I can’t stop thinking about her.

I’m jerking off at least three times a day, hoping the release will keep me from bothering her again too soon.

I’m going out of my mind with torture, wanting to see her again, but I distract myself with songs, like the one I wrote this weekend. One that’s not total crap either.

Maybe it’s crazy, but Elena is my new muse.

I haven’t texted her.

Besides being busy composing this weekend, I wanted her to have that “professional space” she claimed to need. But make no mistake, I haven’t stopped thinking about Shortcake. Her kickass body, the smell of her sweet skin, how fucking wet she gets—proof positive that she wants me—and damn, could that girl get wet. Felt good sliding my fingers into her. Took everything in me not to fuck her right then and there. I had to leave.

At work all morning, I only hear half the shit Rick says. I’m in my own world. But then, when Dorian announces that Elena’s arrived, I’m on high alert.

Elena is gorgeous, but it’s more than that. It’s the way I’m drawn to her. Her goodness. Her sweetness. Her dedication to her beliefs. She’s un-fucking-real. Kissing her Friday, I could tell she might’ve had some experience but never done anything in public before, which triggered my desire to show her more, protect her from anyone else who might want to get to her first. If she’s into it, I have so many things I can show her, but I’ve never found that right girl who loves what I love.

“Elena Wallace to see you, Mr. Owens,” Dorian chimes at the studio door.

“Let her in, please.” I’m going over lyrics I wrote for the new song over the weekend, something we might be able to spin into a ballad, when Elena walks in looking for a place to set down her purse.

Wearing a pale yellow sundress and sandals, her long hair over her shoulders in soft waves, she looks proud, professional, and I can see she’s going to be a tough nut to crack.

“Well, look at you, ray of sunshine.” I smile my practiced smile for photo ops, but it doesn’t work.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Owens.” She wrings her hands. “Ready to do whatever you need from me. I mean, sing whatever you need me to sing.”

Maybe it’s that compartmentalization thing she’s doing, where now it’s time to be professional, but she don’t look too happy. Did she think I was using her Friday? ‘Cause nothing could be further from the truth. I mean, I’m the one who gave her a huge orgasm and went home without one. I only wanted to make her feel good, see her pretty face twist in pleasure.

Which it did rather nicely, as a matter of fact.

Elena messes with her hair and takes deep breaths.

“You alright?” I ask, studying her face.

“Ugh. No.” For a moment, I think she’s gonna cry. “No, Mr. Owens, I’m not.”

I raise an eyebrow. “It’s Jayce.” I close the door behind her, so no one will overhear, then face her again. “Listen, Friday was amazing, and we can talk about it if you want, but I know we’re here to work now,” I say, trying to comply with her separation of work and private life. “We had a deal.”

“Yes,” she sighs, “and according to our deal, kissing you did affect me, but that doesn’t mean I can see you anymore, Jayce. Not, like, socially. I have to stay on track.”

“We can do both,” I say firmly, but for some reason, I feel a panic flow through me, which is completely unfamiliar. I know I could go back to dating whomever the fuck I want, but I want to see Elena again. And again.

She glances around the room, gathering words in her mind, as if thinking about what new thing to be pissed about. “That was some exit,” she says, swallowing audibly. “I bet you felt real proud of yourself for leaving me hanging that way.”

So, that is the issue. Alright, I can handle it. “One, I didn’t leave you hanging. I finished the job.” I wink. A blush creeps up her face. “And two, I did feel proud, now that you mention it.” I edge closer to her, watching her sink back against the wall containing the studio’s multi-platinum records. “I felt damn proud that you let a man like me please you that way.”

Her deep green eyes scan mine. “What do you mean ‘a man like you?’”

I ain’t going there. She don’t need to know where I came from, what my family’s like, or anything about my past. “I don’t mean anything by it. Just I want to see you again. Outside of here. Tonight.”

“I can’t,” she says matter-of-factly.

“Why not?”

“Because.” She looks around, as if the real excuse might be hiding in the same room with us. “Because I made a promise to myself.”

“To make it in this business on your own. Yes, I know.” I echo her thoughts from the other night. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t see each other.” I reach for her hand. She lets me take it, and I feel her fingers trembling. “We can sing together during the day and fuck each other at night. One has nothing to do with the other. Besides, there are things I want to show you.” My cock twitches thinking about all the things I want to do to her lush body. “I want to find out more about you.”

“Don’t say that.”

“What? Fuck each other?”

“Don’t say you want to get to know me. Put it out of your mind, Jayce. I’m a woman who wants to get started on the right track, so I can make it in the music business. That’s all I am.”

“So, let me get this straight—you’re offended by my saying I want to get to know you more but not that I want to fuck you?” I check off an invisible list. “Got it. That works for me too, though I’m disappointed.” Reaching out, I chance it and brush her loose waves behind her ear.

She shudders at my touch, a real crappy attempt at pushing me away. I know she feels attracted to me, regardless of what she says. “Jayce…”

A long moment evaporates until it’s clear she just wants to get things moving, and I’m no one to stop her. She played my game. It’s only fair I give her what she came for. “Alright, alright…” I let go of her hand. “Let’s keep moving then.” But I’ll get to her later. Somehow, I will.

For several hours, we practice the stanzas, chorus, and harmonies. Her voice synchs perfectly with mine. Just the right blend of tenor and female alto. We make a kickass team, made all the more sexy by our chemistry, if only she would allow herself. This morning, though, Rick mentioned he wasn’t sure we needed the duet on the album, the one I was going to start working on with Shortcake. He said the solo ballad, “Rockin’ You Girl,” should be enough.

I don’t agree. We need a duet with Elena Wallace. Plus, if I scratch the duet like he wants, then there’s no need for Elena to come back to the studio, and I’m not ready for that. I want to keep seeing her. Need to keep seeing her. And if she wants nothing to do with me and only wants to sing, then I’d come into work every day just to hear her. She’s that good.

I’ll take it over nothing. Though I much prefer to see her naked, suck on her beautiful tits, watch her facial expressions change as I slide into her, bear witness to those emerald eyes rolling back, all because of me. It might sound like I’m using my status and Bluebird Studios to fall on her good graces, but see—without my music and the studio, I’m nothin’.

And the last thing a good woman like Elena Wallace needs in her life is a poorboy, drunken-daddy nothin’.

* * *

The week goes like this: We record all morning and afternoon, then at night, I stay behind and work with Elena on our song. Sometimes, Rick and the others are still there, and they listen to what we’ve put together so far, but Rick doesn’t seem too convinced.

Sometimes, Elena looks like she wants to say something, but she reels herself back.

“What if we use another song?” I ask at the end of the week. “If this one’s not working for you, she and I can go back to the drawing board and come up with something else. Point is, I want her voice on a track.”

Elena perks up at my words, as though I said it just to be nice, but it’s true. I want to collaborate on something with her, even if this isn’t the right track.

“What about that song you were working on two weeks ago? Can we change the orchestration of it a bit?” Rick asks, getting agitated. The more agitated he gets, the worse I get, and the last thing I want to do is throw headphones again, especially in front of Elena.

Which song? I think he’s talking about the one I wrote last week. I’d put it so far out of my mind, I couldn’t even remember it. “The night never seemed so endless, so lonely without you here, the beer’s gone warm, you’re still not home, and I ain’t nowhere near…done loving you.” I croon it out loud, so everyone can hear how terrible it sounds and how sucky it is for the album.

“It’s not that bad,” Rick says. “There’s potential there.”

“It sucks, Rick.” But it’s a mid-tempo ballad that might sound great with a female vocalist. It builds nicely and might find its identity when two voices harmonize at that key point.

“Why don’t we try it together?” Elena says, sitting on her stool in the corner, quietly shying away from the conversation. My intention was to make it sound shitty, not to make her want to try it, but I can play her game.

“I suppose we could do that

“Alright then, kiddos,” Rick says, tapping the control panel. “Get to work.”

I stand and stretch, strutting past Elena on the way out. I don’t love the thought of working on this song, but if it’ll keep me working with Elena a while longer, I’m all for it. “You heard the man,” I tell her, tugging her out of her stool. “Let’s get to it.”

She blushes, because she’s just damn cute anytime I make a sexual innuendo, and I lead her into one of the practice rooms. I don’t let go of her tiny hand until we get there, and then reluctantly, I let it go.

We review the lyrics to the song, then split the lines, then work on harmonies.

And I’ll be damned if it don’t sound amazing. She was right—we had nothing to lose by trying it out. What sounded like shit weeks ago now sounds like it should’ve all along. Not perfect, but it’s better than nothing, and besides that, the lyrics now stir up emotions I hadn’t felt in a long time.

I never cry, and I’m not about to start now, but hearing Elena’s angelic voice sing about how lonely she is makes emotion well in my chest. Makes me want to take her face in my hands and kiss her like I kissed her on Friday.

When she sees me staring at her and notices that everyone has left for the night, she stands and gathers her things. “I better go.”

“Let’s go somewhere for a beer.”

“Thanks, Jayce, but I have to get to work early.” Again, she refuses me when her eyes say otherwise. Her bitten lip and pained, conflicted expression say even more. Everything tells me she would if she could, but she’s holding onto that pride.

“It’s only nine, Shortcake. Stay a little longer,” I say. “Stay ‘til we beat this horse into workable shape.” Anything, as long as she stays. If my words don’t convince her, maybe my eyes will, maybe my kiss.

But, keys in hand, she’s already at the door to the hallway. Damn, I want those lips, that body slammin’ against my face. I want to watch her go over the edge again. I’d do anything to have it, and her not letting me in is driving me crazy.

Fuck it, I’ll kiss her then. She’ll come apart like she did at the club. Walking over to her, I can see she’s nervous, but she does nothing to stop me. She glances into the control room to confirm that nobody’s here.

“You’re scared of your own feelings,” I tell her.

“How is that a bad thing?”

“Because you’ll never know what you want. Just answer me one question.” I reach the spot where she stands and tilt up her pretty chin. She pulls away. It’s the closest I’ve been to her in days. Her breathing overwhelms her, as she fights to control it. “Did you enjoy it?”

“Enjoy what?”

“You know what.” Her eyes make me hard, her strawberry blond hair makes me hard, her fucking eyelashes make me hard. Thinking about her mouth open into an O makes me harder. Remembering her silky wet pussy clench around my fingers makes me forget all formalities, want to flip her around, and pound her against the wall. “What I did to you. Tell me, did you enjoy it?”

Her nostrils flare, always that fight to control, control, control. “I suppose so.”

“You suppose so? Tell me the truth, Elena.” She’s lying and I fucking know it.

“I don’t suppose one can…you know…without feeling good.”

I smile. Come. One can’t come without feeling good. Well, she’s right about that, and I intend to make it happen again. I promise myself I won’t even get my own until I know for sure that she wants more, until she begs for it. That’ll be my prize—when she demands more. Until then, it’ll be all about her.

“And don’t you want to feel good again?” My lips graze her ear, as tiny goose bumps erupt over her arm. I take the fleshy lobe her stud earrings are on between my lips and slide my tongue softly underneath.

“Why…why do you do this to me?” Her voice is a faint whisper.

“Because you want me. It’s all over your face. It’s in your eyes. I even hear it in your voice, Elena. You think I can’t tell when a woman needs a good fucking?” At that, she sucks in a raw breath and closes her eyes. “Stop resisting, just give yourself to me. You won’t regret it. You can still have your career on your own terms. I won’t interfere. Just let me touch you again. Let me make you feel good.”

Her body slides down the wall, her legs giving out beneath her. “Jayce, you’re making this difficult. I do want this, but—”

“You’re the one making it difficult, Elena. By being so strict with yourself. Sex isn’t under your control anyway. It’s giving into what your body wants, it’s giving up control, and I see what you want every day you’re near me. I hear what your body’s saying. It’s in our vocals too. Don’t you hear it? The way our voices bend around each other?” I chuckle a low laugh. “And that’s just our voices.”

“Yes, I did.” Her hands slide into my hair, tentatively, and she brings my face to hers, but there’s no kiss. It’s like she’s trying to read my intentions in my eyes and face. “I just hate the fact that I’m attracted to you, Jayce. I can’t expect you to understand this feeling.”

There’s a sound out in the hallway, all of a sudden, and she jumps up, straightening her top and hair. “Someone’s here.”

“Wait here, don’t move.” I step out into the hallway, following the sound of rustling plastic, which leads me to the storage room at the end of the hall. There’s a forty-something woman in jeans and T-shirt, holding a garbage bag in one hand, and a bottle of cleaning spray in the other. “Oh,” I say. “I didn’t know anybody was here.”

Her eyes widen when she sees it’s me. “I didn’t either. I’m so sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. Evenin’.” I smile and tip my hat at her. Damn. So Elena and I aren’t alone anymore or maybe never were, but that don’t mean we still can’t pick up where we left off. We can always move into one of the back rooms or leave to her place. Hell, maybe even to mine. The fact that I’d be okay with that surprises me. I don’t let women into my house, ever.

“Mr. Owens?” the cleaning woman asks. “My daughter’s a big fan. You wouldn’t mind signing an autograph for me, now, would you?”

Elena’s body is on fire in the other room, and I can’t wait to get back to it, but I can’t turn this woman down. She asked for the autograph so nicely, and it’s about the fans. It always has been. Without them, I wouldn’t be here. Without that little girl singin’ my songs, I’d still be living in Johnson City fightin’ with my dad and beggin’ my mama to stop cryin’.

“Sure.” I force a smile and keep watch on both the woman searching for paper and pen in her cleaning cart and the end of the hallway for Elena.

Come on, come on…

Finally, the lady hands me a rough paper towel and a Sharpie. “Sorry, it’s all I can find.”

“No worries.” I sign my scratchy signature with the big O for Owens at the end and hand her back the paper. “Tell your daughter I say hello.”

“I sure will.” She beams. “Thank you so much.”

“My pleasure, ma’am.” Whipping around, Plan B launches from my mind. Take Elena somewhere else. Anywhere. As long as I get to hear the sweet sounds of her coming one more time. But when I get back to the rehearsal room, she’s gone.

“Fuck.” I pound the wall and look around, searching for her in other rooms.

My phone rings, and I whip it out of my pocket.

But it’s not Elena. It’s my brother, Ethan.

“You know better than to call me. Text first, then I’ll call you when I can,” I bark.

“Like I give a shit,” Ethan deadpans. The boy’s still pissed because I’m the one who got discovered four years ago at Bluegrass Café, the honkey-tonk we used to play at together—him on guitar, me on vocals. “Dad told me to call you.”

“Tell Dad he can suck my big, fat—”

“Listen, hothead,” he cuts me off. “The last check you sent him is gone. Mom’s bitching has been stressing him all night.”

My fingers curl into a fist. “First of all, Mom doesn’t bitch. Second, she’s concerned, because Dad gambles and drinks my money away. Last I checked, those were good reasons to be worried.” Why the fuck doesn’t my mom just leave my dad already? I should send her—and only her—the money secretly. “So, tell him to pay a goddamned bill on time for once, and maybe I’ll send more money.”

Shit. First, Elena disappears. Then, my brother has to go and remind me of the low class fool who fathered me. As though I haven’t spent the last four years trying to forget.

“I’ll call you when I can,” I say and hang up the phone.

I search the rest of the studio, but Elena is gone.

What is it about her that makes me so crazy? Is it because she keeps denying me, or something more? For four years, I’ve seen women come and go, and if they go, that’s perfectly fine. Better for me. But this is the first time in years I’ve been obsessed with a woman so much I can taste her even when she’s not around.

I feel the need to possess her, make her my own.

And I’m not going to stop until it happens.