Dangerous Rock: A Rock Star Romance (Dangerous Noise Book 3)

by Crystal Kaswell

  By his defined, tattooed chest.

  God, he's yummy. It's hard to believe someone as hot as Joel wanted to sleep with me much less marry me. It's not that I'm ugly. But I'm more… soft. Round. Chubby is the word Anne uses, though she claims it's lovingly.

  My gaze shifts to his taut stomach.

  To his lap—he's wearing boxers, tragically.

  There's his hand, resting on his tanned knee.

  And there's a platinum band on his ring finger.

  Fuck.

  His voice is even. Sweet. "You okay?"

  I shake my head.

  "Hangover?"

  I nod. Barely. I can't think here. He has a ring. And I have a ring. Well, two rings.

  This really happened.

  How did this happen?

  Joel's touch is soft as he peels my body off his and sets me on the bed. He gets up to get something from his suitcase. Advil I guess.

  He pushes himself up as he uncaps the bottle. "I'll order you toast and tea."

  "Thank you." I press my lips together. That's far too formal of an address for my husband. But then…

  God, my head is throbbing.

  He brings me the pills and a glass of water. His fingers comb through my hair. He's being sweet and caring.

  He's glad I'm his wife.

  And I can't remember our wedding. I can't remember most of last night.

  I push myself off the bed. That's enough to make me dizzy. It takes me a second to find my balance, but I do get it.

  My eyes go back to the ring. To the massive, expensive, beautiful ring.

  Then they go to Joel.

  I'm married to this beautiful, tattooed man.

  And I'm wearing his beautiful, enormous rock.

  I… I'm going to throw up.

  I find my dress on the floor and pull it on.

  Joel is still staring at me, but now his green eyes are filled with concern.

  "I… I'm just going to go back to my room. To change." I grab my purse off the side table.

  "Bella—"

  I grab my pumps and run out the door before he has the chance to finish his sentence.

  In my hotel room, I plug my dead phone into its charger. Then I shower and wrap myself in a towel.

  My head is still pounding. Of course it is. I drank my weight in gin last night and I skipped out of Joel's room before swallowing those ibuprofen.

  I find painkillers in my suitcase and force myself to down three glasses of water. That takes the pounding to a dull ache, but my stomach continues to do somersaults.

  When I'm confident I won't throw up, I grab my cell and investigate. Sure enough, my Gallery is flush with photos.

  The first few are familiar. There's me and Joel at the club, laughing, kissing, smiling.

  Then we're outside the pyramid shaped Luxor. Riding the monorail to the Excalibur. Joel is pointing at a Thunder from Down Under ad and copying a stripper pose.

  Then it gets blurry. I can remember bits and pieces of our walk to the Bellagio.

  I can almost feel the spray of the water fountains.

  The mist was freezing against the cold air.

  But I was warm from the buzz.

  And his arms were around me.

  And I felt safe.

  Happy.

  Like nothing could ever bring me down.

  The next set of pictures is us cuddling up on the gondolas at the Venetian. When I close my eyes, I can almost hear the gondola operator belting out an Italian love song.

  And I can feel that affection I had for Joel.

  I trusted him.

  I really liked him.

  Enough to marry him.

  The next picture is us in front of Tiffany's. We're both smiling. I look tipsy but not out of my head.

  And Joel's smile…

  God, he has a nice smile. Real. Honest.

  I'm swiping to the next photo when my screen flashes with a text from my sister.

  Anne: Holy fuck, Bella. How could you get married without telling me! And to THE JOEL YOUNG!!!

  My sister knows my groom's last name and I don't.

  Wait. Why does Anne know Joel's last name?

  My phone flashes with another text.

  Anne: You know how much I love Dangerous Noise. I get it. Eloping is fun and romantic. But I wish I could have at least thrown you a bachelorette party. Tell me you have pictures!

  Dangerous Noise. That's a band. And it's a familiar band.

  But my head is still fuzzy. I can't remember.

  I have to Google "Dangerous Noise."

  Oh. That band.

  They're Anne's favorite. She plays their albums all the time.

  And now I'm married to their drummer.

  I'm married to a rock star.

  The evidence is clear. There are thousands of pictures of Joel Young, the Dangerous Noise drummer. There are hundreds of articles. There's a fucking poster on Amazon.

  And it's incredibly yummy too—Joel lying back in bed, his jeans unbuttoned, his hand sliding down his torso, his expression come here and help me with this, baby.

  I'm still trying to figure out what the hell I should text Anne when there's a knock on the door. That must be him.

  I'm out of options.

  I shoot a simple goodbye text, tuck my wet hair behind my ears, and I head to the door. "Yes?"

  "Hey." Joel's voice flows through the heavy wood.

  My eyes catch my reflection. I'm still in my towel. I'm not wearing makeup. And my hair… it's not good.

  I don't let anyone see me like this.

  Not even Anne or Dad.

  I pull my towel tighter.

  I trace the scars on my right wrist, but all I can see is the giant rock on my left ring finger.

  "Bella?" Joel taps on the door. "You gonna open up?"

  I guess I should.

  The man did marry me.

  The least I could do is have an honest conversation about it.

  "I'm in a towel." I press my palm against the door. It's a flimsy excuse, but I mean it. It's one thing stripping then jumping into bed with someone. It's another standing here, my face as naked as my body.

  "Hate to break it to you, Bella, but I saw every inch of your naked body last night."

  "Every inch?"

  "Just about." He taps the door. "If you need a minute to get dressed, I can wait…"

  But he's not leaving until I let him in.

  Okay.

  That's fair.

  We're adults.

  We can have an honest conversation.

  I pull my towel tighter then I open the door for Joel.

  "Thanks." He steps inside and runs a hand through his shaggy hair.

  He doesn't look worse for wear. His green eyes are bright. His grey t-shirt—it brings out the grey in his eyes—is tight around his strong shoulders.

  His jeans are snug around his narrow hips.

  And those tattoos covering his arms and chest…

  He really is an attractive man.

  I clear my throat and take a step backwards. "I guess there's the instant coffee maker." I motion to it. "I only drink tea, but I do hear hotel coffee is terrible."

  "No thanks."

  "Or maybe you want water?" I stumble backwards until my calves hit the bed. Then I fall back onto the bed. I manage to do it gracefully. Like it was on purpose. "My sister said congratulations."

  "You told her?"

  I shake my head. "It was on a gossip site, I guess."

  His eyes turn down. "I should have told you I was famous."

  I press my lips together. I don't really have the upper hand here, what with my wedding related amnesia. "You didn't?"

  "You don't remember?"

  "Well… Um. Not everything."

  Frustration creeps into his grey-green eyes. His lip corners turn down. His shoulders tense.

  He's hurt.

  He's hurt that I don't remember.

  Even worse, I ran off this morning.

  It doesn
't take a genius to put two and two together.

  Joel shakes his head. He takes a step backwards. "We have to talk about this."

  "I know."

  "But right now…" He runs a hand through his hair. His eyes fill with that same frustration, but he shakes it off.

  He shakes it off enough to go back to that guy he was at the club. Before I met him.

  The fun guy. The cool guy. The one who never gets upset or frustrated. The one who lights up the room.

  Okay, I'm getting ahead of myself here.

  I have an overactive imagination. I blame books. But then it serves me well plenty of the time. Especially on lonely nights, in my tiny studio apartment…

  Ahem.

  "I'm going to get breakfast at the restaurant downstairs." Joel motions to the door. "How about you meet me there after you get dressed?"

  "Okay." I pull my towel tighter.

  Again, his eyes flare with frustration.

  Again, he shakes it off.

  He turns towards the door. "I'll see you soon."

  "Yeah."

  Then he's gone.

  I wait until the door slams shut to fall back onto the bed.

  My eyes go to my laptop in the corner.

  I tap the trackpad and type in the password.

  It's still on my transcript.

  This is the first time I've thought about school all morning.

  Since I met Joel last night.

  I actually did manage to spend the night putting thoughts of my future aside.

  I couldn't have done that alone.

  I couldn't have done that with anyone but him.

  5

  Joel

  I struggle to smile as I autograph a fan's cell phone case.

  Bella isn't here yet.

  That isn't a good sign.

  "Oh my God, your wedding was beautiful," the fan gushes.

  Usually, I enjoy talking to fans. Not so much at the moment. I don't want the reminder that my marriage is all over gossip sites.

  Some things should be private.

  I shake my shoulders. It does nothing to ease the tension in my upper back.

  Okay, time for the nuclear option.

  I shoot the fan a panty-melting smile. "It was nice to meet you, honey. But I'm waiting for my wife."

  Wrong choice. Her eyes light up. She jumps up and down.

  "Really?" Her voice squeaks. "She was so pretty. And I love that she's a normal woman. And not one of those thin super-model types."

  I try to stay focused on the task at hand, but my head is filling with memories of Bella's curvy body underneath mine.

  Her nails digging into my back.

  Her expression filled with pleasure.

  Her pretty brown eyes lit up with joy.

  Does she really not remember?

  I wasn't drinking much more than I normally do, but she was matching me. And she doesn't seem like the work hard, party harder type.

  More like the work hard, never party type.

  I try to do the math. Five drinks at the first club or was it four, then we shared one of those ridiculous Eiffel Towers filled with vodka slushee. Then champagne to toast our wedding.

  What's that? Eight drinks? Ten?

  Okay, I can admit ten is a lot.

  And I can admit I'm fuzzy on some of last night's details.

  That I was joking when I pointed at that Winter Special. Elvis Wedding Package, $200 Off poster and pitched the idea of getting hitched.

  I was shocked she said yes.

  But I was one hundred percent game.

  I've always enjoyed making people laugh and smile, but it's next level with Bella. And last night, I didn't feel any of the usual bullshit. I didn't have to step into that Joel Young, life of the party role with her.

  Maybe that's not most people's idea of a good reason to get married.

  I don't care.

  Being with her last night felt right.

  Fuck, all I want right now is to wipe all that misery off her face.

  This feels right.

  What else matters?

  The fan is still going on about my beautiful wedding. I should pay attention, but I'm a little distracted here.

  This is supposed to be the first day of my honeymoon. I'm not in the mood for celebrity shit.

  The fan squeals. "OH MY GOD." She nods to the entrance of the restaurant. Bella is standing there in this prim and proper outfit. She looks like a blockbuster movie's idea of a nerd with her hair pulled into a tight bun and her collared shirt popping out of her sweater.

  Nerdy and hot as hell.

  Our eyes meet.

  She offers me a weak smile. It's plastered on.

  But then most people aren't super pumped about celebrity shit.

  It doesn't mean she's miserable we're married.

  Fuck, this doesn't make sense. She was happy last night. Giddy. And not drunk giddy but genuinely happy.

  Right now…

  The fan bounces to Bella. Then she's hugging Bella. "Your wedding was beautiful. I'm so happy for you!" She squeezes tightly. "And you, you're so pretty too."

  Horror spreads over Bella's expression. She looks to me and mouths is this normal?

  I nod. It is.

  Her brow eases, but she's still wearing tension all over her shoulders.

  I motion come here. "Sit with me."

  Bella pulls away from the fan. Her eyes meet mine. She nods, okay.

  The fan looks to me. "Can I take a picture of you guys? Please."

  No fucking way. "Not right now, sweetie, but I promise to post some on Instagram soon."

  The fan accepts the answer with a pout. She throws her arms around Bella again then she scampers off into the casino.

  Bella stands there, dumbstruck. Once she's caught her senses, she takes the seat across from me.

  The toes of her boots tap the toes of my sneakers.

  I motion to her mug of tea. "It's shitty Lipton tea, but it's caffeine."

  "Thank you." She pours hot water over her tea bag. Her eyes stay on her mug. "Is that normal? The fan."

  "I've never been news before," I say.

  She nods. "There was a lot about us on gossip sites."

  "Nothing with your name."

  "Not yet."

  That's a fair point. "It will blow over as soon as a Kardashian does something."

  "Even I know that name." She drags her fingers over her mug, the same way she dragged her fingers over her glass last night. "What if that's a while?"

  "There will be a bigger story soon. Trust me. I've seen this happen with friends."

  "Oh." She glances up from her mug. Her eyes meet mine for a second and she nods. "My family is really traditional. I don't think they check celebrity gossip. Except my sister. But if she found it, someone will."

  Yeah. For a second, I feel like an asshole for not telling her I was famous. It wasn't on my mind last night.

  But I should have warned her.

  Even if this will blow over soon.

  I'm about to insist on ordering breakfast before we get to talking—nothing like greasy food to fix a hangover—but something catches my gaze.

  A guy in his thirties is taking our picture. Then he's not. Security goes to the guy and points to the no cameras sign on the wall.

  But it's too late.

  Bella is already freaked.

  Better ease her mind. "They take rules seriously in casinos."

  "And you know because…"

  "Long story."

  "I doubt that."

  "I climbed the stage at one of those magic shows. I'm no longer allowed at any of the Caeser's casinos."

  She laughs. "No way."

  "Hey, the magician asked for volunteers. I was taking initiative."

  This time her laugh is louder, brighter. "Did you really?"

  I nod. "You want to see the article they wrote about me?"

  "We were at the Venetian and the Paris last night."

  "Neither of those are Caeser'
s casinos."

  "You actually avoid them?"

  "Well…"

  Her nose scrunches as she laughs. Damn, it's such a nice laugh. I'm ready to get lost in it when I see it.

  That's not a fan.

  That's a paparazzi big camera.

  Fuck.

  I motion to the guy and offer Bella my hand. "Security will tell him to get lost, but the second we leave the casino—"

  "Oh."

  "Let's go to my room."

  She gives me a long once-over as she stands. She's not thinking about privacy or press or anything like that.

  She's thinking about fucking me again.

  Not that I can talk.

  I have a lot of ideas about getting her groaning my name all day.

  But first things first.

  I take her hand. "Okay?"

  She nods. "Okay."

  I guess it's true what they say about fame finding those who seek it. Nobody cares about a guy who stays home and watches Netflix, even if he's Brad Pitt. Now, a guy who marries a stranger in Vegas…

  Bella hangs close as we step into the elevator. She's squeezing my hand tightly enough to cut off circulation.

  We make a strange pair—the uptight good girl and the manwhore rock star. I guess the whole thing about opposites attracting is true too.

  The elevator doors slide open.

  Again, I take her hand. I keep her close. It fucking stings that she doesn't remember, but I still want to soothe her.

  I lead her to my hotel room and point to the room service tray of toast and tea. "The water should still be warm."

  She presses her lips together. "You ordered room service even after I left?"

  "Yeah." I stick close to the coffee maker to fill it with the cheap hotel beans.

  Bella takes a seat at the table. She places a bag of English Breakfast in the ceramic mug then fills it with hot water from the little silver kettle. "Thank you."

  She stares at her cup as she stirs.

  I wait until my coffee is finished brewing then I take a seat next to her. This is shitty coffee, but I need the caffeine.

  She nibbles her toast with tiny, ladylike bites. She even keeps her pinkie raised when she takes a sip of her tea.

  When she finishes, she wipes her hands on the cloth napkin folded in her lap. Her eyes meet mine. Her gaze is unsteady. "I'm sorry I don't remember much from last night. Everything between my fourth gin and tonic and, well…" She motions to the bed. "Everything else is fuzzy."

  "Besides the sex?"

  She blushes. "Yes."