Page 49 of One More Bad Boy

“They'll be even more eager to sign?”

She rolled her eyes. “The other side of the coin is bad, too. They'll see you giving Amina special attention and think that’s why, all while they feel ignored. Your father would never do this. You know that.”

Grimacing, I finished drying off and headed for the door. “We've been over this enough times, Violet. I'm not my father.”

She followed me to my room but didn't come inside. “Did you see it yet?”

I opened my closet and fished out a white tee shirt. “What?”

“The video from the gala.LA Localdid a news spot on it this morning.” Her smile was sly. “Watch it when you get a moment. Before that, do some actual work and text me those contacts. I'll reach out to all of them and see if they've got any offers worth entertaining.”

I nodded briskly. Her footsteps faded down the hall. I shut the door, dropping onto my king-sized bed. My heavy head fit perfectly in my hands.Last night wasn't a mistake.It didn't matter how many different ways Violet said it. I knew in my gut that what I'd done with Amina was special.

I'dfeltit.

I was sure she had, too.

****

She was sitting inthe kitchen when I found her. The red bar stool matched her shirt, and she'd crossed her legs so that one shoe was waving in the air. It moved to a rhythm I couldn't hear; one that was entirely in her head. Her soft lips idly nibbled a pastry in her fingertips.

Sun filtered through the windows. It highlighted the curve of her breasts, drawing my eye hungrily. My cock twitched as it remembered what we'd done in my bed. My mouth watered at the idea of tasting her pretty nipples while she tried to focus on eating breakfast.

“There you are,” I growled, advancing on her. “How'd you like my little swim-show?”

Her attention flew to me. In the depths of her dilated eyes I glimpsed her desire. It made my blood boil. I was right, and Violet was wrong.

“Bach, wait.” She turned away from me.

That simple rejection cut my heart in half. I pulled up short, my hand resting on the back of her bar stool. “What's wrong?”

She set the pastry on the counter then drummed her fingers on her knees. Finally, she pulled in a huge breath. “We can't sleep together and also work together.”

“Why?” I laughed like my heart wasn't freezing over. “We just have to make sure we don't fuck while you're performing... or recording a song in the booth.” I trailed my fingers up her arm, shivering as she began to breathe quicker. “Though,” I said, lowering my voice, “I wonder how amazing a song like that would sound. You, trying so hard to make lyrics while my cock drives into you deeper... and deeper... until—”

“Stop.” The word came out sharp. Amina brushed my hand away, looking me in the eye. “We can't hook-up again.”

“What do you think is going to happen?”

Her fists formed on top of her thighs. “Please, listen to my request. I want to make music with you. That's all I want.”

Liar.I itched to accuse her out loud. I was shaking with desperation to get her to admit she wanted more from me than a music contract. My hand fell from her chair. “You expect me to just turn off everything I'm feeling for you, just like that?” When I snapped my fingers, she winced.

“What do you mean everything youfeel?Bach, we hooked up.”

“It was more than that,” I said with a scowl. “You know it, too. Even if you're trying to convince yourself otherwise.” She squirmed but didn't interrupt me. “Here's the deal. I won't force you to do anything with me. If you never give me a passing glance, it won't affect your music career. But if you expect me to stop lusting for you... to stop trying to lure you back into my bed so I can make you writhe, and squeal, and moan... you're insane.”

Amina gawked at me. I didn't break eye contact. She needed to know how serious I was. Because I meant it—I wasn't going to quit pursuing her. Not for a second.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, ending the moment. Cursing, I lifted it in front of me. “Violet already left?”

“Yeah, she power walked by me ten minutes ago.”

“Farrah needs me to get to the office. But Violet also wants me to relay a message to you about the schedule. I hate playing middleman.”

“Sorry,” she said with a sheepish smile. “I still don't have a phone.”

Violet was texting me again. Message after message about potential new talent, agent meetings, and positive buzz from the gala. It was overwhelming. How was I supposed to do all this, and play babysitter with Amina?

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