A Perilous Pursuit

by Diane Gilmore

  Later, Susan met her in the lobby and together they left the hotel and walked to a corner taxi stand. Almost immediately one pulled over, and they climbed into the back seat. Taylor found the hackney cab to be luxuriously comfortable and much larger than the American taxis back home. One side of the cab even had a backseat heater for riders to use on a chilly day. She gave their driver the studio’s address, and the car shot away from the curb, cutting kamikaze-like paths through the city streets until it dropped them off in front of a small, obscure building that was situated on a secluded street in the middle of town.

  They walked inside and found a man waiting for them in the small outer office.

  “You must be Ms. Fairchild,” he said in a polite British accent as he extended his hand to them. “Michael Bates is the name. I own the place. This way, please.”

  He guided them into a studio which Taylor found to be warm and inviting, not like the cold, contemporary studios she had seen back home. It was a cozy burrow, furnished with soft, well-worn leather chairs and historical-looking microphones. Only the high-tech mixing equipment in the control room revealed its state-of-the-art capabilities. The walls, floor, and ceiling of the studio were covered with thickly padded red carpeting, and top-hat style lighting beamed down in strategic places for the room’s musicians.

  Michael escorted the ladies into the control room overlooking the performance area where the band had already assembled, playing haphazard notes on their instruments while they warmed up. An endless array of electrical cords in a variety of colors snaked around their feet and traveled in different directions throughout the room.

  Craig was not among them.

  Steve noticed them first.

  “Hey, here they are, lads,” he said, breaking into a broad, boyish grin. He looked much better now than when she had last seen him a week ago, and his blue eyes sparkled with warmth and vitality. His hair, now attractively styled, gleamed like bright gold against his skin.

  He extended a firm handshake to her. “Nice to see you again, Taylor. Do you suppose we can have a proper introduction, then?”

  He obviously remembered meeting her at Craig’s flat, but acted as if the frightening events there several days ago never happened. She noticed some faded pink scratches on his cheeks, the only remnants of the scene she had witnessed.

  Shaun was in a folding chair with his bass guitar in his lap and his feet propped comfortably on a tabletop amplifier. He waved at them and gave Susan a suggestive wink. Then he brought his attention back to a small glass marijuana pipe cupped in his hand. He tapped it gently with his cigarette lighter, then applied the flame to the cannabis packed in the bowl. He closed his eyes and slowly took a deep hit from it, filling the studio with the unmistakable aroma of high-grade weed. After slowly exhaling the smoke, he gestured with his thumb toward the band’s drummer.

  “That’s Andrew back there,” he said casually. That was the extent of his introduction.

  Andrew Townsend greeted her politely from behind the array of percussion instruments that surrounded him. He had a more athletic male physique than Taylor remembered. He was lean and strong, and his arm muscles rippled under the rolled-up sleeves of his white shirt. His calm demeanor gave Taylor the impression that he was a proper and contemplative sort, a quality she found refreshing.

  Suddenly the studio door burst open behind her, and Craig entered the room. Shaun, startled, dropped his newly filled pipe, spilling its contents on the floor.

  “Shit! Now look what you’ve done!” Shaun snapped his greeting to his brother as he knelt on the floor, beating out the tiny embers with his palm while attempting to salvage the larger bits of weed from the carpet fibers. “Scared the life out of all of us! This stuff ain’t cheap, you know.”

  “Hey, where have you been, anyway?” Andrew called out from behind the drums. “This isn’t exactly the time to show up late.”

  Craig bent down and removed his instrument from its case, strapping it securely over his shoulder. “Sorry, fellas, but I had a few things that needed tending to.” He glanced quickly at Steve. Then his eyes traveled to Taylor. They looked at each other for a long, tense moment.

  “Hello, Craig,” she said as casually as she could manage.

  He hesitated, measuring her for a moment. Then he nodded politely. “Taylor.” His expression held no emotion.

  “Shall we get started, lads?” Michael’s voice floated through the viewing window to the band from the control room. “Ladies, have a seat with me, please. We don’t have time to muck about.”

  “Oh, give over, ‘master’,” Shaun retorted into his old-fashioned microphone as he put on a pair of headsets. “We paid for every minute of your time!”

  “Why did you call him ‘master’?” Taylor innocently asked.

  She fell right into Shaun’s trap. “‘Coz his last name’s Bates, of course!”

  Everyone burst out laughing at the joke, easing the tension that Taylor felt. Shaun gave her a mischievous wink as she and Susan took their seats with Michael.

  “Ready, lads?” Michael said into the microphone. “Let’s begin, then.”

  Taylor spent the rest of the day in the control room while the band methodically laid down tracks for 10 songs. During the entire time, Craig completely ignored her. She often caught him watching her out of the corner of her eye when he thought she wasn’t looking, his dark eyes scrutinizing her every move. Michael conferred with her and Susan in the booth throughout the process, and they exchanged ideas with the band, but Craig kept his interactions to a minimum. His attitude was cold and strictly professional, as if Taylor were a stranger and that the time they had spent together never even existed.

  When the session was finally over, Michael transferred a copy of the audio files to a zip drive, then handed it to Taylor.

  “There you are, Taylor” he said. “I will also e-mail you a copy of the songs, and I will give a copy to Craig. Take care of it now, won’t you?”

  “Don’t worry,” Taylor replied, “I don’t intend to lose it.”

  “Susan, what do you say we go down to Soho tonight?” Shaun called to her. “We can take the tube again if you like.”

  Susan turned to Taylor. “Taylor, do you mind?”

  “No, of course not,” Taylor replied. “Go on and have a good time.”

  “Hey, Andy,” Shaun said, “how about drinkin’ down in Soho tonight?”

  “Nah, can’t do it tonight, mate,” Andrew replied. “I got a wife and a little one to go home to, remember?”

  “Well, give Becky my best, will you?” Shaun said, then said to Taylor, “You’d like Rebecca. Not only can that Irish bird cook, but she’s a good laugh as well.”

  “You only like her because she puts up with you,” Andrew retorted, smiling. He finished placing the last of his drums into their canvas cover bags. After zipping them securely, he opened the back door and went about his task of loading them into his car.

  “I’m heading down the Strand right now,” Steve offered to Taylor. “How about if I give you a lift home?”

  “Don’t bother,” Craig finally spoke up. “I’ll take her.”

  “No,” Taylor said, then added, “I mean, Steve is going right past my hotel to get home. I’m right on his way.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  “If you aren’t doing anything, Craig, perhaps you can stay and listen to the playback on this demo,” Michael said. “Then we can find a pub and share a pint or two. You always seem to have a good laugh.”

  Craig’s eyes lingered on Taylor for a moment. Then he turned back to Michael. “I’d love to, mate.”

  Once in the quiet of the car, Steve said, “I’ve been watching what’s been going on with you and Craig.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know exactly what I mean,” Steve
said. “I realize I’ve only just met you, but it doesn’t take a fool to see when two people are mad as a fiddler’s mistress about each other. Admit it.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Taylor said darkly, knowing fully well that Steve probably didn’t believe a word she said. “Besides, questions like that are not your place to ask.”

  “They are when I see my best mate reducing himself to rubble over an American girl he just met.”

  Taylor’s eyes narrowed. “Is that why you offered to take me home? To run interference for Craig?”

  He looked at her quizzically. “To do what?”

  Taylor sighed and gestured her hand dismissively. “Just an expression. Never mind.”

  “Anyway,” Steve went on, “I’ve known Craig for years. He doesn’t have to tell me nothing, but I know what he’s thinking. Besides, I’ve developed a liking to you, too, and I feel partly to blame for what happened the other night. If I hadn’t shown up when I did—”

  “It’s not your fault,” Taylor said, then turned to face him. “Steve, what happened to you the other night, and why was Craig so adamant about not getting help for you?”

  “Adam Ant wasn’t there!”

  “Quit being funny, Steve. I’m serious.”

  Taylor saw it again, the same cloud descending on Steve that came over Craig whenever she broached the subject. He didn’t answer her but stared ahead as he drove.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “Well what?”

  “Answer my question.”

  Steve accelerated the car slightly while he kept his eyes glued to the road. “Just got into a scrap, that’s all.”

  “That’s all? It was a hell of a fight. What happened?”

  Steve smiled, but she detected a strain in his features. “Well, I get into trouble sometimes with the old horses.”

  Taylor was confused. “With what?”

  “Horses, race horses—uh, you know, placing bets.”

  “Gambling?”

  “Yeah, once in a while I put a bet on the blower—the phone—and I can’t exactly cover the pennies, if you know what I mean.”

  Taylor nodded slowly. “Why are you into that sort of thing?”

  Steve shrugged. “Extra money, I guess.”

  “I’m amazed you have time for such activities with the band and working with Craig at night.”

  Steve’s head snapped to look at her. “He told you that?”

  “He told me you both work for other clubs in Covent Gardens and in Bath.”

  He seemed to relax somewhat. “Oh, that. Well, yes, that job. That takes up more of Craig’s time than mine, fortunately.”

  “It isn’t very fortunate if you find yourself getting into street fights all the time.”

  Steve laughed. “You’re right about that, luv. But don’t get the pip with Craig, all right? He was just looking out for his old mate, that’s all. Don’t be too hard on him.”

  The car glided to the hotel’s curb.

  “Thanks for the ride,” Taylor said. “I’ll send the files back home tonight. Maybe things can start happening with the band.”

  “See you soon, luv.”

  Once inside the privacy of her room, her pent-up emotions tumbled free. Seeing Craig again had taken its toll on her, both physically and mentally, and she felt exhausted. She bathed and rinsed off, then wrapped herself in a terry robe. The evening would be a quiet one, with Susan out until the early hours and no one to talk to. She lay down and tried to read, but she couldn’t concentrate.

  Her conversation with Steve only brought more confusion. Craig’s feelings went from red-hot to icy cold almost immediately in his flat that night, and he wasn’t exactly overwhelmed to see her today. It was as if he and Steve were in on something that governed their very lives; something Craig would go to great lengths to protect. Steve’s gambling?

  Perhaps it was just as well that she kept her distance with him, Taylor thought with a sigh. They came from two different lifestyles and two different sides of the world, and if he were involved in something questionable, it was best not to get involved with him at all. It would just make leaving here more difficult, especially if the band could not break into the American music scene as she’d hoped. And as much as she wanted to deny the madness, a part of her knew the only place she wanted to be was in his arms again, to resume the tumultuous journey they had only just begun.

  She finally fell asleep, the sadness mingling with the nonsense of her dreams.

  Chapter 8

  A loud knock at the door invaded her sleep, causing Taylor to jump straight up in bed. She fumbled for the bedside lamp and looked at the bedside clock. It was just past 2:00 a.m. Who could it possibly be at this hour?

  She threw back the covers and quietly padded to the door.

  “Who is it?” she called out.

  “Bellman, miss” a young British voice responded. “I have a note that was just delivered for you.”

  A note? Taylor immediately thought of her father. She hadn’t sent the demo to him yet, and he would have e-mailed or called her about that anyway. Was something wrong at home?

  Without looking through the peephole, she quickly unlocked the door and opened it a crack. Before she knew it, Craig pushed his way past her into the room. Before closing the door, he gave the bellman a wink. He fastened the security chain, then turned to face her, leaning lazily against the door.

  Taylor stood rooted in shock. “Craig, what are you doing here?” she demanded, her heart pounding. “You scared me half to death!”

  Craig didn’t answer, but continued looking at her, drinking in her every curve. Taylor suddenly realized that in her haste to get to the door, she had forgotten to put on her robe. Now she stood before him, painfully aware of the rather sheer teddy nightie she had put on before going to bed.

  She folded her arms in front of her, partly in defiance and partly to cover up what she could. “Do you often go on hotel raids in the middle of the night like a street reptile?” Taylor challenged him, recovering her senses. “I suppose you bribed the bellman into coming up here with you just now. Pretty juvenile if you ask me.”

  Craig shrugged. “If you knew it was me, you probably wouldn’t have opened the door. Besides, I told you I knew a lot of people around here. He didn’t mind doing an old mate a favor.”

  Taylor was trying desperately to hang on to her indignation, but she found it increasingly difficult to do so. Stifling the urge to fly into his arms, she challenged him.

  “So, now that you’re here, what’s your next trick?” she asked icily. “Are you going to throw me over your shoulder and take me back to your lair like some cave man?”

  Craig’s brows raised. “That’s not a bad idea.” Then his eyes softened. “I couldn’t sleep, so I took myself over here.”

  They both paused for a moment. Then Craig said gently, “Taylor, we have to talk.”

  He moved with lightning speed. Before she could reply, his arms were around her, pulling her close to him. Her body instinctively relaxed, allowing him to support her weight while she breathed in the sweet smell of his masculinity. Being in his arms again felt so good.

  Craig buried his face in the tresses of her hair. “I’m sorry about the other night. God, I’ve been out of my head missing you. Why are we fighting like this in the first place?”

  “I think it has something to do with two people who are both stubborn as mules,” Taylor said.

  “I was wrong to be so quick toward you the other night,” he said.

  “I’ve wanted so much to see you since then, but I thought your feelings for me had changed.”

  He kissed her tenderly. “I don’t care who was right or wrong,” he murmured, softly caressing her cheek. “I only know that it’s such a relief
to feel you in my arms again.”

  He looked at her now, his dark eyes somber with regret.

  “I couldn’t just sit by anymore and let you think I didn’t care. If I lost you because of my own stupidity, it would have been the biggest mistake I ever made,” he said. “I just can’t walk away from you.”

  His mouth came down on hers hard, exploding the recesses of her mouth with probing passion, powerful, hungry, and demanding. A flood of warmth surged through Taylor that took her breath away. She kissed him almost as savagely, sinking her fingers into his hair, holding him steady.

  His mouth moved from her lips, hungrily devouring her eyelids, her nose, and her neck. His hands roamed freely up and down her body, capturing her every curve.

  “God, I want you,” he said huskily. “Right now.”

  Taylor felt his arm slip under her knees, and her feet left the floor as he swung her into his arms. He placed her on the edge of the bed, then sat down beside her. He reached over and slowly pulled her camisole over her head and tossed it aside, leaving her only in her panties. An approving smile spread across his lips as he reached for her breasts, his hands exploring her as if for the first time. She moaned softly, drinking in the sensations as he bent his head, his tongue circling each breast. He took his time, using his lips, his tongue, dropping feather-light kisses on each one of her nipples until she could hardly bear it. She tipped her head back, arching her back against him for more as pleasure burned into her chest. She pulled his head up, covering his mouth with hers, thrusting her tongue into him with a rhythm her body was desperate for.

  She unbuttoned his shirt, spreading her fingers over the hard muscles of his chest as he shrugged out of it. He hooked his thumb into her panties and drew them down, then tossed them aside and stood up. The only thing that remained between them now were his jeans, and with a shy smile, she reached out and undid the button, then eased down the zipper. His jeans hit the floor with a soft whoosh, revealing navy blue boxers. Dropping them, he returned to the bed, pushing her down against the sheets and falling on top of her in a blatant move of ownership. And she welcomed it all.