“Biddy Gunter, ladies and gentlemen,” Skip yelled, “the divine Miss G.”
She spread her arms wide, taking in the entire band with her smile, then mouthed something to Skip. He turned back to the mike again, playing some opening chords that were rapidly picked up by the rest of the band.
“Grab your coat and get your hat,” Biddy sang.
Couples swung onto the floor, two-stepping back and forth. One guy did a modified jitterbug with his partner.
Danny settled back against his pillar again. The Divine Miss G. Seemed fitting. As long as being divine didn’t limit Biddy’s more earthly activities.
As the evening wore on, he found that being a roadie didn’t actually demand much of his time. After a half hour, he brought Biddy a glass of tea and the guys a bucket of beers. That seemed to be about it for the moment.
He found himself a chair and sprawled in the corner, trying to be inconspicuous. It wouldn’t be a good idea for Araceli to hear any chance reports of her top salesman showing up at a party to carry equipment for a band. A band that featured a lead singer named Biddy. He might not agree with Biddy’s decision to hide from her sister, but he wouldn’t do anything to undermine it.
He let the music wash over him, smoothing off the rough edges of his day, his week, his month. The melody felt like Biddy’s fingers running down his back. A surge of warmth to complement the perpetual groin ache.
“Ramos?”
Danny looked up at the man standing in front of him. Linen trousers, silk shirt, Rolex Oyster, vaguely familiar face. He flipped through his mental address file, trying to find a likely name.
“Still trying to sell that carriage house?”
The name clicked into place. Clark Henderson. “We’ve had some interest.” He managed to keep his voice neutral. “I thought you might come back and look at it again, Henderson. Hell of a buy.” Or a slice of hell, anyway.
“I got involved in some other things.” Henderson waved his hand, dismissively. “You a friend of Chuck Piñeda?”
It took Danny a moment to figure out Henderson was referring to the owner of the house. He smiled a little dryly. “I’m not a guest. I’m with the band.”
“You play?” Henderson raised an incredulous eyebrow.
He shook his head. “I appreciate.”
Henderson turned toward the band, watching Biddy play a quick succession of notes. He narrowed his eyes. “A lot to appreciate there.”
Danny told himself to cool it. Biddy would not be pleased if he clocked one of the customers. “They’re a good band.”
Henderson turned back to look at him again. “Who is she?”
“The singer? Her name’s Biddy.” He tried to figure out a quick way of getting around the last-name problem. Henderson was more likely than most people to see the connection between Biddy and Araceli. And he might remember her from the carriage house.
“Biddy what?”
“Biddy Gunter. The band’s the Chalk Creek Changelings. They’ve been playing around town for a couple of months. Building up quite a following.” He knew he was babbling, but he figured the more words he threw out, the less likely Henderson would be to pick out the ones that were dangerous.
“Biddy Gunter.” Henderson raised an eyebrow while Danny said a silent curse.
He nodded, waiting for the inevitable moment when the penny dropped.
“Nice-looking girl.” Henderson stared back at the stage, his gaze fixed on Biddy once again. His lips moved into an expression that resembled a smile.
Danny’s shoulders tensed with the need to relieve Henderson of some surplus teeth. “Very nice – looking.” He managed to keep his voice dry. “Also very taken.”
Henderson looked back at him. His eyes had the kind of predatory gleam Danny associated with guys in polyester leisure suits at singles’ bars. “Yours?”
Danny nodded slowly. “Oh yeah.” He ignored the slight prick of his conscience that reminded him he didn’t have an exclusive claim on Biddy yet. She might have other ideas.
Or not. Biddy suddenly glanced his way, her lips spreading into a slow, sultry smile.
Lust and male pride and a deeper feeling he didn’t particularly want to identify all hit him at once. Mine, mine, all mine. He looked back at Henderson again, defiantly. “Definitely taken.”
The testosterone-addled part of his brain half hoped Henderson might try to challenge that idea, but he didn’t seem to be interested. He shrugged. “Pity. Like I say, nice-looking girl.” He picked up his drink from the table near Danny. “Maybe I’ll call you next week about that carriage house.”
He nodded. “Do that. I can set something up for you.” He watched Henderson amble back across the room, heading for another girl who looked young enough to be his daughter—possibly his granddaughter if Henderson had had as much plastic surgery as Danny suspected.
Henderson belonged in the carriage house. He and the demon might find they had a lot in common.
He sighed. Realistically, if Henderson got around to calling, he’d have to figure out how to get rid of the freakin’ demon before he could show him the house. He had a feeling it wouldn’t be easy.
***
Biddy was still trying to remember who the man was who’d been talking to Danny. He looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t see him all that well. The room was dim, the stage lights were bright, and she was singing. Inside and out.
Danny had never left the side of the stage, and whenever she glanced his way, he was watching her. It made Biddy want to dance. Fortunately, she was standing in front of a band, so dancing was sort of natural.
The band was really on tonight, too. The sets had flowed together and the audience had clustered around the stage, dancing, clapping, yelling encouragement. The evening provided all the things she loved about performing, the incredible rush of knowing she was very, very good.
They’d only been paid for a ninety-minute show—three thirty-minute sets. The guy who was giving the party tried to negotiate for a fourth, but Skip and Gordy had had enough. “Always leave ’em wanting more,” Skip muttered, anxious to get to his solo gig at a bar in Southtown.
Biddy felt like she could have sung all night, but then she saw Danny again and realized she had better things to do.
He helped the guys load the equipment into the back of Skip’s van without complaint, his biceps flexing beneath the weight of the amps. The thin cotton of his T-shirt showed the hard strata of his chest muscles as he lifted. She bit her lip and then concentrated on his back until she decided it was almost as beautiful as his other side, his wide shoulders veeing down to a narrow waist and tight buns.
“Lordy, lordy, lordy,” she whispered. Mine, all mine. At least for the moment.
He tucked her fiddle case under one arm and put the other arm around her shoulders, walking her toward his car.
“Who was that guy you were talking with before the last break?” she asked.
“I don’t know if you remember him—Clark Henderson. He’s the speculator who was at the carriage house.”
“Oh, I remember him.” She shivered in the cool night air. “I also remember that day he was there. Something about him gives me the creeps.”
His jaw tightened slightly. “With any luck you won’t have to be around him again. I’ll do my best to make sure you’re not.”
“What did he want?”
He shrugged. “Maybe the carriage house. He may call, but he’ll want to do another walk-through. Which means we’ll have to locate some kind of demon repellant. Maybe they sell it at Home Depot.”
He opened the back door of his car and slid her fiddle case behind the seats. Then he straightened and looked down at her. “I can let you off at your house if that’s what you want, but . . .” His eyes were suddenly a shade darker. “What I really want to
do is make love to you until you scream. Me, too. Preferably multiple times. Would you rather go home and get some sleep?”
She felt the flush of heat all the way to her toes. She reached her hands around his neck, pulling his head down so that she could kiss him. He tasted of beer and lust, and her brain went pleasurably numb. “Sleep is overrated.”
He dipped his head toward her, his tongue darting along the line of her lips. She opened to him, letting her tongue slide along his.
He raised his head after a moment, his breath warm against her cheek. “God, you’re sweet,” he whispered.
“So are you.” She ran her fingers along the bottom of his T-shirt, slipping underneath to trace the satin of his skin. His muscles tensed, flexing beneath her fingertips.
“Christ,” he whispered. His hands moved along her sides, cupping her breasts lightly. “We’ve got to get out of here before we get into real trouble. The host probably wouldn’t be delighted if we started doing the double-backed boogie in his parking lot.”
“How close is your house?” She ran her teeth along the edge of his collarbone, grinning as she heard his swift intake of breath.
“Normally about ten minutes. At this point, five tops.”
“Start your engine, Danny,” she purred. “We’re wasting time.”
***
Danny had thrown open the bedroom curtains in the split second before he pulled Biddy down on the bed. He hadn’t thought about anything else for at least an hour after that. Now he lay watching his backyard in the moonlight, moving his hand across her bare back, feeling the slight puff of her breath against his chest as she dozed.
The live oaks swayed gently in the evening breeze, crooked limbs and dense clusters of leaves outlined against the darkness.
Demons. He’d managed not to think about their demon problem for most of the evening, but Henderson had brought it back to his mind. How had the demon been bound to the house and by whom? Could he find a way to break those bonds? But if he did, what would he do with the demon once he’d set it free?
Maybe they could put it into a jar or something. He sighed. No, that was genies, and he didn’t think they were the same thing. Somehow he had to figure out how to get rid of it—or how to protect the people in the house if he couldn’t get rid of it altogether. One thing he was absolutely sure of—Biddy wasn’t going back in there again. Not without him. Not if he had anything to say about it.
The tip of her tongue ran across his nipple, and his breath hissed in.
She grinned up at him.
He ran his hands over her slender shoulders, feeling the silken skin across her back. Her lips whispered down a line from his breastbone to his navel, her tongue dipping once, teeth nipping at the edge.
He tried to get enough breath to say something and failed. His brain was suddenly nonfunctional, all of his blood having rushed straight down to his groin.
“Biddy . . . ,” he finally managed to gasp.
“Mmm?” she hummed, her hands sliding up his inner thighs, as she licked the hard surface of his abdomen.
Danny tried to remember what he’d been going to say. Had he been going to say something? Why?
Her mouth moved down as her hands moved up, cupping him, then circling his shaft. And then her lips touched the tip, her tongue running across it. He groaned and gave up trying to remember anything at all.
Cool fingers slid up his shaft as she moved on him, taking him deep into the liquid heat of her mouth. He felt something like a missile launch burning in his groin.
“Holy . . . ,” he managed before his breath deserted him again.
She sank down, taking him in deeper, and then up again—satiny warmth enclosing and releasing. He tried to say something else but his throat was too tight for the words.
Finally, he reached for her, burying his fingers in her hair, silvery in the moonlight. “Come here,” he breathed, and tasted himself on her lips.
Her legs opened to press against his sides and then she reached down to close her hand around him again.
“Condom,” he managed to croak.
She grinned in the dim light, then pulled a foil packet from the bedside table, still straddling his waist.
He managed not to have a heart attack as she smoothed it over him, cool fingers sliding down him once again.
And then her hips rose up, and the same cool fingers guided him into the cloaking warmth of her body. In some dim part of his brain he was aware of her hips rising and falling, the exquisite tension and release. He moved his hands to her breasts, running his palms over the hard buds of her nipples until her quick intake of breath sent an arrow of heat shooting through him.
“I can’t last long, babe,” he muttered. “Sorry.”
She leaned forward, running her tongue along the edge of his ear. “Just let go,” she whispered. “Let go, Danny.”
Let go. As if he had a choice!
He felt the rush coming from the base of his spine, burning through his body, tumbling him along with it until he had no place to stand, until he was rushing headlong into space.
He cried out her name once and then again, his body convulsing in an explosion of heat and light. Above him, she stiffened and then jerked against him, losing herself as he had, sliding down into the warm depths with him.
Finally, Danny lay sprawled beneath her, his arms wrapped around her waist, unwilling to move, to break the connection. For a moment he thought she’d fallen asleep again until she stretched against him, rubbing her breasts against his chest.
“Umm,” she hummed, “so nice.”
He thought about arguing. They needed a better word than nice, one that summed up all the tumult, the sweetness, the heat. Not that any language had one.
He ran his hands down her back, cupping her bottom. “Nice,” he echoed, then pulled her head into the crook of his shoulder, stroking the softness of her hair.
After another moment, she raised her head. “You probably should take me home soon.”
He stared up at her. “Why?”
“Because it’s late and we have to work tomorrow.”
Danny closed his eyes for a moment. “Stay here. We’ll worry about that when tomorrow comes.”
“Can’t.” She grinned down at him. “All I have to wear tomorrow is my red dress. Can you see me sashaying around the office dressed like that?”
“I’d like to.” He pulled her down again, gently, rubbing his cheek against the top of her head. “I’d like to see the real Biddy Gunter at the office sometime.”
She sighed, raising up to look at him again. “The real Biddy Gunter in the office would cause us both no end of trouble.”
He reached to cup her face. “Biddy, you had a roomful of people screaming for you tonight. You’re a star, or as close to one as you can be around here. You need to tell Vintage Realty good-bye and get on with your real life.”
Her stricken look made him feel like a bastard. “No. I can’t do that to Araceli. Not yet.”
He shook his head. “Sweetheart, you’ve paid your dues. You’ve given it a good shot. It’s time to be yourself.”
“You don’t know what I owe Araceli. She didn’t need to take me on when Mom died. She could have settled the estate and then left me on my own. She gave up everything she’d accomplished for herself so that she could be here for me. Right now I’m trying to be what she wants, at least part of the time—and to be what I want the rest of the time. I guess, sooner or later, I’ll have to make my move, but not yet. Please, Danny. I’m just not ready.”
He started to argue with her, but then he stopped. What would it be like to be her—wildly talented but keeping it all under wraps? Playing Clark Kent to keep her sister happy? In her place, wouldn’t he have told Araceli to take a hike a long time ago?
He considered all t
he times his own family had hauled him out of trouble. Like the way his mom had gone into a haunted house this afternoon and gotten a ghost to give him the goods. Maybe he shouldn’t be so quick to judge what other people were willing to do for their own families.
He closed his eyes, resting his forehead on hers. “Okay, sweetheart, I won’t push it. But stay here tonight. I promise I’ll get you home in time to change tomorrow morning.”
“Deal,” she murmured drowsily, burrowing deeper into his arms.
Chapter 22
Danny did manage to get Biddy to her apartment in time to change for work in the morning, although he did it by not sleeping much himself. He sighed when she came back into the room in her slightly worn navy blue linen. “Welcome back to the hearth, Cinderella.”
She leaned down and kissed him on the nose. “Who are you? My fairy godmother? I’ll drive myself to the office.”
“Dinner tonight?”
She shook her head. “Can’t. We’ve got a gig in San Marcos and I’m leaving right after work.”
He started to offer his roadie services, but she shook her head again, grinning. “Take a night off, Danielo. I’m driving up and back with the boys. It’ll be easier that way.”
Danny sighed and went to work.
He got his first shock of the day when Big Al called him directly, rather than relaying his orders through his small army of assistants. “Ramos,” he barked, “what’s up with that carriage house? Where are you on the sale?”
Danny took a breath, and launched into the opposite of a sales pitch, listing all the deficits he could think of, ending with a vague statement about his ability to overcome them given sufficient time.
Big Al cut him off in midsentence. “You want me to turn it over to somebody else?”
Danny’s heart thumped painfully. Hell yes! “No sir, of course not. I’m just looking for the right buyer.”
“’Cause I can do that,” Big Al continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Lots of people would be happy to take it on. Great way to make a reputation.”
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