“I’m sorry.” My voice comes out all small and demure, and guilt smacks me right in the pit of the stomach. “Dean. I’m—”
He raises his hands. “Don’t apologize to me, Blair.”
My heart sinks to my feet. I’ve really done it this time. I turn to leave, but he speaks.
“I should be the one apologizing to you.”
My head snaps up. Say what now? “I don’t understand.”
He looks at his hands intertwined in front of him and taps his thumbs together. When he looks back at me, everything stops and I mean everything. I can’t breathe and I’m sure my cells stop reproducing because all I can do is blink. He remains where he is, staring at me from across the room. His arms rest on his thighs, his thumbs tapping a rhythm that matches the race of my heart.
It’s weird watching him so still. It makes everything more intense. Makes his stare more intense. I want to look away, but I can’t. It’s like he’s hypnotizing me. He clears his throat, and I blink, snapping out of it. “It’s not just you who’s been distracted. I haven’t been able to focus on anything since I had you in my room on Monday.” He swallows, and I watch his Adam’s apple dance up and down his throat.
“Why?” My voice is breathy.
“Because I want to fuck you, Blair. I shouldn’t want to, but I do, and it’s wrong on so many levels.” My mind spins and everything south of my navel clenches at his words, but something about the way he looks when he speaks tells me there’s a “but” and it’s a big one. “I’ve been warring with myself for days, weeks if I’m honest, but having you in my room and so close to my bed, I couldn’t think about anything other than having you underneath me. It’s all I can think about and it’s starting to affect my coaching and it’s going to mess everything up for you.”
I want to say something, anything, but in this moment I’m stuck between how my body is reacting to his words and the warning bells I’m hearing. And right now I don’t care. All I want is Dean inside me.
I take a step forward, and he raises his hands again. “Stop, Blair. Don’t!”
Confusion furrows my brow, and I stop short. My senses are heightened and I can smell his delicious cologne from where I’m standing, and all I want is his scent all over me while he moves inside me. When the hell did I become such a horndog?
“We can’t do this.”
“Why not?” This time I do take a step toward him, and he moves across the room to stand at the furthest point away from me. “I can’t do this with you. It will end badly. Maybe…”
Oh hell. I feel the sting of rejection, and my cheeks stain. It’s crazy to feel this way since I know he means what he is saying and this isn’t personal. Well, aside from the fact my music career is personal to me. “You’re right, it would be a terrible idea if we hooked up.” I thumb to the door again, and he almost looks as crestfallen as I am. I guess he’ll have to take matters into his own hands to solve his “needs”—pardon the pun. “I’m going to go.”
He jams his hands into his pockets and rocks on his heels. There are many awkward moments in life. The first time your parents knock on the bathroom door when you’re performing a little “self-help.” That moment when a guy goes for the kiss and you move in for a hug and you get his wet tongue on your cheek. But standing in front of a guy who has just explained he wants to fuck you but won’t because it will be detrimental to your career is by far at the top of the list.
“Sure, yeah,” he stammers.
I need to defuse some of the awkwardness, so I go with the first thing that pops in my head. “Are we still on for the game drive tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I’ve been looking forward to it.”
“See you in the morning, then. Laters, alligators.” Someone shoot me in the head.
He smirks and a little of the old Dean sneaks through. “Laters, alligators.”
Yeah, definitely on top of the list.
19
Dean
I stand at the safari vehicle and try not to look around impatiently for Blair. I want to see how she’s doing after yesterday, and nerves have me jumpy. I ball my fists in the pockets of my cargo pants and want to kick myself for how I handled things. Telling her I wanted to fuck her served absolutely no purpose. Now I’ve admitted it out loud and she’s aware of it, and all it’s going to do is make things uncomfortable between us.
Case in point—me standing outside on what’s a cool morning, alone, instead of Blair meeting me at my chalet like she did the day of the helicopter ride. The sun is about half an hour from making its way over the horizon, if my app is anything to go by. Blair sent me a text last night to tell me where to meet her, and I haven’t been able to do anything other than worry about how things are going to be between us since.
The sky is that beautiful shade of periwinkle and purple that happens just when dawn is about to break and is the perfect time to spot game and maybe a few wild cats. I doubt anything can top landing a helicopter in the middle of a pride of lions to do emergency surgery, but at this point I just want to be with Blair. Even if it means getting up at the ass crack of dawn to drive around for hours.
I see her round the corner with a bag slung over one shoulder and, a bit disturbingly, a rifle over the other. When she gets within hearing distance, I raise my hands in surrender. “I know I made things awkward, but I promise not to grope you in the truck. I don’t think weapons are necessary.”
She laughs. “Don’t worry, this is just in case you get bitten by a mamba and I need to put you out of your misery.”
She’s joking—at least I hope she is—and the tension leaves me. I work to exhale my breath inaudibly instead of through the rush of relief and reach for her bag. “Can I help you with this?”
She smiles, and it’s shy but not terribly awkward, so I think we’re good. “Thank you.”
I round the truck, and I’m about to climb in when I hear her chuckle. “You doing the driving today?”
I roll my eyes and make my way to the passenger side. Will I ever get used to the steering wheel being on the right?
As if reading my mind, she remarks, “You’ll get it just before you go home.” A frown mars her beautiful face for the briefest of moments but is replaced by a smile shortly after. It’s a sad smile, and I wonder what it’s all about, but she pats the seat. “C’mon, then, let’s see what we can spot. You don’t have any snacks on you, do you?”
She’s referring to the text she sent me the previous evening warning me not to bring apples and oranges on the truck. Apparently, elephants can smell them from miles away and will pretty much overturn a vehicle to get to the treat. “Nope, I’m saving myself for the buffet. Your grams’ pancakes are my weakness.”
“Yeah, why do you think we have a gym here? It’s pretty deadly for the waistline.”
I don’t mean to give her the once-over—I swear I don’t, and I want to punch myself in the balls for doing it—but before I can stop myself, my eyes sweep over her. I note the moment she recognizes what I’m doing, and she fidgets restlessly in her seat.
“I’m sorry about the blatant eye rove—I just can’t see anything but perfection. Your waistline is perfect as is and will be perfect with years and years of pancakes.”
I scan the road, looking for a rogue lion to put me out of my misery, when she laughs. “That was by far the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, good thing we decided not to go there, right?”
“Indeed.”
And we’re back to awkward.
Great going, Dean.
20
Blair
We spend the next ten minutes in silence. I’m not going to lie; it’s a bit uncomfortable. I’m doing my best not to overthink everything, but Dean is throwing out major mixed signals, and I’m a bit confused. I tell myself he isn’t trying to confuse me—wanting to do something and not being able to follow through with it can cause things to be all over the place—but I have
a hard time sitting in silence and not making stupid conversation about the weather because then he’ll know I’m feeling uncomfortable.
“What’s that?” Dean’s voice is a welcome distraction from my wallowing, and I look over to the left. The sun is just peeking out over the mountain and has cast a luminous orange-and-pink glow on the tall shoots of brown grass and sycamore trees. About 300 meters away, sitting in an acacia tree is the leopard from Mr. De Lange’s farm next door. We’ve complained to him about the hole in his fence numerous times, but the guy is an asshole and to date has done nothing about it.
It’s not that we mind having a leopard on our grounds; he hasn’t caused any trouble, and if he kills, it’s very few and far between. It’s just that we need a permit for the animals, and we don’t have one for leopards. I stop the truck, and Dean takes out his camera. He points it at the tree and starts shooting. He’s incredible to watch when he’s focused. Those steel eyes of his darken with concentration, and his tongue peeks out of his mouth, just slightly. I know it’s wrong, but I wonder how soft his lips would feel pressed against mine. Or how long and beautiful his fingers are and where I want them. I take him in while he shoots frame after frame of the leopard, who couldn’t care if we’re there or not.
I wonder what it would be like for him to be so absolutely focused on me while he pleasures my body. I groan, the sound leaving my mouth seconds before I can swallow it, and heat creeps up my neck and face. Maybe he didn’t hear me? Dean lowers his camera and turns to face me. He heard me all right. His eyes sweep over my face and settle on my mouth, and his tongue darts out, wetting his lips.
Oh shit! Be careful what you wish for, right? He places the camera next to him on the seat and scoots over to me. He cups my face, eyes shooting up to mine, but I get the feeling he isn’t asking for permission—he’s about to take exactly what he wants, and God help me, I want him to. His eyes never leave mine as he moves closer to me. I feel his warm breath on my face, and my eyes flutter closed when I hear rustling in the trees. I look over and see a herd of about twenty-five elephants racing toward us. I wonder if something spooked them, but it looks like most of them are just wanting to cross the road. Except there’s a bull, one of our new ones that is a bit territorial, heading straight for the 4x4. Dean doesn’t hear a thing as his lips are about to press against mine, but I gently push against his chest.
I know he’s about to jerk back, thinking he messed up, but I grab his T-shirt. I see the confusion on his face and lean in. “Dean, there’s an elephant bull about 200 meters away, and he doesn’t look happy. I’m going to need you to move back slowly for me. No sudden movements, okay?”
His eyes widen, and I reach for the rifle. Please, God, don’t make me have to use it today. All I can hear is Dean’s sharp intake of breath, matching mine as I try to get my heart rate under control. Dean manages to turn in his seat using slow, steady movements, and I think we’re going to be okay. The bull is still flapping his ears, but he continues across the road. He disappears into the thick brush, and I’m about to exhale in relief when Dean swears under his breath. His body tenses, and I know the bull is heading back. It sounds like thunder on the dry road, and I squeeze Dean’s leg. “Stay absolutely still.”
I turn my head and watch in horror as the elephant charges the truck. I feel Dean tense and shift, and I don’t need to be facing him to know he’s ready to throw himself in front of me. I don’t need him pulling any acts of heroism right now. It will only make things worse, and it won’t do a damn bit of good. Even if he gets in front of me, we’ll both be playing our harps for Saint Peter before he gets a chance to gasp out his dying words.
“Dean, no.” I sense him fight his instincts to protect me, and call me an idiot, but I’m a sucker for a guy opening doors and reaching for things on the top shelf and throwing himself in front of a six-ton animal, but if he does, we die. Simple as that.
The elephant mock-charges us at least another six or seven times, and each time I squeeze Dean’s leg and tell him to remain still. To his credit, he never actually moves, but I feel his need to spring in front of me every time, and if we weren’t in imminent danger, I’d be all over him like white on rice because a guy in protection mode is a proper aphrodisiac.
Finally, after what seems like hours, the bull retreats, but neither of us move for fear he’ll come back. It must be a solid five minutes later when Dean’s fingers touch my chin and he turns me to face him. I know I’m about to be kissed. There’s no way to miss it. He cups my face and looks at me for the longest time, his chest rising and falling from his pounding heart.
“Blair, I’m sorry.”
I wonder why he is apologizing, but I don’t have long to ponder it because the next thing I know, his lips are on mine and his tongue sweeps across my upper lip, begging for entrance. I open my mouth and his tongue delves in, and I feel it right between my thighs like a damn heartbeat. I know this kiss isn’t going to be enough for me.
But I also know, it might be what I have to settle for.
21
Dean
Blair drops me off at the chalet, and I know she’s expecting me to call her in, but I have to sort through what’s going on in my head. I don’t want to fuck her as a result of all this adrenaline fighting through my body right now. Well, that’s not true. I do want to fuck her with all this adrenaline coursing through me, but that’s not an option. Shit, this morning was intense. You’ve never really thought about your mortality until you have an elephant twice your height and a fuck-ton heavier than any land animal out there, pissed and charging at you.
Blair was incredible. She remained calm the entire time and even managed to keep me in my seat. Sitting still while the bull was charging her side of the 4x4 was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I’m not an idiot—I appreciate that if I’d tried to get between her and the elephant, we’d be having a joint funeral, but the urge was irrepressible. Her hand on my leg was the only thing keeping me still, and if I was enamored by her before, I know now it isn’t just a case of wanting to get into her panties. I want Blair, everything about her. I want her on her good and bad days. I want her when she’s sick and when she’s pissy, when she’s laughing and when she’s heartbroken. I don’t want to just fuck her—I want her. Every piece of her, every version of her.
But I also can’t have her. I know this, and she knows this, and I need to make it clear to her that us being together isn’t an option right now. Not while she’s on the show. Yesterday I was vague and didn’t tell her the real reason we couldn’t be together—purposefully leaving out that I’d signed a contract prohibiting me from dating any of the show’s contestants. I know it was a dick move. I don’t have an excuse for it except I didn’t want Blair to change the way she looked at me, and I knew as soon as I shared that information with her, she would. During season one of Breakout, I had a brief fling with one of the contestants, a girl named Monique. She ended up winning the show, and when we came out about our relationship, people claimed Monique had only won because I “stole” her during a battle. She was on Amanda’s team, battling against a former US Marine, and lost the votes by a tiny margin. As judges, we have the right to save—or as the show calls it, “steal”—a contestant who was voted out. I saw the potential Monique had, and it had nothing to do with our relationship. She was beautiful and talented and ambitious, and she’d stop at nothing to win the show. The spark she had was the reason I knew she deserved to win. But social media blew up, and all anyone was talking about was that I “stole” her because I was fucking her. Needless to say things didn’t work out between us. It’s not surprising since neither of us had any true feelings for each other. The producers made me sign a contract to state I would never get involved with a contestant again, and that contract is the only reason I can’t be with Blair right now.
It’s a good two hours later when I head over to her chalet. It’s almost a replica of mine except hers has more personal touches. It’s also a bit b
igger. She told me she got it on her eighteenth birthday, as a gift from her grandparents. Her father was furious and said they were going to turn her into a spoiled brat, but all I see is a girl who gives all her heart and soul to the reserve and her family. There isn’t a spoiled bone in her body.
I need a minute when I get onto her doorstep because my heart is racing a whole lot faster than when we were being charged by an elephant, and my breath is rushing out of me like I’ve just run a marathon. I need to get my shit together because this has to be perfect.
I rap twice on the door and lean against the doorjamb. Shit, that makes me look like I’m trying to be all smooth. So, I stand straight up and shove my hands into my jeans.
I hear movement from inside and do a quick breath check. All good there.
Blair opens the door, and I forget how to swallow. I also stand there gawking at her like it’s the first time I’ve ever seen a woman, and I inwardly cringe.
Blair is in a bathrobe. One of those big fluffy ones that has her enveloped and makes her look both vulnerable and sexy as all hell at the same time. The lecture I gave myself on the way over here goes completely out the window, and I lace my arm around Blair’s waist. She gasps as I pull her against me and take a step into the room, forcing her to take a step back. My mouth is on hers, and my kiss is urgent as I kick the door closed.
My hands thread in her hair, and then it’s all about our tongues warring with each other. I break away from her mouth with mammoth effort so I can scrape my teeth gently over her neck. Her head lolls to the side, giving me more access, and I press wet kisses just below her ear. Her scent pulses off her like a heartbeat, and it’s a heady combination of bath scents and strawberry shampoo.
“Blair?”
“Mmm?”
“Mind if I join you in the tub?”
Her eyes open languidly and take me in.
Back Beat Page 9
