by HELEN HARDT
I held out my hand. “I’m Jett. Jett Draconis.”
Her cheeks reddened further. “I know that.”
“Then you do know me.”
“You know what I mean. I’m not a groupie. I don’t just get into limos with rock stars.”
“I know you’re not a groupie.”
“You do?”
“I’ve seen a lot of groupies, beautiful. You couldn’t be less of a groupie if you had ‘I’m not a groupie’ tattooed on your forehead.”
That got a cute little laugh out of her. “That obvious, huh?”
“So obvious. Since you’re not a groupie, what were you doing at the party?”
“My roommate brought me. She is a groupie.”
“Ah. I see. You know what?”
“What?”
“This conversation would be a lot more comfortable in the back of my limo.”
She let out a huff. “I’m not going to have sex with you in your limo.”
“Who said anything about sex?”
Her cheeks morphed from pink to deep red. “You said the back. I just thought…”
“Would you believe I’m not that kind of guy?”
“Not for a minute.”
I couldn’t fault her observation. I’d bedded my share of starlets and groupies—not to mention a certain cougar heiress I was sick to death of and had grown to despise—but the scene had gotten boring.
“Your face is all over the magazines and tabloids with someone new on your arm each time.”
“Publicity, beautiful. That’s all it is.” Which was actually mostly the truth.
“You mean you don’t sleep with all those women?”
“I didn’t say that,” I teased.
“Seriously? You get publicity photos with women and then take them to bed?” She shook her head as a small brown sedan drove up. “Brown Ford Fusion. My Uber’s here. See you.”
“No, wait.” I grabbed her arm. “Let me take you home. Please.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I don’t sleep with them. Not all of them.”
She unlatched the car door. “I’m Heather,” she said to the driver as she slid into the backseat. Then she shut the door.
Heather.
Heather with the dark auburn hair and warm brown eyes.
Heather, who had just turned me down.
Turned down Jett Draconis, lead singer and guitarist for Emerald Phoenix. Grammy winner. Voted sexiest rocker two years in a row.
Myriad groupies waited for me upstairs at the party. I could easily sate the granite hard-on I was sporting with one of them. Or two. Or three.
I raced back up.
Chapter Four
Heather
My heart was pounding like a snare drum. I’d known Jett Draconis was gorgeous, but when he stood right in front of my eyes, the moonlight streaking his dark hair with reddish highlights and his hazel eyes staring straight into mine… The man was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. That sculpted face, those full, dusky lips…
Sex emanated from him, from every pore in his body. His eyes spoke of lust. Or maybe that had been wishful thinking on my part.
Susie would have peed her pants if she’d known Jett had propositioned me.
Even more so if she knew how much I’d wanted to take him up on it.
But Heather Myles was a good girl. A sensible girl. She didn’t get into limos with strange men—even famous and magnificent strange men who made her lady parts throb when she watched them onstage.
They’d throbbed even more when he’d stood in front of me in the street a few minutes ago.
He was still someone I didn’t know. He could be a rapist.
No. Jett Draconis was no rapist. I wasn’t sure how I knew, but I did. It was his eyes. He had kind eyes. Kind, sexy eyes.
Maybe I just needed to get laid. It had been a couple months, and I hadn’t had a serious relationship in years. Why else would I have been so tempted to hop in Jett’s limo and go with him to ecstasy?
And he would have taken me to ecstasy. Anyone who emanated sex the way he did would know exactly what buttons to push on my neglected body.
“Here you go,” the driver said.
“Awesome. Thanks.” I added a nice tip for him on the app and left the car.
Our apartment was garden level because it was cheaper. I did okay, and so did Susie, but she needed to support her groupie lifestyle, and I was hardly a spendthrift. Rather, I was a fanatic about saving money. At least we each had our own bedroom. The understated apartment complex was home mostly to struggling actors and writers, like myself, trying to make it in LA.
I wasn’t a big drinker, but I poured myself a glass of Sauvignon Blanc and sat down on the worn couch in our small living area.
My nipples strained against my bra. How might Jett’s full lips feel on them? I closed my eyes and trailed my fingers over the silk of my blouse, circling one nipple.
Another sip of wine.
I could go to my bedroom, but why? I was comfortable here, and Susie wouldn’t be home for hours, if she came home at all tonight. I continued to finger my nipples as they budded against the two layers of fabric.
More. I wanted more. I took a third sip of wine and then set the goblet on the end table next to the sofa. I unbuttoned my blouse slowly until the two sides parted. I unclasped my bra in the back and lifted it over my breasts.
They fell gently against my flesh, my nipples protruding. I skimmed my fingers lightly over the skin of my chest and then zeroed in on my hard nipples. I closed my eyes and began playing with them, gently at first, and then twisting harder. My skin flushed with warmth, and a tingle shot between my legs.
Jett Draconis’s face emerged in my mind, his full lips turning up into a smile. Mmm…yes, those lips kissing my nipples, sucking them, and when I could no longer stand it…a lustful bite.
I sucked in a breath, squeezed both my breasts lightly, and then trailed a hand down my abdomen to unbutton my jeans.
My panties were wet. I could already feel the moisture. I swept my tongue over my lips as I pushed my hand beneath my panties and found my clit. With my other hand, I continued to pinch one nipple.
An aroma rose in the air, the earthy scent signaling my arousal. I inhaled, letting it infuse me with a fiery warmth.
I dipped my fingers farther and smoothed the wetness over my folds, bringing it up to lubricate my clit. Jett’s fingers. If only they were inside me, massaging my G-spot while he tugged on my nipples with those amazing lips.
Yes, there it was. I rubbed at my pussy, stroked my clit, pulled on my hard nipple… Until…
Until…
The orgasm pulsated through me, and I let out a low moan, undulating my hips against the worn fabric of the couch. I sank into the pleasure, oblivious to the sounds around me.
Then—
“Hey, Heather, are you still up?” A gasp. “Oh, shit!”
My eyes popped open.
Susie stood inside the door, and behind her…
God, just kill me now.
Jett Draconis.
Chapter Five
Jett
Heather. My auburn-haired goddess. And her tits were out. Luscious and swollen, as if they were waiting for me. Her jeans were unzipped, and the smell of lush female musk hung in the air.
I couldn’t help inhaling.
A gentleman would have looked away.
No one would mistake me for a gentleman.
I regarded her, smiling, as she hurriedly put herself to rights. A shame to cover up such beauty.
“God, Heather,” Susie said. “I’m so sorry.”
“What are you doing home?” Heather asked between clenched teeth.
“Well…uh…Jett here… He wanted to meet you.”
Heather’s warm brown eyes took on a decidedly icy glare amidst her red cheeks. Were they red from embarrassment? Or from the climax she’d clearly just given herself? Had she been thinking of me?
“Oh?” Her vo
ice cracked.
I wasn’t sure what to say. I’d heard Heather tell the Uber driver her name, and she’d said her roommate was upstairs at the party, so I’d gone back up and bothered every girl there until I found the one with an auburn-haired roommate named Heather. It hadn’t taken long to convince Susie to take a limo ride to her small apartment so I could meet her elusive friend.
“I’m so sorry, Heather.” Susie looked toward the ceiling.
“It’s my fault,” I said. “I forced her to bring me here.”
“Forced?” Heather’s tone was acidic.
“No, of course not,” Susie said. “He wanted to meet you, and I agreed to bring you here.”
“You brought a stranger to our apartment at”—I glanced at the cable box—“one forty-five a.m.?”
“Jett’s not a stranger,” Susie said.
“Oh. He’s a friend of yours?” Her tone was still caustic.
Many years had passed since I’d felt like I didn’t belong somewhere. Most people in LA welcomed me with open arms, happy to get an autograph or a selfie with me. But not Heather.
And that only made me want her more.
Her skin was flushed rose, and she’d misbuttoned her shirt. I couldn’t help smiling. She was fucking adorable.
I cleared my throat. “I didn’t mean to intrude.” Yeah, that was a lie. I totally meant to intrude. “You want to go get a drink or something?”
“It’s almost two a.m.”
“Yeah. In LA. So what?”
“I have to work tomorrow.”
“Not until the dinner shift,” Susie offered.
Heather darted her gaze to Susie, a slight frown marring her beauty. “I’m not dressed to go out.”
“You look great to me.” God, she did. I’d underestimated how hot her body might be. That rack of hers was extraordinary.
“This is insane,” she said. “You had your pick of hot women at the party. Why are you here, really? Because I told you I’m not a groupie.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“Heather,” Susie said, “you’re being kind of rude. And what’s wrong with being a groupie?”
“No offense,” Heather said. “But that’s not the life for me.”
“I’m not asking you to suck my dick, sweetheart,” I said jovially. “I’m asking you to have a drink with me.”
Heather winced. Only slightly, but I noticed. I’d probably been a little too brash.
“Hey, I’m sorry. But seriously, what’s the harm in a drink?”
Susie strode toward her and grabbed her arm. “Are you crazy? I know you’re a fan.”
She was a fan? Good news. “So you’re a fan, huh?”
She nodded slightly.
“You want an autograph? A selfie?”
She scoffed. “Or the privilege of sucking your dick, maybe?”
Not the right approach. She might be a fan, but she clearly wasn’t a fanatic. I looked around the modest room. What Heather and Susie didn’t know was that I’d once lived in this complex. Five years ago, when I first came to LA with Zane. We’d teamed up with Tony and Bernie shortly after, and Emerald Phoenix had been born…with a little help from a benefactor.
I closed my eyes and inhaled. So didn’t want to go there right now. I didn’t need to think about what I’d given up to become Jett Draconis.
“How long have you lived here?” I asked.
“I’ve been here a while,” Susie said. “Heather moved in a couple years ago.”
I nodded. Now what? I sure as hell wasn’t leaving without what I’d come for.
And she was still glaring at me.
Time to soften up a little. I approached Heather and stroked my index finger along her silk-clad upper arm. Even through the fabric, I felt sparks. “Look. I just want to talk to you. Maybe get to know you. Would that be so horrible?”
“In the middle of the night?” She looked down.
I tipped her chin upward with my index finger. Her skin was so soft. “I’m awake. You’re awake. You don’t have to work until tomorrow evening, and neither do I. Sounds perfect.”
She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth for a few delicious seconds. “Just because you walked in on me…you know…doesn’t mean I’m easy.”
“Sweetheart, no one would ever mistake you for easy.” Though I planned to hit a home run later. She just didn’t know it yet.
“Okay. Let’s have a drink.”
My body relaxed. Man, I hadn’t realized how tense I was, waiting for her to decide to come with me. I never got tense about women.
Weird.
“Why don’t we have a drink here?” She pointed to a half-empty glass of wine on a nearby table. “I’ve already poured one for myself.”
Susie’s eyes brightened. She was attractive, but a threesome wasn’t what I had in mind. I was pretty sure that wouldn’t be Heather’s jam either.
“We’ll compromise,” I said. “Come out to my limo. I have a fully stocked bar, and there’s plenty of room. We won’t go anywhere. We’ll just have a drink.” And there was plenty of room for other activities as well.
Susie frowned and then feigned a yawn. “I guess I’ll hit the sack.”
“Susie…” Heather pleaded.
“Look, either have a drink with him or don’t, but I’m exhausted. Good night.” She walked into one of the bedrooms.
Alone at last. “So?” I said.
She twisted her lips. “Why do you want to have a drink with me? You’re not going to get anywhere.”
“All I want is a drink, sweetheart.”
“I have a name.”
“All I want is a drink, Heather.”
A smile curved her lips. Yes! She was starting to de-ice. “We don’t move. We stay right here in front of my building.”
“You got it, sweet— I mean Heather.”
Chapter Six
Heather
I must be out of my mind.
No, he must be out of his mind. What does he want with me when he has groupies galore screwing each other just to turn him on?
Jett said something to his driver that I couldn’t hear and then opened the limo door for me. I got in and sat down on pure luxury—a bright-green leather bench that was as plush as any sofa in a five-star hotel lobby. Not that I’d seen a lot of five-star hotels in LA, but I’d been in a few for meetings. None of which had amounted to anything.
“This is amazing,” I couldn’t help gushing.
“I’m glad you like it. Green is kind of my color. You know, like purple was Prince’s.”
“I know. I love your green guitar. Is that how the band got its name?”
“Yeah. It was all a huge publicity thing when we first started out.” He scooted to the bar, which had a golden marble countertop, complete with cup holders so nothing would spill if the limo was moving. “What’s your pleasure?”
“White wine, I guess.”
“Chardonnay? Pinot Grigio? Riesling?”
“Sauvignon Blanc.”
“You got it.” He opened a small refrigerator, took out a tiny bottle of wine, opened it, and poured it into a stemmed glass. “Here you go.”
“What are you having?” I asked.
“Me? Just some mineral water.”
“You don’t drink?”
“Not as much as I used to. And I gave up smoking.”
“You smoked?”
“Not cigarettes. They do too much vocal harm. But I smoked pot every now and then. I don’t do that anymore either. Can’t risk what pays the bills.”
I stared at his neck. “Good call. You’ve got a gold mine right there.”
“What?”
“I mean your voice. It’s incredible. Truly.”
“Thanks.” He smiled. “So you are a fan.”
“Of course. Your voice is amazing. So rich and full.”
“I’m actually classically trained. Opera is my first love.”
Though I’d had no idea, I wasn’t overly surprised. I’d always thought his voice
could fill an opera house. “Yeah? Where did you study?”
“Juilliard.”
“No way!”
“Full scholarship. I got my master’s at Northwestern in Chicago.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Nope. Why do you seem so surprised?”
“It’s that…I got my master’s at Northwestern too. In creative writing.” Had we been there at the same time? Suddenly I was having trouble breathing. Jett was an educated man. Knock me over with a feather. “Why didn’t you go into opera?”
“I couldn’t get any jobs. People loved my voice, but said I was too young. My voice hadn’t matured yet. Men’s voices don’t mature until they get well into their thirties.”
“How’d you get into rock, then?”
“I’ve always loved rock and roll. I’m a big fan of the classics. Zane and I went to grad school together. He was a classical pianist with a vocal minor. We were both twenty-five at the time, and going nowhere in our chosen fields. We needed something to pay the bills, and we both refused to take day jobs.”
“That was brave of you.” Very brave. I wished I hadn’t caved and taken a day job. Of course, if I hadn’t, I’d be living on the streets. “Aren’t you afraid rock will ruin your voice?”
“Nah. I know how to take care of my voice. It’s all about singing healthy.”
“I guess you learned all about that during your years at Juilliard and Northwestern. I never would have thought…”
“Never would have thought a dumb rocker like me could be educated at such fine institutions of higher learning?” Despite his words, his tone was jovial.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Of course you did. I know I’m not taken seriously. Not like I would be if I were doing opera. It’s part of the price I paid, and I’m good with it.”
“No, really, I—”
“I got a perfect score on my ACT, by the way. There are brains in this head.”
“If you’d let me finish a sentence, please!” I’d been one point away from a perfect ACT score myself, a point that had always irked me, but never more so than at this moment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that you weren’t smart. I think anyone who has the kind of success you’ve had must be intelligent. You made all the right decisions.”
