The rightness struck her as it never had before. She’d tried not to make her mother unhappy, and avoided her father’s careful, lengthy lectures. She loved them, of course. They cared for her, and the plethora of bad parents she’d seen since she started her job had made her appreciate what she had more. But yes, maybe—although her choices had also come from herself. Her own fears. “They told me to get training and a good job. We never had money, you see, and we all have to earn our own living.” He nodded. She knew he understood that.
“But we had nothing,” he said. “That was the main reason he came home. The welfare system here was better. For me. He could have coped, as he always did, but he wanted to be sure I didn’t fall through the cracks as he put it.”
“I wondered,” she said. “He talks about the USA like it’s his home.”
“That’s why I don’t think I’m his,” he said suddenly. She knew, from his quieter tone and the way he looked at the lock of hair he held instead of her face, that this was important. “Since I’ve met him again, well, it’s made me think. He refused to have blood testing or DNA tests. If they proved I wasn’t his, he couldn’t have claimed British citizenship for me and then they’d have kept me in the States. At least over here I had someone to care for me.”
That aspect had never occurred to her before. In the USA, with no parents, Zazz could have fared a lot worse. Whatever his motives, the old man had done Zazz a favor. She’d concentrated on doing her job well, getting to know an old man who needed friends and chatting to his son, James, a relationship she’d hoped would mature into friendship. Not this. Never this.
“I admire what you do so much,” he said suddenly. “Without you, and people like you, I wouldn’t be here. You get paid next to nothing, and you work all hours for people who often don’t appreciate it. What I do, I love it and I get paid obscene amounts to do it.” He planted a kiss on her lips, grinning. “Who said life was fair?”
Certainly not her.
How could she have imagined the way Zazz filled her life? How could anyone be ready for that?
“Pretty hair,” he said reflectively.
“Basic chestnut.” She couldn’t take the credit for it. “I use a dye. Can’t you tell?”
With a wicked grin, he lifted the sheet and peered at her pussy. “Well, you’re not a blonde.”
“Mouse.” Just like her parents. Her sister had been spared that too, but she was glad for Amy rather than sorry for herself. These days, changing or enhancing hair color was too easy to hold anything against a person with naturally rich, dark-brown hair.
Then he laughed a sharp bark. “Mine’s natural. It grows this color.”
She joined in his laughter and rolled on top of him to try to stop him teasing. “Does it matter what color it is?”
He gave her a lascivious leer and an even more lascivious fondle, inserting his finger between her folds and drawing it up to tickle her clit. She jerked and pulled away. “You win.”
He followed her. “When I’m with you, I always win.” He half closed his eyes while he ground his body against hers, his lengthening cock hard against her belly.
“So do I,” she said in a voice suddenly grown hoarse.
Chapter Ten
“Manchester wasn’t the same.” Zazz shrugged. “The restaurants had changed, the streets were cleaner.”
Chick huffed a laugh. “The streets? Are you kidding me?”
“Yeah. No sweet papers—candy wrappers to you, no cans, not even a smell of dogshit.”
“And that’s what you missed? Did you think a city stays the same for ten years at a stretch?”
Zazz stuck his hands in his pockets, adopting his favorite slouch. “That and the fans. Are we that hot?”
“So you strut in front of thousands of people in pants that threaten to fall off any minute. You hear them yell for you, you read the critics and you don’t get it yet?” Chick stared at him, disapproval writ large in his gaze. “What makes you think you’re not the hottest band on the planet right now?”
“I knew. Just that I didn’t know, you know?”
“That makes as much sense as American politics.” Chick snorted. “But I can guess. The others have felt it, in a way. Jace tried to go home. Donovan tried to get back to a writing career, and you know about Hunter. He went home and found everything the same. Except when he dug deeper, it wasn’t. Don’t start me on the women.”
“I won’t.” Although each of the women who’d fallen for a member of the band had their own stories too. Zazz liked them, got on with V, Allie, Beverley and Sabina, but until recently he didn’t think he was missing anything by not having a more permanent connection. He didn’t do permanent, any more than his father had. “It was when I tried to take Laura for a meal in Rusholme. When I had to sign something from the thirty people sitting at the tables I realized it was time to go. I lasted until Wednesday,” he reminded his manager. “I saw my dad, talked to him. But I need to find somewhere else for him to live. Once I persuade him. He refuses to leave his home, but it’s getting harder for him.”
“I knew you cared,” Chick said. Try as he might, Zazz couldn’t see any cynicism or derision in Chick’s eyes. His manager rarely got touchy-feely on them, but this seemed like one of those times.
He clicked his tongue in exasperation. “He’s my father, of course I care. I thought of bringing him with me, but now I’m not sure he’d do well. He saw the band in Manchester anyhow. He doesn’t need to get back into this life again.”
Chick tilted his head to one side, regarding Zazz too perceptively for his liking. “The drugs?”
Zazz jerked a nod. “Once an addict, always an addict. Not my words, his. And with what goes on around the band. We don’t bother these days, but you can’t keep them away. The dealers know we attract users.”
Chick shrugged. “There’s only so much you can do.”
“You do well.” Zazz flashed a grin. “I’ve seen you throw them out with your own bare hands.”
Chick regarded his larger-than-average hands ruefully. “It’s the wrestling background.” He shuffled a few papers. “Okay, bring her in, but don’t expect any favors. This is business.”
He left Chick’s office-cum-bedroom and wandered into the main room. This time they were using the largest room in the Presidential suite. It was a grandiose art-deco-style space, flashy in dramatic charcoal with plenty of brass trim to give it sparkle. Zazz quite liked it. At least it had character, more than some of the hotels they’d used. At last, management seemed to understand they wouldn’t trash the place. That had gone out years ago, although some bands still did it for shits and giggles. Or out of plain boredom.
Holding up his hand in vague greeting to everyone, he crossed to where Laura sat with a plate of salad balanced on her lap. He reached for her, grabbing the plate and putting it aside as he tugged her to her feet and into his arms. He lowered his head and kissed her, lush and open-mouthed, using his tongue to seduce her. He took his time, tasting her. He caressed every part of her mouth, playing with her tongue, sliding his tongue against it and then lifting to touch the roof of her mouth with the tip. He absorbed her sigh, tried for another and ignored the whistles from the other occupants of the room, other than giving them the finger. He concentrated on her. She deserved it, and he wanted it.
Fuck, he wanted her, now. He broke away but kept his arms banded around her. “We have three hours before we have to leave for the venue.”
She grinned up at him, her cheeks flushed adorably. “Don’t you have stuff to do?”
“Nah. Tired?”
She smiled at his gentle tease. “Maybe I need a rest.”
He loved the way she colored up. “You’ve got to earn your rest. Chick says he’ll listen to you now.”
Her expression closed and she looked down, away from him. He lifted her chin with one finger. “Do it. Take the chance.”
“I can’t.” Her voice sounded small and unsure. He hated it, but he understood.
&nb
sp; “Come on.” He took her hand and led her into their room. He’d thought telling her in the main room might have helped her cope, seeing the sympathy of the other band members. None of them were nerveless, but the nerves gave them an edge, reminded them not to take anything for granted.
He closed the door gently and drew her back into his arms. “You can borrow my guitar if you like.”
She stared at him, bottom lip caught between her teeth. She released it, making him want to soothe it with his own. But not now. He had to concentrate on getting her into Chick’s office. He contented himself with one kiss before crossing the room and picking up his guitar. Step one. “You should do this.”
She shook her head. “I’m not that good.”
“I think you are. I think you can do it.” Patience, keep reassuring her.
“I can’t.”
Someone had done a number on her, and he had a good idea who it was. She’d avoided talking about it before, and he’d let her. Not now. “Why don’t you think you’re good enough? Is it your parents?”
She shrugged, avoiding his eyes. “They’re right.”
“So you’ve been careful all your life. What if I said I wouldn’t go onstage tonight if you don’t do this?”
“That’s emotional blackmail!” At least he’d made her feel something. Finally, she lifted her gaze to his face. Her eyes sparkled with indignation.
“So it is. And don’t you think someone did that to you? Do this or I won’t love you anymore?” He crossed the room and pressed the neck of the guitar into her hand. Her fingers closed around it and he took a breath. “I wouldn’t do that. If I don’t go onstage tonight, it won’t be anything to do with you. So was it your father who made you so unsure of taking this path?”
She shook her head. “Mother. When she was little she wanted to be a ballerina. Joined a class, danced, worked hard. Something happened and when she was sixteen, she stopped. She had a series of auditions for ballet schools.”
“She didn’t get in?”
“She did. But at sixteen she’d be putting all her eggs into one basket.”
His heart sank. “She turned them down?”
“Her parents said she could do it after she’d passed her exams. She never went back.” She paused, then carried on. “She said she never regretted that decision.”
If he knew one thing, it was this. “She lied. Did you pass up an opportunity?”
“No. I didn’t apply.”
“Shit. You gave up before you started.”
She twined her fingers together. “Not quite. I went to university and got my degree. My mother praised me, said I’d done it right. Otherwise, what chance did I have of making a life for myself?”
“The chance is higher. But if you want to, you can go for it. Listen.” He mustered his thoughts and knew there was more at stake than he cared to admit. If she rejected this chance, then they’d live apart, because she wouldn’t give up her job for him. He wouldn’t ask her to. Pride for her filled him when he thought how many people she’d helped. But she had the right to know if she was good enough, and Chick was the person to tell her.
He put his hands on her shoulders, felt a faint tremble. That was good. Nerves gave a person an edge. “If you want this chance, believe in yourself and go for it. It doesn’t commit you to anything. What do you have to lose?”
“You,” she said, and then clapped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. But you were being nice, weren’t you? When you said I was good. I’m just average.”
“Baby, you have something.” Where were these fucking endearments coming from? So natural, they slipped out before he could stop them. “I heard it in your voice. But I’m not sure what. Chick has experience, and more than that, he has an instinct. He’ll tell you if you have a chance. Can you afford to miss it?” The light in her eyes sparked and he knew he had her. “Do you want me there with you?”
She nodded.
He had to get her there before she changed her mind. All she needed was people to believe in her, and she’d fly. “Let’s go.”
In Chick’s room, she sat on the bed, balanced the guitar on her knees and checked the tuning. Then she stared at the strings, as if unsure of her fingering, but Zazz knew she didn’t need help. She gained confidence as she went on, changing from strumming to a definite tune, her fingers curving and plucking with more conviction. Then she sang. Laura had a sweet, pure tone that she could edge and feather, adding hoarser qualities as she needed them.
Chick sat opposite her, watching her closely, seemingly at rest. Zazz followed his expression, watched how his fingers drummed on the arm of his chair, how he nodded once or twice.
She came to a halt, and Chick waved one hand in a circle, so she carried on, played something else. A Murder City Ravens song, one of their rockers, but she turned it into a plaintive acoustic number. The fucking nerve. He loved it. Zazz tried not to grin when he saw her shape the chord he’d taught her properly. That was how he’d originally written it. Jace had suggested the heavier treatment. Then, more confident now, she played another, a mash-up of a traditional folk song and something of her own. The song was about a man about to be hanged and the woman who saved him. Clever, edgy, bringing what was an old thing right up to date. Just as she had with the song she’d played him when he’d first persuaded her to show him her music.
At the end of that one, Chick held up his hand. She stopped, glanced Zazz’s way and then back at Chick. “Fun, right? Nothing else.”
“Don’t outthink me,” Chick said.
She clucked, clearly exasperated, but didn’t reply. Just as well, because Chick launched into his assessment of her talents. “Any other agent would take you in a heartbeat. You’re good, and you can make a career out of what you do. But I want you to practice some more. Refine what you do and decide where you want to take this. You need time.” He leaned forward. “Let me be perfectly clear. If you go into the studio now, you’ll have a good album, maybe a couple of hit singles. But you’ll run out of steam.”
She laughed. “Thanks for listening to me. I don’t have the time or the money to do that.”
Zazz gave a huff of frustration. “Don’t give us that. Stop it, Laura, and think. You don’t need money to practice, so at the least you can go home and do it in your spare time.”
She gave him a look so stricken he wanted to take back what he’d said. But she needed to stand on her own, he couldn’t, mustn’t, help her in this. She couldn’t do this for anyone else, and she had to learn because this business wasn’t just hard, it was a killer. Not that he’d tell her that yet. But if she found her musical feet, and if she was sure about what she wanted to do, then she’d be fine.
“You’ve got something,” Chick said. “More than the average, but it’s still raw. I’ll pass on the good and wait for the great, because if you do the work, it will come. I’m sure of it.”
“Wow.” That time he had to say something. “You never said that to us.”
Chick didn’t take his attention away from Laura. “I didn’t need to. You knew. This one, she’ll need support, but she needs the kind of support that lets her fly free when she needs to.” He kept watching her. “I apologize for not seeing you before.”
“You never heard me play before.” She sounded bewildered.
“I can usually see—something in interesting people.” Finally, Chick grinned. “Sorry. That’s how I make a living. I facilitate. Everyone has some kind of talent, I truly believe that. Mine is to make it possible for others to do what they do. I make a good living out of it.” He glanced at Zazz and shrugged.
“Hey, man, we’re all making a great living out of it. You make your fifteen, we make more.”
“But I make more fifteens,” he pointed out. “Not every client is a success though. Maybe they rush in before they’re ready, or the public doesn’t like them, or they let commercialism get in the way.” He grinned. “Sure, that means money for me, but hell, I hate to see good talent go to wast
e. If I take you, I’ll fight for you.”
“Literally,” Zazz said. Laura shot him a sharp look and Zazz spread his hands and grinned. “He went for the manager of one of the venues shortly after he took us on. Fucking awesome.”
Chick threw back his great head and laughed. “That was a good one, wasn’t it? They weren’t expecting that. I started my career in the ring. Wrestling. Fun, but I soon found I was better at managing them than doing it myself. Not before I learned a few tricks.”
“So what are you saying?” She rested her arms on the guitar like someone at a folk club. But already Zazz knew she did more than that. She took traditional folk songs and twisted them to her own vision, and she wrote her own stuff too. He couldn’t wait to see what she did with Murder City Ravens numbers. No, on second thought, she scoured out any vulnerabilities, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear that. He looked for the heart of the issue, and so did she, approaching it from a different angle.
Unlike V, Laura didn’t belong in the band, which saddened him. It would have made everything so much easier. No, she had to make her own way. Even if she ended up playing small clubs, as long as she was true to her vision, that would count as a success. And she’d be happy. He wanted to make her happy, be part of it. More than he wanted almost anything else. He couldn’t hold her back. She had to fly.
Which meant they had as precarious a future as ever.
In that room he realized he had to let Laura do what she needed to, go where her vision took her. And yet he wanted her so badly, badly enough to keep her. He couldn’t.
But he had her for now.
He checked his watch. Two hours before they had to go. “Come on.” He got to his feet, held out his hand.
She opened her mouth, then closed it with a snap. She’d seen something in his face. He’d always prided himself on his stone features when he wanted them, but she could always see right through that. Their correspondence, then meeting, closing the circle.
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