Irresistible Refrain

19

I shifted in my bunk, scrolling up the volume again, trying to drown out the sound of Lace and War yelling at each other in the back.

I knew that I shouldn’t have taken things so far with that kiss. But I wasn’t sure I gave a damn. I’d wanted to taste her again.

I had a sudden terrible thought. What if War got physical with Lace? Not that I’d ever seen War hit a woman, but drugs could make you do irrational things.

I pulled out my earbuds, listening intently.

Just more shouting.

But now that my imagination had gone there, I couldn’t rest until I saw for myself she was ok. I threw my legs over the side and started to climb down from my top roost.

“Stay put.” Dizzy grabbed a hold of my leg before my foot even hit the floor. “Get the fuck back in bed. Haven’t you caused enough trouble for one night?”

“I’m going to make sure he doesn’t hurt her,” I told him flatly.

“He wouldn’t dare. Not with you standing by, ready to take her off his hands.” A pause. “Besides you know Lace can take care of herself.”

I wasn’t so sure about that. I wasn’t sure about a lot of things anymore.

“Why can’t you let it go?” Dizzy asked in a low voice.

I didn’t answer. Dizzy would never understand. I’d never seen the dude have an emotional connection with any woman. He went through them at a faster clip than I ever had. Diz had the whole grab ‘em and bag ‘em thing down to an art form. It seemed like an obsession with him more than a game.

Things had finally settled down back there. My tensed muscles began to loosen. But then I smelled something acrid burning.

Fuck.

They were shooting up again. I put my buds back in and blasted up the volume. I could certainly relate to Axl’s sarcastic introduction to “Estranged” from the live version. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut as Slash’s guitar solo began to wail in my ears.

I tapped the tips of my stilettos. Nerves on a raw edge, I peeked out around the stage column. The Philips Arena was a complete sell out. An ocean of fans bounced in the pit as Bryan stood up front, playing the catchy guitar riff in “We’re Through.”

Shirtless, War was a sexy sight as well, upper torso gleaming with a fine sheen of perspiration under the intense heat of the spotlights. A pair of panties arced through the air and landed at his feet. With practiced ease, he bent down, picked up the scrap of pink material, and held it in the air before stuffing it in his jeans pocket.

The crowd roared their approval.

Why couldn’t I get all hot inside for him? Studded belt, low slung dark jeans, crooked smile. What was not to like?

Nothing. Only he wasn’t Bryan.

My gaze segued to his counterpart at center stage. Bryan’s guitar hung crotch level low. His light eyes were half shielded by heavy lids; his expression sublime, entirely within his element. It was a look I’d seen before in a much more intimate setting.

My cheeks warmed.

The sound of voices drew my attention away. An intense Marcus Anthony was talking to someone I didn’t recognize, a suited executive type. The mid-thirties brunette had a curvy figure and was wearing a stylish Marc Jacobs two button, double placard pocket charcoal grey pinstripe with a really cool pair of t-strap pointy toed pumps with four inch spiked heels. Her brown brows were drawn together. “Is she alright?”

“She’ll be ok. Sam and Trevor are back with her.” Marcus gathered the ends of his shoulder length hair into his fist. “Avery’s a professional.”

The suit put her hand on Marcus’ arm. Suddenly, his entire expression softened. A moment later, I saw why, as Avery Jones sank into his arms. Her eyes were red rimmed. I wondered what all the drama was about, but when she looked over in my direction, I threw my hair over my shoulder dismissively.

I didn’t really care what her problem was. I had more important things to worry about than that haughty bitch. She’d probably just broken a fingernail. Tugging at the jagged material on the end of my sleeves, I checked the rest of my outfit one more time. Strategic flesh colored inserts covered everything important up top. My belt hung just right low around my skin tight jeans. It was all good.

I blinked as a camera flashed next to me. Kimberly had just taken another picture of the guys. I’d wanted to strangle War when he’d introduced me to the Rolling Stone photographer. Like I needed any more pressure knowing that the magazine was covering the very event where I was to make my debut.

“Kimberly, how are you?” A handsome man with steely blue eyes, deep dimple grooves, and grey close cropped hair approached her and held out his hand.

“Charles Morris,” Kimberly replied. “I’m surprised to see you here. I thought this was a Black Cat affair.”

“It’s a concert, Kim.” He raised a brow. “As far as I know those are open to the public.”

“Alright Atlanta. Help me welcome former Tempest songstress, Lace Lowell.” War’s voice blared over the venue’s speaker system.

I spun back around.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

My heart was racing from nerves and from the line of coke War and I had done earlier. Shoulders back, I made my way out to him, willing my hands not to tremble. War took them in his own and kissed my cheek before leading me to the piano. I could feel the heavy weight of stares from a packed arena. For a scary moment, I thought I might puke, but luckily it passed.

Taking a calming breath of air, I settled onto the piano bench. As I lifted my head, my eyes met Bryan’s. His gaze was warm and he gave me an encouraging smile. I could do this. I placed my fingers above the keys and began to play the song that I’d written for him. My voice rang out steady and sure. I sounded really good. I relaxed into the song, and by the time I reached the chorus, I could feel that an electrified hush had fallen over the arena.

Wow.

Cool.

War was at my side as soon as I finished. “You nailed it, Lacey,” he said in my ear right before the thunderous applause rained down on us.

My face broke out into a wide smile. War took my hand and led me out to center stage. “Miss Lace Lowell,” he repeated into the mic after the applause died down. “And Tempest.” All six of us took a bow hand in hand, Dizzy on one side of me, War on the other.

“It’s a fucking rush, ain’t it, babe?” War asked after he guided me off stage with his arm around my shoulder.

“It’s amazing,” I agreed, eyes bright from the adrenaline still rippling through my body. Right this moment I felt like nothing was out of my reach.

“Warren Jinkins,” an authoritative voice jarred me from my reverie.

It was the same brunette executive I’d seen earlier with Marcus, only this time she looked extremely vexed. She gestured with her hand. “Come with me.”

“You too, Miss Lowell,” the woman ordered sternly. I looked to War, but he had already moved to follow. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him so intimidated.

We followed the exec back through the busy corridor. Shoulders tight she led us to an empty dressing room, and then turned to face us. Her light brown eyes flashed at me. “Who gave you permission to be out on that stage tonight?”

“I did. She’s one of us,” War answered. “She used to be in the band.”

“Warren.” Mary shushed him with an abrupt hand motion. “Phillip’s Arena is not a high school talent show.” She frowned. “Are you the one paying the nightly rent on this facility? Do you sign the paychecks for this tour?”

His lips flat, brows drawing together, War shook his head.

Oh, now it was beginning to make sense. This dynamo woman must be Mary Timmons the CEO of Black Cat Records.

Mary stepped closer. Even though she had to peer up at him, there was no doubt in my mind that she was totally in charge. “You may think you’re some wild stallion, but the fact is, you’re not. You’re just another horse in my stable. You ever pull a stunt like that again without my prior approval, and I’ll turn you into a gelding. You get where I’m going with this?”

War nodded again. I was surprised he didn’t say yes ma’am. Then those light brown eyes brimming with confidence turned back on me.

Uh-oh. I gulped, fighting the urge to squirm under her perusal.

“That said I want to talk to Lace for a minute.”

War moved toward me protectively.

“Alone,” Mary clarified.

He scooted out of the room like his ass was on fire.

When he was gone, Mary took in a breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You were actually quite good out there.”

“Thank you,” I acknowledged.

“Why haven’t I heard of you?” Mary muttered more to herself than me.

I shrugged.

She frowned and typed into her phone. I heard the bloop of an outgoing text message. “You could benefit from some voice lessons, though. You’re raw, but clearly talented.” She fixed me with a level stare. “Have you ever thought about a career in the music industry?”

The way the CEO studied me, I had a strong feeling that how I answered was really important. “I have. In fact, it’s something I’ve always dreamed of doing.”

“Solo?” Mary’s eyes narrowed. “No band or boyfriend to back you up. Just you at center stage. Win or lose. Think you could handle that?”

I raised my chin. “Absolutely.”

Mary’s brows rose. She studied me for a moment more. “Alright, then. Beth Tate, one of my execs is flying down tomorrow. I want to sit down and talk with you formally in Orlando.”