Elias gets led to the back of the bus by a group of people and Vaughn takes me aside. “Your name’s Sadie?” he says. He has to shout because the party and the music are so loud.
“Yes,” I shout back. “Sadie Faraday.”
Vaughn looks about thirty. He’s still wearing those glasses. I wonder what it would be like to look at the world in yellow all the time. Maybe like life is one long sunny day. “Sadie, I’m Vaughn. Have you done much singing before? Where have you performed?”
I’m about to answer him, when I look towards the back of the bus and see Elias.
He’s surrounded by girls. Lots of girls. Beautiful, scantily-clad girls who obviously have one thing on their mind: getting as down and dirty with Elias Hayes as possible, right now. They don’t seem to mind that they’re not alone in this pursuit. They don’t seem bothered by the prospect of all getting down and dirty with him at the same time. In fact two of them seem almost as interested in each other as they do in Elias.
One of them’s touching his t-shirt. Another’s watching his mouth, like she’s thinking about kissing him. A slim redhead with a tattoo on her hip, above her very-low rise shorts, fingers a strand of his hair.
Elias, amazingly, seems to hardly notice. He’s trying to talk to his bass player. He looks mildly annoyed, like he might shoo them away when he gets around to it, once he’s said whatever it is he’s got on his mind. His hands are playing a sort of air guitar as he talks to his bandmate, so I’m guessing they’re talking about a riff or something.
And then I see more clearly who he’s talking to.
It’s Trevor.
Daisy’s Trevor.
It all clicks into place. He’s a bass player. God, he’s Elias’s bass player. I didn’t recognize him on the far side of the stage earlier, with the hat he was wearing and the sunglasses. His dark blond hair’s longer than it was the last time I saw him.
There’s a girl on Trevor’s lap. And one sort of leaning over him. Her shirt is open and she’s feeding her bare breast to his mouth. He’s laughing and he does a shot of Jack Daniels before he replies to Elias. Then, as a sort of afterthought, he licks the girl’s breast, and takes her nipple into his mouth. The other girl is kissing Trevor’s face and running her hands across his chest as she wriggles on his lap. All this as he’s trying to carry on a conversation.
No wonder he’s too busy to call her.
It’s pretty obvious he’s gearing up for a big night … and one that very definitely doesn’t involve my sister. I wonder if he’ll knock up these girls as well. If he’s got a whole slew of pregnant women crying by their phones, waiting for him to call them.
And suddenly I wonder if Elias does, too. This is his lifestyle. Let me guess: your goddamn overactive dick. He has thousands of women throwing themselves at him every night.
I feel like a such a fool, standing there watching them touch him and fawn all over him as he takes a long drink straight from the whiskey bottle. For ever thinking he was mine.
I realize it then: he’s far too hot a commodity to belong to me, a poor country hick with the same hokey dream as all the girls on this bus and all the girls in that vast, cheering crowd. Who am I kidding? I don’t have a claim on Elias Hayes any more than they do. He’s probably told all the girls about his honesty and his big cock right before he fucks them in the back seat of his Shelby.
Before I know what I’m even doing I’ve left Vaughn in mid-question and I’m walking up to them.
Elias sees me and he sits up. He makes an attempt to brush a few hands off his shoulders and his hair but they’re not easily dissuaded, these girls. They’re ravenous. What a goddamn gentleman, though, really. To notice me standing there and make some lame-ass attempt to fight off his fans for my sake.
I’m so desperate for some air I think I might pass out. So I take a deep breath. And I start with Trevor, who’s making no attempt to brush off his girls. He doesn’t have any problem at all with his status as a playboy heartbreaker. “You don’t deserve her, you bastard,” I say. I don’t sound as calm as I was going for.
“Hey, Sadie,” Trevor says, all laconic smile and green eyes. “I talked to Daisy before the show. She’s knows I have a gig tonight. You sang real good, by the way. I never knew you could sing like that.”
That’s because you know nothing about me. Or my sister. “She knows you have a gig, yeah. What she doesn’t know is that your gig involves getting laid by six women that aren’t her.” This isn’t really like me at all but I’m suddenly feeling at least as dramatic as my sisters. What I’m thinking is that Trevor is a stunning-looking man. He has wavy blond hair, mischievous green eyes and a tall, lanky body. I’m thinking about what a beautiful baby he and my sister will have made.
Daisy was breathless that first night she came home after meeting him. It was love at first sight. She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life, she said. More than safety or caution or doing the sensible thing. And when he’d told her he loved her she believed him.
I know what she’s doing tonight. Waiting. Hoping.
I look at one of the girls, the one who’s sitting on his lap. “I hope you have a nice big box of condoms so you don’t all get knocked up by him like my sister did. And be careful about believing whatever he tells you.”
Elias stands up. His groupies make sounds of protest. “Sadie. What are you talking about?”
I look at Elias. His near-violet eyes and dark hair just have this divine way of catching light. I notice again the halo-effect being cast by the lamp behind him and it makes me hate him even more. For being so perfect yet so damn imperfect. “What am I talking about? I’m talking about lying to someone when you shouldn’t be lying! Instead of just telling it like it is. Before you get in too deep and can’t get out again.”
And there it is: I have to get out.
Before I get in deeper than I can handle. So deep I can’t get away from him because I love him and want him and don’t want to share him.
The thing is, I’m already too deep. I’m so in love with Elias Hayes I think I might shatter when I walk away.
I don’t want to humiliate myself by crying in front of all these people. So I turn and start pushing my way through all the throngs of people. I hear him call my name but I reach the stairs of the bus and stumble down them. I start walking across the parking lot. I don’t know where I’m going or how I’m going to get home but right now I don’t fucking care.
“Sadie!”
I start running. I love him and I hate him too, for making me feel so much. For giving me more than everything I ever knew I wanted then taking it away.
“Sadie!”
He catches up to me and grabs me, twirling me around but I stumble and he catches me. I struggle against his hold but it’s unbreakable. “Damn you! Let me go, Elias! I’m leaving!”
“Sadie, stop fighting me! Where are you going? What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” I hate the sound of what comes out. “’You don’t have to share me, sweetheart’, I mimic. ‘I’m yours.’ True, it’s been a whole three hours since you said that to me. Maybe it slipped your mind when your groupies started groping you. But I guess you’re so used to all that you hardly noticed.” I sound like a desperate wretch, the very last thing I ever thought I’d be. I was the one who was supposed to be immune to all this, the one who was going to control my own destiny and not have it decided for me by something so cliché as love.
Lust, I can handle, I’ve decided. Love is dangerous. Love’ll break your goddamn heart.
“Those girls don’t mean anything to me.”
I scowl at him. “You let them touch you. Your shirt and your hair.”
He sees the tears in my eyes and he looks shocked. He’s so stunning it brings a wave of fresh tears, which makes me even madder. “Sadie. I didn’t. I was talking to Trevor and they were just there. It’s not a big deal. They follow me around. I didn’t even notice them. I onl
y noticed you.”
“I have to go home, Elias.”
“I’ll take you anywhere you want to go, but don’t go because of them.”
“How can you say that? Of course I’m going because of them. I meant what I said: I don’t want to share you!”
Elias wipes my tears with his fingers. He looks stricken, like my reaction has shaken him up in a way that’s new to him. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m just … I’m so used to it, I didn’t think. Sadie, I haven’t had a girlfriend since all this started. I’ve been riding this crazy-train and I’m not used to being exclusive.”
“Maybe you can’t be exclusive, Elias. Maybe it’s not really something you can give. I guess I can understand that. I mean, all those women are clearly really into you and they’re gorgeous and I don’t blame you for wanting –”
“No. I don’t want them. I want you.”
I’m staring at him and he looks all hurt and sort of vulnerable. It’s a look that clashes with his superstar, hard-bodied, heart-throb vibe. It’s all wrong there, and makes me want to give him a hug.
Which would clearly be a bad idea at this point.
What I need to do is get away from him, and as quickly as possible.
I shake off his hold and turn from him to walk away but he won’t let me go. “I can be exclusive. I can. With you. That’s all I want, just you. Please. Give me another chance, Sadie. I promise you, it won’t happen again.”
“How can I know that, Elias?”
“Because I’m saying it to you. I mean it. You’re the only one I want.”
“Elias –”
He drops to his knees and wraps his arms around my thighs, pulling me to him. “Don’t you dare leave me, Sadie! I love you.”
My heart skips a beat.
“I’ve wanted you,” he says, “since that very first second I saw you. Everything’s just so good and so right with you, Sadie. You’re the only one who’s ever really touched my goddamn heart. I need you, darlin’. Please don’t leave me.”
God, I want so badly to believe him. Like Daisy believed Trevor. Oh, God.
I don’t know what to do.
He’s looking up at me. I can’t help it: I’m fingering a strand of his hair. He continues, and his voice is careful and sincere. “I’m talking it through with Vaughn and he likes the idea. You blew him away tonight. You blew everyone away. I think you’re a star, Sadie. I mean it. I want you to tour with me, next month. I want you as my opening act.”
My insides feel like an atomic bomb’s gone off in there. I can’t quite take it all in.
“Did you hear me, Sadie?: I love you. I want you with me. Come and live with me in Nashville until we start the tour. We can spend time in the country too, whenever you want. You can live with me and we’ll swim in the pond together, whenever it’s hot.”
I have no idea how to respond to this. It’s too much.
Elias rests his head against me, like he’s defeated and I’m his strength and his solace. Then he looks at me again and I can see starlight reflecting in his eyes. “Please, Sadie. I’ll do anything. Let me prove it to you. Trust me, kiss me, take my hand. Don’t run away. Stay with me. We’ll write songs and sing them together. We’ll make love every night and travel the world, you and me. Please, say yes.”
My hand slips into his.
Elias stands. He lifts me up and kisses me.
And kisses me.
I’m not sure what I’ve gotten myself into but this offer is just too damn good to refuse.
Dear Readers,
When I started writing Hot Summer Lust, I thought it would be a standalone novella. But the further I got into it, the more I realized there’s a lot more to Elias and Sadie’s story. The second part of Elias and Sadie’s story will be titled Hot Summer Love. If you’d like to keep up to date with my books and their upcoming release dates, please visit my website: www.juliettejonesbooks.com, visit/like my Facebook page at www.facebook.com/juliettejonesbooks, follow me on twitter: @juliettebillion, or email me at [email protected]. And if you enjoyed the book, please consider leaving a review!
Thanks for reading!
Juliette
Also by Juliette Jones:
Read BILLIONAIRE (Part 1)
Coming soon:
JAKE (BILLIONAIRE, Book 3)
HOT SUMMER LOVE
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I felt a cool sense of confidence as I rode the elevator skywards, not because I thought I was in the running for the job I was about to interview for, but for the opposite reason. It was a dream job, beyond the scope of my experience, and I knew I was unlikely to score a gig this good. Sure, I had an English degree from Princeton; I’d graduated near the top of my class; I’d brought along a portfolio of publishing credits. But I was hardly alone in those credentials. The small, neat ad for CEO’s assistant at Skyscraper would attract the best of the best. Every college graduate within a three-state radius would be clambering to get their résumés seen. Not because we had a lifelong dream to be a CEO’s assistant, but because an underling job like this one would lead to other opportunities within the company. And it was a company that every aspiring writer and journalist alike would have sold their teeth to work for. That rare combination of glamorous and highly acclaimed, Skyscraper was the It magazine of the year. I knew most of the other applicants would have more experience than I had, which happened to be exactly none, since I’d graduated only two weeks ago.
So there was an element of resigned defeat to my mood as I approached the meeting. Still, as I checked out my look in the glass reflection of the polished elevator walls, I couldn’t help but notice that my new makeover had definitely done wonders. At the insistence of my roommate, Eva, who’d orchestrated not only a shopping spree but also a pampering frenzy, I’d undergone a startling transformation. I had a stylish new haircut. I’d been massaged, waxed, trimmed, glossed and groomed to within an inch of my life. New city, new priorities, Eva had proclaimed. You’re no longer a student, you’re a hot young urban professional, she’d told me. Living the dream in New York City. I’d argued that I wasn’t a professional until I actually landed a job but she’d laughed that comment off as a technicality. Looking like you do, it’s only a matter of time, she said. Employers love hot, and you, my friend, are the total package. Time would tell if Eva’s estimations were at all accurate.
I tried to let her enthusiasm rub off on me as I studied my own reflection. My long, honey-blond hair fell in sleek, waving skeins; highlights of platinum caught the light. My incongruously dark eyelashes had been lengthened by some carefully-applied mascara. A light green wrap sweater over a short black skirt hugged my curves and emphasized the green of my eyes. I had wondered if the V of the neckline was too low for a job interview but Eva had laughed at my prudishness and ordered me to ‘get real’. She’d even insisted that I wear no bra or underwear. According to Eva, it was the secret to success. It gives you an added sensuality that no one can quite put their finger on, according to Eva. I’d protested, of course, but her mulishness had won me over. Just try it, she’d insisted. You’ll see. So here I was, clad from head to toe in exactly one layer of clothing. To-die-for black leather boots completed the outfit. The boots had cost a fortune, but Eva had reasoned that the cost would spur my impetus to get earning as quickly as possible. I didn’t bother telling her I had that impetus anyway, cringing every time I thought of my student loan. Anyway, I knew I’d never looked better. And it was true: my wanton secret made me feel bold and somehow risqué.
With that in mind, as the elevator binged and the doors slid open, I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders and entered the lobby of Skyscraper. A lone receptionist sat behind a large mahogany desk with a massive print of the New York skyline mounted on the wall behind her. She watched me approach and took in my hair, my body and
my boots with a somewhat critical eye. If I had worried that more than hint of my own cleavage was visible, I laid that concern decisively to rest now, as the receptionist’s ample breasts were barely concealed by an almost-sheer fitted black top. Her outfit, her gleaming long dark hair and ruby red lips seemed to announce that her after-work plans were already on her mind. Employers love hot. Apparently so.
“Lila Carmichael?” she asked.
“Yes. I’m meeting with the interview panel at three o’clock.”
“Actually, Miss Carmichael, several members of the panel are otherwise engaged this afternoon. You’ll be meeting with Mr. Wolfe himself.”
I had heard rumors about Alexander Wolfe’s reclusiveness and also his ruthlessness and acumen when it came to matters of business, but even so, I felt mildly relieved by this. Public speaking had never been my strongpoint, and a one-on-one meeting sounded less intimidating than a full-blown inquisition before a panel of many.
“He’s expecting you,” said the receptionist. “Go right on down this hallway. Take the elevator up to the 27th Floor.”
The phone rang and the receptionist gestured down the long wood-panelled hallway before she picked it up. I wanted to ask her what number Mr. Wolfe’s office was, but she was already immersed in conversation. His door probably had his name on it, I reasoned.
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