Love Resolution (Black Cat Records series)

by Michelle Mankin

  “No, I…”

  “I’ll go with you,” Marcus volunteered, voice thick with emotion.

  “Alright,” she acquiesced.

  Marcus took her by the hand and she clung to him, starving for the contact she’d grown so accustomed to having. For the first time since the crash she felt as if she could breathe. Brushing aside the flowers in their path, he led her to center stage and then let go of her hand, backing away to let her address the fans.

  She stepped up to the microphone and adjusted the height. “Thank you,” she started, voice catching. She swallowed and tried again. “Thank you, San Francisco. Thank you for showing me your support like this. I’ll never forget it.”

  Avery woke up on the pallet where she’d tossed and turned throughout the long, lonely hours of the night. She hadn’t even contemplated sleeping in the big hotel bed without him.

  Getting up off the floor, with a couple of quick finger strokes, she disabled the wakeup alarm function on her cell. Bleary eyed she padded into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and discarded her clothing. She leaned over the counter to look at her reflection in the mirror.

  “Shit!” She let out a frustrated breath having forgotten about the stitches. Afraid to get them wet, she needed help this morning washing her hair. Lucky for her, Sam had the room across the hall. Pulling the hotel courtesy robe off the hanger in the closet, she wrapped herself in it before opening the door to the corridor. She flipped the security latch forward so that the door wouldn’t lock behind her.

  Barefoot, she crossed the hall and knocked.

  “I don’t think she’s in there,” a familiar voice intoned.

  “Bryan.” She whirled around, clutching the lapels of the robe to her chest.

  “Red.” His gaze traveled the length of her, lingering with a frown at her forehead. “How are you? They said you were ok, but I’ve been worried.”

  “I’m fine,” she mumbled, feeling self-conscious standing in the hall half-dressed. “How would you know Sam’s not there?”

  “JR’s room is next to mine,” he said lifting a brow. “The walls are really thin.”

  “Oh.” She blushed.

  “What do you need? Maybe I can help.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I need someone to help me wash my hair. I don’t think I’m supposed to get the stitches wet.”

  “Oh.” He cocked his head to the side. “Why can’t Marcus help you?

  “He’s not...” She gazed down at the floor as if it contained all the right answers. “He’s staying in another room,” she finally managed.

  “Fine.” He took a step toward her. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I can help with your hair.”

  “No. I couldn’t let you do that.”

  “It’s no big deal,” he said evenly. “I’ve done it plenty of times.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “I’ve got two younger sisters,” he smirked. “Look, I promise not to take advantage of the situation and ravish you.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

  She laughed nervously. “Ok,” she said hesitantly, gaze darting up and down the deserted hall.

  “You don’t have to sound so enthusiastic.” A teasing smile made his greyish green eyes twinkle.

  She turned back to her room. “Well come on,” she threw over her shoulder. “I haven’t got all day…Farm Boy. I’ve got an appointment at eight.”

  “As you wish,” he immediately replied in character.

  Surprised, she swiveled around.

  “What?” He smiled.

  “It’s just that I didn’t expect you to get the Princess Bride banter.”

  “Two sisters, remember?”

  She felt shy as he withdrew her makeshift doorstop and stepped inside her hotel room, the conspicuous presence of the bed dominating it. Their eyes met and held for a heartbeat before she looked away. “Bathroom’s in here,” she mumbled.

  He followed her in, his tall frame overwhelming the small space.

  “How’d you wanna do it?” he asked, raising a brow and scooping up her shampoo bottle from the counter.

  “Um.” She glanced at the tub, trying to ignore the double entendre. “I guess I’ll lean my head over the tub and hold a towel over my forehead if you can help wet, lather, and rinse.”

  “As you wish.”

  Ducking her head, she suppressed a smile and knelt down on the bathmat, taking the hand towel he offered.

  His jean clad legs brushed up against her back as he leaned over her. He turned on the water and adjusted the temperature. He pulled his t-shirt over his head and placed it on the counter.

  “What are you doing?” she squeaked when he stepped back.

  His lips curled. “You wouldn’t want me to get my favorite t-shirt soaked, would you?”

  She shook her head, unable to speak. Though she’d seen his naked chest on the night of the first concert, since all the Tempest guys performed shirtless, this was totally different. This was up close and personal. And after that dance, it felt extremely intimate.

  Avery closed her eyes, lowered her head over the edge of the tub, and placed the hand towel gingerly over her forehead. She tried to banish the image of wide shoulders, a smooth male chest, and intricately tatted muscular arms from her mind.

  Right.

  “You need to lean over further,” he told her. “Or we’ll get water all over the floor.”

  She felt his metal belt buckle press into her back when he bent over her. Her breath caught. Holy Crap! He cupped water from the faucet and trickled it into her hair.

  “This isn’t working,” he muttered stepping back.

  She shivered, temporarily bereft of his heat. He returned almost immediately with a drinking glass from the counter.

  “This’ll do it.” He leaned back down over her and she shielded her face again with the towel.

  A stream of warm water washed over her. As he repeated this several times, her head began to feel warm and heavy. She heard the glass clink on the tile floor and the sound of the shampoo bottle being popped open. He started lathering the shampoo into her hair. Beginning at the base of her neck, he worked his way through to the ends. Gently, he lifted the bubbly length of it and with his fingers massaged near her hairline.

  She tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry.

  “This ok?” he asked voice deep and husky. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

  “No,” she managed.

  His soapy hands brushed her hair aside and began massaging the base of her neck.

  A moan escaped her lips before she could stifle it. Embarrassed, she started to lift her head.

  “Relax, Red,” he whispered near her ear, a gentle but firm hand on her shoulder stopping her. “You’re totally tense.” He paused. “Lean back over. It’s time to rinse.”

  As soon as she complied, warm water poured over her head again. Once. Twice. Three times.

  “Your hair is so dark when it’s wet,” he observed quietly. “You’ll have to turn over.” She felt his fingers brush underneath her hair again near her forehead where she still held the towel in place. “So I can get the rest of the shampoo out.”

  “Ok.” She flipped over, feet flat on the ground, shoulders balanced on the rim of the tub and arched her neck back. She replaced the towel over her face and waited.

  Nothing happened.

  “I’m ready,” she prompted. “Rinse away.”

  “Shit,” he said, breathing unevenly. “Did I really promise not to ravish you?”

  “You did,” she replied fully conscious of her provocative position. She shivered.

  “Ok, then tell me that you’ve changed your mind.”

  When she didn’t answer, warm wet hands slid across the top of her breasts pulling the edges of her robe closed.

  “No, huh? Well, that’s a fuckin’ shame.”

  He returned to the task, his bare chest brushing softly against her, the glass rattling against the rim of the tub as he filled it. Warm w
ater ran through her hair, soaking the edges of the towel as he poured. A sensual haze wrapped itself around her.

  “Conditioner?”

  “What? No. I use a leave in spray.”

  “Too bad,” he said voice rough edged. “I guess that means we’re done then.”

  Removing the towel, she came forward onto her knees before standing. His back was to her and the view was mesmerizing. Scripted arms bookended a smooth toned torso, and broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist. He shrugged back on his shirt and turned around. She let out a breath, her gaze darting away from darkened eyes that tried to hold her.

  “Thanks for the help,” she mumbled, moving to the counter and unwinding the cord from the blow dryer. She wished he would take the hint and leave soon so she could regain her composure.

  “Where are you rushing off to so early this morning?” he asked instead, leaning a hip and lounging against the doorframe.

  She sprayed in conditioner and brushed it through before answering. “Pacific View Middle School. I’m doing an appearance for Mr. Holland’s Opus.”

  “That’s a great charity,” he said.

  “How do you know about them?” she asked with a quick glance in his direction.

  “I benefited from the program growing up on Seattle’s Southside. It’s a pretty poor neighborhood.”

  “It’s good to hear firsthand that it works,” she said with a soft smile.

  “Mind if I go with you?” he asked. “The Tempest bus doesn’t leave for a couple of hours, and I’d like to help too, if I can.”

  “I don’t know if that would be such a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “It might start more rumors.”

  “So what. Let ‘em make up stuff,” he said defiantly. “Besides you really seem like you could use a friend right now.”

  “Is that what we are?”

  “If that’s what you want.”

  She sighed. “Yeah, friends sounds good to me.”

  “It’s been a while since I had a girl just as a friend,” he admitted sheepishly.

  “You’ve been really quiet,” Bryan said as they settled into the backseat of the SUV for the drive back to the hotel. “You wanna clue me in what’s going on?”

  “No.”

  “It might help you to talk about it.”

  “Doubtful.”

  “Red, come on. I know things are messed up between you and Marcus. I saw how angry he was at the club. I wanted to come by and see you at the hospital.” He scrubbed a hand over his hair. “But I didn’t want to make things more difficult for you.”

  “He broke things off with us,” she blurted out. “He thinks we moved too fast.”

  “Why? Because of that one dance?” He made a disgusted noise. “He must keep a real tight leash on you, if that’s all it took to set him off.”

  “The dance was only part of it.” She looked out the window evasively. “There were other things.”

  “Uh-huh.” Bryan’s light eyes flashed with emotion. “Like his drinking.”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “Please. Everyone knows his history. If they didn’t before the accident, they certainly do now. It’s all over the news. He should never have gotten behind the wheel impaired like that, especially with you in the car.” He shifted to face her. “Do you agree with him? I mean about moving too fast?”

  “No,” she replied instantly.

  His grey green eyes searched hers. “How long had you known each other before he proposed?”

  “Several weeks.”

  “Seriously?” he laughed.

  “It’s longer than some,” she said defensively, twisting the hem of her cotton t-shirt in her hands. “Bryan, I…I shouldn’t have danced with you…not like that. I was angry with him, but even so.” She blew out a breath. “I didn’t think. Everything I do now ends up on the internet, and he’s been burned publicly before.”

  “Who hasn’t? It comes with the job. He knows that. You’d think that he would have developed a thicker skin by now.”

  She stiffened. Marcus’ sensitivity was one of the qualities she loved most about him. Most people never got past his gruff exterior. “Can we change the subject, please? I probably shouldn’t be talking about this with you.”

  “Ok, but you can trust me, Avery.”

  “Can I?” She squinted at him. “Maybe, but I don’t even really know you.”

  “Fair enough,” he replied. “I understand. I’ll prove it to you in time.” He paused thoughtfully. “You sure were good with the kids today.”

  “Thanks. It wasn’t so long ago that I was in their shoes. I like encouraging them to tap into their creativity. The future is wide open in front of them, full of possibilities.”

  “For a few of them, if they’re lucky and dedicated and talented. Like you.”

  Her face heated with the compliment. “The kids seemed to like you a lot, too. I noticed that they all seemed really fascinated by your tattoos.”

  “Hmm, really?” He glanced down at his arms and then looked back at her. “What about you, Red? Are you fascinated by them?”

  “Yes. I mean, no. I mean, I’ve always wanted to get a tattoo.”

  “Why haven’t you then?”

  “I don’t know. Money at first. Now, I guess I’m just afraid I’ll get a disease from the needles.”

  “Reputable artists don’t reuse their stuff, so that’s not likely. What kinda ink would you get?”

  “Musical notes,” she said wistfully.

  “Where?” His hands brushed the small of her back. “Here?”

  “No.” She shifted away. “Around my right wrist like a bracelet. With my mom’s name written out along a musical staff.”

  “That’d be beautiful.”

  “Music means everything to me.”

  “And your mom obviously,” he prompted. “You must be pretty close.”

  She shifted uneasily in her seat. “She died when I was eight.”

  “I’m sorry.” His eyes softened and he lightly touched her hand. “I didn’t know that.”

  “It’s alright.” She moved her hand to her lap. “I mean it’s not really. I still miss her every single day, but it was a long time ago.” She gestured to his arm. “Tell me about your tats. I’ve never gotten a close look.”

  He scooted closer, stretching one arm out in front of her. “Here’s my mom’s name in Japanese script.” He pointed to characters interwoven into the complex designs. “And here are my sisters’,” he said proudly.

  “Are they coming to a show?” she asked, touched by the obvious affection he held for his family. “I’d love to meet them.”

  “Yes. The second one in New York.”

  “What about your dad, is he…”

  “No,” he said abruptly. “He’s been out of the picture for a long, long time.” His gaze hardened. “I have a lot of unresolved issues with my old man.”

  “So do I,” she said soberly. “So do I.”

  The walk of shame continues, Marcus thought after dutifully submitting to not only one but two interviews that Beth had arranged for him this morning. The videotaped interview for ET had gone well and had been conducted at a decent hour, but the phone conversation with New York City’s Star magazine had been at five a.m. Not that he had been sleeping. From the moment he walked into that hotel room and looked at the empty bed he’d abandoned all thoughts of doing so. He’d pulled out the old running clothes and hit the treadmill, instead of the bottle as he’d been sorely tempted to do.

  No matter what, though, the memories relentlessly played out in his head. Even taking a shower reminded him of the last time that he’d made love to her. His heart hurt just thinking about it. The connection they had outside the bedroom was something he’d never experienced with another woman. They had forged a close friendship before they became lovers. There would be an irreplaceable void in his life without her.

  In her absence even music had lost its ability to soothe him. Sh
e had become his inspiration, his muse, from the first moment he’d looked into those expressive emerald eyes of hers. His creativity was held captive by her, and he feared that he might never release it again.

  His resolve to do the right thing and keep away from her had waned by the time the sun came up. Only pulling out her bracelet, the one she’d worn the night of the accident, had helped him regain it. Focusing on the talisman had reminded him how he had failed so miserably.

  Don’t be a selfish bastard. Their relationship had always been lopsided. He needed her a lot more than she needed him. She wasn’t made of glass. She’d bounce back from the accident and the breakup soon. With her determination and inner strength, he was confident she would emerge even stronger than before.

  Dwight flopped down on the plane’s sectional beside him, jarring him out of his morose musings.

  “Little brother,” he said, slapping Marcus on the knee and giving him a searching sidelong glance. “You look like crap.”

  “Thanks for noticing,” he grimaced.

  “You’re welcome. You and I need to talk.”

  Great, he thought. Then his cell phone buzzed. He glanced at the display. Red alert. Red Alert.

  Worse and worser. A lecture from his brother was preferable to the dose he was about to take. Gut check time. He showed the display to Dwight.

  Dwight’s brows rose. “I’m not here,” he said, waving his hands in front of his body and went over to the mini-fridge. He pulled out a can of soda, and popped the tab.

  “Coward,” Marcus told him before sliding open the call. “Hey Mom.”

  “Marcus.”

  Dwight slumped down in a chair and flicked on the television, scrolling up the volume.

  Marcus gave him the finger. “I don’t have much time to talk, Mom. We’re getting ready to take off for LA.”

  “That’s ok. I didn’t call to talk. I called for you to listen.”

  Shit.

  “I’ve already expressed my displeasure to you about the drinking. I think I made it perfectly clear that I expect that to stop.”

  “I know, Mom.”

  She was on a roll, proceeding as if he hadn’t even spoken. “Your father and I love you, but I’m sure you understand that the consequences of this DUI are yours to face. Now about you and Avery. Exactly when were you planning to tell me?”