• • •
Bradley
“Only you could make scaring the shit out of me sexy,” I told Cam as I helped her out of the car, immediately placing my hand on her lower back, way low on her back. Her bare-naked ass would be mine as soon as we got back to the house.
“Only you would own a car that has 350 horsepower and 276 pounds per foot of torque, and wouldn’t have tested those limits yet.” She rolled her eyes at me before stepping through the club’s back door that I held open for her.
“The straightaway wasn’t that long.” I returned my hand to her back, leading her down a long dimly lit corridor.
“Long enough to go zero to sixty.” Her stiletto heels rang on the dark gray concrete floors.
“Not with pedestrians around.”
“I guess not,” she grumbled, then stopped in her tracks to glance around. “Whoa. Two levels. Huge. Cool place. I like the modern industrial vibe.” Her brow creased. “But no one’s here.”
“Back door was open. Owner’s around.” I frowned. “And the band should be.” Their stuff was set up onstage.
Somewhere nearby, rhythmic banging started. That kind of rhythmic.
“What is . . .” Cam stopped speaking and raised her brows as a woman’s orgasmic moan echoed inside the space.
“Logan must be here. He’s the player in the group. Sounds like he has company.”
“Oh. Well, since he’s busy . . .” Cam stepped in front of me and placed her hand on my chest. “Why don’t we find someplace private to get busy too?”
“Not here.” I captured her hand right before she slid it to my belt buckle. My cock twitched, way the hell pissed off at me for stopping her. “Or at least not till after rehearsal.”
“All work. No play.” She pouted her lips at me.
“Oh, we’ll play.” And I couldn’t wait. “But business first. I owe it to the guy. He’s in a bad place.”
The moaning hit a crescendo, followed by a very deep male groan.
“Not so bad a place,” she muttered, and I laughed.
“Stay here, babe. I’ll go find him and gather the group. We’ll have a drink after practice, and a dance,” I said as I leaned in.
Wrapping my fingers around her upper arm, I brought her sexy body against mine. I pressed my lips to the round of her cheek, and her breath caught.
Pulling back, I grinned, loving that she was so responsive to me. “Then we’ll go home and play.”
Chapter 47
* * *
Camaro
Home. That word echoed in my head long after Brad disappeared down a dark hallway next to the stage.
I was still processing that concept when someone suddenly grabbed me from behind.
“No!” I screamed. Spinning around, I swung hard, and my fist connected with a resounding smack.
“Fuck!” The man I’d hit staggered back, his hand over one eye.
A shorter guy standing next to the one I’d just hit held his hand up in the air.
“She whacked you good, Logan. High five, Sister Sledge.” He grinned at me with a mischievous sparkle in his coppery-brown eyes, and his grin widened when I gave him a high five. “You have a mean right hook, baby. Logan deserved it. Don’t feel bad. I told him not to sneak up on you.”
“You’re Logan Black?” I peered curiously at the guy I’d hit. With tousled thick black hair, he was handsome, except for a scar on his face and a curl to his lips that seemed like a snarl.
“Yeah, I fucking am.” Glaring at me, one of his violet-blue eyes squinting more than the other, Logan gingerly palpated his cheek on that side. His silver rings glinted, reflecting the overhead lights. It didn’t seem like he liked me, probably because I’d just clocked him.
I shook out my hand. The skin over my knuckles wasn’t broken, but it was red and stinging.
“Cam?” Running, Brad emerged from the same area beside the stage that he’d disappeared into a moment earlier.
“I’m fine,” I said, rushing to assure him when he reached me. “But I’m not so sure about your client.”
“This your girl?” the guy with Logan asked Brad.
“He’s got his arm around her, Chance.” Logan shook his head. “Think it’s pretty obvious.”
“What the fuck happened?” Brad asked me.
“Logan came up behind me unexpectedly.” I left out the part about him grabbing me, not wanting Brad to hurt him. I already had, after all. Glancing at Logan, I said, “I may have overacted.”
Logan’s violet-blue eyes narrowed.
“She doesn’t like anyone coming up behind her.” Brad’s brows drew together. I think he picked up on the fact that there was more to what happened than I’d let on.
“She made that fucking clear.” Despite the charged language, Logan’s expression softened. “Sorry, Camaro, if I scared you.”
“It’s okay.” I gave him a nod.
“Fucking tough chick. Pretty too. Doubt you scared her too badly. Name’s Chance.” The friendlier of the duo held out his hand to me. “But you can call me your only chance, or anything else you want.”
“Knock off that bullshit.” Logan knocked his friend’s hand out of the way. He turned toward Brad, the longish ends of his black hair catching the thick coating of dark stubble on his lean cheeks.
Brad frowned at Chance. “Might want to heed your lead singer’s advice.”
“Not singing fucking lead.” Logan frowned now too at his manager.
“That’s yet to be decided.” Brad wagged his finger back and forth between both guys. “No making moves on Cam. No one touches her. Respect at all times. Got it?”
“Yeah, boss man.” Logan lifted his chin and most of his inky hair slid back, revealing multiple piercings in both ears. “Different with this one, huh? No sharing, like the ones that tagged along with you after Rush’s last tour?”
Brad scowled at him. “Been a long time since I hung out with groupies. And Cam’s not one, just to be clear.”
“Open relationship?” Chance looked hopeful. “Like with Bree?”
“I did not have an open relationship with Bree.”
“Dude.” Looking sheepish, Chance shook his head. “That’s not what she said.”
“That, among many reasons, is why she and I are over.”
“Upgrade.” Looking at me, Chance nodded approvingly.
“No comparison.” Brad turned to me. “I apologize. These two aren’t house-trained.”
“Dude, we’re rock ’n’ roll,” Chance said. “Rock ’n’ roll don’t come with no pissing restrictions.”
“I like you,” I said, smiling at Chance. I couldn’t help it. He was just being who he was . . . a totally unapologetic rocker.
“Heaven help me.” Brad rolled his eyes.
“That’s what my old man always says.” Chance gave me a conspiratorial grin while hooking his ringed thumb to Logan. “His old man don’t say nothing. Got crosswise with the wrong dude while in the big house.” He winced and made a slicing gesture across his own throat.
“Shut it down.” The guitarist was back to scowling at his drummer.
“Got it.” Chance bobbed his head, and I noted the AH letters shaved into one side of it. “Just for the record, I like you too, Camaro.”
“Cam,” I said. “My friends call me Cam.”
Logan made a gagging sound. “We gonna play some tunes, or stand around with Cam and drink fucking tea?”
“How we gonna play without a lead vocalist?” Chance asked.
“Boss man wants me to sing lead,” Logan said, scowling.
“Halle-fucking-luyah.” Chance put his hands up in the air as if directing a church choir.
“Easier to find a rhythm guy than another new lead singer Logan will just find fault with.” Brad shook his head as the guys moved toward the stage. “Where’s Everett?”
“Coming.”
A platinum-blond head popped up from behind the bar, and I gasped.
Everett smiled, his lip curl li
fting his piercing. “Just organizing the inventory. Getting ready for party time with the Lincoln sisters later.” Jogging the length of the bar, he waved as he streaked by us, leaving a trail of skunkish odor in his wake.
For Everett, “organizing” most likely was code for rolling joints.
“We want a singer who can play the fucking guitar.” Onstage, Logan thrust his arm in the air, his middle finger extended. The stack of metal bracelets he wore clattered together.
“You’ll be lucky to get a rhythm guy. You three are not on Mary Timmons’s favorites list.”
“Drug charges were bogus,” Everett said, strapping on his bass. “We were framed.”
“Shouldn’t we go closer to the stage?” I asked Brad, watching Chance hop up on the drum riser.
“No closer,” Brad said. “Not the way these three play.”
“Which is?” I asked.
“Loud.”
Grinning, Chance clacked his sticks together, and Logan strummed an accompanying power chord that vibrated in my chest on his flaming black guitar. He also put his mouth on the microphone in front of him. I could see his lips moving. He appeared to be singing, but I couldn’t hear him over the rest of the instruments.
Brad shook his head and turned to shout at me over the music. “Fucking hell. I’m gonna go help. Stay here.”
I nodded and watched him move away. His tight ass flexing in his dark custom slacks was a welcome distraction from the cacophony of noise.
When Brad reached the stairs, he started rolling up his sleeves. He definitely had his work cut out for him. The guys stopped playing as he strode onto the stage.
“You over here.” Brad pointed to his right and switched places with Logan. “I’ll take rhythm. Watch what I do on vocals. It’s not that hard. You just need to feel the music and stop tripping up on your own shit.”
My lips parted as Brad scooped up a nearby acoustic guitar from a stand and easily strapped it on as if he’d done so numerous times. As a music major, he probably had. But as someone who watched him constantly, I’d never seen him do so.
Brad’s golden hair slid into his eyes as he looked down and strummed a few chords. After tuning the guitar, he confidently stepped up to the mic.
I held my breath as he adjusted the mic and his stance. His eyes met mine, and in that moment, it seemed as though it were just him and me, and all the clues came together.
This wasn’t the first time Brad had stood center stage to lead a band.
“Count it out.” Brad’s voice was amplified before he glanced over his shoulder, giving Chance a nod.
The air seemed charged. I felt like I was witnessing the beginning of a race. Or attending a sold-out concert, right before the lights went out over the arena, and the band everyone had been waiting for jogged out onto the stage.
Only there wasn’t a sea of cell phones held up in the air, ready to record. No deafening roar from fifty thousand fans.
Just an electrifying pause before Brad’s voice slid out from some secret place inside him, entered the microphone, and emerged as beautifully as the finest crystal was to look at reflected in the perfect light. The fine hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and chills raced down my spine.
Brad was the fulcrum the band needed. As a cohesive unit, they followed his lead. Seeming to stand ten feet tall, he owned center stage, playing his guitar as if it were an extension of himself, while his hips swayed as if he were making sweet rhythmic love to the room.
The lyrics? I couldn’t recall them if you asked me.
But his voice, the low and soft version that often got to me? I would never, ever forget hearing it amplified for the first time.
Chapter 48
* * *
Bradley
One song became two, then three. Before I knew it, we were through the band’s entire set list.
Through it all, I could see Cam directly in front of the stage, twirling and swaying. My sexy siren enjoyed the music. Her eyes seemed to glow with the same energy buzzing inside me.
My soundtrack was no longer cranked down in the background, and I wasn’t entirely certain it ever could be again. Since I set my sights on her, the creative side of me had been reborn anew—engaged, enchanted, enraptured with her.
“Okay,” I said casually to Logan, as if singing at center stage was something I did every day. “Just stand here and take it where you want to like I just did.”
“Like you did? Really?” He raised his brows.
“Yeah, sure. I thought it would be best to show you rather than try to explain it.” I stepped back from the mic, unstrapping his guitar.
“You showed me, all right. And what I can see is that you’re full of shit.” Logan’s gaze dropped to the guitar in my hand. “You’re meant to stand there. If not leading our band, then leading some band. It’s been a while, though. Your play calluses are busted open.”
I glanced down and winced. “Shit. I bled on your guitar. Sorry, man. It’ll need to be restrung. I can pay for someone to do that.”
“Nah, strings don’t cost much.”
“But—”
Logan waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll do it myself. It’s my favorite acoustic. Don’t want some stranger who’s not a serious musician like you or me handling it.”
I lifted my chin to acknowledge the statement, which I knew from him was a huge compliment.
“Wanna do another?” he asked. “A Tempest number, maybe?”
“I’d better call it a night. Left my girl down there all alone.”
“She’s not alone. She’s got the music.” He glanced at Cam.
Directly below us, she seemed perfectly happy, but she watched us closely.
“Love Tempest.” Her silver-green eyes danced uninhibitedly, like she had only moments before. “Best band for cranking up the volume and driving fast.”
“I’ll bet, speed demon.” I shook my head at her. “Logan’s music’s not so hard to get your groove on to either. Saw you dancing down there.”
“I wasn’t the only one.” She gestured, and only then did I notice the crowd around her.
Apparently, the bar had opened while we were playing. The staff had arrived and were in place, slinging drinks at the bar. Security was in position by the front entrance. Patrons who weren’t on the dance floor milled about the room.
It was early, but the club was starting to hop. Aces High had a loyal following. Well, Logan did. He ticked most people off, but women, for reasons beyond understanding, seemed to continually throw themselves at him.
“‘My Way or the Highway’ is my favorite.” Cam smiled hopefully.
I grinned at her. “I’ll do it, if you promise me a slow dance after.”
“Absolutely.”
“All right.” I turned to Logan. “I’ll need to switch to your Ibanez for that tune.”
“Knock yourself out.”
“Might mess up the strings with my calluses.”
“Rock’s meant to be messy, man.” Chance chimed in from behind us, and I turned. He waved his sticks at me before wiping them off with a towel.
It was chaos. Uncontrollable. A rapid descent into madness.
But at center stage, I was the eye of that storm.
Rock was all those things to me, and more. Lyrics glowed like a neon sign in my mind, along with a riff and the familiar urge to jot it all down.
Suppressing the urge for now, I returned the acoustic to its stand, snagged Logan’s Ibanez, and clipped it on. My motions were stiff from lack of practice.
Walking toward the Aces High lead guitarist, I could see Cam out of the corner of my eye, and feel her piqued interest. I snatched a guitar pick from one of the many lined up on the mic pole.
“Good plan.” He nodded approvingly as I struck a chord.
“Nicely tuned.” I nodded approvingly back.
“Wanna take the lead parts?” he asked. “I can do rhythm for that song.”
My eyes widened. I’d never seen Logan offer any other guitar
ist the lead.
“The guitar solo kicks ass. I’m too out of practice to do Bryan Jackson’s riff justice. But thanks.” I gave his offer a nod. “You go ahead.”
It was bad enough that I was going to have to answer a lot of questions from Cam after this was through. I didn’t want to add falling on my ass in front of her to it.
As I backpedaled to the center mic, the analogy wasn’t lost on me. It was like walking backward in time, playing again onstage with a band. As effortless and natural as breathing.
Just like I always knew it would be if I ever did it again.
• • •
Camaro
Dancing with Brad, my arms twined around his neck, my tits to his solid chest, I swayed my hips in rhythm with his. The man had some serious groove, a serious hard-on, and some serious explaining to do. He’d kept something monumental from me.
I tipped my head back. “You wanna tell me how a guy who spends his days adding numbers and advising other musicians, can walk up on a stage, sing, and play guitar like you just did?”
“I’ve done it before,” he said simply, gazing steadily down at me.
“I know you have. Scholarship at a young age. Music major. Full college scholarship too, no doubt.”
He nodded.
“You sing, obviously, and you play the guitar amazingly well. All instruments, or just that one?”
“Piano. Harmonica. Drums. Nearly anything with strings. But not all instruments.”
“No, not all. Of course not.” I shook my head. “Most of the pieces I can put together. What I can’t figure out is when you got the experience to stand up there on that stage like you owned it.”
He shrugged.
“Brad. C’mon.” I slapped his chest. It was hard as a rock, just like his cock.
He exhaled. “It was Rush and me in the beginning. Our band. A shared dream. We both went to college because it was what our parents wanted, but all our free time was devoted to our band and our music.”
The Right Wish Page 26