by Cari Quinn
“You know, I’ve heard blonde is a perfectly respectable hair color. Sometimes blondes even have more fun.”
“I’m not having fun right now. My scalp still hurts from all the bleach and I’m getting drafts in places that should never feel cold air. Why am I doing this again?”
“The hair thing, I couldn’t tell you, since you were plenty hot as a brunette and a rainbow and every color in between. If I had to guess, you thought becoming blonde would help you score. But I seriously doubt you needed to bother, since your scoring is in the bag.” Harper paused. “Where are you anyway?”
“At this very instant?”
“No, last Tuesday. Yes, right now.”
“Kind of crouching behind the hot tub. Gray’s window overlooks the deck. It’s sunken. The hot tub, I mean, not his window—”
“Jasmine. Go inside and talk to the man. You’re going to get pneumonia if you stand around outside half-naked.”
“Aww.” Jazz couldn’t help but smile. “You sound like a mom. How cute.”
“Do I?” Harper asked, clearly pleased.
“You so do. I have to get knitting. I found this pattern for the most adorable booties—”
“Jazz. Stop stalling.”
“But he hasn’t texted me back since this afternoon. He was supposed to tell me which room was his and instead I had to guess. What if he doesn’t want me here?”
“What was the last thing he said to you?”
Jazz gripped the edge of the Jacuzzi to adjust her position. “Uh, something about me being the hottest girl he’s ever seen.”
“And you’re still outside? Did that bleach fry your brain or what?”
“I’m scared. This is so huge. And—and Nick’s here.”
“Oh Lord. Don’t tell me you want a repeat of that threesome, because I swear to God, I will come there and—”
“No, no, of course not.” Jazz had to laugh. “Believe me, once was plenty. It wasn’t even a normal threesome. I told you, there wasn’t penetration by both, just Nick.”
“The words penetration and Nick should never be in the same sentence. Just FYI.”
“Nick’s not that bad. Okay, fine, yes he is, but he has redeeming qualities.”
“Do not mention his penis. Na-na-na, can’t hear you,” Harper said in a singsong voice as Jazz choked out a giggle.
“I’m not. I’m just saying, I feel bad for doing this while he’s here. It doesn’t seem right. I don’t want to hurt him if I can help it.”
“You can be discreet, right? You’ll be leaving early in the morning. Just try not to swing from the chandeliers—or the deer antlers—and you should be good.”
Jazz peeked over the hot tub at Gray’s window. He’d lifted it part way and the light was on in his room but from this angle she couldn’t see if he was actually in there. Dammit, why wasn’t he answering his texts? “I can be discreet, I just don’t want it to be awkward.”
“So wait for a less complicated time then. Bring back my catering truck and go back to the ginormous suite of rooms at the spa you’re sharing with my delectable husband and the manwhore. Just keep on pretending that your heart isn’t breaking every moment you’re not with Gray. Go on, I dare you.”
Jazz slumped behind the hot tub and tapped her head lightly against the side. If she kept doing it, maybe the pain would distract her from the knot of nerves in her throat. “Direct hit.”
“Sorry, but it had to be said, sweetie. Dispensing tough love means I love you.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” Jazz blinked away the sudden film in her eyes. “Me too. And I know you’re right. I’ve come this far, I might as well—”
“Actually come?” Harper offered helpfully.
Just like that, Jazz’s grin returned. God, she’d missed having a girlfriend, and Harper was one of the best she’d ever had. “From your mouth to God’s ears. Okay. I’m heading in. I’ll have the truck back by seven a.m. as agreed. Or, you know, in fifteen minutes when he tells me I look like a skank and kicks my ass out.”
Harper snorted. “Right. You’re so getting nailed tonight.”
“Thanks for that vote of confidence.” Jazz smiled and flexed her damp fingers around her phone. “Later, chick.”
“You better call me tomorrow. I want deets. Lewd ones.”
“Pregnancy hormones kicking in already?”
“You know it. They’re fierce. And where’s my husband? Getting beautified, which is basically an oxymoron. He’s already perfect.” She let out a heavy sigh. “Luck, sweetie.”
“’Bye.” Jazz clicked off and shoved her phone in her boot.
She was about to stand when the scrape of Gray’s window being raised hit her ears. She ducked even further into the shadows, but she finally gave up and peeked over the Jacuzzi.
Gray had his arm out the window, and he held a glowing cigarette. Or…maybe not. He blew out a breath then she caught an unmistakable whiff of what he was smoking. That was no cigarette. Since when had Gray started smoking pot?
She thought back over the last few months. The awkward silences between them, the unexplained absences, the unfocused expression in his eyes. She’d tried to play all of that stuff off as his being uncomfortable with the band, though she’d suspected deep down that there was more to it than that. She’d been afraid of how much that stupid threesome had influenced his behavior. Something had seemed to crack in him after that. But no, maybe she’d pegged him all wrong. Plenty of musicians got high on a lot worse things than pot.
Not Gray. Never Gray.
It had never occurred to her that he could be on something because he’d always been militantly anti-drugs. Back in high school he’d flipped out when she’d gone through her experimental phase. It hadn’t lasted long. She’d tried a few different substances at parties. She’d also gotten fall-down-drunk more than once. She’d soon realized that she didn’t want to lose control of her faculties—ever. His rants every time she touched the illegal stuff had certainly pushed along the process.
Now this. It was better than the alternative, though. All of the alternatives.
She nearly let out a peal of hysterical laughter. Damn, she actually felt relieved that he might have a pot problem. A few tokes she could handle. She’d been in bands since she was a teenager. It was almost a standard part of life on the road.
That didn’t mean she approved of Gray developing a habit. She’d definitely try to get him to cut back or quit. She was just happy it wasn’t something worse.
Like the heroin that Snake, Oblivion’s first drummer, had gotten hooked on. She shuddered. Once that shit had its claws in you, it was almost impossible to tear yourself free without leaving some vital parts of your flesh behind.
She sucked in a breath and winced at the aroma that came with it. They’d discuss the pot situation, after. She hoped it didn’t affect performance. Assuming he would be doing something that counted as performing because dear Lord, if he didn’t, she might start toking up herself.
The time had come to find out.
She lurched to her feet. Luckily, she had a firm grip on the side of the Jacuzzi because she wobbled on her super-high boots and nearly did a header onto the deck. Awesome. Naturally Gray picked that moment to glance her way—and to drop his joint. Whether he did it intentionally in the hopes of hiding it or due to her appearance, she couldn’t say.
Swagger firmly in place, she marched over and picked it up, waving it back and forth. “So this is what you’ve been up to.”
Her gaze dropped to his bare chest and the swirls of black ink that banded his upper right arm. Her focus slid farther down, stopping at the unbuttoned top button of his jeans. Swirls and shadows lurked behind his zipper. A tattoo? Just a really dense happy trail? Hard to say, but at that point, she forgot how to speak.
And breathe.
“Give me that,” he snapped, leaning out the window far enough that she could watch his chest and abs ripple in perfect harmony. So many damn muscles. They would’ve struck her dumb agai
n if he hadn’t been about to snatch the joint.
She’d just have to ogle later.
She stumbled backward, retreating until her spine hit the hot tub. He was already hauling up the sill and climbing out, making her heart rate zoom up to dangerous levels. Soon she’d need CPR.
Mouth-to-mouth, yes, please.
“Seriously, you’re not even supposed to be here. What the hell are you—Jesus Christ, what are you wearing?” He took one step toward her and stopped, reaching up to run his hand over his face. He spread his fingers over his eyes and swore. “Yeah, got it right the first time. Not hallucinating. Fucking thigh-high leather boots and blonde hair.”
“Nope, no hallucination. This is all real.”
“No kidding. I don’t know what you’re here for, but I think you chose the wrong night.”
“Because of this?” She lifted the joint to her mouth as he cursed again. Why the hell not? She’d never made a believable good girl anyhoo. “Friends should share.”
Before he could make another grab, she took a deep drag. And started to choke.
“Christ, don’t.” He bolted forward and locked an arm around her waist, pulling her against him. She coughed again weakly, not even protesting when he plucked the joint out of her hand. She expected him to toss it aside, not to bring it to his perfect lips and take a deep breath. After inhaling, he blew out the smoke until it curled up lazily in the air between them. “Mine. Not yours.”
“Is that how it is?” She swallowed to ease the burn in her throat and swayed again, though not from her boots this time. The weed had already hit her head, and wow, she had no complaints. Already her nerves were fading.
Now she was just hungry. And not for food.
“Yeah.” He drew in and out, lightly blowing the smoke between them, squinting his eyes as the plumes swirled through the air, pungent and sharp. Intoxicating in their own destructive way. “This is a party for one, babe.”
“You definitely sound high.” She caught her fingers in his belt loops and ducked her head under his chin. His body heat radiated against her, searing and intense. Being this close to him was like stepping up to the edge of a cliff and staring down into an inferno.
She wanted to fall. To fly…and burn.
“Mmm-hmm. I can smell you. You’re like burnt sugar, bubbling over the pan.” His mouth moved against her hair. “What do you have on under that dress?”
Her heart squeezed. He wasn’t in his right mind. She wanted him fully aware. And she wasn’t all that aware herself. One toke had been enough to scattershot her thoughts like balls across a pool table. She should wait.
Wait.
Wait.
“I can’t,” she whispered.
“Can’t what?”
“This.” She waved a hand between them. “You’ve given off so many mixed signals, and I probably have too. We’ve been dancing around this for too many years. I may be making a huge mistake but I don’t care anymore. We’re both here right now, and I’m not wasting one more chance.”
She drew her dress up over her head and let it fall.
Curves. So many curves. She was like a living G-clef made out of flesh and flawless diamond-crushed skin. The ruby red tips of her breasts peeked out from beneath the waves of her white-blonde hair. Thanks to the spill of light from the window, he could see that the same flush bloomed between her legs, beyond enticing. It would be so easy to move forward and take. To just drown himself in her until he couldn’t remember anymore why this was wrong.
“Jazz,” he breathed, shutting his eyes to block out the torch-light of her beauty in front of him. He couldn’t breathe through his want. Couldn’t think through the haze of the marijuana and his need. And his love.
He fucking loved her, and he’d fight not to do this with every fiber of his being. She deserved more than a strung-out bastard who’d turned to pot because he couldn’t get ahold of more coke. For fuck’s sake, even his dealer wouldn’t return his calls.
Now she was here, and he couldn’t get high enough not to feel each of the knives carving him up inside.
“Gray,” she said, equally soft. He didn’t open his eyes but her voice crept closer. “Look at me.”
“No.” The word burst from him on an exhale. “No.”
Her hand touched his bare chest and he jolted as if she’d set off a stick of dynamite. Her chuckle rubbed over his nerve endings, sandpaper and silk, and he struggled to hold back a shudder. Only the steel beam he’d shoved in his spine held him upright.
“Back when I used to get high, it’d lower my inhibitions,” she continued. “It made me excited. I know it’s supposed to relax you, but it had a different effect on me.”
He focused on each of her words on its own, so he couldn’t take them all together and feel their impact. He couldn’t let her do this. The man she was trying to seduce might’ve been worthy of her a year ago. He hadn’t believed it fully then either but he knew without doubt that he wasn’t now.
“As if you ever had inhibitions,” he muttered, unable to summon the strength to raise his voice. All his blood had rerouted to his cock. All his air was fueling his starving cells. He could only not inhale for so long. But if he did, he’d smell her again, watermelon and sugar, and he’d be finished.
“Oh, you’d be surprised. I’ve wanted you for years. And I haven’t done one damn thing to let you know.” She started circling him, her body brushing against his. Hip to thigh, thigh to ass. Her fingers trailed from his chest to his arm to his back, sensual feathers of sensation that made his balls clench so tight he feared any movement would send him over the edge. “But I will tonight.”
He gritted his teeth. “You can’t. You don’t know me anymore. You don’t understand what you’re getting into.”
That made her stop. Her fingers pressed into his lower back as she processed his words.
Please, make them be enough.
She completed her loop around him and hooked her fingers in the front of his jeans. He groaned at the slide of skin on skin. Her other hand closed around his fingers, still gripping the joint, and she pried it free. He heard her inhale before the wisps of her breath kissed his mouth. “So show me.”
To Jazz, he was just a recreational user. Never mind that he’d told her years ago that doing that shit would lead nowhere good. In her eyes, he didn’t owe thousands of dollars to people who would break his legs—or his hands—if he didn’t cough up the cash. He didn’t have such a fucking thirst for blow that he’d practically broken down during his voicemails to Cricket tonight, begging for enough to get through his time at the cabin. Then he’d do whatever she asked.
He could do anything, survive anything, but he couldn’t turn away from Jazz. She would sustain him where every other drug had failed.
Opening his eyes hurt. For an instant, the spill of light from his room haloed her head, glowed like dancing fire in her china blue eyes. He fisted his hand in her hair and watched it spill through his grip like liquid gold. With one tug, her head was back, those slightly glazed irises fixated on his. Waiting.
“I’m going to break you,” he murmured, both warning and plea.
“Maybe we’ll break each other.” Her tongue flicked over her lips, an invitation more potent than even the siren’s call of cut lines on a mirror, glistening and pure.
And he couldn’t say no anymore.
Seventeen
Then
The room was spinning. Lights and shapes blurred, becoming one psychedelic mass. Guitars screamed and drums crashed, pounding between her legs. Echoing in her head. Her feet couldn’t keep up. She moved faster, revolving through the thick, humid air. She wasn’t just dancing, she was the music. The bassline simmered in her blood, as intrinsic as a heartbeat. If she exhaled, the rhythm would change. Inhaled and it would skip.
Don’t look down. Don’t look up. Don’t stop.
She laughed when someone grabbed at her arms. No. She couldn’t take time to think. This particular section required her to kee
p moving to hold on to the beat. She couldn’t falter or the song would end too soon. Maybe she’d never get to play it again.
“Jazz. What the hell? What’s wrong with you?”
That voice. Rough and urgent. It didn’t belong here. She hadn’t reached the chorus. This wasn’t his part. That would come later, when she was prepared to share the melody with him.
Not yet.
“Baby, come here.” Gentle fingers caressing her cheek, brushing aside her hair. The familiar scent of sage and cedarwood from his aftershave drifted over her, as warm as a blanket. He tucked her against him and she let out a sob, so close to shattering in his arms that hiding in the thick cotton of his flannel shirt seemed like the only oasis of safety she had left.
“Gray,” she said, over and over.
“I’m here. I’ve got you.”
She shook her head, knowing it had to be a lie. No one had her. Trusting anyone led to her being alone. She wouldn’t be so stupid again.
“Are you here by yourself?” His knuckles slid under her chin, tipping it up. This close, she could taste the hops on his breath. He’d been drinking too, but he wasn’t like Toby. His hands weren’t grasping and groping at her clothes. She’d finally shoved him away and started to dance, and he’d laughed, wanting to see her show.
Everyone expected her to perform, as the pretty little doll who wasn’t supposed to cause a fuss or as the blue-haired freak who played through her pain. Either way, she had a script.
She’d always sucked at not blowing her lines.
“Jazz. Look at me.”
She struggled to focus on him. Why did Gray have four eyes? Four gorgeous gray eyes, but still, that was creepy as fuck.
“Jesus, baby, what are you on?” He drew her toward the nearest couch and pushed someone aside so he had room to sit. Then she was on his lap, and his thumb was on her lower lip, carefully stroking. “Tell me what you remember.”