Spotlight on Love

by Maxene Novak

  I clenched my teeth together, counting each careful breath that I took. But the fury just kept building up white hot inside my stomach. If I didn’t say something, I was going to explode. “Usually I open my own damn water, thank you very much. I’m just…tired tonight.”

  He frowned, those fingers relentlessly drumming drumming drumming on the side of the etched glass in his hand. Finally, he tossed back the rest of his water. “Because you’re training hard for this tour?”

  I hesitated then nodded, just barely holding it all together, my hands and wrists and elbows and every other part I could name aching and burning and throbbing with pain. I should have stopped the rehearsal sooner, taken a soak in the tub or simply tried to go to sleep before the pain got this bad. But I’d been distracted by the freaking duet Nazi.

  Now he was going to have to show himself out. And once he was gone, I was probably going to have to literally crawl to my bed. Or maybe just sleep on the couch instead.

  His gaze dropped to my bare arms, now covered in goosebumps as my internal thermostat began its nightly wild swoops in temperature. Right now, I felt like I was probably running another fever, judging from the way my eyeballs were radiating heat and my skin couldn’t decide if it was freezing or burning up.

  “Are you sick?” he murmured, setting the glass down on the side table by the bottle of water. Before I could even reply, he leaned over to press a roughened palm to my forehead. “You’re running a fever.”

  “It’s no big deal,” I tried to say, my voice cracking.

  Grunting, he straightened up. “Where’s your ibuprofen or Tylenol?”

  I started to point towards the nearest bathroom, but my shoulder screamed at me to think again. I settled for jerking my chin in the bathroom’s direction instead, unable to meet his gaze now.

  He disappeared into the bathroom for a minute, returning after a brief rattling of cabinet doors and pill bottles. He tapped out two ibuprofens, but I shook my head.

  “Four please.”

  His eyebrows shot up.

  I sighed. “Doctor approved. Promise. I have to take four to even feel them.”

  He silently shook out two more pills then held his palm out. I winced as I reached up to take the pills, trying my best to ignore how my burning hot fingertips tingled from the contact with his cool skin. Just lupus attacking my nerve endings, I told myself. Not attraction at all.

  I carefully knocked back the pills with water from the bottle then sighed. “Thank you.”

  “Are you cold?” Again he didn’t wait for my reply. He just strode out of the living room through the nearest side door into one of the suite’s two bedrooms, returning a minute later with a comforter. He covered me up, and the shockingly kind moment became so surreal, as if this were just a crazy dream I was having. Hadn’t we nearly been about to kill each other just a few minutes ago?

  He stood there towering over me, hands propped on his hips. “Should I call down for some soup or something for you to eat?” He frowned, his gaze studying me as if he could see me right through the blanket and my clothes and thought I was too skinny.

  I closed my eyes, beyond my limits of coping with any more judgments just for today. “I’ll be fine. Thanks. I just need sleep.” When I didn’t hear him move away, I forced myself to look up at him, letting him see that I was torn between wanting to physically kick him out, but now I couldn’t even if I hadn’t been hurting so badly, because he was being weirdly and annoyingly nice to me.

  Finally, I awkwardly pulled my phone out from under the blanket and gave it a slow little shake in the air. “Anything I need I can call down for. Really. I’m good. Princess with hotel staff at my beck and call, remember?”

  He stood there scowling for a moment longer, then hesitantly turned toward the door. It was the first sign of hesitation he’d shown since his arrival, leaving me confused.

  “So then, I’ll see you at dress rehearsal?” he muttered at the door, his hand on the door knob as he looked back at me, those eyebrows still pinched with anger or confusion or something else I couldn’t read.

  Sighing, I nodded, silently praying I could find a way to be more professional and controlled around him the next time we saw each other. Otherwise, this was going to be the longest, most hellish train wreck of a tour I’d ever endured.

  He opened the door, slipped out with one last glance back at me, and then he was gone.

  I laid my head back on the sofa, a tear slipping past my closed eyelids, so tired and hurting all over and weary straight down to my soul, with no clue how I was going to make it through this tour.

  CHAPTER 4

  Jessie

  “Seriously, the set is amazing,” I heard Sabrina say as I found my way on stage and looked around. And tried to remember how to breathe.

  Holy shit. This was way bigger than I’d imagined.

  Sabrina turned along with the two people she was standing with and smiled. “Hey Jessie. What do you think?” She raised an index finger and twirled it in a circle to indicate the stage around us.

  I grinned with raised eyebrows, stuffing my hands into my jeans pockets in case they started shaking. “Nice. Really fucking nice.”

  Her eyes flared, but her grin got bigger. She introduced the stage manager and pyro tech, then fell silent while they started discussing things like what I wanted for my show. But I kept getting distracted by what she was wearing today…black skin-tight leggings, a long, clingy black hoodie made of something thin, and wicked looking black stiletto ankle boots. And all that thick, dark, luscious hair of hers was piled up messily on top of her head.

  I was just wondering if she’d wear her hair like that while soaking in the tub when I realized the conversation had fallen silent and everyone was looking at me with raised eyebrows. Waiting for me to answer some question I hadn’t even heard. Shit.

  I cleared my throat and half turned away from her, pretending to check out the stage but really just needing her out of my direct line of sight so I could think straight. “Did, uh, Sabrina mention I do a pretty plain show? Just me, my guitar, and a stool to sit on. So…” I made a face and shrugged, smiling to hopefully soften the blow and not piss off the pyro tech.

  The stage manager smoothly stepped in. “No problem, Jessie. Tell you what. I’ll get someone to grab us a stool, and you can do a run through of your set so we can figure out the lighting.”

  “Great.” I tried not to let them hear my sigh of relief. I’d seen videos of Sabrina’s past concerts. She tended towards crazy moving set pieces and props and explosions. Very over the top. Very not my style. I preferred to let the music speak for itself. And so far, it had worked for me.

  Plus, it kept the nightmare technical shit to a minimum, so all I had to focus on was singing the hell out of the songs.

  True to her word, the stage manager spoke to someone in a walkie talkie, and a few minutes later I had a stool. We spent a few minutes finding a good spot in center front stage for me to set up. She put a little neon green sticker on the floor beneath the stool, got me set up with a headset mike, and I spent the next hour practicing my songs so the sound techs and lighting guys could make their adjustments.

  But I was distracted like crazy the whole time. When I wasn’t looking past the spotlights at all those empty seats, imagining them filled up with fans, I was trying not to stare at Sabrina standing off to the side with the pyro tech, her hands gesturing in the air as they quietly talked.

  And then it was time to practice our duet.

  I wanted to get lost in the music and her, because she made it easy to forget everything but her and that sweet, husky voice that was such a damn shock coming out of someone so small and girlish looking. But we kept getting interrupted, first by the stage manager, then a choreographer who joined us on stage to suggest stuff for her to do.

  I tried to just do my thing, sitting there on the stool with my guitar, and let them figure out how they wanted to handle her. But then it started getting wilder and wilder.
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br />   First, they were talking about having her enter the stage down a huge set of mobile stairs when it was her turn to do her verse. Then they tried having her walk on stage from the side and hit all these poses with different props.

  It was hard to keep my opinions and growing frustration to myself. Couldn’t they hear the simple beauty of the song and let it and Sabrina’s natural gorgeousness do all the work? Why did it have to be so dressed up with props and shit?

  But then they really went crazy and decided to try having her enter on stage by way of a harness and overhead rigging, which they wanted to attach huge white angel wings to from one of her previous shows.

  And she was actually perfectly willing to try anything they said.

  I wanted so badly to say something then. But what the hell did I know about what Sabrina’s fans might be expecting?

  So we ended up working for an hour on the duet, and none of it was about how we sounded together or the changes we’d made to the song.

  Still, when they actually had her all rigged up and practiced “floating” her in for her intro, I couldn’t help but notice how tight her smile got. And how her eyes looked like they were filled with pain.

  They practiced bringing her in a few times, and the stage manager and choreographer really liked it. Eventually they gave us a short water break.

  As soon as the techies moved away for some side discussion, I leaned in closer to her and murmured, “That harness looks painful as hell.”

  Sabrina let out a short laugh and winced. “It is, actually. But beauty’s pain. Supposedly.”

  I frowned at the hanging empty harness. “What if it didn’t have to be the full harness? I mean, I don’t know shit about this kind of stuff, but I’ve seen other people do a swing they can sit on. Couldn’t they do that instead so you don’t have all those straps cutting into your…uh, whatever.” Too late, I realized I probably shouldn’t talk about straps cutting into her crotch and breasts. This wasn’t a bondage club, after all. I was supposed to be acting the pro here.

  Her eyebrows rose, and she turned to look at the harness. After half a minute, she walked over to the techs and had a quiet discussion. There was a lot of hand waving and heads turned towards the harness. After several minutes, the team broke up and she walked back over to me with a huge grin.

  “They actually liked the swing idea. Thanks!” She sounded so surprised and thrilled. Probably really happy not to have shit cutting into her for every damn upcoming show.

  I studied her chocolate brown eyes and the surprised curve to those sweet, bitable lips. “You sound shocked they agreed to it. Don’t they have to do whatever you tell them to?”

  She laughed, tilting her head back. “I wish.”

  I frowned. “Who’s funding this thing?” I thought it was her.

  “The record label and I are jointly producing it this time.”

  Damn. The rumors about her being worth multiple millions must be true. This was shaping up to be a pretty expensive venture. “Okay. So, if it’s your money on the line then aren’t you at least partly the boss?”

  She looked at me with an indulgent smile. “Not really. Part of making it big comes from learning to trust the industry pros to make us look good. Even when we’re the ones paying the bills. And we’ve got a really good crew. They’ve done my last four tours, and really know what the fans are going to expect.” She took a swig of water from a bottle, wincing in the process and reaching up with her free hand to rub the back of her neck.

  “More training pains?” I asked, standing up from the stool as my backside started to go numb from the metal stool’s unpadded seat. I set my guitar down on the floor.

  She made a little hum of agreement.

  “Here. Sit.” I patted the stool. “Take a load off those killer heels.”

  She hesitated then eased down onto the stool and sighed, stretching out her legs and looking at her shoes with a regretful smile. “They are killer, aren’t they?”

  “I meant the way they’re probably killing your damn toes,” I said, earning a laugh from her. God, she had a sexy-as-hell laugh, deep and throaty and soft. It threatened to send the blood straight south to my dick.

  I moved around behind her and rubbed my hands together to warm them up.

  She twisted to look back at me. “What are you…?”

  “Relax. I got paid five bucks by my older sister once for this. So technically that makes me a professional.” I began massaging her neck, which was full of knots and tensed muscles, using the pads of my thumbs to work on the biggest knots at the base of her head first.

  “Oh my God, that’s…” She swallowed, her head dropping forward. Slowly the tension began to ease out of her neck and her shoulders lowered an increment at a time. Her hands gripped the sides of the stool, her knuckles turning white. She hummed a little, and I couldn’t resist slowly leaning around to catch her profile. Her eyes were closed, her thick, long lashes dark against the pale upper curves of her cheeks, her lips parted, their corners kicked up just slightly.

  I had a feeling it was an image that was going to wreck my dreams for a while to come.

  “Sabrina?” the stage manager called out. “We’re ready to go through the rest of your set when you are.”

  Her head slowly raised up, and she turned to give me a dazed smile over her shoulder. “Wow. Uh, thanks for that.” She rolled up to her feet and turned to grin at me. “So…do you take credit cards?”

  I laughed. “I’ve been meaning to get one of those card reader things for my phone. Consider this one a freebie as thanks for bringing me on for all this.” I mimicked her index finger twirl in the air from earlier to indicate the stage around us.

  Her dazed smile turned into a full-on grin as she headed across the stage to join the techs.

  And that was my cue to grab my shit and get the hell out of the way. I took my guitar and the stool down the steps and into the pit area, then straddled the stool to watch her do her thing.

  A team of backup dancers joined her on stage. While it wasn’t a full-dress rehearsal, they did go through every song from beginning to end, practicing their transitions from song to song while the lighting and sound crews made adjustments and blocked out the different spotlight movements and where to set off different pyrotechnical effects.

  Even without the screaming arena full of fans and whatever crazy getups they’d have her in, Sabrina had a gift for grabbing your eye and making you her prisoner for as long as she wanted to keep you. Part of it was that crazy sexy voice coming out of such a tiny little thing, and part of it was that rocking body with all those curves.

  But a big part of it was just her. You could tell she knew her shit and enjoyed the job, though there was a certain amount of stiffness to her moves around the stage. I figured that came from the lack of fans though. My own experience had shown there was always something missing until the fans joined the show. Because performing wasn’t just a one-way street. It was a conversation between the people on stage and the audience. Without the fans, we were just talking to ourselves.

  And I was really looking forward to seeing Sabrina have that conversation for real with her fans.

  At some point, I was joined by a tall, Viking-looking dude and three of his friends. The Viking one stood next to me, hands on his hips, and gave me the briefest of nods before staring at Sabrina on stage with her entourage.

  Finally, I recognized the lead singer. “Hey. You’re the Vision Drakes, right?” I stuck out a hand.

  “Yeah.” He shook my hand, his grip just shy of crushing. I kept my pressure the same, not into playing the power games. “Shane Reynolds. You the opening act?”

  “Yeah. Jessie Quinn.”

  His hand fell away, and we returned to staring at the craziness on stage until everyone stopped for a breather. Sabrina grabbed a bottle of water from the front edge of the stage, took a long swig, and turned towards us. And froze, a weird look crossing her face then gone again.

  I got the distinct fe
eling she didn’t like the Viking wannabe. And she wasn’t the only one who tensed up. As she turned her back to us and gestured to the stage manager from the other side of the stage, I glanced sideways at the lead singer suddenly strung extra tight beside me.

  Interesting.

  I crossed my arms over my chest, tucking my hands under my upper arms, debating whether to poke at the situation by asking him a few questions. Probably not a good idea considering I’d be stuck with all these people for the next three months. But it was tempting. Damn tempting.

  I let it go for now, figuring the answers would come eventually on their own. Just like they always did.

  ***

  Shane

  Last time, Sabrina had looked like a tiny angel minus her wings in an all-white pant suit.

  This time, she looked like a fallen angel in head to toe black and spiky heels that could serve as weapons all on their own.

  I should have known she’d manage to look annoyingly hot even while sweating it out on stage during a rehearsal. And she wasn’t even singing yet.

  Then she turned to me, those intense brown eyes catching mine, and I also remembered how fragile and broken she’d looked as I’d left her the last time I’d seen her.

  She turned away to speak with someone, and it gave me a minute to catch my breath and remind myself that this was business. Time to get my head in the game.

  The person she was talking to looked past her at me and waved me on stage. I hurried up the steps, walked out to join them center stage, and got my first look at the set design. It wasn’t bad…surprisingly modern techno style instead of all fluffy unicorns and rainbows like I’d half expected and feared. My view of Sabrina reluctantly went up another notch.

  “Shane,” Sabrina greeted me, her voice level but tight at the edges. Not outright pissed. Determined to be a professional probably.