Fractured Fairy Tales: A SaSS Anthology

by Amy Marie

  “Did they?” she asks.

  “No, I told the nurse I was his brother and sweet-talked her into letting me take him home. He’s been in my debt ever since.”

  “Sounds like a pretty sweet deal you got going,” she says. “Is that how you made the leap from roadie to producer?”

  I raise a brow at her. “Nope, that was all God-given talent, baby.”

  “Baby?” she challenges.

  I laugh. “Okay, maybe I should just show you then.”

  “Be my guest.” She pulls the chair out beside me and takes a seat.

  “I hope you don’t mind, but I started playing with that song you sang yesterday. Tell me what you think.”

  I plug in my thumb drive and hit the button for playback. Heavy baseline fills the room, followed by a rhythmic snap. The hook hits, and an organ comes in, giving the melody this smooth, smoky feel.

  She closes her eyes, her head swaying to the rhythm, her lips moving with silent lyrics as she listens intently.

  She leans toward me, listening closely as the refrain builds to a crest. She’s close, so close, I can see the flecks of glitter that cling to her eyelids from that ridiculous getup. She smells sweet, something floral and a little sharp, lilacs maybe.

  My eyes fall to her lips as she tries to fit her words to my melody. The fullness of those lips captivates me as I watch them part, the tip of her tongue visible for just a tease of a second before disappearing.

  I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly dry when the music fades.

  “It’s great,” she says.

  “You like it?”

  “I mean, yeah. It’s different.”

  I raise a brow. “Different?”

  “Good different,” she rushes to correct.

  I laugh. “Okay.” I tip my head toward the live booth. “Want to take her out for a test drive?”

  Her eyes brighten, and an incandescent smile lights her face.

  “Go,” I say, waving her away as she pops out of the chair and scurries into the booth.

  She’s radiant as she slides on the headphones. I hit play to start the track, and music fills the room. I watch as her body sways, feeling the rhythm. Her lips part, and my breath catches in my throat as the first seductive note breaks free.

  It’d be easy to love you, but my heart won’t comply. You’re dying to know, and I can’t tell you why. The pain you wear like armor makes my heart bleed harder, but I can’t let you go.

  She weaves the lyrics and notes together seamlessly, and I’m frozen, unable to take my eyes off her as she gets lost in the music.

  I can’t be what you’re waiting for. My tears are words, my heart can’t tell you.

  She’s incredible. Effortless. I feel every painfilled phrase as she sings about the flip side of unrequited love.

  She holds the last note as the music fades to silence, and all I can do is stare. This is why I fell in love with music, the power it has to change your mind, give you perspective, and take you to places you’ve never been before.

  “How was it?” she asks, sliding her headphones off one ear and leaning into the mic.

  Snapping out of the trance, I hit the talkback. “Great. Really great. Let’s run through the first verse again.”

  She nods, sliding the headphones back into place. I release the button and sink back into my chair, exhaling a long shaky breath. My pulse pounds in my chest, the steady thump reverberating in my ears. I reach into my pocket, running my thumb over the thin plastic guitar pick. It’s been a long time since a song, a voice, has affected me like this.

  “Ready when you are.” She smiles at me from her side of the glass, and my heart stops. It. Fucking. Stops. Brown eyes meet mine, and my world flips on its axis.

  Chapter 10

  Orelia

  Ezra and I hit a good rhythm in the last few days. There’s chemistry, which is necessary for an artist and a producer, but it feels like more. I can’t describe it, but it’s there. His passion for music is infectious. It’s inspiring and maddening all at the same time. It’s enough to make a girl crazy.

  More than once, I found myself watching him as we worked. How his lip would pull up just the slightest bit when he was amused. When he got in his head, he would hum the first few bars of Nirvana’s The Man who Sold the World, and when he laughed, my heart would swell inside my chest.

  Yeah, chemistry doesn’t quite cover it, but he remains the consummate professional. A few times, he caught me staring and would just give me that sexy little twitch of the lip, then the moment would pass.

  He is cool as a cucumber, not a single feather ruffled or out of place, where I am electrified, fawning like a schoolgirl over any little bit of attention he’ll give me, no matter how insignificant.

  By the end of day three in the studio, we manage to nail down “Wish I Could Love You,” with three more tracks hot on its heels. For the first time, my career is picking up steam, and I’m rolling with it, trying to keep the momentum, but the long hours are beginning to take their toll.

  It’s worth it, the exhaustion, the stress. I’ve never felt so alive, so vibrant, and so fucking turned on. I mean, the music is one thing, the high of creativity, but working so closely with Ezra has kept my body on high alert. Every accidental brush of his fingers against mine, the deep rumble of his voice in my ears, the excitement in his eyes when I nail a vocal sets my skin on fire.

  The more time we spend together, the more my attraction to him grows. He doesn’t flirt, doesn’t touch me. He’s friendly but keeps his distance, which only makes me crave him more. I find myself daydreaming while we work, fantasizing about him brushing the hair from my shoulder, pressing his lips to the hollow of my throat, tangling his fingers in my hair.

  “Hey, superstar.”

  I startle at the sound of Ezra’s voice. I press a hand to my chest and exhale in relief.

  “Shit,” he chuckles. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you heard me come in.”

  “Sorry. Guess I was in the zone.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You sure?”

  I nod. “Yeah, I could use some coffee. You want?”

  He looks at his watch, then nods. “Sure, thanks, but hurry back, I want to work on that chord progression.”

  “Okay.”

  The kitchenette down the hall is well stocked, and before long, I’m headed down the hall with two cups of coffee in hand. I push open the studio door with my hip and offer Ezra his coffee. My phone starts buzzing in my pocket, and I take it out as the number for The Den lights up the screen.

  “I’m sorry, I need to take this,” I tell him. He nods as I bring the device to my ear. “Hello?”

  “Can you pull up Hot 96?” Liam shouts.

  “What?”

  “Use the streaming app. Hot 96. Do it now!” he yells.

  I frown and put him on speaker as I pull up the app on my phone. “What’s going on?”

  Ezra turns to me with a frown.

  “Just listen.”

  It takes a second for the app to load, but when I click on the icon to live stream the Boston radio station, I gasp as my voice comes through. “Oh, my god!”

  “You’re on the radio!” Liam shouts. I can hear the cheers and screams in the background.

  My eyes are wide, and my mouth drops open. A slow smile spreads across his face. “Did you do this?” I ask him.

  He shrugs. “Looks like someone leaked the track.” He winks.

  Tears spill down my face, and my cheeks ache from smiling. “Is this real?” I ask him.

  He nods, his smile growing impossibly wide. “It’s a great song, Orelia.”

  My eyes never leave Ezra’s as shock settles over me.

  The chorus of my song, my first ever recorded song, plays through the tinny speakers. He nods excitedly, confirming that this is really happening. My song is on the radio. My song is on the fucking radio!

  Before I even realize I’m moving, I crash into Ezra, wrapp
ing my arms tightly around his neck and squeezing. His chuckle is a deep rumble in my ear. I can feel it vibrate in his chest as he hugs me back.

  “I can’t believe it,” I say in his ear.

  “Get used to it,” he whispers, his breath brushing over the shell of my ear. Tingles shoot down my spine, and elation warms me from head to toe. My body hums with excitement, and before I can think twice about it, I smack a hard kiss on his lips.

  I pull away, meeting his shocked gaze and quickly release him as embarrassment douses me like a cold bucket of water.

  Stepping back, I focus on his throat, watching as his Adam’s apple rolls beneath his skin.

  “I’m sorry, I—”

  He clears his throat and smiles. “S’okay.”

  “Drinks are on the house,” Liam calls out, his voice cutting through the moment.

  Ezra and I laugh.

  “Congratulations, kid,” Liam says. “We’re so proud of you.”

  A tear slides down my cheek, and Ezra reaches out, wiping it away. I meet his eyes, my voice tight as I reply into the phone, “Thanks.”

  Ezra nods and tucks his hands in the front pockets of his jeans.

  I say good-bye to Liam, my cheeks aching from the smile I can’t seem to tame. “I can’t believe it’s really happening. Thank you, Ezra.”

  He smiles and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering on my cheek. “It’s all you.”

  The song finishes, and the DJ’s voice booms through the speakers, “That was ‘Wish I Could Love You’ by Boston’s own Orelia Carlisle. Man, this girl’s got a set of pipes on her. All your favorites and the best new music, right here on Hot 96.”

  I’m beaming and suck my bottom lip into my mouth, savoring the taste of Ezra on my tongue and the memory of his warm lips pressed to mine. I look up and meet his gorgeous eyes.

  This is it the moment my dreams come true, but I can’t help but feel as if something bigger may be in the works. Something I never even expected.

  My smile fades as I’m hit with this overwhelming feeling that something is missing.

  Ezra tips my chin and ducks his head, meeting my eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I say, turning away.

  He reaches for my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Talk to me,” he whispers. The softness of his voice ripples over my skin, and when I look up, the concern in his gaze makes my breath catch.

  “It’s just that I wish my Dad was here.”

  “I see,” Ezra says, releasing my hand.

  “He’s supported my dreams of becoming a musician since I was a kid. I just wish he could hear it, you know?”

  Ezra nods, his hair brushing against my forehead. I close my eyes and suppress a groan as the warmth of his closeness spreads through me.

  “He will, Orelia. Someday soon, I promise.”

  A tear slides down my cheek. He leans in, kissing it away. My body goes rigid at the gentle touch, and he seems to second guess himself as he quickly moves away.

  “Well,” he says, “one down, eleven more to go.”

  I laugh. “Right.”

  Chapter 11

  Ezra

  Hannah Miles caught in Sex scandal: Former Lover tells all

  I stare down at my phone, trying to rub the tension from my neck as I read the email from Malcom. Is this you keeping up your end of the bargain?

  Groaning, I toss the phone onto the counter beside the sound board. No matter what I do, Hannah will always find a way to fuck up, dragging me down right beside her. I wish I knew how to get through to her.

  Then there was Orelia. This smart, gorgeous woman with this immense passion and talent. She is irresistible in so many ways, and yet, I can’t let myself go there, can’t give in to this magnetic pull that tethers me to her like gravity.

  It’s late, and my neck is sore from being hunched over the board all day, the news of Hannah’s sexcapades only compounding my stress. I make my way down the dim hallway toward the back door. I’m ready for a scotch and my bed. Light from the writers’ lounge casts a soft glow over the carpet, and I glance inside to see Orelia curled up on one of the couches. Her legs are folded beneath her, a notebook balancing on one knee, and her guitar at her side as she gnaws on the end of her pen.

  I shake my head, a smile tugging at my lips as I lean in the open doorway. She’s so entranced in her lyrics that she doesn’t notice me. She stares down at the page, quickly jotting something down and reading over it again. A line forms between her eyebrows as she scratches her pen through the line then starts again. She bites her lip in concentration, and my mind races back to that kiss. The way she felt in my arms. Her heat, her taste, her…. I need to stop. This can’t happen, it was one kiss born from excitement, nothing more, but then I couldn’t help myself, I kissed her cheek. It wasn’t more than a kiss to console a friend, but I’d felt more in that one gentle brush of my lips against her skin than I’d ever felt for any woman before.

  It has been years since things ended with Hannah, and I’ve dated here and there since then, but my gut tells me that Orelia is different, special. In a matter of a week, she’s burrowed so deep beneath my skin that I don’t have any hope of getting her out, but the closer we get to more, the more Hannah’s words echo in my head.

  Maybe she’s right. The story of Midas isn’t about the gold; it’s about a man whose greed left him alone and dying, surrounded by riches he could never spend. Everything I touch turns to gold. Cold hard gold. I can’t let that happen to Orelia. I refuse to be her ruin.

  “Hey,” she says, her voice a little scratchy. She moves a hand to her throat. “Sorry, guess I’ve been overdoing it.”

  “Tea?” I ask.

  She frowns. I push off the door frame. “Hot tea with a little honey will help with the soreness.” I move toward the wet bar in the corner, turning on the electric kettle and reaching for a couple of mugs from the cabinet above.

  Her lips curl up in a smile as she nods. “Right, thanks.”

  I reach for one of the canisters lined up on the counter and pull a diffuser from the drawer. I feel her approach, and she leans her hip against the counter. “Fancy,” she says. “I usually just microwave a bag of Lipton.”

  I cut my eyes to her. “Don’t let Cole hear you say that.”

  She giggles. The lilting musical sound makes the hair on the back of my neck stand at attention, and I swallow hard to fight off the attraction.

  “Proper English tea for a proper English gentleman.”

  I laugh. “Something like that.”

  The kettle whistles, and I pour the steaming water into both mugs and spoon some honey from a jar on the counter. When it’s done, I slide a mug over to her and lean my back against the counter, taking a sip of my own.

  She takes a sip from her mug, making a little humming noise in the back of her throat. The sounds goes straight to my cock. A groan rumbles in my chest, and she smiles at me over her cup. “It’s good.”

  I nod and set the mug aside. “What are you doing here so late?”

  She sags against the counter, fingers clasped around the mug. “I’m struggling with this song.”

  I take the mug from her hand and set it down on the counter. “Maybe I can help. Let me hear what you have so far.”

  We move to the couch, and Orelia pulls the guitar onto her lap. She strums a lazy cord and opens her mouth to sing. The lyrics are innocent and sweet, which clashes with the sultry tenor of her voice. It’s all wrong.

  She growls and angrily slams her hand over the strings. “It sucks.”

  I reach for the guitar, gently prying her fingers from the fret. “It doesn’t suck.” She tilts her head, glaring at me from beneath her dark lashes. “It’s just doesn’t fit your voice.”

  Her brows draw in. “What do you mean?”

  I settle the guitar on my lap. “It’s a pretty pop song. It’s Katy Perry or Taylor Swift.”

  “Yeah, two powerful female vocalists.”

  “Agre
ed, but your voice is more soulful. You’re Etta James, Ella Fitzgerald, Amy Winehouse.”

  Her eyes drop to her fingers as she picks at her nails. She sucks her full bottom lip into her mouth, and my eyes track the movement.

  I shift on the couch as she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “You think so.”

  “Try this,” I say, strumming the opening notes to “At Last.”

  She smiles as I pick at the strings. Her lips part, and her eyes close as she belts out the first “At last,” then her voice falls into a soft, breathy tone as she sings about her lonely days being over.

  The sultry, richness of her voice floats through me as I play. She finds the groove, belting out the notes for just the two of us as the song builds. My fingers still as the final lyrics break free from her throat.

  Slowly, she opens her eyes, a smile spreads across her face as she meets my eyes. Chills coast over my skin, and I can’t help but grin.

  “See,” I tell her, “you sing from your soul. You feel the passion, the desire in the words.”

  I can see the moment the nerves creep back in. “Maybe,” she says, reaching for the notebook, ripping out the page and crumpling it in her fist, “but how do I write that?”

  “You feel it. Haven’t you ever felt wanted, desired,” I swallow as I continue to stare at this beautiful creature, “loved.”

  A deep shade of red crawls its way up her neck, and I fight back the urge to trace the path of that adorable blush with my lips.

  “I don’t know,” she whispers. The softness in her voice makes my chest tighten.

  “I doubt that,” I say, strumming a lazy melody.

  She sighs and shrugs her shoulders. “I’ve always been a bit of a loner. Music is my life. I spent most of high school rehearsing, trying to get into Berklee, and then when I finally got there, I had to work even harder to keep up. There wasn’t time for dating or much else.”

  “But, you have dated.”

  “I guess so, but it was awkward. There was never any spark.” She looks down at her fingers, picking at the silver polish.