by Andrea Dale
A LITTLE NIGHT MUSIC
by
Andrea Dale & Sarah Husch
Electronic edition published 2013 by Soul’s Road Press
Copyright © by Andrea Dale. All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction, in whole or in part in any form, without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
A Little Night Music was originally published by Cheek Books (2007) under the name Sarah Dale.
Inquiries should be addressed to
Soul’s Road Press
[email protected]
http://www.soulsroadpress.com
Cover art © bioraven / BigStockPhoto
Logo by Designs by Trapdoor
Also by Andrea Dale
Novels
In Her Hands
(see the Sneak Preview at the end of this book!)
Short Stories
Braceleted
Guarding Her Body
Raven’s Flight
The Queen of Christmas
To the boys in the band:
Chuck, Dennis, John C., John P., JY, Lawrence, Ricky, Todd, and Tommy.
Thanks for the inspiration…and for keeping the dream alive.
Table of Contents
A Little Night Music
In Her Hands Sneak Preview
About the Authors
Copyright Information
Start Reading
Prologue
Hannah put the finishing touches on her hair, trying to tuck the last corkscrew curl into the upsweep at the back. It persisted in sticking out of the side of her head, looking like an auburn antenna tuned to a bad station. She couldn’t do anything about the braces that had cursed her throughout high school, so she promised herself she would smile as little as possible. Keeping her mouth closed would also prevent her from saying something stupid.
The glasses, however, she could fix. She took them off, and her image in the mirror immediately blurred. She squinted at her reflection. That was no good. What was the point of not being able to see him? She slipped them back on and left her dressing room.
The poster pinned to the Laura Ashley wallpaper next to Hannah’s bed drew her attention, and she sighed. It was a wistful sound, and she firmly told herself there would be none of that during dinner, either.
The thought of sitting at the same table as Nathaniel Fox made her knees weak, so she sat on the edge of her wide canopied bed, bouncing on the hated floral bedspread in the vague hope that the rough treatment would somehow destroy it. She’d lobbied for vivid colors and clean lines when her suite had been re-decorated but her mother and the interior-designer-of-the-year had overruled her. Instead, her suite of rooms had been filled with soft pastels, stripes and florals, and—nightmare beyond nightmare—a canopy bed.
Her black crushed-velvet skirt hiked up too high, and Hannah firmly tugged it down over her thighs. If she’d only had some warning, she could have lost that last twenty pounds she was battling and fit into the cute Gucci sundress that she and Gina had found at a vintage shop.
How could her mother have forgotten to tell her until casually, this afternoon, “Oh, by the way, that singer you like so much will be at dinner tonight. What’s his name again—Cougar? Wolf?”?
Fox, Mother. Nathaniel Fox.
Fox’s face grinned down at her from the wall. Hannah had been a fan ever since she’d first heard his husky voice coming out of her radio. The fact that he was just about the sexiest man on earth made her pulse rate climb. The life-sized picture caught him mid-leap from the top of a drum riser, the leather pants pulled tight across his thighs. His dark hair flew around his face, highlighting the lean cheekbones, the wide mouth. She wondered what it would be like to press her lips to his, to feel that mouth moving on hers. It certainly wouldn’t be like that awful Spin-the-Bottle game on her class trip to Yosemite. An unfamiliar ache settled in her stomach, and she wondered how close it was to dinner.
A glance at the clock on her nightstand showed Hannah just how late it was getting. Taking her courage firmly in her hands, she stood up. She’d heard a car door slam half an hour ago and had peeked out of her window to see a dark green Porsche that could only belong to Fox parked in front of the house. She was, regrettably, too late to catch a glimpse of the man himself. Instead, she watched as her father’s chauffeur slipped behind the wheel and drove the car out of sight, no doubt parking it out by the garage. It had taken her this long to get her nerve up to go downstairs and meet her father’s guest.
Everett Forbes was a big-name music producer, and Hannah had grown up with musicians wandering in and out of her house, treating her like some adorable little mascot. But this was different. Very different.
None of the others had inspired whispered midnight conversations with her best friend, Gina. None of the others made her body fluttery when she looked at them.
She pressed her shaking hands to her cheeks, willing herself not to blush. “I will not make a fool of myself,” she swore aloud. Oh god, her voice was shaking. She repeated the phrase, this time going for a sexy rasp. It didn’t work. She left the bedroom, giving the cute sundress a last longing look, and passed through her sitting room.
The wide marble stairway seemed a long way down in her new shoes. The spiky heels and straps had looked so good when she’d bought them. Wearing them was a whole other story.
Grasping the banister, she caught sight of her chewed nails and grimaced. Something else she hadn’t had a chance to fix. She started down the stairs, trying not to totter.
The sweeping staircase led to the black-and-white tiled entrance foyer of their Hollywood mansion. Hannah stayed close to the banister, watching the steps as she descended. She wondered how presenters at award shows were able to glide down the middle of a staircase without looking down. Surely she’d fall on her ass.
“Hey, can you tell me where the bathroom is?”
The voice interrupted her concentration. Hannah looked up from where she was watching her feet, and saw him. Nathaniel Fox, all six glorious feet of him, standing there, expectantly waiting for her to answer his question as if it were the most normal thing on earth.
Her foot missed the next step, and she toppled forward.
He caught her before she hit the floor, hauling her up against his hard chest. Her fingers dug into his shirt as she struggled to regain her balance, gripping the soft black linen like a lifeline. Beneath it, his chest was hard, the heat of his skin warming her. He smelled of smoke and something undeniably male, something she’d never experience before, and it made her feel even more giddy.
His eyes really were the most incredible shade of blue, fringed by the longest lashes she’d ever seen on a man. Hannah admitted almost hysterically that her experience with men’s eyelashes was remarkably slim.
“Are you okay?” he asked. His fingers still gripped her upper arms, sending shivers of excitement along her skin.
Hannah nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Her hands drifted up to touch the silky ends of the hair that fell over his shoulder like a raven’s wing. It was as soft as it looked in the poster on her wall. A gold hoop in his left ear glinted through the dark strands.
Oh god, she was touching Nathaniel Fox! He was holding her in his arms…and he was close enough to kiss.
Her gaze settled on his mouth, and before she could talk herself out of it, she wound her fingers in his hair, yanked his head down,
and kissed him.
His mouth was hard, warm. Hannah felt dizzy with pleasure and pressed herself against him. For one brief, sweet moment, he kissed her back, his lips caressing, teasing the curves of hers. Then with a soft groan, he gently put her away from him.
“Whoa, honey, that was nice, but you need to grow up a little bit first,” he said. His fingers touched her cheek, the pad of his thumb skating lightly across her bottom lip before dropping away.
“I’m sorry,” Hannah blurted, raising her hand to her mouth. She could feel the hot color in her cheeks, and knew she was as red as her hair. How awful.
Fox grinned, that slow grin that set her heart to pounding every time she saw him in concert. Only now it was directed at her. “It’s okay,” he said. “I didn’t mind. Now where’s your bathroom?”
Hannah pointed down the hall. When he turned away, she ripped off the stupid high heels and fled back up the stairs to her rooms. Once there, she fell onto the bed and pressed one of the pillows over her head, trying to blot out the memory of what had happened.
Well, most of it. The embarrassing parts. The kiss, however…
She threw the pillow onto the floor and grabbed the phone. She’d called her best friend, Gina, right after Mom had told her Fox was coming to dinner. Of course she’d promised to call Gina back with all the details. She’d known Gina since second grade and had gotten her hooked on Nathaniel Fox, too.
“Is he there?” Gina demanded. “Is he as gorgeous in person? Omigod, tell me everything!”
“I have just made a total, complete, and utter fool of myself,” Hannah wailed. “My life is ruined!”
Gina made appropriate soothing noises, gasps, and finally a long squeal when Hannah got to the part about the kiss.
“I cannot believe you did that!” she said. “I am so totally jealous. I hate you.”
A knock sounded at Hannah’s door.
“It gets worse,” Hannah said. “Hold on a sec.” She padded into the sitting room, the phone held to her side. To the door, she said, “Yes?”
“Miss Hannah?” It was Maria, their maid. “Dinner is being served.”
There was no way she could go back down there, not after the humiliation of rejection. “I’m not feeling well,” Hannah said.
“Oh no, dear! Would you like me to have your mother come up?”
Dear lord, no.
“No, I’ll be okay. It’s just a headache. I want to take a nap. Thanks, Maria.”
Back on the phone with Gina, she relayed the rest of the awful story.
“But you kissed him,” Gina said. “That’s so awesome.”
“And then he threw me back into the pond for being too small.”
“I don’t know,” Gina said, ever the optimist. “It sounds to me like he’ll be back to fish again later.”
“Do you think?” Hannah asked, perking up slightly. “Really?”
“What did you say he said? You need to grow up a little? That kind of makes sense. I mean, we are still jailbait, at least until next year. You don’t want to be responsible for the downfall of his career.”
“I suppose not.” Hannah got up and paced through the room, unable to sit still with a fresh wave of excitement surging through her. “You think I still have a chance? When I’m eighteen, or older?”
“Totally,” Gina said. “I mean, your dad’s just produced his second album. You’ll get to meet him again.”
Hannah couldn’t stop a grin from slowly curving her mouth. “I’ll need to have a plan. I have to be ready next time.”
They spent the next two hours on the phone, formulating the plan, hashing out the details. Giggling, imagining what it would be like. Hannah turned on her computer and typed as they talked.
Finally, Gina said, “Have you started the social studies paper for tomorrow?”
“I wrote it last week.”
Gina snorted. “Oh, stupid, me, of course you did. But I haven’t, so I’ve got to go. Call me back if you start to freak out again, okay?”
“’Kay. Or I’ll call if I get any more ideas about the plan,” Hannah said, and hung up. She replaced the cell phone in its charger and wandered back into her bedroom. The window seat was padded, one of the few places in her room that she actually liked. Leaving the lights off, Hannah sat, pulling her long legs up and smoothing the skirt over them. The wide circular driveway outside was currently flooded with light. Fox’s Porsche was back in front of the door, so he must be getting ready to leave.
A pang twisted her chest. She’d blown it. He was going to leave, and she hadn’t even been able to put together a coherent sentence. Not to mention that she’d been the ultimate klutz.
But you kissed him, a little voice reminded her. And you’re going to kiss him again one day.
Hannah opened her window, letting in the mellow southern Californian spring air scented with night-blooming jasmine. Maybe she’d get to hear his voice one last time before he left.
Waiting patiently, Hannah was rewarded when she heard the front door, below and to her left, open. She couldn’t make out the words, but she guessed that her parents were saying goodnight to Fox. Hannah watched, secure in the dark, as he strode to his car.
Her heart pounded. He looked so hot in the tight black pants that her mouth dried up. He was so close, and yet so unattainable right now. He’d made that clear.
Fox opened the door to his dark-green Porsche, then paused and looked up at the house.
At Hannah’s window.
She shrank further back. If he saw her watching… She couldn’t bear to add to the embarrassment. She heard the car engine purr to life, and when she furtively glanced down again, Fox was gone.
Hannah stayed at the window for a long while, watching the lights of Los Angeles twinkling down the hill, hardening her resolve.
One day, so help her, she was going to make love to Nathaniel Fox.
Chapter One
Nine Years Later
“Are you ready for the meeting?” Sam asked.
Nate looked up, his fingers paused momentarily on the strings of his guitar. Distracted, he tried to remember what meeting he was supposed to be ready for.
“Oh, the new publicist, right,” he said finally. He strummed the guitar strings, stopping to tighten a tuning peg. A single plucked string filled the studio with monotonous sound before he stopped to make another minute adjustment.
“Ms. Montgomery will be here in half an hour,” Sam said, not moving.
“Fine,” Nate answered. He swung around on the stool, putting his back to his manager. He could still see him in the floor-to-ceiling mirror on the opposite wall. “You know where to find me.”
“Why are you being so difficult?”
Nate leaned over the instrument cradled in his arms. “Publicists aren’t high on my list of favorite people right now, Sam.”
“I know you had a problem with the last one—”
“He offered me drugs, Sam,” Nate said, his voice low and tight.
Unbidden, the memory of that moment swam up into his consciousness. The smirk of the weasely little man, so sure that Nate would take him up on the offer. The moment of indecision, what had only been a few seconds but had felt like a lifetime as he’d battled the craving, the yearning to give in.
His hands tightened on the neck of the guitar, compressing the strings and drawing a low strangled sound from it. With effort, he let go.
The only good part of the memory was the expression on the weasel’s face when Nate had answered by grabbing him by his shirt front and telling him where he could put his drugs.
“And you said no,” Sam said.
Nate gritted his teeth. Put that way, it sounded like his refusal had been easy.
Sam continued. “That’s great. You’re clean now and I’m proud of you, but the fact is that you fired him. He was doing a hell of a job on publicity for the tour.”
“That layout in the Weekly Word wasn’t publicity, it was character assassination.” Nate swung back to fac
e Sam. His manager’s hair had started to grey, the thick curls drawn back from a sharp face. Almost against his will, Nate felt his anger drain away. Sam had always been there for him, an odd cross between friend and father figure.
“Hannah Montgomery’s good, and we’re lucky to get her.”
“I know.” Nate scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’ll make nice with the publicity. I’ll even smile for the camera when I have to.”
“No, don’t make nice,” Sam said. “We don’t want nice. We want reformed bad boy. But still a bad boy.”
Nate grimaced.
“It’s what your fans expect,” Sam said. “Your image sells, and you know it. And let’s face it, after your last album, it’s your sex appeal we’re banking on.”
The words were a knife twisting in Nate’s stomach, but he said nothing. Only Sam could get away with a statement like that, because of everything that had gone before.
“Think about what I’ve said,” Sam said. “Hannah will be here soon, and we’re going out to dinner.”
“Dinner? Why?”
“To celebrate.” Sam pinned him with what Nate assumed was supposed to be a stern look. “You’re going to behave, aren’t you?”
“Like the devil that I am,” Nate promised.
Sam snorted, but the look in his eyes told Nate that some of his worry had been eased. “Half an hour, Nate.”
Nate waved him out of the rehearsal room. He stood, stretching the kinks from his spine. The piano to one side of the room beckoned, and he sat down at its bench, poising his fingers over the keys. After a moment, he hung his head, letting one finger plink a key. It had always been about the music, but after the cataclysmic flop of his last album, and everything that had happened after, even that was in danger.
This new publicist had better work out.
He rolled his shoulders and once again put his fingers to the keys. He transferred his tangled emotions into what he’d always done best. Music flowed, filling the room. The guitar would always be his stage instrument, but the piano filled a different need. He’d done some of his best writing on its keys.
