CRASH & BURN (Rule Breaker) (3 page)

“Or I could suck your dick?” She laughed, and at the same time her eyes widened as she appeared to study him. Or determine his next move.

He didn’t want to let her go. Didn’t want to be the person in charge of her career if it meant he couldn’t bring her to his bed and do what they’d done for the last six hours. Quite roughly, in many ways. A livelier or hotter firecracker did not exist in these parts, and he fought the urge to ask her to rethink the next two weeks.

Flaunting a contract to get her to come with him last night, he couldn’t very well rescind his fiduciary duty to her because things changed. Correction—he’d changed. Their going forward in a business partnership and then shagging on the side would be a nightmare if it got out. And one that would require them to agree on discretion. But hell, there was no way around what the music industry would do if it were uncovered he’d bedded her prior to officially taking her under his wing. There were enough producers on Music Row who had contract couches and he’d not toss his hat into that ring. Not now or ever.

He inhaled the wildflower scent Alana used, weakening his resolve, and then he pushed away from the desire to break another rule on her account. “You tempt me, I must say.”

“You see? More talk. Stop thinking so much. Whatever is bothering you, turning it every which way won’t help.”

“
Just let go
is what you’re saying.” He raked his fingers through his hair, looking for a loophole by which to keep her naked beside him.

“Exactly. For every season. Isn’t that reasonable? You can’t control the weather or a slew of other life events, Jon. Stop wrinkling your brow and live in this moment.”

“Oh, Ms. St. James, if you only knew.”

His newest client was more than likely a true talent, the size Nashville had not seen since Taylor Swift had arrived, spinning the country music industry for a turn or two. Alana would put Music City on the map in the realm of rock. Of that he was more than certain. To be the one banging her while holding the reins of her career would be bloody bad form. It would reflect on her. Terrible.

But hell, he’d not argue he was enticed by Alana, the woman. If the press got wind of this tryst, he’d be deemed the ultimate tosser. Worse—a sod. The sweet taste of her mouth and her soft-textured lips had him backpedaling.

Damn the press. A pack of kiss-ups he’d handed over to Baxter, his partner, to deal with from the get-go.

Purposely, he blanked his mind, doing as Alana suggested and ran his hands over her body. Pure sensation in her curving hips, the hollow of her ribcage, the responsiveness of her tits. Her moans drove him, spiking a lust that made his cock harden.

As Jon dove into their kiss, his thoughts started to spin. Somehow, he would have to extricate himself from the signed agreement that would strangle him over the course of two weeks. All he needed was a loophole. Seeing her on a daily basis and keeping his hands from her body was inconceivable.

“Love,” he whispered, letting go of her wrists. “Wrap your arms around my shoulders.”

Jon took hold of her knees, spreading her legs under him. He kissed her and let his erection glide between her legs. The tip of his cock found the mouth of her pussy like a homing pigeon returning to its loft. He groaned, struggling to stop himself from recklessly thrusting inside Alana. He closed his eyes, relishing the feel of her softness surrounding his tip. Just a couple of inches more and his dick head would be wrapped in her enticing heat. A surge of electrical jolts burst from his balls. He jerked with an instinctive tightening of his abs and pushed into her warm wetness.

“Whoa, cowboy,” she whispered, scraping her nails down his back. “No riding bareback.”

“Alana, fuck, in the elevator you said you’re on birth-control,” he murmured against her neck. Inhaling her scent, he withdrew while his dick pleaded with him to put aside this conversation and plunge head first into the sweetness between this woman’s legs. In a last-ditch effort, he grunted and opened his eyes. Mistake. The words tumbled out of his mouth as he pushed into her, “I want you.”

She stared at him, wide aqua eyes spewing sparks. “No joke. I know you’re better than a miserable asshole. Are you telling me the selfish prick is back?” She slid her soft mouth slowly across his lips.

Fuck. Yes. “Selfish prick has backup,” he groaned.

His whole body wanted Alana. Every lovely inch. Trailing his gaze down her length underneath him, he rapidly returned to her face, and nodded in total pretense. Inhaling unsteadily, he pulled his cock out of heaven.

“Why am I not shocked?”

“That trip was short. Not to worry, I’ve got it under control. Six on the dot and we’re back to business. Black and white. Ms. St. James, we’d better get ready for work.”

“Can we order up some tea?” she asked, running a nail down his arm and then pushing away from him.

He cursed himself. His dick had no idea of time—only a hunger to pump and thrust and fill Alana. Six in the morning and counting. If this was how he’d spend the next two weeks, he’d go berserk. A miserable countdown until she walked out of his life. “Whatever you’d like. Do you eat in the morning? What the hell do you do when you wake? Dally around in bed or jump right up?” Jon asked.

“I’m something of an
eyes-open
-
rise-and-shine
-er. And you? You seem like not much dallying goes down in your life.”

“Bloody nailed that one. Just try and keep up. We’ve a load to get done today and for the next couple of days. But you’ll have help, so no need to chew my backside.”

Alana flushed a lovely pink, and he wasn’t about to look away from the parcel of sunshine she eclipsed. Her tits were decked in red bite marks. His marks. And he had the urge to close his mouth around one of her nipples. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders in untamed waves. In the daylight, her locks appeared kissed by sunshine. Not brown and not blond, definitely some red going on. Unlike anything he’d seen before. “Your hair? I suppose it’s twenty-twenty?”

“Come again?” She stood up, completely naked. The sight stunned his brain. In a blink, he found himself jealous of a beam of light swathing her body. He wanted to be a ray of sunlight, licking her skin until it grew rosy and hot under his tongue.

“Is that an invitation? Then yes,” he said softly, absorbing the vision in front of him.

Her eyebrows winged upward, giving him a disapproving glance. “Be serious. And don’t you think we’d better transition into speaking as though we’re not thinking about fucking one another?”

No. What they should be doing was that very thing. Fucking. He’d better begin to obliterate that word from his thoughts, convinced that the act of conceiving it would make it that much more difficult to be normal around Alana. “I meant, like your eyes. You don’t wear contacts. Hair is the same?”

Drawing her mouth into a straight line, she glanced down at her hair and picked up a handful. “Oh, I get it. Right. Mine. Are you thinking that I should do something about my eyes and hair? Is that part of the makeover this morning?”

“My assistant will take you for some routine photographs and then, yes. You will visit a stylist. And voice coach. What about working out? Preferences?” His mind began churning from habit in foreseeing the varied channels they’d begin to access and tap in order to get her debut performance at the Ryman in order.

He’d already sent a text to Clarissa, a text alerting her to the new client folder in his computer directory and the notes he’d posted last night before falling asleep next to Alana, at that moment his newest client. A full day. More like a full couple of days. In going into game mode, he failed to notice her obviously stubborn stance after she was quasi-dressed in her bra and a short shift.

“What do you mean,
work out
? I don’t have regular clothes. In fact, I’ve got to run back to the hotel to clean up.”

Immediately, his chest tightened. Nope. Alana leaving wasn’t in the cards. According to his gut reaction, anyway. Jonathan rubbed his forehead, and then resorted to tugging on his hair. “You’ll be staying here. If you need something, you pick up the phone and order it.”

“Now hold on, Mr. Control Freak. I have my personal effects at the hotel. I can’t just go order the things that I need, Jon. I want
my stuff
. And besides, what about things like prescriptions?” Her pink face deepened to the most delicious shade of frustration and anger, and he liked this side of her: when she was about to free her claws and tear him to shreds. She stalked over to him. Didn’t she realize he was naked under the sheet draped across his lap, and how easy it would be to yank her back to bed?

“Alana, clothing, medication…things in suitcases—none of it matters, And yes, it’s all totally replaceable. This is two weeks. Not an eternity. What if you’d lost them on a flight
? Roll with it
. Isn’t that one of your songs? You’re the one who brought up living in the moment…remember?”

“You can’t just dictate my existence. I mean really, Lansing. And a song is fictional.”

“That’s where you might want to consider drawing the line between your image and your life. Are you some sort of closet conservative? I need to know those things.”

“You’re manipulating, and coming close to that bastard I met last night. Don’t play my image against me. Back to the issue. Explain why I can’t go back to the hotel. That seems to be the issue, not whether I’m tied to my possessions. Let’s call a spade a spade, and don’t shit me.”

“Alana, we’re on a schedule. It’s tight, but if you can’t live without something clear across town, then we can waste the hour and change it will take to get you there and then back to your appointment.”

“Seriously, are you telling me you begin your day before…what? Eight in the morning?”

“Try seven. Sharp. Your first appointment is at Spellman Photography. So if you don’t want to be late, jump in the shower. I’ll order you some clothes and by the time you’re done, they’ll be here.”

“How is that possible?”

“I took the liberty of setting things up last night.” He looked down at his cell screen after the alert beep: Clarissa texting a slew of questions. Things were heating up fast on the business side as well. No use pretending. He signed up for this junket and now he had to do his job.

Jon stood up, unable to hide the hard rod his dick had become. Alana’s gaze dropped, and he caught her slack-jawed expression for a second, until she clamped her mouth shut. He walked forward, bent and retrieved his trousers and boxers. They both needed to learn how to deal with each other beyond the bed, developing some distance. And sure, clothing would help, but one thing at a time.

“Fine. I’m going to shower, but only because I won’t be the reason we’re running late.” She turned and strode into the bathroom, slamming the door shut.

Something came apart in his chest and he followed her warpath. Naked and without knocking, he burst into the bathroom and took hold of her. “I might not be able to fuck you, but I never said I wouldn’t spank your arse. And I’ll do it as much as needed to get you on track. My mistake in thinking one night would do. Clearly, you and I could stage a fuck-a-thon in this hotel bed and make Yoko Ono and John Lennon appear as lightweights. But don’t,” he said, pulling her closer, pressing his cock against her thigh and causing his nuts to ache, “make the mistake of thinking that I will let you act like a spoiled child.”

Chapter Three

A loud knock interrupted the quiet of the hotel suite and Alana cracked opened the bathroom door. She heard Jonathan’s voice thank someone. In turn a man answered, saying something about a delivery. The outer door closed and there was no more talk, nor any sound of another person entering the suite.

Alana walked back to the vanity counter and wiped a hand towel down the mirror, clearing the fog caused by the shower. Opening drawers, she scouted for a comb as her heart rate continued to beat in triple speed. The bathroom had every imaginable necessity and much more. She picked up a bottle filled with pills. Her gaze traveled through the cabinet, overstocked with hair and skin products, stopping briefly to consider the immense assortment of medications—a regular drugstore, complete with prescription drugs for anxiety and sleeplessness like the one in her hand.

No painkillers or speed, but if her allergies kicked up, she’d be set. She put the bottle back on the shelf. Drugs weren’t her bag. She’d seen too many glamour girls and guys, rolling high on stage, and sure, some singers could hold their own straight or messed up. She was not one of them.

She clutched a packet with a wide-tooth comb. Brand new. Ripping off the outer plastic wrap, she wondered how Christy had fared last night. Her friend teetered on a perilous edge. Alana had helped her friend pick up the pieces of her life after a bout of men and drugs had taken their toll. Christy had gotten clean. A year so far, and no drugs. None of the members in Orion indulged openly after Christy’s last run-in with drugs. That pricey mess had resulted in a series of missed gigs and cost the band much-needed cash.

At least Alana had won a concession from every member in Orion last night that, while in Nashville, they’d stay clean and virtually sober. They’d all agreed that boozing, dope, and drugs would hurt their shot at success. This was the line she walked, and sometimes dragged her best friend along, since arriving. The battle-of-the-bands in Nashvegas had an unspoken rule: rock hard—on and off stage.

She’d worried about Christy and would phone her as soon as she finished getting dressed.

A double-knock on the bathroom door broke into her thoughts. “I’ve some things for you. Where do you want me to place them?” Jonathan asked, without pushing through the already partially-cracked door.

Just the sound of his voice had her nipples tightening and she held her breath, wishing he’d appear.

But he stayed put on the other side of the door. She guessed he didn’t dare enter, not after the last time. His raging anger almost had her begging him to just do it. Fuck her up against the bathroom wall. Two weeks, and she couldn’t see how to get through a single day without coming unglued in Jon’s presence. It’s not as though she could pretend he didn’t exist.