Steady Beat

by Lexxie Couper

  The blonde traced her fingers over Noah’s shoulder, her blue eyes gleaming with open hunger as she moved her gaze over all four of them. “I’d love to.”

  Noah’s gut clenched. He’d participated in more than one gangbang with a groupie since the band had come together almost two decades ago. Heather had been the last. He’d woken up beside her the next morning—the rest of the band long gone—and never slept with another woman again.

  Taking in the blonde’s lush breasts, tiny waist and long legs, he wondered if a group fuck was exactly what he needed to find his centre once more.

  Or maybe it was performing with the band?

  Or maybe nothing will help. Maybe you need to mainline Valium or Ritalin or some such shit until you’re a comatose—

  “Give us a sec, love,” he said to the woman, killing the bleak thought. “We’ve got something to finish first.”

  Samuel grunted and Jax chuckled. Levi snared a handful of peanuts, his expression ambiguous.

  The blonde pursed her glossed lips, her gaze roaming Noah’s face. “Don’t take too long, ’kay? I promise I’ll blow your world.” She lowered her lips to his ear, her breath warm on his flesh. “I have no inhibitions. I’ll let you do whatever you want to me.”

  Across the table, Jax groaned.

  She flicked her hot tongue at Noah’s ear and then straightened. Her hips swayed with provocative rhythm as she walked away.

  “I don’t know if you plan on tapping that, Holden, but I sure as shit do.”

  Noah rolled his eyes at Jax’s enthusiastic declaration. “I don’t doubt it, mate.”

  “Me too,” Samuel added. He shifted on his seat, his stare tracking the blonde’s path to the bar. “Three or four times, in fact. But Holden’s right. We need to decide if we’re doing this Synergy thing.”

  Noah cocked an eyebrow at him. Samuel snorted in return, the side of his mouth pulling in a small smile. “It’s a good name. Two or more forces interacting in such a way their combined effect is greater than the sum of their individual effort. Suits us.”

  A peanut struck Samuel in the temple. “Thank you, Mr. Dictionary,” Jax laughed.

  Samuel glowered, although Noah couldn’t miss the fact his smile grew. “Shut the fuck up, Jax.” He turned back to Noah. “So, what did Nick say?”

  Noah slid his gaze to the waitress in the hot pants a few feet away before returning it to his fellow band members. He pulled a deep, slow breath and then leant forward, retrieved his scotch from the table and held it aloft. “Gentlemen, let’s find ourselves a new front man.”

  “To Synergy,” Levi murmured, tapping his beer to Noah’s glass, his smile relaxed.

  Jax grinned, his glass meeting Noah’s and Levi’s above the table. “To rocking out with our cocks out.”

  Samuel laughed, clinking his bourbon against their glasses. “Hell yeah.”

  Noah smiled. He felt calmer already. More focused. Being a rock star truly was the best job in the world.

  Being a waitress was the worst job in the world.

  Okay, that wasn’t true. There were worst jobs. Pepper Kerrigan knew that. Inspector of the incoming pipes at a sewage plant would be worse. Cleaning up the horse poo at those medieval dinner shows would be worse. Handing out flyers for discount pork products at a vegan convention would be the pits. But what she was doing right now, waitressing at a bar in New York, was pretty depressing. Especially given she’d dreamed of so much more.

  Of course, dreaming was easy. Almost as easy as failing. And Pepper had made a career out of failing. If she was good at one thing, it was failing. At least that’s what her mother told her. Right up until the time Lulu Kerrigan walked out on her family, leaving Pepper to be raised by her dad. Who, according to her mom, wasn’t good for anything either except “writing shit about shit”.

  Pepper was good at more than failing. She knew that. For one, she had a knack for organizing. But failing was easier. And when you grew up being told you were a failure by your mom, you reached a point where you just accepted that was the case. When you were chronically shy like Pepper was, failure was a lovely safety blanket. One you could wrap yourself up nice and tight in. It had driven Pepper’s extrovert mother crazy. Turned her resentful. Or maybe the resentment had come from the fact Pepper got the shit her dad wrote about and could talk for hours on end about it. But only to Paul Kerrigan. Whenever someone else was around, Pepper clammed up. Withdrew.

  Failed.

  Lulu Kerrigan’s parting advice to her sixteen-year-old daughter was to aim low. “’Cause honey, you’re never going to hit high.”

  So here Pepper was, working tables in a noisy New York bar where the customers didn’t pay much attention to her unless it was to feel her up. All in all, not the future she’d imagined for herself as a young girl.

  But her head was still crammed full of the shit her dad wrote about, and her heart ached with a dream she wanted more than anything, and since Nick Blackthorne’s old band entered the place, the tickle of a plan had begun to form in her soul.

  Her soul refused to believe she was a failure, and right now it was telling her to do something she’d never, ever done before.

  Be courageous.

  She watched the man with the choppy brown hair holding his half-empty scotch high. Noah Holden was the best drummer in the world. This was an indisputable fact. Music magazines and websites proclaimed it often. Her father had mentioned the fact more than once in more than one article on Nick Blackthorne and his band. Her dad had sat her down when she was twelve and made her listen to Holden’s various solos and fills, commenting often how the Australian had a way with ghost notes, time twists and technically demanding grooves. What her dad had never mentioned was how goddamn sexy the drummer was.

  Pepper studied his profile even as she wiped a recently vacated table clean, the generous tip deposited safely in her apron’s pocket. No one on the planet could ever say Noah Holden was ugly, but holy smack, in person he was gorgeous.

  His shoulders were broad and exquisitely muscled, no doubt from years of playing the drums. His honey-brown hair spiked up around his head in a sexy mess Pepper knew a lot of men paid a fortune to emulate. She’d worked as a receptionist in an exclusive men’s-only hair saloon for a while, and more than one wannabe had come in with an image of Noah Holden clutched in their optimistic hands.

  Ice-blue eyes twinkled with an energy almost too charged for one man. Thick black lashes framed their electrifying depths, longer than a man’s lashes had any right being. When he’d looked at her earlier, when their eyes had connected across the room, her knees had almost buckled beneath her and she’d needed to swallow her gasp before it could escape her.

  But it was his lips her stare kept falling to. They were friendly. Welcoming. His smile said, “Let’s do it.” Pepper didn’t know what it was, but there was no dismissal in his smile. It made her heart beat faster. And her soul whisper with encouraged possibilities.

  It helped that she’d overheard what the band was discussing.

  A new singer.

  They were looking for a new singer. Someone to replace Nick Blackthorne.

  Pepper’s father would scoff at that idea. In fact, Pepper suspected the entire music-loving world would scoff at that idea. But she didn’t.

  Because of the whisper in her soul and the dream in her heart.

  She’d managed an indie grunge-rock band for a while, and even as she’d organized their gig schedule, recording sessions and media appearances, she’d itched to do something else with them. Something they’d all laughed at when she’d asked.

  Taking her time cleaning down the table, she watched Nick Blackthorne’s band—one of the most successful on the planet—complete their toast.

  Her chest grew tight.

  She didn’t think she’d have much time to act. The blonde woman who’d so blatantly offered herself to them earlier was now watching them like a hawk, predatory lust turning her blue eyes hard. Aggressive.

  Calcul
ating groupie eyes, Pepper’s dad had called them. The eyes of a woman who planned to score herself a famous fuck, maybe even a famous offspring to snare a famous paternity payment.

  The blonde wasn’t the only one though. The moment word had gotten out Nick Blackthorne’s band was in Rupert’s Bar, it had begun filling with women poured into tight dresses. Women who watched the four men like leopards waiting for the optimal time to attack.

  The blonde had been but the first to make a move.

  Pepper heard more than one competitor call the woman a skanky bitch. Pepper wanted to point out just how revealing the speaker’s neckline was, and how high the hemline of her dress.

  She didn’t, of course. That would mean opening her mouth and drawing attention to herself. She didn’t do that.

  And yet, she was running out of time to do that very thing.

  What if the band left before she found the courage to put her plan into play?

  What if—

  Samuel Gibson and Jaxon Campbell stood.

  As did Levi Levistan.

  Pepper’s stomach dropped. “Oh no,” she whispered.

  Like a blur in skin-tight red satin, the blonde moved from the bar, pressing her voluptuous curves to Samuel’s side. The lead guitarist smoothed his long-fingered hand over the woman’s ass as words Pepper couldn’t hear moved his lips. Jaxon threw a handful of bills onto the table, his smile wide, and then, with a wink at Noah, the three turned and walked away, the blonde flattened so close to Samuel’s side Pepper wondered how she managed to walk.

  Movement from the corner of Pepper’s eye caught her attention. She froze, watching as two women dressed in body-hugging black leather damn near slithered over to the remaining band members. One woman stroked her hands up Noah’s muscular arm. The other trailed her fingers over Levi’s hip, skimming the sizeable bulge of his groin with black-polished nails.

  Pepper’s heart smashed into her throat. She stared at the spectacle, cursing herself.

  She’d failed. Again.

  All she’d needed to do was speak to the band before they left. Easy, especially when the table they sat at was next to her section. But no, she’d held back, taken too long. And now, Noah and Levi were—

  The women in black leather walked away from the drummer and keyboard player, disappointed scowls on their immaculately made-up, sultry faces.

  Pepper’s breath caught.

  She snapped her stare back to the musicians.

  Noah rose to his feet, offering his hand to Levi.

  They shook hands and then hugged. Levi slapped Noah on the back with a solid thump before leaving the table, dark sunglasses covering his eyes as he made his way toward the exit.

  At least, Pepper assumed he was heading for the exit. She couldn’t tear her stare from Noah Holden.

  He’d always been her favourite of the band. While her friends had creamed their panties over Nick or Samuel, she’d imagined what it would be like to meet the drummer. To stand close to him and feel his manic energy radiate from him as he awoke the throb in her very core. He was almost forty, eleven years older than her, but that didn’t make him any less sexy. Yet it wasn’t the desire to sleep with him that made her stomach knot and her mouth dry now. It was…

  No pressure, no diamonds, chickpea.

  Her father’s words whispered at the edges of her self-doubt.

  She studied the drummer, the plan in her soul fed by the dream in her heart. A dream she’d held since the very first time she’d ever watched Nick Blackthorne perform live, ten years ago.

  Driving her nails into her palms, Pepper drew a deep, slow breath, counted to ten and crossed to the lone member of the band.

  “Hi, Mr. Holden,” she said, holding out her hand. God, she hoped it wasn’t sweaty.

  Arctic-ice-blue eyes swung up to her, and for a split second Pepper almost turned and fled.

  Almost.

  And then Noah Holden smiled, that let’s-do-it smile that gave her hope, and Pepper lowered herself into the chair beside him, resting her elbows on her knees and giving him her own smile back. “I have a proposition for you.”

  Chapter Two

  Noah forced himself not to fidget. Or blink. If he blinked, maybe the goddess in hot pants would disappear in a puff of taunting smoke, leaving him wondering if she’d ever really been there.

  Christ, her eyes were stunning. Bluer than he’d first thought, and flecked with deep-emerald green. And her skin. So flawless and creamy. The urge to lean forward and trace the tip of his tongue over the high curve of her cheek was damn near impossible to deny. As was the desire to snare the straight weight of her sable ponytail in his fist and pull her toward him. Her lips were made to be kissed. He could see that. Soft and full and devoid of lipstick or gloss. Just naturally beautiful and perfect.

  His heart punched hard in his chest, pounding out a beat he’d hadn’t heard in his life for a very long time.

  A beat he could move to.

  She’s not a groupie, Holden. She’s your waitress.

  The thought grounded him. They’d been in the bar for well over an hour, and she hadn’t come anywhere near them. If she wanted to sleep with him, surely she would have made her move before now.

  “What proposition?” he asked, fighting to keep his voice detached. He reached for a peanut. He hated peanuts, but at least it gave him something to do with his hands.

  What? Instead of burying them in her hair? Or smoothing them over her—

  The goddess shifted a little, her butt barely perched on the edge of the chair Jax had so recently occupied. Her tongue slipped over her top lip in a quick little swipe. Her eyes closed for a split second.

  An overwhelming sense of dismay hit Noah at the loss of their mesmerizing intensity on his face. He liked her looking at him. A lot.

  “I’d like to sing for you.”

  Her statement slapped into him like a cold fist.

  He blinked. Had he misheard her? “Sorry? You want to what?”

  She swallowed. Hesitation clouded her brilliant eyes. Her hands cupped her elbows. “S-sing for you. For…for the band. I’d like to audition for—”

  The wind left Noah in a gush. He frowned, a prickling sense of disappointment washing over him. She didn’t want to sleep with him. She really wasn’t a groupie. Or a waitress hoping to score a famous tumble in the sack. She wanted to—

  “Come again?” He leant forward. Perhaps he’d heard her wrong? He was known to mishear things. It came from not really keeping his attention on anything for long.

  Huh, your attention has been on her from the second you saw her, Holden. You didn’t mishear.

  The woman straightened her spine. She lifted her chin. Flattened her palms on her thighs. “Audition for lead singer.”

  Noah stared at her. For the life of him, he didn’t know what to—

  The woman jolted to her feet. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” She trailed away, her soft New York accent turning the last word to a murmured drawl. Before Noah could utter a sound, she turned and hurried from the table.

  But she stopped two tables from his.

  Her shoulders stiffened. Her hands balled into fists, opened, balled again.

  Noah watched her shake her head, his gaze tracking the swishing wave of her long ponytail. His gut tightened. His throat did the same. It wasn’t until she swung back to face him that he gushed out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

  She reached his table in three long strides, her intense blue eyes fixed on his face. She stood beside him, full breasts straining against the snug white cotton of her T-shirt as she placed her hands on the tabletop and bent toward him. “I’ll make you a deal,” she said, the words quick, her voice husky. “I read in an article in Rolling Stone that you have an amazing knowledge of music trivia. If I beat you in a music-trivia challenge, you let me sing for the band. Just that. All I want is the chance to…” She faltered, uncertainty flickering in her eyes, and then shook her head a little and drilled him with h
er stare again. “All I want is the chance to let you hear me sing. If I beat you at music trivia, you convince the rest of the band to let me audition.”

  If I beat you.

  Her words whispered through Noah’s whirling head. He couldn’t tear his gaze from hers. He should be telling her no, right now. He should be brushing her off, maybe even leave the bar to emphasize the point. He should be pissed she’d been eavesdropping. Instead, he studied her face—even more arresting and beautiful this close—as her words echoed through his mind.

  If I beat you.

  “And if I beat you?” The question left him on a murmured taunt.

  The woman facing him down did the unexpected. She laughed.

  Noah’s heart beat faster in his chest. His gut knotted. Christ, her laugh was wonderful. Rhythmical. It at once melted away the tension in her body and flooded Noah’s body with heat. Tight, thick heat threading its eager way to his groin.

  Her laugh made him horny. Fuck, he’d thought her arse hot in her shorts, but her laugh…

  “If I beat you?” he prodded, leaning closer to her. “What happens then?”

  She licked her top lip with the tip of her tongue. “I…”

  Noah reached up and traced his finger over her bottom lip. “I get to kiss you.” The bar disappeared. Nothing existed except the woman and her challenge. “I win, I get to kiss you. For as long as I like.”

  The woman’s breath escaped her in a soft gasp. She pulled away from him—just enough to cause his finger to slip from her lip. If it wasn’t for the fact her pupils were dilated, Noah would think he’d offended her.

  But he knew exactly what dilated pupils meant when a woman was with him—arousal. His gorgeous, conflicted waitress was turned on. Now all he needed was for her to—

  “Agreed.” She held his stare, her shoulders straight. “I’m off work in twenty minutes. I’m going to bring you another scotch, on me, while you wait.”

  Noah cocked an eyebrow. “Wait?” He’d never had a woman tell him he had to wait for her before. Even Heather had leapt at his every command on the rare occasion he gave them. Right up until she’d walked out with Maxie the mutt, that was. He’d told her to come back. To give him another chance. She hadn’t. “You want me to wait for you?”