by Andrea Dale
He was very lucky that Sam had pushed him to invest a portion of it when he’d first hit the charts. If he never wrote another song, performed on another stage, he’d still be able to live however he chose.
But early retirement wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted the edge back. He wanted the spotlight. He wanted a chance to prove to himself that he could do it all again.
Do it without fucking up again.
He wanted to prove to himself that he could still make music that affected people.
Nate wondered what his idealistic younger self would have thought of who he’d become. He shook his head. It didn’t matter, really. It had been a fun ride before the fall. He could only go forward from here.
The existence of the poster told him something else, though. If it hadn’t been obvious before, it certainly was now: Hannah Montgomery was still a card-carrying Nate Fox fan.
Nate flipped off the light and found the bathroom. He wondered if she’d ever been backstage. If they’d ever met up at an industry party. Sadly, there were real holes in his memory. He could have met her a dozen times. He’d never know.
He only remembered the shy girl who’d seemed so normal, despite who her father was, how much money her family had. Not like one of the mini-skirted, overly made-up women who gathered near the tour bus or bribed their way backstage. Her sweetness had been part of her allure. It was one of the reasons he’d remembered her after all these years.
The shyness was gone. Oh, there were flashes here and there, but he hadn’t been the only one with an interest in seduction that first night they’d met. Today she’d plotted and planned an erotic picnic and been the aggressor, and it had turned him on more than he could have imagined. He wondered what else she might do, given free rein. He hoped he’d find out.
That sweetness was still there, though; part of the mystery. She intrigued him, mind, body, and soul.
Realizing he was far too awake to crawl back into bed, despite the enticement of Hannah’s naked body, he grabbed his jeans, abandoned in the living room, and tugged them on. He carried his guitar case out onto the balcony. City sounds interrupted the night, muted but ever present. Exotic scents drifted to him on the light breeze, night-blooming jasmine from the building’s landscaping. He made himself comfortable on the outdoor loveseat and took his guitar into his hand, resting it on his lap. It fit him like an old friend. His arm automatically curled over it, the body so much like a woman’s.
A soft strum released music into the night. A few twists of the pegs brought it into tune. He propped his feet up onto the railing and let his hands play across the strings. There was no plan, no mental command to make music. His body just did what it had done for nearly as long as he could remember.
Letting his mind drift, trying not to focus too hard on the need, Nate explored old songs, revisiting his own and others. He tried to trick his hands into new melodies, tried to open new paths in his mind. Tried to write something that he hadn’t heard a million times before.
Tried to write anything new.
But as before, a few notes in, he froze up. Either trailed off, or segued into something old and familiar.
He heard the slide of metal on metal behind him, the rustle of fabric, and he turned to see Hannah. The pale, silky robe she wore was ghostly in the night, her hair a deeper shadow over her shoulders. The scent of her teased him, starting a slow burn in his groin.
“Don’t stop,” she said softly, taking a seat next to him. She curled her legs under her, her knee bumping his hip.
He leaned over to kiss her, relishing the way she opened to him. He was dizzy with her when he finally pulled back.
Leaning her head against her hand, she observed him quietly. “Were you playing something new when I came out? I didn’t recognize it.”
Nate shook his head. His hands automatically shaped the chords, playing the tune she’d heard. It was simple, from a time when he was still learning to write music. Back when he was still able to. “I wrote this years ago. It never made it onto an album.”
The sound of notes released into the night wrapped around them. It was a secret time, no lights except for the few brave stars that shone through the ever-present haze, the stronger lights of the never-sleeping city.
There was an intimacy to the dark of night, and Nate thought back over the past week to all the conversations they’d shared. The long phone calls and the things they’d been able to say because they weren’t face to face. It felt like that now, even though they sat close enough to touch.
It felt like he could tell her anything.
More importantly, he wanted to tell her. Almost needed to—to confess the one secret that represented a barrier between them.
He stopped playing, and he realized his hands were trembling. He knew he was taking a chance. If he’d misread everything, if Hannah was interested only in him for his rock god persona, then his words would destroy her vision of him. He’d lose her.
But he had to have faith. Had to believe there was more between them than that.
Before he could change his mind, he spoke.
“I haven’t written a new song in the last two years. I can’t write anymore.”
Chapter Nine
He felt the sudden surprise that tensed her body. He couldn’t look at her.
Refused to see the shock and pity he feared he’d see.
“Why not?” Hannah asked.
The question startled him because it wasn’t what he’d expected. There was no condemnation, only quiet curiosity. He chanced a quick look. She was watching him intently, but the shadows hid her features and he couldn’t read her expression.
“I haven’t written a thing since the accident. It was like a switch in my brain turned off, and I’ve never been able to turn it back on.”
She set a gentle hand on his thigh. “That’s why you did an album of cover tunes,” she guessed.
“Yeah,” Nate said. He looked out over the view. “I was contractually obligated to do one last album for the record label.”
“Who else knows?”
“Only Sam,” Nate admitted. He realized he’d been playing the same song over and over, and forced himself to stop. A silence stretched between them. He could hear cars on the freeway a mile away.
“Wow,” Hannah said, her voice soft. “I had no idea.”
“It’s not because you’re my publicist,” he said quickly, realizing she might interpret it that way. “I knew I’d have to tell you eventually, once the tour was over and our focus turned to what I’d be doing next. But I wanted…I wanted you to know. It’s part of who I am.”
“Then I’m honored you’d tell me,” Hannah said. “I’m…really glad you feel comfortable enough to tell me.”
He put his hand over hers, and she turned her palm so their fingers could twine.
“Do you know why it’s happened?” she asked. She was obviously picking her words carefully. “Is it because of the accident?”
He sighed. “I wasn’t injured, really, and I don’t think it was shock to my system. All I know is, when I got out of rehab, I was blocked. The last few CDs were written…let’s just say, I often had a little boost for my creativity. I know that my last album sucked because I was spending more time boosting than being creative.” He ran a hand through his hair. “God, I listen to it now, and can’t believe I let some of those songs be recorded.”
“So, maybe you just need some time?” Hannah asked. “After all, you wrote your earlier stuff not being under the influence.”
“It’s been two years,” he said, a knot in his stomach. “I keep hoping, keep trying, though.”
“It’s in there,” Hannah whispered. “Inside you. Maybe it’s been buried pretty deep, but it’s not gone. I can’t believe that. Music is too big a part of you.”
He leaned over, pressed his lips to her forehead, stroking her soft hair with his free hand. “Thank you,” he said finally. “That’s what I hold on to.”
“Play a little more for me
?” she asked, tapping a finger on the guitar. “Anything you want.” His eyes had adjusted to the light enough that he saw the flash of her grin. “I’ve never had a private concert before.”
He thought for a moment, then strummed the first chords to Guns N’ Roses’ “Patience.”
When he finished the song, they both let the final notes fade into the darkness.
Then he said, “It’s quid pro quo time, sweetheart,” trying to inject a note of lightness into his voice.
“What?”
“I’ve told you my deep, dark secret. Now you have to tell me yours.”
“I don’t think so,” she said.
He put the guitar back into its case so he could turn towards her. “Chicken.”
“I am not!” she declared hotly.
Nate merely stared at her. He could feel himself smiling.
“Oh, all right.” He could practically hear the cogs of her mind turning. “We’ve met before,” she admitted.
“Really?” He feigned ignorance. “When?”
She moved a little in the corner of the loveseat. The robe slipped from her shoulder, revealing smooth skin. He realized she wore nothing beneath the robe. It was more than a little distracting. Still, he did want to hear what she had to say.
“We met at my parents’ house when I was younger.”
“Your parents?” He wanted to see how much she would reveal. He wanted to know why she kept so quiet about it.
Her arms looped around her knees. There was a long pause and then she blurted, “My father is Everett Forbes. I fell down the stairs at your feet and made a total ass of myself.”
He tried to keep from grinning, but couldn’t seem to help himself. “That’s not the way I remember it.”
“What?” The outrage that filled her voice made the grin wider, and he knew he was in danger of laughing. “You knew?”
“I recognized you.”
She smacked him hard in the arm. “You jerk! I can’t believe you didn’t say anything!”
“You didn’t seem to want me to recognize you.” Nate reached out to wind a lock of silky hair around his finger. “How could I possibly have forgotten you, Hannah?”
“Sure, I guess it wasn’t every day that you had a gawky seventeen-year-old fall into your arms and humiliate herself.”
Nate shook his head. “I told you, that’s not the way I remember it.” He caught her hand and dragged her resisting body across his. She wiggled to try to escape, but he held her tight, enjoying the way her ass felt squirming on his lap. When she quieted, he was almost sorry. But he could see her now, see the pout on her lips, the indignant glare in her eyes.
“I remember the way you touched my hair, like you couldn’t believe I was real. I remember the way you felt pressed against me, all curves and softness. And I definitely remember you kissing me.”
Her tongue touched her bottom lip, and he had to force himself not to kiss her. He waited for her to process what he’d said.
“My hair was all frizzy, and I had big ugly glasses on—”
“Your hair was curly, and I wanted to wrap it around my fingers and kiss the hell out of you.”
Nate gave in to the urge he’d been fighting since he’d pulled her onto his lap and teased her mouth with his. Lightly, just enough to make her moan a little when he drew back.
“But somehow, I didn’t think it would be a good idea to have your father walk into the foyer and see the latest person he signed to his label making out with his little girl.”
Hannah looked up at his face, and her fingers toyed with the ends of his hair, just the way he remembered her doing that day. It was erotic as hell. The silk of her robe was cool against his bare chest, and when she moved, the sensation against his nipples went straight to his groin.
When she moved to straddle his thighs, her robe fell open. He helped it, loosening the belt and sliding his hands inside to grip her hips.
“Here’s something you don’t know,” she said. Her hands were between them, flicking open the button on his jeans. He hissed, praying like hell she was careful as she eased the zipper down over his hard cock.
She put her lips against his ear. “I made a vow that night to have you, for one hot night of passion.”
She was slick and hot, so ready for him as she took him inside of her. He hissed a breath at the nearly overwhelming pleasure. His hands dug into her hips and he pushed up into her. The sensation of her inner muscles clutching him tightly made him grit his teeth.
“It’s always good to have goals,” he managed. He cut off her breathy laugh with a kiss and lost himself in the slick, sliding rhythm of their bodies.
*
Hannah sucked deeply on the straw shoved down into the icy mochachino. The espresso-laced chocolate drink slid down her throat. Nate glanced her way, and she smiled, curling the tip of her tongue around the top of the straw. He stopped speaking, and Andre turned his head, following Nate’s attention. Hannah smiled sweetly at them both, and gave a little wave. She had to turn away before laughter overcame her.
Last night had wiped both her and Nate out and they’d slept later than either of them had intended. Consequently, they’d had to rush to be at the tour’s departure spot.
It hadn’t mattered. Sam had been held up in traffic. He’d only just arrived, and was now simultaneously talking into his cell phone and going over a checklist with the tour’s driver.
“That wasn’t nice,” Nate said from behind her. His breath stirred the soft hairs at her nape.
She turned, her ponytail sliding over her bare shoulders. The kelly green halter top she wore was designed for comfort. The intent behind wearing it and the dangling gold hoop earrings, however, was more about sheer enticement. Besides, it went well with her jeans and boots.
“I was just enjoying my drink,” Hannah said, trying for innocence and failing completely. The warm scent of his skin surrounded her. It was hard to resist the desire to lean into him, to tongue the earlobe containing a small gold hoop.
Nate caught the hand holding her drink and took a long pull at the straw. His wicked grin made her thighs clench.
“Time to get on the bus,” he told her. “I’ll give you the tour.”
Hannah had been in tour buses before, but they never ceased to amaze her. How they could cram so much stuff into such a small space… Gina insisted it involved inter-dimensional pockets, and Hannah wasn’t sure her friend was wrong.
At the front there was the driver’s area. Next was a lounging area with comfortable chairs and tables bolted to the floor. The small room contained a TV, a DVD player, and a bitchin’ stereo. A curtain separated a small kitchenette equipped with a fridge, a microwave, a cappuccino maker. A closet of a bathroom was opposite. A door led to a small sleeping area with bunks on each side of the bus. They were surprisingly roomy considering they were on a bus.
She tried very hard not to think about the roominess of the bunks, because that led her to calculating just how much space there was in a bunk for the various sexual positions she and Nate could get into.
And whether she could keep from screaming when they were doing so.
“Coming through,” the drummer yelled, a duffel bag held high. Scott gave them a wide grin, eyeing Hannah from head to toe. They’d met earlier, and she thought his sense of humor went right along with his T-shirt. The white shirt showed guys gathered around a barbeque, holding hot dogs on long forks. The caption read “It’s only fun until someone loses a wiener.”
Hannah patted one of the upper bunks. “I’m sleeping up here.”
“In that case, I definitely want to be on the bottom,” Scott said.
Nate smacked him on the back of the head. “Behave.” He caught Hannah’s hand, leading her to another door. “We’re sleeping in here.”
“Here” was the last area on the bus. It could hardly be called a bedroom, despite the wide bed that dominated the space, but it provided privacy that the bunks lacked. Hannah plopped onto the bed, giving it a quick
bounce. “It’s good to be a rock god,” she announced.
Nate sucked in a deep breath, watching her. “Sometimes, it definitely is.”
This trip would be a relaxed one. They were driving from Los Angeles to Las Vegas during the day, which would take about six hours. They had the night to themselves, and Nate had promised to show her around.
Tomorrow would be a stage rehearsal, going over last-minute lighting cues and sound checks, before the tour’s kick-off concert.
Sam called out that they were leaving in less than a minute. She and Nate made their way back to the front. Hannah settled into a burgundy leather chair that seemed built for her body. The bus lurched forward and they were off, headed for the first leg of Nate Fox’s comeback tour.
Andre was deep in conversation with Kenny, the bass player. Kenny was a tall man leaning towards heavyset. His shaggy, blondish-brown hair was pulled back into a low ponytail. He didn’t move much, but his playing was powerful. He was the only band member left from Nate’s last tour. The others—Scott the drummer, Alan the keyboardist, and Freebo the rhythm guitarist—had been handpicked by Nate to join the band for Cannibal Eyes.
“So you two are an item, then?” Freebo asked. His dark hair and goatee were trimmed closely. Chains decorated the black leather boots he had propped on the table.
“And it’s not to go any further than here,” Sam said before either Nate or Hannah could reply. He gave them all what could only be described as a stern look. For a moment, Hannah had a flashback to high school and her sole visit to the principal’s office, after she’d led a protest against the crappy cafeteria food.
“We want all the focus to be on the tour,” Hannah explained.
“Okay,” Alan said. He pulled the sunglasses resting in his curls down over his eyes and settled back for a nap.
“Great,” Scott said morosely. “The only time I get to live on a bus with a good-looking woman, and she’s already taken.”
“Down, boy,” Kenny said. “We’ll find you a treat in Vegas.”
