Sheet Music

by Tibby Armstrong

  She picked up the phone to call his room—to tell him she would wait for him back at the hotel—when a knock sounded on her door. Thinking it was him, she flung the door open. A crowd of expectant faces, Günter at the forefront, greeted her.

  “May we come in?” he asked, the baritone of his voice vibrating the air between them.

  Kyra stepped back, casting him a quizzing look as the entourage filed in carrying garment bags, boxes and a bevy of cases.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, leaning back into the door as she closed it.

  “Mr. Tallis thought you might like some assistance getting ready.”

  “Seriously? It’s not like I’m walking the red carpet,” she said, reluctant to accept more of David’s charity.

  The bodyguard shifted from one foot to the other and looked to the side, mighty nervous for a two-hundred-plus-pound wall of solid muscle.

  “Günter…?” she questioned, hoping the dread permeating her brain was unfounded.

  He implored her with his eyes as much as with his tone. “He hasn’t done this in seven years.”

  Kyra leaned her head back and closed her eyes. What Günter was saying was David needed her. The knowledge overtook her own stage fright and focused her mind.

  She opened her eyes and pinned him with her best business stare. “Okay. What do I have to do? Stand in for one of the other red carpet reporters? Ask him specific questions designed not to pry?”

  Günter shook his head. “Nothing so complicated. Just get dressed. Be his date.”

  “Date? As in I sit in the audience with him?”

  Günter nodded and stepped aside so Kyra could enter the living area. Her mind reeled at the implications of appearing with him at such a public function. The entourage activated into a whirlwind around her, further muddling her thoughts.

  In the midst of the hubbub, someone handed her cell phone to her.

  “Martin,” she answered, cradling the phone to her shoulder as a manicurist buffed her nails.

  “Hey, were you ever going to check in?”

  Kyra laughed, and the sound was shaky to her own ears.

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “Can you talk?” Gil asked.

  Kyra glanced around and saw the stylist arguing with a man and a woman who were trying to coordinate her wardrobe and hair.

  “I have a minute.”

  “So, how’s it going?”

  “He’s going to give me the interview. I think he’ll want to approve whatever I write before it goes to press.”

  She felt Günter’s eyes on her and cringed. Did he think she was using David? After all, that was exactly what she had set out to do. Somewhere along the line, however, things had changed. David was more important to her than the story, and if he pulled it, she wouldn’t argue.

  “It’s against editorial policy. But…” Gil groaned. “I guess we can make an exception for him.”

  She was silent.

  “There’s more?” he guessed.

  “I’m his date tonight,” she said with trepidation lacing her voice.

  “To the BRIT Awards?”

  “No. That’s industry, in February. STAR Awards are fan votes only. No jury.”

  “He’s not up for anything?”

  “He’s presenting,” Kyra answered, wondering what Gil was driving at.

  “Well, that’s something. You could go separately. Avoid the press.”

  Ah. There was the rub. She wanted to laugh at the irony.

  Talking with David last night had shown her just how silly her desperate maneuvering had been. She would not let a story be more important than the person behind it. In fact, she was honored he wanted her by his side.

  “I know this calls into question my objectivity, but let’s be serious, Gil. You need an article, and we’re talking music here, not world peace.”

  The stylist stepped forward and tapped her watch.

  “Look, I have to go. Talk to you later?”

  “No problem. Oh! And Kyra?”

  “Yes?”

  “Good work.”

  She grimaced, feeling for the first time like what she did for a living was closer to pimping than writing.

  “Thanks.”

  Thumbing the end button, she looked around at the cadre of people David had sent to “handle” her and submitted to being primped to within an inch of her life.

  * * * * *

  David paced in the foyer of his suite, waiting for Günter’s call. The bodyguard hadn’t reappeared immediately, so Kyra must have agreed. It was a last-minute thing, his decision to brave the paparazzi along the red carpet, and he knew he couldn’t do it without her by his side.

  He rolled his head to the side and felt the vertebrae pop with tension.

  Was he jumping into the deep end? Should he move more slowly? No. If he waited, he might not ever get over this. It had been too damn long since he’d trusted someone. So long that he wasn’t sure if he knew how. If he was ever going to have a chance with Kyra he had to get over the past. Running a gantlet of paparazzi in a controlled setting seemed like a good place to start.

  Pausing to examine his reflection in a gilt-framed mirror, he saw a man so different from the boy he’d been. But the wild-eyed look? He leaned in more closely. Yes. That he recognized. Pursing his lips, he gave a tug to straighten his crooked bow tie.

  The elevator chimed and his eyes darted automatically to the security monitor Günter had set up. When he saw Brent, he laughed self-consciously. He’d called the man not five minutes ago and asked him up. Apparently, it was going to take more than a few red carpet walks to cure his paranoia.

  “Hi,” David said over his shoulder. “Care for a drink?”

  Brent’s nod was grateful.

  He’d been working the man too hard. It was time for a vacation for them both.

  “Late night?”

  “And day.” Brent took a deep gulp of the scotch and soda before resting his head against the chair. “What did you want to see me about?”

  Shit. This was going to be damn uncomfortable. He took the seat opposite and tried to find the right words.

  “It’s about Kyra.”

  Brent’s eyes narrowed and he sat forward to put his drink down with a thump.

  “What did she do? Do you need me to call your lawyer?”

  “No! God no!” David blew out a breath. “Do you really think that badly of her?”

  The lift of one sardonic eyebrow answered his question.

  “Did you know she was only fourteen when Adam got hold of her?”

  Brent blinked once, and sat back, his expression wary. “No.”

  “Look. I know Adam’s your brother, but there are plenty of people who can verify her timeline. Her father, for one.”

  Brent looked away, jaw clenched, nostrils flared, his profile a study in tension.

  “Is that why you warned me about her? Because of what Adam told you?” David pushed.

  Shoving his hand through the blond fall of hair at his forehead, Brent looked at him, his lips curled in an expression just shy of venomous. “It was a large part of it, yes. But there were other stories.”

  “Anything you could verify?”

  He worked his jaw and looked at the floor. “No.”

  David clapped Brent on the shoulder. “I know you were only protecting my back.”

  “So, do you want me to apologize?”

  He blinked and let his hand fall away. “Apologize? For what?”

  Brent swore, apparently realizing he’d opened a can of worms. “I thought she told you.”

  David’s view of the room narrowed to include only the man sitting across from him. “Told me what?”

  “Hey, I was just trying to help,” Brent said, holding up his hands.

  “Told me what?” David repeated, wondering just how far Brent had gone in his quest to protect him. And why the hell hadn’t Kyra told him whatever it was?

  “The other day? At the studio? I told her to watch her
step. That I didn’t want her messing with you like she did Adam.”

  David burst to his feet.

  “Goddammit, Brent!”

  “David. Mate. You’d just told me you didn’t trust her. That you were planning on nailing her ass to the wall if she stepped out of line. Given what Adam had said, what was I supposed to think?”

  His fist came down, making Brent, and Brent’s glass, jump.

  “Not cool!”

  The blood left Brent’s face. “I’m sorry. I’ll apologize to her.”

  “You’re damn straight you’ll apologize to her. Good Lord, Brent! Do you have any idea what she’s been through?” He whirled on his friend, wild with the knowledge that he’d somehow made an already bad situation worse for Kyra.

  It was his fault that Brent had come down on her like a hammer. God! He was such a shithead. Throwing himself in the chair, he grabbed Brent’s drink and slugged it down, gasping against the burn of alcohol racing down his throat.

  “Oh, mate. You’ve got it bad,” Brent said, prompting David’s answering glare.

  “Just apologize to her,” he snarled.

  “No problem. Anything else?”

  David rubbed a shaking hand over his face, the adrenaline leaving his system as quickly as it had entered. “Nah. Go.”

  Brent rose to leave.

  “And Brent?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No problem. I get it.”

  “Thanks.”

  It took David the better part of twenty minutes to regain his composure. Whenever he closed his eyes he pictured Kyra at fourteen. Alone. Scared. It made him remember another little girl he’d known a lifetime ago, and wondered if fear had been her constant companion, too.

  He opened his eyes, taking in the splendor around him. He’d have traded all of this for just one more day with his sister.

  Goddammit!

  What a time to be dredging through this muck. Wresting himself from memory’s clutches, he stood and crossed to the foyer to call the lift. He had to see Kyra now. He needed to touch her. Know she was alive.

  His cell phone buzzed, and he flipped it open to read a text from Günter. He frowned as his heart sank more quickly than the elevator.

  Kyra had told her editor where they’d be tonight?

  Why? He texted back.

  The door opened to her floor and he waited at the end of the hall for Günter’s reply.

  Best guess? Conflict of interest, but she stood up to him.

  “Shit.”

  It was true. Her being with him in a social context would raise professional eyebrows. She’d said something about that yesterday at the studio. Yet, she’d agreed to come with him regardless. Did it mean he was more important to her than the interview?

  His heart leapt, but then his brain maneuvered like a hunted rabbit… Or was it just another way to get close to him and get her story?

  He shook himself mentally. Somehow he had to stop second-guessing everyone’s motives. His paranoia had already caused enough trouble with Brent, and he wasn’t willing to make the same mistake again. Unless Kyra proved otherwise, he’d have to trust her. When it came down to it, really, he had no other choice.

  In the meantime, he’d have to find a way to make sure people accepted the story, regardless of—or perhaps because of—its source. An idea began to take shape and he smiled to himself. Maybe he could use his position tonight to her advantage.

  * * * * *

  The makeup artist gave one last touchup to Kyra’s lips with a wand of pearlescent gloss before surveying his work.

  “Perfect,” he said with a wave of his hands and walked away.

  “Are we ready?”

  Kyra made a face at the stylist. She knew she looked as good as she possibly could, but it was one thing to walk in six-inch heels in a hotel and another to stay upright in them in front of scores of paparazzi.

  “You’ll do great, love. Just remember what we practiced. Three-quarters stance when you can, with one foot in front of the other when you pose together. David’s who they’re going to be after, so you look at him too. It’ll go easier for you.”

  Walking out of the bedroom, Kyra looked down and complained, “People only want to see this much cleavage from Angelina Jolie.”

  Günter turned from the open hall doorway and stared.

  David gave a low whistle, stepping into the room. His blue eyes shone, the tux giving him an air of Frank Sinatra ready to take the stage at the Sands.

  “You look beautiful,” he said, taking her in with a toe-to-head sweep that lingered in all the right places.

  She felt a giddy rush at the compliment and barely registered Günter ushering everyone else from the room. Looking up at David she wondered exactly how long it would take to dress them both again if they had a quickie.

  “I have something for you,” he said, interrupting her lascivious thoughts.

  “You’ve given me more than enough already. Thank you for the dress.” She skimmed her hands down the silken swirl of the champagne-hued gown, and his eyes followed the trail her hands made down her body.

  “You look good enough to eat,” he said, the low-pitched intensity of his voice making her pulse quicken.

  He teased her lips with his breath and drew her hips to his with a press of his hand. “I’d kiss you, but I’m afraid someone would have my head if I messed up your lipstick.”

  “I have more in my bag.”

  She gasped as he clutched her ass in his palm.

  “Do you have on hose?”

  She shook her head, barely able to breathe, much less speak. Groaning, he stepped away, forcing her to lock her knees to stay upright without his support.

  “I have something for you.”

  He picked up a velvet case he’d placed on the mahogany occasional table.

  The look she gave him was questioning. She’d known him for less than a week and he was giving her jewelry?

  “Go ahead. Open it.”

  The velvet lid creaked. When she saw what was inside she could only shake her head, speechless.

  “Here. Let me.”

  As he lifted the pearl choker with its emerald cabochon from the satin lining, she found words of denial.

  “I hope it’s rented.”

  His heated fingertips brushed her nape as he fastened the choker about her neck, and she bit her lip against another surge of desire.

  “Let me see,” he said, taking her shoulders to turn her to face him.

  Her fingers caressed the pearls in wonder, even as her mind whirred to find a way to return the gift.

  He laughed at the look she gave him and said, “I never knew a woman could refuse jewelry.”

  “I’m not just any woman.”

  “So we’ve established,” he said, a tender smile taking her breath away when he offered her his arm. Her fingers brushed the swell of his biceps making her legs tremble anew. God, she wanted him. Needed him with an intensity she’d never known existed.

  “David,” she whispered and faced him, brushing her hand down the wool of his tuxedo jacket to the swell of his groin.

  He swore, grabbing her wrist to press her hand against his cock with a lustful surge of his hips. Their eyes locked and a silent war ensued. They both wanted it. They both knew they didn’t have time.

  Letting out a long-suffering groan, he pulled her hand away by the wrist. When she struggled, he gave her a warning glare. If she kept it up, he’d make her pay. Later.

  Slowly, he let go, and Kyra licked her lips in a way that made him hiss. The harshness of his breath told her how close she was to winning, and it made her grin triumphantly.

  “Let’s go,” she said, and he blinked.

  As they walked the carpeted corridors of the Ritz to the security entrance, the look he slanted her promised that wherever and whenever later was, he would take his sweet time with retribution. And she would enjoy every minute.

  Chapter Ten

  The ride
in the limousine’s plush interior was fraught with tension. Kyra didn’t know how to sit, where to put her hands, or what to do. She wouldn’t be surprised if she tripped and fell on her face when they exited the vehicle.

  In the line of traffic snaking toward the exhibition hall, she turned to David to say as much, but caught the gray undertone to his pallor and forgot about her own concerns.

  She took his hand and the icy dampness of his palm shocked her senses.

  “Hey, are you okay?”

  Through the open barrier separating them from the driver’s compartment, she saw Günter’s shoulders straighten.

  David nodded jerkily, but didn’t answer.

  Günter turned in his seat. “Sir? We’re about twenty-five minutes out. I’m going to close the partition now.”

  The divider went up with a mechanical whir. Kyra worried her lip and slid around to the seat opposite David. He ignored her, just continued to look out the window. She might not have even been there for all the attention he paid.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  He swallowed. “No.”

  Well, it was a response. Maybe she needed to stop asking him questions and simply find a way to distract him. A plan formed in her mind.

  Günter, you’re a brilliant man.

  “You know, I’ve always wanted to have a quickie in a limo.”

  His head swiveled and he pinned her with his stare.

  “You’ll ruin your dress.”

  She smiled, teasing in sotto voce, “I don’t have any knickers on.”

  Jaw working, he clenched his fists at his sides, visibly restraining himself from jumping her, and Kyra leaned forward, placing her palms on either side of his head. It looked like she was going to win the struggle they’d begun in the hotel after all.

  “Unzip.” The command was a hot whisper against his mouth.

  David’s left hand slid up Kyra’s calf, pushing her dress past her thigh, as his other wrestled with the fastening of his trousers. His pupils dilated as he came into contact with her bare bottom, telling her his fear had been supplanted by another primal emotion—lust.

  She kept her tone low, seductive, dominant, and ordered, “Take your cock out. Get it ready for me.”

  David’s chin tilted up, nostrils flaring as he complied, taking the condom she handed him from her clutch and rolling it on. A sudden motion of the limo brushed the head along her inner thigh, and Kyra rewarded him with a seductive smile.