by Cari Quinn
“Um, Ellen—Ellie,” Scooby corrected with a sharp glance at Mal. “Maybe you could try facing us when you sing? I think you need to face your audience. Your voice is getting lost.” He scratched the back of his neck. “You said you do this, right? Like you’re in a band.”
“Yes.”
“You just have, like, zero stage presence. How is that even possible if you’re used to the stage?”
She wanted to rage at him. But she wasn’t the type to fly off the handle—ever. Some creative type she was.
Besides, she knew Scooby was right. She sang for herself and no one else since her mother had walked away from her and Nicky and their dad when she and her brother were in second grade. She wasn’t used to having to project her voice beyond what it took to harmonize with her band. And her stage presence was confined to hiding behind her guitar and jamming out while Michael handled most of the flourishes and he and Jules playfully flirted.
Her band was full of big personalities. She didn’t have to stand out at all, so she didn’t.
The jerk who’d played his part flawlessly was one of those big personalities. He’d handled this song with aplomb. Never showboating, just offering the steady rhythm the lyrics needed. Stoically perfect.
Must be nice.
“Sing to me.”
She whirled to face Mal, sure she’d misheard. Misunderstood. Mis-everything when it came to that man.
“Sing to me,” he repeated. “You feel plenty of things toward me. Use them.”
“I don’t need your help.” Even saying it made her feel small and petty, but then she remembered he’d dragged her into this mess for reasons known only to him.
Asshole. He deserved small and petty, since he’d saved her life just to threaten to drown her.
That had probably been his plan. Saving her life meant he could lord it over her for the rest of her existence.
Not that she’d know him for the rest of her life. Warning Sign wasn’t The Stones. They wouldn’t still be rocking out when they were almost old enough for the senior home.
He jerked a massive shoulder. She didn’t need for him to say “whatever” for her to hear it.
She knew him far too well. Just as he knew her.
You need that connection to get through the song. Normally, your guitar is your conduit.
Now it would be him.
“Fine.” She pulled on the mic, looping the cord around her wrist. Her head was pounding and her skin felt too stretchy and hot, but she didn’t know if those were aftereffects of being hungover or sheer nerves.
Just being on this faux stage in front of three other people had made sweat pop out between her shoulder blades. What would it be like to be on stage at the club tonight? Or to be back with her band on a much bigger one?
She was already braced and waiting, expecting that crack that had signaled all hell breaking loose around her. And then before she’d gotten her bearings, on top of her.
The pain and the fear had come just before the dark. But before it had closed in on around her, he’d grabbed her arm, those powerful fingers holding her in a grasp that seemed damn near unbreakable.
“I’ve got you.”
Had Mal said that to her before she’d passed out? Or was she filling in the blanks any way she could?
Wishful remembering.
“Ellie?”
Mal again. Christ. She rubbed her forehead. He was becoming far too perceptive when it came to her emotional meltdowns, and she didn’t like it one bit.
“I’m okay.” She exhaled and opened her eyes to nod to Scooby. “Let’s do this.”
The music started off slow, Scooby and Jason playing with skill if not style. The melody really ached for a piano, but somehow Mal’s metronome beat on the hi-hats beneath their strumming was all she could hear.
She didn’t think about what she was saying. The words were just consonants and vowels, strung together to sound pleasing to the ear. That she was staring straight at Mal while she sang about being what he needed though she was too afraid to show it meant nothing. She certainly didn’t feel that way. And if she moved toward his drum kit as he played harder and faster and her heartbeat quickened, it wasn’t because some part of her held a plea that could only be heard through lyrics she wasn’t strong enough to write.
She wasn’t a singer and this wasn’t her song.
When she couldn’t look at his face, she watched his hands. The power of them as they held the sticks she’d chosen for him, never believing he’d care for them or even use them. They’d reminded her of him. So dark and unyielding with that brighter hint of gold laced though. Only catching the light now and then if you looked just right.
That was the last thing she wanted to do. If she looked, she’d see, and she wanted to stay secure in what she’d always believed about him. He didn’t care about anyone but himself, and maybe his brother. In that, they were alike.
The difference was she loved others too. Mal loved only himself.
Then he lifted his head and caught her with his stare, and she could barely get out the words she knew by rote. Those dark eyes saw far too much.
Beautiful nightmare.
She made it through the end of the song and bowed her head as the music stopped. This was why she didn’t sing anymore. It pulled more out of her than she had left to give. Besides, she was no match for Molly. Warning Side already had an amazing singer—two now with Luc. She was nothing but a harmonizer at best.
“That’s what you should be doing every fucking day,” Mal rasped. “Not hugging the corners.”
She didn’t look at him. He didn’t understand anything, least of all what it took to put herself out there. She didn’t suffer from stage fright like her brother, but the emotion of singing took more out of her than it put back.
Playing the guitar was different. That was sheer joy and expression. Losing herself without thought.
She flexed the fingers on her injured arm and pins and needles prickled under her skin. Of course. Because she’d forgotten herself and clutched the mic too hard.
Scooby cleared his throat. “That was amazing. I think even Dobby would agree.”
Gently, she rolled her neck. She was so tight, so stressed, and surprise, surprise, that morning’s shower hadn’t helped. “What’s next?”
Scooby shot a glance at Mal. “Maybe we can go back to one of ours? ‘Chasing Shadows’?”
Mal shrugged. “Whatever.”
She turned away, a smile twitching on her lips. That was the Mal she knew.
Somehow it was easier trying to learn the next song, to make the material she didn’t know work for her voice, knowing he was at her back.
Glowering and steely-eyed, maybe, but he was there.
Chapter Eleven
Rehearsal lasted until about two hours before they were due to go onstage at the Purple Egg. After about five takes of “Chasing Shadows” and a few others they intended to play during their set, Scooby seemed to relax. The last couple of songs they worked on only required three run-throughs at most, though Ricki wasn’t familiar with the material. But her confidence grew with every song, and everything else followed.
They went back to the rental to change and then grabbed a bite to eat on the way. Tonight’s pick was pizza, which he only figured out she wanted because she clasped her hands together as they drove by the joint.
She was about as talkative as he was by this stage of the game.
Grabbing a whole pie of pepperoni and sausage, she ate her requisite female two pieces, then surprised him by going back for two more. And eating the sausage off a fifth.
Catching him staring, she raised her brows. “What?”
“Nice to see all your appetites are healthy.”
He regretted the comment once it was out, not knowing how she would take it. They’d finally gotten some of their equilibrium back, if it was shaky. Last thing he wanted was to send it teetering again.
“Oh, you don’t even know.” She reached over and snagge
d a pepperoni off his plate, folding it in half before she popped it in her mouth.
“Something else you hide?” He knew better than to go down that road. But he liked hearing the lilt of her voice, and the easiest way to get her talking was to insult her.
Basically, he was a twelve-year-old boy. At least he hadn’t resorted to kicking her chair.
Yet.
“Not sure what you’re referring to.”
“You can sing.”
“So can you,” she retorted. “Don’t see you prancing around as if you’re in the Sound of Music either.”
His mouth curved before he could stop it. She blinked before cocking her head.
“Did you just smile? At me? Voluntarily? This is a first.”
Now his ears were hot. Great. “Technically, that wasn’t a smile.”
“It sure was. Or as close as you can manage, Grouchy Pants.” She pointed at him and he leaned back, feeling more than a little ridiculous. People were probably staring. “You smiled.”
“Doubtful.” He picked up his pizza and shoved the rest of his slice into his mouth at once so he couldn’t say anything further. Or smile again, because fuck, she was cute.
One side of many for her. She could be sexy as shit, or soft and cuddly and warm as she’d been in his arms for that second before she’d awakened this morning. She could also be mouthy, bratty, and combative.
She also was insanely talented on the guitar, every bit as much as his brother. She could also sing. For real. Not at The Voice-wannabe tryout level, but well enough to warrant a stage of her own.
“You could challenge Molly.”
Evidently, he wasn’t finished talking.
She stopped chasing a sausage around the pizza platter to frown. “Only a moron would challenge Molly for anything. That’s not my scene. She owns that stage.”
“You could too.”
“Are you kidding me? I was sweating and on the verge of shaking through half of rehearsal.” She shook her head. “Don’t bring up last night either. It wasn’t that.”
“I’m not bringing up anything.”
“Oh, so you’re just going to let it go now? So magnanimous of you.”
“You warned me about your big appetite, so I’m sure that was nothing for you.”
She swiped her tongue over her lower lip, blotting up a drop of grease. It was a damn miracle he didn’t have to press his hand down on his cock to keep it from jumping to attention. “Wasn’t talking about that appetite and you know it.”
He grabbed his soda and washed down the cheese stuck in his throat. “I don’t know much about you. We’re practically strangers.”
“Strangers who shower together.” She snapped her fingers. “I know, maybe that should be Warning Sign’s next song.”
“Doubtful,” he said again. “We both know you’d never want any of your little friends to know you got naked with me.”
“‘My little friends’? You mean like your bandmates and your brother?”
“Sure. How about your brother?” He toasted her with his half empty soda. “We both know how much Nicky likes me, don’t we?”
She swept her hair over one shoulder, but he didn’t miss how she grimaced and tried to hide it. She needed to get into PT sooner rather than later.
Yet another landmine of a subject he wasn’t getting into tonight. Tomorrow, however, was a brand new day.
“My brother rarely changes his mind about people once he’s made it up.”
“Sounds like someone else I know.”
“Oh, that’s rich coming from you.” She let out a brittle laugh and leaned forward, lowering her voice. “By the way, I heard you this morning. Loud and clear.”
Before he could respond, she got out of the booth and pulled out her phone, texting away as she sashayed her way to the bathroom.
His balls tightened. Damn that woman.
He reached for another piece of pizza and had managed to eat half of it when his phone buzzed in his back pocket. He dug it out and swiped at Ricki’s message. The only reason he had her number was because of work. She’d certainly never texted him before.
She’d sent a screenshot of her phone. On it was a text to his brother.
I took a shower with Mal. Now you know.
Michael’s response?
Yeah, right. Like you’d ever go there. How are you doing?
It was no less than Mal expected, and yet seeing the words in black and white pissed him off even more than he would’ve guessed.
When she came back out a few minutes later, her hair was up in some kind of loop thing and her phone was nowhere to be seen. That rich, dark plum scent of hers wafted over him as she sat opposite him in the booth, layered over the faintest hint of peppermint.
That shower was real. It had happened. Whether or not Michael believed it.
“Doesn’t really count as telling someone if they don’t believe you.”
She picked up her soda and bit into the tip of her straw. Another of her habits he doubted she was even aware of. “Should I have sent him pictures?”
“Didn’t take any.” He pulled off the crust on one of the remaining slices of pizza and set it on her plate. It was only when her eyes narrowed that he realized what he’d done.
Showed your hand there, didn’t you, jackass?
“But that’s an option for next time, if that’s your kink.” He waggled his brows.
It took her a minute to recover. Even longer for her to pick at the slice in front of her. She had to be stuffed, but he’d acted without thinking. “Sorry, I prefer guys who interact with me.”
“Interact. You mean like that loser you picked up who was banging some skank right on our bus while you were waiting for him in your skimpy lingerie at the hotel?”
Her eyes flashed and she dropped the slice, spraying cheese over the back of his hand. “You know what? Just don’t talk. Ever.”
“That gets you off too? Strong, silent type who’ll pick you up and fuck you against the wall with his hand over your mouth so you can’t scream.” Reveling in her flush, he licked the cheese off the back of his hand.
Any other time, she would have rolled her eyes at him and flounced off, hair and tits bouncing.
Not then.
“That’s a fun fantasy, but actually, no. I prefer someone who won’t ever keep me from screaming, because he doesn’t care who knows we’re together. I prefer not being the dirty little secret.” She pulled out her phone and turned it toward him, saying nothing. There was still a message on the screen.
Real funny about the shower. Mal asked for your address but he said he hadn’t seen you when I texted him earlier.
And then, another followup message from Michael beneath it.
Better for you. You don’t need his shit right now.
The jab hit Mal square between the shoulder blades, though he handed back her phone without a word. Of course she’d see it as him being ashamed to admit he was spending time with her. Not that he’d known damn well that his brother would think Ricki was slumming it with him out of gratitude.
But maybe that was another form of his shit too.
He grabbed the tray and carted it to the garbage, dumping out the last piece of pizza and folding his paper plate before shoving that inside too. He wanted to rip the unused napkins into tiny pieces, then slam his fist on the receptacle until it shook.
Instead he walked out the car. She’d either come out when she was ready or she wouldn’t.
She took her sweet time. When she finally deigned to join him, he pulled away from the curb without a word.
Back to their normal level of conversation. Aka none.
Once they reached the club, he parked and they used the side entrance for employees. Inside, they split up. Also without a word. He assumed she went off to do her thing in the ladies’ room.
Unless she’d gone off to find the same fuckers who’d fed her drugs the night before. If she’d even gotten it there. He didn’t know.
He’d ta
ken three steps after her when he stopped and slicked a hand over his head. Christ, he wasn’t her keeper. He had to trust she’d make the right choices, and if she didn’t, it wasn’t his problem.
Hell, he was as much a form of poison for her as those substances. Ask anyone.
So he redirected toward the refreshment table set up backstage and chose a drink of his own.
Water. Ice fucking cold.
She reappeared backstage a few minutes later, as bright-eyed as she’d been when she left. His heart stampeded for a full minute before evening out again. The relief was staggering.
Dangerous.
In no time, they were due on stage. He dropped down behind the kit and reached for the sticks she’d given him, running the pads of his fingers over the grips.
At the front of the stage, she greeted the crowd in a voice that quavered.
No one else would’ve noticed, because they hadn’t shared a stage with her for more nights than he could count. She usually only said hello and maybe a quick line of banter with the crowd when prompted during Warning Sign’s shows, but she was easy, natural. Not so now. Nerves made her posture rigid, and when she moved toward the microphone, her heel caught on the cord and she stumbled.
Laughter rolled through the audience.
He didn’t think. He just flipped one of his sticks and it nailed her in the back of the thigh. Okay, ass really. She picked it up and whirled toward him, flinging it back at him with an aim that caught him square in the chest.
Fitting.
But when she turned back, she wasn’t shaky. More like annoyed. She spoke to the crowd again, talking about new shoes—and oh hey, look at the sling on her arm, clearly she was clumsy. Titters swept through the audience. She segued into mentioning new gigs and the sick Dobby. Then she motioned to Scooby, who moved toward her for a quick conference.
“We’re going to start with something different tonight,” she said, and Mal knew he’d miscalculated.
This woman would never need his help for long. But him? He was fucking sunk.
Done.
