Rhythms of Love

by Beverly Jenkins

  The past three days had given Tristan time to reflect on life in a way he never had before. He was almost twenty-five years old, and for the most part had led a charmed life. His parents’ wealth and social standing had gone far in shielding him from the harsh disappointments of life.

  As the only male and youngest child of Kate and Ben Daniels, the world had always been presented as one big opportunity for Tristan. As a child, he’d never been denied a single material desire. And yet, the values he’d been taught along with that excessive indulgence had somehow created a well-balanced, well-adjusted human being, instead of a self-centered jerk.

  He’d grown up in the bosom of a close-knit family. Raised by loving parents who instead of demanding he fall into line and go into the family business had encouraged him to dream and to pursue those dreams wherever they led. Of course, there was some disappointment that he had not fallen in love with the firm in the way Tracy had, but despite that they’d never been anything but supportive.

  He had a great job as a teacher, but it was obviously no coincidence that his first teaching job had been offered to him by a friend of his mother. And now he was left to wonder how much of that had been through his own work and talent and how much had been gifted by family and friends.

  In Albany, Tristan had lived in his own apartment, paid his own bills and led his own life. But it had all been done with the knowledge that the loving cushion of his family was there to catch him if he fell.

  Now, for the first time in his life, he was flying without a net. Whatever happened here would be by his own hand. The realization was both scary and invigorating, and despite the rocky start he was determined to make the most of it.

  He was a gifted musician, but he didn’t fool himself into thinking that success and stardom would just fall into his lap. He would have to prove himself.

  He tossed the newspaper to the side and picked up his guitar, stringing the first song that came to mind. It was a song he’d written for his high-school girlfriend, Trisha.

  It had been the first time he’d tried his hand at a love song, and as he played the chords he realized the music still moved him long after his passion for Trisha had frizzled out. Music was his eternal love. It had always been and it would always be.

  As he strummed the soft melody, he realized that even after all his soul-searching and agonizing over the decision to come to New York, it had been inevitable. The music would’ve guided him here eventually. And now that he was here, the music would find a way to guide him forward. He just simply had to trust the music.

  Something in the paper caught his eye. He stopped playing and picked up the paper to read an ad he’d missed earlier. A bass guitarist ad for a club called Optimus. Taking out his pen, he circled the ad and then returned to his music.

  Chapter 3

  Tristan entered the club and, because it was particularly dim inside compared to the bright light of the midday sun, it felt as if he was suddenly plunged into darkness.

  He took a moment to let his eyes adjust, then glanced around the club. Even in the low light he could see why Optimus was one of the hot spots. Everything about the place oozed elegance and a style different from anything he’d ever seen before.

  Instead of the typical open-floor format of seating, the large room was divided into equally sized alcoves, each separated by sheer white panels that hung casually from corner to corner.

  In each alcove was a large, half-circular leather sofa complete with pillows and black barstools for drinks and snacks. Despite its ultramodern appearance, the whole scene instantly brought to mind something he’d seen in a book describing a Roman emperor’s palace.

  The recessed lighting cast a purple haze over the entire area and highlighted the black marble dance floor. Opposite the entrance was a large elevated stage, larger than any he’d ever played on. But trying to compare some of the dives he’d worked in Albany to this place would’ve been a futile exercise. This was the big-time.

  “Can I help you?” A soft female voice came from somewhere in the back corner where the well-lit bar sat taking up most of one wall.

  “I’m here to audition for the bass player opening.”

  A melodic chuckle floated on the air and Tristan was instantly captivated. He moved toward the sound but could see no one, just the empty bar.

  “That’s funny to you?” he asked the voice, his eyes still searching the room.

  “No. I apologize. I’m sure you’re probably very talented, we’re just looking for someone with more…experience.”

  He stopped in the middle of the room. “So, I’m being dismissed without so much as an audition?” He turned in a circle, his eyes combing every inch of the place, determined to find the owner of the sultry voice.

  “Did I bruise your ego?” she asked. Tristan realized he was now more fixated on the smoky voice than he was the audition. “A little.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to. You can audition—if you like.”

  “Would it make a difference?”

  “No. But you might feel better.”

  “You coming out of the shadows would make me feel better.”

  “Now why would I do that? Here I have the advantage.”

  In that moment, Tristan determined that there was no way he was leaving the place until he’d met the woman that went with that voice. Whether or not he got the gig wasn’t even an issue anymore.

  He started toward the bar again, and was slightly dumbfounded that he could clearly decipher that the voice was coming from that area but there was no one there.

  “So?” she asked. “Do you want to audition?”

  “No, but I want to meet you. Stop hiding—what are you afraid of?”

  “There is very little I fear,” she said. “And certainly not some pretty-boy bass player.” The throaty sound seemed to be affecting the man in him the way nothing had in a long time.

  He shook his head. “Name-calling already? We just met.”

  She laughed again. “Go away, pretty boy, I have work to do.”

  “What if I said I wanted that audition after all?”

  “Too late, that offer was made five minutes ago when I was still concerned with your bruised ego. Goodbye.”

  “Wait!”

  The room was quiet for so long, Tristan was certain she had disappeared. His overactive imagination immediately began to conjure images, weaving beautiful fantasies out of thin air. He felt as if he’d been bested by a mischievous fairy.

  Then she released a heavy sigh and Tristan felt such a relief pour through his whole being it startled him.

  “What now, pretty boy?”

  Tristan searched his mind for the perfect words, something—anything that would captivate her as she’d captivated him. Having nothing better to offer, he instinctively began to sing.

  Like a siren’s call, Rayne Phillips felt herself being uncontrollably pulled out of the shadows and toward the handsome young man.

  Unknowingly, he’d stopped in just the spot on the dance floor where the lights and shadows met, and the effect created the illusion of a halo around his head. Rayne, being a believer in signs, took the false halo as an omen. There was something special about this man. She’d known it the moment he entered the club.

  His voice. She’d been around music and musicians all her life, but she’d never heard anything like the soothing, mellow tenor of his voice.

  As best her mind could describe it was some kind of perfect blending of the soulful sound of Sam Cooke and Luther Vandross’s velvety smoothness.

  Where had he come from? she wondered. And why would anyone—with that voice—be looking for a job as a bass player in a small club?

  Rayne had been on her way to the bar to collect the previous night’s receipts when she saw him enter the club. At first she assumed it was the mailman, until the man moved farther into the room and she realized the thing slung over his shoulder was not a mailbag but a guitar.

  Her eyes were immediately drawn to his masculine
beauty as he surveyed her club. He was gorgeous, she thought. Rich, dark-chocolate skin covered refined features. Almond-shaped eyes, a sharp nose and lush lips. But she’d known her fair share of gorgeous men, and she’d learned the hard way that a pretty face told you little about the hearts of men.

  No, it wasn’t his face that had caused her to pause in the shadows. It was his aura. That indefinable something that every person possessed. His was radiating such warmth she felt it across the room.

  As he stood taking in the decor of the club, she followed his eyes, feeling a certain pride as she watched the expressions on his face change from interest to impressed. She knew her club was one of the best in the city. She’d worked hard to make it so.

  And just as she’d built her nightclub from a joint only the locals knew about to a national name, she was determined to do so with the band she managed.

  Optimus Four was made up of four extremely talented men. But there was something missing, something that was keeping them from breaking out of the box of small-time club band. Rayne had known this for some time. She just didn’t know what that something was…until the man before her began to sing.

  Moving across the room, the minute her face felt the bright track lighting that surrounded the bar, the beautiful sound stopped. He’d achieved his goal. He’d coaxed her out into the light.

  Tristan felt his breath catch in his throat. He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d expected but it wasn’t the woman who was walking toward him. For a moment, he wondered if his active imagination had gone too far and actually formed his perfect fantasy. Because this woman was beyond anything that could be described by so tame a word as pretty, or even the overly used beautiful. No, she was stunning—absolutely stunning.

  As ridiculous as the thought was, the first image that came to mind was some kind of comic book superheroine. She had that kind of larger-than-life look to her. Everything from her copper-brown skin to the multihued hair that resembled a lion’s mane, all gold and brown with flecks of burnished orange. Combed away from her perfect oval-shaped face, the thick stuff fell in loose ringlets down her back to her waist. She was very slender and tall. In fact, Tristan realized with some discomfort, she was slightly taller than his own five-foot-eleven frame.

  She wore a sleeveless, formfitting black dress than touched every curve of her slender body before stopping short just above her knees. A thin gold chain belt hung loosely around her body and settled comfortably low on her hips. The gold dragon charm than dangled from the belt at the apex of her body drew the eye.

  Tristan’s ego was appeased when he took in the four-inch black patent leather stiletto go-go boots that covered the fishnet stockings and the copper skin beneath them.

  Her long brown arms were bare except for a gold dragon armlet on her upper right arm. Noticing a pattern, his eyes were drawn up to her ears. Just as he expected, twin gold dragons dangled there twinkling as the light bounced off them. But she wore no other jewelry, no chains around her neck or rings decorating her fingers.

  She came to a stop directly in front of him, and he subconsciously took in a deep breath of her soft perfume. Entranced by everything from her smoky voice to her exotic appearance, Tristan could not stop the victorious smile that spread across his face. “Well…hello there.”

  He watched as she reluctantly returned the smile, and although he was certain they’d never met, Tristan felt something was strangely familiar about the woman.

  “Maybe experience is not so important.” She shrugged. “Okay, you’re hired.”

  He frowned. “But you haven’t even heard me play.”

  “I’ve heard enough.” She extended her hand. “Rayne Phillips. And you are?”

  “Tristan, Tristan Daniels. Nice to meet you, Rayne Phillips.” He glanced around the club. “Since you’re doing the hiring and firing, I assume you’re the manager?”

  She arched a perfectly groomed sandy-brown eyebrow at him and placed her right hand on her hip. “You know what they say about assumptions.”

  His eyes roamed over her long body with blatant interest. “I can’t seem to recall exactly.” He walked slightly to her left, angling his body to see around her. “I think it had something to do with asses.”

  “You sure you want this job?”

  He laughed. “Sorry, sorry.” He straightened his body and looked her directly in the eyes. “So, what now?”

  “Now we fill out the paperwork to make it legal.” She turned and headed back toward the shadowed area she’d come from and gestured for Tristan to follow, which he was more than happy to do. “The guys will be here soon and I’ll make the introductions.”

  Once they rounded the end of the bar Tristan saw the open hallway leading to the back of the club. Because of the lighting, the wide opening was completely shielded by the bar. He realized from that vantage point she had probably seen him from the moment he had entered the club.

  “The guys?” he asked, enjoying the view as he kept pace a few steps behind her.

  “You’ll be the fifth member of my in-house band, Optimus Four.” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “As of tonight, it will be Optimus Five.”

  Halfway down the hall she went through a door on the left and Tristan followed her into the office. One look at the pictures on the walls and Tristan immediately realized his mistake.

  One whole wall was dedicated to pictures of the club’s evolution, from start to finish, the signing of the lease, to the painting of the walls, right down to the installation of the furniture. Rayne was in almost every one of those pictures.

  “You’re the owner,” he said, in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “Yes, I am. Have a seat.” She leaned against the front of the large desk and gestured to the oversize red chairs in front of it. “Before we go any further, I have a few questions I’d like to ask you.”

  “Such as?” Seeing she was all business now, Tristan pulled his guitar strap over his head and sat it next to the chair before taking a seat. He assured himself there would be time later to get to know each other better. And he had every intention of getting to know Rayne Phillips better.

  “Well, first of all, where did you learn to sing like that? Have you had any professional training? And why are you working as a guitarist when you have the vocals of an angel?”

  Tristan’s eyes widened in surprise at the compliment. “Um…thanks. I wouldn’t say vocals of an angel, but—”

  Her mouth twisted in an annoyed expression. “Look, I have a low tolerance for bull, you should know that up front. You have a gift. Lucky for you, it’s a marketable gift. So, stop the false modesty and let’s just be real with each other. Why are you playing bass when you could be leading a band straight onto a record label? Have you ever recorded?”

  Tristan stared into her brown eyes for several seconds before he sighed inwardly, wondering how much to say. What would a world-savvy woman like Rayne Phillips think of the simple little life he’d led in Albany? Full-time schoolteacher, part-time musician. Not that he was ashamed of his life, but he wanted a chance to get to know this woman, and he knew instinctively she would never waste her time with what she perceived as a country bumpkin. And, unfortunately, his limited experiences put him firmly in the bumpkin category.

  “Okay, truth of the matter is that up until three weeks ago I was teaching English to tenth graders.”

  “Seriously?”

  “And the closest I’ve ever gotten to a record label is the music section at Borders.”

  He watched as her lovely head tilted to one side and then the other. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’ve only been in New York a few days. I quit my teaching job to move here. I decided it’s time to get serious about my music.”

  “So, you’ve had no professional training whatsoever?”

  “I wouldn’t say that. My mother is a retired jazz singer. She’s trained me from the time I could walk.”

  She smiled, and Tristan felt it as if she’d touched him. “She did an
excellent job. Your vocal range is impressive to say the least.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Let me get right to the point. In addition to running Optimus, I manage the Optimus Four. They are a really good band but we need a lead singer. Tristan, I want you to be that singer.”

  Tristan’s eyes widened again, stunned by the speed with which things were moving. “Whoa. Um…not to seem ungrateful, but you’re offering this to me just based on what you heard out there?” He gestured over his shoulder.

  “Yes, I am. It’s providence. We’ve been looking for someone like you for quite some time, so why not?” She stood and walked around the desk. “First, I need you to fill out these tax forms.”

  Tristan shook his head, feeling as if he was walking in some kind of daze as she set the papers on the desk in front of him. As he completed the forms, Rayne sat quietly behind the desk.

  Tristan tried hard to keep his mind on what she was offering and off the woman herself, but that was damn near impossible with her perfume filling the air. “Are you a musician?” he finally asked as he filled out the application. “Me? No.”

  He continued to write with his head down, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Rayne was in show business. She seemed to be an expert at making herself the most interesting aspect of any room. Or at least she was to him.

  He glanced up at her and was struck again by that feeling of déjà vu. “I know we’ve never met before, but you look so familiar.”

  Her light brown eyes darted to his and then quickly away. “I guess I have that kind of common face.”

  “No, there is nothing common about you.” Tristan shook his head slowly, as he watched her caramel skin darken slightly with a blush.

  “How old are you?” She sighed.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I did commercials as a child. If you’re in the right age group, you’ve probably seen—”