Bullet Series Box Set Books 1-8

by Jade C. Jamison

  Chapter Ten

  “AW, FUCK ME.” Clay was patting the pockets on his ass futilely.

  “What, man?” Brian asked.

  “I musta left my phone back in the room.”

  “So? Don’t be a bitch. You don’t need the fuckin’ phone.”

  “Yeah, I do. I told Emily to text me if she couldn’t find us.”

  Brian rolled his eyes. “It’s still light out. She’s a big girl.”

  “She’s not familiar with California. And I promised, douche. Be right back.”

  He heard Brian say, “Pussy.” Yeah, and now he owed him one. The two of them often engaged in that type of name calling, but it was harmless. In fact, he expected nothing less from the man.

  It was fewer than five minutes that he was back in the hotel and sliding the card in the door to open the room. He was hoping his phone was in the hotel; otherwise, he’d lost it. Again. He’d managed to hang onto this phone for almost a year, so he hoped he’d just left it in the room. Otherwise, he’d broken his streak.

  Emily wasn’t inside, so he wondered if he’d crossed paths with her. God, he’d feel like an asshole if she got lost, and he hadn’t been available by phone as promised. He went in his room and checked the dresser and nightstands. Nope. He’d have to instead look in the kitchen and living room area and hope it was in one of those rooms.

  As he walked out in the living room, he realized he could hear Emily’s voice. She was in her room and the door was closed. He felt a little relief that he hadn’t lost her. He started walking over to the door and was going to tell her he’d popped in to find his phone…until he could hear more. His gait slowed as he got closer, and then he realized what he was hearing was her on the verge of orgasm. Holy fuck. He took a deep breath and almost cursed when he realized he’d grown hard in seconds. God, what an asshole he was. She was having sex with her boyfriend over the internet (would they call that cybersex? he wondered) and he was listening in. But as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t back away. Her cries were intoxicating, and he closed his eyes, wadding up his t-shirt into his fist to keep himself from grabbing his cock and jerking off right there. As much as he’d thought he wanted this woman before, hearing her orgasm was going to fucking kill him.

  She finished and Clay took a deep breath. He knew his knuckles had to be white, but he didn’t look at the fist gripping his shirt when he opened his eyes. He looked instead at the hand pressing against the wall, almost keeping him from falling. That hand wanted to open the door to Emily’s room, but it wasn’t going to. Clay was a gentleman.

  That was part of the problem too. Clay wasn’t fully there; instead, the animal side of the man had come out, and he was more Jet than Clay, and Jet wouldn’t care if Emily thought he was a pig. Still, he swallowed and made his breathing steady. He had to find his phone and get out of there. Emily wouldn’t appreciate feeling like he’d been listening in on her. If he could get his ass out of there and do it quietly, she wouldn’t ever have to know.

  He tried thinking of other things, willing his cock down, and then he turned, looking around the living room for his phone. He tried to focus so he could leave the suite looking as normal as possible.

  He would have to look in the kitchen. He walked there, glad the carpet was absorbing the sound of his steps, but the kitchen didn’t have carpet. It didn’t matter, though, because he saw the phone on the table and was able to reach it before he had to walk through the entire space. He took another breath, determined to leave.

  As he walked toward the front door, though, he heard Emily’s raised voice. “Are you kidding me? You asshole!” Clay couldn’t hear what her boyfriend said through the tinny-sounding laptop, but it was some sort of lame protest—Clay could tell that much. “It sounds like you already have a party going on there. Why the fuck do I have to be the porno entertainment for your fucked up party?”

  Clay could hear the next thing her boyfriend said. “It’s not like that, Em.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Don’t hang up.”

  “I am. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Oh, come on, Em.”

  “Fuck off.”

  Clay thought he heard her slam the lid to her laptop. At this point, he knew he should have been ashamed for everything he heard; instead, he felt bad for Emily. If he’d been able to piece it together, she’d thought she and her boyfriend were alone, so to speak, and had been mutually engaged in Skype sex, but he was under the impression—from what little he’d heard—that the guy had had at least one other person on his end, someone she hadn’t seen in the room. Maybe she’d been so into it she hadn’t seen someone else come in. Whatever the case, she sounded humiliated and angry, and he couldn’t pretend to not know now.

  * * *

  What a fucking asshole. She was angry to the core. She’d said the f word more times this day than she ever had in one week before. She was so pissed at Bryce. She wasn’t sure how many guys had been listening to her bringing herself to orgasm, but it would have been nice to have been warned. What a slimy thing to do. How would she ever be able to look at those guys in the eyes again?

  And what did that say about Bryce? Didn’t he love her? Why would anyone want to share his girlfriend—hell, his fiancée—that way? It made no sense to her.

  She took a deep breath. Part of her wanted to just bury herself under the covers and sleep off all the negativity, but the other part of her knew she shouldn’t. She was technically “on the job,” and she knew she should be hanging out with Clay and his bandmates so she could get to know them.

  Besides, she really did want to see the ocean. It would do her good.

  So she got off the bed and went to the dresser, pulling out the hot pink bikini she’d put in there. She pulled off her clothes and slipped it on. Then she pulled out her brush and a ponytail holder and pulled her hair up. She found her sandals and slipped them on, and then remembered she’d packed a beach towel too. She grabbed it and then found her room card and phone on the nightstand and opened her bedroom door.

  She almost screamed when she saw Clay sitting in a chair in the living area. She took in a deep breath. When she found her voice, she asked, “How long have you been there?”

  “Long enough.”

  What did that mean? Had he heard her yelling at Bryce…or had he heard what had happened before? She didn’t want to think about it. “What are you doing here?”

  “I had to come back for my phone.”

  She swallowed. So why the hell was he just sitting there? Was he mad at her and thought she’d stolen it? He was acting strangely, and it was freaking her out. It didn’t help, because she was still emotionally charged. “Well, I’m gonna head to the beach.” She walked over to the front door.

  “Wait.” She turned around and Clay was right in front of her. She looked up in his eyes. “That guy has no idea how to treat a lady.”

  It took her a second to realize he was talking about Bryce. She didn’t know what to say. If he knew she’d been thinking about him when she’d climaxed, what then would he be saying? Still, she had to force herself to look in his eyes. Part of her felt like she should defend Bryce, but the man was beyond that. He had acted like a cad, and he didn’t deserve any defense from her. Clay was right. Still, she couldn’t find any words. It didn’t help that Clay was so close, way too close to her. She could feel that electric charge between them that she’d often felt when he’d been nearby, the one that told her she should stay away. She could feel the warmth from his body in spite of the cooled air inside the room. He felt hot, like he was on fire, and she wanted nothing more than to feel his lips on hers. And that’s why there were no words.

  His hand wrapped around the back of her neck, and she was convinced he was going to kiss her—and she would have let him. Instead, he spoke. “I know you said you were engaged. Clay will respect that…but if you want a real man who’ll treat you right, Jet doesn’t give a fuck if you’re engaged, married, or a nun.” She parted her lips to sp
eak—or maybe invite him in?—but he interrupted her again. “Just think about it.” He took a deep breath and removed his hand, stepping back. “Do you need me to walk with you?” She shook her head. “Text me if you can’t find them.”

  She opened the door and found her voice. “You coming in a bit?”

  “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  She closed the door and paused. She had to catch her breath. What the hell had just happened, and how could she go on acting normally when everything had just changed in such a short time?

  * * *

  The awkward feeling between them faded, leaving in its wake relief. Clay felt so much better having said what had been on his mind in the short time he’d known Emily. It didn’t change the fact that he’d had a hard time sleeping that night.

  The next day, though, it was as though nothing had happened. Emily told him the agenda, but Clay laughed. “We’ll be there most of the day. Don’t you wanna see these bands?”

  She shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “No I guess. You’re gonna watch some of these bands, and you’re gonna like it.”

  “Where?”

  “Much as I’d like to mosh, I can’t get away with it anymore. We’ll find an out-of-the-way spot and watch the big screen. We’re there to listen anyway. Nothing like live music.”

  Emily nodded. “I do love a good concert, but I haven’t been to one in a long time, not since…”

  “Since?”

  She shrugged. “It’s been a while. I’m looking forward to it.”

  Before they left, Clay put a baseball cap on, tucking his hair underneath it. Emily smirked, and he grinned back. He knew what she was thinking, that the cap did nothing, but it hadn’t failed him before. And then they all got in cabs, and she almost laughed because it was such a short distance to the arena. Still, the place was already packed.

  Last Five Seconds was on at three. They’d had a late big breakfast and planned on skipping lunch. They checked in backstage, and Clay and the band checked all their gear. When Clay was satisfied, he grabbed Emily by the hand and pulled her into the arena. She didn’t protest. He flagged down a girl toting beers around and bought two. Emily gave him a look like she didn’t want one, but she took it anyway.

  Clay had no idea who the band was that was playing, but they were good. They sounded new and fresh. Best yet, they were heavy. Once they got in position, away from the crowd, he reached in his jeans pocket and pulled out two pairs of ear plugs. He placed a pair in Emily’s hand, and she gave him a confused look. He showed her that he was putting a pair in his ears. They’d be able to hear the music just fine, and with the plugs, it wouldn’t even sound muted.

  Emily sipped at the beer and seemed to enjoy it okay. Clay smiled over at her. There were few things he enjoyed more than live music, and sharing it with a woman he cared about made it even better.

  Yeah, he cared about her. It had happened quickly. They’d been working so closely together and part of his feelings revolved around the fact that he was grateful to her. More than that, though, was the fact that she was deep down a sweet and gentle soul. He’d known few people that kind deep down, but she tried to hide it from him. He wasn’t sure why.

  He looked over at her. Her warm brown eyes were shining with excitement. He so wanted to grab her like he had last night and kiss her hard. Ever since then, his thoughts hadn’t strayed from her, and he couldn’t get the image of her out of his head. He could still hear her low groan from behind her bedroom door, and he yearned to make her do that himself again and again. He swallowed. He was just torturing himself.

  Still, after having heard her blow up at her boyfriend, he couldn’t help but hope that was a crack in their relationship. The guy didn’t deserve her. Not one bit.

  Of course, she deserved better than Clay too. He knew that. But, unlike the douchebag she was engaged to, Clay would spend his life trying to be good enough. He’d try to be so good she wouldn’t notice he wasn’t.

  She looked over at him and smiled, then threw up her right arm to sport metal horns that matched the crowd. Clay laughed and joined her.

  He almost kissed her. Almost. And he thought it would be forgivable because he could blame it on the heat of the moment. But he stopped himself from doing it. Instead, he wrapped his arm around her and swayed to the music. So they weren’t headbanging. Clay dared anyone to say shit. But, of course, no one did.

  Chapter Eleven

  TRUE TO FORM, Clay was stressing Emily out by the time it was Last Five Seconds’ turn to perform. The two of them had been enjoying the band before, and she kept telling him it was time to go, but he’d laugh and say, “Just a little longer.”

  By the time they started walking down the steps of the bleachers where they’d been hanging, Emily was freaking out. They still had to maneuver the crowd to get to the back, and the band that had been playing finished up. That meant the crew would start setting up the band’s instruments, and Clay needed to do a sound check on his guitar.

  Halfway there, he said, “Would you relax?”

  She made a sour face. “You don’t make it easy.”

  “Trust me.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her through the crowd again. She wasn’t quite sure how he managed to do that, but he did. People just seemed to move out of the way for him.

  And she couldn’t even admit to herself how much she liked his hand holding hers. That was twice today that he’d done it, and it made her wonder just how much he’d heard yesterday. Obviously, it was enough to make him feel protective of her, but she knew for sure he’d heard her going off on Bryce. God, she hoped he hadn’t heard her masturbating. It was embarrassing enough knowing all of Bryce’s goddamned friends had listened in and had either thought it was funny or hot. She was still angry and humiliated about that.

  The beer was taking the edge off those raw emotions.

  They got to the backstage area, and that’s when she saw Clay change. He became all business. She’d never seen it in the man, would have, in fact, insisted that part of him didn’t exist—until she saw it. He was serious and on task, but behind his eyes, she could still see the playful side of him ready to break out.

  She and the blonde—girlfriend of singer Sam, whose stage name was Devil—stood just offstage with a great view of the band. The guys were still offstage while the crew put the finishing touches on the set. They had about three minutes to go. The blonde said, “So, you’re Clay’s PA? That right?”

  “Yeah. I started about two and a half weeks ago.”

  The blonde nodded. “God knows the man needs it. Good luck.”

  Emily smiled. She actually felt like the hardest part was behind them. “Thanks.”

  “Just…don’t fall victim to his charms. I know he can come on pretty strong.”

  And what would she know about it? Why did she feel the need to give Emily unwanted advice? Instead of having its desired effect, the woman’s warning pissed her off, made her feel even more protective of Clay. She knew he liked his reputation as a bad boy, but aside from his little Jet speech the day before, he’d been mostly a gentleman.

  But that pulled her mind into thinking about the day before. As the band started to play, Emily was doing exactly what Clay had encouraged her to do—to think about his offer to play around with him, no matter what her relationship status. What she found strange was how Clay talked about himself as two different people, as though Jet were someone he kept locked away until needed to deal with more objectionable activities.

  What disturbed her was she thought she was starting to see the difference. She thought she had mostly been dealing with the part of himself he called Clay, a mild-mannered nice guy who cared about people. Jet was the side of himself that wasn’t concerned about offending other people. Jet was a bad boy, in your face and loud. He also seemed to love women, all women, and he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.

  Well, no, that wasn’t true. He’d given her a choice.

  Emily was relieved w
hen the band started playing, sparing her from more awkward conversation.

  Still, it had made her focus on the man with the guitar strapped around his body. Just thinking about him—Clay or Jet—made her feel warm. She could still feel the heat of his hand on her neck and how it had given her chills throughout her body. He’d promised to “treat her right,” but she wondered how that would work exactly, especially if she were cheating on her fiancé?

  Well, as tempting as her boss was, there was no way she was going to do it.

  Still, he made it damned hard. She’d never been to one of their concerts before, and he was sex incarnate onstage. Either that or it was her own imagination going wild. His fingers were flying all over the strings on his guitar…and that’s when she had a duh moment, realizing that was probably where the name Jet had come from in the first place. He was amazing. More than that, though, she could tell he was having the time of his life. He was pumped full of energy, moving from one side of the stage to the other, but then he’d pause in one spot when it was time for a solo, or he’d look out at the audience during an intense breakdown, communicating with them simply through his dark-green eyes. He and his crowd were sharing moments, and she knew it would be a show they wouldn’t soon forget.

  She thought it was cool, because the band wasn’t getting a dime for this concert, and yet she could tell they were still giving it their all. She admired that.

  But above the admiration, she could feel a slow burning in her gut for the man wielding the axe. The problem? She wouldn’t take Clay (or Jet, for that matter) up on his offer, but she had taken his suggestion. She was thinking about it. Oh, yes, she was thinking about it way too much.

  * * *

  Clay hadn’t expected it, but he didn’t like fame as much as he would have thought. He’d enjoyed being in a band back in the day when they’d played small venues and the largest audience he’d ever played to had a mere three hundred people. That was manageable. Hell, yeah, he enjoyed the admiration of thousands of fans and really liked the money he made from selling his music. But what he didn’t like about the fame that studio albums and nationwide (and even international) touring brought him was that it was overwhelming.