Her Two Lovers

And the biggest problem? He had enjoyed himself last night. He had felt the music, felt the rhythm. He had felt Jane. The woman had talent. Major talent and an incredible voice. She was going places. While he…

Well, at the moment, Chandler was going nowhere.

“Not sneaking out on me, are you?” Jane’s husky alto flowed by him as he touched the door to her apartment.

She sang even when she talked—amazing. He turned. She was beautiful. She’d put her rumpled sweatpants back on. Plus her tank with no bra. Those sexy tits hung lusciously inside the gray cotton. Nipples protruding. God, were those her dark areolas peeking through what was supposed to be opaque fabric? They had felt so wonderful against his lips, his tongue. Tasted so smooth, so delicious. Fucking imagination!

He cleared his throat. “I figured we were done here.”

“Chandler, Chandler, Chandler.” Her tone was mocking, even a bit caustic. She approached him, her derriere swaying temptingly. “We’re so not even close to done.”

Oh? Had she changed her mind? Because he could easily change his. Inferior music aside, the woman was smokin’ hot. He stroked the soft skin of her inner arm. “If you say so, baby.”

She jerked her arm away. “Uh…not going there again, Mr. Hamilton.”

Ouch! Major rejection. Too bad his boner didn’t react. It still throbbed in his jeans. He steeled himself against her loveliness. “Then what do you want?”

“It seems I have a little problem.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He rubbed his thumping temples. When had his headache returned? “I’ll leave you to deal with it as you see fit.” He reached for the door.

Her warm hand clamped onto his forearm. Damn, her touch set him on fire!

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”

“I’m sure it is, if you’ll excuse me—”

“Chandler, you owe me.”

Huh? “For what? Taking care of my car? I’d think the privilege of driving such a fine piece of machinery would be payment enough, but if you need a few bucks, I—”

Her hand shot out quicker than he could react. The sting of her slap warmed his unshaved cheek. There went the jackhammer again.

“I do not need or want any money from you, you ungrateful asshole!” Her cheeks reddened and her nostrils flared.

His face ached, but still his cock stood stiff inside his jeans. Even angry she was the hottest thing walking.

She let out a sigh. “But I do need you, and you owe me.”

“If you don’t want to sleep with me, I can’t begin to think what you’d need me for.”

She clenched her small hands into fists. “You infuriate me, you know that?”

“The feeling’s a bit mutual, baby. What is it that you want? I’m aging here, and my head is about to explode.” And so was his dick.

“Take some ibuprofen then,” she said, “and I’ll brew you some fresh coffee, because you’re playing keyboard for me tomorrow.”

Had he heard her right? He jerked his neck around to follow her as she walked toward her kitchenette. Yes, she has a great ass, Chandler. Stop gawking. “What the hell are you talking about?”

She fiddled with a canister of coffee, scooped out several spoonfuls into a paper filter. “It’s simple, actually. Last night an agent came to see the band. Because of your little indulgence, she left before we got a chance to talk. My keyboardist, Lenny, went to her hotel this morning and convinced her to come back tomorrow night.”

“Great. Good for him. Now goodbye, Jane Rock.”

“I’m not finished yet.” She poured water into the coffee maker. “Lenny’s had a little mishap. Broken wrist. That leaves us short one keyboardist.”

Fuck. He knew where this was going.

“Since you blew our chance with the agent last night, and clearly you’re an accomplished keyboardist—”