Chapter 9 Part 2
***

Dylan had thought of Khrystine often during the last several weeks. The fact that she was still on his mind after all the trouble he was in recently was indictative of how attracted he was to her, despite the fact that she didn’t take much note of him. He’d ached to call her many times over the past few weeks, and explain to her that he’d had no part in trashing the hotel room, that he’d been taken to a party that was already orchestrated the band when things got out of hand. It pained him to realize he barely remembered seeing Megan, and the way he was trying to get his lawyer’s to silence the young woman until he had more facts. He wanted to tell Khrystine that it didn’t even add up in his own mind correctly, it seemed that he’d blacked out between the limo ride, and his arrival in the hotel room bed, and he truly didn’t think he’d drank enough that night to have such a gulf in his memory.

Still, he knew that Khrystine wouldn’t understand. The press was grooming her image in the opposite direction of G-Flat-Noise, and she would never believe that a lot of the chaos surrounding him was not of his own doing. The really aggravating part, was that the biggest after hours fiasco of his career occurred after someone gorgeous and cultured that he had a real interest in, Khrystine Morgan, had arrived in his life. He’d plotted out mini conversations alone, about how he would call Khrystine, and explain his side of the story, that he didn’t plan what was going on, and didn’t remember half of it, but she would probably just think he was an irresponsible drunk. Something went wrong that night, and he didn’t know what it was. Everytime he picked up his cellphone though, his hands trembled and he felt weak-kneed, and he could not bring himself to call her. She seemed beautiful, and perfect, and as though she would make an impossible juror.

He even thought about broaching the subject with her, by talking about the photograph with Derek Thompson that he’d seen in the L.A. newspaper, and how quickly things could be started by an unfortunate chain of circumstances. However, Khrystine’s press, though it bruised his ego, was not the negative bad behavior that was swarming around G-note at this time. His father was right. He was a rock and roll phenomenon, but he still wasn’t amounting to anything.

And god she was beautiful. She had her long dark hair tucked behind one ear when she came in, the remainder hung in the other eye and it gave her the exotic sophistication of a supermodel. Her shirt was opened right to the uppermost curve in the swell of her breasts, and he saw she was still wearing that locket perched between the two delicate globes of her busom.

The lack of punctuality she showed at her arrival seemed to be a bit of diva-ness until he’d heard her reason about the last minute flight. She was becoming one of the hardest working women in showbusiness, stratching and clawing her way to the top one bit at a time. The scratching image fit her well, she had such a kittenish beauty about her, even to the slant of her eyes. He liked that, and the swell of her bottom in her too tight Levis, and everything else about her. He wished that she was giggling in the corner with him the way she giggled with her two friends from the label.

“Okay,” said Khrystine.

Even at the sound of her soft feminine voice he felt a warm rush inside. He felt more feelings dreaming about her from a far than he’d felt in dozens of empty encounters otherwise.

He could tell she was ready. Music was in her soul, and the woman truly could not even formulate a note without moving it seemed. She grabbed onto the microphone with both hands, swaying back and forth, and she put more soul into her line than the eight other r&b diva’s he’d heard combined.

“Do that again,” said the engineer.

“I don’t remember what it was I did the first time, I’ll try,” said Khrystine.

The other performers laughed, and she joined in the laughter as well.

He loved that raw soul she had about her. He could hear her saying in interviews that what came out of her mouth that moment was whatever the mood dictated. That jazzy scatting that she did reminded him of what would happen if you took Ella Fitzgerald and put her over some hip hop grooves.

She did it again.

“Okay Ms. Morgan. Take it from the top again,” he added.

She sung her line over five times with feeling. Each different like a snowflake but they each had their own beauty. He silently wondered which one they would choose. She was so much like a snowflake. The different parts of her personality he’d seen so far were all beautiful and different in their own right. He could not believe he was that close to that perfume, that smile, the wounded but tough creature that was Khrystine Morgan. He just had to talk to her, explain himself, apologize for not calling. If he could get her to listen to him, and believe him just this once, he would never let her leave his side again. He could change for her, do whatever she wanted him to do, he could be a better man, no more craziness even in his entourage, if only for the one chance to get to know her, and court her like a proper man would.

***

“Okay everyone, take five now,” said the Engineer.

Khrystine knew it would not be a literal five minutes, it would be longer, but she was glad to be getting any little break now. Her throat was just slightly irritated and she knew they would be singing the chorus together soon. Then with a stomach lurch she remembered that Dylan Taylor was in the back of the recording studio.

She had to block him out of her mind during the recording, or her vocals would have been all over the place. Though her part was over, she wasn’t in any condition to see him. He’d seemed sincere but then turned out to be every inch the playboy, and wild rockstar that the press had portrayed. She didn’t want to even make eye contact with him, for fear that the smooth talking Dylan Taylor would try to inflate her emotions with more cleverly woven falsehoods.

“I need a diet coke,” Khrystine whispered to Cinnamon.

“Just wait and I’ll come,” she added.

“I can’t, I need it now, I’ll be back in a few minutes,” added Khrystine.

As much as she loved cinnamon, she wanted to dart of inconspicuously so that he wouldn’t notice her. She made a get away before the other performers even began to dislodge from the studio, darting off in search of a diet coke machine, and peace of mind.

She saw a machine, off in the corner in a low traffic era as though an oasis in the middle of a soft-drink desert.

“Yes,” she said softly to herself half chuckling about her good fortune at finding a machine so quickly.

She played feed the dollar with the machine as the stupid thing kept returning her money through the slot. After her last ditch effort, it finally took her money, only to fail to dispense her beverage.

Khrystine looked warily at her boots. Though they may be $500 Spencer Greer’s, and the soda was 1.00, she was thirsty and well below her minimal intake of diet coke for the day.

She glanced over her shoulders to make sure that no one was watching, and proceeded to kick the machine.

“Stupid piece of crap, give me my soda,” she murmured punctuating her syllables with kicks.

When it didn’t respond by giving her the soda, she began barging her petite body repeatedly against the side of the machine, when she looked up and heard a masculine male chuckle, which she would recognize anywhere.

“Are you having trouble Khrystine, would you like help,” asked Dylan a comical grin spread across his features.

She felt a sickening thud in her stomach as though accelerating downhill on a roller coaster ride, even as her cheeks filled with warmth. The physical side of her nature was delighted in being eye level with this incredibly good-looking man, but the emotional side of her loathed the cheesy insensitive playboy.

“No, I am fine,” said Khrystine louder and firmer than usual.

“Are you sure? Because it looks as though you were practicing martial arts on that poor soda machine,” said Dylan.

“I am not. It didn’t give me my soda,” said Khrystine spinning on her heels and starting to walk away.

The last thing she was going to do was explain herself to that incurable ladies man and road rouge Dylan Taylor.

“Hey, Hey Khrystine wait,” he said softly tugging onto her shirt sleeve.

“No, you let me go Dylan, I can get a soda somewhere else,” she said looking harshly at the hand that gripped her silk shirt.

Even as his hand gripped her elbow, she wanted more despite loathing him, his hands felt slightly husky and yet hot through the think silk of her shirt, and his fingers radiated sensuality at his soft insistant grip.

She wanted him to let go even more now, because even as he made her seeth with anger, he made her blood boil with desire, and she took possession of her arm again.

“And just get off of me,” she added venomously.

“Woah, woah, woah. Nice to see you too Khrystine,” said Dylan with a soft chuckle.

“Don’t nice to see me Khrystine. Dylan, you, ugh,” murmured Khrystine.

It wasn’t her most articulate moment, but she was at a place where she was so angry that the oratory skills she’d learned in debate class at her prestigious high school were far from her mind.

“Khrystine, I know that there’s been a lot of news about G-Flat-Noise Lately that’s less than favorable and-“

“Less than favorable. Dylan, you are a grown man. You don’t have to answer to me. Really. I don’t need it,” said Khrystine folding her arms over her chest.

She really didn’t want him to buffalo his way through some lame, halfway excuse for his drunken revelry to make himself look better. She was a big girl and well aware that people were not always what they appeared to be from afar. Dylan Taylor, gorgeous male Adonis of a rockstar was still a human after all.

“I know you don’t need it. I need it. I need you to know what happened. I need to explain to you why I didn’t call and why I messed up like this,” he added softly.

His eyes appeared watery. Boy was he laying it on thick. He could audition for any movie at this point. She couldn’t believe a word he said when the Dylan that took her to the pizza joint, and the Dylan that tore up the liberty seemed so different.

“Dylan, to me, there is nothing worse that someone who lies. I mean, the whole thing, with you is unbelievable considering the terms we left on, with you mad at me, because you said I wanted to play games,” added Khrystine.

She didn’t mean to chuckle but she as incredulous that he would even try to explain himself to her after he’d accused her of trifling with his feelings, to wind up in bed with a slut after having trashed a hotel room.

“But I don’t want to play games,” added Dylan.

“Dylan. I’m not a fool. Save that for some of those air-headed bimbos, like that, what’s her name, Megan? I graduated at the top of my class,” spat Khrystine.

“I’m sure you did graduate at the top of your class. If you wanna know the truth Khrystine, I don’t even remember Megan,” added Dylan.

“The poor chick. She certainly remembers you. She’s been remembering you on every TV variety show this week,” snorted Khrystine.

“I know, I know it looks bad but Khrystine, those words I said to you, after we went out, I meant them. I really don’t want anyone to play games with anymore. You are like the first girl I think I’ve ever really been around that I wasn’t trying to run some game on,” added Dylan.

“I should be so lucky. Dylan, I know how you are already okay? You don’t have to be all things to all people just to try to grab up the one girl you can’t figure out. Is that what this is Dylan, seven minutes of difference,” asked Khrystine.

“Seven minutes of difference?” asked Dylan.

“Boy we really do come from different worlds don’t we? Variety? And in this case I’m not sure if it’s the black, white thing, or the r&b diva rock star thing, or the rich girl meets poor boy thing, but I would be a different kind of notch on that belt of yours huh?” added Khrystine backing away from the corner.

“That’s what you think it’s about. Oh Khrystine if I wanted you for a notch on a belt, I wouldn’t be trying to explain myself. I think about you all the time, and I didn’t call because frankly I was ashamed about what happened at the liberty. I don’t remember the events but it caused me such shame because I’m thinking its got me close to loosing the only girl I’ve ever really cared about,” added Dylan.

She hated him for trying to tack on that line at the end to tug at the sensitive fibers of her heart. The part of her that still ached for lance, the part of her believed that the well mannered small town boy she’d eaten pizza with on a secluded hill in busy Los Angeles was a legitimate gentleman.

“Dylan you’re a liar and,”

She felt Dylan reach out for her gently, as though she was dreaming and slide his arms around her waist. Even as she felt it was happening she was powerless to resist. Her heart raced and her palms were sweaty, her throat taught with so much anger she could feel her heart beating in her throat. His arms were hard, and muscular and held her petite body close to his own chest and she was powerless within his grip. Her knees weakened, but every resolve she had to fight his arms from around her had fled.

She looked up at him like a deer in headlights, her bottom lip quivering. She began shivering, composed Khrystine Morgan began to quiver like so much newly formed jello with the intensity of her attraction to this man, the boyish innocence of his hazel eyes in perfect contrast to the chiseled features of his face, his long bandana wrapped hair tousled and ready to be ruffled. The way he took her captive rendered her paralyzed to open her mouth and even utter a sound, certainly a changing of the guards as she was used to being the one in control.

At 6’3” he had to bend down considerably to make eye contact with her 5’4” frame, and she was in heels. He laced his arms under her arms, pulling her close to him, slightly lifting just the heels of her boots of the ground and she could smell the sweet but spicy scent of his cologne. He exhaled a ragged groan, moving his head close towards hers, and instinctively her lips parted.

She felt his hot, moist mouth close over her bottom lip sucking once, twice, three times before she even was able to mutter softly. Remembering those thin red lips and the way they tantalized her at every syllable he uttered, she gently began to tease his top lip in like turn, his lips surprisingly delicate even with the passion he suckled her bottom lip with.

He uttered a guttural groan and began to tease the perimeter of her mouth with his tongue. It was sweeter than when she’d bit into fresh sugar cane on the islands, and when he teased her, the way he slowly seductively circled just the tip of her tongue made her feel a longing between her slender thighs that begged for her to answer her yearnings with a kiss. She could not just yield to him and allow herself to be silently kissed, even as he filled her with rage, it was perhaps the anger she felt toward him, his audaciousness and his devil may care attitude that made her reach around and grab the locks of his hair aggressively, shocked that his hair could be so soft and curly, thrusting her tongue eagerly, greedily toward more of the source of her nectar.

Two more guttural groans were uttered and then as though they were locked up in an ancient battle for tribal supremacy, she led him until he dominated her, and the cycle reversed, her feelings mired with both passion and aggressive anger.

He very gently removed his lips from hers, resuming to suckling her bottom lip gently, and when he did this, Khrystine, no longer drugged by her passionate feelings for Dylan, and the long repressed need to step close to the fire and understand what power this man different unlike any she’d ever know held over her, extricated herself from his grasp.

Her breathing was still ragged from the flames that had ravaged her hungry lips, and were welling up torrents between the apex of her thighs, and her lips began to quiver with anger. She reached up toward him and slapped him across the left side of his face with such intensity that his head spun toward the right.

“You bastard, you think you can make me forget about all the conniving things you’ve done with a smoldering kiss. Dylan, I’m not a slut, I’m not one of your little groupy girls,” she said angrily, wiping a bit of the moisture from her lips with the back of her hand.

“Khrystine, I know you aren’t, you are in fact the only woman I’ve ever meant that seems to be about something, and the fact is I like you so much that I-“

“Dylan what you wanna ruin me? Is that what you are trying to do. Just leave me alone okay. Stay far away from me,” said Khrystine.

It seemed as though he was trying to do a number on her career. He just would not leave her alone. She did not want to be tied up with a person with more bad press than a third world dictator. She didn’t think he was sincere at all, if anything, that kiss he gave her proved that he was really only interested in getting to know her physically. And she hated Dylan more because that one kiss was better than anything she’d ever felt, even the hour long kissing sessions she used to have in the back of Lance’s Mercedes Benz. Why did he want to confuse her senses, anyone who looked the way Dylan did, and acted the way Dylan did couldn’t be right for her. All he ever did was make her goof up, act out of character, and forget where she was.

Why couldn’t he just leave her alone and find another Megan.

“Khrystine, no I wanna talk to you,” added Dylan.

“You just wanna bed me, you don’t wanna talk to me. Leave me alone,” she screamed, turning her back to him and swiftly marching away.

She certainly did not want him to see her crying. He didn’t really care, no one had really cared but Lance. JaQuon wanted to use her, Derek Thompson wanted photo ops, and Dylan Taylor wanted seven minutes of difference. What hurt the most was that Dylan melted her heart in ways she couldn’t fathom but he was as insincere and phony as they came. He may seem like a wisiwig guy, but to play the sentimental angle with a woman who he knew would not be content to just be a groupy was the ultimate low.

Why did he have to be the only one with the power to make her body tremble the way she imagined it felt when two people came together in the highest form of passion with just a single kiss?

She returned to the studio in a huff, with no diet coke in hand. Dylan never returned to the set that day to wrap up his part of the recording. She was glad, for if he was not around, he would not be disturbing her thought patterns, or making her nervous. The best thing to do at this point was block the smoldering kiss out of her mind. No matter how steamy that kiss was, or how charming he had presented herself to be, he was a two-timing conniving playboy, only concern with running the wildest show in town, on and off the set.

- posted by Mahogany @ 2:59 PM