by Vivian Lux
Which version was the costume and which one was the real Celia?
And why was I so desperate to find out?
When she saw us, her face registered several expressions at once, none of which I was sure was happy. But I was making up for her apprehension by smiling like a goddamned loon and practically falling out of my chair to call her over. "Hey there lass," I called, still laying the Scottish thing down as thick as I could because once some chick had said it was charming and I thought maybe CeCe might find it charming too. "You can sit by me, yeah? Saved you a seat." I grabbed Jules chair out from him, ignoring his yelp of dismay. "Right here."
Fucking hell, she bit her lip again. If she kept doing that, I was just going to lose it and fucking kiss her right here, right now.
"Mind if I sit here?" she called to Jules, ignoring me in a way that was both sexy and annoying at the same time.
"If you want to sit next to that prat, be my guest," Jules shrugged.
"He's just jealous," I pointed out to her as she sat down.
"Of you or me?" she deadpanned.
I laughed even as I could feel the hair on my arms rising up, like it wanted to be close to her. Her grin was pure sex, the kind of smile every guy wanted to see grinning at him from the other pillow the next morning. I was hard as a fucking diamond for her and all she did was give me shit
And then all at once, August blew in like a redheaded hurricane ahead of the crowd filing in. "Guys," she thundered in that siren voice of hers. "I want to introduce you to Hudson Glenn."
Behind her stood some musclebound blond guy dressed in a white T-shirt and jeans. He looked like your basic mechanic in New Jersey, with the kind of wide, white, easy grin only an American can manage. He immediately started to make the rounds, grinning like an idiot as he tumbled over us, shaking hands. "Big fan, dude. Real big fan," he said, over and over again doing these funny little half bows as he took our hands and shook them.
"It's nice to meet you as well," Niall said finally. But he was the only one of us to speak. The rest of us were too taken aback and slightly horrified. This was the doofus that August was claiming as the second coming of Christ? This was the guy with that voice? He looked like he was ready to change the oil in my car.
"I gotta go do my thing now," Hudson drawled, seemingly unaffected by our collective horror. "Hope you like it."
He turned and headed back in the direction of the stage. August watched him critically, the way a breeder watches a prized horse. Out of the corner of my eye, I checked to see CeCe's reaction and was relieved to see she looked mildly repulsed.
"Jesus, it's like a fucking Golden Retriever turned human," Jules muttered to me. "What we need is a lead singer who's going to reach out and fuck the whole front row, not this muscle bound Boy Scout."
"No way," Niall was saying. "He doesn't have it."
"Shush," CeCe piped up. "Let's see what he's got." She glanced in August's direction. "There must be some reason she drug us all the way out here into the far reaches of the universe."
I leaned back in my chair. "Is that your professional opinion?" I couldn't help but needle.
She shot me a glance that would have killed a lesser man. "That really bugged you, didn't it Boyd?"
I laughed. "Bugged isn't the right word for it, lass." She was watching me warily but the way her body was poised...yeah she was interested, no matter what came out of her mouth. I hadn't spent three years on the road having my fill of females coast to coast only to suddenly be tragically misreading cues. She wanted it. "Let's call it...disappointed."
Chapter Fifteen
Celia
A small flicker of a smile tugged at the corner of my lip before I stifled it. "Disappointed, huh? Dare I even ask?"
He leaned forward. "I just wanted a chance," he said, lowering his voice so I was forced to lean closer. "To show you what I could do."
Whatever stammering reply I managed to make was drowned out, because at that moment, the opening band crashed its way into its first number.
"Jesus Pogosticking Christ," Jules swore. "This just gets better and better." He was glaring at August, looking personally affronted.
"My ears," Niall moaned.
I looked on, horrified as the opening band butchered other people's perfectly good songs in a cacophony of mistimed beats, wrong chords, and off-key shrieking. Glancing up at August, I could see her face set stony and knew that she was putting up a good front but was secretly doubting this. A band this terrible couldn't really be opening for the guy she wanted to be the new lead singer, right?
"I need another bloody drink," Jules muttered into his glass and got up. I shifted in my chair, inadvertently moving closer to Ewan who glanced at me with that dimple on display. In the blare of noise from the stage, we couldn't hear each other well enough to keep talking. But the cacophony wasn't loud enough to drown out my surprise at how bothered I was by the fact that I couldn't talk to him any more. It was fine that I liked talking to him, right? He was funny, with the perfect mix of cockiness and self-deprecation. I wanted to keep needling him, keep our banter going, but the band was too loud.
I glared at the stage, irrationally irritated at the jokers up there for getting in the way. It felt like they'd been up there forever now. I was getting antsy. Sure, I wanted to give August benefit of the doubt, but if she truly dragged us all the way down here to see somebody on par with these guys? Well there was no question about whether or not this Hudson guy was going to work out.
I leaned back again. Ewan shifted in his chair and his arm brushed against mine. He looked at me and mouthed something with a smile. I grinned back, having no idea what he said, but loving the way his dimple winked in and out of existence as he said it. His face contorted into a devilish laugh. Blushing for what reason I had no idea, I shoved him lightly with my elbow.
He responded by reaching out and grabbing my hand.
For a second I froze, staring down at it like it suddenly belonged to someone else. I wanted to snatch it away, but the feel of him, the dry warmth of his palm, the rough callous on his fingers, had me frozen in place. He leaned in, brushing against me again.
"This band sucks!" I shouted even as I wondered what the fuck I was saying.
He shook his head, miming that he couldn't hear me, and then leaned in closer, tapping his ear to indicate that I should speak right into it.
I licked my lips, feeling the devil come over me. Having him get this close to me was making my circuits cross, and the caution I'd normally exhibit flew out the window.
I leaned in, so close my lips nearly brushed his earlobe. "I was wondering!" I shouted.
"Yeah? What were you wondering?" he shouted back. His breath was warm against my ear but for some reason it raised goosebumps along my arm.
I licked my lips again. "If you were this awful when you started out?" I shouted, grinning and gesturing to the stage.
There was a sudden discordant crash from the stage and it ended in a dissonant shriek of feedback. The opening band staggered off to a smattering of confused applause and suddenly it was quiet enough for me to sit back again and not be this close to him anymore.
I almost wanted to beg them to play longer.
He rolled his head atop his neck, running his hand through his hair back to front. "I was always good guitarist," he said. "And Niall was always brilliant on bass. Jules was pretty shit on drums to start though."
"Still am!" Jules shouted, raising his newly refilled pint.
"Shush!" August called as the lights went down. "Here he comes!"
I looked back out into the audience and blinked to see how full the floor suddenly was. A shriek went up, distinctly feminine in pitch when Hudson's band loped on stage.
They counted out the beat and then launched into a fairly middle of the road, three chord progression that was musically boring but at least not an assault on the ears. They were competent, a decent bar band.
And then suddenly Hudson came out, prowling like a jungle cat.
He surveyed the crowd with a scowl, all his aw shucks niceness left backstage, and suddenly he throttled the mic and let out that sound.
Holy shit that sound.
"Holy shit," I heard Jules say.
We'd found our man.
It was the kind of performance that makes you sit up and take notice. We all were. All of us, at the edge of our seats, leaning forward. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see August smiling, looking like a cat who ate the canary. I raised my glass in her direction, lifting my chin, and she smiled all the harder. There was no denying it, she knew her shit.
I looked back over the stage, I didn't know whatever song Hudson was singing. Maybe it was an original. But the way he was singing it made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
And he was hot too, there is no denying that. The women in the front of the house were going absolutely bonkers. He stalked the small stage, singing to each one of them in turn, making them feel the music just the way we were feeling it way back here. He had a way of singing that made you feel like he was singing right to you.
"He’s good, isn't he, lass?" Ewan leaned over, his breath brushing across my ear. "He's pretty hot too, yeah?"
I knew objectively that Hudson was, but there was something wrong there. Like, I knew I should be attracted to him, I knew this intellectually. He was a musician. He had long blond hair, a wide easy smile and muscles for days. And as if to prove the point, he tore his shirt off at that moment, throwing it into the small crowd, and the shrieks were deafening. But even the sight of his tanned skin under the bar lights did nothing for me. Nothing stirred at all.
"Think we've got a winner?" Ewan asked me, and my whole body stood at attention out at once. A gentle throbbing, just like a bass guitar, set itself off unbidden between my legs. Here I was watching shirtless blond guy tear it up on stage, but the quiet voice of the man next to me was what made me weak at the knees.
"I think we have a winner," I said with an emphatic nod. "He's fucking perfect." My mind was spinning as I desperately tried to grab ahold of the last shreds of my professionalism. "A new lead singer was your first order of business."
"Business," Ewan breathed. He wasn't even trying to move away from me right now. And I didn't want him to.
"My conditions, yeah."
His eyes were glued to my lips. "Tell me those conditions again?" he asked.
I pressed my lips together as if I could somehow hide them from his gaze. Like maybe if he stopped looking at them they'd stop burning with the need for him to kiss me. "New name," I mumbled through pursed lips. "New singer."
"And new look, yeah?"
I swallowed. "Yeah," I said, though this moment, if you asked me right at this moment, there wasn't a single thing I could think of that I'd want to change about Ewan Boyd. The way his blue eyes peered out at me from under that shock of dark hair....
He nodded. "If that's what you think love, then I defer to your expertise."
My heart did a sudden and violent backflip that had me dizzy. "You mean it?"
He lifted his chin. "But you have to do it."
"What?"
"You want me to change my look? Then you do it for me. Don't fob me off on some bullshit stylist. If I'm gonna change my look, love, it's only gonna be for you."
"For me," I repeated.
"That's what I said."
"Not for your future, or your fans?"
His eyes twinkled. "I don't really give a fuck about either of those things right now."
"It's all for me, huh?" I darted a glance away from him. "Okay, when do you want me to get started?"
He looked up at the stage. Hudson was wrapping up. Niall was clapping his big hands together in sustained applause. Jules was shouting drunken encouragement at him and August was pulling paperwork from her bag. "What do you say we get out of here?" he asked. "We can start right now."
Chapter Sixteen
Ewan
"I just need to stop in," she said, standing in front of the doorway like she was trying to bar my way in.
I peered around the half-open door. "So this is where the famous Celia Silver lives?" I asked. "In a sixth floor studio walkup with no windows?"
"I have a window," she corrected, then grinned ruefully. "In the bathroom, right over the toilet. I can see into the Chinese takeout place next door."
"Glamorous," I observed.
"You have a problem with my apartment, Scottish boy?"
I shrugged. "I just expected the daughter of Ricky Silver to live in something...
I caught myself before I finished that thought, but not before her eyes snapped dark fire at me. "My father doesn't pay for things for me," she said, her voice frosty. "I've been paying my own way, with my own name, since I was eighteen years old."
I looked down at her, reaching out to brush her long hair away from her face. "You know," I said. She watched me balefully, but didn't move away from my touch. "I'd look up to you."
"You would?" she said, some of the ice melting out of her gaze.
"Definitely would," I said. "If you weren't so short."
She laughed, smacking me in the arm and then shoved the door all the way open. "You may as well come in, asshole," she said.
"How could I pass up such a warm and open invitation?" I deadpanned, but followed her into her apartment like a little lost puppy. The sight of her neatly made bed in the corner filled my head with thoughts that would get me arrested in some Southern states, and I snapped my head back to watch her as she breezed through her apartment, gathering things up into her arms. "What are you grabbing?"
"I've been keeping clippings ever since I first watched you guys," she admitted, waving a manila file stuffed with torn magazines and printouts from the internet in faded black ink.
I eyed it warily. "That's impressively full given that we only met officially a few days ago."
She looked down. "I know," she said slowly. "I guess, I guess I was feeling inspired."
Fuck, she was biting her lip. I turned away. "So those are pictures of how you think we should look?
She nodded. "I don't think," she said. "I don't think you're projecting the image you want to be projecting."
"Who the fuck said anything about projecting an image?" I wondered. "This is just what I look like."
A slow smile spread across her face as she regarded me from under half lidded eyes. "Well. What you look like could be a lot better," she said. "For one thing, your hair...."
"The fuck is wrong with my hair?" I demanded, raking my fingers through it to let it fall back behind my shoulders. "It's rock 'n roll."
"It's too long and floppy," she said crisply.
"Long and floppy, aye?" I said. "Well I love my hair."
She lifted her chin. "You're the only one that does." She reached up and touched it. I stiffened, and she seemed surprised. "It hangs in your face," she said, in a voice a little bit softer than I was expecting.
I shook my head. "No one wants to see my face," I reminded her.
She paused, holding the end of my hair in her fingers, and twisting it around, playing with it. I didn't like to admit how good it felt. "Yes," she said softly again. "They do."
Something exploded in the back of my head, and I think it was comprehension. "Ah lass," I said, unable to keep the grin off of my face. "You want to see my face better?"
She didn't say anything, not that I expected her to, but there was a flicker of something across her face. Was it— Yes. It was interest. I licked my lips. "You want me to cut my hair, do you?"
She nodded. "I do."
I reached over, and grabbed the paper shears off her tabletop and handed them to her. "Go for it."
"Me?" she squeaked.
I raised my eyebrows. "You're the one that wants it."
She blinked up at me. "You trust me to cut your hair?"
"Should I not?"
She blinked, and then grinned. Grabbing the scissors in my hand, she deliberately turned and set them down the tabletop. "Well th
en we'll need better tools than that," she said.
Out of nothing more than curiosity, I followed her into the bathroom with the one window in the place. She rummaged through overstuffed drawers, until she pulled out a small pair of haircutting scissors and brandished them lovingly. "When I was working for Roger, I couldn't afford salon haircuts," she explained. She stabbed in the direction of the toilet. "Sit."
"On the bloody loo?" I demanded.
"The toilet, yes."
Not knowing what else to do, I'd edged my way around her, and sat.
"Now," she exhaled. I could feel her eyes raking up and down me, and goddammit I liked the way she was looking at me right now. Closely, like there was nothing else in her life but me. And yeah, I knew she was just viewing me as some kind of project, but I basked in her attention like cat in a sunbeam. "I think," she said critically. "I think we need to get it wet."
I licked my lips. "I'd like to get you wet."
Her eyes flicked down in utter disdain then she turned to the sink.
"Nothing?" I grinned. "Not even a slap in the face?"
She rolled her eyes, and promptly dumped a cup of water on my head.
"Hey!"
"Somebody needed to cool off," she announced.
"Bloody Christ, woman," I seethed, trickles of water slipping down my back. "I'm fucking soaked."
"Hold still and stop being a baby. I have scissors, and I'm not afraid to use them." She brandished them threateningly.
I laughed. "You'd cut my dick off with no hesitation."
She nodded. "If that's what I thought it would take to make you guys as big as you deserve to be, then yeah," she said in a rush. Then she licked her lips, looking as though she'd reveal too much, and I hid my grin of triumph as she leaned over me to start cutting my hair.
There was no way around it, her tits had to be in my face. I didn't really give a shit what she was doing on top of my head as long as those gorgeous mounds bobbed inches from my mouth. I was busy spinning myself out into a lavish fantasy of taking her nipple into my mouth, licking the peak until it tightened and puckered in my mouth, when I heard it. "Snip!" went the scissors, and she pulled back with a long piece in her hand.
