by Nina Levine
The sheet has dropped, baring my naked breasts, and Jett can’t help himself. He cups one of my breasts and rolls the nipple between his fingers. It feels so damn good and I close my eyes. When a soft moan escapes my lips, he chuckles. “You might not have any say in that. When I decide I’m going to have something, I don’t let anything get in my way.”
I open my eyes and raise my brows. “Oh, really? And you’ve decided on this already?”
His eyes hold mine, his gaze so intense I feel it in my core. The playfulness has disappeared completely and while I love fun, playful Jett, I’ve decided I can’t get enough of intense, holy-fucking-hell-he-wants-me-bad Jett.
Leaning his face close to mine, he speaks in a tone that leaves no confusion, “Yes, I’ve already decided on this. I want you, Presley, and I’ll do anything in my power to have you.”
My entire body hums with desire. Hearing a man say those words to you is a heady trip. The independent side of me battles with the side that wants a man to desire me and make me his number one priority in life. Miss Independent loses out and I close the distance between our lips and kiss him with the passion he stirs in me. “I want you, too, Jett.”
His hand has left my breast and now cups my cheek. Rubbing his thumb over my lips, he says, “Thank fuck for that.” Then he stands and looks at me with what seems to be regret. “I have to head into the studio. What are your plans for today?”
“I think I might do something mindless today. Maybe catch up on some TV or read a book.” I take a sip of the coffee he brought me, and thank the heavens for sending me a man who makes it a point to know what I love.
“You free tonight? Tom’s organised a dinner for the band, and I’d love you to come.”
“Maybe you should go on your own if it’s for the band.”
“No, I want you there. Besides, Van seems to like you, so I’m hoping you’ll put him in a good mood.”
“Oh, so really you’re just using me,” I tease him.
He grins. “Baby, I’d use you twenty-four hours of the day if I could swing it.”
“I’ll be there. Now go, before I try to tackle you and make you have sex with me.”
“Fuck me, the things that come out of that pretty little mouth of yours,” he mutters with a shake of his head. He bends and rests his hands on the bed while he kisses me. “I’ll swing by and pick you up at eight for dinner. Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I say softly, happiness swirling through me. I’m beginning to really settle into this relationship with Jett and am already looking forward to spending time with him tonight. The only thing causing me concern is that I still haven’t talked with him about the job offer from Diesel. I decide to do it after dinner tonight. The sooner we get that conversation out of the way, the better.
Three hours later, I’m engrossed in an episode of Nashville. Best show on TV, in my opinion, and I almost miss the sound of my phone ringing. Pausing the TV, because I can’t miss one freaking moment of watching Deacon on that show, I reach for my phone and frown at the private number listed as calling. Usually I don’t answer calls if I don’t know who it is, but today I’m in a good mood and decide to give them a go. It’s probably some phone company trying to sell me something, but I answer in a friendly voice, “You’ve got thirty seconds to convince me not to hang up.”
A deep chuckle resonates through the phone and for a moment, I’m caught off guard and my tummy flutters. That’s one damn sexy chuckle. But it isn’t Jett so I get myself together as the guy speaks. “Darlin’, if you gave me thirty seconds of your time in person, I could do things that would blow your mind and convince you of a lot more than never wanting to hang up on me again.”
His voice slides through me like Kentucky Fire Bourbon – smooth, wicked and oh so hot. Whoa, I bet this man melts panties wherever he goes. “Keep talking, you’ve got twenty seconds left.”
The deep chuckle turns into one of the sexiest laughs I’ve ever heard. “No, I think you should keep talking. I’m lovin’ the hell out of your bossy words.”
“Who am I talking to?” This conversation has me intrigued, and for the life of me I can’t begin to imagine who he is. Probably a wrong number because I’m not expecting any calls from a man with a voice that causes all the best kinds of sensations in a woman.
“My apologies, darlin’, I should have introduced myself, but damn, you got me all kinds of distracted. My name’s Diesel.” Diesel, lead singer of the band that carries his name. The band that has offered me the job.
“How did you get my number?” I demand.
“I’m not sure I should tell you. Seems to me like you might do serious damage to the person who gave it to me.”
“Just tell me, otherwise I’m going to assume who it was and hunt him down anyway,” I snap, irritated that he got my number.
“It was Michael, but go easy on the poor bastard. I wore him down until he gave it to me.”
I fucking knew it. “So to what do I owe the pleasure of this call then?”
“And she goes from ballbreaker to ice queen in one second flat . . . baby, you’ve no idea how much that turns me on. Please keep going.”
Good god, these fucking rock stars. Coming at me like there’s no tomorrow. “Diesel, I presume you’re calling me to discuss your job offer. Can we just keep it to that topic?”
“Okay, but we’re going to have to meet, because I need to lay eyes on you to see if you’re everything I’m fuckin’ imagining you are.”
“Does that kind of line work for you often?” It wouldn’t work on me but I bet he has women falling all over him.
He chuckles again but this time it does nothing for me. “Like you wouldn’t believe, but it’s so much more fun when it doesn’t.” The suggestion in his voice is hard to miss but he has no idea just how little fun it would be to chase me.
“Let’s get back to the job and I’ll tell you upfront that I haven’t decided whether to take it or not. Michael told me you need an answer soon so I totally get it if you need to find another photographer due to my lack of decision.” I try to keep this businesslike but I have a feeling he’s going to swerve the conversation back to his own agenda.
“We do need an answer soon. Let’s see if I can’t convince you, but for now, I have another phone call to make. I’ll be in touch soon,” he says and ends the call, confusing the hell out of me.
I stare at my phone and shake my head. Damn men who think they can click their fingers and make women come running. I’m fairly sure I won’t be taking his job now.
A knock on the front door distracts me from thinking about Diesel. A couple of moments later, I open the door to discover a guy holding a huge bunch of red roses.
“You Presley Hart?” he barks out his question.
“Yes.” I’m wondering how he got through the security downstairs but at the same time am distracted by the gorgeous roses.
He shoves the flowers at me and says, “Here you go,” before turning and jogging down the hallway to the lift.
I ignore his rudeness and smile as I look down at the flowers. Jett’s scoring points today with his coffee, croissants and now the flowers. However, my happiness is short-lived. When I open the card to read it, I’m disappointed to discover the flowers are actually from Lennon.
“Baby, please forgive me. I was wrong about everything and I want us back where we belong – together.”
This day is slowly turning to shit. I don’t need another smooth-talker to harass me into taking on a job I don’t think I want, and I sure as hell don’t need Lennon messing with my thoughts. I’d just gotten to a place where I was okay with our marriage ending. Hell, I was at a place where I’d finally admitted to myself that he was so wrong for me. And that was a hard place to get to because I’d loved Lennon with my heart and soul and everything else from almost the moment I met him. I wanted the works with him and he broke me when he didn’t love me the same way.
Damn it, I’m not looking back!
My life doesn’t incl
ude him anymore and I won’t even entertain the thought. I dump the flowers in the bin and text him.
Me: DO NOT send me flowers anymore. We’re done. And you’re wrong . . . we don’t belong together and never did.
Once I’ve sent the text, I switch my phone to silent and crawl back onto the couch to continue watching TV. Hopefully, the hot guys on Nashville can distract me all bloody day.
“Do you like it?”
I smile at Jett and then look back down at the beautiful silver bracelet he gave me on the way to dinner. “I love it, but you didn’t have to get me anything.” The bracelet looks expensive and knowing Jett, I bet it cost a fortune.
“I wanted to. Hell, the lady at the store was beside herself because I had twenty pieces of jewellery lined up ready to buy for you.” He jerks his chin at Hunter and says, “You can blame him for only getting one thing. He said you’d have a fit if I gave you all that.”
Oh God. I look at Hunter and express my gratitude, because, seriously, if Jett had turned up with all that jewellery for me, I may have lost my cool. “Thank you, Hunter. It sounds like you know how to woo a woman.”
Jett rolls his eyes as Hunter laughs and says, “The guy has no idea, Presley. I’m sure he’ll go back on his own and get everything else tomorrow, so be prepared for that.”
I turn my head quickly to capture Jett’s attention. “Don’t you dare! I won’t be accepting anymore jewellery this week, okay?”
He shrugs and reaches for the drink in front of him. “No more jewellery. I got it. But that doesn’t mean I can’t find something else to buy you.”
“Oh my God, Jett, no!”
His laughter caresses me and once he’s finished his drink, he leans his body closer to mine, his arm across the back of my chair, and murmurs, “I hear you, baby. One present a week, yeah?”
I turn to him. “Seriously, I just want your time and attention. I don’t need gifts.”
The smile that lights up his face is magnificent.
It’s dazzling, and I’m almost blinded.
Jett’s a master hypnotist and he has me under his spell.
“You’ve got my attention,” he promises before kissing me and pulling me even deeper into his trance.
“Hey! You two wanna get a fucking room?” Van yells across the table at us.
I try to pull away from Jett, but he refuses to end our kiss straight away. Instead, he slowly finishes what he’s doing and reluctantly lets me go before scowling at Van and throwing back, “If I want to kiss my woman, I’ll fucking kiss her. You got a problem with that, you can leave, ‘cause I’m not going anywhere.”
The two of them face off silently until Tom wades into the conversation. “Jesus Christ, can you two let up for at least a couple of hours so we can all enjoy our dinner? Your arguing is getting tiresome.”
“Hear, fucking hear!” West toasts his drink to that suggestion and downs half of it in one go.
“So, did you guys have a productive day in the studio today?” I ask the only question that comes to mind at this point. Anything to try and change the subject.
West gives me a look of relief. “Yeah, we did, actually. I think we might have our first song for the album. Tomorrow, we’ll record it and see how it sounds.”
“That’s great.” My enthusiasm is a little waning because I’m watching Jett and he doesn’t look as impressed as the rest of the guys about this.
Still frowning, he interjects, “We might have a song, but I’m not convinced it’s the right song.”
His concern worries me. I’m still learning the dynamics of the band but I’ve kind of worked out that Jett knows his shit and has directed the band to the success they currently enjoy. I’ve read numerous interviews with them online and all the band members mention that he’s driven them this far, so if he’s concerned this song isn’t the right one, I’m inclined to listen to that.
“Why?” I ask him.
Van scoffs and turns his attention to me. “Don’t listen to him. This song is different to anything we’ve ever done; it’s gonna get everyone’s attention. It’s gonna be fucking huge.”
Jett’s shaking his head at Van’s statement. “See, that’s where I think we’d go wrong if we release it as a single. It’s fine to have on the album and use to guide our fan base into a new sound from us, but to use it as a single, and for it to be the first single off the album, I think that’ll fuck us.”
“I’m so tired of making the same music we’ve been making for ten fucking years, Jett. We need this. I fucking need this,” Van says, and it’s clear, even to me, that he’s going through something. His hard glare and the tense slant of his shoulders tell me how fired up over this he is, and the animosity in his voice is obvious.
“Yeah, well, if we rush into any change, you’ll need a lot fucking more than new music, Van. I’m telling you that fans won’t buy the album if we give them a single that’s completely different to what we’ve been giving them for so long. And then you’ll be needing a new fucking job.” Jett’s restraint is fraying, and when I lay my hand on his leg like I often do, he doesn’t take hold of my hand like he usually does but rather he ignores me and keeps his attention completely on Van.
Hunter speaks up, and I realise he’s the peacekeeper of this band. “I vote we record the song and keep working on more songs before we make a decision.”
Van replies but doesn’t take his eyes off Jett. “It’s not the song that Jett’s against so much, Hunter. It’s the change in direction I want that he’s fighting so fucking hard. He’s stuck in the past decade and doesn’t want to change whereas I know we have to change and keep up with the industry if we want to keep doing well.”
Jett stands, shoving his chair back, his face wild with the anger he can’t contain any longer. “Get your head out of your ass, Van. I’m all for keeping pace, but I’m also smarter than that, and know we have to do it slowly.” As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he storms off towards the back of the restaurant. I watch him for a few moments and then turn back to Van who is also staring after him.
West is pissed now, too. “What the hell has gotten into you two lately?”
Van directs his hard glare to West and says, “I’m sick to death of him telling us what we’re going to do and making all the band decisions.”
“For fuck’s sake, Van, he doesn’t make all our decisions. We all get a say.”
“It doesn’t feel like it. And this is a prime example. I’m making a suggestion that we need to think about our sound and make some changes and he’s shooting every suggestion down.”
“That’s not what I heard,” Hunter says. God, the man is so calm, and I can’t help but think he must have some serious shit hidden underneath that totally calm façade. People who are that controlled always have heavy shit buried deep.
“Well, it’s what I fucking heard,” Van barks.
Hunter’s body is rigid as he leans his face forward but his face is clear of any kind of irritation and his voice is still deathly calm. “I think you’re still fucked up over that bitch cheating on you and I think you’re taking it out on Jett and on us.” He takes a breath before adding, “And I think you need to get your shit together. Fast.”
My attention suddenly shifts when I catch sight of a familiar face coming through the front door of the restaurant. My manager, Michael, walks in and is seated at a table not far from us. He’s with a guy I’ve never seen before; a really fucking good looking guy that I struggle to take my eyes off. I’m committed to Jett and would never stray, but hell, there’s no harm in looking. Van and West are still going at it but it’s like white noise to me while I watch Michael and this dude.
I’m just about to tear my gaze from the hot guy when Michael eyes me and waves for me to come over. I excuse myself from the table and head over to where they are. Flashing a smile at both men, I say, “Hey Michael,” and then I turn to his friend and say, “Hi, I’m Presley.”
The guy’s eyes light up and he stands. Putting
his hand out to shake mine, he says, “Presley, we finally meet.”
Oh good lord, I would know that voice anywhere. It’s the Kentucky Fire voice from earlier today. And the voice matches the looks. Diesel’s as hot as they come with an easy smile that lights up his face, dimples that would grab any woman’s attention, and scruff that makes him even more irresistible. His dark hair is shaved close to his head, his arms are covered in colourful tattoos, and his ears are pierced with spacers. He’s the quintessential rocker with jeans that hug his legs, a fitted black t-shirt that paints his muscles, chains around his neck, rings on his fingers, and heavy black boots.
I shake his hand and then try to let go, but he keeps hold, so I’m left standing there in limbo waiting for my hand back. “Hi,” I say with uncertainty, waiting for him to release me, and feeling like I’m on the back foot here. Like he’s got all the control here. And I hate feeling that way.
He grins and eventually drops my hand but his eyes are all over me. This guy manages to fluster me and piss me off all in one go; not a good combination. When his eyes meet mine again, he flirts with me as relentlessly as he did on the phone this morning. “You’re everything I imagined you’d be, darlin’”
I roll my eyes. I’ve managed to regain my sense of control, and although he’s hot as hell and smooth as they come, I’m not even vaguely interested. “And you’re everything I wish you weren’t.”
The twinkle in his eye doesn’t escape me. God, I’m not trying to encourage him, but it seems that everything I say is exactly what he likes to hear. “Please keep talking, ‘cause every damn word out of your mouth is getting me hard,” he says, and I’m so relieved Jett is nowhere in sight.
Time to get the hell out of here. “It was good to meet you, but I’ve gotta get back to my table.” I quickly turn to Michael and promise, “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
I’ve made up my mind – I’m not working with Diesel. He couldn’t pay me enough money to ever work with him.
