“You all feel that way?”
“We wouldn’t be talking to you now if we didn’t,” Zazz said. “You’re the missing link, the final ingredient.”
For the first time, Chick, standing by the door with his arms folded over his chest, joined the conversation. “As long as the paperwork’s in place. You have an agent?”
“My pop.”
Chick raised a bushy brow. “I hate to say it, but is that wise?” He paused. “Wait. Didn’t your father do all his own negotiating?” V nodded. “I take it back. I’ll watch my fingers when I do business with him.”
Jace nudged her. “He’s as straight as a manager gets in this business. Your father and Chick will get on extremely well. Too well, probably.”
She hoped so. They’d already discussed her payment for the single. Taken each other’s measure, like two Western gunmen facing off for a real fight. No, more like two seasoned Mississippi gamblers sizing each other up, settling in to raise the stakes.
She’d leave them to it.
Chick moved farther into the room. “Tell us in a week so we can make the arrangements. Talk it over, hey?”
He meant with Matt.
And then the second implication hit her, hard as a rock between her eyes. She had to fight to keep from reeling back.
She’d have to leave Matt. The tour would take the band around the world and it would take the best part of a year. Murder City Ravens wanted to hit the world hard with this album, she knew that from discussions in the studio and it meant a lot to them. She knew why too. The music deserved to be heard.
Still staggering mentally from her revelation, she got into the limo and traveled with the rest of the band to the hotel. One of the swanky ones overlooking Central Park. They went straight in the back way, along a long hallway that had steel cleaning trolleys lined up on one side and through to a service elevator.
If she joined the band, even as an extra musician and not a full member, she could expect to live like this for the best part of a year. Without Matt, because he couldn’t come with her. He couldn’t abandon his studio, and she wouldn’t let him.
An experience like this would get her over the stage fright for sure and certain. She’d never have that hanging over her head again. Her terror had held her back, stopped her from pursuing what she wanted—a career in music. She knew that now. She’d always known it, but she’d given herself so many excuses, she hardly needed to think of them anymore.
Up in the elevator, to a high floor. Matt was waiting for her there. He’d taken a few days out of his schedule, left AZ in charge, but he couldn’t do that forever and have his business flourish. He had to be onsite. And she would be traveling worldwide.
But she wanted it, oh, how she wanted it!
In the bedroom assigned to her, she walked straight into Matt’s arms. She needed this respite. Then she was on him, dragging his T-shirt over his head, despite his laughing protests. She wasn’t interested in talk or reason. It was driving her mad. All these decisions to make, and all dependent on her. Had the band talked to Matt about this?
In any case, they might decide they didn’t want her. The band made decisions democratically, and they allowed nobody else in to their meetings, not even Chick, until they’d come to a decision. After these concerts, they might not want her, might think she didn’t fit in. She wasn’t stupid. Her looks, her sex and her saxophone made it almost inevitable that attention would come her way.
So she grabbed the one sure thing in her life right now. Great sex with Matt, and he seemed only too eager to comply.
Quickly getting over his initial shock when she threw herself at him, Matt propelled her back toward the huge bed. He tumbled her onto the soft, white duvet. Her hands spread over his chest in the way he’d come to expect—no, to anticipate—with eagerness. He moaned, moved into her hands and gave her possession. He sensed that she wanted control and loved it. His woman never allowed anyone to control the way she ran her life or how other people viewed her. Fiercely independent and every sexy inch worth fighting for.
He let her roll him over so she lay on top of him, and tried to control his grin with only moderate success.
She pushed her hair back and glared at him. “What?”
He let his gaze travel down the shining strand she’d failed to notice and back up to her face again. “You have too many clothes on.”
Impatiently, she tore off her top and unhooked her bra, letting her breasts fall into his hands. So soft, silky, beautiful, with that firm bead of flesh that he could take between his thumb and fingers—just like that—and make her gasp. Like a switch.
He loved to make her gasp and sigh, and he loved the warm silk of her skin. “More,” he demanded.
“Not yet.”
“Yet.”
She glared at him and then gave him a slow blink of arousal before groaning and giving in. She climbed off him just long enough to drag her jeans and underwear down her legs. Sometimes he enjoyed playing with her through her underwear, feeling the slow soak of her juices as she became more and more aroused, but not today. Now he wanted to feel her skin unencumbered, with nothing between their bodies.
But when he unzipped his own jeans and lifted his ass off the bed to kick off his clothing, she put her hands on his thighs to stop him. “Let me do it,” she said.
“With all the pleasure in the world.” Although he imagined there’d be more pleasure later. But for now, skin to skin sounded good.
Instead of taking her time, easing his pants down his legs, she tugged impatiently at them. After she’d disposed of them and his socks, she returned for his underwear. Then she sat back on her heels and looked at him and his erection, pointing up, responding to her attention. Wetness seeped from the tip. He stared at her, then brought his hand to his dick and smeared that liquid right down the shaft.
With a growl of appreciation, she was on him, shoving his hand out of the way before she took him into her mouth. He arched up, pushed into her mouth, taking care not to choke her and groaned her name. “V, you set me on fire. Jesus!”
After one long draw, she released him, the slight pop reverberating around his head. Both of his heads. She stood, mounted him and grasped his cock with a firm hand, pumping a couple of times. Her free hand went between her legs, smoothing her sweet arousal over her pussy. He wanted it, wanted to taste the spice of her on his tongue. Wanted to own it all. But for now, she was in charge.
He watched and knew she could see his hunger for her. Why should he hide it? He wanted her so badly and she deserved to know just how much. So he told her as well.
“I have never seen a sight so gorgeous as you making sure you’re ready for me.”
Her grin broadened and she tilted her head to one side, teasing him by leaning back a little. Her hair fell over one shoulder and he thought about using it to pull her closer, but this was her game.
“I think I can take you now.”
Then she proved it, guiding his cock to her pussy with an unerring hand. She pushed it past the first ring of resistance and then sank on him, down and down until their pubic hair meshed.
He reached down and ruffled the strip of blonde hair. “Never get rid of all of it, will you?” Then he gasped because she swiveled her hips and rotated her soft, hot body around the head of his cock. He felt it with every cell in his body and she had him. He was happy to be had. Fucking delirious.
She worked him and he had to concentrate on getting his hand on her clit, forcing his attention past the amazing way she made his whole body respond. He felt alive, as if all his nerves were plugged into the nearest wall socket.
She wanted fast, and he wanted to make sure she came before he did. But it was a close call. She powered her body over him, working him with an expertise he adored.
Panting, she leaned over to rest her weight on her palms, which she planted on either side of his head, imprisoning him in the finest trap he’d ever known. He bit his lip and concentrated on not coming, trying desperately
to think of something that would take the edge off.
Ah yes, that would do it. The thought that she’d leave him. He tortured himself with it sometimes, unsure what he’d do if she decided they were done. Hang around like her ex? Fuck no. But they had a great thing going here. They’d be nuts to call a halt, so he’d sure as hell fight for it.
The notion gave him a few minutes. Long enough for him to pull and tweak her clit, to dip down to feel the point of entry, that lovely place where his hard shaft pierced her soft beauty. With his other hand he reached up and threaded his fingers through her shining hair. He let the locks slide through his senses, weaving a web he was only too glad to enter.
All the while she worked him, hammered against him, taking him. Her breasts bounced with every stroke, her nipples dark and tight. He saw her pupils expand, knew she was on the brink and he gritted his teeth, forcing himself to hold on.
With a sharp cry, she came. Her pussy contracted around him, bringing him to his own culmination. He shouted her name, pulsing long, hard jets deep into her, obeying every rule of nature. His mind went blank except for the pleasure that blinded him to everything else.
The beautiful moment of stillness followed, when the only sound was their gasps as they regained their breath. Then she sank forward, into his arms.
He rolled them so they lay more comfortably on the covers, then brushed back her hair, unpeeling the strand that had stuck to her temple and drawing her closer for the first kiss they’d shared since she’d entered the room. He made it leisurely, giving her his tongue, taking hers in return. They tasted each other, a long, slow dance and then parted just enough to gaze at each other. He loved her eyes, the way she revealed her every emotion to him, though he doubted she realized it. She was so in control except when she gave herself to him. In deep.
He cupped her face, and there and then told her the truth he was now sure of. “I love you, Violet.”
Tears sprang to her eyes and he kissed them away. “Don’t say anything you don’t want to. But I wanted to tell you. That’s all. You’ve given me the shock of my life, but it’s one I needed. A shake-up. I’ll always love you for that. But it’s more than that.”
She half smiled, then replied. “I love you. I’m as sure as you are.”
He kissed her again and this time it was a kiss shared, sweet and rapturous, as short as it was truthful. “It’s scary, isn’t it?” he managed to say.
“It is. Real scary.”
“V, I never did anything permanent before. I don’t have a home, you know that. Just somewhere to live.”
She nodded. “And all my life it’s been my parents and my family. I’ve rarely gone out of it. But for the first time, I don’t want to share you. I want to keep you to myself.”
“I know.” He paused, trying to put into words what he was feeling. “I’ve never felt I belonged anywhere before, except in my own company. Even the band let me down, or so I thought. They didn’t. I let them down. But I won’t let you down, sweetheart. I promise.” He ached to dissipate that look of melancholy he saw in her eyes, and wondered what had caused it.
“I know you won’t.” Her certainty made him determine that he’d never, ever do anything to make her ashamed of him. She deserved the truth, as far as he knew it. Time to open up, something he rarely did for anyone. Even his best friend, Jace.
“I never felt at home with my pop or my mom. They always made me welcome, but I had to move a lot. My dad lives in New York with his new family, my mom moved back to London and I spent time with them both, but I never felt I belonged. Didn’t dare put down roots.” What surprised him was how little it mattered anymore. It used to matter a lot.
“I was glad when I went to college. At least I could choose who I wanted to visit in the vacations. I grew up a bit. Then I got together with the band and you know what happened after that. Better than I do, because I spent so much time stoned.” He stroked his foot along her smooth calf, caressing her.
“I already guessed part of that. Your apartment isn’t exactly a home. More a place to stay.”
“Wasn’t,” he said. “You seem to have made it more of a home.”
She shook her head, her hair drawing sensuous patterns against his skin. “It’s you as well, Matt. You’re putting down roots. I helped you unpack the last of your boxes last weekend, remember? No more boxes.”
Yeah, he remembered, but he’d started the task to please her, not because he felt any need to do it. He knew which box held what possession, and he’d lived like that for a long time. He thought back. Almost forever, in fact. But she’d wanted to, and unpacking had been a way of showing her his life without actually telling her. Good and bad, it was all packed away in those boxes. Or rather, had been. Now it was scattered around his apartment, and yes, she was right, it looked as if somebody lived there now. He was still getting used to it.
He’d thrown away the boxes. She’d made him. At the time it seemed inconsequential, but now he saw what he was doing. Settling.
God, he was in love. And prepared to care for one woman for the rest of his fucking life.
They slept, woke and ate, showered and went back to bed. In his arms again, she told him what the band had offered her and he listened. In the end, he said, “No need to make decisions yet. The concerts might not work out. Take it as it comes, and we’ll see what happens. Remember, this is our vacation, our break from reality, so let’s enjoy it.”
They had a rest day before the day of the concert. Knowing what that meant, Matt took V out that day. They went to the Metropolitan Museum, then to lunch at a great restaurant he knew in the Village, far away from the bustle and the band politics at the hotel. The media would be jockeying for position, but Chick planned one press conference after each concert, and a chance for others to interview the core band. V had agreed to attend the post-concert conferences, but not the others.
To his surprise, they wanted Matt there too. “You did a great job with the album,” Chick told him. “You deserve credit for that. Do you want to make your relationship with each other public? You can sit next to each other, or I can put you either end of the table.”
“Together.” Nice that they said it in unison. Matt squeezed her hand, unashamed at showing his softer side before someone else. That had always been one of his problems, that he didn’t like to expose himself, not to anyone. He had a great outer shell, but she hadn’t penetrated it, he’d destroyed it. For her. And he’d do it again.
Chapter Eight
Matt saw how V’s hands shook when she reached for the small bag holding her makeup and a few other things. He carried the rest, her sax and the bigger holdall with her change of clothes. He never trusted the venue to provide what he wanted.
He murmured to her, speaking slowly and quietly, knowing how panic could affect a person. Her family was in the audience tonight, though she didn’t know it. She’d admitted that she’d asked them to stay away from the Chicago TV studio the last time she’d performed with Murder City Ravens. If she’d failed, she wanted to do it on her own. Her uncle had sneaked in without her realizing it, probably using his contacts to gain entrance. Claud had contacts everywhere. This time she said she didn’t want to know if they were there, but she couldn’t stop them coming. Most had taken that as an invitation.
The media massed in force at the hotel door and outside the stage entrance at the Garden, but tonight the band members were on show. It was their job to see and be seen.
Matt had donned his bad boy look, worn black leather jacket, black jeans, a white T-shirt and sunglasses, despite the growing gloom of sunset. But he held himself with a power that dared anyone to get too close.
V wore jeans and an Iron Maiden T-shirt, looking absolutely delectable. When they walked out to meet the yells and flashes from cameras, professional and amateur, they did it hand in hand.
She held his hand in a death grip, but nothing of that showed on her face. He warmed to her, admired her and loved her even more, that she faced what she
hated with such great heart.
The hired muscle held the path to the open door of one of the limos steady and they climbed inside. Two of the band had made it already, and they took off. Jace grinned at Matt. “Not like the old days, is it?”
“Fuck, no. Creeping in the back door, getting a sleazy, stinking little room for all of us, no riders in the contract to make things more comfortable. Being told we were on earlier, or not at all, but they’d give us a hundred for our trouble.”
Jace chuckled. “And we took it and slunk away.”
“Glad I wasn’t there for that,” said Zazz, his long, lanky body sprawled over his corner of the vehicle. “I did the folk scene to start with, then the universities and pubs when I went down to London. I’ve done my share of sleazy gigs.” He sighed. “Some people never get this far.”
“Yeah.” He knew that too. Not like Claud, who had his own club to make a living from and amused himself playing piano with his buddies, but the real slog of being forever the support band and pretending not to care. You knew you were as good as the headline, but to make the next week, you had to get lucky.
It didn’t take long to get to the Garden, where they had another posse of press people to face. This time she didn’t grip his hand quite as convulsively, and she smiled more freely, though only someone as close as Matt would notice.
They got the better dressing rooms, which were still cramped but had small shower stalls and toilets. At least they got one each. The nature of the accommodation, although gussied up with velvet couches and drapes, still had an edge of working environment. He preferred that to the frills. The rooms still had remembrances of the people who’d used them and this being Madison Square Garden, that meant something.
Legendary sportspeople, bands now gone into the ether, even politicians. The owners recently renovated backstage, but the smell remained, the scent of terror and triumph. The walls were crisply white, the floors shiny and new, but nothing could eradicate the place’s unique atmosphere.
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