A Rocker's Melody (Dust and Bones)(28)

"That's what she said," Rip said.

"No," Melody said, gulping loudly and throwing her fork down on the  table in triumph. "Put up my picture, bitch. That's what she said."

Everyone cheered. At Melody's behest, they took a picture with the whole  band, her in the center with her empty plate prominently featured. Tank  grinned wide, pleased to be on the wall, even if it was only by  association. As they settled the bill-Melody's meal was, of course,  free-she pulled Dylan aside, her eyes wide and full of worry.

"It's possible that I am about to be incredibly, violently ill," she confessed.

Dylan laughed, because it sounded like one of her usual jokes. Then he  took a closer look; he could see that her skin had a faint greenish  tinge to it, and she really did look like she was seconds away from  puking.

"Let's get back to the hotel," he suggested. Her cheeks puffed out, a  definite precursor to her getting sick. "Fast," he added. "Guys. Move it  or get left."

**

"I'm dying," Melody moaned. "Jesus, take me now. I'm sorry if I offended you by over-consuming your sweetest creature, the cow."

Dylan laughed, pressing a wet cloth to her forehead.

Tank and Melody were tucked into the same bed, because it was easier to  watch them that way. As soon as sickness had passed, he planned to take  Melody back to his room and let Tank fend for himself.

"Yeah, it's not God's wrath," Jesper said, re-entering the room. "It's  food poisoning. Everyone who took the seventy-two-ounce challenge at the  restaurant tonight is in the same condition you are. Something about  improper refrigeration on the challenge meat."

"Don't say challenge meat," Melody begged, leaning into her bucket again.

Definitely love, Dylan thought.

"I want to die," Tank said.

"You've both got medicine on the way," Jesper said. "Big Mike is picking up prescriptions for you as we speak."

"Don't tell Big Mike I'm sick," Melody said.         

     



 

"Too late," Jesper shrugged.

"Now I really want to die," Melody moaned. She grabbed the phone off the  end table and attempted to wrap the cord around herself. "I'm too weak.  Strangle me with it."

Dylan untangled the phone cord from around her neck and replaced it on  the cradle as Jesper walked out into the hall. "No one is dying," he  said firmly.

"Big Mike has standing orders to call my dad if anything happens to me," Melody said. "No exceptions."

"So he'll call your dad, so what?" Dylan asked.

"My dad will call me," she explained. "I'm so weak right now. I can't  lie to him when I'm weak. If he asks me how things are going, I'm  probably going to blurt out that we're, you know...whatever we are."

Dylan couldn't help teasing her a little. "And what are we?" he wondered.

"He's going to kill you," she said seriously.

Dylan opened his mouth to respond when Melody's cell phone rang. A  picture of her dad appeared on the caller ID. He seemed to be staring  right at Dylan.

Melody took a deep, shuddering breath, then answered. "Hi, Daddy," she  said in the most openly manipulative tone Dylan had ever heard a woman  use in his life. He was impressed, and more than a little turned on.

"Put Dylan on." Hop's voice was clearly audible, but Melody put him on speaker phone anyway.

"Daddy-"

"Don't ‘Daddy' me," he said. "Put him on, Mel."

"It's not his fault I'm sick," she said stubbornly.

"No, but it's his fault I'm looking at a picture of him mauling you in front of a steakhouse in Texas."

Melody's eyes grew wide and Dylan mentally bid a sad farewell to his  balls. They'd had some good times together over the years, but all good  things had to come to an end eventually.

"Hop-" Dylan began.

"Shut up," he said, his voice deadly. "I don't know what the hell's  going on out there, but it appears that you have blatantly disregarded  the one rule I gave you about touring with my daughter."

"Come on, Hop, you know that-"

"Do you not like your balls where they are?" Hop wondered. "Are you  actually looking forward to me removing them from your body?"

"Dad, stop it," Melody snapped. "I like Dylan's balls where they are,  and if you don't stop threatening him, I promise you'll have worse  pictures to worry about than one of a little kiss in front of a  restaurant. I'm a big girl, and I can take care of myself. Except for  right now, because I have food poisoning and the guy you're so upset  with is watching over me." She collapsed back against the pillows,  clearly spent.

"Hop," Dylan said quietly. "We'll talk when the tour's over. I swear, it's not what you think."

"Goddamn better not be," Hop muttered. "You could at least attempt to be more discreet in public."

"Just chill out, man," Dylan said. "Thanks to me-"

"Shut up," Hop said. "Mel, call me if you need anything. I love you, sweetheart."

He hung up.

"Well, that could have gone worse," Rip noted. He had entered the room  at some point during the conversation and was leaning against the wall,  eating takeout cheesecake from the restaurant.

Tank heaved into his bucket. Melody raised an interested eyebrow.

"Is that ricotta based, or cream cheese?" she wondered.

"What the hell is wrong with her?" Jesper muttered to Dylan.

Dylan simply smiled. "I don't know," he murmured. "But I'm looking forward to figuring it out."

**

Dylan propped himself up on one arm to get a better look at the girl  sleeping next to him. They'd left Tank in the bed a few hours ago.  Melody had responded better to the pills Big Mike had brought back from  the pharmacy, and had conked out during the act of brushing her teeth.  It had been all kinds of adorable, and afterward, Dylan had carried her  to his bed and tucked her in. Now she was wearing nothing but his  favorite gray T-Shirt, and he couldn't help but run a finger down her  bare arm, enjoying the way her skin pebbled at his touch.

Her eyes opened slowly. They were clear, finally unclouded by pain or queasiness.

"You're feeling better," Dylan noted.

"I just needed to sleep it off," Melody agreed, rolling closer to him.  She leaned in for a kiss, and then paused, jerking her head back  quickly. "Did I brush my teeth?"         

     



 

"Twice," Dylan confirmed, closing the distance between them. Her mouth  tasted like Melody and toothpaste, and nothing else, thankfully. She fit  against him perfectly. His T-Shirt rode up as she moved, and he palmed  the naked flesh of her hip. His hand glided up and down her back, then  drifted over her ass, until he started getting carried away.

"If you're not in the mood," he offered, but she smiled against his mouth and ran her fingernails down his back.

"Just be gentle with me," she murmured.

He hooked her thigh over his hip, opening her up to his fingers. They  slid over her ass again, dipped between her thighs from behind, and  found her already wet. She let out a little pleased moan. He touched her  lazily, enjoying the texture and the feel of her aroused flesh.

A possessive thought sparked a fever in his brain, and he slid the waist  on his boxers down just enough to free his cock. He pulled her thigh  higher on his hip and pushed himself inside her with a single thrust.  She whimpered in surprise at the suddenness of the invasion and he  muttered an apology against her mouth, but didn't stop. He didn't think  she wanted him to; the way she clutched at his back and hungrily pushed  her tongue inside his mouth indicated she wanted this just as much as he  did.

They rocked together for so long he lost track of everything but the way  she felt against him, the taste of her mouth and her neck and her  shoulders, the feel of her lips on his breastbone, his ears. He had  never been so consumed with-and by-a woman before. His orgasm took him  by surprise, a sweet and sudden pleasure, which he released into her  welcoming body. He slid a hand between them and rubbed slow, hard  circles against her clit, groaning as she tightened against him and  fell, too.

They didn't separate right away. Dylan pressed his forehead to hers, breathing her in.

"It was you, you know," she whispered, her voice soft and honest, as if she was in a confessional.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"The night we met," she explained. "I came to see you. I knew you were playing. I didn't think-I mean, I never dreamed … "

He kissed her gently, because she seemed embarrassed by what she was  admitting, and he didn't want her to be. The idea that she'd wanted to  see him was a thrilling confirmation that she had not been as unaffected  by him as she'd originally seemed.

"If I'd known you existed," he said, running his thumb softly over her  lip even as he felt a swelling in his groin again, "I would have been  there to see you, too."