One More Song

by Seabrook, C. M.

  “You signed a contract. Legal and binding.” There’s a hint of a threat in his words. “But if you want us to leave, you can give us the money Maryll paid you...” He shrugs. “Plus compensation for the inconvenience.”

  “Compensation?” Why has this man reduced me to one-word sentences? But as I say it, I remember the contract the woman had me sign, some sort of non-disclosure contract. I’d read it quickly because it seemed simple enough.

  “Did you not read the contract?” Ash asks, his expression unreadable. But I have a feeling he’s enjoying the way I’m squirming under his intense gaze.

  I leave them, rushing into the office, opening drawers until I find the paperwork I’m looking for. I scan it, my heart stopping when I read the fine print. It’s there in italics, so small I must’ve missed it. If I renege on the agreement before the three months are up, I’ll owe not only the monies paid but a two thousand dollar charge.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  This whole thing is turning into a giant nightmare. I don’t know what to do, but I know I can’t have these men living in my house.

  But by the time I walk back into the foyer, the guys are already going off in different directions. Dusty has slung his duffle bag over his shoulder and is taking the steps two at a time up the stairs. Saint, whose dimples tell me he’s anything but, has made his way into the kitchen, and I can hear the refrigerator opening, and his curses about there being no beer. And Synn has headed out the front door, leaving it wide open so I can see the two black SUVs parked in my driveway.

  It’s Ash who I follow. He seems to be the ringleader of the group. I find him in the front room, sitting at the piano, looking like he owns the place.

  “You can’t stay here,” I say, my voice shaky, because I know there’s no way I’ll be able to afford the reimbursement. I already spent a small chunk of the money Maryll gave me on this month’s bills.

  With his back to me, his fingers expertly dancing over the keys as he plays the scales. I try not to notice the way his muscles bunch and tense under the fabric of his t-shirt.

  “When was the last time you had this tuned?”

  “I...uh...I don’t know.” I shake my head, knowing he’s trying to distract me. “Look. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but I’m sure you can find somewhere else to go.” Even as I say the words, I can hear the lack of conviction in them. I need the money.

  The music stops, and he turns, straddling the piano bench. And when those gray eyes are on me again, my body betrays me, and I can feel the flush rising to my cheeks.

  I try to fight it, the attraction, the heat, the pull, but it’s impossible. And I wonder if he feels it too, or if he has this effect on every woman. I have a feeling it’s the latter because I can’t read anything in those stormy eyes.

  “No,” he finally says, his words absolute, like he’s used to getting what he wants. “I like it here.” Those gorgeous lips of his twitch up slightly. “I was worried that this place would be boring. But this could be fun.”

  I scoff. “Fun?” That’s one word for it. Millie would find this entire situation hilarious. But I’m not Millie with her heart-on-her-sleeve attitude. I’m Ember - a woman who always has responsibilities.

  And as I look into Ash’s eyes, I realize I don’t have a choice.

  “Yeah, fun,” he says with a dare in his voice and a promise in his eyes.

  A promise.

  My track record with promises is fifty-fifty. And right now, I can’t handle another thing in my life breaking.

  I have no choice but to try and make this work. Not just for me. But for Cadence.

  Chapter Two

  Ash

  Frustration flickers in Ember’s eyes. Eyes that have held me entranced since the moment I walked into this old house. Flecks of gold, like tiny flames, burn there. The woman is all fire and heat, despite the cool facade she’s trying so desperately to maintain.

  I understand her all too well, even though she’s determined not to give me an inch. Which is probably for the best. If she let me, I’d take a mile.

  I can feel the heat emanating from her, but she’s meticulous with her words and body language. Arms crossed, eyes narrowed, giving me one word at a time. Refusing to let me in.

  But damn, I feel it. I know it. Because a fire used to burn in me too. Now it’s nothing but ashes. It’s no secret that I’m the king of rock star cliches. I drank and screwed and soaked up every ounce of oxygen I could until there was nothing left.

  Until I hit rock bottom. And my rock bottom happened to be very, very public.

  That was months ago. But the media still hasn’t forgiven me. And why would they? My crash was a journalistic goldmine. Not that they need to tell much of a story - the photos and videos that were released didn’t need a caption.

  I wouldn’t care much about if it was only my own reputation on the line. Those guys out there, they’re the only family I’ve got. And I fucked them around big time. And it doesn’t help that our last album was a complete flop.

  Self-indulgent.

  Soulless.

  Void of originality.

  The reviews were harsh, but they weren’t wrong.

  I lost the music. It’s gone. It used to flow through me, like a separate heartbeat. But there’s nothing but emptiness now.

  And I’d let the misery of it spiral me into a depression fueled by anything and everything to fill the void.

  Booze. Chicks. Drugs.

  But gluttony and debauchery just drew me deeper into the darkness of self-loathing.

  Which is why we’re on this three-month media hiatus. Maryll’s idea, of course. I’d fought it at first. But now, watching the gorgeous little brunette huff and puff in a frenzy in front of me, I’m thinking it might not be such a bad plan after all.

  Shit, it’s been a long time since my cock rose to attention the way it had when I’d first laid eyes on her. Even now, it’s pressed uncomfortably against my jeans. But more than that, the woman has my curiosity piqued.

  I don’t understand it. I’ve never felt the tug I feel now. It’s more than just a need to be inside of her. To see if those lips taste as sweet as they look. It’s like my soul recognizes something in hers, something familiar. Like I need to explore not only her body but her entire being.

  Fuck. I drag my fingers over my face and blow out a rough breath. I’m not sure where that thought came from, but it’s messed up.

  No, the truth is I’m messed up. But it doesn’t stop me from wanting to show Ember Skye exactly who I am. And the mix of frustration and lust I see flickering in those expressive brown eyes, I know it’s only a matter of time before I have her screaming my name as she comes repeatedly over my cock.

  She wants it. I can see the desire in her eyes. The need.

  But there’s a hint of fear there too. One that gives me pause. That stops me from reaching out and drawing her to me. From teasing out a soft moan from those sweet bow-shaped lips.

  “This is so bad,” she says, shifting from one foot to the other, and glancing out the window.

  Taking pity on her, I swing my leg over the stool and stand. “We’re not going to turn the place into a frat house if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  She has to tilt her head to look up at me, and when she does, a soft stream of light hits her face, showing off a dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. Her skin looks soft, healthy, not caked in makeup like most women these days, and the temptation to drag my knuckles across her jaw is almost too much.

  “You have no idea what I’m worried about,” she says softly, but I’m pretty sure her words aren’t meant for me. I see it then, the weight she carries. It’s a look I grew up seeing daily.

  I glance around taking in the cheap furnishings. The only thing of any worth is the old piano, which hasn’t been tuned in years.

  And I can see her struggle of whether or not to let us stay. She needs the money. That much is clear. The asshole in me, which has been promine
nt the last few years, softens slightly.

  “You need the money,” I say. It’s not a question, just a statement of the truth of our situation. “And we need a place where no one knows us.”

  Her eyes narrow, and I can tell she wants to argue, but after a few seconds, she lets out a defeated sigh. Still, her back is straight, her chin tilted in defiance. “No parties,” she says.

  “Fine,” I say.

  “And...” She licks her lips. “No girls.”

  I grunt, knowing that won’t go over well with the other guys. But I nod. “Deal. We’ll need to use this space,” I tell her, motioning to the large sitting room with its vaulted ceilings.

  “For what?” she asks, suspicion in her voice.

  I frown down at her, the reality of the fact that she may be the only woman in the entire country who doesn’t recognize my face. “Music.”

  Her chest rises with another heavy sigh. “Right. So you’re what, some kind of band?”

  My lips twitch. “Yeah, some kind of band.”

  She chews on her bottom lip, then nods. “Okay. But not after eight.”

  “That’s early.”

  “It’s non-negotiable.”

  I run a hand over my jaw, trying to figure this woman out. Standing just a few feet away, I can feel the fight inside of her. The need to let something out. She’s a wildfire that’s been contained for far too long.

  “So what happens at eight?” I ask, leaning against the piano. She has one eye on the big bay window facing the street, the other on me. Like she’s torn in two and will never get what she really wants.

  My heart pounds. My cock is hard. Fuck, this woman has me held captive and she doesn’t even know it.

  I don’t want to give her what she wants. I want to give her what she needs. A primal part of me is begging to reach out and pull her into my arms.

  Before I can do something stupid - something that will get us kicked out of this big old house and on Maryll’s bad side - Ember nods sharply, turns her body squarely toward mine, shoulders back. She means business.

  “Do we have a deal?” she asks, not answering my question.

  My mouth twitches. It’s as if she is making a very concerted effort to be matter-of-fact with me. But deep down, I can tell she wants to let her hair down and turn up the music. Grab a bottle of vodka and pour the shots. I have a feeling she hasn’t done that in a very long time.

  “Sure,” I say, stepping closer. “But you have to play nice. Tell me, what happens at eight?”

  She licks her lips, her eyes dart back to the window before reaching mine. What is she watching for? It takes a second, but then I figure it out. She’s scared. Not of me ... of someone else.

  “Let me guess, you have a man?” My breathing shallows as I watch where my words land. She doesn’t give me any clues. “Does he get off work then, expects his girl to pour him an inch of whiskey and serve him his dinner?”

  That gets her attention.

  She steps back, those fiery eyes blazing hot. Whatever I said, she didn’t like it. “You know nothing about me.”

  I move closer knowing she’s fighting this. Hard. “Well how about I find out?”

  The slightest moan escapes her full lips and I swear to God some sort of spell falls over us for just a second, the tempo picks up. The beat is hot and heavy. Ember’s body leans toward me, probably involuntarily, but it’s enough to let me know I’m not imagining this connection. Whatever is fanning her flame - I feel it.

  But before I can pick her up and spread her out on top of this piano, the front door pushes open. She bites her knuckles, closes her eyes. Spins away.

  “Mommy!” a voice calls out. “Mommy, guess what happened at school!”

  With her back to me, Ember crouches to the floor, opens her arms, and I watch as a little girl flies into them.

  I wasn’t wrong. Ember is scared.

  If there’s a little girl calling her mommy, it means there’s a man, calling her his.

  Chapter Three

  Ember

  I breathe in Cadence’s sun-kissed skin, running a hand over her dark blonde hair. My entire existence feels topsy-turvy at the moment, but she is my one sure thing. My constant. My whole wide world.

  Nothing - and more importantly, no one - is going to screw that up.

  “What happened at school?” I ask, but she is already pulling back, a question in her eyes.

  “Who’s that?” she asks, her finger pointed at Ash.

  I hesitate. And in the second it takes me to stand and look back at the man who is arrogant and ornery and so handsome that my belly is flip-flopping, he answers.

  “I’m Asher Stone, Madame,” he says, bowing at the waist, the earlier intensity in his eyes replaced by something almost playful, kind, making my heart stutter. He grins down at Cadence. “And who might you be?”

  She smiles, a giggle escaping her and she gives him a curtsy, never one to shy away from dramatics, and having watched Cinderella one too many times. “I’m Lady Cadence Hamilton, Sir.”

  To his credit, Asher lifts his eyebrows and waves his hand theatrically. They teach this in rock star school for all I know. “Well, I’m certainly pleased to make your acquaintance. I wasn’t expecting to me meet a Lady today, but I suppose it makes sense considering we’re in this large estate.”

  Her face squishes up. “Large state? Like Texas?”

  Asher laughs. “No, milady. Estate, it means a very big house. And your house is quite large.”

  “It was my grandma’s.” Cadence walks over to the piano bench and plops down, running her hands over the uncovered keys. My own fingers itch for a simpler time. When I was just a little girl like her, at my grandmother’s house for my weekly piano lesson. When my world was still upright, when both Mom and Dad were alive. Now, everything is on an axis I wasn’t prepared for. You’d think four years would be long enough to get over my failed dreams. Turns out, it’s not.

  “Well, it’s a lovely house,” Asher says. “I mean, from what I’ve seen of it. I just arrived.”

  Cadence shrugs. “My dad hates it. Says it’s an expensive memory.”

  I flinch at her words - wondering when Mitch would have filled her head with something like that. Add it to the list of things I need to discuss with him. It can go along with the talk about No more unsupervised YouTube binges. Our custody agreement works in my favor, but it seems like three days every other week does more harm than good.

  “Are you my mom’s friend?” she asks him.

  “I am.” Asher grins. A grin that reveals dimples I didn’t need to see. Because seeing them does something to my core. Tightens it. Warms it. Reminds me just how long it’s been since I’ve been with a man.

  Years.

  And even when I was with Mitch, there was no tenderness. Only his needs.

  “How do you know her?” Cadence asks, strumming her little fingers over the keys. She can pick out a melody, but the thing needs to be tuned. Maybe now that I have extra money for the first time in ages, I can get it fixed, teach her to play properly.

  “Actually, I want to talk to you about that,” I say, reaching out my hand to her. “Let me fix you a snack in the kitchen, okay?”

  She jumps off the bench and waves goodbye to Ash as we leave the living room. Ash watches me go, and I feel his eyes on me, but I don’t look back. I can’t. Because for the first time in years, I don’t trust myself.

  In the kitchen, I slice cheddar cheese for Cadence and arrange a handful of crackers on a plate. Pouring her ice-cold lemonade from the fridge, I watch as she pulls herself onto a stool and sits at the island.

  “So I wanted to tell you, Asher and his friends Dusky, Synn, and Saint will be here for the next few months, with us. In the house. They’re the ones who are renting out the upstairs bedrooms.”

  Cadence’s mouth is full of saltines and she keeps crunching away, unfazed by my declaration.

  “Did you have any questions about that?” I ask.

  She shakes
her head, making a cheese and cracker sandwich and cramming it in her mouth. Her princess manners seemed to have been left with Asher in the living room.

  I turn on the oven and slide the casserole in to bake. “And the special thing is, they play music, so they’ll—”

  “What kind of music?” Cadence asks just as the foursome makes their way into the kitchen.

  “Rock music,” Synn says, picking up on my daughter’s question and playing an air guitar. “Rock and roll.”

  “Really?” Her eyes go wide with excitement. “I love rock and roll.”

  “Do ye, now?” Dusky asks, grabbing a cracker for himself.

  “Yeah,” Cadence smiles. “Have you ever heard of Queen? Freddie Mercury is my favorite.”

  I bite back a smile at her innocence. Wishing I could bottle it up and give it to her as a gift when she’s all grown up.

  “Actually, yeah I’ve heard of them,” Saint says. “Pretty wicked fellas.”

  “Are you wicked too?” Cadence asks wide-eyed.

  I twist my lips. “Honey, why don’t you go put your backpack away, okay? And put on some play clothes. We can walk to the park while dinner bakes.”

  Never being one to argue, she agrees. But before she leaves, she remembers something. “Oh, I wanted to tell you what happened at school. Emily’s mom asked if I wanted to come over for a play date!”

  I grimace, forcing myself to smile. Emily’s mother is Deb. And Deb is dating Mitch. My ex. No one is supposed to know, but Millie saw them together at the grocery store getting handsy. Well, in her words, they were two seconds from fucking in the frozen food aisle.

  Why in the hell would Deb be dragging my daughter into this?

  “Great,” I say tightly, as she leaves the kitchen, feeling deflated at the reminder of Mitch moving on with his life. What am I holding on to? Surely not him ... but what?

  I suppose Mitch would call it another expensive memory. It sure is costing me a lot of emotional real estate.