Rock Wedding (Rock Kiss #4)

by Nalini Singh

  She bit down on her lower lip. “I can’t sleep.”

  “Yeah, me either.” Abe sounded like he was moving around. “You want to go get ice cream?”

  “It’s half past eleven at night.”

  “So?” A verbal shrug. “We live in LA. Someone’s gotta be selling ice cream at this hour.”

  Sarah smiled, the tightness in her chest evaporating under the sudden bubbles of delight. “Why are you breathing so hard?”

  “I was doing weights. It keeps the demons at bay.”

  That he’d said that without hesitation, trusting her with his continuing emotional struggle, threatened to crack the shield around her heart.

  Telling herself to be careful, go slow, she said, “If I eat midnight ice cream every day of this pregnancy, I’ll get fat.”

  Certain people might already consider her fat, but Sarah knew she wasn’t. She was simply bigger than the current cultural norm—and in Hollywood, that norm was twisted to insane levels of thinness. She had the physique of a toned and healthy woman who could take care of herself—and of her baby. “I need to stay fit, keep my body strong throughout the pregnancy.”

  “Sarah, honey, you’ve got nothing to worry about, never have.” Abe’s response might as well have come with a visual of him rolling his eyes he was clearly doing it so hard. “But,” he added as she glared at the phone, “if you want, I’ll create an exercise program for you so you can eat midnight ice cream without guilt. Baby-belly friendly.”

  Sarah turned over onto her back, her stupid heart going all mushy at the affectionate tone of his voice. “Let’s go get ice cream.”

  IT FELT LIKE SNEAKING OUT WHEN she got into Abe’s SUV, as if the two of them were doing something naughty. And then she caught a hint of his masculine scent, saw the bulge of his biceps as he put the car into gear, and it definitely felt like she was setting herself up for trouble. She should stop him right now, open her door, and go back inside the house.

  She didn’t.

  Instead, she settled in and said, “I did a search, found an all-night grocer where we can grab ice cream.”

  “I got something better. Flossie going to be okay?”

  And now he was asking about her dog. Next thing she knew, he was going to turn up with an armful of puppies and totally demolish her defenses.

  “Happily asleep in her inside bed,” Sarah told him even as she fought to keep her mushy heart from overflowing its bounds. “She won’t need to go outside till morning now.”

  Waiting for her gate to close behind the SUV, Abe glanced at the skinny black jeans and red top she’d put on with black heels. “How did you manage to dress so nicely so quickly?”

  Sarah’s toes curled. “Practice.” She’d also done her face in five minutes flat; it was part of her armor, how she survived this world where she was an imposter who didn’t have the right background or connections. “You look good too.”

  Her rock-star ex was wearing blue jeans and boots, but instead of a T-shirt, he’d thrown on a collarless white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It was probably designer. When Abe was sober, he liked clothes… and he’d liked buying them for her too. Once, while he’d been on tour, she’d received the most enormous delivery from Chanel.

  It had made her feel loved, made her almost forget that he’d left her behind.

  “Thanks.” His voice merged with the bittersweet memory of the phone call they’d shared that day, her in LA, Abe several states away. “I figured you’d look good so I better not turn up in sweats.”

  Sarah knew that even if he had, he’d have looked hot. Abe was just generally hot, so any effort at dressing up only took him into überhot territory. And she should not be noticing that. This new relationship of theirs was about the baby, nothing else. “Where are we going?” she asked, recognizing the street seconds later. “The restaurants along here will all be closed.”

  “You hear that Florentina Chastain is doing a limited run of midnight dessert sittings?”

  Sarah’s eyes widened. “No?” She was an acknowledged Scrooge with her money, but the one thing she bought without fail every month was a small box of Chastain’s handmade chocolates. “She probably sold out weeks ago.” The boutique chocolate and dessert shop had a five-star reputation among the chocoholics and the glitterati.

  It was a pity many of the latter just came to see and be seen.

  Such a waste of the most exquisite desserts known to mankind.

  “This dessert-sitting deal is to support charity,” Abe told her. “I rang and promised them twenty grand for a table.”

  “You just spent twenty grand on dessert?” It came out a squeak.

  A shrug. “I have enough money for five lifetimes—and the charity’s for feeding hungry kids, so I figure it’s worth it.”

  Sarah went quiet.

  “Hey.” Abe glanced at her as he slid into a parking space not far from the boutique’s storefront; the seating section was in the covered and air-conditioned courtyard in back. “I thought you’d like this, but if—”

  Sarah made herself speak. “No, let’s go. I’m excited.” No lie—she wanted to do this, even if it reminded her too much of her past.

  Because she had far more in common with those hungry kids than she did with the no doubt dressed-to-the-nines crowd inside. “How much were the actual tickets?” she asked after they’d exited onto the quiet and otherwise empty sidewalk.

  “A grand each, I think.”

  It took them less than a minute to reach the boutique.

  And then slender, striking Florentina Chastain with her dark Cleopatra eyes, pure cream skin, and hair as black as midnight was welcoming them. Dressed in a simple knee-length black skirt that hugged her form without being too tight, a white shirt, and black heels, her hair in a smooth roll at the back of her head, she epitomized effortless sophistication.

  “You put me in a tough spot, Mr. Bellamy,” she murmured in a soft voice that held the liquid accent of a faraway land. “I couldn’t turn down the donation, but my courtyard won’t fit another table.”

  Abe just held out the check he’d snagged from his pocket.

  Sighing, the chocolatier took the check and shook her head, but it was with a smile. “Follow me—but first let me give this check to my assistant.”

  That done, she took them past the glass cases filled with chocolates and other sweet treats, through a door marked Staff Only, and up a flight of stairs so narrow that they had to go single file… only to emerge on a small, square rooftop that would be overshadowed by a nearby building during the day. At night, it had a glorious view of the sky and just enough room for a table for two. That table was draped with a pristine white tablecloth, atop which sat a grouping of white candles in crystal holders that refracted the light into a beautiful pattern of shards.

  “Oh.” Sarah lifted her hands to her mouth, undone by the sheer romance of the setting.

  Abe put his hand on her lower back, rubbed gently. “Better than the courtyard?”

  She just nodded, though her already mushy heart was threatening to melt. She kept reminding herself that Abe was doing this to support her through the pregnancy, that it was really about the baby. Still, part of her wanted to believe that it wasn’t, that it was just as much about her.

  Florentina’s expression made it clear she was pleased by Sarah’s response. “I will return in a moment.”

  Smiling with the smug satisfaction of a man who knew he’d hit a home run, Abe pulled out her chair. She took it with the surreal sensation of being in a dream—as if one of her beloved romance novels had come to life. Abe had just taken his own seat when Florentina returned.

  “We’ve paired a number of award-winning wines with tonight’s dessert-tasting menu,” the other woman began.

  “No wine,” Abe interrupted.

  Sarah winced inwardly. She hadn’t had the chance to tell Abe that she wanted the pregnancy to be their secret for a while. Until it advanced further, until she knew if their baby wa
s going to stay. If she could, she’d have kept it secret until she held her living, breathing baby in her arms.

  But Abe didn’t give away her pregnant state. “Alcohol’s permanently off the menu for me,” he said in a voice that made it a simple fact of life. “Sarah’s keeping me company in my sobriety.”

  Florentina smiled and didn’t offer them the little menu in her hand. “In that case, I will accompany your desserts with our most decadent teas. Yes?”

  Sarah was a coffee woman and so was Abe, but too much coffee wasn’t good for the baby and this was an adventure. “Yes,” she answered for them both. “We’d love to try the teas.”

  The first one that came up was, according to Florentina, “a light, aromatic herbal infusion with a hint of grapefruit and vanilla.” Sarah liked it enough to reconsider her coffee-only habit.

  Abe looked at it askance before making a face of total martyrdom that had her laughing. Then he threw back half the cup. “Fancy hot water,” was his conclusion.

  He was far more impressed with the poached pear in a light pomegranate cream that was their first course.

  Sarah took a bite, groaned, eyes closing.

  She opened them to find Abe staring at her in a way that sent the blood rushing to her cheeks. And not from embarrassment. A little breathless, she took a second bite, bit back the moan this time.

  Of course, the pear dish was just the start. Next came a chocoholic’s dream—a rich and sinfully dark chocolate mousse swirled to perfection inside a tiny bowl fashioned from the finest milk chocolate, then topped with curls of white chocolate sprinkled with sparkling gold dust. Florentina had paired it with a strong black tea that, to Sarah’s tongue, held a faint undertone of raspberries, lush and juicy.

  Sarah dipped her spoon into the mousse, took a taste.

  There was no way she could hold back her moan this time.

  “Jesus, Sarah.” Abe’s words were rough, ragged. “I won’t be able to fucking walk if you keep that up.”

  She stared at him, swallowed the mousse… and realized she’d dropped a curl of chocolate right in the V of her red top. It was sitting on the plump curve of her breast. She didn’t even have the chance to attempt to pick it up before Abe leaned over and wiped it off with the soft white of his cloth napkin.

  “Behave,” he ordered in a tone as stern as that of her junior high school principal. “I mean it.”

  Sarah took another bite of the mousse, slid the spoon out oh-so-slow from between her lips. She didn’t know what had gotten into her except that Abe was looking at her like he wanted to eat her alive, and no one had looked at her with that much raw want for a long, long time—not even the man who’d once been her husband. He had back before everything went wrong, before the grief and the drugs and the anger turned him into someone she didn’t know.

  It was a heady feeling to see that look in his eyes again.

  Swallowing the spoonful of mousse, she slid in another bite and closed her lips around it with lush deliberation. Abe’s eyes were black flames across from her. When she let her eyes flutter shut and moaned in the back of her throat this time, she heard him push back his chair in a screech of sound against the concrete.

  Lifting her lashes, she met his gaze, shook her head.

  His jaw clenched as he pulled his chair back to the table, but that fire in his eyes, it didn’t dim.

  It seemed to flare ever brighter as she finished the mousse with exquisite patience before picking up the new cup of tea that had been delivered partway through by a slender man in black pants and a white shirt, their old cups whisked away. This tea was cold and cleansing, all peppermint and ice.

  Shivering in sensory pleasure, she put the delicate cup of transparent glass on its matching saucer. And spoke for the first time since she’d begun her teasing. “You didn’t eat your mousse.”

  Abe nudged his plate toward her.

  Sinking her teeth into her lower lip, she shook her head. “There are multiple courses to come, and I’ve already inhaled a gazillion calories.”

  “Who cares?” He stretched his legs out on either side of hers, his big body in a sprawl that wasn’t the least bit careless. “You always look hot.”

  The blunt comment got her right in the gut. Because he said it as if it was an unquestionable truth, as if the fact she’d been labeled “plus-size” by the media when they were being nice and “fat” when they weren’t was a load of bullshit. As if she was gorgeous and sexy. She knew he meant it—because no matter how awful he’d become under the influence of drugs, he’d never, not once, made her feel bad about her body.

  It was the one thing he’d always and enthusiastically loved about her.

  “Thank you,” she said, then smiled. “And you are seriously ripped. Like a model off the cover of that health magazine.”

  Eyes gleaming in masculine pleasure, he nodded at her chocolate bowl. “Not going to take a bite?” It was a dare.

  CHAPTER 20

  NARROWING HER EYES, she picked up the empty bowl and flicked out her tongue to lick the edge. The rich, decadent taste of the mousse mingled with that of the creamy milk chocolate used to create the bowl. She couldn’t control her shudder.

  “Fuck!” Shoving back his chair, Abe rose and stalked to the edge of the tiny roof.

  When she made a move to join him, her face flushed and in need of the wind she could see ruffling his shirt, he half turned and pointed a finger at her. “You. Stay. There.” It was a growl.

  Sarah stayed. Not because she was scared but because she wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep hold of her senses or her clothes if she got near Abe when he was looking at her like that. Glaring at her until it was clear she’d obey, Abe turned back to stare out into the darkness. His wide shoulders rose and fell multiple times, as if he was taking deep breath after deep breath, but when he shifted on his heel to return to the table, she saw his body remained out of control.

  “Quiet.” He slammed back into his chair with that command, pulling it under the table enough that he could use the tablecloth to cover his lap.

  Sarah felt a smile try to form, attempted to bite it back, but it just wouldn’t die. The fight to withhold her mirth erupted into a small snort, and when Abe glared at her again, the snort turned into giggles. Giving in, she laughed harder than she’d laughed in an entire year, delighted with this night, with the rock star across from her, with the way the sensual memory of chocolate lingered on her tongue, with the entire world.

  ABE HAD NEVER BEEN SO SEXUALLY FRUSTRATED. Sarah had always had a way of riling him up, but before, when they’d been together, he’d made her pay for her teasing—to both their pleasure. Often she’d teased him for exactly that reason. And he’d let her, having convinced himself their physical chemistry didn’t mean anything, that it was just sex.

  Yeah, which was why he’d never once cheated on her, no matter how many groupies threw themselves at him.

  It had never been just sex, not with Sarah.

  But watching her laugh, even if it was at his expense… it was better than sex. He hadn’t seen his wife laugh for the longest time. Perhaps since halfway through their marriage. He’d forgotten how goddamn beautiful she was when she laughed, open and luminous and with zero fear of the world.

  Sarah was magnificent always, but she was a goddess when she laughed.

  Wiping her thumbs under her eyes to sweep away the tears that had fallen during the laughter, her cheeks still creased in a deep smile, she said, “Drink your tea.”

  He looked askance at the cup he’d ignored. Fine condensation had begun to bead on the sides, so it wasn’t hot tea. “Why are there leaves floating in it?”

  “Fresh mint. It’s delicious.”

  Abe wasn’t sold, but decided he might as well try to develop an enjoyment of other drinks since alcohol wasn’t ever going to be on the menu and Florentina Chastain would probably be mortally offended if he asked for coffee. He drank. “It tastes like toothpaste.”

  “It does not!”
>
  He drank some more, found the toothpaste-flavored ice water kind of grew on him. “Okay,” he admitted. “I might drink that again.” He almost told her to remember what it was called so he could order it again one day, as if she’d always be by his side.

  Quick, confident steps sounded before the words could spill out, Florentina Chastain herself walking up to clear away their plates. She gave him a haughty look straight down the bridge of her aquiline nose. “You don’t like mousse?”

  Abe had a feeling that if he didn’t answer right, he’d never again get a table here—and Sarah liked this place. “It’s her fault.” He pointed at the culprit. “She ate her mousse in front of me. Slowly. Very, very slowly.”

  Sarah’s mouth fell open. “Abe!” Scrunching up her napkin, she threw it at his head.

  Florentina’s icy demeanor thawed as he caught the soft missile, an unexpected sparkle in her gaze. “Ah, then my chocolate has done its job, no?” Sweeping away the plates, she walked off, her heels making small tip-tap sounds on the roof.

  “I can’t believe you said that.” Sarah pinned him with a scowl.

  “At least she’ll allow you to eat her desserts again.”

  Sarah went to speak, paused. “Hmm. Yes, you’re right.” She took a final sip from her cup before their usual server arrived to deliver their new tea and remove the old cups.

  Florentina returned after the quiet, efficient male, this time with a pot of some creamy thing that she put in the center of the table. She then placed small platters of beautifully sliced and arranged fruit in front of them, including some exotic things Abe didn’t immediately recognize. “Enjoy.” A glance at Abe. “Perhaps you should eat slowly in front of her this time?”

  With that wicked suggestion, she walked off to disappear down the stairs.

  Abe looked at the tiny fork Florentina had left by his plate, then at his hand.

  Yeah, no.

  Using his fingers to pick up a slice of what might’ve been white peach, he dipped it in the sauce thing and threw the whole piece into his mouth, chewing and swallowing quickly. It was pretty good. The fruits weren’t raw as he’d initially thought—they’d been cooked very slightly and coated with some spices that felt good on the tongue. He ate another piece, all the while deliberately not looking at Sarah. Until he realized she hadn’t reached for a single piece of fruit.