Reckless by Priscilla West
"Is that what you think of me?" I said with a laugh. "I live in a tiny place I can barely afford. For a steel loft, I’d need to either make partner or rob a bank."
"Well, if you need to study bank robbery, I’ve got that covered, too." He pointed to the living room’s coffee table.
On it was a stack of DVDs, all action classics: Die Hard, Rambo: First Blood, Reservoir Dogs . . . and right on top, in a place where I’d be sure to see it, Kill Bill.
I smiled at Jax. "My favorite. You remembered that as well."
"I did."
I thought about how he’d been sweet earlier by asking me to play cowbell during the show’s encore even when I didn’t want to at first. I ended up having a blast with the entire band. "Want to watch it with the band?" I asked.
"Yeah," he said. He looked down at the floor momentarily. "We can. Whenever you want. But don’t you want a tour of the room, first? You’ve barely looked around."
He was right—I did barely look around. As excited as I was about the suite, it also made me worried. I didn’t want to tell him the reason—every time I saw another room, I felt a little more sick at how much the room must be putting The Hitchcocks over budget. I’d worked hard to keep the band’s budget tight, and I knew every line item. There wasn’t one for a fantasy suite party. I hoped Palmer didn’t get wind of it. Goodbye, bonus. Hello, help wanted ads.
"What’s behind the windows?" I asked, trying to shake the feeling of impending doom. I knew it was probably far too late to get a refund, and since we were already here, I might as well enjoy what the suite had to offer. I hoped that whatever party Jax had planned, it was worth it.
Jax picked up a small, black remote control. "A view," he said. "But let’s wait until we’re on our way upstairs—the view’s better from up there."
"Upstairs?"
Jax turned his head and gestured with his chin, and my eyes followed to see.
Oh my god.
"A glass elevator?" I said, startled. "But Jax, that’s not where we came in." I walked closer to the elevator. It seemed impossible, but there it was, extending up to the floor above—an elevator inside the hotel room. It would have made me giddy, if I hadn’t already been so worried about the band’s budget.
"I know," he replied. "Maybe you should get in."
I pressed a button, and the elevator doors opened. The two of us stepped into the glass-walled enclosure, and I saw two buttons marked "1" and "2." Biting my lip, I pressed the "2," and watched as the doors closed around us.
Jax, waiting at the back of the elevator, had a remote in his hand. "Want to press the button?" he asked. I was confused, but pressed it anyway.
As soon as I did, the window curtains began to part, revealing a view of The Strip that made it clear we were high above most of the other hotels in town. I gasped. "Jax, it’s . . ."
"Wait for it," he said, his voice barely containing his excitement.
As the curtains pulled back further, I saw it: a giant T-shaped swimming pool, just off the living room area, that projected out beyond the edge of the hotel and over the street outside.
My eyes opened wide, and I felt my hand tightening its grip against the elevator railing as the doors slid open to the second level.
"Holy fuck," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. A two-story suite with a private pool? I didn’t even want to estimate the cost. It made me almost sick to think about, and Jax’s eager face made me feel incredibly guilty. He’d wanted to show me the rock star lifestyle, but all I could think about was cold hard cash.
He stepped off the elevator, and I followed behind, feeling anxiety churn my stomach. "You can let the running tally go," he said. "I can hear the cash register going off in your head every time you see a new room."
I grimaced. Had I been making myself that obvious? "You’d just better not tell me that all the money I cut from the budget is being spent here."
"What, on this suite? No," he said, walking over toward one of the walls. "Come over here, check these pictures out."
I picked up my pace to catch up with him, but not before catching a glimpse of another bedroom and a full dance floor. This place was more insane than my friend, Kristen’s place—and her husband was a billionaire.
Then, looking at the wall, I saw the pictures. Photographs of politicians, musicians, and actors, from Kanye to Clinton, speckled the wall. All of them were posing in the hotel room where we were standing—even Hugh Hefner was in on the action, standing in front of the incredible pool.
My eyes traced over the A-list icons in the photos. "You’re telling me this room, with all these celebrity guests, isn’t going to put us over budget?"
"The room’s free for main stage performers," Jax explained. "Welcome to the big leagues, they said. I wanted to show it to you. I thought you might like it."
Free. I exhaled in relief—that meant I could start enjoying the amenities, instead of trying to figure out what they’d cost.
"You thought right," I reassured Jax, happy that it was the truth. ". . . Hey, I’ve got an idea. Let’s get a photo of the Hitchcocks later. We can give it to the hotel so they can add it to their collection."
"Yeah, imagine a photo with Sky right about there," he said, pointing to an empty spot on the wall next to Miley Cyrus' portrait, "Just so she could flip off Miley."
I giggled. "Yeah, and right here, Chewie would—"
BZZZ! The doorbell to the room cut me off before I could finish my sentence.
"We’d better get that," Jax said, walking toward the elevator.
"Is it the rest of the band?" I asked as we got back in. "Or the party guests?"
A hint of a smile played on his face. "Let’s go downstairs and find out."
When he opened the door, I expected to see Chewie, Sky, and Kev bounding in. Instead, a veritable army of room service waiters pushed a procession of carts through the entrance hallway and into the living area. There were enough covered dishes on their trays to cater a small banquet.
"Where shall we serve the food?" One of the waiters asked, his voice soft and melodious, with an understated French accent.
"That won’t be necessary," Jax said, hastily, then dug into his pocket and stuck a green wad of bills into the waiter’s hand. "I can serve it myself."
"Yes, monsieur," the waiter said, giving a small, deferential bow before leaving along with the rest of the room service staff.
Once the last white uniform was gone from the suite, Jax spread his arms out toward the room service carts. "Pick anything you like," he said.
I took a quick look under a couple of plates: one had a sushi roll, beautifully plated. The next was covered in a thick slab of chocolate cake. It didn’t look like party food—but it did look delicious, especially since I’d barely eaten all day because I’d been worried about Jax avoiding me. Add in the intense cowbell-playing, and I was practically dying for a bite.
"There’s enough to feed an army here," I said, puzzled, as I set the covers back down. "Why all the food? Are the roadies coming to the party, too?"
"Well, I figured we didn’t have to eat like we were on the road," Jax called back to me as he walked to the bar. "You’ve been eating like a bird on the tour bus," he continued, changing the subject. "Maybe now you can find something you’ll enjoy."
I blushed, embarrassed. "I eat," I said quickly. "It’s just, when I’m stressed and working, sometimes I forget. And sometimes I’m not hungry. But it’s sweet of you to notice."
"Mmhmm. But tonight, you’re not working. So relax." He started looking over the bar. This time, I couldn’t tell what he was making. Judging by the strangely shaped bottles he was picking—and the blender he got out from beneath the bar—I could tell it wasn’t his usual Godfather. He looked back up from the bottles to where I was standing. "Go ahead, pick something good."
I lifted the lids one by one. The first covered dish held a thick burger, while the one next to it had scallops. There was a lot of food, but none of it was as exciting as th
Jax was busy adding ingredients to the blender. "What’s that?" I asked as I popped a grape into my mouth, watching the liquids blend together.
He poured syrupy, light amber liquid from the blender into two champagne flutes. "It’s your drink," he said, then popped a cork on a bottle of sparkling wine and topped each glass with its bubbly contents. "I call it . . . The Riley."
He invented a cocktail for me? "Well, it’s a good name. What’s in it?"
"Plum puree, champagne . . . and black pepper vodka," he said. "Like I said, it’s your drink."
I eyed the amber liquid curiously. The drink, the private tour, none of it made sense. Why was he acting so nice? And how could he be so sure I’d like the drink he’d made? With the pepper and dry champagne, it looked nothing like the usual, cloyingly sweet cocktails most guys assumed girls preferred.
It was also something I might have ordered if I’d seen it on a menu—and he’d made it after knowing me for only a little while. But how had he guessed my favorite fruit?
"I get the pepper," I replied, "And the champagne, for the hot tub. But what about the plum?"
"Did you forget that night I gave you the back massage? You were eating a plum then."
I felt my cheeks getting hot. "Oh, right. I’d almost forgotten."
His eyes crinkled as he handed the drink across the bar and lifted his own glass. "To Vegas," he said, his scarred eyebrow arched as if the toast were a question.
"To Vegas," I said, lifting my glass and clinking it to his.
Unsure what to expect from the flavor combination, I sipped the drink tentatively. As soon as it hit my tastebuds, I realized Jax was an even better bartender than I’d given him credit for. The sparkling bubbles hit first, followed by a peppery, fruity burst of flavor that felt edgy and dark, but still refreshing.
It was incredible—a drink I’d have expected to pay way too much for at a bar. I sipped smoothly. "Mmhmm," I said, underplaying how much I liked it. "It’s interesting."
Setting the drink down, I reached for the plate of fruit. Jax grabbed the plate and took it away.
"Hey, I wasn’t finished!" I cried.
He looked at me skeptically. "You were going to eat melon and grapes with that drink?"
"Is that a crime?"
Walking to the food carts with the half-eaten fruit plate, he called back to me. "Not exactly. But I think you could do better. Let me try."
"What do you mean, do better?"
He lifted covers from dishes, one at a time, but shook his head or gave a half-frown to each one. "No, not quite . . ." he muttered at the carts, then raised his head and looked at me. "Don’t you think it’s better to find food that goes together with your drink?"
Shaking my head, I smiled at him. "I’m not even sure what that’s supposed to mean," I said. "I’ve had wine pairings before, but it’s not magical. It’s just the food and the drink. They taste how they taste."
Jax’s eye lingered a while on one of the dishes, and he set it off to one side of a cart. "Maybe you just haven’t had the right pairing," he said, continuing his search through the feast. "When it’s right, what you’re eating and what you’re drinking don’t just taste how they taste—they taste better. It’s like melody and harmony."
After looking at the last cart, he stacked three of the covered dishes in his arms and brought them to the bar, setting them side by side.
"What did you bring?" I asked.
Jax walked back to the cart and came back with a napkin and fork.
"Only good things," he said, setting the fork next to me from behind.
I reached for one of the dishes and started to lift the cover, but Jax’s hand stretched over mine and pressed it back down. "No," he said, then softened his voice. "Relax. You’re going to let me serve you—and no peeking at the dishes, unless you want the blindfold back on. Understand?"
"Okay . . ." I said, unsure what to think, especially after he’d mentioned the blindfold again. A hint of nervous anticipation crept into my voice as I took my hand off the dish. He tied a napkin around my neck, and the sudden brush of his fingers against my skin made my heart race.
A half-smile played on Jax’s face. "Drink," he insisted, "and then try this first."
He moved the leftmost dish to my place and uncovered it. Three pieces of creamy looking cheese and a few almonds were on the plate.
After a sip of the drink he’d made for me, I took a small piece of cheese and an almond and put them in my mouth together. The cheese had a mild, sweet flavor, with a hint of something that almost tasted like maple, while the almonds gave it a smoky crunch.
"Mm," I said, my mouth still half-full. "That’s good. Really tasty."
He eyed me as I finished the bite of cheese, nodding as I swallowed. "But not as good as this." He replaced the cheese plate with another dish.
Beneath the cover, I saw something I couldn’t figure out. Four wrinkly, thick shell things surrounded some kind of meat. My nose wrinkled slightly, and I sipped at my drink to hide my reaction. "Jax, is this brains, or something?"
He gave me a devilish look. "No. And don’t tell me you’re not brave enough to try it."
I stabbed my fork into one of the wrinkled shells. "Watch me," I said with a laugh, and took a bite.
The bite exploded into my mouth, intensely flavored. The shells themselves were toothsome and rich, with a hint of garlic, while the meat filling them was smooth and almost buttery. "Wow," I said, grabbing another bite. "This one’s even better."
"I’m just glad I could get you eating. It’s morel mushrooms stuffed with foie gras."
"It’s incredible," I said as I picked up another forkful. "By the way, how do you know all of this about food?"
He smiled and shrugged. "Comes with being a rock star."
I swallowed my delicious bite, a little confused by his answer but too focused on the food to care. "Whatever you have under that last cover, save it for Chewie, Sky or Kev. It couldn’t possibly be better than this."
"You have to at least try it. I saved the best for last."
"Fine, then," I agreed. "One bite."
The dish in the center was a little larger than the others, and when he took the cover off, I smelled something, an earthy scent that reminded me somehow of Jax. I saw a sliced duck breast spread into a fan shape, its crackling skin crusted with pepper. A richly-colored sauce—red wine of some sort, I assumed—was drizzled over the top.
"Oh wow," I breathed. "That’s almost too beautiful to eat."
"You’ll have to tell me if it tastes as good as it looks," he said. "But drink first."
I set my fork down and nursed the fruity, peppery drink, closing my eyes to enjoy the bubbles on my tongue. When I finished a few sips, I realized that Jax had picked up my fork and was cutting a piece of the duck breast.
"Did you want some?" I asked.
"This is for you," he said, lifting the fork to my mouth. "Open."
I opened my mouth slightly, and felt the fork gently push past my lips. I bit down, and the fork slid back away, leaving the crisp duck skin and juicy meat on my tongue. The earthy smell was stronger, now, and I tasted it in the dish, something unfathomably deep and complex, dark and pungent. The sauce, sweet and savory in equal parts, kept the earthy taste from dominating.
"Duck with peppercorns, port reduction, and black truffles," Jax said, before I even had to ask.
The truffles must have smelled like him, I realized.
The pepperiness of the duck was echoed in my drink, and I realized I wanted another sip. When I took one, I saw for the first time what Jax meant. The drink and the food both tasted better together than they would have on their own. They almost sparked off each other, bringing new flavor combinations into my mouth that shifted and changed, but never clashed.
I took another bite of the
Jax’s eyebrow cocked higher. "Sounds like you want more than dessert."
I blushed and took the napkin away from my neck. I didn’t have time for an innuendo war with Jax—I knew where those led, and the last thing I wanted was for the band to see the two of us lip-locked. And come to think of it why wasn’t Jax concerned they’d see him serving me?
"Uh, so when’s everyone getting here, anyway? The food’s getting cold."
Jax finished making his own Riley and sipped it for the first time. He gave a half-smile, as if to say not bad. "The rest of the band’s probably gambling or hanging out in their own free suites. They weren’t invited anyway."
"Huh? Then who’d you invite?" The room suddenly felt a whole lot warmer, and I took a large swig of plum and champagne.
One of his eyebrows flicked upward, and a smile spread over his face.
"Just you, Riley."
Chapter Sixteen
DESSERT
My hand flew to my mouth, and I almost spat the drink all over the bar.
Taking a hard swallow, I set the glass down and narrowed my eyes at Jax. "You must think I’m really naive, if you thought I’d fall for this."
"Fall for what?" He had the nerve to laugh.
"The cowbell. The blindfold. The food, the drink . . ." I tallied them up on my fingers, my voice rising. "The whole thing was a setup. You didn’t want to show me the rock star lifestyle, you just wanted to get in my pants!"
Jax’s smile faded, and his eyes lost some of their luster. "Hold on," he said, reaching out to touch my arm. "I didn’t realize you were being serious. Yes, I planned tonight."
I brushed his hand away and glared at him coldly. "At least you admit it."
"And yes," he added, giving my body a head-to-toe stare that made me feel suddenly naked, "I’d be happy to spend tonight fucking you. But this isn’t a game like you’re thinking. It’s not a conquest."
I crossed my arms over my chest. "It sure looks a lot like one from here."
His mouth twisted, and he squeezed both my shoulders. "Dammit, Riley," he said. "I’m doing this because I like you. Because I care about you."