Suspended: A Bad Boy Rockstar Romance

by Zoey Oliver

  He’s either oblivious that his advances aren’t welcome, or he doesn’t give a shit. Knowing Finley, it’s the latter.

  Another dancing couple move in front of them, blocking my view. I make my way to their end of the room, keeping my eyes trained on the flashes of Abi’s sparkling blue gown that I can spot through the crowd. The song winds down, and there’s a brief lull in the music. I get a full view again as several people leave the dance floor.

  Finley has his arm wrapped securely around her waist, but her forearms are pushing against his shoulders, her hands curled into fists. They’re close enough, Finley’s bigger body can disguise her resistance, but she twists her face away from him as he leans in to kiss her and grimaces as his lips miss their mark and meet her cheek, instead.

  That does it. I don’t want Finley’s slimy hands or lips anywhere near her, and clearly, she doesn’t, either.

  I make a beeline for them, and a second later, I’m standing behind Finley. I resist the urge to sucker-punch him in the back of the head. That’s exactly what I would have done last year, no hesitation, just knocked him clean out. But I’m trying to rein in my temper and be a proper gentleman, especially here in the palace, with a room full of guests attending at my parent’s invitation. I take a calming breath and tap him firmly on the shoulder.

  “Excuse me, I’m cutting in.”

  Abigail looks up at the sound of my voice, and her eyes light up, her mouth parting in surprise.

  Finley turns toward me. “Henry,” he notes sourly.

  I glare at him. “Hello Finley.”

  He glares back. “Ms. Strathmore is occupied at the moment.”

  “It’s Lady Strathmore, you jackass. And I think she’s ready for a new dancing partner.”

  Abigail nods in agreement, but fucking Finley’s beady eyes are fixed on me.

  He steps forward, one hand still clutching Abigail’s arm. “I don’t give a shit what you think, Henry,” he sneers.

  “It’s not your call,” I say, looking at her over Finley’s shoulder. Her eyes are darting from me to Finley. “This is the Lady’s decision.”

  He tightens his grip around her arm, and she winces.

  I want to rip his arm right off for that. I tear my eyes away from Abi and look back at Finley. His lip is curled into a snarl, and he’s glowering at me threateningly, but he has no idea. He thinks I’ll back down and play the gracious host.

  He’s mistaken. I step closer to him. “Let go of her, now, or I will end you.” Every muscle in my body is poised to snap into action, years of experience with full-tackle bar brawls and street fighting at the ready.

  His gaze falters, and he stiffens in disbelief, but he doesn’t release Abi. I push closer, practically nose to nose, and he swallows hard.

  “Think I give a shit about making a scene?” I growl in a low whisper. “I won’t hesitate to fucking flatten you, right here. Try me, I beg you.”

  I’m holding back as much as I can, out of respect for my parents. I don’t want to cause the King and Queen embarrassment, but I’m not backing down. If we were anywhere else, I’d have already smashed Finley’s face in.

  His nostrils flare furiously, but he finally steps away from me and lets go of Abigail, flinging her arm away in disgust. He straightens his jacket and gives me a tight smile, his eyes dancing fiendishly.

  “Enjoy your dance, Henry. But don’t get too attached — she’ll be permanently by my side soon enough.”

  My hands curl into fists, ready to knock that self-assured smirk off his face. Finley’s wisely steered clear of me for the most part, running in different circle than I did, which means hasn’t been introduced to this side of me yet, except for what he may have seen in media reports.

  Abi steps around him and comes to my side. Without pausing a beat, Finley uses the opportunity to duck through the crowd of dancers. He disappears out of sight as she uncurls my fist and slips her hand into mine, her skin soft and warm.

  A surge of electric heat races up my wrist and into my forearm from her touch. I turn to Abi, all thoughts of following Finley forgotten the moment I look at her.

  For a moment, I forget that we’re standing in the middle of the ballroom with dozens of people. I search her face, finding a comforting familiarity, but also a trace of mystery… a foreignness that makes my pulse race.

  Looking at her now, all grown-up and womanly — it’s like I’ve drawn close to a luminous star that I’ve known of my whole life. No matter how many times I stared up at the sky as a child, no matter how well I’ve memorized every speck of its light in the heavens, it’s clear there is still much to be discovered. Her beauty had pulled me in, but now that we’re face to face, desire is holding me here, digging into me.

  Abi’s uncharted territory. I need to explore all of her, to know her in all the ways a man can.

  She’s staring up at me hesitantly. Her eyes, bright and warm, are the color of soft green grass on a late summer day. And those lips... so full and kissed with a touch of red lipstick. They’re just begging to be given something naughty to do.

  Chapter 4

  ABIGAIL

  Without even thinking, I’ve slipped my hand into Henry’s. He’s staring into the dancing crowd around us, watching Finley’s back like a hawk as he heads away from us.

  I debate how to casually pull my hand away and play it off, but a moment later, his hand tightens around mine and then he’s looking at me, his eyes searching mine. His expression is full of concern and a hint of something else. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I’m intrigued.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, gently rubbing my arm where Finley had his death grip on me.

  I swallow and nod. I can’t form words right now, not with Henry looking at me like that. Not with him touching me so tenderly. His hand is leaving a trail of tingles across my skin as he caresses the red marks Finley’s grip made on my arm.

  “If he left a bruise on you, I swear to God,” Henry inhales sharply and glances into the crowd again, anger flashing in his eyes.

  “No, I’m okay, really,” I say finally.

  He turns back to me; I could get lost in his eyes — deep pools of sparkling blue staring at me so sweetly.

  The intense anger seeps from his features, and his words come out with faux formality. “Well, in that case, perhaps you would do me the kindness of a dance?”

  “Of course,” I say. I was tired of dancing long before Finley insisted on a turn, and I’ve managed to sprain my ankle in my clumsy return to high heels tonight, but I’ll do anything to stay in Henry’s company.

  He smiles and gently places his hand on my waist. I straighten my back and try to steady my legs, but all I can think about is how close we’re standing and the look in his eyes when Finley had ahold of me — I’ve not seen that expression on a man very often, and certainly not because of me.

  Fortunately, he’s an excellent dancer, leading me expertly across the dance floor, and my feet manage to untangle themselves before I trip us both. Muscle memory from years of formal dance training kick in as we move through the long, sweeping lines of a waltz — a dance which seems to be forgotten by the rest of the world. Soon we’re moving in perfect sync, floating through the ballroom as if we’re dancing on air.

  One hand is holding mine, the other is on the small of my back, guiding me gently but firmly. His gaze never leaves mine. That mysterious look in his eyes is growing stronger, and I like it, whatever it is. It makes my cheeks flush, and my instinct is to look away, but I don’t; I can’t. It’s intense, but comfortable in a way I can’t explain.

  He speaks casually, as though guiding a woman through a dance is second nature. “It’s nice to see you again, Abigail. You’re looking very lovely.”

  “You, too,” I say. What? “I mean, it’s nice to see you, too.”

  He smiles at me, a twinkle of mischief in his expression. “So, I don’t look lovely as well?”

  “Yes, of course.” I’m blushing furiously now, and my mouth
is forming words without input from my brain. “I mean, you look handsome, as always.” Just stop talking!

  Henry raises an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth puckered with amusement. “As always? Well, that’s good to know.” He steps into me, and my years of dancing lessons snap into place as we cascade into a backwards spin.

  “Hopefully, this song will end soon so I can go die from embarrassment in private.” Coming out of the maneuver, my head keeps spinning, but from an entirely different sense of vertigo. I dip my chin, averting my eyes, and shake my head. Why am I saying these things aloud?

  Henry laughs, and even though it’s the sort of pleasant, tickled laughter that makes me smile, too, I still want to drop through an escape hatch in the floor and disappear. I’m sure my face is bright red now, because it feels like it’s glowing with the heat of molten lava.

  “I’ve heard you’ve recently graduated.”

  Thank God, a change in subject. This I can talk about. “Yes, I did.”

  “With all the accolades, I bet.”

  I nod. “I did well at university.” I manage to clamp my mouth shut before mentioning that all I’ve done for the last five years is study morning, noon, and night. Henry doesn’t need to know I’ve had next to zero social life and very few boyfriends.

  “Tell me, what are you now the reigning expert of, Ms. Graduate?”

  We sway in a much more leisurely fashion now, allowing my brain to focus on more than what my feet should be doing. “Oh, I’m far from an expert. It’s the sort of thing that requires years of additional real-world experience and field research. My classes and labs only touched the tip of the iceberg.”

  “Really? What’s your degree?”

  “Environmental engineering.”

  “Wow, well done. Where does all this field research take place?”

  “Africa is where I would go — there are so many emerging events there, so much still to uncover and study. I’d love to help with the water crisis, working with a team to find sustainable solutions. Wouldn’t it be lovely to ensure everyone has access to clean, drinkable water? And living in Africa sounds fantastic, doesn’t it?”

  “I’ve never been, actually. Have you?”

  “Yes, last summer. I signed on to an externship program and spent eight weeks in Uganda. It was just… amazing. Such a beautiful place, so different from here.”

  Henry lifts his arm and turns his wrist while holding my hand. I follow the movement, conducting a circle in front of him before he pulls me back in and asks, “So, when do you jet off to the wilds of Africa again?”

  “I’m not, actually.”

  “Why’s that? Have you lost interest in it?”

  “Oh, no — I love environmental engineering! But…” I sigh. “There are more important things that need my attention. My family, for starters.”

  “I see. You’ll be staying around here, then?”

  “It looks like it.” Especially if you keep your hand right there on my waist.

  “Well, that’s the second bit of good news you’ve shared since we began this dance.”

  His words lift my spirits and pull me back from the edge of grieving for Africa, for what isn’t meant to be. I glance up at his face, and he’s looking at me so sweetly, his expression tender. I want to ask how he’s been, but I’m afraid to know. I don’t want to hear about the kind of parties I’ll never be hip enough to be invited to, or the wild women who throw himself at them. Not right now. Not while his arms are wrapped around me. I just want this moment with him to be mine.

  We move in harmony with the music, and little by little, Henry pulls me closer until we’re pressed together. I wonder if he’s noticed the fullness of my breasts pushed against his chest. I’ve certainly noticed the strength of his arms as he holds me. I’m wondering what he’s packing under the layers of that regal uniform — strong abs and muscular legs and…

  I push the thoughts out of my head. It’s foolish to think he’d find me remotely attractive on that level. I’m not a skinny model, ten feet tall with an exotic accent. Simple Abi, that’s me. For half my life I was a gangly tomboy splashing into muddy ponds to catch turtles and salamanders, and now that I’ve become a woman, my body has morphed into full-figured curves, even in the places I wish weren’t so curvy.

  The music softens as the band nears the end of the piece. We come to a stop, and Henry lets go of me. He gives me a bow, and I curtsy out of habit, but it’s all over too fast.

  Henry notices the tiny frown in my expression. “Are you all right?”

  Scurrying to cover the train of my thoughts, I tell a partial truth. “My left ankle is killing me.” Immediately, I regret saying it, because he’s not going to ask for another dance now.

  Another song begins, and I step back, ready to excuse myself, but Henry reaches for my hand. “Come with me,” he says.

  Eager as a bee heading to a freshly bloomed flower, I let him lead me off the dance floor. I don’t ask where we’re going or what we’re doing, because I don’t care — I’d follow him across a bed of hot coals if it means I can stay in his company a while longer.

  We reach the edge of the ballroom, and Henry releases my hand. I curl my fingers against my palm, already missing the heat of his skin against mine.

  He opens one of the heavy glass double doors leading out to the balcony. He pokes his head out and looks around then steps back inside and leans close to the hulking royal guard standing nearby.

  “We don’t wish to be disturbed,” Henry tells him quietly.

  The man bobs his head immediately and makes a slight bow. “Of course, Your Highness.”

  He touches his earpiece and discreetly updates the rest of the security team as Henry ushers me through the door. It goes shut behind us with a quiet whoosh. I look over my shoulder to see the security guard positioning himself directly in front of the glass doors, his back to us and the dance floor completely obstructed by his mass.

  The cool night air greets me as I walk through the evening shadows to the edge of the stone balcony, resting my hands on the intricately woven iron railings guarding the high drop-off. The balcony overlooks the East Lawn below, framed by formal gardens. It’s beautiful in its orderly elegance, but I always preferred the untamed look of the wildflower garden next to the back woods.

  “Any thoughts on how you plan to pass the time while you’re here?”

  Henry’s voice is right behind me, his breath curling against my neck in a little heat wave. It sends a shiver up my back, and goosebumps break out across my arms. I spin around to face him, my heart beating rapidly.

  As he sidles his hips and moves even closer, I realize I can’t recall what he just asked me.

  His gaze lowers to my lips and then moves down to my chest. My heart flutters with his intentional gaze. He looks back up at me, an eyebrow raised. “You’re all grown up now, aren’t you?”

  I nod. Words have fled me, and I’m barely breathing.

  He reaches up and gently sweeps a tendril of hair out of my face. His eyes lower to my lips again as he runs his hand down the back of my head, stroking my hair.

  “I hear you’re entertaining suitors.”

  I nod again. What is happening? Is he going to kiss me? I dare not move, for surely, I’ll do something clumsy and ruin this moment.

  “Are you ready to be married, Abi?”

  The question catches me off-guard, and my mind races to come up with an answer — for him, for myself. “I think so,” I whisper.

  Henry tilts his head and looks at me curiously. “So, you’ve had your fun, then?”

  His fingers are playing in my hair, each little tug sending pleasure to my scalp and down my back.

  “What — what do you mean?” I stare at him, my eyes wide. I think I know what he’s asking, but I can’t be sure.

  A smile plays across his lips. “Time is running out, you know.”

  Emily’s words from yesterday echo in my head. You didn’t cut loose in college… you’re running out of
time… have some fun before you’re married… you could use a long, hard night of trouble…

  “Are you offering something?” The question rolls out of my mouth before I can stop it. Where did that come from? I’m ready to die from embarrassment for being so presumptuous. It’s probably painfully obvious how little practice I’ve had with flirting.

  His eyes fixate on mine. That expression, it’s making my knees weak. Like a starving wolf sizing up its dinner.

  “Maybe,” he says, running his hand under my hair, his fingers stroking the bare skin of my neck.

  A thought occurs to me. Did Emily put him up to this? Another more likely possibility follows, a mortifying one. Spencer. This could be one of his crude pranks.

  My breath hangs in my chest, and I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. What do I do? How do I play this off? I’m irritated at the idea of Spencer fucking with me, and even though it’s the most logical explanation for Henry’s unexpected attention tonight, I can’t bring myself to push him away. I’m desperate for him to kiss me, even if it is a joke.

  Every fiber of my being is longing for a taste of his lips on mine. I know he can see it on my face, and it scares me, this power he has over me right now, but I can’t help it.

  He steps back abruptly and looks over at a small seating area to my right, deep in the cover of shadows.

  “What is it?” I say, startled.

  “I almost forgot why I brought you out here.”

  He walks to a pair of chairs and turns them to face each other. He sits down in one and pats the other. “Come, sit down.”

  My feet carry me over to him on automatic pilot, and I sit down obediently, but my mind is whirling. What is happening? What is Spencer up to now?

  As soon as I’m seated, he leans down and wraps a firm hand around my left ankle.

  “Wh—what are you doing?”

  Henry pauses and looks up at me. “May I?”