by HELEN HARDT
“Or had them made for me,” he said a bit more quietly.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing.” He took a long drink from his bottle of Evian. “I’d like to know about you.”
I sipped my wine. “I’m a screenwriter.”
“Yeah? What have you written? Maybe I’ve seen some of your movies.”
Brick in gut. Nothing of mine had yet made it to the big screen. Hence, the day job. I tried to swallow down my embarrassment.
“I’m afraid I haven’t sold any of my scripts yet.” Just shoot me now. Whatever passing interest Jett had in me would quickly evaporate. Why would such a successful musician want anything to do with a loser who couldn’t sell her stuff? A loser who had decided to throw in the towel.
“Really? How do you make a living, then?”
“I wait tables at Lucien’s Diner.”
He didn’t seem fazed. “Where are you from? Where did you go for your undergrad?”
Way to change the subject to avoid any more embarrassment on my part. It was actually nice of him. Almost chivalrous. “I’m from Chicago. I got my BA in creative writing at DePaul and then, of course, my MA at Northwestern.”
“That’s right. We’re both masters.” He smiled.
“On paper, anyway.”
“You’ll make it, Heather. Hey, I know someone—”
“I don’t need any favors.” What a lie. I did need a favor. But I already knew how Jett would want to be repaid.
Not that sleeping with him would be any hardship, and God…I hadn’t been laid in forever.
But I was determined not to fall into that Hollywood trap.
“Who said anything about favors?” he said. “If you’d let me finish. I know a woman who’s putting together a TV pilot, and she needs a writer. I could introduce you.”
“TV?” I’d never given any thought to the small screen. But with so many cable networks now, plus digital networks, TV could be a good way to get my feet wet. Still…I so wanted to write movies.
“Yeah. It may seem smaller, but—”
“I’m not a diva. I want to write for the screen. Big or small.” And I hadn’t even known that until this very instant.
“Great. Her name is Laney Taylor. I’ll set up a meeting.”
Laney Taylor. Sounded lean and leggy. And she’d probably had Jett Draconis’s cock in her mouth on more than one occasion. The thought was sobering. Why did I care where Jett kept his cock?
“What kind of show is she producing?”
He laughed. “I have no idea. I think it’s a paranormal thing or something.”
Paranormal? Not really my area. But if I got paid to write, I could write anything.
Sell out, sell out.
Shut up, little voice.
“Did you ever feel like you were selling out?” I asked, suddenly needing to know.
“Where did that come from?”
“I didn’t mean it in a bad way. But you said you loved opera. Instead you went where the money is.”
“Ha! There were no guarantees when Zane and I came to LA. Do you know how many struggling rockers are out there trying to get noticed? We got”—he hedged a bit—“lucky.”
“But why—”
“I told you. I was too young to break into opera with my voice type. I wanted to sing, not sling hash somewhere.”
He slid closer to me on the green leather bench. My heart jumped.
“Need a refresher?” He took my wine glass, which, oddly, was almost empty.
“No. I’m good.”
“Good.” He set the glass in one of the cup holders. “Because there’s something I need.”
Chapter Seven
Jett
I hadn’t realized how stunning Heather—
What was her last name? And since when did I care about a woman’s last name?
She swept her tongue slowly over her lower lip. And I about jizzed in my pants.
“What?” she asked.
“What’s your name?” I said. “I mean, your last name.”
“Myles. Heather Myles. With a Y, not an I.”
I smiled. “Okay, Heather Myles with a Y. You want to know what I need?”
“Well…sure. I guess.”
“I need this.” I pressed my lips gently to hers.
A small sound of shock emerged from her throat, but then she parted her lips. Thank God. I took the invitation and swept my tongue into her warm mouth, finding hers. She tasted like the wine with some added sweetness. I explored the silk of her cheek with one hand and grasped her auburn ponytail with the other.
She pulled back. “What are you doing?”
“I was kissing you.”
“You pulled my hair.”
“I just wanted to touch it. It’s so beautiful. It looks like a satin waterfall. I wanted to see what it felt like.”
“Oh…” A smile twitched at her lips.
The old “hair like satin” line. Worked every time.
Problem was…I really meant it this time. Her hair had been gloriously soft and delicate against my fingers calloused from playing guitar.
Guitar wasn’t even my first choice of instrument. Voice was, followed by piano. But I’d been doing all three since I was a kid.
I leaned toward her again, desperate to feel those perfect lips against mine.
But again, she pulled back. “I…can’t do this.”
“It’s just a kiss, sweetheart.”
“You don’t stop with just a kiss. I saw what was going on at that party.”
“Did you see me doing anything?”
“I saw that blond girl gyrating all over you.”
“Key words there. She was gyrating. I wasn’t.”
“You didn’t exactly push her away.”
“Actually I did. Right after I watched you leave.”
“Oh?”
This was getting old fast. I wanted this woman. Would I call her again after? Probably not. I’d get her out of my system just like I got all the others out of my system after a fuck. Problem was…most of the others didn’t take this much convincing.
“Come on, Heather. Just kiss me. Your lips are so soft and pink. I love how they felt against mine.”
“Oh…” She closed her eyes.
I took that as a go-ahead. I traced her lips with my tongue and then gave her a soft kiss. When she opened, I went in slowly this time. She was the type of woman who required lots of warming up. That was okay. I could do that. Anything to get that sweet body naked and under me.
My cock was going crazy in my jeans. I wanted to tie her down and fuck her hard. Despite my instincts, I knew I had to take it slow with her.
With Heather.
Now that I said her name, I liked it. It flowed from my lips like fine Burgundy. Her tongue was like velvet against mine, and the kiss was…
Damn, it was just a kiss, but my cock was ready to explode. Without thinking, I grabbed her hand and planted it on my crotch.
She pushed me away, my lips ripping from hers.
“What the hell are you doing?”
What had I been doing? I’d already figured out what kind of woman she was. The kind who needed lots of warmup. Why had I gone crazy on her?
“Hey, I’m sorry. I just thought—”
“You just thought I’d fuck you. Right here in your limo. So much for ‘just a drink.’” She scooted toward the door.
“Heather, wait. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
She fled out the door and slammed it in my face.
I sat back, frustrated.
Frustrated and…something else. An emotion I wasn’t familiar with.
Something like…loss?
Fuck that. I pushed the button for the intercom and told Lars to take me back to the after-party. I’d sate my desires there.
About half the partiers had left for the night, but the festivities were still going. Lindy was still there, and she ran to greet me when I returned, Janet in tow.
“Jett! I’m
so glad you came back.”
“Hey, sweethearts,” I said to them.
Janet curled her arms around my neck and kissed my cheek. “You look like you could use some attention.”
“Baby, you got that right.” I winked. “Why don’t the three of us take this party out to my limo?”
Chapter Eight
Heather
For a minute—more like a microsecond—I’d thought Jett Draconis might be different. A Juilliard man. Someone who valued education. Who protected his most prized asset—his voice—as best he could.
Even after I’d found out he was just a typical celebrity lech, I still had trouble breaking away and leaving that limo.
He was magnificently gorgeous. That was all. Purely physical.
I didn’t have time for physical.
Or did I?
My life had gotten stale—waiting tables, trying to stay awake when I was dead on my feet to keep my writing dream alive, meeting with producers, getting rejected…
Maybe physical was just what I needed.
Didn’t matter, though. I’d blown my chance to have a one-nighter with the glory that was Jett Draconis.
What had I been thinking? I’d been perfectly safe. I was in a limo and I could have left at any time.
Oh, well…
I went to the bathroom, washed up, brushed my teeth, and then headed back to my room for bed.
Only to find Susie sprawled on my blanket.
“So how was it?” she asked, her eyes wide.
“How was what?”
“Jett? He couldn’t take his eyes off you. He was seriously freaked out when he found me at the party. He was desperate to find you.”
“Desperate? I doubt Jett Draconis is ever desperate. He can have whoever he wants.”
“Tonight he clearly wanted you. So how was it?”
“You think I hopped into the sack with him? I was gone all of half an hour.”
“That’s more than enough time for the good stuff.”
“Suze, you know I don’t sleep around.”
“I know, I know.” She rolled her eyes. “But this is Jett Draconis. Maybe he’s not quite as pretty as Zane Michaels, but he’s easily the second-best-looking man in rock and roll today. Plus, he’s so talented, and a genuinely nice guy.”
A sudden spear of jealousy lanced into my gut. “Suze, have you ever…”
“With Jett?” She shook her head. “I wish. I did engage in some heavy petting with Zane once, though. He’s amazing.”
I couldn’t help smiling as relief swept through me. I wasn’t sure why. I had no claims on Jett Draconis. I had just turned him down, after all. Susie had said Zane was prettier than Jett. Zane was blond and blue-eyed and had that Jon Bon Jovi look about him. But Jett… Jett was pure rugged maleness. Beautiful, but in an entirely masculine way.
“So seriously,” she continued. “How was it?”
Clearly, Susie wasn’t going to let this die.
“Seriously, Suze, I didn’t go to bed with him.”
Her eyes went wide with shock. “You mean nothing happened?”
A few kisses, but I didn’t feel like talking about it. For some reason, it felt very private to me.
“I had a glass of wine. He had some water. We talked.”
“About what?”
“Where he went to school.”
“He went to school? You mean college?”
“Yeah. He has a master’s in music. Didn’t you know that?”
“I didn’t. He really knows his stuff, though, so it’s not surprising. I guess it just doesn’t come up at the after-parties or clubs where I run into him.”
You think? I kept my thoughts and feelings to myself. “So yeah, nothing happened, and I need to get to bed. It’s three o’clock, and I have work tomorrow evening.”
“Okay, okay. I can take a hint.” She clambered off my bed. “Night.”
“Night.”
“Broken Sky,” written by none other than Jett Draconis, woke me from my slumber. I hadn’t set an alarm. It was my ringtone. I grabbed my phone from the night table. Hmm. Didn’t recognize the number.
I yawned and said, “Hello?”
“Good morning. I’m trying to reach Heather Myles,” a female voice said.
“You found her.”
“Oh, great! My name is Laney Taylor. I got your name from Jett Draconis. He said you’re a television script writer?”
Well, not exactly. I had a bit of brain fog going on. Had she said TV script writer? I was a screenwriter. Of course, since none of my writing had actually made it to any screen, big or small, I guessed I was whatever I wanted to be.
I cleared my throat. “That’s right. It’s nice to hear from you.”
“Jett called me first thing this morning and said amazing things about you and your work. He insisted I call you right away. I hope I’m not disturbing you so early on a weekend morning.”
My mouth dropped open but no words emerged. Jett had said amazing things about me and my work? We’d shared all of a half hour together, and he had no idea what kind of writer I was.
“Are you there?”
Get it together, Heather. “Yeah, sorry.”
“I’m so sorry. Did I wake you?”
“It’s okay. I have to get up anyway. I had a late night last night. I’m thrilled to talk to you.”
“Wonderful. Are you free for a drink tonight? I’d love to talk to you about my project.”
Crap. “I’m sorry. I have to work the evening shift at Lucien’s.”
Damn it! My brain was half-assed right now. Why had I said that? I could have easily gotten my shift covered or called in sick. Now she’d think I wasn’t a serious writer if I still had a day job.
“How about now, then?” she said. “We could catch a late lunch.”
Except that I was still in bed with drool hanging off my chin. But I couldn’t let this opportunity pass me by. “Sure. Just tell me when and where.”
“How about the Brasserie on Vine? I have a standing table there. How soon can you get there?”
I desperately needed a shower, but I didn’t want to show up with wet hair… Screw it. I’d wash the essentials, dab on a little makeup, and hope I didn’t look like I’d only gotten a few hours of sleep.
“A half hour?” I said.
“Perfect. See you there.” She ended the call.
I froze. What had I gotten myself into?
Chapter Nine
Jett
I woke to the noonday sun streaming in my bay window and rose to go to the bathroom. Janet and Lindy were a tangle of black and white arms and legs on my bed. They’d been so high. It would be a while before they got up.
My marble floor was cold beneath my bare feet. I walked naked to the toilet, took a piss, and then turned on the shower.
I’d had no problem getting a hard-on when Janet and Lindy had treated me to another one of their shows in my bedroom last night, but I hadn’t let either of them touch me. After a bit of whining, I’d plied them with a few pieces of costume jewelry I had on hand and convinced them I was exhausted and just wanted to watch for the night.
After they’d given each other a few more orgasms, they’d both passed out in my bed. I’d actually slept in the lounge chair by my bay window. I’d thought about masturbating while they did each other—anything to relieve my massive hard-on—but something had stopped me.
Something in the form of Heather Myles.
That damned woman wouldn’t get out of my head.
I let out a moan as the hot water whooshed out of the shower head and onto my fatigued body. Live music was hard work. I feared my body was growing old before its time. Not my voice, though. I took care of that with kid gloves. One day I’d sing Mozart’s Figaro at the Met. Then Javert in Les Miz on Broadway.
One day…
I closed my eyes and stood in the stream of steaming water, letting it gush all over me. Heather’s lips popped into my mind. How amazing it had felt to kiss them, to fee
l her soft tongue against mine. My cock hardened between my legs, and I began stroking it as I imagined Heather’s soft lips wrapping around it. A moan crept out of my throat as I fisted it more strongly.
“Need some help with that?”
I shot my eyes open. Lindy, stark naked, of course, had entered the shower. Her nipples stood straight out from her silicone breasts.
“What are you doing in here?”
“Just helping out where I’m needed.” She sank to her knees and took my cockhead between her lips.
So she wasn’t Heather. So she wasn’t the woman whose face was in my fantasy. That didn’t mean I couldn’t get a kickass BJ in the shower. My eyes were closed. I had a good imagination. I could pretend it was Heather whose mouth was wrapped around my cock.
She began with tiny licks over the head and along the shaft. She slid her hands from my knees up my thighs and cupped my ass. Then she plunged her mouth down upon me, taking me nearly to my base. I’d had many blowjobs from Lindy. She was an expert at deep-throating.
Relax, I said to myself. Just let it feel good. Imagine… Imagine…
She continued her expert ministrations, but instead of relaxing, I tensed as the water continued to pelt me.
A few seconds later…my flaccid cock dropped from her mouth.
She looked up at me. “What’s wrong, babe?”
What was wrong? Since when had I not been able to stay hard for a blowjob? Especially one as expertly performed as this one?
I gave her a halfhearted smile. “Sorry, sweetheart. I’m just really tired. Last night’s concert took a lot out of me.”
She stood and wrapped her arms around me. “You were a fucking rock star last night, no pun intended. It was one of the best performances I’ve ever seen.”
Though I smiled, I knew she said similar things to every rocker she bedded. Those words would’ve meant so much more coming from someone who actually meant them.
Coming from Heather.
