CRASH & BURN (Rule Breaker) (4 page)

Alana wrapped a towel around herself and then opened the bathroom door, combing her fingers through her hair. She took in that he was fully dressed. “That was fast. Good on your word.”

“I guessed on your size and glanced inside your boot for your shoe size. If not a match, there are shops down on the mezzanine level below.”

She forewent reminding him that those shops, near as they were, more than likely were closed. Still, he handed over a fancy, heavy-as-hell shopping bag stuffed to the brim. “Looks like there’s a whole lot more than just one outfit in here. Thanks. Is this considered a recoupable cost?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you kidding?”

“I’m serious. I can’t spend money from the band’s royalties on my own personal items. How is that fair?”

“I meant that no, these aren’t expenses I’m charging against your royalties. How much of a dick do you think I am? Never mind. Don’t answer that one. Whatever you find in that bag to your liking, consider it a gift.”

“I didn’t mean to imply…it’s just that we’ve had a few rough breaks over the last year.” She glimpsed some of the contents within the open bag, admiring the expensive clothing labels. “That’s very generous, but I can’t accept so much.”

“Alana, this is nothing more than a time-saving device. Straight off, stop fretting over the details. I’m well aware of what happened to Orion. Growing pains, and you’re not the first band to flounder in the sea of temptation. My job is to help you succeed and learn to navigate in less than copasetic conditions.”

“So then, I can’t ask out of idle curiosity, how did you get these items here? So fast, I mean.”

“I’ll entertain that one. Dwayne. My driver. Does it matter?”

She frowned, remembering a pastel pink bag from Mimi’s Intimates amongst the contents. “You had your driver pick up lingerie for me?”

“Did you happen to notice how this suite is decked out? This isn’t the first time a driver was charged with collecting a few items. I’ve accounts with various retailers. It’s not like Dwayne was rummaging around the panty aisle. I give a size and approximate requirements to my contact. No. Big. Deal.”

She inhaled, trying to take in that the costly mountain of apparel was viewed as a matter of convenience. When she and Christy shopped for duds, it was generally at a consignment shop or a sale.

Designer clothing. Forget it—not on their meager budget. Their last album broke even, with the royalties barely covering their tour expenses. They were forced to do extra gigs to get a paycheck to eat at times.

“Maybe not in your world,” she muttered, turning to go.

Jon caught hold of her arm. “Your world is about to change.” His gaze danced around her face, moving from her eyes downward toward her mouth.

“I’ve heard that before,” she whispered, aware that a billowing cloud warmed her belly, directly related to his touch. The pressure from his fingers increased and she licked her lips, uncertain what to do next.

“Not from me, you haven’t. I understand that tosser of a manager you’ve got has bollixed up a few deals. Today my attorney is looking into the most efficient means of divesting Orion of Tyler. I suspect by lunch time you’ll have a new manager, or at the very least your band will be free of the wanker. I don’t want that type of man around you again.”

“Why? You’re doing all of this because…of last night?”

“Christ almighty, Alana. Don’t start that again. Didn’t I stop right on the dot to prove to you I’m a man of my word? Stop with the crucifying me before I’ve done anything deserving of your mistrust. There will be plenty of time for you to have a meltdown. I don’t believe you receiving a gift from me qualifies me as a son-of-a-bitch. That’s very middle class of you, sweetheart, and you might try and remember that, where you’re headed, that set of values will get you into trouble.”

She stepped closer to him, anger having caught her unaware and condensing in her chest, heavier than a brick. She lowered her voice, staring up into his face. “How? Because I don’t accept gifts from a guy after having sex? I think if I had, then those types of morals would be questionable, especially in this industry. Maybe, just maybe, you might consider how messed-up this is between us.”

Jon pressed his full lips together as his nostrils flared. He continued to hold her, and shook his head deliberately from side to side. When he spoke, he took hold of her other arm and held her away from him, as though making some sort of point. “Well, sweetcakes, you’ve slept in that bed, and now you’d better decide—quickly—just how you intend on dealing with the consequences.”

“Let’s not pretend all’s fine and dandy. I’ve no intention of starting off on the wrong foot, regardless of what we did this morning.”

“I said you didn’t owe me or the studio for a bag of trinkets, and I bloody well meant it. You and I, naked and fucking, has nothing to do with how I intend on managing your career. Not last night or now. I’d fuck you every day, twice or three times a day, and not have a problem producing and promoting your sweet arse to the hilt of my ability. So don’t question my morals or ethics, given that I’ve promised to step back from crossing that incredibly arousing line. Truthfully, I’m sorely tempted to rip off that towel and lick you until you scream for my cock. And, baby, I know you want me to. Nothing’s changed since this morning except we entered into a professional agreement that I fully intend on keeping. Grow up, Alana. We had sex, not a lifetime commitment. A wild, one-night stand.”

“I’m not the one with the reputation,” she snapped.

“You asked me last night whether I had sex with my clients. Quid pro quo, since you’re so inquisitive. You haven’t had a one-nighter before?”

A blaze of heat worked up her neck and colored her vision blood red. Jon towered above her while his scent enfolded her, and the hardness in his voice, fingers, and body taunted her to do more than stare mutely. All she could muster was a soft, “That’s not the same.”

“How convenient for you. Now look who’s crafting their own rules to live by. Get dressed. The car is ready. We’ve a crew setting up this morning, and if you don’t get a move on, you will be late for your first appointment, holding up production, and that does affect your band’s bottom line.” Jon’s heated gaze flared up and down the front of her. “I expect you, Ms. St. James, to
act
like a professional
. This isn’t about my out-of-control dick being fascinated with you. Perhaps you’d better reframe how all of this is going to work in that gorgeous head of yours. Me cajoling and begging isn’t in the cards. Am I coming across crystal-fucking-clear?”

She inhaled her anger. Red-hot words collected within her mouth and were caught on the tip of her tongue as though snagged by a fish hook. “Yes. Let me go and I might make this shoot on time, Mr. Lansing.”

“Right. No need to ask twice. There. No more excuses and no more conversation, just get dressed so we can get the hell out of here and get past the history of the bedroom.” He unhanded her so rapidly that she stumbled backward, clutching the bag closer to her chest. The sound of the paper crunching filled the room where they stood, staring at one another. Her heart clattered loudly in the void. He nodded stiffly, and then turned around.

Alana’s body trembled, not so much from anger as from the sensation of being so close to Jon, and almost hurling herself against his body in a desperate hunger, a forceful driving need, to shut him up. She wanted to tell him so many things that had nothing to do with her career.

The act of flinging the bag required no thought. She just did it. Watching the bag impact his shoulder, she had immediate misgivings as he glanced back at her with a thunderous expression. Jon looked at the bag lying on the carpet and back up at her, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

“I don’t appreciate being told when to speak and when to get dressed,” she yelled.

“Really,” he said, dangerously eyeing her from head to toe. “So, there’s something you want to say. My dear Ms. St. James, did I cut you short?” He bent over and calmly retrieved the bag, collecting the few items that had spilled. In closing the distance between them, he didn’t walk, he menaced with full predator focus. The hairs all over her body rose, skin tingling from the double shot of adrenaline firing through her veins.

“Say what you mean, Jon. For once. It would be refreshing.”

Inches from her, he tossed the bag onto the chair next to him. He moved and caught her by the waist, effortlessly hoisting her up and over his shoulder. He crossed the room and tossed her down onto the bed, landing right next to her. Jon grabbed and yanked her wrists over her head. “I forgot. Sometimes I lose my head and my manners. What exactly did you need to add to the conversation?”

The weight of his body blanketed her belly and chest. Inches separated their mouths. His eyes darkened with fully-dilated pupils. His hard-on pushed against her mound and she fought any attempt to move. Her arousal flared, sending electrical sparks across her skin each time his scalding breath caressed her neck. “I don’t like being pushed around.”

“But you can wing a bag at my head? I’d say that makes us even.” He released her wrists. She watched him kneel on the bed, lifting her legs before he spread them open. In this position she was bare to him, and the thought of him seeing her in this vulnerable condition made her clench. She was drunk with aching need, longing to feel him touch her. Arching her hips, she forced her fingers away from touching her throbbing clit and she bit her tongue rather than beg him.

“We’re not even. Far from it.”

“If you can’t keep up your part of the deal and act like a client, then perhaps I shouldn’t treat you like one.” His commanding voice sent a chill racing up her spine.

“Jon, please,” she whispered.

“Make up your mind, Alana. Do you want me to fuck you, or represent you? I’m dangerously close to giving you what we both want.”

Chapter Four

Seeing her spread open in front of him, Jon mentally cursed everything possible. Alana pushed him and he’d folded, reacting like a testosterone-crazed caveman. Fuck. The bitchier she acted, the more he hungered to take her. Hard and rough was how they communicated best. His cock stiffened, scraping against the back of his zipper into an erection-fueled inferno, and razor-edged lust gripped his balls as his heartbeat pulsed in the veins along the sides of his engorged dick.

“You’re pushing me to the brink. But you know that. Don’t you? You’re teasing me unmercifully, and there are terms for women who enjoy doing that to a man.” But damned if she didn’t open her legs wider, staring up at him while the pink tip of her tongue flicked across her lips. “Answer me, Alana! What do you want?”

“You know I want you. But it’s a mistake. I won’t be taken seriously. You know that. Don’t deny that anyone who gets caught in bed with a record exec is a cliché.”

“If that’s how you see it, then stop the shite. I’m only human. Fuck if this isn’t torture.” The little vixen appeared cool and collected, wide-eyed in her response, while her wet pussy taunted him to find relief. For both of them.

“Let me up. I’ll go put some clothes on so we can get on with our day.”

* * *

Standing next to her in the elevator required a supreme amount of intestinal fortitude to keep his hands, mouth, and body parts from purposefully coming into contact with Alana St. Sexiness’s body. His mind felt clogged and his tongue heavy. But when they spoke, interrupting his loud, crashing thoughts, he found he could focus on the words she spoke instead of her luscious curves.

He cleared his throat, “Where are you from originally?”

She met his gaze, an eyebrow raised. “Is this part of a fact-finding mission for the music industry?”

“Yes. And, no. I’m curious. You’ve an unusual look. The eyes, hair, and skin. That’s not a suntan from a salon.”

“How do you know?”

It was his turn to stare. He whispered, “Because the honey color of your skin is endless over your body and beautiful between your legs.”

Her eyes widened in shock. “Tick-tock,” she said.

“And you asked, so don’t waste your time chastising me for answering you honestly. I shared my moving experiences during a childhood that were less than stellar.”

“I don’t usually talk about my background. As you said last night, we’ve a lot in common.” With her cheeks blazing, she lifted her chin to indicate that this subject was not one she delved into freely, or without some pain. “My parents came from Portugal before I was born.”

“Do you speak Portuguese?”

“Eu posso segurar minha própria
,” Alana said. “I just said I can hold my own. I grew up in a household where my parents thought it would be better if we acculturated ourselves to living in the United States. They live in Miami. A middle-class neighborhood. My father’s a dentist. They never allowed any whining. There are no excuses, no reason in the world good enough for failure as far as my mother and father are concerned. Growing up, I learned quickly to conceal weakness. My parents were immigrants. It wasn’t easy for them at first. They arrived from a tiny Portuguese town, changed their names, and assimilated into the culture of the States.”

“Why? This is the world’s official melting pot.”

“Sure. If you’re an American looking at it. But those coming here to live don’t want to stand out unnecessarily. Or at least not my father. Not when it came to his career.”

“You do realize that’s not what we’re going for insofar as marketing you. Exotic is fantastic in the music industry right now. Are you alright with that idea? What about your family?”

“My parents wanted me to grow up and do something less...colorful. More traditional. They’ve struggled with my touring and being out on the road without a chaperon.”

He chuckled, “I can’t imagine you with a chaperon.”

“Don’t laugh. I had to take an older family friend or my mother on a date when I was growing up.”

“What is this, then? An act of rebellion?”

“No. This is my dream. Besides, my father is very ill. I’m not rebelling against my parents. They had another dream. It wasn’t mine.”