by Nora Roberts
wouldn’t?”
“She didn’t,” Julie retorted, annoyed with herself for warming to him. “That’s what matters.”
“Julie, Henderson’s sending over my purse.” Raven came down the hall toward them in her quick, nervous stride. “I told him not to bother; I don’t think there’s anything in it but a comb and an expired credit card. Hello, Brandon.” She offered her hands as she had at the recording studio, but now she felt more able to accept his touch.
She hadn’t bothered to put her shoes back on or to repaint her mouth. Her smile was freer, more as he remembered it. “Raven.” Brand brought her hands to his lips. Instantly she stiffened, and Brand released her. “Can we talk in the music room?” His smile was easy, friendly. “I was always comfortable in there.”
“Of course.” She turned toward the doorway. “Would you like something to drink?”
“I’d have some tea.” He gave Julie his quick, charming grin. “You always made a good cup of tea.”
“I’ll bring it in.” Without responding to the grin, Julie moved down the hall toward the kitchen. Brand followed Raven into the music room.
He touched her shoulder before she could cross to the sofa. It was a gesture that asked her to wait. Turning her head, Raven saw that he was giving the room one of his long, detailed studies. She had seen that look on his face before. It was a curious aspect of what seemed like a casual nature. There was an intensity about him at times that recalled the tough London street kid who’d once fought his way to the top of his profession. The key to his talent seemed to be in his natural gift for observation. He saw everything, remembered everything. Then he translated it into lyric and melody.
The fingers on her shoulder caressed once, almost absently, and brought back a flood of memories. Raven would have moved away, but he dropped the hand and turned to her. She had never been able to resist his eyes.
“I remember every detail of this room. I’ve pictured it from time to time when I couldn’t do anything but think of you.” He lifted his hand again to brush the back of it against her cheek.
“Don’t.” She shook her head and stepped away.
“It’s difficult not to touch you, Raven. Especially here. Do you remember the long evenings we spent here? The quiet afternoons?”
He was moving her—with just his voice, just the steady spell of his eyes. “It was a long time ago, Brandon.”
“It doesn’t seem so long ago at the moment. It could be yesterday; you look the same.”
“I’m not,” she told him with a slight shake of her head. He saw her eyes darken before she turned away. “If I had known this was why you wanted to see me, I wouldn’t have let you come. It’s over, Brandon. It’s been over for a long time.”
“Is it?” Raven hadn’t realized he was so close behind her. He turned her in his arms and caught her. “Show me, then,” he demanded. “Just once.”
The moment his mouth touched hers, she was thrown back in time. It was all there—the heat, the need, the loving. His lips were so soft, so warm; hers parted with only the slightest pressure. She knew how he would taste, how he would smell. Her memory was sharper than she had thought. Nothing was forgotten.
He tangled his fingers in the thickness of her hair, tilting her head further back as he deepened the kiss. He wanted to luxuriate in her flavor, in her scent, in her soft, yielding response. Her hands were trapped between their bodies, and she curled her fingers into the sweater he wore. The need, the longing, seemed much too fresh to have been dormant for five years. Brand held her close but without urgency. There was a quiet kind of certainty in the way he explored her mouth. Raven responded, giving, accepting, remembering. But when she felt the pleasure drifting toward passion, she resisted. When she struggled, he loosened his hold but didn’t release her. Raven stared up at him with a look he well remembered but had never been able to completely decipher.
“It doesn’t seem it’s altogether finished after all,” he murmured.
“You never did play fair, did you?” Raven pushed out of his arms, furious and shaken. “Let me tell you something, Brandon. I won’t fall at your feet this time. You hurt me before, but I don’t bruise so easily now. I have no intention of letting you back into my life.”
“I think you will,” he corrected easily. “But perhaps not in the way you mean.” He paused and caught her hair with his fingers. “I can apologize for kissing you, Raven, if you’d like me to lie.”
“Don’t bother. You’ve always been good at romance. I rather enjoyed it.” She sat down on the sofa and smiled brightly up at him.
He lifted a brow. It was hardly the response he had expected. He drew out a cigarette and lit it. “You seem to have grown up in my absence.”
“Being an adult has its advantages,” Raven observed. The kiss had stirred more than she cared to admit, even to herself.
“I always found your naiveté charming.”
“It’s difficult to remain naive, however charming, in this business.” She leaned back against the cushion, relaxing deliberately. “I’m not wide-eyed and twenty anymore, Brandon.”
“Tough and jaded are you, Raven?”
“Tough enough,” she returned. “You gave me my first lesson!”
He took a deep drag on his cigarette, then considered the glowing tip of it. “Maybe I did,” he murmured. “Maybe you needed it.”
“Maybe you’d like me to thank you,” she tossed back, and he looked over at her again.
“Perhaps.” He walked over, then dropped down beside her on the sofa. His laugh was sudden and unexpected. “Good God, Raven, you’ve never had this bloody spring fixed.”
The tension in her neck fled as she laughed with him. “I like it that way.” She tossed her hair behind her back. “It’s more personal.”
“To say nothing of uncomfortable.”
“I never sit on that spot,” she told him.
“You leave it for unsuspecting guests, I imagine.” He shifted away from the defective spring.
“That’s right. I like people to feel at home.”
Julie brought in a tea tray and found them sitting companionably on the sofa. Her quick, practiced glance found no tension on Raven’s face. Satisfied, she left them again.
“How’ve you been, Brandon? Busy, I imagine.” Raven crossed her legs under her and leaned over to pour the tea. It was a move Brandon had seen many times. Almost savagely, he crushed out his cigarette.
“Busy enough.” He understated the five albums he had released since she’d last seen him and the three grueling concert tours. There’d been more than twenty songs with his name on the copyright in the past year.
“You’ve been living in London?”
“Mostly.” His brow lifted, and she caught the gesture as she handed him his tea.
“I read the trades,” she said mildly. “Don’t we all?”
“I saw your television special last month.” He sipped his tea and relaxed against the back of the sofa. His eyes were on her, and she thought them a bit more green than blue now. “You were marvelous.”
“Last month?” She frowned at him, puzzled. “It wasn’t aired in England, was it?”
“I was in New York. Did you write all the songs for the album you finished up yesterday?”
“All but two.” Shrugging, she took up her own china cup. “Marc wrote ‘Right Now’ and ‘Coming Back.’ He’s got the touch.”
“Yes.” Brand eyed her steadily. “Does he have you, too?” Raven’s head whipped around. “I read the trades,” he said mildly.
“That comes under a more personal heading.” Her eyes were dark with anger.
“More bluntly stated, none of my business?” he asked, sipping again.
“You were always bright, Brandon.”
“Thanks, love.” He set down his cup. “But my question was professional. I need to know if you have any entanglements at the moment.”
“Entanglements are usually personal. Ask me about my dancing lessons.”
<
br /> “Later, perhaps. Raven, I need your undivided devotion for the next three months.” His smile was engaging. Raven fought his charm.
“Well,” she said and set her cup beside his. “That’s bluntly stated.”
“No indecent proposal at the moment,” he assured her. Settling back in the hook of the sofa’s arm, he sought her eyes. “I’m doing the score for Fantasy. I need a partner.”
Chapter 3
To say she was surprised would have been a ridiculous understatement. Brand watched her eyes widen. He thought they were the color of peat smoke. She didn’t move but simply stared at him, her hands resting lightly on her knees. Her thoughts had been flung in a thousand different directions, and she was trying to sit calmly and bring them back to order.
Fantasy. The book that had captured America’s heart. A novel that had been on the bestseller list for more than fifty weeks. The sale of its paperback rights had broken all records. The film rights had been purchased as well, and Carol Mason, the author, had written the screenplay herself. It was to be a musical; the musical of the nineties. Speculation had been buzzing for months on both coasts as to who would write the score. It would be the coup of the decade, the chance of a lifetime. The plot was a dream, and the reigning box-office queen had the lead. And the music . . . Raven already had half-formed songs in her head. Carefully she reached back and poured more tea. Things like this don’t just fall in your lap, she reminded herself. Perhaps he means something entirely different.
“You’re going to score Fantasy,” she said at length, cautiously. Her eyes met his again. His were clear, confident, a little puzzled. “I just heard that Lauren Chase had been signed. Everywhere I go, people are wondering who’s going to play Tessa, who’s going to play Joe.”
“Jack Ladd,” Brand supplied, and the puzzlement in Raven’s eyes changed to pure pleasure.
“Perfect!” She reached over to take his hands. “You’re going to have a tremendous hit. I’m very happy for you.”
And she was. He could see as well as hear the absolute sincerity. It was typical of her to gain genuine pleasure from someone else’s good fortune, just as it was typical of her to suffer for someone else’s misfortune. Raven’s feelings ran deep, and he knew she’d never been afraid to show emotion. Her unaffectedness had always been a great part of her appeal. For the moment, she had forgotten to be cautious with Brand. She smiled at him as she held his hands.
“So that’s why you’re in California,” she said. “Have you already started?”
“No.” He seemed to consider something for a moment, then his fingers interlaced with hers. Her hands were narrow-boned and slender, with palms as soft as a child’s. “Raven, I meant what I said. I need a partner. I need you.”
She started to remove her hands from his, but he tightened his fingers. “I’ve never known you to need anyone, Brandon,” she said, not quite succeeding in making her tone light. “Least of all me.”
His grip tightened quickly, causing Raven’s eyes to widen at the unexpected pain. Just as quickly, he released her. “This is business, Raven.”
She lifted a brow at the temper in his voice. “Business is usually handled through my agent,” she said. “You remember Henderson.”
He gave her a long, steady look. “I remember everything.” He saw the flash of hurt in her eyes, swiftly controlled. “Raven,” his tone was gentler how. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugged and gave her attention back to her tea. “Old wounds, Brandon. It does seem to me that if there was a legitimate offer, Henderson would have gotten wind of it.”
“There’s been an offer,” Brand told her. “I asked him to let me speak to you first.”
“Oh?” Her hair had drifted down, curtaining her face, and she flipped it behind her back. “Why?”
“Because I thought that if you knew we’d be working together, you’d turn it down.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “You’re right.”
“And that,” he said without missing a beat, “would be incredibly soft-headed. Henderson knows that as well as I do.”
“Oh, does he?” Raven rose, furious. “Isn’t it marvelous the way people determine my life? Did you two decide I was too feeble-brained to make this decision on my own?”
“Not exactly.” Brand’s voice was cool. “We did agree that left to yourself, you have a tendency to be emotional rather than sensible.”
“Terrific. Do I get a leash and collar for Christmas?”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Brand advised.
“Oh, so now I’m an idiot?” Raven turned away to pace the room. She had the same quicksilver temper he remembered. She was all motion, all energy. “I don’t know how I’ve managed all this time without your pretty compliments, Brandon.” She whirled back to him. “Why in the world would you want an emotional idiot as a collaborator?”
“Because,” Brandon said and rose, “you’re a hell of a writer. Now shut up.”
“Of course,” she said, seating herself on the piano bench. “Since you asked so nicely.”
Deliberately he took out another cigarette, lit it and blew out a stream of smoke, all the while his eyes resting on her face. “This is an important project, Raven,” he said. “Let’s not blow it. Because we were once very close, I wanted to talk to you face-to-face, not through a mediator, not through a bloody telephone wire. Can you understand that?”
She waited a long moment before answering. “Maybe.”
Brand smiled and moved over to her. “We’ll add stubborn to those adjectives later, but I don’t want you mad again.”
“Then let me ask you something before you say anything I’ll have to get mad about.” Raven tilted her head and studied his face. “First, why do you want a collaborator on this? Why share the glory?”
“It’s also a matter of sharing the work, love. Fifteen songs.”
She nodded. “All right, number two, then. Why me, Brandon? Why not someone who’s scored a musical before?”
He answered her by walking around her and slipping down on the piano bench beside her. Without speaking, he began to play. The notes flooded the room like ghosts. “Remember this?” he murmured, glancing over and into her eyes.
Raven didn’t have to answer. She rose and walked away. It was too difficult to sit beside him at the same piano where they had composed the song he now played. She remembered how they had laughed, how warm his eyes had been, how safe she had felt in his arms. It was the first and only song they had written and recorded together.
Even after he had stopped playing, she continued to prowl the room. “What does ‘Clouds and Rain’ have to do with anything?” she demanded. He had touched a chord in her; he heard it in the tone of her voice. He felt a pang of guilt at having intentionally peeled away a layer of her defense.
“There’s a Grammy over there and a gold record, thanks to that two minutes and forty-three seconds, Raven. We work well together.”
She turned back to look at him. “We did once.”
“We will again.” Brand stood and came to her but this time made no move to touch her. “Raven, you know how important this could be to your career. And you must realize what you’d be bringing to the project. Fantasy needs your special talents.”
She wanted it. She could hardly believe that something she wanted so badly was being offered to her. But how would it be to work with him again, to be in constant close contact? Would she be able to deal with it? Would she be sacrificing her personal sanity for professional gain? But I don’t love him anymore, she reminded herself. Raven caught her bottom lip between her teeth in a gesture of indecision. Brand saw it.
“Raven, think of the music.”
“I am,” she admitted. “I’m also thinking of you—of us.” She gave him a clear, candid look. “I’m not sure it would be healthy for me.”
“I can’t promise not to touch you.” He was annoyed, and his voice reflected it in its crisp, concise tone. “But I can promise not to push myself on you. Is that good
enough?”
Raven evaded the question. “If I agreed, when would we start? I’ve a tour coming up.”
“I know, in two weeks. You’ll be finished in six, so we could start the first week in May.”
“I see.” Her mouth turned up a bit as she combed her fingers through her hair. “You’ve looked into this thoroughly.”
“I told you, its business.”
“All right, Brandon,” she said, conceding his point. “Where would we work? Not here,” she said quickly. There was a sudden pressure in her chest. “I won’t work with you here.”