Jet

by Rhian Cahill

  “No. The Screaming Tuesdays are an equal partnership. We’re a team.”

  She was momentarily taken back by his ferocity. From what she’d seen, Jet was the king of his domain. She’d seen him smooth anger and frustration. Bring calm when there was chaos. He led them all without being arrogant or an arsehole. The band, the manager who’d been with them from the beginning, the roadies, those that had joined just for this leg of the tour, they all respected and trusted him. Were inspired by him.

  He was nothing like the egotistical, self-important rock star the media portrayed.

  Maybe that’s why she was drawn to him. Why she couldn’t shake this attraction no matter how hard she tried.

  Because Jet Stone wasn’t the superficial manwhore she’d expected.

  Dragging her mind back to the interview, Charlie pushed deeper. “When will the songs you’re working on now be ready for recording?”

  His eyes widened a fraction, but if she hadn’t been watching him closely, she’d have missed his reaction. “We’re not working on anything at the moment. Our next album is done. We had enough material to produce two during our last studio session.”

  “Really? So what you’ve been working on all tour is for the album after that?”

  “I’m not working on anything.” He didn’t look at her when he spoke.

  She’d seen him scribbling in a notebook whenever he was alone. Noticed he’d shove the thing away when someone approached and had wondered why the move appeared secretive. Now she knew it had been. “Oh. Then what are you writing in that notebook of yours?”

  Jet’s gaze zoomed to hers, locking her in a death-stare while his jaw twitched and his nostrils flared. Charlie had seen him angry and upset over the course of the last three months, but she’d never had that lethal look aimed at her. It sent a chill down her spine.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he ground out between his teeth.

  O-kay. So whatever Jet was working on, he didn’t want anybody to know about it. Her reporter’s nose twitched, her mind whirling with possibilities, and before she could think better of it words were leaving her mouth. “Is it something for just you? Are you planning to release a solo album?”

  He was on his feet and striding towards the wall of windows overlooking the city before Charlie took her next breath. His back was ramrod straight, his fists clenched and resting against the glass while he leaned forward on his toes. Tension rolled off him in waves.

  “Jet?” She pushed to her feet.

  “We’re done. The interview is over. See yourself out.”

  The words bounced off the glass and echoed through the room, each one razor-sharp and uncompromising.

  Shit. What had she said? She took a step in his direction. “Jet?”

  “Get out.” This time he flung the words at her as he spun on his heel and headed for the bar in the corner. The unmistakable crack of a seal breaking snapped Charlie out of her stunned confusion.

  Heart hammering, she took a cautious step forward. “What are you doing?”

  “Pouring a drink.” He splashed amber liquid into a glass. “And you’re still here.”

  “You don’t drink.” His lack of alcohol consumption had been another thing that didn’t fit the image of Jet Stone, lead singer of The Screaming Tuesdays. And if she were honest, she wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t witnessed him turn down drink after drink over the last few months.

  “Tour’s over.” Jet smiled—grimaced really—and brought the glass to his lips. He tossed back the drink with a desperation that shook Charlie to her core.

  “Jet?”

  “Still here.” One thick eyebrow arched. “Get out, Charlie.”

  She could hear the leashed control in his words. The way they vibrated with barely concealed anger, disgust. His icy stare cut through her like a hot knife through butter.

  “Change your mind about fucking me here?”

  “What?”

  “The interview’s over.” He stepped from behind the bar his hands going to the waistband of his sweats, pushing them lower on his hips. “Time to get to the fucking.”

  Charlie wasn’t sure why he was trying to be crude, almost hurtful, but she knew that’s exactly what he was doing. She didn’t know why her questions had tripped his switch, but he’d definitely gone from the guy she’d come to know to the one she’d believed had been a media fabrication until now.

  Now she saw the arrogant arsehole who had the world at his feet and knew it. The one who didn’t care who he hurt as long as he got whatever he wanted.

  And right now he wanted her gone.

  The question was why.

  ***

  Jet held his breath, every muscle strung tight as he waited for Charlie to leave.

  She didn’t.

  Instead she tilted her head slightly to the right and narrowed her eyes.

  His gut rolled.

  He’d been an arsehole, lashing out at her because she’d cut too close to the bone. Except it wasn’t fear of her discovering his secret that had him reacting in such an extreme manner.

  It was the need hammering inside him. The need to tell her his plans—to reveal the truth about the songs he was writing.

  None of it made sense to him. She was a reporter, for fuck’s sake. Her job was to expose his secrets to the world.

  He reached for the bottle of scotch, splashed a good amount into the glass. This time Charlie didn’t say a word when he tossed back the liquor.

  It went down smooth, warmth filling his chest instead of a burn. Sign of a good scotch. An expensive one. Nothing, but the best for Jet Stone these days. Unlike the rotgut he used to drink.

  “Still here?” he growled, unable to hold his tongue any longer.

  “Does this act normally work?”

  His gaze swung to hers. “Act?”

  She smiled. “You’re forgetting I’ve spent three months making a study of you. Not to mention the numerous articles I’ve read, live interviews and concert footage I’ve watched in that time.”

  Jet stared at Charlie. Before he could say a word, she was talking again.

  “Never mind. Don’t answer that. It obviously does because this”—she waved her hand at him—“is the man I expected to find when I first joined the tour.”

  He opened his mouth to speak and his brain misfired leaving him without a thought except one.

  Charlie Harris was dangerous.

  “So which man is the real Jet Stone? The arrogant jerk who just showed up or the dedicated, respected musician I’ve observed the last few months? And why do you suppose it’s the jerk the media shows the world?”

  She was dangerous all right. Because even though she was asking questions that probed deeper than any other reporter—ones he had no intention of answering because he didn’t know the answer himself—he still wanted her.

  Her mouth tipped down on the ends. “Actually, now that I think about it, you’re more arrogant than jerk most of the time.”

  Jet rocked on his heels. Charlie’s examination of his image made him more than a little uncomfortable. She was seeing things no one else did. Most people didn’t bother scratching beneath the surface. They saw Jet Stone, lead singer of The Screaming Tuesdays, and nothing more.

  Charlie came closer and Jet’s whole body clenched. “What? No comment?” she smiled.

  His lips twitched, but he shutdown the reflex to smile in return. God she drove him crazy.

  Taking another step she got within touching distance and he ruthlessly stomped on the urge to grab her, to pull her against him and cover her mouth with his.

  “Jet?”

  She challenged him on every level, her probing questions and the insane desire that raced through his veins.

  What the hell was he supposed to do? Stick to the professional? Dive into the personal?

  He knew what his body wanted, but his brain kept reminding him of the danger she posed to his future plans. If she revealed them before he had a chance t
o tell those closest to him…

  “If you’re not leaving, can I get you a drink?” Jet wrapped his hand around the bottle and dumped another couple of fingers into his glass. “I really hate to drink alone.”

  He wasn’t sure what made him offer or what possessed him to think it was a good idea. Lord knows neither of them needed to have their common sense drowning in alcohol.

  “I’d rather have answers.”

  Jet eyed her over the glass he’d brought to his lips. He took a sip. Rolled the scotch around his mouth. Swallowing, he placed the glass on the bar. He’d need both hands to do what he wanted.

  “You realise the less you say, the more I’m intrigued, right?”

  He nodded. “But is it the rock star that intrigues you or the man?”

  “Both.”

  “As a reporter or a woman?” He moved closer to her, could feel her heat brush against him.

  “Both.”

  She shocked him. He wouldn’t have thought she’d open herself like that. “Really?”

  “It would be stupid to lie when the answer is obvious.”

  Jet wasn’t sure where to go from here. Other than the bedroom. Or the couch. The floor. But any of those options was jumping the gun. “So what now?”

  “Well, you called an end to the interview, so it’s the woman asking the questions.”

  “You can separate the two?”

  She nodded. “I’ll have to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if I write anything you don’t want me to, all you’d have to do is tell the world we slept together and my career would be over.”

  “I wouldn’t do that.” He moved an inch closer, his chest almost touching hers. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

  “Okay.” Her gaze held his.

  “But I’m interested to know what you think you could say about me that would piss me off.”

  “That you’re planning a solo album.”

  He arched one eyebrow. “I don’t recall saying that.”

  “You didn’t have to. It’s the obvious conclusion.”

  “So we’ve both got something on the line then.” It wasn’t an admission, but it was fucking close and Jet wanted to bite his tongue off for saying it.

  “Me more than you.”

  “Oh.” He raised a hand, ran the tip of his index finger down her cheek. “You think so?”

  Nodding she said, “Definitely.”

  “And yet you’re willing to take the risk.”

  “I think it’ll be worth it.”

  Jet stepped forward, pressed his body into hers and lowered his head to nuzzle the side of her neck just below her ear. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it so worth it you’ll wonder why you didn’t surrender months ago.”

  ***

  Charlie sucked in a breath as a shiver skipped down her spine. Jet moved his lips over her skin in the softest of kisses. Tilting her head, she gave him better access and ran her hands up his back, pulled him closer.

  “Charlie,” he murmured against her.

  “Hmm…”

  “We’re not making it out of this hotel room.” He slid his arms around her waist and lifted. “Wrap your legs around me.”

  And then his mouth was on hers, his tongue thrusting inside. She did as he asked and held on to his shoulders. When he started to walk, she pulled her mouth from his. “Put me down. I can walk.”

  “I know. But for some reason I’m getting off on carrying you to bed.” He grinned at her as he lowered his hands, gripped her arse and squeezed. “Oh, yeah, definitely getting off on it.”

  “Ah, you’re one of those.”

  “One of what?” he asked as he took them deeper into the suite.

  “A guy who likes his woman weak. Afraid you’re going to be disappointed.”

  Jet laughed, the sounded rumbling in his chest, the vibrations travelling through her torso. “Not even close.”

  Before she said another word they entered the bedroom, a huge king bed dominating the space. Like the main area of the suite, the master bedroom was luxurious. Not her personal tastes, but she could appreciate the luxury all the same.

  “Yeah, I know. It’s over the top.” He managed to shrug even with her in his arms. “It’s a place to crash, that’s all.”

  He seemed embarrassed by the flash of their current surroundings and Charlie added it to her mental list of things about Jet she liked. The list that grew with every minute they spent together.

  “You can let go now,” he said, bringing her out of her thoughts.

  Dropping her legs, she let him lower her feet to the floor. A full body shiver rolled through her as her breasts skimmed over his chest, her taut nipples dragging across his hard pecs.

  “You liked that?” Jet lifted her up. Lowered her down. Pressed her against him.

  “Jet.” His name left her lips on a gasp when he dropped her to her feet and gripped her waist.

  He slid his hands up her sides until his thumbs brushed her breasts. She shuddered. Her nipples contracted and throbbed, and her breath stalled in her lungs.

  “Do you have any idea how hard it’s been to keep my hands off you all this time?” Jet moved to cup her, his large hands covering her completely.

  “Jet.”

  “You fit perfectly in my hands.” He let her go, but before she could complain he grabbed the hem of her shirt. “This needs to go.”

  Her top was over her head and on the floor in a heartbeat. And now that he’d started, Charlie wanted to finish. Reaching behind, she undid her bra and let it drop from her shoulders.

  “Fuck.” Jet lean forward and wet heat surrounded her nipple. He sucked hard then eased off, licking and nibbling. “Fuck you taste good.”

  His words vibrated over her breast making her tremble. The hot pull of his mouth, the slick lash of his tongue, drew her insides tighter and tighter.

  He moved to her other breast and Charlie swore if he kept it up she was going to come. Her nipples had never been this sensitive. Then again, no man had ever given them so much attention. Such concentrated attention.

  A small moan left her throat when Jet scraped his teeth along the puckered tip before letting it slip from his warm mouth.

  “We need to get rid of these.” He tugged at her pants. “Help me out a little, Charlie.”

  When he popped the button free, she lowered her zipper and pushed her jeans over her hips, down her legs. Slipping out of her flip-flops, she kicked them and her pants aside then reached for Jet’s t-shirt. “Now you.”

  “Oh, yeah.” He stood and yanked his shirt off. “Get rid of those undies and get on the bed. In the middle. On your back.”

  His orders were delivered in a deeper version of his hot sex voice. This one, she was certain, could give orgasms at fifty paces. Her pussy fluttered. Her breasts, still tingling from his previous attention, throbbed harder, grew heavier.

  Jet pushed his pants down revealing he really did go commando. “On the bed.” He slapped her arse.

  The sound echoed through the room. The sting—brief, but there—morphed into heat somewhere close to pleasure. “What the hell?”

  He eyed her. His gaze made her squirm as warmth flooded her pussy. It had nothing to do with the erotic thrill of that hand on her arse.

  “Hmm…as much as I’d love to play with you, I’m on a short leash. If I don’t get my cock inside you in the next few seconds, I’ll be coming all over the floor.”

  “Play?” She had an idea of what he was talking about, but she’d never gone there.

  Jet nodded. “Later. For now.” He crowded close. “On. The. Bed.”

  His voice had dropped. Deep and rough, the command had her shuddering, dropping her panties and climbing on the bed.

  “Damn.” His hand smoothed over her arse cheek. “Your skin looks so pretty in pink.”

  She moaned as his fingers caressed her.

  “I’m going to have to spend some time spanking this beautiful thing.” Jet palmed both cheeks. “I want to see it
red from my hand and then I want to fuck it.”

  “Jet!” Charlie sprawled on her stomach when he pushed her.

  “You’re gonna let me play, aren’t you, Charlie?” He squeezed her, pressed his thumbs between her cheeks and brushed places never explored.

  “I…”

  “I want you every way I can have you.”

  “Jet. Please.” She wasn’t sure what she was begging for. He wasn’t really touching her. Not in the way she expected. But every part of her was poised on the edge. Teetering on the brink of something unfamiliar.

  Charlie only knew that whatever it was, she wanted it with ravenous intensity.

  ***

  There were so many things Jet wanted to do to Charlie. With Charlie. Just the thought of them had his hands shaking and his groin throbbing. He was so close to losing it.

  He’d never had a problem with control—with prolonging the pleasure—but right now he needed to feel her tight heat clamped around him.

  He grabbed her hips. “Over you go.” She was on her back spread before him in less than a second. And by the time the full second ticked past he’d moved between her legs and buried his face in her pussy.

  She gasped. Bucked against him and pressed her thighs to his ears. Sliding his tongue between her slick folds, he finally got a good taste of her. She was wet and hot and completely addictive.

  “Gonna be hard and fast this first time,” he growled against her flesh.

  And then he took her up and over with two fingers thrust deep, curled and pressed against that sweet spot, and his lips wrapped around the hard knot of her clit. She bucked and thrashed, inarticulate words spilling from her lips while moisture coated his hand, filled his mouth.

  Convulsions continued to rock her as he moved up her body dropping kisses on her quivering belly, between her breasts and finally sealing his mouth to hers.

  “Fuck.” Jet rubbed his cock in the wetness between her legs. “Do I need to suit up?”

  “Huh?”

  “Condom? Do I need one?” He rocked his hips, lodged his cock just inside her. “I’m clean.”