Reckless (Forever 6)

"Stop. Trust me. Don’t step away." The low, sensuous voice was unmistakably Jax’s, his mouth so close that I could feel his breath. A familiar heated feeling of arousal was starting to build in between my legs.

My back stiffened at the unexpected brush of his lips against my ear, and I stopped in my tracks. "What’s going on?" I asked, trying to make my voice loud enough for him to hear me. The noise of the audience leaving the auditorium was just on the other side of the curtain.

"Stand still," he commanded, and I felt his body press up against me from behind. Then I felt a wisp of soft cloth on my face, and my vision went black. "In a minute, when I tell you to, you’re going to hold my hand and follow me."

A blindfold? "Promise me this isn’t turning into a Hitchcock movie," I said, trying to keep both my nervousness and my arousal out of my voice.

"It’s a surprise," he said, each word sending an involuntary thrill through my spine. "A good one. Just trust me. I want to show you some more of the rock star life."

I wanted desperately to look into his eyes, to see whether he was telling the truth or just playing another game. But with the blindfold over my eyes, all I had was his voice. Trust me, he said.

In the blackness, I reached my hand out and felt Jax’s strong fingers clasp around it.

Chapter Fifteen

SURPRISE

My heart beat fast. Blood rushed through my veins. My feet were moving as if they had a mind of their own. Sounds of cards shuffling, chips clanging, women cheering, and men groaning reverberated in my ears. There was the faint smell of cigars and martinis in the air. A small splash hit my arm. A drink? A new sound started. It was a bell ringing as if a woodpecker was attacking it, followed by clanking metal and then an elderly woman screaming like her hair was on fire. Applause broke out.

I briefly wondered what the sight must’ve looked like—me in a blindfold being tugged along by the hottest rocker in the world across what I imagined was a casino floor. It’d be a disaster if the image got back to Hans-Peterson, but it was hard to take that possibility seriously when I was so excited. Besides, I knew how the saying went—what happened in Vegas, stayed in Vegas.

I gripped Jax’s hand tighter as he pulled me forward, carefully guiding my blind self past moving bodies and up steps. I didn’t know what he had planned to show me, but I couldn’t wait.

A ding, then our feet stopped. He stood beside me, hugging me by the waist close to him. I couldn’t be sure but it felt like there were people standing around us. Before I could process the situation, another ding, and we were on the move again.

Moments later, I heard the soft click of a door closing behind me, then felt the velvety cloth slip away from my eyes . . .

. . . And realized that even with the blindfold off, I couldn’t see a thing. Wherever we were, it was pitch black.

"Jax, what is this?"

"That’s the surprise," he responded. "Take a step forward."

Careful to avoid bumping into anything in the darkness, I tentatively put my right foot in front of me.

"WELCOME, JAX TRENTON!" a cold, steely voice suddenly boomed from overhead.

Startled, I jumped. "Fuck!" I gasped.

The voice continued as the lights went up: "WE HOPE YOU ENJOY YOUR SKY VILLA STAY."

I began to relax when I realized it was just an automatic voice greeting that they had at high end hotel rooms. We must’ve been in one of the suites.

"Oh my god, Jax, you could’ve at least warned me," I said, feeling suddenly embarrassed.

He smiled and guided me a few steps forward with his hand at my back.

A light turned on, and when my eyes adjusted a few seconds later, I saw that we were in a hallway. At the end of it was a room with a sleek leather couch and a bar. I’d read about giant, sprawling Vegas hotel rooms, but I’d never gotten to see one in person.

"The real perks of being a rock star come after the show is over," Jax said, gesturing toward the end of the hall.

I studied his face. His delighted expression contrasted sharply with the last image I had of him in the hot tub last night. What happened to the stormy, walled-off rock star? A discomforting thought nagged at the back of my mind when I reflected on the events of last night until now. Had I been wrong about Jax? Maybe I was the one with the problem. Not him. It was possible that I’d been acting crazy and paranoid, seeing bad things in Jax that weren’t actually there.

My brows furrowed slightly. "You’re being really nice tonight," I said, a note of skepticism creeping into my voice.

He raised a brow. "Am I? Let’s just say I’ve got a party planned later tonight, so I’m in a good mood. You’re invited of course." He smiled, and when I gave him a puzzled look in response, he exhaled as if he was weary to spell out something totally obvious. "You mentioned before that you wanted to see what being a rock star is like, so I figured I’d show you."

A finger on my chin, I thought back to when we shared a smoke together on the sundeck. "Actually, I said that I have to live a normal, professional life most of the time, that I can’t live like a rock star."

"But tonight you can." His eyes seemed to twinkle. "Go on," he continued, "check it out. I want to see your reaction, the robot voice was just the beginning."

With a smile to show my appreciation, I set my concerns aside, and let curiosity and excitement take over. I got to the end of the hall and found myself in a huge sunken living room. Each direction I looked made my eyes open wider, as I realized how big the suite really was. At one end of the room was a bar stocked with expensive, imported bottles, while on the other end, a projection TV idly played an image of a live aquarium on the wall. In between there was a huge kitchen, hallways leading off to what looked like a bathroom and two bedrooms, and the rest of the living room was covered in floor-to-ceiling curtained windows. Just the living room was bigger than my entire apartment in New York.

My jaw dropped in wonder. "This is one hell of a hotel room, Jax."

He looked at me curiously. "You’re a success at one of the biggest accounting firms in New York," he said. "I pictured you having a loft a lot like this, all steel and black."

"Is that what you think of me?" I said with a laugh. "I live in a tiny place I can barely afford. For a steel loft, I’d need to either make partner or rob a bank."

"Well, if you need to study bank robbery, I’ve got that covered, too." He pointed to the living room’s coffee table.