“You’re good at your job. You’re great at it. Do you think you’re the first person in the history of the world to fall for his boss? It happens. You’ll get through it.” She studies my face, tilting her head. “But why are you already ending it? Didn’t it just start?”
A laugh falls from my lips, unbidden.
She arches a very curious brow. “It didn’t just start?”
I sit up, shifting my hand back and forth like a seesaw. “Yes and no. It started more than a month ago. But it was only a kiss. Then nothing. Then we just kind of . . . hung out,” I say, giving her the PG-13 version, though it’s true—Stone and I had plenty of platonic nights. Nights that left me wanting more, liking more, caring more.
“You dog. You’d made out with him when I saw you the other month, and you didn’t tell me. You were all ‘Jackstone? What’s that?’” she says, imitating me. Setting her chin in her hand, she bats her lashes. “Why do you like him?”
Where do I start? “He’s passionate. And clever. And he cares deeply. For people. For friends. For family.” I picture last night when he told me he couldn’t take it if I were to play games with him. “For me.”
Her grin stretches from Maine to Vegas. “More, tell me more.”
I draw a deep breath, letting the air travel through me, relax me. “We get along great. Like, we’re friends. We give each other a hard time, and it’s fun. And we talk openly.” My mind travels to this morning, to his words at breakfast—more than satisfied. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t just talking about in the bedroom. “And he’s into me too,” I say softly.
“Then don’t think about it ending. Just enjoy yourself. The look on your face right now? It’s kind of magic.”
Being with Stone kind of feels that way, and that’s terrifying.
The last time I gave my heart to a reckless man, he took it and ran with it.
There’s a reason Jackstone is only a ship. It’s make-believe.
Stone Zenith might not be reckless, but falling for a world-famous rock star absolutely is.
Correction: falling harder.
The only thing more dangerous is thinking this thing between us might work beyond a week.
I spend the rest of the afternoon with blinders on. Working out. Studying Spanish. Reading articles. Connecting with Ryan via FaceTime in my room.
“Talk to me, my man. Your next interview is this week right here in Vegas. You ready?”
The young guy gives me a crisp nod, strokes a hand over his baby-faced cheek, then says, “I think so, but any chance you can do a mock interview with me?”
I flash a smile. “Hell yeah.”
I spend twenty minutes putting him through his paces, and when we’re done, Ryan offers me his palm. I virtually smack it. “You’re going to crush it.”
“Thanks, man. Appreciate all you’ve done.”
“You’ve got this.”
He draws a deep breath. “If I do, it is definitely thanks to you.”
“Nah. You put in the work,” I say. “And I’ll take you out for lunch when you’re done. Sound like a plan?”
He flashes a smile. “I’ll see you on Thursday.”
I wish him well and hang up.
I check the time on my watch. It’s nearly four.
My stomach dips like a roller coaster, since that means it’s time to see Stone.
A few minutes later, I relieve Terrence as Stone hits the VIP hotel gym with his brother.
I’m all business with the boss, especially since we’re surrounded by others for the rest of the evening—Candi, Veronica, Zane, Sage, and Eliza.
Somehow I pull it off, playing the role I’ve played the last few months—his bodyguard, not his lover.
When I escort him backstage, he turns the corner to his dressing room and looks my way. Join me, his eyes say.
I do, and the second the door shuts, he grabs my face and kisses me. In no time at all, my head goes hazy, my thoughts swimming with him. Moaning, I kiss him back, urgent and hungry, and absolutely out of my mind with need.
I go hot everywhere, as blood rushes south and desire wraps around me. My hands travel up and down his chest, settling on his waist.
But why stop there?
My palm ventures lower, covering his hard-on.
Stone breaks the kiss, shoulders heaving, eyes wild.
The look in them is unmistakable and irresistible. I make a show of glancing at my watch as I stroke the ridge of his cock. “Just enough time.”
He lets out a shuddery breath. “Yeah? Would you?”
I answer with actions, spinning him around so his back is against the wall. Double-checking to make sure the door is locked, I drop to my knees as he unzips his jeans, pushes down his briefs, and offers me his dick.
I don’t waste a second. I take him in, drawing him to the back of my mouth.
His groan is carnal, but too damn loud.
I stop, shaking my head and wagging a finger. Zoe is performing, so the joint is noisy, but it’s best to be safe.
The rocker mimes zipping his lips. I nod my approval and return to my mission: to make him come in mere minutes.
I lavish attention all over his fantastic cock, licking, sucking, and caressing his shaft with my tongue and lips. He’s quiet—his harsh breaths are the only noise in the dressing room.
As I suck deeper, his cock melding to my mouth, his hands roped through my hair, I picture later tonight.
After the show.
The things I want to do to him.
The ways I want to fuck him.
As the images flash before me, I wrap my hands around his ass, grabbing harder, letting him own my mouth as I suck him to the back of my throat.
His body trembles, and his hands coil tighter.
Mere minutes before he’s set to take the stage, he shoves deep in my mouth and shoots into my throat.
I drink him down, loving every last drop.
When I rise, he’s panting, his eyes big, his cheeks flushed.
It’s a good look. I lean in and dust a possessive kiss to his jaw. “There. Now I bet you really feel like a rock star. Getting blown before you go onstage.”
He grabs my shoulders. “You’re going to be in my head the whole show.”
I arch a brow, trying to keep the moment light. “Blow jobs have that effect on you, Stone?”
Adamantly, he shakes his head. “No. You do, Jackson. You do.”
My heart tries to perform gymnastics again, but I do everything I can to resist.
A voice whispers in the back of my mind. Be careful.
I reach for the door handle, but he grabs my arm. “I didn’t expect that. All I wanted was to kiss you because I knew I’d go crazy thinking about kissing you during the show.”
He ropes one hand around my head and hauls me in for another kiss, somehow making me want him even more.
When he lets go, I leave, waiting outside the door, checking my phone as he finishes his preshow prep.
An email from the credit card company offers me an increase on my credit limit, along with a reminder of the balance. I grit my teeth, grinding them. Yes, universe, I get the message.
It’s loud and clear—focus on the job.
But I can do both.
This is only one week. When this tour ends, we’ll go back to the way things were.
Besides, when Stone takes the stage a few minutes later, I’m sure he’s not thinking of me at all. Not once when he performs.