She was determined to blame it on the construction workers. If they hadn’t been playing the radio so loud, she never would have heard the song. And she was very determined to blame it on the song. It had nothing to do specifically with Jax.

It was the song.

Sighing, she set her pen down and thrust her hands through her hair. She couldn’t get the damn song out of her head, nor could she get the image of Jax standing in her office, clad only in tight jeans and a sweaty, bare chest. Laughing humorlessly, she asked herself for the hundredth time what a multi-millionaire was doing banging nails with a bunch of rowdy construction workers. He was supposed to lounge around on the side in his expensive three-piece suit looking bored, and gorgeous, yes, but in a detached gorgeous way.

Certainly not standing against her desk – her desk – in those faded jeans, his muscled chest rippling as he stretched his back, his throat working as he drank heavily from the bottle of water. And damned, if the ceiling light hadn’t shot a golden glow all about the blond locks and tanned perfection.

And the piece de resistance: Setting the water down, he’d straightened up, his thumbs catching the belt loops and he had smiled. And not just any smile, but THE smile. The trademark, devastating, steal your breath, be still my beating heart, Jasper Jacks smile.

And then that damn song began playing at top volume. What kind of construction worker listened to that radio station? Husky sopranos singing of love and lust and everything in between? And now three days later she still could not get that damn song out of her mind.

That song: a sultry, slow-sliding song about love and sex. S-E-X in capital letters. The feeling, the memory that song left was of having sex, all kinds of sex, and arousing several delicious fantasies having to do with sex. S-E-X with capital letters. She didn't even really remember any of the lyrics now. Just the beat . . . the drowning, gyrating beat of lust. It had drummed within her veins as she stared at his half-naked body, caught by the sudden heat in his ocean-blue eyes.

She'd taken to playing the radio in her car more than usual hoping to hear it.

Alas, no sex-laden, lust-dripping song graced her ears. Instead, she'd been fortunate to hear, ad nauseum and in no particular order, Britney Spears, N’Sync and Eminem’s latest opus to the world of his rage. Still, she could not get that particular song and the accompanying very unpartner-like image of her partner out of her mind.

It wasn’t as if she was unaware of the quite spectacular looks of Jax. It was just that – prior to the song-drenched prelude in her office, she had perceived those looks on a strictly observational level. There has been no heat, no actual attraction that she was aware of … she found him attractive, but she was not attracted to him.

Was being the key word.

And she hoped to hell that he was oblivious to it. She knew that she’d spent more minutes than prudent lost in lustful contemplation of what was beneath the suits and the sweaters and the jeans and the …. Oh, God, she just prayed sincerely that he was unaware of it. He certainly didn’t see her that way. He couldn’t … of course not, the man was still suffering from the failed martyr syndrome, not to mention the fact that he was blinded by Brenda-vision.

So he wouldn’t, couldn’t know the latest trend of her thoughts as that song drifted lazily through her blood as she contemplated every delicious thing about him; drifting through her blood and mind (as had many an intense fantasy about her partner) quite frequently. And it was damn frustrating because she didn't know anything of the song except for a faint recall of the tune, so she was gonna find it. If she didn't hear that song again, she was going to go insane.

And that is precisely why she was going to the music store right now. Twenty minutes later, she was browsing through the soundtrack section, searching for "The Original Movie Soundtrack to City of Angels. She remembered that much, the DJ had said it came from the Nicolas Cage/Meg Ryan flick from a few years back. Browsing through the “C’s” and then the “B’s,” “D’s” and even “A’s” in vain, she groaned beneath her breath in exasperation. Of course, there was nary a copy to be found.

She headed to the clerk wandering through the aisles.

"Excuse me?"

The fresh-faced teenager offered a bright smile. Must be bucking for 'Employee of the Month,' she thought, her frustration taking a sarcastic turn. "I'm looking for the soundtrack to City of Angels.

The young man automatically offered a face of the most sincere regret. "I'm so sorry, but we're sold out." He added quickly, “The soundtracks are my section.” And then his frown faded and another bright smile lit his face, “can I help you with anything else?"

She sighed and closed her eyes briefly in disappointment. She really didn't feel like driving all over town looking for a damn CD for one damn song. "Thank you, no," she muttered and shaking her head slightly, headed out of the store. A few feet out of it, she heard it.

That pulsating beat, the steady drumming, the sliding-like-honey-through-her-veins melody of that song. She walked right back into the store and straight to the counter. "He said you were sold out." She told a flustered, pimply-faced kid at the register.

"Whuh?" He offered in an almost-fair approximation of human speech.

"The other guy said you were sold out of this soundtrack. I want this."

"What are you talking about? This isn't a soundtrack."

"But this song, this song . .. " she paused when a line of lyric made contact with her brain.

"Uh, ma'am. Did you want this CD?" The clerk, slightly more coherent now, asked.

"What?" she looked at him and then winced slightly as another line battered against her sensitized emotions. The stuff that made it on to the radios these days.

"This is the City of Angels soundtrack?" She asked. He shook his head. "No, this is Paula Cole's CD, you know, 'Where have all the cowboys gone?'" he sang tunelessly and she vaguely recognized the tune as one she'd heard over the last couple of days.

She nodded, "oh, I thought this was from that movie --"

He cut her off, "yeah, it's on the soundtrack, too. But if you want," there was a slight emphasis on the word. She offered him a steely glare of ice and the leer that had begun to form on his lips faded quickly. "Uh, if you just like this song, you could get this CD. The whole thing's pretty good. I mean, my girlfriend likes it."

She nodded and a few minutes later walked out of the store with a copy of 'This Fire' by Paula Cole containing that song. That song that she now knew the title to: 'Feelin' Love.'

As soon as her shoes were kicked off and her jacket on the coat rack, she headed to the CD player. She'd already dispensed with the annoying plastic wrapping and tape all over the CD during one of her numerous red light stops. Michael was staying with Sonny tonight, so she didn’t have to worry about his little ears hearing the raunchy lyrics. She paused for a moment in mid-step, wondering that she had barely thought of her ex the last few days. All of her non-club, non-Michael thoughts had been centered (lasviously) about Jax.

It was the damn song.

Continuing on, she slipped the CD into the system and headed directly for number nine: 'Feelin' Love.'

She narrowed her eyes slightly. What? Leaning over, she hit the pause and then review button and listened to the line once more.

"Mr. Sunshine?" She shook her head and let the song continue to play as she moved away from the player and began to hike her skirt up.

She stopped momentarily in pulling her stockings down and gave the CD player a weird look. Damn skippy, baby. Skippy? Like the peanut butter, she wondered, not familiar with that phrase. Tugging her nylons off, she walked back over and hit the pause and review button again.

Whatever, she thought, hitting the stop button and then the program button. She entered the number nine selection about fifteen times before pushing play once more and the driving beat began from the beginning. She headed back to the couch and sat down, reviewing that last line as the pulse of the music pounded through her. {You make me feel like the Amazon's running between my thighs.}

She leaned back and thought of her partner. Jax. Jax like the Amazon running between her thighs. She closed her eyes and imagined rolling in the grass with him, the sun shining down upon him. His hands on her body.

Oh, God, she thought, her mind imagining once again what was beneath those Levi’s. Red and horny and hot and pulsating and slipping between her thighs, sweet like candy, powerful like the Amazon.

She rubbed her thighs together and enjoyed the friction of her silk panties pressing against her skin intimately.

And he was tying her to the bed in her mind. Not her bed, just a bed. A large bed in an empty room. Nothing but a large window, white curtains, a breeze blowing the material into the room and the bed. The breeze brushing against her naked skin. The tiny, little tee-shirt was gone and she was naked before him on the bed as he stepped back, dressed in his suit, all but for his jacket.

And she lay there, spread-eagled, her ankles tied by silken ropes. He loosened his tie and moving to the bed, his hand circled her ankle, laying just above the white silk and as his hand slowly trailed up her thigh, it was her hand moving underneath her skirt as she relaxed on the sofa.

His eyes were dark and vivid and so blue and so green as they locked upon her own. And as he ran a finger -- gentle, so gentle -- over her soft folds, she slid a finger beneath the material of her dampened panties and made his touch her own reality, lightly brushing along the lush arousal of her lips as did he, glancing upon her clitoris. Softly, she rubbed at her heated core, imagining his finger upon her, touching her.

Her other hand drifted to the front of her blouse and she began slipping the buttons loose. The song had begun again . . .

And she was his centerfold, the woman of his heated fantasies. She was in the pages of girlie magazines, and all of the glossy pictures were of her in various states of undress, various states of arousal, various poses . . . touching herself, baring herself, being every one of his fantasies. And he was naked again, all hot and horny, sweet as a candy apple. And he was touching himself, stroking the length of his penis up and down as he gazed at her, aroused beyond anything ever before at the sight of her.

And her fingers circled her tightened nipple; they feathered her clitoris. And then her mouth was parted and she was sucking on her finger, then two fingers as she stepped off of the pages of his magazine and she was sucking him, taking the whole of him in her mouth.

She moaned lightly as her fingers delved even deeper into her, plunging in and out as she sucked upon her fingers, his imagined shaft in her mouth, her lips upon him as he moaned, as he groaned, calling her name ... Carly.

Carly.

"Carly?"

Why was there a question in his voice, she wondered in the back of her mind as Paula became a sticky pistil, leaning into a stamen. And then she was the pistil, leaning into her stamen. Her man. Her Jax. And she was down South and happy as can be as Mr. Sunshine, rolling in the grass, tied her to the bed. And she heard the jingle of keys as he took his slacks off. His shirt was off already and his tie was feathering across her body and his touch was upon her once more.

"Jax!" she cried as she felt his hand along her ankle and my God, it felt so real and she could feel his breath against her flesh. And then his breath was upon her dark blond curls and his nose was burrowing into the scent of her and her fingers moved aside, were pushed aside to be replaced with the wet, moistness of his tongue. His tongue tasting her, inside of her, swirling and whirling inside of her and her fingers now rested against her outer thighs, brushing against the hardness of his arms.

His arms were laid across her legs, his hands circling her waist and it felt so real and he felt so real.

"I don't know who I am, God, I don't know who . . . Jax . . . " she trailed off, whimpering as her fingers found the silky strands of his hair and his tongue was flicking upon her clitoris, his arm bent, his finger moving in and out, sinking in deeper with each plunge. And he moaned, the strength of his body pressing in between her legs. He was the Amazon running between her thighs and he said her name.

"Carly," and she felt his breath rushing against her and his fingers were against her lips. She threw her head back.

"I want you now," she cried as he suddenly surged away from her and she let out a whimper, her eyes flying open and he stood before her, jerking at his zipper, and she could only stare up at him.

She was speechless and she was aching and throbbing and she knew he was here. And she knew he was real. And she didn't have it in her to feel anything other than desire. Passion. Need. Terrible, delicious, desperate need.

"I want you now," she whispered as he pulled his pants and boxers down and she reached out a trembling hand, her fingers tightening about his manhood. He was so big and hard and "red and horny like a candy apple," she whispered as she leaned forward, wanting to taste the candy apple sweetness of him.

He leaned against her as her lips pushed over him, her tongue sliding along the length of him and she began moving, gyrating her body in time to the throbbing beat as he thrust forward in her mouth, and she knew that he was close, so close and she was close ...

And then he was pulling away from her and pushing her down upon the sofa. And she was ready, so ready as he lay between her, running between her thighs like the Amazon.

"God, Mr. Sunshine," she cried as he entered her and she pushed against him, her hips thrusting up against his.

"Jax, I want you, God, yes."

And he surged inside of her, hot and hard and candy apple horny inside of her. She clutched at his arms, scratching her nails over the cotton material of his tee-shirt. And he was hard and powerful and sweet, so very, very sweet between her thighs.

The pounding drum of that song began again and he moved within her in time to the melody and their rhythm became entwined with the pulsating beat, twisting and turning and burgeoning in the air around them.

She cried his name, suddenly understanding the line 'Damn, skippy, baby,' or at least her meaning of it. He was inside of her, slick and smooth and soft and creamy just like peanut butter and he felt so good. So good inside of her.

"Carly," he cried as he offered a final, powerful thrust within and she felt her entire body explode.

She lie there panting, her arms loosely resting upon his shoulder as he bent down and laid his mouth upon hers. His lips were rough and soft and sweet and tender and everything she had ever dreamed and fantasized and wanted. His tongue moved against hers as he lay still inside of her, shudders running through his body, running through her body.

She wound her arms about his neck and held him as tightly as she could.

And he felt so good, he made her feel so good. His kiss softened, becoming a gentle lover upon her lips before he pulled away completely and then he gazed down at her. The song ended. And there was a beat or two of silence before the melody began again and in those beats, she looked into his eyes and saw every one of her fantasies alive and shared. And she could see only him in her fantasies. In any of them. In all of them. And she saw love. She felt love. He made her feel love. Jax.

And she knew that she'd been wrong. Solemnly, she reached up and pressed a kiss against his lips. And she met his eyes once more.

"It’s the damn song."

THE END

If you want to know what happens next, use your imagination. I can only say that it's a love song, this is a love story (albeit, a slightly raunchy one) and these two (at this point, in my world) are definitely falling for one another, so I think it will all work out fine. :)

In case you're interested in hearing this fine and fabulously sexy song. It is on the "City of Angels" soundtrack and Paula Cole's CD "This Fire."

I can't really verify the lyrics as there are none in the liner notes, but I got these off of the International Lyric Server. So if you're curious, here is the whole song, uninterrupted.

“Feelin’ Love”

THE END