treat his girl to a private jet?”

  She narrowed her gray eyes at me.

  “Aren’t you gonna eat your cake?”

  She ate her cake.

  After she ate, I showed her the room in back. There was a flimsy door between the two rooms that I shut, then I tugged her straight toward the bed.

  Maggie’s eyes widened when she saw it… but she couldn’t exactly be shocked that what I was “up to” was angling to get laid.

  “What if the flight attendant comes back here?” she asked, eying the flimsy door.

  “He’s not gonna bother us. You’re hot as fuck and there’s a bed. You think he doesn’t know why I brought you back here?” I was already taking off her clothes, peeling off her little ruffled top and her skirt. I left on her sexy boots, picked her up by the waist and tossed her on the bed.

  Then I stripped down myself. Slowly. While she watched me, her eyes glazing over with lust as I skimmed my shirt over
my head, then started undoing my jeans.

  “And none of this five-minutes-til-I-make-Zane-blow bullshit,” I told her, getting a little distracted as I watched her strip off her bra. “We’ve got another half-hour in the air, I’m fucking you every second of it.”

  “Okay.” She tugged her panties down and off, a wicked gleam flashing in her eyes as I shoved my jeans down. “But you know you can’t last that long…”

  Challenge accepted.

  “What am I, thirteen?” I kicked off my jeans and socks.

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “Even you weren’t having sex at thirteen, so don’t start.”

  I prowled over to her, naked. “You know, I can last longer than ten seconds.” I stood over her and let my eyes roam over her body as I rolled on the condom. She was laid out before me on her back, naked, her knees pulled up and slightly spread so I could see every part of her. “It’s not my fault you’re so hot and so damn greedy, you want it fast and five-hundred times a night.”

  She did.

  Maggie loved it when I finished fast. Go-fucking-figure. With other women, swear to Christ, I could fuck for hours. “Sex god” and all that shit; I’d earned my reputation with women for good reason. You could ask those other women.

  But with Maggie, I lost my shit almost every fucking time. Something about this woman just fucked with me in a major way.

  “Five times,” she said, as I laid my hands on her knees and spread them. “I believe that’s our record…”

  I settled onto the bed, kneeling over her. Her gray eyes were wide and dark as she watched me. So fucking beautiful. “I remember. I was sore the next day.” I lowered myself over her, forcing her legs wide. “Totally worth it.”

  It was. This past week, we’d fucked so many times I’d lost count. She could’ve broken every bone in my body and I’d still want to fuck her.

  “What can I say?” she teased, wrapping her arms and legs around me as I started rubbing my cock against her soft pussy. “I’m a quantity over quality type of girl…”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  “Why?”

  “Because. You chose this dick… you chose the best, baby.”

  Maggie laughed her husky-soft laugh. Then she shoved at me a little, tried to push me over so she could roll on top.