One More Kiss (Affair Without End Book 2) (7 page)

I turn in his arms and stare up at him. “No, you didn’t hurt me. Not for a second. It was unbelievable. I’d always heard the combination of penetration could make your orgasm intense, but I never knew how intense,” I whisper in wonder. Eyes sparkly, I can’t switch off the part of my personality that needs to do this and gently I mock, “You took my ass’s virginity with a piece of fruit. God, you are a strange man at times.”

Jack laughs, his chest shimming playfully beneath me. “I know it’s a no-go zone, and with how sensitive you are there, it would take something extraordinary for it to work. Oh god.” He groans. “You tightened so hard around me you nearly broke me in two.”

“Where did you learn the cantaloupe thing? At your farmer’s market growing co-op?”

Jack rolls his eyes as if heavily exasperated. “No,
Playboy
. An article on alternate uses of melons.”

I shake my head. “
Playboy
would definitely be the place to learn about melons. I would have never guessed after all this time you have an inner freak.”

He frowns, but his eyes are still bright with humor. “I don’t have an inner freak. I just love giving you pleasure however I can. I’m pretty basic all the way. What you see is what you get, Linda.”

I smile, bringing my mouth to his. I touch his lips lightly and then make a nip with my teeth on his lower lip. “What I see is just perfect for me.”

He settles me more snugly against him. Into my hair, he whispers, “I’m sorry, Linda. About earlier. I’m lucky you were still here when I got back. Don’t think I don’t know that and what an ass I was before. I would have walked out on me. Almost everything I said I wanted to kick the shit out of myself the moment I said it.”

I slip my arms around him at his biceps, holding him as I ease my face up. “Let’s just chalk it up to road fatigue and sexual tension from long denial. That works for me.”

Jack laughs. “Definitely sexual tension from long denial. Six weeks is too long.” His humor fades and he sighs. “I’ve just got a lot of stuff going on all at once right now. I don’t want to bore you with my shit.”

Ah, so my instincts aren’t off. There is something going on with Jack that he hasn’t told me about.

I kiss his chin. “When you’re ready to talk I’m ready to listen,” I whisper.

He gives me a lazy, content smile. “That goes both ways, sweetheart. We’ve both got a lot of stuff running around inside our heads. Hopefully some of it is the same stuff.”

What the hell does that mean? I debate whether to probe that one. I curl into him, holding him with my arms as his fingertips gently stroke my back. We feel good again.

He kisses the top of my head. “Now sleep.”

And before I’ve decided which way to go, if I should find out what’s happening with him that he hasn’t shared with me, he’s asleep.

CHAPTER SIX

I wake first. Jack is sound asleep beside me. It surprises me to find him still in bed in spite of the lateness of the hour we went to bed. Jack usually is up at the crack of dawn. He loves to watch the sunrise. He gets this faraway look and I know sunrise is a ritual with some kind of inner significance to him. I don’t understand it and I’ve not asked. Life has taught me that sometimes it’s better not to know everything, to let a man have a secret or two, and not to try to understand him completely.

Warm from his body and still wondrously lush in the aftermath of his passion, I cautiously slip from Jack’s arms and out of the covers. I pause beside the bed, staring down at him. He’s such a beautiful man. His golden waves are a little longer than the last time I saw him and his strongly molded features hold an endearing softening in sleep. His affection for spending as much time outdoors as possible shows in the firm line of his muscles and the golden tan of his long limbs. Everything on him is deliciously made: the sculptured chest, the narrow hips, even that morning wood after a night of sex, tempting me to return to bed.

I grab, from the floor, the shirt he wore to perform in last night and walk into the living room, tugging it over my head. I sink down onto the chair in front of the desk and start to rummage through all the advertisements until I find the room service menu. What to order for breakfast? I’m scanning the options and my eyes stray to the leather stationary binder on the desk in front of me.

Oh my, I’m supposed to call Sandy Harris today. How could I have forgotten that? It’s the first real line on a job I’ve had in the four weeks since I graduated college. I look at the clock. It’s early. 9 a.m.  Saturday. Too early? Sandy Harris is probably not even working, though he did ask me to call him today. I should at least call and try. I don’t know if I’ll have a moment after Jack wakes.

I spring from the chair and hurry to the bedroom door. Carefully and quietly, I close it. I plop heavily onto the sofa and reach for the phone. The butterflies in my stomach go into overdrive as I dial in the number. It would be nice to have one problem, the job thing, fixed. I curl the phone cord around my arm, pinching myself with it to keep me calm while I listen to the ring.

Four. Five. How many times should I let it ring before I hang up?

“Hello.” The voice is low, male, and familiar. Sandy Harris. I’d recognize his voice anywhere. An image of him—blond haired, green eyes, deep California tan, sloppily dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, wearing UGG boots with a Rolex watch—flashes in my mind. An Orange County rich beach bum through and through. He wasn’t at all what I expected an industry mogul to look like. It made it so much less intimidating during the interview, that he looked so unthreatening.

My entire body straightens and tenses. “Hello, Mr. Harris. It’s Linda Cray. I hope I’m not calling too early, but I thought…”

“Linda,” he exclaims exuberantly, cutting me off. “No, no, no. It’s fine. I’ve been wondering if you’d call since I was expecting a call yesterday.”

My cheeks burn. Oh shit. I never asked Doris when she took the message. Have I blown my only lead on employment? “I’m sorry I’m calling you a day late. You see…” What to say that doesn’t sound too lame? “…I’ve been traveling. Only got back to LA late last night.”

Sandy’s genial laughter floats through the receiver. “Working the job thing, huh?”

I bite my lip, uncomfortable in the lie. “You could say that. Or you could say it’s working me.”

I tense. Damn, a wisecrack. Sandy’s laughter floods the line again. I shake my head, warning myself not to be too lame, too anxious or, worse of all, too desperate.

“So, what can I do for you, Mr. Harris.” I’m pleased. My voice sounded calm, in control that time.

A long pause. Then, “I wanted to discuss a potential employment opportunity.”

Potential? What the hell does that mean? That he hasn’t decided?

“It’s not really the job you applied for,” he continues.

I applied for an entry level administrative position. Shit, am I not even qualified for that after four years at USC. Crap!

“No?” I say, trying not to sound disappointed.

“No.” More silence as if he’s deciding how to present his opportunity. “You have a unique background and I have a bit of a problem. I think you might be the perfect fix.”

Oh no. Unique background? What the devil does Sandy Harris know about my background that he would call it unique. We’d never crossed paths before the interview, and exactly what kind of problem does he need help from
me
for?

An ugly suspicion of where this call is going makes the strongest impulse inside me to slam down the phone. Kicking my temper into submission, I ask coolly, “I can’t imagine what kind of problem I’d be the perfect fix for.”

Sandy laughs good humouredly. “That’s probably because you haven’t met Alan Manzone before.”

“Alan Manzone?” The name means nothing to me, but I still don’t like the direction this is going. “Listen, I think maybe this employment opportunity isn’t for me…”

“No wait. Don’t hang up. Let me explain first. I guess you have heard of Manny.”

I stare at the phone. Manny? Who the fuck is Alan Manzone. Not that I care.

“The situation and the job isn’t as awful as you might think.” 

“No?” I ask, though I really don’t have a clue what the hell we’re talking about or why I’m still on the phone.

“Craig Entertainment Management is putting a lot of money into this kid. The most brilliant guitarist and song writer of this generation. That’s what they think. He’s not going to be just a megastar. He’s going to be the fucking supernova of stars if we can keep him from exploding.”

“You might want to rethink the supernova thing. It’s a star that outshines all the other stars before it destroys itself,” I say, without thinking.

“Really?” Sandy laughs. “Then we definitely don’t want him to be a supernova. I’ll get to work on fixing that one tomorrow. Right now I need to fix the problem I have today. That’s where you come in.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

I’m more than a little frustrated with Sandy. I ask, “What exactly is the job?”

“I’ve put together an eight week tour in the UK for Blackpool. Sort of a trial tour the Management Company and the Label want to see before they go any farther with trying to make a go with this kid. He’s fresh out of rehab. Clean, I’ve been told, but regrettably still him. A pain in the ass in every way.”

I growl silently inside my head and then press, “What is the job.”

“Technically, Assistant Road Manager on the Blackpool Tour in the UK.”

My eyes round and excitement shoots through my flesh drop kicking my prior irritation across room. Then, I go cold. Technically?

“I don’t understand. What does technically mean?”

Silence. Then, “That’s the touchy part of this offer.”

Oh, I bet it’s touchy. “Yes.”

“Assistant Road Manager in title,” Sandy explains, “in reality you are the buffer between the band and my road staff, and if you want the blunt truth, I’m hiring you to keep Alan Manzone on a leash. Keep him from frying his brain with drugs and using up his body on women. He’s got a vile temper. He’s a fucking genius, women go crazy over him, and he has a vulgar kind of weakness for them. He also has enormous potential to make us all a lot of money.”

“You’re hiring a handler,” I say, not sure if I’m offended or flattered. My eyes round. “Why me?”

“Well, you weren’t exactly the interviewee I expected to have walk into my office boasting a resume with a 4.0 GPA from the University of Southern California with a degree in English Literature. For one thing, you have an extraordinary knowledge of the music industry on all levels. For another, you are street smart, trendy, and a fighter. The quick wit and brains I did expect.”

He laughs. I laugh, but only because he did.

“It got the wheels in my head turning,” he adds. “Alan Manzone responds better to women than men. And something tells me you’re going to be able to handle him brilliantly. The rest of the band is not a problem. Your average rockers. Rowdy, but tame when you kick them. It’s only Manny that needs special handling. The tour runs July 1 through the end of August. I need to get you on a plane to the UK by the end of the week so you can get briefed in London on the tour and meet the team.”

“It’s an eight-week tour?”

“Yes, and if you can survive the eight weeks on tour with Blackpool, when you get back to LA I’ll find you a job here in the administrative offices if you like. Or maybe you’ll like England. Want to work out of our office in London doing promotion work. If you can make the Blackpool tour not a disaster, I’m willing to try to accommodate anything you want employment wise.”

Excitement sends the pulse leaping through my veins. “You have an office in London? I could have a position there?”

Sandy laughs. “If you don’t quit before the tour is over, Linda, it’s a sure thing if you want it.”

I debate with myself whether to push too hard in my suddenly, unexpectedly wonderful change of events. “I have one question.”

“Yes?”

“Could the job in London be part-time to accommodate school? I’m enrolled in a one year graduate program. It starts in September.”

“Say no more. If this works out, we can work anything out. So, Linda, are you saying you want the job?”

I pause. I take a deep breath. I don’t know why I do either. There is just so much running in currents inside of me now. A job. I have a job if I want it, a way to get to England, and a way to pay for living expenses at school. A smile takes over my face, so large it hurts.

“I most definitely am willing to accept the job if you are willing to give it to me,” I say.

Sandy laughs. “That’s what I like about you, Linda. You never say anything the way I expect you to. You’re going to be terrific. I know we haven’t talked salary and all that. We can do that when we go over the employment contract. Next time, Linda, when you’re offered a job make sure you talk money before saying yes.”

Oh shit.
I laugh. “I will, Mr. Harris.”

“But don’t worry. I’m sure the terms we reach will meet your expectations. And you can knock off the Mr. Harris stuff. Everyone who works for me calls me Sandy.”

“OK, Sandy.”

“Well, I’m excited about us working together. And definitely pleased to be giving a job to a fellow alumni. We Trojans have to stick together.”

My eyes widen. “I didn’t know you went to USC.”

Sandy laughs. “No? I thought for sure that was why you applied. Playing on that alumni thing. Your resume was definitely thin.” He chuckles again. “But that’s not why I hired you.”

“No?”

“No. After the interview I finally noticed your last name. Cray. Couldn’t help but wondering if you’re Brian’s kid. It would make sense with how much you know about everything in the recording industry.”

I tense. I struggle for something carefully neutral to say. “You know my father?”

“Oh, Brian and I go way back. So I gave him a ring. Told me I’d be a fool not to hire you. That I’d never find anyone else to fill the position more perfectly. Likes to brag about his girl, in case you don’t know it.”

I fight my unsettling reaction to that comment and say instead, “You know dads.”