Aspen
I’m a coward. It’s okay, I’ll live with it.
Three weeks.That was how long it’d been since that email had landed in Joz’s inbox, and since then… radio silence. He hadn’t acknowledged it, responded, or made any kind of overture. Not that I blamed him. If I’d been on the receiving end of such a cold, impersonal email from a man I’d tangled tongues with, I’d probably have met it with an equally chilly silence, too.
Today, we’d be under the same roof, and because of that I hadn’t slept a wink last night. Presley was already in Studio A, headphones on, sound check complete, twirling the mic stand as though he were fronting a stadium instead of cutting an album for the first time in his life. Unlike Joz who’d written his own lyrics, I’d hired a team of writers to pen Presley’s first album, and now my protégé was ready to change his life forever. He’d grown in confidence each time I saw him, but after the conversation with Joz at The CrimsonRoom, I was on the lookout for that confidence morphing into arrogance.
Footsteps sounded to my right, slow, steady, and I caught a glimpse of Joz’s wild mane of hair before I shot back into Studio A’s control room. Cowardly? You bet. But I wasn’t ready to face him. Not yet.
Presley waved at me through the glass and flashed the kind of crooked smirk that would make his soon-to-be legion of female fans throw their panties at him. I held up a hand in greeting, then took a seat at the sound desk next to the engineer. The moment Presley began to sing, I forgot all about my own troubles and closed my eyes, drinking in the smooth silkiness of his voice, and the way he hit the high notes and the low notes with perfect precision.
After an hour, I stepped into the corridor to stretch my legs. Instead, I found myself hovering outside the door of Studio C. Like a laser had locked onto me, I pushed open the door and stood just inside where the shadows swallowed me.
Joz was in the recording booth, sleeves rolled up, revealing those gorgeous, tattooed forearms, his guitar strapped to his chest. His eyes were closed, fully immersed in the music. He sang like he was confessing something painful. I closed my eyes, too, letting the sound of his voice wash over me, letting him in for just a second.
The music cut out.
My eyes snapped open.
Joz was staring right at me. His expression didn’t shift, didn’t soften. I half smiled at him, but he continued glaring at me with that icy gaze. I turned on my heel, beelining for the door. I had no business being here, distracting him, stopping him from working. Professional, remember?
I made it three steps before the door to the recording booth flew open behind me.
“Wait.”
Slowly, I pivoted. “Yes.”
Fuck, Aspen. Did you have to sound so fucking cold, so fucking businesslike?
The sound engineer cleared his throat and busied himself by shuffling some papers. “Carl,” Joz said. “Give us a minute, would you?”
Carl looked at me. For confirmation, perhaps. I dipped my chin. He pushed back his chair and scooted out the door, closing it behind him.
Air, thick with tension, hung around me like a heavy cloak. I stared at Joz. He stared at me. For the next twenty seconds, neither of us spoke a single word.
A single knock sounded at the door, and Pam, one of our receptionists, poked her head inside the control room. “Oh, hi, Aspen. I didn’t know you were planning on stopping by today. Sorry to interrupt. Joz, your manager is trying to get hold of you. Said your phone is off.”
Joz didn’t look away from me. “Tell him I’m busy.”
“He said it’s urgent.”
“I don’t care.”
“Oh, okay.” She backed up, pulling the door closed.
“You should call him back.”
“He can wait.”
I nibbled my lip. “Joz, I?—”
Another knock came. Joz cursed. Grabbing my wrist, gentle but firm, he opened the door, blasted right past whoever had interrupted us for a second time, and pulled me into a maintenance closet. Before I could protest, he slammed the door, enveloping us in darkness.
“What—?”
His mouth crashed against mine, his tongue parting my lips, his hands in my hair, then at my waist, then clamped to my ass. Leaning into me, he pushed me against the wall. Parting my thighs with his knee, he ground me onto him. An orgasm bornout of sheer frustration rushed at me with the speed of a bullet. I came apart, gasping, grinding, seeking more friction, more of this man who my body obviously could not get enough of.
“Jesus Christ.” Joz buried his nose in my hair as he lowered his knee. “I’d have given up my career to see your face as you came for me.”
