Rocking The Storm

Jax sipped coffee and glanced at his watch, slowly becoming more and more irritated to find that not only had the reporter not arrived early, it was now just ticking past the agreed-upon time for the interview and she still wasn’t here. The only tiny consolation was that she was coming to him, to his hotel suite, so at least he hadn’t dragged himself halfway across the city to wait for her.

He loved his job, really, truly loved it with a passion that hadn’t dimmed with the passage of years, but the never-ending rounds of interviews that came with each new album release were one of the things he could live without. This time, he and Dean and the rest of the band had taken their time with the record, so almost a year had passed since they’d sat down to write the first lyrics. Only now were they giving the record to the public. Now that they were finally satisfied with it in its entirety, it was time to let it go before they spent another six months butchering it and it ended up in the vaults with all the other stuff they’d written and recorded, then never released.

There was a gentle ache across his stomach, legacy of this morning’s workout in the hotel gym, but otherwise the contentment of having pushed himself until he was a sweating mess was fading with each passing second. This could be an interesting interview, he thought, if the stupid b*tch ever showed up.

Standing from the armchair, he walked to the window, looking down on the streets below. Traffic was light so that couldn’t be her excuse, though part of his brain noted that the traffic was too light, too sparse for this time of day in the city. He returned to the table, pouring more coffee into his cup, then heard a gentle knock at the door of the suite.

“About f*ck*ng time,” he snarled as he set down the cup, trying to force a pleasant expression onto his face. Or at the very least, try to stop scowling petulantly, he thought, catching a glimpse of his set, angry face in the mirror in the short hallway.

The good thing about his half-assed attempt at an acting career, of course, was that he was able to force his muscles to relax, assuming a more welcoming stance as he opened the door.

“I am so sorry!” The face half-hidden under the battered denim cap was flushed with exertion, the voice almost pleading as she continued, not giving him a chance to snap at her. “Sorry, Mr. Donovan, but there’s been one hell of an accident down the street.”

“Really?” Despite his lingering anger, Jax felt a stir of interest as he looked at the long, exposed neck rising from the jacket to the back of the blue hat. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t,” she gasped. “It’s way down by…oh, it’s about ten blocks away from here. My cab’s still stuck there, I think.”

“So how did you get here?”

“I ran,” she whispered, dropping her head forward for a second, catching her breath and her composure before straightening to look him in the eyes as she held out a hand. “I’m sorry. I’m Kyra Storm. I’m here to interview you for…”

Her voice faded away as he gripped her hand firmly.

“Yeah. Another interview. I know.” He laughed. “Sorry. Come on in. If you just ran ten blocks— D’you want coffee or something cold?”

“Cold would be wonderful.”

Jax stepped away from the door, leaving Kyra to bring herself and her bag into the suite and close the door behind her. As he opened the fridge, Jax realized that his anger had completely gone, her frank and immediate apology defusing his temper almost instantly. It helped that he also believed her explanation, since it tallied with the unusually quiet traffic below, and he pulled two bottles of water from the fridge before straightening.

There was a mirror on the wall above the mini fridge and he watched her in it for a moment, the trim figure that was obviously no stranger to exercise wrapped in light gray pants and a plain black sweater with a V-neck that showed the smooth tan of her skin without revealing too much. The khaki jacket she wore was almost military in cut, and while the denim cap shouldn’t have looked right with that outfit, it somehow did look right on her.

Turning from the mirror, having taken in all those impressions of her in a split second, Jax held up the two bottles.

“Bubbles or not?”

“Oh not. Please.”

He handed her the bottle and a glass, gesturing toward the overstuffed couch that sat close to his armchair. As Kyra took her water across to the couch, Jax retrieved his coffee and moved to join her. She’d poured a glass of the icy water and took a long drink, Jax glancing away from the alluring line of her throat as she tipped back her head. He found it a little strange that he even noticed, that he felt this tiny pull of attraction to her, because his tastes had always run to long-haired women. But there was something with this one, even though all he could see of her hair was the short, dark strands disappearing under her hat at the back of her neck.

Kyra laid down the glass and shrugged out of her jacket, dropping it onto the back of the couch before reaching for her bag. Making herself comfortable, she looked at Jax.

“Do you mind if I record this, as well as taking notes?”

“Not at all.”

She flashed a smile at him as she pulled out a recorder and notepad. Jax could see carefully written questions or notes already on the pad and he wondered which way this interview was going to go—whether it would be one of the irritatingly “fluffy” ones, with in-depth questioning on important issues like his hair and teeth, or if she was going to be more interested in digging for dirt.

He had to stifle a laugh at the thought of dirt, though. If only she knew. Hell, if only the world knew. Knew that his marriage of almost a decade was over in all but name and even that would end soon enough. If the world knew that the last time he’d made love to his wife was the night their youngest daughter was conceived, almost a year ago now, and that even then it hadn’t truly been making love but more of a desperate attempt to convince themselves that they still belonged together. Other than bringing them Deana, though, it had failed miserably, and for most of Kris’s pregnancy—and since the birth some months ago—they’d been sleeping in separate beds, in separate rooms. Which was part of the reason for his toned physique these days, since he worked out most of his frustrations in the gym, and even when simple sweat wasn’t enough to take the edge off his hungry libido, he was far more likely to pleasure himself. As he’d once admitted in an interview, he was more likely to indulge in masturbation than fornication and even now he was leery of jumping into bed too easily. The only good thing about this whole mess was that he and Kris were still friends and were working through the separation quietly but amicably, and the press had—unbelievably—yet to get wind of the fact that they were divorcing.

Jax pulled his mind away from his thoughts, sipping coffee and looking across at Kyra again. She took another mouthful of water then placed the recorder on the table, flicking it on before she sat back, crossing her legs. The movement brought her feet into Jax’s view and he allowed himself a tiny smile at the black boots with the killer heels. Clearly Kyra was as observant as any decent reporter should be because she tilted her head in query at his expression.

“You ran ten blocks in those?” he asked, nodding at her boots.

“Yep. I didn’t have much choice—it was that or barefoot, and on these streets…no. I’ll stick with the boots, thanks!”

“Boots are good,” Jax said without thinking then he grinned. “I like the hat too.”

“The…?” Kyra raised her eyebrows as she looked upward, toward the denim peak above her face. “D*mn, I forgot I had that on.”

She grabbed the peak of the hat and pulled it off, startling Jax when a mane of chocolate-brown hair fell around her shoulders. While she’d been wearing the quirky hat, she’d seemed cute and elfin, the long neck swanlike, but now she looked completely different with the hair cascading around her face.

“Wow,” Jax said softly. “I didn’t expect that.”

“What? Oh. Yeah. It’s a bit rainy out there so I tucked my hair up to keep it dry.”

Jax shifted his weight, crossing his legs and trying to get comfortable. The cuteness factor had been blown away by that tumble of hair and he felt an unreasonable sudden hunger for this woman. A desire that dried his mouth and wound a slow knot into his belly. Thankfully, she seemed oblivious to his reaction to her, pulling a pen from her bag and clicking the top.

“So, Mr. Donovan,” Kyra began, glancing at the page.

“Jax.”

“Huh? Oh okay, sure. Jax.” She smiled at him again as she settled back on the couch. “I do have a few questions written down but I prefer to just see where things go. Is that okay with you?”

It took a great effort but the sight of the recorder helped Jax bite back a comment about how okay it would be for him to see and feel where things could go, and he just nodded an affirmative.

She was good, Jax had to admit, avoiding the obviously superficial questions but not probing too deeply into those areas he’d made clear in previous interviews were sacrosanct—areas like his children. Kyra did touch on his long-lived marriage but Jax was able to dance around the questions enough to maintain the secrecy of his and Kris’s current situation. Pleasantly, Kyra was more interested in the new record and the reasons behind some of the songs. Again Jax was forced to sidestep slightly around a few details, such as the fact that the first lyrics came to him while he was outside on the patio, drinking coffee and smoking as he tried to figure out what best to do, since Kris had just told him that she was pregnant again. He just explained that he’d been outside then had gone inside, through to the guest wing, to the so-called Jensen Suite to wake Dean and tell him to get his *ss out of bed because they had work to do.

Finally, Kyra ran a quick glance down her questions, as though checking that their friendly conversation had covered all the topics she’d wanted to touch on. They obviously had, as she flipped the notepad closed and smiled at Jax.

“And that’s all I have.” She reached down and flicked off the recorder. “Thank you very much for seeing me, Mr.— Jax. I wish you luck with the new album.”

“Thanks, Kyra. This is the scary part—letting go of the record. We hope it’ll do well though.”

He rose to his feet as she did the same, then he set down his coffee cup as he held out a hand to her again, her handshake firm and professional.

“Would you have dinner with me?” Jax asked suddenly, still gripping her hand.

Kyra looked at him, obviously startled by the question. “I have to get back to the office, try to put this chicken scratch into English,” she said quietly, gently pulling her hand free of his grip.

Jax hesitated then picked her jacket off the back of the couch and held it for her to put on. Kyra smiled her thanks and let Jax help her into the jacket. As he snugged it up around her neck, he closed his hands on her shoulders and leaned in close to her ear.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he breathed. “Have dinner with me? I want you. To.” The pause was unintentional and Jax hissed as he tried to cover the slip. “Sh*t. Sorry. That came out wrong.”

“Did it?” Kyra was still looking away from him, avoiding meeting his eyes.

“No,” Jax said simply.

She pulled away, scooping up her bag and hat.

“It was good to meet you,” she offered.

She headed for the door, leaving Jax standing stunned, but he recovered quickly and followed her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Kyra turned to face him, her cheeks tinged with pink, but from anger or embarrassment, he wasn’t sure.

“Nothing. I have to get back to work now.” She jammed the hat over her hair, leaving it down and loose this time.

Jax reached to touch the flowing locks but she jerked away.

“I asked you to have dinner with me,” he repeated.

“I heard you. But I’m sure your wife expects you home for dinner,” Kyra said pointedly, opening the door.

She stepped out into the hallway and walked quickly away.

“I doubt it,” Jax murmured.

He watched her walk off down the hallway then he slowly closed the door and leaned against it.

“Nice goin’, *ssh*l*,” he congratulated himself, wondering if this little scene would now make an appearance in the interview piece. Just once, he slammed his head against the door then stalked through to the bedroom, ringing down to room service for food. And wine.

It had been almost a week since his meeting with Kyra, which had ended so badly, and Jax knew the interview was due to be published today. That knowledge made him nervous to find out if she’d used his lapse of common sense against him.

If he was honest—and he always tried to be, with himself at any rate—Jax had to admit the reporter had disturbed him more than he’d ever expected. He wasn’t even sure why. Sure, she was a good-looking woman with an appealing sense of humor and a ready laugh, but he couldn’t pin down a reason why he felt this hunger for her. A tiny part of him said it was because she’d said no but he tried to drown that out and think of another reason. After all, he’d wanted her before he’d asked her to dinner so the desire had come before the refusal.

One thing he did know was that their too-brief encounter had invaded his mind more than any he’d had with any other woman in a very long time. Fleeting dreams, flashes of her face across his mind disturbed hi