Chapter 18
Joz
Time for a friendly warning.
“Great set, Joz. Same time tomorrow.”
I nodded at Carl. “I’ll be here.”
Once I’d jumped off the stool, I put my guitar in its case and left it in the corner of the room. I was the only person who would be in this studio until the album was finished, and I had no plans to play tonight. Not guitar, anyway. Now, playing Aspen… there was a game I was eager to start.
After I’d kissed her in the closet (not my finest fucking hour, by the way), I’d expected her to bring up why I’d bailed on her again, but she hadn’t.
It wouldn’t surprise me if she brought the subject up over dinner, though.
If she did, I’d shut it down. I’d kept that secret for eight years, and I planned to take it to the grave.
The weight on my chest pressed a little heavier.
I never had managed to shake off the guilt, and after all this time I accepted I never would.
It was as much a part of me as a limb. Most days, I was too busy to notice it was there.
Nighttime was different when darkness closed in, allowing the voices in my mind to take over.
Murderer.
On a logical level, I knew that wasn’t true.
I hadn’t even been there when Caroline injected that needle full of smack into her arm, but I might as well have been.
I should have seen how desperate she was, how fragile.
I’d chosen the worst possible moment to tell her it was over, and then I’d hung up on her when she called me and threatened to kill herself.
I should’ve called the emergency services and had them go over to her place. Instead, I’d blissed out on my own dose of heroin.
Shaking the intrusive, painful thoughts from my mind, I left the control room and ambled along the corridor to Studio A to see if Aspen was still there.
Empty. I did a one-eighty, beelining for the communal areas, and it didn’t take long to find her chatting with Presley.
He was grinning and standing too close for my liking.
He touched her elbow as though he had the right, sending a flush of jealousy surging through me.
Aspen laughed at something he said, easy, non-flirtatious, but it got to me, anyway.
My jaw flexed. I stalked over, slow and deliberate. No rush, no drama. When I reached them, I didn’t ask for permission. I slid my arm across her shoulders and pulled her to me like she belonged there.
Because she did.
“I’m leaving shortly.” Tone low, I let my lips brush her temple, my gaze traveling to Presley, a clear message in my gaze.
Stupid, really. This kid was wet behind the ears, no match for me.
But there was something in his expression that set my instincts alight.
A cockiness that hadn’t been there on that wet London afternoon in a dive bar.
Then he’d been tongue-tied, grateful for a chance to follow his dreams. Even at his first concert I attended with Aspen at The Crimson Vault, he’d been the same, yet a few short weeks later, something was off with the lad.
There was a steeliness in the way he looked at me, almost challenging.
Seven years between him and Aspen, and seven years between Aspen and me. She wouldn’t be interested in a twenty-one-year-old guy, though. Would she?
“Good session?” she asked, oblivious to the tension I’d created.
“Yeah. We’re on track.”
“Fabulous. Well, I’ll leave you two to chat. Presley’s had an awesome session, too. I’m sure he can’t wait to tell you all about it.” She slid from underneath my arm. “See you at eight.”
“You will.” I tracked her until she vanished from sight, then returned my attention to Presley. “So, kid, good session, huh?”
A flicker of annoyance darkened his features. “I’m not a kid.”
What was happening right now was exactly what I’d feared.
I’d hoped by signing with a smaller label, his ego wouldn’t take over.
I should’ve seen this coming. I’d seen it many times before.
Having his first single hit number one on both sides of the Atlantic had made him think he was invincible, that he could do and say anything.
That he could have anyone he chose. Time to take him down a peg or two.
“A bit of friendly advice, mate.” I clapped him on the shoulder, noting the way he stiffened. “She’s not available.”
He flashed me a brilliant grin, the earlier irritation sliding off his face.
Or maybe he masked it. “Aspen? You’re warning me off the CEO of the company that gave me a break?
” He threw back his head and laughed. “Buddy, you’re fucking way off base.
I’m grateful to her, and I like her, but that’s it. ”
His words stank of bullshit. I had fourteen years’ worth of life experience on this kid, and I’d seen it all, done it all.
He didn’t fool me. “I discovered you. I brought you to Aspen’s attention.
Don’t fucking disappoint me. Keep your feet on the ground and your head out of the fucking clouds, or you risk losing everything. ”
His eyes flew wide. “Are you threatening me?”
“No. Like I said, just giving you some friendly advice.”
“Doesn’t sound all that friendly, Joz. And to think, I used to like you.”
He whipped around and strode away, his spine erect, and a definite swagger that hadn’t been there before.
I narrowed my eyes, watching him go. If the timing was right, I’d bring up my concerns to Aspen tonight. Having Presley Knox intrude on our date didn’t fucking thrill me, but she needed to know if trouble was brewing so she could nip his shitty attitude in the bud before it became a real problem.
Aspen opened the door wearing a black dress that could be described as demure if it weren’t clinging to every inch of her curves.
“Jesus, Spitfire.” I let out a low whistle. “You trying to kill me before the appetizers?”
She gave me that smirk—the one that made my dick far too excited for this early in the evening. “You’re late.”
“Ah, but I had a good reason.” I pulled the bunch of flowers from behind my back. “For you.”
Her brilliant smile sent a flush of heat to my groin. “You’re forgiven.”
Reaching for the flowers, she took them from me and stepped back to let me in.
Her place could not be further removed from my sparse loft in London.
Warm, inviting, homely, with an abundance of comfy seating, and a bank of windows overlooking Manhattan.
“I’ll put these in water, then grab my jacket, and we can go.
” She gestured to the nearest couch. “Make yourself comfortable. Won’t be long. ”
She disappeared through an archway. Ignoring the offer of a seat, I crossed the room and checked out the view.
London would always be my home, but Manhattan had a certain appeal.
Not that I could ever move here. Leaving Arthur was not even a question.
Being two hours away was bad enough, let alone putting an entire ocean between us.
“They’re gorgeous, Joz.” I turned in time to watch her bury her nose in the blooms and breathe deeply. She set them on the coffee table. “Won’t be a second.”
“Take your time.” My gaze followed her as she moved away once more. Damn, that woman’s arse should be illegal. And the way she swung those hips. Criminal. I glanced at my groin, the thick outline of my dick visible.
“Down boy,” I murmured. “You’re thirty-five. Time to do as you’re fucking told.”
“Ready?”
I looked up, spent a precious two seconds drinking in the fucking beauty before me, then grinned. “For you, I was born ready.”
She rolled her eyes, but a soft smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “You’re what historical romance calls ‘a rake’.”
“And what does contemporary romance call me?”
“A walking red flag.”
“Hmm. Sounds like fun. Red is one of my favorite colors.” I sauntered over to her, taking my time. “Let’s go, Spitfire.” I held out my hand, and she immediately took it. Not a moment of hesitation. I called that a good sign.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere quiet.” I pulled up the collar on my jacket and tugged the peak of my cap down low.
As we rode the lift down to the lobby, Aspen studied me, thoughtful. “You’re good at that.”
“At what?”
“Being invisible.”
I nodded. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”
“Do you ever wish you were a private citizen who could wander the streets without the risk of getting spotted?”
“All the time, but this is the next best thing. It’s been a while since anyone recognized me if I didn’t want them to.”
The driver of the car service I’d hired for the evening spotted us exiting the building and immediately jumped out of the driver’s side to open the rear door.
I waited for Aspen to get situated, then strode around the boot to the other side.
Ten minutes later, the car stopped in front of a cozy bistro in downtown Manhattan.
I’d visited here before. Not only did it have the right vibe, but the owner was extraordinarily discreet.
He greeted us at the entrance and swept us to a table tucked away in a corner.
Candles flickered against dark walls and crisp white tablecloths, and the music was at the right volume to allow conversation while also affording privacy from the next table overhearing our conversation.
Aspen slid along the booth, her complexion radiant. A server brought over a bottle of mineral water and two ice-filled glasses. I declined his offer to pour it for us. As Aspen perused the menu, I twisted the cap off the water and filled her glass, then my own. I couldn’t stop looking at her.
“You’re staring,” she said without looking up.
“Observing,” I corrected. “Making sure I take in all the important details.”
“Such as?”
“The way you nibble your lip when you’re concentrating and tuck your hair behind your ear, only to immediately release it. And how you’re trying not to smile because I noticed.”
She did smile then. “Are you always this smooth?”
“Just warming up, Spitfire.”
“I don’t think that nickname works any longer.”
“How so?”