“Everything is complicated now.” She watched his lips curve into a smile.
“It doesn’t have to be. Let’s pretend,” he pulled her gently forward, “we’re just an ordinary guy and gal enjoying a full moon and night sky.”
She made a choked sound. “You are hardly an ordinary guy.”
He kissed her forehead and she ached to tug his mouth back to hers. “That’s the wonderful thing about pretend.” He kissed her nose. “You can be anything you want.”
She had never been seduced by a simple kiss before, but her legs were wobbling. She curled her arms up along his back for support as his mouth covered hers. His kiss was like his music, vibrant and seductive. His firm lips slanted across hers, drawing her deeper into the night where anything was possible. She opened as his tongue slid across her lips and she was lost.
Somewhere in the night an owl hooted and the wood in the fire popped. Both sounds seemed louder than usual. Cheyenne felt all of her senses come alive as the kiss went from gentle to demanding, his tongue flicking in to tangle with her own. His hands slid under her top to caress her bare back. She knew she should stop, but the caress felt so good. It had been so long since she had been in any kind of relationship. Was it wrong to want that?
Then she remembered who she was kissing. She was an employee of Donovan Academy of Music, and he was the most famous Donovan of all. She slid her hands around to his chest and pushed. This was not why she was here, she reminded herself, even as her body bemoaned the loss of contact when he released her.
“I think I should go back to town.” She choked the words out, not actually wanting that, but knowing it was for the best.
“I think you should stay.” He tucked his hands in his front pockets and simply looked at her.
“You don’t know what you’re asking.”
He grinned. “Oh, but I do. And you, fair Miss Tucker, don’t know what you’re missing.”
* * *
In the end, Jake took Cheyenne back to town and dropped her safely off at the Inn. She probably thought he was mad because he didn’t talk the few minutes it took to drive to town, but his head was spinning with music and he couldn’t have carried on a conversation if he had tried. This was the second time that had happened when he was with her, and all he could think was to get back to the cottage, write down the notes and play them to see if the melody sounded as beautiful as she looked.
He had never had trouble composing, but in recent years original scores had been a struggle. His concert performances were entirely made up of works he had created before. In the past year when his mother had been so ill, he had quit composing entirely. Although he had told Cheyenne he had quit playing to spite his uncle, that hadn’t been entirely true. He had no longer found the joy in music that his mother had instilled in him. His vision of her playing had faded to a point where he ached for that little boy who would sit and listen to her for hours. Then she died, and the music in his head had quit.
Until now. He hurried into the cottage and sat in front of the small keyboard on the table. It didn’t quite have the sound of his grand piano, but it would do for now. He closed his eyes as he caressed the keys, recalling the tentativeness of Cheyenne’s kiss. He didn’t think she was a complete innocent, but she certainly wasn’t a seductress. Yet there was sweetness in her that called to him. That charming appeal had his fingers racing across the keyboard first in a capriccio and then rolling into a smooth legato, the last note lingering in the night.
Not quite there, he thought, as he jotted down a string of musical notes on paper. Beside the first refrain, he noted the instruments. This would not be a simple piano solo. He picked up the pages he had completed the other night, scanning them to see if the rhythm fit with what he had just done. The melody was there, full and rich, and would work well for a full orchestra.
He worked until his eyes crossed, stopping only to make a quick sandwich and slug some coffee down. When he finally crawled into bed over twenty-four hours later, the sun was creeping above the horizon. He dreamed of Cheyenne, and how to get past the prickliness to the real woman within.
His thoughts were still on her when he arose after sleeping the day away. There was something connecting them and although he couldn’t define it, he accepted it was there. The problem was to get Cheyenne to see what to him was plain as day. He knew she had issues with who he was, so he had to convince her that he was just an ordinary mortal, not some super mega-man as he was portrayed in the media.
His phone rang before he had time to formulate a plan.
“I know it’s short notice but Crazy Daisy left for Seattle an hour ago and I could use a player since there’ll be for’ners in for the weekend and all that,” Cam, bartender at the Gold Pelican, said in one long sentence.
Most Lockabee islanders had their own particular lingo, and it had taken him weeks before he understood half of what they said. The woman Cam Bristol referred to was actually Delilah Murray, a former Broadway actress who loved singing bawdy songs and was a favorite at the bar. For’ners, a shortened form of foreigners, was the most often used word for tourists, and player was, of course, a piano player.
“Tonight?”
“No, two weeks from Sunday is short notice,” he sarcastically replied. “Do I have to start calling you a for’ner again?”
Jake laughed. “All right. Give me time to grab a shower and I’ll be in, but it’ll cost you a steak because I haven’t eaten.”
“I’ll see you shortly.” The phone clicked.
He found the sticky note on his windshield when he climbed into the Jeep thirty minutes later. Of course she would carry sticky notes. Don’t ignore me, Jake. I’m not going away!!! Three exclamation points; she had to be really mad. He must have been totally in the zone if she had knocked on the door and he hadn’t heard her because there was no way he could ignore Miss Cheyenne Tucker. He pulled out his phone and sent her a text. This was the perfect opportunity for her to see him as an ordinary guy.
Chapter 6
Cheyenne paced around the small room as she had been doing most of the evening. The more she thought about Jake’s behavior, the madder she got. How dare he kiss her senseless, then not talk to her the entire way to town, then completely ignore her for the following two days.
All right, she might not have been completely senseless because she did manage not to let things go too far. But his comment about her not knowing what she was missing? That had led to her tossing and turning all that night, her body hot with unfulfilled sexual desire. When he didn’t call the next day, she thought it just as well when she noticed the dark circles under her eyes. She had spent that day doing correspondence and email. The second day, she had gone out to the cottage but when he didn’t answer her knocks, she left him a note. Time was running out. She had less than twenty days to convince him to return to Chicago.
And that brought up a whole new set of problems. After hearing his story, she couldn’t really blame him for not wanting to see his uncle. On the other hand, how could he justify throwing away his career and the talent he had?
Her phone pinged and like an eager teenager, she dove across the bed to retrieve it.
Meet me at the Gold Pelican.
That was it? No apology for ignoring her, no please? Well, if he wanted to go back to formal and impersonal, so could she. She dressed in her best suit and heels, applied a striking shade of red lipstick and headed out into the night.
The small village was overrun with people as she started down the street. The entire narrow lane seemed like one large party even though it was already after ten in the evening. Apparently everyone wanted to make the most of their time on the island.
It wasn’t hard to find the Gold Pelican, and not because she had been there before. The large wooden bird hanging at an angle was flashing with bright lights and singing could be heard half a block away as the double doors were flung wide. Inside, it was crowded but not packed, so she made her way to the bar. Against her most fervent h
ope, the same bartender was on duty as had been on her previous visits; however, he was civil as he asked if she wanted a beer.
“Do you have white wine?” she asked. At his nod, she said she would take that.
Whatever song the crowd had been singing had ended, but almost immediately another tune started. The music was loud and slightly off-key but the many patrons sitting around scar-topped tables and at the long waist high bar didn’t seem to mind as many of them sang along. She couldn’t see the piano player from her spot at the bar, nor could she see Jake when she scanned the crowd.
The bartender came back with her wine and she took a sip, mildly surprised by the quality. She handed the man a twenty and when he brought her change, she left it on the bar, hoping it would buy her some information.
“I’m looking for Jake,” she said.
The man narrowed his gaze. “That so?”
She couldn’t blame him for being cautious giving out information as she hadn’t been exactly forthcoming in their first encounter. She quickly added, “He asked me to meet him here.”
Instead of answering, he jerked his head toward the back of the bar.
“He went out the back way again?”
He laughed, picked up her change, and said, “Follow me,” as he headed down the bar.
Cheyenne quickly grabbed her wine to follow. One man whistled at her and another tried to grab her arm as she skirted the crowd standing or sitting by the bar. At the other end, he tapped a man on the shoulder, said something she couldn’t hear over the music, and the man got off his stool and waved her to it. Grateful, she smiled her thanks and sat, once again facing the bartender.
“Well?” she asked, thinking he would give her an explanation as to why she had moved or where Jake was.
“I got to do everything for you for’ners?” he questioned.
Cheyenne’s eyes widened. Surely he hadn’t just called her an inappropriate word?
“Turn your little ass around, missy.”
Too stunned to reply, she actually did as he said. And there was Jake, not more than ten feet away from her, banging away on an old upright piano in the back corner. Fascinated, she watched as he played one shouted request after the other. He seemed to know every song, whether it was some moody fifties tune or a modern hip-hop melody.
He continually sipped from a mug of beer, although as she observed him, the level of the beverage didn’t seem to diminish. This was Jake Smith, she realized, not Joseph Donovan. This was the ordinary man he professed he wanted to be. It made no difference that he probably only got paid in beer and tips; he was all smiles, having a grand time. Her gaze traveled to his hands, ardently caressing the piano keys and suddenly, all she could think about was what those fingers would feel like on her skin. Would he be as energetic in love making as he was playing ballsy ballads for the patrons?
She knew her face heated, and as though drawn to her because of her thoughts, he lifted his head and found her among the crowd. His smile widened and he winked, which only made her blush harder. He finished the song with a flourish and stood. The crowd was already shouting out song titles but he shook his head, holding up one hand. Apparently even able to mesmerize this rowdy crowd, the noise quickly dissipated.
“I’m taking a break, folks,” he said. “Have a beer and some of the Gold Pelican’s famous fried oysters and clams, and I’ll be back shortly.”
He headed her way, although his progress was slow as people claimed his attention. She watched him closely and realized yet another facet of Jake, not Joseph. This man liked people, not the attention of being famous. No one knew him here with his long hair and casual clothes. He wasn’t trying to impress the audience so they would buy his albums and attend more concerts. In fact, he was a walking advertisement for the Gold Pelican, not the Donovan Academy of Music.
He stopped beside her stool. “You came,” he said, and she heard surprise in his voice.
She turned slightly toward him. “I always do what I’m told,” she replied, referring to his abrupt text. Her comment caused a laugh.
“I seriously doubt that.” And then she was the one surprised as he leaned over and kissed her, right on the mouth, in front of everyone. There were a few hoots from the crowd and she realized they were the center of attention. She could feel the blush creep up her neck but Jake didn’t appear at all embarrassed as he laughed again and ordered a red beer from the bartender, along with another wine for her.
“This is why I haven’t heard from you in days?” she asked, more for want of a better topic of conversation.
He shook his head. “Cam called tonight with an emergency so I came to fill in. I don’t play here often.” He sipped his beer and said nothing more.
“We should probably talk about what happened the other night.” The comment simply popped out, but really, his kiss at the cottage had come out of nowhere and her response had totally astonished her. And now he had kissed her again, as though they were…dating. While she had dreamed of nothing but him and taking the kiss further, he seemed rather casual about it all.
Yet at her comment, his gaze darkened and a slow smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He leaned closer and whispered in her ear, “You really don’t want to have that conversation here, do you?” His breath was warm and his lips touched her ear lobe, causing heat to sizzle down her spine.
“I’m not paying you to neck with the customers,” the bartender said sarcastically.
Jake laughed again, apparently in too good a mood to let anything bother him. “You aren’t paying me at all, Bristol.” He downed the rest of his beer, then added, “I’m doing you a favor, remember?”
“Then do it.”
Jake turned to her. “Will you stay? I have to play until one or after.”
“Why do you have to, if it’s a favor? And is he always so cynical?”
Instead of answering her, he leaned in for yet another kiss. “Stay?”
She pinched her lips, not in displeasure but to try and hold in the taste of him. When she gave him a nod, he traced her cheek with a finger and then he was gone, back to his merry band of singers. She watched him start to play and immediately several couples got up to dance while others sang loudly. He was like the Pied Piper, she thought as she lifted her fingers to trace the path his lips had taken on hers.
She had never been a groupie. While she had listened to an old radio at home, she could never afford buying albums or going to concerts and she really didn’t have a favorite artist. In fact, her tastes ran about as far from the latest billboard charts as could be—to Raga and Bluegrass. Of course, she had listened to Donovan’s music, as it was usually softly playing in the background at the office.
Now, she sat there thoroughly enjoying his performance, though of course it wasn’t his own music. It was him she enjoyed watching for he was truly in his element. She again wondered why his uncle wanted him back in Chicago. Was it only for the Camelot competition that Jake had said Sebastian wanted him to enter? But from what she was witnessing, Jake had found another avenue of music to pursue. Was that bad, to allow his gift to take him down a different path? But, where did that leave her? She couldn’t force him to return and she couldn’t tell him of her suspicions regarding his uncle’s health. She would have to appeal to his sense of honor.
The crowd had become rowdier, which wasn’t unusual for a weekend, so Jake played a few slower songs, hoping to bring things to a peaceful conclusion as it approached closing time. He had kept an eye on Cheyenne, hoping she would stay so he could drive her home, but just as he started yet another melody of classics, a tall, bearded man slid an arm around her from the back. He said something that widened her eyes, then he smacked his lips and leaned toward her.
Jake stood, still playing as he watched Cheyenne immediately straighten and slam an elbow into his midsection. Good girl, he thought, but her actions only made the man laugh and tighten his hold. Cheyenne pushed hard against his chest to no avail and Jake lost it.
With a ro
ar he slammed both hands against the keyboard, surprising those close to him but he didn’t stop to worry about it. A dozen strides and Jake grabbed the man by the hair and twisted, eliciting a yowl. The ruffian released Cheyenne but turned on Jake, yanking his hand free and squeezing it. Pain shot up his arm, but he reared back with the other fist and slammed it into the man’s face.
Chaos was immediate and rampant. The crowd that had once been happily singing started punching any nearby body. Chairs scrapped and glass crashed to the floor. Jake shoved Cheyenne against the bar, standing between her and the man who had accosted her. Another man, a tourist from the looks of his loud floral shirt, came up to assist, but got roughly pushed aside. The fighting was going on across the entire tavern now; cameras flashed and people yelled but Jake concentrated on one person. He could hear the sirens, and knew the sheriff would be there quickly but he wasn’t done with anyone who would lay a hand on Cheyenne. He hit him again, this time right in the mouth, and his hand came back bloody. He shook it and swore.
“You bastard!” Cheyenne shouted at the man. “Do you have any idea who he is?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Jake saw her reach for a beer bottle on the bar. Before he could stop her, she swung it, smashing the man on the side of the head. When that didn’t stop him, she hit him again. Jake made the mistake of turning to subdue her.
A flying chair hit him in the back of the head and he started to slump to the floor. His last conscious thought, as yet another camera flashed in his face, was that he was going to miss how this all ended.
* * *
Cheyenne was politely escorted into a cell with several other women. The men were in a holding cell down a narrow corridor. She had tried to explain things to the Sheriff but considering she still had a beer bottle in her hand when he and a deputy managed to calm the chaos at the bar, she had been one of the first to be taken away. Her last glimpse of Jake had tears streaming down her face. He was propped up against the bar with his friend, Cam, squatted by him, a towel pressed against his cheek. He had another towel wrapped around his right hand.
Prelude and Promises Page 6
