Broken (The Guitar Face Series Book 1)

by Sasha Marshall

  Cam returns shortly after with a blond. She is the epitome of a Florida girl. She has long bleached blond hair, tan skin, and a natural look about her. She is also stunning. Cam introduces her as Madison and sets her up with shots. These poor girls. Jag continues to stare. I continue to ignore, or so I tell myself. Screw the sex gods. I shake my mental fist at them.

  Jag finally approaches the table and asks me to dance. What? I can’t speak; instead, I put my hand in his. He leads me to the dance floor and spins me around. Prince’s Purple Rain is playing. Great, just fucking great. He pulls me to his body, and his hand rests on my lower back. Easy, tiger, a few inches and you will be ass grabbing. Which I’m completely okay with. I’m afraid to look at him. What if he kisses me? Shit. I want him to kiss me, right? Fuck.

  “Are you going to ignore me the entire song?” he asks.

  “I’m not ignoring you; I’m dancing with you,” I correct.

  “You were ignoring me while I sat in the corner waiting for you.”

  “I wasn’t ignoring you. I was having a good time. You chose to sit in the corner brooding, so I continued with my night.” Okay, that is a bit of a lie.

  “Brooding?” His head falls back with laughter. “To be one of the most intelligent women I know, you really are oblivious sometimes.”

  The whiskey has the fuse on my temper a bit short. “Oblivious? Oblivious to what, Jag?”

  “I was hoping just you and I could hang out tonight. I sat at a table away from everyone, and you didn’t follow. When you didn’t follow, I chose to look at the most gorgeous thing in the room, while I enjoyed my whiskey.”

  “You were behind me when I left the ladies’ room. How was I supposed to know you wanted me to hang out with you? You couldn’t simply say, ‘Hey, come over here and hang out with me. I want to catch up.’ But you didn’t, and you expected me to read your fucking mind somehow,” I spit out.

  “Whoa there, firecracker, calm down. I wasn’t trying to upset you. I promise.”

  His voice is soft, like velvet. Mmmm... I like the way velvet feels. Shit, I forgot I wasn’t supposed to drink liquor around Jag tonight. I’m screwed.

  “Just dance with me, okay?” he asks.

  We dance for the remainder of the song, and the next one is slow too, but we keep dancing. He is holding me in the most intimate way. My right hand rests on his heart, and my left on his shoulder. I didn’t realize I was doing it until he stills under me, but I touch his neck with my fingernails. Fuck, he’s confusing. It’s like my touch repulses him sometimes, and then other times he acts like he wants to show me his one-eyed monster. Which, just in case you are wondering, I would not turn down a chance to see his wanker if the opportunity were to arise. I like to live big and all, no regrets.

  Shit, I need more whiskey. When the song ends, the sex gods possess me, and I lean up and kiss Jag on the cheek. It is an out-of-body experience, really. I don’t remember telling my body to do that, but it did. Demonic possession is a plausible explanation. I mean, I’m from the south.

  The shock of the kiss registers in Jag’s eyes, so I do what I think is best. At this point, I’m not possessed by a demon or sex god or the likes. That bitch would’ve had me tearing his clothes off in the middle of the club and screaming his name as he made me see fireworks. Dramatic much? A bit, perhaps. I walk away from him and head back to my savior, whiskey.

  I enter the VIP section and grab the bottle of Crown Black sitting on the table. I pour everyone a shot, and we toss them back. The girls are each sitting in Kip, Koi, and Cam’s laps. They are all inebriated. I pour us another shot. I don’t feel tanked just yet, and I need to be to numb my sexual feelings for Jagger.

  Kip raises his glass. “To rock-’n’-roll.” We all second his toast and clink glasses.

  Jag leans into my ear and whispers. “If I didn’t know any better, I would think you are trying to get me drunk.” I can hear the smile in his voice.

  I turn around and whisper back in his ear full of liquid courage, “I didn’t know I had to get you drunk.”

  He whispers back, “You don’t. You only have to snap your fingers.”

  I think I gasped. I probably did because I can feel the vibration of a laugh from Jag’s chest. Asshole.

  I whisper back, “Then stop confusing me, Jag.”

  He pulls back from our close stance to look at my face with his brows drawn in a frown. “Confusing you?”

  That just pisses me off. I decide to confuse the hell out of him. It’s much easier to show him that when you fuck with my libido, you are fucking with my emotions. I grab his hand and take him out to the dance floor. I find a place in the corner of the club away from our own section, and away from most of the prying eyes. I pull a chair to face the corner, push Jag into it, and begin confusing him right back. I dance with the beat of the music. I grind my round ass all over his lap. I stand up straight, grab my ankles and perform the best ass clap I have managed in my entire life. I stand and continue to dance with my backside facing him. I grind on him again and then lean back so when I do, I know he can see down the top of my dress. I can feel his heart beating fast. Yeah, I said confusing, motherfucker. I can feel his hard dick under me. The sheer size intimidates me. Fuck it. I keep dancing; I mean confusing Jag.

  The last of the whiskey shots kick in, and I throw all inhibition to the wind. Three songs later, I turn around to face Jag. I put my chest in his face, but he doesn’t look. He looks me in the eyes. Well, fuck you too, buddy. I have a nice rack. You and Kip both said just as much last night. I keep dancing and grinding all over his dick. His hands find their way to my waist, and he pushes me down to grind harder on him.

  Okay, I need a new plan. He can’t have control here. This is my show. I take his hands off my hips, and mouth “no touching” to him, and he flashes that damn panty-dropping smile. I warned you about that smile, didn’t I? I take a quick peek to make sure my drawers aren’t around my ankles. Check.

  Security approaches and notifies us of our admirers nearby. Great, I don’t know how much longer I can keep that act up without shooting myself in the foot. Jag grabs my hand and quickly leads me to the VIP section. The guys are ready to go when we get there, and the girls are coming with us. We pile in the two Escalades waiting for us outside.

  Chapter 8

  JAG CLIMBS INTO the backseat with me. Let me clarify, he climbs into the third-row seat with me, even though I had hopes of escaping him after my little performance. And to make matters worse, two security guards sit in the second row. The party is apparently in the other car. I really want to be in that car, and think seriously about stomping my feet and saying just that, but hey that’s not sexy. Jag asks the driver to turn the music up.

  He says, “Loud.”

  Shit on a stick. I’m really fucked here. Jag beats the back of the seat in front of him to the beat of a Chevelle song. I look at his fingers and think really bad thoughts. Dirty, naughty thoughts. Really, really naughty thoughts. The more I look at his fingers, the more I talk myself into it. It has been four long years since I last had my wig shook properly. Sex on a stick over here has his long fingers out on display as he drums to the beat. I feel like a kid in a candy shop. I want what’s in that jar, and in that jar, and in that jar. I can try to meditate. Drunk meditation? I’m sure it breaks some unholy rule in Buddhism to meditate about sex while intoxicated. I should just add some coke and a few strippers in the mix to ensure I really will be reincarnated into a cockroach next time. Cock. That makes me giggle. Damn you, whiskey. Jag notices my giggle.

  His fiery eyes find mine. Oh, shit. Okay, take me now. I’m a weak human being. Ravage me right here, right now. I will regret it in the morning, but tonight I will gladly swivel my hips all over you. Wait, did I say that out loud? He still hasn’t spoken, so I might be okay. Then his phone rings. The driver puts the sound system on mute and Jag
ger answers.

  “What?” he answers.

  Someone isn’t happy. Welcome to my world, you little tease. He taps a button on his phone, and Kip’s voice breaks through.

  “I said don’t you dare touch my future wife in there. I will tea bag you every day for the rest of my life if you touch her. We have a special kind of love. She lets me do shit to her you wouldn’t do to a farm animal. That’s a special kind of love,” Kip yells.

  “Don’t you have a brunette on your lap right now?” Jagger asks, clearly frustrated.

  “Well, yeah. She is singing on Mr. Microphone right now, if you know what I mean. Have I ever told you how much I love drunk college girls?” he asks.

  We hear a female voice, but I can’t make out what she says. “No love, I was talking to my mom when I said that; just go back to doing what you were doing,” Kip instructs.

  Jesus.

  I pipe in. “Kip, love, I love you dearly, but I do not want to talk to you while you get a blow job from that sweet little girl you picked up at the club.”

  “You are right, my darling. I should not have been disrespectful. I’m torturing myself here. I’m surrounded by two other blonds, but I have a brunette out of respect for you. It is just crushing my heart that I have to do this to you. Do you still love me?” he asks as he lets out a groan.

  “Oh gross, Kip. Hang up the phone,” I squeal.

  I hear the phone drop, and Kip yells, “Hold on, I dropped the phone. Koi wants to talk to Jagger.”

  More groaning sounds. Gross.

  “I swear to God, Jagger Carlyle, if you fuck my little sister, I will cut your balls off and give them to Kip to play with,” he says.

  Then he groans. Gag.

  “Dude, you are on speaker phone, your sister is sitting right beside me, and she can hear you groaning as you are apparently getting your knob slobbered on. I’m going to hang up now,” Jag says and ends the call.

  I burst out laughing at the craziness that is my life. Jag joins me, and the security guards even join in the chuckle fest.

  “Well fellas, it looks like we are a lot of horny bastards who won’t be getting laid tonight,” Jag says.

  “Don’t forget the little lass back here,” I add.

  This makes Jag stop breathing. Literally, he stops breathing.

  “May I speak openly, Ms. Hendrix?” John, the head security guy, asks.

  “John, I’m not the President, you can speak however you wish to me, and you know it. We have known each other how long?” I ask.

  “Eight years, Ms. Hendrix. I mean Henley. I was just going to say that you probably shouldn’t say things like that about yourself in a car full of horny men unless you are willing to be the star of their fantasies tonight,” he says with a chuckle.

  “La, la, la, la. You can’t make me hear you!” I say with my fingers in my ear. All the men erupt in laughter.

  We arrive at the hotel minutes later. Security jumps out first, then Jag, and he offers me his hand. I take it and step down. The other car is not exiting as gracefully. Kip falls out of the car with his pants still around his ankles. Koi is yelling expletives at him, and the brunette looks confused with bright red, swollen lips. Way to go, Kip. Madison exits the car in a hurry and runs to a nearby bush to puke.

  “Great. You had to pick one who can’t handle her liquor,” I say to Cam.

  He looks terrified. I have seen this look before, and it means I’m going to be taking care of Madison tonight. I ask Jag to get some cold paper towels from the lobby restroom, then he runs into the hotel as I walk over to her. She has tears running down her face from vomiting. She is dry heaving by the time I get to her. I rub her back, and about the time she stops the violent heaves, Jag arrives with the wet towels. I smile at him, expecting him to book it, but he stands with me as I help her. I wipe Madison’s face off and let her catch her breath. She looks exhausted. John, the security guard, shows up with a bottle of water, and she gladly drinks it. I slow her down several times, though, to prevent her from getting sick again.

  Eventually, the parking lot is empty, and Jag and I are left to help Madison to a room. I’m angry at Cam for bailing on her. When we get her into the elevator car, she sits in the corner and buries her head in her knees. I have been there before, and it hurts. I look up from the opposite corner from Madison and catch Jag’s intent gaze on me. I don’t look away; he doesn’t either. He crosses the elevator in one long step and presses me against the wall. He cups my face in his hands and is about to kiss me when he stops an inch from my lips.

  He is already breathing hard. “Tell me to stop, Henley. Tell me this isn’t what you want.”

  I can’t form the words, because they would be a lie. I’m too drunk to lie. He looks between my eyes and my lips. Men are such wimps. I lean forward just a bit and softly brush my lips against his. The kiss is soft. Our tongues softly meet, and the kiss continues at a slow pace. I can’t believe we are kissing. He picks up the pace a little, and he is hungry. I want to rip his clothes off right now. I run my hands up his abs and feel all that spectacular muscle. He moans in my mouth, and I swear to the sex gods, I almost come right then and there. I guess the elevator ping is drowned out by all that damn passion, because the first thing I hear, is, “Holy shit.”

  We both look up and see Cam standing there with a T-shirt in hand. Okay, maybe he didn’t disappear on me. He was being sweet and getting Madison a T-shirt. The elevator door attempts to close, and Jag puts his foot in it to open it. Cam stands there, still shell-shocked, his jaw literally open, while Madison is very much asleep in the corner of the elevator.

  “Speak, Cam,” I order.

  “I can’t believe he finally did it.” That is all he can muster up. Bless his heart.

  Jag ignores him and bends down to see about Madison. I walk over to help, but Cam announces he will carry her. Jag and Cam help get Madison to Cam and Kip’s suite. I run to my suite to grab the complimentary toothbrush and toothpaste for her. When I arrive back at Cam’s, I open the door and hear Madison vomiting in the toilet. Cam looks terrified again. Jag shakes his head at our friend. I open the door when the vomiting ceases and help her out of her clothes. I put a cold rag on her head, and ask Cam to order Alka-Seltzer, Advil, Tylenol, water, and toast from the concierge. I undress Madison and get her into a bath. I close the shower curtain on her to give her some privacy when I hear a knock at the door.

  Jag stands at the door, still looking gorgeous. When doesn’t he? He hands me everything I asked for. When I take the plate of toast, he holds it for a moment until my eyes meet his. He smiles. Oh, dear God, that kiss. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to slap or kiss Madison for interrupting what could have been. I smile back, take the plate, and close the door. I get Madison to eat, drink, and take all of her meds. I bathe her, wash her hair, dry her body, and dress her. I brush her hair, and she manages to brush her teeth. I get her into Cam’s bed. He lies down beside her, and thanks me as I turn off their light and close the door.

  Jag is asleep on Cam’s suite couch, so I grab an extra blanket and cover him. I take a few minutes to look at him—really look at him—while he sleeps. He looks peaceful. I crushed hard on him when he was a boy. He was quiet and mysterious to me. He was gorgeous even then. He was also an incredibly talented musician. I remember his small acts of kindness throughout the years. He always remembered the things I like and always bought the most thoughtful presents. What am I afraid of? I’m living life again, right? I climb under the covers with him. Here goes nothing.

  He wakes when he registers me. He stands up.

  “Inside. I won’t have you falling off,” he says.

  I move to the inside of the couch, and he lies back down beside me. He brushes some stray hairs behind my ear and then strokes my face. He licks his lips, and I know he is going to kiss me again. He softly kisses m
e as though he would break me. He deepens the kiss, but keeps it gentle. I have no idea how long this kiss lasts, but I’m about ready to pick up speed when he pulls away. He kisses the tip of my nose and then holds a long kiss on my forehead.

  “Sleep,” he orders.

  Jagger Carlyle is a gentleman. I would’ve been more disappointed that this isn’t going further, but I’m drained, both physically and emotionally.

  “CAN I PLAY kickball with you?” I ask the little boy with dark brown hair and honey-brown eyes.

  “No! You are a girl, and girls are gross,” he exclaims, and all the rest of the boys join in on the teasing.

  “I may be a girl, but my granddaddy says I can do anything a boy can,” I yell back at him.

  “You can’t pee outside.”

  “I sure can.”

  “You can’t pee standing up,” he screams back.

  “Well, that’s the only thing I can’t do. You are just scared you’ll get beat by a girl!”

  He gets nose-to-nose with me. “Girls aren’t allowed to play with us. We have a secret club, and no girls are ever allowed. Especially in kickball.”

  “I’m telling my brother, and he is going to beat you up,” I yell back.

  “I’m not afraid of your brother.” He growls and then he pulls my long hair.

  I instantly punch the boy in the nose, just like my daddy taught me. He should have just let me play kickball. Now he has a bloody nose, and a girl gave it to him. My daddy will be so proud. The little boy charges after me and pulls me to the ground. Before he can land a punch, our teachers are pulling us apart.