Chapter 24
Joz
And now for a not so friendly warning.
“That’s a wrap.” Carl put both his thumbs up. “Good work, Joz.”
“Thanks.” I eased my guitar over my head and propped it against the wall. “Do me a favor and don’t tell Aspen it’s in the can. I want to tell her.”
“You’re the boss.” He grinned. “Well, technically, she is, but who am I to stand in the way of a man who wants to surprise his girl?”
I pointed my finger at him. “That’s privileged information, buddy.”
He made a zipping motion across his mouth. “My lips are sealed.”
“They’d better be, or I’ll glue them for you.”
He laughed. “Right, man, I’m headed home. My wife has probably forgotten what I look like.”
I winced, guilty that I’d kept him away from his family.
Ever since I flew back to New York the day after Aspen landed in London and handed my arse to me on a silver platter filled with mind blowing orgasms, Carl and I had pulled a fair number of all-nighters.
I’d wanted to ensure the entire album was done before my flight to Seattle first thing tomorrow morning for Aspen’s mother’s birthday, and he’d agreed to put the hours in to help me.
A family party, though. I had regrets. Not about seeing Aspen. I’d never regret that. But I hardly ever saw my own family, yet I was expected to pony up to celebrate with a bunch of strangers.
Still, it was one night. I’d do it for Aspen.
I’d give her anything. She already owned me, and I couldn’t be happier about it.
What we had, in and out of the bedroom, was pure decadent indulgence.
I fucking loved the way she’d take control in one breath, then hand it to me in the next.
I craved both obeying her and commanding her.
Relationships like ours rarely worked, yet we’d fallen into a rhythm as if it had always been there, waiting for us to discover it.
By the time I’d gathered my stuff and left the recording booth, Carl had gone. I exited the control room and beelined for the studio exit. Halfway down the hallway, a door on my left opened, and a guy came storming out, almost crashing into me.
“Hey. Watch it.”
He turned to me, eyes stormy. Presley. Now, there was something I regretted far more than agreeing to go to Aspen’s mother’s birthday party. If I hadn’t introduced him to Aspen, she wouldn’t have had to deal with his unwanted advances.
“Oh, it’s you.” He fiddled with the hem of his T-shirt and glanced over my shoulder. “Aspen with you?”
Aspen’s warning not to engage this twat circled my mind, but I was all out of fucks. Snapping a hand around his throat, I shoved him against the wall.
“You listen to me, you fucking prick. If you ever lay a hand on my woman again, I will chop them off and ram them down your throat until you choke to death. If you ever say her name, I’ll cut out your fucking tongue.
If I hear you’ve disrespected a single woman for the rest of your miserable life, I will make sure you live to regret it. You feeling me?”
He grabbed my arm, wrestling to get free, except a twenty-one-year-old scrawny fuck who was barely out of nappies was no match for me. I tightened my grip, my fingers digging into his flesh.
“You. Feeling. Me?”
“Yes,” he rasped.
I let go. He bent over, coughing, both hands braced on his knees.
“Right answer.” Pivoting, I continued walking toward the exit. I had a bag to pack and a flight to catch at nine o’clock.
“You’re gonna regret this, man!” Presley yelled after me.
A standard line when someone didn’t know how to respond to a threat.
I almost yawned. Instead, I flipped him the bird.
He shouted something else, but I was too far away by now to hear him.
Just as well. I doubt it was complimentary, and I didn’t need much of an excuse to put that jumped-up little cunt on his arse.
When I got to Seattle, I’d tell Aspen what happened. She’d probably rip me a new one for doing the exact opposite of what she’d asked of me, but that little prat had it coming. I doubt he’d cross either of us again.
The look on Aspen’s face when I emerged into the arrivals hall at Sea-Tac Airport chased away any regrets I might’ve had about coming here.
She kept it professional while we were in public, although no one batted an eyelid at either of us.
The second the car door slammed shut, though, she pounced, straddling me and smashing our mouths together.
Not that I was complaining. I cupped the back of her neck and deepened the kiss, breathing in the scent I hadn’t realized I’d missed until now.
Breaking apart, I caressed her cheek with the back of my hand. “That’s some greeting, Spitfire. Now, as much as I’m enjoying you rubbing yourself on my dick, I need you to climb off me and put your seat belt on.”
A wicked grin combined with her rocking her pelvis against me had me groaning. “I thought your flight was never going to get here.”
I caught the driver looking at us in the rear-view mirror. At my glare, he glanced away. “The flight was on time.” I palmed her neck, drawing her closer, and whispered in her ear, “Your driver is catching a live sex show. Next time, pick a car with a privacy screen.”
“Oh.” She bit her lip and grimaced. “Gotcha.”
Dismounting, she plunked herself in her seat and clipped in her belt. “My parents are looking forward to meeting you. So are my brothers. They’re both huge fans of yours.”
“What have you told them?”
“About us? Oh, not much.” She leaned in, her lips virtually touching my ear, voice low to avoid being overheard. “Just that you have a magical pierced dick, and I enjoy bouncing on it.”
She sat back, eyes gleaming, a teasing smile curving her mouth at the corners.
For a second, my heart almost stopped. “Liar.” At least I fucking hoped so, or this might be the shortest meeting in history.
Her smile broke into a full-on grin. “You got me.”
“You’re having too much fucking fun, Spitfire.”
“No such thing.” Reaching across the space between us, she captured my hand. “Relax. I told them we were seeing each other, but it was new, and I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”
“And they’re cool?”
“My parents are very cool. You’ll like them, promise. Just watch out for Dad inviting you to his study for after dinner cigars. That’s code for ‘time for the chat.’” She laughed again.
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t make me regret agreeing to come.”
“Oh, shush. By the time tomorrow rolls around, you’ll be fully absorbed into the Kingcaid family, and you’ll wonder why you were worried.”
“Who said I’m worried?”
“I did. Just then. Are you going deaf? I mean… with your advancing years and all, I suppose it was inevitable.” She winked.
“You’re pulling the tiger’s tail, Spitfire. Keep going, and I won’t care that there isn’t a privacy screen.”
“Ooh, promises, promises.”
“Just wait until we’re alone.”
Before she could answer with another of her trademark, quick-witted responses, her phone rang.
“It’s Mom.” She swiped the screen. “Hi, Mom.” Pause. “Yes, we’re on our way.” Pause, and a glance at me. “He’s really excited about meeting you. He even said he couldn’t wait for Dad to have ‘the chat’, as long as it was accompanied a nice Cuban cigar.” Another wink.
I drew my forefinger across my neck and mouthed, “You’re dead.”
She blew me a kiss. “About ten minutes out. See you soon.” She dropped her phone back into her handbag.
I shook my head and sighed. “What am I going to do with you?”
“I have a few ideas.”
“I’ll bet you do.”
“Okay, I’ll give you a break and talk about something far safer. How’s the album coming along? Still on track to finish next Friday?”
Ah, here’s an opportunity to a have a little fun of my own.
“No. ‘Fraid not.”
Two faint lines appeared between her eyebrows. “Oh. That’s not good, Joz. It’s a hard deadline.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have come this weekend? Could’ve worked instead.”
“Hmm. Yeah. Maybe.” She fiddled with the strap on her handbag, deep in thought.
“Should I go back to New York?”
“No. No, we’ll work it out. Somehow. How late do you think it’ll run?”
“Who said it would run late?”
“You did?”
“Did I? When did I say that?”
She rubbed her forehead. “Just then. I asked if you were on track to finish Friday, and you said no.”
“What I actually said was ‘fraid not. And the reason I said that was because…” I paused for effect. “I finished it yesterday.”
For several seconds, she didn’t move. Then her fist came down on my thigh, hard.
“Ow.”
“That was mean.” She smiled as she said it. “I almost had a heart attack trying to work out how to stretch one week into two.”
“Well, now you don’t need to.”
“You…you…”
“Genius?”
“Asshole.”
“It’s fucking epic, by the way. The best I’ve ever made.
” I kissed her hand. “I thought about you the entire time. There are a couple of songs on there I wrote about how I feel when I’m around you.
The words just poured out. Easiest album I’ve ever recorded, bar none.
And all because I’m fucking obsessed with you. ”
“Don’t.” She looked away.
I clasped her chin and made her look at me. “Don’t what?”
“Say things like that.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re going to make me cry.”
“Good crying?”
“The best crying.”
“Then, cry away, Spitfire. I’ll wipe your tears.”
“I can’t. Mom will ask too many questions, and we’re here.”