by MJ Fredrick
So she didn’t want to play fair. He turned his hand palm up, touching his fingertips to the inside of her wrist, and watched her eyes go dark.
He forced himself to concentrate, beating her on the next two songs. Her eyes flashed in approval and she upped her game, hooking her ankle over his. This time he named three songs in a row. She flushed as he edged toward her, millimeters at a time, until the back of her head rested on the passenger window. He could taste her, feel the anticipation buzzing through her body. She arched her back, just a little, so his gaze was drawn to her breasts. Everything in him hummed, and she slid her fingers into his hair.
“Soft,” she whispered.
Yes, he thought, and he lowered his head, just as a loud rap sounded at the window.
He sat up so quickly the earbud ripped from his ear, and he opened the door to see an older man standing there, wrapped in a shearling coat, a muffler and a hat with earflaps.
“You folks having trouble?”
The cavalry had arrived. Great timing.
Chapter Eight
Willow waited to call Gwyn until the tow truck had dropped them at the garage and Cam had gone in to consult with the mechanic. Gwyn had now left three messages. She answered on the first ring.
“Where have you been?” she demanded.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t have cell phone service.” Out here in the back of beyond, but she didn’t say it. “Is something wrong?”
“I like the colors, and you’re right, but I’m wondering if we don’t need to have a bit more information on the ad itself.”
“You don’t want it too crowded. We’ve directed them where to go to get more information. I can do a mock-up with more information, but I think you’ll see that simpler is more eye-catching. Plus if we shrink down the ad for some venues, all that information will be lost because it will be so hard to read.”
Gwyn didn’t say anything for a moment. “All right. I’m sure you’re right. But what about the white font? It seems to clash. Wouldn’t black be better?”
“It would be too hard to read against the blue and brown. Again, I can make you a mock-up—”
“No, that’s fine.” Gwyn gave a nervous laugh. “Just don’t wander out of service range again, all right?”
Willow hung up and walked into the garage’s office in time to see Cam hand his credit card to the mechanic, a pained expression on his face. She looked over his shoulder and cringed. Cam glanced down at her. “That’s just the deposit.”
The mechanic, a big bearded man bundled from head to toe, shook his head. “That’s the problem with these classic cars. Parts are rare.”
“You’d think a hose is a hose.”
The older man considered him with a scowl. “You don’t work on cars a lot, do you?”
“I don’t own a car.”
As the mechanic gaped, Willow stepped in. “Is there a place in town where we can rent a car? We need to get to Seattle by the morning.”
The man shook his head. “Nearest place for that is the next town over. You could take a cab there, I guess, but it’d probably be closed by the time you got there anyway, this being Sunday. And it’ll cost you a pretty penny. You got more money or time?”
“Neither,” Cam said, his voice tight.
Willow’s heart clutched. She could not let him surrender this dream. She steered him out of the bay and toward the sidewalk.
He dragged a hand through his hair. “Will, it’s time to give up.”
She shook her head. “No. We can try to rent a car, drive all night—”
“Through the mountains that neither of us know anything about,” he pointed out.
She took a deep breath and met his gaze. “We could fly.”
“With what? I doubt they take payment based on trustworthiness. That deposit took me to my credit limit.” He pivoted toward the corner, apparently needing to move, because she had no idea where he thought he was going.
“Don’t you want this job?” She grabbed his arm. “Are you scared to be happy, Cam?”
He glared a moment, then continued forward. “None of this matters. We don’t have enough money. We’ll wait until tomorrow, get to the bank, somehow, get you home, and I’ll wait here until the car’s fixed.”
She stopped and caught his hand. “I think I found a way to get enough money to get to Seattle on time.”
Cam turned his head to look at her, brow furrowed. Why wouldn’t she see it was over, that it was never meant to be? “How?” He followed her gaze across the street, to the banner stretched over a local bar. “A karaoke contest?” He folded his arms over his chest. “Hell. No.”
Willow’s eyes were bright, the way they always got when she got an idea she couldn’t let go of, like they’d been the other night in the diner when she’d come up with this harebrained scheme. “We can win, and the prize is five hundred dollars.”
He jabbed a hand toward the sign. “We can’t win, and there’s a fifty-dollar entry fee and a two-drink minimum.”
“Let’s at least see what our competition would be.”
“Will, this is a bad idea.”
“You know, if nothing else, we could use a drink.” She looped her arm through his and dragged him inside.
The place was small and dark, with only a handful of patrons. The stage in the front was no more than a step-up platform. The bar stood against the far wall. Willow guided him toward it and ordered two draft beers.
He inspected the foaming liquid. “This isn’t going to do it.”
She ignored him and leaned on the bar to smile at the bartender. “Tell me about the karaoke contest.”
The bartender glanced up from her breasts—Cam hadn’t noticed how low-cut her blouse was until this moment. He wanted to pull her back and shield her from other men.
“Can you sing, sweetie?”
“We’re not bad.” She hooked her fingers through Cam’s belt loop and drew him closer.
The bartender brightened. “A duet! What do you want to sing?”
“Well, we’re not a hundred percent sure we want to do it yet.”
“Who judges?” Cam glanced toward the stage where a young man was singing an Elton John song. Very well.
The bartender gestured toward a two-way mirror situated in the wall behind the bar. “Usually it’s popular opinion, but the final word comes from behind the glass.”
“Do you have a lot of regulars who win?”
The bartender shrugged. “Depends on the crowd. No one makes a living doing this, you know. You can look through the books over there.” He motioned to the end of the bar where several binders were stacked. “See if any of the songs inspire you. You can practice too, if you want, before you pay. Just write down the song and number on those slips of paper and give it to the DJ. He’ll call you when it’s your turn. The contest doesn’t start for an hour or so.”
“How long does it last?” Willow eyed the binders.
“Until just before last call. Don’t worry, if you’re good, you can advance to finals, so pick more than one song. And you’ll have more of an audience. This place is hopping on contest night.”
“Lots of competition?” Cam was still skeptical.
The bartender winked. “Maybe.”
“Even on a Sunday night?” Willow asked.
“Honey, it’s our busiest night. No one wants to think about going back to work Monday.”
“All right.” Willow hefted a binder and several song request slips and a pencil, then turned to scope out a place to sit.
Cam stepped toward the bar. “I’m going to need something stronger. Give me a whiskey.”
The bartender grinned and complied.
Willow had already filled out three song requests by the time he reached the table. Cam picked them up and looked at the song titles. All classic titles—Heart, The Pretenders, Natalie Merchant.
“These aren’t duets.”
“These are my warm-ups.” She turned the binder so he could scan the song choices with h
er. “And I’m thinking we should do something that’s not traditionally a duet. Might give us an edge.”
Cam looked up when another young man took the stage with a song from Phantom of the Opera. “We may need one, if these guys are any clue. Will, I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“We can do this. We’re good and we know every song ever written.” She bounced up and delivered her song requests to the DJ.
Cam took a sip of his whiskey, avoiding the gazes of anyone in the room, and flipped through the book. A thought crossed his mind, and he tried to stamp the idea down, but couldn’t. He turned to the name of the song that had been playing when he and Willow had been playing the “name that tune” game, the slow romantic song. If he got up and sang that song, would she understand?
Hell, would he? His chance of getting to Seattle in time was gone, and even if they would reschedule, he couldn’t call until the morning, and his appointment was at nine. So he was going back to Illinois, when meant there was no reason not to see if something could happen between them…if he was willing to risk their friendship for something more.
He wrote down the song’s name and covered the paper with his hand when she returned to the table. She’d barely gotten a sip of beer before her name was called. She stood, tugged at the waist of her sweater in a brief, nervous motion, then stepped up on the stage as a piano intro began. She curved her hand around the microphone and leaned in, her eyes on the screen where the words scrolled. Her voice was soft but true as she sang the Heart song, dipping to the bottom of her range to meet the notes.
Then the chorus kicked in and she stepped back from the screen, the microphone free from the stand, feet planted. She met Cam’s gaze across the room as she belted it out.
“Blondie’s got pipes!” one of the men in the audience said, but Cam didn’t look away from her as she sang about getting him alone, then softened again as she sang about longing to touch his lips and hold him. God, did she mean it?
One of the men leaned forward and clapped him on the shoulder as Willow finished with a flourish and a raucous round of applause.
“Dude, you’re getting laid tonight.”
Willow hopped off the stage and crossed the room to him, tugging at her sweater again, her eyes bright, expectant.
And he couldn’t find words. “You were great,” was all he managed, his voice strangled.
“Yeah?” Some of the pleasure dimmed from her eyes. She sat down, motioning to the book. “Did you find something?”
“Maybe.” He slid the choice slip under the corner of the book as she turned it toward herself, scanning the pages.
“I’ll find something for you. Bon Jovi?”
“Maybe.” But he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.
She grabbed a slip and scrawled something down, then moved to rise, to turn it in for him.
“I’ve got it.” He palmed his choice and took hers. He glanced at her selection for him, a rock ballad, but he preferred his selection, so pocketed hers and turned in his. She grinned encouragement when the DJ glanced at the slip, nodded and motioned for him to take the stage.
Okay, he’d hoped for a little more alcohol in his system when he did this. He adjusted the microphone stand for his height as the DJ loaded his choice. He glanced up when the strings started and recognized Willow’s startled expression before he leaned in to match Michael Hutchence’s gentle tenor. He didn’t drop her gaze as he sang the love song. The words echoed in his chest and filled the small bar. Did Willow understand the chance he was taking here, the decision he was making? Her lips parted, but he didn’t know if in protest or understanding. He didn’t glance once at the monitor, afraid to break the connection, afraid if he did, he’d lose the courage to let her know how he felt. But he knew the song well enough that he didn’t stumble, and he put power behind the chorus as he promised that nothing would ever tear them apart.
By the time the song trailed off, Willow stood at the foot of the, well, stage. She moved close as he stepped down. She curved her hands around his face, rose on her toes and touched her lips to his. He closed his hands on her waist and bent his head to deepen the kiss, parting her lips just a bit, touching his tongue to her lower lip, taking in the taste of her, the softness. Her kiss was everything he’d imagined, and he’d imagined it a lot. Sweet and sultry, sending a pulse of arousal through him. A shudder ran through her and he lifted his head, only vaguely aware of the hoots and applause around them. Tears shimmered in her eyes, and he brushed his thumb below her lashes.
“Will?”
She shook her head, letting her fingers drift down his cheeks to his chin, across his bottom lip. What did that mean? He captured her hand in his and kissed her fingertips. He wanted nothing more than to get out of here, be alone with her.
He tucked her hand behind his back and led her out of the bar, needing to feel her against him. He turned her to the wall just inside the entrance of the bar and pressed her against it, his hands on her hips, his knee pressing between her thighs. He covered her mouth with his. She stiffened at first, then parted her lips and slid her fingers through his hair as his tongue delved into her mouth, stroking, tasting, the desire he’d buried for so long raising its head, slipping the leash of his control. Her breath came as hot and hard as his. He curved his hands on the small of her back, against the warm skin under her sweater, bringing her against him. She made a soft sound in her throat and moved her hips against his just enough to make him crazy.
He dragged his head away. “We’ve got to get out of here.” He watched her eyes come into focus, her lips swollen, the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.
“The contest.”
“Screw the contest.” He was so turned on, he hurt. “Will, I have to make love to you. I’ve wanted this for years.”
She dragged in a hard breath and met his gaze. He knew he didn’t mistake the desire he saw there.
“We need the money.”
He didn’t want to think about that, wanted nothing to intrude on this feeling. He bent his head to her shoulder, let her curls tickle his lips, teasing the skin of her throat with his breath. “Tomorrow. The bank. Everything will be straightened out.” He took a step toward the door, drawing her with him.
She stayed put. “What if it’s not?”
She’d dug in her heels. Damn it. His arousal flagged as he realized this wasn’t going to happen—at least, not right now. “Willow. This could be amazing.”
“It will be.” She cupped his cheek and swayed toward him. “Especially when we’re celebrating. We can win this.”
The frustration that buzzed through him was beyond sexual. “Why is this so important to you?”
She blinked. “So we can win and get you to the meeting.”
He released her completely and circled the small space before facing her again. “Why? Am I not good enough for you the way I am?”
“What?” Real surprise blanked her features. “Why would you say that?”
“Because you are so damned determined to get me to Seattle. Are you that eager to get rid of me?”
She stared. “Of course not!”
From the other side of the wall, they were called to the stage. She glanced toward the doorway, then at him, her expression pleading. He didn’t move.
“It seems to me you’re more interested in financial security than love, Will.”
She stiffened. “Can’t I have both?”
Not from him, apparently. Not without him changing. Heart aching from what might have been, he rocked on his heels, arms folded across his chest, and gestured for her to return to the bar. She rose on her toes to kiss his lips, briefly, and then walked away.
“There they are!” the DJ said cheerily. “Thought you’d left.”
Willow approached the stage, actually nervous. She wasn’t accustomed to the sensation and the main reason was the broody male behind her. Okay, maybe kissing him wasn’t her brightest idea, but he’d sung that song, the one that had been playing when he’d almo
st kissed her in the car. That he paid attention to stuff like that, that he’d sung her the song in his gorgeous voice—she hadn’t been able to help herself. She hadn’t thought he’d take her gesture to mean it was time to go get naked.
She definitely wanted to get naked, especially after the kiss in the entrance of the bar. God, she’d thought he’d strip her right there, he seemed so hungry for her. She was still shaking from the power of that kiss.
He’d been so hurt when she turned him down because she wanted the money from the contest. He didn’t know she planned to get him onto an airplane tomorrow and get him to that interview. Nothing mattered more. She finished what she started. And now she couldn’t wait to finish what they’d started in the entrance of the club.
After paying their entrance fee, Cam stepped up on the stage beside her and took the microphone. Once he did, he didn’t look at the monitor, only at her.
She never realized that the song he selected was about making love all night, and she almost missed her cue, entering with a percussive, “Baby!” then harmonizing with him for the chorus. To her ears it sounded great, though her heart ached as she looked into his eyes and saw his guard was up again. Damn it, she hadn’t meant to hurt him. She stepped forward and curved her hand around the back of his head, bringing him close enough that his whiskey-scented breath brushed her lips and his arm brushed her breast, and she was in the kiss all over again. The light in his eyes told her that he knew exactly where her thoughts had gone, but she saw his defenses were still in place, the ones that had protected him since Laura died. Did she want to bring them down again?
They must have performed well because the audience members congratulated them as they returned to their seats. Someone else had taken the binder, so Willow leaned back in her chair to watch the competition. She’d tried several times to catch Cam’s attention, but he wouldn’t look at her. Maybe she pushed too hard. Maybe he didn’t want this as much as she wanted it for him. And maybe he was right—maybe she was urging him toward Seattle because keeping him in Illinois, with her, threatened to upset her control of her emotions, of her life. Because how could they ever go back to being just friends?