“It’s nice to meet all of you,” she said. “S.A.F.—are you a new group?”
Terrance shook his head. “We’ve been playing together for five years and do shows locally. Dante is trying to take us mainstream.”
She glanced at Dante. “Really?”
“Well, since they won’t officially let me be a member, I have to promise fame and fortune for them to let me play with them.”
She laughed along with the rest of the group.
“Seriously, this is who I’ve been telling you about. They’ll be the entertainment act at my club. I’m introducing them to my fans, and at the same time, I plan to release my first album with them. My own music,” he said with excitement in his voice.
“Your music? I’m pretty sure I’ve listened to your music since I was fourteen.”
His arm around her shoulder tightened for a second. “You’ve heard the mainstream music that my family specializes in. This is what I hear when I’m writing music. Come on, guys—let’s show Julie what I’m talking about.”
He pointed to a beat-up old leather couch along the wall, and Julie walked over and sat. Dante slapped Bobby on the shoulder before going into the studio. “Let’s start with the song we worked on earlier. Then we can get into the music you all put together after I left.”
Julie sat on the edge of the couch and watched. After the first few bars, she knew she loved the music. Tommy and Terrance played a catchy melody while Dante accompanied them on the piano. Lem added a bass beat that Joey complemented with the drums. Before long, Julie was nodding her head and swaying. It was a fusion of classical, jazz and hip-hop.
When they finished, Dante glanced at her over the top of the piano. His gaze darted from her to the piano. Was he nervous?
She clapped. “That was fantastic. I’ve never heard that before.”
Dante’s shoulders relaxed. He finally met her gaze with pride and excitement in his eyes. He had been anxious about her response.
Terrance drummed his fingers on the back of his violin. “Wait until you hear this. Dante, listen to what we came up with and tell us what you think. We’re missing something.”
Terrance positioned the violin beneath his chin and counted out the beat. The rest of the group started an upbeat song punctuated with a rhythm from the drums that had her once again swaying in her seat. Dante listened, then joined in on the piano.
“No, it needs vocals,” he said after they finished. His brows drew together; then he snapped. “Let me freestyle to it.”
They started again. This time, when they reached the chorus, Dante came in with vocals. Julie couldn’t believe he’d freestyled right then and there.
Julie became engrossed watching them work on the music, confer together and then play again making various changes. She didn’t have an artistic bone in her body but appreciated those who could make something beautiful just from the imagination. She noticed a shift in Dante the more they worked. He was less flashy, less the I am Dante Wilson—idolize me. He was serious about this music, jerking his clothes and rubbing the back of his neck when something wasn’t working, and clapping his hands and talking excitedly when things did work.
This was the real him. The Dante who’d taken her to dinner and paid for her date with Carlos was the superstar used to getting what he wanted. This was the musician. The guy struggling to bring life to his creation. A man who cared little about his stardom when other members of the group challenged him on an idea.
This Dante impressed her, which was surprising, since she hadn’t been impressed by a celebrity in years.
She wasn’t sure how long they worked. It was long enough for Julie to kick off her shoes and tuck her feet under her on the couch. Watching Dante be so passionate about his music worked against her reasons not to give in to the sparks between them. His intensity, hunger and fire for what he was doing blazed in his every movement. What would having his creative talents focused on her be like? Warmth spread from her midsection, and she squirmed on the couch.
They finished a song, and Dante jumped up from the piano stool, his smile bright and eager. He’d lost the coat, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up. Every move he made was fluid—a testament to the great dancer he was. The muscles in his arms, back and shoulders flexed and tightened. Julie pictured him shirtless, moving with the same sensual grace as they made love with his shoulders bunching, arms flexing, hips pumping.
The studio door burst open. Julie snapped out of her daydream but couldn’t ignore the slick evidence of exactly what she’d been dreaming about between her legs. A woman with clear brown skin, long black hair and dark eyes entered. She glanced around the room, smiled at Julie, then turned back to the guys.
Terrance put down his violin and hurried out of the studio to her. “Esha, what are you doing here?” Pleasure filled his voice.
Esha lifted on her toes and kissed him. “You’re late, so I thought I’d come by and see how things were going.” She turned to Julie.
Dante came to Julie’s side. “Esha, this is Julie.”
Esha raised a brow. “You’re bringing dates to the studio now?” She looked at Julie and grinned. “You must be special.”
Julie returned her smile. “That’s what I keep trying to tell him.”
“Well, one thing you should know is that when these guys start working, it’s hard to tear them away.” She looked to Terrance. “Have you eaten yet?”
Terrance looked guilty. “I meant to eat.”
Julie’s stomach growled loud enough for everyone in the room to look her way. She pressed a hand to her stomach, and heat rose to her face. She’d lost her appetite after seeing all of Dante’s conquests at the restaurant, and she’d honestly forgotten about food in her eagerness to watch Dante play.
Dante squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll order something. There are take-out menus in the office next door. Any requests?”
The guys called out various things from pizza to Chinese. Dante looked to her. “I’ll figure something out. Come with me.”
He held out his hand, and she took it. They left the studio to go into the office across the hall. He went to a desk, opened the top left drawer and pulled out several menus.
“Sorry I didn’t feed you,” he said. “I got caught up in the music.”
“I knew you were talented, but that was great.”
He looked up from the menus. “Thank you. I want to go mainstream with it, but everyone thinks it’ll fail.”
“Everyone thought I was crazy for leaving Nexon-Jones, but here I am. Opening a nightclub with one of the world’s biggest superstars.”
“Point taken.” He slowly flipped through the menus, then looked up again. “How did you know it would work out? Leaving your job and striking out?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t know. All I knew was that if I didn’t try, I’d hate myself. I could’ve easily gone to another firm, but I would still be at the mercy of another person. Before I chose that route, I had to see if my dream could support me.”
“I worry about my career. One bad album, one wrong move, and the people hate you. Being a success is all I know.”
“Being a success takes risks to be appreciated. Easy success means you take it for granted and don’t know how to handle things if your success goes away.”
He gave her his sexy smile, dropped the menus and came around the desk. “Is that why you’re making me earn my time with you?”
“Partly. I just like to weigh options and know what I’m stepping into. I’ve been blindsided in relationships before. I stick to certain rules to avoid being played again.”
He frowned. “What kind of rules?”
“Nothing important.” She didn’t want to think of all the rules that would support her walking out of this room and forgetting the route her mind had taken just a few minutes before.
<
br /> He leaned close. “Am I playing by your rules?”
“At the start of the night, you were running the game plan I fully expected.”
He took another step closer. His cologne seemed stronger, more intense, but she knew the heat from his body and the fire in his eyes had her acutely aware of everything about him.
“Was I?”
She nodded. “Yes, but then you brought me here. I wasn’t expecting to see...you.” She closed the distance between them and reached up to place a hand on his face. “I wouldn’t mind getting to know you. I shouldn’t—doing so breaks too many rules. I should have moved on by now.”
He wrapped his arm around her waist. “Well, if you’re breaking rules for me, I might as well go all in.”
He kissed her long, slow and deep. Julie’s hands wrapped around his neck while one of her legs snaked around his. She couldn’t get close enough. She was hot, inside and out. On fire for Dante and in no mood to ignore how she felt. Strong hands gripped her and lifted as Julie’s legs wrapped around his waist. He spun, never breaking the kiss, and sat her on the desk. Her hands were at the front of his shirt, pulling and tugging to get the buttons open. Dante gripped her hips, then slid his hands down her thighs. Why in the world hadn’t she worn a skirt? She wanted to feel his hands on her skin.
She got the buttons free and slowly pushed the material aside. He pulled back, his nostrils flared and his lips parted with heavy breaths. The low lights in the office played with the hills and valleys of his sculpted chest and stomach and gleamed off the platinum chain around his neck. Julie ran her fingers over his chest. The muscles jumped, and she pulled her lower lip between her teeth. Feeling daring, she pinched one of his flat nipples. Dante’s eyes narrowed. He groaned, grabbed the back of her head and kissed her again.
She met his fever with her own. Her tongue sliding across his, hands gripping his body, hips pressing forward. Dante cupped her breast, and Julie pushed into his palm. He toyed with the hardened tip, tendrils of pleasure flowing with each pull. Her fingers stopped their exploration of his naked chest and lowered to cup his arousal.
Dante pumped his hips forward. “You want that?” he asked, his voice deep and primal.
“I want you,” she said against his lips.
The sound he made—a mixture of excitement, need and urgency—made her heart race. He found the zipper on the side of her jumpsuit and tugged the small device down. Julie pushed one sleeve off her shoulder.
The door opened. “Whoa, hey, my bad!” She heard Terrance’s voice, followed by the quick snap of the door closing.
Julie and Dante froze. The interruption took all of ten seconds but was just the douse Julie needed. Dante pulled back. His eyes were bright with desire, his body tense and his arousal hard—hard and still in her hand. Julie jerked her hand away. She sucked in air and tried to think. She could not have sex with him on a desk in some unnamed studio.
Oh, a named studio would be better?
Julie closed her eyes and shook her head. “We should order food.”
She opened her eyes. Dante’s were closed. Slowly, he backed away, took a deep breath and then looked at her. She lost her breath, so common around him, even more so when he looked like he wanted to push her back on the desk, make her chant his name and speak in tongues.
“Okay,” he said softly.
Julie nodded and slid forward on the desk. He stopped her before she got off and leaned in to kiss her gently. “Three times you’ve kissed me, Julie. I’ll be up all night dreaming about the fourth.”
Chapter 11
Dante was in the middle of his Thursday morning session with his choreographer when his cell phone rang. Annoyed by the interruption, he considered ignoring the call. The idea that the caller may be Julie sent him to the phone.
“Let me check that,” he said to Armando. Wiping his face with a towel, he crossed the room to his cell. His dad’s number was on the screen.
“What are you doing?” Otis asked after Dante answered the phone.
“I’m in the middle of practicing a new routine.”
“Why do you sound so winded?”
Dante took a sip from the bottle of water he had sitting on the floor next to where his phone had been. “I’m not winded.” He took a deep breath. “That’s like admitting the moves I made ten years ago are harder now.”
Otis laughed. “That’s the damn problem with old age. Everything starts creaking and popping, but you don’t have anything to worry about. You’ve got at least another ten years before your body really starts to rebel.”
“That’s why I keep working out now. I want to make that a lot more than ten years.”
When he was a kid and his parents first insisted he learn tap, jazz and hip-hop dance, he’d hated it and thought dancing was for girls. Later he appreciated the lessons. Dancing boosted his star appeal, and he’d learned quickly how much women loved a man who could dance.
“That’s what I’m talking about. We’ve always got to look to the future to ensure W. M. Records has staying power, which brings me to the reason for calling. Antwan will be out your way this weekend. We’re close to getting him to sign, but he still wants to do a collaboration with you on his first album. I want you to get with him next weekend. Go to the studio, and see what you can come up with.”
Dante gritted his teeth and squeezed the bottle in his hand. “Dad, I told you. I’m working on my own project right now. I’ll be in the studio with Strings A Flame this weekend.”
Otis’s disgusted grunt came through the phone. “Those classical guys. Dante, you’re better than that.”
“They’re not classical guys. Just because they play the violin doesn’t mean they can’t put together some really hot music.”
“Look, son, hip-hop and Mozart don’t go together. You’ve always been a strong R&B and pop star, and I think this collaboration with Antwan will strengthen your appeal to the hip-hop crowd, as well.”
“I’m already strong in that market. I don’t need to fully cross over. I don’t mind the occasional collaboration with a rap artist, but I’m not a rapper.”
“I know that. None of us are. Your sister made sure of that,” Otis said bitterly. “But you know what I told you about last year’s profits. We need to get ahead of where the music’s trending. Right now the trend is music that Antwan is putting out. You’re coming strong after the concert tour. Follow up that success with a bang by collaborating with one of the biggest names in rap instead of playing with two fiddlers on music that won’t go anywhere.”
He had no words to refute his dad’s argument. Dante was making headway on his own project, and he wasn’t ready to give up his work. “You have to at least hear the music before you toss it out.”
“Your mom dragged me to enough symphonies in my life to know that I don’t like it.”
“But this isn’t symphonic music. This is fusion—”
“I don’t like fusion. Why does everyone think they need to mix stuff up all the time?”
Dante rubbed his temple with his free hand. Didn’t his dad realize that mixing hip-hop and R&B was a form of fusion?
“You need to give it a try. If I were mixing jazz or the blues into my music, you’d be okay.”
“Because that’s music that gets people moving, music that inspires emotions and makes you want to dance. The only thing a violin can do is make you want to sleep.”
“Then why did you insist I learn to play the instrument?”
“Because being successful takes more than just singing. I’ve always encouraged you and your sister to be multitalented. Singing, dancing and creating songs that people want to party to are your strong points. I won’t have you wasting your talents on music that won’t go anywhere.”
Dante’s head hurt, and he wanted to pound his fist into the wall. Argu
ing with Otis was useless. Not once had his dad tried to even hear the music Dante wanted to put together. He was always brushing it off as boring or not sellable.
He’d have to do this album on his own. W. M. Records wouldn’t support it. He made a mental note to call his lawyer, who thankfully wasn’t paid for by Otis and was loyal to only Dante. He’d check his contract and make sure he’d be okay to put out the music himself when the time came.
“I spoke with your sister,” Otis said easily, as if he hadn’t just dismissed his son’s dream. “She’s thinking of putting out some new music. I’m trying to get a good songwriter, and we’ve got the publicity department working on her rebranding. Repairing a career once it’s broken takes a lot of work.”
Correcting his sister’s career mistake was going to take a lot of rebranding and publicity. Images of losing his status, scorn and ridicule, and becoming a laughingstock of an industry that had embraced him since he was a kid, flashed through his mind. Success meant nothing if you didn’t struggle for it. Julie’s philosophy sounded well and good when he was in the studio, pumped up on the music they created. What if Otis was right, and the music he was making with S.A.F. was unsuccessful and scorned?
“Tell Antwan to give me a call when he’s in town,” Dante said. He thought about how he could work in a few sessions with Antwan along with S.A.F. It would be difficult but doable.
“Good. I will.” His dad’s smug voice came through.
Dante bristled, feeling like he’d just caved. “I may even have a party on Saturday.”
“Where?”
“My place. I’ll also invite a few musicians—make it kind of an impromptu jam session. We’ll see if Antwan and I can come up with something good for that.” And he’d invite S.A.F. and test out the songs they’d put together.
“Excellent. I’d try to skip out on this trip to New York to come out and see that, but your mom is looking forward to seeing her brother.”
“That’s no problem. Just make it out in time for the club opening.”
A Malibu Kind of Romance Page 8