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The cords of her long, graceful neck pulled taut as she inhaled a sliver of air. Now it was desire that flared in her eyes. Completely unmistakable—and scorching hot.
Jax gloated inwardly.
The lady-butler trying so industriously to be the paragon of professionalism was most definitely not immune to him.
And likely none too happy about it. She tore her gaze away, whirled around, and marched off.
Ah . . . an unanticipated turn of events.
An exciting one at that.
Though, quite possibly, also a dangerous one.
Jax’s jaw set.
Were he still in Europe and Lex in New York, he wouldn’t hesitate to stake a claim on Lily Hart for a night or two. But something about her striking face and those hypnotic eyes gave him the niggling suspicion that he’d want to introduce her to Lex. That hadn’t happened since their touring days. And could prove—had proved long ago—devastating.
To them both.
The women Jax had made love to on his own, after leaving the orchestra, had not turned his blood to magma the way Lily immediately did. Or caused an inferno within him at the sight of a delectable ass. Thank God for the overlapping of the thick towel that concealed the start of what promised to be a mammoth hard-on if he gave in to the lust suddenly blazing through his veins.
With a shake of his head, to try to rid himself of the image of Lily bent over his bed—and in his mind, she wasn’t wearing the skirt or the stockings—he tossed off the towel and dressed in a pair of loose black drawstring pants and a tank top that conformed to his rigid muscles.
He was tense again.
Because having Lily in the house with both himself and Lex could be a three-way collision of epic proportions—in a spectacular way . . . or a catastrophic one.
* * *
Lex was listening to the playback of last week’s session with Jax. The music room was elegantly appointed with plush white sofas and chairs, glass coffee and end tables, and ornate area rugs. His gleaming alabaster grand piano was centered in the middle, under an enormous chandelier on a low setting that hung from the gilded domed ceiling. The tall glass-and-wood-trimmed windows and doors were covered with white sheers that blew gently in the breeze coming off the bay.
Jax’s mansion was situated on a hill with the cove below. The crashing of waves echoed in the quiet, semicircular community of Bayfront, drifting up to the second floor. The small coastal town was located south of San Francisco and bordered the wine country of River Cross, with the Bliss Mountain Ski Resort farther in the backdrop.
A playground for the ultra-rich, Bayfront was populated with millionaires and billionaires. The development had been built over the past couple of decades. Dubbed the Hamptons of the West Coast, it was parti
cularly desirable given how close it was to the city, as well as to the sophisticatedly rustic inland getaway of River Cross, where Lex and Jax had held their first reunion in seven years.
They’d been at the local favorite restaurant and wine bar, Bristol’s—owned by famous restaurateur Christian Davila and celebrity chef Rory St. James, two of the many exclusive guests attending the New Year’s Eve bash Lex and Jax were hosting—when Jax had proposed they team up for the CD. Lex had been completely taken aback. Hadn’t even seen the suggestion coming.
He’d thought Jax had just wanted a casual get-together after all these years, now that Jax was back in the States and had purchased the mansion. Lex had been anticipating a friendly catch-up. Not a new business venture that had catapulted them both into the past and ripped the Band-Aid off all the old wounds.
But the more they’d talked, the more Lex had come to realize that they possessed the exact same vision for the new project. A brilliant idea that rose from the ashes of disaster. And Lex hadn’t been able to resist working with his best friend again.
Trouble was, those old wounds were standing in their way. While the music they were creating was incredibly good, both men wanted it to be exceptional.
No . . .
Extraordinary.
Not just for their own personal satisfaction or what was expected of them from the industry and because their fans deserved their absolute best effort.
Because it was a tribute to Katarina.
Which made every note critical.
The room was equipped with hidden digital recording systems and Lex had software on his Surface Pro for composing each tune, but his true preference was handwriting the sheet music. It felt more authentic and personal to him. More intimate. And that was what this CD was all about.
So that meant a lot of scribbling and erasing and grunting in frustration as he tried to fix what ailed the arrangement he was currently working on.
