IntheMood

by Lynne Connolly

  “I’ve got both albums at home. I even played along, but I do that with a lot of music. He’s good.” She bit her lip.

  Maybe she shouldn’t have said that. But it didn’t appear to upset him. She saw no tension in his features, no signs of strain. “Yeah, he is. Now I’ve seen them work together and heard him with the band, I know he’s better than me. No, baby, it doesn’t upset me. Much. My main regret is the way I left.” He didn’t seem upset. Levelheaded, but something inside her told her to keep watching. Something was wrong, and she didn’t know what it was, except that he wasn’t telling her the whole truth.

  He reached for her hand. “How can I regret finding you? Come on, you have to be hungry. I’ll tell Jace we’re going and he can let himself out.”

  “Shouldn’t you think about security?”

  He was already removing the masters from the machines and putting them away in their boxes. “If I didn’t and these puppies got lost, it’d be my head on the block. Part of the insurance. Give me a few minutes to lock these in the safe and we’ll leave Jace to his noodling.”

  More than noodling. Something good was happening in the studio, but she’d tried to ignore it. When a band was working, it formed a unit, one so tight that interference could upset it.

  She’d had some ideas already. She couldn’t help it, she heard music and that part of her brain started working, but she didn’t have to tell anybody. Except perhaps herself.

  Chapter Five

  One week later they were set, and V sat with her father in his study, waiting for his verdict on the contract.

  “You sure you want to do this, honey?” If V’s family was anything at all, it was protective. Over the years, it’d had to be. Held up as a curiosity, attacked by racists and anti-racists, they hung together. Like a band, she supposed, the kind that knew they stuck together or broke apart. Maybe that was why so many of them were musical.

  Her father met her steady gaze, his own dark eyes contemplative, and brushed back a strand of his badger-streaked hair. “If what you say is true, you’re going to get some attention.”

  V smiled. “I know. But it’s time for me to move on, Pop.”

  Her father studied her, didn’t break the silence or his attention. If she’d showed any wavering, he wouldn’t have gone on with this. He’d have told her that she should take the session money. But she wanted this, she really wanted it. Not fame, not that, but being a part of something she really loved. She’d listened to that album several times and the more she heard it, the more the artistry and invention stunned her.

  So she met his gaze and kept her smile in place. She’d had practice, but nothing was more important to her than this. “I want the credit. I’ll play a couple of dates, that’s all, and I’ll stand at the back. I’ll be fine.”

  “Hmm.” Her father turned back to the papers spread on his desk. “The offer’s more than fair. Apparently the band insisted on it once they heard your contribution. You’ll get a percentage plus a straight performance fee when you play with them. They didn’t have to do that. They could have given you the session fee, not a percentage. If this album is really all that, you’ll get a lot more money with the percentage, although it’s only a small one. Do you believe in the album enough?”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “I remember when that company offered you a lot of cash for the regulator, you said no. You believed in your invention enough to say you wanted to keep the patent, and you’d take royalties, or whatever they call it in your business.”

  He gave a short laugh. “I was the only member of my generation to take to the garage business instead of the jazz, and guess which one hit the jackpot.” He gave a shout of laughter. Since his money paid for all the family these days, and since they loved him anyway, the family let him get away with the occasional crow. It made for some interesting Sunday lunches. “Yes, I get your point. So you believe in this music?”

  “It’s not my music, only the pieces I added to a few tracks, but yes. I’d be proud to be associated with this. Wait ‘til you hear it, Pop. It won’t be long before you can.”

  The band had approved her take and then contacted their manager, Chick Fontaine. He hadn’t said anything to her, but she knew Matt was proud that they’d trusted him to finish his job in time. They had no reason to trust him, he’d told her, but they had.

  They liked what he was doing. She wanted that as well, to show him she was proud of being associated with his work. More than anything else, if she allowed herself to tell the truth. The way she felt about Matt was beginning to scare her. Too much, too fast. She needed to slow things down or he’d overwhelm her. His personality was so big that he could easily do it, even without meaning to.

  At the moment Matt was the one feeling overwhelmed. He stood before the big Lincoln Park house, watching people coming and going, and felt—outside. Like he had all his life—only this time it was a bit different, because someone he was beginning to care about far too much called it home. “Come by,” she’d said. “We’re having one of our gatherings on Sunday after church.” Church? Hell, the last time he’d gone was for somebody’s wedding. But with all those jazz musicians, it might be one of those churches with the amazing singing. He’d have to check it out.

  Someone brushed past him, a man of what looked like Japanese origin, his straight, black hair cut short and clinging to his well-shaped head. He tilted a brow at Matt. “You one of us?”

  Matt found a grin from somewhere. “Kinda. V asked me to meet her here.”

  “Come around the back way. They’ll be in the yard.” He glanced up at the sky, a pretty blue overlaid with fluffy clouds. “It’s potluck on Sundays. Ma used to do the full dinner, but we persuaded her we could do it.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Bran, V’s brother.”

  “One of them,” Matt replied, shaking the man’s hand. “I don’t know if I can keep you all straight.”

  “Easy,” said Bran. “There’s the Jap one—that’s me—several Africans, a couple of Caucasians, a Polynesian one—”

  Matt held up his hand in a gesture of submission. “Stop, stop! Do people really talk about you like that?”

  Bran gave a wry grin. “Sure they do. We’re pretty much used to it. It helps if you don’t let the names bother you, so we used to call each other names.”

  “But sometimes it still rankles,” Matt guessed. It appalled him, that kind of casual racism.

  Bran nodded. “Something like that. So what are you?”

  “American,” he said, and paused. “Mom’s English.”

  Bran nodded. “I thought I sensed something different about your accent.”

  “Is it that noticeable?” Few people noticed that, but he could speak English English if he wanted to. Bran must be hypersensitive to accents and body language to spot that after a few sentences.

  “I don’t think so. But you said ‘rankles’. I like that. Don’t I know you?”

  He’d work it out. “I have a recording studio in town and V did some work there recently.”

  Bran’s face cleared. “Maxx Syccorraxx! I knew I’d seen you somewhere before. I remember the fuss when you moved into town.”

  “Shit, yeah. Now I know how you feel. It’s like being labeled as a thing, rather than what you are. I drag that guy around like a heavyweight. I’m Matt, I run a studio downtown and I’m doing okay.”

  They exchanged a genuine smile, one that showed they were in sympathy. “So what do you do, Bran?”

  “Computer stuff.” Bran wrinkled his nose. “Geek.”

  They started to walk around the house. “Don’t knock it. Geeks are sexy these days.”

  Bran grinned broadly. “I know. I’m thinking of getting myself a pair of thick glasses.”

  Still laughing, they walked around the corner of the house and Matt found himself in the middle of a family. He’d say like no other, but he didn’t have much experience of big families.

  He hardly got five paces into the expansive yard before V waylaid h
im, an older man in tow. “Meet my father,” she said simply. “Pop, this is Matt. He’s my—”

  “Yes, girl, I know what he is.” Matt received a warm handshake. “And who. Another musician.” But he smiled when he said it. “I need a word with you, Matt. In my office.” Hamid was in his sixties, or thereabouts, around five-seven with gray-streaked, thinning dark hair. He carried an air of quiet assurance that told Matt he was no pushover.

  Ten minutes later, Matt left Mr. Hamid’s office not sure if he’d been rooked or complimented. He’d agreed to give the Hamid club band studio time almost as an also-ran to the contract. He could see there being a ready market for the album, especially when the Murder City Ravens album was released, so it wouldn’t be a crock. And Hamid had kindly allowed him to take a cut.

  “Don’t worry, son,” a wheezy voice said from behind him. “He does it to all of us. When you work it out, you’ll be happy. Just as well my brother is fair, otherwise we’d all be his slaves.”

  He turned around already smiling, because Claud’s voice was unmistakable. Rich as whiskey, the tones wandered through Matt, mellowing him out. “I had my lawyer go through the first contract, the one with V, but not the second. Nice to read something so straightforward.”

  In fact, it made him wonder why anybody bothered with legalese. That was why he kept thinking he’d missed something. But Hamid had been completely amenable to him taking the contract away. He just made it clear that V’s signature on the first one, the one Matt had had drawn up in consultation with Fontaine, was dependent on the second. That is, she’d sign the Murder City Ravens one once he’d signed the second, whatever the decision was. Which would be tomorrow, as soon as his lawyer had approved it.

  It was worth it, for V. She had great musicianship, but more than that, she was the best thing that had happened to him personally for a very long time.

  Her voice came as a shock, he’d sunk so deep into his own thoughts. “There you are. Come and get some food. It’ll be gone if you don’t.”

  After a thoroughly bemusing afternoon, when Matt talked computers, the mechanics of a sound desk and what would improve it, the future of hip-hop, the politics of Chicago, the best way to launder white silk, and several other topics where he tried to keep up, he realized that the Hamid family had fingers in any number of Chicagoan pies. They had roots that went deep and were burrowing their way deeper.

  His head was spinning by the time he left, thankfully with his hand in V’s. He took her to his car. There was no way he was letting her out of his sight for the rest of the day. Spending all that time with her without touching her the way he wanted to, knowing her parents’ attention never strayed far from her, had driven him crazy. A hand in the small of her back was the most he’d dared manage.

  He helped her into the car and then he took the wheel. He’d chosen a sports car, but not an overly outrageous model. After all, he wanted to leave it on the street or in a public garage sometimes and be reasonably sure of it still being there when he got back. But in rock-star black. Old habits sometimes died hard.

  “You hardly left my side,” she murmured as he pulled away.

  “I needed you. It’s all a little strange for a solitary man.” But he said it with a smile, although he wondered if he’d ever get used to a family that all-encompassing. “Tell me, just how many businesses does your family own?”

  She laughed. “When he got rich, Pop decided to give us money by buying us small businesses, or business premises. Then leave it up to us. He had a garage, and George runs that now. He bought Bran’s computer business and my café.”

  “I thought you said you were in partnership.” He had his doubts about her partner, especially when he’d discovered the bastard had been her ex, but she seemed content enough. He couldn’t interfere. Not after a week.

  “I am. It means I can still keep up my music. Jack and I split the work between us, and that way we both have some clear days.”

  “How did he pay for his half?” It might be intrusive, but he didn’t care. He just didn’t trust the guy and already he felt protective toward V. He didn’t seem to be able to help it.

  “His savings. He still works as a lawyer part-time, but he wants to give it up eventually. He says he was a lousy lawyer, but he’s a great café owner.”

  “Is he?” He still didn’t want to believe her. “I don’t know if he’s good for you, V.” He didn’t like the way Jack looked at her sometimes, as if he still wanted her.

  “Stop the car.”

  From her tone and the way she sat rigidly in her seat, he knew he’d gone too far and let his protectiveness show too much. Luckily he couldn’t stop right that minute, but he did take the next right and pull in to a quiet domestic street.

  He cut the engine and turned to face her. Nothing but a straight apology would do. “I’m sorry, V.”

  She shook her head, her face serious, her mouth a hard line. “Listen, Matt. I have people looking over my shoulder all day long. All of them all of the time. They take care of my interests, they make sure I’m okay. Sometimes it’s great, like if I’m ill I know I have someone who will bring me chicken soup. And my pop is the best businessman I know. But I fought for every bit of space I have.

  “That’s one reason I live above the café. It’s not somewhere people can just drop in, if they don’t have a key, and I can’t give out too many keys. The insurance policy won’t allow it.” She took a deep breath, her eyes sparkling darkly. “Now you’re trying to look after me too. If you insist on doing this, we’re through.”

  If it hadn’t been for the very slightest tremble of her lower lip, he’d have thought her completely in control. But that betraying quiver gave him hope. “You win. I want you more than anybody I’ve met for,” maybe forever, but he wasn’t sure about that himself, so he amended what he was going to say, “a long time. I don’t want this to end, so have it your way. I won’t interfere, and I won’t give you advice unless you ask for it. Is that what you want?” Although he felt that instinctive need to care for her, he’d be stupid to tell her right now.

  She met his gaze and for a fraught moment he thought she’d get out of the car. Eventually she leaned back and her hand left her safety belt. He took that small gesture as a sign that she’d give him a chance. “It’s exactly what I want. Take me home, please, and you can park in my space.”

  Breathing a quiet sigh of relief, he started the engine.

  The notion that he’d nearly lost her made him desperate. For the relatively short journey, he fought a raging hard-on. Visions of her gorgeous body flashed before his eyes, forcing him to slow his speed, despite his eagerness to reach her home.

  At last, after negotiating a couple of busy intersections—did people never stop shopping?—they finally reached the North side and the café. The building owned a small car lot, so the spaces were very limited but available. Usually only V, Jack and a couple of employees had rights to park there, but her car was in the garage, so he could take her spot. Otherwise he’d have suggested going to his place, because the fight to get a decent parking space wouldn’t have been worth the time it took. Better to get to his place and then walk back. Or stop there to ease the agony in his groin.

  The more he tried not to think of her hot, wet and naked, the worse he got and the more vivid the images. His erection pressed cruelly against his zipper and he wished he’d found some thick underwear to pad his poor cock.

  When he raced around the car to let her out, she looked as desperate as he did. He slammed the door, pressed her against it and kissed her, driving his tongue into her mouth, claiming her.

  He broke away, knowing he had to have her or die. “Come on.” Grabbing her hand, he towed her toward the front of the café. It was open, so they wouldn’t have to fumble for keys, except for the ones to her apartment. No alarm number to remember, just a café full of customers to negotiate.

  “What’s your hurry?”

  He knew her well enough to recognize the teasing tone. “I
’ve been watching you all afternoon. I did my best to behave myself.” He raced around to the front of the building. His heart sank when he saw the café was only half empty. He could have maneuvered her faster through a full one, pushed past the people who knew her. “If I don’t get inside you soon, I’ll go insane.”

  She tilted her head to one side, her hair flowing softly over her left shoulder. “Are you always like this?”

  She looked so mouthwateringly gorgeous he had to take another kiss. But he didn’t linger too long, all too aware of the privacy upstairs. “No, I’m not. Not since I got straight, anyhow. It’s you, sweetheart. You.”

  They entered the café to a chorus of wolf whistles from the regulars. Cops could sure whistle.

  He loved the way V’s cheeks flowered pinkly, but he hoped she didn’t feel too bad about it, because he didn’t. And he hoped she believed what he’d just told her. It was her. All his eagerness, just for her. Cops? They could find their own girls. The uniforms had to help. They weren’t getting this one.

  He gave Jack, standing behind the counter, a mock salute, but they had to pause when Jack beckoned her over. He wasn’t letting go of her now, so he caught her hand and went to the counter with her. Jack glared at him. He glared back.

  “It’s your day tomorrow,” Jack said, a totally unnecessary reminder. Matt couldn’t believe that V would miss her shift.

  “I remember. Any problems?”

  Jack discussed a few things that could easily have waited. Meantime, Matt’s dick was staying hard and getting more uncomfortable. His fury rose against this bastard because he was sure Jack was keeping her talking on purpose. If Jack wasn’t getting any, he’d make sure Matt wouldn’t either.