She didn’t give Matt a chance to do the gentlemanly thing, but exited and walked around to the trunk, where he’d stowed her instrument case. She could have dropped it off earlier, but since someone else was doing the sound check for her, she didn’t have to.
She preferred to keep it with her, whenever possible. Her father had given it to her on her eighteenth birthday to replace the smaller one she’d learned on. The tenor sax, the sexiest instrument in the world.
Going through the security checks to the dressing rooms only heightened her tension. She smelled cleaning fluid and caught a whiff of cigarette smoke. Whoever had tried that was stupid, because sensors picked up the smell so fast the smoker didn’t have a chance to ditch the cigarette before security caught him. Or perhaps she’d imagined it. The club had taken a hit when smoking was banned in Chicago, but the numbers had steadily returned until the place paid its way again.
Tension gripped her stomach again. Would her family see? No, probably not. The band’s segment was live, but her folks would probably record it and watch it later. Or they’d tell her they did. Either way, it worked for her because she never knew for sure they were watching her and she could always reassure herself that they weren’t there.
Matt’s progress to their dressing room was interrupted a couple of times, but she didn’t listen, just waited for him and took comfort from the warmth of his hand on her elbow. Reassurance and comfort. She’d never remember all those trills and riffs she put on to the record, never. But she could hang on to the main riff.
They’d been booked to appear on one of those late-night chat shows that preferred the band to play live, or at least as much as possible, and their piece would go out from here. The TV company had given the band the biggest studio so all the equipment could be installed and it sounded right. She’d have preferred to mime.
Dear Lord, she was going back to her parents’ terminology. Not that she fucking cared.
Recognizing the way her thoughts were spinning off into disparate shards, she halted and did some more deep breaths. Then she looked at Matt and everything got better. She remembered last night, when they’d tenderly made love, and she smiled. He caught the smile and raised a brow. He’d recognized the intimacy.
Finally in the dressing room, he closed the door and turned to her. “Something wrong?” he asked quietly.
She shook her head. She didn’t want to admit it. It could make her worse, to admit she was so scared, to say it out loud. “Just nervous. How long do we have?”
He checked his watch. “Final sound check’s in half an hour, the show goes out in an hour. Are you sure you’re just nervous?” He grasped her upper arms, drawing her to him.
“Well, I haven’t done this for a while.”
“What, this?”
His kiss spun her into their private world and everything righted itself again. Strange how things that were tilting at the edges suddenly came back into perspective. He tasted her, long and leisurely, and she felt safe, wanted. Understood.
When he put his hands on her ass, she moaned, pressing herself close, rubbing her stomach against the unmistakable erection he had growing under his jeans. Nice and hard. Just the way she liked it. “Fuck me,” she murmured against his mouth.
He drew away enough to speak. “We don’t have time.”
“Yes, we do.” Desperate to feel him, she pushed his leather jacket off his shoulders. It fell to the ground with a decided thump, one that matched the beat of her heart. Sudden and fast, she wanted him. That would do it, that would carry her through. She just knew it.
His growl told her he loved what she was doing. So did she, so she carried on doing it. His T-shirt followed the jacket. She spread her hands over his chest, smoothing her palms along the flat slabs of muscle, feeling the abrasion of his sparse chest hairs breaking the flow. Lovely. Perfect.
“I don’t have a condom.” She heard the desperation in his voice.
“I don’t care. I’m on the Pill. Just do it, Matt.”
He went still and stared at her. “We shouldn’t.”
“We so should.” She’d never felt more sure of anything in her life. She needed him. Fuck the condoms, or rather, without them. They’d been together for a month, and neither of them had any health worries. They’d already discussed that. Besides, she needed this. Needed it. “Please, Matt. Please.”
He groaned low in his throat. “I can’t resist you, V.” But he seemed doubtful, even though his cock was as hard as ever.
She ground her crotch against his. With a shout that sounded more like anger than desire, he tore away what remained of their clothing and tugged her close, guiding his cock to her slick depths.
Both sighed in relief when their bodies connected with a slide of flesh. Feeling him filling her was the best she’d felt all day, the pinnacle of her world. He withdrew and thrust, setting up the rhythm she loved most in the world—the only song that mattered right now.
He touched her inside, his cock effortlessly reaching that spot she loved the most. She gripped his shoulders and lifted her legs. He needed to bend his legs to align their bodies. Or lift her like he was doing now.
After hoisting her up, he pressed her against the wall. Something stuck into her back, but it didn’t hurt too much. A wood panel or something. She didn’t give a damn, not with that beautiful cock making sweet music inside her. She pressed her shoulders against the wall and tightened her thighs around his waist while he took her on the ride of her life.
He made it sweet, then slow, then faster, making it impossible for her to predict his next move. When she opened her eyes, she saw him watching her, eyes blazing a message of desire, one she was returning.
When her peak climbed so high she knew there was no going back, he was pounding into her, staring into her eyes, watching her as flesh impacted flesh. She hooked her arms around his neck and dragged herself closer for a kiss, one she badly needed.
Something caught inside her and she cried out into his mouth. Her pussy pulsed around him, clenching and unclenching until he responded and sent his semen deep inside her welcoming body.
Crooning to her, he held her securely and took her into the shower.
Half an hour later, having missed the final sound check completely, V stepped on to the stage to face far more people than she’d expected, even after seeing the line.
She’d wanted a place at the back, but they’d built a platform for her, so she was on the same level as Hunter, who was already in his place.
He raised one of his drumsticks and saluted her, and she wondered if anyone had heard the frantic fucking earlier. She’d left it so close, she’d hardly had time to think, and the afterglow of good sex still curled around her. She smiled back and settled her sax into place.
The stage was in darkness, with a single spot trained on the place where Zazz would stand in just a few minutes. The other members of the band quietly took their places, to the raucous welcome of the crowd, who didn’t miss a thing. The man at the front hushed the audience, someone wearing headphones and dressed casually.
This setup was new to her, but her first riff came only five bars into the song, so she had to be sharp. And assume that whoever had taken her place at the sound check had got it right. However hard she tried, she couldn’t feel sorry for not turning up.
A recording stood by in case anything went wrong, an earlier performance of a different track.
Waiting was the worst. Zazz stepped on stage, just out of the spot, and a disembodied voice came from the speakers. “This album is so fresh the band is still finishing it up, which is why they aren’t here tonight. But we got in touch with them in Chicago, and here’s Murder City Ravens with Sex and Diamonds. The new title for She’s So Sexy.”
And they were off. The lights flashed on, and she knew the band’s name was emblazoned behind her. Zazz did his solo faultlessly, then the lights went up and she was on.
Blasting her piece, knowing she sounded good, sensing the support of the band,
she felt great, better than she ever had before onstage. There were what, five hundred people out there? Plus Matt, sitting to one side of the first row.
That gave her pause, but Matt wasn’t only her lover, he was a musician too, capable of dissociating himself from their personal life. Just an engineer, she told herself.
The riff went perfectly. She repeated it at the end of the second verse, then reversed it for the third, a palindromic series of notes that trailed off into melancholy instead of building to a triumphant major key.
Just the solo, then a repeat of the riff, then she was done.
The solo went okay until she glanced up and saw—Jack. He hadn’t told her he’d be here. He stared at her, a slight smile quirking his mouth, that smile she always thought a bit mocking, as if he had a private joke going at her expense.
She faltered, hit a bum note. Shocked, she nearly stopped, but Jace came in, playing a few extra notes, then swinging straight into his part.
The final riff didn’t go as well as she wanted it to, and she hunched over her sax, aware she’d failed again.
Once the track ended, she forced herself to smile and remain on stage while the audience went crazy. Murder City Ravens were planning to play one more piece, but the live camera was off them now. They’d use the track for promotion, and to give the show’s website an extra. But they didn’t need her for this. She was done. All she had to do now was stand in her place and listen to the great music.
V wasn’t sure how she got back to the dressing room, but she flung open the door and came to a dead stop. Her Uncle Claud sat on the chair by the vanity, his legs crossed, his arms folded.
She put her sax carefully down and glared at him. “What?”
“Girl, I’m proud of you. You did good.”
“I screwed up the solo.”
“If you did, nobody noticed but you, and the guy who played after you. They seemed pretty happy with what you did. I am too. Does this mean you’ll be doing more with them?”
“Afraid she’ll get into bad ways?” came Matt’s velvet-toned voice from behind her. His hands settled on her waist and instantly she felt better.
Claud chuckled. “After my crowd? Not hardly, man. Our little girl has a lot of good sense.” His gaze moved up, presumably meeting Matt’s eyes. “I had some experience. I know when a man’s on the sauce, liquid or pills, and you ain’t. Or not for serious, anyhow.” His rusty laugh came breezily and he slapped one hand on his knee. “The point is, you know what it’s like. Ain’t nobody better at looking after a woman than a man who’s been there and come out the other side. How long you been straight?”
“Long enough to know I’m not going back.”
“Glad to hear it.” Leaning on his well-worn ebony cane, Claud got to his feet. “Mind, you don’t look after her and you know we’ll come after you.”
It was Matt’s turn to chuckle. “Oh, I’ve seen your family all right. I got more warnings than I’ve had in a lifetime before. She’s well cared for but not because of that.”
“She is standing right here.” V pulled away from him and went deeper into the room. Another protector? God save her. She had enough to go around twice. They loved her, she got that and they wanted her safe and happy. Maybe because of her beginnings and her fragility as a child they swaddled her a bit too close. She couldn’t blame them, but sometimes she felt she was fighting against layers of thick cotton. Like being wrapped in a dozen comforters.
“For your information, I will do as I please. That includes dating who I please.” But when she looked at Claud, she softened. He only meant it because he cared for her and he didn’t cocoon her like some of her relatives. “Claud, I appreciate it. And thank you for coming tonight.”
Claud raised a brow but said nothing. He didn’t have to. “Girl, you were worth hearing. You took that song right up. See you later. I ain’t doing Sunday afternoon because I have lunch with a lady friend, but I’ll see you at church in the morning.”
With that strong reminder, he left.
From Claud, praise really meant something to V. He liked what she did and he thought she’d improved the song. He’d always encouraged her, but so did all her family. Claud was, however, one of the musicians. He’d seen great artists, hosted them at the club sometimes, and he knew a quaver from a minim. Elation filled her, made her feel as if she were floating.
“He liked me.” She turned and faced Matt, who was leaning against the doorjamb, hands in pockets, watching her with a soft smile on his face.
“Of course he did. You were great. They loved you. So did the camera. I caught some of the shots. Wait until we see it back.”
Her answering smile faded. “No, I won’t do that. I can’t watch myself.”
He sighed and rubbed a hand over his chin, the bristles from a day’s growth rasping. “Best if you learn to watch, sweetheart. You’re your own best critiquer.”
“Claud always says that.”
He shrugged. “I’m sure he does. He knows his shit, that man.” He paused and she was attuned enough to him by now to know he wasn’t saying something.
“What?”
“What do you mean?”
She braced her elbows on her hips. “You know what I mean. What were you going to say?”
He glanced along the hallway outside and came in, closing the door quietly behind him. “Just that you’re twice the musician your Uncle Claud is. He’s a great piano player, but he doesn’t have that spark that I hear in you.” He spread his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Sorry, but you asked. And it’s only my opinion.”
Grinning, she gave him the answer she guessed he didn’t expect. “You think he doesn’t know that? He’s like you, Matt. He enables.”
He didn’t seem too happy with that assessment, frowning. “I like to think that what I do is part of the creative process.”
She could tell he’d taken offense, because his language had become formal and distant. “It is. But you also help not so good artists get better, don’t you?” Stepping close, she spread her palm over his chest. His low growl sounded good to her, although she thought he didn’t mean it in that way. But she could hope. “With bands like Murder City Ravens, you do add to the creative process. They’re into electronics and you added a lot to the tracks, suggested things they’d never have imagined. They’re brilliant and getting better. But with another artist, one beginning their career, say, or a pop queen who’s more looks than voice, you can do wonders.”
“I can make hits,” he allowed. “Even without Auto-Tune. I don’t use it for voices.”
She’d noticed that. He’d produced something very eerie with an auto tuner and a recorded theremin, the instrument that could be played without touching it. Something that had made her skin crawl and was meant to. Murder City Ravens had taken that technique and run with it. “Okay, you win. You most definitely create.”
His expression softening, he slid his arms around her waist. “And so do you. But I get what you’re saying about your uncle. That club gives people a place to play and somewhere for people to socialize, as valuable in its way as a guitar solo from John Lee Hooker.”
“So you do have an interest in Chicago blues. He played at the club, you know. Almost everyone did. They’d tour the clubs, making what money they could.”
“I know. It’s one reason I decided to come here.”
She tilted her head to one side. “What are the other reasons?”
He answered almost immediately, as if he didn’t have to think about his answer. “I have no history here. No contacts.” He grimaced. “No way of getting drugs easily even if I’d wanted them. They’re free for the guys in the band, and boy, is that something when you’re starting out. Here, I’d have had to go out hunting. I’d have to make the decision that I wanted H or coke and I’d have to make an effort to get it, instead of having it handed to me for free.”
“It’s not that difficult to get,” she said.
His hands tightened on her waist. “And you’d
know that, how?”
She gave him a look that clearly said, Duh. “I grew up here. Went to school here. Played music in the clubs here. Yeah, I’ve tried this and that in my time, but I’ve never stuck with anything. It didn’t seem worth it to me.” She paused. “Besides, with a family like mine, I’d have to be desperate to get hooked. My mom cleaned my room every week until I left home, and she still turns up at my apartment from time to time. Trouble is, she usually arrives with a peach cobbler and I can never resist those.”
“I wouldn’t like to see you take drugs.” His features tightened once more and her heart sank. Had she found yet another protector? But his next words went some way to dispelling that notion. “But it has to be your choice. I wouldn’t stick around to watch, that’s all.”
Normally she’d see that as emotional blackmail, but this time she realized he was protecting himself as much as her. He couldn’t have a junkie girlfriend. Not and live. Lucky she didn’t intend to take that path. She went on tiptoe and kissed him. “I won’t. So what happens now?”
“You ready to rock or ready for bed?”
Oh yes, he was a musician all right. Sometimes she felt frenetic after a session, other times, completely drained. Tonight she wanted one thing. “Take me home and take me to bed.”
“With the greatest pleasure in the world.”
Chapter Seven
Taking her moment in the spotlight with grace proved difficult. Every one of the regulars in the café mentioned it, said she was “great” and even “sexy”. V smiled and said thank you but didn’t add anything else. Her moment of fame would pass in a day or two. Just a shame her shift was directly after the show. A day or two would have given her a cushion. But no, there she was, a sitting duck for all the compliments and jokes.
“You’ll have to get used to it.”
She spun around, nearly whacking her partner with the spoon in her hand. He ducked out of the way, grinning. “Jack, what are you doing? Why are you here?”
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