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Is theirs a match made in heaven...or hell?
Nick Channing, drummer for Fully Automatic, has never taken sex seriously. He’s had fun and met dozens of women—mostly one-night stands—and he prefers it that way. From his parents to his friends, he’s witnessed love and relationships firsthand and believes women are nothing but a headache.
Nick, Brad, and Val team up again to launch her new band Val Hella. There’s one problem, though: they still need a bassist. They audition dozens of women, trying to find the perfect one and settle on Sabrina, known onstage simply as Sinna, a bad ass metal head who’s perfect for the band: pierced, tattooed, dressed in black from head to toe, and she handles her bass with precision. She is a force to be reckoned with and Nick is smitten.
When Nick gets her alone the first time to lay on the charm, he’s met with a coolness he’s never experienced. Sabrina is mysterious and thoroughly unimpressed with Nick and his behavior, and that’s when he decides he has to have her. As he falls headlong for her, he discovers her secrets, one dark shadow at a time. He thinks she loves him back, but he can’t be sure. By the time he’s completely down the rabbit hole, his heart’s so entangled, he fears he might not be able to save himself. Can she save him or will she wreck him for all time?
“What tricks you got, babycakes?”
Brina’s voice was low, almost derisive. “I don’t need tricks. My playing speaks for itself.”
He couldn’t let that one go. “Yeah, and how many personal fans do you have, Sinna?”
She sneered—actually sneered—and, for some strange reason, Nick felt a twitch in his cock at the sight. He stopped himself from bursting into laughter, because that would have made her angrier. While he didn’t mind her angry, he hoped to be able to enjoy a real conversation. She took two steps closer to him and said, “I don’t count how many personal fans I have, if I even have any. It’s not about me, Nick, any more than it’s about you.” Her voice wrapped around his name like honey, but it oozed disgust. He still wasn’t sure if he found it hot or not. She continued, not giving him a chance to evaluate his emotions. “It’s about us as a group, as a band, and until we gel, there will be division, and if we’re not cohesive, what the hell kind of music are we gonna make?”
“I see your point, but I have a counterpoint. If you are all about the band and don’t give a shit about yourself, then where’s your pride? Your personal responsibility?” He stood up. He’d been joking before, but now he was dead serious. Some small part of himself felt like she might be questioning his integrity, and that pissed him off. “When you fuck up onstage—and you will—will you blame all of us? We’re a band, after all.” He couldn’t help the tone in his voice. There would be no way for her to mistake how irritated he was becoming. It had been cute before, but now she was pushing some button that set him off. He wasn’t sure if he was angrier with her for pissing him off or himself for getting mad at her in the first place.
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, Nick. You know that’s not what I meant.” She got closer to him.
He closed the gap, so close that their noses almost touched. “How the fuck should I know that?” His eyes searched hers, trying to decide if she was wanting to start a war. But then, as he continued looking back and forth between those blue orbs, he saw them soften ever so slightly. He let his jaw relax a little then, but he still couldn’t quite read her.
Her words, however, were still acerbic. “Because you’re a smart fucking guy.” She cocked an eyebrow again. He couldn’t decide if he fucking loved the way she did that or if it was just another irritant. “Or so I thought.”
Nick tried once more to assess her and fell short. He could feel some kind of weird electricity sparking between them. At first, he’d thought it was the anger, but then he realized that maybe there was something more. He moved his head a few centimeters closer and she didn’t budge. His voice was barely a whisper when he said, “I am a smart fucking guy. I’m so goddamned smart that I figured out what this is all about.”
She furrowed her previously cocked brow, but he barely saw it as he brought his mouth down on hers. He knew that had to be the issue at hand—the sexual attraction between them both was interfering with their ability to communicate. It was making them angry, accusatory, and they weren’t acting like bandmates or even acquaintances. They were spitting at each other like they were mortal enemies. That might have been okay, but Nick definitely had other ideas about which way their relationship was heading.
He heard her mumble, “What the—?” Then he expected her to fight, based on her initial stance, but she let go and gave in, kissing him back.
It was an incredible explosion in his head, the sparks he felt because of the way their tongues danced together and the warmth of her body close to his. Feeling more in control then, he slid his hands around her waist and pulled her close…
For years, Jade C. Jamison tried really hard to write what she thought was more “literary” fiction, but she found herself compelled to write what you read by her today—sometimes gritty, raw, realistic stories and other times humorous, light tales—but most of the stories she writes revolve around relationships and characters finding their way through life. While she doesn’t confine herself to just one genre, nor is there a nice neat label for what she writes, most of her work could be called erotic romance.
She lives in Colorado with her husband and four children.