The Has-Been and the Hot Mess

by Isabel Jordan

  Snarky even when she was exhausted and emotionally spent. He loved that about her. “I mean, of course, I want into your pants. But I figured my music and my abs would do all that work for me. The rest is just gravy.”

  Kendall burst out laughing, exactly as he’d hoped she would. Because as much as he did want into her pants—and shit, he really wanted into her pants—he wasn’t about to take advantage of her.

  “Seriously, though,” he said, “Go shower or take a hot bath if you want to, then you can go to bed whenever you’re ready. I’ll sleep wherever you tell me to. Scout’s honor.”

  She squinted at him. “You were a Scout?”

  “I was,” he said.

  Just because he’d been kicked out for sneaking across the river to the girl’s camp didn’t mean he wasn’t a Scout.

  “Hmmm. I’m skeptical. But you’ve been pretty great today, so I’ll take you at your word.”

  He chuckled as she grabbed her bag and made her way to the bathroom. She stopped in the doorway and turned to glance at him over her shoulder. “Jackson?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you. For everything. I wouldn’t have made it through the day without you.”

  “You’re welcome, Kendall,” he said softly.

  He stood there for another minute, staring at the closed bathroom door, listening to the water run, knowing she was naked in there. And despite his assertion that nothing would happen with her tonight, his body reacted to the thought.

  He sighed. Maybe if he’d stuck with the Scouts and followed all their damn rules, he wouldn’t be in this mess right now.

  When Kendall emerged from her hour-long soak in the suite’s Olympic-sized bathtub, her skin was pink and prune-y, but every muscle in her body was mercifully, finally relaxed. Her legs felt like overcooked spaghetti as she tossed her hair up into a bun and slipped on a ridiculously fluffy, hotel-provided white bathrobe.

  She was totally stealing this robe when she left.

  When she walked out of the bathroom with the cloud of steam billowing in her wake like she was in an 80s rock video, something stopped her dead in her tracks.

  Jackson, wearing a snug white T-shirt and gray sweatpants, was sitting in the middle of the bed, barefoot, remote in hand, flipping through the channels.

  Something as innocuous as gray sweatpants should not be sexy. But they were.

  Oh, God, how they were.

  Something about seeing an already sexy man in a casual, relaxed state like this increased his innate hotness by at least seventy percent.

  That was assuming Kendall had done the math right, of course. Maybe it was eighty? She wasn’t entirely sure. Math had never been her best subject.

  All she did know for sure was that she was nearly overcome with the desire to fall on him like a rutting beast and rip those sweatpants to shreds with her bare hands.

  He glanced up at her and smiled. “Feel better?”

  She nodded and had to dig deep before she was able to find her voice. It must’ve been buried under a few tons of pent-up lust, she decided. “I do. Thank you. What are you watching?”

  “I truly have no idea. I haven’t watched TV since, I don’t know, 2000 or so?” He frowned. “When was Firefly cancelled?”

  “2002,” Kendall answered without hesitation. She knew because she was still bitter about it. If she ever found herself in a meeting with the Fox executives who’d been on the job back then, they’d be getting an earful from her.

  “TV seems to have changed a bit since then, and not necessarily for the better,” he said ruefully. He extended the remote toward her and patted the seat next to him on the bed. “You want to be in charge?”

  Now this was a dilemma.

  She did want to be in charge. Kyle had never let her be master of the remote, even though his taste in television was terrible. (No, Westworld was not that good. Everyone had just been brainwashed into thinking it was as good as early seasons of Game of Thrones. They wanted it to be as good as Game of Thrones. It wasn’t. Not by a long shot.)

  But being in charge meant sitting next to him in his ridiculously sexy gray sweatpants and keeping her hands to herself because he’d promised not to touch her today.

  Stupid honorable man. Why couldn’t he be a selfish jerk and just take advantage of her already?

  It’d been a really long time since she’d been taken advantage of in a satisfying way.

  She couldn’t stand here like a fool all night, though. So, she pulled up her big girl panties (metaphorical panties, of course, because she was currently naked under her big, fluffy robe) and climbed into bed next to him. Fortunately, the bed was big enough that they weren’t crammed together. There was plenty of room for a nice pillow retaining wall between them. And she built that wall with ruthless efficiency.

  She needed all the help she could get, and every possible impediment to nudity would helpful at this point.

  Taking the remote from his hand, she turned her attention to finding something decent for them to watch. Finally settling on an old, season one rerun of Monk, she snuggled into the pillow wall and tried to ignore how good Jackson smelled.

  This was going to be a long, long night.

  Chapter 25

  Kendall made it through about twenty minutes of Monk (which was a great show) before she was snoring away next to him.

  Even her snores were cute. Like little sleepy puppy snuffles.

  It took another ten minutes for sleepy Kendall to tunnel her way through the pillows she’d placed between them, and another five for her to burrow into his side and fling one arm across his chest, and one leg over his.

  He froze the second she touched him, sure she’d wake up at any minute. But she didn’t. So eventually, he just tucked her more snugly into his side and let her head rest on his shoulder.

  It felt entirely too right having her this close.

  And at the same time, it was pure, unadulterated torture.

  She was warm and soft and soapy-smelling, and if things were different, if he hadn’t promised not to touch her today, he would not be laying here, suffering through a hard-on that refused to subside. Nope. If things were different, he’d ease her onto her back, gently open that obnoxiously fluffy robe, and trail his tongue over every inch of her body, until she woke up coming and screaming his name.

  And now that there was absolutely zero chance of sleeping anytime soon, especially not with her warm breath feathering across his neck, Jackson turned his attention back to the television.

  That’s when he saw his own damn face on the nightly news. The national nightly news.

  “Kendall,” he said, shifting his shoulder slightly to jostle her. “Wake up. You need to see this.”

  She grumbled and snuggled tighter into his side.

  He kissed her temple and jostled her again. “Wake up, darlin’.”

  When that still didn’t get a response, he tried a little louder. “Kendall.”

  She startled awake with a noise somewhere between a snort and a yelp, sitting straight up, hair falling out of her bun, partially obscuring her face. “Wha? Whaz goin’ on?”

  He gestured to the television, even though he wasn’t entirely sure she could see through that mountain of hair. “The news, Kendall. Look.”

  Jackson grabbed her glasses from the nightstand and handed them to her. She slid them on and blinked owlishly at the glowing screen for a second or two, before saying, “Holy shit! That’s you!”

  God, she was adorable. Even half asleep and only moderately coherent.

  She rolled to her knees and leaned forward. “Turn it up!”

  Jackson did as he was told and shifted his attention from the expanse of bare, smooth thigh Kendall’s gaping robe had just exposed to the screen, where a young reporter in a severe black suit dress was narrating footage from the Pals for Paws benefit.

  “The event, run by former Maelstrom lead singer Jackson Hale, raised over four hundred thousand dollars for animal shelters across the country, a
nd led to the adoption of over 800 dogs.”

  Now it was Jackson’s turn to blink owlishly at the screen. They’d raised that much money? Jesus. He’d been so wrapped up in his performance anxiety that he hadn’t given much thought to exactly how many people had shown up, or how many different revenue streams Kendall had made sure were functioning by the day of the event.

  “But the highlight of the event for many viewers was the live performance by Jackson Hale.”

  They cut to footage of him singing, followed by footage of the crowd as they swayed, sang along, cheered, and danced. It was amazing. He’d thought everyone was having a good time, but it was kind of hard to tell from the stage. With the lights in your eyes and adrenaline running high, it’s hard to see anything, or hear anything but the roar of your own blood in your ears. Seeing everyone have that much fun was downright humbling.

  “The once embattled singer looked and sounded better than ever, and this event, along with his recently upped social media presence, has introduced a new generation of music fans to Jackson Hale.”

  Once embattled. He snorted. No shit.

  “But the question that’s on everyone’s mind right now is what’s next for the former Maelstrom singer? An insider close to the artist said that Mr. Hale is not planning to tour or reunite with his former bandmates. He’s happy living a simpler, quiet life, running his animal rescue, and spending time with family, friends, and loved ones. But, if the right opportunity presented itself, he would most definitely be interested in pursuing work behind the scenes on movie scores.”

  “An insider close to the artist?” he repeated.

  “That’d be Ray,” Kendall answered distractedly. “I gave him that quote to leak to anyone who asked.”

  She scrambled to the edge of the bed to grab her phone, and after a few minutes of furious scrolling, she said, “Oh my God! You’re everywhere. I mean…everywhere. You’re trending…”

  “Everywhere?” he supplied helpfully.

  “Everywhere!” she squealed.

  Then she tossed the phone and lunged at him, all flying hair, smooth skin, and fluffy robe. He laughed and caught her, hugging her to his chest. Her arms instantly went around his neck. It felt so natural that his heart ached a little.

  “You did it!” she said, her voice full of wonder. “We can get you any agent you want now. That job is as good as yours.”

  He pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. “No, you did it. This was all you, Kendall. None of it would’ve happened without you. You’re amazing. And I don’t think I’ve told you that enough. I owe you so much.”

  She pursed her lips like she was deep in thought and said, “Well, you did supply the abs, that face, and the voice, so it wasn’t all me. Just mostly me.”

  Brat. He dug his thumbs into her ribs and tickled her until she was laughing so hard she was gasping, with tears rolling down her cheeks.

  But when the laughter died down, he couldn’t help but notice how good her weight felt against him. Or just how far her robe was now gaping open. And it was gaping open everywhere. The view was a-fucking-mazing.

  She must’ve noticed at that point, too, because her breathing sped up. He could feel her heart pounding against his.

  His back teeth ground together. “Kendall, I’m trying so hard to be a gentleman here.”

  She sucked in a little gasp before saying, “I really wish you’d stop trying.”

  “Oh, thank God,” he said before wrapping his fist in her hair at the nape, yanking her mouth to his, and kissing the ever-loving hell out of her.

  Chapter 26

  Kendall rolled onto her back, tugging him over with her, tangling her long legs with his. Jackson gently pulled her glasses off and put them on the nightstand.

  Go slow, Jackson told himself as her mouth opened wider under his and he slid his tongue against hers. She tasted like toothpaste, honey, and heat, and he wondered if she tasted that good everywhere.

  Tonight, he damn sure intended to find out.

  His hands itched with the need to explore her, to slide under her robe and feel her smooth skin, but he had to go slow. She deserved so much more than a rough, desperate fuck, and he was going to give it to her.

  She was not making it easy, though. The greedy way she was sucking his tongue into her mouth, the way she rolled her hips into him and raked her nails through his hair…it was all seriously messing with his self-control, which was already hanging on only by the thinnest of threads.

  Kendall moaned as he shifted to kiss her neck, then moaned louder when his tongue touched the tender spot right under her ear. “Mmm, yes. That feels good.” Her hand slid across his chest. “You feel good.”

  He cupped her jaw in his hand and brought her mouth up to his again. As the kiss got hotter, wetter, more frantic, she slipped her tiny hand between them and rubbed his cock through his sweats. Jesus. Those firm, sweet strokes had him digging his fingers into her back, panting against her lips.

  They weren’t even naked yet, he wasn’t even in her, and somehow she had him a heartbeat away from embarrassing himself.

  He was losing control fast. He needed to rein himself in. But good intentions couldn’t stop him from rocking his hips, thrusting against her hand, and sliding his fingertips inside her robe.

  “Kendall,” he said, resting his forehead against hers. “I need to ask. You’ve had a hell of a day. Are you sure about this?”

  She tightened her hand around his erection, dragging a groan from the back of his throat. “Does it feel like I’m at all unsure?”

  “I’m going to need to hear it.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I want you, Jackson. I’ve wanted you for so long. And stop holding back, will you? You’re killing me here.”

  And that was the exact moment when his self-control snapped like a dry twig.

  His hands moved into her hair and fisted so quickly she gasped. “Good,” he said, barely recognizing his own voice. It had taken on a rough, feral tone he couldn’t remember ever using. “Then you might want to hang onto to something. This might get rough.”

  Yeeeeesssss. Finally!

  Kendall’s stomach tightened with anticipation as she watched him rise up to his knees and wrestle out of his shirt.

  She’d seen his chest and abs before, of course—all those mouth-watering, taut, tanned muscles, mocking her whenever she took pictures of them for his social media. But she’d never been within touching (and tasting) distance.

  When she sat up and reached for him, he put a hand on her chest and shoved her back down on the mattress. Then he pulled her robe open and pushed her knees apart.

  “I need to touch you,” she moaned impatiently.

  Her whole body trembled as he kissed his way up her leg, starting at the ankle.

  “You will,” he said, his tongue tracing a lazy pattern on her inner thigh. “But not until you come.”

  Her breath escaped in a hiss when his tongue stroked up her center and over her clit. Kendall grabbed two-fistfuls of the sheets beneath her and held on for dear life.

  “First, though, I’m going to make you scream my name.”

  No one had ever made her scream. But she did just that when he slid two thick fingers inside her.

  “And maybe beg a little,” he added, almost off-handedly, like he wasn’t completely blowing her mind.

  She didn’t doubt for a minute she’d end up begging, because when his mouth closed over her clit and sucked as his fingers started moving, she would’ve given him anything—everything—he wanted to get him to keep going.

  Do. Not. Stop.

  Every muscle in her body tightened and quaked, and she felt the sheets tearing beneath her fingernails. Sounds she’d never made in her life—feral, desperate sounds—were ripped from her throat, their pitch rising higher and higher in time with the pace of his tongue and fingers.

  And just when she was at her peak, he pulled his hand away and slid his tongue deep inside. She let out a choked gasp as pleasur
e lashed her hard, unrelenting.

  He was coaxing feelings, sensations, out of her that she didn’t even know she was capable of. But coaxing wasn’t really the right word. It was more like he was demanding she give him everything and not hold back a single moan or cry of pleasure.

  She was completely powerless, and for once in her life, Kendall was one-hundred percent OK with that. He could have control. He could have whatever he wanted as long as he was making her feel like this.

  She couldn’t help but lift her head and watch as he played her body as skillfully as he played his guitar. His thumb rubbed hard and fast circles over her clit as his tongue thrust in and out of her. In and out, in and out, over and over again until she broke, screaming so loud she was pretty sure every guest in the hotel now knew Jackson’s name.

  Holy. God.

  She’d had no idea orgasms like that even existed outside of romance novels. Or porn. But what she’d just had…it was like an out-of-body experience. That orgasm pulled her out of her body, changed up her DNA, and put her back together as a totally different person—one who was now officially ruined for all other men.

  She might as well stamp “Property of Jackson Hale” on her ass.

  “That was…” she began breathlessly.

  Jackson straightened and brushed the back of one hand over his mouth while her body was wracked with aftershocks from the most epic orgasm of her entire life.

  “That,” he said with a smile that was pure sin, “was just the beginning.”

  He looked so smug. She was laying here, wrung out like a used dishrag, and he looked completely calm, cool, collected, and smug.

  That would not do. Not at all.

  Kendall sat up, planted both hands on his chest, and pushed, knocking him flat on his back. She impatiently shoved the robe off her shoulders and climbed on him, straddling his hips.

  “Oh, you got that right,” she said fiercely.

  This was going to kill him.

  It was too much. She was too much. Too beautiful, too perfect, too everything.