CRASH & BURN (Rule Breaker) (17 page)

“Alana,” he said as he placed his hand low on her back, pressing firmly, and she thought she felt…no, she was quite certain that his thumb caressed her bottom. The nerves all over her body pulsed anxiously, unmercifully.

She couldn’t help but echo him in greeting, “Jonathan.”

“Was your day productive?” He sounded like a tight-ass, staring into her eyes. She imagined threading her fingers through his thick hair and wildly pulling the strands as he thrust into her, hard and rough.

“Are you coming?” Christy asked. “Or are you in deep conversation?”

“Oh, I’m in deep.” Alana twirled the other woman’s hair. “Come here. You’re not abandoning me to the land of contracts and legal terms. I think the guys need some bar time. Just give him some space.”

“How goes it with the other band members?” Jon asked.

“All’s good.” Christy shot Billy a glance, then half-heartedly smiled at Alana. “You’re right. It’s been too long since we tossed a few back, just you and me, and now J.P.”

Hank, Carl, and Billy were headed through the door. Clarissa hung back, talking on her cellphone, and motioned for them to go on inside by pointing to her watch and the door.

“Shall we?” Jon asked, motioning forward.

“What about Clarissa?” she asked.

“Have you by chance thought about the agreement?” he asked, positioning his hand at the curve of her waist.

Her body tensed and she couldn’t gauge if it was his touch or his question that affected her.

“See,” Alana played it off. “I knew if Jon got me alone, I’d be grilled.”

“I need to be up front and, if you don’t mind, either I do it with Christy here or we take a moment.” He stared at her without blinking.

“Wasn’t that the purpose of this meeting tonight? To openly discuss the issues? A private grilling hardly seems…” Alana looked over to her friend for help.

“Ethical,” Christy supplied. “Or reasonable, if you expect the opinions of the band.”

“Group consensus,” Alana cocked her head.

“Okay. Enough with the double-team.” He inhaled. “I know the guys have the real issue. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Alana slowly said. “I don’t think anything has changed since this morning.”

In her peripheral vision she noticed Christy shifting from foot to foot and glancing at the floor. Oh crud, Christy had something to share. Jon seemed to follow her train of thought.

“Christy, you know something. Don’t you?” he asked.

Christy filled her lungs, her chest expanding. “I didn’t want to say anything. I thought it would come out tonight. Here.”

“Well, we’re here.” Alana’s voice rose, “Jesus, Christy. Spill it!”

“The guys won’t go forward with the rock contract. Not with what’s being offered. They’d rather be your back-up band. For now, until they can sort it all out.”

Alana leaned in close. She wanted to do what Jon had suggested and disappear. The Mediterranean sounded great, but so did Jon’s pool. His eyes lingered on her face, moving down to her mouth as she spoke. “I can’t believe everyone is convinced they know what’s best for me.”

“Hey, not to throw up a dust storm, but have you spoken with your parents?” Christy asked, glancing hesitantly over to Jon.

“Not yet,” she snapped. “What am I supposed to say?”

“Lanie. I thought you were going to call them,” Christy said. “They’ll be amazed.”

“You’d think,” she murmured, pressing her fingers to her forehead. She’d said she would call them and had every intention of doing so. The sighs and silences in her mother’s conversations stopped her from calling. “Look, I refuse to be bullied into a decision.”

“Exactly who is bullying you? So far, most everyone is concerned about what’s best for you,” Jon said, in that gravelly voice that got under her skin. Deeply.

“It doesn’t feel that way.” She refused to let Jon see how any mention of her parents unhinged her. She feared he might somehow use that information to seek an advantage in contract negotiations.

“What about a drink? This calls for a celebration. Either way, you’re signing with Lansing Records,” Christy tugged Alana’s hand. “Again. Right? So two celebrations.”

“Go have a drink, Alana, with the band. At the very least, you can agree no one’s out to twist your arm with that suggestion.”

“You make it sound like this is turning into a hassle. Are you staying out here?” Alana wanted to ask if he was waiting for someone.

“I need to speak with Clarissa. Go inside and I’ll join you shortly.” He towered over her, their gazes locked. “Do me a favor?”

“Sure, what?” Alana asked, valiantly ignoring the jolt of electricity that danced across her body. She cursed herself for letting him affect her.

“Make certain they’ve the upstairs reserved. It’s a small area in case you need someplace to talk. The band, I mean.”

Suddenly, she felt as if she were caught in a snare and had to find a way out, and the escape was as easy as threading a needle with her emotions. Her heartbeat tapped a raucous rhythm. She had to get away from him, now.

“Penny for your thoughts. Are you okay?” Jon asked, his eyes narrowing as though he could see inside her.

Christy had been watching the whole charade, and she finally piped up. “She’s fine. It’s been a long-ass day. You can find us at the bar. We’ll be the ones with the colorful shots lined up.”

“I could definitely use some air,” Alana whispered.

Walking into the restaurant, Christy said, “Jeez, I thought for a second you two were going to lock lips. Seriously, Alana, he’s got it bad for you. And, I never thought I’d say it: you for him, too. I could feel that energy rippling off you guys. Fuck, the sex must be out-of-this-world.”

“Stop. Don’t say another word.” Her words came out in a tremulous exhalation.

She was a spring-loaded trap ready to burst. Secretly, it was much easier to keep herself in check, pretending this thing she and Jon had wasn’t real. Hearing the words, the meaning hung in the air, all too real and all too scary.

God, she craved him from the depths of her being. This hunger was driving her crazy.

And now, he’d thrown the ’rents into the brew. She needed a pint, not a shot, of alcohol. What would her parents say? Her father would frown and mutter as he’d always done at mention of her touring with a group of men…in a bus. Mom…she’d press her lips together to keep from saying something authentic. Then, she’d inhale and ask when she was coming home.

Alana didn’t know which way to turn. And now, with her father being sick, she wanted their blessing more than ever. Her parents assumed this was her way to rebel. A phase that she’d eventually grow tired of, as well as the idea of returning to a life in her old neighborhood. That simply wasn’t her dream growing up. Most of her and Christy’s high school friends had gone off to college. A few had gotten married. She didn’t want to get married and live in regret like her parents. Absolutely not a choice. But then, when she was alone with Jon…the idea of staying put in one city didn’t seem so absurd. Far from it.

She walked up to the maître de. “Excuse me, Mr. Lansing reserved a private area. Upstairs, I believe.”

The young woman smiled. “Yes. It’s ready, and I can send the server up.”

“I’ll let you know on that. I think later, perhaps.” Alana smiled at Christy. “Ready? I know I sure as shit am.”

“Get out of my way.”

They sauntered up to the bar, parting the gentlemen standing three-deep in front of the bar. “Ladies, what’ll ya have?” the bartender shouted.

“Tequila.” Christy yelled back. “And keep it pouring.”

“No. I want something fun.” Alana looked around, frowning at the thought of a Tequila hangover. “What’s that? Over there. Peachy-looking drink.” She pointed to a server supporting a tray over her head.

The bartender’s smirk grew. “Blushing Dragon. Give me a sec and I’ll have it right up for you.”

“Must be your horoscope or something. Every guy in the place is coming on to you.” Christy said it in jest, but Alana wondered if her friend’s jibe was a jab. For the last three years, she’d purposely stayed out of the limelight, preferring to let Christy dazzle the peeps offstage.

Christy’s vitality needed a constant dose of adoration and required perpetual petting to persist. They worked as a team, sharing attention in a carefully choreographed, cooperative venture. Now the equation had been altered. Somehow, Alana had to get it back to basics.

“I think your mojo is depressed,” Alana countered. “Projecting won’t help. You know this is how you and Billy act, not dealing with the issues plaguing your relationship. I’m going to say something, and don’t jump down my throat.”

“When have I ever refused to listen to you?”

“Shut your face before you nose smacks me. You seriously suck at lying.” Alana launched into her speech. “You and Billy go round and round. Just commit to one another and then be done with it. He loves you. You love him. End of story.”

“Why? So we can have some fucked-up version of a boy-girl union? If he wanted to, he’d have asked.”

“Do you think he might take issue with your ultra-flirting?”

Before Christy could respond, the bartender delivered their drinks. In spades. “I didn’t know if you wanted a different drink, but so far that guy, that one, and the one over there bought this round. And here.” He stacked a slew of empty shot glasses in front of them. “Let me know when you’re ready for these. And beauty,” he motioned to Alana. “The man over in the booth said, whatever
you
want. His name is Ray Oliver, and he wanted you to know that extends to anything down here.”

“On the menu?” Alana asked, for kicks.

“Sweetheart, Ray owns a few of the buildings across the street. He means collectively. In the Gulch.”

“I was only kinda serious about keeping the drinks coming.” Christy chortled and raised her glass to the men across the bar. “Hell, this is one party I don’t want to miss.”

“What’s this?” Billy asked.

“Drinks our fans bought,” Christy responded tersely.

“Fans. Do you think any of these jerkoffs even know you play guitar, or care if they do? I suppose you expect me to peel you off the floor. Well, tonight, why don’t you let
your fans
deal with this mess?”

Christy tossed a shot of Tequila back, sucking in a breath, and looked Billy up and down. “What’s the matter? The girls you were trading winks with didn’t want to stick around?”

“Christy. Don’t,” Alana warned. “Billy, you know what it’s like at happy hour. None of this means anything.”

“Alana, you’re not promising the farm to every Tom, Dick, and J.P.”

Alana grabbed his arm. “It’s not like that, Billy. You’re so off the mark. Please.” God, she needed to set Billy straight before he laid into Jon. He’d be so wrong. And she’d be so wrong if she kept quiet. “A couple of minutes, that’s all I ask. Can you stay here and play nice?” she asked Christy.

“Cross my heart,” Christy whispered.

“Billy, come with me. I’ve got something to explain.” Alana led Billy upstairs. The area was roped off. There were a couple of tables set amid crimson velvet sofas and high-backed, black leather wing chairs edged with silver upholstery tacks. The dark, midnight-gray wooden floors, black walls, and wrought iron chandeliers gave the room a Gothic feel.

Billy followed her and plunked down in a wing chair. “I know you’re only trying to help, but it’s fucking over between Christy and me. I’m not going to be cuckolded.”

“Christy isn’t into J.P. Lansing.”

He rubbed his temples. “Don’t cover for your friend.”

“Billy, it’s true. She’s not, because…” Alana hesitated, gathering her courage, and then admitted, “I am.”

It was the first time she’d admitted her connection to Jon. Throughout the day, she’d skirted around the subject with Christy, never really saying much. With Billy, she glimpsed inside herself, and in that second the door flung wide open on her emotions. Her feelings for Jon were volcanic and intoxicating, and ready to rip her in half if she wasn’t careful.

For a few seconds, he stared without blinking. “How is that possible? You don’t date anymore.”

“I wouldn’t call it dating.” She stood in front of him.

“Seriously? Nothing’s going on between them?” he asked, raking tattooed fingers across his face.

“Not a thing. Ever. Since the first night, I’ve been with him. Not exactly conventional, but I don’t share what’s mine,” she said suddenly, her heart surging in full awareness that she wanted Jon to be hers. Only hers.

Rising to his feet, Billy laughed and enthusiastically hugged her. “Babe, I never thought you had it in you. You always struck me as the flowers, wine, and candy type of lady.”

“Well, don’t judge me and you won’t be sorry.” She hugged him back.

“Really. I had a different impression.” Jon’s deep British voice echoed in the large room.

Chapter Sixteen

Alana and Billy came apart, and the look of surprise they both sported only further egged Jon on.

“We were talking,” Alana said, a small quaver moving through her voice.

“Time to celebrate?” Billy asked, a grin splitting his face.

Cocksucker.
“Give us a moment, Billy. Alana will join the band in a few.”

“Thanks, Lanie. Jonathan. Catch you guys downstairs.” He winked at Alana. “I’ve got something to do as well.”

“On your way out, get the door,” Jon directed him.

“Sure thing.” Walking away, Billy whistled. With the door closed, the music from below was muted and the primal instinct to claim Alana spread inside his being. Fuck everything he’d tried to convince himself of…he was crashing and about to burn every practical idea he’d held concerning Alana.

“I should be going downstairs as well,” she whispered.

“I think not. Yet.” He motioned to the chaise. “Come over here and have a seat.”

As she passed in front of him, it was too much. Her scent assailed his nostrils and he took an even deeper breath. Leaning forward, he grabbed her arm and yanked her against his chest.

“What are you doing?” she asked, through clenched teeth.

He pressed his lips to hers, threading his fingers through her hair, and thrust his tongue into her mouth. Angling her head to the side, he kissed her roughly, wanting to own her mouth, her taste, her sounds. “Give it to me,” he growled.