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down—wanted to feel that
again. Feel alive and excited. She’d spent so long working, working, working.
What must it be like to feel like Jackson must do every time he stepped on
stage?
    She
glanced over at the stage as the song ended and his gaze settled on her again.
God, she envied him. He lived and breathed the music still. If he did go into
producing, he’d still be so passionate about it, she knew that. Jackson threw
himself into everything. It was one of the reasons people wanted a piece of
Jackson Wilde. You could see his love for music shine through in every
performance. Jazz had to admit a small part of her longed to feel that again,
even if it meant putting herself at risk of heartbreak.
    Shaking
her head to erase the thoughts, she snatched a cloth and began wiping down the
bar. Just because he captured everyone else’s attention, didn’t mean he
deserved hers. She tried to summon some anger so those pesky little thoughts
would disappear but she felt strangely numb. As if his return and confession
had somehow soothed some of the hatred she’d held onto. She never had given him
the chance to explain. She’d cut him out of her life. Ten years ago, she hadn’t
wanted to hear the truth. Perhaps she too was to blame for how it had ended.
Perhaps she should have heard him out.
    Allowing
herself one last look at the stage as he launched into one of his most popular
numbers, Jazz sighed. Charismatic, arrogant, sexy, outrageous… he was all of
those, but he was never liar. So what if he really meant he wanted her back?
What did it mean for her?
    Nothing,
she told herself. Nothing had changed. Even if she wanted a relationship, she
didn’t have time. It was all right for him with his millions, but she needed to
keep a roof over her head. Resolving to keep herself occupied for the rest of
the night, Jazz began checking the beer bottles and drink supplies. With any
luck, most of the crowd would stick around for drinks and add to her profit.

Chapter Four
    Jazz waved
bye to Ali, the last of the bar staff, and shut the door behind her. The thud
echoed through the empty club and she felt like it echoed the emptiness in her
heart. Scraping a hand through her hair, she grimaced. She was exhausted, exhilarated—
a million things—and most of them were to do with Jackson. How she would ever
sleep tonight, she didn’t know.
    She
scanned the dim bar, glad to see most of the staff had pulled their weight and
done their best to clean up. Only the stage lights remained on so she strode
over to the light controls. Before she could flick them off, the twang of a
guitar sounded and she froze. Hand hovering over the switches, she waited.
There it was again.
    Jackson
strode onto the stage, acoustic guitar in hand, looking as comfortable as ever
up there. His hair was a little mussed now, an extra button had popped open on
his shirt, revealing some of the ink on his chest. He looked like sin and
salvation, all rolled into one.
    “I thought
you’d gone,” she called to him before he could play another chord.
    “Hoped to
get rid of me?” He squinted in her direction.
    She strode
over to the stage and he offered her a hand, helping her climb up. His touch
sent chills through her.
    “You
finished up ages ago. What have you been doing?”
    He
shrugged.“Chillin’. Questioning the staff. Trying to figure out how to get back
into your good books.”
    Jazz
snatched her hand back from him. “You don’t need to get back into my good
books, Jackson. It’s ancient history.”
    “Nu-uh,
I’m not buying that. I know you don’t date. Everyone says you’re a workaholic.”
    “Oh
really?” Arms folded across her chest, she rocked back on her heels to eye him.
“And what else do they say?”
    “They say
you won’t play any of my music.” His lips quirked.
    “Damn it,”
she hissed under her breath. “Well, maybe I don’t like it.”
    “You used
to like it plenty when we were dating.”
    “Tastes
change.”
    “You