Rock Into Me (3 page)

“You’re getting mighty smooth, there. I might have to up my game as promo queen.”

Alana slapped the counter. “Shut. Up. You still have Harvey to contend with.”

“I’m totally on my game with him. Not a care there.”

A blond bartender wearing a skin-tight t-shirt approached them. “You’ve got a slamming set of pipes. Both of you,” he said. “What you will have? It’s on the house.”

Christy smiled up into his face, clearly toying with him. “Handsome, what’s the house specialty?”

“For you, sweet thing…” He stared across the bar, sizing Christy up. “
Blow Job
comes to mind.”

Alana wasn’t in the mood to flirt or witness anything of the kind. She rapped her knuckles on the bar. “I’ll have a Mind Eraser. Make it a double.”

“Make that two,” Christy said, chewing on a stir stick. “How about a rain check on the blow job?”

The bartender snorted. “You’re dangerous. Aren’t you, sugar?”

 “Nothing you can’t handle.” They both watched him toss and flip a bottle of vodka, pouring the drinks in front of them. He squeezed fresh lime, scenting the air with a bright citrus aroma.

Alana cleared her throat. “I’ll have this drink, and then I’m going back to the hotel. I’m bushed. Unless you need me to stay, in case the owner thinks he can collect on what you were flaunting in his face earlier.”

“I can handle Harvey with my eyes closed. Don’t you worry - or maybe you should.” Christy peered past her shoulder. “Your perturbed stranger is watching you.”

“No more waffling. Tell me straight. Just who is Lansing?” Alana gazed down at the smooth surface of the bar in order to keep her gaze from shifting across the room. She traced an imaginary pattern along the wooden surface. Inhaling, she looked up to meet Christy’s stare. “That’s what you said his name was?”

“Enjoy,” the bartender said. “Bottoms up, ladies. And here.” He put a bucket of ice and a bottle of champagne in front of them.

Christy was the first to react. “Harvey’s doing?” She wore a Cheshire cat-grin a mile wide.

“Not even close. It’s anonymous. From an admirer. That’s all you get, besides the pleasure of a bottle of our finest.
Dom Perignon 1990
.” Alana stared as the flute glasses were set in front of them. “Anything else?” the bartender asked.

“I think we’re set…for now.” Christy picked up her glass, winking at the bartender.

“Cheers,” Alana whispered. The scratchiness in her throat tickled worse. The alcohol scalded the back of her throat and she banged her glass down on the bar. She coughed, fully expecting to see orange flames exit her mouth.

“Good evening, ladies,” a deep British voice carried over Alana’s shoulder. The power and resonance continued. “I was looking for your manager. I was under the impression he would be here tonight.”

Alana sucked in a mouthful of air and turned, looking at a shiny button of an expensive white shirt, and then immediately her gaze bolted upward, meeting Lansing’s eyes. The area around her blurred in that
time standing still
kind of moment.

Her chest tightened, and the sensation of burning amplified in her throat. She remained speechless, staring at him, captivated by his good looks. Up close he was even more appealing, with his angular features. So far no one in Nashville--okay, fine, no one--on the East Coast appeared that delectable.

His gaze swept over her face, trailing downward over her body in an indolent manner, lingering on places besides her eyes, and she prayed that something sensible would come to her. The heat inside her body became hotter under his blatant perusal.

Christy, never at a loss for words, didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, really. And why would that be, Mr. Lansing?”

His lips tightened, and his jaw muscle twitched a couple of times as he contemplated Christy. When he turned his attention back to Alana she noticed in the bar lighting that his eyes weren’t dark at all. They were a rich shade of sapphire blue, and she’d need an ice pick to undo the freezing look he gave them both. “I had an appointment with Tyler.”

“He had an emergency. Family,” Christy retorted.

“Pity. He called me. Not the other way around. I don’t intend on rescheduling.”

With Lansing’s annoyed disposition, Alana’s mind was finally allowed a reprieve, back to the world of intelligent thinking. She dove into the conversation. “I wasn’t under the impression you’d done anything this evening beyond sulk.” Alana couldn’t hold back. Not with his indignant tone and attitude. “So I guess you’re free to leave.
Jolly good
, wouldn’t you say?”

The hairs all over her body went on full alert. Predator sirens were going on left and right. She didn’t give a rat’s ass. Who in the world had such an ego coupled with such a sour attitude?

His expression devoured her entirely. His gaze lingered on a point in the middle of her chest, and she bet he wasn’t considering where she’d purchased the dress. When he spoke, his idle, visual tracing of her skin burned a path up to her eyes, causing her cheeks to flame hotter.

“You…” he held her eyes, speaking as though for only her ears, “I’d save that voice, if I were you, young lady. Not many moons left for you on stage if you keep this up.”

 Alana could feel her eyes widen, and her fingers curled into talons, ready to rake across his smug face. She counted to five, tempering her rebuttal. The numbers flew faster than in her usual countdown “Mr. Lansing, is it? I don’t know who you are, or what stick you’ve got thrust up your backside, but - I get it. Our music isn’t your cup of tea. Eh, mate?”

Panting and staring daggers into Jonathan’s face, Alana St. James was a bona fide spitfire. A she-devil who’d gone from captivating his senses to bewitching him in less than five minutes.

The video segment of Orion he’d reviewed before coming out tonight had done her little justice. The piece of footage her manager had sent over was a bloody piece of work. Amateurish, and he’d not have given it a second look if Baxter, his partner, hadn’t called him, citing a huge favor that was owed

Baxter promised Jon they’d be even if he did him this one turn. Hell, he’d thank him tomorrow. The vocalist of Orion was one-in-a-million. Nothing he could do about the group’s dickhead manager. He abhorred being dodged by the likes of second-rate operators such as Tyler.

Jon studied Alana’s movements. The nuances of her gestures were tantalizing, right down to how she held up her fingers. He almost said something else along the lines of a wanker, just to see her spew one more line. It was her molten passion that blazed and caught him. She was priceless, telling him her thoughts. He gave her credit for not kissing up to him like every other performer he’d come across in the last few years.

He couldn’t resist, and mirrored her insouciant manner. “Not the way you’re hitting those high notes. The alto range was meant to be sung, not screeched, sweetheart.”

Her green eyes flashed fury and for a second his business checklist dimmed as he contemplated her full lips, her glowing skin, and then allowed himself to consider - yet one more time - the way her breasts jiggled and the peaks of her nipples thrust against the front of her dress.

His cock twitched approval of her perfectly-formed mounds. He’d wager his eyeteeth her tits would be firm and yielding in his hands, responsive to his mouth, and the type he could slide his dick between and fuck.

Exhaling, she locked her gaze with his. “Really, I think you’ve said enough for one evening.” She stared defiantly back at him, her lips slightly parted.

He imagined putting that smart, pink mouth to good use. She was his kind of woman. The type that would fight him tooth and nail in an office across a desk and fuck his brains out, or let him take her as many ways as he wanted until Sunday. This type of woman spelled trouble, from the way she blatantly spoke her mind to the way she sauntered across the stage. At every turn, she all but dared him to do something and had him almost crawling out of his skin.

Well, Jesus, he’d love to do something, beginning with her, naked on her lovely back, with her astonishing legs spread wide open.

“Your manager signed a contract, Ms. St. James. On your behalf, as is the custom around here. From this moment until the end of next week…you’re mine. You won’t so much as blink without my permission. And you certainly won’t be performing unless I give my approval. Starting tonight, you’ll be coming with me.”

“What? Why would I need to do that?” Alana slid off the bar stool with catlike agility and stood in front of him, an angry kitten ready to unsheathe her claws, and the temptation to thwart her was irresistible.

“I don’t trust you to get yourself to bed at a reasonable time. Tomorrow, training starts at six a.m. Say farewell to your friends, it’s time to go.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she spat in a fierce whisper, her rebellious green eyes spewing sparks.

“Then you’ll be in default of said agreement. I promise, I’ll take you and Orion to court, and I’ll win. These clauses are very specific, and the courts in Nashville are well-versed in relevant case law. I’ve already provided Tyler with the initial payment and he cashed the check. Family emergency,” he snorted, “I think not. I imagine he’s off on some hiatus tonight, having the time of his meager life.”

“I don’t believe you,” she snapped.

He removed the fully-executed contract from his pocket that Baxter had the agent sign, and handed it over to her. “Standard. Unbreakable once the check has been cashed.”

She took the contract, reading downward, and then flipped to the next page. “Mother Mary,” she murmured.

These types of bands were usually a dime a dozen. Not Alana St. James. She had moxie, and by the time he finished with her, she’d be a headlining act. The band was inconsequential. Whoever she decided to employ, they’d be the background. He studied her, fascinated by her spirit. The high-octane energy pouring from her invigorated him. The hairs over his body reacted as though an electric current was on the loose. Her intensity charmed audiences and dazzled fans. It wasn’t often he got this roiling sensation deep in his bones.

Alana provoked something in him. Something he wanted to explore again and again while she screamed his name. It had been a long time since he became this aroused by talking with a woman. But this wasn’t exactly talking. Christ, it was more like sparring.  

Biting her luscious bottom lip, she lifted her eyes to him and handed the contract back. “How long have you been trolling Orion? Here. Take it.”

“Do you have any questions?” he asked. Judging from the look on her face, she had about a hundred questions, and a few choice comments that commenced with, ‘
Fuck you
.’ A chuckle brewed in his chest, but he wisely withheld displaying unsportsmanlike conduct at having won this hand. “It’s either you come with me, or I put a collective injunction on your band’s ability to perform in this town.”

“What would that do? You can’t just snap your fingers and shut us down.”

“And who do you think the venues, radio stations, and record companies will listen to when it’s on the wire that you’ve defaulted on an executed contract? You, or Lansing Records?”

Christy tugged on Alana’s slender arm. Alana was such a feisty kitten with her fresh mouth. He had no illusions, she was every bit a handful. He nodded in approval when the woman—what was her name? Christy—spoke . “Mr. Lansing, give us a girl-moment.”

“You’ve two minutes. I trust you can make things clear.”

“I’ll try. No promises.” Christy started to pull Alana across the floor, but not before his client gave him a look that was meant to fillet his manhood.

He inhaled, observing that the bottle of champagne he’d sent over hadn’t been touched. He leaned against the bar, careful to refrain from openly staring at the perfect rear-end of his next client sauntering away.

Bollocks. He picked up his glass and sipped the Scotch, relishing every second of her long-legged journey. Her lean thighs were a tease of flesh between that slip of shiny gold material and a pair of sexy boots.

“Jon, for the love of everything holy.” He turned, catching sight of Carter, his neighbor from Music Row. The man headed a small production company with cash to burn. He shook his head, stifling the urge to tell Carter to back off as he’d already gotten Orion’s commitment. So, the sharks were indeed coming out. Soon enough, every Nashville hound dog would be on the trail of Orion—and Alana. Yeah, he owed Baxter on this one.

“What are you drinking, you old toe-rag?” Jonathan said.

“Apparently nothing, as you’ve got your hooks into fresh meat. That’s the word on the street,” Carter smirked. The man needed clients like a hole in his head; this business was all a game to him. It wasn’t that Carter was a menace, he simply wasn’t in this business for the long haul. The clients he signed were hobbies. A pastime until he found something else that amused his overindulged ego.

“Who are you babysitting tonight?” Jon asked, downing his drink.

“Not a soul. All’s quiet in Music City. What are your plans for Orion?”

“Curious fellow, aren’t you?”

Carter snorted. “The fact that you’re all hush-hush makes me believe you’ve got big plans for them.”

“Actually, I’ve considered taking them out of play for a while. I’m thinking of studio time. Someplace out of sight.”

 “Use mine,” Carter offered.

“I think I’ve got it covered.” Alana was a bird of another color altogether, and his plans were rapidly changing from the general sign-and-assign to one of his company handlers. She would be his project, from start to finish. He wanted to forestall the usual studio grapevine seepage. What went down in the studio tended to get leaked to the press, and what he needed for Alana was stealth.

An unveiling of her revamped self, once he harnessed and conditioned her abilities. A complete renovation of her came to mind. With the right wardrobe, the correct training, and his personal polish, she’d sparkle. That wasn’t his ego talking. He had the necessary music connections for someone with her innate skills. His pulse threaded faster and faster as he evaluated his find this evening.