by Genia Avers
He knew she lacked anything resembling kindness, but over time, he discovered a truly nasty person lurked inside her voluptuous shape. His heart had taken a hike a long time before his person managed to follow. The break from her had almost broken up the band.
Never again.
“I said, doing what?”
Brent sighed, wishing he could ignore her, but he knew she’d keep asking the question until he answered.
“Amanda, I’m working here. I wasn’t talking to you and I don’t want to start now. I need to be here, but if you keep needling me, I’ll leave.”
“Ah, poor baby. That’s not very friendly.”
“Don’t go there.” Brent had fallen for her can’t-we-just-be-friends act before. They couldn’t. He had also fallen for her give-me-one-more-chance and it’s-just-sex routines. The results were the same—more attempts at manipulation, more disaster.
She wanted him back, he got that, but she didn’t care about him. She just couldn’t stand to lose.
Undaunted, Amanda walked around the piano and propped her elbows on his keyboard, squeezing her breasts tightly between her arms. Knowing her, the boob display was intentional. He couldn’t remember the last time so much cleavage had so little appeal. Probably never.
“Amanda, please move.”
“You like her, don’t you?”
“Like who?” Brent knew exactly who she meant.
“Oh pleeeease. You’re too smart to play dumb.”
“If you’re asking about Tanith, I like her voice very much. Correction, I love her voice.”
“This is me you’re talking to, Brent. I know you better than anyone. You may not like it, but I do. I know you like her, the female.”
Brent bristled at the dig on Tanith’s behalf. The new singer didn’t even rate being called a woman or girl—she was “the female.” He wanted to snap, but that was exactly the reaction Amanda wanted.
Realizing he’d defended Tanith in his mind, Brent masked his face and his emotions. Besides, he wasn’t that dumb. He’d learned from previous screaming bouts with Amanda. The only way to escape without scars was to show no emotion.
The woman pushed. “So are you going to admit it?”
He glared at her. Amanda did have an uncanny knack for knowing what he thought. It wouldn’t do to let her know she’d guessed the truth. Besides, he couldn’t let it be true. Tanith was the band’s singer, nothing more.
“Actually, I’ve sworn off women—not that it’s any of your business.”
She flashed him her best smile. He knew it was her best because he’d seen her practice it in the mirror often enough. “That’s understandable. After me, any other woman would be ho-hum.”
“Yeah, that’s probably it.” Brent bit his lip, determined not to say anything else.
“If you play your cards right,” she purred, “you could have me again.”
Working hard to keep his face expressionless, Brent stood and grabbed his jacket. Only when he’d reached the door did he dare speak. “I’ve found it’s always best to fold when you have a lousy hand. Lock up when you leave.”
Sometimes retreat was the only option.
Chapter Six
Tanith stood outside the door of Brent’s garage, wondering what she should do next. Her stomach clawed against her lungs. In the week since her audition, she’d convinced herself it had been a fluke. She wasn’t good enough to sing with the Tough Guys.
I can’t do this. If she couldn’t talk, how could she possibly sing?
She took three steps backward, and then turned to bolt toward the road. She stood transfixed, watching the taillights of Darson’s car as he drove away. Her pal wouldn’t be back for three hours.
She slumped down to her knees on the asphalt, tears forming in her eyes. She couldn’t walk home. The practice site was miles from nowhere.
Why couldn’t band practice have been in the same place as the auditions?
The door opened. Julian hovered over her, tapping the end of a pack of cigarettes. “Better get inside, luv. You’re way late.”
“Late?” How could she be late? Darson had dropped her off a half-hour early because he had an appointment.
The man pulled out a lighter. “Hurry on now. We’ve been waiting for you.” Julian reached forward and tugged at her elbow.
Her only option was to stand or fall on her face. She stood. Julian gave her a gentle push toward the garage. She glanced over her shoulder and he made a little wave gesture, motioning her inside.
Zombie like, she walked through the door. Brent raised his head from his keyboard and glared at her. Tanith felt like a shrimp in a shark tank.
“I’m so pleased you were able to join us. Finally.”
Anger penetrated through her stupor of fear. “What are you talking about?” she snapped. “I’m thirty minutes early.”
“Doll Face, you’re actually thirty minutes late,” Marcus chided. He softened his words by walking over and giving her a gentle kiss on her cheek. “The practice times were written on your music. Maybe you didn’t see it.”
“I did see it. It said six o’clock. I’m thirty minutes early.”
“Hmm.” Marcus cocked his head to one side, a puzzled expression on his face. He reached into his notebook and pulled out a copy. “No. It says five o’clock on Wednesdays. See?”
Tanith looked at his paper. That couldn’t be right. She shook her head, trying to make the confusion go away. “But my copy had a line drawn through that. Six o’clock was written in pencil.”
Marcus gave her a gentle squeeze. “It doesn’t matter. Just don’t be late again. Besides, we’re just now getting ready to play anyway.”
“It damn well does matter,” Brent barked. He walked over and put his finger practically on her nose. “If you can’t be on time, don’t even bother to show up. Got it?”
Tanith felt her cheeks flame. “Don’t you get it? I thought I was early.”
“Brent, me boy. You’re being a bit of a prick, aren’t ya?” Marcus asked, lifting both eyebrows.
A vein in Brent’s neck throbbed and his face turned a purplish shade of red. “Well, if she can’t get the practice times right, maybe she should bring a sleeping bag and camp out.”
“That’s a pretty lame way to get a woman to sleep with you if you ask me,” Julian quipped, walking back into the room.
Marcus cackled. Tanith bit her lip to contain her own giggle.
The color in Brent’s face grew darker and then it returned to normal. He huffed a breath and then gave her a sheepish grin. “All right. Didn’t mean to be rude. Just be on time in the future.”
The tension evaporated. The men started to argue over the opening chords of a song. Only Amanda remained sour. She sat with her legs propped on a chair, twirling a pencil. The woman’s eyes narrowed and bore into Tanith, the malice visible in her expression. Tanith felt a shiver run through her body.
Interesting. Most people use pens.
Tanith tried to glare back, but she lost the stare-down and dropped her gaze. She took quick breaths to contain her temper. She should tell Brent what happened, but she had no proof. Amanda would deny any wrongdoing and Tanith would look foolish.
She’d have to watch her step. The red-headed instigator had clearly drawn a line in the sand.
Practice proved to be a series of highs and lows, mostly lows. Amanda continued to throw daggers with her eyes, but Marcus and Julian made her laugh.
Brent scowled at her after every song. Nothing Tanith did pleased him. One note was too high, one was too low. She was too loud, too soft, too limp.
“Limp?”
Brent didn’t reply, just started playing again.
Worse, his resemblance to her dream lover kept her off balance. Just looking at him made her knees wobble. She felt so off kilter, only her professional training kept her from sounding like a poorly played tuba.
“Get real, Holden,” Marcus muttered after they’d replayed a song three times. “This is her first pr
actice and I think she sounds bloody marvelous. You’re the one who sounds limp.”
Julian cackled.
Amanda snarled, “Nothing about Brent is limp.”
“Good fer ’em,” Julian mocked. “I doubt I’d be able to keep it up if I’d taken a poke at the arctic circle.”
Marcus cackled. Tanith bit at her lip to keep from laughing aloud.
“Hey, we’re here to practice,” Brent interceded. He regained control of the group with just a look.
When practice resumed, Tanith noticed Brent made an effort to be pleasant, even if he didn’t exactly succeed. She knew he did it for the sake of the band. He still refused to look her in the eyes.
The more she sang, the more the obstacles faded. The music was the biggest high. It compensated for Amanda’s glares and the zingers Brent tossed. Tanith felt like the music had been especially written to caress her voice. Her dream lover could have written the songs.
Stop thinking about that dream.
“Tanith? If it’s not too much trouble.”
She turned her head, not really caring why Brent barked this time. That was the thing about barking. Done repeatedly, it lost its bite. Still, Tanith decided she’d best stop daydreaming about her night dream.
“No trouble,” she replied sweetly.
After two more sets, her feet and legs began to throb from standing on concrete. As she rubbed the sides of her thighs, she noticed the time. The practice session had run over.
Brent slammed his sheet music against the side of his keyboard. “Earth to Tanith.”
She blinked. He was annoyed with her. Again.
“What is it this time?” Fatigue made her bold.
Brent put the back of his wrists against his head and rubbed furiously. “What is it, she asks. For the love of God, Tanith, this is supposed to be a sexy song. I want folks to leave the club and make love, not go home and kick the dog. Could you please sing it like you mean it instead of acting like someone is poking toothpicks under your fingernails?”
Tanith bristled. So much for nicer. Why the hell was she doing this?
“Quit acting like a toothpick and give her a friggin’ break, Brent,” Marcus interceded. “You’ve done nothing but bitch all night and we sound better than we ever have. We’re tired, man. Let’s call it a night.”
Amanda walked over to Brent and ran her fingers inside the waistband of his pants. “If Brent thinks we need to practice, we need to practice.” She directed an icy smirk at Tanith.
I get it. You’re an item.
Brent gently extracted Amanda’s hands. “You’re right, Marco. Great job, everyone. Pizza’s on me.”
While the group argued over what kind of pizza they would order, Tanith went to gather her stuff.
Brent’s voice echoed behind her. “You’re not staying for pizza?”
When she turned, he stood so close she almost bumped her head into his shoulder. “Ah…no. My ride will be waiting.”
“Marcus or Julian can give you a ride.”
Amanda materialized and ran her arm through Brent’s elbow. “Sure, stay. We’ll be glad to give you a lift.”
“I really have to go,” she replied, refusing to back down from the woman’s falsely sweet smile.
Brent reached up and moved Amanda’s arm. Tanith grabbed her bag and headed toward the door.
“You were good tonight.” The words were so soft she almost didn’t hear them.
Over her shoulder she smiled, her grin as falsely sweet as Amanda’s. “Wow, you actually managed to get a compliment out without choking. Hit him on the back, Amanda.”
She let the door slam behind her and marched toward Darson’s waiting car.
“How’d it go, chickee?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
She spent the next fifteen minutes complaining about Brent.
“Brent, Brent, Brent.” Darson sighed. “Was there anyone else in this band? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had a thing for this Brent.”
She gasped. “I so do not have a thing for him. I sang my ass off tonight. In return, he cut me to shreds.”
“Um-hum. Sounds like that Shakespeare thing. You know dust and protesting too much.”
“Oh for Pete’s sake, Darson, it’s me thinks thou doest… Oh, forget it.” Only then did she realize they were already in the parking lot of the Smelly Cat Café.
“Are we going to eat, Tan, or do you want to not-talk-about-practice some more?”
She got out and slammed the door of Darson’s car, catching the arm of the jacket she carried in the car door. The frustrations of the entire evening seemed to collect in the sleeve. She gave the jacket a violent tug. The fabric ripped.
“Whoa, Attila. If you were a guy, that would have turned me on.”
The anger in Tanith fizzled. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me.”
“Maybe it’s what’s not getting into you.” Darson sniggered.
She clamped her mouth closed and marched toward the restaurant. Any attempt at a response would only dig a deeper hole.
Inside, they found a booth. Tanith slumped onto the seat. “I don’t know, Dar. Maybe I’m not cut out for this band stuff. I certainly don’t want to be in a big-time band and the Tough Guys might be headed in that direction.”
“You’ll be fine, doll. It’s only your first practice.”
The waitress came to take their order. Tanith blinked at the woman.
“Ella?”
“Tanith?”
After hugs and squeals, she introduced her friend to Darson. Ella’s eyes sparkled.
“Don’t get excited, El,” she cautioned. “Darson is competition, not fresh meat.”
“She means I’m gay,” he grinned, taking the menu from Ella’s hand.
“Pity,” Ella replied. “Nice to meet you.”
“Ella dates my cousin, Eddie,” Tanith explained, “although I don’t understand what she sees in him.”
“Past tense,” her friend blurted. “As in dated. He dumped me.”
“Dumped you?” Tanith felt dumbfounded. “Everyone always thought you would dump him.” She gave Ella’s hand a little squeeze and turned to Darson. “Eddie might be my cousin, but he’s a bit of a dud. Correction, he’s a major wiener. Ella was, eh…is, way out of his league.”
“Not to hear him tell it.” The waitress’s tone sounded bitter. “You haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?”
“He bought the Cloud View Inn on Mount Greylock.” Ella twisted a bar towel between her hands. “He told me he didn’t have time for a fling right now. Two years I wasted on that ass and he calls it a fling.”
“You mean he’s working at the Cloud View?”
“Nope.” Ella shook her head. “Eddie bought the place. Outright.”
“Wow.” Tanith felt like she’d fallen into an alternate universe. She’d always been the smart one, yet Eddie—not so bright, Eddie—had somehow accumulated enough cash to buy the Cloud View Inn? “That place must be worth a couple million.”
“Yep.”
“Where on earth did Eddie get that kind of cash?”
“Beats me,” Ella replied, “but he’s dating that Bartlestone woman now. She’s the daughter of the former owner.”
Tanith felt her eyes bug-out. “Then she must have come up with the cash. Eddie won a hundred-grand in the lottery, but I heard he blew right through it. There’s no way he has that kind of money.”
Images of the book flashed through Tanith’s mind. No way. She shrugged off the idea. The book was just a book.
“Did Tanith tell you she’s now the lead singer for the Tough Guys?” Darson asked.
“I love that group!” Ella squealed. “Tell me everything.”
Tanith forgot about the book.
Chapter Seven
Ella attended the party when the Tough Guys celebrated their debut. Hard to believe Tanith had been singing with the group for two months.
The band’s opening gig had
been a major success. The group, and most of the fans, rocked into the wee hours of the next day. The bash vibrated with verve, but Tanith wished she were anyplace else. If she’d known her presence was required at after-parties, she would have whacked Darson over the head instead of auditioning.
Her brain kept obsessing on her thesis which needed work and the papers that needed grading. Being a graduate student meant she also worked as an assistant professor, doubling her academic workload. School didn’t wait while a person made a rock debut.
Her life had become one overbooked schedule that was a pain in the ass to juggle. She sighed as she looked at the time—already three in the morning. “Why am I still here?”
Even Ella had deserted her to dance with Julian.
Tanith loved singing, but more often than not, she wished she had never heard of the Tough Guys. Brent, especially, made the long hours a major disappointment. As much as she pretended he didn’t matter when Darson teased, the guy mattered. The man in her dreams had been obsessed with her. The real life body-double only noticed her when she was, to use his words, making a mockery of his songs.
She looked at him, talking with a fan. He somehow managed to make a person feel special while keeping people at a distance. He also made the rest of the band feel extraordinary. He personified support and praised their accomplishments.
With her, he was entirely different. The first practice had been a prelude of things to come. The man snapped at her over the least little thing.
“What the hell am I doing?” Tanith muttered to herself. She cast a furtive glance to make sure no one watched and then inched toward the door.
An arm shot out of a shadow and blocked her escape. “You were amazing.”
“A compliment?” Tanith tried not to smile at Brent. How had he beat her to the door? “You must be drunk.”
Two seconds earlier, she’d wanted nothing more than to escape the party. Looking into those green peepers, she wanted nothing more than to stay with Brent. Neither seemed likely to happen.
“A smart woman would just say ‘thank you.’”
“A smart woman,” Tanith countered, “would have told you to drop dead weeks ago.”
