by Deanna Roy
Interested.
I was torn between backing away graciously and fighting for this stranger. I saw him first, the toddler in me wanted to shout at them. But I was a grown-up, and this was how the world worked. There was no love at first sight, no soul mates. I knew that better than anyone.
There were just people. People with careers to consider and calculated moves to make. Love could figure into it, sure, but there was no clear path to one predestined person.
Even if I had wanted to go, though, I was pinned by his voice, his command of the microphone and the guitar. The words flowed out of him in a ribbon of sound, so convincing. I couldn’t imagine anybody wouldn’t fall for this.
I let go of my fear, my feelings of inferiority, and just let the music wash over me. The band kept the background simple, letting Chance come through without their interference. He looked up as the chorus came around again, singing to the sky as if the stars were shining for his song.
I felt cocooned by his voice, safe and loved and happy. This touched a part of me I’d buried a long time ago, back when my life was simple and easy, not burdened by grief or regret. My mother and father were still together, and my baby brother still lived. I could picture the four of us, the boring embodiment of the nuclear family. I thought it was all pedestrian and would kill my muse. Now I knew that it was the safe place I could spring from.
Unconditional love.
The song came back to that.
Chance closed his eyes to the stars, then turned his attention back to the party, eyebrows lifting as if surprised by the sudden arrival of so many fans at his feet. My throat got tight as his gaze took in the women who were under his spell. Gorgeous, talented, available women he’d seen in theaters and on television. The sort of women who could open doors for him if he played things right.
My stomach lurched and I tried to back away, but I was hemmed in by the crowd. Chance held out the microphone and let everyone sing out the famous line, but I didn’t. I pressed my hand to my chest, already feeling the ache of losing something I had planned to pursue, someone I wanted.
But then his eyes met mine again. He passed right over the Hollywood elite and rested on me. The crowd turned, following his attention, and internally, I heard the silent click, click, click of a camera capturing the moment.
It had begun.
Chapter 8: Chance
She was here. Right here at the stage.
The crowd was listening to me now, and I could feel their energy lifting me, making me better than I’d ever been before. Good enough to be worthy of her.
The song was a risk. I should have kept the tempo fast and the party atmosphere going. But I couldn’t do it. I’d never sung that song to anyone in particular before. It seemed like the perfect thing. She was so beautiful, as elusive as an ocean wave, and I had to pull out all the stops to make sure I got her attention.
The crowd roared as I tore my eyes from her and bowed to them. I pulled the strap over my head and handed the Fender back to Paul, who looked truly torn about whether he should take the gig back over or leave it to me.
But no way was I going to stay up there. I’d done what I needed to do. The girl had her eyes locked on me, and I had to talk to her now or I might never get another chance.
I knelt on the stage next to her, so close I could reach out and touch those crazy pink dreadlocks. She watched me a moment, then moved aside so I could swing my feet around and jump down. A swirl of people came up to me asking questions, peppering me with comments and praise. A woman wearing a barely there dress with enough cleavage to hide a developing country tugged on my arm, but I managed to work loose, fighting hard not to lose eye contact with the girl.
She glanced away from me, taking in the other women vying for my attention. I wasn’t sure what to do to reassure her. We hadn’t even spoken yet.
But I took her hand. Her face popped up in surprise. Her eyes were like quicksilver, lively and pale gray. I flashed with concern that I had screwed up already, but then she squeezed my fingers. I pushed away from the stage and led her out of the throng.
My heart was hammering ninety to nothing. The adrenaline of the song, the crowd, and now touching her — God, I was touching her — threatened to make my chest explode.
We moved through the crowd that seemed to part for us. We were making a scene somehow. I thought about that guy who’d put his arm around her earlier in the night. Would he start something? This didn’t look to be a fighting crowd. Their faces were too pretty and probably too important. But they had money. That could mean bodyguards and lawyers.
I glanced down at her.
She didn’t seem concerned. I didn’t know where I was leading her exactly, but she seemed willing to follow. Behind us, Paul cranked the band into another song. I wondered if I should take her far enough away that we could talk.
We broke free of the thick part of the crowd and into the fringes. Then to the edge of the lights, then along the garden paths I’d explored earlier.
Suddenly she stopped.
“Sorry,” I said automatically. “I shouldn’t take you from the party.” Probably she was worried about being too alone with a total stranger. I should have known—
My brain shut off when her hand grasped the back of my neck and brought me closer. Only when her lips hit mine did I realize what she was doing — what we were doing.
Kissing.
Need hit me like a blow to the gut. Her mouth was warm and soft. I buried my hands in those pink dreadlocks, more than ready to get lost in them. Her small body in the green dress fit neatly against mine.
I kept it easy with her at first, but as the kiss lingered, my body thundered with urgency. I pulled her hard against me, feeling every curve.
My tongue slid along her lips. She parted for me, and the warmth of her mouth was mine to possess, take over, taste. I didn’t think we could get closer, but somehow we did, and the line where my body ended and hers began started getting blurred as we stood locked together.
A burst of light commanded our attention, and I broke the kiss.
“What the hell?” I growled when I saw some punk with a camera taking off down the path.
Shit. This would probably upset the girl.
But she was laughing. “Well, that’s done,” she said.
“What?” I asked. What the hell was going on here?
“Come on,” she said, tugging on my hand. “They won’t follow us into the house.”
She led me back toward the party. We wound through the tables. I had a million questions for this girl, but I felt like I was walking through a dream. Maybe all these actors made you feel that way, as though you were on a movie set, acting out a story that wasn’t really your life.
I hadn’t been inside the house. We arrived at a long room full of white wicker furniture. The whole side was glass so you could look out on the party. Nobody else was in there.
“We can take over the casting couch,” the girl said with a laugh, drawing me down on a padded love seat along the far wall.
“You lost me,” I said, but I sat down beside her. “This whole thing feels surreal.”
“These parties have that effect,” she said.
“Did they slip you a Mickey?” I asked.
She laughed again, and this made me relax. The sound was infectious, like a child’s giggle, innocent and full of life.
“No,” she said. “Or at least I don’t think so. It’s always possible.”
Now that we were settled, I realized we hadn’t even gotten through the basics. “What is your name?” I asked her.
“Oh, right,” she said, and laughed again. “I snogged you without any introductions.” She pushed the mass of pink dreadlocks behind her shoulder. “I’m having trouble getting used to these.”
“The hair is new?”
She touched her hands to it. “My hair is always pink, or it has been since I was seventeen. But the dreads were added yesterday.”
I picked one up and felt its spong
y softness. “Ah, so you didn’t grow them.”
She sat back against the cushions. “I have the patience of a squirrel,” she said. “The eight hours it took for these were already stretching my attention span.”
I figured she didn’t want to give me her name, so I didn’t push. I certainly wasn’t going to ask about that guy who had his arm around her earlier. He was probably not important, if she was willing to kiss me like she had. Unless she was causing trouble. Using me.
“So the kiss?” I prodded.
“Oh, that.” She looked out the windows. “I’ve always been a little too impulsive.”
Now that was an answer I liked. “So, if you’re not going to give me your name, what should I call you?”
She turned back to me, and my throat got tight at the sweet, sultry way her eyes met mine, her lashes long and curled. “My name is Jenny. I’m probably the least important person at this party.”
I scooted closer. “Not to me.”
She laughed again. “Even the waiters have a purpose here. I’m just…” Her voice faltered. “I was just a decoration. Like the tablecloths.”
I started to get it. Some guy brought her here to show off, then ignored her for somebody famous. That would explain how lost she looked, and why she panicked when those actresses approached me.
She was used to getting set aside.
I picked up her hand and brushed my fingertips along her palm. She shivered. I liked that. I liked it a lot. I decided to take it a step further and lifted her hand to press my lips against the tender spot of her wrist.
She let out a long slow breath, then she leaned in again. I smiled against her lips as I realized that every damn time, this girl was going to be the one to kiss me first.
Chapter 9: Jenny
Chance tasted of impulse and madness. I’d done what I needed to do, and yet here I was, in the house and away from the photographers, locked on his mouth like I was drowning.
Maybe I was. Months and months of no boys. God. I hadn’t gone that long since Kenny Granger gave me my first orgasm, and I learned what all the fuss was about.
Chance’s hand clasped my neck beneath the bushel of dreadlocks, kneading my muscles, keeping me relaxed and fluid. The door opened and closed a few times, but it seemed far away on the other end of the long room. It didn’t matter anyway. I was supposed to get caught, be seen. Someone might be taking Frankie aside right now.
Chance’s fingers began to roam, drifting along my collarbone, across my shoulder, and down my arm to rest on my hip. Just going that far made everything heat up, and I scooted even closer, pressing tightly against him.
His chest was solid. I began learning the planes and edges of him, the round muscles of his biceps, the cut of his shoulder. I wanted to see all that sinew, every inch of it.
Like, right now.
I broke the kiss and moved closer to his ear. “I have a limo outside,” I said, then realized that made me sound swankier than I was. “I mean, it’s a friend’s, but I am supposed to use it to take me home.”
He held still a minute, and I suddenly remembered he was with the band.
“We can wait until after the gig,” I added hastily. “Do you have another set to sing?”
“No,” he said. “I’m just a friend of the band. But I do have to get my gear from their van.”
“We don’t have to leave the grounds,” I said. “I live in San Diego anyway. We could just…stay in the limo.”
I’d gone stark raving mad.
So what?
Chance grasped my hands. “You sure about this, darlin’? We just met.”
His hard body shifted against me, and I revved up even more. “Oh, I’m sure,” I said.
I stood, bringing Chance with me. I was so ready to break this fast. More than ready.
We raced back through the house, and I was glad I’d wandered it enough to know the way. Outside, I paused on the steps, looking over the line of limos in the circle drive. They were all black. I had no idea which one was Frankie’s, or if Brandon was even here or parked somewhere else.
But one of the sleek cars pulled away from the curb and crept around the circle. I stared closely and recognized the silver handle on the door. “This one,” I told Chance, then my stomach burst with butterflies.
Was this a good idea? He could be an axe murderer.
Though I had something of a chaperone with the driver.
Was THAT a good idea? His poor burning ears.
But Brandon was already by the door, opening it for us. If he had an opinion about Chance coming along, he said nothing. He was a professional, and probably, he’d been driving Frankie and Alec for weeks and already knew everything.
“Where to, Miss Jenny?” he asked.
“Just cruise the neighborhood,” I said, feeling a blush creep through my cheek. That sounded tawdry out loud.
“Is it far to the beach?” Chance asked.
This amused me. “Really?” I asked.
“I’ve never been,” he said. “I just got into LA today.”
“Then to the beach,” I told Brandon. “Let’s do Dockweiler to avoid the curfews.” I turned to Chance. “They have camping at that one, so they allow beach fires.”
“I defer to your knowledge of the city,” he said.
I checked my phone. “The party will go on for hours. I’ll get you back in time to get your gear.”
He glanced at the house, as if he was remembering something.
“You need to tell them you’re leaving?” I asked.
He shook his head. “It’ll be all right.”
I ducked inside the limo and slid across the leather seat.
Chance followed, scooting in close. Brandon closed the door. When he got in, the window between the front and the back whirred closed.
Yup, he got it.
Now that we were truly alone, and not all up in each other, I felt a little more nervous about my rash decision to drag him out here.
But he seemed to understand this and took my hand, lazily bending each of my fingers.
“So how long have you known that band?” I asked him.
“About four hours,” he said. “I met them at a truck stop outside LA this afternoon.”
“Really?” My belly fluttered again. He was a hitchhiker. A drifter. Not even the band knew him. “And they just brought you along and put you onstage?”
“Pretty much,” he said. “It’s not too unusual. There are places where musicians hang out just to pick up last-minute gigs. When I was on Sixth Street in Austin, a drummer I played with couldn’t so much as load his set in his car before someone came running down the street asking if he could sub in on a job.”
This was all so new to me. “But don’t you have to practice together? Match your style?”
The pale strip lights along the roof cast just enough light for me to see his face. “A decent musician has a deep set list,” he said. “This past week I’ve played everything from George Strait to Meatloaf.”
His voice was calm and deep, so I began to relax again. Brandon was here. I wasn’t totally at this man’s mercy. “Is there anything you won’t do?” I asked.
His grip on my hand tightened. “Are you going to suggest something I might say no to?”
I knew a nicer, more wholesome girl would have blushed, but I knew a challenge when I saw it. “I might.”
He lifted the back of my hand to his lips. At first he pressed a simple, chaste kiss on my skin.
Then he bit me.
“You crazy boy!” I said, laughing. “I’ll get you for that.”
“Will you, now?” He grabbed my waist and lifted me onto his lap. “I think I’ve got you.”
He buried his face in my neck and hot need bolted through me like a flash fire. I couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh as he nibbled along my jaw. I had completely forgotten what it was like to feel like this with someone. This was the stuff I lived for, right here.
“I want to touch everything,” he whispere
d against my cheek. “You are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
I didn’t answer, not trusting my voice. My breath came in rapid huffs.
Very little penetrated the dark windows of the limo, but the street lamps flashed by as we sped through the city. Chance kissed me again, and I closed my eyes, paying attention to his seeking mouth.
His tongue sought mine again, and I forced any worries about him being such a stranger away. It wasn’t the first time I’d been impulsive with someone I’d just met. And it probably wouldn’t be the last.
I kicked off my killer heels, tired of them dangling. My legs were up on the seat, my butt in his lap. He had a good solid hold on me, one arm around my waist, the other hand roaming along my back, probably noticing my lack of a bra.
He tasted like a dream. In the quiet of the car, I could hear his voice, singing to me from the stage. I wanted to hear it again, and was torn between his kiss and having him perform just for me. The thought of that low rumble close enough to feel as well as hear drew a rush of heat through my core.
I broke away, my hands on each side of his face. “What’s your favorite song to sing?” I asked him.
His eyes found mine, amusement dancing. “You sure pick an interesting time to ask questions.”
“Plenty of evening left,” I said. I ran a finger along his cheek. I could tell he was normally clean shaven, but this late in the evening, his skin was rough with stubble.
He turned his mouth to my hand and kissed my palm. A thrill zipped through me. Maybe I wouldn’t ask questions. I was about to lean back in when he said, “When I was little, my Gram would sing me a lullaby, you know the one, about Papa buying a diamond ring.”
I couldn’t suppress a giggle. “That’s your favorite song? A lullaby?”
“Maybe.” He frowned. “I guess I should have said something clever, like Johnny Cash, or something romantic just to seduce you.”
I touched a finger to his lips. They were firm and soft and warm. “I think you already did that onstage. I like that you were honest.”
“I never was much of a liar,” he said, and his mouth met mine again.
