“I’m going to need you to stop being vague.”
His gust of rich laughter hit her ear, making her shiver. “Fair enough. I, uh…” Was he running? “I noticed you didn’t have any Christmas decorations up in the apartment, so I stopped on my way back from the city, thinking I’d grab some, right?” More pounding footsteps. “But it turns out someone filmed that little scuffle with your date at the Third Shift last night and it’s all over the Web. I’ve got a few photographers giving me a workout, trying to get a statement. Are you eating lunch?”
During the course of Sarge’s explanation, Jasmine had stood up, staring in the direction of Manhattan as if she could pinpoint his location. “You’re running away from paparazzi…and asking me about lunch?”
“You left without eating breakfast and I feel responsible.”
A hot flutter wound through Jasmine’s middle, a secret smile curling her lips. “Are you in need of some assistance, Naughty Prince?”
His growl crawled down the line. “You been looking me up, baby?”
Good God. How could be make her stomach dip with a single gruff question? “I’m not that far out of the loop,” Jasmine murmured. In a small town like Hook, people tended to talk about their homegrown hero. She’d always laughed it off, remembering the young man he’d been, not equating him with the rock god everyone described him as. Now everything about him was coming through a fresh perspective. “And you didn’t answer my question.”
When he spoke, his voice echoed, as if he’d entered a small space. “Listen, I don’t think I can get back on the same train.” His heavy sigh tugged something inside her chest. “If you can get out of work, I’m in a Dunkin’ Donuts bathroom just out of Newark.”
“You’re not serious.”
“There’s Christmas decorations in it for you,” he coaxed.
That gave her pause. He was only supposed to spend one night. Now he wanted to decorate with her? Bad idea. Bad. On cue, the end-of-lunch bell gave a deafening peal, forcing her to make a call. “I’ll tell the floor manager I’m feeling sick,” she said, shaking her head. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“Funny.”
Chapter Six
All right, so being rescued from a Dunkin’ Donuts bathroom wasn’t Sarge’s finest moment. But on the bright side, he was back inside Jasmine’s apartment, his possessions were still in the guest room, and he could smell her shampoo through the bathroom door. That’s right. Jasmine was taking a shower, mere yards from where he stood untangling a box of Christmas lights. Keeping his hands occupied was a necessity, because if she stayed in the bathroom much longer with the sound of water pelting the tub after rolling off her body, he might have to join her.
After she’d called him from outside the doughnut shop, pushing open the passenger-side door and peeling out of the parking lot the second he dived in, their ride back to Hook had been somewhat tense. From the passenger seat, he’d watched Jasmine brush at grease stains on her coveralls, tugging at her collar, and shifting uncomfortably. If he didn’t know Jasmine, he would have thought she was…embarrassed. And not just because the last time they’d been together, he’d had his hand down her pants. No sooner had they walked into the apartment than she was grabbing a change of clothes and shutting herself in the bathroom.
When Jasmine finally emerged, the scent that escaped with her from the bathroom produced a low groan from his throat. She’d thrown on red terry cloth shorts and a tight-fitting white tank top, and the lingering shower steam had molded the material to her tits. Sarge’s mouth was devoid of moisture in seconds. Would tonight be the night he worked her out of his conscious? Impossible to tell. She seemed to have thrown up an even bigger wall between them since that morning, but he found himself reluctant to tear it down…with sex. There was a vulnerability to Jasmine now that he would have never equated with her in the past. And there was an answering discomfort in his chest as a result.
Jasmine narrowed her gaze at his feet. Or more accurately, the spindly little pine tree he’d dug up from the median across the street while she’d been in the shower. “What is that?”
“It’s your Christmas tree.” He considered the greenery, spotting what looked like chewed gum stuck to the bark. “All right, so it’s more of a Christmas branch, but I was improvising.”
She tapped the hairbrush she held against her thigh. “I didn’t…you don’t need to do any of this.”
“Ah, come on.” He picked up the lights again, plugging them into an outlet to make sure they worked. A stall tactic while he figured out how to make her stop looking so defensive. “I haven’t decorated for Christmas in years. Humor me?”
All right, sweet. That appeared to work. Jasmine nodded, running the brush through her hair…and making it damn difficult to keep from staring. The red material of her shorts hugged the flesh where he’d buried his fingers only that morning. He needed them there again, but some mysterious intuition told him not to push. Not yet. Sarge laid the lights down on the couch and reached for the Christmas branch, but paused when singing infiltrated the quiet apartment, soft at first, then louder. Voices from outside lifted in harmony together in a familiar Christmas carol that brought a smile to his face.
“The church still sends the choir around, huh?” After a moment, Jasmine nodded. “Let’s go out and join them,” he said on impulse, holding out a hand for her to take.
“What? No. I can’t.” She appeared frozen to the spot. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”
There was actual apprehension in her voice, in her tense demeanor, and it made his hand drop. “I haven’t heard you sing once since I got back, Jasmine. I remember when you couldn’t go five minutes.”
“I don’t remember that,” said too quickly.
Sarge moved in her direction. “Yes, you do.”
“You’ve called me a liar twice today,” she said, warding him off with a hand.
“And I was right both times.” He walked right into her touch. “If you talk to me about it, I’ll understand.”
Her laughter was abrupt and didn’t disguise the sadness. “Crowds of people buying tickets to watch you sing, major labels offering you deals…the same labels that closed their door in my face. You couldn’t understand, Sarge.”
Ouch. “No, but I understand rejection. And there are days I don’t want to sing, either, Jasmine. A lot of them.” He circled her wrist and pulled her close, willing her to look up at him, which she finally did. “Come on, baby. Let’s go show them how it’s done.”
Sarge held his breath as—for just a split second—she looked to be considering whether to go outside, chewing her lip in a distracting way. He was watching her so closely, he saw fear. Fear that flickered into something else. Intention. Maybe a hint of self-preservation, too. It should have prepared him for what came next, but nothing could have. Nothing ever would. Jasmine sidled close, letting her curves brush over him…and then she hit him with a heavy-lidded look that called to mind sweaty, middle-of-the-night sex. She picked up his hand and slid it beneath her tank top, stopping just beneath her tits, then guiding it over one pointed mound oh so slowly. “I’d rather stay inside where it’s warm, wouldn’t you?”
He was caught midgroan when she nudged him backward. The backs of his legs hit the couch and he went down onto the cushions, Jasmine wasting no time straddling his lap. Jesus. This is what he’d wanted. A way out of his obsession. A way to break the curse. But even as lust raced through him, common sense reared its head. Common sense and the fact that he cared about her, no matter the torture she’d put him through. It’s a tactic. Don’t go down without a fight. “I know you’re just trying to distract me.” Sarge tried to avoid looking at the gorgeous mouth hovering so close. Lost the battle. “Ahhh. You’d really seduce me just to avoid singing? How bad is it, Jas?”