"At best, I get a C-."
I laugh. A joke from Mal is a rare treasure. I want to wrap it in gold foil paper and keep it in my pocket. "Okay, what about the brooding one?"
"You don't know Kit's name?"
"I do, but I figured the word association would help. Does he like stuff like The Road?"
"The what?"
"Malcolm Strong!"
He laughs. "You need to update your references."
"You do know it."
"I don't live in a cave."
"Well, what's he like?"
"Legal thrillers."
"And you?"
"I don't mind them." He smiles, reveling in the frustration spreading over my expression. "You really are fucking adorable."
"You're not going to be laughing when you're stuck watching three movies you don't like."
"What about when you're coming in my lap with movies in the background?"
Ahem. I sidestep the comment. It's the only way to keep my wits about me. "Do you want to help me at all?"
"No."
"I'll get you back for this."
"Baby, you sure you want to start a war with me?"
I bite my lip. "Maybe."
"Bullshit, maybe."
I shrug, utterly effortless.
He smiles. "Bullshit."
Total bullshit.
I smile back anyway.
20
Lacey
After our obscenely delicious bowls of pasta, we move onto the couch. Ah, the magic of having Netflix, Hulu, iTunes, and Amazon streaming at my fingertips.
I find The Apartment and turn to Mal. "Have you seen this one?"
"Don't think so."
"You sure?"
"I don't usually pay attention." He smiles as I smirk. "You're fucking adorable shooting me dirty looks."
"You will pay attention."
"What if I'd rather make you come?"
Ahem. "That's what the pause button is for."
He pulls me into his lap and looks up at me, those deep blue eyes full of affection. "You sure?" He presses his palm against my sex, over my shorts.
Not sure. Not remotely sure. Not able to form coherent sentences.
Sex. Mal. Now.
I clear my throat and slide off his lap. "I'm very sure." I attempt to turn my body towards the TV. It refuses. It begs for proximity. "You need anything before we start?"
"Will you sit in my lap if I promise to play nice?"
"Maybe."
"No funny business." He copies my tone.
"That didn't work out last night."
"You can't blame me. You took off your panties."
I can't help but smile. Or slide into his lap. His chest feels good against my back. With his breath on my neck and his arms around me—
Fuck, this is heaven.
"Okay, ready?" I ask.
"Ready."
I press play and sink into his lap. Mal is quiet. The only sounds in the room are the film and his breath.
He's not torturing me. He must know this is important to me. Mal really does respect me. It's not like when I tried to show Adam movies. He'd ignore them.
We move around on the couch. I rest my head in his lap. He combs his fingers through my hair. I grab a blanket and cuddle up next to him.
He holds me close.
After the first two movies, we talk. We talk until the sun sets. We talk through Mal making dinner— pan-fried salmon and sautéed kale, of course.
I love that he eats fish and kale for dinner.
I love that he cozies up on the couch with me after dinner and watches my third pick—Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.
I love that he knows the film's director, Michel Gondry, got his start directing music videos.
I love the way his blue eyes look when he's focusing.
I want to talk about the movie. I want to talk to him forever. But it's late and I have an early call time.
It's torture forcing myself to change into my dress, get my stuff together, and head to the door.
Mal walks me to my car. He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me into a slow, deep kiss. It's intimate enough to leave me breathless.
"Goodnight, Lacey."
"Goodnight."
I think about him the entire drive home.
As I change into my pajamas.
As I touch myself.
As I fall asleep.
I even dream about him.
I text Mal during the breaks in my day. When I wake up. On the elliptical, at the gym. While I'm waiting for Danielle's coffee. While I'm waiting for a reply from Carrie. When I finish cataloging my first round of videos.
While I think up a new excuse for why I'm not putting in notice for Danielle.
As soon as I get home.
Before I boot up my computer.
Between episodes of TV.
Between emails with the video's producer.
Before I go to bed.
While I'm lying in bed, completely unable to sleep because I'm thinking about him.
Mostly, we talk about nothing—details of our days, our takes on the movies we watched together, teasing about my early bedtimes and his clean living.
I'm about to fall blissfully asleep when my phone buzzes.
Mal: Just got the news. We have a date for the Hurt Me, Baby release. First week of September.
Lacey: Okay. Good.
Mal: You nervous?
Lacey: Maybe.
He doesn't call me on it.
Lacey: I guess I'm out of time to quit my job, huh?
Mal: You haven't put in notice?
Lacey: I mean to. Every day, I mean to, but I can't seem to string the words together.
Mal: Do it tomorrow.
Lacey: Maybe.
Mal: I'll make it worth your while.
Lacey: I'm listening.
Mal: I want to celebrate with you, Lacey. But we can't celebrate with this hanging over your head.
Lacey: I disagree.
Mal: Text me when you've done it. I'll pick you up at eight.
Lacey: I didn't agree yet.
Mal: You want me to tie you up and spank you?
Lacey: Yes.
Mal: Then you'll do it.
Lacey: You know how to bribe a woman.
Mal: I do what I can.
Lacey: What if I don't quit tomorrow?
Mal: Then we can't celebrate.
Lacey: This is sexual blackmail.
Mal: And?
Lacey: It's effective.
Mal: I know.
All day, I avoid any conversation with Danielle.
I write five different resignations and delete them all.
I write ten different notes on scratch paper and tear up every one.
I need to do this.
I should have done it as soon as I accepted the offer to shoot the video.
But that doesn't help steady my hands.
Mal taunts me with his texts.
He promises to tie me to the bed.
To make me come until I beg him to stop.
Until I pass out.
To fuck me so hard I can't breathe.
He sends me a picture of his under-the-bed restraints.
Of his riding crop.
Of him, from his nose to that v just below his hips.
God, I want to trace every line on his body—the muscles and the tattoos. I want to feel the weight of him sinking into me. I want to taste his lips and his neck and his cock.
Danielle's voice pulls me from my dirty thoughts. "You can head home as soon as you've finished with those emails."
Right. Emails. I smile like I'm paying attention.
Only Danielle is reaching for her purse. She's about to leave for her last meeting.
I have to do this now.
"Danielle." I push up from my seat. My stomach rises up in my throat. Holding her gaze is making this impossible.
"Yes?" She clears her throat and makes that you're wasting my time noise.
I can't do this.
Fuck. I really can't do this.
I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. Nope. Still can't do this.
She clears her throat.
Okay. This doesn't have to be graceful. It can be messy and ugly, as long as it's done.
This is the right decision.
It's what I want, even if it's scary.
No more fetching lattes and dry-cleaning.
No more snide comments.
No more diva musicians treating me like the help.
"Lacey?" She makes that noise again. "I'm leaving."
Shit. It's now or never.
It needs to be now.
I take one more deep breath and exhale slowly.
"I'm putting in notice." I keep my eyes on the floor. "My last day will be next Friday."
"Okay…" She taps her toe against the concrete floor. "Why are you leaving?" Her sneer adds there's no way someone like you found a better job.
"Family reasons." It's bullshit, but I can't tell her the truth.
"All right…" She takes a step towards the door. "Start looking for your replacement right away. I want five candidates coming in for interviews on Friday. Schedule them every half hour, starting at four." She smiles evilly. "I need to know they're committed."
Only a true sadist asks people to travel Friday evenings in Los Angeles. But that's Danielle. It's good that I'm quitting.
It's terrifying, but it's good.
I smile back. "Of course."
She huffs, annoyed that I'm not annoyed, and leaves without a goodbye.
I settle back into my chair.
I'm almost unemployed.
And I get Mal all night.
I text him back.
Lacey: I did it.
Mal: Wear a nice dress, no panties.
God help me.
21
Lacey
The restaurant is right off PCH with a perfect view of the beach. We're somewhere between Seal Beach and Huntington, at some little hole in the wall. One far too casual for my tight cocktail dress and heels.
The fire in Mal's eyes pushes any concerns over appropriate dress away. Appropriate is boring. Dull. I want inappropriate. I want him throwing me on the table and fucking my brains out.
Ahem.
He has his arm around my waist. My body is nestled against his. We're in the cozy lobby, in front of the hostess stand, waiting for said hostess to appear and escort us to our table.
"You look fucking amazing, baby." Mal slides his hands to my ass and pulls my body into his. He drags his lips down my neck then back up again.
"Not overdressed?"
"No. Perfect." His fingers skim my hips. It's like he's feeling for something.
He is feeling for something. He's checking if I'm wearing underwear.
His fingers skim the strap of my thong. "Bad girl, disobeying orders." His voice drops to something low and demanding. "I'm going to have to punish you."
Fuck. I swallow hard. Heat spreads down from my cheeks to my chest, then down my stomach. It collects between my legs.
"But that's what you want, isn't it?" He nips at my ear. It's just hard enough to hurt. Just hard enough to send a wave of pleasure right to my core.
"Ahem." Someone behind us clears her throat.
Mal keeps his hand on my ass as he pulls back. He turns to the hostess with a smile. "Waltz party of two."
"We're the Waltz party?" I ask.
"Aren't we?" He pulls me closer.
"Of course." She smiles as she collects menus. When we move closer, she leans in to whisper, "I hate to ask, but aren't you Malcolm Strong?"
He nods. "Yes, and I'll sign whatever you want—as long as it isn't under your dress—if you help me with something."
She beams. "Of course." She sighs with pleasure. "You and your girlfriend are adorable."
He doesn't correct her. He just leans forward. "We need privacy. We're celebrating."
She smiles at me, somehow genuinely happy for me. "Special occasion?"
"She quit her job today," he says. "Going on to bigger and better things."
"Congratulations." She turns back to the host stand, makes a few marks on the table chart, and leads us into the restaurant. She seats us at a booth way in the back. "This should do." Her eyes pass over Mal. They get hungry, but respectfully hungry. She pulls out her cell. "I hate to ask, but my sister will kill me if I tell her I didn't. You mind a pic?"
"As long as you promise not to post it until we leave," he says.
She nods so hard I worry her neck is going to snap off.
I watch Mal pose with his fan. He's a natural at slipping back into that Malcolm Strong persona. It's only a notch or two away from the actual guy. It's hard to explain the difference. The persona is stiffer and looser at once. He's more and less in control. He's not showing the cracks around the edges—the smiles, the jokes, the affection in his blue eyes.
It's subtle, but it gives me a thrill, noticing the way Mal shifts out of character as he takes the seat opposite mine.
"I am proud of you." His blue eyes meet mine. "How do you feel?"
"Free… terrified I made a mistake, but free."
"It's a risk. But I have no doubt you'll do great things." His lips curl into a smile. Not one of those Mal half-smiles, but a wide one that lights up his eyes. "You're so fucking brave, Lacey."
"I am?"
He nods. "Leaving your ex, leaving your job, being in this restaurant with me. You're not afraid to jump off a fucking cliff."
"Well, when you make it sound so appealing..."
"I'll catch you."
God, how I want him to catch me. I push aside the feelings whirling around my stomach. Leaving my job is enough of a rush. But my growing affection for Mal—fuck, that's a hurricane.
"Logan talked to me."
"Do I want to know?"
"Depends. You get off on guys touching themselves?"
"Hot guys."
His eyes light up as he laughs. "He qualify?"
"He's no Mal, but yeah. He's hot."
"You get off on me touching myself?"
Can't think. Picturing Mal naked, his hand wrapped around his cock.
He chuckles. "I guess that's a yes."
Somehow, I manage to nod.
"He wants your number."
"Who?"
He lets out the same deep chuckle. "Logan."
"Does he?"
Mal smiles. "He wants to bring you in for the next Wicked Beat video."
My heart nearly stops. No. That's not possible. Wicked Beat is a huge band, bigger than Dangerous Noise, bigger than everyone but Maroon 5. "No fucking way."
"Yes fucking way." He's beaming with pride. For me.
"But I haven't even directed your video."
"You've been in this industry how long?" He teases.
"My first internship was two years ago."
"And you haven't realized musicians make bad business decisions yet?"
"Excuse you!" Screw that this is a nice restaurant. I find my cloth napkin, scrunch it in a ball, and toss it at Mal.
He laughs as he catches it. "You're going to regret losing this." He places the napkin in his lap. "That bench is going to be soaked by the time I'm done with you."
My breath catches in my throat. I let out a sound that doesn't even vaguely resemble a word. God, the look in Mal's eyes is demanding and playful at once. And knowing that I'm the one who gets that fun, affectionate side of him—
Right now, there's a softness to his shoulders. Like he can finally relax.
"Logan is smarter than he seems. He can tell you're going to be the next big thing and he wants to get you cheap." Mal chuckles. "And he thinks it bothers me that he wants to fuck you."
"Does it?"
"You're a beautiful woman. Every guy in this restaurant wants to fuck you."
"I'm not sure about that."
He leans back as he gives me a long once-over. His eyes rest on my chest. "I am."
My cheeks flush. God, the way he looks at me… it's intoxicating. I want to bottle it and carry it around for whenever my self-esteem is dropping.
Mal's gaze shifts to something behind us. Our server. She's quiet and serious and she doesn't ask about the band as she drops off our waters and takes our orders.
I haven't even looked at the menu.
I let Mal order for me.
We're having some fancy fish dish. One with plenty of vegetables on the side.
My lips curl into a smile.
He shakes his head knowingly. "If you want something else, I'll order you a second dinner."
"I don't."
He nods I know. His posture shifts, softer and harder at once. "It's a fucking great song, the one Logan wants you to shoot. It will be huge."
"As huge as Mal half naked?"
"Well…" He shifts back in his seat and cocks a brow.
"I thought you didn't make dick jokes."
He shrugs maybe I do, maybe I don't.
He's effortless today.
At ease.
He really is happy for me.
"It's been a long time since I've taken this kind of risk, but I remember how terrifying it was." His eyes fix on mine. "Our second album, the label wanted us to go pop-rock. That was the sound that was getting radio play. It still is. We tried, but we couldn't make it happen. It wasn't Dangerous Noise. We had to decide—sink into our sound and possibly miss out on mainstream success or compromise our sound for a better shot at fame and fortune."
"The pop-rock won, right?" I tease.
He smiles. "Of course." His voice drops to something serious. "That was our moment, though it wasn't really one moment. It was hundreds of decisions. It was negotiation. We fought like cats and dogs. Joel and I have always wanted to do what it takes to blow up the band. Ethan has never given a fuck about anything but getting the song right. But, coming together, making music… it's this fucking magic salve that cures everything. By the time we were done with the album, we all knew that it had to be that."
"It's a perfect album."
"It's not, but then nothing is." His eyes meet mine. "It's our imperfect album. I knew we were right to put it out that way, but I was terrified it would flop and break up the band. Ethan would have been devastated."
"What about you?"
"What about me?"
"Whenever you talk about something that hurts you, it's always what it did to someone else."
Dangerous Fling: A Rock Star Romance (Dangerous Noise Book 4) Page 17
