Owning Beauty (Taking Beauty Trilogy 3)

“You still haven’t said it,” I reminded him, that last syllable devolving into a breathy whine. “You still haven’t said…”

“I love you,” Julian rasped, teeth grazing my earlobe. “I’m your husband, and I absolutely adore you, my darling wife.”

“Show me,” I begged him, dipping my hand between us to where we were joined. Spreading myself, I moved my fingers over the parts of me I knew would bring me to cresting in no time. “Show me how much.”

Capturing my lips one more time, Julian sank his teeth into the lower one, giving it a slow, ravenous suck. I whimpered as he pulled away, then gasped as he lay flat on his back, giving himself the proper leverage to slam up into me at a maddening pace. Between these competing sensations and their duality—the delicate stimulation of my fingers, the almost barbarous hilting of his cock—I was sent reeling, made breathy and panting by the rawness of my own desire, and by contrast, the steely resolve of Julian’s.

“I love you,” he repeated, and my knees threatened to buckle. “Goddamn, Liz. I love you so fucking much…”

“I love you too,” I whispered on the back of an airy moan. “Oh, God, Julian. I’ve never loved anyone so much…”

When I tumbled over the precipice of ecstasy—when I plunged headlong into the lunacy of rapture—Julian was there to hold me. I knew I would have been lost, if not for him, and moments later I returned the favor, holding him down by his shoulders as I took his pleasure for my own. He gave me the smallest, most impressed lift of his brows as I drew from him those fine ropes of carnal wanting, of aching lust. And then he cupped my cheek, and we breathed together, and he kissed me when I smiled.

That was when I knew, for sure, what I wanted out of all this. That was when I knew I wanted to stay his wife, that I wanted to remain utterly and completely his. That I wanted him to be mine, every inch and every part. And that for the rest of my life, any risk I took, it had to be with him at my side.

We’d taken so many gambles already. And all it had proved to me was this: that when you were in love with Julian Bastille, anything was possible.

Julian

In spite of everything Tessa had said would happen, my life only seemed to improve after I fired her.

I started learning to handle my own bookings, and while I was at it, I hired a real publicist—someone who had a reputation for making sure their clients stayed out of the tabloids. I was determined to make sure that I had an image that both my family and I would be proud of before my kid arrived.

Once I’d taken my life back into my own hands I was finally able to feel less like some hooligan with a guitar and more like an honest-to-God musician. It was completely exhausting, but I had plenty of help from the one woman I knew I could always count on.

And to her credit, Liz surprised me with her kindness. It was her decision not to press any charges on Tessa.

It had been a few months now, and I was finally getting a handle on everything that involved managing a multi-million-dollar music career. I was sitting backstage at my first concert since I’d told Tessa to go walk off a pier, and I marveled at just how much life had started turning out the way I’d always imagined it. The roar of the crowd was both deafening and breathtaking. At least ten thousand fans from all over Britain had flocked to this venue to see me, and for the first time since I’d started down this road, I couldn’t help but feel totally overwhelmed by how many people liked my music.

I had lived for so long with Tessa as a barrier between me and my real fans, keeping me too drunk to even think straight, but now that I was finally sober, I could see at last just how much of an impact I had on their lives. My music brought people together, and that was something I swore I’d never take for granted again.

“Ten more minutes, Mr. Bastille,” the producer shouted over the noise. I honestly hadn’t been this nervous before a concert before—but considering that I didn’t have anyone to blame but myself if it went wrong, it made sense. I gave her the thumbs up as she went back to talking into her headset, the knot in my stomach only seeming to grow larger the closer it came to show time.

I watched as the opening band began to make their way backstage, the crowd cheering eagerly. They’d done a damned good job, and if things went well, I was planning on getting them in on a deal with the label I was signed under. But then again, that all depended on whether or not I choked tonight. There had never been a time in my life where I’d wanted a drink more than now… but I’d made a promise.

While Liz was pregnant, I swore that I wouldn’t drink, and even after, I wouldn’t get drunk the way I used to. I had to be a better me, not just for our baby, but for Liz too. She deserved someone who was going to have her back just as much as she had mine; after all, if I managed not to cock this up, I was planning on making her my new manager.

I could feel my palms sweating as the stage crew began moving some of the instruments from the previous band out and replacing them with the ones my boys would be using. I didn’t have any set band members—for the most part, it was just me singing with some blokes in the background. But the longer I thought about it, the more I considered making some of them permanent members of the band.

Already, I could hear the chanting from the crowd beyond the barrier blocking the backstage area from view. They were shouting my name, the sound of it reverberating through the scaffolding and into my very soul. Once upon a time when I’d been more the happy to stumble onstage with only a vague idea of what the hell was going on, that sound might have made me overjoyed. Now, it just made me nervous.

“Looking a little pale there, stranger,” came a comforting voice from behind me. I turned, a smile quirking up the corners of my mouth as I saw the one person I needed standing in front of me. “Wouldn’t think a famous rock star like you would still get stage fright.”

“Don’t tease,” I said, reaching out to gently touch her cheek and smiling as she leaned against my fingers. “I want this to go well… and if it doesn’t, then it’s all on me.”

“You’ll do fine, Julian,” she said, sliding her arms around my waist and pulling me in close—well, as close as she could with the growing belly in the way. The feel of it inspired a sensation of warmth in my chest that made all of my fears dissipate. Hanging out in there was the child I’d never known I’d wanted until it was already on the way—we still hadn’t learned what sex it was yet, and frankly, we wanted it to be a surprise. Wasn’t that exactly how all this had started out, anyway—as a surprise? Seemed only fitting it should stay that way, start to finish.

“You’re Julian Bastille, and all those people are here to see you,” Liz reminded me, her tender tone dragging my gaze back up to meet hers. “Not because of what you’ve done or what the papers say, but because they love your music. You have nothing to worry about.”

“I hope you’re right,” I said, glancing over my shoulder as someone started giving me the five-minute signal. “I’m so worried that I’ll just end up being terrible. Like I won’t be good, now that I’m not doing what I was before.” I made a fist and brought it to my mouth, and then I bit it. “What if the drinking was what made me relax enough to perform?”

Liz smiled. “Can I tell you a little secret?” She reached up, threading her fingers through my hair. I couldn’t help but look deep into those eyes and smile back—my heart melted just like it did every time.

“You could tell me anything, as long as you keep looking at me like that,” I said as quiet as I could—just enough so that only she could hear me.

“If every artist stopped themselves just because they were worried they wouldn’t be good enough, then they’d never get anyt

hing done,” she said, brushing her thumb along my cheek. “You can do this, Julian. I believe in you. And when this baby is born, it will too. You’re my hero.”

“And you’re mine,” I said as I pulled my wife in for a slow, gentle kiss. Her lips burned like summer against mine. My heart slowed, and for the first time that night, I felt like just maybe I was going to be all right. I enfolded her in my arms, cheekily resting my hands on her backside as I deepened our kiss, biting at her bottom lip before pulling away.

“What was that for?” she asked, a grin gracing those beautiful, bitten lips of hers. I liked the way her cheeks colored as she stared up at me, eyes hooded. “I need to know so I can do it again.”

“I’ll let you know after the show’s over,” I assured her, flashing her that almost-famous grin of mine as I pulled her into one more kiss. “Good Lord, I don’t know what I’d do without you, Elizabeth Bastille.”

“I do, but let’s not talk about that right now,” she said, gently bumping me with her hip as she turned around to look out onto the stage. “Wow. I never imagined I’d be standing here with you, like this. Not even in my wildest dreams.”

“Now we can go around standing together wherever we want to,” I teased, sliding my arms around her waist from behind and pulling her close. The thrum of the crowd passed through her and into me. I wondered if our little one could hear it. “Isn’t that nice?”

“I think there’s only one place you want to go right now,” she laughed, pressing back against the stiffening bulge in my pants. “God, do you ever get enough?”

“Not from you, I don’t,” I said, chuckling as I started to nibble at her earlobe. The smell of her was intoxicating—I wasn’t sure what scent she was wearing, but it was driving me crazy.

“Later!” she squealed, slapping at my hands as I started to caress her hips. “You’ve got a show to do! And I think the last thing these people want is for you to cancel a show twice in a row just so you and I can have sex!”