Love Resolution (Black Cat Records series)

by Michelle Mankin

  “Gentlemen, you’ll have to excuse us,” he said abruptly, pulling her away from the admiring throng. He drew her by the elbow over to a corner of the room, beside a large Love Evolution tour mural, custom painted, a KeyArena logo strategically placed in the upper corner. “What the hell are you wearing?” he growled.

  “A black dress.” She glanced down. Her lips pursed. “What’s wrong with it?” she asked him with a note of teasing in her voice, fingers splayed across her chest. “Everything’s covered up.”

  “Not from the sides, it isn’t,” he hissed under his breath. “Do not lift your arms any more tonight. I almost had a heart attack a second ago.”

  “I like it.” Her chin lifted. “It makes me feel pretty and sexy.”

  “Yes it definitely does, but damn it…” He frowned. What was it with her lately? Why was she fighting him so much about what she wore? “I just don’t want anyone else seeing what’s mine.”

  “Ok.” She gave a conciliatory smile. “I promise to keep my arms…”

  “Avery Jones?” a confident female voice interrupted.

  She turned.

  “Kimberly Schaffer, Rolling Stone.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Her elegant silver cuff bracelet sparkling under the room’s pendant lighting, Avery clasped the hand the lovely brunette offered. She smiled enthusiastically. “I just read your article on Blackberry Smoke and the resurgence of southern rock. It was a brilliant piece.”

  “Thanks so much.” The warm smile the reporter wore transformed into a radiant beam.

  “For nothing. Right after I read it, I downloaded both their albums. I’m a total fan now.”

  “So am I.” Kimberly took her by the elbow and drew her aside without even acknowledging Marcus.

  Avery gave him an apologetic glance.

  “Do you have time for a couple of quick questions?” Kimberly asked.

  “It’s ok, Avery,” Marcus said in response to her questioning look. “I need to speak to Dwight.”

  “Alright.” She shifted her attention back to the reporter.

  “My sources say you might be leaving Brutal Strength and starting a solo career after this tour. Can you comment on that?”

  Marcus hesitated, hoping to catch her response. He knew she had agreed to work on some solo material for Mary, but this was the first time he’d heard that spin on it.

  “There’s no truth to that,” Avery replied. “Brutal Strength’s where I belong.”

  Good answer, Marcus thought.

  “After your performance tonight, no one would fault you if you went out on your own. You made the show.”

  Marcus hands were tightly fisted by the time he reached Dwight. The Rolling Stone chick was right, he grimly acknowledged. Avery’s performance had been flawless. She’d been the only one who’d had her shit together. And if she decided to pursue this solo thing on the side, he would give her his full support, as long as it didn’t adversely affect the band.

  “Stop frowning, little brother,” Dwight said through a tight smile. “The vultures are watching. They’ll be saying that you’re jealous of your fiancée’s success.”

  “That’s bullshit. I am happy for her,” Marcus replied through clenched teeth. “But I’m pissed as hell at the rest of us. We sucked.”

  “I agree. Not our best outing for sure, but…” Dwight trailed off, tilting his head as he studied Marcus. His blue eyes narrowed and his tone flattened. “Dammit. You’ve been drinking.”

  “Just a couple of beers,” he hedged. And several shots of Crown Royal, but he didn’t mention that.

  “Dammit, Marcus!” Dwight grabbed his arm, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Not cool, man.”

  “Give me a break, bro. It’s just alcohol. You act like I’m using again,” Marcus said, shrugging out of his grip.

  “You shouldn’t even touch the stuff. Not with your history.”

  “Marcus. Dwight,” Trevor acknowledged as he walked up. “I’d like you to meet Dan Reed from the Seattle Times and Brenda Davis from KOMO News.”

  Pasting a neutral expression on his face, Marcus took a turn after Dwight shaking hands with the local VIP’s.

  “Had a little trip up on stage tonight?” Dan needled with raised bushy grey brows.

  “It happens.” Marcus frowned. “We could’ve been a little tighter.”

  “Yeah, but your opening band was smoking,” Brenda cooed. “Local boys, too.” She looked to Trevor. “Could we get an introduction?”

  “Sure.” Trevor met Marcus’ irritated gaze over the blonde’s head. He shrugged before steering the two reporters over to where the Tempest guys had gathered.

  “Eff it. I don’t even know why I bothered to come,” Marcus grumbled. Catching Avery’s attention, he jerked a thumb at the door.

  She nodded and put a hand on Kimberly’s arm, obviously making her apologies.

  “Don’t take this kinda stuff personally, Marcus,” Dwight admonished, tapping a reaffirming hand on Marcus’ shoulder. “It’s not worth getting shit faced over, for sure.”

  “It told you it was just a couple of beers. Get off my case,” Marcus dismissed, heading to where Avery awaited near the exit.

  “Avery,” Sam called out, stopping them.

  “What now?” Marcus rolled his eyes.

  “Y’all leaving?”

  “Yeah.” Avery gave him a quick glance. “Marcus is ready to go.”

  “I thought you were going dancing with us?”

  “I’m sorry.” Avery let out a wistful sigh. “I can’t.”

  “Go ahead,” Marcus said gruffly. “But I’m staying in. I’m not in the mood.”

  “No.” Avery shook her head. “That’s alright. I’ll stay with you.”

  “I don’t need a babysitter,” he snapped. “I managed to take care of myself just fine before you came along.”

  Avery took a step back, eyes glistening.

  “C’mon girl,” Sam encouraged. “Let’s go.”

  Marcus softened his tone. “Take Ray with you.”

  Lips flattened, blinking back tears, Avery watched Marcus walk away, an arena’s security guard falling into step behind him. Being on the receiving end of his wrath so many times today had her reeling.

  “He’ll get over it,” Sam said sympathetically, squeezing Avery’s arm. “He’s just mad about the show and taking it out on you.” She sighed. “Why do we always seem to be hardest on those closest to us?”

  Avery managed a watery smile.

  “He loves you, Avery.”

  “I know, but I’m worried about him. I think maybe…” she stopped, reluctant to discuss his drinking in public. “I should go after him.”

  “Maybe.” Sam mused, wrinkling her nose. “But I don’t think so. He doesn’t seem like he’s in a receptive frame of mind right now.”

  Avery sighed, bouncing her folded index finger against her bottom lip. “You’re probably right.”

  “Come on. We’ll only stay for a little while. It’ll be good for you to get away from all the stress. And I think you’ll have a good time.” She took Avery’s hand. “Let’s get JR.” Her chestnut curls bounced as she led Avery through the crowd and reached JR’s side.

  “Hey baby.” JR turned to Sam, leaning down to nuzzle his nose against the side of her neck. “You smell good.”

  Sam blushed. “Avery and I are ready to go.”

  “Cool.” He glanced around. “Where’s Grumpy?”

  “He’s not coming,” Avery replied.

  “His loss.” He put his arms around both of them. “I’m gonna have the two prettiest women in the town all to myself.”

  “Wait.” Avery stopped in her tracks. Remembering Marcus’ parting directive, she ducked out from under JR’s arm. “I need to find Ray.”

  “You looking for your bodyguard?” A deep voice asked behind her.

  “Yes.” She turned around, looking directly into a pair of grey green eyes.

  “He’s standing by the side door.” Bryan gave her a la
zy smile, inclining his head.

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” He gave her the once over. “Heard you killed it tonight, Red.”

  “Thanks. You didn’t see?”

  “No,” he said drawing out the o. “I was busy with… Mandy, Denise, and Derinda.”

  “Hey Bullet. Come back.” A cute brunette with a dimpled smile stumbled up. “Uh-oh.” Her hand went in front of her mouth. “I don’t feel so good.”

  “I told you to lay off the alcohol,” he chided. “Mandy, why don’t you go sit back down with your friends and talk to Dizzy for a while?” He turned her around and pointed in the direction of the rhythm guitarist.

  “Alright,” she agreed in a pouty voice weaving back to the others.

  “Nice,” Avery said with a raised brow watching her. “Three girls? Really?”

  He gave her a wolfish grin. “Why should I choose when I don’t have to?”

  “How do you even keep all their names straight?”

  “I don’t know. I’m good with names. Like a lot of things.” He shrugged. “But I save nicknames for the important ones, Red.”

  JR cleared his throat.

  Avery jumped. For a moment she had completely forgotten anyone else was there. Embarrassed, she introduced them to the Tempest guitarist.

  “Where are you guys headed?” Bryan asked.

  “Club Classic,” Sam answered quickly, missing Avery’s zip-it gesture.

  “Maybe I’ll see you there later,” he told Avery, peering down at her through hooded eyes.

  JR led the way through the densely packed pub, the twenty something crowd congregating around bistro height tables and lining the long oak bar. In front of her, Sam held tightly onto Avery’s hand. Hood up and head down, Avery let her lead. Between the crowd noise and the TV’s blaring, conversation wasn’t an option.

  “The club’s down here,” JR informed them when they reached a dark concrete staircase at the back of the bar.

  The basement was dimly lit. People were queued up, velvet rope on one side, unpainted cinderblock on the other, faces glowing from cell displays as they languished. JR bypassed them, heading directly to the front of the line. He stopped before a burly man in a blue blazer. Between his close cropped hair and his clipboard, he appeared to be the man in charge. Lifting his sunglasses to the top of his head, JR made eye contact with him. “Daniels, party of four,” he said firmly.

  Buzz Cut checked the list and made a mark on it. He took three armbands out of a legal sized envelope and clipped them on Avery, JR and Sam. His gaze narrowed when Ray stepped forward. He looked at Avery. “This is a very exclusive club, if you get what I mean.”

  “No, I don’t get what you mean,” Avery countered defensively. “Tell me this isn’t a racial thing.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then what’s the issue?” Avery asked.

  “This is a high tone place.” Buzz Cut leaned in, lowering his voice. “The hired help generally wait in the car.”

  Avery’s brows drew down. “That’s ridiculous. He’s with us. I’m sure your manager would be interested in your turning away Brutal Strength’s lead guitarist because her friend didn’t meet your personal requirements for admission into the club.”

  Buzz man looked around nervously and looked back down at his clipboard. “You’re right. My mistake. We have plenty of room.” He offered Ray a band, swung around, slid a key card through a slot, and pushed open the door so they could enter. “Welcome to Club Classic.”

  “Sorry about that, Ray,” Avery told him as he fell into step beside her. “I can’t believe there are still small minded people like that around.”

  “Forget it Avery. What matters most to me is that from day one none of that has been a factor in how you see me.”

  “Still.” Her jaw clenched. “It’s just not right.” She spun around, determined to go back and have a few more words with the moron.

  “Leave it.” Ray moved to block her path. “He’s not worth the breath or the energy.”

  Her lips pursed, but she gave him a tight nod before turning back to locate JR and Sam. As she moved deeper into the club the volume of music greatly increased. The heavy bass beat from the Guess Who’s “American Woman” pounded into her chest and pulsating ceiling lights flashed, illuminating her path through the darkened interior of the club. She noticed concert posters of classic rock bands lining the walls on both sides of the room and flat low leather couches and oval Plexiglas coffee tables delineating intimate seating areas.

  Avery smiled. It was her kind of place. Spotting Sam and JR near the small bar in the back she threaded her way through the crowd to them. When she reached Sam’s side, she shouted to be heard over the music “This is cool. Thanks for inviting me.”

  Sam smiled back.

  She was staring at the dancers on the chest high elevated ramp in the center of the room when the waitress walked up.

  “I’m Jamie,” said the attractive woman with straight brown hair dressed in skin tight black leather pants and a Club Classic t-shirt. “Boss says drinks are on the house for you guys.” She took their order and soon returned with a silver bucket full of iced beers for JR and Sam and club soda for Avery. Avery took off her hoodie as Led Zeppelin’s “Black Dog” started playing and moved her body in time to the music.

  “Let’s dance,” Sam insisted, lifting JR’s and Avery’s hands in the air.

  “You guys go ahead,” JR shouted, pulling his hand free. “I’ll watch.” He wiggled his tawny brows while he sprawled out on the sofa, arms outstretched as if he owned the place.

  Sam giggled, grey eyes twinkling in the club’s lights.

  For a while, Avery was tense and glanced around the room nervously, but as time passed and no one seemed to take notice of them she let herself relax. So much had come at her recently that she just wanted to forget about it all for a while, let loose, and have a good time.

  Dancing with Sam was fun. As they laughed and shimmied with abandon, Avery slowly but successfully relegated her concerns to the back of her mind. After an hour, she began to suspect Sam of being more than a tad tipsy. At the end of each song the cute intern turned tour manager would drop down onto JR’s lap, wrap her arm around his neck, and plant a kiss on his lips. The kisses were getting embarrassingly longer and sloppier each time, not that JR seemed to mind.

  “You guys need to stop or get a room,” Avery chastised, tugging lightly on one of Sam’s curls.

  Sam shook her head and giggled.

  When Aerosmith’s “Walk this Way” came on, Avery played along with Sam, both stretching out their arms pretending to be Frankenstein’s monsters.

  JR mouthed, “Kids,” and rolled his eyes at them.

  They were bumping their hips together toward the middle of the next song, when Avery noticed Bryan and War walk in. Both stopped near the entrance. Dressed as they were, they garnered their fair share of attention from the women in the club.

  Aviator sunglasses covered War’s eyes, a dark bandana tied back his hair, and he wore a military inspired jacket open with no shirt and leather pants. Bryan appeared to have just rolled out of bed, which with him was a distinct possibility. His faux hawk was flattened down on one side, and his sleeveless shirt was only half tucked in.

  Bryan scanned the room. When his eyes met hers, his lips tipped up into that sexy half smile of his. He lifted his hand to his forehead in a mocking salute, the silver and leather bracelets he wore sliding midway down his arm.

  Avery spun back around. She knew that he knew damn well that she liked what she saw. Heck, she was pretty sure it wasn’t a stretch to say Bryan was well aware that he had that effect on most women. He was a player and apparently he’d decided she was his next play. Why else would he be here?

  Suddenly, a warm hand dropped on her shoulder just as Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love” started playing.

  “Hey, Red,” Bryan spoke low and near her ear.

  She gulped and turned to face him. �
�Hey,” she offered in return.

  Up close in the low seductive lighting of the club, Bryan Jackson was a bit intimidating and very, very male. His jeans hung low and clung to his lean hips while his sleeveless shirt was definitely a calculated choice to show off arms that were tantalizingly corded with muscle as well as covered with ink.

  “What happened to your female entourage?” she asked with an arched brow.

  “I got bored. They’re all the same.” He traced a finger around her silver cuff bracelet. “Only one woman I’m really interested in right now.”

  “Oh, please.” The guy was a flirt, but she could totally see what all the fuss was about. She wet her dry lips. “Does that line usually work for you?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never used it before.” He stared at her mouth. “Is it working? Maybe I need further research to be sure.”

  “You do know that I’m engaged?” Bryan was really pushing the envelope with her. He had to know she was taken.

  “Yeah, I heard something about that. It’s just a ring, though.” His gaze ran the length of her. “Don’t see a ball and chain around your ankle yet. In fact he’s not even here with you, is he?” He took a step back, holding out his hand. “Come on. Dance with me, Red.”

  She stared at it for a moment. The refusal she should have spoken was stifled by the night’s deluge of hurt and uncertainty. Marcus’ drinking worried her most of all. Why had he done it when he knew how much it would upset her?

  She took a step toward Bryan as John Paul Jones’ bass rattled her. After all what would be the harm? It was only a dance. It wasn’t like she was sleeping with the guy.

  “Closer.” His eyes intense, Bryan stretched out his hands, palms up, crooking his fingers at her.

  She moved in. When her body was inches from his, he leaned in, his gaze lingering lustfully on her breasts. Instinctively, she arched backward beneath him. They weren’t even touching, but it felt as if they were. They were certainly close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his body. Her heart began pounding erratically in her chest.

  Then Bryan leaned back, his eyes watchful and she knew it was her turn to take the dominant position in the dance. Back and forth they repeated the pattern. Sharing an innate sense of rhythm, hips and shoulders swayed in sync with the music. Sparks of attraction flowed seamlessly between them. Their movements became more and more suggestive as the dance continued. Soon she felt the eyes of everyone in the club watching. She began to feel like a complicit partner in a dangerous game.