because I believe you’ve got that elusive spark.”
“Then why tests and lessons? I’ve had my fair share. Nothing is going to change. I’m not going to change. That’s what this is…isn’t it? You think you can make me into something you can market. Sell me until there’s nothing left.”
“I disagree. Your voice is spectacular, but how you manage your talent isn’t. When you sing, you’re straining your voice. The way you struggle is unnecessary. Something like taking a Stradivarius and harshly plucking the strings. You’re trying way too hard to get your voice to do things it should want to do on its own accord.”
“I’ve taken years of lessons, and it wasn’t pleasant.”
He ran his hand down her belly, feeling her tense her stomach muscles under his fingertips. “I don’t know what type of lessons you’ve had, but you’ll get the best training on how to utilize these muscles to help you sing more efficiently instead of potentially damaging your vocal chords. I know it has to hurt your throat the way you modulate the notes.” He caught the widening of her eyes and the relaxing of her brow and abdominals. No wonder she had her claws ready to shred him to pieces all night. “You really believed I thought you stunk?”
She nodded. “Like Limburger cheese. Your expression was so distressed, almost mortified. The whole set I kept thinking I should stop and get off the stage. That was until I was too pissed to be hurt.”
“Don’t be hurt or upset. I’m not here to use you. I’m here to help you,” he whispered, bending his head to brush his mouth over her lips. “You sing like an angel.”
“Nice comeback.” She smiled up into his face, snaking her arms up and around his shoulders. “One night, Lansing. And then we work. Like you promised.”
“Agreed. Except, can you do me a favor?”
Alana exhaled, “Sure, as long as it’s not breaking a rule. Shoot.”
“Call me Jon, or Jonathan. I get the feeling I’m back on my school football team hearing you call me by my last name.”
She laughed in that sultry voice, the one that had brought chill bumps to his skin and made him turn up the radio in his car each time he heard her sing. “J for Jonathan. I like that name. What’s the ‘P’ for?”
“Peter, after my grandfather from Louth. You now know more about me than most people in Nashville.” He stretched his arm to flick the stop button in the elevator and turned back to Alana, lacing his fingers with hers.
“Is that where you were raised?” she asked.
“There, and New York. My father worked in marketing and we moved around. Often.” He’d not talked about his personal life to many people. Yet with Alana, this felt natural, comfortable. They’d have only one night, he reminded himself. “Ask anything, until I get you into that bedroom. And then the only thing I want to hear is you screaming my name.”
He buried his face into her hair, inhaling her scent, and preparing to memorize every degree of her being. For this one night, she was his; he swore it would be enough.
Then, hearing her moan, he tossed aside his false certainty and prayed the few hours they had together would satisfy his sharp hunger for her.
The elevator doors opened for their side of the penthouse suites and he gently tugged her out into the foyer. He’d kept this side of the Hermitage just in case he’d found a client who needed coaxing. This woman really didn’t need a thing. Not from him, at least.
Well, he needed a great deal from her and, with only hours, there was no time to be shy. “Come here,” he said. “Some ground rules. I want you. For tonight. But I don’t want to hurt or scare you. Do you trust me?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” she said, panting a little.
“Answer me. Do you trust me, Alana?”
She studied his face and he could see she was breathing rapidly. “I do. Yes. I trust you.”
“Tell me a word. Something you could say if you wanted me to stop. We’ve one
“Then why tests and lessons? I’ve had my fair share. Nothing is going to change. I’m not going to change. That’s what this is…isn’t it? You think you can make me into something you can market. Sell me until there’s nothing left.”
“I disagree. Your voice is spectacular, but how you manage your talent isn’t. When you sing, you’re straining your voice. The way you struggle is unnecessary. Something like taking a Stradivarius and harshly plucking the strings. You’re trying way too hard to get your voice to do things it should want to do on its own accord.”
“I’ve taken years of lessons, and it wasn’t pleasant.”
He ran his hand down her belly, feeling her tense her stomach muscles under his fingertips. “I don’t know what type of lessons you’ve had, but you’ll get the best training on how to utilize these muscles to help you sing more efficiently instead of potentially damaging your vocal chords. I know it has to hurt your throat the way you modulate the notes.” He caught the widening of her eyes and the relaxing of her brow and abdominals. No wonder she had her claws ready to shred him to pieces all night. “You really believed I thought you stunk?”
She nodded. “Like Limburger cheese. Your expression was so distressed, almost mortified. The whole set I kept thinking I should stop and get off the stage. That was until I was too pissed to be hurt.”
“Don’t be hurt or upset. I’m not here to use you. I’m here to help you,” he whispered, bending his head to brush his mouth over her lips. “You sing like an angel.”
“Nice comeback.” She smiled up into his face, snaking her arms up and around his shoulders. “One night, Lansing. And then we work. Like you promised.”
“Agreed. Except, can you do me a favor?”
Alana exhaled, “Sure, as long as it’s not breaking a rule. Shoot.”
“Call me Jon, or Jonathan. I get the feeling I’m back on my school football team hearing you call me by my last name.”
She laughed in that sultry voice, the one that had brought chill bumps to his skin and made him turn up the radio in his car each time he heard her sing. “J for Jonathan. I like that name. What’s the ‘P’ for?”
“Peter, after my grandfather from Louth. You now know more about me than most people in Nashville.” He stretched his arm to flick the stop button in the elevator and turned back to Alana, lacing his fingers with hers.
“Is that where you were raised?” she asked.
“There, and New York. My father worked in marketing and we moved around. Often.” He’d not talked about his personal life to many people. Yet with Alana, this felt natural, comfortable. They’d have only one night, he reminded himself. “Ask anything, until I get you into that bedroom. And then the only thing I want to hear is you screaming my name.”
He buried his face into her hair, inhaling her scent, and preparing to memorize every degree of her being. For this one night, she was his; he swore it would be enough.
Then, hearing her moan, he tossed aside his false certainty and prayed the few hours they had together would satisfy his sharp hunger for her.
The elevator doors opened for their side of the penthouse suites and he gently tugged her out into the foyer. He’d kept this side of the Hermitage just in case he’d found a client who needed coaxing. This woman really didn’t need a thing. Not from him, at least.
Well, he needed a great deal from her and, with only hours, there was no time to be shy. “Come here,” he said. “Some ground rules. I want you. For tonight. But I don’t want to hurt or scare you. Do you trust me?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” she said, panting a little.
“Answer me. Do you trust me, Alana?”
She studied his face and he could see she was breathing rapidly. “I do. Yes. I trust you.”
“Tell me a word. Something you could say if you wanted me to stop. We’ve one
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