by Nora Flite
My hand settled on my pocket, feeling the weight of the business card inside. Maybe he was right, maybe I’m just bait to lure better artists.
“Amina?” Bach called my name like his tongue was coated in thick honey.
He was standing in the doorway of the audition room. Our eyes locked, I wondered how such an empty, air-conditioned corridor could become so warm. “Bach, hi.”
“What’s going on, did you want to audition all over again?” His eyes twinkled with humor. “If you say yes, I’ll know you’re a sadist.”
He came to meet me, strolling in that comfortable, subconsciously cocky way of his. I was terribly tempted to play along with his flirting. Especially when he traced his own mouth, sending a phantom kiss up my inner thigh. Remember why you’re here! “Violet promised me that I could get some time in the recording booth.”
He looked around, quietly noting his VP was nowhere in sight.
I nodded and said, “She ran off to handle more pressing work. Those auditions you mentioned are taking up all the resources. It’s so frustrating,” I said, laughing bitterly. “All I want to do is record my music. It’s why I'm out here, and it's the one thing no one will make time for me to do.”
He squinted at me, like I was some curious new animal. “I will.”
I balked. “Are you serious?”
“You should be getting to work on your first album. I'd be doing you a disservice as your manager if I left you wilting here in Los Angeles, producing nothing. What good does that do either of us?”
Welling up with joy, I couldn’t control my emotions. My arms circled him in a hug before I could think it through. “Thank you! Thank you so, so much, Bach!”
He wasn’t moving. He didn’t hug me back.
I became aware of the fibers of his thin, cotton, black shirt; soft, pleasantly warm. He’d dressed casually today, as if he knew he didn’t have to impress anyone with fancy clothes. He was Bach Devine, all the women who’d lined up for him were aware of what he was worth.
Did any of them get this close to him in that room?
Did they know how amazing he smelled?
Jumping backwards, I tried to keep myself from blushing like an idiot. Bach’s hands were lifted by his chest, away from his body, as if he’d been about to return my hug. But then they slid into his pockets and I wondered if I was wrong.
I cleared my throat. “So, what's the plan? You going to kick some people out of a booth, swing your CEO fists around?”
Shaking his head, he strode down the hall. He spoke without looking back at me. “I have a much more elegant idea. Let's go home.”
****
I stared at the big building in his backyard. I'd assumed it was a guest house, but when he unlocked it, I saw it for what it really was. “You have your own private recording studio, right here on your property?”
“Yup. My dad liked to have the option to come out and work if something struck him in the middle of the night.” He walked over to the booth and began fiddling with the knobs. “I probably should've let you know about this sooner. With everything else going on, it slipped my mind.”
I was too amazed to be upset by the fact this had been in my backyard. “This is amazing. Seriously amazing. If I owned one of these, you wouldn't be able to pry me out of it. I’d be sleeping in here.”
“Dad did that sometimes too.” He said it softly, his eyes becoming hooded. “Can I ask you something?” I gave a quick nod. “Why did you pick Whispers for your audition?”
I’d expected this question days ago. “I wanted to impress you. That was the first thing on my mind. I thought singing something by your dad would earn me brownie points. But beyond that, the song is very important to me. All the music that your dad sang helped me get through some hard times. It really resonated with me. God, you’re so lucky to have grown up with him. I'm super jealous.”
He kept looking at the booth, adjusting switches back and forth. The longer the silence stretched the more paranoid I became that I’d upset him. “Bach?”
“Do you need anything to get ready?” he asked, waving at the booth. “Otherwise, it's all set for you. Go inside and I'll be right here, recording your every word.”
“Did I say something wrong?”
He gave me a weak smile. “Of course not. I'm just tired. Go on, get in there. Hearing you sing will give me energy.”
I was sure he was lying, but I didn't know how to make him talk. It’s not your job to be his therapist, I reminded myself. It’s your job to make music.
That was why I was here.
That was what I had to think about.
Taking a deep breath, I entered the booth and reached for the microphone.
- Chapter Twenty -
Amina
I sang until my lungs began to ache. It was a good pain, a glorious pain. I could have kept going until the sun set and rose again, but one glance at the clock, and I knew it was time to take a break. How did two hours pass by?
Wondering if Bach was getting bored, I looked at him through the glass. His eyes were wide blackholes, ready to suck me in. I’d tried to ignore him as I worked because he was powerfully distracting. That meant I hadn’t realized until now how enraptured he was in my performance. I caught it—that look of awe—before he turned his mask on, waving me out of the booth.
Slipping the headphones off, I hung them on the mic stand. One of the windows in the main studio was cracked, letting the air conditioning out and citrus scent in. “How was I?” I asked, reaching for the water bottle he offered me.
Bach narrowed his eyes with a smirk. “You saw my face. You know you’re good, no need to be modest.”
Looking down at the water bottle, I smiled shyly. His compliment didn’t go unnoticed. “Thanks. It felt great to just get that out of me.”
“Is that how it feels for you? Like the music is balled up inside, and it has to come out?”
I choked on my water. Bach patted me lightly on the back until I waved him off. “Sorry, I’m fine. That just surprised me.” Drying my mouth with my forearm, I sat down across from him in one of the wheeled chairs. “Music is a release for me. It’s always been this... this energy that grows, and sometimes, I think if I don’t sing, I’ll split apart at my corners and I’ll never be able to put myself back together.”
He was absorbing everything I said. “Amazing,” he whispered.
“What about you?” I asked gently.
“Excuse me?”
“Do you feel the same way? Like the music will break you apart if you don’t use it first?”
Bach’s nostrils flared, his frown hardening. “No.”
I leaned closer, my hands pressing on the chair between my thighs. “Then what’s it like for you? Sorry, I’m being nosy, I’m just crazy curious to know how it is for another musician.”
He drained his water. “There’s nothing to know about it. I have no musical skill.”
My feet came down hard, causing the chair to roll back a foot. “But your father is Laurence Devine! He must have taught you all sorts of things!”
“He did.” Bach lifted his chin so I could see his sour smile. “Dad tried a hundred times to teach me to play an instrument, or to sing, but I never had any talent. Putting all that energy into me was a waste of time, even if he never admitted it.”
Fumbling for a response, I couldn't keep the sympathy from my tone. “I'm sorry.” He threw his empty bottle across the room; it bounced inside the trashcan with a hollow clatter. “Can I ask what he was like, your dad?”
“You can ask. I'm not going to go into it, though. It doesn't matter now.”
The air around us was thickening. I had no clue how to tactfully change the subject, so I kicked my feet and said nothing.
“I’m no musician,” he started, handling each word like it was a dangerous curve on a slippery road, “But I still love writing lyrics.” Fishing into his back pocket, he revealed a small, beaten up brown notebook.
I rolled my chair towa
rds him eagerly. “Can I see?”
He tossed me the book with far more care than the bottle he'd thrown away. “Try not to laugh. My ego is very fragile.”
“Uh huh, sure it is.” I flipped through the pages, scanning as I went. I’m not sure what I expected—especially after he told me he had no talent. I re-read the same line multiple times, absorbing Bach’s handwritten expressions of his soul. “These are really good.”
“Don't bullshit me.”
“I'm not. Eyes shining brighter than the stars during a new moon... Fingers graze my heart and never stop. These are beautiful, Bach.”
He shifted around like he couldn't get comfortable. “That means a lot, coming from you.”
“Would you mind if I sang some of these?”
His eyes widened, then his fingers crushed the arms of his chair. I thought he'd tell me to fuck off. “Go ahead.”
Buzzing with anticipation, I hurried back into the booth. He was staring at me through the glass. He’d done that earlier, this was... different. He watched me like I was a bomb that could go off any second. Something dangerous, something he should be terrified of.
I put the headphones on and studied the pages of the book. I refused to mess up the lyrics he’d penned, I wanted to do justice to his efforts. He couldn’t sing his own words?
Then I’d do it for him.
“Come along, hollow bones...” I licked my lips. “Stay strong enough to keep me up. Hollow bones aren’t so bad. It’s a hollow heart that’s rough...” These lyrics belong to him, I thought, marveling as the words welled up in my chest. They were nothing like his father’s music. They weren’t like mine, either. His songs were bruised with darkness. Deep with a double meaning. My lips trembled as I sang and sang, never once looking to see if he was happy... or horrified.
The booth door slammed open.
I looked up in surprise, barely catching the determined expression on Bach’s face as he ripped the headphones off me and threw them aside. “Bach—” He kissed me hard, stealing my voice, eating me from the inside out.
Had singing his lyrics drawn him to me like I was a siren? I hadn't meant to do that. Worse was my shame over how much I loved knowing I'd made him crave me so much he couldn't sit still. “We can’t,” I whimpered.
“We can,” he insisted, scraping his nose through my hair.
“No, I... can’t.”
He loosened his grip on my jaw. Forcing me to look at him, he spoke in a raspy tone. This man was barely controlling himself, he was raging with all-consuming lust. “Why? You can’t pretend you don’t want me, I can feel the heat wafting off your body.”
I groaned, and something flexed against my hip—his cock in his pants. “I can’t mess things up.”
“This isn’t a mistake, Amina.”
“Every guy I like turns out to be a mistake.”
“If you think I’m like anyone else you’ve ever been with, you’re wrong.”
My jaw moved, preparing for the bombshell I was going to drop. “I saw the messages on your phone.”
Bach stiffened. “What?”
“The morning after we had sex, you weren’t there, but your phone was. I didn’t mean to spy, but there were so many texts from people... from girls,” I added with a wince. “I’d be stupid to get involved with the guy in charge of my career. But I’d be a walking cliché if I let myself get close to another man who only cares about getting his dick wet, no matter who it’s with.”
The accusation in his voice wasn’t aimed at me. “Your last boyfriend cheated on you, didn’t he?”
I pushed a flat laugh out of my chest, as if it didn’t bother me that he’d figured that out. “Story of my life. It goes like this: I start to fall for you, and then you sleep with someone behind my back.”
“I’d never—”
I held up my hand and kept talking. “If it’s not cheating, then it’s you hurting me. Or maybe you get arrested and guilt me into bailing you out. Hell, it could be some combo of all three!”
“I’m nothing like your exes, Amina.”
“Of course, you are. You’re the same smug, tatted up bad boy as the rest. It’s why I like you in the first place. I have a fucking type. But that ends now.” I tried to walk around him. The booth was tight, it was a simple shift of his body and he was blocking me in. “Bach, move.”
“Those messages meant nothing,” he assured me. He pulled out his phone, flipping through. When I tried to push it away, he put the screen in my face. “One of them was an old fling, I won’t deny that, but we haven’t seen each other in years. The others are media personalities looking for a tasty scoop.”
“Great. They want to get you alone for an ‘interview’”
“Not me,” he hissed. “You. They want to get to know you.”
Some of my bravado faded. “How do I know you’re not lying?”
He clasped my shoulders, his phone digging into my skin, reminding me of all those messages. “Look at me.” Bach was wide-eyed, searching my face for a sign he was getting through. “Amina, I’m not one of the men who betrayed you. Just hearing about someone hurting you pisses me off.”
The exit beckoned me over his shoulder. It would be so easy to walk away from him. “Even if those messages were harmless, what about the auditions? All those women trying to squirm their way into your favor, so you’ll make them famous?”
His face fell. Then he began to laugh.
“Hey!” I snapped, pushing him off of me. “This isn’t funny!”
Bach hid his phone away. His shoulders shook from lingering chuckles. “You’re worried about the other singers? You’re jealous?”
“It’s not jealousy, it’s me protecting myself.”
His eyes twinkled with wicked humor. “I like this possessive side of you.” Heat burned up my throat, but he wasn’t done with me. “You don’t have to worry, Amina. I turned them all down.”
“I... I don’t understand.”
“I said no to them.” Moving forward, he backed me against the wall. “All of them. Every single one.” His hand hit the wall next to my ear, thudding so loud I gasped. “You thought they could compare to you? Silly girl. They didn’t stand a chance.”
I swallowed around my heavy tongue. “You mean you didn’t sign any of them?”
“Not a one. Rejection after rejection after...” He stroked a fingertip over the edge of my left ear. “Rejection.” My belly tightened as his smell suffocated me. He was close enough to kiss again, his lips were all I could see. “Maybe I am a bad boy, if that’s the label you like. But I'm nothing like the assholes who came before me.”
“How?” I managed to whisper. “Tell me how you’re different.”
Eagerness made his smirk glow. “Did any of them give you a car?”
“Of course not. They made me pay for everything.”
Bach chuckled, bracing himself on the wall so only his shadow was touching me. I wanted his hands, his mouth, and he gave me nothing but air. “I’d never use you the way they did. I want to take care of you, Amina. I want to provide everything and anything you need. But I’m more than a bank account. I’m a protective man, the kind that would never, ever lay a finger on you. I want you to scream because of pleasure, not pain.”
A tremor worked through my legs. Every breath was a shudder. “Keep going.”
“Always so eager, even now,” he murmured. His eyes flicked to my mouth, then held my gaze. “I’ll never cheat because there’s no one that could tempt me. I’ll never betray you because that would betray me as well. I’m a better man than all of those monsters, and still, I’ll work every day at being more.”
The memory of his song rolling on my tongue made my pulse skip. I reached for him, ready to feel his mouth. It was Bach’s turn to stop me. “What’s wrong?” I asked, struggling as he held me at a distance.
“I need to know you believe me.”
I went still. “Oh, Bach.”
“I’m not joking. I don’t want to do this if you think
I’m playing with you.”
He’s so serious, I thought, fascinated by this side of him. Gently, I pried his hands from my shoulders. I outlined his temples, his jawline, then wrapped my fingers in his shirt with a smile. “Was I the first person you shared your songs with?”
“Yes,” he whispered.
“What was it like to hear me sing the words you poured your heart into?”
His fingers coiled around my wrists firmly, letting me know neither of us was going anywhere. “Like my heart was getting too big for my body. Like... what you said before, that I might break apart at the corners. It was overwhelming.”
I touched my nose to his. “The second I opened that little book of yours... I knew you were different than my exes. I was just scared to admit it to myself.”
Raw emotion spread through his grimace, then onto my lips as he finally kissed me. Pulling my arms over my head, he pawed his way down my ribs, then undid the top button and zipper of my jeans with skill.
Lightning targeted my clit when he dipped his hands into my pants. “You know how else I’m different?” he asked thickly. His fingers rubbed across my pussy where it was soaking through my panties. “I make you come like no other man has. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes,” I moaned. It was true. So fucking true.
“Your voice is intoxicating.” Bach pulled my panties into my crevice, tugging gently as I rolled my hips. “Not just when you sing. When you laugh, when you moan, when you shout at me... when you breathe.” He massaged my cunt with my saturated underwear. “I’ve never met anyone with a voice like yours, Amina.”
Closing my eyes, I arched into his delicious touch. His compliments were sinking past my defenses. I couldn’t wave away his kind words, hide behind modesty, or deflect in any way. Bach had me melting literally in his palms. “Oh my god,” I whispered.
“Feels good, yeah?”
“Yes,” I managed to say.
“Come in my hands.” Bach grazed his lips on my chin, then my earlobe; his teeth brought beautiful pain. “I need to hear you sing my name as you cream your panties. Do it, now.”