Rock Me Slower (Licks of Leather #3) - Jenna Jacob
Chapter One
Ozzy
“What the fuck did you just say?” I barked.
Shock and panic rolled through me as I jerked a gaping stare at Quinn MacKinnon—owner of Fusion Productions and agent/promoter of our famed rock band, Licks of Leather—seated on the opposite end of the stretch limo.
Had he seriously just dropped that fucking bombshell seconds before we were to walk the red carpet at the Grammy Awards? When my fellow bandmates—lead singer, Burk Jennings, guitarist Darren Ash, drummer Ross Walker, and bass player Syd Wilson, each locked a collective oh, shit stare on me—I knew I’d heard Quinn correctly. Even his wife, Ava, Burk’s fiancé—and our former road manager—Sofia Jackson, along with Darren’s soon-to-be wife, Tori Combs, turned their curious stares my way.
Dread pounded me like a sledgehammer, keeping time with my thundering heart.
“I said I just signed Phoenix to a seven-year contract,” Quinn repeated, grinning as he popped the cork on a third bottle of champagne. “Time to celebrate.”
When the Grammy nominees were announced last November, Mia Harris, also known by her rock persona, Phoenix, was among them, and vying with Licks of Leather in several categories. Mia’s voice was a mesmerizing mixture of sultry, raw sensuality and guttural command. She had an impressive vocal range that spanned five fucking octaves, and the odds of her snatching those trophies out from under us were fifty-fifty. I honestly didn’t give a fuck about reaping another Grammy. My focus was on steeling my spine and not showing an ounce of emotion when I came face-to-face with my ex-lover. Mia’s gifts weren’t limited to music. She was beyond talented in bed. A fact validated by the cock-stirring memories roaring to life in my psyche.
Dammit. I hadn’t spent the last two months erecting a wall of indifference to have my eager dick destroy my defenses. Though every cell in my system ached to clap eyes on Mia—making me wonder if I was a closet masochist or just a pussy-whipped moron—I had to stay strong and ignore my hungry hormones.
If there’d been a way for me to bow out of this dog and pony show, I would have. But I was obligated to attend, and pride wouldn’t allow me to let the other guys in the band down simply for being a coward. Tonight’s agenda was simple—stay away from Mia and block the painful memories of the past. Unfortunately, Mia “Phoenix” Harris was still indelibly scored in my soul.
The instant the willowy blonde had stepped onto the tiny stage during open mic night at a dive bar in Lincoln Park, Chicago, seven plus years ago, I’d lost my heart. And when she’d locked her hypnotic hazel eyes on me, I’d lost my soul.
Mia’s compelling stage presence ruled the eclectic crowd. The room fell so utterly silent you could have heard a mouse fart. When she’d wrapped her slender hands around the neck of a beat-up acoustic guitar, I held my breath. Strumming a few chords, she’d parted those succulent lips and started to sing. The power and beauty of her sultry voice had wrapped each note like a lover’s embrace.
My heart had started racing.
My lips had tingled with an unparalleled need to taste her.
My palms had itched to glide over every inch of her silky, smooth flesh.
And my cock had stirred, lengthening so fast and hard it felt as if it would burst from my jeans. The demand to drag her beneath me and drown in her soulful cries of ecstasy was unlike anything I’d ever felt before…or since.
Fuck! This wasn’t the time or place to trek down memory lane. Shoving images of the past away, I clenched my jaw and scowled as Ava slid a glass of champagne into my hand. Clearly, I wasn’t as prepared to see Mia tonight as I’d hoped.
“And if all goes according to plan,” Quinn continued, lifting a glass of champagne in the air, “Phoenix will be the opening act for your next tour.”
My heart sputtered and skipped, then slammed against my ribs. Christ, this couldn’t be happening. No. No. This was a nightmare. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Maybe I’d been sucked into a wormhole and shot out into some alternate universe. That had to be it, because I’d done nothing so horrific to piss off the gods to this extent.
“She’s opening our tour in March? That’s only two months away. Are you fucking kidding me?” I barked.
Quinn’s smile faded. His brows slashed and he pinned his narrow gaze on me as if I were a bug under a