“Promise you’ll hear me out?”
“Yes.” She’d hate it, no doubt, but if she walked now, she would always wonder what he would have said next.
Wesley nodded and refolded his napkin across his lap. “Your brother, AJ, is twenty-one and almost as good as you are on the guitar.”
That was true, so she didn’t bother to argue. She did play better than AJ, but her brother couldn’t sing to save his life. And she was only better because she’d been playing longer. AJ had gifted hands and a good ear. Without guitar, he had nothing. And her brother didn’t do well when left in the shadows to fend for himself.
Wesley continued, “AJ is also a drug addict and an alcoholic who regularly consorts with druggies, groupies, prostitutes, and petty criminals.”
He stopped there, as if she needed time to accept or catalog all of AJ’s personal challenges. She didn’t need a single second. She lived with him. Had been taking care of him and cleaning up after him for years.
His gaze remained locked on to hers, but she could no longer maintain the direct contact. All true. Every single fucking word.
As much as she hated herself for backing down, she dropped her gaze to the shiny silver edge of the spoon in front of her and wished she had someone to lean on, just this once. AJ was her one true weakness. Always AJ. She loved him. She protected him. She kept him out of jail and out of trouble as much as she could. But AJ was like a thunderstorm and she never knew when the next bolt of lightning would come out of nowhere and fry her ass.
“What’s your point, Mr. Shipton?”
“I have something for you, Erin.” He reached behind him and pulled a brown envelope free from the inside pocket of the jacket hung over the back of his chair. He held the blank envelope out to her and she trembled as she reached for it. “This is a contract offering you, Ms. Erin Michaelson, a place on our label.”
“And what about the band? What about the guys?” When she had the contract in her lap she hid her shaking hands out of sight and squeezed the envelope, trying to figure out just how many pages were folded up on the inside. From the feel, at least fifteen. His response required her complete attention so she trapped the envelope in place with one hand and listened.
“Shipton Records has become a very successful label in a very short period of time. And do you know how we did it?”
“No. Tell me.”
“We have very high standards, Erin. Very high. We only work with people we know will be able to handle the pressure that accompanies a successful music career. I only scout talent that brings something to the table. Creativity is the only thing left in this world that is actually worth something.”
“But the band—” He interrupted her before she had a complete thought formed.
“Regarding your band, they party more than they practice. They don’t take their careers seriously. They drink too much, smoke too much weed, and aren’t responsible enough to work at a fast food joint without being fired.” He raised his eyebrows. “Tell me I’m wrong. But we both know I’m telling the truth.”
“I’m sorry.”
That made him chuckle. “Don’t apologize for them. It is what it is. I’ve seen boys like them a thousand times. They want to rock and roll, have sex with as many women as possible and party. Guys like that are out there by the thousands. The music means nothing to them.
“This is a hard business, Erin. And there are all different kinds of personalities out there. But I’ve seen the damage done. Money lost. Lives ruined. We don’t sign druggies or drunks. Ever. We sign talented people who know what they want and have the self-discipline to make it happen.”
Well, shit. Her eyes burned and she closed them so she could regain control of herself before she cried in front of him. It took a few seconds, but she got it together.
Wesley cleared his throat. “I sign talent, Erin. And you’ve got talent in spades. Your songs are great, your voice is unique and hard to forget, and you work your ass off to keep the band together.” He paused and took a sip of his iced tea. “Just imagine what you could do with a group of professionals who worked as hard, or harder, than you do.”
She had imagined that very thing many, many times. “I don’t know what to say. I need some time to think about it.”
“Of course. The offer in your hands is a good one. We take care of our people. The biggest issue for us is access. Our recording studio, studio musicians, publicity network, marketing team, everyone is based in California. We’ll need you to relocate, at least temporarily, to L.A.”
“How temporary?”
“Twelve months, minimum. After we cut your first album, and you know everyone on the team and how they work, it won’t matter as much.” Abandon AJ and move to L.A.? That should have been what caused the knife twisting through her heart. And it did hurt, but it wasn’t the only thing.
No, her traitorous heart had catalogued that pain and launched into an all-out explosion of absolute denial at the thought of leaving Chance Walker behind.
She barely knew him. Had only kissed him a couple of times, but for some reason, the thought of leaving him behind hurt more than it should have.
Long-distance relationships never worked. Everyone knew that. And true, it wasn’t like L.A. was on a different continent, but it might as well be. She’d be a thousand miles away, or more. On tour. Never home. Was seeing someone once every few months enough to base a relationship on? The sad, sinking feeling in her heart told her the answer. She couldn’t ask him to put up with that, and it wasn’t the kind of relationship she wanted either. She wanted someone to hold on to in the dark, someone who would be with her every day and every night, helping her navigate this crazy world.
The envelope suddenly felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. Her dream was literally sitting in the palm of her hands, but it was going to cost her more than she had imagined.
Chapter Ten
Fourth Strike’s Saturday night gig was at a popular club on the north side of Denver. The crowd ran a little older than most of the bars in town, and the patrons typically had a lot more money. They’d only been playing for half an hour and their tip jar was already full. Instead of seeing goth black clothing everywhere, tonight Eva James sang for a crowd of young professionals, half of whom looked like they’d come straight from work, the men wearing dress shirts and ties, the women in knee-length skirts, designer jewelry and low, sensible heels.
She knew the second Chance walked into the bar. Her heart skipped a beat and her nerve endings tingled in anticipation. She’d decided, tonight was the night. She would end her eight-month sexual drought with him. Erin Michaelson had become a conservative prude, much too uptight for casual sex. But Eva James? She was wild. She could have a one-night stand, a short affair. Eva James lusted. Eva couldn’t wait to indulge in smoking-hot, steamy, lose-her-mind sex with Chance Walker.
And then? Well, the most likely scenario? Erin would cry her eyes out, move to L.A., and start a new life. Chance Walker would be a memory she relied on to keep her warm on cold nights. But that was all he could be. A memory.
He was a lawyer. He was settled here. His brothers lived here. His job. Everything he had was in Denver. And he was too smart to give that up for some sexual temptress he met in a bar.
Hell, there was no way she would even ask.
She would have to tell him that she was leaving and hope he wouldn’t mind sharing a few wild nights of naked before she left town.
He lifted his gaze and she caught his eye. He smiled and she smiled back.
The next number the band played was a song about sex, and Eva James turned the heat to high. She strutted and purred at the crowd like the siren Wesley Shipton had accused her of being. She ran her hands all over her body, imagined Chance touching her. Eva James transformed right there onstage in front of the crowd from an average young woman into a fearless animal hungry for its mate.
The bar went crazy and several men pushed forward to the very edge of the stage. The unattainable Eva Ja
mes strutted right in front of them, but didn’t acknowledge them in any way. There were four men now, shoulder to shoulder, they had practically glued themselves to the front of the stage.
“Jesus, E. What the hell are you doing? You’re going to start a riot.” AJ muttered toward her from a couple steps away.
Erin ignored him and hunted through the standing-room-only crowd for one man. Every gyration of her hips and breathy moan into the mic had been done for him. She wanted Chance so hot he would devour her after the show. She didn’t want to have to seduce him, or play games. Flirting? Forget it. Always a complete disaster.
She wanted him. That was all.
When she finally found him, he held up a glass of ice water in salute. She smiled because her mind was made up, and he had no idea what was coming.
After her meeting with Shipton, she’d walked to her car and cried. Not because her heart was broken, but because she had everything she wanted, and nothing she wanted, all at the same time. Life had a tendency to be fickle like that.
Dream career at her feet, if she left her brother behind. And she could have a new, exciting life, but she’d have to live it without Chance.
She’d known him less than two weeks. He didn’t even know who she was. The very idea of leaving him shouldn’t hurt, but it did. Too bad her heart didn’t break clean. It didn’t snap like a cookie. It ripped, tore, and tried to hold itself together despite the jagged edges.
Shipton’s offer had started the pain. She knew what she had to do, but her heart and her mind were at war. And the guilt and anguish that she felt when she even thought about leaving her brother to fend for himself, fueled a desperation within her that she’d never felt before. The contract in her bag turned a fairy tale into a reality, made things real. Too real.
So she sang, and she focused on Chance. More blood to spill there. More heartbreak. But a voice inside wouldn’t let her walk away without taking what he offered, a night of steaming-hot sex. She wanted to know what it felt like to be with him. If she left town, she wanted no regrets.
Chance Walker didn’t love her. He surely wasn’t interested in long-term, forever kind of fantasies. And she couldn’t blame him. Eva was sexy and reckless, a seductive temptress. Heck, even she wanted to have sex as Eva. Eva would be bold and wanton. Eva would tell Chance exactly how she liked to be touched.
Erin would be too withdrawn, too afraid of being judged, or terrified that she would be found lacking in some fundamental way. Which, intellectually, Erin knew was stupid. But her mother had drunk herself into a grave to get away. Her father wanted to gamble and get high more than he cared about whether or not Erin and AJ had something to eat, or running water, or a roof over their heads.
No. That kind of background made it hard to believe there wasn’t something wrong with her. Erin had never really been a winner. Eva James was about to change that.
Eva was everything Erin could never be. And Eva had decided to let Chance catch her for just one night, a night she would remember forever. A night with Chance was going to be her gift to him and to herself, something to keep her going when she was in L.A., all alone, in a few weeks.
Erin knew that going to L.A. was the smart choice. She could finally make enough money to take care of AJ and herself. But no matter how logical it all sounded, she knew that making the move was going to tear her apart.
<><><>
Chance felt Erin’s eyes on him, her gaze as hot as a physical touch.
Something had changed. She was different tonight, bolder, more direct in every way. She was on fire on that stage. The bar crowd felt it, too. She pumped sex into the air, every move so hot that his brain shut down completely and all he could do was stare.
Her wig was bright scarlet tonight, her tight black skirt barely covered her ass and her boots didn’t end until halfway up her thigh. Her top was a black bustier that laced up the front and shoved her breasts into soft mounds that rested just above the satin and lace like a crown. Her arms and shoulders were bare but for several long chains of jewelry that rested around her neck and wrists. Her lips glowed fire red and every step, every strut onstage made him want her more.
His erection had been semi-hard so long he could barely remember when the lust for Erin hadn’t been a constant ache in his pants. The looks she continued to shoot his way weren’t helping to calm the storm. Just the opposite. She looked at him like she was starving and he just happened to be her favorite treat.
Hell, he’d seen that look in a woman’s eyes before. It was blatant invitation.
No. It was a warning.
“Holy shit, brother. I hope you took a shower.”
“What?” Chance turned to Mitchell, who was the only brother free to be his wingman tonight.
“I said, I hope you took care of your manscaping, because that girl wants to eat you alive. Be a shame if she can’t find your tiny dick in that forest of pubes.”
Chance choked on a mouthful of ice water and burst out laughing. “You are seriously fucked up. You know that?”
Mitchell raised his eyebrows and took a drink of his beer. “All I’m saying is that woman is going to have you naked five minutes after she gets off that stage. And I know you. You smell like the backside of a donkey’s ass on a good day.”
Chance grinned. “No, that would be Jake.” Their youngest brother was known to come in from the stables smelling like a combination of horse manure, hay, and dirt.
“Right. Well, he wouldn’t smell so bad if he stopped making love to the sheep.”
Chance chuckled. The insults would fly fast and furious whenever he got together with any of his brothers. And absence did not protect any of them from attack. “He doesn’t raise sheep.”
“True. ” Mitchell pulled a twenty from his wallet and put it under his now empty glass. “I’m out.”
“What?” Chance tore his gaze from Erin to look at his brother. “Come on, man. It’s early.”
“And you don’t need my help for this. I assume mom told you all about the birds and the bees before she sent you off to college.”
“You’re an asshole.”
Mitchell slapped him on the shoulder and laughed. “And there he is. I knew that hard-ass little brother of mine was buried in there somewhere beneath those lovesick calf eyes.” Mitchell looked from Chance to the stage, and back again.
“I’ll be fine. I’m a big boy.”
“Yeah, but she’s a hot mess and you’re always trying to save the wounded ones. Have fun, but don’t get dragged into her drama. Sex is sex, but family is family. She won’t turn her back on her brother. He’s like a little birdie with a broken wing. She won’t abandon him, no matter how fucked up he is, or how much you want her to.”
“I know.”
“You get serious with her, he’s going to be your problem, too.”
“Yeah. I know that, too. But it’s nothing serious. We’re just talking.” Chance said the words but he knew his brother’s warning had come too late. This thing with Erin had worked its way inside his gut and twisted his entire being into a pretzel with her at the center.
“If you say so.” Mitchell left and Chance ordered a single shot, just one. He poured the alcohol down his throat and welcomed the burn. Keeping his head down, he waited for the spread of warmth to hit his stomach and settle his damn nerves.
Why was he so nervous?
Because his brother was right. The way Erin was looking at him, they’d be naked tonight.
He should be celebrating, and making plans. Like where he would kiss her first. Every way he wanted to take her. Thinking about how she’d want things. Hard and wild, or tender and slow?
Instead, he sat here like a pussy wondering if taking her to bed was a good idea at all. There was still so much unsaid between them.
Was he just casual sex for her, or something more? Would she want more than one night? Because, to his surprise, he did. He wanted her all to himself, and not just for one night. No, it would take more than one night to satisfy
the cavemen stirring to life inside him. He needed to know where he stood with her. He wanted to know exactly what she was thinking.
“Christ.” He sounded like a girl. Pathetic.
When had getting a hot, willing woman in bed not been enough for him? Never. He wasn’t an idiot. He was single. No commitments. No attachments. No good reason to sit here torturing himself with this bullshit. His brothers would rake him over the coals if they knew he was this twisted around the axle over a woman he barely knew.
But he was. God help him, because taking her home tonight would just drag him deeper down the rabbit hole…and he didn’t fucking care.
Two hours later the bar was clearing out, and Erin walked up to him with a sexy smile on her face and a large bag slung over her shoulder.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Give me a ride tonight?” Her eyes were bright green this time, the pale color outlined by pure black. Up close now, he could see that the jewelry that had been swinging around her neck, breasts and falling all the way to her waist, was covered in little silver hearts. He followed the line of her necklace from her waist up to the swell of her breasts, above the corset and stalled. He really, really wanted to kiss her there.
He had to clear his throat. Maybe he should have had a second drink. She stepped forward and the spell broke. Lifting his gaze to her face, he realized he hadn’t answered her question.
Give me a ride tonight…
He watched, unable to speak as she ran her tongue along her bottom lip in a slow, seductive glide. When he remained frozen in place she closed the distance between them and lifted her hands to his shoulders.
The scent of wildflowers and her skin rushed through his senses like an injection of straight sex and his arms wrapped around her waist without a second’s thought. Holding her was automatic.
“Sure.” He’d give her a ride, all right. He’d play her body the way she played her guitar, and ply her with orgasms until she gave him everything he wanted.
Crash and Burn (Love You Like A Love Song #1) Page 10