Hard to Handle

by Lori Foster

  Jasmine again offered her hand. “Thank you very much, Roger. I appreciate the assistance.”

  “My pleasure, Jasmine. Good luck with your audition.”

  Before she could reply further, Barber caught her arm and hustled her away from the door. “If we’re going to do this, let’s get on with it, please.”

  SMILING, Roger shut the door and headed back to the main area of the bar. He saw sparks in Barber’s future, and it amused him. Hell, everything in life amused him these days, probably because he was so damn happy.

  In such a short time, both his hotel and his bar had quadrupled in business. Best of all, he’d married the woman of his dreams.

  Life was so good that it sometimes scared him. In the past, he’d made mistakes, ugly mistakes, and now he wasn’t sure he deserved anyone as lovely as Camille.

  But by God, he had her, and he planned to do everything in his power to make her the happiest woman alive.

  He found his lovely wife chatting with her brother, Dean, and Dean’s wife, Eve, near an exit. Approaching her from the back, he admired the graceful lines of her tall body, the sexy but sophisticated twist in her light brown hair, and the way her long legs looked in high heels.

  Seeing her made his heart flutter, as much now as it always had.

  When Roger reached her, he hugged his arms around her and kissed the side of her neck. He loved her so much that it hurt—a good kind of hurt, the kind he couldn’t live without.

  Cam turned to him with a smile. “Roger.” Laughing, blushing a little, she put her hand to her neck where his mouth had just been. “What’s that all about?”

  “I’m a lucky man and I know it.”

  Dean gave a small smile, and slipped an arm around his own wife. “If I had a drink, we could toast ourselves as lucky men.”

  Eve said, “Hear, hear!”

  It pleased Roger that Camille had such good friends and such a solid family—family that now included him in their ranks.

  “It’s midnight,” Roger told her. “Why don’t you head home and get some sleep? I have another half hour of work to do, then I’ll be on my way, too.”

  “You’re not staying to close?”

  He kissed the end of her nose. “That’s why I hired managers, so they could handle those type things.”

  “I’m ready to go.” Eve covered a yawn with her hand.

  Dean said, “Yeah, me, too.”

  “Well, I’m not the least tired, so you two go on.” Cam hooked her arm through Roger’s. “I’ll wait for my husband.”

  He felt that familiar thump in his heart. “If you’re sure?”

  “I can help you with your work.”

  Because he valued every second with her, Roger accepted. “Thanks.” An arm around his wife, he said, “Dean, Eve, I’ll see you both later.” Together, he and Cam went to his office. Once inside, Roger smiled at her, then locked the door.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Putting off work.” He stepped back up to her, and opened his hand on her hip. “Have I told you lately that you look more scrumptious every day?”

  “Married life obviously agrees with me.” Her light brown eyes softened in that special way of hers. “And Roger, you compliment me all the time.”

  “I tell you the truth.” Overwhelmed with his feelings, Roger kissed her throat, behind her ear. “I will always tell you the truth. I swear.”

  “I know.” She sighed, and accepted him. “I love you, Roger.”

  Thank God. He didn’t reply. He couldn’t. Instead he took her mouth in a scorching kiss. If they lived to be a hundred, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to take her, or her affection, for granted.

  She simply meant too much to him.

  SEVERAL doors lined the hallway. Barber peeked into each one until he found a room mostly empty except for extra chairs. Flipping on a single light, he lifted a chair off a stack, dropped it to the floor, straddled it, and said to Jasmine, “This’ll do.”

  She looked around at the high ceilings before finally forcing herself to face him. “Please keep in mind that acoustics can affect a performance.”

  “Noted.” Barber folded his arms on the back of the chair and let his curiosity take over. “Tell you what, Jasmine. How about you lose the coat and hat so I can see you?” His pulse sped in anticipation. Voice going gruff, he added, “For the sake of stage presence, you know.”

  For the briefest moment, she clutched the coat tighter. Then she caught herself, nodded, and carefully removed the hat. With her free hand, she stroked her fingers over her scalp, shook out her hair, and let it tumble down her back.

  Her hair was incredible. The single fluorescent lamp lent amazing highlights to the long curls, showing shades of gold, auburn, copper, and russet. Being that Barber’s carnal plans had only just been thwarted for the night, his brain made the leap to how that silky hair would feel trailing over his body—if they were both naked.

  He shook himself.

  Best to see the rest of her before he mired himself in fantasy. Breath bated, he waited while she slowly, like a damn striptease, opened the many buttons down the front of her long coat.

  It seemed to take her forever, and he was about to explode with expectation when she finished and shrugged the heavy covering off her shoulders. She immediately turned, giving him the back view of a generously rounded body in a long dark skirt, boots, and thick sweater.

  Putting the coat beside the hat on a stack of chairs, she hesitated, hesitated some more, and finally turned to face him.

  Ridiculous as it seemed, Barber thought he might bust his jeans. Large breasts made the conservative sweater sexy, and rounded hips added oomph to the otherwise plain skirt.

  While he sat mesmerized, she prepared herself by shaking back her hair, folding her hands together in front of her, and smiling at him.

  Without warning, she burst into song.

  Barber started.

  Damn, talk about jarring a guy back to the here and now. But when he got his attention off her bod and onto her voice, he had to admit she sounded great.

  Better than great.

  Son-of-a-bitch. It figured that she’d be perfect.

  He knew all too well that it wasn’t an easy thing to sing without music, on cue, in a cramped room, without a microphone.

  For such a short girl, Jasmine had a big voice.

  For a woman quick to tears, her presentation was striking and bold.

  Barber relaxed and enjoyed her.

  And accepted the quandary.

  He wouldn’t sleep with a female member of the band…and Jasmine would be a perfect addition. As a singer, she was everything he’d been looking for since Dakota left the band. Unique, talented, capable…

  Now what should he do?

  WHEN she finished the song, Jasmine felt her self-consciousness return. It was always that way. While performing, she lost herself. But now, with Barberosa Henry staring at her, she wanted to wilt.

  Or hide away.

  Salty tears stung her eyes. For most of her life, she’d fought the propensity to weep over every little thing. Happiness, sadness, anger, anxiety…it seemed all emotions made her well up.

  Humiliating.

  Especially in front of her idol.

  She nearly jumped out of her skin when he said, “Nice.”

  Relief almost took out her knees. “Thank you.”

  At the sound of her wavering voice, his dark brows came down. “What’s wrong now?”

  Jasmine quickly shook her head. “Nothing.” Oh God, she sounded like a squeaky frog.

  Barberosa pushed to his feet. “You’re not going to cry again, are you?”

  “No.” She wouldn’t, she wouldn’t…Thank God, the emotional upheaval subsided. “I’m just tired.” Her smile quivered. “That’s all.”

  Suspicion filled his gaze. His voice went gruff. “Well, if you think you can compose yourself, we have some things to discuss.”

  Please let him hire her. Jasmine locked her kn
ees, gripped her hands together, and squared her shoulders. “Shoot. I’m ready.”

  Instead of saying what he had on his mind, Barberosa walked a slow circle around her. Knowing he looked her over sent her heart into her throat.

  When she couldn’t take it anymore, she asked, “What?”

  “The band has an image.”

  She nodded with enthusiasm. “I know. I’ve been following your music for some time now. I first saw you in a bar, about five years ago.”

  “You don’t say?” He lounged back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “Was probably a real dive, huh?”

  “Not too bad,” she assured him, although she couldn’t really remember much about the setting. All she remembered was her complete and utter fascination with the lead singer.

  “You enjoyed the show?”

  Enjoyed was much too tame a word. “You and the others blew me away.”

  He turned his head, studying her. “Five years ago, you’d have been a kid.”

  “I was seventeen.” Fond memories settled her smile. “I allowed myself to be talked into fudging an ID and I went to the bar with a group of college friends.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  “Ex-boyfriend now, but yes, the bar was his idea.”

  Brown eyes took her measure. “Hoped to get you drunk and make a little whoopee, huh?”

  Jasmine drew back. “I beg your pardon?”

  “The boyfriend. That’s why he chose a bar for a minor?”

  It still stung, to think of how she’d been treated that night. Jasmine cleared her throat. “Not that I see how it concerns you, but I don’t really know what his plans were. Soon after entering the bar, we parted ways.”

  “Ah. Difference of opinion?”

  His nosiness surprised her, and threw her off guard. Jasmine hadn’t expected it, and wasn’t sure how to respond to it. “Actually, he wanted me to drink, I was more interested in listening to your band, he got smashed, and I called a cab home.”

  Barberosa put a hand to his chin. “But not before seeing the show.”

  Lifting a shoulder, Jasmine gave him the truth. “I was so enthralled in your music, I didn’t really care what Barry did.”

  “Barry? What kind of pansy-ass name is that?”

  “He’s now a very successful banker.”

  Barberosa snorted.

  Such an odd man. Jasmine took a breath, and continued. “Later I saw you perform with a woman, and I loved it even more, but she wasn’t always with the show.”

  “You’ve seen us more than once?”

  “Every chance I got. The woman you had was so good, I always thought that you needed a permanent female singer in the band.”

  “That’d be Dakota. She’s the best.”

  Jasmine’s hopefulness faded. Did Barberosa plan to settle for second-best then? She forged on. “It wasn’t until just recently, after I read an interview about you in a mixed martial arts magazine, that I realized Drew Black had hired you to do music for the SBC.”

  “It’s a great gig.”

  “But you still like live performance?”

  He lifted one bulky shoulder. “I like staying real with my roots.”

  Then maybe he’d stay real enough to consider hiring her. “The interview also said that you were considering the addition of a female band member.”

  Rather than address her point, Barberosa rubbed his chin. “So let me see, you’d be about twenty-two now, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  His gaze went over her again. “Still a kid.”

  “I’m legal.”

  One brow lifted. “Barely.”

  Fed up, she took two steps toward him and demanded, “What does that possibly have to do with whether or not I’d fit in the band?”

  Slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, Barberosa pushed off of the wall and came toward her. “You feel the sexual chemistry between us?”

  Sexual chemistry? “What are you talking about?”

  “You don’t feel it?” He gestured between them. “’Cuz it’s kicking me in the guts big-time.”

  Putting a hand over her pounding heart, Jasmine said, “I had no idea.”

  “Now you do.” He came closer—and she found it prudent to back up.

  “But…” Heat rushed through her, making her gasp. “We haven’t even been properly introduced!” Not that she didn’t already know everything there was to know about Barberosa Henry; she’d been admiring him, been infatuated with him, for five long years.

  But now she also knew how potent he was in person.

  And how his dark-eyed gaze could entrap her when he stared at her in just that way.

  It was unsettling—and very exciting.

  Somehow, Barberosa caught her hand and stalled her retreat. With his mouth tipped in a crooked smile, he said, “You’re Jasmine Petri—I heard that much when you and Roger were getting acquainted. You already know I’m Barber.”

  Though he did no more than hold on to her hand, nervousness made her babble. “Barber is short for Barberosa? It’s unusual.” And charming, she thought. “I discovered your name by asking the bartender that first time. He just said Barberosa, not Barber, so I didn’t realize—”

  “If I made you part of the band,” Barberosa said, interrupting her and retaining his hold on her hand, “you’d have to do a wardrobe overhaul.”

  Jasmine looked down at her clothes. “You don’t like my outfit?”

  He chuckled. “You look like a well-rounded schoolmarm.”

  Well rounded. Of all the nerve! Like a slow boil, insult replaced her fascination.

  Damn him, she would not take idle potshots at her weight, and she absolutely would not give him the pleasure of getting too upset over it. She brought her chin up and leveled her gaze on him. “Understand up front, I will not be put on a diet.”

  Further flustering her, he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “Enough with the assumptions, doll face.” He carried her hand up to his shoulder. “I wouldn’t ask you to change a single thing about the body, just the window dressing.”

  Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She couldn’t even find the wit to chide him on his absurd and unprofessional endearments.

  Okay, so while she’d fallen in love with Barber’s music, she’d also become more than a little besotted with the man himself. It wasn’t surprising, given that every woman in the audience had been ready to swoon at his feet.

  Barberosa Henry had a way of singing all lyrics that felt very intimate. His voice was heavy and hard, like the man, but touched with an underlying sincerity that wormed into a woman’s heart.

  Seeing him in person had only amplified those twitchy feelings. He was tall and muscular, and he oozed testosterone as well as sensuality.

  The way he moved, talked—the way he looked at her…

  Jasmine had a difficult time getting oxygen into her starved lungs. She eased her hands away from him and took a step back. “Uh, Barberosa—”

  Voice low and rough, he chided, “That’s an awfully big mouthful, and it makes you sound like my mother.”

  “Oh.” His mother? Good grief. Of course he had to have one, but somehow she couldn’t picture it.

  With his thumb, he gently brushed her cheek. “Call me Barber.”

  “I’ll try to remember.” She cleared her throat. “What type of wardrobe did you have in mind, then?”

  Holding her hands out to her sides, he surveyed her body. “It’d be nice to show some skin. And cleavage.” He stared at her chest. “Got a problem with that?”

  “No.” She’d simply think of it as a costume. All performers had them.

  “Good.” With his hold on her hand, Barber led her to the door. “Then let’s call it a night before I make the wrong decision.”

  “Wrong decision?”

  At her question, he stopped, but kept his back to her.

  Jasmine waited, but he just stood there as if wrestling with himself. Finally he looked at her
over his shoulder. “I’ve had three beers.”

  “Really?” If there was a point to that, Jasmine missed it.

  “I’m far from drunk, but I never leave clear thinking to chance.”

  “Clear thinking?” She had no idea what he meant.

  Abruptly he turned. “I’ve got a bad hankering, Jasmine Petri. For you.”

  “Oh!” She backed up again.

  He remained still, as if glued to the spot. “Thing is, I don’t mix business with pleasure. So before I do something dumb, like trying to seduce you—”

  He hadn’t been trying? Good grief.

  “—which I’d probably regret tomorrow when I have to go back to auditions, I figured we’d make a quick exit. You know, remove temptation from my path and all that.”

  Incredulity clouded her vision. “You arrogant ass!”

  His brows lifted. “Too much honesty?”

  Shoving past him, Jasmine said, “You think you can just snap your fingers, and I’d jump at the chance?” She stormed down the hall toward the door leading to the dance floor. “Ha!”

  From somewhere close behind her, Barberosa asked, “Ha?”

  She looked back at him and said louder, “Ha!”

  “I take it you’re not interested then?”

  Insufferable egotist. She couldn’t believe his nerve. Oh sure, she was interested, but…Best if she kept her feet moving, even as sarcasm won out over tact. “Given a choice between you or a job, I’ll take the job, thank you very much.”

  Just as Jasmine reached the door, Barber’s hand came past her and he opened it for her. That put him far too close, and she shot out into the busy bar.

  He caught her shoulder. “Don’t rush off mad.”

  “Mad?” She sucked in two quick breaths. “I’m insulted.”

  “Are you too insulted to still be interested in the job?”

  She crossed her arms and, feeling mulish, grumbled, “No.”

  “Then can I expect to see you tomorrow, in something more appropriate for a rock band? Let’s say here at the bar, around dinnertime. I’ll be performing, but I’ll make time to give you a listen.”

  Her mouth fell open. Never in her life had she encountered so much oddity in one meeting, over one job, from one human being. “Tomorrow? But…I don’t even have a room yet. I traveled seven hours by bus just to get here.”