by Amy Marie
I swallow, steeling myself before asking my next question, unsure if I’ll ever be prepared to hear the answer. “What about sex? You’re not—”
She laughs. “A virgin?” She shakes her head. “No, I’m not that inexperienced, but even still, sex always seemed sort of transactional. He agreed, I agreed, then it was over. No fuss, no muss.”
“No muss?” I burst out laughing, holding my fist over my mouth in an attempt to stifle the sound.
She swats at my shoulder playfully, and when that doesn’t stop the chuckling, she shoves me, and I tip over on the couch.
“Stop,” she chuckles. “It’s not funny.”
“No,” I say, amusement still lingering in my smile, “it’s kind of sad actually, and completely unbelievable.”
“Why is that?” She giggles.
“Look at you,” I say, gesturing to her with my hand. “You’re gorgeous. How can it be that no one has ever swept you off your feet? Even if just for the night.”
Her eyes meet mine and that beautiful pink color pools in the apple of her cheeks. “I guess I haven’t met the right guy.”
“Maybe,” I tell her, clearing my throat, settling aside the guitar. I take her hands in mine and shift closer. “Let me try something. Close your eyes.” She complies, straightening her shoulders as she tightens her grip on my fingers.
“Think of the last thing that stirred a spark inside you.” She opens one eye and quirks a brow. “Could be a song, a book, a scene in a movie.” She closes her eyes and exhales a long, slow breath. “Something that made your body heat, made your thighs clench and your mouth water.” Her breath catches, and I move, adjusting my body to face her.
“Think of how it would feel to have that kind of burning desire to be with someone you care about.”
Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and I have to choke back a moan.
“Do you trust me?” I ask. She nods, and I shift closer. Her body goes rigid, but she doesn’t open her eyes. I release her hands and lean in close to her ear. “Relax,” I whisper, and she shivers in response.
I release her hands and brush her dark hair over one shoulder. Leaning in, I run my nose up the exposed column of her neck. “How does it feel, Orelia? Tell me whatever pops into your head.”
“Decadent,” she shudders.
“And this?” Resting a hand on her knee, I slide it slowly toward her hip, and her breathing becomes rapid. She swallows hard and rakes her teeth over her bottom lip. The color deepens to a rich red, and I find myself fighting back the urge to suck on that lip a while.
“Insatiable,” the word slides from her lips, and suddenly, my jeans feel a bit tight.
I swallow, my mouth dry as I push on. “Insatiable?” I whisper, my lips barely brushing the gentle skin of her jaw.
She gives the slightest nod. “Like I could never get enough.”
I chuckle against her skin, and she lets out the slightest whimper. I thread my fingers through her hair, and she leans into my hand. My eyes move to her lips, plump and perfect, parting ever so slightly. Her chest heaves as I close in on those luscious lips, but I don’t dare go in for the taste.
“And this?’ I whisper, so close to her mouth. She rocks forward, but I maintain the distance.
“Frustration,” she breathes.
I allow myself the moment to take her in. She’s absolutely stunning. Her thick dark lashes that twitch and flutter against the smooth skin of her cheeks. The dusting of freckles scattered across her nose that are so faint you hardly notice them, but this close, I can count each and every one.
Her eyes flutter open, the amber color stealing my breath as the gold flecks within shimmer with desire.
She raises her hand to my wrist, circling her fingers around my hand still tangled in her hair. She looks so vulnerable. Her eyes are wide with need for me, and it’s that one look that could be my undoing.
The sound of the back door swinging closed breaks the spell we’re under, and I quickly drop my hands, leaning back and clearing my throat as Cole saunters into the room.
“There you are,” he says.
“I’ve been trying to reach you for the past hour.”
I pat my pockets, relaxing; I must have left my phone in the studio.
His face crinkles as he waves a dismissive hand. “Not you,” he turns to Orelia, “you,” he practically sings.
“Me?” she asks, reaching for her phone that sits face down on the side table. She glances down at the screen, eyes going wide.
Cole claps his hands and rubs them together with a cat that ate the canary grin. “Good news,” he says. “The album has been fast-tracked.”
“What?” she gasps.
“You are in high demand, love, and we need to strike while the iron is hot.”
She just gapes at him, and I run a hand over my face, my body still humming from what could have happened if Cole hadn’t walked in here.
“This is exciting!” he says, raising his arms dramatically over his head.
“No.” She blinks. “I mean, yes, exciting.”
“There’s more,” he says as his smile widens. “Thursday night, you, my friend, are opening for Jamie Durant. He heard your song and requested you personally.”
“Are you serious?” she squeaks, and my shoulders tense.
Cole adjusts his cuffs. “I’m British, love. We are always serious.”
Her eyes swing to me. “Do you think I’m ready?”
I smile and lean back into the couch with a shrug. “Doesn’t matter what I think. Do you think you’re ready?”
She stares wide-eyed at me. The terror and the fear that inhabited them melts away to excitement as she glances over at Cole. She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. Nodding, she says, “I’m ready. Let’s do this.”
“Splendid,” Cole exclaims. “We should celebrate. Come, I’ll buy you both a pint.”
Orelia pushes to her feet and heads to grab her bag. I rise to my feet and move toward the exit, but Cole steps in my path.
He raises a brow and folds his arms over his chest. “Did I interrupt something here?”
I jerk back. “What?”
“You two looked a little hot under the collar when I walked in just now.”
“It’s not like that,” I say, shouldering past him.
He chuckles. “Whatever you say, mate.”
I head back to the studio to retrieve my phone. Exhaling into the empty room, I slide my finger across the screen. Fuck, that was close.
“You ready?” she asks behind me.
I nod and force a smile.
She frowns and leans a shoulder into the door jam. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, tucking my phone into my jeans.
She watches me with a wary expression. I smile and head toward the door, pausing beside her and pressing a kiss to her forehead. She leans into me as I step back, then looks up at me expectantly. “Come on, we have some celebrating to do.”
I leave her in the doorway and head for the exit, squeezing my eyes shut and cursing myself with every step.
I’m so fucked.
Chapter 12
Orelia
The room is an inferno. I’m sweating through my spanks, which is doing absolutely nothing for the nausea. I glance up at the clock and nearly lose the contents of my stomach. Thirty minutes until showtime. Thirty minutes until my career takes off or crashes to the ground in a spectacular ball of fire.
A knock sounds at the door. “It’s open,” I call out.
Jamie pops his head inside, wearing a crooked smile. “Hey.”
I get to my feet, running my hands down my denim-clad thighs. My stage outfit was thankfully toned way, way down with a little help from a stylist that Ezra set me up with. My skinny jeans are still artfully shredded, but the placement is a bit more subtle. The crystal corset has been replaced with a sheer black bustier that hugs my curves without cutting off circulation, and as a bonus, I can actually breathe in it.
My feet ar
e nestled in a pair of comfy black Doc Martins. I couldn’t decide between a flannel or a leather motorcycle jacket to complete the look, so the stylist, Jen, left both with strict instructions not to think about it, just grab one on the way out and let the fates decide.
Jamie steps inside, his eyes roaming over my body with every step. “You look amazing.”
“Thanks.”
“Nervous?” he asks.
“Am I that obvious?”
He chuckles. “You wear it well.”
My blush deepens as he reaches up to play with the ends of my hair. “I wanted to wish you luck.”
“I’m freaking out. How did you do this on national television?”
“You want to know the secret to getting rid of stage fright?” He takes my hands in his, running his thumb gently over my knuckles.
“You’re not going to tell me to picture the audience in their underwear, are you?”
He laughs. “No. Trust me, that image could haunt you for a long, long time. Seriously though, the secret is there is no secret. Everybody goes through this, and I mean everyone. Just take a deep breath,” he inhales and slowly releases in a long exhale, “then get out there and do your thing. Don’t think. Just do.”
“Don’t think.”
“You’re incredible, Orelia. You’ve performed with rock legends and killed it. This is nothing. Just another day at the office.”
I exhale and smile up at him, the adrenaline coursing through me. “You’re right. Thank you.”
He smiles and tugs my hand, pulling me closer. His eyes meet mine, and I bite my lip. “Listen, Orelia, I—”
The door swings open, and Ezra steps in, looking practically edible in a faded Rolling Stones T-shirt and black Chucks.
His eyes dart between Jamie and me. His jaw ticks, and my smile immediately fades. He straightens and clears his throat. “Am I interrupting?”
My veins fill with ice water as my eyes dart between the two men.
Jamie’s eyes never leave mine. “Not at all.” He winks, and my blush deepens.
I glance back to Ezra, who’s glaring at my hand still clutched in Jamie’s.
“Ezra, can we go now?” Hannah whines as she pushes into the room. Her eyes roam over Jamie as she gives him a flirty grin, and to his credit, he seems only mildly affected.
“I told you,” Ezra says through clenched teeth, “we will go after her set.”
She smiles and rests her hand on his shoulder. “I know, baby,” she coos, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I was only teasing.”
His body goes rigid the moment she touches him, and Jamie arches a brow. Guess I’m not the only one who notices.
Jamie steps forward and offers his hand to Hannah. “Ms. Miles,” he says, “I’m a big fan.”
Hannah preens, shooting him a megawatt smile. “I bet you are,” she says, slinking toward him. Ezra catches her arms and pulls her behind him.
“That’s enough.” Then his eyes land on me, and I swear I can see a hint of sadness in them. “Five minutes. You ready?”
I nod and exhale, reaching for the flannel shirt and tying it around my waist. Ezra heads down the hall, dragging Hannah behind. She struggles to keep up in her sky-high heels, practically jogging behind him
He’s silent as we make our way toward the stage. People smile and shout, “break a leg” as I pass, but I’m focused on the tension in Ezra’s shoulders.
I jog a few steps to catch up with him and reach for his arm. “Is everything okay?”
He exhales but doesn’t look at me. “It’s fine.” He holds back a curtain that leads to the stage and the deafening roar of the crowd. I look over the ocean of faces, and the twinkling lights of camera flashes.
He pulls Hannah to a stop beside one of the security guys. He looks up at the mountain of a man, his lips thin and eyes hard as he speaks, “Don’t let her out of your sight. Don’t talk to her, don’t listen to a thing she has to say. She doesn’t move from this spot until I return. Understand?”
The guard gives him a curt nod and folds his arms over his chest, his glare fixed on Hannah.
“What’s next?” she shouts after him. “You gonna collar me and tie my leash to a tree?”
“If that’s what it takes,” he calls out over his shoulder as he makes his way up the ramp.
The thick black curtain falls behind him, and he disappears for a moment in the darkness. When his face finally appears again, his eyes are soft, and a sad smile splits his lips. He reaches for my hands and gives them a gentle squeeze. “You’re going to be great.”
“What if they hate me?” I ask him.
His lips curl up at the sides, and he presses a sweet kiss to my forehead. “Impossible.”
I sigh, my body slumping against him as the emcee starts to amp up the crowd. The band takes their place behind their instruments, and a stagehand appears out of the darkness, handing me a microphone. The crowd ripples and roars to life as the emcee’s voice booms out his intro. I slide the earpieces into my ears, and his words become clearer in the monitor.
“Let her hear you, L.A. Give it up for Orelia Carlisle.”
I glance back at Ezra, but he’s busy with his phone and not looking at me.
This is it, the moment I’ve been dreaming of for as long as I can remember. With a deep breath, I step on stage to the thunderous cheer of the crowd. The band begins to play, and the nerves just fade away.
My heart is pounding in my chest as I exit stage left, breathless and completely euphoric. I’ve never felt anything like that. The energy of the people, singing along to a song that I wrote, it was intoxicating. The adrenaline is pumping through my veins, making me feel a little drunk as I stumble from the stage.
Jamie smiles and wraps me in a hug, lifting me into the air. “You were incredible,” he says into my hair, his words tickling my ear as he speaks.
I laugh, unable to hold back my smile as he sets me back on my feet. “That was so much fun.” He smiles and tucks his earpiece in with one hand as the tech hands him his guitar. “It only gets better from here, babe.” He winks and takes the stage as the crowd erupts.
As I make my way backstage, greeted with a chorus of “Atta girl’s,” I can’t stop smiling. When I reach the dressing room, I push inside, closing the door behind me so I can quietly freak out on my own. Squealing with delight, I kick my feet excitedly, Flashdance style, pumping my fists into the air.
My phone rings, and I freeze my victory dance to grab it from the make-up table. My smile widens when I see my Dad’s face. Sliding my finger across the screen to answer, I hold the phone in front of me as the video comes in.
“Hey, Dad!”
“There’s my girl. You were incredible tonight.”
I laugh. “Oh, stop, you didn’t even see me.”
“I did, Cher. Me and the crew, we saw it all.”
“What?” I gasp. “How?”
“Your producer friend set it up so we could watch a live stream. You were something else, girl, let me tell you.”
Tears well in my eyes. “You saw it?”
“You betcha. I’m proud of you, Cher. You were the brightest star out tonight.”
I laugh as hot tears track down my face. My cheeks ache from smiling. A knock sounds on the door, and I straighten. “Sorry, Dad. I got to go. Someone’s at the door. I’ll call you tomorrow?”
“You better,” he scolds. “I want to hear all about it.”
I giggle. “I promise. Love you.”
“Love you too, Cher.”
I end the call and go to answer the door, swinging it wide to reveal Ezra mid knock. I dive into his arms, wrapping mine tightly around his neck.
His body goes rigid at impact, but then I feel his muscles relax as he ropes his arms around me, giving in to the hug.
He chuckles. “You’ve got to stop throwing yourself at me.”
I tighten my hold on him. “Thank you,” I whisper as fresh tears trail down my cheeks.
He squeezes me tighter, then
sets me back on my feet and brushes a stray hair from my forehead. “I knew how much you wanted him to be here.” There’s so much tenderness in his expression, my knees threaten to give out. Who knew that swooning was even a thing anymore?
The stars seem to have aligned for me tonight. I performed my music on stage in front of thousands of people, including my father, all thanks to the man I’m in serious danger of falling for.
A throat clears, and Ezra and I turn to see Cole, looking a little rattled, his tie askew. Ezra releases me to face him.
“Pardon the interruption, but it appears we have a problem.”
Chapter 13
Ezra
King’s new protégé a Joke?
Producer Ezra King’s newest ingenue, Orelia Carlisle, burst onto the scene with her single “Wish I Could Love You” earlier this week. The single has been rocketing up the Billboard charts and has captivated listeners across the globe with her sultry, soulful sound. But a video has surfaced of Carlisle singing a rather devastating version of the female anthem “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” that calls into question just how much of the singer’s voice is God-given and how much is synthesized. Has King Midas lost his touch?
The video begins to play, and I close out of the website, refusing to give it the power of another view.
“Jesus,” I groan, rubbing at my temple and handing Cole back his phone.
“It’s already been viewed over five hundred thousand times in a matter of hours,” he complains.
“I don’t understand,” Orelia interrupts. “It was five years ago, and I was drunk. What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal, my young friend, is that your entire “brand” is based around your authenticity. We’ve sold you as an artist, with a natural musical ability. This—” he says, holding up the video again. “Calls all of that into question.”
“It was a dare. We were playing one of those bachelorette card games. You know?”
“Regrettably,” he says. “I believe I do. Regardless, the video’s gone viral. The trolls are lapping this up like kittens to the saucer.”
