“Oh?”
“Yeah. The damned nutritionist visited this morning and gave me a list of foods I can and can’t eat during my so-called recovery.”
“Care to share?”
“You don’t want to know. Anything with flavor.”
“Sounds rough.”
“My own fault,” he said. “And it makes a man think, too, about mistakes.”
“We all have regrets.”
“Yes, but I may have made a big one with Jacine.”
“How’s that?”
“I pushed her too hard, instilled this stupid work ethic in her. She doesn’t have any fun. Doesn’t see anyone outside of work.”
“Oh?”
“What happens in twenty years when she’s put all of herself into the business and none into her personal life?”
“And there’s no little Alexanders to keep grandpa busy?”
He stared at me with surprise like I wouldn’t understand.
“My own pops been pushing me to marry. I’m not stupid. It’s not because he wants a daughter-in-law.”
“Yeah. Well, he’d have to haul his ass from Spain to enjoy a grandkid.”
“He might make the trip.”
“I’m going to ask you for a favor. I know you’re not the type of guy to settle down.”
“Wait? Are you asking me to marry you?”
“Shut up and listen. I want you to take Jacine out. Show her a good time. Let her start thinking about meeting someone.”
“You want me to act as a teaser stallion to your daughter to get her to date?” I could not believe this.
“Don’t make it sound awful. Show her a good time.”
“A good time, as in—”
He raised his hand. “I don’t need to know the details. And it doesn’t have to be anything serious. Jacine’s smart enough to know when someone is a keeper or not.”
“Wow. Way to compliment someone into a favor.”
“Damn it, Dys. Don’t tell me you aren’t too much into your own work to get serious about someone because in ten years I haven’t seen it.”
That is very true. I worked like a dog. But here’s the thing. I’ve wanted to date Jacine Alexander since the first time I saw her. And, I was young and wasn't sure what I wanted except for a good time. But the day at that pool party to celebrate her graduation, I suddenly knew I wanted Jacine Alexander.
Her bikini-clad form had played a prominent role in my sex fantasies for some years. If I didn’t have such full-on respect for Franklin Alexander, I would have asked her out. But among the things my father taught me was that you don’t mix business with pleasure.
And now the man gave me permission to date her? No. He asked me to date her. As a favor.
Should I pinch myself or slap myself in the face to see if I’m awake?
“Okay, big talker,” said Jacine as she entered the room again. “Apparently you have a huge list of dietary restrictions for the time being, so no coffee for you.”
“Busted,” I said quietly.
Franklin shot me a scorching glance.
“I can’t wait to get out of here so people won’t tell me what to do.”
A knock on the door turned all heads toward it and, and the doctor walked in. He was tall, blond and looked anything but a doctor, but hey, this was LA. Tinseltown and Starland didn’t always serve up what you’d expect.
“Hello, I’m Doctor Jones, a resident in Coronary Medicine. Dr. Alcord asked me to come speak to you about the test results.”
“I should go,” I said.
“No, Jersey. Stay,” said Franklin. “This shouldn’t take long, will it? I’m fine, and I can go home.”
“No, actually, Mr. Alexander, we want to keep you here longer. We found a blockage in one of your arteries, and we want to fix that up.”
“A blockage?” said Jacine. Her face turned white.
“And you are?”
“His daughter.”
“The blockage is what caused the coronary incident. It’s not a total block, but I’m sure that Mr. Alexander, has been suffering from some shortness of breath.”
“Dad?” said Jacine.
“So I get a little winded.”
“At your age, Mr. Alexander, you shouldn’t put off seeing the doctor. As you found out, a little thing can have big consequences.”
Franklin scowled at the scolding he received from a man half his age.
“What does it involve?”
“It’s not a difficult procedure. We use a stent that we insert through the groin and place them at the site of the occlusion to open up the blockage. It’s a non-surgical procedure with fewer complications than open heart surgery. He’ll be able to go home the next day.”
“I’m sitting right here,” said Franklin. The acid in his voice was enough to peel paint off the wall.
“Sorry, Mr. Franklin. In any case, we are setting up the procedure for tomorrow. If all goes well, we’ll release you soon.”
“Wait? Don’t I get a say in this?” grumbled Franklin.
“No,” said Jacine. “I’m not having my father drop dead of a heart attack because he wants a cup of coffee. If my father gives you a hard time about signing documents, call me.” She pulled out a business card and handed it to the doctor. “I’ll have my father’s lawyer, who has power-of-attorney sign off on them.”
“Traitor,” snapped Franklin.
“Thank you, Miss Alexander.” He handed her a card. "If you have any questions, please feel free to call.”
“Thank you, doctor.”
He left as a woman in dark blue scrubs knocked on the door. “I’ve brought dinner for Mr. Franklin.”
“I didn’t order that,” growled Franklin.
“No,” said Jacine. “I did. You’ve been giving the nurses a hard time about eating. Oh, I got an earful about you at the desk, and if you keep being bad, I’m going to hire a nurse to follow you around the house during your recovery.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Yes. I will. Franklin and Wells have some big clients to care for, and I don’t want you alone in that big house.”
“Ugh.” The nurse placed the tray in front of the patient.
“What is this?” he said.
“A nice Caesar Chicken Salad,” said Jacine.
“There is nothing nice about this. Look at it. This is an appetizer, not dinner.”
I sympathized with Franklin. Used to being in charge, having his daughter run herd on him must annoy him.
“I’m tired,” he complained. “Come back later. I’m going to take a nap.”
“Dad!”
“What? Like half-wilted lettuce and overcooked chicken will go bad? Dys, get my daughter out of here. Take her to dinner or something.”
Jacine sighed and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek.
“I’ll be back later.”
She walked out of the room, but before I could follow her, he grabbed my arm.
“Keep her busy, Dys.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jacine
Jersey Dys walked behind me as I caught up with the doctor at the elevator.
“Dr. Jones. I didn’t want to worry my father, but will he be all right?”
“Certainly, Miss Alexander. We’ve made big advancements in Coronary medicine that past few decades. The imaging we performed on your father displayed a small problem that time would make worse. We are hitting this ahead of the curve which can only increase the odds for a good outcome.”
“That sounds encouraging.”
“It is. You and your boyfriend have nothing to worry about.”
“Boyfriend?” she said, but the doctor’s phone rang and glanced at it.
“Never a dull moment in the ICCU. If you have any questions, call me.”
He ran off, and I puzzled over what he meant.
“Boyfriend?” I said out loud.
“He must have thought you and me are a thing,” Jersey said. He
smiled a broad shit-eating grin at me.
“You?”
“Don’t look so offended. You might hurt my feelings.”
“You have no feelings to hurt, except when it comes to Cole Kane and Rory Holmes.”
“That’s a low blow. You are getting cranky like your old man. Are you hypoglycemic? Do I need to get some food into you?”
He slipped his arm around my waist and pushed the call button for the elevator. Damn, he smelled good, like smoke, moss and fresh earth.
“Hmm,” I said. “What is that cologne? I don’t recognize it.”
“It’s from my new line of men’s grooming products.”
“You? Diversify?”
“My business manager, well, ex-business manager, thought it was a good idea. But he had a friend in the business, so it was synchronicity, you know?”
More like his skanky business manager scored funding from Jersey for his friend’s business, which smacked of conflict of interest. Sometimes a big name can carry a grooming line, but not always. Lady Gaga, Justin Bieber, and Taylor Swift suffered immense fails on their perfume and cologne lines to name a few. But I had to admit this scent was sexy.
“I hope you do well with it.”
We entered the wide-door elevator together since Jersey seemed unwilling to let go of my waist. But one of my spiked heels caught momentarily in the groove between the elevator door and car, and I pitched forward into Jersey’s arms.
“I seem to be doing okay,” he said with a disarming smile.
The elevator doors closed sealing us in our own private chamber.
His strong arms held me upright, and my primal brain, where thoughts of sleep, food, and sex stirred, found the kinetic strength of his guitar playing muscles intriguing. And since my head jammed into his chest from my graceless stumble, my lungs drew in more of his sexy scent. I turned my head upward to catch his chocolate brown eyes sparkling with intent. He lowered his head ever so slightly as if to kiss me and, damn it, I wanted to taste his lips.
This was ridiculous. With salacious fantasies about my father’s best friend, and the sexy encounter with Cole Kane, how can I possibly be thinking about kissing Jersey Dys?
Face it, girl. You’ve suffered one long dry patch.
If that was what drove me to lift my face to his and let him press his lips to mine, then so be it. His lips descended slowly to my lips, and magnetic electricity filled the small space between us, drawing us closer together. Hungrily he took my mouth, like a man starving, pouring such passion in the melding of our lips that went beyond lust.
His hands strayed to the small of my back, the place that always tingled when touched and my core clenched in anticipation.
But the elevator dinged, and the metallic doors inched open threatening to reveal the outer world. Reluctantly I pushed him away.
“I really should go,” I said as I stepped off the elevator. But this time I watched where my heels went so I didn’t fall over my feet again. Two nurses got on after I exited.
“Go where?” he said. He held the door open with his hand and looked at me expectantly.
“I have work.”
“I understand that? But on the Maternity Ward?”
In shock, I saw. Indeed, the floor was Maternity, a place I never expected to see.
“Oh,” I said. Sheepishly, I stepped back onto the elevator.
“Let’s grab something to eat, and discuss your plans for our social redemption? I’m sure there are a ton of details we haven’t gone over yet.”
I remembered then that the Nyberg show was tomorrow and I haven’t done a single thing to pull that together.
“You’re right,” I said. And then I saw something in Jersey Dys’ face I hadn’t expected.
Hope.
Shit.
“Excuse me?” said one of the nurses. “Are you Jersey Dys?”
He flashed a rock star smile at her. “Yes.”
“I knew it! I knew it!” she said excitedly. “Oh my God. My daughter is going to flip when I tell her. Look, can I get a picture with you?” She pulled out her camera.
He shrugged at me apologetically. “Sure. But no posting on social media for a couple of days, okay?”
“Sure. Sure.”
Jersey posed with her, and then her and her friend.
“Can I get one of you and your girlfriend?”
“I’m not—” I started, but Jersey pulled me into his strong arms and squeezed me hard.
“Sure,” he said enthusiastically.
I stood like a deer in the headlights as the woman took the picture. He then whispered in her ear, and her eyes got wide, and she giggled like a teenager.
“Sure,” she said. She then whispered in his ear, and he grinned broadly.
“Thank you very much.”
The doors opened again, and they stepped off, giggling and star struck. Jersey leaned forward and hit the button for another floor. But I noticed it wasn’t for the first floor. No, we stopped on the fourth floor, and he pulled me along as he stepped out.
“Where are we going?”
“The nurse said there is a conference room here,” he said craning his neck to check out the sign plaques at the doors.
“Why?”
He stopped at one door and pushed it open.
“To take a critical meeting.”
Before I could protest, Jersey pulled me in, shut the door, and crushed me against it. He stared into my eyes like a man possessed.
“I have a confession to make,” he said.
“What?” My throat grew dry, and I could barely croak out the word.
“I’ve had a thing for you for a long, long time.”
“I bet you say that to all the publicists.”
“No,” he said. “Damn it, Jacine. How long have we known each other? How many pool parties with you dancing around in your bikini can a man take? Can you tell me all that time you never noticed me, never wondered what it would be like to be with me?”
Of course, I did. What girl wouldn’t? But like anyone we worked with - off limits.
“You are my client. I’m supposed to keep a professional distance. I can’t look out for your best interests if—”
“That’s your father talking, Jacine. And I’m damned tired of listening to him.”
His hips pressed into mine as his mouth descended on mine, hungry and demanding as if to prove a point. His velvet tongue teased my lips encouraging me to take him in, stealing my ability to breathe.
Jersey’s hand squeezed my breast and then fluidly my nipple between his thumb and forefinger spreading fire through my body.
This was wrong. Illicit. And so damn good I didn’t want him to stop. My hand strayed to his straining bulge. Damn, he was big, and he moaned as I stroked it through his jeans.
Without warning, he lifted me and spun me around then set me on the edge of the conference table.
“What are you doing?”
He smiled at me. “I’m hungry.”
With his arms, he threw my legs over my shoulders and then pushed the hem of my dress to my hips.
“Mmmm,” he said as he eyed my black lace panties.
His tongue was on me and around me sucking my clit through the panties, and my head fell back. He lashed and nibbled as he growled shooting a vibration through me that snaked up my spine. Then in one swift move, he yanked at the panties, literally tearing them off me with a snap. His head went between my legs again continuing his rampage, as if he was trying to claim me. His tongue found my folds and speared me, lashing back and forth.
He pulled back as I gasped, wanting and needing more.
“You taste so damn good,” he said. “I can’t get enough.”
Jersey dipped his head once more between my thighs, latched his mouth on my clit and lashed it unmercifully. I gasped and moaned while I clutched at his long, dark hair that swung wildly as he played on stage giving up his passion in song. But here he was giving his ardor to me, only me, his singular audience, and at this
moment his most ardent fan, and I screamed out his name as relentless pleasure blazed through me like a fireball streaking the night.
Or I would have if someone didn’t rattle the doorknob trying to get in.
Damn if this didn't turned out to be the most frustrating day.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Rory
The pretty make-up artist powdered my nose, gushing over me, as some women do because I play the drums. When I was in my early twenties that stuff turned me on, but now, meh. Too many anonymous women in equally nameless hotel rooms rubbed the shine off casual sex for me. I’m not looking for anything permanent, mind you. But to feel a connection with a woman, someone who desires you for you, instead of your image would be welcome.
But with my face flashing a big neon sign that says, “Here’s a big star,” that isn’t likely to happen.
“Five minutes, Mr. Holmes,” said a production assistant carrying an iPad as he walked by the room.
“I think I’m okay,” I said as the make-up artist raised the large powder brush to my face again.
“Sure, Mr. Holmes. Good luck on the show tonight.”
I would need luck because on stage would be my old band mates from Banshee, Cole Kane and Jersey Dys, two people who could not stand each other.
It was stupid, what happened. Cole and Jersey, in a late night drunken poker playing, went too far. Both of them had money, so that meant nothing in a poker game. So when the Jack Daniels started talking instead of their brains, Jersey demanded some real stakes for the cards laid out on the table.
Sometimes Jersey doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.
Cole suggested that they put the ownership rights for the songs they co-wrote on the table. Jersey agreed. They wrote up their little agreement on a napkin, which Cole idiotically hangs framed in his home office.
Cole’s cards won the hand.
And that’s when the fight started.
It culminated in a nightmarish suit in civil court at which I had to testify. Neither man spoke to me for years after that.
Banshee was dead before the judge returned his verdict.
Through no fault of my own, my life disintegrated. My best friends were no longer speaking and my livelihood demolished over a stupid poker game. I did my best to put together the shards of my life, but damn it, when both of your best friends betray you, that digs deep.
Scent of Desire : A Parisian Exotica: An Ultra Luxury Billionaire Romance Page 13