The Reverse of Perfection (Bad Decisions Book 2)

by Christi Barth

  “You sure do,” she murmured. Ariel wanted to do more. To be a team player. But the way he filled her actually, literally, took her breath away. She loved the feel of her breasts tight against his chest. Loved the slick, thwapping noise of their skin meeting. And, of course, the way his deep, fast, repeated penetration drove her freaking right to the edge of oblivion.

  “Is it embarrassing to admit I’m already almost there?” she panted.

  “Nope. We were both already halfway there just from being in the same room. I’m ready to jump off that cliff anytime you are, beautiful.”

  Oh, thank God. Because this man wound her up like nobody ever had before. “Okay, then. Now, please.”

  “Whatever you say.” Dylan’s thumbs bit into her hips tighter. Ariel hoped she had bruises there in the morning. She wanted a tangible souvenir—besides the pile of condom wrappers—of this night. Amazingly, he picked up the pace. Pulled her even closer, which rubbed her against him in a different spot that, yes, took her flying off the cliff into a spiral of pleasure. Ariel let her head fall back as all the air left her lungs. At the same time, a guttural scream came from Dylan as his thighs jerked beneath her. And then there was no sound in the room but their unison gasps.

  “That’s….one,” she managed to get out.

  “You sure about that?” Dylan ducked his head out from her arms and leaned back, angling to put a wide triangle of space between them. “I’m still in you, in case you forgot. Keep counting.” He moved one hand to put his knuckles right above where they were still joined. The pressure made her jump. When he started rubbing, she squealed. And when he then hitched forward to latch his mouth on to her nipple, Ariel thrashed at his onslaught. That was all it took—less than fifteen seconds—before she broke apart once more.

  Her knees sagged to the velvet. It took all her concentration to not tumble backward onto the floor. She had never, ever come twice in one night, let alone twice in as many minutes. Ariel looked into his piercing blue eyes and realized all the lights were still on. She could see everything; all the golden hair dusting his arms, the darker brown hair in a straight line down from his belly button, the—

  Oh. It meant he could see all of her, too. For a split second, Ariel felt exposed. Too exposed. Too naked. Like he wouldn’t just see her body, but all of her anxiety and insecurity and the scabbed-over spot deep in her heart.

  “Well?” he asked, lifting one eyebrow and smirking.

  A generous lover, a thoughtful man, but there was a part of Dylan that was also still a cocky rock star. So he wasn’t perfect. That was okay.

  “Two,” she answered, loving that they were having fun as much as getting down and dirty.

  Then he stood, still holding her. Without so much as a grunt. The man was wasted as a rock star. With these muscles, he should be playing a superhero or an action hero in the next summer blockbuster. “There’s a claw-foot tub in the bathroom. Without even trying, I can think of at least three things I want to do to you in there.”

  Ariel laughed. Not because he’d said anything funny, but because she was filled with such sheer happiness. “What are you waiting for?”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A lot of performers bitched about being stuck on tour buses—no matter how tricked out they were. Of course, they also bitched about being stuck on private planes. All of that enforced inactivity drove them nuts. But Dylan loved spending time on the bus. He could sleep through anything, so it was a guaranteed good way to catch up on zzzs between concerts. Their bunks weren’t luxurious, by any stretch. The long black ultrasuede couch and matching recliner more than made up for them, though.

  He’d staked out the recliner to avoid any possibility of putting his hands on Ariel, who sat at the desk opposite covered in laptops and sheet music. Sexy Ariel, who wore cutoffs on this travel day that showed off her tanned, toned legs.

  Beautiful Ariel, with the midmorning sun beaming through the windows onto her, causing a halo effect.

  Adorable Ariel, who he’d discovered nibbled on the ends of her hair when she was deep in emailing.

  Hot-as-hell Ariel, who had kept him up past dawn on what was now officially the best night of his life.

  Smart and dedicated Ariel, who didn’t just bark instructions at him, but strategized and talked through her plans with him over the past few days, in between rehearsals and two sold-out concerts in Denver. Who took the time to approach him as a partner.

  His other publicists had handed down edicts. They’d never bothered to involve him. Working together made a lot more sense and let him see how her brilliant mind worked. One of the reasons he’d gone solo was because Dylan was sick of taking orders. Even though Ariel was hired to boss him around, she didn’t. She listened. Made the effort to incorporate his wants and needs into her plans.

  A loud grinding noise came from below as gears shifted. They must be climbing yet another peak on the way out of Vail. Right. The bus. What he’d started thinking about to distract him from staring at his gorgeous secret girlfriend.

  The bus was a great way to connect with the guys. Not as his idols. As people. As fellow musicians. Jones was practicing a riff on his thighs. Cam shared the table with his sister, scowling over his guitar and plucking at random chords. None of it distracted Dylan from thinking up his own songs. Only Ariel did that. Ariel and her soft laugh and softer breasts…

  No. Songs. New songs. Dylan couldn’t waste all this perfect songwriting time thinking about how sweet she tasted on his tongue, how responsive she was to his touch, how she worked so damn hard to help turn around his flagging career. How she’d gotten jealous at the thought of him actually doing something with the women she’d pushed on him. Jealousy was good. Jealousy meant that he mattered to her. That it wasn’t just sex, and it wasn’t just business between them. Jealousy meant she cared.

  Huh. That’d be an interesting theme for a song. And wouldn’t it be fun to surprise her with one? Dylan picked up his legal pad and hovered his pen right above it.

  “Hey,” barked Kyoko, their driver. Tiny, with long dark hair, she had a voice louder than a foghorn. Guess she’d gotten good at yelling over the constant snippets of music that tumbled out of all of them. “I got a message from Tony. Now that it’s Monday, the business office at the Hotel Boulderado is open. They’ve got a question about one of Dylan’s charges.”

  Tony was Riptide’s tour manager and the driver of their second bus. He and Kyoko basically jawed back and forth all day. Kylie was on his bus, too, working with him on her internship project. Which gave the rest of them just enough legroom to spread out.

  Jones stilled his sticks in midair. “What did you do, D? Order hot- and cold-running porn for the TV in the bedroom and the shitter?”

  “Hey.” Cam’s eyebrows knitted together. “Kylie might not be in here today, but my baby sister is. Watch the language.”

  Jones scratched his temple with the tip of his stick. “Just so I know, were you objecting to the mention of porn or the crapper?”

  Before Cam went at him, Dylan jumped in. “I didn’t buy any movies. Just breakfast.” Twice, come to think of it. Because when they’d scarfed down grilled cheese and bacon sandwiches at three a.m. to have the energy to plow through all of Jones’ condoms, it counted for breakfast, right? As did the waffles they’d shared in bed six hours later. Waffles he’d ordered for the express purpose of getting syrup to drizzle over Ariel’s petal-pink nipples.

  “Yeah, a woman signed the room-service bill. Twice. They want to be sure it’s a legit charge.”

  Dylan frantically racked his brain to come up with a reason to get out of the recliner and go whisper the rest of this conversation with Kyoko. Ariel had answered the door both times. She’d claimed it was her contribution to their sexathon. That the least she could do was give him time to regroup and stay under the covers. “Um, yeah. Of course.”

  “You dog!” Jones leaned over to drum on Dylan’s calf. “I can’t believe that raffle thing worked for you. I have to g
et in on that. Ariel, do a raffle for me in Flagstaff.”

  With an amused sniff, Ariel shook her head. “I don’t work for you, Jones. All my special tricks are kept in reserve for my actual client.”

  “That’s weird. You sure both were yours? ’Cause it looks fake.” Kyoko tossed her phone backward down the length of the bus. Cam caught it one-handed. “Somebody signed A. Watson. You think they were trying to charge something to Cam?”

  For all the gear shifting and wheezing that filled the bus as it trundled through the Rockies at seventy miles an hour, it sure as shit got awfully quiet in there. Cam stared at the phone, presumably at the picture of his sister’s signature. Which he was bound to recognize. Dylan froze, unsure of what to say. Clearly, hiding it hadn’t worked. But he sure as hell didn’t know how to respond other than, Yeah, I did your little sister all night long. No way would that go over well.

  Ariel snatched the phone from Cam. Walked it back up to the front and stuck it to the holder mounted on the dash. “I took care of the bills, Kyoko. Because he’s my client. Tell Tony it’s all aboveboard.”

  Jones blew a wet raspberry. “Ha! That’s a stretch. Room service isn’t even close to being aboveboard. Anyone charges twenty-five dollars for a damn burger, that’s a racket.”

  Apparently, Jones was oblivious to the implications of Ariel signing for Dylan’s room-service orders. Was it too much to hope that Cam stayed equally unaware? Or had Dylan already shot his wad with fate for the week by getting his dream gig and dream girl the same night?

  Cam shot out of his chair to confront Ariel as she came back to the desk. “You were there? In Dylan’s room?”

  Oh, yeah. Fate was kicked back on its heels, smoking a cigarette and so damn done with giving Dylan a good time. And Dylan started to wonder if he’d be tossed off the bus and left to hitch all the way to Northern Arizona. Because nobody ever blamed their sweet little sister for sex. No, they blamed the new guy. The rock star trying to prove how bad he could be.

  Squaring her shoulders, Ariel said, “I told you I spent the night in Boulder, Cam. You knew I wasn’t on the buses when you pulled out Saturday night.”

  “I didn’t know you spent it in the kid’s room. Talk about a bad decision. Jesus, Ariel. What were you thinking?”

  The kid? Dylan bristled. What was with this kid stuff? Cam was on the same side of thirty as Dylan. No need to spout off like a freaking parent. For the last few days, they’d all been equals. Now, suddenly, he was a kid? No. He’d worked too hard to prove himself. To be not just relevant, but integral to Riptide’s performances. Cam didn’t get to treat him like he was still a boy-bander just because he was angry.

  “I was thinking that he’s not a kid at all,” Ariel shot back.

  Dylan didn’t relax—not one square inch of his taut muscles loosened—but it did him good to hear his woman leap to his defense. Not that he wanted her to tell her brother all about his manly bedroom mastery. Not the brother who topped him by an inch and had just as many muscles…and didn’t look at all hesitant to use them in the next couple of minutes. And who was maybe unconsciously flexing his back muscles beneath the surf tank he wore.

  Two drumsticks fell to the carpet and rolled back to the bathrooms. Jones gaped at them. “Hang on. You two—D, you mean to tell me that you used those condoms I gave you on Cam’s little sister?”

  Was it better to say yes so that nobody had a coronary over potential STDs? Or just sit quiet? Dylan split the difference and gave a tight nod.

  “Holy king of cock,” Jones breathed with an almost reverence. His hand flew to his chest, right on top of the Mr. Zog’s Sex Wax logo. “You mean to say you did the three raffle girls and still had enough left in you to finish off with Ariel?”

  Although it wouldn’t have seemed possible a few seconds ago, Jones was actually making an already shitty situation worse. Dylan tossed his pad and pen to the side. Might as well have his hands free to defend himself if Cam came at him. “No. Nothing happened with the raffle girls. They were a fake-out for the press. What happened with Ariel, that’s real.”

  Jones sighed. “That’s not nearly as good a story. Still, I gotta tell Jake.” He grabbed his phone and started texting.

  “For fuck’s sake!” Cam growled. “Why not just post it on our website? Do you have to keep Jake in the loop about everything?”

  “Well, yeah.” Jones pulled his eyebrows together, looking blindsided by the question. “Why wouldn’t I? He’s one of us. If he can’t be on tour right now, he shouldn’t feel left out. Got to keep his spirits up. I text him all the time. Mostly sneak pics that I take of hot girls’ asses.”

  Throwing his hands in the air, Cam rolled his eyes and said, “Why am I not surprised?”

  Dylan concentrated on not laughing. This tangent with Jones was distracting Cam. No way did he want to cut that short. If only Cam stayed distracted long enough to simmer down…

  Jones scrolled through his screen. “Other stuff, too, so Jake gets the whole virtual tour experience. Texted him about that amazing four-shot margarita at the Rio Grande last night. A photo of Tony sweating and showing some ass crack as he loaded all of our luggage. That rave review of our first show with D here.”

  “Why would you send him that?”

  “So he knows we’re not dropping the ball with him gone. So he knows that if he comes back, we’re ready for him, and if he doesn’t come back, we’ll make sure the band goes on without a hitch.”

  Cam’s eyes narrowed. “Not if. When. When Jake comes back.”

  Was there more to Jake’s temporary disappearance? Dylan thought it’d only be for a few weeks. But Jones made it sound like his return wasn’t such a sure thing. Instead of subbing for a member of Riptide, was this actually an audition to become a permanent member of the group?

  Wow. Dylan didn’t know how he felt about that. Didn’t know if it was even something he wanted. That wasn’t true. Of course it’d be balls-to-the-wall great to officially be in Riptide. But that meant giving up his plan to make it big as a solo artist…even though there was zero guarantee that he would make it big soloing.

  Bracing for his idol to give him the ass-kicking he kind of deserved was no time to fully evaluate this potential career twist. And Dylan realized that during his momentary mental time-out, nobody else had said a word. Which made it all the more clear that multiple people on the bus weren’t convinced Jake would be rejoining Riptide.

  “You don’t know for sure that Jake’s coming back,” Ariel finally said softly, putting a hand on her brother’s arm. “Isn’t it better to face up to that and make a contingency plan?”

  He shook her off. “Don’t you start in with me, too. Is that what you are to the kid? A contingency plan? A guaranteed way to get press for him being a bad boy, instead of just a boy? Because you know damn well the paps would have a field day with him screwing my little sister. Is this just a way to get in solid with your boss?”

  Another thick silence, in which it seemed as if everyone on the bus simultaneously held their breath. Dylan couldn’t believe Cam went there. It was a lousy accusation to make of anyone, but especially your little sister. It insulted her. It insulted Dylan. And it really made Dylan want to kick Cam’s ass for treating Ariel that way. But stepping into the middle of an obvious Family-with-a-capital-F feud didn’t seem smart.

  Finally, Ariel spoke, every word frosted with ice. “Did you just accuse me of sleeping with a client to further my career? The career that you tanked, Cam? Because that’s more your MO than mine. In case you’ve forgotten, when you slept with that skank from the label, everything blew up. And I got fired in the fallout, just for being your sister.” The longer she spoke, the more the ice in her tone kicked over into burning rage. “My company was worried that I’d follow in your footsteps and sleep with clients. Worried that your name would taint mine, and clients wouldn’t want to work with me. For reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with my ability, I lost my job. And it took me almost a year to get a
new one.”

  Whoa. Hearing the whole thing laid out like that knocked Dylan back. No wonder Ariel was so driven, so focused on not making a single misstep. It made him regret all the ways, no matter how small, that he’d hassled her about his image makeover.

  And it sure as hell knocked Cam off the perfect-rock-star pedestal. For this to all have gone down a year ago and still be so raw for both of them? Dylan would bet Cam and Ariel had never talked it all out…until right now, anyway. Talk about a shitty time and place to finally have it all boil over. It wasn’t like the rest of them could just step outside to give the brother and sister some space. He looked over at Jones, who held up a hand and shook his head in an obvious stay the hell out of it gesture.

  Cam and Ariel faced off for another few seconds, mirroring each other’s stances with fists balled at their sides and every muscle drawn taut. Cam broke first. He ran a hand from his forehead up and over his scalp. Dragged in a long breath. “I’m sorry, Ari.”

  “For what? For thinking all that? Or just for saying it out loud?” Ariel didn’t thaw an inch. Dylan was proud of her for standing up for herself. God, he wanted to help her do it—not that she needed his help. Not leaping to her defense was one of the hardest things he’d ever done.

  “For saying it.” Cam grabbed her hand. “Because I don’t really think it. I know you’d never stoop to my level of idiocy. You’re way smarter than that. Smarter than me. ’Cause I never, for a second, thought that you’d get screwed over by my fuckup. I had my mind on marketing instead of the music. Sales instead of the shit that really mattered.”

  Raising one dark, elfin brow, Ariel asked, “Did you learn your lesson?”

  “About a thousand times over, trust me. And whatever I missed in beating myself up over it, Jake and Jones did the rest. It’s why we went into the woods for two weeks to come up with a new sound instead of disbanding. It’s why we’re doing this bare-bones tour. We make the music on our terms, our way, or not at all.”