CRASH & BURN (Rule Breaker) (13 page)

“Who else has a copy of these photographs?” she asked in a monotone.

“No one. I bought them with an air-tight agreement that none of them would see the light of day.”

“You have them in a file. If you intend on burying them, why store them? Makes no sense.”

“If they surface, I’ve evidence of full right and ability to enforce copyright violation. A tactic in damage control is accruing all conceivable hazardous information and that’s what we’re doing now. Keeping track of what potential fires may erupt. All sorts of fans post stuff, especially when you escalate in popularity. Some are bogus, but this looks real. Would you agree?”

“Who else has seen them? Will the band have access to them?”

“Of course not. Why, do you believe there are more?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps.”

“I’m not going to ask if you’re in any of them.”

“Good. Because I’m not going to answer that non-question.” She held his gaze, her glittering aqua eyes bright from the inside out. “Look, those people are my friends and right now, Christy is having a rough time with Billy. You enjoy a solo existence and might think being in love is a waste of time.”

“These don’t really bring to mind being in love. I thought a woman in love didn’t lock lips with another man while sitting on his lap, half-naked. If this is how you and your friends define love, then most assuredly, we’re oceans apart.”

The ominous curl to her lips twisted his gut into a knot. He’d seen kinder expressions on she-wolves about to tear an animal to shreds on the Discovery Channel.

“I realize it’s getting late. I’ll take you up on the offer of using the guest house. I know we spoke about the band coming over but not staying. What about Christy? I mean, she’s all alone in the house. Why can’t she come over here? The guest house is plenty large, and she might not want to anyway.”

The wheels whirled in his head. Unable to put the pieces together, other than the photos of her friend had something to do with her mood swing from amazing to witch and then, somewhere in the middle, ready to bite his head off. He’d had enough of being the good sport, and she irked the piss out of him.

“I have no problem with her coming here. Why would I? It’s not like we’re trying to hide anything worthwhile. Right?”

* * *

Taking her outside and across the patio, he refused to direct his attention anywhere in the general vicinity of her body while escorting her to the guest house. After he turned on the entry light, he wished her a good night. That was it.

Mentally, he congratulated himself on sidestepping her spider web-like ability to draw in and capture his free will. For once in Alana’s presence, he’d avoided his usual fall from grace into an overbearing wanker. To hell with his unshakable desire. Starting tomorrow, he’d stop this lunacy that threatened to tear him into bits.

Lying in bed, he forced his mind to stay far away from thoughts of Alana’s tantalizing body by thinking about the tracks he’d record with his other clients. He constructed marketing plans for one of his jazz trios touring Canada, and adjusted another tour where one of his clients had been diagnosed with lupus. Jon fought each time his thoughts approached the dirty fantasy mode that, of course, involved only one woman.

He revisited what he’d say during his upcoming presentation to the board, and toyed with the idea of giving Baxter the task of shepherding Orion. That lasted for three seconds before he dived into how he’d need to pave the foundation so Orion remained under the radar, at least for the next week. So far the board was unaware of Orion’s potential, but that would change come Thursday night when they took the stage at the Ryman. He spent the remainder of the night in bed cursing, tossing and turning, with one name on his lips.

In the morning, Mrs. Hughes greeted him in the kitchen. “I see we’ve a house guest. Anything I need to know? I introduced myself and she seems sweet.”

“Ms. St. James?” He lifted his gaze out toward the patio.
Sweet
. What an act. “She’s a client who will have access to the studio. New group. I suspect another young woman will join her. And no press is to be admitted. That’s why she’s here.”

“I understand. Is she eating breakfast with you?”

“I don’t think so. I’m going to grab something downtown.”

His housekeeper’s brows drew together and she pursed her lips. “Not even coffee?”

“All right. A cup of coffee. To go. I’ll be right back.”

“Very good. And one for Ms. St. James?” Mrs. Hughes smiled.

“I’ll check,” he muttered. Another person on his staff about to yield to Alana’s witchery, leaving him wondering why he was the only one who had the pleasure of experiencing
Side B
.

He’d showered and shaved, feeling more like himself. In the two days he’d fucked Alana repeatedly, his life had flip-flopped from plodding monotony into a downward spiral where his stoic control had flown right out the goddamn window. Even as he walked outside, his mind continued to obsess on Alana. The thought of storming the cottage, spanking her, and then taking her had plagued him while falling asleep, and upon waking this morning it was the first thing that came to mind.

Movement on a chaise lounge caught his attention, a blur at first until his brain put two and two together. Long shapely legs were illuminated by the early morning light and painted toenails wiggled. The sight of a shapely ankle rolling in a languid circle short-circuited his brain and he walked right into the side of a patio table. The loud screech grated on his overworked nerves. He grimaced, catching the table before it tipped over.

Alana’s head whipped around as she spoke into the phone cradled against her cheek. Her wanton mouth formed an ‘O’ right before their gazes locked. “Call ya back,” she said, a bewitching smile gracing her honey-kissed face.

He straightened, feeling every bit as impish in her sassy presence. “I came to see if you were ready to leave. We’ve an early morning meeting, as planned.”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she murmured, much too confident for his taste. She stood and pulled down her dress, the one from the previous night, and the same hot boots. “I need to get some clothes on before we meet.”

“We’re set to begin in thirty minutes. I don’t have time to take you shopping. There were plenty of items delivered to the cottage yesterday. Don’t tell me nothing fit.”

“Who said anything about shopping? And I want my own clothing. Thank you. Christy is bringing my things to your offices. She’ll come back here when we’re done.” She glared at him, the syrupy sweetness having evaporated faster than the morning dew on the plants.

“Do you drink coffee? Or only tea. I believe you said something about tea in the morning?”

Her eyes widened and she pinned him with her stare. “Good memory. Yes, I prefer tea first thing in the morning.”

“Mrs. Hughes can fix you a cup. I’ll grab a cup of coffee.”

He walked behind her. A total mistake, if trying to ignore her. The sway to her hips was highlighted by the heavy beaded material of her dress and her scent wafted over him. Electrical pinpricks broke out on the back of his neck, working lower down his spine. He knew exactly where this was headed.

He forced himself to evaluate his client roster instead of grabbing her round bottom. He just hoped to hell Mrs. Hughes would be in the kitchen and force some merry conversation, disrupting the unwelcome array of erotic images dancing through his imagination. He swung wide as he jockeyed ahead of Alana to open the door. That move required him to come in close contact, a risk he was willing to take and for which he paid dearly. He and Alana stood for a millisecond, she close enough for him to perceive the flecks of gold in her amazing eyes. Long enough to be convinced that this new territory was hazardous and if he stood a second longer, he’d haul her out to the cottage and communicate his dissatisfaction in a long and hard manner.

“After you,” he finally choked out.

“Thank you for the use of the cottage,” Alana murmured and moved, strands of her silky hair grazing his cheek.

Entering the kitchen, he called out, “Mrs. Hughes?” His voice was much too loud, and he covered his excited state by coughing. Alana and his housekeeper peered at him with looks of concern. “Can you please get Ms. St. James a cup of tea?”

“My pleasure. Dear, do you take honey, lemon, cream?”

“Honey would be wonderful.”

Mrs. Hughes wiped her hands on a dish towel and filled a cup from the hot water dispenser. Alana turned around, and her upper thigh came into Jon’s view.

Oh, shit.
She was commando under that dress. All his senses roared to full alert as a galloping wallop of testosterone infiltrated his veins. Blood pounded in his temples and his heartbeat drilled the inside of his chest.

He poured a cup of coffee to diffuse his desire to gawk like a fool at Alana in her one-shouldered dress, and envisioned the thing falling down around her ankles as it had last night. It didn’t help to glimpse the kitchen table, another memory wreaking mayhem on his ability to think sensibly.

Lost in the black steaming liquid, he sipped the coffee, postponing turning around.

“A little something to take with you,” his housekeeper said. He turned toward the crinkling paper and the footsteps behind him. Mrs. Hughes held out a paper bag. “I know you won’t stop to eat once you get to the office.”

“See, I’m not the only one who thinks all work isn’t healthy,” Alana said.

“We’re off, then. I’ll let you know about tonight,” he said to Mrs. Hughes, his gaze shifting between the two women who stood before him. Once again confusion blanketed him, and he chafed at this unfamiliar condition as it continued to rain down upon him ever since last evening. He arched a brow toward Alana, who sipped her cup of tea. “Bring that with you. We’d better be going.”

“Clarissa emailed the schedule for today and tomorrow. Do I have any say in how this all unfolds?”

“I’m willing to entertain your concerns. Do you have any, or is this a theoretical inquiry?”

“At the moment I don’t but, then again, after the meeting things could change. Drastically.”

“Any surprises about to transpire?” he asked firmly.

“I’ve not spoken with the other members about the various deals. I thought an attorney would be better suited. I don’t understand it all myself.”

“Good.” He picked up his briefcase, and walked out the front door, ahead of Alana by a few steps.

Out front, his car and driver waited. Jon nodded toward Dwayne. “Excellent work,” he said, reaching for the car door. Alana came up alongside him, her long legs framed marvelously, the ultimate act of torture. “I’ve got it,” Jon said over his shoulder to his driver.

Shoving aside the image of Alana’s body, Jon directed his attention up to the tree branches overhead and the flitting rays of sun producing shadows as the wind aimlessly moved the leaves. The pipes of a wind chime brushed against each other, filling the walkway with ringing sound. He followed the pentatonic scale of the chimes.

Absolutely anything to stop his unbridled lust, spurred on by the expanse of golden skin on display. His reaction irritated him to the center of his being this morning. Alana rubbed him raw, and this only infuriated him further.

Okay, Alana was seated, and it seemed safe enough to peer inside the car. Wrong! Another eyeful of sexy legs unraveled him entirely.
Holy fuck!

Sliding in next to her, Jon laid his briefcase on the seat between them as though it might serve as some barrier to insanity and placed the brown paper bag on top. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Famished. But I didn’t know if there was time.” She glanced down at the paper bag. “May I?” A curious expression lingered on her face, and he could only guess that again she knew exactly what was going on inside him. She didn’t just scratch his surface, she’d gotten in deep. For all his aggravation, Alana was not to blame for his being off-kilter.

“Mrs. Hughes does her best. Guess I’m a hard nut to crack. Give her points for her tenacity.”

“She came with you from London?” Alana asked, extracting a bagel wrapped in cellophane. The smell of herbs and butter filled the back seat. She held out a half to him.

Shaking his head, he relaxed a bit. “I’ve known her since I was knee-high. Long time ago I called her Nanny. Hard to believe we’re still together.”

“She’s concerned about you. That much is obvious. We talked this morning.”

“And?” He stared at Alana as she took a healthy bite of the sandwich, and stared harder as she licked a drop of butter from the corner of her mouth. Her pink lips glistened, reminding him of when she’d sucked him and he’d exploded into her mouth their first night in an elevator. His overpowering hunger for Alana destroyed his ability to think coherently. He gripped the arm rest, well aware that he needed to prep her as he would any client. But then, with her, prepping boiled down to removing her clothing. No…it meant slamming into her until they both were sweating, exhausted, and over the edge.

“At first I would have sworn she was talking about another Jonathan Lansing. But the locket she wears around her neck proves she told the truth.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear. She knew me before I sunk neck-deep into this business. A long, long time ago. Which brings us to a point that you’d better learn fast. This is a hard industry if you’ve no footing.”

She wiped her face with a napkin. “Learn fast about what? The contract?”

“Sacrifice for Orion or not, it’ll be you sitting in the cat bird seat, looking back ten years from now and wondering what the heck happened. You all can walk out of the offices today and be very wealthy.” He detested giving her this angle. But if he didn’t, then he’d hate himself worse if Orion became
just another indie band.
Sure, he knew his record label would promote the hell out of them, but there were serious issues on the table—Achilles’ heels because of her nature to be loyal. He knew damned well Alana didn’t understand that a killer instinct permitted self-preservation.

“I don’t think I’d regret one moment if it all suddenly disappeared. I would if I sold out.”