by Virna DePaul
I turn to Kara, wondering if it’s time we call it quits and head back to the van, hoping she’s not too disappointed.
Kara, though? Her eyes are bright, excited. She flashes me a grin.
“I’ll be right back,” she says.
Right back? I reach for her, but she’s gone, wending her way through the crowd of dancers. I’m not sure where she’s going or what she plans to do, but by now I know Kara—whatever she’s planning on doing, it will be fun.
A couple of minutes pass, with the crowd slipping away from the dance floor to the refreshments table. If the mayor and town council don’t come up with a plan, they’ll lose their crowd, and maybe the donations they’d hoped to gain tonight.
I look around for Kara and see her slip back into the auditorium…only this time she has a guitar case in her hands. She doesn’t come back to me, and instead heads over to the mayor and speaks, gesturing at the stage, a wide smile on her face.
Kara Hester, I think, what adventure do you have in store for us now?
And when she beckons me to follow her onto the stage, I don’t even hesitate.
10
KARA
Even though I’d left the music business long ago, I still love getting up on stage. Usually it’s karaoke in small town bars, where I can duck out if anyone thinks they recognize my voice, and usually the audience is drunk and more interested in their turn at the microphone than this intrigued crowd in front of me. Sure, there’s always a chance I’ll get recognized, but I’m actually willing to take the risk. A miniscule risk, I tell myself, since this is a sock hop and the last thing I’ll be singing is country.
I can’t help questioning myself though: Why am I willing to take any risk, when I’ve rabidly pursued anonymity all these years? Maybe because my skin feels hot under the stage lights and my heart is pounding in that familiar way and god it feels good. It reminds me of my happiest tour dates, so many years ago, back before Carter crushed my soul.
Or maybe because the past few days I’ve felt stronger than I have in a long time.
And maybe that’s partially because of Declan.
I shoot him a quick glance, then look at the mayor, who gives me a thumb’s up. She looks a little apprehensive, as does the city council who are standing at her side. All I’d told her was that my friend and I were traveling musicians and could give the crowd a good show so long as Bob and Dell’s drummer wanted to pound out a beat.
Someone’s found the drummer out by the beverage table and he’s making his way through the crowd to the stage as Declan grabs the guitar from my hands.
“You know what you’re doing?” he asks, his eyes a bit wide.
“So long as you can keep up. Can you? Keep up?” I tease.
He arches a brow. “I’m pretty sure we’ve established I can keep up. But yeah, I can play a mean guitar, too.”
“All Shook Up—F major?”
He quirks an eyebrow. “You can hit those notes? Go that deep?”
“Don’t you worry there, buddy.” I wrap my fingers around the mic. “I got Elvis down. And yeah, I’m pretty sure we’ve established I can go that deep.”
He laughs and I almost can’t resist kissing him. Later, Kara. Right now…
I arrange the mic to the correct height as Declan greets the drummer who’s now on stage and settling down behind the drum set.
I go over to the drummer and quickly introduce myself, learning his name is Allen and that he’s Dell and Bob’s cousin. I explain that with his cousins off at the hospital, Declan and I are willing to give the crowd a performance if he is. Professional musicians can usually jam well together so long as we’re playing something basic, so I’m not surprised when Allen agrees.
When I ask if he knows any Elvis songs, his eyes light up. “Honey, you can’t be a musician anywhere in the south without knowing everything the King ever played,” he says, and he’s right; I learned to play almost every Elvis song when I was still a kid. Allen thuds the bass drum and rolls his sticks over the snare before crashing the cymbal. “Let’s do this thing.”
I give him and Declan a quick line up, then turn and face the audience, excitement buzzing in my belly. I love being on stage, the feel of the mic, the lights warming my nerve-chilled skin. It’s all bringing me right back to the place where I used to be happiest.
I wait for Declan to strap my guitar over his shoulder and give it a quick tune. The way he looks right now, wearing his dorky powder blue suit like he’s ready to shoot some vintage MTV video, pick in his mouth and fingers on the strings, turns me on. He was pretty confident just now, so let’s see if the guy has the same level of music moves as he does bedroom moves.
The crowd quiets, watching us with curious eyes. I clap my hand over the live mic. “You ready?” I ask Declan.
“Hell yeah,” he says.
The drummer nods, and then I’ve got the mic to my mouth ready to address the crowd.
“Hey there everyone,” I say, smiling widely. “Bob and Dell aren’t able to continue, so Allen, Declan and I offered to play a bit so the dance competition can continue. Sound good?”
The crowd cheers, and Allen pounds the bass, bringing the three of us into “All Shook Up.”
Declan’s fingers fly over the strings like he was born with a guitar in his hands. For the first few opening bars, I’m just watching him, surprised. He’s good. Really good. As he strums, he looks up at me and winks, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. Cheeky bastard.
Then I face the audience and start to sing. The song is fun, bouncy, perfect for dancing, and the crowd is equally energetic. Some of the couples are dancing in pairs, some in a sort of swing style, and others are imitating Elvis’s hips by rocking and rolling. We get to the part where I sing, “I’m in love,” and Declan leans into the microphone and in perfect timing shouts out, “Uh!” just before I finish the lyric with “I'm all shook up.”
Our gazes connect and I feel a thrill run up my spine.
Oh God, this feels so good.
The song ends, and Allen on the drums takes us straight into “Hound Dog.” The crowd loves the energy we bring and responds like something exploded in them. Their energy pumps me up, heating my blood and sending it zipping through my veins. All of a sudden I’m using the entire stage, whipping my hips back and forth, a Kara Hester version of Elvis. I even hold out my hands to the crowd, receiving those sweaty high fives I used to get as my fans would reach up to me.
I miss this—the music, yes, but mostly the way the mic feels in my hand, the energy and passion I pour into every lyric, the give and take with the audience, melding our energy into something potent, unique. With the heavy beat of the drum pounding through my chest, the guitar licks charging energy into my blood, the audience giving me as much as I give them, I feel alive.
And I have Declan to share this with. He’s right here with me.
I catch his eye. He gives me a slow smile that goes straight to my bones. Declan’s brought this to me--Declan and his crazy rescue attempt, the way he painted my naked body under moonlight, it’s what’s led me…back to me.
The mayor has been going through the crowd, tapping couple’s shoulders like in some old time movie, and they exit the dance floor. Another fast song is needed, so I mouth to Allen and Declan to segue into “Blue Suede Shoes,” which the crowd loves. I mean, who doesn’t?
By the time the song ends, the mayor has selected the dance contest winners. The older couple who’d impressed me earlier with their ability to swing around the dance floor comes up on stage and accepts their award--dinner for two at a local restaurant. The husband kisses his wife, bending her slightly and giving her a long, deep kiss. The audience laughs, and when I notice couples snuggling up to each other or giving one another soft kisses, my heart basically melts.
We play into the night, and I’m surprised Declan knows so many songs. “Love Me Tender” is followed by a couple of Buddy Holly songs, then Chubby Checker, and even though Declan doesn’t know Patsy C
line’s “Walkin’ After Midnight,” he picks it up well enough.
When the crowd starts to flag, I hesitate, wanting to give them the perfect ending to a perfect night. Wanting to give them more of me, even if they don’t know who I am. Declan does, a little, given what we’ve shared the past few days so…
I murmur my plan to Declan and Allen, and Declan hands over my guitar before backing up to the wings. Allen sets his drumsticks down and gives me a thumb’s up.
I’m surprised to find that I’m suddenly nervous, but I step up to the mic and catch the crowd’s attention. “It’s been a great night, folks, but as they say, all good things must come to an end, and it’s time for us to call it a night. Before we go, though, I wanted to play one last song for you. It’s one I wrote myself.”
Hands fumbling, I strap on my guitar and tune the strings, aware the auditorium has filled with a hushed silence. I glance over at Declan, and his expression is serious, but just looking at him eases my nerves.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a second. The lyrics to the song I’m about to sing fill my mind. It’s a song I started writing right after I left the business, when I’d felt lost and disillusioned. As time passed, however, the song had morphed into one not only filled with sadness and anger, but with hope. With determination. Yeah, it’s a takedown of the very business that took me so high and brought me so low. But it’s also an anthem.
As soon as the first few chords start, I’m lost. I’m lost in the music, in the world of notes and lyrics swirling around me. It’s like when I was painting that mural. I let it take me where I want to go, and it pulls me along like a bird in flight. I’m leaving the stage, lifted up, soaring up above the gym. I’m limitless...and free.
This—this is who I am.
I never needed Carter, and I knew that, but only after I’d left him. I’d had to leave it all behind to find the strength in myself to write a song like the one I’m singing now. I couldn’t have written it if I hadn’t been broken down first, and my own power surprises me. It feels so damn good to just be Kara.
I get through the bridge, into the key change, and open my eyes. The thinning crowd seems hypnotized. Declan is seated on the side of the stage, and although I can’t clearly see him, part of me is almost singing to him. I want him to know that I wasn’t broken by everything that’s happened in my life. I want him to know me.
I want him to love me.
The thought stuns me, but I keep playing. Keep singing. Keep pouring out who I am for everyone to see.
When I finish the song, there’s no reaction. Only silence. My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears. The final chord seems to echo off into the warm air. Had I fucked it all up? Was this small beach town the wrong audience to give this song to? Had I made them mad by singing my own stuff and not an Elvis song?
Then: applause.
Smiles.
People nodding approval. Hands in the air. And still, more applause.
I hear Declan’s applause the loudest. He’s standing in the wings, beaming and clapping like he never wants to stop.
Shaking inside, I thank the crowd, turn off the mic, and head off the stage straight into Declan’s arms. He kisses me, long and deep, as if he never wants to stop. When he pulls back, his eyes are dark with promise.
“I need you,” I whisper.
He grabs my guitar case and we almost run out of the auditorium, slipping through a back door before anyone can stop us to talk.
I need to be alone with Declan.
We are silent as we clamber into the van, and I throw the guitar into the back, on the bed.
“Hotel, or beach?” Declan asks, pulling the keys out of his pocket and starting the van. “But you need to decide soon, because after that performance, I have to have you. And I do not aim to wait.”
“Hotel,” I say quietly. “There’s one at the far side of town. And you’d better hurry, because I do not aim to wait, either.” I don’t want this night--our night--to end just yet. Or ever.
Fifteen minutes later we’re in a room in a decent hotel and I’m ready to devour Declan. He looks adorably ridiculous in that blue tux, but I need it off him. Now.
I undo his bow tie, then wordlessly rip the buttons off his ruffled shirt.
He arches an eyebrow. “You’re very naughty, you know that, right?”
“You love it,” I murmur, biting his earlobe. I toss the tie onto the floor before pushing his suit coat off of him, followed by his shirt. They land on the floor beside the tie in a heap of powder blue polyester. I back up until I hit the room’s desk, then crook a finger at him to follow.
The buzzing high after performing can be a powerful aphrodisiac--the adrenaline in your system needs a release. So I’m grateful when Declan pulls me into his embrace and shoves his thigh between my legs, spreading my legs until my pussy is pressing against his already hardening cock.
“I need you,” I whisper.
“I can tell,” he whispers back, touching his forehead to mine.
I tip my head up and kiss him. He tastes like sea salt, and when he thrusts his tongue inside my mouth, I shiver.
With hurried movements, we undress, tossing our clothes over our shoulders in a heap of pale yellow and powder blue. When Declan presses his now naked cock against my wet sex, I moan, loud and long.
He nips at my bottom lip and rubs his cock through my soaked folds. I’m already close, my sex clenching, the high from performing taking me places that are oh so delicious. We kiss ravenously, and when his fingers dig into my ass as he lifts me up, it only eggs me on further.
But then he pulls away. I’m about to protest, but he kneels in front of me. Parting my legs, he looks at me with heat and sheer lust.
He doesn’t kiss me. Not yet. He seems to be taking me in, memorizing this moment, and I have to restrain myself from begging him to touch me. I’m a bundle of nerves and desire. I need him so badly it’s painful.
His fingers gently part me, and he inhales my scent. When he strokes my pussy with his tongue, my toes curl. Good god, the man’s good. I’m gasping for breath from that single touch.
Declan doesn’t hurry. He licks me like how he’d licked his ice cream cone earlier, thoroughly and slowly. He laves my pussy with hot strokes of his tongue, drawing out the sensation until it makes my thighs quiver. I grab at his hair, pulling him closer, but it doesn’t make him go faster.
If anything, he just goes slower.
I’m going to die.
My thoughts dissipate when he finally licks my clit. It’s throbbing for his touch, and when he sucks it into his mouth, I bite my lip to keep from screaming.
Our gazes lock right then. As I stare into his eyes, he gives my clit one last pull. It sets me ablaze. I come, my body convulsing.
He grabs a condom from his wallet in record speed. Once the condom’s on, he lays me on the bed, wraps my legs around his waist and plunges inside me. I cry out. I’m still so sensitive from my orgasm that the sensation of his cock filling me is almost too much. All I can do is hang on, panting.
We move in rhythm, and the sound of our bodies slapping together fills the room. I kiss his cheek, his ear, his neck--whatever I can get my mouth on. As his cock pumps inside me, I lick the salt from his skin.
Declan grunts.
We both come at the same time. When my pussy starts to tighten around his cock, it sets us both off. We’re like rockets, exploding into the sky. We shake and moan in each other’s arms, and when we’ve finally calmed, we kiss. I shiver, thinking how good I feel when I’m with Declan, and I don’t just mean sexually.
The saying is that all good things have to come to an end but after singing on stage, after making love to Declan, I don't want to believe that. I want to hope. I want to dream. I want to believe that things can stay good forever.
11
DECLAN
Kara’s adorable eating a burger, I think. A glob of ketchup rests on her cheek, and I reach across the booth to wipe it off with a
finger. I’m rewarded with a grin, but no words—her mouth is completely full.
After that amazing sex session, Kara and I were both tempted to fall asleep, but our stomachs wouldn’t let us. Plus, I was wound up after performing—no, I was wound up after watching Kara perform. All I’d done was play some basic Elvis tunes, but Kara? She’d brought it. Jesus, she was so good. So good.
So with Kara’s stomach rumbling, we’d hit up the hotel clerk on the best place to go get a bite at such a late hour, and she’d pointed us to a greasy diner down the beach.
“Good, right?” Kara mumbles through a mouthful of burger.
“Not as good as you,” I say, and smile when she rolls her eyes at me. It’s true, though. I mean, yeah, the cheeseburgers in front of us are awesome—full of flavor and meaty as fuck—and the milkshakes are made with real ice cream, but I doubt I’ll ever get the taste that’s quintessentially Kara off my tongue. She tastes like sea air, like strawberry ice cream, like hope.
Kara goes back to dipping fries in ketchup and I lean back in the booth and simply watch her.
Despite her smudged makeup and messed-up sex hair, she looks amazing. Flushed and happy and glowing. I can’t take my eyes off her. Seeing her on stage, though? That had been truly amazing. I never got the opportunity to see her perform when she toured, and after tonight, I could see why she was such a huge hit. I mean, her music was amazing, but her performance tonight floored me. I hadn’t expected to feel so damn much.
My thoughts had rocketed out of my brain, and I was just sitting there, staring at her and loving every second of it. She has a presence on stage that you can’t teach people. Either you have it or you don’t.
I’ve been an agent for those who don’t have it, and I gotta say, it’s painfully obvious—and painful when their careers tank. More than once, I’ve had to tell an act that they just don’t have the goods. It’s a business—those who don’t have it get cut.
But Kara…
She’s the real deal. Fucking amazing.