Wicked Girl

by Piper Lawson

  We finish, and Haley’s gone pale. Not enough for the guys to notice, but enough that I do. “It’s sounding good.” Her voice sticks in her throat, as if the words aren’t quite right.

  “Good. Think that’s our first good, huh Jax?” Mace jokes. “Wait. No, it must be our second.”

  I shoot him a dirty look.

  Because I sure as hell remember that first night she said those words to us in the elevator, but he shouldn’t.

  I meet Haley’s gaze and the flicker in it tells me she does too.

  “Right. I need the room in”—she checks her watch—“an hour. Can you pick this up tomorrow? Or somewhere else?”

  “I’m outtie,” Brick says, already packing up.

  I slide my guitar into its case.

  The other guys leave, saying goodbye to Haley on the way.

  “What game are we playing, Jax?”

  I straighten at the sound of her voice. “You’re the one who hauled me back here like Domino Harvey. The bounty hunter,” I go on at her blank stare.

  If I’m trying to get a rise out of her, it doesn’t work. Haley doesn’t flinch, and that pisses me off more. “You’re on contract for an album. All we want is for you to honor that,” she says. “If you want to get this done and get back to Dallas, you might want to be more forthcoming. We need tracks.”

  I close the distance between us, raising a brow. “Forthcoming? Listen to you. You even sound like him.”

  And there it is. The flash that, for a moment, looks like hurt. But of course it isn’t. I can’t hurt her anymore and she can’t hurt me.

  My skin prickles when I realize it’s just us in the room. The acoustics of the space are close to perfect, and every word, every breath, is fuller and rounder. More complete.

  We’re not complete. The thought comes at me from nowhere.

  We’re inches apart. I inhale a long breath, and I smell her. She’s so different. I expected she’d smell different too. She doesn’t.

  She smells like pineapple, and that fucks with my head more than any words. Because it makes me think of how she used to be. How we used to be.

  “Todd and I want to be ready to record in two weeks.” Haley’s oblivious to the internal battle that has my hands fisting.

  “This the EP or the LP?”

  She goes still. “EP.”

  “Sure about that? Last I checked, looked like some trouble in paradise.”

  Her lips part as if she suddenly has the urge to lick them. “Let me worry about Todd.”

  I smirk. “Whatever you say, boss. You want more tracks, you know the deal.”

  Haley’s expression darkens. “I’m supposed to suck your cock in exchange for your cooperation.”

  Her flat tone has my shoulders knotting, even as the body part in question twitches.

  Fuck, it sounds wrong. Desperate.

  Nothing gives me the idea she’d wrap those perfect lips around my cock, even if I paid her a million dollars.

  But damn if I don’t want to see her admit it.

  And that’s what this is all about. I want to see the Haley I knew. The one with vulnerability. Not the new version who reminds me of a man I could never tolerate.

  “I’m impressed you can say that with a straight face, Hales. You’re all grown up. You kick the peanut allergy too? Burn all your Converse?”

  We’re inches apart, both breathing as though we’ve been running a race.

  I’ve been in this room a hundred times. It’s never felt like this. This tension, like a chord that won’t resolve. It’s her against me, and it’s way more personal than our meeting in that conference room. This isn’t about money, or fame, or attention.

  These stakes are higher.

  All it takes is the brush of her fingers over my belt to have blood flowing to my groin. “This is what you want, Jax? A cheap release to get the, ah…creative juices flowing?”

  Her voice drops an octave and shit, I think she’s teasing me right now.

  I’ve crossed a line, but I can’t back down. I manage a throaty chuckle. “If you think you’ve still got it.”

  Except still is the wrong word, because in the times we were together, we never did this.

  Sure, I thought about it every second of the damned day. But I naively assumed we’d have a lifetime to figure this shit out. That I would have months, years, to explore her. To show her. To worship her.

  The things we did were new to her, but what I never told her was they were new to me too. I’ve never been with someone I was head over heels for, before or since. Every touch of her lips, her fingers, every sound she made, every expression on her face, was a gift.

  So how the hell did we get here?

  There’s no answer in her face or the silent room around us.

  I’m about to tap out of this messed up game.

  Until Haley does something that renders me speechless.

  She drops to her knees.

  She fucking drops to her knees.

  My stomach drops with her as her fingers find my belt.

  She slides it open and lifts hazel eyes, shining with challenge, to mine.

  I can’t speak, can’t move, when Haley’s fingers find the button of my jeans and work the zipper down, one agonizing inch at a time.

  And it’s hard because I’m hard.

  I realize it the same second she does, and a little sound escapes her throat.

  “You want me to stop?” I’d swear Haley’s voice shakes at the end.

  My answering shrug isn’t the least bit casual with my hands clenched into fists at my sides. “You’re driving, babysitter.”

  Her fingers reach into my shorts and brush the underside of my cock, sending a current up my spine.

  One smooth stroke that has my head dropping back.

  The fluorescent lights overhead burn my eyes, but I won’t close them. Anyone with a pass could walk into the rehearsal room but I drop my chin, forcing myself to watch what’s happening because I know it’ll never happen again.

  Hell, I’m not sure it’s happening now.

  I can’t think of all the reasons this is wrong. I can’t think of anything except how Haley’s tongue presses against her lower lip when she pulls my cock out with hands that feel like silk.

  I swallow the groan.

  Any second, I’ll wake up—or she will.

  I can’t breathe. I watch her watch me, each of us daring the other to back out of this.

  Her lips part, and the second of hesitation, the tiny V between her brows, has my gut clenching.

  Then she closes her lips around the head of my dick.

  “Fucking hell...”

  Her mouth is hot and wet and the best place I’ve ever been.

  She sucks at my tip, adding her moisture to mine before slicking her hand down the shaft, and it’s a shot of adrenaline to a dead man.

  Each stroke has me shuddering, and I know I won’t last. It’s all I can do to keep my knees from giving out.

  Every time she sucks creates a heavy drag that tugs at my balls and down my spine. The twist of her hand at my base, the brush of her thumb just below her tongue.

  I try not to turn into a complete animal, but my hips thrust against her face as my fingers find her hair—tugging, yanking it from the braid. “Harder, Hales.” My voice is raw. “Yeah, like that.”

  I wonder what it’s like for her. If she’s thought of this too. Since I came back, or when we were together. I wonder if she loves feeling me hit the back of her throat, or whether it has her on the same brutal edge I’m riding.

  Her gaze meets mine, and her eyes are dark with what she’s doing to me.

  Her fingers move lower, finding my balls. And hell, this woman knows my body. Even if we’ve never done this, she remembers everything I like when it comes to her touch on my skin.

  I don’t think I’ve ever been this turned on in my life.

  Sweat clings to my back, and I’m reminded why rehearsing in a dress shirt is a dumbass idea. My foot cramps an
d I don’t give a shit. I’ll cut it off.

  Just as long as she never.

  Ever.

  Stops.

  The groan torn from my throat is obscene.

  So is the sound of her sucking me off, all on the backdrop of that tropical scent that hangs in the air like a dirty dream I’m never going to stop having.

  I’m close, and it’s an actual miracle I lasted this long.

  “Holy God, your mouth…”

  But instead of speeding up, she slows down.

  The pleasure’s turning into agony.

  Need claws through my body. Hot and desperate and demanding.

  “Now…” I pant. “Now, now, fucking NOW.”

  I grip her hair, moving her head up and down on my cock.

  It’s too perfect to last, and there’s no fighting the desire building in my groin, the tension in my arms, the shaking of my abs.

  It’s so wrong, but it’s so fucking right.

  If we were gladiators in an arena, I’d be lying on the ground bleeding out and begging her to finish me.

  She doesn’t.

  I wait for the suck of her mouth, the answering explosion in my groin.

  It never comes.

  The heat of her mouth is gone, replaced by cool air.

  I blink as Haley shifts back on her heels. Rises in one smooth motion, her shoes bringing us almost to equal height.

  Every cell in my body roars in protest. My erection bobs between us, a silent and painful reminder that something went very wrong here.

  Haley’s darkened gaze is on my face as she tugs the elastic out of her hair, runs her fingers through the mussed strands, and pulls it back into a ponytail that’s too tidy for what we just did.

  “What the hell was that?” I rasp.

  She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing a streak of lipstick. “Inspiration.”

  Her throaty voice has my balls aching as my heart hammers in my ears.

  “You’re joking.”

  Her gaze rakes over me, dragging down my body. Lingering without a hint of embarrassment on my rock-hard cock before lifting once more.

  “You look inspired enough to me. I want those tracks by end of day tomorrow, Jax.”

  She’s gone before I can zip my jeans.

  7

  Haley

  “Thanks for meeting, Haley.”

  “Thank you for being willing to come here at the last minute.”

  The accountant sitting opposite me in my dining room—my father’s dining room actually—has a few years on me, and she’s a numbers genius.

  “Can I get you a coffee? I make a mean Americano,” I say.

  “No, thank you.”

  I tug mine closer, wrapping my fingers around it.

  I told myself I didn’t want to meet in public, but in reality, I couldn’t stay at Wicked another minute. Not after what happened this afternoon.

  “Now.” The accountant pulls out the sheets of paper. “I will say it’s unlikely your after-school program will become revenue-positive. Unless you take Derek’s advice and use it for PR, in which case it might have a secondary effect on other sales and deals.”

  “But they could,” I insist. “The problem is that we need a sustained marketing budget and a continued push behind any of these artists. It’s not a charity. These kids are talented.”

  “The problem in today’s industry is that albums can generate attention, but unless you’re Riot Act, they can’t recoup the cost of recording. It’s all in tours and deals with brands. None of which come until you’ve built a name for an artist.”

  “It’s a Catch-22.”

  “Exactly.”

  Her pencil traces the lines of numbers, and I follow.

  I was hoping she’d be able to help me find a way to cut costs or ramp up revenues for the program.

  No luck.

  “Can I ask you something?” she says after she finishes.

  “Of course.”

  “I helped you when you wanted to sell the majority of your shares in Wicked. I remember it was a difficult time and completely understand why you’d want to step away from things.” Compassion transforms her face. “But I see how frustrated you are with how it’s run. Why stay involved at all?”

  For the first time all day, I feel the smile tug at my lips. “Listen to this.”

  I pull up an audio file on my phone and hit Play. I watch her face as the guitar riff starts. Four bars, then Tyler’s voice over top.

  She narrows her gaze. Not because she’s critical, because she’s listening. I can watch the wheels turn in her mind, and although I can’t read her reaction to the lyrics or the melody, I see that she’s having one.

  And that’s the beauty of it all.

  At the end of the chorus, I stop the song.

  “I’ve always wanted to do something that matters,” I say. “The software I’ve built and licensed has made me money. But I’m more interested in the human side of music. The way it’s created, how it affects people in ways other than opening their wallets. These kids are my chance to find the next voice that will change the world. They need time and nurturing and they’ll do it, I know they will.”

  It’s already dark when the accountant’s Lexus backs out of the driveway.

  On impulse I go upstairs to my room and change into leggings. I pull a hoodie off my shelf and wrap it around me. Then I go back outside and sit on the step, pulling the cuffs over my hands and sighing in the cool night air.

  I’ve turned over a dozen explanations for why I made the decision to keep Wicked going. Guilt over not getting to know Cross when I had the chance. Revenge in the form of getting back at him for leaving—twice.

  In the past two years, I’ve pieced together as much as I can about the man himself. From his brother and niece in California—though they rarely saw him. From his employees and coworkers. From his house and the things inside it. From his vinyl collection, which I shouldn’t have been surprised to find was more impressive than mine.

  I’d expected to create a single cohesive portrait of a man. Instead, I found two.

  A ruthless executive who would do anything to succeed. And a man with a passion he refused to let die.

  It’s impossible to know what Cross set out to do with his after-school program, but I want to prepare kids with talent for careers in music by giving them the know-how to support themselves.

  A familiar shape limps up the sidewalk, interrupting my ruminating.

  “Serena?”

  “Nice sweater.” I don’t respond as my friend bends double in her fitness gear. “I was out for a run and thought I’d stop by.”

  I’m grateful for the fiftieth time my friend lives ten blocks away as I shift off the step and let her into the house. “No Scrunchie?”

  “He can’t keep up. His legs are like two inches long.” She stretches in my foyer. “You ever going to sell this house?”

  “At the right time. When I’m ready for a change.” The place is way too big for me, but it hasn’t felt like the right moment yet. I’ve been busy with one thing or another since the day I inherited it.

  I head to the kitchen. The floors creak behind me, evidence Serena’s following.

  “Ran into Kyle on his way out of Wicked,” she calls after me. “He said you dropped by their studio. Funny thing is, I didn’t see you after.” Her voice is suspicious. “You want to tell me why you took off like your ass was on fire after dropping in to see our number one recording artist in the rehearsal room?”

  I turn, bracing on the counter. “Because I blew our number one recording artist in the rehearsal room.”

  Her eyes go round. Once in a while, it’s nice to be able to shock her instead of the other way around. “Holy shit. I’m surprised they didn’t hear him on the third floor,” she says.

  I stare up at the ceiling. “I didn’t let him finish.”

  The laugh that bubbles out of her is inappropriate and completely needed. “I love you, Haley. You should’ve as
ked him for a tour. A yacht. A diamond-encrusted skunk charm bracelet.”

  “That last one is for you.”

  “Yup.” Her grin fades. “You okay?”

  I nod tightly. “Yeah. I’m good.”

  Except that you yanked down your ex’s zipper and went all amateur-sword-swallower on him.

  I don’t know what possessed me except that when he was staring at me—daring me—I wanted to show him I’ve grown up. That I can survive without him. That I’m not deferring to his age, his experience, anymore.

  For his part, Jax hadn’t behaved as he was supposed to either.

  I sure as hell hadn’t expected the intoxicating feel of him in my hands, my mouth. The groan of arousal in his throat. The “harder, Hales” that nearly destroyed me.

  It killed me to stop.

  In the end, I didn’t do it to punish him. I did it to save myself.

  I’ve done a lot of things in two years, changed in more ways than I can count, but seeing him come? Watching those amber eyes I used to love turn gold with satisfaction? Feeling him fall apart under my hands?

  All of it would take me over an edge I’m so not prepared for.

  I chew on one of the hoodie’s laces. “It’s not fair. It’s like he comes back and I’m awake again. I can’t look at him without thinking twisted thoughts.” Even now, I press my thighs together at the memory.

  “Are you going to tell him what happened after he left?”

  I swallow. “This isn’t about that. I want to get the album made so I can get Derek off my back about the program. If we help these kids, they’re going to be the future. Did you hear the track Tyler’s working on? He’s a great songwriter. And he has the most beautiful voice.”

  “Yes. And you have helped them. You’ve given them space to record. Some of them might become professional musicians. Others turned their lives around and credit this program.”

  “It’s not enough. I want them to explode.”

  “You can’t plan another Jax. Not for yourself, or Cross, or the world.” I feel her stare on me, hard and compassionate at once. “But if you want to give these kids something that matters? You have.”

  I start wiping down the counters for something to keep my hands busy. “I think about how Jax saved me. When my mom died. When I didn’t know where I was going or what my future held. The times I wasn’t sure I had a future.” I take a breath as I rinse out the sponge. “I don’t want to save these kids. I want these kids to save the world. And I can’t say that to Derek or any of the guys in suits that run Wicked. Because they have business degrees and look at numbers and market research all day. But that’s not what this is about, not really, and I don’t think that’s what it was about for Cross either.”