As she stepped out of the jeans and her underwear, she caught sight of a movement and she deliberately turned to face the three-quarter length mirror by the door, presumably placed there for last-minute checks. It would serve a different purpose now, and her pussy dampened as she thought it. Without him telling her to, she widened her stance, opened her legs so they could both see everything. Her clit peeked through her lower lips, reddened and as erect as his cock. The cock he pressed into her back as he stepped forward to reclaim her, as naked as she now. His larger body outlined hers, enveloped her. She drank in the sight, committed it to memory. “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, as if answering her constant feeling that this couldn’t possibly last.
Her hair brushed against his skin when she moved and he gasped. She did it again, stroking him with her hair. He growled, low in his throat, then grasped her breasts again, dragging her close. “Bend over.”
He released her so she could. “Touch the floor.”
She widened her legs even more, barely refraining from begging for him. She heard the rip of a pack, and then he returned to her and rubbed his cock against one of her buttocks. “Want this?”
Curving a hand around her waist, he held her steady and he pushed in, that slight resistance when his flared cock head passed her entrance making her cry out. It felt so fucking good. “Donovan, oh shit, oh fuck!”
“Yes, just like that,” he said. “Now look up.”
She could see everything except their legs. Her breasts, his hand on her stomach, his cock buried inside her. He withdrew and she gasped, waiting for him to power back in. When he did, she rocked forward, then back.
“Jace is underneath us, lying on the floor, watching everything,” he growled. His voice vibrated against her skin.
Her arousal rocketed. She stared into the mirror, watching him fucking her, letting him guide her in this fantasy. She wet her lips. “He wants me,” she whispered.
“You bet. How could he not? But he’s gonna have to wait until I’ve done with you. It won’t take long. Then he can have you. He’s touching you now, can you feel it?”
She could. Someone’s fingers at her clit, sliding down the crease, caressing where they joined. He curled a finger up inside her, stuffing her even more full. “He wants you so bad,” Donovan said. “He’s touching you, feeling you, sharing what I’m doing to you. And the door’s open. They can see you. All the people I’ve invited to watch you, to see how perfect you are. You feel that?”
“Yes, oh yes!” Deep inside, she thrilled to his words. Even more the knowledge that he’d never share her, that they could play this game as much as they liked.
“Jace has a tattoo.”
“I know.”
He chuckled. “Of course you do. You’re a fan. But you don’t know where it ends, do you? Not many people do. You can find out if you look down.”
So tempting, but if she did, she’d see nothing but bare carpet. “A man has to have some mystery.”
He laughed, briefly, because he hadn’t stopped thrusting inside her. He removed his finger when he withdrew his cock and then paused. “I thought a woman was the one with the mystery.”
“Not always.” He drove in, so hard she thought he’d touch the heart of her. Moving his hand, he slid to the front of her pussy and found her clit. He tweaked and thrust and she yelled his name. “Mystery or not, we’re giving him a show he won’t forget. Feel him touch you?”
Tweaking her clit mercilessly, he powered in and out of her body. Beyond words now, she cried his name repeatedly and he put his other hand around her waist, held her steady as he brought them both higher, then higher still.
Calling her name, he pulsed inside her. But for the sheath, he’d have soaked her, added to her drenched pussy. Helplessly she called out and came, so deep, so hard, she doubted her ability to stand when he’d finished.
Not that she needed to, because he withdrew, lifted her in his arms and headed for the shower.
“I can’t wait until you see him again,” he said as he turned the lever that sent water pounding onto them both. “Part of it is watching you when you meet them.”
“You’re a sadistic bastard,” she murmured fondly. She found the small bottle of body shampoo the hotel provided and turned around, nuzzling his chest. “But it’s not them, it’s the fantasy them. Probably makes no sense to you, but it works for me. When I met you, you were like that, a fantasy come to life. That’s how I thought of you, a night of fantasy, something to keep me going over the next few months. But the real Donovan overwhelmed the fantasy Donovan. You’re just so much better.”
“I never fantasized about you before I met you, but now I have, my dreams are saturated with you.”
“Oh.” She caught her breath and lifted her chin, blinking up at his face. She could hardly open her eyes against the spray until he leaned in to kiss her, then she closed her eyes anyway to savor the caress. He didn’t pull all the way back, so she could open her eyes when the kiss was done, only to sink into his pearl-gray gaze. “You’re very talented.” She made a purring sound low in her throat and drew her fingernails down his chest. Not enough to leave a permanent mark, but she loved the red trail she left. Marking him, however temporarily.
“You are more than talented.” He stole another kiss. “I need to go back to work on a new song. Want to come?”
“I thought you didn’t let anyone in to songwriting sessions.”
“Some people. If the guys want you to leave, then you’ll have to go. It can get intense. But you can handle it and I want you with me. I don’t want you to go.”
She reached up to cup his cheek, felt the prickle of stubble. “I’m not going anywhere. Not yet.”
He laughed. “We’re going to talk about that some more too.”
Although she’d thought their re-entry into the living room might prove a tad embarrassing, the band barely acknowledged that Donovan had taken longer than he’d planned. Probably because Jace was later than they were. He arrived five minutes after they did, dressed in a black pair of jeans, instead of the blue he’d had on earlier.
Donovan winked at her and took a spare seat. The band had turned the once regimentally clean and carefully arranged great room into a tangle of cables, expensive instruments and panels, strewn with empty coffee cups and plates. They ate while they worked and conversation flowed. Allie sat at the table with her laptop, working on the latest round of edits for one of her authors. While she’d lost Carl, her star author, she still had others she cared about and wanted at least not to leave them hanging if she resigned from Casterbridge. And Duane had promised her more if she stayed with the company. Was it dependent on her bringing in Donovan, or would she get the job anyway? She had no idea, but if it was the former, she wasn’t interested.
While the band of her dreams created a new sound for a new song, she worried. Not the way she’d thought this would happen. Donovan sat close and occasionally looked up, met her gaze and smiled, sharing friendship and more. She invariably smiled back, but outside the privacy of their suite, her concerns crowded back in.
Eventually she gave up on the edits and just kept her laptop open but watched the band.
Now she understood why they all took writing credits. Donovan’s claim to be “only the bass player” didn’t hold up here. Matt had left, gone to view the venue V said, and Beverley was busy “arranging shit” according to Jace, who told them with a gleam in his eye that said she’d done more arranging of him. They accepted Allie’s presence with an ease that humbled her, but she suspected they’d forgotten she was there when they started to work in earnest.
They played the instrument nearest to them, not necessarily the one they used onstage, and they worked totally together. Zazz might have come up with the lyrics, maybe also the basic melody, but they wove and played and switched tempo, even used time scales not usually known outside avant-garde jazz, but it worked. It so worked. Even in this rough state, she could tell they were creating something beaut
iful and worthwhile, something that would bring pleasure to a lot of people.
The central sentiment of the song formed their taking-off point, and however clever they got with sounds and switches, they never forgot what the song was about. They’d drop something that sounded great but didn’t work to serve the meaning in a nanosecond. Riffs and echoes that other bands might have pounced on were dropped unceremoniously. Allie wondered if they’d come back in other places, but the way they worked was so fluid, she didn’t know if it would ever sound the same way twice.
It made her wonder what she was doing with her life. Editing had been a childhood dream, but perhaps she’d really been chasing something else. Something akin to, but not quite. Nancy was poisonous, that was true, but she’d met plenty of fun, knowledgeable and enthusiastic people in the publishing industry too. But Allie didn’t think she fit well, or she’d have handled the whole situation with Carl better. Had the courage to call her boss’s boss and explain her problem as soon as she realized what Nancy wanted her to do. If she hadn’t felt so unsure of herself, she might have done just that. Should have.
Yes, she’d tell them the truth. That if they wanted Donovan, they’d have to do it without her, because she had a conflict of interest there. Then see if they still wanted her.
Once she’d made the decision, she felt much better. The proverbial weight lifted from her shoulders. Watching the band and how well the members worked together, each comfortable with his skills, confident in his actions, made her realize she’d taken a wrong turn somewhere. She needed to reassess, not leap in with both feet.
Publishing was a hard world. So was the world of music, but Murder City Ravens had risen to the top on sheer talent. Not many bands did that. Many were happy to conform, keep providing more of the same until the music became formulaic. Many would slip into a groove and others would have two or three hits and then disappear or break up.
This band belonged together. The members created a whole that was greater than their differences, that blended the best of them. She understood how Matt leaving and Zazz and Riku joining had added to what they did. It worked, it just fucking worked. They were lucky to find Chick, because he eased their path rather than changing it, acted like a great editor—enabling and helping them to find the best of themselves without dictating the way they had to do it. In the past, managers had given themselves a bad name by signing bad deals, even skimming or making peripheral deals that benefited themselves. Most had cleaned up their acts, but the odd few still remained.
Whatever Donovan decided about the book offer, she’d support him, but she’d cry in private if it meant him leaving Murder City Ravens. For her and for all the people who got so much pleasure from what they created together, she’d mourn.
Chapter Nine
Sitting in the darkened auditorium, Allie felt the familiar tightening of her stomach muscles and wondered how Donovan must be feeling backstage, waiting to go on. This was one of the smaller venues of the tour, but with a capacity audience of seven thousand waiting to see them, that wasn’t saying much. Before any concert, she felt excited, but this meant so much more to her, even more than the signing at the convention last weekend.
She sat between Mrs. Harvey, who hadn’t as yet invited her to call her Doreen, and Elliott, who sat back in the plush seat, one long leg crossed over the other, left ankle resting on right knee. Elliott, invalid or not, had done a cross-continent return flight this week, saying he wouldn’t miss this performance. He seemed to have recovered from his attack of flu, but he still claimed to feel the effects. If this was Elliott as a convalescent, Allie wondered what kind of powerhouse he was when fully recovered.
Beverley had taken care of them after Chick and the band had driven to the venue a couple of hours earlier, and although Donovan had asked her along, Allie didn’t want to get in the way of the band or their pre-concert bonding. If they had any.
She was also still hesitant about appearing with Donovan in public. That would label her as his girl and people would recognize her. She wouldn’t be able to move around as freely as before. It was all nuts, but holding back made sense right now.
She wanted to see this as a regular fan, and although they had great seats, front row on the balcony at one side of the huge hall, they weren’t obviously “with the band”. She’d even tucked the collection of coded wristbands, the modern equivalent of the all access pass, up the sleeve of her black pullover, feeling self-conscious when people stared. Beverley’s seat remained vacant. Allie indicated the seat to Elliott. “I hope that doesn’t mean there’s problems.”
“Probably not. Chick seems like he has everything under control.” He shrugged. “I tried to discuss Donovan’s career with Chick yesterday and he wouldn’t consider talking about it.”
Allie thought it spoke well of Chick if he refused to talk about Donovan without the man himself present, and she knew he hadn’t been there because that was the time of the disastrous shopping expedition with his mother. He’d taken them to the best department store in San Francisco, and by the time his mother had turned her nose up at half a dozen racks of clothes, the fans had identified him and they’d had to rush back to the hotel.
Donovan had left separately, drawing the crowds while the second security guy gave them ten minutes before escorting Allie and Mrs. Harvey quietly through the front door of the hotel, climbed the stairs to the first floor and got into the security elevator. Nobody had bothered them and Donovan’s mother had punctuated the episode with a frosty silence.
“He’s supposed to be the best manager in the business. He doesn’t take many acts, but he works hard with the ones he chooses.”
“Hmm.” Elliott glanced at Mrs. Harvey, who was talking to her husband, leaning over so he couldn’t talk to anyone but her and excluding everyone else from the conversation. “I’m leaving for New York tomorrow, when you guys go on to L.A., so we won’t have many more chances to talk.”
Despite the uproar around them, they were relatively secluded, so talking was just about possible. “You want to talk to me? If it’s about Donovan, I won’t discuss him behind his back and I won’t try to persuade him to do anything on your behalf.”
Elliott raised a dark brow. “I’m impressed, and I appreciate that. I’ve been watching you, and in my opinion you’re wasted on Casterbridge.”
She pulled a face. “Tell that to all the publishers that turned me down when I applied for jobs with them.”
“Their loss.” He shrugged. “Could be my gain. Casterbridge is on the way down.”
“I guessed.”
“Yeah. I won’t ask what’s going on inside, but I can take a shot at it. Editors are leaving, others are making wild grabs for authors and they’re signing less than stellar writers in the hope they can make it big. It’s a shame. Casterbridge broke some of the biggest authors around today, but they all left for bigger places once they’d built them up. They should have taken a chance, like Bloomsbury did on J.K. Rowling, and put some big investment money into one or two, but they kept trawling for the next one and the next. Now their leverage is bad and word’s getting around. You hear what I’m saying?”
She knew exactly what he was saying, something she already knew. “Yeah, and unless I come up with someone big, my days there are numbered. They want Donovan.”
“Exactly. It was a great publisher once, but a succession of bad decisions has brought it down.” He paused. “I know you can’t say anything, but I do know from another contact that the R word’s been mentioned. Restructuring. Maybe they’ll start the last in, first out mantra before too long.” She’d already worked that one out for herself. He sighed. “God knows I’d like to be good to them, but I’m not sending anyone else there while things are in a state of flux. You can tell them that, if you like. It’ll save a phone call.”
She took a chance. Elliott wouldn’t tell Casterbridge, but in any case, she’d been seriously rethinking her position this week. The leisure had given her the time to really thin
k things through, what she wanted and what she didn’t. “I’m not telling Donovan to go to Casterbridge. I’m not telling him anything, but I’ve decided that if he does decide he wants to go there, it’s none of my concern. If he does, I won’t edit him.”
Elliott nodded. “Good decision. Keeps you out of the loop, keeps you honest.” He spread his hands. “So what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. All my life I wanted to be an editor, but I’m thinking that childhood dreams have led me astray. I love publishing, I love writers, even though I can’t write a good novel to save my life, but maybe I should look at other aspects of the industry. Or maybe I was right and I just need experience somewhere else to be sure. I don’t know. The industry’s changing so fast.”
“Do you like that aspect?”
“Oh yes.” She was never without her ereader, or at least her phone. “It’s exciting.”
He nodded. “Here’s the thing. You’ve got a year’s experience with Casterbridge and you might think about moving on. I’m not rushing your decision, but I can tell you if you do, there’s at least one job waiting for you.”
“Where?” Call her dense but she didn’t get his meaning for a moment. “With you?”
“Sure. I have four agents at my agency and one of them is leaving. She’s moving into a publishing house—not Casterbridge—so that’s a win-win for both of us. It gives me a new contact and it pushes her career along some. So in a month, I’ll have a permanent vacancy. I don’t know what the situation between you and Donovan is, but if you decide to leave, come to me.”
He named the salary, about one and a half times what she was getting now. Not stellar, but much better. He laughed when she must have revealed her surprise. “I like my staff to eat. I know your salary was next to an intern’s but I can see qualities in you that I like. You’re straight-dealing and you’re not stupid. You’re at the beginning of your career but you’ve made some useful contacts.”
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