Loving Dallas(46)

Lying on my stomach on her bed watching her slather her entire body in sweet-smelling lotion, I feel like I’m being let in on some secret female ritual. All I did was dry off with one of her fluffy expensive towels. But she had a strategic five-point process to execute after our bath. After the lotion, there’s deodorant, then some type of cream for face and another kind for her hair, which she combs through with her fingers before slipping her robe back on.

When she climbs onto my back and begins massaging me, I suspect I’ve died and gone to heaven. I can feel her against me, the warmth at her center, and the swells of her breasts when she leans forward. It’s erotic and the scent of her filling the room is intoxicating.

Her phone ringing from somewhere else in her apartment breaks the spell and I groan in protest when she gets up to answer it.

She’s gone so long I almost fall asleep. When she returns, she looks both excited and stressed-out.

“Now you’re the one who needs the massage,” I say while sitting up. She smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Uh-oh. What happened?”

Robyn steps closer to the bed and I notice her hands are behind her back. “I have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”

I can’t even begin to fathom what either could be.

“Uh, bad news first, I guess. Then maybe the good news can cheer me up.”

She nods. “Okay. That was my boss. I won’t be at your show tomorrow night. My mom is going to be so bummed.”

Fuck. “Why? Because of me? Because of us?” If Midnight Bay is firing her over this, I’ll be having words with them first thing tomorrow morning.

She grins in response to my panic attack. “Nope. Actually I’m not supposed to tell you.”

“But you’re going to,” I tell her, because like hell I’m dropping it without an explanation.

“Yeah. I think you’ve dealt with enough today with the radio interviews. A surprise party is probably the last thing you need thrown at you.”

“A surprise party? What am I, twelve? It’s not even my birthday.”

Robyn laughs softly and produces a bottle of champagne from behind her back. “The numbers just came out. Jase’s album went platinum and your single went gold.”

Whoa.

I can’t believe Mandy or someone from the label hasn’t called me. Hell, maybe they have. I forgot I turned my phone off when I got here.

“No shit?”

“No shit,” she says. “Congratulations, Dallas. Midnight Bay is throwing you and Jase both a celebratory surprise party next weekend the night before your show in Nashville. I’m in charge of setting it up. I leave first thing in the morning. Act surprised.”

I am surprised. I’m in f*cking shock.

I have a gold single.

This is huge, and not just for me. Since she wrote the song, my sister will get a nice, fat royalty check, which, in a way, helps me feel like I’m still taking care of her as much as I possibly can.

Robyn is grinning like a maniac and I assume I am, too. But there’s something else in her eyes. Worry, or anxiety, or . . . something.

“So you have to go to Tennessee tomorrow?”

“Yep. I have one week to plan this thing so they want me on it as soon as possible. Tell Dixie I’m sorry. Katie will take care of the Midnight Bay and VIP sections tomorrow night. I’m hoping she’ll take care of my mom, too. She was really excited about meeting Jase.”

I let out a loud groan of protest. “God. Even Belinda likes him more than me? Christ. That woman used to make me grilled cheese sandwiches. I even ate them if she burned them black. Still, I come second to Wade?”

“Er, no, babe. I think you’re like fourth on my mom’s list. There’s Wade. Then Luke Bryan and George Strait.”

I hold my hands over my heart like I’ve been shot. “You are not funny.”

“I’m just being honest.”

“Kick a man while he’s down, why don’t ya?”

“You, Dallas Lark, are not down. Your single just went gold. We’re celebrating. And anyway, I prefer to lick a man while he’s down,” she says, catching me off guard by pouring a trickle of champagne down my stomach then licking it off my abs. And then lower. And then mother of all things holy, her sweet lips wrap around my cock and I slide my fingers into her still-damp hair. “Congratulations, Dallas,” she says seductively before taking my full length into her mouth.

I know she didn’t make my single go gold, but I’m overwhelmed with gratitude just because she exists. I came here feeling defeated and miserable and now . . . now I could take on the world. As long as she’s there beside me.

“Come here, baby,” I say, using brute force to pull her upward, past my cock, past my abs, and higher than my chest. When she yelps out a small sound of surprise at where I’ve placed her body, I let out a low, dark chuckle. “I never said thank you for the massage.”

“Yeah, it is. I know. I’m still in shock,” I say into the phone. “Thanks, Mr. Borscetti. I really appreciate that. Yes, sir. Sounds great.”

Robyn is already dressed when I disconnect the call with the head of my record label, which is a travesty since I had plans of reciprocation for how well she took care of me last night. I’ve never really had anyone else take care of me before. I’ve always been the caretaker. But last night Robyn bathed me, massaged me, and to celebrate my single’s success she blew my mind in ways I never thought she would allow. I’d hoped we could spend the day celebrating my gold single in bed but I’d turned on my phone and had a million missed calls to return.