He plucked an easy combination of strings that had the nerve to sound incredible. “Let me guess. This party is at the Third Shift?”

A reluctant smile tugged her lips. “Is there anywhere else in this town?”

His jaw went tight. “Is that prick going to be there?”

It took Jasmine a few beats to recall exactly which prick Sarge referred to. After all, she worked with quite a few of them. “Oh, Carmine?” She feigned nonchalance, playing with the tie of her robe. “Yes, he probably will.”

A darker, more complicated scale of chords, played without taking his gaze off her. “Are you going to invite me or do I just show up?”

Jasmine crossed her arms. “Oh, are those my two options?”

“Yeah.” He took a step toward her. “So pick one.”

Outrage stiffened her spine and released a fog of heat into her throat. It felt…phenomenal. She hadn’t been good and mad in a long time. There hadn’t been anything worth invoking her wrath. Now, though, she let the irritation trickle down into her fingertips, which curled themselves into fists. When satisfaction crossed Sarge’s handsome, stubbled face, Jasmine realized his aim had been to anger her. Why? “Is there a reason you’re pissing me off in my own kitchen?”

“Yeah.” He jerked the guitar over his head—sending his muscles dancing in mesmerizing patterns—and set the instrument down with a thunk. “I didn’t like the way you looked when I walked in here.”

Something heavy flipped over in her stomach. “It’s seven thirty in the morning. Were you expecting a flamenco dance?”

His full male laughter put a dent in her anger. “I wouldn’t turn one down.” He prowled toward the fridge and opened it, giving her an eyeful of his profile, complete with the fat, unsatisfied bulge in his underwear. Which she would clearly be thinking about for the rest of the day. “So, Paulie’s got breakfast covered. Can you wait while I make you lunch?”

Jasmine crossed her arms to hide her distended nipples. Since when did triple orgasm recipients get hot and bothered again after mere minutes? “You can’t just piss me off and then make me lunch.”

Smile playing on his lips, Sarge lifted his head, sending dark hair falling over his eye. “Why is that?”

“A sandwich is an easy way off the hook.” She pursed her lips. “Too easy.”

Good God, she was flirting with him. How had he managed to flip her mood around when she’d been mired in dread upon entering the kitchen? She was shameless and utterly self-destructive. None of that seemed to matter, however, when Sarge closed the refrigerator door and sauntered toward her. “If you don’t wait while I make you lunch…” He propped his hands on the counter, blocking her in. “I guess I’ll just have to bring it down to the factory later.”

“You can’t just walk in there. You’ll be mobbed,” Jasmine breathed. “Besides, we have a cafeteria.”

He came closer, crowding, giving her a mouthwatering whiff of man. “It’s not good enough for you.” His fingers teased the hem of her robe, forming goose bumps down her legs. “Go get dressed while I make you something.”

“Stop being so pushy.”

“Stop being so beautiful.”

There was no way around his magnetism. Not when they were both half dressed, the morning after sex so good she’d thought it impossible. Not when sincerity threaded his deep voice. Not when he was looking down at her like she might be the only other living, breathing person in the world. And maybe they needed to keep having the impossible sex because it was the only way to continue the human race. Really, it would just be for science. They’d be humanitarians.

I’m losing my damn mind. She lost it even more when he tilted his head and rubbed that bulge against the knot of her robe, side to side, in slow, devastating drags. “Let me feed you.”

“No.” Jasmine tried to back up, but there was nowhere to go, pinned between his big body and the counter, watching his abs flex as he rubbed against her. “The scales are too imbalanced here.”

“Why?” His expression mirrored the confusion in his voice. “Because of what we did in bed this morning?”

“What you did, Sarge,” she whispered, shocked to feel a flush climb her neck. Men did not turn her red. Ever. They didn’t immobilize her under a single look, either. Didn’t drape her insides in warm, sticky silk.

Jasmine’s thoughts were cut off when Sarge framed her jaw in one big hand, tilting her head back. “Baby.” He applied gentle pressure to her cheeks, forcing her mouth to open on a gust of breath. “Eating your pussy isn’t a chore, it’s a privilege.”

“Stop,” she tried to say, but it emerged as a moan. A moan that turned to a whimper when the hand not holding her jaw slipped between their bodies. Down, down, deft fingers making quick work of her robe tie and pushing it open. Sarge’s grip found the apex of her thighs, cupping her through cotton panties.

“You want more, Jasmine.” It wasn’t a question. “Feel my dick? It got the best last night and doesn’t want anything else. It needs more. Needs to feel you again so bad. Especially now that we know your pussy is a size too small for me.”

“Sarge,” she gasped, moving on his hand, going up on her tiptoes seeking a firmer hold, which he gave her in spades, molding, squeezing. Owning.

“I know,” he grated, the words vibrating where he laid them on her mouth. “I know, baby. Come back to me tonight and get what’s coming to you.”

Jasmine’s frustrated cry filled the kitchen. “You’re playing dirty.”

His tongue licked up her jawline and slid into her mouth, nudging hers in an invitation to come play. Jasmine’s eager participation was short, though, when he broke the kiss before she was even close to satisfied. Catching her off guard, Sarge lifted her legs up around his waist and dry-fucked her against the counter. Buried his face in her neck and pumped, three, four, five times, before dropping her back down. “You haven’t seen dirty yet, Jas,” he rasped into her ear. “I saw your face when I walked in, and you’re not getting rid of me that easily. Now go get dressed while I make you lunch. I hear your father honking outside.”

After he had to physically prop her up against the counter, his arrogant walk back to the fridge should have made her indignant. It should have had her throwing a blunt object at the back of his head. Instead it had her admitting quietly that even with her newfound appreciation for Sarge, she’d severely underestimated him.

She just managed to keep her feminine pride intact five minutes later when she dodged his attempt to kiss her while walking out the door. Carrying the sack lunch he’d handed her.

His laughter echoed in Jasmine’s ears the entire car ride to breakfast.

The problem with trying to keep a woman coming back for more was…the waiting. It had been years since Sarge had this kind of free time on his hands, usually packing up and moving to a new city after only one gig. His days on tour were filled with phone calls with the press, annoying photo shoots, morning interviews at local radio stations, sound checks, and playing mediator to James and Lita. There wasn’t a lot of time left over for thinking. And he had a shitload to think about.

Jasmine had walked out of her apartment only thirty minutes ago, although it felt like a week. Now that he’d acknowledged that his bonehead game plan of fucking Jasmine out of his mind once and for all was nothing more than a pipe dream, he needed a new course of action. And if he blocked out all the noise in his head and focused on what felt like necessity, Sarge couldn’t think past holding on to Jasmine as long as she’d allow it. Going back on the road had seemed like a given when he arrived in Hook. It wasn’t a given now. Simple as that. There was more than lust between him and Jasmine, but if he needed to use their attraction as a means to spend more time with her—until she saw he was for real—so be it. No one would catch him complaining.