Nick spun his cell one way on the table in front of him, then spun it the other. When it clattered onto the floor, he sighed, reached down to retrieve it and stuffed it into his pocket. Then he started tapping out a new song he was working on with the studio pen and pencil he’d snagged. Free stuff was always a good thing. His cupholder at home proved it. He wouldn’t have to buy a Bic until he was in the old folks’ home.

God, he was bored.

Being in the studio was completely different from being on stage. Three days in and he hadn’t really adapted yet. There were no crazy spotlights, no smoke machines, no fans chanting or snoring depending on the show. It didn’t matter, since the same ol’ nerves surfaced about practicing with people he didn’t know that well.

Add in the various musical voyeurs who wanted to take a piece of them financially—if they decided Oblivion was worth the effort—and Nick had a permanent itch between his shoulder blades. Too many people. He couldn’t keep still while the orchestra members tuned up in the adjoining rehearsal room.

The first couple of days had been about explaining a whole fuck ton of shit he would never remember about the sound board and the soundtrack and the big ass movie the score would be attached to. Then they’d started rehearsing some of Oblivion’s most popular songs, just to ease them in. Over and over again. He didn’t consider himself a genius at reading people, but even he could tell they’d yet to start impressing anyone.

Huge surprise there. The five of them had been working together for a few weeks. They were still struggling to anticipate even the most basic of key changes from each other.

The good part was this wasn’t about how they usually did things. Jackson Miller had brought Oblivion in to fulfill a specific need. And the guys behind the boards were pulling their strings under the guise of getting the perfect sound.

And the perfect song, which apparently wasn’t one of Oblivion’s. That was Deak’s and Gray’s little ditty, “The Becoming”.

Becoming Shit, from the sounds of it right now.

Deacon seemed to be his usual calm, unflappable self, cracking jokes with the sound engineers and chatting with the dude that brought them coffee—mineral water with lemon for Simon, who claimed his voice needed “babying”—as if he’d known them forever. Gray went through the motions with silent skill, doing whatever was required with his own inimitable style. The control board people took to him immediately, sensing he was a technician like them. One who did what was required with no fuss.

And they glared a lot at Nick.

He’d probably never be at ease playing around people he didn’t know well, and that flaw had made itself known the few times they’d actually needed him in the studio. But oddly enough, the last time he’d played for Blitz, none of the nerves had surfaced. Maybe because the studio was such a contained bubble that once he’d gotten used to it, he could pretend he was alone? Whatever the reason, he knew Nelson and Blitz had been more impressed with his last take than any of the others, though that hadn’t led to increased playing time. Yet.

As for Jazz…she blindsided Nick every time he saw her. Her pink and purple hair was in a mass of braids that clinked when she moved, and she’d popped in purple contacts that matched her tight jeans and tit-baring top. Her breasts weren’t totally on display, but damn close enough. He could practically see her nipples.

Fuck, he wanted to see her nipples. Taste them. Soak her skin in whiskey and watch the liquid bead and trickle down the pale slope of her belly.

But that would have to wait until they got through this BS.

Now it was Thursday, their third day in the studio—the first day had been for the building tour and the spiel and the gladhanding—and it was all more of the same. Mixing and matching harmonies to beats, trying the song with different arrangements, different lead singers. Not always Simon, since he seemed to be having trouble reaching the higher notes without screeching. The lemon hadn’t done anything but make the studio reek while Simon sulked and watched Gray take his place for this go-round.

Fucking Gray.

“This is all your fault,” Nick said to his best friend while Gray and Deak sang their song. Jazz banged away on the drums in an isolation booth. The guys were rehearsing to a scaled-back demo of the song done on the keyboards, sans guitars, played by the virtuosa herself, Ms. Jasmine Edwards. Now she was adding the percussion layer.

Those three hadn’t had a free minute today. Him and Simon, on the other hand, were real busy doing nada.

“I could sing that better than him.” Simon jerked his juiced-up water at the glass that separated them from the main rehearsal room. “Gray’s a guitarist, not a singer. That’s my job.”

“Not today it’s not.” Nick leaned his head on Simon’s shoulder. “How does it feel to be nudged out of your own band? To be handed your nuts by a guy who’s just barely old enough to crank out some chin pubes?”

Simon shoved him away. His face was turning into a mosaic of sickly colors. They matched the patchwork of yellow and green on Nick’s torso. At least their cracked lips had mostly healed. “Gray’s only a year younger than us. Doesn’t seem to bother you when you’re fucking Miss Barely Legal behind her kit.”

Nick grabbed Simon’s water and took a long pull. Tart lemon blasted his tongue. “Jeebus, that’s nasty. Sure you haven’t shriveled up your cords? Could be why they ain’t working.” With a grin, he handed back the water. “And I haven’t fucked her. Yet.”

“Matter of time.”

Nick kicked his feet up on the desk, wincing only a little. Most of his bruises had healed enough that he wasn’t hobbling around like a senior citizen who’d missed his morning ex-lax. “Aww, want to have a chat about girls, Pretty Boy? I’m down. I saw that iced-up brunette in the orchestra giving you the eye, though she looked like she wanted to nail you with her bow—”

“Shut up.”

Nick scratched his jaw and decided pissing off Simon was a fine substitute for being pissed off himself. Why should it bother him he was warming a chair instead of rehearsing with his own freaking band? No reason.

“I could think of some fun things to do with a bow, actually,” Nick said in an undertone. “Imagine if you tied up that prissy babe’s wrists and—”

“Can it, would you?” Simon stalked out and slammed the door, shaking the glass hard enough that Gray glanced up. He sneered at Nick, his expression saying more than a string of curses.

Loser. Who’s in there and who’s out here?

Oh, really. So that’s how they were playing things now. And Nick had actually been feeling guilty enough since the Frenzy show to steer clear of Jazz.

For the most part. A few kisses heavy on tongue and a couple of boob grabs behind the soundboard didn’t count. She had grade A tits, and he wasn’t a saint.

He dropped his feet to the floor and rose. So much for trying to hold himself in check. Gray wanted to act like a dick about something way more important than a little slap and tickle? He’d reciprocate.

Time to see who was really the loser when he had Gray’s little pink princess panting through an orgasm feet away from him.

Nick cracked his knuckles as he made his way to the isolation chamber. Jazz was taking a break for a couple minutes while the vocal coach worked with Gray and Deak, so it was a good time to give her a break as well.

He opened the door and slipped inside the darkened booth. Jazz’s head whipped toward him from where she was leaning against her kit. She’d been drinking, but the sight of him made her stop. The plastic bottle slipped from her hand and bounced on the floor, trickling water over her toes. Her bare toes. She didn’t like to wear shoes while she was behind the drums.

If she got any more delicious, he’d be on his knees with his tongue stuck up that slick pink crevice between her thighs.

Would be anyway soon enough.

She bent to wipe up the water and he leaned forward to grab another tissue—and to nonchalantly turn on the mic.

“What’re you doing in here, Nick?”

“You’ve been working really hard.” He crouched to blot up the water. Lots of expensive equipment in this place. Lots that he wasn’t getting touch.

He’d get to touch the prettiest piece of all in about thirty seconds.

“It’s fun.” She flashed her trademark grin. “Nothing really fazes me.”

Yeah, and that was another knee in the gut. Jazz rolled with the musical punches better than any boxer he’d ever seen. She played every instrument they threw at her well. If he, Gray and Simon gave up the guitars, she could probably take their place. The only thing he’d yet to see her do was write songs. Evidently words weren’t her favorite thing.

Right then, they weren’t his either. It was time for a live action sequence.

“Is that so?” When they were knee-to-knee, he reached out and pressed his fingers to the seam of her jeans between her legs. She gasped and rocketed upward so fast that her head bumped his chin. “Then you don’t need me to help you take the edge off?”

Her eerie purple eyes leveled on his. Damn contacts. “Don’t. I’m working.”

Sure, she was working. Too bad he didn’t have anything else to do. Except this.

He pressed harder. “Don’t feel like playing with me today?” He leaned in and dragged her bottom lip between his teeth, pulling until she moaned. “Afraid he’s going to find out?”

She twisted away as if she could see Gray through the wall beneath the glass that faced the main rehearsal area. And that was all the answer he needed.

He rose and hit the button for the curtains that blocked the glass. Maroon drapes slid over the pane, caging them in the humid dark. Jazz’s breathing audibly accelerated and his heartbeat thrummed in time, as if they were connected. He circled her and gripped her ass, nudging her forward until she grabbed the seat behind the kit.

“Simon mentioned me fucking you behind your drums. That never occurred to me, but I gotta say, I like the idea,” he murmured against her ear, keeping his voice beneath the range of the mic. The static hiss prickled over his skin, though she didn’t seem to notice. He pushed his nose through her collection of braids, finally latching on to the side of her neck with his teeth. “Wanna?”

He smiled as she fumbled for her zipper. “We only have a minute. Seriously.” She reached for his hand and levered it into the gap of her jeans. “Anyone could come—”

His fingers skimmed her slickened flesh and she stumbled into silence. “Someone is going to come. You.”

He thrust into her with just his middle finger, wasting no time building his rhythm. She was obviously just like the rest of them. Playing was like foreplay. Every minute working his guitar keyed him up higher and higher, like the hottest chick in the world was riding his dick with her mouth and never let him get off. Sucking just lightly enough to keep him aroused, but never giving him that release.

As much as he wanted to fuck Jazz—finally—there wasn’t time. So he’d mete out his revenge on Gray and his own locked-down libido on her sweet, swollen pussy.

“Bend over. Spread your legs.” Without waiting, he yanked her jeans to her thighs and parted the cheeks of her tight little ass, rimming her back there too just to hear her whimper. So fucking innocent.

Jesus, she made him hot.

He eased his hand lower, back to the warmth that called to him. Sinking his finger inside her again, he used his other hand to toy with her breast through her revealing top, finally going in over the neckline to tug out her tight nipple. It was cool in the studio, the air conditioning pumping almost as hard as her breathing and her heart-shaped ass against his straining cock.

His mouth covered her ear again. “Do you imagine me doing this to you while you’re whaling on those drums? Do you remember my dick in your hand when you’re working the sticks? The way you pulled me in your throat and swallowed me down?”

“Nick,” she pleaded, her forehead banging against a cymbal and sending it clanging.

He smiled and pressed harder, rubbing her piercing with his free fingers and tugging on her bared nipple with his other hand. God, he wished there were some mirrors in here. He’d love to see her bent over her drums while he did her like this. “Almost there, baby.”

She moaned and his satisfied smile grew. Take that, you motherfucking band-stealing piece of shit.

Then she squeezed him, rocking into his strokes and gasping her pleasure, and he forgot all about Gray and the studio.

She was his guitar, and running his fingers up and down her slick seam to coax out her sounds of delight moved him as much as any piece of music.

Pushing her farther down against the seat, he murmured encouragement in her ear. “Use me to get off, baby. Come on my fingers. You can do it.”

She arched, her spine locking, her glittery purple nails raking the seat. Her body jerked, flailing so wildly that he felt like he’d caught a fish at the end of a hook. Except this one was wriggling for more, not to get away. He impaled her with that one single finger again and again, surging deeper then finally swiveling and holding as the pressure in his balls built until he was a second from orgasm himself. She broke underneath him, her wetness drenching him, her snug heat pulsing while she moaned and panted and begged.

“Beautiful.” He licked the damp side of her throat, unsure if the moisture was just from his mouth or her sweat. It tasted salty and sweet. A chocolate-covered pretzel soaked in sparkles, that was his Jasmine.

Even if she wasn’t. His.

“Was it good for you?” he teased, pinching her hip.

When she twisted around to punch him, he chuckled and darted back. He’d just managed to tug up her sinfully tight jeans when the door swung open and Jackson Miller’s broad frame filled the space.

Fuck.

Nick opened his mouth to explain. They couldn’t lose this gig before they even knew if they had it. This studio thing had been a trial run to see if they would work for the soundtrack—and if Jackson would work for them. Jazz was too busy trying to fight her breast back into her top to worry about lost deals.

He was worrying a little too late. Whoops.

Nick backed up to the table and slapped a hand on the mic behind him, turning it off. “Look, man, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to—”

Jackson waved him off with a wide grin. “So I guess this means the rumors are true?” He circled his pinky, clad with a giant gold initial ring, between Nick and Jazz. He held up his smart phone with the other hand. “I was just checking out the latest YouTube vid someone snapped of Oblivion at the Rhino, and lo and behold, what do I find? A link in the comments to another vid of the encore.” Jazz glanced at Nick and he shrugged, as clueless as she was. “You two kissing is all everyone’s talking about in the comments. There’s all this buzz about Oblivion’s Romeo and Juliet.”

“Huh? Who’s killing themselves?” Nick pushed a hand through his hair. “Look, never mind that. When can I get my guitar back into the studio? I have some ideas.”

“Never mind? Soundstages one and two just got treated to the sounds of Jasmine—” Jackson coughed delicately while Jazz went bug-eyed.

“What the hell do you mean?” As she caught Nick’s guilty expression and mentally connected the dots, she grabbed the sticks she’d tucked next to her kit and pointed them at Nick. “You fucking bastard. You did that on purpose.” She advanced on him, sticks out, and Nick held up his hands.

Whoops number two.

Jackson stepped smoothly between them. “Now, kids, relax. This is a good thing. Whatever Nick’s motives for, ah, broadcasting that, it’s exactly the missing ingredient this song has been needing. There’s an erotic element to the film, you know.” He glanced between the two of them, his cheeks turning pink. “I don’t suppose the two of you would be willing to do another ta—”

“No,” Nick and Jazz echoed in unison.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, we’re sure. That’s crazy,” Nick muttered.

“As crazy as you setting me up like that.” After giving Nick a hard shove, Jazz pushed past Jackson into the hall.

“I don’t know if someone taped that somehow, but destroy that track,” Nick said to Jackson. “I’m not kidding. It was a stupid move on my part, and completely unprofessional to boot, but it’s not going to be part of a song. Any song. Ever.”

Nick followed Jazz, only to find the rest of the band waiting in the hall, minus Gray. “Good performance, man,” Simon taunted as Nick passed.

Nick shook his head and kept going, his gaze trained on the flash of pink and purple blurring up ahead. He’d need an even better performance to convince Jazz he wasn’t a complete asshole.

Good luck on convincing himself.

* * *

Nick kicked back on the couch and channel surfed. Wrestling, news, porn, soccer, a weepfest talk show, then finally, real man’s television—Beavis and Butthead on the classic cartoon channel. In his lap he had a bag of cheese puffs, which he crunched into with enthusiastic vigor. He didn’t have any cash to spare on dinner, but he’d snagged these from the break room at the studio. If he never got to freaking play there, at least he could swipe their junk food so he wouldn’t starve to death. Tomorrow he was bringing his backpack to load up.

His phone buzzed and he picked it up long enough to see the caller was his sister, not Jazz. He’d deal with Ricki later. He could only handle one angry female at a time, and telling Ricki that she wouldn’t be getting her rent money for a few more days would not go down well.

Why did he even care? His dad sure hadn’t given a fuck when he’d pushed Nick out the door at seventeen and told him not to come back. It was a line he’d stuck to until he’d gotten hurt on the job and started counting on Nick to pay his rent. Ricki had never left, staying with their dad because he “needed” her.

Right. The only thing Marty Crandall needed from his kids was weed and money. In that order.

With a sigh, he dropped his head back on the arm of the couch. Still no response from Jazz. He’d texted her multiple times and even left a voicemail. Nothing. He wasn’t surprised, really. They’d gotten through the afternoon at the studio, but it had been strained. Even Simon and Deak had been sullen and mechanical. They were probably wondering about the fallout to Nick’s latest massive screwup.

If it was any consolation, he was wondering too.

The mic thing had been an incredibly dick move. So what if Gray got into the studio ahead of him? He’d get there. They needed guitars in the song. His guitar. It wasn’t as if he really relished playing in front of everyone anyway. He wasn’t looking to bust his pipes like some male version of Mariah Carey either. The vocals were just a means to an end to him.

Let Gray and Deak and Simon sing. In the meantime, he’d try to get his head straight without the distraction of Jazz, who smothered a lot of his stage fright and stirred up a bunch of other crap inside him he wasn’t ready to face.

He liked her. Not just screw-your-brains-out-until-you-can’t-stay-upright liked, but genuine affection for more than her naked body. Which he still had not seen, and now probably never would. He didn’t intend to start drawing hearts around their names, but it would be nice to hang with her away from the band. Maybe go to dinner or something. Or a movie. When he could afford those things.

Never was the first available date for that to happen.

This was why he stuck around babes with low expectations. He had nothing to offer. A waiter/band boy/son of a druggie/brother of a drug pusher was no one’s good bet. And he’d proven it to Jazz by getting her into a band fight the night she’d been caught blowing him, then getting her off in a closet, then turning on her mic during an orgasm at the studio.

His classy side was definitely not showing.

He’d have to stop calling Simon a douche, because that title was now officially his. If he had any money left for beer, he’d toast himself.

Sick of his thoughts, he tossed aside the cheese puffs and crawled off the couch to go take a shower. Fifteen minutes later, he was back on the couch again in his ripped pajama pants with a bottle of some foul shit of Deacon’s he’d found in the back of the fridge. He’d just settled into more cartoons when a couple knocks sounded and the doorknob turned.

The guys were finally back. Maybe they’d even brought some real food.

He sat up hopefully. “Hey, you got any—” He fell silent at the pink and purple head poking into the basement. Shit. “Oh, hi. Come in.” His stomach—and the area below his waist—jumped as Jazz stepped inside. “I’ve been calling you all night.”

“I know. I wasn’t ready to talk.” She shut the door. She looked around the messy, spartan living room as if seeing it for the first time then skirted the coffee table crates and took a seat near his feet. He’d pulled his legs up nearer to his chest in case she wanted to sit, but it still kind of amazed him she was willing to get that close to him after his insane stunt.

He took another drink of the blueberry crap of Deak’s and set the bottle aside with a grimace. It wasn’t the protein shake stirring up his gut. After he got used to it, the stuff really didn’t taste that bad. Nope, it was nerves. Plain and simple.

Little Jasmine Edwards made him nervous as fuck.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, staring hard at the side of her face as she gazed down at the hands she’d clasped in her lap. “I have no defense for what I did.”

The delicate line of her throat bobbled with her swallow. “Are you just messing around with me to get at Gray?”

“Are you?” he countered.

“No.” She looked him dead in the eye and lifted her chin. “I don’t have any reason to hurt him or make him jealous. It’s not about that with us. He just gets overprotective—”

“Jazz.” Nick reached for one of her soft, cool hands and wove his fingers through hers. She was so small. So breakable, if he wasn’t careful. The hell of it all? He had a sneaking suspicion she might be able to break him too. “He told me it was more than that. At least from his side.” The last part he added for his own benefit, not Jazz’s.

There was no mistaking her shaky exhale. “What exactly did he say?”

Nick wanted to tell her. He really did. That would be the right thing to do. But since when had he played by the rules?

“You have to see how he looks at you,” Nick said instead, forcing back the words that weren’t his to say. It was up to Gray to man up enough to tell her his feelings. He’d be damned if he did his dirty work for him.

She swallowed again and curled her fingers tighter around his. “What do you see?”

“He wants you. He…” Fuck it. “He loves you. And not as a brother, not even in any of those places where brother and sister get way too close.” Her laughter surprised him and teased out his smile.

“I still think you’re reading more into it than is there. He’s had all these chances to tell me and he never has. He doesn’t say jack to me. He’s just possessive.”

Nick grunted. “Possessive. Right. If I didn’t basically dislike him on principle for hijacking my band, I’d dislike him more for making me feel guilty over you.”

“I know, I know. You want to fuck me. We colored in those pictures already.”

“We haven’t colored in that picture. I’d remember, I’m pretty sure.” When she laughed again, he turned over her hand and traced a circle on the inside of her palm. “You grew up together. You and Gray.”

“Since we were teenagers, yeah. His parents took in fosters, and I was one of them.”

“So you guys got close?”

“Yeah. Gray was different back then. Not the way he seems now. He used to crack jokes constantly. No one could make me laugh like he did.” She wrapped her free arm around the knee she pulled up to her chest. She couldn’t seem to stay still. “We used to sit in the backyard and play together for hours.”

“With or without clothes?”

She didn’t laugh. “Him on his guitar, me on mine. I played that and the keyboards before I moved on to the drums. His mom got me my Sonor. I couldn’t believe she’d bought me something so kickass.” She smiled wistfully. “He’s the one who encouraged me. I hated going to class, so he helped me study. When I didn’t have a date for the dances at our fancy prep school because everyone thought I was weird with my lime green Kool-Aid-dyed hair and my obsession with band, Gray took me. He was my best friend.” She shook her head. “Is.”

Part of Nick wanted to hear more. The storyteller in him could never resist a good juicy tale, and he suspected this one had some bite. But this time he was more involved than he usually was when he was pretended to listen to his friends’ stories, all the while mentally mining what he could use for his next song.

“What happened?” he asked as Jazz’s hand clamped tighter around his. Her grip was truly a thing of beauty—until she started squeezing the life out of his fingers. “Why did he change?”

“There were a couple reasons, I think. Maybe more than I know. It’s not like he’ll tell me.” Restlessly, she rubbed their joined hands over her thigh. “Things were different when we were in Montecito. I lasted at Gray’s place a couple of years, longer than I’d managed to anywhere else. I always was that kid with behavioral problems, you know?”

Did he ever. “Yeah.”

“No one gave a shit about my past, how it had messed with my head. And Gray’s family seemed so great. They cared about me. Or at least that’s what I thought. They’re mondo rich and stable, but there were…other issues.”

“Like what?”

She pulled her leg underneath her and stared at some spot on the floor. “Gray’s older brother tried to rape me.”

“Tried?” Nick kept his voice steady. “He didn’t hurt you?”

“No. Gray stopped him.” She bit her lip. “Both times.”

“Jesus. And you wonder why the dude’s protective of you?”

“No, I don’t. I’m protective of him too. I would kill anyone who hurt him or even tried to—” Shaking her head, she shut her eyes. “He’s not how he used to be. Everything changed when we left his parents’ place together. He stopped being the funny, happy guy I knew. The one I loved. He suddenly started trying to be my father. Always watching me to make sure I didn’t do anything too wild or crazy. Getting mad at the kinds of guys I wanted to date, saying they were all assholes who only wanted one thing.”

“Well, hate to burst your Kool-Aid-colored bubble, sweetness, but they probably did.”

“You think that’s all I’m good for?” Her chin quivered and he felt like a first class dipshit. “A quick fuck?”

“Never said anything about quick,” he mumbled, pleased to see a smile creep across her mouth.

She toyed with the hole on the knee of her jeans. Poking her finger through again and again. Making it bigger. “When I met you, I knew he’d hate it if I started anything with you. But you actually talk to me. You see who I am. Gray just wants to keep me in a box. Safe. Protected. As good as dead.” She sighed and gestured to her lap. “Why do you think I got that crazy piercing? It’s not like I let just anyone down there, and a complete stranger pierced me. But I wanted to rebel so fucking bad.”

There was nothing he could say to that, so he said nothing and waited for her to continue. Knowing she would.

“You’re the first real taste of freedom I’ve had. When it’s just you and me, I can breathe. I like you, Nick. This isn’t a game to me.” She clutched him tighter. So damn tight. “I’m not using you, I swear.”

“I like you too,” he echoed, feeling like a chump. But she didn’t seem to hear him.

“When we’re together, I don’t have to wonder what’s wrong with Gray. Between us, it’s just sexy and fun.”

Nick grunted. Sexy fun. Right. He’d have to remember that the next time his chest and dick were taking turns feeling stomped on.

“Gray won’t talk to me anymore. Every time I try to figure things out, he shuts me down. Something’s not right with him, and I don’t know how to fix it.” She rubbed her eye, hard. “He walked away from his life for me. His family. And I’ll never be enough to—”

“He’s in love with you. That’s why he’s not right.” Nick brought her hand to his mouth, kissed the tips of her fingers. “You offer a man something he’s always wanted, hold it two inches from his nose, then deny him from having it, he’s gonna get a little crazy, baby.”

“I haven’t denied him anything,” she whispered, and Nick’s throat went tight and hot. In sympathy. In fury. In fear. “He’s never asked. He hasn’t ever said one word.”

He tried to come up with a suitable response that wasn’t “why in the frilly fuck am I talking about this with you?” But his brain didn’t want to work.

Jazz sighed. “Let’s say you’re right, that he thinks his feelings for me have gone beyond friendship. With everything that’s gone on in our history, with how he’s protected me, how could he ever be sure that it’s real?”

“I’m sure.” The statement echoed through the door, as quiet as a gun with a silencer. And just as deadly—at least to Nick’s hand, now caught in the pinching death grip of Jazz’s fingers.

Gray walked in, looking as cool as a flame dipped in ice. Every part of him steady and resolute except for the wild intensity of his eyes. “I followed you,” he said. “You borrowed my car to come here?”

She didn’t speak. Just shook faintly, as if she’d suffered an electric jolt to the heart.

Nick’s free hand tensed beside his thigh. How long had Gray stood in the hall listening to their conversation? And how long did he have to grab the fire extinguisher and aim it in Gray’s face before he booked for the door?

Yeah, maybe it made him seem like a wuss, but his bruises had just started healing from the last fight. He’d start taking appointments for a fresh ass whupping at the end of next week.

Gray shut the door behind him and braced a hand on the wood above his head, then turned and strode over to the sofa, his gaze fixed on Jazz. Not wavering for an instant. Power and purpose thrummed through him, cutting a swath through the room as physically as a gust of air. He knelt in front of her, his Adam’s apple rising and falling with every breath.

Gray and Jazz stared at each other so long that Nick thought about getting up to leave—though it was his place—but Jazz’s fingers had turned into implacable iron clamps around his. She clearly intended to make Nick bear witness to…whatever the fuck this was.

Maybe even making him a part of it. Somehow.

The silence pulsed like a heartbeat. Then Gray leaned forward and caught Jazz’s face in his hand, lifting it to meet his mouth.

It wasn’t a kiss. Nick had seen fistfights more loving than the clash of their lips. It was mating, pure and simple. Hunger strained like a crazed beast between them, snapping in the air. Charging the basement with way too much lust in way too small of a space.

Nick shifted, his jeans uncomfortably tight. He needed a cigarette. A forty. A blow to the head to knock his ass out. In that order. He was a bystander to this clusterfuck and shouldn’t have been affected. Especially since this guy was kissing the girl he’d fingered to orgasm what, six hours before? He wasn’t a stranger to threesomes—or foursomes, then there was that one time with five—but this wasn’t that. If he joined in this fray, he wasn’t entirely sure he’d come out balls intact.

He really liked his balls. They’d been with him for twenty-three years now and had provided many hours of faithful service.

But he also liked Jazz, and she wasn’t letting him go.

He definitely had no complaints when Gray pulled back enough to yank her shirt over her head and send it flying. She wore a bra, sort of. It was basically a band with a couple ribbons holding up each of her tits. In about three flicks of Gray’s fingers, that was gone too, and the flesh banquet on display had Nick groaning and pressing a hand to his dick. They’d resumed kissing like maniacs and didn’t seem to care that he was about ten seconds from going to jerk off in the bathroom.

The sounds in the room grew. Pants, whimpers. None of them his.

Just when he’d definitively decided to get out of there, Jazz shifted onto Nick’s lap, her still-purple eyes beaming straight into his and pinning him in place. He couldn’t move. Could barely breathe as she feathered her hands over his chest, rubbing them up and down while her breasts brushed his already inflamed skin. God. If he’d thought his brain had turned into a stirfry before from their conversation, now she’d turned the temp up to broil.

She glanced back at Gray and waited for some signal. It came in the form of a nod that nearly caused Nick to slide from the couch.

Okay, so his balls were in knots big enough to block his vision, but had Gray really nodded for this to continue? With him?

Nick hauled in air as she slipped her hand under the waistband of his pajama pants, her pupils dilating as she felt how hard he was. Not too surprising, since he knew every ounce of blood in his body had redirected to that spot. She slid down his legs as if he was a human slide and crouched in front of him, peeling down his pants without hesitation. He sprung free, stiff and ready. The tip wet. Eager for her mouth.

It didn’t get it.

Gray moved behind her, his long-fingered hands encircling her breasts. Hiding her from Nick’s gaze. Even without words, he got Gray’s meaning.

Sharing with you doesn’t mean I like you. Nor does it make her yours.

Message accepted. Just sex. If Nick chanted it like a mantra in his head, who could blame him? It was easy to forget in the moment. Hard to remember when he’d just had a heart-to-heart with a woman who mattered.

Gray leaned forward to lick her shoulder, his gray eyes flicking up to Nick. They were feral and possessive, as if he guarded the last available scrap of meat and was on the verge of going homicidal if anyone dared touch it.

Oddly enough, Gray’s territorial expression soothed Nick. For a minute he’d felt like he’d stumbled into the Twilight Zone. Now he was back on firmer ground.

Gray was challenging him to a duel that was no different than the guitar swordplay he and Simon had engaged in since they were kids. Except they’d fight to share this beautiful instrument of war and pleasure between them.

And her name was Jasmine Edwards.

Nick lifted his thumb to caress the valley between her breasts, skirting close to Gray’s no-touch zone and earning a growl for his efforts. He smiled and continued up her throat to her parted damp red lips, slipping between them like he ached to do with his dick. She sucked hard, her dark lashes coming down to shield her eyes. Her head fell back against Gray’s shoulder as his hands began to massage her, squeezing more gently than Nick could’ve managed with his current erection. He was even having trouble not jamming his thumb into Jazz’s mouth.

After a minute or two of watching Gray pluck her nipples until they were tight and dark pink, Nick decided to up the ante by undoing her jeans. He flipped open the button, yanked down the zipper and tugged the denim over her curvy hips. She wore a lacy thong that matched her bra, and he wanted it off her. Now.

“Up.” It was Nick’s turn to growl.

While she struggled to her feet, stumbling more than a little—he must not be the only one who felt dizzy—he leaned over to open the drawer of the table next to the couch. Bingo. A stack of foil packets awaited him. Simon stuffed rubbers every place he could. Tonight his best friend’s excessive need for latex came in hand. He grabbed a couple and tossed them on the cushion beside him, waiting for Jazz or her gallant knight to pull the plug.

Jazz didn’t bat an eyelash as she finally got off her boots and went to work on her jeans, shimmying them the rest of the way down with a twist and wiggle Nick knew wasn’t strictly necessary. Nick lifted a brow in Gray’s direction, almost daring him to back out. But he only rose to shed his own T-shirt, shoes, jeans and briefs.

The guy had lots of black ink on his back and his right arm, a fact that seemed to surprise Jazz since she was staring at Gray’s tats like she’d never seen them before. Either that or the sight of Gray’s muscled back was enough to make her turn into a statue.

She hadn’t gotten nearly as bug-eyed over the dragon tattoo on Nick’s ribs. He wasn’t even sure she’d seen it. As far as being mesmerized by his body? Nope. Not so far.

Whatever. He wasn’t dwelling on it.

Nick stood and kicked off his pajama bottoms, then walked to the door and flipped the locks. Since that was no defense against keys, he grabbed his cell and called Simon. “You and Deak can’t come home.”

“Aw, man,” Simon whined, sounding drunk. Such a shock. “You’re getting a shot at that sweet Jazzy pussy, aren’t you?”

“Tonight it came with a gift with purchase. Think I might return it. Pretty sure it’s defective,” he said, eyeing Gray as he pulled Jazz into his lap. She faced the room so that Nick could see every nuance when Gray spread her thighs and ran his thumbs up the insides of her legs. Between her thighs gleamed the swollen, hairless pink crease he’d been fantasizing about since the last time they’d been in this very room.

“Huh? What did you buy?” Simon wasn’t good with subtext on a normal day, but when he was drunk, forget it. He’d believe anything. “Did you keep your receipt?”

Nick would’ve grinned if his cock wasn’t perpendicular to his torso. Even breathing was a challenge. “Can’t talk now. Gotta go.”

“Wait. When can we come back?”

“Morning.” He clicked off and threw his cell in the direction of the table.

Nick knelt between Jazz’s spread legs. Though he wasn’t one of those guys who went down on every chick he messed around with—unlike Simon, who passed out oral like lollipops—his mouth was actually watering. But he didn’t move. Not yet.

She wet her lips and relaxed against Gray, wriggling a little from what Nick knew was the very hard cock wedged against her back. Gray’s fingers wandered higher, drawing circles over her inner legs, sliding up to the tops of her thighs. Barely making contact. Sliding closer to the juncture between.

Jazz squirmed like she couldn’t stay still as Gray’s thumb darted between the lips of her pussy, almost shyly. Did Gray expect her to refuse him? Couldn’t he see how she was jiggling back and forth, her skin prettily flushed and already damp with sweat?

All of her was damp. Nick fisted his throbbing cock. Seriously fucking damp.

Gray’s long fingers met up with the piercing that caged her clit and his hand stilled. He grabbed her chin with his other hand, making her look at him. “What the hell is that?” he growled against her lips.

She whimpered some unintelligible response before slanting her mouth over his. At the same time, Gray slid his fingers inside her. Even muffled by their kiss, Gray’s long, ragged groan echoed in Nick’s head.

This wasn’t just a good fuck to Gray. This was a dream coming true.

And he was about to break it wide open.

Nick edged forward. He had no intention of coming on his own stomach, and if he didn’t do something fast, he was going to. He leaned in and captured one of her nipples between his teeth, pulling hard while he twisted the other. She writhed between them, Gray’s fingers dancing over her with a skill he hadn’t only learned on his instrument. While he’d been expecting Jazz to save herself, he’d obviously been screwing his share of chicks.

Nick switched his attention to Jazz’s other breast, licking the swollen tip while he looked down at the action way too close to his cock. Gray’s fingers pressing in and out, wet from her. So wet, all the way up to his knuckles.

“Christ.” Nick contented himself with her breast, sucking hard while he covered her clit and piercing with his thumb. Gray made room for him, spreading his arms so that one finger from each hand pistoned into her, cramming into that tight little slit until each movement sounded slick from her arousal.

So fucking hot.

Nick nearly groaned and counted to ten in his head to try to distract himself. Man, he was so close. Evidently so was she. Two, maybe three strokes of Nick’s thumb and Jazz exploded between them, twisting back and forth without shame. God. Nick bit down harder on her nipple than he’d meant to but she only cried out again.

Such a sexy thing she was. All pent-up and ready to go. And so was he.

Instead of Gray demanding a condom—as Nick would’ve in his place—he reached down and grabbed the backs of her thighs, lifting her up to Nick. Putting her pussy so damn close to Nick’s face that he would’ve been a moron to say no.

He wasn’t a moron.

Lowering his head, Nick made eye contact with her an instant before his tongue trailed over her soaked flesh. She reached back to fist her hands in Gray’s messy hair, locking him in place so he had no choice but to watch as Nick covered her with his mouth.

Nick pushed his tongue inside and curled it up to savor her burnt sugar taste. If he’d ever had technique, he didn’t tonight. He was shaking so hard he could barely lick, and it was a damn miracle he managed to suck her clit hard enough to make her moan. The piercing helped. He tugged on one of the crystals, trapping in between his teeth. She whimpered and shifted in Gray’s hold, a live wire about to overload on pleasure.

Knowing his fumbling wouldn’t get her there as fast as he needed to, Nick cheated and used his fingers. Curving them. She lost it within a few strong, deep thrusts. Her cries filled the room, the sound almost as arousing as her madly pumping hips.

He didn’t move his mouth away until he’d licked her clean. God, she tasted even better than she smelled. If he didn’t get her around him soon, he’d rub one off on the damn arm of the couch.

When she’d recovered, Nick stood up on wobbly legs to grab the condoms. He glanced back at Gray in question, who only minutely shook his head. His eyelids were heavy, low over his sleet-colored eyes, and Nick understood why when he glimpsed Jazz working Gray’s erection with her fist. Was Gray really going to satisfy himself with her hand when he could have all of her?

As Nick ripped open a condom with his teeth, he got his answer.

Gray’s groan tore from his chest, so loud that Jazz moaned too. She shifted enough for Nick to see her fingers moving like a blur. She was clearly determined to make the guy come. Now. If she squeezed Gray any harder, she was going to get Nick to come too just from the memory of how good it felt to be in her hands.

Almost without warning, Gray’s release sprayed over her side. Dripping like melted ice cream on her hip.

Nick gripped the opened condom and forced his gaze away from the tangible reminder she belonged to Gray and was—at best—on loan to him. He didn’t want to see it. Didn’t want to know.

He busied himself with putting on the condom. But eventually he had to look again.

Gray had thrown his head against the back of the sofa and closed his eyes. The cords in his neck vibrated with his harsh breaths. Jazz stared at Gray and traced her fingers an inch above his lips like she was afraid to touch. Then she settled for smearing her fingers over her side and pressing them to her own lips instead, sucking them as she slowly shut her eyes.

Nick swallowed hard, his own hand faltering with the latex half-unrolled on his length. What was he doing? He wasn’t a part of this. Any fool could see Gray and Jazz had something between them he could barely fathom. The guy loved her so much he was letting her have a threesome with a man he couldn’t stand. Now Gray was lying on the couch, his eyelids firmly shut. His refusal to watch any more of the events he had started clear.

And Jazz…

Jazz gazed at Nick, her wet eyes begging him silently. Her tears seemed trapped behind her contacts, unable to fall.

Make me feel good again. Take the pain away. Please.

Nick moved like a ghost, his feet barely gliding over the carpet. He bent and lifted her into his arms, tugging her on his lap as he fell back into one of the club chairs. With one tug the condom was in place and he was thrusting up blindly, looking for her in what felt like too much dark space. His sweat trickled into his eyes, burning, blurring, as he tried to adjust her thighs over him. To get her open enough to accept him.

One stroke and he was inside her. She didn’t cry out like she had when Gray’s fingers had pierced her. She just rocked with him, her arms banding around his shoulders, seeking her comfort from the endless siege of his body into hers. Erasing what had come before.

Nick brushed kisses over her mouth, cheek, neck. His gaze drifted, zeroing in on the man who wouldn’t look at them.

Gray fisted the cushion at his side, the only sign he gave that he was even awake. He couldn’t look, but he could hear. And he knew who held Jazz now.

Nick’s chest seized up, everything locking. His arms and legs. His spine. His mind. Trying to reject what was happening. It was sex. Just sex. He wouldn’t let it be more.

Nick grappled to steady her hips, but they were wet and he knew why. Didn’t much matter, since his palms were wet too. It was all a sticky mess, and the two of them were hurtling through it, sending the chair flying back against the wall, squeaking its old springs. He could barely hold on to her. She was racing too fast, slipping away. He’d barely gotten his hands on her and she was already shooting past him, her target clear.

She arched, her braids tumbling over her creamy shoulders, her face contorted with bliss. He burrowed deeper, but it wasn’t deep enough. He couldn’t get there, couldn’t find the spot he was looking for. The one that would make her his, even if only for this minute. He was used to sharing everything. His place, his band. Hell, he’d even shared his mother’s goddamn womb.

For one fucking minute, he wanted something to call only his. Someone. Her.

But then she was coming, her body exploding around his, her wild shudders dragging him along. She moaned and his instant of satisfaction shattered at the single word she gasped into his ear.

“Gray.”