by Emily Snow
“Mr. Jamison, I’m so glad you came back,” she tells him as she places a hand on his arm, looking back at me to gauge how I’m doing. I’m stunned as I stare at an older version of my face in the mirror. The eyes, the nose, the shape of his mouth. Mel was right. It’s eerie. And he’s looking at me with a sort of longing. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to answer that, so I keep my face completely neutral. Luckily, I’ve had a lot of practice at it dealing with paparazzi and fans.
He clears his throat before he answers, “Joseph, please.” Then he takes another couple of steps forward. “Hi, Joss,” he says awkwardly. “You ended up tall like your mom.”
And I am, taller than him by a couple of inches. It’s surreal. I remember him vaguely, and he seemed so big to me. Larger than life to a five-year-old child. Now I’m looking down on him and he’s just smaller than I remember.
“Um, hi,” I manage to choke out as I put my hand out. He takes it tentatively and we shake. His hand is sweating and I realize in that moment this is every bit as tense for him as it is for me.
“Should we go back to the dressing room?” Mel asks, looking at me.
“That might be a good idea,” I say, gesturing for the two of them to go ahead. I’m aware after we’ve gotten back inside that I didn’t even notice Jeff letting us through.
Mel starts chatting to my dad as we head up the hall. It gives me a minute to try to collect my thoughts and think about what I want to say to this man. Only one thing comes to mind in the chaos buzzing through my head though. Just one word—Why?
We finally reach the dressing room, and Mel ushers us in. Then she says, “Well, I’ll give you two some privacy.”
“No,” I answer hastily. I can’t be alone with this guy. He terrifies me. He has the power to send me to a place I haven’t been since I was about sixteen-years-old. A place where I’m young and weak and powerless over the fact that I don’t have a dad. A place where other people feel sorry for me, and I can see the pity in their faces.
I can’t go back there, and somehow I know that with Mel here I won’t.
“Stay, Mel,” I say, looking at her desperately.
“Sure,” she answers softly. “I’ll just sit over here. I’ve got some shots to look through.” She picks a chair as far away from us as possible and starts fiddling with her camera. I sit on one end of the sofa and gesture for my dad to take the other end.
We sit and look at each other for a few seconds. “So did you like the show?” I ask.
His face lights up. “Oh, it was great, Joss. Really great. I’ve got all the albums you know. All the Lush albums. I’ve always thought you boys were great.”
“Thanks,” I tell him, at another conversational dead end.
“I suppose you’re wondering why I’m showing up after all this time, huh?”
“It is kind of unexpected.”
He nods his head, and I see the weariness around his eyes. I sense he hasn’t had a light life. I guess I know where I get my darkness from as well.
“I heard about your mom.”
I swallow, still brought low by my memories of her last few months—the cancer, the treatments, the suffering. I can feel a certain kind of blind rage well up under the carefree façade I’m working to show him. I was twenty-three years old when she got sick. Barely making enough money to pay my own rent, much less help her with medical bills and living expenses when she couldn’t work anymore. She was sick for over two years before she finally gave up the fight. And where the hell was this guy? Showing up eighteen months after the fact is hardly helpful.
“I’m real sorry for your loss, son. Your mom was a good woman. Better than I ever deserved, and it’s pretty obvious she raised you right.”
“Is that why you came? To give me your condolences?” I’m trying not to let the pissed part of me take over the curious part.
“Yes, but more than that,” he’s quick to answer. “I know there’s nothing I can say about not being around for you, Joss. I’m the first one to admit I should have never had a kid. I’ll never be any kind of a father, but I wanted you to know how you can reach me if, I don’t know, if you ever need anything.”
“So, wait.” My voice sounds hard to my own ears. “You can’t be a father to me—not like that’s some big news flash—but you want to be what, like, my emergency contact or something?”
I shoot a look at Mel and see her watching me with concern. My head is throbbing. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep this farce up, no matter how much I’ve always wished I could know my dad.
“I don’t know what I thought,” he answers softly and stands up. “I don’t want to upset you, Joss. I just wanted to tell you I’m here and say I’m sorry. For all of it. I know it doesn’t change anything, but I am. If I had to do it over again, I’d do it different. A lot different.”
I take a deep breath, trying to see past my own pain to assess what it is this guy wants, what he hopes for out of our little session here. I decide to try a different tack.
“So you’ve lived in Denver all these years?” I look down at my fingers and twist a ring I’m wearing. It helps my self-control if I don’t look at him.
He slowly sits back down, watching me warily. “Yeah. Just a few miles from your grandma’s old place.”
“Still working construction?”
“Yep. I’m a foreman now. Don’t run the big cranes anymore, but I have to keep the guys in line.”
I laugh softly. “Sounds pretty much like my job.”
He smiles and I see him relax a touch.
“So you married or anything?”
“Nah. After your mom, I decided I wasn’t cut out for that. If I couldn’t make it work with the love of my life, I wasn’t going to make it work with anyone.”
I look at Mel, whose mouth is hanging open the way mine would like to. “Love of your life?” I ask slowly.
He nods sadly. “Oh, son, it wasn’t because I didn’t love your mom. I loved her more than anything. I just couldn’t be what she needed me to be. I can hold down a job, but I’m a selfish bastard. I’m moody and unreliable and inconsiderate. Your mom deserved more than that.”
“Sounds to me like you didn’t try too hard.” My voice is bitter.
“You might be right. I guess I wanted to be alone or I wouldn’t have ended up like I have. But I don’t want that for you. I mean, I know you don’t have any more family, so I want to be there for you if you’ll let me. You don’t need to be alone. You don’t need to be like me.”
The fact that this man who hasn’t seen me since I was five years old has, in one small moment, nailed the single biggest fear I have in my life, the thing that has haunted me relentlessly for the last year and a half, hits me dead center with a pain that is sharp and sudden.
“How would you know anything about me or my life?” I spit out at him.
“I don’t, Joss. I just worried when I heard your mom was gone. It’s always been my worry, that you’d end up like me.”
I lose the carefully honed control. “Well, you can rest assured I haven’t. I’m a fucking rock star, Joe. I’m never alone.”
He looks at me with pity in his eyes and I think I might dissolve into a thousand pieces right here and now.
“Mel, can you escort Mr. Jamison out?” I demand as I stand from the sofa and turn away from him.
“Of course,” comes her soft voice. “Mr. Jamison?”
“Sure. I’m so sorry, Joss. But I’m happy for you. Your career. And I know I have no right to be, but I’m real proud of you anyway.”
I stand and face the makeup counter, leaning on it, looking down at the scarred surface of the laminate, and I don’t answer.
I hear Mel usher him out. She comes back a few minutes later, shutting the door behind her. I haven’t moved.
“Hey.” She puts her arms around my waist. It makes my heart triple beat and my breath hitch. “Are you okay?”
I turn in her embrace, putting my forearms on her shoulders, and running my
fingers through her hair. That one simple act drains the anger right out of me, like liquid through a strainer.
“It’s the one thing I’m scared of in my life, Mel.”
She looks at me and waits.
“That I’ll always be alone. Some days I’m so lonely I don’t know how to keep going. It doesn’t matter how many people are around me, they’re just people. They don’t see me. Not the real me. When Walsh went to rehab, I felt like my very last connection in this life had left me. All these people, they see Joss the rock star or Joss the teen rebel, Joss the checkbook or Joss the lady-killer. Until I met you. You see me, Mel.”
I stop and catch my breath, focusing on the beautiful strands of silken hair that filter through my fingers.
“That’s why you can’t walk away from this, from us. Please don’t leave me alone again. Not when I’ve finally found you.”
A little cry comes from Mel’s throat as I lower my head and capture her plump lips with mine. Her body melts into me and I pull her closer, wrapping my arms around her waist as I press her fully against me from knees to lips. My poor heart is hammering, the sudden shift from post-show adrenaline to emotional chaos and now hardcore desire taking its toll. I know at some point tonight I will come crashing to earth and it won’t be pretty, but right this minute, all I can think or see or feel is Mel.
I move my mouth to her cheek then her jaw and on down her neck, brushing my lips across her silken skin as she lets out a small sigh.
“Tell me you feel this too, Mel,” I whisper against the soft shell of her ear.
She moans. “God, I’ve tried so hard not to.”
I chuckle. “How’s that working for you?”
She digs her fingers into my hair and pushes up on her tiptoes so she can look me directly in the eyes. “It just makes me want you harder,” she gasps before she devours my mouth.
I moan at her onslaught and lift her up as I spin and place her on the counter. Her legs fall apart immediately and I press her core against my hard-on as I hear her gasp in response. I rock against her, desperate for some way to soothe the ache that’s been there since the moment I first laid eyes on her in Studio B. Her hands wander down to the hem of my t-shirt and then I feel her delicate, soft fingers on my skin. I can’t help but smile even as I explore her mouth, touching each of her perfect little white teeth one at a time with my tongue.
My hands are splayed on her ribcage, and I move my thumbs to stroke her nipples through her top. They peak immediately, and she wraps her legs around my hips, pushing her core against me harder. I try to remember if there’s ever been a time I’ve been this turned on this fast with any other woman. I can’t recall. All I can do is feel. Feel the warmth of her under my hands, her softness against my fingers, the absolute, intensely painful burn in my chest. It’s like nothing else I’ve ever known, and I realize that if she won’t give me this chance I may very well be lost forever.
I pull away. She’s flushed and breathing hard. Her hair is tousled, and she’s the fucking sexiest thing I have ever seen.
“Mel?” I growl.
“Yeah?”
“I can’t pretend anymore. I need you like I need my next breath of air. I’ve never felt anything like this. I swear to all that’s holy you are not my next three-week girlfriend. Do you believe me?”
She nods, her breath coming in little pants.
“Good. Now, I’m going to go lock that door and then I’m going to take your clothes off and lay you on that sofa and rock your fucking world. Any problems with that?”
She shakes her head, and I stride to the door, opening it and leaning outside where Ethan stands guard. “No visitors, no disruptions,” I tell him sharply.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Jamison,” he answers, his lips twitching. I roll my eyes and slam the door shut, slide the bolt closed, and turn to look at the woman I’m going to make mine.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Mel
I’m sitting on a makeup counter in a dressing room of some auditorium in Denver, Colorado. I’m hot, bothered, and horny as hell. Stalking across the room toward me like some sort of big panther is Joss Jamison, and I forget to breathe for a moment.
He reaches me, but instead of getting back to the hot and heavy, he gently takes my hand, pulling me off the counter and leading us to the sofa. Once there, he sits down, leaving me standing in front of him. He lays his head against my stomach, his hands loose on my hips, doing nothing more than breathing for a minute. It gives me a chance to catch my own breath and contemplate what I’m about to do.
I remember everything Tammy’s told me. I remember the angry way he went after Mike that first morning of the tour. My gut churns at the thought of him with the Barbie blonde before we left Portland. But in spite of all that, I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything or anyone in my life. I realize all the other times I’ve been into guys were meaningless—trivial, fleeting infatuations as easily resolved as a crush on a pair of shoes. Buy the damn things and you get over them quickly.
But this, here with Joss, is no fleeting fascination. This is grittier, darker, more intense than anything I’ve experienced. It terrifies me and thrills me in equal measures. And though I know I may regret it every bit as much as I regret my affair with Professor Marin, I won’t stop now. It’s already too late, and really, I think it was too late that day in Studio B when I took those photos of him in all his dark rock god anguish.
I’ve always been the youngest in my world, the one everyone alternately babied then ignored. Sheltered, yet left to my own devices. No one has ever needed me. Yet, here is this gorgeous, talented, famous, wealthy man, and he does. More than his band mates, more than his best friend, more than the father who abandoned him, Joss Jamison needs me. I can’t turn away from it. I can’t turn away from him.
I feel his hands move around my waist as he lifts my top and plants sweet, soft kisses on my skin. I weave my fingers through his hair, his glorious hair. I can’t help but think of the thousands, if not millions, of women who would kill to be in my position right now. And while it isn’t Joss the rock star I’m about to have sex with, but Joss the man, I smile a little at the idea that the rock star is all mine for the moment too.
His hands stroke the skin along my back and up under my shoulder blades. Then he lifts his head and looks up at me, his gold lashes catching the dim light in the room. “Are you sure?” he asks, his voice low and rough.
I place my hands on either side of his face, feeling the stubble that’s grown in since this morning. “I’d think you’d be pressing every advantage right now, not asking me to second-guess it,” I joke.
He pulls me down on his lap and leans back into the sofa. I snuggle into his embrace, relishing the beachy scent of his aftershave and the way he caresses my arm as we get comfortable, his thumb rubbing little patterns along my wrist then up to my elbow and down again.
“I know I’m ahead of you on this, Mel. I don’t want to push you into something you’re not ready for. I just want you to give us a chance. If you’re not ready for this part, I can wait. I’ll wait as long as you want.”
I cuddle a little closer, putting my head in that perfect crook between his neck and shoulder then placing a small kiss on the smooth skin there. He exhales like the weight of a thousand pounds has been lifted from his soul.
“With some men I might not want to at this point, but with you, I don’t know. Somehow it seems right. It feels like, whatever we are, this is an important part of it. I feel connected to you, Joss. I don’t know why or how. It is fast, and it scares me, but it’s like it’s inevitable.”
“Well, inevitable isn’t quite the enthusiastic response I might hope for, but I’ll take it,” he answers before he lifts me up and lays me on the sofa, pressing his body alongside mine.
I smile as he starts to undo the zipper that runs up the front of my top. Excruciatingly slowly, he pulls that zipper down, and with each new inch of skin that’s bared, he drops a kiss on me. Straight down the cent
er, inch by inch, until he reaches the waistband of my jeans, where he finishes opening the zipper and then spreads the fabric away from me.
“I think I’ve died and gone to Heaven,” he rasps out.
I gasp as he leans over me, devouring my mouth while his hands begin exploring my breasts, kneading and stroking them through my satin bra. With more skill than I want to contemplate, he quickly twists the front clasp and releases the girls from their prison before he pulls back and simply stares down at me for a moment. “My God,” he whispers. “You’re absolutely perfect.”
I feel my cheeks heat and shake my head. “Please don’t say that. You’ll only end up disappointed.”
He puts his hand alongside my face, his thumb rubbing lightly on my lower lip. “Never, Mel. Never. Even your imperfections are perfect to me. That’s what I mean. You are perfect to me. For me. With me. You’re meant to be mine.”
His words render me speechless. My heart is jumping in my chest, and I feel something achy and tingly spread from my center to my arms and legs, my hands and feet. I wonder if this is how Tammy feels with Walsh. This wave of pain and pleasure and utter panic because the idea that this would ever end is almost more than I can fathom. I feel my eyes burn and I know I’m seconds from breaking down. My heart is overloaded, its circuits not designed for this much strain.
He looks down at me, and his eyes are so serious it’s like he can see everything that’s flashing through my mind. It’s as though he senses me on a level, in a place that words can’t find. “Sshh, sweet Mel,” he coos. “Just breathe. We’re going to be okay. You’ll get used to it. The feeling. I promise. We both will. Just breathe.”
I swallow and nod my head. Then he’s kissing me again, and I’m kissing him, and we’re taking our clothes off, and I want him so terribly I don’t think I can take it another minute. When his mouth reaches my core, I moan. His hands press into my thighs as I grind against his mouth. His tongue slides up the crease of my center and then enters me, and I’m seconds from losing all rational thought.