Gaze narrowed, his eyes moved to Jax. Kane’s ego was king sized. He believed in his talent as a songwriter and knew he was a good musician with a decent voice. Yet, for all his bravado, he was self-aware enough to know talent could only get you so far. Easily distracted by a pretty face, or an open bottle—sometimes both—discipline wasn’t his strong suit. Without Jax, he’d be lucky to scrape by playing his guitar on street corners.
If Razor’s Edge was destined for bigger and better, most of the credit would go to Jax and his single-minded ambition. He would be crushed if, after getting his hopes up, Joplin Ashford turned out to be all talk and no action.
Kane’s jaw tightened. If Joplin didn’t follow through on her promises, if she messed with his best friend’s dreams, she better run—hard and fast. Because one thing he could guarantee—the pretty blonde wouldn’t like him when he was angry.
CHAPTER NINE
♫~♫~♫
A BRISK KNOCK sounded on the motel room door. Kane checked his watch, surprised to see that less than an hour had passed since Joplin Ashford dropped into their life with a promise of fame and fortune, but without any specific details. Were their lives about to change? Or, were they about to come crashing down to earth?
“Best behavior,” Jax said with a warning look around the room. His gaze stayed the longest on Kane.
“Don’t worry about me,” Kane said with an innocent smile.
Jax didn’t appear convinced. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door.
A man, maybe five foot three, with thinning hair, a stocky build, and a wide smile entered without an invitation. For someone small in stature, he commanded attention—the blue and red brightly striped jacket didn’t hurt. Joplin entered the room a few steps behind.
“I’m Danny Graham.” He swung his arms wide. “And you must be Razor’s Edge.”
“Jaxon Cross.” Jax shook Danny’s hand. “Kane Harrison, Beckett Kramer, Morgan Ames.”
“Pleasure.” Danny nodded. “You’ve met Joplin.”
Kane didn’t speak. However, he couldn’t control the slow curl of his upper lip, which didn’t go unnoticed. Joplin smiled; no, she grinned, letting her narrow-eyed adversary know she could take all the scowls and sneers he had to give.
Impressed but not ready to give an inch, Kane crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, listening, waiting.
Danny shook his head when Jax offered him a seat.
“Let’s cut to the chase before we run out of oxygen. Damn small room,” he chuckled. “I imagine you’ve heard of The Ryder Hart Band.”
Kane raised an eyebrow. If Danny Graham wanted to get their attention, he said the magic words. The Ryder Hart Band was the music world’s equivalent of royalty, with Ryder Hart, the king. All over the globe, kids with guitars tried to emulate the legend’s style—and failed miserably. What set him apart and made him a certified rock legend—besides a freaking unbelievable amount of talent—was his one of a kind persona.
“The first song I learned was Away from Me,” Jax said, his lips curling into a half-smile. “Damn challenging chords. Practiced until my fingers bled and still came up short.”
“Mine was Kaleidoscope.” Kane had to chuckle at the memory of the frustrating hours he spent bent over his guitar. “Ryder Hart never wrote a bad song—or an easy one to master.”
“Still trying,” Morgan sighed.
“I hear you, brother.” Beck warmed to his favorite subject. “Dalton Shaw is the best drummer I’ve ever heard. Inspired me to pick up my first pair of sticks, much to my mother’s sorrow. Still hopes I’ll ditch the music in favor of a career in anything else.”
“What possible connection is there between us and The Ryder Hart Band?” Jax asked with a frown. “Unless… Do they want to record one of our songs?”
A shot of adrenaline rushed through Kane’s blood. They made a vow to hold onto their music with a death grip until they could record the songs themselves. He saw the answering glint of excitement in Jax’s eyes. Territorial was one thing, crazy another. The idea of Ryder Hart performing one of their songs was too tempting to pass up.
“Not your song,” Danny said, beaming at Jax. “They want you.”
Confusion mixed with dread. Kane would never stand in Jax’s way, never hold him back. However, the idea of breaking up the band, of never standing on stage again with his best friend, made his heart sink to his feet. He swallowed and gave himself a mental kick in the ass.
“Ryder Hart wants Jax?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound as miserable as he felt.
“No.” Looking to Joplin, Danny scrubbed a hand over his stubbly chin. “You’re better with words. You explain.”
More than a little surprised by the change in dynamic, Kane watched as Joplin gave Danny Graham, her boss, an understanding pat on the shoulder before she took over.
“The Ryder Hart Band was discovered in a small bar much like the one you played tonight,” she began. “I’m sure you know the story.”
Everyone did, Kane thought. Years of hard work, toiling in obscurity. Then bam, The Ryder Hart Band hit big and was branded an overnight success. Their rise to fame was fast, but according to Ryder Hart himself, they stayed on top because of the firm foundation they laid down first.
“Ryder’s sister Zoe came up with the idea. Give an unknown artist the same opportunity. The rules are simple. No prior representation, national publicity, or record deal.”
“Razor’s Edge certainly qualifies,” Beck said, his expression thoughtful, but there was an unmistakable spark of excitement in his gray eyes. He took a deep breath as if trying to settle his emotions. “Do we send in a demo?”
Joplin shook her head, sending her long, blond ponytail bouncing. Kane watched the movement of her hair with more interest than he liked and wondered how the golden strands would feel brushing his heated skin as they engaged in a night of wild sex.
“No contest,” Joplin continued, unaware of where Kane’s thoughts had wandered. “Zoe put out the word to agents, managers, scouts. The point was to look for talent but keep the search on the down low. She didn’t want anyone to try to stack the deck.”
Danny stepped forward, right in front of Joplin. Kane’s gaze narrowed as he wondered how often the big man let her do the heavy lifting then moved in at the end and took all the credit.
Though Joplin didn’t seem to mind, for some reason, Kane minded for her, and the idea didn’t sit well.
“Joplin keeps me abreast of what’s brewing music-wise in college towns,” Danny explained. “When she told me Razor’s Edge is the best band she’s heard in years, I listened.”
“How many years?” Kane asked. His voice didn’t exactly drip with sarcasm, but there was a definite dribble.
“Kane…” Jax shot him a warning look he studiously ignored.
“You really want to put our future in the hands of an inexperienced teenybopper?” Kane taunted as much for Joplin’s sake as for Jax’s
“Damn it, Kane. I’m sure Ms. Ashford is—"
“Thank you, Jax, but I can fight my own battles.” Joplin turned on Kane. “I’m twenty-one. Unless I miss my guess, only a few years younger than you, junior.”
“Got you there, junior,” Beck snorted.
“Age has nothing to do with maturity.” Kane wasn’t ready to drop the subject. “How much living have you done? How much wear and tear do you have on your soul?”
Joplin blinked, a bit of her bravado fading. Compassion, an emotion he hadn’t expected or wanted, swirled in the depths of her emerald eyes as though she could see something no one else had cared to notice. She reached out, placing her hand on his.
Electricity moved between them, startling, shocking, heightening the sudden awareness between them no one in the room could miss.
Break free, he told himself. Shake her off, tell her to go to hell. Do something. Anything.
A second passed, then another before Kane regained control. Holding her
gaze, he curled his lip in disdain and slowly backed away. To Joplin’s credit, she didn’t react beyond a raised eyebrow of her own.
“Okay.” Danny cleared his throat. “In case you planned to check online, don’t. There is no official contest. As Joplin explained, Zoe Hart and the rest of the band aren’t looking for publicity.”
“Then what do they want?” Jax asked.
Turning a cold shoulder to Kane, Joplin answered the question.
“To give a deserving artist a hand up.”
“Exactly.” Danny nodded. “Because I have a good relationship with The Ryder Hart Band’s manager, I sent the video of Razor’s Edge, recorded last weekend on Joplin’s phone, directly to him. He sent the information to Zoe and the rest of the band.”
Danny didn’t add he hadn’t made up his mind until tonight when he watched the new video of Jax and Skye. Rather than break his flow or give anyone in the room reason to doubt his commitment to them, Joplin kept the information to herself.
“And?” Jax prompted. “When will we know if we won this non-contest?”
“Didn’t I say?” Danny frowned. “We already know. Or rather, I know and now, so do you. Razor’s Edge will be the opening act on The Ryder Hart Band’s next world tour.”
CHAPTER TEN
♫~♫~♫
KANE NEEDED SOME fresh air. He needed a drink, and a few tokes on a joint wouldn’t hurt. However, the bar was closed, he didn’t know any local dealers—if he could afford the price—and he’d left the motel room without his tequila and before he could raid his emergency stash of marijuana.
Taking a deep breath, he stared at the clear night sky and willed himself, and his alcohol-free system, to relax. Kane would never call himself an addict. His father had been an alcoholic and coke head. He was a connoisseur. A man who enjoyed his libations freely, without guilt or apologies to anyone.
When Kane left the motel room, Jax and Beckett were bouncing off the walls with excitement over their sudden burst of good fortune. Morgan seemed less impressed by the offer to tour with The Ryder Hart Band. But he would come around and why not?
Razor’s Edge had been handed the golden ticket, the brass ring, and the cherry on top of the sundae in one fell swoop. From obscurity to the full-on limelight. More than a dream come true, they were about to embark on an adventure none of them imagined possible.
No one in their right mind would say no. Jax was ecstatic. Beckett over the moon. Morgan was reluctant. As for Kane? He refused to get too invested until the contracts were signed, sealed, and delivered. He’d learned the hard way that life, at best, was unpredictable.
Things could change on a dime. Happy one second, the next, a bump in the road rose up to lay you flat on your ass. Better a bit of caution than a broken, bloody nose.
The sound of a car door slamming drew Kane’s attention to the far side of the motel parking lot. Female, he thought as he watched the slender figure walk toward the building. And smart, he decided, enjoying the gentle sway of her hips. She rented a room near the office, the walkway fully illuminated, where she was less likely to be accosted by a drunk from the nearby bar or any creep in general. A woman alone was always wise to err on the side of caution.
Perhaps she wasn’t alone. Kane tipped his head to one side and let his mystery-loving imagination run wild. Married and from another town, she chose an out of the way motel to meet her lover. Possible, but unlikely, he decided. A woman in the throes of an illicit affair preferred the shadows to the light.
Same scenario for a wife on the run from her abusive husband. Worried he might find her, she would hide, not pause in a glow of the moon to rummage through her purse.
As Kane searched for another explanation, she raised her head. He stifled a groan. From the distance and time of night, the color of her eyes was impossible to discern. Didn’t matter. He already knew they were the shade of emeralds. The woman was still a mystery, but her identity was not.
“You often spend the wee hours of the night lurking in parking lots?” Joplin asked.
Though she was the last person he was in the mood to deal with, Kane reluctantly approached her. Other than run—and make no mistake, he was tempted—what choice did he have?
“I wasn’t lurking,” Kane said, angry that she made him feel the need to defend himself.
“If you say so.” She shrugged. “Why aren’t you with your friends, celebrating?”
“Nothing to celebrate—yet.” Without thinking, Kane followed Joplin to her door. “Why aren’t you tucked up in some fancy hotel? Or winging your way back to Los Angeles with your boss?”
“I’m on a budget.” Joplin took a key from her pocket. “Besides, once the contracts are signed, my real job begins.”
“And what job would that be?” Kane asked as she unlocked the door.
Joplin entered the room, pulling her suitcase. She paused, sending him a questioning look over her shoulder.
“Are you coming in, or not?”
Surprised, a bit leery, Kane closed the door behind him. He wasn’t a stranger to a woman on the prowl—he considered himself to be the male equivalent and recognized the breed. Joplin didn’t strike him as the type. Still, everyone had their dirty little secrets.
“Just so there are no misunderstandings, you just picked me up, right?”
“Hm.” A thoughtful frown settled between Joplin’s brows. “I can see why you might think I invited you into my room to have sex. Rest assured, I did not.”
Joplin didn’t seem offended by Kane’s mistake. Nor did she protest when he took a seat on the bed instead of using a chair. If anything, she seemed amused.
“Make yourself at home,” she said.
Kane noticed for the first time that the wall heater was set at full blast. Joplin seemed fine with the sweat-inducing temperature; he wasn’t. Slipping off his jacket, he sent her a questioning look.
“Why did you invite me into your motel room?”
“You asked a question. Rather than stand in the parking lot, I thought we could behave like adults and talk indoors. Was I wrong?”
“I won’t force myself on you, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Good,” Joplin said. She kicked off her sneakers, taking a seat on the other bed.
“You trust my word?” Kane asked.
“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “Until you prove yourself untrustworthy.”
Kane wanted to call Joplin naïve. Wanted to say she had things ass backward. That she shouldn’t trust him—anyone—until he proved his worth. But he remained silent because, deep down, the notion that she’d put her faith in him right out of the box made him feel slightly giddy—a word he would never use outside the safety of his own mind.
Relaxing back onto the bed, propped up on one elbow, Kane tilted his head, frowning when his long hair fell across his face. If he had half a brain, he’d get a haircut—short and easy to deal with. Better yet, he should follow Morgan’s lead and shave his head. Unfortunately, he decided long ago that long hair went with his rock and roll lifestyle.
Where music was concerned, Kane believed in substance over style. His image was a different matter altogether. He blew a stray lock from his cheek. Vanity was a bitch.
“You have a nice smile,” Joplin said.
“Surprised?” Kane asked.
“Mostly, you scowl—at me.” She shrugged. “On a professional level, I don’t care. Personally, the occasional smile is a welcome change.”
Joplin wasn’t coming onto him. However, she was interested. Kane knew women, and try as she might, she couldn’t hide that certain way a woman looks at a man who gets her motor running. However, unlike him, she didn’t act on every impulse. She had discipline, and to his surprise, he admired her restraint.
Beautiful. Smart. Joplin’s green eyes and blonde hair had become his new favorite color combination. One go-ahead signal from her and they would be naked and flat on their backs. Rather, she would be o
n her back, he would be too busy exploring every inch of her mouth-watering body.
Joplin wouldn’t give him the signal, and Kane wouldn’t push the matter because, though he considered himself irresistible, he believed in personal boundaries.
No always meant no. Which put them in an interesting place. Could they be friends and nothing more? Before, Kane would have dismissed the idea with a disdainful snort. But now…? Time, as always, would tell.
“Why are we here, Joplin?”
“You asked what my job will be once Razor’s Edge signs on the dotted line and my uncle officially becomes your manager. I—”
“Wait.” Kane’s eyes narrowed. “Back up. Danny Graham is your uncle?”
“Crud.” Joplin sighed, closing her eyes. When she looked at him again, she wasn’t upset, but resigned. “Guess you were bound to find out eventually.”
“Guess you didn’t sleep your way into your job,” Kane said with a smirk. “Not sex. Just good old-fashioned nepotism.”
For the first time, Kane saw a crack in Joplin’s cool façade. Anger flashed in her green eyes as a flush of pink touched her naturally pale cheeks. Knowing he’d found the right button to push, he felt a surge of snarky satisfaction.
“If I wanted to capitalize on my family connection, I’d be tucked up in a cushy office with nothing to do all day but file my nails and use my expense account to pay for three-hour lunches and Beverly Hills shopping sprees.”
“I hit a nerve.” Kane felt a zing of satisfaction. “Poor little rich girl.”
Worked up, Joplin jumped from the bed. Crossing her arms, one foot tapping the faded carpet, she pinned him with a fiery green glare.
“Not rich. And not a girl,” she continued through clenched teeth, “I hustle my ass across the country and back, searching for talented singers, musicians, and songwriters. My job isn’t glamorous. I fly coach, stay in ratty motels, and most of the time eat on the run—when I can find the time.”
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