by Selena Kitt
“What are you saying?” I inched closer, touching his shoulder from behind.
“I want out.”
His words sent shards of ice deep into my heart. My face drained of blood. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t even think. That’s when he looked back at me, seeing the look on my face, and it broke whatever spell he was under.
“No, not us… not us, sweetheart.” He cradled me in his arms and the relief that flooded my chest broke like a dam. I trembled in his lap. “Trouble. I want out of my contract, out of the band. I just… I feel like I’m suffocating. It’s a cage that I’ve outgrown.”
“They’ll crucify you for it.” It was unthinkable.
“Maybe.”
I tried to imagine a world without Trouble. It was like imagining a world without water or sunlight. They were rock gods. Rob was an icon. The pedestal he was on was so high, the fall just might kill him.
“Don’t do it.” I shook my head, burying my face against his neck. “Don’t give it up for me.”
“No, it’s for me. I can’t… I can’t breathe.” He pressed his lips against the top of my head. “The noose just keeps getting tighter and tighter, the more I struggle…”
“So, stop.”
“If I stop, I die,” he croaked. “I have to get out of here.”
I clung to him, wishing I could make it all go away, make it all better somehow.
“Sabrina…” He lifted my face to his, looking at me sitting naked in his lap. “You’re the only good thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Surely not the only thing.” I smiled at his hyperbole. “I think all those garage bands out there right now trying to make it big would beg to differ.”
“Trouble isn’t my freedom. It’s my prison.” He swallowed, pushing stray bits of my hair behind my ears. “You… you’re my freedom. You’re the sky and the water and the wind and the sun…”
“Rob!” I laughed, but I knew what he meant. He was my everything, too.
“I think we should get married.” He wrapped his arms around my hips, settling me more deeply against him.
“That’s why I’m planning a wedding,” I reminded him, putting my arms around his neck.
“No, I mean now.” He met my eyes, his dark and serious. That same, dark look he always got when he wanted something. “Today.”
“Rob…” I gaped at him, blinking in surprised. His eyes grew even darker, those silver flecks like lightning. He looked determined.
“We’ve done all the paperwork. We just need someone to say the words,” he urged. “Let’s do it. Just you and me.”
“But… my family…” My dreams of a big, grand wedding were disintegrating before my eyes. “Katie’s my maid of honor, and Tyler…”
“Oh, we can do the big ceremony thing later, for everyone else, if you want.” He made a face at the thought. I knew he was indulging me with the big wedding thing—he’d already had one, with Catherine—but I wanted something for our family and friends.
“I need this, Sabrina.” The look in his eyes melted me. How was I supposed to resist? “I need you to be mine. To belong to me.”
“I am yours.” I leaned in and kissed him, knowing he already had me. I would do whatever he wanted. I was powerless against him.
“So, say yes.” Rob was like a dog with a bone when he got an idea into his head. He just wouldn’t let go. His mouth moved over my chin, my jaw, murmuring, feathering shivery little kisses. “Say yes, Sabrina. Say yes.”
“Okay,” I moaned, giving in, his mouth and tongue at my collarbone. “Yes. Yes!”
“Good, get packed.” He dumped me onto the bed, heading naked toward the bathroom.
“Where are we going?” I called, still dazed, as he turned on the shower.
“Aruba.”
Chapter Two
Rob never gave up. I think that was the reason Trouble was so successful, so quickly. He just wouldn’t give up. So here we were, sitting in the waiting room of an L.A. high rise, me flipping through a copy of Vanity Fair and Rob tapping out rhythms on the glass table in front of us with an abandoned pencil, some new song probably forming in his head.
Arnie—Trouble’s agent—hadn’t returned Rob’s calls after we got back from Aruba. Celeste had tried first, to no avail. Then Rob started calling himself, but Arnie’s secretary had put him off, saying Arnie was out of town. Except he wasn’t, because now we could hear him yelling at someone on the phone, even through the thick, solid oak door.
“Rob, are you sure—?” I started, but Rob’s dark look stopped me, and I flipped the page in Vanity Fair to a two-page spread of Christina Aguilera, her husband and their new baby, hiding behind it. Seeing their faces, how happy they looked, sent a splinter of pain into my heart.
I’d hoped Aruba would help him forget, or at least quell his insistence, but he was still just as determined to make me a part of Trouble when we got back. It was the first thing he had Celeste do when we came home, before our driver, Jesse, had even unloaded our bags.
No one had questioned our trip. Celeste said a little vacation was probably a good idea and considering the state of what I called Rob’s Music Room, I told her she was probably right. She’d made all the arrangements, but even Celeste didn’t know we planned to get married while we were on vacation. We returned to Aruba, a place that had given us so much joy and pleasure. I had been pregnant on our trip, Esther alive and kicking inside of me then. That thought made me sad, but it couldn’t erase the memory of how incredibly happy we’d been there.
So, it was just me and Rob and two island strangers I’d never met before as witnesses, standing on the beach at sunset in front of a man who asked us to say the words that would make us man and wife.
I thought it would change everything, and in some ways, it had. Rob was officially mine now, and I was his. The look in his eyes when he took me, that first night of our honeymoon in a private tiki hut at the edge of the ocean, told me everything had changed. He had wanted me to be his, and I had stood up in front of witnesses and said the words. He couldn’t stop saying it, whispering it, even in his sleep, his arm around me, hanging on like a child to its favorite stuffed toy—Mine.
But while I was now his, and he was mine, we kept it like a secret between us. No one else knew, not even Tyler, not even my best friend, Katie. He’d given me a gorgeous ring, but I couldn’t wear it. Not yet. And while I was now Rob’s wife, I was still me. And Rob was still Rob. The very thing about him that had attracted me, that dark determination, had now led us here to his agent’s office, and I was a little afraid of what was to come. Thank goodness he’d given up on the idea of leaving Trouble altogether, but he wouldn’t let go of the idea of me joining the band.
Arnie was yelling at someone and he sounded tough—but I wasn’t sure he was much of a match for Rob. Not face to face. Not up close and personal. Rob got what he wanted. Everyone knew it, and Arnie had to know it too. Which was, I was sure, why he was ignoring Rob’s calls.
“Well look who’s here.”
I glanced up at the sound of a voice, blinking in surprise at the man standing in front of us. He was tall, leggy, with black, slicked back hair and a mischievous look in his eyes. It took me a moment to place him but when I glanced at Rob, I saw he recognized him right away.
“Jimmy Voss!” Rob half stood, taking the older man’s hand and shaking it.
Jimmy was wearing all black, from his boots up to his t-shirt. He looked just as I remembered him when we saw him perform at the Attic in Hamtramck.
“Rob Burns.” Jimmy shook Rob’s hand, but his gaze was on me. “And Sabrina, so good to see you again.”
“Hi Jimmy.” I took his hand, expecting him to shake it, but he raised it to his lips and gave me an old-fashioned kiss on the back of it. “Fancy meeting you here!”
“Arnie’s my guy.” Jimmy jerked his head toward the closed door. “Yours too, huh? That’s what I call a strange coincidence.”
“Yeah, I didn’t know he repped you.” Ro
b sat back down next to me, taking my hand—the one Jimmy had kissed.
Jimmy took a seat on the leather couch across from us, propping his black motorcycle boots up on the glass table. The secretary—a petite blonde whose silicone breasts threatened to bust out of her little sweater—frowned at Voss but didn’t say anything.
“We go way back.” Jimmy glanced at the door. Arnie had stopped yelling, which meant he must be off the phone. “He’s been my guy forever—prolly since before you were born.”
“You’re not that old,” I protested with a laugh.
“Looking at you sure makes me feel young.” He grinned. “So, what have you been up to since I saw you in Detroit?”
“You remember?” The memory came back to me in an instant, but I was surprised he remembered us.
It was the night I met Rob Burns. The night Rob met Jimmy Voss, one of the most famous blues guitarists in the world. Rob had been a little star struck, I remembered, smiling, which was ironic, considering how star struck I’d been in Rob’s presence. What a night that had been. First the Trouble concert and running into Rob—literally. He’d hit me with a metal door and nearly knocked me down a huge flight of stairs. Then going backstage, spending time with the band, talking with Rob. He’d been extremely interested to hear about Jimmy Voss playing at the Attic in Hamtramck—a show I’d decided not to go see in order to be able to attend the Trouble concert—and we’d ended up sneaking off to see Voss play.
“Couldn’t forget a pretty face like yours, honey.” Voss flirted shamelessly, just like he had that night in Detroit, and Rob frowned, glancing between us. I knew he didn’t like it, but I also knew, for Voss, it was like breathing. He couldn’t help himself. “And who could forget meeting Rob Burns from Trouble?”
“Right. Kind of like meeting Jimmy Voss from The Bad Dog Blueshounds? You’re a legend, man.”
“A legend in my own mind, maybe. But you guys—what is it, three Grammys now? You got the Midas touch.” Voss gave him a little acknowledging salute. “But I saw that awful mess in the news about you and your ex. I’m sorry about that, man.”
“Yeah.” Rob frowned. “That was … crazy.”
Voss nodded sympathetically. “Looks like you’ve got a good one now though.”
“Yeah, I do.” Rob put an arm around me—hand-holding was clearly not enough of a message to send.
“Lucky man.” Jimmy winked. “Makes it all worth it.”
“She does,” Rob agreed, pulling me so close it was hard to breathe. He couldn’t seriously believe Voss was any real competition? The thought made me smile. Voss was a nice enough guy—and an amazing artist—but I wasn’t attracted to Jimmy Voss. Had Rob forgotten so soon that I belonged to him? We were officially husband and wife. Rob had picked up the marriage certificate—he didn’t want them to mail it, knowing Celeste would open it—proudly showing me before he stowed it in his night table drawer.
“Tell the man I’m here, sweetheart,” Voss called over his shoulder to the blonde secretary.
She did as she was told, picking up the receiver, using one long, red nail to push buttons on the phone.
“Mr. Voss is here for his appointment… and… um… Rob Burns, from Trouble, is out here… yes, I know he doesn’t have an appointment, but he’s here… yes. Okay.”
The blonde hung up the phone and I saw a little name plate on her desk that read Dusty McNeil. She didn’t look like a Dusty—although I suppose it could have been a former stripper name. It was a mean thought, but she wasn’t the classy Hollywood type I associated with Trouble and Rob’s staff. Celeste was a perfect example of Hollywood female perfection—always pristine, beautiful, elegant. This girl reminded me of Melanie Griffith in that old movie, Working Girl—you could take the girl off the street, but you couldn’t take the street out of the girl. And it showed.
“Mr. Voss, he’ll see you now.” Dusty stood, sidling around the desk, and I saw her skirt was about four inches too short for office attire. And I could almost hear the hint of a Jersey accent, subtle but still there. She completely ignored Rob as Jimmy stood, ready to follow her in.
“Tell Arnie if he doesn’t see me today,” Rob spoke up. “He doesn’t rep Trouble anymore.”
“You can’t do that.” I gaped at him, whispering, “Can you?”
“Watch me.” Rob glared at Dusty, who shrank back against the wall, and I suddenly felt sorry for her. Poor thing, it wasn’t her fault, she was just stuck in the middle.
“I’m sure there’s a way to iron this out.” Voss took pity on her too. “Come on, man.”
Rob raised his eyebrows as Jimmy waved us toward the door.
“Yeah, come with me.” Voss opened the door. “Let’s go talk to the man.”
I followed Rob toward the door, hearing Voss greet Arnie, who I’d only met once, in passing.
“Arnie! My man!”
“Hey Jimmy.” Arnie smiled warmly at Voss, then his gaze turned to us and cooled considerably. “Rob. Sabrina.”
“So, what seems to be the problem here?” Voss plopped himself down into one of the high, wing-backed chairs in front of Arnie’s wide, mahogany desk.
“No problem with you, Voss.” Arnie continued to stand, a balding man—the swath of hair left around the mid-line of his head spread down around the tops of his ears—peering at us through round, John Lennon glasses. He was so short, the top of his head barely came to Rob’s shoulder. He had to look up to meet Rob’s dark, determined eyes. The face-off made me want to laugh.
“You got a problem with my friend, Rob, here?” Jimmy jerked his thumb in our direction. I was practically hiding behind Rob. I really didn’t want to be in the middle of this.
“Arnie doesn’t want Sabrina to join Trouble.” Rob crossed his arms, looking at the little man in front of him with raised eyebrows.
“Ahhh.” Jimmy nodded knowingly. “You think he’s got Yoko Ono syndrome?”
“I know he does.” Arnie, not to be outdone, crossed his arms too.
“You heard this girl sing?” Voss turned his gaze in my direction. I flushed at the way he looked at me. Knowing the admiration he expressed was for my voice made me flush even more.
“I’m sure she sings just fine.” Arnie rolled his eyes and then looked straight at Voss. “That’s really not the point. And you know it.”
“Trouble’s boy-toy image is what you’re worried about, eh?” Jimmy grinned, talking to me now. “Girlfriends are a boy band’s worst enemy. Look at the Beatles. World’s first boy band. Then along came Linda for Paul and Patti for George, and then there was Yoko and John. Girlfriends. Broke the whole thing apart.”
“It’s not my fault,” I protested, glaring up at Rob. “This wasn’t even my idea.”
“It wasn’t Yoko’s either, sweetheart.” Jimmy snorted.
“We can argue the finer points of the Beatles’ downfall later.” Arnie sat, leaning back in his big, black leather chair, arms still crossed over his chest as he looked at Rob. “The Beatles never made me any money. Trouble makes me money. And Trouble is going to be in big trouble if we let this young lady on board.”
“It’s fine,” I said, tugging at Rob’s arm. “We’ll go.”
“No, we won’t.” Rob didn’t even look at me.
“Nothing against you, hon. It’s not personal.” Arnie frowned at me, brows knitted. “You could be Mariah Carey or Celine Dion and I’d say the same thing.”
“She’s better than both of them put together.” Jimmy sat forward, leaning toward Arnie’s desk. Their eyes met, and the short, balding, bespectacled man’s frown deepened as he looked from me to Rob and back again.
“She is,” Rob assured him, slipping an arm around my waist, forcing me forward a little more.
“That doesn’t mean she’s right for Trouble.” Arnie threw his hands up with a long, deep sigh. “I’m just looking out for you, man. I really am.”
“You’re looking out for your wallet, as usual,” Rob said wryly. “Besides, they loved her in Europe!
”
“They love David Hasselhoff in Europe.” Arnie looked at me and apologized again. “No offense, doll.”
“None taken.” I shrugged. I seemed to understand Arnie’s position far better than Rob did—or, I was at least readier to accept it. I had never expected any of this, so whatever came along was just frosting on the cake.
“Look, what’s good for you is good for me,” Arnie reminded Rob. “I won’t tell you to do something that’s going to hurt you or Trouble, because it would hurt me. We’re directly connected. Like, heart to heart.”
Jimmy laughed. “You really have to work on your schtick, Arnie.”
“Voss, tell him,” Arnie pleaded with him, friend to friend. “Tell him what it’s gonna do to the band.”
Jimmy hesitated, looking first at me, then at Rob.
Then he sighed and admitted, “He’s not wrong.”
“You know the label has strictly forbidden it,” Arnie said, hands up again, giving up. “They won’t let her on the album. It’s just not going to happen.”
“Well, hell…” Jimmy leaned back, studying me. “Why don’t you just rep her then, Arnie?”
“Uhh…” Arnie blinked, suddenly without words.
“Get her a deal. All on her own. She doesn’t need Trouble or Rob Burns—no offense, man.” Jimmy smirked and winked at Rob. He was nothing if not charming. It was hard to take offense to anything he said.
“None taken.” Rob waved his words away, looking straight at Arnie.
“She’s got a voice like you’ve never heard,” Jimmy added. “The girl can sing.”
“Yeah?” For the first time, Arnie looked like he was really considering it.
“Jesus, did you not listen to the MP3 I emailed you?” Rob exclaimed.
“Uhhh…” Arnie swallowed. “Well, since I knew the label didn’t want her on the album, I kind of… didn’t…”
“Check your mail.” Rob pointed to the little man’s desktop computer. “Do it. Now.”