Feverish (Bullet #3)

  FEVERISH

  (Bullet #3)

  Jade C. Jamison

  Clayton “Jet” Smith has enjoyed acting the part of rock star god / incorrigible bad boy since his breakup with rock goddess Valerie Quinn. He’s racking up quite a score playing the field, and he has no plans to settle down anytime soon. His biggest problem these days is meeting his obligations. He’s so busy having fun, he forgets the important things.

  To help him out, he hires recent graduate Emily Brinkman to be his personal assistant, and he quickly finds a fire burning in his belly for her. There are two problems, however. The first is that Emily is engaged to be married, a fact that leaves Jet unfazed. The second problem isn’t so easy to surmount, though: Emily is disgusted and unimpressed by both sides of the man.

  Will Clay find a way to persuade Emily to try him out, not just for one night, but for all time?

  Emily cracked the door to Clay’s music room open and peeked in. He was sitting on the loveseat on one side of the room, strumming and listening to the sound coming out of the smaller amp on the floor. Emily walked in. She didn’t know if leaving the door open would ruin the acoustics, so she shut it behind her quietly.

  He was a sight. He was completely absorbed in his music, and she didn’t want to interrupt him, so she sat on a stool near the door. After a few seconds, though, he looked up at Emily and stopped fingering the guitar. He smiled. “What’s up?”

  She felt better just because of the way he was looking at her. She knew what she needed. She could feel her heart thudding in her chest, but she had to force the words out of her mouth. “I, uh…I need to talk to Jet.”

  He squinted his eyes, not fully registering her words at first. He sucked in a deep breath and stood, resting his guitar in the stand at the end of the loveseat. “You sayin’ what I think you’re sayin’?”

  Her breathing seemed so loud in her own ears, but she couldn’t make it quieter. She stood and nodded. “Yeah.”

  She took a tentative step toward him but he was in front of her in seconds. She wasn’t quite sure how it had happened, but it was as though they let the electricity between them take over. Her arms were around his waist, his hands in her hair drawing her close, and their lips collided as they gave in to everything they’d been holding back for so long.

  His kiss was deliberate and delicious, his tongue, warm and smooth but firm and insistent. In those first few moments, her body primed itself for his touch. In reality, though, she knew she’d been primed for this man for a long time. She was just now giving in to her needs.

  He pulled back a little and asked, “You sure you want this?” She nodded. “What about your fiancé?”

  “He’s not my fiancé anymore.”

  Clay raised his eyebrows. “What about crossing the employer/ employee line you were worried about?”

  “I don’t give a fuck.”

  BOOKS BY JADE C. JAMISON

  Stating His Case

  Fabric of Night

  Worst Mother

  MADversary

  Then Kiss Me

  Old House

  Quickies: Sexy Short Stories and Other Stuff

  TANGLED WEB SERIES

  1 Tangled Web: A Steamy Heavy Metal Novella

  2 Everything But

  BULLET SERIES

  1 Bullet: An Epic Rock Star Novel

  2 Rock Bottom

  3 Feverish

  NICKI SOSEBEE SERIES

  1 Got the Life

  2 Dead

  3 No Place to Hide

  4 Right Now

  5 One More Time

  6 Lost

  7 Innocent Bystander

  8 Blind

  9 Fake

  Copyright

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2013 by Jade C. Jamison

  Cover image © 2010 iStockphoto, 123foto

  All rights reserved.

  All rights reserved.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author. Characters and names of real persons who appear in the book are used fictitiously.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Visit Jade’s website:

  http://www.jadecjamison.com

  Follow Jade on Twitter:

  http://twitter.com/@JadeCJamison

  Send Jade an email:

  jadecjamison@gmail.com

  Like Jade on Facebook:

  http://facebook.com/JadeCJamison

  I dedicate this book to the Jade C. Jamison Street Team.

  I would also like to specifically name the women

  on my Street Team who are the “work horses,” who

  really do so much on my behalf: Thank you to

  Sarah, Jo, Kristie, Keri, Amy, and Kristen

  for all the labor and dedication.

  You have taken a huge burden off my shoulders,

  and I appreciate that!

  Thank you to the rest of my Street Team—

  Lolly, Jennifer B., Jennifer T.,

  Linsey, Cyndi, and Crystal—

  for your continued support and enthusiasm.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Acknowledgements

  Also by Jade C. Jamison

  Chapter One

  CLAYTON “JET” SMITH stretched his arms. Holy shit, were they sore. It took him a few seconds as he stirred from sleep to remember why. It was the crazy shit he and that stacked blonde had been up to last night. Jesus, the things some women did blew his mind. Last night would be one he’d never forget…but she’d given him a hell of a workout.

  He chuckled quietly thinking about the broken end table in the living room. His cleaning lady would give him hell about it, but it wouldn’t be the first broken thing in his house she would have had to dispose of. He’d have to give her another bonus.

  He froze. Waitaminute. He was pretty sure the blonde was still here, in his house, probably in his bed.

  And he couldn’t remember her name.

  Fuck.

  He rolled onto his back slowly, his eyes mostly closed so he could feign sleep if need be. Just a little farther. Yep. She was still there. She remained asleep, though, so he let out a breath of air. He needed to think through the amber haze of last night’s whiskey to remember her name.

  It was something semi-exotic. Carmen? Lucia? Anja? Hell, there was no way he was
gonna remember. Maybe he could pretend to be asleep forever, and she’d just give up on him and leave.

  No. That hadn’t worked with the last girl. Maybe instead he’d just go somewhere, and she’d get tired of waiting for him to return. Or he could call his cleaning lady and ask her to come over to make sure the girl left.

  Nah. Mary hadn’t appreciated it the last time he’d asked her to do that, even though he’d almost doubled her weekly salary.

  Shit. Well, maybe he could just make nice and kick the girl out without saying a name. He could get away with it, right?

  Damn straight. He was fucking Jet Smith, lead guitarist of one of the best goddamned bands on the planet. She should be happy he let her suck his dick.

  Clay almost winced even thinking that. He loved women. He really did. But he hadn’t felt anything for one in a long time, not since Valerie Quinn. Well, she wasn’t Quinn anymore. In fact, she was on her second marriage. Did he regret losing that woman? Yeah, part of him did, but he’d known they weren’t right for each other. He’d known it since spying her expression upon seeing what she’d referred to as his “Wall of Shame.” Part of Val would always be sweet and innocent, and Clay hadn’t felt right soiling her with his sordid urges. He loved her and part of him always would, and he knew that was why it was hard for him to find any other woman satisfactory.

  In fact, most women anymore were like Carmen Lucia Anja here, a great night in the sack (out of the sack, actually), someone to pass the time with in a spectacular way, but Clay couldn’t visualize the future much past a few days.

  That was okay, he’d told himself. He was still young. His band was enjoying a short hiatus after touring for their third album and he was, for all intents and purposes, famous. True, most people still didn’t recognize him, but he couldn’t go out in public without someone figuring out who he was. That made it all worthwhile.

  Still, he couldn’t help but feel as though he were missing something. Part of him felt empty and, even though he knew what it was deep down, there was no way in hell he was going to acknowledge it out loud, and he certainly wasn’t going to meditate over the matter. Instead, he was going to enjoy himself. He was thirty-two now, still young. His only child was in school now, but even that didn’t mean he was old. No, his age didn’t have anything to do with that gnawing feeling in the back of his head. It was…

  Carmen Lucia Anja stirred next to him and turned her head. She had a big smile on her face. Her teeth were white, and she was pretty in her own way, but her platinum blonde hair looked fake in the sunlight streaming through the curtains. The two centimeters of black roots didn’t help. Her black mascara and eyeliner were smudged under her eyes. Up close, in bed, in natural light, he realized that Carmen Lucia Anja was actually his age. How the fuck had that happened? He usually liked them a few years younger—not much, but a little.

  Her voice should have purred, but it was raspy. “My God, Jet, you are a tiger.” One corner of her lip turned up in a smile and she sat up. The sheet fell off her breasts. Those boobs were obviously fake. They were the size of cantaloupes. He couldn’t even look at them now. He’d almost suffocated between them the night before.

  He almost shook his head, remembering that. He smiled and glanced at the clock on the nightstand behind her. Jesus. It was two-thirty in the afternoon. That was fucking crazy. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d awakened before nine AM. Enough was enough.

  She giggled and then swung her feet off the edge of the bed. He sat up too and stretched his neck. She was screwing around with something next to the clock. Probably a pair of earrings or something. He used her distraction as an excuse to find his jeans, but they were nowhere to be seen. Of course. He hadn’t taken them off in the bedroom. He jumped up and walked over to the dresser, opening one of the middle drawers and yanking the top pair of jeans out and slipping into them. When he turned around, he half expected her to be drooling at his ass, but her head was bent over the nightstand. Oh, yeah. He couldn’t believe she had any coke left. He’d completely forgotten about that shit.

  He heard her snorting it through the rolled-up dollar bill, first in one nostril and then the other. She sat up and shook her head, and even though he couldn’t see her face, he could tell she was wiping at the bottom of her nose with her index finger and thumb to remove any residual traces. She stood again. Okay, yeah, so she had a really cute ass, but he knew she wasn’t his type…aside from the fact that she was a woman, and she liked to fuck. That much he could remember from last night.

  “Do you care if I shower, stud?”

  Why was he feeling like such a pussy? Probably because he hated hurting anyone’s feelings. He shook his head. “No. Go ahead.”

  She slinked up close to him. “I’d love it if you’d join me.” He tried to smile but was afraid it probably looked like he was wincing. “Or…would you rather lick the rest of the blow off my tits? Like you did last night?”

  Oh, fuck, that was right. God, he’d been even crazier than usual. Chicks like this brought it out in him. Of course, the cocaine hadn’t hurt either. But her offer gave him the perfect excuse. “Sweetheart, as much as I like that thought, I really shouldn’t. I overindulged last night.”

  She licked her lips, looking like she could gobble him down for good. “Yeah, I think you did for sure.”

  “You know where the bathroom is. Help yourself.”

  By that point, she was up close and personal, and she placed her hands on his chest, looking up at him. “When I get out, we can get the party started again.” She started kissing one of his nipples, pulling the piercing into her mouth and holding the ring between her teeth. Then she started flicking it with her tongue again.

  That’s when Clay knew for certain that there was no spark there. Sexual attraction was simple and easily fueled with booze and chemicals, but in the morning (or afternoon, as it were), under the harsh gaze of the sun, even the animal lust would wane. God, what he wouldn’t give to feel that again, to feel something the next day. It had been way too long, and just thinking about it made him feel empty. This woman, trying to rekindle the lust they’d felt last night, was only making it worse.

  Honesty was the best policy, right? Isn’t that what they said? He tried to force a smile as he ran his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, but…I can’t. I have some things I need to get done today, and the day is already half over.” He was trying to be nice, so he just shrugged and tried to look sheepish. Sometimes that worked.

  “That’s okay. I could help you, or I could just hang out until you’re ready.” She ran her tongue along her teeth. “I could give you a little warm up right now.” She slid her hands down his chest and started playing with the button on his jeans.

  Being nice wasn’t working. He wrapped his hands around her wrists. “Look. You seem like a nice girl.” Liar! Liar! “But, uh, do you really see this thing continuing?”

  Her face dropped, and Clay felt like an ant at that moment. God, he could be such a dick. The woman sucked in a small breath and then her eyes seemed to fill with an inferno. Her voice, which had been demure yet sexy up till this point, hit a high and she screeched. “Oh, so you’re just another one of them. You think just ‘cause you’re a rock star, you can fuck us like whores and then just dump us when you’re sick of us. Well, fuck you!” She pulled her wrists out of his grasp and started slapping at him, her hands moving like fan blades.

  He grabbed her hands again to stop them before her manicured nails took out one of his eyes. It was time to be a big asshole if she was going to be like this. “Sweetheart, I really don’t want to hurt your feelings, but you leave me no choice. You were a lot of fun. We had fun, didn’t we? But if you think I’m gonna rush you out to the Justice of the Peace and marry you, you gotta another thing comin’.” He paused, hearing the old Judas Priest tune start rattling around in his head. He’d have to play it on his guitar later. “It doesn’t work that way.” She was still angry, and he could feel her strength in her arms. If he let go, s
he’d pick up where she left off. He knew the coke was already boiling her blood and rushing her brain, and there would be little chance of reasoning with her. He clenched his jaw. He was losing his patience. “I’m not the marrying kind. Hell, I don’t even settle down. You knew that before you hit on me, right?”

  Her eyes were full of fury, the pupils mere pinpricks surrounded by light brown, but he could feel her letting go of the fight. Her lips pulled down into a frown and she said, “You’re a real fuckwad, you know that?”

  He tried not to smirk. “Yeah, I know that.” She stopped struggling, so he let go of her wrists. He was afraid of hurting her if he didn’t let go.

  Big mistake. She launched her right hand and slapped him hard on the cheek. “Fuck off, asshole.” She acted like she was going to spit on him but instead turned on her heel, trying to maintain a semblance of dignity, and stormed out of his bedroom. He hoped she was looking for her clothes and purse and not planning to break things. He inhaled deeply, trying not to laugh at how those melon boobs bounced in her fury.

  He should probably see her out the door. He walked into the living room where she was shoving her panties and bra into her purse. She picked up the leather miniskirt off the floor under the coffee table and sat down to slide it on. Clay felt Jet rearing his ugly head, but maybe a little Jet was just what CarmenLuciaAnja needed. “Look, babe.” He almost cringed hearing his own voice, but he pressed on. “Don’t take it personally.”