Ace of Spades (15 page)

         
“You have no idea,” Jackson growled, covering her lips with his own.

         
He leaned her back against the piano, pinning her between the hardness of his
body and the solid surface of the instrument. Between kisses, Melody pealed his
t-shirt over his head, revealing every beautiful inch of tattooed skin.

         
Wrapping her legs around his waist, Melody ground the softness of her core
against the hardness of his groin. The sensation of him, hard and ready up
against her through the layers of fabric, drove her wild.

         
Sliding the straps of her dress down off her shoulders, Jackson showered her
chest and shoulders with kisses. Melody reached between them for the button of
his pants, gasping and arching beneath the heated ministrations of his mouth as
he reached her breasts and teased her nipples through the cotton of her dress.
        

         
Jackson tugged the front of her dress down, freeing her breasts from the
confines of the built-in bra. His mouth closed over one nipple, teasing and
nipping at the sensitive bud with his tongue and teeth, then the other. The
ache building low within her belly spread like flames across a pool of
kerosene, burning until she was consumed with need. With hurried, fumbling
fingers, she unbuttoned his pants and dropped the zipper.

         
His manhood strained against the fabric of his underwear, pulsing with heated
blood flow as her fingers grazed the tumescent bulge. Tugging both layers off
to free his erection, Melody grasped his shaft. Jackson released his breath in
a low hiss as her fingers curled around the smooth length.    

         
Jackson’s hands trailed up her thighs beneath her skirt, blazing a trail of
fire as they went. His questing fingers slid beneath the silky fabric of her
panties and Melody released a soft moan.

         
With his deft fingers dancing and flickering across the sensitive bud within
her slick folds, Jackson played her like one of his instruments, eliciting low
moans and gasps of pleasure from Melody as he drove her to the brink of
insanity.

         
All she knew was pleasure, need, and Jackson. She stroked his length as he
probed and teased the tender flesh at the juncture of her thighs, her movements
becoming more frantic as the pressure within her built beneath his skilled
touch.

         
Her breathing became ragged. Her pulse drummed in her ears. And her world
shattered, fractals of pleasure forming a kaleidoscope of sensations. Melody
sighed in delicious satisfaction as her body pulsed with fulfillment.

         
She wanted more. She wanted to feel him moving inside her. But when she tried
to draw him closer, Jackson stepped back.

         
Melody moaned in protest and he gave her a wicked grin.

         
“Don’t move. I’ll be right back,” he assured her, kicking off his pants as he
hustled from the room. Melody sat on the edge of the piano, resting her feet on
the bench as she watched his bare, retreating backside with a smile. He had a
nice ass, complete with those cute little dimples at the small of his
lean-muscled, inked-up back.

         
He returned less than a minute later, sporting a victorious grin and
brandishing a condom in a foil wrapper. “Miss me?” he asked, ripping open the
wrapper, tossing it aside, and rolling the condom onto his shaft.

         
Melody nodded.
“Always.”

         
Jackson’s smile told her he liked her answer. He sat on the bench, positioning
himself between her thighs. He slowly dragged the hemline of her skirt up, his
eyes hungrily taking her in as each inch of skin became bare. Lifting her skirt
to her waistline, Jackson trailed kissed down her abdomen toward the waistband
of her panties. Catching the silky fabric in his teeth, he lifted her hips with
his hands as he dragged her panties down over her thighs.

         
The heat of his appreciative gaze could’ve branded her skin for its intensity
as Jackson let the scrap of fabric fall to the floor.

         
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. Melody wanted to argue, to tell him no,
that he was the beautiful one. But she lost all power of speech as his dark
head dipped down and his mouth covered the tender flesh between her legs.

         
With slow, measured strokes, he made love to her with his tongue. With rapid,
flickering motions, he teased the sensitive bud between the slick folds of her
femininity. With sweet suction he sent her careening over the edge into one
shattering climax after another.

         
Her legs shaking, body throbbing, Melody cried out in pleasure. Jackson lifted
her into his lap and lowered her heated core onto the length of his shaft.

         
Melody wrapped her legs around his back as he filled her completely. Cradling
her hips, he lifted and lowered her, working her up and down the length of him
again and again. Melody thrust against him, reveling in the sweet, insistent
pressure building inside her yet again as he drove himself deep inside her then
slowly withdrew.

         
Jackson showered her face and neck with kisses as he made slow, steady love to
her. He’d meant what he’s said. He
was
a patient man. And he took his
time with her. Melody had never been made love to with such tender care, with
such absolute devotion and adoration.

         
“Oh, J,” she moaned, arching as he wreaked delicious havoc on her body, driving
her to the edge, then pulling back right before she found satisfaction, teasing
her with the promise of pleasure.

         
Melody thought she might scream, from the pleasure, from the painful
frustration of near-completion, when at last he held his rhythm, no longer
teasing her with changing strokes. He thrust into her hard and fast, cradling
her against his chest as he rocked against her.

         
Melody’s world exploded in toe-curling, earth-shattering climax. Quivering, she
clung to Jackson as he continued to drive himself higher and deeper within her.
At last he let loose a low moan, shuddering beneath her as he found his own
completion.

         
His breathing ragged, he rested his head against hers. Melody could feel his
heart racing so close to hers. She struggled to steady her own breathing.

         
“Not bad for a first try,” she teased breathlessly.

         
Jackson grinned down at her, his eyes dancing with laughter and promise of
pleasure yet to come. “Eh, I think we can do better.”

         
Melody grinned. “Prove it,” she challenged, dragging his lips to hers for a
kiss.

         
Jackson chuckled and kissed her back. “Yes, ma’am,” he murmured against her
lips.

Chapter
14

What are
the odds?

         
“I
still don’t know why we couldn’t just ride the tour bus to Vegas. We don’t need
to be there for a couple more days,” Melody griped, feeling a million shades
paler and a tad bit greener than her typically fair complexion.

         
Nowhere in her contract did it say anything about flying on small, private
planes. No, she would’ve remembered that. It would’ve been a deal breaker for
sure.

         
The
seat beneath her shuddered as turbulence shook the plane
with an angry fist, the motion making her stomach heave
. Melody sucked
in a sharp breath and white-knuckled the armrest next to her. She hated flying.
If the good Lord intended for man to fly, he’d have given him wings.

         
Jackson chuckled and covered her tense hand with his own.

         
“Oh, come on, Mel. You can’t be afraid of a little turbulence.”

         
“Turbulence isn’t the issue, J,” Melody snapped. “It’s plummeting thousands of
feet to my death in a tin can that has me terrified.”

         
“You know, you have a higher chance of dying in a car accident than you do in a
plane crash.”

         
“Yeah,” Melody scoffed. “That’s only because people drive more than they fly.”

         
She gasped as the plane hit another rough patch and bucked in the sky like a
bronco at a rodeo.

         
“Statistically speaking—”

         
“Statistically speaking you had a one in a million chance of becoming a famous
musician and we all know how that one worked out.”

         
Jackson narrowed his eyes at her. “You made that up.”

         
Melody shrugged and grinned in spite of herself.
“Yeah, but
the odds weren’t great and yet here you are.”

         
Prying her fingers loose from the armrest, Jackson interlaced his fingers
through hers and gave her hand a squeeze. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”

         
“Unless you’re hiding a Superman cape under your clothes, I doubt you’ll be
much use to me in a plane crash.”

         
Jackson shrugged. “No, no capes. So I guess you’re screwed. But hey, at least
we’ll die together.”

         
“Gee, thanks. I feel all warm and toasty inside now.”

         
He shook his head at her. “I can’t believe that you would go toe-to-toe with
Lenny, but you’re scared of a little plane ride.”

         
“Hey, it’s not a little ride. It’s an hour of hurtling through the sky at
five-hundred-plus miles per hour in a death trap,” Melody countered. “Besides,
Lenny is
not
that scary.”

         
Jackson grinned. “You’ll have to tell him that. He’ll be heartbroken.”

         
“I’ll be sure to mention it,” Melody chuckled. “How did you meet him anyway?”

         
Jackson grew quiet.
“In prison.”

         
“Oh.”

         
“Yeah, I was doing time for some bullshit drug charges and he was my cellmate.”

         
Melody arched a brow at him. “Dare I ask what he was in for?”

         
A lopsided grin split Jackson’s face.
“Assault with a deadly
weapon.”

         
“What was the weapon?” she asked, but then thought better of it. Melody held
her hand out to halt him. “Wait. Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

         
Jackson’s grin spread wider. “He was.”

         
“What?”

         
“Lenny was Special Forces way back when. He used that training in a bar fight
and nearly killed the man.”

         
“With his bare hands?”
Melody gaped at him.

         
Nodding, Jackson chuckled. “Needless to say, he was a good friend to have in a
place like that.”

         
“I imagine so.”

         
“Yeah, I refused to be anyone’s ‘bitch’ and Lenny joined my payroll to keep it
that way,” Jackson said grimly.

         
Melody shuddered at the thought. Jackson had already been through enough in his
teens, she couldn’t begin to imagine how terrifying prison had been for him.
The thought of him there made her sicker than the turbulence.

         
“So, tell me again why we couldn’t just ride the damn tour bus to Las Vegas,”
she insisted, eagerly changing the subject.

         
Jackson shrugged and grinned, prison and the pain of the past pushed aside. “Vegas
is
one of my favorite places to play. If we rode the
bus, we’d have less time there. I want to show you a good time before the tour
becomes all work and no fun.”

         
“Hey, I saw you up on stage the other night. You love what you do. Don’t tell
me it’s not at least a little fun?”

         
Jackson shrugged again.
“Fine.
Until the tour becomes
all fun work,” he amended. “But if I’m up on the stage, then I’m not with you.
And you are much more fun.”

         
And fun they had. Jackson checked them into the most luxurious suite, in the
swankiest hotel on the strip. The lush accommodations put even suites at The
Grand to shame. Melody thanked her lucky stars she was there this time to keep
Jackson from trashing this place like he’d done her hotel.

         
Instead, Jackson seemed determined to show Melody the best Las Vegas had to
offer. They drank top-shelf liquor in the VIP lounges of all the big name
hotels, gambled exorbitant amounts of money at tables reserved for the
high-rollers and celebrities, shopped in the high-priced designer boutiques,
and had the best seats at all the hottest shows on the strip -- after which
Jackson took her backstage to meet the stars.

         
It was like living in a fantasy world, one where money was never ending and
nothing was off-limits. It was easy to see how Jackson had spiraled out of
control in this world. It was exhilarating and addictive.

         
But the highlight of their getaway was when he’d take her back to their suite
-- away from the fawning casino workers, flashing cameras, and adoring fans --
and make love to her until neither of them could move. He was every inch the
bad boy sex god he was reputed to be and he rocked Melody’s world again and
again.

         
The night before the tour kick-off concert arrived. And Melody
laid
in bed after another wickedly delicious sex-a-thon.
Jackson had been completely silent in the bathroom for fifteen minutes when she’d
begun to worry.

         
“J? You okay in there?” Melody called through the bathroom door. She was all
about privacy, especially when it came to bodily functions she’d rather pretend
never happen, but he’d been too quiet in there for too long.

         
Not a sound from the other side of the door.

         
“Jackson?”

         
Nothing.

         
“Say something, J. You’re freaking me out.”

         
Nothing.

         
With a sigh, Melody tugged one of the bobby pins from her hair. Bending the pin
out of shape, she straightened the metal wire.

         
“J, I’m really worried about you. I’m coming in.”

         
Melody stuck the bobby pin into the small hole in the center of the door knob,
maneuvering the make-shift key until the lock gave a gratifying
pop.
Inching the door open, Melody hesitantly peered into the bathroom. She froze
where she stood.
Shit.

         
Fear, concern, anger, horror, disgust, frustration, panic, and betrayal vied
for prevalence in a spinning kaleidoscope in her mind.
No wonder he didn’t
answer
.

         
There, slumped against the vanity with a needle hanging out of the crook of his
arm, was Jackson. Ghostly gray and unnaturally still, he couldn’t possibly be
breathing. Melody rushed to him, falling to her knees at his side. She ripped
the needle from his arm and tossed it aside, scouring him for signs of life –
breathing, a pulse, anything.

         
Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead,
please
don’t be dead…

         
No.
He
wasn’t breathing. And if he had a pulse, it was too slow and weak to feel.

         
“Damn it, Jackson! Don’t you dare die on me,” she cried, fishing her cell phone
out of her pocket.       

         
With shaking hands, she punched the numbers nine-one-one on the touch screen
and hit send.

         
The silence on the other end was deafening as she waited, her heart thundering
in her ears. What was taking so damn long?

         
At last a woman’s melodic voice came on the line.
“Nine-one-one.
What’s your emergency?”

         
“I n-n-need help.
My… f-f-friend isn’t
b-b-b-breathing,” Melody stammered.

         
“What’s your location?”

         
“The Oasis Tower, suite 2502.”

         
“A team of medics is on its way.”

         
The woman was entirely too calm for Melody’s liking. Jackson could be dying, or
even dead, and the woman spoke as though they were discussing the weather
.
To hell with her.
If the woman said anything else,
Melody didn’t hear her. Without hanging up, Melody tossed her phone aside.

         
 “I have to help him,” Melody said, whether to herself, the not quite
empty room, or the woman on the phone, she wasn’t quite sure.

         
Every second that ticked by was one second closer to losing Jackson forever.
Think,
Mel, think.
She’d taken CPR as part of her babysitting course about a
million years ago. Surely, she could remember something, right? Hell, even if
she did it wrong, what would it hurt?
Jackson was dying.
 

         
“Don’t you dare leave me again, J,” Melody growled.

         
Dragging his lifeless form away from the vanity, she laid him flat on his back
on the cold tile floor and positioned herself near his head. Pinching his nose,
she covered his lips with her own. With a slow breath, Melody filled his lungs
with the air from hers, blowing until his chest expanded.

         
She repeated the process again,
then
scrambled to
kneel at his side. Stacking her palms on his breastbone and interlocking her
fingers, she locked her elbows and threw all her weight behind compressing his
chest as hard and deep as she could.

         
Melody cringed at the sickening crunch of bone as his ribs gave way beneath the
pressure. They never mentioned
that
in babysitting 101. But Jackson
wouldn’t live to care about broken ribs if she didn’t do it.
It doesn’t
matter, doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter
… With determination bordering on
desperation she kept pumping with all her might.

         
One, two, three, four…
down, up, down, up
… fourteen, fifteen, sixteen…
shit
. How many of these
was
she supposed to do?
Fifteen?
Twenty?
Thirty?
For the life of her, she couldn’t remember. So, she settled for somewhere in
the middle.
Twenty compressions for every two breaths, nice
even numbers.
Why the hell not?

         
Still ashen and lifeless, Jackson remained as motionless as a practice dummy
beneath her ministrations, only he was infinitely more real. It felt like a
nightmare. It
had
to be a nightmare. But it wasn’t. It was real.

         
And unlike any pass or fail course, failure was
not
an option. Praying
to every god she could think of, real or imagined, Melody begged for divine
intervention. She’d do anything.
Just don’t let him die.

         
Seconds felt like minutes, minutes like hours, as each ticked painfully by. The
ache in her tiring arms couldn’t compare to the ache in her chest. Tears she
didn’t realize she’d cried fell on his chest as she fought to keep Jackson
alive. As she covered his mouth with her own to give him a breath, she couldn’t
help but think of how he might never again brush those beautiful lips against
hers.
Might never again flash that lopsided grin at her.
The boy who stole her heart as a child could be gone forever.

         
Footsteps and voices shattered the deafening silence of the suite, growing
louder as they approached through the master bedroom. The team of medics had
arrived. They would save Jackson. The faceless uniforms tugged her away from
Jackson and converged on his prostrate body.

         
Held with gentle restraint by the two police officers who’d followed the medics
into the room, Melody watched in helpless horror as the team of medics fought a
losing battle against an unseen foe. One medic provided chest compressions,
while another used a masked bag contraption to give him coordinated breaths.
Damn
it all, thirty per two, not twenty.
She’d almost had it right
.
Hopefully almost counted in more than just horseshoes and hand
grenades.