Rock God (Hearts of Metal Book 3) (22 page)

Her breath came in hot little pants, her back arched, and beads of water trickled down her heaving breasts. Dante felt her grow tighter around him, and he knew she was getting close—

With the next thrust, Shayna came with a scream, her core squeezing his shaft with pulsing tremors, bringing his own orgasm with soul-ripping force. Dante’s legs went weak and he and Shayna both almost sank into the water, but he regained his balance, still trembling from the aftershocks.

“Wow,” he breathed when he finally recovered.

“Uh-huh,” Shayna panted, still shaking.

The lovemaking had been more powerful than ever this time, he thought as he eased them back to the shallow side of the pool. There had been something about it, and it wasn’t just the water.

Dante froze in realization.

“What’s wrong?” Shayna asked. The worry in her tone increased his guilt.

“I didn’t wear a condom this time,” he whispered. An image of her holding their baby suddenly flashed behind his eyes, and it was incredible. His chest tightened before he forced the feeling away. “Shayna, if—”

She cut him off. “I started the pill last month. We should be okay.”

“Oh,” he said, surprised to be more disappointed than relieved; to be thinking of such things this soon was too much. He shook off the unsettling feeling and attempted a little humor. “Well, the pool cleaner will need a bigger tip at any rate.”

“Eww.” Shayna giggled in embarrassment. “I need to go take a quick shower.”

“I’ll start some popcorn for a movie,” he suggested.

“That sounds nice,” she agreed. Then she headed for the bedroom, cheeks crimson as she hid her breasts in her bundle of clothes.

Dante watched with bated breath as Shayna disappeared down the hall, reminded of his previous plan. He headed into the library and grabbed a copy of her book,
The Duke’s Deception
. He carried the book to his office, skimmed one of the pages, grabbed a piece of paper, jotted a few notes, and returned the book.

Excellent. He had everything he needed.

Chapter Twenty

Six days after Dante left to record his new album, which had been two days after he ravished her in the swimming pool, Shayna found herself with too much time on her hands. The final edits of
The Disinherited Duke
had been finished and sent off to the publisher last week, and though she had a new story marinating in her mind, it wasn’t quite ready to come out on the page.

Rosa was on a two-week vacation, but with Dante gone there was little housework to do. Yesterday Shayna had dusted the house from top to bottom, though it didn’t need it. She tried to occupy herself with movies and books, but more often than not she found herself lying on the couch, aching with missing him. Dante had left his cell phone at the house because he was strict about eliminating all distractions during the recording process. Although he called her on the house phone every night from his hotel, he sounded so clipped and distracted that Shayna found herself rushing the conversations in fear of annoying him.

The trilling of the gate buzzer jerked Shayna out of her daze. Rubbing her eyes, she headed over to the call button.

“Who is it?” she asked. Dante had told her not to let anyone in unless she’d met them.

“I have a summons for a Ms. Shayna Gray,” a crisp, cool voice said.

The world tilted, and Shayna’s finger moved seemingly of its own volition to push the button to open the gate.

It righted itself a moment later.
A summons?
That meant someone was suing her. Had she unknowingly plagiarized something, or was someone accusing her of stealing their idea? She’d heard of that happening.

Robotically, her feet carried her to the front door just as there was a knock. The man on the porch looked yuppie enough to keep company with her ex, and as he handed her the papers, he gave her a smarmy smirk as if he already assumed she was guilty of whatever his court papers suggested.

“Have a nice day,” the guy said, walking back to his idling Buick with shoulders lifted as if in pride at a job well done.

With trembling hands, Shayna looked at the document. It wasn’t a plagiarism suit or an angry fan trying to cash in. It was possibly worse. The plaintiff was Shawn Jones, her ex-husband.

Pulse pounding with dread, she read on. Shawn was suing her for half of her royalties on the grounds that she’d been unfaithful to him with Dante Deity, and also due to her “misleading” him about her profits during their marriage. A bitter chuckle erupted from her throat like broken glass as she closed the door behind her and paced through the living room; the part about Dante was utter bullshit…and almost funny, really. Shawn was the one who had been unfaithful. But she had deceived him about her profits in a way. Still, she thought she’d covered her finances legally in the divorce papers.

Apparently she hadn’t.

Still shaking, Shayna headed to the phone and dialed the number of the studio Dante had left her in case of emergencies. He’d told her the studio clerk wouldn’t take calls unless it was dire, but this fit the bill.

“Thrash Records,” a bored voice answered.

“I—” Shayna swallowed, her mouth dry. “I need to speak with Dante Deity. It’s…it’s an emergency.”

“And who are you?” the guy asked with a note of impatience.

“This is Shayna Gray. I’m his girlfriend.”

A biting sigh of scorn reverberated across the phone line. “Are you dying or giving birth to his baby?”

“No, but—”

“Listen, little lady,” the man said. “Music is an important business that takes concentration and long hours of hard work. Artists like Dante can’t afford to be interrupted by their girlfriends at all hours of the day. If you want to be his sweetheart”—the word came out full of bile; he might as well have said
whore—
“you’re going to have to get used to that as well as all the things that happen on the road.”

The salacious tone of the guy’s voice made quite clear the implication of what things were happening on the road—if they hadn’t been before.

“I’ll let him know you called,” the voice continued, radiating insincerity. “But unless you’re dying or in labor, don’t call again. Hopefully, in a couple more weeks we’ll have an album that will make enough money for him to buy you something pretty. Bye now.”

For a long time Shayna stood listening to the dial tone. Little flecks of light flickered across the corners of her vision like dust motes. She needed to breathe.

At last she found her voice. “That
asshole
!” she confided to the empty house, quaking in outrage as she slammed the phone back into its cradle. Here was one benefit over cell phones.

More than ever she longed for Dante’s comforting presence, to feel his arms around her, but a kernel of misgiving lodged in her throat. Was this how it was going to be for them? Would he always be too busy when she needed him? That dick at the recording studio’s words had underlined their problems:
“If you want to be his sweetheart, you’re going to have to get used to that as well as all the things that happen on the road.”

Shayna’s mother’s voice took that moment to chime in, too.
“Are you going to sit at his house and wait while tramps from every city paw at him?”

A sickening image of said tramps, all younger and more attractive than Shayna, crept into Shayna’s mind like an insidious stench. They laughed at her and writhed on Dante’s lap as he gave
them
his special smile.

“No!” Her voice echoed so loud in the empty room that she jumped. “He’s not like that!”

Her heart cried out for Dante to be here to hold her, to reassure her that everything would be okay.

But he’s not here,
the confident voice reminded her.
And you know what? You need to handle this yourself. This is the first time he hasn’t been here for you, but it likely won’t be the last. After all, he is human, not a knight in shining armor. Not one of your fabricated dukes. He’s a
man
, Shayna, a man with his own life to live just as you have yours.

Shayna nodded. Where had that voice been these past few months? She rarely heard it, but when it spoke she knew such clarity and strength. It had been the first voice to suggest she write a book of her own. When her son died and she’d sat on the kitchen floor cradling a knife, it had told her to quit being a selfish bitch and that suicide would dishonor her child. When she’d learned of Shawn’s affair, and after he said he’d file for divorce, that voice had been the one to tell her to pack up and leave and cheat him out of the satisfaction of hurting her anymore. She wouldn’t give it credit—or rebuke—for the haphazard manner of her following that advice.

You need to deal with this problem with Shawn now,
the voice continued.
And you can handle it alone, despite what your mother has led you to believe, despite what Shawn trapped you into believing.

“Believing what?” she whispered aloud, mildly embarrassed to be talking to the voices in her head. Still, she didn’t want them to get lonely.

Believing that you need a man to take care of you for everything
.
You let Shawn handle every detail of your life, and you’ve been doing the same with Dante since you first met him. Look around. You’ve become totally codependent…again. You have no car, the house is his, and everything you’re wearing is what he paid for.

“I have my own money…,” she murmured.

Yes, but how have you paved your own way with it? I repeat, look around. Is there anything here to indicate that this is your home? More importantly,
is
this your home?

“I don’t know.” Her voice cracked in the empty room.

That’s right. You don’t. At first you were supposed to be here for a week, then it was “until you are better,” and now that you’re sleeping together it’s a big unknown. He hasn’t told you he loves you, and do you remember how on edge he was before this recording thing? Maybe you’ve overstayed your welcome. Do you want to be at his whimsy?

The thought of leaving Dante caused her heart to shriek a keening wail of grief. The voice in her head had a speck of compassion, however, and didn’t push.
We’ll worry about that later. Right now, we need to take care of this lawsuit.

Taking a few deep cleansing breaths, Shayna agreed. She squared her shoulders and called her agent.

Judy listened carefully as the lawsuit was described then said, “It sounds doubtful that he has a case. However, I am not an attorney, and even if I was Oregon’s divorce laws are different from ours, I’m sure.” There was a sound of rapid typing in the background. “I can ask around and see if I can find a good lawyer in your area, but you’d probably be better off calling one of your old friends in Portland for a recommendation.”

What old friends?
Shayna thought bitterly. Then the implications of the words struck her. “Wait, you mean I’m going to have to go back to Oregon for this?”

“It’s very likely—for the hearing at least,” Judy replied calmly. “I’m sure you can handle the rest over the phone and by fax.”

“Thanks so much,” Shayna said, quivering with dread at being forced to leave her safe haven so soon. And of facing her former husband. This event would be like being locked in a room with one’s worst schoolyard bully.

“By the way.” Judy’s voice suddenly sounded strange. “Has your rock star boyfriend said anything about the tour yet?”

Shayna felt a prickle on the back of her neck. “He told me it starts in six weeks, why?”

“I was just curious. My husband and I got tickets to the Vegas show. I was a metal-head in my day, you know. Maybe you can see about getting us backstage passes. I’d love to meet
the
Dante Deity.”

“Um, sure,” Shayna said, although the idea of asking such a thing was frightening. What if he thought it was out of line to ask for backstage passes for her agent? “He’s out of town now, but I can ask when he gets back.”

“Great!” Judy said. “I’ll call you back in a few minutes, okay? And I loved your last book. That scene with the minstrel’s song? Amazing.”

Shayna tucked her cell phone in her back pocket and headed upstairs to the room she’d slept in until the night she and Dante first made love. She still kept her clothes there, and she opened the dresser drawers and began to pull them out. If she was going to have to go back to Portland, she needed to do it now before she lost her courage and dropped to the floor to huddle in the fetal position.

As she piled shirts and pants on the unused bed, an immediate problem occurred to her. She had no backpack or suitcase. She’d packed her things in Dante’s when they went to Coeur d’Alene, and a surge of fury flared up at the further evidence of her codependence.

See what I mean?
the strong inner voice spoke up again.
Not even a simple tote bag! Good Lord, woman!

With a sigh she searched the house, but the only suitcases she could find were an ungodly expensive-looking monogrammed luggage set. It felt wrong to take something so fancy, especially with his initials embroidered on them in gold thread.

“I’ll just use pillowcases,” she grumbled. “They’re not that expensive to replace.”

After packing her clothes, makeup and toiletries, Shayna felt like an overenthusiastic trick-or-treater, but she also felt like she’d accomplished something in her quest to take action for herself and solve her own problems. By the time Judy called back with the name of a good attorney in Portland, she felt even more confident. She called the lawyer, set up an appointment, then booked an immediate flight home and scheduled a cab to take her to the airport. There was only one thing left to do.

She had to write Dante a note.

Trepidation seeped in, locking her in place like a deer in headlights. It would have been so much easier to talk to him, but thanks to that jerk at the studio it was impossible. A flare of resentment settled in her belly like a hot coal. If she ever came face to face with that piece of shit, she’d show
him
an emergency.