"I know you probably got them to match my dress," I said, turning the corner to the suite bedroom. Jax, his back turned to me, stood half-dressed next to the bedroom's sunken tub. "I thought you might like them better like this."
He turned around to face me, and his brow rose in a sexy arch as a broad smile spread across his lips. "You were right," he said, taking off the pants he'd clearly just put on. God, I loved the sight of his naked body—I never got tired of watching him strip. "I like it so much, in fact, that it makes me remember a certain night in Las Vegas."
On the nightstand, a ringtone started playing from Jax's phone. I looked toward it, and then toward him. "That was a good night," I said, ignoring the phone to wrap my arms around his bare skin. It had been ringing off the hook with interview requests ever since news broke about the nomination—and the last thing either of us wanted right at this moment was media attention.
Jax brought his mouth down to hover near my ear, sending a shiver through my shower-damp body. "I'm aching for you, Riley."
I looked down to see his erection, thick and rock-hard, and felt warm wetness starting to develop between my legs. He brought a finger slowly down my chest and stomach, then further down until I gasped with pleasure.
He teased at the wet folds gently, slowly, until I felt like my body was on fire with yearning for his touch. His lips brushed against my ear as he said:
"Wrap your legs around me. I want you. Now."
Distantly, I registered another ringtone playing, but I had more important things to do. I brought my legs up around his strong, muscular thighs, longing to feel him inside me. Looking into my eyes, he stepped into the sunken tub, carrying me with seemingly effortless ease.
With the warm water all around us, I brought my hand up to his face, tucking a tendril of his long hair back behind his ear—and then I felt him slip into me, filling me deeply, all at once, making my back arch with surprise and pleasure.
I loved how he fit inside me, and I gasped as he thrust in rhythm. His hands grasped my hips as we moved as one, bringing each other close to the edge of ecstasy.
Using tight, controlled thrusts, he skillfully found my rhythms, going deeper just when I needed it, just when my eyes pleaded for more. I'd never had a lover like Jax—one whose skills just kept getting better the longer we stayed together.
As his body pressed in close against mine, his cock ramming into me harder, faster, I found myself getting closer and closer to the point of no return. The ringtone kept blaring, but I just didn't care. His eyes looked into me, as if they could see all the way through me, intense, always watching, always aware of my pleasure.
My climax began with an intensity that shocked even me, bubbling through my body like orgasmic champagne, rising from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. I screamed out, thrashing in the water as my body clenched down around him, and saw his eyes grow wide with sensation as his orgasm rocked his body.
As the wave of pleasure receded, we looked at each other. "Good timing," I said.
"I try," he said, giving my ass a playful smack, and we both started laughing.
Suddenly, we heard the telltale sound of a card key being inserted into the hotel room lock. Both of us covered our bodies instinctively as the door sprung open with the sound of loud chatter.
"We tried calling," Kev's voice called out above the din, "but you guys didn't—"
When Kev turned the corner to the bedroom, Jax was standing in the sunken tub, struggling to get himself covered, and I was hiding behind him, my elbows and face poking out from behind his body.
"I think maybe you'd better wait out in the hall," Jax said gruffly, his face remaining totally expressionless while Kev's went beet red.
"I think you're right, buddy," Kev said, shielding his eyes. "You guys take your time. But, uh, not too much. I'm pretty sure they don't stop the Grammys for anybody. Not even the favorites."
***
An hour and a half later, as I sat sipping champagne from back seat of a limo, Sky pointed excitedly at a crowd gathering on a sidewalk ahead. "We're almost there! Look!"
In front of the crowd, a huge vintage limo stopped, and we watched a couple in formal clothes get out while being swarmed by fans. "Is that Brangelina?" I whispered to Sky, who nodded wordlessly, mouth agape.
We slowed to a crawl in the line of limos letting people out. When it was finally our turn, Jax turned to me. "You ready?" he asked.
"Ready as I'll ever be," I said, taking one last look in my compact mirror before putting it back in my bag.
The driver opened the limo door, and the band stepped out onto the red carpet, dates in tow. Jax and I stepped out last, and were nearly blinded by the flood of flashbulbs that surrounded us.
Reporters and audience members screamed a hundred questions at once as we stepped down the long red carpeted hallway. It took half an hour to walk fifty feet while interviewers shoved mics in the band's faces and stopped them for press photos.
"Is it true that all the songs on your album were written in just two weeks' time?"
"That's right," he said, flashing a grin and squeezing me close to him as he answered the question. "But then, I had some pretty amazing inspiration."
"What do you have to say about rumors that The Days of Wanting Her Back is the favorite to win Album of the Year?" one reporter, dressed in a red gown with a mermaid-style skirt, asked Jax.
"I can't possibly comment on that," he said, looking suave as he smiled, raising his scarred brow. "All the nominees are talented—we're happy just to be nominated today."
The funny thing was, unlike most of the people at the award ceremony, he was probably the only one telling the truth. For Jax, going from homeless runaway teenager to rock sensation was plenty. An award on a shelf, he'd told me the week before, would just be a pretty paperweight.
The rest of the band, of course, didn't share his opinion, and neither did I—a win would mean more press, bigger concerts, and the possibility of a music legacy that could last beyond our lifetimes.
As we got to our seats, the enormity of the event really struck me. Here we were, sitting next to actors, musicians, producers . . . all the people who made the industry tick. After weeks of preparing for the awards ceremony, it was really happening.
Once the host, an edgy comedian with a dig about most of the stars in attendance, took the podium and got started with his routine, the only question on my mind was what he'd say about the Hitchcocks. It happened, finally, just before the Best Album nominations were read out, after we'd been sitting politely clapping for winners and nominees for over two hours.
"As for the crowd favorites, the Hitchcocks," the host was saying as the crowd erupted in scattered "wooooo" sounds, "Are they here because of their music or because they've got Khal Drogo leading the band and slaying everyone who gets in their way?"
Jax and I turned to one another laughing—we'd watched all of Game of Thrones together, and I had noticed his resemblance to the show's powerful horse lord character more than once.
As the nominees were announced, I gulped, taking a look around. I knew it wasn't the end of the world if The Hitchcocks lost, but by the way their knuckles clenched white around the seat arms, I also knew that every member of the band—even Jax—wanted a win more than anything.
"And the winner of Best Album of the Year goes to. . ." the host said, tearing a side off the envelope and peering at the paper within with a grin as I squeezed Jax's hand.
"The Hitchcocks, with The Days of Wanting Her Back!"
Instantly, the auditorium erupted into thunderous applause. Sky's jaw dropped, and Chewie and Kev gave each other a high five as they got up.
I clapped wildly as Jax stood, but then he held his hand out to me.
"Wait, what?" I asked incredulously. I wasn't part of the band—there was no reason for me to be up on stage when they accepted their award.
"Come up there with us," he said, still holding his hand out, with a glint in his eyes I'd never s
een before. "Trust me."
My mouth opened to object, but when would I ever get the chance to do this again? I reached up and took his hand, grinning ear to ear, and made my way down the aisle of the auditorium with the rest of the band.
The spotlights shone down on us as we climbed the stairs and Jax took the mic at the podium. "Wow," he said, testing the heft of the statuette in his hand. "So this is how it feels."
From the audience, a female voice shrieked: "WE LOVE YOU, JAX!"
He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. "I want to thank my band, the best band in the world, The Hitchcocks, for being the greatest people I could imagine touring with. My manager, Reed, all the people at our record label . . . but they're not the ones I want to thank most. One person made this entire album possible, and she's standing with us right now. Riley . . . "
He turned to me, and suddenly I felt like the eyes of the entire world were staring in my direction.
"Riley," he started, then noticed that I was looking out at the audience. He looked at me closely, then put two fingers up to his eyes, then toward mine. "Look at me, Pepper. Look at me like it's just the two of us here."
My breath shallow and fast, I turned to look at him. His eyes were deeper, more soulful, than I'd ever seen them.
"Riley, we've been through incredible things together. Amazing ones, terrible ones—and the only constant is that I love you more through every experience we have together." I felt myself blushing in the heat of the light as he spoke, and I could hear the audience start to murmur among themselves. "You're my muse. You're my rock. I want to keep you safe always. I want you by my side forever. Riley . . ."
My heart beat faster and faster as his words sunk in, and then Jax, his voice nearly cracking with emotion, said, "Will you marry me?"
My eyes opened wide, and my hands flew to my mouth. I nodded, trying to get my bearings, and tears started coming to my eyes. "Yes!" I cried out. The audience broke out into whoops and cheers, and a thousand flashes lit up as photos snapped all over the room.
He held out a ring, sparkling in the intense lights. I walked toward the podium, and he slid it around my finger. I looked back to the rest of the band with an incredulous look on my face, as if to ask, did any of you know about this? They stared back with sheepish grins. I wondered, grinning, how long this had been part of the plan . . .
and then I felt Jax's lips, kissing me in front of the audience, the cameras, the world. His mouth pressed against mine in a frenzy that shut out anyone but the two of us, locked close together in an embrace no one could tear apart.
I drank the moment in. Life wouldn't always be like this, I knew, and I'd want these memories to last for the rest of my life.
I'd done what no one—including me—had ever thought possible. I'd made the rockstar mine.
The band members stepped over, congratulating us loudly as they hugged us. "Hell yeah, dude," Chewie said, thumping Jax on the back. "Now, let's go celebrate! I've got us VIP invites to every afterparty this town has to offer."
Jax looked at me with his scarred brow raised quizzically, and I smirked at him.
"Thanks for the offer, but I think our afterparty is going to be just the two of us."
Laughing, holding hands, we walked away toward the backstage doors.
It was going to be a good night. And things were only getting better.
Jax and Riley's story is over for now, but don't miss out on Kristen and Vincent's story in:
Forbidden Surrender (The Forever Series)
Keep reading for an exclusive excerpt!
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Other books by Priscilla West
Forbidden Surrender (The Forever Series)
Secret Surrender (The Forever Series)
Beautiful Surrender (The Forever Series)
Wrecked (The Forever Series)
Rescued (The Forever Series)
Reckless (The Forever Series)
Forbidden Surrender (The Forever Series)
"What gives you a thrill Kristen?"
The minute I saw Vincent Sorenson, I knew he was trouble. Arrogant. Possessive. Controlling. He was everything I craved, and nothing I needed.
Unfortunately, I couldn't just avoid him. The higher ups at my company decided they needed his business, and I was on the team to bring him in. Vincent Sorenson didn't seem as interested in business as he was in me, but I knew that was a door better left unopened. If I got involved with him, it would only unearth the pain I spent years trying to bury.
I thought I had it under control, but I seriously underestimated Vincent's seductive charm and silver-tongue. I would soon find out how delicious it would feel to let myself fall into this forbidden surrender.
Forbidden Surrender (The Forever Series)
An Exclusive Teaser from Forbidden Surrender
When I got back to my hotel room Riley was curled up on the bed watching television. Richard had gone to his own room to do who knows what.
"So how did it go?" Riley paused after I shot her a miserable look. "I'm so sorry, Kris. You don't have to talk about it."
I kicked off my heels and let my hair down, anxious to get out of professional mode. "Richard seems to think we did well. Sometimes I feel like he's in his own world though. Vincent was definitely not going for our pitch. You could totally read it in his body language."
Riley's expression was sympathetic. Remote in her hand, she switched off the TV. "I'm sure you did your best. Maybe luck just wasn't on your side today."
"That's the thing. I couldn't even do my best. I messed up multiple times." My mind replayed the awkward moments from the meeting and I shuddered. I didn't have anyone to blame but myself, but in my current mood I was eager for a scapegoat. "If Vincent wasn't so damn gorgeous, things might've been different."
"Oh, do tell." Her voice increased a pitch.
I told her all about my blunders, and when I was done she smiled. "Well at least you looked professional."
"Thanks for the sympathy." I gave her a wry grin.
"You know I'm always here for support. That's why we're going to have a blast today. You're going to forget all about that meeting and Mr. Abs Sorenson. Tonight we'll hit the bars and have guys buy us drinks. I know you haven't been dating much, all that sexual frustration must be eating you alive."
It was true. I'd only gone on a handful of unsuccessful dates since I'd met Riley. I told myself it was because I focusing on my career instead, but there were also personal reasons I didn't want to think about dating—reasons I never told Riley. Still, she was right about the sexual frustration. If my battery-operated boyfriend could talk, he'd probably say I was smothering him.
"I'm not really interested in the male species right now. Between Richard's chauvinism and Vincent shooting us down today, I think I'm a little burned out on testosterone."
"Fair enough. It'll just be us girls then. Get in that sexy bathing suit you brought." Riley untied her robe to reveal her bikini, its thin straps and enhanced bust leaving little to the imagination. "I'm all ready to go."
Having vented to Riley, I felt better about the situation this morning. I slipped into my bathing suit and left the hotel with her.
When we arrived at the aptly-named Bikini Beach just before noon, the shore was packed. There was a nice mix of tourists and locals, with lots of people both in and out of the clear blue waters. We laid our towels down on the heated sand and relaxed in cheap folding chairs we got from a nearby beach store. Once we were settled, Riley went to get us some drinks. I stared out at the waves and thought about how picturesque the scene looked. This kind of experience was rare when you lived in Manhattan and I took the opport
unity to soak it in. As the afternoon wore on, the stress of the morning seemed to melt away like the ice cubes in our mojitos.
I spotted a few surfers in the distance zig-zagging along the water. I'd never been surfing before and didn't have much of a desire to change that. I understood the appeal, but I was afraid of the danger—I just didn't think the risks outweighed the benefits. A few thrilling moments versus the possibility of getting my arm bitten off by a shark or getting stung by a jellyfish . . . yeah, I'd be happy with just tanning—with sunscreen of course.
Vincent, on the other hand, loved risky activities. His whole business was based on extreme sports. I didn't really get it but it clearly made him very successful.
A few toned men with olive skin passed by and Riley directed my attention to them. I had to admit they were attractive from a purely physical perspective but that just didn't do it for me.
"Maybe your standards are too high," Riley said.
"Just because they have abs and a penis doesn't mean I want to sleep with them."
She laughed. "Keith had more than that. You never told me why you turned down my offer to set you up with him."
"He just wasn't my type."
"What is your type, Kris? I've hardly seen you date since I've known you, and don't say it's because you've been too busy with work." She nudged me with her elbow.
"I'm not sure I have one." I was only vaguely aware of rubbing my own pinky finger.
"Oh come on. Every girl has a type, some just aren't willing to be honest about it."
Now I was the curious one. "What's your type then?"
"Let's see . . . tall, strong, handsome, smart, dark, dangerous . . . oh and let's not forget rich."
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