9781488051265

by Reverb (epub)

  Heydel waved a hand. “Well, will you be? Fans want to know!”

  He sighed. “Vick...”

  “Okay, I want to know.”

  “No comment, Ms. Heydel.” He said it with a smile.

  “Can’t fault me for trying, David. It’s the whole bodyguard-whirlwind-romance thing. You took a knife for her, and now you two are inseparable.”

  He held up his hands.

  “Okay, okay. Give me something, though? You guys are the hot story now.”

  He didn’t have anything to give. Both he and Mish preferred their personal lives to stay out of the spotlight.

  “Let me talk to Marcella and Mish.” It was a bone without much meat, but maybe they could come up with some exclusive something or other. Photoshoot. A tiny Q and A.

  “You’re an okay guy, David,” Heydel said.

  He couldn’t help laughing. “I’ll be sure to put that on my résumé.” He gave her a wave and continued on his route.

  Marriage? Maybe. Maybe not. Really depended on what Mish wanted. David had everything he needed right now. Mish. Twisted Wishes. The loner hooked up with a partner he didn’t deserve and a family that accepted him for who he was. Never thought it could happen to him.

  He was so very grateful it had.

  * * *

  Mish had never been this nervous on stage before, even back in her early days. Hell, she’d been less of a wreck her first night stripping. Then again, that had only been her body exposed on the stage. This—this was a piece of her soul.

  She covered her nervousness and how hard her heart thumped in her chest by spinning away from the screaming, cheering audience after they finished their first encore, and went for a drink from the water bottle she kept on the base of Zavier’s drum kit stand.

  She met his gaze before she grabbed the bottle and he spun a stick in his hand. Breathe, he mouthed through the space between them.

  Some of the nerves fled. Zavier was being Zav and trying to control the situation, and that was so normal. She took a swig of water, grinned at him, and headed back to the front of the stage.

  She met Ray and Dom halfway there. Ray slung his arm around her shoulder. “You ready for this?”

  “I don’t know, kiddo. You think I have the chops?” Singing, sure. Playing, yes, of course. But singing and playing a song she’d had a hand in writing? Maybe—maybe not. This was the first time they were performing it outside the practice studio. Hell, they hadn’t even played it at warmups.

  It was Domino who punched her in the arm. “Mish, you’re in fucking Twisted Wishes. Of course you have the chops!”

  Ray laughed. “Let’s light ’em up.” He headed back to his mic, while she and Domino danced around each other, playing little riffs.

  “You’ll slay them,” Dom said. “They’ll go home singing your song.”

  Maybe. No—yes. They would. They had this. She had this.

  She danced up to the front of the stage as Ray took his mic in hand. “Hey, you ready for a brand-new song?”

  Of course the crowd went wild, though she guessed most of them figured they’d sing something from the demos for the new album that had been “mysteriously” leaked onto the internet. Adrian’s doing. But not this song. This one they’d kept under wraps until tonight, their last tour date before they recorded a new album over the winter.

  She plucked at a few notes on her bass and peered out into the pit. The stage lights made it almost impossible to see past the first few rows. She shaded her eyes.

  “You’ve never heard this before.” Ray dropped his voice, and somehow the audience quieted a little.

  Out beyond the pit stood David, his arms crossed over that sinful body of his. Light glinted off his face from someone’s camera flash, and there was his smile, the one that crinkled his eyes and made her heart soar.

  As the band’s security advisor, David didn’t need to be out there; he’d hired a whole team to keep the band safe. But he always watched them—her—perform from out in the audience. One fan she knew would be there.

  She blew him a kiss, then stepped up to her own mic. “Ray and I got a little creative together. His music—my lyrics. My song.”

  The fans screamed and pounded. Behind her, the familiar clicks of Zavier beating out the rhythm, and then they launched into “Walk to the Sun,” her bass line a counterpoint to Zavier’s rhythm. Domino came screaming in with his guitar, and when the time was exactly right, Mish opened her mouth and sang the words that had been in her soul.

  Taste a dying dream

  Sadness on tap

  No way to mend what is gone

  Or fill a void with no end

  Take my hand, show me the sun

  Walk this path

  I am not alone

  With you by my side

  Fill my soul tonight

  Drink the past and future

  Show me hope

  Together we are one

  Ray joined in on the chorus, once more tossing an arm around Mish as they sang and she played. It was perfect. Magical. Every moment of her life seemed to lead to this one, here on this stage with her voice spinning out into the crowd, mixing with Ray’s, her hands playing the notes he’d laid down and they’d all perfected. Domino’s guitar. Zavier’s drums. The band that was her life and her family. Adrian and Marcella stood in the wings.

  And David—her David—was out there to hear her sing and play. To see that they were safe, night after night. He’d come home. They’d all come home.

  Tears blurred her vision when she finished and the audience exploded into shouts and stomps and screams.

  “Told you,” Ray murmured into her ear.

  She couldn’t help her smile or the shove she gave him as the house lights came up. They waved to the crowd. Mish tossed her pick to a woman in the pit and they all took their bows before heading off stage. She almost took her bass with her, but one of the crew caught her.

  A breathless smile from Alex, one of the newer members they’d picked up. “I can pack that for you.”

  She handed the bass over to them. “Last time this tour.”

  That got Mish a laugh. “Well, if you’ll have me, I’ll be on the next one, too.” They paused. “We all would be, you know?”

  “I know. I’m sure a lot of you will be, too.” She gave Alex a little salute, then headed to the dressing rooms.

  One first, lots of lasts—at least for tonight. The hallway was a blur until she reached a very familiar figure leaning up against the wall outside the dressing room door, hands shoved into the pockets of his blue jeans.

  “Rock queen.” David’s smile was wide, his eyes so warm. Every time she saw him in a crew shirt, her heart flipped. He didn’t have to wear them—he’d chosen to.

  “You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?”

  His laugh made her soul tumble. “Baby, there’s nothing to live down. You were a queen the first day we met, and you’re a queen now.” He tilted his head. “Want me to stop?”

  Oh, that wasn’t right. She strode up, planted her hands on either side of his head and loomed over him, her leather-clad legs brushing against his. “Not on your life.”

  He didn’t flinch, just lifted his chin a little, open, expectant. “Still want me to worship you?”

  “Every fucking night.” She took his mouth in a hard kiss.

  His hands closed around her waist, and the space between them vanished long enough to whet her appetite for more David and less clothes.

  But the night wasn’t over yet. Someone cleared his throat next to them.

  “I do hate to break up the party...” Adrian’s voice was almost apologetic. Almost.

  “You enjoying the view?” Mish spoke against David’s lips.

  For his part, David sighed, but when he opened his eyes, there was amusement da
ncing there.

  “Yeah. You two look happy,” Adrian said.

  Good. It was about damn time for both of them. She pushed off the wall. “Can’t argue with that.”

  “Don’t want to argue,” David said. “But you do have a horde of fans to greet, darling.”

  “Your man’s got it in one,” Adrian said, then vanished back into the dressing room.

  Her man. Her very lovely man. “Later, then?”

  He laughed. “Always. As long as you want.”

  “Always is perfect.” She stole another kiss, grabbed his hand, and pulled him into the dressing room with the rest of Twisted Wishes.

  Always was a promise she’d made to herself. Always this, right now.

  * * *

  To purchase and read more books by Anna Zabo, please visit Anna’s website here or

  at annazabo.com/books/.

  Now available from Carina Press and Anna Zabo!

  There’s no resisting the thrum of temptation.

  Read on for an excerpt from

  Counterpoint.

  Chapter One

  There wasn’t anything better than fine wine and mac and cheese made with some hipster, high-end, small-batch aged-and-smoked cheddar, Dominic Bradley decided. Especially when it came with bacon.

  God bless New York City. Or more specifically, Brooklyn.

  Dom had found that the aptly named little bar, Poet and Whiskey, in his neighborhood was ideal to sit in on a late Saturday afternoon. Not crowded yet, so he could eat and drink and read in peace, and the food was really damn good, even if slightly pretentious.

  Then again, so was he, with his bowtie, button-down, suspenders, and jeans.

  He’d rapidly become something of a regular. The staff knew him by name now, and often just brought him a glass of merlot with his water, and let him stay and read as long as he wanted. For the most part, he was just another body in the city, but here, he’d become part of the familiar scenery.

  Granted, the experience of being out and around in public and—for the most part—completely ignored was a strange one. Sure, he got the occasional appreciative glance and sometimes even enough banter for a hookup, but generally, he was just another guy in the city. No one remarkable. A dude eating a late lunch or early dinner, with a glass of wine and a copy of The Sins of the Cities of the Plain as a companion. Lately, he’d been working through all the gay erotic classics he could.

  What he wasn’t at all was Domino Grinder, the most recognized and easy to spot member of the rock band Twisted Wishes. Even though that’s also exactly who he was. He often got an illicit thrill when one of their songs played in the bar and he caught the bartender singing along under his breath.

  So close—so anonymous, thank god!

  He’d been so damn lucky people were oblivious and hadn’t figured out he and Domino kind of sounded alike, though Dom was far more brash on stage. The whole hiding-in-plain-sight kept his nerves from becoming too damn frazzled.

  One of the great things about having a persona he could shed at will was that he didn’t have to be as cautious when he left his home, unlike the rest of the band. For the most part, the fans didn’t bother his other bandmates, Ray, Zavier, and Mish. Some requests for selfies once in a while, but on the whole, they were respected.

  For the most part. Ray and Zavier got photographed a lot. Mish had it worse—some of the fans tended to think that because she was a woman they could have more access to her time and space.

  Dom took a sip of his wine. So far, nothing had come of that, but he didn’t know how Mish handled it. He couldn’t deal with that kind of stress—that was part of the reason Domino Grinder existed in the first place.

  When his best friend, Ray Van Zeller, had first asked him to play guitar in the band he was forming, all Dom wanted to do was hide under his bed. Yes, he’d absolutely wanted to play in Ray’s band—as long as they never ever left Ray’s garage. The thought of getting up on stage had been too much for shy young Dominic. Hell, even playing at the talent show their senior year in high school had nearly done Dom in, and all he’d done was stand out of the spotlight and play guitar. Ray had been the sole focus then.

  So, to survive climbing on that stage, he imagined what someone unlike the nerd he was might look like. He’d gelled up his hair, changed from button-downs to tight, ripped tank tops, faux leather pants, huge boots, spiked collars, and a bunch of makeup. An outrageous costume, something only someone with brass balls might wear. Dominic didn’t have the guts...but Domino did.

  That had made all the difference. He could play like he wanted to as Domino. Dance and scream and say whatever the fuck came into his mind. And when they were done, when they weren’t touring, he could peel Domino off and be Dominic again. The nerd. The guy no one expected to be able to be a rock star. No one laughed at Domino.

  As a bonus, he’d managed to keep himself—his true self—out of the limelight. Just as well, too. Because in the years that Twisted Wishes had risen to the top, Domino Grinder had become an unapproachable force of nature. A sex god no one could touch.

  Which didn’t suit Dom at all. He liked being touched. Enjoyed the company of other men. Was even happier if they preferred Dom on his knees, under their bodies, or riding their cock.

  Which was exactly the opposite of what everyone thought Domino wanted.

  Then again, being able to take Domino off at will meant Dom got his fill of one-night stands with the kind of men he did enjoy. Artists. Writers. Professors. Dancers. Any man interested in art or literature or history who wanted a nice roll in bed with someone who’d beg to be fucked.

  Hey, it was a living. And a good one, too. Rock star most of the time, but a twink in bed.

  Except now that they weren’t touring, Dom had settled back into being his nerdy self one hundred percent of the time. Felt so fucking good—including the fucking part.

  Though he hadn’t had any of that for a while, not with moving into his new place and getting a feel for his neighborhood and the scene here.

  So instead he sipped wine, ate mac and cheese, and read tales of a rentboy in London in the nineteenth century while some baseball game flickered on the TV above the bar.

  Dom had gotten so into the recounting—which was pretty lewd despite the time in which it was written—that the world around him had vanished. Probably why he didn’t notice the guy who’d sat down at the table next to him until a velvet voice had murmured, “Jack Saul. That’s quite an interesting book.”

  Dom looked up and into the richest brown eyes he’d ever encountered. Depth and color. Flecks of gold. They were framed by stunning cheekbones, and auburn hair. And that grin... Dom’s bones melted even as his dick did the opposite.

  They weren’t more than an arm’s length apart at the tightly arranged tables, and shared the bench that ran all the way along the wall.

  “It’s fascinating,” Dom managed.

  “That’s one way to put it.” The smile deepened. “Pretty explicit from the get-go, in its own way.”

  Dom slipped in his bookmark and nodded. He let his gaze drift over the man’s torso. Broad shoulders. Trim frame. And he was nicely put together, even dressed down a bit. Crisp pastel-green shirt that had probably held a tie earlier on in the day. Dark brown trousers that might have been paired with a suit coat. Belt looked well-made. Not a cheap thing.

  Nice. Very nice. Especially those lips, which quirked up. Yes, the gentleman knew Dom was checking him out. And Dom was being sized up in return, given the lingering looks and the interest in Dom’s chest and hands and crotch.

  “Do you like it?” The guy nodded to the book.

  What a leading question—did he like the vintage porn? Dom picked up his wineglass, swirled, and smiled. “Engrossing enough that I didn’t notice you at all, so yes, I’m enjoying it immensely.”

  “And now?” That sly grin
now showed teeth.

  “This view’s nice, too,” Dom said, and didn’t look away from those lovely eyes.

  Laughter and a wink, but any more banter was interrupted by the waitress coming to take the newcomer’s order. A pretentious panini of pot roast, caramelized shallots and Roquefort cheese—and a nice Shiraz. “And another glass of whatever my friend here is drinking.”

  Ah. Friend. Good. This might turn into an evening that would be far more interesting than merely reading about buggery. Dom shifted on the bench. Was the man from the neighborhood? Maybe. There was a trace of New York in his accent, though not much. They did get folks from other parts of the city here, and even the occasional tourist, but not that many. Did he want to get involved with someone he might see again? Dom found the owner of those lovely brown eyes checking him out again.

  Yes. He probably shouldn’t. But yes.

  “I’m Adrian,” the man said, and offered his hand. “Adrian Doran.”

  Dom took it. Firm grip with warm fingers that lingered a little too long. “Dominic Bradley.”

  “Dominic,” Adrian repeated, as if rolling the sounds around in his mouth like one might wine. “Quite a pleasing name.”

  That’s what made Dom shiver. Not Adrian’s hooded look or the wine that appeared or how Adrian sipped his drink and swallowed. Nope, what hardened Dom’s cock was the thought of his name—all three syllables—pleasing Adrian. “Most people call me Dom.”

  “Hmm.” Adrian set down his glass. “Would you mind if I called you Dominic?”

  Not if he kept saying the name like that. “No, not at all.” And damn if his voice hadn’t gone husky. Dom took a gulp of his own wine.

  Adrian chuckled. “So, Dominic Bradley, who enjoys nineteenth-century homoerotic tales, what brings you here?”

  “I live here,” Dom said. “Got a place and moved in about a month and a half ago.”

  Adrian chewed on that. “Live here here, or elsewhere in Brooklyn?”

  That was a question a local asked. Hell. Because he really should back off now. “Few blocks away.” Might as well ask the obvious. “You local?”