Addicted: A Good Girl Bad Boy Rockstar Romance

by Zoey Oliver

  “Will this be all right?” I ask as I open the door for her.

  Her cheeks are bright and pink. She gives me that giddy, innocent smile and nods quickly.

  “Oh yes!” she says as she drops into the passenger seat, her skirt billowing up over her knees so that I get to see just a fleeting glance of her white, lace panties. Already, I know that I want to be inside those panties more than anything.

  This going to be a long night.

  But as we drive to the river to get to the Fish Market, I feel myself slowly gaining control. She relaxes in the passenger seat, looking around as the streets roll by. I can see from her posture that she feels good in this car, that she appreciates its elegance.

  That's good, because I am starting to think that I need to show her a lot of very elegant things, and I want to make sure she can handle it. She deserves so much more than she has gotten so far. We have a lot of catching up to do.

  When the valet opens her door, she pauses to allow me to trot around to her side of the car and offer her my hand to help her out. Another excellent instinct on her part. Rather than letting the valet interfere with my chivalry, she's attuned to the fact that I want to do it.

  Oh my God. She understands me so well already. This is just another detail that sends an arrow through my heart.

  With her hand in mine, I feel puffed up and proud. She whispers her thanks and we walk into the restaurant, where I can feel dozens of heads turning to look at us.

  It is prime dinner rush hour on a Friday night. There are probably a hundred fifty people here and they're all staring at us. People I know personally, as a matter of fact.

  I can feel the judgment building like a barometer slowly inching into the red. Kita shifts closer to me and I squeeze her hand gently to reassure her.

  The hostess steps out from behind her dais, tucking two leather bound menus under her arm. She takes a long time to scrape her gaze over Kita, from her ballet flats up to the top of her hair. Under the spotlight here in the foyer, the reflection casts a glow around her that's absolutely angelic.

  I step forward, directing the hostess’ attention back to me and my obvious disapproval of her aggressive attitude. She meets my eyes for just a moment and then looks away, seeming to wither instantly.

  Yes, I have that effect on people. I always have, although I did learn to hone it in the military.

  “Table for two? Lockwood?” she asks in a very polite voice. “Please follow me.”

  She leads us to a table that is practically on the other side of the restaurant, parading us all the way through the crowd, past every set of judgmental eyes. I realize that I should be a little ashamed, being maybe twice her age, maybe a little more…

  But I'm stubborn. Just knowing that these people have the audacity to judge me or to judge her raises my hackles. I'm more determined than ever to make a connection with Kita now. To forge something real. Iron clad.

  And more than that, I am concerned about Kita's feelings. With each step, she grips my hand even tighter. We get to the table, the hostess stands aside and pulls out a chair for Kita but I intervene again, taking the back of the chair from her. Just before she can sit down, I brush her hair away from her cheek and tuck it behind her ear, then kiss her gently on the top of her forehead. I feel her lean into me, drinking in that sensation just before she settles into her seat.

  “Everything looks so wonderful,” she says as she looks over the menu, dragging her pretty little finger down the list.

  “It does,” I agree, but I am having trouble focusing. I don't want to think about the sneering couples who are still looking at us, but I can't help it.

  “Daniel?” she says suddenly. I turn and focus all my attention on her, on her big green eyes, on her sweet smile.

  “Yes?”

  She shifts in her seat so that her knee touches mine under the tablecloth. I can see that she's trying to redirect my attention back to her, away from everyone else. She's brilliant. That's where my attention should be anyway. These other people don’t even matter at all.

  “So, what do you do?” she asks innocently, shrugging. “I never even asked you.”

  “These days, I don’t really do a lot," I answer honestly. “After I got out of the military, I thought I would set up a cyber security firm. That went fairly well, but then I also designed an app for a sort of military-style exercise training, and I got really lucky with that. Once I sold the app, I realized I could just start, you know, investing in small projects. Giving back. I’ve been very lucky.”

  She nods seriously. I can tell that she understands what I'm really saying. “Small projects like me, for instance?”

  I laugh softly, reaching out to cup the curve of her cheek in my hand. “Well, anything that has potential is worth an investment, Kita. You're probably the most precious thing I've run across in a long time. In fact, your Dean mentioned that you have been working on an app as well?”

  She looks startled for just a moment. I'm not sure if it's because I mentioned talking to her Dean, or if she's just surprised that I know about the app.

  “He did? I’m surprised he even remembers. It's really nothing,” she answers humbly. “Just an anti-bullying protocol that I put together. Nothing serious, really.”

  “Oh, don't be overly modest,” I scold her gently, careful not to bruise her too much. “I hear it's really quite a smart idea. Are you looking for investors by any chance?”

  “Oh, Daddy, stop!” she exclaims, laughing brightly.

  Her hand reaches out and brushes my forearm, squeezing gently. I heard the word. I heard her say it, and I fucking loved it. I want her to say it again. When I’m buried inside her.

  “You shouldn't tease me like that,” I warn her, leaning in and lowering my voice. “People will have opinions, you know.”

  She raises her eyebrows playfully. “Oh no, not opinions!” she replies. “You know what, I think I’m just about done with other people's opinions. Let them think what like!”

  “You're just an extraordinary creature,” I sigh. In the low flickering candlelight, she seems to glow with warmth and vitality. “Do you really believe that?”

  She shrugs. “My mother used to say that if you know the truth in your heart, it doesn't matter what other people think.”

  I watch her carefully, looking for signs of stress. She seems perfectly comfortable now, though she hadn't spoken about her mother since we've met.

  “That's a good way of looking at things.”

  I don't say anything more for a moment, waiting to see if she's going to elaborate about her mother. She seems to consider her options for a moment, then relaxes slightly.

  “My mother was arrested. They said she was a spy. She was deported, back to Russia.” Her voice is light, casual, but it betrays the seriousness of the admission.

  She searches my eyes, looking to see what I think. I'm sure she wants to know if I judge her for this.

  “I'm sorry,” I reply, stroking her soft kneecap under the table. I wish that I could take her in my arms to comfort her right now, but that probably isn't very smart. “It must've been so hard for you.”

  She nods tightly, pressing her lips together. “It was. It is… every day. I'd give anything to see her again. But I don't even know how to reach her. It’s like, as soon as she was there, she disappeared. I have no way to contact her at all.”

  Her eyes glisten in the candlelight as they fill almost to the brim. As I watch, her tears tremble until she blinks, then they drop down her cheeks in two shimmering lines.

  “Oh, Kita, I'm so sorry.”

  I reach out and take her hand, holding it between my hands. She smiles thinly but leans toward me. I could feel that she trust me, that talking about this with me provides her some comfort. I wonder how many people she's really ever been able to talk to.

  I tug her a little closer, and then feel something hard in my hand. Drawing her hand back into the light, I squint for a moment, not quite understanding what I'm seeing.
/>
  She flinches, drawing her hand back.

  “Oh, I'm so sorry…” she explains quickly. “I didn't mean to… I just… oh, I'm so sorry!”

  I pull her hand back to me, grasping her fingers between mine and turning her hand slowly. The old ruby kind of glitters in the light, probably more than it ever has before.

  “I bought this in Russia, a long, long time ago,” I explain to her. “There was a market, people just selling odds and ends. This old woman sold it to me. She said it was magic.”

  “Magic?”

  I smirk, finding her eyes again to reassure that I'm not angry. “Well, that’s what she said. It's supposed to bring me good luck.”

  “Oh.”

  “You see that stone… that's a ruby. I know it doesn't look like much, but somebody made this ring, maybe hundreds of years ago. It's the sort of thing that would've signified a very important person. Probably the best craftsmanship they had at the time. But now, it just looks kind of cloudy and dark. But I knew I wanted it… it's kind of beautiful.”

  “I just wanted to get to know you better.” Her cheeks flame.

  “Oh, Kita, I want to get to know you better too. I have not been able to stop thinking about you at all. Take the ring. It’s yours.”

  She gasps slightly. “Really? You're not mad?”

  “How could I be mad? Seems you were meant to find it.”

  She blushes fiercely, her hand drifting up to press against her cheek as her smile widens. I can see how happy I've made her, and it makes me want to give her more things.

  The waitress comes and goes, then brings back our food in short order. I barely notice anyone else in the restaurant anymore. All I can see is Kita.

  After we order, the sommelier brings us wine list to sample. After squinting at her dubiously, he pours her a glass of a fairly lovely Chardonnay. She sips that delicately, her throat instantly flushing.

  “You like it?”

  She nods. “It's very good.”

  We talk about all kinds of things, the conversation moving swiftly from topic to topic. As time goes on, she opens up more and more, telling me about trips to Russia, her early life with her mother, training as a gymnast until injuries threatened her career. How sad she was to leave it all behind.

  “Ah, I knew it.”

  She puts down her fork and knife, chewing slowly. “What did you know?”

  “The first time I saw you, I knew you were a gymnast. I could tell by the way you move your ankles.”

  She squints at me playfully. “The way I moved my ankles? Are you telling me I do something weird with my ankles?”

  I sort of get a little giddy, trying to hold back my laughter. In a way, that is sort of ridiculous thing to say. But in another way, it's totally the truth.

  “Yes. I can truthfully tell you that the first thing that I fell in love with was your ankles, Kita.”

  She sniffs, almost flinching at the word. Fell in love with. Yes, I guess I did just say that out loud.

  But I want to just kind of breeze past that. I don't want to frighten her off. Someone her age can't possibly know how easy it is to know when you found something. She will take more convincing, and I'm sure I'm up to the task.

  “Okay, tell me a secret,” she says playfully. She wrinkles her nose adorably.

  “A secret?” I say, bristling automatically and then reminding myself that she's not any kind of military threat and I can relax. “What kind of secret?”

  “Oh, any kind,” she replies breezily.

  “Is this some kind of test?”

  She winks. “Of course it is some kind of test.”

  I shake my head, amazed at how thoroughly I'm enjoying her banter.

  “Okay… Let's see. I have… not been with a woman in five years.”

  Her eyes widen. “Really?”

  Suddenly I'm a little shy. Was that too much information?

  “Really. I've been so committed to work, so focused, I just… hadn't met the right girl yet, I guess.”

  “That's amazing,” she breathes.

  “Are you sure?” I ask her, smirking. “Not a lot of people would think that that was such a great thing, you know.”

  “No, no, I think it's wonderful,” she says earnestly, squeezing my forearm again. I don't usually drink, and these two glasses of wine are making my head a little light. But I get that feeling again, as though there are literal electric sparks between us when we touch.

  “How could that be wonderful?”

  “Well, I guess it’s just that there's not some other person, you know, some other ghost looking around. It's nice.”

  I nod thoughtfully. “Okay… that makes sense. I understand that.”

  Suddenly she crouches down and draws her wrist up to her mouth. After a moment of confusion I realize she's trying to stifle a giggle.

  “I thought you said that was not a problem for you? Why are you laughing?”

  “Oh! I'm sorry!” She meets my eyes again, dazzling me again by the brightness of the crackling connection between us. “It's just that… I don't have any ghosts at all...”

  “I am not sure I understand what you mean…”

  She blushes so deeply she's practically infrared. “I mean… I don't have… I've never —”

  It strikes me all of a sudden. “Are you saying that you've never —”

  She shakes her head triumphantly, eyes defiantly proud. “Nope! Not even once.”

  She's a virgin?

  “Not even…”

  My thoughts begin to tremble, like an earthquake shaking me from underneath. Everything starts to tumble down all at once.

  It makes sense… her shyness, her pliability. The way she stares at me so eagerly, as though all she wants to do in the world is please me. The way she gazes at me like I’m the only man she has ever seen.

  That can’t be possible, can it?

  “Kita…”

  “Yes, Daddy?”

  She leans forward, slipping her hand behind my neck and drawing me to her. My hands find both of her shoulders and crush her forward. I'm suddenly overwhelmed with hunger for her, and kissing her is not nearly enough.

  “We need to leave. Now,” I whisper hoarsely against her ear.

  She nods, understanding completely and rises from the table as I drop a couple hundred dollar bills in the middle of the tablecloth and we rush back toward the entrance like we are on fire.

  Chapter 17

  Kita

  I feel like a princess.

  All night, every eye in the place has been on us. I've never experienced this sort of thing before, being scrutinized in public. It's a very strange feeling, and something I thought I would have hated. As an only child, I'm accustomed to privacy. When I went into foster care, keeping to myself was a good defense when the world got so strange.

  But here, under the shelter of this enormous, handsome, overbearing man, I feel completely different.

  When the hostess walks us to our table, I feel eyes turn toward us. Every gaze is like drops of water sizzling on a hot griddle. Turning into steam. It is electrifying.

  Instead of wanting to shrink, I sort of want to shout. As we walk across the small dance floor, it takes everything I can do not to bounce a couple of back flips, just to show off.

  He gives me strength, I guess is what I'm saying.

  As we sit, the way he is looking at me just lights me up even further. I love having his eyes on me, the way that his gaze skates across my skin, settling into the shadowed parts of me. I think this is what people call undressing you with their eyes. I feel it.

  I mean, I don't feel it yet, but I'm starting to think I might.

  He orders for us, and I just smile at the waitress as she squints me judgmentally. I don't mind. Yes, this is my very handsome man. Yes, I deserve this.

  I do, right?

  Yes, I do.

  We talk for a little while about our lives, sharing things I don't know if I have ever shared with anyone. I get the feeling it's the same
for him, that he probably doesn't talk about his life very much either. It makes me feel special that he would share this with me. That he’d share anything with me.

  Maybe everything?

  I tell him way too much, probably. I should probably be more cautious about telling somebody who obviously worked in military intelligence that my mother was deported for being a spy, or so they said. But to be honest, I don't think that's true. She got swept up in some kind of embezzlement scheme that her boss was executing, and because she was an immigrant from Russia, they just assumed that her conversations with my grandmother and other relatives were involved in the embezzlement. She told me they weren't, and I believe her.

  I mean, I almost believe her. I want to, certainly. But since I've never been able to find her again…

  Anyway.

  As he's talking, I want to be closer and closer to him. I'm getting more and more nervous, more and more eager to touch my skin against his. I find myself tapping his arm every chance I get, trying to draw the connection even closer.

  When he tells me that he hasn't had another woman in his life for five years, a cool breeze of relief rushes through me. I didn't even realize I was worried about that, but it is extremely nice to know that there's not another woman who's going to mysteriously pop up and wake me up out of this beautiful dream I'm having. It feels sort of clean, in a way. Like he's purer than I assumed. And almost seems impossible, because he's just so… handsome.

  “Well, I've never, you know...” I falter, not sure how to explain it to him. His hazel eyes search mine, then narrow slightly. He's puzzling it out. He's curious what I mean.

  I can see the realization dawn on him, almost watch it frame by frame like a movie in slow motion. As he realizes that he's the only man that's ever been in my life romantically, his expression moves from shock to something like… desperation.

  He pulls on my arm, drawing me in close. His breath is hot and urgent in my ear.

  “We need to leave, now,” he grunts, and I can smell that something has changed about him. Something has ripened into a feral, animal musk.

  I wonder if everyone else can smell it too as we hurry out of the restaurant. He thrusts his claim ticket at the valet and grunts, not even seeming to care anymore what people think.