Heart's Desire

by Ellie Masters

  Forest came to his side and clapped him on the back. “You’ve got this.”

  And, sure as fuck, he did. He released a breath, and anticipation billowed out. He narrowed his eyes, imagining a steely gaze in which to mirror his confidence. Any nervous energy he might have left would vanish the moment he set his foot on the stage. All he had to do was take that final step. He leaped up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and took possession of the moment.

  While he was surrounded by friends, both on stage and off, this would define the rest of his life. With a wave to the crowd, he walked over to Bent’s bass guitar and pulled it from its stand. The strap went around his neck, and the guitar settled low over his hips.

  Without any preamble, Bash set a beat on the drums. A low, rolling power swept Ryker up in a firestorm of need, possession, and undeniable power. Fast, double strokes of the drums melded with a finer, subtler essence of Spike on guitar. He painted a scene, something the rest of them would follow.

  A wall of sound rolled forth and rushed over the crowd. Noodles entered on the next refrain, joining Spike’s six-string that carried the first beats of the melody. Music swelled all around Ryker, thumping so hard, his bones vibrated with the power and soul of the music. Any remaining nervous energy melted away beneath the punishing avalanche of sound roaring through the hangar. After Spike and Noodles laid down the intro, it would be his turn to layer in the bass.

  Ryker let the tension in his arms go and gripped his instrument. He was going to rule this night. Tomorrow, he could be mellow, but for now, he was going to rock the hell out of this stage. Ash’s soulful voice lifted and punched out the first lyrics with a brutal, soul-wrenching power. His deep, velvety voice crashed through the space. Fearless and knowing, it embodied a mournful need. A justification of sorts. A surrender. Ash’s song stole Ryker’s breath, as it did for all those in attendance.

  Ash’s voice drove low, and Ryker felt it raging in his belly, a torrent of need, brutality, and unforgiving peace. His words…God, his words stole Ryker’s breath. Spike’s instrumental changed rhythm and was the signal for Ryker’s entrance. He would join in the masterpiece if he didn’t lose his shit.

  He took a wide stance, something solid from which to work, and poured himself into the unique sound that embodied Angel Fire’s unforgettable music. A flutter unfurled in his chest, and his breath pulsed with the beat. He didn’t think. He didn’t try to piece together the notes. His entire body sang with the power of the song, and over it all, his deep baritone whispered a counterpoint harmony to the haunting lyrics of Ash Dean.

  Flames leaped up behind the band members, and smoke popped in the air, creating a cacophony of visual effects. Pyrotechnics sparked, but all he could think of was the devastatingly beautiful brunette he called his own. A woman he didn’t see in the crowd.

  Her absence made his playing seem vacant and impotent. With the bass in his hand, he was unstoppable, but he needed more. A sea of amped up men with a few women interspersed here and there stretched across the hangar. The crowd seethed with masculine adrenaline, fists pumping and bodies slamming, creating a disordered chaos beyond the thin barricades. He could only imagine what it must be like for the band to be inundated by the screaming masses. How did they manage? Why did he care? All his thoughts centered on one and only one person, and she was nowhere to be seen.

  Ash’s voice curled around the sultry lyrics of the opening refrain. A beautiful vocal instrument, steel determination threaded through the pounding rhythm of the song. Ryker lashed at his guitar, laying down the foundation of the music for the others to follow. When it was time, his voice lifted, rose, and met Ash’s haunting tune.

  Spike feathered an instrumental change, taking the song in another direction. At first, it sounded like the end, as if the song would be truncated, but that was merely the brilliance of Angel Fire’s music. Ryker sucked in a breath and let his voice dive to the lowest register, supporting the sweeping power of Ash’s lead. The crowd of several hundred roared, whipped into a state of frenzy, keyed into the energy rolling off the stage.

  All around him, stage lights created islands of light and shadow. He took his lead from Spike, mirroring the guitarist’s movements on the opposite side of the stage. The amplification of his bass guitar pealed off into the dark sea of people. The crowd rallied to his cry, a rolling thunder threatening to drown him beneath its intensity. Screams lifted and waned. Ear-stabbing pulses of raw energy unfurled from the crowd and pierced his heart, stole his breath, and drove him forward to meet them with an answering power. He strummed until his fingers burned. The bass riff was felt more than heard as it rolled over the crowd.

  He blew out a ragged breath, waiting again for his turn to support on vocals. In that pause, the enormity of the moment fully sank in. He was onstage with his rock idols—not as a guest, but as one of their own.

  Spike began a slow build, a progression of chords that turned and twisted, and then suddenly stopped. Ryker’s bass carried the silence, accompanied by a single warbling tone from Noodles on the keyboard. Into this pause, Ash released the brilliance of a vocal solo.

  The crowd went wild as Ash pushed his breath through the mic. Bash entered with a slow tap-tap-tap of his drum kit. Spike followed with a crawling tempo. Ryker’s bass never wavered, drawing together the sound with the deep modulations of his pulsating power. The instruments drew together until they became something more.

  Spike opened up on the guitar, running his fingers up the frets, increasing the tempo in time to Bash’s beat on the drums. The complexity of sound coming from the band climbed and soared, all while Ash belted out a song full of pain, grief, and desperation.

  In this moment, a single figure separated from the crowd. A woman of exquisite beauty stared at him. Hands together, Tia pressed her fingers beneath her chin. The dark depths of her eyes drew him forward until his feet met the front of the stage. Standing poised above the crowd, only one thought went through his head. He’d rather have her body wrapped around his than be on this stage.

  Chapter Thirty

  Labyrinth

  Tia

  Tia’s lashes matted with tears. Ryker was onstage, living out his dream. Her heart wept because this moment meant the world to him. She blinked against joyful tears and clapped her hands together in a losing battle to contain her excitement. Around her, the crowd surged back and forth with the energy of the band spilling off the stage. It rolled over those gathered and swept her away with wild abandon. Her body swayed. Her hands rose over her head. She danced while standing still.

  The men and women gathered who fought for their country, who dealt with unimaginable stress day in and day out, let all their worries go beneath the thunderous power that was Angel Fire. No one thought about deployment, separation from loved ones, or the dangers faced beyond the safety of the base’s perimeter fence. For now, Angel Fire energized, invigorated, and pumped them up. Soulful lyrics and pounding rhythms beat at the fear and loneliness, pushing them away—at least for a moment. Now was the time to let go, scream at the top of her lungs, and dance. It was an evening to be free.

  Now, that was a complicated word—free.

  So much had changed in the past few days. Her rigid and structured regimen, which had consisted of alternating cycles of endless training, intense physical conditioning, and exhausting missions, had been flipped on its end after this last mission.

  Her engagement with Scott had imploded in her face. That Dear Jane letter had left her gasping and believing her entire world had ended. The devastation left in the wake of Scott’s cold words had driven her to consider a senseless act of revenge. All she had wanted was nameless sex with a man she could use and discard, using the same callous disregard Scott had shown her in his letter. She’d thought that would set her free.

  Instead, she’d stumbled onto something unexpected. Ryker had been there all along, a protector turned lover and perhaps something much more. He left her breathless and in awe of his passion and abil
ity to love.

  The way the guitar was slung low on his hips had her aching all over again. A mouth-watering feast of stacked muscles and rippling abs lay beneath his cotton T-shirt. He plucked at the strings of his bass guitar, mesmerizing her and making her blush with memories of what those fingers had done over the past few days. He caught her staring, grinned, and licked his lower lip. Bastard had a way of knowing exactly what thoughts wandered through her mind.

  The low notes of his bass riffs were difficult to pick out because they joined the overwhelming synergy of all the other instruments in play. Angel Fire moved from one song immediately into the next without breaking to speak to the crowd. An avalanche of sound rumbled through the hangar as Ash commanded the stage.

  Ryker had no problem with holding his own beside the rock legends. He ripped up the stage, playing off the others, dueling with Spike for a refrain, striding over to the keyboard to jam with Noodles. He joined Bash at the drums and made full use of the stage. A natural performer, he belonged in no other place.

  Someone bumped into her from behind. Prepared to give whoever it was a nasty look, she glanced up, but Forest stared down, his lips bowed into a smile and the arctic hardness of his eyes sparked with excitement.

  “They fucking rock!” he yelled.

  His voice carried, and those around them roared with enthusiasm. Forest planted himself firmly at her back, creating a small bubble of protective space around him. She sank into that opening, thankful for a bit of respite from the crowd. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. While those around her swayed to the beat of the music, Forest stood solid and unmoving with the exception of his head banging with the beat. His eyes cut to the stage and focused on Ryker.

  “I have to say, lover boy has the chops.” Admiration and respect carried on his words.

  She craned her neck to look at Forest, wondering if he liked Ryker, tolerated Ryker, or wanted to punch Ryker in the face. Less than an hour ago, she’d thought Forest would tear Ryker limb to limb. The verbal thrashing Forest had given her after Ryker’s departure had left her stunned, but right now, it looked like Forest wanted to leap onstage and congratulate him.

  A tug on her arm had her turning, and she smiled as Skye slipped into the empty bubble of space formed by Forest’s large frame.

  She gripped Skye’s hand and tugged her close. “This is amazing,” she said.

  Skye pitched her voice to be heard over the roar of the crowd. “Ryker’s incredible.”

  More than amazing, his presence filled the stage without taking away from any of the others.

  “He is.” Not that she’d been worried.

  Angel Fire’s power thrummed in her veins. She felt invincible, unstoppable, and most of all, free. Ash broke from the pulsating beat to speak, thanking the troops for their service and the sacrifices they’d made. He poured his heart behind the songs, and behind him, Ryker anchored the pounding swell of music meant for stadium-sized crowds.

  Eventually, the concert ended, and with the ordered precision only the military could command, the troops filed out. Grins as big as barn doors filled the faces of the men and women. Fist bumps, high fives, and a general camaraderie drew them together. The doors whispered closed. Lights turned on, and Smiley and his crew attacked the stage, making adjustments and resetting their pyrotechnic displays. Angel Fire had another concert planned for the night.

  The night shift had enjoyed the concert before their shifts began. In another half hour, the day shift, relieved from their duties, would fill the hangar for the second show of the night. Angel Fire would once again take to the stage and transport them to a place free from the worries of fighting war.

  In this sliver of silence, Tia approached the stage. Ryker met her at the edge and reached down. He gripped her hands, and with the flex of his muscles, he pulled her up.

  Forest cleared his throat when Ryker pulled her into his arms. That loud, raspy sound pulled them up short and made the almost embrace awkward. She stepped back and nearly fell off the stage. Ryker yanked her forward, pulling her against his chest. She pushed away, eyes darting to see who might be looking, terrified of what conclusions might be formed.

  Forest leaped onstage. He rescued them from the awkwardness of their almost hug and tugged her out of Ryker’s hands. Ryker’s brows drew together, but he released her, allowing her to follow Forest, who dragged her to stand beside Ash and Bash at the drums.

  “Fuck, that was awesome,” Forest boomed.

  “You always say that,” Bash said with a flick of his eyes. Bash ripped off his white T-shirt and rubbed at the sweat beading on his face and scalp. He gave a wink to her. “Our number one fan, Forest says that anytime one of us breathes. Hell, whenever one of us farts or takes a shit!”

  A deep, bellowing laughter burst from Forest. “I bet you take a shit in three-four time.”

  Ash laughed hard enough, he bent over double. His arms crossed over his waist. “Ha! Bash shits in 3/4, 4/4, or whatever time.”

  “Oh my God,” Bash said, “seriously!” He turned to her, perhaps looking for validation. “This is what I have to deal with.”

  “You seem to deal with it fairly well,” she said.

  Ryker joined them, and Skye trailed in his wake.

  The petite woman stepped around Ryker and wrapped an arm around her husband. “I bet Bash pisses like a symbol. One long, pealing note.”

  Bash lifted his hands in the air in surrender. “Can we all just stop talking about me shitting and pissing?”

  While everyone laughed at Bash and how musical his elimination patterns might or might not be, Ryker gave Tia the signal to fall back. It was something unique to their team and something no one would notice. He slipped away, moving toward the front of the stage.

  She stepped to Skye and whispered in her ear. “I’m taking a powder break. Meet you where?”

  Skye lifted Ash’s arm and wrapped it around her shoulders. “I’m sitting this one out. Feel a bit tired.”

  “Want to meet for breakfast?”

  “Yes,” Skye said. Her hand drifted to her belly and made a slow circle. “This trip is wearing me out.”

  “Okay, we can talk more then?”

  Skye had been drilling Tia on the finer points of what it took to make a surgical operations team effective. Skye wanted Tia on that team, but Tia couldn’t conceive of a future away from the military. Her job sucked most days, but it was a job she woke to every morning, full of conviction that it was exactly what she was meant to do.

  Peeling away from the crassness of the men and their talk of piss and shit, Tia excused herself and disappeared around Bash’s drum kit. Stepping down the short flight of stairs, she found herself a few feet from the back door of the hangar.

  The door opened and closed without making a sound, and she moved into the deepening dark of another dry Afghanistan night. The air was thinner at this altitude. Lights flooded the airfield, illuminating the runways through all hours of the day, but still, the dusting of the stars shone down. Into this darkness, she weaved her way between stacks of pallets arrayed in precise rows and columns. Fourth row, fifth column—that had been the message Ryker telegraphed in the hangar. With a crazy need to feel his touch again, she made her way between the labyrinth, stealthily picking her way into the night.

  Sex on a stick?

  Ryker was more than that. He was her every dream personified. Memories of their last mission fluttered through her mind—the way he’d sheltered her with his body, the flirtatiousness of his expression, those dimples in his cheeks, and how he’d laid on top of her, willing to take a bullet intended for her. He was her hero, a man who would protect, defend, and die for those he loved.

  Gestures made in the real world were nothing but empty promises when stacked against the realities of war. In the field, Ryker demonstrated his willingness to make the ultimate sacrifice. Scott would never have done that. Her ex-fiancé would’ve left her to burn in a building full of flames. What an idiot she’d been. />
  Chapter Thirty-One

  Mine

  Ryker

  Ryker’s lungs pulled at the lingering heat of the night air, and he fussed while trying to cool down from the heat brought on by stage lights. He waited for Tia in the dark. They had precious few moments before he had to be back onstage.

  His body buzzed with the electrified rhythms of Angel Fire. The beat of their music pulsed in his veins and surged through his body, amplifying all his senses. Electricity skated along his nerves, setting his skin ablaze and building a raging fire in his gut. He couldn’t wrap his head around what had just happened.

  Onstage!

  He’d been onstage with the men of Angel Fire, strutting his stuff, living his dream, making something more than music. The energy rolling off that stage had transported him to another place where he felt ready to tackle the world.

  Why was it then that the only thing he could think of was holding one woman in his arms? He ached for Tia. His body felt bereft without her snuggled into his protective embrace. He needed to feel her, taste her essence, and bury himself deep within her sensual heat.

  Gravel crunched around the corner, and he came to attention, feeling Tia’s arrival before her exquisite body came into view. He separated from the shadows. There would be nothing gentle about what came next. He moved, capturing her in his embrace, while his heart clenched with the passion heating his blood.

  “I’m not taking this slow,” he growled, voice tight and barely contained. He caged her in and crashed his lips against hers.

  “Ryker…” she managed before he smothered her words beneath his onslaught.

  This was a moment for taking and claiming. He gripped her nape, upset at the tight regulation bun confining her hair. All he desired was to twist his fingers in her glorious curls and command her attention as he tugged and yanked, but he held off. Breath rasped out of his lungs and transformed into a primitive growl as he covered her mouth and forced his way inside to taste, to tease, to devour, and to claim.