IntheMood (9 page)

With a sharp cry, she came. Her pussy contracted around him,
bringing him to his own culmination. He shouted her name, pulsing long, hard
jets deep into her, obeying every rule of nature. His mind went blank except
for the pleasure that blinded him to everything else.

The beautiful moment of stillness followed, when the only
sound was their gasps as they regained their breath. Then she sank forward,
into his arms.

He rolled them so they lay more comfortably on the covers,
then brushed back her hair, unpeeling the strand that had stuck to her temple
and drawing her closer for the first kiss they’d shared since she’d entered the
room. He made it leisurely, giving her his tongue, taking hers in return. They
tasted each other, a long, slow dance and then parted just enough to gaze at
each other. He loved her eyes, the way she revealed her every emotion to him,
though he doubted she realized it. She was so in control except when she gave
herself to him. In deep.

He cupped her face, and there and then told her the truth he
was now sure of. “I love you, Violet.”

Tears sprang to her eyes and he kissed them away. “Don’t say
anything you don’t want to. But I wanted to tell you. That’s all. You’ve given
me the shock of my life, but it’s one I needed. A shake-up. I’ll always love
you for that. But it’s more than that.”

She half smiled, then replied. “I love you. I’m as sure as
you are.”

He kissed her again and this time it was a kiss shared,
sweet and rapturous, as short as it was truthful. “It’s scary, isn’t it?” he
managed to say.

“It is. Real scary.”

“V, I never did anything permanent before. I don’t have a
home, you know that. Just somewhere to live.”

She nodded. “And all my life it’s been my parents and my
family. I’ve rarely gone out of it. But for the first time, I don’t want to
share you. I want to keep you to myself.”

“I know.” He paused, trying to put into words what he was
feeling. “I’ve never felt I belonged anywhere before, except in my own company.
Even the band let me down, or so I thought. They didn’t. I let them down. But I
won’t let you down, sweetheart. I promise.” He ached to dissipate that look of
melancholy he saw in her eyes, and wondered what had caused it.

“I know you won’t.” Her certainty made him determine that
he’d never, ever do anything to make her ashamed of him. She deserved the
truth, as far as he knew it. Time to open up, something he rarely did for
anyone. Even his best friend, Jace.

“I never felt at home with my pop or my mom. They always
made me welcome, but I had to move a lot. My dad lives in New York with his new
family, my mom moved back to London and I spent time with them both, but I
never felt I belonged. Didn’t dare put down roots.” What surprised him was how
little it mattered anymore. It used to matter a lot.

“I was glad when I went to college. At least I could choose
who I wanted to visit in the vacations. I grew up a bit. Then I got together
with the band and you know what happened after that. Better than I do, because
I spent so much time stoned.” He stroked his foot along her smooth calf,
caressing her.

“I already guessed part of that. Your apartment isn’t
exactly a home. More a place to stay.”

“Wasn’t,” he said. “You seem to have made it more of a
home.”

She shook her head, her hair drawing sensuous patterns
against his skin. “It’s you as well, Matt. You’re putting down roots. I helped
you unpack the last of your boxes last weekend, remember? No more boxes.”

Yeah, he remembered, but he’d started the task to please
her, not because he felt any need to do it. He knew which box held what
possession, and he’d lived like that for a long time. He thought back. Almost
forever, in fact. But she’d wanted to, and unpacking had been a way of showing
her his life without actually telling her. Good and bad, it was all packed away
in those boxes. Or rather, had been. Now it was scattered around his apartment,
and yes, she was right, it looked as if somebody lived there now. He was still
getting used to it.

He’d thrown away the boxes. She’d made him. At the time it
seemed inconsequential, but now he saw what he was doing. Settling.

God, he was in love. And prepared to care for one woman for
the rest of his fucking life.

They slept, woke and ate, showered and went back to bed. In
his arms again, she told him what the band had offered her and he listened. In
the end, he said, “No need to make decisions yet. The concerts might not work
out. Take it as it comes, and we’ll see what happens. Remember, this is our
vacation, our break from reality, so let’s enjoy it.”

They had a rest day before the day of the concert. Knowing
what that meant, Matt took V out that day. They went to the Metropolitan
Museum, then to lunch at a great restaurant he knew in the Village, far away
from the bustle and the band politics at the hotel. The media would be
jockeying for position, but Chick planned one press conference after each
concert, and a chance for others to interview the core band. V had agreed to
attend the post-concert conferences, but not the others.

To his surprise, they wanted Matt there too. “You did a
great job with the album,” Chick told him. “You deserve credit for that. Do you
want to make your relationship with each other public? You can sit next to each
other, or I can put you either end of the table.”

“Together.” Nice that they said it in unison. Matt squeezed
her hand, unashamed at showing his softer side before someone else. That had
always been one of his problems, that he didn’t like to expose himself, not to
anyone. He had a great outer shell, but she hadn’t penetrated it, he’d
destroyed it. For her. And he’d do it again.

Chapter Eight

Matt saw how V’s hands shook when she reached for the small
bag holding her makeup and a few other things. He carried the rest, her sax and
the bigger holdall with her change of clothes. He never trusted the venue to
provide what he wanted.

He murmured to her, speaking slowly and quietly, knowing how
panic could affect a person. Her family was in the audience tonight, though she
didn’t know it. She’d admitted that she’d asked them to stay away from the
Chicago TV studio the last time she’d performed with Murder City Ravens. If
she’d failed, she wanted to do it on her own. Her uncle had sneaked in without
her realizing it, probably using his contacts to gain entrance. Claud had
contacts everywhere. This time she said she didn’t want to know if they were
there, but she couldn’t stop them coming. Most had taken that as an invitation.

The media massed in force at the hotel door and outside the
stage entrance at the Garden, but tonight the band members were on show. It was
their job to see and be seen.

Matt had donned his bad boy look, worn black leather jacket,
black jeans, a white T-shirt and sunglasses, despite the growing gloom of
sunset. But he held himself with a power that dared anyone to get too close.

V wore jeans and an Iron Maiden T-shirt, looking absolutely
delectable. When they walked out to meet the yells and flashes from cameras,
professional and amateur, they did it hand in hand.

She held his hand in a death grip, but nothing of that
showed on her face. He warmed to her, admired her and loved her even more, that
she faced what she hated with such great heart.

The hired muscle held the path to the open door of one of
the limos steady and they climbed inside. Two of the band had made it already,
and they took off. Jace grinned at Matt. “Not like the old days, is it?”

“Fuck, no. Creeping in the back door, getting a sleazy,
stinking little room for all of us, no riders in the contract to make things
more comfortable. Being told we were on earlier, or not at all, but they’d give
us a hundred for our trouble.”

Jace chuckled. “And we took it and slunk away.”

“Glad I wasn’t there for that,” said Zazz, his long, lanky
body sprawled over his corner of the vehicle. “I did the folk scene to start
with, then the universities and pubs when I went down to London. I’ve done my
share of sleazy gigs.” He sighed. “Some people never get this far.”

“Yeah.” He knew that too. Not like Claud, who had his own
club to make a living from and amused himself playing piano with his buddies,
but the real slog of being forever the support band and pretending not to care.
You knew you were as good as the headline, but to make the next week, you had
to get lucky.

It didn’t take long to get to the Garden, where they had
another posse of press people to face. This time she didn’t grip his hand quite
as convulsively, and she smiled more freely, though only someone as close as
Matt would notice.

They got the better dressing rooms, which were still cramped
but had small shower stalls and toilets. At least they got one each. The nature
of the accommodation, although gussied up with velvet couches and drapes, still
had an edge of working environment. He preferred that to the frills. The rooms
still had remembrances of the people who’d used them and this being Madison
Square Garden, that meant something.

Legendary sportspeople, bands now gone into the ether, even
politicians. The owners recently renovated backstage, but the smell remained,
the scent of terror and triumph. The walls were crisply white, the floors shiny
and new, but nothing could eradicate the place’s unique atmosphere.

All of it combined to give this venue an unforgettable air,
one unlike anywhere else in the world. He loved it.

Then his cell phone rang. “Yeah? AZ, everything okay?”

“Perfect,” came his engineer’s voice, so calm but with an
undercurrent of something else. Worry? Excitement? Fucked if he knew. “Better
than I thought. You know that English guy, Terry Waters?”

“Sure.” Terry Waters was hot property. An exile from an
aging boy band, he’d recorded a single that had taken the world by storm. Even
better, he’d written the fucker. Now everybody wanted a part of him. But he was
volatile, a handful, enjoying his new image as a rabble-rouser.

“He wants us for his album.”

He gripped the phone harder. “You are shitting me.”

“No, I’m not. For sure, Matt.”

Instantly he forgave AZ for interrupting his vacation.

V was fine, sitting with Jace, sharing a beer and a chat.
She seemed okay now, beyond her fear, but he didn’t want to go very far away
from her. “Brilliant news, AZ.” Waters had more talent than people gave him
credit for, but he needed careful handling. That wouldn’t be Matt’s problem,
but he had to make sure the contract was watertight, in case the guy didn’t
make it all the way through. “So when did you know?”

“Half an hour ago. Thing is, Matt, he wants to see you.
Now.”

“He can’t. I’m at the Garden.”

“I know. He’s at your hotel, waiting for you. He wants to
see the concert. We need to keep him sweet until he’s signed on the dotted
line.”

Shit, yes. “Yeah, sure.”

“He wants you to meet him at the hotel so you can chat on
the way.”

But he was here. Fuck. “Hold on, AZ.”

Swiftly, he outlined his problem to V and Jace,
concentrating on not shrieking his delight. Jace made up for it by shouting and
clapping him hard on the back. “You are the king, Matt.”

“I won’t go, I’ll send a car for him.”

“You have to go,” V said. She smiled broadly and he couldn’t
see a smidgeon of doubt on her face. He glanced at Jace, but he didn’t know if
she’d told anyone but himself about her fear, or even if she wanted anyone else
to know.

“Are you sure? I’m here for you, V. But it didn’t take long
to get here from the hotel. I can be there and back in half an hour. Forty-five
minutes, tops.”

She nodded, smiled, told him she was fine. She’d change and
get onstage. Relieved, he kissed her and promised he’d be back soon.

He’d get a handshake and get a feel for the guy, how he
worked, what he expected. A discussion like that would be extremely useful. If
he went now, all he’d miss would be the opening act.

He had a word with Chick, who assured him he’d make sure
Terry Waters had a great seat, or he’d look after him backstage. He grabbed two
AAA passes, and headed back to the hotel.

He raced outside to flag a taxi down on Eighth. Getting back
to the hotel took the fifteen minutes he’d planned. Thank fuck, Terry Waters
was sober and waiting for him in the café, where he sat with his manager, a
gorgeous British blonde. Hey, he was taken, but he wasn’t blind, and he’d have
to arrange another pass for her.

She assured him that all she wanted tonight was sleep, and
she did look beat, her makeup inadequately covering dark shadows under her
eyes. Matt got the feeling this young guy kept her busy. Full of himself, but
not quite at the obnoxious level, eager to learn and work on his career, Terry
seemed fresh as a daisy and willingly accompanied Matt to the taxi outside.

In the short interval it had taken Matt to meet Terry and
his agent and then take the guy outside, all New York had come out to play.
Either that, or there was a huge pileup somewhere.

When he asked the cabbie, the man held up both his hands in
a gesture of despair. Matt wished he’d keep his hands on the wheel, because
although they weren’t moving fast, people were darting in front of the traffic
alarmingly close to the vehicle.

“It’s the time of day,” the driver said. “People come out at
this time. The restaurants are opening, the theatres too.” The beads draped
over his mirror and the little dangling image of a many-armed goddess rattled
against the windscreen as he jerked on the handbrake.

If he was alone, Matt would have given up and jogged the two
miles or so, but Terry Waters was a VIP and he couldn’t suggest that. If he’d
known him better, maybe. So he sat back, wishing he could find the time for
sure, keeping an eye open for a clock outside. His watch was under the long
sleeve of his jacket, and he didn’t want Terry to know he was anxious about
anything. This game involved a lot of face, and admitting he was worried might
cause him to lose his.

He smiled and chatted about the traffic, about life in New
York, about Chicago, then Murder City Ravens, but only because Terry seemed
fascinated by the band. Then he got on to Terry Waters, at last. The kid seemed
to know what he wanted. He’d studied music at high school and although he
started early, he wasn’t swollen-headed enough to think he didn’t have a lot to
learn. Matt liked that, and Terry’s innate swagger. He decided he wanted to do
this album, but now he had to sell Terry on his studio.

If Matt hadn’t been on edge, it would have been easier. As
it was, he wasn’t sure what he said, and he was far from giving the marketing
spiel he knew he should be spouting.

At last, they arrived. Matt had managed a few surreptitious
glances at the time, from clocks hanging outside stores, electronic timepieces
and the like. A shame they hadn’t gone via Times Square and he never thought
he’d wish for that. He thrust some notes at the cabbie and they exited to the
sound of clacking beads. Not the restful music he’d needed.

Then he had the bad luck to find someone who had no idea who
he was, or who Terry was, and who thought the passes, which took the form of
printed, colored wristbands, were fake.

Ah shit, this had taken so long, the band would be onstage
by now. He’d miss V’s big moment. He wanted to punch this guy standing in front
of him, staring at the passes as if he’d never seen one before. Eventually the
bastard radioed someone and got permission to let them in.

He almost collided with his manager. Chick grabbed Matt’s
upper arms and glared at him. “Where is she? Did she go with you?”

“Who? V? Isn’t she onstage?”

“No, she fucking isn’t. I can’t find her anywhere. She’s not
in her dressing room.”

With Terry watching, an expression on his face a cross
between bewilderment and amusement, Matt felt as though Chick had punched him
on the jaw. “Is her instrument there?”

“The case is. I’ve been too busy looking for her to look for
saxophones. We’ve found a substitute, but they’re
reading the music
. It
looks bad. Doesn’t she know what she’s supposed to do if something happens?”

“Have you called her?”

“You think I’m a complete fucking idiot? Her phone’s
switched off.”

Matt wanted to hit something, someone, but most of all he
wanted to punch himself for leaving her alone. He should have known better. “So
she’s missed it?”

Chick growled like a wounded bear. “No. They changed the
running order to give her time. They’ll play some of the older stuff first.
Forty minutes max, then the number goes in, whether she’s there or not.”

Matt had never introduced anyone faster, but he had Chick
and Terry best buddies in the next thirty seconds. Terry’s manager would
probably hate his guts. She should have come, if she wanted to keep hold of her
boy, but perhaps Terry had tired her out. Already he was plying Chick with
questions. He had a glass in his hand. Matt would bet he used alcohol to slow
himself down a bit. He should know, he’d been there, done that.

But not now, not tonight. He knew what had happened, but not
where V had gone. She’d panicked. He could have sworn she’d be fine. They’d
talked about it, practiced it. She promised she’d be okay. Why didn’t she call?
They weren’t supposed to leave their cells on in the backstage area, but most
of the talent ignored that. Who’d stop them?

He had to fight to quell the panic rising in his belly,
force himself to think. Dressing room first. He reached it in record time, but
she wasn’t there, although he searched every spot.

However, her stage clothes were gone and her street clothes
were draped over a chair. She must be wearing those crippling high heels too,
since he saw her sneakers tucked under a chair. And the clothes in the bag, the
ones she packed for after the show remained too. So was her purse, and a quick
check inside showed her cash and credit cards intact. And her hotel cardkey.

Cursing under his breath, he realized she must be in a bad
way. She hadn’t used the dressing room safe, and she wasn’t stupid enough to
leave all that unattended in her right mind.

She must be fucking terrified. Sitting in the room, waiting
alone for him, thinking… He really thought she’d gotten over the worst of it.

After taking time to shove her purse in the safe and type in
a number, he left the room and took the direction away from the stage. She’d
run. But she hadn’t left the building, not by the recognized exits. Chick had
already radioed everyone. That was the reason for the security check when
they’d come back.

Matt searched every unlocked room and hammered on the doors
of the few locked to him, but couldn’t find her. She’d run and hide. That would
be her instinct. And if anyone challenged her, she’d fight. Room by room,
hallway after hallway, how had he ever thought this place was small backstage?

He finally found her in a bleak bathroom near the exit that
led to the parking area. They’d come in that way, so her instincts would have
taken her there. Once he realized that, he’d followed the trail back the way
they’d come.

Although he couldn’t hear anything, he knew she was there.
He felt it, and her perfume wreathed around him, still seductive despite his
desperate worry.

“V?”

A tiny whimper rewarded him. Something in his heart gave
then, and he let the truth flood in. All of it. Pride, self-respect, reticence,
all disappeared in the deluge of relief and need that swamped him now. “V, do
you want to go home? I swear, sweetheart, I’ll make it happen.” Then he
realized that was the last thing she needed. Probably the first thing she
wanted though.