by Susan Arden
“You’ve two minutes. I trust you can make things clear.”
“I’ll try. No promises.” Christy started to pull Alana across the floor, but not before his client gave him a look that was meant to fillet his manhood.
He inhaled, observing that the bottle of champagne he’d sent over hadn’t been touched. He leaned against the bar, careful to refrain from openly staring at the perfect rear-end of his next client sauntering away.
Bollocks. He picked up his glass and sipped the Scotch, relishing every second of her long-legged journey. Her lean thighs were a tease of flesh between that slip of shiny gold material and a pair of sexy boots.
“Jon, for the love of everything holy.” He turned, catching sight of Carter, his neighbor from Music Row. The man headed a small production company with cash to burn. He shook his head, stifling the urge to tell Carter to back off as he’d already gotten Orion’s commitment. So, the sharks were indeed coming out. Soon enough, every Nashville hound dog would be on the trail of Orion—and Alana. Yeah, he owed Baxter on this one.
“What are you drinking, you old toe-rag?” Jonathan said.
“Apparently nothing, as you’ve got your hooks into fresh meat. That’s the word on the street,” Carter smirked. The man needed clients like a hole in his head; this business was all a game to him. It wasn’t that Carter was a menace, he simply wasn’t in this business for the long haul. The clients he signed were hobbies. A pastime until he found something else that amused his overindulged ego.
“Who are you babysitting tonight?” Jon asked, downing his drink.
“Not a soul. All’s quiet in Music City. What are your plans for Orion?”
“Curious fellow, aren’t you?”
Carter snorted. “The fact that you’re all hush-hush makes me believe you’ve got big plans for them.”
“Actually, I’ve considered taking them out of play for a while. I’m thinking of studio time. Someplace out of sight.”
“Use mine,” Carter offered.
“I think I’ve got it covered.” Alana was a bird of another color altogether, and his plans were rapidly changing from the general sign-and-assign to one of his company handlers. She would be his project, from start to finish. He wanted to forestall the usual studio grapevine seepage. What went down in the studio tended to get leaked to the press, and what he needed for Alana was stealth.
An unveiling of her revamped self, once he harnessed and conditioned her abilities. A complete renovation of her came to mind. With the right wardrobe, the correct training, and his personal polish, she’d sparkle. That wasn’t his ego talking. He had the necessary music connections for someone with her innate skills. His pulse threaded faster and faster as he evaluated his find this evening.
She was a diamond waiting to be plucked. A rarity, and it was his specialty to find, cast, and present this level of talent to the world. She might balk right now, but when it was over, she’d own the stage and the audience.
He rejected any overt attempt to throw up a smokescreen with people like Carter. Far easier to give them a portion of the truth, instead of allowing Carter’s piqued interest to get the upper hand. Carter preferred to think of himself as the ultimate insider. Easier to thwart the man’s ability to pester him to death, or worse, his digging for information that he’d share with all the wrong people.
Calmly, Jonathan replied, “I’ll be testing her voice quality. Nothing complicated. The outer is nothing without the ability. Wrap a package as one might, you can’t make manure smell like roses.”
“Brother, that’s harsh. I don’t believe I’ve heard that analogy applied to a woman with those types of…looks before.”
Jonathan’s skin tightened. He swung his glance over to Carter and noted the man’s hard stare. He turned around and gripped the bar. Alana was leaning over a table, the half-moons of her ass cheeks peeking out from her dress.
“Excuse me,” he said, his jaw clenching tight and tighter with every step he took toward Alana. He reached her side and lifted her arm without a word.
She reacted like a tiger ready to pounce and he was prepared. Leaning in, her scent clocked him. A light floral aroma unlike anything he’d inhaled in ages. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” he whispered against her hair.
In lieu of answering, she stared at him, the power in her eyes holding him for a beat. Neither of them did much of anything save breathe and gaze at one another.
She finally answered him. “We’re working out the logistics for tomorrow’s schedule.”
“No need. My secretary will do all that. Tomorrow she’ll contact…” he gazed from face to face at the group looking for the drummer. “You. Hank Barryman, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Mr. Lansing. It’s a pleasure.” The drummer stood and held out his hand. A giant of a musician. No surprise the man could beat on those drums for an hour without breaking a sweat.
Jonathan dug inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a few of his business cards. What had his secretary harped on, reminding him? It wouldn’t hurt to act human. That’s what he got for hiring his aunt. The woman, another non-conformist, frequently attempted to chastise his tendency to be overbearing to get his way.
To prove everyone wrong, he smiled. Not so difficult, if one didn’t succumb too often or for too long a period. “Good to meet you all finally.”
“Same, Mr. Lansing,” another band mate said. “I’m Carl. Bass. That’s Billy on lead guitar. And Christy on guitar, keyboards, and vocals.” After shaking hands with everyone, Jonathan turned to Alana. The scorching look she cast at him provoked him into remembering why’d he’d come to their table. Jesus, she was something else.
Carl gestured with his hand. “And I guess you know Alana.”
“Yes.” Cat had his tongue, and bad. Her dress strap had slipped off her slender shoulder, displaying the upper curve of her breast. Without thinking twice, he reached for the strap and slid it up onto her shoulder, and an electrical burst shot up through his fingers.
She gasped and stepped back, beyond his reach, without saying a thing. He’d felt the shock same as she. This was going from insane to uncontrollable in a matter of minutes, and he’d had just enough this evening of her tempting little display for the whole room to admire.
“It’s time we left,” he said, speaking to her in a low voice. He turned his attention back to Carl. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Sure thing. Are we playing tomorrow night? We have a rehearsal at eleven.”
Alana put her hand on her hip and faced him. “Yeah. Or are you just going to shut us down, as you threatened?”
“Well, doll, that all depends on you.” He fought to keep his mouth shut. Fuck. All he wanted to do at that moment was get her alone and find out exactly where they stood.
The roiling in his gut had expanded into an energy that had his cock thickening. She might be shooting flames with her eyes, but her body was speaking an entirely different language, and his dick wanted in on that action.
“Carl, for now go with what you’ve planned insofar as rehearsal. Unscripted is fine. I’ve a few other venues where you’d be better received. Plan on the Ryman in four nights as the opening act for, say, the likes of Halestorm. If you’re all up for a few songs.”
The band members stared at him. Shell-shocked. Typical response. They came out of it nodding and smiling, looking at each other. He had them hook, line, and up to the reel. He stole a glance back at Alana. She narrowed her eyes, lifted her chin, and gave him her best you’re a jerkoff stare. He laughed softly and enjoyed the huff she executed. If she wanted to play games, he was all up for the challenge.
“Shall we?” he asked, and curved his hand around her elbow. “You’ve a bottle of champagne on the bar still. Maybe now you might feel like celebrating?”
“Hell, yeah,” Christy said. “Sorry, Lanie. I’m sure they’ve got room service where you’re going. Isn’t that right, Mr. Lansing? Alana can order whatever she wants.”
Jon met Ala
na’s frosty gaze. “Good girls earn rewards. I give nothing. You’ll earn everything, and then some.”
Her lips trembled and for a millisecond he had the impulse to take her into his arms and kiss the pulsing point on her neck, making them both forget this charade of a business that chewed lesser mortals to bits. But that wouldn’t help Alana. Where she was headed, he’d be doing her no favors by coddling her. His job was to give her the tools to deal with cocksuckers like himself. Not cave under pressure.
He stiffened his spine and his resolve. “I think that concludes this meeting. Say your good evenings, Alana. The car awaits us.”
Chapter Three
Where in the world did J.P. Lansing crawl out from? Obviously some dark, damp rock in Nashville. She’d heard of producers who were sons-of-bitches, yet he seemed to put them collectively to shame.
Back at the table, Christy had described in detail the diversity of holdings under his record label. The Lansing label was, in fact, an umbrella company, through which he owned not one but several production outfits for different musical genres, from rock, country, and jazz, to a new R&B imprint. Under his vast wing, Lansing had a series of promoters who were part of his corporation, and he held the rights to distribute several other record labels. Apparently, she was the only person in the band who’d not known of him. Not surprising. She didn’t focus her time and attention on the bigwigs of the music industry. So far, she was taking baby steps in acquiring a sense of who were the truly important players on Music Row, versus those who pretended status.
Nashville was new to her, unlike like Hank who’d grown up in Belle Meade and attended MBA, an exclusive private school. Only recently had the city transitioned from a country music stomping ground into a serious destination for all sorts of bands. The place was overrun with top technicians in studios, and producers of every level had opened shops by the dozen. She couldn’t keep up with who was who. Tyler took care of that aspect. That’s why they gave him a twenty percent cut of their earnings. What a doofus.
She seethed inside as she picked up her purse and followed Lansing outside. If he thought for a second that he was going to speak down to her just because Tyler signed some stupid agreement, he was so wrong. Definitely, this man would see the back of her head as she walked away, and she’d gladly show up in court. If he wanted to sue her, so be it. She lifted her chin, refusing to pay him any attention.
And then, she careened into the back of him, sending that plan all the way to hell.
The connecting of their bodies was like hitting a wall. Instantly, her breasts were crushed up against his muscular back’ her nipples tightened into hard peaks and elicited a sharp gasp from her. Not in pain, but in some weird kind of pleasure. Her hips pushed into his firm ass and she ended up reaching for his waist, expecting to find a pair of love handles that most business executives sported, but he was rock hard. She held onto the grooves, gripping into his skin that refused to yield. His stomach was washboard-flat and twice as hard. Lansing reached around and cupped her rear-end and, for a second, she gave in to temptation and held herself still, enjoying the feel of his fingertips sliding down along her crack.
Someone shouted and she jolted back to reality, releasing a vehement hiss. “Okay, that’s enough of that,” she whispered. “You didn’t contract my body. Or did you, Mr. Lansing?”
“Pray tell, but who pushed into whom, Ms. St. James?” He unhanded her and swung around. She noticed his nostrils flared slightly and his eyes glinted, giving him a predatory demeanor. His lips were generous, unlike his sense of humor, and his gaze held hers. Each beat of her heart thundered loudly, reminding her he wasn’t one hundred percent piss-poor quality for a heartless man. The opposite in truth, but she’d never mention it without her arm being twisted.
“Well, no snappy comeback this time?” he asked.
And then he had to speak again, throwing a damned monkey wrench into a fleeting nice thought. “You come across a lot better when you’re silent.”
He studied her, arching a dark, inky brow. “My secretary says the same thing.”
“Oh, J.P. Darlin’, I thought I might have missed you. Aren’t we going to finish our conversation from earlier?” The young woman who Alana had spotted across the bar came into full view. Jean skirt, cowboy boots, and matching hat tilted just so to capture Lansing’s attention. Alana watched, expecting he’d sneer as he’d basically done to her all night.
Lord have mercy. Lansing unbolted the place where he’d kept his charm locked away. A charismatic smile curved his lips. A deep dimple dented his cheek, and she had the distinct impression that if she punched him good and hard, his secretary would agree that he deserved it.
She glanced down at the floor, considering her options, and noticed his shoes. He wore loafers without socks. So European, and his tanned, masculine feet gave her pause to consider how much her toes hurt in these ungodly boots. It was as if a light switch was flipped, and she made her move.
“Lord have mercy. So this is how you find pleasure,” he whispered low, after she stepped on his foot with one of her spiked heels. She’d done well in school and had aced physics. He’d just enjoyed about six hundred psi delivered in less than two seconds.
“My bad,” she fluttered her lashes and cocked her head. She feigned a southern accent, saying, “Why, that just had to hurt, J.P.”
He inhaled and reached out, taking hold of her arm, and bending his face to her hair. The side of his cheek scraped over her jaw. “You like things rough? Do you?”
Alana’s nipples pebbled tighter at his tone and his touch. An arcing, erotic current ran between them. He straightened away from her and she fought the urge to pull him back against her.
“As you were saying,” he said to the other woman.
“Pardon me.” The surprised expression the young woman displayed at being ignored vanished in his sudden attention. “I thought we might share a drink together,” the woman said.
“Ah, Miss Strockton.” He pulled a card from his bottomless pocket. “Call my office and we’ll see what we can do about a meeting.”
“Thank you, J.P. Thank you so much. I can’t begin to tell you what this means. Oh shoot, I’m tearing up…from joy.” The young woman bounced on her tiptoes, and Alana swore for a second that the girl was going to hug her. No wonder Lansing’s head swelled larger than a Florida watermelon.
If every singer was prepared to throw herself at him, that would taint a saint in a week. Well, hell would freeze over before she sang his praises. Alana rolled her eyes, peeved at the young woman’s effusive gratitude.
Lansing pulled Alana forward as he started walking away from the newest member of his fan club. “What’s going through that pretty little head of yours?” he asked, holding her far too close to his body as he hauled her through the exit doorway.
“Good night, Mr. Lansing.” The crew of burly bouncers straightened and grinned.
Alana opted to forego responding to his question. How many people thought they were going to make it in show business? They walked to the side of the building where a dark car with glowing brake lights idled. The lighting dimmed back there, and their footsteps echoed between the muffled music from the bar. He walked in long strides, and she was tired of being pulled along as though she were some puppet.
She jerked her arm, vaguely considering, for every action an equal and opposite reaction.
Alana stood her ground, notching up her chin. She wasn’t about to get into his car with this off-balance relationship in tow. “Buster, you think everyone is just going to throw themselves at you? Do you? ‘Cause I’m not going to. You might have me for, what…a week or two? But that’s it. Nashvegas will be over and so will we. I don’t see you as my savior, J.P. Lansing. I don’t care how many people you own—you don’t control me.” She ended up poking him in the chest, and damned if each jab didn’t hurt her finger, given his pectorals were harder than steel. Angrier, she said, “So put that in your pipe and suck it.”
His f
ace went from ashen to an immediate burst of color over his impeccably-carved features. Not a dimple to be seen. She no longer wondered if she’d pushed his buttons; she was more than certain she her rant had—every last one.
“You have quite a temper.” He stalked forward. She recognized feral when she confronted it, and he was a riled beast out for blood. Not good, considering that when she’d tugged her arm free, she’d forced him into a puddle, splashing what she imagined was foul water into his shoes. Shoes that cost more than her suitcase of clothing, not to mention splattering his white trousers that fit his narrow hips perfectly.
She glanced down to view the stains on the ankles of his slacks. In breaking eye contact with him, she failed to see his hands move to bracket her hips and push her back into the brick wall. His strength took her off balance.
“Jesus Christ,” he said, releasing her hips.
Alana felt she was going down. Instead of falling, she felt him take hold of her bicep, keeping her upright. Lansing cupped her head with his other hand. The back of his hand took the brunt of the force between her head and the brick wall, saving her skull from a rough knock.
Alana met his gaze. The heat from his body scorched her skin. Her neck and her arm were held in place, keeping her securely against the building, and then he took it further by pressing his body into hers. No mistaking his state of affairs. Lansing’s hand moved slowly down her arm, dropping to her hip, and then, gripping her tight, he hauled her against him. His erection stabbed her abdomen and for several long seconds, they stared at each other, as he ground himself into her hips, forcing her legs apart and easing her onto his upper thigh. Alana had the words formed in her brain and was ready to say them. Go on.
The words wouldn’t unfurl from her tongue. Her body refused to act in accordance with her feelings of moral outrage.
No. What her body understood was one thing. She wanted him, and not the typical chocolates-and-flowers deal. She wove her fingers through his thick hair and gave in to the frustration she’d experienced all night because of his acting like a prick. He didn’t pull away from her grasp but moved harder into her, grinding himself and rubbing his stiff cock over her mound, unabashedly teasing her and making her ride his leg.