by S. Ann Cole
“Because you’re the only one here who can’t do it. I want a team where everyone’s on the same level. If Mace can do a move you can’t do, you better damn well learn how to do it. Stick a tampon in and stop bitchin’.” He clapped his hands. “Now start again from ‘…uno, dos, tres, quatro.’ Mace and Dane, this time toss Trent up at ‘talk dirty to me.’”
Jahleel watched them go at it again. This time Trent came down with his shirt halfway over his head as he landed flat on his back instead of on his hand.
The others burst out in a brawling laughter, but Jahleel wasn’t in a laughing mood. This performance was for the night to follow, and if this idiot fucked it up and made him look bad…it wouldn’t be pretty.
Walking over to a prone Trent, he sneered, “If you weren’t already on the ground, I’d drop-kick you flat on your fuckin’ face. Get your sorry ass up.”
Trent groaned and grumbled out something, but Jahleel’s attention was snagged by Chad, who strolled through his studio door, quiet as a prowling black panther.
Pointing at Mace, who was laughing like a fucking hyena, Jahleel growled, “You, fuckface, I dunno why you find this so funny, ‘cause if he botches this performance tomorrow, we all look bad. So since you’re the one showing the most fuckin’ teeth right now, you’re in charge of makin’ him get it right by tomorrow. If he goes down, you go down, too.” He turned and went to grab his water bottle from the floor. “Now get the fuck out of here, all of you.”
They left in a drag of grunts and grumbles, and Chad waited until the room was cleared out before heading over to him.
Jahleel hauled the only chair in the room beneath him and plopped down on it. Rocking on its back legs, he sucked down ice-cold water, warily eying the man approaching him.
What on earth was his mission now?
They weren’t on friend-to-friend speaking terms. Haven’t been since the asswipe dated Saskia behind his back. All their ensuing interactions had been about business, what with them being business partners in innumerable ventures.
“Was that Tiara I spotted leaving here earlier?” Chad asked.
Jahleel shot him a loathsome glare.
Of course, Tiara had been trying to weasel herself back to him since his…parting with Saskia. But he wasn’t interested. He wasn’t interested in anyone for that matter. He was going through a dry spell. Like Saskia cursed his dick or something, because he wasn’t getting hard for anyone except the nudies of Saskia in his phone. Pics he used to sneakily snap whenever she was sleeping naked and sated.
Yeah, Tiara popped in about an hour ago. Made a move on him in his office. And for a first in two months, he’d felt a bit of stirring in his boxers and began kissing her back, undressing her and shit.
But once she was naked, he’d realized there wasn’t a “Fuck D Werl” tat on her ribcage. There wasn’t a scull navel-ring in her navel. Her stomach was plain flat instead of having slightly raised abs. She was clean shaven instead of having a sexy, slim line of hair that he loved running his nose along. Her legs were skinnier, longer, and there wasn’t an ever-present music note silver anklet around her left ankle.
That’s because the naked girl on his desk was Tiara.
Not Saskia.
Her body wasn’t the one he wanted. Not the one he knew so well. Not the body he wanted to curl around and fall asleep with until his day of death.
So the stirring had fled at the speed of light, and his cock went limp.
He’d sent Tiara home.
Meaningless sex, he was done with it. Being with Saskia had changed him radically. If he was to ever get with someone again, that person would have to mean something to him.
“Never knew you had eye problems, Chadrick.”
Chad chortled, but it was nothing of humor. “She must be over the moon to have you back. I saw her in Milan after you left her and she was an ugly, crying mess—”
“Huh,” Jahleel scoffed out. “Lemme conclude, you swept in like a knight in shining armor and fucked her, too.”
Chad glowered now. “I’m not in for your sloppy seconds. You and I have completely different tastes in women, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Sas—”
“Saskia was different,” Chad quickly defended. “She’s down to earth. Laid back, trustworthy, and just fucking bad. You know that’s my kind of woman. I liked her on a whole different level. And you wanna know why I broke up with her?”
“Don’t care.”
“Because I was falling for her,” he went on anyway. “I was falling deeper and deeper each day while she was flat-out in love with you. It hurt. And I was terrified that if I continued, the same thing that happened with her back then, would’ve happened with Saskia. Would you have preferred it if I stayed with her, knowing she loved you, then when she inevitably hurt me, you get her back in a body bag?”
The man’s cold voice sent chills over Jahleel. The mere thought of Saskia dying at this sick fucker’s hands made him feel all kinds of inexpressible things inside.
Chad was a bad man. And for the time that Saskia dated him, Jahleel had worried like hell that she would do something to piss Chad off the wrong way, which wouldn’t end well. Because Chad was two people in one. There was the cool, easy-going, American boy side of him, and there was the mean, dark Russian side of him. And while Jahleel accepted both sides without judgment, he wouldn’t ignore the fact that the man was capricious, deleterious, noxious, and most definitely shouldn’t be trusted at the full one hundred percent. Seventy percent was okay, maybe even eighty, but not one hundred percent. Ever.
Jahleel thought himself fortunate to have a best friend title with this guy. Because that meant he could piss him off as much as he wanted and get away with it. Not many people got away with pissing off Chadrick. Didn’t matter how well they could recite the Lord’s Prayer.
The ‘fall guy’ who was in jail for allegedly trying to kill Saskia, was one of the unlucky people who got on Chad’s dark side. Jahleel had fed Saskia some bullshit story about the man owing debts. But he knew that man was as good as dead if he hadn’t taken Chad’s deal.
Chad Niiveux was simply not a man to be fucked with. Period.
But Jahleel fucked with him without fear all the time. He was privileged.
“Would’ve murdered you if you’d hurt her,” Jahleel promised through clenched teeth, glaring up at his friend.
Chad let out a scoff that read “and I would’ve had fun watching you try.” “I’m sorry, but I’m not sorry, JK. Saskia meant, and still means, more to me than you think.”
Jahleel sniffed and averted his gaze. It didn’t make sense picking one with this dude. “Did you really come here to chat about my exes?”
Shaking his head, his friend flattened his lips. “No, actually. I came to talk business.” He pulled out a manila envelope from his jacket pocket and slapped it to Jahleel’s chest. “All I need is your signature.”
Ignoring the envelope, he looked up at Chad, who was grinning by then. “For what? To finalize our divorce? That grin makes me feel real shitty. You’re just so excited to get rid of me. I didn’t know our marriage was that bad.”
Like a bitch, Chad actually rolled his eyes. “That, my friend, is the partnership agreement to our new business.”
“What business?”
“Your sports-bikes idea, dickhead! Red Rhage Sports Bikes is fucking official.”
Jahleel sat up straighter, setting his water bottle aside and tearing the envelope open to read over the papers. “Fuck. They really approved it?”
“Took a lot of persuasion and deliberation, but, yeah, they gave us the green light.”
“Wait, this says fifty-fifty…” Jahleel stuffed the papers back into the envelope and thrust it back to Chad. “Sixty-forty, Chad. You know this.”
Refusing to take the envelope, Chad just stared at him. “Why do you always ask for sixty-forty? Who does that?”
Jahleel chuckled. Laughs were scarce for him these days. “Thought it was obvious. I care about
the profit. You care about control. When I take forty and you take sixty, I get to sink back and leave all the work to you. I like being silent and invisible. I don’t wanna have to give a shit about nothing but profit. You more, me less, means you work and I rest. You get to make the decisions, you get to do everything. I just collect.”
Chad gave Jahleel a disgusted sneer, as though he’d never thought of that before. He was such a domineering control freak that he’d never even realized Jahleel had been dumping it all on him. “You are such a fucking asshole, JK.”
Jahleel laughed harder. “Oh, come on. Don’t act like you don’t love being the head man in charge.”
Suddenly Chad smirked. “Well, there isn’t gonna be any ‘kicking back’ or invisibility with this one, buddy. You’re going to be the face for this brand.”
“Like fuck, I am.”
“Dude, you already ride sports bikes, and you got that whole famous, every-slut-wants-my-cock-in-their-mouth thing going for you. The face has got to be yours.”
As Jahleel started to object, Chad asserted, “As the ‘head man in charge,’ I say you don’t have a choice. You, my friend, will be the face of Red Rage.”
Fucked right up in the ass, Jahleel just grunted in response. He should have kept his mouth shut.
“Okay, I’ve set up a meeting for next week Tuesday at my place. 4 p.m. Have your lawyer present so we can go over…”
Jahleel’s sense of hearing fled him the second his studio opened, and she walked in.
It’s said that when a person is dying, the first sense that goes is hearing. And, well, that was precisely how Jahleel felt at the moment.
Like he was dying.
This woman. She just stepped into the room and sucked all the fucking energy out of it, all the air. Suffocating him. Killing him.
This power she had, it was the same when he’d seen her on stage in Manchester for the first time. She’d rendered him paralyzed, forcing him to acknowledge her beauty, to listen to her words as she sang.
This power, she didn’t know she had it. She didn’t know what her presence did to him. How it made his skin burn, his blood roil, his knees weaken, and his palms sweat. Every time. Every fucking time.
She had no idea.
This feeling, this out-of-his-control feeling usually made him so fucking annoyed with himself, he would just asshole it out on her. Because he never wanted to be like a bitch. Having sweaty palms and shit over some girl.
Now here she was. Standing in his studio. Her power over him stronger than ever.
It felt like five invisible fingers were curled around his throat, squeezing every last drop of breath out of him, stealing his will, forcing him to submit to her.
He needed air. He needed to breathe. He needed out of this room. Away from her.
Jahleel shot up so fast the chair fell backward and the envelope flew forward from his lap. Mentally reminding himself how to put one foot before the other, he breezed across the dance room, shouldered past her, and rushed through the door like the fires of hell were chasing him.
Sprinted. He sprinted down the stairs and out of the building, heading straight to the parking lot. Locating his bike, he hopped on in a blurry whirl, and blew the fuck out of there.
He could breathe.
Fucking finally. He could breathe.
After over an hour of riding around aimlessly, he. could. breathe.
The woman had literally chased him out of his own goddamn building. Proving just how much she owned his sorry ass. How much control she had over him. He didn’t stand a fucking chance in hell where she was concerned.
As he careened back onto his studio complex, he saw her Phantom still parked there, Thomas propped up against it on the driver’s side, reading the San Francisco Chronicle.
She’s still fucking here.
Jahleel pulled up right next to the Phantom. Thomas glanced over and hailed him, but he ignored him. He knew it wasn’t Thomas’ fault that his woman cheated on him, but…fuck the hell off with everyone right now.
Why on earth would Saskia show up there? Why?
After three months of being apart, she never once called, text, emailed or tried to get in touch with him at all, and he’d appreciated the shit out of her for not flooding him with empty apologies or excuses.
But now she just showed up?
Entering his building, he took the first left turn leading to his office to avoid going upstairs where she would be. Most likely with Chad.
But when he reached the crossway to his office, there she was, sitting patiently in a chair situated on the opposite side.
Fuck. Was as if she knew that’s what he would do when he returned. Planned for him, fixing the chair in a position where she knew he wouldn’t be able to see her until he got up to the door.
He forgot how determined she could be.
Her blonde hair glowed in rippled curls, exactly how he remembered it being the first time he saw her. The golden color made her eyes appear wider and brighter, the gray more striking. She was so…
Light. It was the only word he could find best to describe her.
She was light.
There was nothing he could miss about her because she was so fucking bright.
He was aware of her eyebrow piercing. The nude lipstick. The dust of freckles over her nose. The faint dimple on her chin. The tightness of the black Metallica T-shirt she wore. The shortness of her ragged jeans shorts. The longness of her smooth, unblemished legs. The newness of her…hmm…Timberlands. The apology in her big gray eyes as they gazed unblinkingly up at him.
He saw everything. Every detail. Even though he was pretending not to as he opened his office door.
Her voice, soft, but rich, “Don’t run from me.”
His voice, detached, but oh so fucking attached, “Don’t flatter yourself.”
He flung his door open and went in.
Tossing his keys on the desk with a racing heart, he walked over to his mini fridge to grab a bottle of water. He wished he had some stronger liquid. But he didn’t keep alcohol there. Maybe he should rethink that “no alcohol” rule and store a bottle of Jack there. Precisely for moments like these.
“Can I come in?” Her thick, sexy accent slid over him like silk against lace, and that was all it took for him to…stir.
Unbeknownst to her, her accent was a major turn on for him.
“Will you leave if I say no?”
“No.”
“Why fuckin’ ask, then?” He waved his free hand at the chair in front of his desk. “Go on. Sit. Kick your feet up. Make yourself comfortable. You’ve been pissin’ all over me for the past three months like you own me. So why be fuckin’ polite now?”
With a sigh, she walked into the room and closed the door behind her. “JK, I didn’t come here to argue, okay? I think we’ve done enough of that already.”
“Would’ve preferred it, Sassy, if you hadn’t come here at all.”
“I want us to do a threesome.”
What? “What?”
“Crap. That didn’t come out right,” she said, laughing a little. “I mean, not a threesome, threesome. But…like I get to watch…while you…you…you know…”
What the fuck was she proposing? “No, I don’t know, Sassy. Spit out whatever’s in your mouth—Tex’s cock, maybe?—’cause I can’t hear you very well.”
Shoulders squaring, she pinned him a hateful glare, took in a huff of breath, then almost immediately sighed in defeat, her shoulders slumping forward. “I guess I deserved that, yeah?”
She looked down at the floor, cleared her throat, and then looked back at him with renewed purpose. “For the past three months, I’ve struggled not to contact you in any way, nor try to find excuses or justification for what I did. Even though I was drugged, I take all the blame. First of all, I disrespected you by going into Tex’s booth to party with him.
“We were both supposed to make an appearance at that club, as a couple, so out of respect for you, I should have nev
er even thought about conversing with my ex at that event. I knew he loved me. I knew he was spurned and bitter from what I did to him, and I still, against all warnings, went ahead and trusted him. So, I think I pretty much deserve what I got. I took my punishment from him and the public like a big girl. I’ve dealt with it.”
Inhaling deeply, she took a step deeper into the room. “But there’s one thing I can’t deal with, and that’s losing you. The only reason I stayed away for so long, was to give you time to heal. I knew if I kept pushing, I would push too hard to a point of no return, and I’d lose you altogether. I hope this is still not too soon, because I want you back, JK, and I can’t stay away from you any longer. The bit of strength I’d build up to sustain the blow from the media is slowly draining, leaving me wizened. I need you.”
Blowing out a long, steady breath, she shook her hands, then wiped them down her jeans shorts before moving to sit in the chair.
This was Nervous Sassy.
Her feet bounced up and down. “I tried to think up a million ways of how to salvage this. Everything seems ‘not enough.’ But this…” Her eyes met his. “I…there’s this girl. She’s your type, I’m sure. She’s clean and everything. I could show you her medical records if you like. Um, she’s agreed to let you…shag her…while I watch.” Eye contact broken. “Maybe, it will make you feel better if the roles are reversed and I have to sit and watch you…enjoy someone who isn’t me?”
Jahleel leaned back against the wall behind him and stared at her. Just stared.
This girl. She didn’t get it. She thought this was about sex. So she thought sex could solve this fuck of a mess she created.
Didn’t she know that whenever he had sex with her he didn’t come just because it was sex? He came, and came hard inside every time, because he was in love with her. He enjoyed it thoroughly, solely because it was her. Just knowing it was her, so intimately connected with him, sweating and panting and moving together. Just knowing she was his forever.
That was what made sex with Saskia not sex, but love.
“You don’t get it, do you?”
Her expression grew somber. “JK, please, tell me what I need to do to make things right. Anything you say I’ll do it. Please.”