Rock Into Me (6 page)

“Oh, please. Are you going to tell me you’ve never slept with any of your clients?”

He lifted her dress further up her body and cupped her breast. “Actually, I haven’t. Not before tonight. That’s asking for trouble. Then I look at you, and that’s all I see. I believe, this way, we can get to work instead of wanting to fuck each other’s brains out.”

“Convenient.” She stretched out her hand, touching his face. He looked like a boyish version of the man seated in front of her all night. Her chest constricted and she pulled away.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Do you always rationalize the reasons for breaking rules? That seems like a tremendous waste of time.”

“The excuses, or the breaking of rules? Or is there something less flippant that you’d like to know?” Her breast was now in his hand and he pinched her nipple, teasing the tip with his thumb while his cock was still hard inside her.

Lansing’s eyes were half-lidded and magical, beguiling her to stop asking inane questions. They were conversing as though they’d met for coffee, not just enjoyed a hot fuck and were about to start up again.

 She clenched her pussy around him and relished his gasp and the closing of his eyes. Power. That’s what the problem was here. He had more than she. “How much longer until we get to the hotel?”

“Not long.” He pushed up from her chest by straightening his arms. The sinewy cords of muscle in his neck tensed as he held that position directly above her, yet still maintained their hip-to-hip connection. “A few blocks. We leave the highway, and then it’s about a mile down.”

The lights of the street alternated with shadows as they exited the highway, playing a game of hide-and-seek with his facial features as he stared down at her.

“God, I don’t want this to end. I could fuck you until sunrise, and then some.” His back arched, and his dick slid out of her. Sitting back on the seat, he brought her leg out from behind his hips, holding onto her booted calf for a beat. His cock was still erect and tapped against her leg as it crossed over his lap. The shiny condom tightly encased the thick girth of his shaft, wet with her juices. She peered upward at the neon lights from famous bars that glowed in the reflection of the privacy panel. “How on earth do you dance in these things?” he asked.

She laughed at the amazement in his voice. “Not by making excuses, I can tell you that.”

“You never answered my question. The last two. Is evasion part of your charm?”

“Let me evade while you rearrange your business diktats, and we should get along fabulously.”

“Really. Is that how you want this to go down?”

“You’re the one that said you needed to fuck me in order to work with me. I didn’t make that up.” Alana sat forward, pulling down her dress. She ignored him watching her as she tied her hair into a knot at the nape of her neck and untangled an earring that had gotten caught in her hair.

“That’s not exactly what I said.” He waved a white handkerchief in what might have been jest, and then shook his head. He removed the used condom and wrapped it inside the cloth before depositing it in the trash bin.

Alana bit her lip, unable to turn away when he pushed his hardened cock back into his pants, adjusted himself, and zipped his fly. She murmured, “Close enough.”

He turned to face her. “Damn. Are we back to square one? I thought this would ease the tension between us. Not rekindle the fires of Dante’s
Inferno
.”

“I’m so sorry your business proposal has gone awry. Not everything works out as planned.”

They pulled up in to the front of the Hermitage and he grimaced. The valet approached the car and the driver lowered his window, extending his hand for the ticket.

She gathered her purse, arranging the straps over her shoulder. “So, how do I go about getting my room?”

“It’s a suite. Are you saying you’d prefer to go up alone?”

“I think so. I’m tired. And this has been fascinating, getting to know you, Mr. Lansing.”

“Likewise,” he said, staring over at her. He tunneled his perfect fingers through hair that was another version of Lansing. A wild flavor. His just-fucked hair, she surmised, and man, if it didn’t look fantastic on him.

Why was she doing this? Clearly he wanted to fuck her again, and the lower half of her body was screeching to shut up and let him.

She spied the condom wrapper on the floor of the car. This wasn’t going to end well. No matter if he came up to the room or not. His rules were bendable, and so twisty only an idiot would think it safe to jump back into this out-of-control passion pit.

Lansing had a rule, she’d venture, one he rarely broke:
his way
. And she wasn’t about to have some high-powered record label CEO tie knots into her already fragile life. If Mark had done a ton of damage as some crummy DJ, what could a man like Lansing do if his plans were frustrated?

“What name is the suite under?” she asked, forcing her voice to remain steady.

“I’m not that much of a bastard, to boot you out onto the curb.”

She hugged her purse closer and fought not to ask how much of a bastard was he, then? “I don’t have an issue with being dropped at the front of the hotel.” Better than risk him going up to the suite.

“I’ll see you inside.”

“Just the lobby, and then good night.”

“I’m not so hard up that I have to push myself onto a woman, Ms. St. James.” He gave her an inscrutable look before pressing the intercom. “Andrews, we’ll be getting out here.”

“I thought it was to the lobby and no further? Are all your words playthings?”

“I never made any bargain about a stop and drop. We have a deal. And just because you might be tired doesn’t mean that I trust my interests not to go gallivanting off to clubs until dawn. You’re in the battle of the bands, and your partying history isn’t exactly a little secret.”

“That’s none of your business. I gave you my word that I was on board with your plan. I’m not the one who arbitrarily bends the rules.”

“Regardless, I won’t harass you. We have an early morning tomorrow, and I don’t have the time to arrive here to collect you, only to discover you’ve enjoyed the mini-bar for half the night.”

She’d heard it all, and then some. There weren’t enough numbers to count down to serenity.

“Kiss my ass,” she hissed between her clenched teeth.

“Baby, show it to me and I’ll do more than kiss it.”

The driver opened the car door, saving her from making a bigger moron of herself by telling Lansing to go fuck himself. After she’d glanced down and noticed he was still sporting a hard-on inside his pants, she swallowed the lump in her throat, confused by the spark of heat that suddenly erupted deep in her belly, urging her to straddle his lap.

Bitch.
That’s the only thought that kept replaying in his head as the urge to fuck her grew stronger and stronger. Jonathan reached out to help Alana from the back, expecting her to wave him away, but she grasped his hand. Her warm fingers were dainty in his palm. The tips of her nails were long and painted a light aqua hue, unlike the jarring colors so many rock musicians were fond of wearing these days.

Her whole style was reminiscent of another genre and another era altogether. Leather and lace, glittery glam-rock from years ago. She appeared the misfit among the other members of the band, which he speculated was one more reason why she stood out on stage. And her looks. Where did she get those exotic and mesmerizing features? Her almond-shaped eyes and full, blood-red lips. He wondered, but then cursed himself for caring enough to ponder.

His brain wasn’t the only traitor in this match-up. His dick refused to let go of the idea of getting another chance at making her go hot and liquid around him. And when she’d so nicely told him to kiss her ass—well, fuck him hard—that had to be the best idea yet. What a fine ass she had, too. One he could imagine doing all sorts of naughty things with, given the chance.

Gritting his teeth, he silently cursed himself one more bloody time. His palms were sweating as though he was a teenager back in boarding school. It was lunacy to think they could continue down this stormy path. A few more times, and he got that she’d wreak havoc on his orderly existence. But she was like a drug, and he wanted more of her. Much more.

So far, fucking her in the back of the car was the best and worst idea he’d had to date. If it wasn’t for the condoms stowed away for his horny clients who used this car, he’d not have known this type of bliss existed. It had been years since he’d felt this free. He’d had the excellent luck to meet Alana St. James and get another lesson on how life plans took detours. The difficult part was trusting that not all of them would result in disasters.

Not since Natalie had he given into a crazy urge to chuck his plans, throwing caution to the wind. His chest tightened, a vault slamming shut. Tonight it was a bit more bearable to think about Nattie. That was years ago, and permissible when he was twenty-two. About to hit his thirty-ninth birthday and running—not just owning—a  Billboard-topping record label along with a roster full of clients…well, this type of insanity was untenable. Inexcusable.

It had been bad enough watching Alana on stage and fantasizing what a great lay she’d be, but after confirming her pussy was better than great, he realized that’s where his torture had begun in earnest. She was so tight and wet, and her ability to clench around him had his cock throbbing in his pants in memory and anticipation.

The assurance that sex with Ms. St. James was by far the finest he’d experienced in years was worse than having to put up with a pair of blue balls.

He wanted to slam his head against the granite column he’d just passed. The sight of her hips sashaying up ahead, moving through the lobby doorway, had him counting the beats for each time her hips went back and forth. He lost his head momentarily, imagining her riding him and the whimpering sounds that spilled from her mouth as he thrust into her when she was about to orgasm.

“Mr. Lansing, welcome back. Your suite is ready. Sir?”

He inhaled sharply, getting a whiff of his client’s floral perfume, and he released the edge of the mahogany counter, focusing his attention on what the desk clerk was saying.

“Thank you.” He accepted the room keys, ignoring the slight arch to the Ice Princess’s winged brow. Standing next to her, he pulled out his wallet. “Credit card?” he asked the hotel clerk.

“Not necessary,” the clerk said. “Here, if you’ll just sign the check-in screen, I’ve got you all set per your email earlier. Your other client is in Penthouse, side B. We’ve arranged for you to be in side A for a two-week stay.”

“Very good. I’d like to arrange for a driver to be on call as well. I didn’t include that in my directives.”

“I’ll take care of that. I don’t think I can get a private car immediately. There’s a cab service right outside. This time of night and all.”

“Tomorrow morning will be fine.”

Lansing abruptly turned, unprepared for seeing Alana in the light of the hotel lobby. She wasn’t beautiful—Alana St. James was stunning. He didn’t know if she was truly photographic without any test shoots; regardless, he’d wager it would be easy money going with the affirmative. She’d won the lottery with her bone structure. Faces and bodies like hers weren’t a product of Photoshopping—they were genetic anomalies.

Her brows drew together as if puzzled.

“Need something?” he asked, averting his gaze to keep from lingering on the tempting line of cleavage, and into her eyes, growing ever wider by the second. The aquamarine color wasn’t real. Couldn’t be, and he smirked at finding a flaw.

“Do you wear contacts?”

“I’ve twenty-twenty vision, last time I checked. Why do you ask?”

“Nothing,” he muttered, feeling his own brows tighten, and she looked twice as concerned as before. His attempt to find a fault with her outer assemblage was growing useless. Isn’t that why he’d believed she’d be easy to market? Her beauty dazzled as well as stunned. No point in disputing his professional assessment of her tonight. It was a done deal. One where he’d have to learn to suck it up in her presence.

“Your security card,” he said, handing her the envelope with her key. “Don’t lose it.”

She hugged her bag to her body, coming away from the counter. The hem of her dress lifted, easing up her thigh.

He’d been blown away all night by this poor excuse for a dress, and he noticed the men—or rather, the wolves—in the lobby all tracked Alana in her movements toward the elevator. Jonathan clenched his jaw, staring down the men who kept vigil in case she might look their way.

“I don’t need a babysitter. I’ve taken care of myself for years.”

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. No one else to temper the ride. He followed her into the car and turned around, facing the mirrored panels inside the elevator. She surrounded him at every glance. Even looking up, he got a bird’s eye view down her dress.

He opted to study the certificate of safety inspection inside the lift, muttering, “Couldn’t tell by the way you dress, or how much alcohol you and your band indulge in regularly. You think this is a party? Yeah, right.”

She leaned over, hands on her incredible hips, and launched ahead in shrew mode. “I don’t know why you’re acting so put out. This whole thing was your idea. You wanted to be joined to me at the hip. Well?”

The smell of her fragrance, the sound of her words, and the way she bit her lip after her tirade irked every cell in his body. In vain he inhaled, only to get another lungful of her seductive scent. He tightened his jaw, fully intending on holding up his palm to ward her off, when his fingers grazed her luscious tit. Firm, and from his earlier experience, perfectly suited to his palms.

He might have had a chance in hell if she’d not pushed her tits fully into his fingers, egging him on. He slanted his gaze over to her, praying he’d find an expression of shocked outrage. He could take her bitch banter to keep the distance between them more easily than her wide-eyed stare. That’s not what he got.

“You’re just going to huff and puff all night?” Alana’s whispered query was every bit as seductive as she’d been on stage, in the alley, and laying on the backseat of his privately-driven car.