Resurrection

by Karina Bliss

  Lily couldn’t watch Moss reject Seth’s patient overtures a minute longer. “I’ll go get dressed.”

  “Don’t bother.” Moss turned his Mount Rushmore face to her. “I’ll catch a cab.”

  “I’m your driver,” she snapped. “Don’t make this personal.”

  That shut him up.

  She touched Seth’s shoulder in passing. Someone had to acknowledge his efforts.

  She was angry with Moss, angry that he wouldn’t soften for his friends who were genuinely concerned for him, angry that she hadn’t simply said, “Whatever he did last night wasn’t a gym workout.” Angry that she was angry when she wanted to remain aloof, professional and uninvolved.

  In her bedroom, she didn’t get dressed right away. Needing fresh air, she opened the French doors to the pool only to find herself glaring across it at Moss’s room. Deliberately she redirected her attention to the sparkles the morning sun was casting like lures across the surface of the—

  Last night’s dream flashed into consciousness.

  Naked, she stood in the pool, the water cooling her skin, night-blooming jasmine scenting the air. Sunset was an afterglow on the horizon, making it difficult to differentiate shapes from shadows. A shivery anticipation ran through her blood as a man rose in the water at the far end, sending ripples to lap gently against her breasts.

  She recognized Moss and her heart kicked hard against her ribs as he walked toward her. Even though she was treading water, it shallowed around him with every step, slowly revealing his muscular body and a sizable erection.

  When he was close she reached out a hand. “I’m not supposed to be out of my depth.”

  He caught her fingers and she felt the weight of the water against her nakedness as he pulled her closer…closer until she was plastered to his magnificent chest, her arms around his neck, her legs circling his waist, the heat of his cock pressed against her wet cleft. His warm breath tickled her ear. “I’ve got you.”

  Oh. My. God. Stumbling into her bedroom, she shut and locked the French doors then swept the curtains across to block the pool view.

  This was all Dimity’s fault for bringing up vibrators and sex and… Am I the most suggestible person on the planet or what? How would she ever be able to look at Moss again without— She blocked the image of his erection.

  As she untied her robe and hauled off her summer PJ’s, she fought the urge to try and recall if there was any climax to the dream—but it wasn’t easy. When had she last felt that kind of lust?

  Sex had been fun with Zander before she’d fallen in love with him, and then it had been heartbreaking. Making love to someone who couldn’t return your feelings. Awful. Soul-destroying. Never happening again. She was rummaging in a drawer for underwear when there was a tap on her door.

  “Lily?” Moss’s voice, soft and urgent.

  The door wasn’t locked. In panic, she dived for her robe.

  “Don’t come in, I’m— What do you want?”

  “A quiet word.”

  “Hang on.” She wrestled to tie the sash then opened the door a crack. “What?”

  “I understand why you’re pissed at me, but can I come in? Please.”

  “Make it quick.” She opened the door then took a few steps back, folding her arms across her body. I won’t think of the dream. I won’t think of the dream.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  She stopped thinking of the dream. This was new, this was important. “For…” she prompted.

  “For putting you in an awkward position with Dimity and Seth.”

  “Awkward doesn’t even begin to cover it. These people are my friends, they’ve been nothing but supportive, and becoming an accomplice to your secrets isn’t how I want to repay them. You’ve compromised the only part of my life that is working.” And stay out of my dreams.

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “It won’t happen again.”

  Damn right it won’t. “They’re your friends too,” she reminded him. “No, don’t pull your stony face.” Determined to have her say, she advanced on him. “You gave me the right to an opinion when I had to choose whether to rat on you.”

  He folded his arms self-protectively and stared at the floor. “Say it so I can go.” There was a tortured huskiness in his voice, but she wasn’t going to let him off the hook.

  “Letting people care doesn’t make you weak. It makes you strong.” Maybe if he let people in, she wouldn’t feel so damn protective. The connection they had wouldn’t feel as important. Or like a noose slowing tightening around my neck.

  “Okay, thanks.” Eyes cast down, he was literally backing away from her advice. It infuriated her all over again.

  “I haven’t finished.” She followed, cutting off his escape route. “You know the biggest difference between you and me? I know how to love.” Okay, that wasn’t quite what she meant to say.

  “Can I go now?” He fumbled behind him for the door handle.

  “Not until you look at me and tell me you’ll consider being less defensive with your friends.”

  “Lily.” He sounded almost desperate. “Your robe is open.” He slipped through the door and was gone.

  She looked down. The nipple of her left breast was covered, but only just.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The radio DJ who was interviewing the band at the ungodly hour of eight a.m. spent the minutes before they went to air talking himself up as the foremost authority on rock. Having more important things to think about, Moss stopped listening after two and massaged the three-day-old bruise around his black eye, which was now a yellow, red, and black wonder.

  He thought he’d wanted Stormy, but what he felt for Lily was lust on speed. Every time he closed his eyes he saw her in that cotton robe. Her skin, smooth over her collarbone, the dip between her breasts, the gaping neckline snagged on a nipple. That firm small breast haunted his dreams, tantalizing and forbidden.

  When he’d promised Dimity he wouldn’t hit on their friend, he hadn’t anticipated Lily’s proximity becoming a torture. He’d never felt this way about anyone, and stifling his tangled feelings only seemed to intensify the yearning.

  Sitting in the confined space of her car, he had to stop himself breathing her in. He was attuned to every damn thing she did, from pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose to the way she checked the speedometer. He was beginning to wonder if he might be going insane.

  Dimity elbowed him to pay attention. He wasn’t her favorite person right now.

  The photo shoot had gone ahead—thanks to her fast talking—but the magazine was non-committal on using the pictures. They’d had a different idea for the session, committed resources to a set design that apparently didn’t work with Moss’s bruises—the lighting or something. He wanted to call them finicky but this screw-up was squarely on him.

  But he’d weather Dimity’s disapproval any day if riding with the band lessened his dependence on his driver. He needed privacy and distance to get his obsession under control, except…Lily needed this job. “You’ve compromised the only part of my life that is working.”

  He had to continue using her as a driver at least once daily or she’d decide he wasn’t getting his money’s worth and quit. Talk about rock and a hard place. Dimity nudged him again and he tuned in to hear Dave giving them a history of Rage. Seriously?

  Seth must have been thinking the same thing because the drummer said helpfully, “You do know we were in the band, mate?”

  The shaven-headed DJ smiled. “Yeah, five minutes wasn’t it?”

  “I usually last seven,” Moss offered. Many old-school Rage fans still resented the upstarts who’d repopulated their favorite band. Hell, he had no beef with that. Everyone had an emotional attachment to the songs that underscored their teens and twenties, and even one changed chord felt wrong. But the three of them weren’t in Rage anymore.

  As he’d hoped, his flippancy eased the tension. Seth and Jared laughed, and Dave managed a reluctant smile.

&nbs
p; Dimity was still frowning. “Why are you pissed that I didn’t give you an advance copy of the album?” she demanded. “I explained why I limited access.” Piracy was always an issue, and only critics she trusted implicitly had received early copies.

  “I’m not pissed.” Dave’s high color suggested otherwise. “I’m surprised. I’ve always been Rage’s biggest supporter. It’s crazy that I have to wait with the masses to hear the whole album.”

  “Except it’s not a Rage album,” Moss reminded him.

  “No,” said the DJ. “It isn’t.”

  In hindsight, they should have walked then.

  “So, T-Minus 6,” Dave said when the band had finally settled in front of mics and he’d introduced them on air. “Cute name, cute concept.”

  Cute? Moss folded his arms and exchanged a WTF glance with Dimity through the soundproof window separating the recording studio from the rest of the radio station. If the guy is this patronizing in his mid thirties, he’s going to be unbearable at fifty.

  Following the direction of Moss’s gaze, Dave caught Dimity’s eye and wisely moved on. “And your new album is called Real. What’s the significance of that, exactly?”

  “The reality show offered people one version of us,” said Jared, “and we wanted the album to reveal us in every dimension.” Their bass player could discuss this esoteric shit all day, which was why he took the lead in interviews with pretentious wankers. The fact that his comment was also true was neither here nor there.

  “Full Frontal was another title we considered.” Seth made his first contribution. He’d clearly got Dave’s number too.

  “But there wasn’t enough room on the album jacket for our enormous penises,” Moss explained. His bandmates hooted with laughter. The DJ shook his head. “Sorry,” Moss added, not sorry at all. “Shouldn’t I have said the word ‘penis’ on air?”

  “Well, you have the rock star attitude down at least,” Dave replied, smiling. “Let’s examine how intimidating it must be for you, Moss, to take on the role as lead singer after backing a voice as sublime as Zander Freedman’s.”

  “No one can match Zander’s vocals.”

  “So where does that leave you?” Dave had a broadcaster’s voice, deep and melodious, and he employed it as skilfully as a sadist using a whip.

  Moss didn’t flinch. “In the same situation as every other performer. Working to my strengths.”

  “Which unquestionably are guitar first, vocals second.”

  “Oh, I think you could question that,” Seth answered. “Moss’s guitar skills are better known but—”

  “I’ll get to you, Seth.” Dave didn’t even look at the drummer. “Moss, what about connecting with an audience? As the band’s introvert, you must worry that’s not in your skill set?”

  Jared got in first. “Clearly, you haven’t seen him perform live or you wouldn’t ask such a stupid question.”

  “No, Jared. I wasn’t invited. Here perhaps is another stupid question. You were a Grammy nominee earlier this year, though sadly not a winner. That must have been disappointing.”

  “Not for a second,” Jared answered sincerely. “It was honor enough being nominated.”

  “Sure it was.” Dave smiled. “But my question is, why is Moss the lead singer and not you?”

  Had the guy been a fly on the wall through early negotiations? Moss had lobbied hard for Jared to take the role.

  “Easy,” said the bass player. “He’s our lead singer because I don’t have his range or charisma.”

  He’d said the same thing then, but hearing it acknowledged publicly made something in Moss’s chest ache. “I might sing the majority of our songs,” he clarified for Dave, “but the band is a team effort.” Wow, had he really just said that?

  Winking at him, Seth tapped a drum roll on the studio desk. “We’re one big happy band family.”

  “That’s Seth Curran the drummer you’re hearing now,” Dave informed his listeners. “Seth, you’re engaged to the band’s manager. How do you and Dimity Graham stop work issues crossing over into your personal life?”

  Seth’s drumming changed tempo. Moss recognized it as an execution march. “Well, Dave,” he began earnestly, “we engage in non-speaking activities. I’d go into more detail, but I’m waiting on clearance for the word ‘penis.’”

  Moss had also reached the end of his patience. “Here’s an idea. Let’s talk about the actual music?”

  “Yes.” Dave’s color was high again. “Let’s do that. I’ve listened to the three songs you’ve pre-released and the sound is very similar to Rage.”

  Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Well, we’re rock musicians, Dave, so rock is what we play.”

  “So you’re not riding on the coattails of your brief tenure with Rage to sell records?”

  “We’d love to.” Even Jared had an edge in his voice as he responded. “Unfortunately Zander can’t make millions of people buy our album. We asked him.”

  “You’re married, Jared, and Seth is engaged.” Dave changed tack. “With just one of you still single, are you worried you’ll alienate the largest part of your fan base—teenage girls?”

  Moss leaned closer to the microphone. “I’m guessing that teenage girls aren’t a large proportion of your listeners, you misogynist fuck, or you wouldn’t disrespect them like that.”

  In his smooth-toned broadcaster’s voice, Dave said, “Let’s take a commercial break.”

  Dimity stormed into the studio the second they were off air. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Moss winced, then saw she was glaring at Dave.

  “You begged me for this interview, begged. I scheduled you in for old times’ sake and you…you…” She ran out of words.

  “That doesn’t mean I have to love the songs,” Dave retorted, “and the few I’ve heard are derivative pieces of shit. And you.” He pointed a finger at Moss. “Get used to hearing criticism because you’re going to get a lot of it.”

  “That wasn’t criticism, that was sour grapes and prejudice,” he said scornfully.

  “I vote we do a walkout,” said Dimity.

  The three bandmates exchanged glances. “No arguments here.” Jared spoke for all of them.

  “You can’t do that,” Dave blustered. “I have advertisers booked around your segment.”

  “Then you should have treated my band with more respect.” No one laid on hauteur as well as Dimity. Moss could even enjoy it when he wasn’t the target. As they left she pressed a business card into the DJ’s hand. “Here’s the number of my therapist when you’re ready to work through your bitterness over Rage disbanding.”

  Outside, her march slowed and stopped. “That probably wasn’t a strategically smart move.”

  “No,” Seth grinned. “But that doesn’t make it any less awesome.”

  “We’ve alienated a few listeners for sure,” Dimity warned.

  “You reckon he has some?” Jared was still fuming. “That pretentious douchebag.”

  “We could go back in,” Moss suggested, and they looked at him.

  “You want to apologize,” Jared said flatly.

  “No, I want to do it again, but this time overturn a few chairs on the way out.” Dimity’s expression remained troubled. Because she took their career seriously. Because she was harder on herself than anybody.

  Seth had noticed too. “All publicity is good publicity, Honey B,” he reminded her, but he didn’t try to hug it out. Despite his joke inside, he knew very well how to separate the professional and personal. Dimity insisted on it.

  She shook her head. “Don’t make excuses for me. I should have vetted him and I didn’t. This is my bad.”

  Seth might respect boundaries, but Moss didn’t. Picking up his manager, he spun her in a circle while she gaped at him in astonishment. So did Jared and Seth. He wasn’t playful, ever. But they’d pulled together today in a way that felt important. Unplanned, unrehearsed, unforced. He understood that, and she needed to.

  “What happened
in there was rock ‘n’ roll,” he said as he put her down. “I’m fucking proud of you.”

  * * *

  Lily was pulling alongside the radio station when she saw Moss spin Dimity around, before plonking her on her feet. Good, they’d made their peace.

  Whatever he said next had his bandmates grinning. The radio interview must have gone really well.

  He caught sight of her Honda and his smile changed from unguarded warmth to wary politeness, his standard expression since she’d hit him with a few home truths.

  You wanted space, she reminded herself, flipping down the visor to stop the early morning sun blinding her.

  As for her boob hanging out, it was embarrassing at the time but it wasn’t as if Moss hadn’t already seen dozens, and she’d posed topless as Stormy Hagen, for heaven’s sake. The last rationalization hadn’t quite worked. She was still self-conscious about her new body.

  And then, of course, there was that dream. Not repeated, thank God, which did nothing to ease her growing disquiet. What was wrong with her that her unconscious was throwing up fantasies of bad boys? Clearly, there were character flaws she had yet to overcome.

  Moss opened the passenger door, and Lily fixed her own polite smile in place.

  “Didn’t I say I’d ride home with Dimity?”

  “Yes, but she texted asking me to come get you and Seth.” She’d expected the new reserve in their relationship to make her feel safer; instead she felt bereft.

  “Why…and when?”

  “As soon as Dave started ranting,” Dimity answered. She bent to wave hello to Lily. Even though she’d been up since five a.m. she was perfectly groomed, from her sleek blonde head to her purple-painted toenails. “Thanks for coming so quickly. I need to get to the office and issue a press release before the station does a hatchet job.”

  “What happened?” Lily said, startled.

  “Moss and Seth will fill you in.” She straightened. “Jared, I’ll drop you home. I’m hoping Kayla’s available to help me monitor social media and see how far this story flies.”

  The bassist glanced at his watch. “If we leave now I can take Maddie to school.”