There's Wild, Then There's You

by M. Leighton

  I push her chair in when she’s seated then take my place beside her.

  “So, this must be your associate, Violet,” Rand says from across the table. As hard as it is to tear my eyes away from Violet, I do, looking to Rand to reply to him. But he continues before I can, addressing Violet instead. “Jet didn’t tell us what beautiful people he has on his team.”

  The big, toothy smile that Rand gives Violet pisses me off, but I figure he’s trying to schmooze. To a large degree, that’s what some of these guys do—they kiss ass. I’m not sure which act throws gasoline on my temper—the next comment he makes or the way he’s looking at Violet like he was wishing she was on the menu—but one of them definitely does. It’s all I can do not to stick my foot in his ass and stomp the shit out of him.

  “I thought tonight was going to be all business and no pleasure, but I can see that there is plenty of pleasure to be had. Thank you for coming, Violet.”

  Violet smiles prettily. “Thank you. And you are . . . ?”

  “Randall Gregory, but I’d love it if you called me Rand.”

  Violet nods. “It’s nice to meet you, Rand.”

  I don’t think she’s flirting with him. She’s just being polite and charming and gorgeous because she can’t help it. But still, it aggravates the hell out of me.

  Violet’s hand is resting at the edge of the table, so I reach over to take it. “I’m glad she could come. I can’t imagine being here without her.”

  Violet turns a dazzling smile on me, which makes me feel a little better until Rand starts talking again and she looks back at him. It’s like her attention feels warm and the minute she turns it elsewhere, I feel nothing but cold air and the sting of jealousy.

  “We know what Jet does, but we know nothing about what a stunning woman such as yourself does with her time. Tell me, Violet, do you model? Because I have a friend who is always on the lookout for talent. And he knows I have a great . . . eye.”

  It’s all I can do to hold my tongue. What the hell kind of an asshole would hit on Violet when she’s clearly with me?

  “Oh gosh no! I’m too short to model, but I appreciate the compliment,” Violet replies.

  “Even without the height, your face and your figure are so beautiful, so perfectly proportioned, any man in his right mind would snatch you up. I mean any business,” he says with a wink and a laugh.

  Violet laughs, too, and it kills me to see her cheeks bloom with color. It eats at me that anyone else can make her blush, much less this useless douche.

  “Violet is a social worker. She’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever met,” I interrupt, regaining Violet’s attention and hoping that Rand will shut his mouth before I have to shut it for him. No doubt that would totally blow my chance of giving my songs a shot at the big time. I raise her hand to my lips, brushing them over her knuckles.

  Her eyes take on a sharp, confused look that I ignore. She might not get what’s going on, but I sure as hell do. And I don’t like it one bit.

  “Well, it’s our pleasure to have you, Violet. Can I offer you a drink or an appetizer?” Paul, the most important of the three execs, asks. I’m relieved to see him taking over the conversation.

  “Thank you,” Violet says, reaching for a chicken firecracker to put on her bread plate. “I’d love a ginger ale.”

  Paul nods, signaling the waitress who shows up within seconds, taking Violet’s drink order and returning with the soda a short time later.

  I feel better about everything as the night wears on. Rand keeps his comments to himself, although it chaps my ass every time I look at him and he’s staring at Violet or smiling at her, trying to engage her. For the most part, though, the conversation stays firmly in the realm of business.

  At one point, I see him at it again so I lean in closer to Violet, draping my arm over the back of her chair as I give Rand my biggest smile, all but daring him to take it one step further. He returns my tight smile and cocks one eyebrow at me. A challenge?

  If it is, all I can say is that he’s on!

  I nod at him, brushing my fingertips over Violet’s silky shoulder. I see Rand’s lips thin, and I have to fight the urge not to laugh in his smug face.

  After Violet finishes her drink, when I assumed we’d be heading to the “private” room, Paul surprises me with his suggestion. “Since we’re all pretty comfortable, why don’t you just sing us a couple of your songs right here, Jet?”

  I glance around the table, wondering if this was the plan all along, like a test. But I quickly discard the notion. There’s no reason for them to test me. This is about my songs, not about my ability to perform.

  For that reason, I agree without hesitation. Not only do I not give a shit where they want me to sing, but at this point, I want to get this over with so I can get Violet the hell away from Rand.

  I scoot back my chair and grab my guitar from under the table. I look around and see that there’s a booth behind us that’s empty. I get up and put my guitar case onto the table, take out my instrument, and then slide the case onto one of the padded seats. Turning to face Violet and the Kick execs, I lean against the edge of the table and pick out a few notes as I tune my guitar.

  I sing “Every Time I Close My Eyes” first, a song I wrote three years ago. I believed in it then, but now? Now I love it even more. It takes on a whole new meaning since I met Violet. Just like the song suggests, she has gotten under my skin.

  She didn’t do it on purpose, of course. She didn’t plan for me to need her like I do—to need to feel her body beneath mine, to need to taste her soft recesses, to need to be inside her more and more with every day that passes. It’s not her fault that I see her face every time I close my eyes. And it won’t be her fault when I dip my tongue into that hollow at the base of her throat tonight, and then lick every sensitive spot below it before the break of dawn. It’s just something I have to do now, consequences be damned.

  When I finish it, Paul claps. “One more, Jet. Let’s hear something new and fresh.”

  I had hoped to do a few and end with “Drowning,” but it looks like I won’t get that chance. I clear my throat and strum the strings, feeling the music all the way into my soul, just like I did when I wrote it.

  And when I first sang it.

  To Violet.

  I look up to find her eyes on me. It’s as easy to sing it to her this time as it was the last. It comes to me like I’ve sang it a thousand times, the notes and the words as familiar to me as songs I’ve known for years. She watches me the whole time, never taking her eyes off of me. I know this because I never take my eyes off of her.

  When I pick out the final three notes, letting the last one hang in the air until it fades completely, there’s absolute silence in the bar. For a few seconds, it’s like the world is breathing it in—my music, my words, my soul.

  After that reverent pause, Paul starts to clap. Then others do, too. Quite a few others—people I hadn’t even been aware of before. But now, as I look around, I can see that I’ve drawn a small crowd.

  I nod and smile, turning to pack up my guitar. When it’s lying safely against the velvet inside the case, I walk back to the table and sit back down beside Violet. I notice that she’s unnaturally stiff, but I can’t question her about it. Instead, I turn my attention to Paul. “So, what do you think?”

  His smile is big and encouraging. “We’ll need to discuss it, of course, but I’m optimistic,” he says with a nod. “I’ll give you a call before you check out tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good,” I say, trying to be nonchalant, trying to hide the frustration that I feel.

  More waiting.

  “Maybe you two should spend the rest of the night out celebrating,” Paul adds, nodding to Violet. His grin is reassuring. And he used the word celebrate, which is encouraging as hell.

  I nod, feeling better about things.

  I turn to smile down at Violet, anxious to see the excitement in her eyes, but her head is tipped down. I watch her for se
veral seconds, but she doesn’t glance up. She seems inordinately interested in the beads on her purse. “That sounds like a great idea.”

  I run the backs of my fingers down her upper arm. I feel her flinch. It’s barely perceptible—certainly not visible—but I feel it nonetheless.

  She doesn’t look at me when she says, “It’s been a pleasure meeting you gentlemen. If you’ll excuse me, I need to run up to my room.”

  She smiles politely and stands. We all stand with her. “The pleasure was ours,” Paul says.

  Rand is the only one dim-witted enough to give her his card in front of me. “If you’re ever in L.A., give me a call. I’d love to show you around.”

  I have to flex my fingers to keep from snatching the card out of his fingers and throwing it in his face.

  “Thank you,” Violet says simply, nodding at the trio before she turns to ease away from the table.

  I reach across the table to shake the hands of the Kick Records people. “Thanks for meeting with me. I’ll look forward to hearing from you tomorrow.”

  Paul nods, as does Gene, who hasn’t said a word since introductions were made. Rand just gives me a tight smile, which makes me want to break the fingers that I’m still gripping in mine.

  I grab my guitar and take off after Violet. I catch her just as the elevator doors are closing.

  “Are you all right?” I ask.

  At first she says nothing. She just taps her purse against her thigh. But after a few seconds, as though she can’t contain it anymore, she turns furious gray eyes on me.

  “What was all that?”

  “What was what?”

  “All that posturing down there? Is that why you brought me? To have your own groupie?”

  “What? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “All the special attention, all the sweet touching and singing to me like that. I’ve never felt more used.”

  “I wasn’t using you, Violet.”

  “Then what were you doing? You’ve never acted like that before.”

  “I didn’t realize it would bother you.”

  “It bothers me because you did it as part of your show.”

  “Trust me. That had absolutely nothing to do with my show.”

  “Of course it did! Why else would you act like that?”

  Thoughts of the way Rand was looking at her, of the ways I know he was thinking of touching her, gets my anger fired back up again.

  I turn toward Violet, stepping in closer, my face inches from hers.

  “You wanna know why? I’ll tell you why. It had nothing to do with me putting on a show. It had everything to do with that slimy asshole hitting on you. It was pissing me off.”

  “What? Because some random guy was flirting with me? That’s ridiculous!”

  “Is it? Is it ridiculous that I hated the way he talked to you? Is it ridiculous that it made me want to rip out his eyes out every time he looked at you? Is it ridiculous that I wanted to kill him when you smiled at him?”

  Violet shrinks back, away from my anger. “Jet, I’m sure that was just part of the way he does business.”

  “The hell it was! He wanted you, and it was eating me up inside. That is why I was touching you. I wanted him to know that you are mine.”

  Violet’s voice is soft. “But I’m not yours.”

  I take a few long, deep, ragged breaths. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to be.”

  THIRTY-THREE: Violet

  His confession takes all of the winds of humiliation and indignation out of my sails.

  “All of that because you were jealous?”

  Jet sighs and hangs his head. “Yes. Damn it.” When he lifts it, there is nothing but miserable sincerity in his eyes. “It makes me furious to think of another man putting his hands on you. Of another man even thinking about putting his hands on you. And you might not have seen that he was doing more than flirting, but I sure as hell did.” He takes another deep breath and sighs again. “But I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

  I want to reach out and touch him, to smooth the wrinkle from his brow. And, for the first time, I don’t stop myself. I just do what I feel like doing. What I need to do. And I touch Jet.

  “There’s no reason to feel that way. I would never in a million years let him touch me, no matter how much he wanted to, or how rich and powerful he thinks he is.” One corner of Jet’s mouth tips up in an attempt at a grin. “But I love that you didn’t like it. No one has ever been jealous over me before.”

  “That just shows me you’ve only known complete imbeciles. But I hope that works in my favor.” His smile is hopeful, which makes me giggle.

  “It seems like it might be.”

  “Does that mean you forgive me for acting like a Neanderthal?”

  “Well, since you didn’t pee on me or club me over the head and drag me off to your cave, I think I can forgive you.”

  Jet grabs my wrist and pulls my hand, which still cups his face, toward his mouth where he takes one finger between his teeth and bites down lightly. “Does that mean me dragging you off to my cave later is out of the question?”

  The opening of the elevator doors alleviates some of the rising tension that has once again erupted between us. With a smile, I step away from Jet, backing out of the car.

  “I thought we were supposed to be celebrating or something?”

  “I can’t think of any better way to celebrate . . .”

  With a light laugh, I walk across the hall to slide my key into the door. “You promised me New Orleans. Let me use the bathroom and then you can show me.”

  A little tingle ripples through me at the suggestive sound of not only my ending statement, but the timbre of my voice. Even to my ears, it seems provocative. Hoarse. Sexy.

  “I’d be happy to show you anything you’d like to learn.”

  I give him a smile and rush off to the bathroom where I can collect myself enough to go back out there.

  After I freshen my makeup, I nearly swallow my tongue when I step out to find Jet stretched out on his side on my bed. He ditched his jacket and loosened his tie, making him look like a delicious businessman who’s ready for a good time.

  With me.

  “Ready?” I ask, aware of the thick crackle of electricity in the air between us.

  “Very.”

  Jet slides off the bed and takes my hand. Neither of us says anything all the way down to the lobby. And it’s a good thing. The way he keeps looking at me and smiling has every nerve in my body on high alert, making it hard to focus on anything. Speech included.

  With Jet’s warm body pressed against my side, we exit the hotel onto the lively streets of the French Quarter. We walk slowly, leisurely, Jet pointing out interesting places and trivia as we go. Every time he leans in to speak near my ear, chills shoot down my arm. And every time his eyes meet mine, I’m more and more convinced that he knows it.

  We stop at a quaint café for a beignet, which is a delicious little pastry. I tear off a bite and let it melt on my tongue, resisting the urge to let my eyes roll back in my head. But I’m glad I did. I wouldn’t want to have missed the sight of Jet watching me eat. His heavy-lidded eyes are trained on my mouth. As I watch him watch me, he licks his lips, sending a pang of desire shooting into my stomach. It’s a sweetness that even the delicate pastry can’t match.

  I find myself warm and disconcerted after only one bite. Watching Jet watch me is incredibly erotic, something I’m far from accustomed to. But it’s heady and exciting in a way that makes me feel more alive than I’ve ever felt before.

  A few doors down from that, Jet stops to order us both a drink from a bar that has a walk-up window, a fact that I find amusing for some reason.

  “The fast food of alcohol on Bourbon Street,” I say as I put my lips to the straw in the LED-lit collectible glass. The drink is fruity and a little bit salty, and it tastes like heaven in my dry mouth. I take a few more sips.

  “Go easy on that. It’s definit
ely not a Coke, fast food-like or not.”

  Over the top of my cup, I smile happily at him, thrilled with the way he watches me and the way it makes me feel. “This is New Orleans,” I finally say. “I’m supposed to loosen up and drink like the natives, right?”

  Jet grins. “You can get as loose as you want to with me.”

  I laugh and suggest impulsively, “Let’s find one of those little hole-in-the-wall clubs like they show on TV and dance until we’re hot and sweaty.”

  “One of those places that are so crowded everybody is smashed together?”

  “Exactly!”

  “As long as I’m the only one you’re planning to plaster that body against.”

  Spontaneously, I stretch up on my tiptoes and brush my lips over Jet’s. “I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather be up against.”

  “Then let’s get the woman what she wants.”

  Jet guides me along the street to a little bar that’s just off the main drag. The door is open, and both music and people are spilling out into the street. Jet shoulders his way through the crowd, tugging me along behind him. Once inside, I look around at the hazy interior. Smoke hangs low and thick in the air, adding a shroud of sultry mystery to the writhing mass of bodies packed into the tight space in front of the band.

  This is precisely what I had in mind.

  Jet pulls me to one of the few empty places along the wall. “Finish that, and then we’ll dance.”

  I glance down at my drink, ready to argue. But much to my surprise, I see that I only have a small amount remaining in the bottom of the glass. I must’ve sipped a lot more than I thought I did along the way. I haven’t been paying much attention. I didn’t even notice Jet finishing his and dumping it in the trash.

  Pushing the straw to the side, I tip up the drink and let it pour into my mouth, cool and refreshing. When I hit bottom, I lower it and grin at Jet. “Ahhh, delicious.”

  He takes it from my fingers and sets it on the corner of the bar behind us. “Then let’s go.”

  The band is finishing up their set as we make our way into the middle of the dense crowd. They play one more song, something steamy and sensual, like the atmosphere itself. Jet moves in behind me, plastering his body to mine, as promised. I can feel every hard inch of him, dipping and swaying to the beat of the music. The heat of him at my back and the crowd on every other side makes me feel warm and relaxed.