A Moonlit Serenade

by Alexa Padgett

  “That may be overstating it. But point is, I’m not a singer, though I can carry a tune well enough. You are a singer. And I’d like to do an entire album for Mila. I think she’ll like this as a gift, especially after everything she’s been through in the past couple of years.”

  A sensitive, caring man. They weren’t as rare as unicorns, but as much as I’d loved Dez, I had to admit he hadn’t been the sensitive type. Unless . . . “Are you in love with her?” The question was sharp and inappropriate. Still, I wasn’t helping a man steal his brother’s pregnant lover.

  “With Mila?” His eyes widened, turning greener than gold. I braced myself for him to say something scathing then turn and walk out. I rocked back on my heels, surprised when he shook his head, chuckling. “No. She’s always been like my big sister. It’s just…Valentine’s Day is her favorite holiday, and I want her to be, you know, happy. Because Murph is, and believe me, Murphy happy is a big deal. Fair dinkum.”

  Not quite sure about all that, but he seemed genuine. “Oh. Okay.”

  Those dimples popped back out. “Odd way to ask if I’m single.”

  “I wasn’t.” My cheeks flamed. “I just didn’t want to help you romance away your brother’s fiancée.”

  “With lullabies for my brother’s bub?” He eyed me, a small smirk lingering at the corner of his mouth. “That’d be a new one.”

  “You’re laughing at me,” I huffed. His eyes crinkled at the corners. My chest burned, and I exhaled before I became too lightheaded. Dez was a handsome man, but Jake had looks and…presence. That’s what made him so good of a performer. That I-don’t-care-what-you-think vibe and sexy-as-sin smile.

  “Because you’re funny.”

  I picked up my guitar case and started toward the door, face flaming with embarrassment and inexplicable tears welling in my eyes.

  “Wait.” His voice filled with panic. “D-don’t go,” he stuttered.

  I blinked back the tears—good at it after so much practice. “I’m not sure we have anything further to discuss.”

  “The song . . . maybe an album.”

  “I don’t do vanity projects. I’m happy working with the early-childhood music program.”

  “This wouldn’t be for vanity,” he said with a gentle touch to my arm to turn me back toward him. “And I’m sure you’re quite successful with your program. I’ve heard you sing.” He smiled, those dimples flashing again, but his eyes remained uncertain.

  I must stop melting each time he smiled. Who knew I had such a soft spot for cheeks?

  “Thanks for popping in, Jake. Good luck with the project. I’ll sign for the use of ‘A Moonlit Serenade.’”

  He grabbed the guitar case’s handle, his warm hand sliding over mine. I jolted, letting go. My hand still tingled, the warmth drifting up my arm, into my chest, pooling low in my groin.

  Fantastic. The first man I’d been attracted to in years, and he had to be a celebrity. One who managed to make me feel small and insignificant.

  There was no way meeting Jake Etsam could end in anything other than embarrassment or heartache.

  2

  Jake

  Jake

  Never had I wanted to be as smooth with the ladies than I did right now, with Ryn—a long-standing problem for me, the shy, stuttering art nerd. I might’ve gotten over the stutter, mostly, but I’d never learned how to talk to a woman I was interested in. In fact, my typical way of dealing with such as situation was to run away or, rarer still, kiss the woman so she wouldn’t realize I was more frightened to talk to her.

  I couldn’t do that with Ryn Hudson—didn’t know how to seduce her to my whims like Murphy could. Then again, I had a lot more on the line than a simple song—no one expected me to manage a project of this size and do it well. Just like no one understood why I’d be willing to use the funds from this album to subsidize the gallery I wanted to open. Not that I planned to tell this woman about my plans and goals. I mean, I wanted to, but she was already angry with me.

  I’d mucked this whole thing up.

  I tipped up her chin and stared her beautiful eyes—a light brown offset by all that long, thick, blond hair. She overwhelmed me.

  What were we talking about? Right. Her song.

  “I don’t want you to sign over rights. I’d never ask you to do something like that. I’m working with Asher Smith to build something beautiful. He’s going to produce the album.”

  “You know Asher Smith, too?” she asked, a little quiver—of longing?—sliding into her voice.

  “Yeah. Hayden Crewe, our lead singer? He’s married to Asher’s sister-in-law.”

  Her soft lips—petal pink and glossy—pulled together. Blimey, her lips were pretty. I wanted to run my thumb over them. Then my tongue. Nibble at the corners before swooping in for a long, thorough taste.

  “Do you people ever date, let alone marry, normal people?”

  “What do you mean by ‘you people’?” I hedged. Up until two years ago, I sat in the normal group. Growing up with an absentee dad and a single mum didn’t make for lots of extras in anything.

  “Famous. Rich. Is there some code that you have to keep the world’s wealth up there, in that top tier?”

  I blinked at her, surprised by the strength of her disgust. Most people—scratch that, nearly everyone I met—turned awestruck. So Ryn’s irritation surprised me. “Er, that’s a no.”

  I’d spent the last few minutes of her class sizing her up—athletic build, taller than average. Probably five-seven. With that bloody mane of sexy blond waves. Light brown brows that arched with salon perfection over those bright eyes that looked at the children in her class with love and patience. Pert nose, sweet pink lips made for kissing. A small, rounded chin. Slightly pointed ears.

  She looked like a Northwestern version of Boticelli’s Venus. Maybe a da Vinci sketch of La Scapigliata, one of my favorites. Ryn was feisty as, but with that sexy girl-next-door vibe I adored. Approachable—except not now. Her expression turned mulish.

  Ah, a stubborn streak. Little did she know I did well working ’round stubborn. Grew up with Murphy, didn’t I?

  “So, you people seek out the poor minions and marry up sweet, middle class girls in a fairytale?”

  “There’s no way for me to answer that question and look like a reasonable human being, let alone a decent bloke.”

  She blew out a breath hard enough to shift the blond bangs from her forehead. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just . . . you weren’t very nice when you walked into my room earlier, and I’m defensive.”

  Even though I wanted to look aside, I forced my eyes to stay locked on hers. “Point. I apologize again. I didn’t know, er…”

  “Early-childhood music,” she supplied.

  “Yes. Right-o. That existed. When I called the office to get your details, I assumed you taught college students.” I raised my hands. “Since you work at a college.”

  She dipped her head in a little nod, but crossed her arms over her chest, hugging her waist. Her narrow waist that sat just above that delectable, round bum.

  “I’m doing honest work. Good work with these kids.”

  “You are.” I’d seen how much the bubs loved it. She’d transformed me into a believer. Could be that her voice seduced me, though. Because, fair dinkum, Ryn Hudson’s voice wove a spell. After hearing her today, I had to have her on my album.

  “They’re learning to love music before they can walk. Well, some of them, anyway.”

  I must have hit a nerve—not the first time she’d defended her work. “You have a gorgeous voice. One of the best I’ve ever heard. Melodic, clear. That’s why I sought you out. I’m sorry if I made you feel like less.”

  She blinked, her mouth parting just enough for me to see the straight white teeth and her little pink tongue. I shouldn’t have the fantasies about that tongue licking all over my chest, down my abdomen . . . Yeah, now wasn’t the time for that. And where the bloody hell had those fantasies come from?

>   I planned to work with this woman. Ryn was beautiful, but she was prickly as. I didn’t handle angry women well. Tended to make me stutter more often, feel stupid and clumsy. So, it was good I just wanted her to sign on to my project, not date her.

  Blimey. Date her? I hadn’t dated a woman…in far too long.

  “Wow,” she said, her voice small. Her lips tilted up, and I held my breath, desperate to see her face alight with joy. I bet those features would be breathtaking. At least as much as the look of longing when she’d held the baby moments ago.

  I’d never seen such loss, such need on someone’s face. When this woman felt, it was soul-deep. Life changing.

  I wanted her to look at me like that. More, I wanted to deserve that look.

  And I had no idea what to do with this meeting, with Ryn. Just that I wasn’t ready to leave her company. Not yet. Not till I got what I needed.

  Her.

  No. That was wrong. Ryn’s voice on my album.

  And…fine! Bloody hell, I wanted Ryn.

  “You do know how to argue your point,” she said, her voice quiet as she dropped her gaze.

  “Years of art history papers,” I blurted.

  “Papers?”

  I winced. Why the hell would I bring that up? Women expected me to be larger than life, not some art-loving arse. Blimey. My brain slipped behind my bloody mouth when I admitted to wanting her.

  “Persuasive research.”

  She pulled her bottom lip with her thumb and forefinger. “You studied art history?”

  In for a penny. Talking to her seemed to be reducing her dislike of me. “I wanted to be a museum curator.” I shrugged. “Then the band took off.”

  “That’s fascinating.”

  She didn’t sound fascinated. She glanced at the clock behind her.

  “Sorry, but I need to run. I have to eat before my next class at three.”

  Knowing better than to push my luck, I nodded, unable to trust myself not to stutter. Best to regroup and try again.

  “Bye, Jake. Thanks for stopping by.”

  Her tone offered complete dismissal—not even a chance at redemption. I shoved my hands into my pockets and trudged out the door, head down so as not to draw attention to my red cheeks.

  “So, you stuffed it yesterday,” I muttered to myself.

  “You say something, Jake?” Alan, my bodyguard, asked. He and Isaac, my other guard, turned back to look at me. Both were large men who rarely smiled.

  “Nothing to worry about,” I said. I ran my hand down the back of my neck as I stared out the car window, seeing my reflection and, beyond that, the twenty-four-meter-tall Christmas tree near the Space Needle. Though it was still daylight, the white lights sparkled in the soft winter sunlight. I sighed, loving the hopefulness of the multicolored lights strewn around the edges of all the buildings we passed. Yanks did this holiday up right.

  I took a deep breath, happily inhaling the faint scent of cinnamon and cool air that drifted from one of the street vendors selling hot chocolate and winter treats. “Today’s a new day. A better one.”

  Blimey. I hoped so.

  “Will you guys wait for me out here?” I asked.

  Isaac nodded but Alan frowned, clearly unhappy with my request.

  “You know the drill,” I said. “You guys make normal people uncomfortable.”

  “We also keep you safe. What you pay us for,” Alan responded, a scowl spreading over his rigid features.

  I’d pulled up a copy of Ryn’s class schedule from her web page last night and made it to her classroom just as her eleven o’clock let out. I kept my back to the mums, having learned my lesson yesterday.

  After peeking into her classroom to ascertain she was alone, I walked through the door. The colorful foam pads cushioned my footfalls.

  “Be ready in a minute, Linda,” Ryn said from the closet, her back turned toward me. “I’m starving.”

  Right-o. My in. “Why don’t I buy you lunch and tell you about the album?”

  Ryn edged back from the closet and looked at me over her shoulder, eyes wide.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to apologize for my comments yesterday.” I gestured toward her. “And buy you a meal.”

  “Totally unnecessary.”

  Her stomach answered, grumbling louder before she could tell me she wasn’t hungry. She’d planned to do so, I was sure of it.

  Smooth was not the word people would ever use with me and the ladies. Determined and unwilling to give up might be. I needed to focus on my goal. Create this album, change the course of my career to one I wanted. Craved.

  And get to know this woman who’d managed to tie me into knots. I spent an extra hour working out yesterday to burn off my embarrassment over my actions. Then spent most of the night trying to forget Ryn’s thick, long waves and her soft, pink lips.

  I sucked in a breath, willing my body not to respond to the growing excitement such thoughts produced.

  “There’s a café around the corner. I saw it on my way in. I’d really like to discuss this album with you.”

  She looked uncertain, so I pressed my advantage.

  “It’s a free meal. If you don’t like my spiel, you can tell me to stuff it.”

  Her lips flipped up in a small smile.

  “Please?”

  She turned away, but instead of ignoring me, she set her guitar in the corner and gathered up her down-filled coat. Ushering me from the room, she turned and locked the door, jiggling the handle.

  “What about your friend? Linda?”

  Ryn shook her head. “We didn’t have set plans. I just assumed you were her.”

  “You could’ve brought it with you if you were worried about it. That’s a nice instrument.”

  “It is. But it’ll be safer here than at a café with us.”

  “Why use such an expensive guitar for the lessons and risk those nippers damaging it?”

  Her lips flattened into a thin line. “My husband bought it for me before his last deployment.”

  My stride hitched and my chest burned. She was married. Bloody fucking hell. “Your husband?” The word weighted my tongue.

  She watched me from the corner of her eye, a puff of white drifting from her nose as she exhaled, hard. Blimey, the weather took a dip. “He died in a bomb blast. Iraq.”

  Wasn’t I the world’s biggest arse for feeling relief? “That’s horrible.”

  She shivered. From the chill or from the memories? “It was.”

  “Do you mind if I ask when?”

  “Dez died a little more than two years ago.”

  “But you’re so young,” I sputtered. “To have been married, I mean.” Shut up, Jake! My foot was so far in my mouth, I’d never be able to remove it.

  “He enlisted when we were nineteen. College wasn’t working out for him. He did his first tour at twenty. We were married the month before he left for basic training.”

  I pushed open the door to the café, my hand above her head as I leaned in, returning to her story. “You don’t look much older than twenty-two now.”

  She smiled as she passed under my arm. “That’s a good one. Keep it in your repertoire.”

  I followed her into the place, irritation licking at my heels. “It wasn’t a line,” I muttered.

  But Ryn didn’t hear me; she was already chatting with the hostess. “So, I’ll see you and little Isabel on Friday?” she said.

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” the hostess smiled. Her mouth transformed into a little “o” when she saw me, her eyes widening. “You-you didn’t tell me you were having lunch with a rock star.”

  “Oh, is that what he is?” Ryn said. “C’mon, Jen. He’s just a guy.”

  “N-no,” she whispered. I shifted, uncomfortable with her devouring gaze. “He’s gorgeous, talented, and rich.”

  Ryn shrugged. “Last I checked his name was Jake.”

  Before I knew it, I’d grabbed her hand and squeezed it, just a little. We both inhaled
at the intensity of the connection. Ryn’s gaze crashed into mine and held it. My blood pulsed through my temples before thickening through my guts. I saw Ryn’s chest rise, then fall once, twice, three times as her pulse slammed against her neck. She dropped my fingers and stepped around me, following Jen. I trailed behind her, my grin wider than a well-fed dingo because no matter how much she wanted to deny the chemistry between us, she couldn’t.

  Jen cast one last look at me after she set out our menus. Ryn plopped into the booth and began to remove her jacket and the fleece vest she’d worn over a soft, green long-sleeve blouse. I slid into the opposite side, enjoying the residual tingles enough I didn’t remove my coat for another moment. I sat it next to me, neatly folded, just as Ryn did with hers.

  Ryn leaned forward until her chest touched the table. “Jen likes you.”

  I leaned forward, too. Our noses, better our lips, nearly touched. “I don’t really care.”

  Eyebrows raised, Ryn leaned back. “You don’t like your fans?”

  Always searching for a reason to dislike me. Couldn’t say I blamed her after my complete muck up yesterday. Ryn must assume I was a pompous arse—much like Murphy’s portrayal in the press. This was going to be a tough uphill slog, but Ryn was worth the effort. Her voice—her contribution to the album, I meant.

  Bloody hell. I ran my fingers through my hair. I still wanted her. Maybe more today than yesterday.

  “My fans, sure. The ones who are interested in my music. But as you said, I’m an actual person, and I prefer to be considered so as opposed to a piece of rich meat.”

  Ryn puckered her lips, picking up her menu. “Guess we’ll have to work on the whole I’m-more-than-a-sex-symbol thing for you.”

  “Fair dinkum.” I perused the menu, unsurprised by the number of Asian-inspired options. The Northwest took its fusion cuisine seriously. “What’s good?”

  “Pretty much anything. I love the ramen.”

  “Never had it.”

  “You’re from Sydney, right? Isn’t there a lot of Asian influence in the food there? I mean, you’re close to Japan, Tahiti, Fiji.”