Maid for the Rock Star

Part 22

Twenty-Two

How were you supposed to see the road when it was the same red dirt as the bush on either side and there weren't any street lights? Every road should have fucking street lights, Jason fumed as his car bounced over another rut. So much for the best four-wheel-drive the dealership had to offer. The suspension on this was shit. He may as well have been driving the little shitbrick of a hatchback he'd owned before Chaya made it big. And where was the damn hotel, anyway? The helicopter flight hadn't taken half this long and he couldn't see a single building anywhere.

Jason floored the accelerator, trying to get the stupid car to go faster, but all it did was bump harder down the unsealed road. Maybe he should call the helicopter to come and pick him up. It couldn't be that hard for it to find him – the headlights of his car had to be the only lights for miles. He fished around in his pocket and withdrew his phone, glancing between the screen and the road as he searched for the pilot's number. Or the hotel's. He didn't care as long as he got back.

Jo's number came up. That'd do. She could fix anything. He hit the call button and held the phone to his ear.

It emitted an irritating beep, followed by silence. Why wasn't it calling?

He glared at the screen. "No mobile access – emergency calls only," he read, then punched the dashboard. "It is a fucking emergency! I need to get back to the hotel so I can...can..." Tits. Something about tits. Scooping them out of a skimpy French maid's uniform and...

No, there weren't any frills. He didn't want her in her maid's uniform, French or Aussie or fucking Chinese. He wanted her naked. Wanted to see if her arse was as sweet as her tits.

Wondered what she'd taste like – salty like the sea around the island, or sweet like the mango beer? Fuck. If it wasn't an emergency before, it was now. His pants were too tight. He needed her now.

He tried, but the phone only beeped and beeped again, until he threw the stupid thing into the back seat. Fuck the phone. Fuck the helicopter. No, wait. He wanted to fuck a woman. Sweet and sassy and sympathetic and on call...

He'd never gone without sex so long in his life. Not since high school, anyway.

What the fuck was that in the middle of the road?

Jason squinted at the tall shape. Was some fat bloke standing in the middle of the road? Nah, no one'd be that stupid. Or that huge.

Jason found himself staring at the biggest cow he'd ever seen, lowering its horns and charging his car. Fuck.

Jason wrenched the steering wheel right, taking the car to the other side of the track. Lights blinded him and the deafening blare of a horn sliced into his head. It sounded like a car, not a cow.

There was a jarring crunch, accompanied by the sound of a million tinkling bells before he was in flight, spinning like a skydiver in freefall. Only what skydiver took their car with them and opened their parachute in the car? Parachute everywhere. In front of him. Beside him. Sticking out of the dash like a big balloon. Holding him in his seat so he couldn't move.

Upside down. Sideways. Right way up. No, sideways again. Fuck. Upside down in a car full of parachute, but the landing was gentler than he expected. Skydiving in a car was awesome. Jason unclipped the straps holding him upside down and slid to the roof of the car. Pain flared in his hand, but he ignored it. Adventure sports came with a bit of pain, didn't they? And chicks dig scars.

Ooh, there's one.

A moving blue blur outside resolved into a woman bent double so she could see into the car window. Purple. No, blue. Purple again. Why was her shirt changing colour? She looked concerned. "Can you hear me? You hit me with your car! You could've killed me!"

He'd landed on a hot chick? Cool. Jason grinned lazily, hoping she looked as hot as she sounded. He couldn't see so clearly right now. There was something in his eye. Probably his hair. He reached up to casually flick it away in the sexy way he knew melted any woman's underwear, and tried to catch the niggling thought in his head about car crashes. Car crashes and rock stars. Numbers! That's what he had to get. Give. Whatever.

"Get me out of here and I'll give you my number, babe," he said.

Lights were flashing. Why were they flashing? They made it hard to think. Lights only flashed at concerts and he couldn't see his guitar, or the rest of the band. And why did his hand hurt?

Jason held up his fingers so he could see them better. Something black was oozing over his hand. Like tar, with sparkling diamonds in it. The light flashed red and the ooze wasn't black any more. It was ruby red. Like...blood. Fuck. It couldn't be. When he saw blood, he...

"Sir! Can you hear me? Are you all right?"

All the lights at the rock concert in Jason's head went out.