“I...” I couldn’t think anymore, couldn’t breathe. My entire world was lost to those brilliant blue eyes. That throbbing hardness that wanted me as much as I wanted it.
“Say it,” Jackson growled, placing his hands on the sink, penning me in. “Say you want me.”
“Jackson,” I gasped, “I don’t—”
“Say you want me,” he repeated, and pressed his rock hard body against mine.
I felt the full, throbbing thickness of him against my thigh and my entire universe folded in on itself. “I want you,” I whispered, “I want you, I want you—”
Jackson brought his firm lips to mine, swallowing my words. His powerful mouth opened mine, and a shudder coursed through my body as I felt his tongue slide against mine. I opened my mouth to him, savoring the taste of him, his indescribable and unforgettable taste. His lips moved against mine, brushing against me with just the right amount of force. He had complete authority over my body. I knew that I was his to control, his to use, from that moment on.
He wrapped his powerful arms around my waist, pulling me against him. I flattened my hands on the smooth panes of his chest—they were like marble beneath my fingers. His hands ran down over the small of my back and cupped my round ass firmly. He let out a groan as his hands closed around the firm rise of my ass, and his teeth closed around my bottom lip with a delicious little pinch.
I cried out a little as I felt myself being hoisted into the air. Jackson thrust me up onto the sink, pushing my back against the mirror. He knocked my knees apart and pressed his body hard against me. His pulsating member was throbbing against my already soaked-through panties, a few flimsy layers of fabric were all that stood in the way. That spot between my legs, the center of my sensation, was practically burning, aching, and screaming for his touch. All I wanted in the world was to feel the hard length of him part my silky flesh, drive up inside of me, and leave me writhing in a million little pieces.
With a gasp, I dug my fingers into his black curls, thrusting my tongue into his mouth with utter abandon. How could the taste of someone be so intoxicating? With his bulging hardness pressed firmly against the place I wanted to feel it most, Jackson let his fingers dance across my belly. I quivered as he brushed against my bare skin, working further and further up my torso. I felt my nipples stand up, erect, as he slipped his hands under the hem of my loose tee shirt. With expert agility, he unhooked my bra and let the garment fall away.
He steadied himself, grinding his member tantalizingly against my hot wetness, and wrapped his strong hands around my breast. My head fell back against the mirror with a smack. He was everywhere at once, and I wasn’t sure if I could take it. He brushed his thumbs ever so lightly over my nipples, and I let out a desperate moan. If he didn’t take me right that second, perched on the sink or not, I was going to explode all over the tile.
“I would like to point out,” he growled, his hands kneading the generous softness of my breasts, “That I’m not breaking any rules, here.”
The talk of rules brought my waking mind back to life. “What?” I gasped.
“You started it in the town car,” he said, taking the tiniest step back. “I was just responding to your advances. Belatedly, sure. But you started it.”
I stared at him incredulously, suddenly quite aware of how ridiculous I must look. “I did not start this!” I screeched as he took another step back from me. He was grinning from ear to ear, as if he’d just won a big stuffed animal from the carnival.
“Whatever you say,” Jackson sang, making his way toward the door. “But I know your secret now, Miss Vansant.”
“What’s that?” I said, covering my breasts with my hands and hopping down off the sink.
“I know that you want me,” he said, slipping out that door, “And don’t think that I’m ever going to forget it. Now why don’t you get dressed and come back to the party? I know how much you love whiskey shots.”
I stared after him, speechless, as the door snapped shut. “What the fuck...?” I said to myself, “What the fuck just happened...?”
I spun hopelessly around, taking in the room once more. My eyes fell heavily back upon my reflection. My skirt was all bunched up around my hips, my bra lay discarded on the floor. My eye makeup was streaked across one cheek, and my hair had gone flat in the back. Most of all, my body was twisted into knots of unfulfilled anticipation, wound up tight as a clock.
“What are you looking at?” I said to my reflection, hooking myself back into my bra, “He started it!”
Chapter Six
I learned a very hard lesson on my flight from New York City to London: If you’re going to consummate your lust for a temperamental rock star with a hot and heavy make out session, don’t do it when you’re going to be stuck in a small aircraft with him for the next seven hours.
Somehow, I managed to extricate myself from the bathroom of Jackson Brent’s private jet and rejoin the party that was raging in the cabin. There was nothing to be done but hold my head up high and pretend like our mind blowing encounter hadn’t rattled me one bit. It was utterly untrue, of course; those few minutes of impassioned groping against the bathroom sink had completely demolished my will power. If Jackson had made a move to screw me right there on the tile floor, I would have had no choice but to give myself over to him. But instead, he’d backed off. I couldn’t tell which outcome was more infuriating, in the end.
After taking a minute to clean myself up, I sidled back to join Jackson’s entourage. The whole group was carousing and carrying on, acting as though the plane was a night club. I didn’t know how any of these people managed to crawl out of bed in the morning with all the partying they did. My sleep schedule had been set in stone since I was sixteen years old, and I felt like absolute garbage if I had more than a couple of drinks during the course of an evening. I’d never smoked anything in my life, and had certainly never experimented with hard drugs. I had too many ambitions to waste any time with that nonsense. But if I’d known that I was going to end up in a pit of sin like that airplane, maybe I would have worked on strengthening my tolerance a little.
“Lois!” shouted Eddie, the guitarist of Carnal Knowledge. “Hey, Lois Lane!”
I looked over my shoulder like an idiot, thinking for a moment that he must be talking to someone else. I only got the joke when the rest of the party burst into laughter at my expense.
“That’s great,” said Marco, the drummer. “That’s your name from now on, sweetheart.”
“My name is Alexa,” I said primly, “And I’m not your sweetheart.”
“You’ve got that right,” Marco snorted, pulling the pixie-like Britt onto his lap.
I scowled at the thick-set man and cast my eyes about the cabin, searching for Jackson. For a minute, it seemed as though he’d retired to the back of the plane for a little alone time. But then I realized that he wasn’t missing from the party at all—he was simply obscured by the female body that was perched on his lap. Sadie, the tattooed little spitfire who seemed to be the leader of the groupies, was hanging onto Jackson without any discernible intention of letting go. She glared at me mischievously through heavily-lined eyes.
“You were in the bathroom an awfully long time,” she drawled, running her fingers through Jackson’s hair, “Were you tossing your cookies or something?”
My eyes flicked toward Jackson’s, but he kept his gaze fixed pointedly away from mine. A hot pulse of anger coursed through my veins. So that’s the game we’re playing, I thought. But out loud, I said, “Just freshening up. Some of us like to take pride in our physical appearances.”
To my surprise, the girl didn’t seem offended by my insult. Instead, she looked rather impressed. “Well done,” she said, “Maybe you’re not as much of a spineless brat, after all.”
“Gee, thanks,” I said, rolling my eyes. I took a seat by the window and turned away from the group, fuming. If Jackson Brent thought that I was going to be just another groupie, he was sorely mistaken. That littl
e romp in the bathroom had been a momentary lapse in judgement. I definitely wouldn’t be making another mistake like that.
Before I could guard against it, the image of Jackson advancing toward me, the front of his jeans bulging, his eyes smoldering, invaded my mind’s eye. A little shudder passed through my body, and I prayed that no one would notice. Lucky for me, the assembled rock types were far too busy pumping various substances into their bodies to notice me. I pulled my knees into my chest and stared out the window, peering down at the Atlantic Ocean far below us. This was going to be one hell of a trip.
Jackson and his crew didn’t stop the party for one second of the hours-long plane ride. I’d been hoping to get some preliminary thoughts down on paper, but the instant I pulled out my notebook, a half dozen people jumped down my throat.
“No notes allowed!” Marco shouted, snatching my pen away, “How are you going to get the full experience here if you’ve got your face in a notebook the whole time?”
“Just be in the moment,” cooed Annabelle, the would be wood nymph groupie.
I’d ceded my note taking supplies and opted for simple observation. I felt like a zookeeper, watching over a group of rambunctious baboons. It wasn’t until we began our descent that they seemed to snap into action. They moved like a flock of migratory birds, each assuming his or her place within the group mechanism as we prepared to land. I realized that these people, barbaric and immature as they may have seemed, were a well-oiled machine. Each person had a part to play within the band, a function to fulfill. No wonder they were so opposed to my being there—I was extraneous. Though their arrangement seemed random at first, it was anything but. They were afraid that I was going to throw off their groove, break the machine they’d work so hard to build. Well, they certainly didn’t have to worry about that. It’s not like I had any interest in being a part of their world.
The plane finally touched down at Heathrow International Airport after an excruciatingly long flight. Everyone gathering their things and started for the exit, but I grabbed onto Jackson’s arm before he could walk away from me.
“Are you giving me the cold shoulder?” I asked in a low voice.
“What are you talking about?” he replied, looking at me like I was crazy.
“After what happened back there,” I said, gesturing toward the bathroom.
“Oh, right,” he said, absentmindedly, “That.”
“That?!” I cried, staring at him incredulously. “That was rather a big deal, don’t you think?”
“Listen, Lois,” he started, sneering down at me.
“Alexa,” I corrected forcefully.
“Listen, Alexa,” he continued, “What happened back there is what you might call and occupational hazard. At least when you’re working with me. Try not to read too much into it, OK?”
“Bullshit,” I said, “That’s bullshit and you know it, Jackson.”
“Oh?” he said, seemingly amused by my insolence.
“I am more to you than a plaything,” I said, “I know that I am. You may be a good actor, Jackson, but you’re not great. I can see right through this playboy nonsense. I know that you actually care about me, what I think. You can pretend all you like, but I know that you want me, too.”
Jackson smiled at me coolly and, to my overwhelming chagrin, patted the top of my head like I was a well-trained spaniel. Before I could scream, or slap him across the face, he turned away and headed for the exit of the plane. I hurried after him, with a mouthful of venomous words to shoot his way. I took a deep breath, ready to rage against his condescension, just as he swung out of the open doorway.
A deafening roar of applause and cheering hit me like a wave as I leapt after him. A million flashbulbs blinded me as I stumbled down the stairs after Jackson. A sea of fans and paparazzi lined the runway, jumping and shouting over each other as Jackson made his way past them. I staggered after my rock star subject like a newborn foal, completely stunned by the force of these people’s adoration. Did they not realize that they were worshipping an infuriating, immature, game-playing asshole?
No, I thought, of course they don’t realize that. All they saw was Jax Brent, the rock star, not Jackson Brent, the man. He was playing a part for them, and quite convincingly. But I knew there was someone beneath the rock star disguise. The question was, who was that someone? Had I actually met the real Jackson Brent, the authentic version, or had that part still not been revealed to me? I thought about Jackson turning down my advances in the limo and carrying me up to bed. I thought about him kissing my mother’s hand. How could I reconcile that person with the asshole who had just snubbed me so royally?
I didn’t have much time to dwell on the conundrum, though. As I blindly followed Jackson through the sea of people, I spotted a towering tour bus idling before us. The rest of the entourage had already piled on, and were hanging out of the windows, waving to fans. Jackson vaulted onto the bus and headed inside, completely neglecting to offer me a hand. I scrambled onboard after him, half expecting the doors to slam in my face. When I was safely inside, the engine roared to life, and we peeled away from the screaming crowd.
“Oh, you’re still here?” Sadie drawled, as I took my seat. I looked over at her, saw that there was a playfulness to her teasing that hadn’t been there before. “I thought you would have bolted as soon as we hit the ground.”
“No way,” I shot back with a smile, “I haven’t even contracted my souvenir STD yet! Maybe you could give me some pointers?”
“That’s enough,” said Pete, the band’s manager. He raised his voice to address the rest of the assembled party. “Listen up, everyone. We got a late start out of New York, thank you very much Jackson.”
“Don’t mention it,” Jackson shouted.
“So that means we’re heading right to our first venue,” Pete continued, “Of course, since you all got so much quality rest on the plane, you should be good to go for the performance, right?”
“Let’s fuckin’ kill it!” shouted Turbo, punching the seat in front of him. I had lost count of the different pills that had flown down Turbo’s gullet during the flight. In fact, everyone but me had ingested at least a handful of different mind-altering substances. Was this just the norm with these people?”
“The arena’s just ahead,” Pete said, “So start pumping yourselves up, yeah?”
“I think they’re way ahead of you,” I mumbled, looking over the party.
The four band members were on their feet, jumping and stretching and yelled encouragement to each other. The roadies were scrambling around the bus, looping cords and cables around their bulging biceps. The three groupies were skittering around the musicians, laying hands on their backs and shoulders, planting kisses wherever there were patches of bare skin. The whole display was a writhing, shifting orgy. It was like the whole lot of them were involved in a single relationship, a polyamorous collection of parts. I’d never seen anything like it.
In no time at all, the bus was screeching to a stop once more. Pete started yelling instructions to everyone in sight, and the group surged toward the exit of the bus en masse. As Jackson flew past me, he grabbed me forcefully by the arm an yanked me alongside him. His eyes were shining with anticipation, and he looked ten years younger with all the excitement of heading into show.
“Come on,” he said, tugging me along as he careened off the bus, “Don’t want you getting lost in the shuffle, do we?”
The runway from the bus to the doors of the arena was flanked with another horde of screaming people, this one even bigger and more boisterous than the one at the airport. Cameras flashed, reporters screamed out, dazzled fans went into fits as Jackson walked past them. You’d have thought a god had come down from the heavens to walk among them, or something.
Security guards ushered us into the backstage area, but even there it was chaos. Stage hands and producers swarmed around the dimly lit space, barking orders at each other. Someone shouted to Jackson that he was needed in the green room,
and I latched onto his arm, suddenly filled with fear. He turned toward me and saw the panic in my eyes. A fleeting expression of concern passed over his features. He took me by the shoulders, looking intently into my eyes.
“Hey,” he said, “Are you OK?”
“Uh-huh,” I lied, “Just a little overwhelmed.”
He smiled, every inch the Jackson I remembered from our private moments in the city. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I won’t lose you. Sadie and the girls will take care of you while we play the show.”
“You want me to hang out with your groupies?!” I cried, “Isn’t there a press room or something?”
“Look around, Lois!” he said with a laugh, “Does this look like a press room kind of joint?”
“No,” I admitted, feeling like a little girl.
“Just try to relax,” Jackson said, “Try to have a little fun, for fuck’s sake. Enjoy the show!”
Before I could say another word, he planted a firm kiss on my lips. The madness of the backstage world melted away as soon as his lips brushed against mine. But the peace was fleeting. Jackson smiled devilishly at me a tore away, leaving me alone in the dark.
“Well, well!” cackled a voice behind me. I spun around to find the groupies looking at me with something like admiration. “Don’t tell me you’re one of us, after all?”
“Not quite,” I said, “But I can’t speak for Jackson’s intentions.”
“Come on then,” Britt squealed in a thick cockney accent, a lollipop still stuck between our teeth, “This is the best part.”
The three girls grabbed me, pulling me toward the wings. They crowded at the very edge of the stage, just beyond the point where the audience could spot them. I leaned around their writhing bodies and peeked out into the audience. My stomach did a somersault as my eyes strained to take in the enormity of the crowd before me. Thousands of people were on their feet in anticipation of Carnal Knowledge’s arrival. The audience’s voices rose up in a huge clamor of shouts and murmurs, and the excitement in the air was as thick as London fog. As I looked on, the house lights in the arena cut out. The crowd let out an ear-splitting roar as it was plunged into darkness. The stage lights blazed to life, hot and blinding. And into the raging, throbbing chaos, the four members of Carnal Knowledge emerged.
Beauty in the Breakdown (A Rock Star Romance Novel) Page 7
