Savage Rhythm (7 page)

Her heart skidded and she felt a lump in her throat. She knew what those were for. Or at least thought she did. Her
imagination
certainly did. But it meant he’d done those things here with other women.

Of
course
he had. She was an idiot. He was a famous rock star Dom; of course he had subs and scenes and groupies and everything here all the damn time.

Would he do it during the tour? With her in her bunk, right there? Would she have to
listen
?

The thought made her feel sick. Which made her feel mad. She had no right to care at all, and she was only screwing herself by getting carried away like this.

“Hey,” Declan said, closing the door behind him. His dark eyes had softened. “Where’d you go? What’s wrong?”

Molly shrugged it off, unnerved that he’d picked up on her discomfort so easily. “Nothing. Just…what about when I want to interview the other guys? I guess I’ll have to do it in here.”

“No,” Declan said immediately.

Molly looked up in surprise. “No? Where do you propose I interview them, on the roof?”

“Where I can see you.”

“This is you being territorial again, isn’t it?” she teased, beyond relieved to have the focus back on Declan. Let him suffer. “The alpha caveman can’t even let another man in his bedroom.”

“That’s not what I’m territorial about,” he said gruffly.

Oh God.

Molly felt herself flush, and worse, so many times worse, felt her nipples tighten. Just the way he’d said it, the way she knew he was thinking about her, about
owning
her…

She closed her eyes. She never should have worn this stupid shirt. He could see.

“Look at me,” he rasped.

Dutifully, she opened her eyes. It wasn’t even weird now when she did what he said, except that it very much was. She was so screwed.

He’d taken another step closer, hulking over her, breathing hard. Looking down at her.

“You’re right,” he said. “You have to do all the interviews here. But you should know I don’t like it. You should know what I’m going to be thinking.”

“No,” she said softly. “Please don’t make this harder.”

“No, that’s on you,” he said. “You’re the reason I can’t throw you down on that bed and fuck you ‘til you scream right now.”

“Declan, we don’t even know each other.”

“I didn’t ask you to marry me.”

He hooked one finger over the waist of her cutoffs and under the waistband of her panties, against her bare skin. She shuddered, her abs fluttering at the touch as he pulled her forward.

“This won’t work if we…” She licked her lips; they were so dry. She couldn’t even say it.

“You’re wrong,” he said, letting his leg come between hers. “But you’re going to be the one to admit it.”

And then he let her go. Didn’t move far, just separated them. Left her hanging, breathless, panting.

Again.

“I have some rules for our interviews, too,” he said.

Molly staggered to the bed and sat down. That was deliberate. He’d put her in this state, revved her up, and then dropped her on purpose. To set rules?

To regain that power.

She looked up at him and smiled. She understood.

“Oh really?” she said. “You already promised no lies.”

Declan stood with his arms crossed, legs spread wide apart. She was doing well until she let her eyes drift down. He didn’t seem to care that he was obviously hard. Molly’s brain ran right off the track when she saw his long, thick bulge pulled tight against his leg, right there at eye level.

“But I didn’t promise I’d tell you anything,” he said. “Eyes up.”

Mortified, she looked up. He was smiling.

Bastard.

Muscled, tattooed, beautiful, sexy bastard.

“Now, if you want an answer,” he said, eyes glittering down at her, “you have to give me one.”

“One what?” she asked warily.

Declan laughed. “An answer. Just reciprocity. That’s all I’m saying. You want a question answered, you answer one in turn.”

Molly hesitated. That was actually brilliant. Deviously brilliant. And the beautiful bastard up there seemed to know it. Molly had been totally comfortable with the idea of digging into his life while hers remained protected, of getting Declan to open up about whatever messed up thing had broken up the most profound friendship in his life. The idea of being opened to the same scrutiny left her feeling…

Vulnerable.

Exposed.

Scared.

All things that turned her on when she thought about Declan.

Molly buried her face in her hands. “I am so fucked,” she muttered to herself.

“What was that?” he demanded.

“Fine!” she said, frustration winning out. “I can’t argue it’s unreasonable, and it’s not like I have any leverage, so fine. You win. Tit for tat, reciprocity, the whole thing.”

Her heart was racing as she said it. There were things that Molly had never talked to anyone about because they left her feeling so ashamed and weak—the way Robbie had treated her, the way his friends had treated her after the lies he’d told. But that was nothing compared to what she’d lost. How afraid she’d felt. How guilty she’d felt to know that it must, in some way, have been her fault. That if only she’d done something… She’d worked so hard to get to a place where she didn’t think about it every day, where she could almost pretend that none of it had ever happened.

And now she’d just given the one man she had to guard against carte blanche to find out about all of it. How the hell was she supposed to make sure she didn’t get her heart broken if she was going to have to let him in?

Molly glared up at him and said, “This is dirty pool.”

Declan bent down, put his hands on her knees, and forced them apart. She gasped as he knelt in front of her, between her legs, putting his face close to hers.

“Bullshit,” he said. “You are here to find out the very worst things about me and then make them sound like fucking virtues. I don’t know how you’re gonna do that, Molly, but I do know you’re going to know some bad stuff before this is over. You want me to show you mine? The least you can do is show me yours.”

Molly’s abs contracted in time with her hurried, shallow little breaths, her body screaming at her, just electric and alive with the nearness of him, of where he was.
Focus. Be a badass.

“Why?” she said. “Are you actually ashamed? Do you possess the capacity to feel shame?”

The change in him was immediate. His face darkened, his mouth grew tight. Molly could have handled it just fine if he’d been angry, but his eyes looked sad.

“You don’t know me yet, Molly,” he said softly. “That was a shallow, bullshit, superficial thing to say, and it was beneath you.”

She bridled for a minute—beneath her?—before she realized he was right. She didn’t know him, didn’t know anything about his inner life, didn’t know what drove him. Except that something painful had happened six months ago, something bad enough that he had constructed elaborate lies about alcoholism and who knew what else, and she’d just called him shameless.

She
hated
realizing she was wrong when she was still angry.

“Yeah, that was a dick move,” she said. Grudgingly.

His hands raced up her thighs to circle around her hips and he pulled her violently forward, their chests nearly touching. She could have stopped him at any time. Could have told him no. Why hadn’t she?

“Apologize,” he growled.

That was why. The voice, the order: she felt it deep inside. She almost wanted to moan.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He squeezed his thumbs into the crease where her legs met her hips and she rocked a little, involuntarily. Molly grit her teeth, fisted the bed sheet, and glared back at him, determined not to let him get the better of her. She would
not
beg him to fuck her right now, on this bed. She would
not
.

“It’s not about shame,” he said. “It’s about proving to me that you’ve seen enough of your own shit to understand mine.”

 She studied his face. There was no pretense there. Just open, honest eyes, a calm certainty. No games, no power exchange.

And the worst part is it made perfect sense to her. The only reason she could even consider the idea of telling Declan the worst things that had happened to her was that she could see, in those eyes, that terrible things had happened to him, too.

She gave in.

“What do you want to know?” she asked.

Now
he flashed a wicked smile while his hands still branded her thighs. “Why do you fight it?”

“Fight what?” she said. It sounded weak even to her.

“How much you want me.” He emphasized his point by digging those thumbs in a little deeper.

Oh Christ, was there even a point to denying it anymore? Declan saw right through her. It would be more embarrassing to lie, to keep lying, and admit that she was afraid she couldn’t control herself.

He slid one hand up to her waist, toying with the edge of her shirt, as if to prove that she didn’t want him to stop.

“Answer me,” he said.

An order.

She sighed. Fuck it. Honesty.

“I told myself it was because I wanted to be professional, for the book,” she said. “And that’s true. But that’s not the real reason. That’s not the reason I’m scared shitless of the way I feel when you touch me. I fight it because I’ve been burned by guys like you before, Declan. Badly. Bad things happened. And I’m not doing it again.”

Declan moved that hand up from her waist to her face, touching her cheek, her neck, tucking her hair behind her ear. He looked thoughtful and angry all at the same time.

“Somebody didn’t treat you right,” he echoed.

Molly didn’t trust herself to speak.

Declan took her chin in his hand and looked her in the eyes.

“Did he fuck you right?”

Molly gasped. She was stunned mentally—and overwhelmed physically—by the weight of him between her legs, the smell of him so close, the way he brought her physical pleasure just by barely touching her. It took her a moment. And then:

“You want to know how other men have fucked me?” she asked.

Declan growled a little, his brows coming together. Secretly, Molly rated that as a triumph.

“No,” he said. “I want to know if you got what you needed. But I already know you didn’t.”

His eyes roved all over her body, her taut muscles, her aroused nipples, the way she could barely breathe. Yeah, it was obvious.
Fuck.

And then he got up.

“And you never will if you don’t trust a man to give it to you,” he said.

And he left.

Molly sat there for far too long. The bus started up with a rumble and she swayed as they turned out of the Volare compound, her eyes staring at nothing while she thought about what Declan had said. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t find anything wrong with it. He was right.

And now the question that reverberated deep inside was this: could she ever trust anyone? Could she trust herself after everything that had happened?

Could she trust Declan?

chapter
8

Molly. Naked. On her knees.

Declan closed his eyes and stroked himself, his cock so hard it hurt, the hot water sluicing over his hard body in thin rivulets. She was driving him crazy, with those big eyes and those bee stung lips, and that plain, raw desire to submit. Fuck. He would have her. He would have those lips wrap around his cock, those eyes looking up at him, hungry. Yielding.

Until then he had to take care of himself, or walk around with a permanent hard on. He swore he’d match every orgasm with one buried deep inside her. He’d make her come
hard
for every one of these that she missed.

And he knew how obedient she’d be given the chance. Once he had her naked. The idea made him groan, his hand moving faster as the feeling at the base of his cock intensified. She’d beg for it. She’d bend over and take him to the hilt when he told her to. And if he did his job right, it would help her let go of whatever had happened to her.

Fuck
.

He kept coming back to those big eyes. What they’d look like when she finally came for him. What it would feel like, looking into those eyes, buried deep inside her, her breasts bouncing with every thrust, feeling her come hard around his cock…

“Fuck!” he roared, his cum covering the shower wall, one hand shooting out to steady him. She was a great fuck even when she wasn’t there. “Fucking Molly,” he growled.

He couldn’t have her fast enough.

Declan took his time toweling off and coming down, wanting a clear head, knowing she’d be right there when he rejoined the guys. That clear head lasted about two seconds after he saw her.

Christ.

A week on the road and already that girl was weaseling her way into everything. Declan didn’t mind, but he did find it remarkable. She felt so damn comfortable already, and not just to him. All the guys had gotten used to her.

Yeah, still dangerous.

He’d seen her talking to all the other dudes in the band, even some of the roadies. Doing her detective work. It always seemed to go the same way, too, with her target kind of avoiding her, all nervous because she already knew they were all going to try to lie to her, and then she’d corner them somewhere and get them laughing, smiling.

She was good.

Freaking. Dangerous.

And still Molly hadn’t tried to interview him yet. It maybe kinda rankled, a little bit. What the hell did she have to talk about with those other guys? Wearing those damn cutoffs all the time?

He’d actually asked her about that. She had more than one pair. She’d packed multiple goddamn pairs of lethal cutoffs. “It’s
summer
,” she’d said.

Declan was going out of his mind wanting her. He hadn’t jacked off this much in the shower since he was a teenager, and it was never enough. Worse, he’d been thinking about what Molly had told him, that she’d been burned badly by another guy. That bad things had happened to her. Thinking about it pissed him off, but it also made him…fuck, he didn’t know what to call it. She’d said it as though it were something to be ashamed of, but to Declan, she’d looked like a grown woman with some baggage to deal with who
owned
that baggage. She didn’t pretend everything was hunky dory; she put that shit front and center, and she was dealing with it the best way she knew how at the moment.