Chapter 1: The Electric Encounter
The city pulsed with a neon heartbeat as Vivienne Cross strode into the underground jazz club, her crimson stilettos clicking with purpose against the worn wooden floor. She was a force—tall, curvaceous, with eyes that could slice through a man’s defenses faster than a switchblade. As a renowned music critic, she wasn’t here to play nice. She was here to dissect the performance of Rex Malone, the bad boy of jazz guitar whose reputation for seduction rivaled his riffs.
Rex was already on stage, his fingers dancing over the strings, coaxing out notes that dripped with raw, sensual energy. Vivienne’s gaze locked on him—his leather jacket slung over a chair, his shirt half-unbuttoned, revealing a chest glistening with the first beads of sweat. She smirked, taking a seat at the bar, her black dress hugging every dangerous curve of her body.
‘So, this is the infamous Rex Malone,’ she muttered to the bartender, her voice a sultry purr. ‘Does he fuck as good as he plays, or is that just another overhyped rumor?’
The bartender chuckled, sliding her a martini. ‘Lady, you’ll have to find that out for yourself. But I’ll warn ya—he’s got a line of broken hearts longer than his setlist.’
Rex’s set ended with a crescendo that left the crowd panting, and Vivienne felt an unwelcome heat coil low in her belly. She wasn’t here to be seduced, damn it. She was here to tear him apart in her next column. But when Rex sauntered over, his dark eyes pinning her like a predator, she felt the air crackle with something dangerous.
‘Vivienne Cross,’ he drawled, his voice a low growl that vibrated through her. ‘Heard you’ve got a tongue sharper than a razor. Care to cut me with it?’
She arched a brow, sipping her martini with deliberate slowness. ‘Oh, darling, I don’t just cut. I carve. But I’m curious—can you handle a woman who bites back, or do you only play with the ones who beg?’
Rex grinned, leaning closer, his breath hot against her ear. ‘I like a challenge, sweetheart. And I bet I can make that pretty mouth of yours sing a different tune.’
Her laugh was sharp, but her pulse betrayed her, racing as his scent—leather and musk—invaded her senses. ‘Big words for a man who’s all show. Prove it, Malone. Or are you just another cocky bastard with nothing to back it up?’
He straightened, his gaze darkening with a promise that made her thighs clench. ‘Meet me backstage in ten. Let’s see who’s all talk.’
Vivienne watched him walk away, her mind screaming to stay put, to keep control. But her body had other ideas, already imagining the heat of his hands, the hardness of him pressed against her. She drained her martini, the burn of the alcohol matching the fire building inside her. Screw it. She wasn’t about to let him think he’d won so easily.
Backstage, the air was thick with tension as she found him leaning against a wall, a smirk playing on his lips. ‘Knew you couldn’t resist,’ he taunted, stepping closer until their bodies were a whisper apart.
‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ she shot back, her voice steady even as her heart thundered. ‘I’m here to see if you’re worth the hype. So far, I’m unimpressed.’
His hand slid to her waist, pulling her against him, and she felt the hard evidence of his arousal pressing into her. ‘Unimpressed, huh? Let’s fix that.’
Her breath hitched as his lips crashed into hers, a collision of hunger and defiance. She kissed him back just as fiercely, her nails digging into his shoulders, refusing to yield even as her body screamed for more. They stumbled against the wall, her dress riding up as his hands gripped her ass, pulling her closer. She could feel herself getting wet, the ache between her legs growing unbearable, and she knew this was only the beginning of an explosive night.
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