The Resistance(71)

Cory says, “She never was a traditional girl. Maybe that’s why she puts up with my shit.” Snapping the box closed, he walks over to his suitcase and picks it up. “I should get going. The car should be here soon and the jet is ready from the text I got a few minutes ago.”

He hugs me. “It’s good to see you, Holli. Don’t let this guy get into any shit he can’t get out of. Okay?”

“I’ll try my best. It’s good to see you too.” I release him from the hug. “Tell Rochelle I’ll be visiting next week and I’m gonna need snuggle time with that new baby.”

“Will do.” Turning to Dalton, he puts his hand out. “Brother.”

“Brother.”

With a strong handshake, Cory brings him in for a chest bump.

“Take care, man,” Dalton says, then backs up, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah, and I’ll let you know—boy or girl—when I know. Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need any,” Dalton replies as Cory heads out.

The door shuts and we’re alone. Feeling on top of the world, I walk to the window and look out over Paris. The evening lights start to flicker on, making it even more magical. Dalton comes up behind me and presses his chest to my back while slipping his arms around my waist. With a whisper, he says, “You’re here.” He follows that with a soft kiss on my neck.

I turn in his arms, wrapping my own around his neck. “I wanted to see you.” I kiss him once, twice, and then add, “I’m starting to despise this touring thing.”

“Tour with me then.”

The invitation is flat and direct as if it makes all the sense in the world the way he threw it out there like that. “If you’re serious, I might stay for a few cities, but you’re stuck with me for the week regardless.”

“Mmmmm,” he hums. “I like stuck, but I prefer willing participant.”

“Willing, able, and wanting. Does that work better?”

He kisses me. “Much, much better.”

I spy his suitcase near the door, so I ask, “You were leaving?”

Looking over his shoulder, he says, “Ummm, yeah. I was supposed to fly back with Cory, but you’re here.”

“Oh no, I’ve ruined your plans?”

Caressing my face gently, he looks into my eyes. “You were my plans. I was flying back to surprise you.”

“You were?” I ask, looking up into his deep greens.

“The next two shows were cancelled.” He walks to the couch, sits, and scrubs his face with his hands. Joining him, I’m tentative when I sit next to him as he continues, “Dex needs a few days off, and we’re a band. When one goes down, we all go down. It’s a motherfucking sinkin’ ship around here, but you’re here, so none of that matters.”

I lean on him, loving the feel of his arm around me as he kisses the top of my head. “You were really gonna come see me?” I ask.

“Cory got the jet since he’s heading back for Rochelle and the baby, so I figured I’d come see you. I’d rather that than be here.” He makes it sound oh so casual, but I feel the sentiment. His hands slide under my shirt and bra and he kneads my breasts. His lips land on my neck and he kisses and nips his way toward my ear. “Now that we’re alone, what do you want to do?”

I tilt my head to the side, enjoying the feel of his lips on my skin again, and reply, “I want to see Paris.”

Everything stops—his lips, his kneading, and his hands leave my body. With a nod, he asks, “Unless Paris is code for my cock, not interested.”

Rolling my eyes, I say, “You and your code words. I meant the city.” Batting my eyelashes, I wait.

After a long pause, he relents. “Okay, if you want Paris, I’ll give you Paris. But later, you’re all mine. You’ve got an hour till we leave.”





I may have my own money, but I’m not accustomed to living extravagantly. I can definitely get used to this celebrity treatment. The car takes us to the Eiffel Tower and we get rushed in, passed the long line and right into an elevator they’re holding open for us.

Being with Dalton in public is different than I imagined. Maybe I just never thought about it beyond the time when the valet guy in Vegas recognized him, or at the beach when we separated. As we stare out across the city, I sneak a peek at him, realizing this is really our first time in public where others are around. We’ve dated months. Months… or have we?

“We don’t date, Dalton. We have sex.” I pretend the wind made me shiver, not my nerves.

“What?” he asks, looking at me, bewildered by the comment.