After that reverent pause, Paul starts to clap. Then others do, too. Quite a few others—people I hadn’t even been aware of before. But now, as I look around, I can see that I’ve drawn a small crowd.
I nod and smile, turning to pack up my guitar. When it’s lying safely against the velvet inside the case, I walk back to the table and sit back down beside Violet. I notice that she’s unnaturally stiff, but I can’t question her about it. Instead, I turn my attention to Paul. “So, what do you think?”
His smile is big and encouraging. “We’ll need to discuss it, of course, but I’m optimistic,” he says with a nod. “I’ll give you a call before you check out tomorrow.”
“Sounds good,” I say, trying to be nonchalant, trying to hide the frustration that I feel.
More waiting.
“Maybe you two should spend the rest of the night out celebrating,” Paul adds, nodding to Violet. His grin is reassuring. And he used the word celebrate, which is encouraging as hell.
I nod, feeling better about things.
I turn to smile down at Violet, anxious to see the excitement in her eyes, but her head is tipped down. I watch her for several seconds, but she doesn’t glance up. She seems inordinately interested in the beads on her purse. “That sounds like a great idea.”
I run the backs of my fingers down her upper arm. I feel her flinch. It’s barely perceptible—certainly not visible—but I feel it nonetheless.
She doesn’t look at me when she says, “It’s been a pleasure meeting you gentlemen. If you’ll excuse me, I need to run up to my room.”
She smiles politely and stands. We all stand with her. “The pleasure was ours,” Paul says.
Rand is the only one dim-witted enough to give her his card in front of me. “If you’re ever in L.A., give me a call. I’d love to show you around.”
I have to flex my fingers to keep from snatching the card out of his fingers and throwing it in his face.
“Thank you,” Violet says simply, nodding at the trio before she turns to ease away from the table.
I reach across the table to shake the hands of the Kick Records people. “Thanks for meeting with me. I’ll look forward to hearing from you tomorrow.”
Paul nods, as does Gene, who hasn’t said a word since introductions were made. Rand just gives me a tight smile, which makes me want to break the fingers that I’m still gripping in mine.
I grab my guitar and take off after Violet. I catch her just as the elevator doors are closing.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
At first she says nothing. She just taps her purse against her thigh. But after a few seconds, as though she can’t contain it anymore, she turns furious gray eyes on me.
“What was all that?”
“What was what?”
“All that posturing down there? Is that why you brought me? To have your own groupie?”
“What? What the hell are you talking about?”
“All the special attention, all the sweet touching and singing to me like that. I’ve never felt more used.”
“I wasn’t using you, Violet.”
“Then what were you doing? You’ve never acted like that before.”
“I didn’t realize it would bother you.”
“It bothers me because you did it as part of your show.”
“Trust me. That had absolutely nothing to do with my show.”
“Of course it did! Why else would you act like that?”
Thoughts of the way Rand was looking at her, of the ways I know he was thinking of touching her, gets my anger fired back up again.
I turn toward Violet, stepping in closer, my face inches from hers.
“You wanna know why? I’ll tell you why. It had nothing to do with me putting on a show. It had everything to do with that slimy as**ole hitting on you. It was pissing me off.”
“What? Because some random guy was flirting with me? That’s ridiculous!”
“Is it? Is it ridiculous that I hated the way he talked to you? Is it ridiculous that it made me want to rip out his eyes out every time he looked at you? Is it ridiculous that I wanted to kill him when you smiled at him?”
Violet shrinks back, away from my anger. “Jet, I’m sure that was just part of the way he does business.”
“The hell it was! He wanted you, and it was eating me up inside. That is why I was touching you. I wanted him to know that you are mine.”
Violet’s voice is soft. “But I’m not yours.”
I take a few long, deep, ragged breaths. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to be.”
THIRTY-THREE: Violet
His confession takes all of the winds of humiliation and indignation out of my sails.
“All of that because you were jealous?”
Jet sighs and hangs his head. “Yes. Damn it.” When he lifts it, there is nothing but miserable sincerity in his eyes. “It makes me furious to think of another man putting his hands on you. Of another man even thinking about putting his hands on you. And you might not have seen that he was doing more than flirting, but I sure as hell did.” He takes another deep breath and sighs again. “But I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
I want to reach out and touch him, to smooth the wrinkle from his brow. And, for the first time, I don’t stop myself. I just do what I feel like doing. What I need to do. And I touch Jet.
“There’s no reason to feel that way. I would never in a million years let him touch me, no matter how much he wanted to, or how rich and powerful he thinks he is.” One corner of Jet’s mouth tips up in an attempt at a grin. “But I love that you didn’t like it. No one has ever been jealous over me before.”
“That just shows me you’ve only known complete imbeciles. But I hope that works in my favor.” His smile is hopeful, which makes me giggle.
“It seems like it might be.”
“Does that mean you forgive me for acting like a Neanderthal?”
“Well, since you didn’t pee on me or club me over the head and drag me off to your cave, I think I can forgive you.”
Jet grabs my wrist and pulls my hand, which still cups his face, toward his mouth where he takes one finger between his teeth and bites down lightly. “Does that mean me dragging you off to my cave later is out of the question?”
The opening of the elevator doors alleviates some of the rising tension that has once again erupted between us. With a smile, I step away from Jet, backing out of the car.
“I thought we were supposed to be celebrating or something?”
“I can’t think of any better way to celebrate . . .”
With a light laugh, I walk across the hall to slide my key into the door. “You promised me New Orleans. Let me use the bathroom and then you can show me.”
A little tingle ripples through me at the suggestive sound of not only my ending statement, but the timbre of my voice. Even to my ears, it seems provocative. Hoarse. Sexy.
“I’d be happy to show you anything you’d like to learn.”
I give him a smile and rush off to the bathroom where I can collect myself enough to go back out there.
After I freshen my makeup, I nearly swallow my tongue when I step out to find Jet stretched out on his side on my bed. He ditched his jacket and loosened his tie, making him look like a delicious businessman who’s ready for a good time.
With me.
“Ready?” I ask, aware of the thick crackle of electricity in the air between us.
“Very.”
Jet slides off the bed and takes my hand. Neither of us says anything all the way down to the lobby. And it’s a good thing. The way he keeps looking at me and smiling has every nerve in my body on high alert, making it hard to focus on anything. Speech included.
With Jet’s warm body pressed against my side, we exit the hotel onto the lively streets of the French Quarter. We walk slowly, leisurely, Jet pointing out interesting places and trivia as we go. Every time he leans in to speak near my ear, chills shoot down my arm. And every time his eyes meet mine, I’m more and more convinced that he knows it.
We stop at a quaint café for a beignet, which is a delicious little pastry. I tear off a bite and let it melt on my tongue, resisting the urge to let my eyes roll back in my head. But I’m glad I did. I wouldn’t want to have missed the sight of Jet watching me eat. His heavy-lidded eyes are trained on my mouth. As I watch him watch me, he licks his lips, sending a pang of desire shooting into my stomach. It’s a sweetness that even the delicate pastry can’t match.
I find myself warm and disconcerted after only one bite. Watching Jet watch me is incredibly erotic, something I’m far from accustomed to. But it’s heady and exciting in a way that makes me feel more alive than I’ve ever felt before.
A few doors down from that, Jet stops to order us both a drink from a bar that has a walk-up window, a fact that I find amusing for some reason.
“The fast food of alcohol on Bourbon Street,” I say as I put my lips to the straw in the LED-lit collectible glass. The drink is fruity and a little bit salty, and it tastes like heaven in my dry mouth. I take a few more sips.
“Go easy on that. It’s definitely not a Coke, fast food-like or not.”
Over the top of my cup, I smile happily at him, thrilled with the way he watches me and the way it makes me feel. “This is New Orleans,” I finally say. “I’m supposed to loosen up and drink like the natives, right?”
Jet grins. “You can get as loose as you want to with me.”
I laugh and suggest impulsively, “Let’s find one of those little hole-in-the-wall clubs like they show on TV and dance until we’re hot and sweaty.”
“One of those places that are so crowded everybody is smashed together?”
“Exactly!”
“As long as I’m the only one you’re planning to plaster that body against.”
Spontaneously, I stretch up on my tiptoes and brush my lips over Jet’s. “I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather be up against.”
“Then let’s get the woman what she wants.”
Jet guides me along the street to a little bar that’s just off the main drag. The door is open, and both music and people are spilling out into the street. Jet shoulders his way through the crowd, tugging me along behind him. Once inside, I look around at the hazy interior. Smoke hangs low and thick in the air, adding a shroud of sultry mystery to the writhing mass of bodies packed into the tight space in front of the band.
This is precisely what I had in mind.
Jet pulls me to one of the few empty places along the wall. “Finish that, and then we’ll dance.”
I glance down at my drink, ready to argue. But much to my surprise, I see that I only have a small amount remaining in the bottom of the glass. I must’ve sipped a lot more than I thought I did along the way. I haven’t been paying much attention. I didn’t even notice Jet finishing his and dumping it in the trash.
Pushing the straw to the side, I tip up the drink and let it pour into my mouth, cool and refreshing. When I hit bottom, I lower it and grin at Jet. “Ahhh, delicious.”
He takes it from my fingers and sets it on the corner of the bar behind us. “Then let’s go.”
The band is finishing up their set as we make our way into the middle of the dense crowd. They play one more song, something steamy and sensual, like the atmosphere itself. Jet moves in behind me, plastering his body to mine, as promised. I can feel every hard inch of him, dipping and swaying to the beat of the music. The heat of him at my back and the crowd on every other side makes me feel warm and relaxed.
When the band puts down their instruments to take a break, regular music is piped in overhead. The change does nothing to diminish the enthusiasm of the crowd, though.
I recognize the unique and soulful voice of Joss Stone. Effortlessly, her sultry voice and the sexy notes seep into my limbs and set my body into motion.
I lean back into Jet, letting my head fall onto his shoulder. I feel his hands come to my hips, his fingertips brushing my stomach. They tug me in closer to him. Every movement his body makes against me creates a sweet friction that I feel all the way into my core.
I arch my back and raise my arm to wind it around his neck. I tilt my head to the side when his lips tease the tender skin just beneath my ear, giving him better access. Against my butt, I feel his hardness. Gripping me with his hands, he holds me tight as he grinds against me, sending a shower of chills down my back and an ache into the V of my legs.
Instinctively, I move my h*ps back and forth against him. Above the music, I hear his groan at my ear as his fingers bite into my flesh.
“Don’t do that,” he murmurs.
“Don’t do what?” I ask coyly, breathlessly.
“Don’t tease me with that delicious ass and that short skirt. You may care that we’re in public, but I do not.”
“Don’t do this you mean?” I ask, unable to keep the naughty smile off my face as I arch farther and rub him with my backside.
“Violet,” Jet warns gruffly, his teeth visibly gritted. “You’re playing with fire. Are you sure you wanna do that?” As he speaks, he lets one of his hands trail down my hip to the front of my thigh where he sweeps it in toward the inside of my leg and drags it up toward my center. I gasp, feeling an almost painful sense of frustration when he stops just short of where I need his touch most.
“Are you sure you want to talk me out of it?” I ask, closing my eyes against all the people around us. No one is paying us any attention anyway. No one cares how Jet is touching me.
I could almost pretend we are alone . . . with just the music . . .