The Reverse of Perfection (Bad Decisions Book 2) Page 4

  Dylan slid closer on the black leather banquette. He put an arm across her shoulders and dragged his fingers slowly across her scalp and through her silky hair. “Do you want to do me, Ariel?”

  A pretty flush spread over her cheeks. Yup, that other Ariel, the one Dylan actually connected with, was still in there, beneath the prim layers of a high-necked white shirt, some collar thing that looked like polished shards of coral that must double as hickey protection and a pale pink jacket.

  “The makeover worked,” she said, not meeting his gaze. Instead, her eyes skittered from the brand new ragged holes across the knees of his jeans to his skin-tight black tee and then back down to where he’d set his other hand right at the edge of her skirt.

  “How well? Shouldn’t we put it to the test?” Dylan traced a circle on her smooth thigh. Just on the top of it. Just to let her feel his touch. He didn’t risk giving in to temptation and sliding his hand up any higher. No, he wanted to make Ariel reach for him, pull him closer. She had to be the one to toss aside her professionalism and give in to the need he knew damn well they both felt.

  “There hasn’t been time to put together a focus group. You’ll have to trust that I know what I’m doing.” But her voice quivered a little.

  Dylan bent to whisper in her ear. “I’m focusing just on you, Ariel. You’re the only one who matters. Right here, right now.” Then he flicked his tongue along the outer rim of her ear. Bit down on the fleshy part of her lobe, careful to not pinch against her diamond studs. Circled his finger lower, around her knee to end with a light scrape along the back of it.

  “Yes,” she whispered back, splaying a hand across his ribs. “Yes, I want you, damn it.”

  That was enough for him. Dylan grabbed her legs and lifted them across his lap. He curved his fingers around the nape of her neck to tilt her head up to his. Angle perfect, he noticed that her lips were already parted in anticipation. Oh, yeah. His girl, his Ariel, was back.

  Dylan took her very obvious cue and dove into the wet heat of her mouth. The urgency of her response, the way her tongue fiercely twined with his, proved that the last two days, going cold turkey without any more kisses, had been hard on Ariel, too. So screw whatever made good business sense. Screw what was right or wrong. Smart or stupid.

  Kissing Ariel wasn’t just living out some long-held fantasy. His curiosity had been satisfied on that score back in Leo’s office. But that brief lip-lock had unlocked something much bigger, much hotter, between them. Something that now needed to be ridden out all the way to the end.

  He skimmed his hand up her leg, avoiding the place between her legs where Dylan would bet she was just craving to be touched, and cupped her breast. It fit in the palm of his hand perfectly. When he squeezed, she moaned. Ariel’s low, syrupy moan was its own special kind of music to his ears. Something he already wanted to write a song around.

  Dylan brushed his thumb over the taut nipple. He opened his eyes to watch Ariel arch into his hand. She slid her own hand up to grab tight to his biceps to hold him there. And through it all, their tongues kept grappling, tasting, testing to see what made the other twitch and gasp. She hooked her foot behind his knee. Just that small change in position moved her thigh against his rock-hard dick. Her eyes flew open.

  “It’s all yours,” he promised. “All for you, whenever you want it.”

  Ariel’s legs parted at his words. Taking it as an invitation, his hand dove down to her knee. Traced a slow, steady line up the inside of her thigh until he felt the satin of her panties. God, he wanted to rip them off with his teeth. Dylan shifted one knee onto the floor of the limo. It put her beneath him. He tugged at her skirt. It was tight—which he already knew from staring at it all morning, trying to catch more of a glimpse of her amazing legs—so Ariel sort of shimmied to help. That rubbed the curve of her ass against the backs of his fingers. Yeah, he needed to bite that, too.

  When the engine noise cut out and they suddenly lurched to a stop, Ariel rolled against him, which pushed Dylan the rest of the way off of the seat. He still had enough presence of mind to keep going, lurching to the other side so he could jam the locks shut before the driver tried to open their door.

  “Want me to ask him to circle the block a few times?” Dylan offered. He reached down to readjust his uncomfortably hard dick in his jeans. Next time they got together—and there would be a next time, he’d make damned sure of it—Dylan needed it to be at a time and place with no interruptions. No other people. Because he was about to lose his mind with how badly he wanted to take her.

  Hair mussed, lips reddened, skirt up past her crotch and shirt twisted, Ariel still snapped right back into professional mode. “No. We’ve got a schedule to keep.”

  Dylan scratched the back of his neck. “I’m okay with being late.”

  She peered at him intently. “Something is wrong, isn’t it? Not just the excess of this car. What is it?”

  Telling her would completely erase the sexed-up glow in her cheeks. It might even bring back that initial sneer she’d given when she looked at him like just a kid. Even though they were only one stinking year apart in age. Dylan shook his head. “It’s stupid.”

  “Tell me.” Ariel slid her feet back into shoes painted with green and pink watercolor flowers. “Half my job is to fix things, you know. Chances are good I can fix whatever this is.”

  Fine. He’d take a chance that his Ariel was the one really listening. “I’m a little, uh, nervous.” Dylan tossed his head back, forgetting for a second that his long hair was gone. “To meet the guys. They’re my freaking idols, and now they’re letting me into their music, into their band. I don’t want to let them down.”

  “You won’t,” she said, her voice steady with conviction.

  It helped. “I know that. I know I’ll rock the house. I just don’t want them to worry about if I can do it.”

  Ariel half stood, yanking her outfit back into position. “You have to promise never to repeat this.”

  “Okay.”

  “A few years ago, Cam was asked to participate in the Kennedy Center Honors. Not all of Riptide, just Cam. Sting got the award that year, and they wanted Cam to sing one of his songs in tribute. It was a huge honor. And it scared him to death when he learned he’d also get to attend a reception at the White House beforehand with the president and Sting.” Ariel crouched lower, leaned forward. “He went to the bathroom six times before performing that night. Couldn’t stop nervous peeing.”

  Dylan hooted with laughter. “He’d kill you if he knew you told that story.”

  “I never have, until right now.” She unlocked the doors. Gathered her purse and laptop bag. “The point is, my brother’s just a guy. A guy who really likes music, the same as you. That’s all that matters. It’s enough of a foundation, anyway, for you to use with all of them.”

  “Thanks.” It was incredibly generous of Ariel to share something that private with him. Her thoughtfulness steadied him almost as much as the story.

  Dylan shrugged into his new, butter-soft black leather jacket. Yeah, it was the middle of August and a coat was the last thing he actually needed. But as much as the idea of it made him roll his eyes, he did want this whole image makeover to work. If wearing different clothes bridged the gap so that he could get his music to resonate with fans again, it was worth it. He’d wear a freaking parka in Phoenix, if necessary.

  She tapped him on the shoulder. Parked her front teeth on her bottom lip. “That little anecdote stays between us, right?”

  “Hmmm…” He stroked his chin as the door opened. “For the right bribe.” Dylan grabbed his duffel bag and bounded onto the sidewalk. And was completely blindsided by a screaming group of teenagers barely held back by a pair of velvet ropes.

  There had to be at least fifty of them clustered below the old-school marquee on the blue wall that spelled out Riptide. Shit. Some of the girls wore 4X4 shirts. Some waved 4X4 CDs in the air. Lots of them just screamed and reached out to touch him. The kicker was
that not a single one of them looked old enough to drive. Dylan hadn’t left his boy-band status behind at all. He’d just dragged it into his new life.

  The paparazzi snapped away, catching all of it. Dylan rushed across the red and white diamond-patterned cement. Yeah, he was always grateful for fans. But not these—not today. So he hunched into his jacket and aimed straight for the glass doors. Thankfully, one opened for him. Dylan barreled through. “Thanks for the save.”

  “Why the fuck did you need it?”

  At the harsh question, Dylan turned. Looked at the man still holding the door for Ariel and realized it was her brother. With…God help him…the same spiky haircut that Dylan now had, just a few shades darker. Talk about piling onto an already shitty first impression.

  Self-conscious, Dylan ran a hand over his hair. And blasted his humiliation at the obvious target. “Jesus, Ariel, you said you saw Cam in concert a week ago. You knew his exact look for this tour. And you told the stylist to copy it onto me?”

  Cam gave him a longer look with one eyebrow raised. Then he pulled his sister into a bear hug and tickled her ribs while she was trapped in his arms. “Ari, that’s embarrassing. Insulting, actually, to both of us.”

  When he released her, Ariel squared her shoulders. “The look works for Dylan, too.”

  “It worked for me first. Fuck, we’re not a matching-bow-tie a capella group, Ari. We’re a rock band. And I thought I was your priority.”

  “Not this time. Dylan comes first for the next few weeks. You guys have your own publicist at PKCL. Plus, you’re not in emergency mode like Dylan is.”

  Dylan cleared his throat. Because he was pissed. Something very bad had just gone down, and he intended to make it clear that that could never happen again. “About that. You said we were just doing a photo op for the paps. Nobody mentioned a fricking screaming rope line of the completely wrong audience. The whole point of today was to escape teenyboppers. Escape my old reputation. How am I supposed to shake it when there’s gonna be fresh pictures of girls in braces pawing at me?”

  “On the bright side, this is a twenty-one-and-up club.” Jones, the group’s drummer, came forward to fist-bump Dylan in greeting. Rail thin and tatted up on every exposed inch of skin, he wore a concert tee from four tours ago with the sleeves rolled up. And a condom tucked into the rolled sleeve. “They can’t get into the show.”

  The guy was as cool in person as he looked on the stage. Dylan nodded. “Never thought I’d be so happy about everyone being carded.”

  Jones snickered. Grabbed an open beer bottle off the ticket counter and took a long pull. “I’ll drink to that.”

  Ariel spread her arms wide, palms up. “I’m sorry. I’m apologizing to Dylan, and to all of you. I swear I only invited legit press. And I made it crystal clear there were to be no fans. I don’t know what happened.”

  “I do.” Cam dusted his hands together. “Somebody blabbed. The question is, who?” His gaze shifted back toward Dylan.

  A petite redhead marched over to Cam. Got right in his face. “Obviously, the press. You know, the ones you hate and badmouth on a daily basis? They thought it’d be fun to stir things up. To try and highlight Dylan’s old group in order to drive a wedge in front of his new one. They just wanted a bigger story. Please tell me that you’re not dumb enough to give it to them.”

  After a beat, Cam pulled her to his side. “Should I worry about this evil-genius side of your brain?”

  “Not as long as you stay on my good side,” she retorted, going up on tiptoe to drop a kiss onto his cheek.

  “How about we start over?” Ariel suggested in an overly bright tone. The way the morning sun pinged against a hangover. “Cam Watson, Kylie Stafford, Jones—this is Dylan Royce. Oh, and be ready to do this all again in five minutes in front of the cameras.”

  After a long, deep breath, Cam extended his hand. “You’re helping us out of a jam, stepping in for Jake on such short notice. Thanks.”

  “You’re giving me one hell of a chance. So thanks back at ya.”

  The redhead waved, still tucked against Cam. “Don’t worry, I’m not a surprise fourth member of the band. I’m Kylie, and I’m interning with Riptide. Focusing on tour production and artist management. I’d love to pick your brain sometime on the bus about what you did and didn’t like about your last tour.”

  She was focusing on Cam, too, by the looks of it. Not that it mattered to Dylan one way or the other. Ariel was the only woman he’d be staring at on this tour. “I liked the fries in Belgium. With that out-of-this-world mayonnaise sauce. I didn’t like that I had no control and couldn’t work in any of my own music. Or convince my fellow performers to collaborate on it.”

  “Wow.” Kylie blinked at him. “Okay.” Then she broke into an enthusiastic grin, bounced twice on the balls of her feet. “This’ll be fun.”

  Cam looked down at the duffel at Dylan’s feet. “Is that all you brought?”

  Dylan widened his stance. Crossed his arms over his chest. This was his chance to make up for the humiliating intro. “I brought the music.”

  “Cocky bastard.” Jones raised his bottle in salute. “I like that.”

  “I do, too—as long as you’ve got the talent to back up the trash talk.” Cam jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Ariel, how about you get Dylan away from these glass doors before somebody gets hurt? We want those kids to scram. Wouldn’t want them to scare off the paying customers. Rehearsal in ten.” He and Kylie went through one door, and Jones disappeared through the one on the other side of the ticket counter, carrying his beer and a large pizza box.

  Ariel ran a hand lightly down the sleeve of Dylan’s jacket. “See? My brother’s not so scary.”

  Being reasonable didn’t make Cam any less scary. “It’s still not the way I wanted to meet him.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. Truly.” She dropped her arm to fist both hands at her sides. “I’ll find out where the leak came from and cut off their info stream. It won’t happen again.” Then she bit her lip. God, he loved when she did that. “Well, I can’t actually promise it’ll never happen again. But I can promise to do everything I can to prevent it. And to be on alert. I should’ve looked out the windows before letting you get out of the limo. If it happens anywhere else, we’ll have a plan to take you in the back entrance.”

  Shit. It hit Dylan that he was partly to blame for this disaster. He’d put Ariel off her game. Distracted her with a make-out session. Otherwise, she probably would’ve at least glanced out the window.

  No point trying to bypass his nerves with anger. He had to give her a pass on this one. From what he’d seen so far, her drive to succeed at making him a, well, success was as focused and strong as his own. They were united in this, and he needed to keep that mind.

  “No big deal.”

  The warmth of her smile dazzled him. “That’s kind of you.”

  “Yeah. The identical-twin haircut, though? You owe me for that.”

  “I stand behind my extremely sound image-transformation choice. You should thank me for that.”

  “Funny how you owing me…and me thanking you…could look as identical as me and Cam…” Dylan gave an exaggerated leer and lunged for her.

  Shrieking, Ariel darted out of his reach. Yeah, he couldn’t let the little bumps in the road distract him. He had his dream girl within reach, his dream gig about to go down. It’d be one hell of a night to remember. And Dylan had a plan to take it up a few notches, too…

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Ariel watched Dylan pace the tiny backstage area. His excitement was both adorable and contagious. Even though she’d seen Riptide perform about a zillion and two times, she couldn’t wait for Jones’ first drumbeat tonight. Because Ariel would bet her entire shoe collection on it being one heck of an amazing show. And that included her prized pair of crystal-encrusted Louboutins a client had given her as a thank-you for preventing a few dozen naked selfies from hitting the Internet.

  To be perfectly honest with he
rself, Dylan had…it. That magical it that couldn’t be taught or bought. When he’d sung to her in that zero-atmosphere conference room, sex appeal and charisma had rolled off him in waves, like fog hitting the coast up in Carmel. Now that he’d ditched the bad clothes and bad hair, there’d be no more hiding his raw sexuality from the world. No more disguising all that pent-up passion. When he truly unleashed it for the first time tonight, Ariel just knew it’d be electric. Magical. Irresistible. As long as she helped push him just a little bit more.

  “Dylan,” she said, sharper than usual, to get his attention.

  “Huh?” His hands stilled in midair from whatever piece he mentally played on an invisible keyboard. “Sorry. Just walking my way through a tricky chord transition in Leave It All Behind.”

  “You don’t need to cram, Dylan. I heard you at warm-ups, remember? You blew the guys away.”

  He compressed his lips and shook off her compliment. “I kept up. I’ll do better when there’s an audience. Is it time to go on?”

  “Almost.”

  Dylan crooked a finger at her, beckoning her closer. “Want to wish me luck?”

  It was crazy hard to ignore his pull. Sadly, Ariel had official business to transact with him. “You don’t need it,” she said firmly. “But I do want to give you one last piece of advice.”

  “Thanks, but you can relax for a bit. This next part is all about performing. Out of the two of us, I’m the expert on that, babe.”

  How come that casually tossed-off babe made her heart skip a beat? “You can perform the music, no question. My advice is that you need to work the crowd.”

  Dylan rolled his eyes like she’d told him to turn on the keyboard before starting to play. “I know. Connect with the whole audience.”