by Sandy James
He tossed it up and then panicked that he wouldn’t be able to catch it. In what had to look like a comedy routine, he barely caught the mixture and then shifted this way and that to be sure it didn’t fall over the side of the frying pan. Only when he finally had it safely back in the pan did he let his breath out in a rush.
Savannah clapped and laughed. “That was amazing.”
“Lunch and a show.” Brad flashed her a smile. “Would you believe I’ve never missed before?”
“You didn’t miss now.”
“Came damn close, though.” He slid the enormous omelet onto a serving plate. “Let’s eat.”
When she started to push back from the island, he stopped her. “We’ll eat here. Sit tight.”
“Sure I can’t help?” she asked as he moved around his kitchen, gathering the plates and silverware.
“Nope. Want a soda?”
“Water’s fine.”
He filled two tall glasses of water before setting them by their plates. He took the bar stool next to hers and started serving. As he slid her plate in front of her, he said, “Eat up. You’re gonna need your strength.”
Her blond brows knit. “I am?”
“Absolutely.”
“Why do I need my strength?”
“Because you, my dear, are not only going to get ready to sing on Friday. You’re also going to record a song for me today.”
Chapter Nine
Surely she’d heard him wrong. “Record a song?”
“Yep,” Brad said with a nod.
Savannah frowned at him. “Here?”
He nodded and picked up their plates then set them in the sink. “C’mon. Follow me.” He crooked his finger and inclined his head toward the far side of the kitchen.
Savannah dutifully followed, probably looking like a dork as she tried to discreetly gawk at the hallway’s crown molding. She stopped when he opened a door and descended a staircase, a bit apprehensive at what she’d find at the bottom.
It was as though she’d stepped out of a page from Home and Design magazine and found herself in the middle of a control room at Blackbird Studio. There was a large desk equipped with consoles that held so many slides and buttons, she’d never be able to learn how to operate them all. Flat-screen monitors were positioned to the left and right of a large window, which allowed whoever was at the controls to watch the singer and musicians in the isolation room while simultaneously keeping an eye on the technology.
“Wow.” She let the word slip out before she could call it back.
“I’m glad you like it.” Brad pulled one of the leather desk chairs back and took a seat. “Care to give it a spin?” He gestured to the door that led into the recording room. “We can do a few takes now and then see what needs to be tweaked for Friday.”
She pointed out the obvious. “There aren’t any musicians.”
“Don’t need ’em.” He thumped the back of his hand on the console. “Got all the accompaniment I need right here.”
Although she knew it wasn’t difficult to synthesize music, she was a purist where her songs were concerned. “I hate canned backup.”
“So do I. That’s why I played the backup myself.”
“You what?”
“It’s only a four-piece, but I think it works.”
Brad was such a surprise to her. “How do you manage a four-piece backup by yourself?” she asked.
His grin made her heart skip. “It’s easy—I played one instrument at a time.”
She blinked a few times, processing what he’d just claimed he’d done. “Exactly how many instruments do you play?”
“Depends,” he replied with a shrug.
“It depends? On what?”
“How well you expect me to play. I mean, if we’re talking about performing or something, well, that’s different than if I’m only horsing around.” Brad was actually blushing, and she found his humility endearing, especially because he was chock full of arrogance in every other aspect of his life.
Savannah’s train of thought ground to a bumpy halt. Arrogance. A trait she’d learned to avoid in men. It was one thing to be confident, another altogether to have hubris. Like her ex.
Like Brad?
She sure as hell hoped not.
Since she’d asked a simple question, she expected an answer that wasn’t a dodge. “How many do you play, Brad?”
“Six,” he replied. “Seven if you count the banjo. I pick it just good enough to not make an ass of myself.”
A little in awe of him, she glanced into the recording booth. “So we’re going to do this now?”
“That was my plan. You have enough time, don’t you?”
Since he hadn’t seemed open to telling her any of his personal stories, she felt no real need to explain any details about her personal life. Like the fact she had a child. Caroline was with her grandparents, Brad was obviously hot to get this song done, and Savannah was dying of curiosity to see how well a recording in this little studio would turn out. So she nodded.
“Great.” Brad pulled his chair up to the control console. “Head into the booth, and we’ll do a few takes.”
As she reached for the doorknob, she was surprised to see her hand shaking. This wasn’t her first time recording. She had an indie album under her belt that Michael was supposed to have publicized in hopes of landing a contract. But he never got around to doing anything that helped that album out. Probably because he’d been busy ripping her off.
In retrospect, he’d done her a favor by dropping the ball. Whenever she listened to those songs now, she heard so much room for improvement. Although they were made only six years ago, those recordings were of a voice that hadn’t matured, probably because that voice belonged to a young woman who’d never truly been hurt.
She took a seat on the padded stool and lifted the headphones from the music stand, finding herself smiling when she realized there had been one good thing to come from Michaels’s betrayal—other than her darling Caroline. He’d forced Savannah to grow up, to endure loss and pain, and her voice had benefited.
After putting on the headphones and adjusting them, she arranged the sheet music for “That Smile,” which rested on the music stand. She knew the song well enough that she didn’t need to see it printed out, but as nervous as she was rapidly becoming, she found comfort in having it handy. Once she had the pages lined up and ready, she glanced up at the window to the studio, waiting for Brad to start the show.
His voice boomed through the headphones. “Ready?”
Savannah nodded.
“Then let’s do this.”
* * *
By the fifth take, Brad was losing his patience.
Had he been wrong in thinking Savannah was something special, something new? He sure as hell didn’t think so.
Then why couldn’t he get her to sing with the passion she’d shown back at Words & Music?
Maybe it was the song. “That Smile” was his first attempt at writing in a long time. Perhaps it wasn’t up to snuff?
No. When Brad had heard Savannah and Ethan sing it earlier, he’d known he’d written a strong song with a good melody and a catchy beat.
Something was clearly blocking her talent.
“I’m sorry, Brad.” She dropped the headphones from her ears to let them rest around her neck. Then, head bowed, she started shuffling through the sheet music.
He’d never seen her look defeated before, and he didn’t like it. This wasn’t the Savannah who’d been his muse. This wasn’t the woman who brought back his music.
This was…a disaster.
But why?
He watched her closely, trying to find some telltale clue as to what was going on today that had robbed Savannah of the passion and talent he’d counted on. Her hair was braided, the braid an eclectic mixture of blond and blue. She wore jeans instead of a skirt, and her blouse was made of an airy, gauzy pink material. The white sandals on her feet looked well-worn and comfortable. A blush tinted her c
heeks, and he could hear her nervousness through the quaver in her voice, especially in the last notes of her fifth recording.
Something was definitely wrong, and he was going to have to find a way to fix it. But he couldn’t do that from another room. Even though he could see her, something told him she needed something more personal. Unsure of whether being closer to her would make a difference, he figured it was worth a shot.
Brad started a new recording so he could capture the song if he was able to help her, pushed himself away from the console, and headed to the recording booth with his remote control in his pocket. He pulled the door open and stepped inside.
Savannah glanced up from the music, offering him a wan smile that made his frustration evaporate. She knew something was wrong, too. Maybe if they put their heads together, they could get back the magic.
After pulling a stool beside hers, he sat. Then he gently took off her headphones, plucked the pages from her hands, and placed them back on the music stand. She let her eyes meet his, and he could see her concern.
“We’re going do things a little differently this time,” Brad said, keeping his voice low.
“We are?”
He nodded and scooted closer. Then he wrapped his hand around one of hers. “You’re not going to think about recording.”
“I’m not?”
“Nope. This time you’re just going to sing to me. That’s all.”
“But you’re recording it, right?”
He shook his head, feeling no guilt for lying to her. He’d heard her older songs, so she’d obviously recorded before. But there was something about this session that was blocking her. If a fib helped her put the hurdle behind her, then fib he would.
Her whole body relaxed, and Brad had to fight the desire to smile.
“Sing to me, Savannah. Just to me. Okay?”
She nodded, and before she could get a chance to think about what he was doing, he pulled a remote from his pocket and began the music playback so that it echoed through the room.
The notes of the intro flowed around them, and he kept her grounded by not allowing her to glance away. When she opened her mouth to sing, he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and offered her an encouraging smile.
And sing she did. Each delightful note came from deep inside her, and he found himself caught in some kind of spell, the same type she’d woven around him back at Words & Music. He hung on each rise and fall of that delicious voice until the last note echoed through the booth.
The song might have ended, but not the magic. Brad found himself leaning closer, his eyes fixed on her soft, pink mouth. Desire ripped through him as she mimicked his action, drawing ever so slowly closer until he could feel the sweet heat of her breath against his face.
With a groan of surrender, he captured her mouth with his own, giving her no warning as his tongue swept deep inside.
Savannah nearly knocked over her stool when she rose to thread her arms around his neck. She was such a little bit of a thing that he could stay seated and draw her between his outstretched legs without interrupting the kiss. As she moved closer, Brad wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her hard against him.
The kiss turned ravenous, and he realized that he was done fighting this attraction, done fighting whatever these feelings were she’d planted inside him. His tongue rubbed hers as he let his hands slide down to cover her ass. Then he lifted her hard against his erection, hoping she understood exactly how much he wanted her at that moment.
She whimpered against his mouth, rubbing herself against him in response.
It was all the invitation he needed. “I want you,” he growled as he embraced her and stood, leaving her feet dangling a few inches above the floor. Backpedaling, he pressed her against the wall. “I want you.”
“We can’t,” she murmured even as her fingers tangled in his hair.
“We can,” he insisted before his lips captured hers again. There was no way he was letting her leave him. Not now. Once he’d made the decision to see where this connection would lead, he needed to show her exactly how desperately he wanted her—and just how much he needed her to feel the same way.
Since when had that kind of link ever mattered to him before? Although he made sure his lovers received pleasure from the exchange, he’d never given a damn about their feelings. Love only complicated things.
Yet he found himself not only wanting to share his body with Savannah. No, he wanted her to want him for so much more than sex.
Brad kissed his way across her cheek before burying his lips against the silky skin of her slender neck. He inhaled, breathing in her irresistible scent and wanting nothing more than to carry her up to his bedroom and make love to her until morning.
* * *
Savannah let out a shuddering breath, trying hard to rein in her tumbling emotions.
Her body demanded Brad, and every ounce of her self-control couldn’t seem to help her bring this passionate interlude to a stop.
“Wait,” she whispered as a shiver raced the length of her spine. His lips were doing the most marvelous things to her.
“No,” he whispered back before the tip of his tongue traced the lines of her ear.
This was reckless. This was stupid. But she wanted him anyway. The way his gaze had held hers as she sang the song he’d written for her had been every bit as intimate as if they’d already shared their bodies with each other.
“Come upstairs with me.” His face came into her sight again. “Let me make love to you.” He didn’t even wait for an answer as he kissed her again, stoking the overwhelming fire inside her.
One of his hands moved from her back, caressing her waist and then moving higher until his palm covered her breast. It had been so long, and he was making her feel so good…
Things were happening too fast. Savannah couldn’t think, couldn’t seem to find the strength to push him away. She honestly didn’t want to, and should she listen to the way her body sang out in need, she’d follow him to his bedroom. She’d give in to his whispered promises and his wicked suggestions.
His hand was under her blouse, and as though he’d honed the skill of seduction to a fine art, he popped the front clasp on her bra. She gasped in surprise when he took her hardened nipple between his fingers and rolled it, making heat rip to her core.
It was that skill, that experience, which finally sobered Savannah. Brad was a pro at getting around a woman’s undergarments because he’d had plenty of practice removing them. All the stories of his exploits crowded her brain, and it was a dose of ice water against the desire he inspired inside her.
With that thought, Savannah found the strength to put her hands against his chest, knock his hand away from her breast, and push. “No.”
“Savannah…” He tried to kiss her again, leaning into her hands even as she tried to put some distance between them.
“No. Please, Brad. No.” The tremors in her voice made her angry. She didn’t want to show him how much he’d affected her.
With a sigh, he pulled back, dropped his hands to his sides, and turned away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…to take advantage.” He was out the door and sitting at the control console before she could even gather her wits.
“No need to apologize.” A cross between embarrassment and fear filled her as she turned her back and fixed her clothing. By the time she found enough false courage to turn around, she couldn’t help but stare at Brad. He was so busy working on something that he might as well have not even been a part of what had just happened between them.
Savannah jumped in surprise when his voice boomed through the small booth. “Want to try one more take?”
“N-no.” She smoothed her blouse nervously before deliberately checking her watch, hoping she could find a graceful way out of this horrible situation. Then a laugh bubbled up. “I’d probably sound like a strangled chicken.”
At least he chuckled at the comment. “I doubt that…Are you sure? Just one more?”
�
��I know we don’t have the perfect take, but it’s getting late.” She could barely force her voice to stay even. No, there would be no more singing today. “Do you think you could take me back to the restaurant?” So I can get my car, drive home, and beat myself up for being an idiot?
“Sure thing.”
Gathering up any ounce of bravado she could muster, Savannah stepped out of the booth to find Brad waiting. He held out his hand to her. All she did was stare at it, unsure as to what her best move would be.
“I won’t bite,” he said, his voice holding a note of humor.
She put her hand in his.
“Look, I really am sorry.” He squeezed her fingers.
“No, I’m the one who should be sorry,” she insisted.
“For what?”
“For…for…” She jerked her hand away and wrapped her arms around her waist, hugging herself. “You know, I have absolutely no idea.”
His grin was charming. “Good, ’cause neither do I.”
The stilted silence lasted for a few moments until he let out an exaggerated sigh. “Can we talk for a minute?”
Now she’d done it. He was going to fire her. She nodded at his question because she wanted to know exactly why he was going to can her. Was he angrier that she’d overstepped their boundaries by kissing him, or was he more upset that she’d turned him down when he’d responded to her kisses with an invitation to have sex?
“C’mon.” He flipped his hand. “Let’s go upstairs and have a cup of coffee.”
Chapter Ten
Cradling a warm cup between her hands, Savannah waited to see if Brad was going to say something or if she’d have to broach the subject. He’d been the one who wanted them to talk about what almost happened in the recording booth. She would’ve been much happier pretending none of it ever occurred.
