by Susan Arden
“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.
Chapter Four
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.
Well, fuck. His cock throbbed, ready to explode. Her lips were slightly parted. Those wide green eyes didn’t look contemptuous, they looked downright appealing, even if she narrowed them like a seriously pissed-off cat.
He reached for her body, taking hold of her and pressing his mouth to her warm lips. He fully gave in to the need to press his erection into her belly and pulled her against him, biting down on her plump bottom lip as she molded to him. The feel of her tongue tracing his lips had him groaning sounds into her mouth. She pushed him back into the wall of the elevator, and he had no intention of fighting her persistent fingers on his zipper. The red “Stop” on the lift panel caught his eye, and he flipped the switch.
He pulled up her dress, running his fingers across her panties, surprised that she still had them on. He’d fucked her the last time by pushing them to the side. This time his patience had worn thin; he grabbed the flimsy material and in one swift tug he stripped them from her slender hips in a fast rip. Damn. The feel of her hand on his cock, tugging roughly, was about to take him to his knees. He swallowed hard. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“I don’t have a condom on me.”
“So much for being prepared. No worries. I’m on the pill. I know where I’ve been. You, on the other hand, seem like an easy lay.”
“Didn’t you just join me in the back of my car after we’d known each other for an hour…give or take? And now, in an elevator. Sounds like the pot calling the kettle into question.”
“Hush. You’re talking way too much. Got a coin? We can toss. Heads or tails. Seems only fair.”
The breath just froze in his chest. Did she just suggest something erotic? He scrambled to pull out a quarter. “I take it you’d call tails?” he said.
“Either is good.”
“Then why are we tossing a coin?” he asked, bemused.
“Because some things should be left to chance, dickhead. Now, toss. I’ll catch.”
He tossed the coin upward and she snatched it in midair like a pro ball player. Alana slapped her palm over his hand and slowly lifted her fingers. He smiled down at her, saying, “Baby, I’m going to enjoy this so much.”
“We both are. What goes around… Who goes first?”
He stalled and stared at her, and then got her meaning. “Ladies first?”
“From your condition, I won’t hold you to being a gentleman. I’m just pulling your chain,” she murmured, and then she began to fondle his cock and balls, moving her hand in long strokes down his shaft, then back up again.
He jerked in her palm and gritted his teeth, moving with her rhythm on his aching erection. “I’m going to come any second, just from the way you touch me.”
“How about I suck on you, then?” She knelt in front of him, her hair having come undone from that knot she’d tied earlier. He pressed his fingers along her face, tracing the edge of her bottom lip with one thumb, and gripping his cock with his other hand. Alana opened her mouth, her warm breath cascading over his crown. He shuddered at the contact of her hot mouth on his cockhead. Closing his eyes at the spiky pleasure from the wet suction of her mouth, he uttered a slew of dirty words, pushing into her further as pinpoints of pleasure worked up his spine.
Jonathan gyrated his hips, moving out of her mouth, and then back over her tongue. The sensation became more astonishing with each pass of her lips. She was blowing his cock and his mind simultaneously, and he channeled his fingers through her silky hair, palming her head.
Her moans turned him on and he picked up the pace, rocking on the balls of his feet. “That’s it, baby. Hard, just like that. I’m going to come.”
She sucked him deeper in her mouth, curling her fingers around the base of his shaft and then her eyes fluttered and she gazed up into his face. In that moment, a force like an explosion had his balls tightening, and a hundred splintering electrical pulsations jetted up his spine. He blasted into her hot, wet mouth. His muffled voice expanded into a yell within the elevator from the force of his orgasm.
A shudder discharged from his core as he wrapped his fingers in her hair. It had been hours, no, only minutes, since they’d first met and she was creeping under his skin like a sensually addictive drug.
He reached down, lifting her, and caressed his hand over her face, tilting her chin. “You’re unbelievable.”
She smiled, shyly it seemed, and pressed her mouth over his, sliding her tongue in between his lips. She tasted erotically of him, while the kiss was staggering in its sweetness. He sucked her lips and tongue, and pushed her back against the wall, relishing the softness of her body.
“You owe me something,” she said against his lips.
“I thought you wanted to be alone. I can’t very well deliver on a promise while I’m sleeping in one bedroom and you in another.” She didn’t say anything and he pressed her. “One night. Tomorrow will go as planned. We’ll start our business contract at six a.m. sharp. We can’t undo what we’ve done. And honestly, I don’t want to. So why not give me the rest of tonight? I promise I won’t chase after you when I’m your producer or your promoter. Your schedule is already mapped out. Nothing will change. Evaluations. Voice lesson. Fittings.”
“Whoa, back up. Voice lessons? So it’s true. You don’t think I can sing? That was written all over your face as you sat in front of the stage tonight, and I was right.” She tried to back up but he held her against the wall.
“What are you saying? Alana, you’re way off base. Why would I want to work with you if I thought you lacked talent? That makes no sense. All this expense I bear because I believe you’ve got that elusive spark.”
“Then why tests and lessons? I’ve had my fair share. Nothing is going to change. I’m not going to change. That’s what this is…isn’t it? You think you can make me into something you can market. Sell me until there’s nothing left.”
“I disagree. Your voice is spectacular, but how you manage your talent isn’t. When you sing, you’re straining your voice. The way you struggle is unnecessary. Something like taking a Stradivarius and harshly plucking the strings. You’re trying way too hard to get your voice to do things it should want to do on its own accord.”
“I’ve taken years of lessons, and it wasn’t pleasant.”
He ran his hand down her belly, feeling her tense her stomach muscles under his fingertips. “I don’t know what type of lessons you’ve had, but you’ll get the best training on how to utilize these muscles to help you sing more efficiently instead of potentially damaging your vocal chords. I know it has to hurt your throat the way you modulate the notes.” He caught the widening of her eyes and the relaxing of her brow and abdominals. No wonder she had her claws ready to shred him to pieces all night. “You really believed I thought you stunk?”
She nodded. “Like Limburger cheese. Your expression was so distressed, almost mortified. The whole set I kept thinking I should stop and get off the stage. That was until I was too pissed to be hurt
.”
“Don’t be hurt or upset. I’m not here to use you. I’m here to help you,” he whispered, bending his head to brush his mouth over her lips. “You sing like an angel.”
“Nice comeback.” She smiled up into his face, snaking her arms up and around his shoulders. “One night, Lansing. And then we work. Like you promised.”
“Agreed. Except, can you do me a favor?”
Alana exhaled, “Sure, as long as it’s not breaking a rule. Shoot.”
“Call me Jon, or Jonathan. I get the feeling I’m back on my school football team hearing you call me by my last name.”
She laughed in that sultry voice, the one that had brought chill bumps to his skin and made him turn up the radio in his car each time he heard her sing. “J for Jonathan. I like that name. What’s the ‘P’ for?”
“Peter, after my grandfather from Louth. You now know more about me than most people in Nashville.” He stretched his arm to flick the stop button in the elevator and turned back to Alana, lacing his fingers with hers.
“Is that where you were raised?” she asked.
“There, and New York. My father worked in marketing and we moved around. Often.” He’d not talked about his personal life to many people. Yet with Alana, this felt natural, comfortable. They’d have only one night, he reminded himself. “Ask anything, until I get you into that bedroom. And then the only thing I want to hear is you screaming my name.”
He buried his face into her hair, inhaling her scent, and preparing to memorize every degree of her being. For this one night, she was his; he swore it would be enough.
Then, hearing her moan, he tossed aside his false certainty and prayed the few hours they had together would satisfy his sharp hunger for her.
The elevator doors opened for their side of the penthouse suites and he gently tugged her out into the foyer. He’d kept this side of the Hermitage just in case he’d found a client who needed coaxing. This woman really didn’t need a thing. Not from him, at least.
