by Quinn, Cari
Remind you of someone else who mistreats women?
“Gray.”
He didn’t lift his head. It took more energy than he had left. His thoughts played on a constant loop, taunting him.
You hurt Jazz. Just like he did. You’re no better than Brent.
“Dammit, Duffy, get it together.” Lila got right in his face. “You think I can’t see it on you? Smell it on you? Get yourself straight. I’m not tolerating this.”
He opened his mouth to reply then snapped it shut as the other guys shuffled in with Jazz in tow. Deacon had his arm around her shoulders and she gripped his waist as if she needed the assistance to walk.
Gray’s heart lurched into his throat. He half rose out of his chair. “Jazz.”
“Sit your ass down,” Lila said flatly.
“But—”
“I said sit down and now I’m adding ‘shut up’ to that.” She stalked to the door and slammed it closed. When she turned back, her lips curved. “Fun little party, hmm?”
Nick slumped into a chair at the head of the table. “Bipolar much?”
“I can assure you I’m not. What I am, however, is angry. Do you think being on our label is a right? That you can use and abuse our good faith—” her gaze landed on Gray before darting to each of them in turn “—and we’ll just stand back and smile?” She stopped behind Nick’s chair and aimed a death ray at the back of his head. “If so, some of you have grossly miscalculated.”
“Lila, it was just a small scuffle. They probably had a little too much to drink.” Deacon aimed a hard stare at Nick.
“Oh fuck that. I didn’t start a damn thing. I was talking to Jazz, that’s all.”
Gray swore. “You weren’t just talking to her, you frigging pri—”
“Grayson,” Lila warned. “Now would be a really good time to learn to listen.”
Gray scraped a hand over the back of his head and glanced at Jazz, who sat between Simon and Deacon. Between those two, she looked tiny. Deak still had his arm around the back of her chair and even Simon kept nudging her with his leg, clearly trying to annoy her into smiling.
It was good she had them. She needed someone else to rely on besides him. God knows he’d tried to be everything to her, but he’d failed. Over and over again.
“I’m listening.” Gray shut his eyes.
Maybe then he wouldn’t have to see the expression of disappointment Deak wore or the pinch in Jazz’s smile. Simon wouldn’t look too deeply into what had happened, if he’d even untangled himself long enough from his hookups du jour to notice. And Nick wasn’t his friend anyway.
But Deak mattered. Jazz mattered. He hated letting them down.
Lila…well, yeah, she mattered too. She was his boss. Sort of. But he couldn’t drum up much concern about PR nightmares and whatever icicle their manager had up her panties while he could still smell Jazz’s watermelon-and-wildflowers scent clinging to his clothes.
Lately he hadn’t been able to smell much. Even walking into the bar, where the scents of smoke and spilled beer and sweat were commonplace, he hadn’t picked up anything until he reached Jazz. Somehow she’d gotten through.
“That goes for the rest of you too. Gray and Nick were the instigators of tonight’s fiasco, but in case any of the rest of you decide to get cute, consider yourselves preemptively on notice. You’re on Ripper Records because you’re stars on the rise. But make no mistake. If any of you become a liability to this label and my reputation, you’ll be out the door faster than you can say ‘at-will termination clause’. Got it?”
Nick pushed back his chair. “We signed contracts. You have no right to threaten us.”
“Read the fine print. Then go look up a band in the annals of pop culture called Menudo. They had a revolving door of talent. Oblivion could become the same.”
Simon dusted his nails on his black sleeveless shirt. Gray was pretty sure it had sleeves before they arrived at the bar. One of his lady friends had probably torn them off. “Can’t have Oblivion without the lead singer,” Simon said airily.
Lila leaned forward to plant her hands on the table. “Keep telling yourself that.” Her blue eyes were on fire. And in Gray’s current state of mind, he half expected them to pop out of her head and hurtle like mini-missiles right at his face. “You’re expendable, every one of you. You think your talent will save you? Look around Los Angeles. See how many of you there are and then come talk to me about how your ability makes you exempt.”
“What the hell’s the point of having a contract if you’re holding it over our heads constantly? We walked away from fucking Trident’s morality clause and it sure as hell sounds like—” Nick ground the heel of his hand into his eye. “Forget it. Different dancers, same tune. Guess you didn’t save us from much, huh, Boy Scout?” He directed the last bit at Deacon.
Rather than shoot back a retort, Deacon steepled his fingers over his stomach. Placid to the last, except for the stone stare he leveled on Nick.
“You could try saving yourself,” Lila suggested, propping a hip on the table next to Nick while she consulted her ever-present iPad. “You know, just for a change of pace.”
For once, Nick didn’t say anything. He cracked the knuckles on his left hand, his jaw working as if he were fighting to remain silent.
Gray understood the feeling.
“Wow. I’m impressed. This may be an Oblivion record for no sniping. And since we’re all getting along so well, I’ve decided to spring something on you all that I’d planned to save until after the holiday. But why put off what you can do today?”
“My Magnum says we can put it off,” Simon said in a low voice.
Jazz elbowed him. “Magnum or Magnums plural?”
Simon flashed her a grin and yanked on one of her disordered braids. She grimaced more than she normally would have and guilt arrowed straight into Gray’s gut. He’d been too rough with her. Hell, he didn’t know how not to be rough after wanting her for so fucking long.
Which was exactly why he needed to steer far away. Reason one of a million.
Simon flipped her braid between his fingers. “Both, pink passion fruit.”
“Your Magnum is empty. Consider your New Year’s Eve party over, Kagan.”
“Aww, Brianna and Monica will be so disappointed.” Simon’s frown pulled down his cheeks, giving him a hangdog expression.
“I doubt it. Monica was already crawling all over one of the roadies when we passed her.” Nick shook his head. “Some staying power you have, man.”
“Hey, his fist never complains.”
Everyone glanced at Gray. Christ, had he spoken aloud? He always thought stuff like that, but he never actually opened his mouth. Not anymore.
Jazz shot him a smile, her lashes sweeping down to hide her eyes before she shifted her attention back to Lila.
Simon grinned and thumped the flat of his hand on the table in front of Gray. “I got two fists. And I use ‘em both.”
Lila cleared her throat. “As charming as this detour into your personal recreational activities is, Simon, I’d rather we get back to business. Shall we?” Without waiting for his response, Lila tapped her tablet and directed a sunny smile at the group. “Ripper Records prides itself on being a different kind of record company. We take an active interest in growing our artists for reasons other than money, but let’s face it, green always talks. Oblivion is booked for studio time beginning in late January for an as yet unnamed album. I’m sure you’ve come up with a few choices. Let’s hear them.”
Silence reigned.
“We just got off tour, for fuck’s sake,” Nick muttered.
“I didn’t realize you’d nominated yourself as the spokesperson of the band.” Lila waved her hand at the table. “But I’m all for group politics. All in agreement say ‘aye’.”
“Aye.” Simon raised his fist.
“Shut the hell up. If you were closer to sober, you wouldn’t want him to speak for shit.”
Nick lifted a brow. “Oh,
and who should be our spokesperson, Saint Deacon? You? In between knitting booties and shining your wedding band?”
“Not going there with you.” Deacon directed his attention at the glittery landscape outside the window. “Miserable pricks suck as company.”
Nick kicked back in his chair. “I’m not even sure you have a prick, never mind a miserable one.”
“He must. I’ve seen his missus’s baby bump,” Simon affirmed.
Jazz poked Simon’s shoulder. “Shut up. You’re all looking like a bunch of jackasses.”
“How dare you taint Papa Smurf’s reputation, Jasmine?” Nick slid a crushed cigarette pack out of his jeans pocket. “And here I was just about to light up in his honor.”
Lila plucked the remaining cigarette from the pack and tossed it to the floor. The crunching noise that followed proved she’d disposed of it with one of her wicked heels. “Consider that me doing you a favor,” she said to Nick, who hadn’t yet wiped the shock off his face. “First and last time.”
Nick’s lips twisted and he bit off whatever he’d been about to say. “I think it’s you who needs a favor,” he said softly. “Too bad I forgot my extra-long ice pick.”
Simon snorted. “You forgot your extra-long everything, dude.”
“I’ve had enough. Maybe you guys don’t care about this band enough to stop cracking jokes, but I do.” Jazz bounced to her feet, heat and energy vibrating off her in almost visible waves. “We don’t have a name for our album, Lila. We haven’t even made a list. As far as songs go, all we’ve managed to do is gripe at each other. We have some lyrics and chord progressions, but nothing much useable. Our material blows and no one seems interested in changing that fact.”
“Are you interested in changing it?” Lila asked.
Jazz hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, I am.”
“Do you have some songs you’d like considered?”
Jazz’s gaze darted around the table before she crossed her arms and nodded again. “I have some stuff that could work.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?” Nick leaned forward with an insolent smile. But Gray saw the gleam of curiosity in his eyes. He’d never admit to wanting to know what musical notes Jazz had up her sleeve.
“Like ‘Captured’,” Gray said quietly. “That’s a great song. We could both play that in our sleep.”
“Gray—”
“Let’s do it, Jazz.” He swallowed hard and focused on her face to block out the cacophony in his head. “You and me.”
Seven
Then
“Mmm, guess it’s a good thing I finally gave in to you.”
“You guess?” Gray teased.
“Well, you were so persistent. Coaxing me no matter how many times I said no…”
Gray grinned and lifted his head, staring down at Melissa Peachtree spread out beneath him on his bed. He’d been trying to get her there for so long that he wasn’t about to speed up the process, even if his mom was due home soon from work. Maybe he could make time stand still if he stared at the clock long enough.
Nah, scratch that. He’d rather stare at Melissa’s tits.
“I think it turned out to be worth your while.”
“Yeah, I think you’re right.” She lifted her shoulders off the bed. “Do that again. Harder.”
“Your nipples are already red enough to match your lipstick. Sure you want more?”
“You know it, baby.” She tugged on his hair, walking the fingers of her other hand up his chest to toy with the chain around his neck. She was a toucher, and he couldn’t say he minded. At all. “Though there’s something even better you could do for me with that mouth.” Her dark eyes lit up with her suggestive smile.
His favorite thing. Some guys hated going down on a girl. He thought they were idiots. If he had his way, he would’ve been happy to eat pussy for breakfast, lunch and dinner. From the tiny pink string bikini stretched between her narrow hips and the dizzying scent of her arousal, he had a feeling this one would be particularly delicious.
“Is there?” He thumbed her nipples. “I think you’re going to have to be a little more descriptive. Tell me what you really want. And don’t play coy like you used to do.”
She laughed, all throaty seduction, and leaned up on her elbows to study the movement of his mouth over her breasts. She wasn’t some high school chick who was too young to understand what he craved, never mind want the same thing.
Melissa was a freshman in college, one of his friends’ older sisters, and she’d drawn out their flirtation so long that his cock pulsed between his legs, thick and hard. He’d unbuttoned his jeans to give himself room, but he might as well not have bothered. There would never be enough room in his pants when Melissa was beneath him.
“So you want me to talk dirty.” She fisted his hair to drag his mouth to hers. “Before you do me dirty.”
His fingers continued working, unable to keep still. “Sounds about right.”
“I want you to use those wicked-fast fingers to make me come. Then when I’m coming, I want you to replace them with your tongue.” She bit his lower lip, dragging it between her sharp white teeth. “Slide it way deep inside my pussy until you lick me dry.”
His heart kicked hard. “I like the way you think.” He smiled and turned his head, burying his face in the thick ribbons of her blonde hair. She smelled like strawberries and sex. He didn’t want to forget a single detail about having her this first time.
“Oh, and don’t worry,” she purred. “I always return the favor.”
“I’m not worried.” He shimmied down her curvy body. “All I want is that sweet pussy on my mouth.”
A movement in the connected bathroom caught his eye and he shifted his gaze to the doorway, his hand fisting in the sheet beside Melissa’s hip. Jazz stood just inside the threshold of the other doorway, utterly still. With her pigtails, cutoffs and bare feet, she looked like a kid. All she needed were scuffed knees. But her eyes weren’t young. They watched him with an understanding way beyond her years.
Dull horror and embarrassment and something else, darker and edgier, coursed through his veins. He waited until Melissa turned her head and mouthed the word, “Go.”
She held her ground. Not moving. Barely breathing from what he could tell.
Obviously she needed a nudge to get the hell out of where she had no business being. Short of getting up to shoo her away—which would be bad on too many levels to count—he had no choice but to continue and hope she got the hint. Fast.
Melissa flicked her tongue over her teeth. “Do I need to draw you a roadmap? Go south.”
“I know right where I’m headed. No detours.” Bracing his hands flat on the mattress, Gray ducked his head and caught the eager tip of her breast between his lips. He sucked harder than he had before, more than a little off-center from the knowledge that they had a spectator.
Fuck, if he closed his eyes, he would swear he could smell that watermelon-scented lotion Jazz was always smearing all over herself. She’d sat on his bed last week and he’d had to run his sheets through the wash twice to get every last trace of the scent out. Now she was filling up his bathroom with that same damn smell.
Whose bright idea had it been to move her into Brent’s old room? He couldn’t share a bathroom with a spy.
A spy who was still standing there, head tilted, eyes narrowed, as he slid down Melissa’s body and yanked at her panties. He rolled them over her uptilted hips and practically attacked her pussy, so pissed off and turned on he didn’t know what the hell he was doing.
Jazz shouldn’t be there. He shouldn’t be getting harder from knowing she was.
She was too young, a girl who’d seen and survived way too much. She wasn’t ready for this. If he wasn’t some kind of pervert, he’d get up and slam the door he’d accidentally left open.
Even though he knew she liked to come into his room that way. Even though he’d never locked a door to keep Jazz out in the months she’d lived in his—their—home.
&n
bsp; Even. Even. Even.
Melissa moaned as he speared his tongue deep, completely without skill. He’d lost the rhythm. The beat to their movements was gone. He raised his head, not to seek his lover’s expression, but Jazz’s.
Their gazes locked. And held.
She fumbled behind her for the doorknob and stumbled into the room at her back. She looked for all the world like a doe who’d crawled off into the bushes to die after being hit by a car she’d never seen coming.
Fuck.
Shutting his eyes, he lowered his head to finish what he’d started.
Eight
Now
“You two can play your little song. Nice.” Nick snorted with obvious derision. “Too bad we’re a band and not Sonny and Cher, huh?”
“I’d like to hear it,” Deacon said.
Jazz dropped back into her chair and groped for the chain around her neck. Gray glimpsed the flash of purple she flipped between her fingers and smiled behind his hand. She’d never taken that guitar pick necklace off in all the years since he’d given it to her, though he’d never actually seen her use it for its intended purpose. “I’m not sure I remember—”
“I remember.” Gray hoped like fuck he remembered. Before, he would’ve been able to bring back the melody without even looking at the sheet music they’d scribbled together during those long nights in his basement. But before was a long time ago.
A wrinkle appeared between Jazz’s brows. If he’d been closer, he wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to stop himself from leaning in to kiss it. “We set it up for two guitars.”
“We have two guitarists,” Gray replied, well aware of her nerves whenever the spotlight shifted her way. There was a reason Jazz had drifted behind a drum kit rather than choosing to focus on guitar, and it sure as hell wasn’t talent. She had it in spades with whatever instrument she picked up. Keyboards, drums, guitar—she was proficient in all three.
What she didn’t always have was confidence, though no one but Gray knew that. He would’ve bet his last dollar that no one in Oblivion had seen beyond her wild-colored hair and iPhone stunts and crazy antics to the girl beneath who still never felt quite good enough.
