by Jet Mykles
Luc sat back in the booth. “You didn’t make any promises.”
“No way. You guys needed to see him for yourself.”
Brent nodded. “He’s good.” He exchanged glances with Luc. “Really good.”
Paul nodded, enthusiastic. “That’s what I’m thinking. First time I heard him, I thought he sounded like you guys. It’s like a perfect fit!” He leaned forward. “You want to meet him?”
“Yeah!” Darien piped up.
Brent took another drag of his cigarette, staring at the ashtray. He shrugged.
Luc nodded. “Sure, why not?”
Paul grinned, standing. “I’ll be back in a flash.”
Darien barely waited until Paul had left before leaning in across the table. “Man, you guys did think he was good, right? I mean, that one song, what was it? The one with the—” He mimicked the nasal sound of the strings passage that had filled Brent’s mind as well. Darien grinned as he broke off. “That was awesome.”
Luc twirled his drink idly over the table. “I kind of liked the one that went…”
Darien and Luc commenced a discussion of the finer points of the keyboardist’s performance. Brent knew from long experience that he only needed to clue in to the gist of the conversation and could otherwise tune out. Which was all well and good. Brent needed the time to brace himself before he saw the performer. For whatever reason, the thought of actually talking to the pixie he’d seen onstage made him nervous.
But the twenty minutes it took Paul to bring the up-and-coming keyboardist back to their table in the VIP section of the club proved not to be enough time at all.
Paul and Heller stopped on the opposite side of the table from Brent. Brent was thankful for his dark glasses as well as practiced control that allowed him to keep his face in an almost bored expression, because if he didn’t have both of those, his jaw would have dropped and he probably would have started drooling. As it was, his eyes widened, and he couldn’t take them off the thing of beauty that was Heller Witting.
Brent would be surprised if he was more than five foot five and guessed it was more five foot three or four. The top inch was all hair, a fluff of chin-length curls that were lavender under the bright stage lights but could have been mistaken for platinum blond in the dim light of the candle on the table. A single, much darker braid that was about the diameter of Brent’s index finger grew from the nape of his neck and was draped over the left shoulder of his sleeveless white overcoat with a flashy rhinestone band on the end dangling at his waist. Brent couldn’t see colors very well in the dim lighting, but he thought Heller’s big, luminous, kohl-lined eyes were probably a dark blue. His face was round, his nose pert and upturned, and he had an adorable mouth with an upper lip that had one of those elegant, defined curves to it. He looked exactly like some of those characters in the Japanese anime that Johnnie was always trying to get them to watch.
Heller smiled, and Brent was enchanted by the innocent exuberance of it. Luc had told him that Heller was in his early twenties, but Brent would have pegged him for a kid of sixteen. Maybe seventeen or eighteen.
Paul stood aside and waved a hand toward Darien. “Hell, this is Darien Hughes.”
Darien stood and took the hand that Hell extended. Now Brent had confirmation that Hell was a little shorter than Darien’s five foot six. Darien pumped Hell’s hand with his accustomed enthusiasm, despite the fact that the excitement of meeting was supposed to be the other way around. “Nice to meet you, Heller.”
“It is nice to meet you,” agreed Hell, his smile wide and genuine. “And, please, it is Hell.”
Interesting choice of moniker. Brent liked it. He puzzled at the slight accent to the words as Paul turned to gesture at Luc. “And Lucas Sloane.”
Luc stood and shook Hell’s hand, his height not seeming to bother the cherub at all.
Then Paul turned the man toward Brent, and he forgot everything else.
“And this is Brent Rose.”
Was it Brent’s fancy that Hell’s smile kicked up a notch? Probably. Yeah, had to be. Those eyes were fixed on the stark black lenses of Brent’s glasses, likely seeing the reflection of his own pale loveliness. Brent stood partially and extended his hand across the table to take Hell’s. Long, delicate-looking fingers closed around his palm in a surprisingly firm grip. He wore a thick gold band around the middle finger that was linked to two chains that extended over the back of his hand before linking to a heavy gold bracelet surrounding his slim wrist. Very feminine, but somehow right on that hand.
Brent smiled as he tried not to drown in those big eyes. Blue? No, maybe not. But in the lighting he couldn’t quite tell. “Nice to meet you.”
Long, dark eyelashes blinked once, slowly. “It is entirely my pleasure, I assure you.”
German! Brent remembered it as Paul gestured Hell into the booth to sit at Luc’s side. Heller was native German, thus the source of the accent.
“Dude!” Darien enthused just as Paul resumed his seat across from Brent. Darien leaned forward, his blond hair falling into his face as he focused on Hell. “That performance rocked!”
Hell beamed, briefly batting those eyelashes again. But this time it looked to be in surprise. “You enjoyed it?”
“I loved it! We heard some of your music before, but, man, that was awesome! How long you been doing this kind of stuff?”
At times like this, Brent adored Darien. The drummer was rarely tongue-tied, although he often spilled things that he shouldn’t. But there was no harm in this. They all knew what this little meeting was for. Brent, Luc, and Darien had agreed to come with Paul to see the keyboardist play while Johnnie was back in the States, helping Tyler with some legal matters regarding the new hotel they were opening in New York. Recording of the album was probably about three quarters finished, but the entire band and their producer were aware that something was missing. Their music had matured past the raw, early style of their first two albums. They were itching to show what they could do now that they had the time and the resources. When Paul suggested adding a keyboardist and recommended one, it seemed prudent to check it out.
Hell and Darien talked over the table with Luc and Paul commenting occasionally. Hell proved to be as garrulous and bouncy as Darien, and the two barely took a breath when the waiter came to ask about drink refills. Hell’s English was flawless, his accent subdued but obvious, heard more in his inflections rather than the actual words. It was gorgeous, rubbing Brent’s pleasure sensors like smooth velvet.
“I am a big fan of your music,” Hell admitted after Darien had regaled him on some of the early Heaven Sent days. Those big eyes came around to fasten on Brent. “Paul will tell you, I was thrilled to hear that you would even come to hear me play.”
“We’re looking for a new element,” Brent said. They all turned to him, and he realized it was the first he’d spoken since Hell sat down. He focused on keeping his voice calm, staring at the fingertips he had braced on his empty tumbler to keep them from trembling. “We need something a bit... more, y’know?”
Hell nodded, lavender hair puffing around his round face. He leaned forward, bracing bare forearms on the glossy table as he gave Brent his full-on attention. His sleeveless overcoat left his pale, virtually hairless arms bare. Brent’s gaze trailed over the defined muscle of his biceps, not bulging but toned. “Yes, yes. Tell me more.”
Brent swallowed. “We can’t make any promises, you understand” He groaned at himself. He sounded like one of those awful big shots talking to a rookie, seeking to put the rookie in his place. That wasn’t what he was trying to do. “Johnnie will need to agree.”
“Of course! I would very much like to try. I would be thrilled to spend even a day in the recording studio with you.”
Brent stared. Hell’s eyes were fixed on him. By “you” he’d meant the band, of course, but the weight of his stare gave Brent other ideas. Down boy.
“Johnnie’s due back next week,” Luc pitched in, leaning in on the table. “Why
don’t you come out and jam with us.”
“Oh, yeah, man!” Darien beamed. “You’ve got to see this place! It’s so cool! We’ve never done this before. We got this gi-normous place that’s like a manor house. There’s like acres of the estate to walk around, and we’re up on a hill so you can even see the ocean in the distance. You’ll love it!”
Hell’s mouth fell open. “Amazing! I’ve never been to such a recording studio.”
“Nah, it’s an exclusive...” Darien went on to tell Hell about the estate’s history.
Brent exchanged small smiles with Luc. To judge by Darien’s reaction, he and Hell were already fast friends.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
As far back as junior high, I wrote sex stories for friends, pairing us up with our favorite pop icons of the time. To this day, I haven’t stopped writing romance and sex, although my knowledge on the subject has vastly improved.
An ardent fan of fantasy and science fiction sagas, I prefer to live in a world of imagination where dragons are real, elves are commonplace, vampires are just people with special diets and lycanthropes live next door. In my own mind, I’m the spunky heroine who gets the best of everyone and always attracts the lean, muscular lads.
In real life, I live in southern California. I’ve a bachelor’s degree in acting, but my loathing of auditions has kept me out of the limelight. I turned to computers and currently work in product management for a software company. Because even in real life, I can’t help but want to create something out of nothing.
Keep up to date with me:
Website: www.jetmykles.com
Amazon Profile
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/jetmykles
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Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/jetmykles
