Wedding Song

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  She swallowed and seemed to gather her forces. “All right.”

  “I believe you threatened to knock my socks off.”

  A gleam in her eyes told him she’d accepted the challenge. “And I surely will, Mr. Roarke,” she said with a hint of a brogue. “It’s kind of you to give me the chance.” With a nod of her head she returned to center stage.

  Judd gazed after her. He hadn’t been this attracted to a woman in years. Why now, with this woman, who longed for packed concert halls and a cramped tour bus? And she needed his help to do it. If this was some sort of cosmic joke, he wasn’t laughing.

  3

  KERRY GAVE the performance of her life, imbuing the patriotic songs with a passion that would have made the founding fathers proud. The crowd responded as if attached by strings to the tips of her fingers. They sang along when she encouraged them, clapped in time to the music, even stood for the finale and linked arms to sway back and forth to “God Bless America.”

  Giddy with success, she warmly greeted everyone who swarmed onto the bandstand after the finale—Ted Webster’s wife, Ruthie, Grubby’s wife, Jo, and his two kids, Bill’s very pregnant wife, and Hank’s fianc;aaee, Anne. Kerry’s family formed a cheering section all by themselves and seemed determined to jostle their way onto the bandstand all at once.

  After the Muldoons left, reminding Kerry where to meet them for the clambake that evening, June Powell, one of four elderly maiden aunts of the Powell family, clasped Kerry’s elbow. “Where is he? Did he come to the concert?”

  “Yes, Aunt June.” Kerry had been instructed to call her that years ago, although they weren’t related. Without June Powell, a tall woman with startling blue eyes, Kerry might not be on the bandstand today. Brent Powell, June’s great-nephew, and Kerry had been friends since kindergarten. When Kerry’s father died, leaving the Muldoons with serious money problems, June had stepped in and financed eleven-year-old Kerry’s music lessons. Although June never mentioned her pivotal role in Kerry’s life, Kerry felt deeply indebted for the help and was determined to make June’s investment in her pay off.

  “If he doesn’t offer you a contract after a performance like that, he should have his head examined!” June announced in the overloud voice of someone starting to lose her hearing.

  Kerry glanced around in alarm. “Be careful, Aunt June,” she said. “He has a way of showing up when people are saying uncomplimentary things about him.”

  “Oh, you mean that business on the beach.” June’s blue eyes sparkled. “Brent told me about that before the concert.”

  Kerry looked heavenward. Grubby hadn’t been kidding about the story being all over town. She should be used to a lack of privacy by now after growing up in a large family and living in a small town. It couldn’t get much more claustrophobic than that.

  “Serves that Roarke fellow right for eavesdropping, I say,” June continued. “He’ll sign you up, Kerry. I’ve had faith all along that you’d make us all proud. This is your chance.”

  “I hope so.” Kerry searched the depleted audience for Rachel and Judd Roarke or the Woodhouses. She couldn’t find them anywhere. Had he hated the concert? She tried to remember exactly what he’d said. Something about “needing to talk” if her performance matched the one this morning. She’d thought it had more than done that. She’d never pulled a better response from the audience in her entire career. So where was he?

  “The word is he’s a handsome rascal,” June said. “Constance told me he was at the museum this weekend. I was upset with her for not calling me so I could get a look at him.”

  “He’s…attractive.” Kerry’s spirits sank as the audience thinned to a few people and Judd was not among them. She’d been so sure he’d come up to the bandstand right after the performance. Maybe she hadn’t done as well as she’d thought. Fear of failure curdled in her stomach.

  “So where is he?” June asked again, jostling Kerry’s elbow.

  “Yeah, where is the great man?” Brent Powell echoed, coming up to put his arm around his great-aunt. “I thought I’d introduce him to Jacqui, see if I could scare up some business for her travel agency.”

  Kerry gave him an anxious look. She’d never been able to tell when Brent was kidding, even after knowing him for twenty years.

  “Don’t worry,” he said with a laugh. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  Kerry relaxed. “How was Disney World? I haven’t had a chance to ask since you and Jacqui got back. I still can’t believe you took the kids on your honeymoon.”

  “Well—” Brent paused for effect and grinned “—the kids saw the entire park. Jacqui and I…didn’t.”

  Kerry laughed along with everyone else within earshot. Leave it to Brent to smoothly integrate his new roles of husband and father. She squeezed his arm. “I’m happy for you. And for Jacqui.”

  “Thanks. And seriously, once you’re an insider with Lighthouse Records, I hope you’ll keep Jacqui in mind. She’d be glad to make the travel arrangements for your tours.”

  “We’re all going to profit big time,” Ted added. “Bill’s going to be her accountant, and I plan to rent you all tuxedos for her first concert at Lincoln Center. Hank’s already started Kerry’s tell-all unauthorized biography.”

  “Yeah, and so far it’s pretty dull,” Hank said. “I don’t believe the woman’s done one naughty thing in her life.”

  “Obviously I’m the only altruistic one who doesn’t hope to gain anything,” Grubby remarked, looking typically angelic.

  “Bull,” Hank said. “You want a job playing backup so you can kiss that insurance office goodbye. I heard you say that yesterday.”

  “Don’t count your chickens, any of you,” Kerry said glumly. “The big man was apparently so underwhelmed that he left the green without saying anything to me.”

  “I can’t believe that,” Bill said. “You were great. Besides, he heard you rehearse this morning and thought you were good.”

  Kerry could only imagine the worst. “I wasn’t facing him then, and he couldn’t really hear me with the surf and the foghorn and the gulls. Now that he’s had a chance to get the face-forward version, he splits. Be honest, now. Does that sound good?”

  “It’s probably a power play,” Ted suggested. “He wants to sign you for very little money, so he has to act disinterested.”

  “I’ll bet Ted’s right,” Grubby said. “Don’t let him intimidate you, Kerry. If he can hold out, so can you. Play it cool. If he starts talking about a contract, tell him you’ll have to think about it, consult your manager.”

  “My what?”

  “Yeah,” Ted agreed. “Geoff Kent’s a terrific lawyer. Tell him Geoff is your manager, and you have to run everything by him first. Might not be a bad idea, at that.”

  “Assuming he has the slightest intention of offering me a contract, which he probably doesn’t.”

  Grubby took her by the shoulders. “Go home, take a shower and get ready for the clambake. Pretend you don’t give a damn what this guy says or doesn’t say to you. That’s the way to handle these New York types.”

  “I can’t go home. I have to help you guys pack up.”

  “Not today. You need a cool shower. Put on your tightest jeans and that spangly shirt with the shoulder pads, the one that makes you look like you don’t take guff from anybody.”

  “And then don’t take guff from anybody,” Hank said.

  Kerry gazed at her fellow band members, her childhood friend Brent and her beloved Aunt June. They’d been a wonderful support system. “If I make it to New York, I may have to take all of you with me in my suitcase.”

  Grubby gave her a shake. “What’s this if stuff? Now go. We’ll see you at the clambake.”

  “Okay. And thanks.” She left the bandstand and started the short walk home. The skirts of her vintage-style dress swayed gently as she passed shops located in restored colonial homes, each decked out in patriotic colors, some flying Betsy Ross flags.

  To get her mind off Ju
dd Roarke, Kerry imagined herself back in the days of the Revolutionary War. She thought about the courage of the minutemen, the sacrifice of Nathan Hale, the valiant ride of Paul Revere. Her mother’s side of the family boasted an ancestor who’d served under George Washington. If her forefathers hadn’t been intimidated by King George and the might of the English army, why should she cower before the CEO of Lighthouse Records?

  Kerry turned down the elm-shaded street where she lived and experienced a familiar rush of pleasure. She loved the restored colonial she rented from a family friend. The house was a pet project and the owner had furnished it with antiques. Kerry felt lucky he’d entrusted her to be his tenant. The sparkling white clapboard trimmed with slate blue shutters sat behind a white picket fence and a flower bed filled with purple pansies and yellow hyacinths. The house had no front porch, just a covered stoop. Kerry hesitated as she approached the house.

  On that stoop sat Judd Roarke.

  Aunt June was right. He was a handsome rascal, especially with that roguish grin playing across his face. She’d never seen that side of him, and she couldn’t help but grin back. In each hand he held a tan sock.

  So she had knocked his socks off. Unless she somehow mismanaged the next few minutes, he would probably offer her a contract. Spirits high, she unlatched the low gate and moved down the walk toward him. “I see you have a flair for the dramatic.”

  “It helps in this business.” He slipped off his loafers, which she noticed were Gucci, and began putting his socks back on.

  “I guess Rachel told you where I live.”

  “She did, but anyone could have, apparently. You’re very well-known around here. Nice concert, Kerry.”

  “Thank you.” Kerry watched as he pulled a sock over his heel and up his calf under the tan chinos. She’d seen those muscled calves before, and the tracery of dark hair on them, but this dressing in front of her seemed much more intimate somehow.

  “You had everyone in the palm of your hand.” He gathered the second sock.

  Even you? “They were a great audience.” She glanced down as he lifted his bare foot. Even his toes were sexy, she thought, before they disappeared inside the sock. She watched as he slipped his shoe back on and found herself studying his hands and his long, tapered fingers. Fingers designed for dexterity. She’d always been a fool for a man with supple fingers.

  “Do you play an instrument, Mr. Roarke?” she asked softly.

  “The name’s Judd, and yes, I did, once upon a time.” He glanced up, and his eyes were almost golden in the afternoon light. “Alto sax.”

  She’d always considered the saxophone a very sensuous instrument. She could easily imagine him playing it, his clever fingers manipulating the keys, his eyes closed in concentration as his mouth… But this was inappropriate, thinking such things about a man about to give her the most important business opportunity of her life. Still, she couldn’t seem to help herself. “You don’t play anymore?” she said.

  He shook his head. “I was with a jazz band in college, but eventually I realized I wasn’t good enough to make it professionally, so I decided to do the next best thing and work with musicians who could.” He paused. “Like you.”

  Those final two words left her breathless. She stood in front of him, her heart pumping rapidly. She couldn’t have said what excited her more—the power he held to make her dreams come true or the sexual stimulation he gave her senses.

  “What now?” she asked, but the question came out in a throaty whisper that lit a fire in his tawny eyes.

  “Maybe we should go inside.”

  She nodded and stepped around him, her skirts brushing his shoulder, her heart pounding. Of course nothing would happen inside her house. This was a business call, although suddenly it didn’t feel that way to her.

  As she fit the key into the lock, his voice came from close behind her. “Do you own this place?”

  “No. I couldn’t afford something like this.”

  “Someday you very well might.”

  Ah, so seductive, this talk of her future success. Maybe that was what had her so stirred up. She led the way into the whitewashed foyer, where she always kept fresh flowers on a narrow Shaker table.

  On her left was the music room, dominated by an ebony grand piano on loan from Aunt June. On her right a living room held black walnut and cherry antiques worth more than Kerry liked to think about. Down the hall was a modernized kitchen, and up the stairs directly in front of them were three bedrooms and a bath. Throughout the house woven rag rugs made pools of color on gleaming pine floors, and snowy lace billowed in the breeze from open casement windows.

  Judd glanced around. “Very nice. By the way, I didn’t ask if you had a manager.”

  She’d totally forgotten to work that bit of information into the conversation, as Grubby and Ted has suggested. “As a matter of fact, I do. His name’s Geoffrey Kent.”

  “Maybe you should call him.”

  Kerry thought fast. She couldn’t imagine what Geoff would do if she thrust him unprepared into this situation. She’d seen him leaving Soldier’s Green in the midst of an intense discussion with his wife, Marion, and he hadn’t looked like a man who wanted to be bothered with business today. Besides, she was savoring the taste of danger in being alone with Judd. Such excitement didn’t come often to a girl from the town of Eternity. “I’m sure we don’t need him for our preliminary talks.”

  “You’re not afraid I’ll take advantage of you?”

  She caught her breath. Afraid? No. From the moment she’d spied him on her front stoop, smiling that sexy smile, she’d decided to go along with whatever he proposed. Her pulse raced as she met his gaze. “Is that what you have in mind? Taking advantage?”

  He paused a beat before answering. “No.”

  She noted his brief hesitation. He was aware of the sensual energy pulsing between them, but she didn’t know if he was fighting the pull between them or fostering it. Perhaps this was how he wooed female artists to the Lighthouse label, by this subtle sexuality. If so, he had the technique down pat. She was caught.

  She gestured to the living room. “Would you like to sit down?”

  “It’s really not necessary. This won’t take long. What I really want to know is the level of your ambition.”

  She blinked. “I’m not sure what—”

  “You have the raw talent and the basic training to be a good working artist. We have several people under contract like that. If they ever had ambitions to be more, they tabled them at some point and are content to make a living.” He regarded her so intently a shiver skittered up her spine. “Is that what you want?”

  Kerry looked into his eyes, mesmerized. “No.”

  His tone softened. “What do you want, Kerry Muldoon?”

  You. The answer that popped into her mind jolted her. She’d never speak such a bold thing aloud and embarrass herself, but something about Judd awakened dark erotic yearnings she hadn’t known she possessed. He was not like the men she saw every day in Eternity. He moved in a different world, and the excitement of that world clung to him like magic dust. “I want people to know my name. Lots of people,” she murmured.

  “You want fame.”

  “Yes.”

  He stepped closer. “I’ll tell you the truth, Kerry. There are artists as beautiful as you.”

  She drank in the fact that he thought her beautiful.

  “Many artists who have talent and training. But in order to have fame, you need one thing above all else.”

  Her breath came shallowly as she watched his sculpted lips move closer. He cupped her face in his hand, and she trembled at this first contact between them. She moistened her dry lips and saw desire flare in his eyes.

  His tone was like warm syrup. “You need passion.”

  She forgot to breathe.

  “Can you give me that?”

  She swallowed. She would not turn away now. “Yes.”

  His gaze held hers for agonizing seconds. Then he re
leased her and turned away. “Good,” he said, his voice low and husky. “Then we have to get you to New York, try you in a few clubs, make a demo in our studios. If all that goes well, we can start talking about a contract.”

  Kerry stood in a dazed stupor. She’d been certain he was about to kiss her, but then he’d broken the spell, denied himself the gesture. Was he attracted to her, yet considered it inappropriate? She would have kissed him back, which was probably also inappropriate. She didn’t know this world. She’d better be careful.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Can you get away from your responsibilities for a couple of weeks?”

  She forced her brain to work. Getting away wouldn’t be easy. Her piano students were a dedicated bunch, and most had opted to continue lessons through the summer. She’d booked the band for several performances, and Lord knew who would handle future bookings while she was gone. Then there was the obligation to the First Congregational church choir, which she led. “I…yes, of course…somehow.” Then she thought of another obstacle. “I don’t have a lot of money saved, and I know New York’s expensive, so I’m not sure—”

  “Lighthouse Records will handle travel expenses, accommodation and food as our initial investment in you. All we need from you now is your time.” He turned back to her and his expression was guarded, businesslike. “Can you do it? Within the next week?”

  Kerry felt dizzy from the energy coursing between them and the abrupt need to decide her future, but somehow she managed to say she could.

  “All right.” He pulled out his wallet. “Let me know when you’ll arrive.” He handed her his business card.

  She took the card without looking at it. She felt as if she were poised in the last car of a roller coaster just before it took a steep drop.

  He started toward the door and turned back. “I have another question. It’s personal, so you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

  “What is it?”