Steady Beat

by Lexxie Couper

  His waitress nodded. “It’ll be worth it. Promise.”

  “The kiss? You better believe it.”

  She laughed, and once again Noah’s groin reacted to the rich, lyrical sound.

  “I will be back. Don’t leave.”

  He shook his head. “Oh, I’m not going anywhere. Promise.”

  The corners of her lips curled in a smile Noah could only call shy. Shy? How was that possible after the challenge she’d just laid down? Especially given the desire equal to his own he saw in her eyes.

  Such a conflict. It was hypnotic. Sublime.

  She turned and walked away from the table without a word. Noah could tell the subtle sway of her hips wasn’t an affectation designed to garner attention but her natural movement. Damn, he could watch her hips move like that all day. He couldn’t wait to smooth his hands over those hips and hold her to his body as he kissed her.

  “Hey,” he called out, his pulse pounding faster when she threw him a quick look over her shoulder. “What’s your name?”

  She lowered her lashes. A faint pink painted her cheeks. “Pepper.”

  Holy crap, she’d agreed to kiss him? She wasn’t a groupie. She was a…a…okay, she didn’t really know what she was at this point in time when it came to Noah Holden, but kissing him? Just because he wanted her to?

  And what the hell was up with that? Why would Noah Holden, the most amazing, sexiest drummer in the world want to kiss her? Anyone who knew anything about the rock-music industry knew he was in an eight-year-long relationship with a swimsuit model. Those same anyones would also know Noah Holden was renowned for his fidelity. Articles had been written about it. Hell, her dad’s name had been the byline of one such article only three years ago.

  So why was Noah wanting to kiss her here? Now?

  More to the point, why was she excited? It wasn’t like she was going to lose, even if the idea of kissing Noah Holden made her heart race and her pussy throb. Which it did. There was no way she was going to lose this trivia challenge. She’d only ever lost a music-trivia challenge to her dad, and the last defeat had been five years ago. As much as she wanted to feel the drummer’s lips on hers, Noah Holden was going down.

  Big time.

  She was going to beat him and then she was going to sing for him, for the band and blow them all away and never be a failure again.

  That’s what she was going to do.

  No kissing. Just singing.

  She didn’t say anything to him when she returned to his table a minute later with his scotch. Her tongue tangled. She’d hoped the very fact he’d agreed to her challenge would have given her more courage to flirt with him, but it didn’t. She placed his drink on the coaster in front of him, the heat of his long body slumped in his chair warming her thigh as she bent over his table.

  “Any music trivia, or just about Nick Blackthorne?”

  His question, low and barely audible over the bar’s growing evening crowd made Pepper start. Or maybe it was the way his warm breath tickled her cheek. If she turned her head to the side a fraction, would their lips brush?

  Do it. Do it!

  She straightened, smoothing her free hand over the top of her thigh. Her answer caught in her throat.

  Noah smiled up at her, a promise in his glacier-blue eyes she couldn’t decipher.

  No, that was wrong. She could decipher it. Desire. Open, curious desire. His eyes told her exactly what their kiss would be like if she lost.

  Goddamn, she’d never wanted to fail at anything more than she did this trivia challenge.

  Pulling on every fibre of courage in her being, she licked her top lip, letting Noah hold her motionless with his gaze. “Any.”

  He grinned. “Any it is.”

  She hurried away from his table before she chickened out. Or begged him to just kiss her there and then.

  Fifteen minutes later, her shift finished.

  “He’s still out there.”

  Pepper started at her boss’s gruff grumble in the staff locker room. She paused halfway through undoing her apron and gave the short man a sideways glance. “Who?”

  “Noah Holden. Everyone’s talking about it. Jeannie overheard him say his woman left him. Now he’s sitting waiting for you. Hasn’t taken his eyes off you since you gave him that last scotch.” Rupert Redman let out a wry chuckle. “That’s coming out of your tips, by the way.”

  Pepper’s cheeks filled with warmth. She removed her apron, withdrew her tote from her locker and stuffed the black rectangle of material into it.

  “I know you’re not my top waitress here, Kerrigan, but I like you enough to tell you to be careful. I don’t want to see you get hurt by a famous dick.”

  Pepper raised her eyebrows.

  Her boss shrugged. “Haven’t got anyone to replace you if you call in sick tomorrow broken-hearted, is all.”

  He strode out of the room, leaving Pepper alone. She closed her locker, pressed her palm to its cool surface and drew a slow breath.

  Was she really going to do this? Go out there and challenge one of the most renowned rock drummers to a music-trivia contest? Was she going to win?

  Did she care if she lost?

  Yes, she did. She wanted to sing. She loved singing. Had done so since she was a little girl. And she could sing. It wasn’t just her father who told her so. Years of lessons had developed Pepper’s voice until her singing teacher had described it as sublimely exquisite. The only problem had been singing in front of strangers, a crowd. That was something Pepper could never do. No matter how much she wanted to.

  But she would make herself do it. She had to. She would win this trivia contest and show the world her mother wasn’t right. She would prove to herself her mother wasn’t right. She wasn’t a failure. Sure, she was taking the most dramatic route possible—wrangling an audition with one of the biggest bands on the planet wasn’t exactly normal—but if she had learnt one thing from her mother, it was to grab opportunity when presented. Her mother sure as hell had, leaving her family for the millionaire plastic surgeon who gave her double Ds. Tonight, Pepper was going to do the same.

  Noah Holden was opportunity. Pepper Kerrigan was going to grab him.

  It.

  She scrunched her eyes closed at the thought of grabbing the drummer. “Singing, Pepper,” she muttered, pressing her forehead against the cool metal of her locker. “Singing. Not kissing. Not flirting. Not…”

  Swallowing back the word fucking, she straightened, hoisted her tote onto her shoulder and hurried out into the bar.

  The crowd had grown rowdier in her absence. At the table next to Noah’s sat four women, all dressed in very little, all making what Pepper’s dad called goo-goo eyes at the waiting rock star.

  Pepper’s heart thumped fast into her throat. Her lips began to prickle. She crossed to the table, her throat tight.

  Waiting.

  He was waiting for her. Holy crap, Noah Holden was waiting for her.

  “I’m finished my scotch.” He grinned up at her when she reached his side, his empty glass raised. “And have been googling music trivia.”

  Despite the nerves gnawing at her belly, Pepper couldn’t help but smile. “Cramming for an exam?”

  He laughed. “You better believe it. I aim to be kissed.”

  Heat flooded Pepper’s cheeks. She swallowed. “And I aim to sing.” Before he could respond, before Pepper could question her incongruous courage, she lowered herself onto the seat she’d occupied earlier.

  Noah watched her. She wished his gaze wasn’t so intense. So…on her.

  No, that was a lie. Him looking at her made her feel…alive. And—strangely—confident. Now all she needed was for him to hear her.

  To do that, she had to beat him.

  “Want a drink?”

  She shook her head at his question. Damn, his Australian accent was delicious.

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Can I get you anything?”

  Behind Pepper, one of the women at the next table told her
companions in a loud voice she’d take whatever Noah Holden wanted to give her. Whatever.

  Noah chuckled. But his gaze stayed in Pepper. Never wavered.

  She caught her bottom lip with her teeth and studied him back. Was she brave enough to ask the first question?

  Was she brave enough to do what she was doing—period?

  You’re not. Go now. Before you make a fool of yourself and everyone laughs at—

  “What famous author,” she burst out, her cheeks hot, “named Pink Floyd’s 1994 album, Division Bell?”

  The question hung on the air between them. Noah’s lips twitched. He swirled his empty glass around once, his blue gaze holding her motionless. “Douglas Adams.”

  His deep voice, with its sexy accent, supplying the correct answer sent a wicked tingle up Pepper’s spine. Her nipples pinched into hard points.

  He leant forward. “What was Nick Blackthorne’s first album?”

  Pepper let out a snort. “Too easy. Blackthorne.” She reached for a peanut and shelled it. A warm buzz bloomed in her belly, just like it always had when she’d talked music with her dad. “What was the first video to appear on MTV?”

  A frown pulled at Noah’s eyebrows. “Here in the U.S.?”

  Pepper nodded. Her heart hammered. Could it be this easy?

  Noah leant back in his seat and threaded his fingers behind his head. “That would be ‘Video Killed The Radio Star’ by the Buggles. What was the second song?”

  “Pat Benatar’s ‘You Better Run’.” She smirked, remembering the way her father ranted about the cable channel every time either song aired on the radio when she was growing up. “MTV used to be about music, chickpea,” he’d say. “Music. Now it’s about morons doing moronic things. Video didn’t just kill the radio star, it damn near killed talent. You better run? You better cry, more like it.”

  Noah pulled a face. “You know your stuff.”

  She grinned and hooked another peanut from the bowl between them. “I’m just getting warmed up. Who started their music career as Tom and Jerry?”

  “Hello darkness…” Noah sang, his eyes smiling. The deep timbre of his voice, combined with its perfect pitch, stole Pepper’s breath. Noah rarely sang on any of Nick Blackthorne’s albums. Pepper had to wonder why. God, his voice was incredible. She shifted on her seat, the throb between her thighs warm and heavy.

  Noah wriggled his fingers above his head. “Simon and Garfunkel. ‘Sound of Silence’ was the first song Mum asked me to learn to play. I think there may have been some kind of message she was trying to get across.”

  Pepper chuckled and then blinked when he asked, “First song you made out to?”

  Her stomach knotted. She turned aside. “I…I don’t think…”

  “Just kidding.” Consternation cut through the two words. “Sorry. I’ll ask an easier one. First Nick Blackthorne Number One in Japan.”

  “Too easy. ‘Glass Houses’.” Damn, why was her heart beating so fast? “Who was the session guitar player for Tom Jones’s ‘It’s Not Unusual’?”

  “Jimmy Page.” He lowered his arms and crossed them on the table, his eyes twinkling. “You ask some seriously obscure questions. I like it.”

  Pepper raised her shoulders in a shrug. “My head is full of obscure trivia. There’s a reason I didn’t challenge you to a game of darts.”

  Noah’s chuckle tickled her senses. “I suck at darts. Last time I played I pierced Strings in the head.”

  “Strings?”

  “Samuel.” He grinned. “There’s some more obscure trivia for you. Nick Blackthorne’s band call their lead guitarist Strings.”

  Pepper smiled. “Consider it locked in my brain forever.”

  He snatched a peanut from the bowl. “You’re really that good at trivia?”

  “Music trivia.” She plucked the peanut from his fingers, shelled it and popped it into her mouth. “I suck at sports trivia. Ask me another question.”

  He settled back in his seat. “Okay then. Who was bowling when Australia defeated England in the 1945 Ashes test?”

  Pepper stared at him. “The what?”

  He chuckled. “Kidding. What was the second-last song on Nick’s second-last album?”

  “The second-last song on Nick’s second-last album was ‘Burnt’.” Pepper smiled. “Written by you. The only song you’ve ever recorded.”

  Noah’s eyebrows shot up. “How do you know all this stuff? Are you cheating?”

  Pepper laughed. “No. Two-part question for you. Ready?”

  He nodded, his gaze holding hers. “Shoot.”

  “Dr. Hook sang about being on the cover of what magazine?”

  “Rolling Stone.”

  “Correct. Were they ever featured on the cover?”

  He frowned, his eyes swinging upward to the right. “Umm…”

  Pepper fought the urge to shift on her seat. Did she have him beat? It was one of her favourite trivia questions, mainly because it always made her think of her dad. He’d been writing an article about the cover of the famous magazine, the performers who appeared on it and—in Paul Kerrigan’s opinion—the artists who should have graced it, when he’d suffered the heart attack that killed him. Pepper had spent the next three months reading every article he’d written for the magazine. Her way of saying goodbye to the man who’d always believed in her, even when her mother hadn’t.

  Sitting here now, with one of the greatest drummers in the world opposite her—a song or a kiss on the line—she couldn’t help but wish she hadn’t asked it.

  Because the longer she spent in Noah Holden’s company, the more she thought the idea of kissing him was pretty damn good. The more she wanted to feel his lips on hers. “Well?” she prodded. Her voice was husky. Why was it husky?

  Noah didn’t answer. His eyebrows dipped deeper into a frown. “On the cover…” he sang, a murmured dream of pitch, timbre and rhythm. Christ, Pepper could have an orgasm just listening to him sing. Why didn’t he do it more often?

  She opened her mouth to ask him that very thing, and stopped when he said, “No.”

  For a moment, she was adrift. What was he saying no to? And then she remembered she’d asked him about Dr. Hook and Rolling Stone magazine. Her belly twisted. “You knew all along, didn’t you?”

  He grinned. “Yeah, sorry. Another request from my mum, I’m afraid. She loved Dr. Hook.” He shelled a peanut and passed it to her. “But I must admit, if it wasn’t for that, you would have had me. Any chance you’ll kiss me anyways? Even if you beat me?”

  Pepper drew a slow breath. She licked her lips, swallowing at the lump making itself at home in her throat. “Umm…no.”

  Noah dipped into the peanut bowl again, his stare an intense question. “Who sang the un-credited backing vocals on ‘Gotta Run’?” he asked, holding out a shelled peanut for her again.

  She took it. And bit back a gasp when their fingers brushed. Holy crap, was that a spark? Oh man, could her nipples get any harder? “Umm…” she said again. Her belly didn’t just twist this time; it fluttered, knotted and generally behaved like a rabid butterfly.

  She didn’t know who sang backing vocals on “Gotta Run”. Did she?

  She stared into Noah’s eyes, dredging into the depths of her music-trivia knowledge. She knew everything about every Nick Blackthorne album released. Her dad wasn’t responsible for that, she was. She’d fallen in love with the sound of Nick and his band the very first time she’d heard them, as a shy teenager with spots on her face and a dream her mother scoffed at. She knew everything. So why didn’t she know—

  “Kylie Minogue,” she burst out, the answer coming to her in a blast of white light and platinum-blonde hair. “Kylie Minogue. She was in Australia when Nick recorded his vocals and he asked her to join him in the studio. There were rumours at the time they were sleeping together.”

  She remembered her father’s response to that rumour. He was so excited by the idea of Blackthorne and Minogue together, possibly producing a child, h
e’d actually wrote a hypothetical birth announcement as a lark.

  “Bloody hell, babe.” Noah sat back in his seat again. Admiration shone in his eyes. That mischievous smile of his played with his exquisite lips. “You really do know your stuff.”

  She shrugged again, even as she fought the urge to preen. Noah Holden was complimenting her. She could walk away now utterly happy.

  No, you couldn’t. And if you do, you’re just wimping out like you always do.

  “What song did you first make out to?”

  Pepper’s heart smashed into her throat at his murmured question. It was the same as before. And as before, she didn’t want to tell him. “It’s my turn to ask a question,” she murmured.

  “I know,” he said, watching her. “But I only ask because I want to make sure I don’t play the same song when we make out.”

  She drew in a quick breath. “Why do you think we’re going to make out? Who says I’m going to lose?”

  His answering grin was far too sexy for her peace of mind. “Win or lose, we’re still making out.”

  “We are?”

  “Bloody oath.”

  Her pussy constricted. “You sound so Australian when you say that.”

  The ridiculous diversionary tactic failed. He didn’t laugh. Just watched her. Waited for her answer.

  Her answer, damn it.

  Fidgeting on her seat, she licked her lips. “I…” She stopped. Hugged her elbows with her palms. Her cheeks prickled with heat. So did her scalp. She could lie. Tell Noah a song, just some random song that a girl would make out to. Justin Timberlake’s ”Rock Your Body” maybe? Or ”Where Is the Love” by The Black Eyed Peas, but she wasn’t a liar. Shy yes, but not a liar. Which meant if she wanted to sing for Noah—and the band—she had to answer his question. And she wanted to sing for him. Them. More than she wanted to kiss Noah.

  Which was a lot.

  Lifting her gaze from the collection of empty peanut shells on the table, she met his steady stare. “I didn’t make out to a song.”