by Nora Roberts
leathery smell of the upholstery reminded her abruptly of Karter’s office. Quickly she pushed away the sensation. “What are you going to feed me, Brandon?” she asked brightly—too brightly. “I warn you, I’m starving.”
He circled her throat with his hand so that she had no choice but to meet his eyes directly. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
He’d always seen too much too quickly, she thought. It was one of the qualities that had made him an exceptional songwriter.
Raven placed her hand on top of his. “No questions, Brandon, not now.”
She felt his hesitation. Then he turned his hand over and gripped hers. Slowly, overriding her initial resistance, he brought her palm to his lips. “Not now,” he agreed, watching her eyes. “I can still move you,” he murmured and smiled as though the knowledge pleased him. “I can feel it.”
Raven felt the tremors racing up her arms. “Yes.” She drew her hand from his but kept her eyes steady. “You can still move me. But things aren’t the same anymore.”
He grinned, a quick flash of white teeth, then started the engine. “No, things aren’t the same anymore.”
As he pulled away, she had the uncomfortable impression that they had said the same words but meant two different things.
***
Dinner was quiet and intimate and perfect. They ate in a tiny old inn they had once discovered by chance. Here, Brand knew, there would be no interruptions for autographs, no greetings and drinks from old acquaintances. Here there would be just the two of them, a man and a woman amidst candlelight, wine, fine food, and an intimate atmosphere.
As the evening wore on, Raven’s smile became more spontaneous, less desperate, and the unhappiness he had seen deep in her eyes before now faded. Though he noticed the transition, Brand made no comment.
“I feel like I haven’t eaten in a week,” Raven managed between bites of the tender roast beef that was the house specialty.
“Want some of mine?” Brand offered his plate.
Raven scooped up a bit of baked potato; her eyes seemed to laugh at him. “We’ll have them wrap it up so I can take it home. I want to leave room for dessert. Did you see that pastry tray?”
“I suppose I could roll you to Cornwall,” Brand considered, adding some burgundy to his glass.
Raven laughed, a throaty sound that appealed and aroused. “I’ll be a bag of bones by the time we go to Cornwall,” she claimed. “You know what those whirlwind tours can do.” She shook her head as he offered her more wine.
“One-night stands from San Francisco to New York.” Brand lifted his glass as Raven gave him a quizzing look. “I spoke to Henderson.” He twirled a strand of her hair around his finger so absently, Raven was certain he was unaware of the gesture. She made no complaint. “If it’s agreeable with you, I’ll meet you in New York at the end of the tour. We’ll fly to England from there.”
“All right.” She took a deep breath, having finally reached her fill of the roast beef. “You’d better set it up with Julie. I haven’t any memory for dates and times. Are you staying in the States until then?”
“I’m doing a couple of weeks in Vegas.” He brushed his fingers across her cheek, and when she would have resisted, he laid his hand companionably over hers. “I haven’t played there in quite a while. I don’t suppose it’s changed.”
She laughed and shook her head. “No. I played there, oh, about six months ago, I guess. Julie won a bundle at the baccarat table. I was a victim of the slots.”
“I read the reviews. Were you as sensational as they said?” He smiled at her while one finger played with the thin gold bracelet at her wrist.
“Oh, I was much more sensational than they said,” she assured him.
“I’d like to have seen you.” His finger drifted lazily to her pulse. He felt it jump at his touch. “It’s been much too long since I’ve heard you sing.”
“You heard me just the other day in the studio,” she pointed out. She took her hand from his to reach for her wine. He easily took her other one. “Brandon,” she began, half-amused.
“I’ve heard you over the radio as well,” he continued, “but it’s not the same as watching you come alive at a concert. Or,” he smiled as his voice took on that soft, intimate note she remembered, “listening to you when you sing just for me.”
His tone was as smooth as the burgundy she drank. Knowing how easily he could cloud her brain, she vowed to keep their conversation light. “Do you know what I want right now?” She lowered her own voice as she leaned toward him, but he recognized the laughter in her eyes.
“Dessert,” he answered.
“You know me so well, Brandon.” She smiled.
She wanted to go dancing. By mutual consent, when they left the restaurant they avoided the popular, trendy spots in town and found a crowded, smoky hole-in-the-wall club with a good band, much like the dozens they had both played in at the beginnings of their respective careers. They thought they wouldn’t be recognized there. For almost twenty minutes they were right.
“Excuse me, aren’t you Brand Carstairs?” The toothy young blond stared up at Brand in admiration. Then she glanced at Raven. “And Raven Williams.”
“Bob Muldroon,” Brand returned in a passable Texas drawl. “And my wife Sheila. Say howdy, Sheila,” he instructed as he held her close and swayed on the postage-sized dance floor.
“Howdy,” Raven said obligingly
“Oh, Mr. Carstairs.” She giggled and thrust out a cocktail napkin and a pencil. “Please, I’m Debbie. Could you write, ‘To my good friend Debbie’?”
“Sure.” Brand gave her one of his charming smiles and told Raven to turn around. He scrawled quickly, using her back for support.
“And you, too, Raven,” Debbie asked when he’d finished. “On the other side.”
It was typical of her fans to treat her informally. They thought of her as Raven. Her spontaneous warmth made it difficult for anyone to approach her with the awe normally reserved for superstars. Raven wrote on her side of the napkin when Brand offered his back. When she had finished, she noted that Debbie’s eyes were wide and fixed on Brand. The pulse in her throat was jumping like a jackhammer. Raven knew what fantasies were dancing in the girl’s mind.
“Here you are, Debbie.” She touched her hand to bring the girl back to reality.
“Oh.” Debbie took the napkin, looked at it blankly a moment, then smiled up at Brand. “Thanks.” She looked at Raven, then ran a hand through her hair as if she had just realized what she had done. “Thanks a lot.”
“You’re welcome.” Brand smiled but began to edge Raven toward the door.
It was too much to expect that the incident had gone unnoticed or that no one else would recognize them. For the next fifteen minutes they were wedged between the crowd and the door, signing autographs and dealing with a barrage of questions. Brand made certain they weren’t separated from each other as he slowly maneuvered a path through the crowd.
They were jostled and shoved a bit but he judged the crowd to be fairly civilized. It was still early by L.A. standards, and there hadn’t been too much drinking yet. Still he wanted her out. This type of situation was notoriously explosive; the mood could change abruptly. One overenthusiastic fan and it could all be different. And ugly. Raven signed and signed some more while an occasional hand reached out to touch her hair. Brand felt a small wave of relief as he finally drew her out into the fresh air. Only a few followed them out of the club, and they were able to make their way to Brand’s car with just a smattering of extra autographs.
“Damn it. I’m sorry.” He leaned across her to lock her door. “I should have known better than to have taken you there.”
Raven took a long breath, combing her hair back from her face with her fingers as she turned to him. “Don’t be silly; I wanted to go. Besides, the people were nice.”
“They aren’t always,” he muttered as the car merged with Los Angeles traffic.
“No.” She
leaned back, letting her body relax. “But I’ve been pretty lucky. Things have only gotten out of hand once or twice. It’s the hype, I suppose, and it’s to be expected that fans sometimes forget we’re flesh and blood.”
“So they try to take little chunks of us home with them.”
“That,” Raven said dryly, “can be a problem. I remember seeing a film clip of a concert you gave, oh, seven or eight years ago.” She leaned her elbow on the back of the seat now and cupped her cheek in her palm. “A London concert where the fans broke through the security. They seemed to swallow you whole. It must have been dreadful.”
“They loved me enough to give me a couple of broken ribs.”
“Oh, Brandon.” She sat up straight now, shocked. “That’s terrible. I never knew that.”
He smiled and moved his shoulders. “We played it down. It did rather spoil my taste for live concerts for a while. I got over it.” He turned, heading toward the hills. “Security’s tighter these days.”
“I don’t know if I’d be able to face an audience after something like that.”
“Where else would you get the adrenaline?” he countered. “We need it, don’t we? That instant gratification of applause.” He laughed and pulled her over beside him. “Why else do we do it, Raven? Why else are there countless others out there scrambling to make it? Why did you start up the road, Raven?”
“To escape,” she answered before she had time to think. She sighed and relaxed against his shoulder when he didn’t demand an explanation. “Music was always something I could hold on to. It was constant, dependable. I needed something that was wholly mine.” She turned her head a bit to study his profile. “Why did you?”
“For most of the same reasons, I suppose. I had something to say, and I wanted people to remember I said it.”
She laughed. “And you were so radical at the start of your career. Such pounding, demanding songs. You were music’s bad boy for some time.”
“I’ve mellowed,” he told her.
“‘Fire Hot’ didn’t sound mellow to me,” she commented. “Wasn’t that the lead cut on your last album?”
He grinned, glancing down at her briefly. “I have to keep my hand in.”
“It was number one on the charts for ten consecutive weeks,” she pointed out. “That isn’t bad for mellow.”
“That’s right,” he agreed as if he’d just remembered. “It knocked off a little number of yours, didn’t it? It was kind of a sweet little arrangement, as I recall. Maybe a bit heavy on the strings, but . . .”
She gave him an enthusiastic punch on the arm.
“Raven,” Brand complained mildly. “You shouldn’t distract me when I’m driving.”
“That sweet little arrangement went platinum.”
“I said it was sweet,” he reminded her. “And the lyrics weren’t bad. A bit sentimental, maybe, but . . .”
“I like sentimental lyrics,” she told him, giving him another jab on the arm. “Not every song has to be a blistering social commentary.”
“Of course not,” he agreed reasonably. “There’s always room for cute little ditties.”
“Cute little ditties,” Raven repeated, hardly aware that they had fallen back into one of their oldest habits by debating each other’s work. “Just because I don’t go in for showboating or lyrical trickery,” she began. But when he swung off to the side of the road, she narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you doing?”
“Pulling over before you punch me again.” He grinned and flicked a finger down her nose. “Showboating?”
“Showboating,” she repeated. “What else do you call that guitar and piano duel at the end of ‘Fire Hot’?”
“A classy way to fade out a song,” he returned, and though she agreed with him, Raven made a sound of derision.
“I don’t need the gadgetry. My songs are . . .”
“Overly sentimental.”
She lifted a haughty brow. “If you feel my music is overly sentimental and cute, how do you imagine we’ll work together?”
“Perfectly,” he told her. “We’ll balance each other, Raven, just as we always did.”
“We’re going to have terrible fights,” she predicted.
“Yes, I imagine we will.”
“And,” she added, failing to suppress a smile, “you won’t always win.”
“Good. Then the fights won’t be boring.” He pulled her to him, and when she resisted, he cradled her head on his shoulder again. “Look,” he ordered, pointing out the window, “why is it cities always look better at night from above?”
Raven looked down on the glittering Los Angeles skyline. “I suppose it’s the mystique. It makes you wonder what’s going on and you can’t see how fast it’s moving. Up here it’s quiet.” She felt his lips brush her temple, “Brandon.” She drew away, but he stopped her.
“Don’t pull away from me, Raven.” It was a low, murmured request that shot heat up her spine. “Don’t pull away from me.”
His head lowered slowly, and his lips nibbled at hers, hardly touching, but the hand at the back of her neck was firm. He kept her facing him while he changed the angle of the kiss. His lips were persuasive, seductive. He kissed the soft, dewy skin of her cheeks, the fragile, closed eyelids, the scented hair at her temple. She could feel herself floating toward him as she always had, losing herself to him.
Her lips parted so that when his returned, he found them inviting him to explore. The kiss deepened, but slowly, as if he savored the taste of her on his tongue. Her hand slid up his chest until she held him and their bodies touched. He murmured something, then pressed his mouth against the curve of her neck. Her scent rose and enveloped him.
She moaned when he took her breast, a sound of both hunger and protest. His mouth came back to hers, plundering now as he responded to the need he felt flowing from her. She was unresisting, as open and warm as a shaft of sunlight. Her body was yearning toward him, melting irresistibly She thought his hand burned through the thin fabric of her dress and set fire to her naked skin. It had been so long, she thought dizzily, so long since she had felt anything this intensely, needed anything this desperately. Her whole being tuned itself to him.
“Raven.” His mouth was against her ear, her throat, the hollow of her cheek. “Oh, God, I want you.” The kiss was urgent now, his hands no longer gentle. “So long,” he said, echoing her earlier thought. “It’s been so long. Come back with me. Let me take you back with me to the hotel. Stay with me tonight.”
Passion flooded her senses. His tongue trailed over her warmed skin until he came again to her mouth. Then he took possession. The heat was building, strangling the breath in her throat, suffocating her. There was a fierce tug of war between fear and desire. She began to struggle.
“No.” She took deep gulps of air. “Don’t.”
Brand took her by the shoulders and with one quick jerk had her face turned back up to his. “Why?” he demanded roughly. “You want me, I can feel it.”
“No.” She shook her head, and her hands trembled as she pushed at his chest. “I don’t. I can’t.” Raven tried to deepen her breathing to steady it. “You’re hurting me, Brandon. Please let me go.”
Slowly he relaxed his fingers, then released her. “The same old story,” he murmured. Turning away from her, he carefully drew out a cigarette and lit it. “You still give until I’m halfway mad, then pull away from me.” He took a long, deep drag. “I should have been better prepared for it.”
“You’re not fair. I didn’t start this; I never wanted . . .”
“You wanted,” he tossed back furiously. “Damn it, Raven, you wanted. I’ve had enough women to know when I’m holding one who wants me.”
She stiffened against the ache that was speeding through her. “You’re better off with one of your many women, Brandon. I told you I wouldn’t fall at your feet this time, and I meant it. If we can have a professional relationship, fine.” She swallowed and straightened the hair his fingers had so recently c
aressed. “If you can’t work with things on that level, then you’d best find another partner.”
“I have the one I want.” He tossed his cigarette through the open window. “We’ll play it your way for a while, Raven. We’re both professionals, and we both know what this musical’s going to do for our careers.” He started the engine. “I’ll take you home.”
Chapter 5
Raven hated to be late for a party, but there was no help for it. Her schedule was drum tight. If it hadn’t been important that she be there, to rub elbows with Lauren Chase and a few other principals from the cast and crew of Fantasy, she’d have bowed out. There were only two days left before the start of her tour.
The truth was, Raven had forgotten about the party. Rehearsals had run over, then she had found herself driving into Beverly Hills to window shop. She hadn’t wanted to buy anything but had simply wanted to do something mindless. For weeks there had been nothing but demand after demand, and she could look forward only to more of