Love Resolution (Black Cat Records series) (18 page)

Marcus’ blue eyes met hers briefly before his cold gaze skated away. Grabbing a piece of paper off the narrow counter, he exited the room, passing within inches of her without saying a single word.

So close but so very far away. Her throat tightened painfully. She felt the thin ice of control cracking beneath her. Rubbing chilled arms, Avery stood in the center of the small room, struggling to shoulder the weight of her misery. Less than a week ago, she and Marcus had talked about how much they were looking forward to playing here. Now she found herself wishing that she was anywhere else.

“Avery.” She looked up with glazed eyes to see Nina, one of the tour makeup technicians, scurry inside the room with a tackle box full of cosmetics. “Sit,” she ordered, gesturing to a chair in front of an ornately framed wall mounted mirror. “I’ve only got a couple of minutes to make you beautiful.”

Within a few moments, Avery squinted at her reflection in the mirror and lifted up her bangs. The flesh colored bandage was covered up with makeup. “You’re brilliant,” she told Nina with awe in her voice. “You can barely tell it’s there.”

“Thanks. But an artist is only as good as her canvas,” the diminutively framed woman told her as she smoothed a manicured hand through her short dark hair and unwrapped the apron from around Avery’s shoulders. “You’d better hurry. You still need to get changed. They’re waiting on you.”

After shrugging into her skinny jeans and another Asian inspired top, Avery exited the dressing room, nodding to Ray before accompanying him down the corridor.

Sam, JR, Dwight, and Marcus were waiting for her in the shadows to the right of the stage.

“You look beautiful, Avery.” Sam rushed forward and squeezed her hand.

“Thanks,” she mumbled looking down at her shoes. Converse tonight. She hadn’t the heart to wear the boots Marcus had teased her about just a couple of nights ago. Nor did she know how she was going to be able to stand up on that stage with him and act as if nothing had changed.

JR moved next to her, throwing his arm around her shoulder while Dwight lifted his arm around the other. Marcus stepped up to the huddle between the BS drummer and his brother. Heads bowed silently. The strain was palpable. She could feel the weight of Marcus’ gaze on her and knew his body was shifting back and forth, his jeans stretched taut across his long toned legs. She swallowed nervously, lost and disconnected.

“Keep it real,” she whispered, lacing the ritualistic words with fatalism.

Marcus turned away quickly when they broke apart, but not before she’d been able to detect a remnant of concern in his eyes. Maybe he wasn’t as indifferent as he’d like her to believe. Maybe he would change his mind. A pennant of hope unfurled in her chest.

Avery took her Ibanez from her guitar tech, and fastened the strap. Moving to the edge of the historic stage, she felt the heat of a body close behind her and breathed in the familiar woodsy scent.

Marcus.

Settling, she took another deep breath and ran out from behind the red velvet curtain onto the stage.

Brutal Strength performed much better than they had in Seattle. Maybe the stress had forced each of them to refine their focus. It certainly wasn’t their best effort, but it had been solid. After the encore, she could hear the crowd chanting as they made their way to the dressing room.

“A-ver-y. A-ver-y. A-ver-y.”

Sam hurried up behind them, headset on. She pulled on Avery’s arm. “You need to come back and see this,” she insisted.

Peeking out from behind the curtain, Avery saw that the stage was carpeted in red. Fans continued to file forward, tossing even more red roses on it.

“You need to go out there and say something,” Sam urged, pushing her gently.

“No, I…”

“I’ll go with you,” Marcus volunteered, voice thick with emotion.

“Alright,” she acquiesced.

Marcus took her by the hand and she clung to him, starving for the contact she’d grown so accustomed to having. For the first time since the crash she felt as if she could breathe. Brushing aside the flowers in their path, he led her to center stage and then let go of her hand, backing away to let her address the fans.

She stepped up to the microphone and adjusted the height. “Thank you,” she started, voice catching. She swallowed and tried again. “Thank you, San Francisco. Thank you for showing me your support like this. I’ll never forget it.”

Avery woke up on the pallet where she’d tossed and turned throughout the long, lonely hours of the night. She hadn’t even contemplated sleeping in the big hotel bed without him.

Getting up off the floor, with a couple of quick finger strokes, she disabled the wakeup alarm function on her cell. Bleary eyed she padded into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and discarded her clothing. She leaned over the counter to look at her reflection in the mirror.

“Shit!” She let out a frustrated breath having forgotten about the stitches. Afraid to get them wet, she needed help this morning washing her hair. Lucky for her, Sam had the room across the hall. Pulling the hotel courtesy robe off the hanger in the closet, she wrapped herself in it before opening the door to the corridor. She flipped the security latch forward so that the door wouldn’t lock behind her.

Barefoot, she crossed the hall and knocked.

“I don’t think she’s in there,” a familiar voice intoned.

“Bryan.” She whirled around, clutching the lapels of the robe to her chest.

“Red.” His gaze traveled the length of her, lingering with a frown at her forehead. “How are you? They said you were ok, but I’ve been worried.”

“I’m fine,” she mumbled, feeling self-conscious standing in the hall half-dressed. “How would you know Sam’s not there?”

“JR’s room is next to mine,” he said lifting a brow. “The walls are really thin.”

“Oh.” She blushed.

“What do you need? Maybe I can help.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I need someone to help me wash my hair. I don’t think I’m supposed to get the stitches wet.”

“Oh.” He cocked his head to the side. “Why can’t Marcus help you?

“He’s not...” She gazed down at the floor as if it contained all the right answers. “He’s staying in another room,” she finally managed.

“Fine.” He took a step toward her. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I can help with your hair.”

“No. I couldn’t let you do that.”

“It’s no big deal,” he said evenly. “I’ve done it plenty of times.”

“Oh, really?”

“I’ve got two younger sisters,” he smirked. “Look, I promise not to take advantage of the situation and ravish you.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

She laughed nervously. “Ok,” she said hesitantly, gaze darting up and down the deserted hall.

“You don’t have to sound so enthusiastic.” A teasing smile made his greyish green eyes twinkle.

She turned back to her room. “Well come on,” she threw over her shoulder. “I haven’t got all day…Farm Boy. I’ve got an appointment at eight.”

“As you wish,” he immediately replied in character.

Surprised, she swiveled around.

“What?” He smiled.

“It’s just that I didn’t expect you to get the
Princess Bride
banter.”

“Two sisters, remember?”

She felt shy as he withdrew her makeshift doorstop and stepped inside her hotel room, the conspicuous presence of the bed dominating it. Their eyes met and held for a heartbeat before she looked away. “Bathroom’s in here,” she mumbled.

He followed her in, his tall frame overwhelming the small space.

“How’d you wanna do it?” he asked, raising a brow and scooping up her shampoo bottle from the counter.

“Um.” She glanced at the tub, trying to ignore the double entendre. “I guess I’ll lean my head over the tub and hold a towel over my forehead if you can help wet, lather, and rinse.”

“As you wish.”

Ducking her head, she suppressed a smile and knelt down on the bathmat, taking the hand towel he offered.

His jean clad legs brushed up against her back as he leaned over her. He turned on the water and adjusted the temperature. He pulled his t-shirt over his head and placed it on the counter.

“What are you doing?” she squeaked when he stepped back.

His lips curled. “You wouldn’t want me to get my favorite t-shirt soaked, would you?”

She shook her head, unable to speak. Though she’d seen his naked chest on the night of the first concert, since all the Tempest guys performed shirtless, this was totally different. This was up close and personal. And after that dance, it felt extremely intimate.

Avery closed her eyes, lowered her head over the edge of the tub, and placed the hand towel gingerly over her forehead. She tried to banish the image of wide shoulders, a smooth male chest, and intricately tatted muscular arms from her mind.

Right.

“You need to lean over further,” he told her. “Or we’ll get water all over the floor.”

She felt his metal belt buckle press into her back when he bent over her. Her breath caught.
Holy Crap!
He cupped water from the faucet and trickled it into her hair.

“This isn’t working,” he muttered stepping back.

She shivered, temporarily bereft of his heat. He returned almost immediately with a drinking glass from the counter.

“This’ll do it.” He leaned back down over her and she shielded her face again with the towel.

A stream of warm water washed over her. As he repeated this several times, her head began to feel warm and heavy. She heard the glass clink on the tile floor and the sound of the shampoo bottle being popped open. He started lathering the shampoo into her hair. Beginning at the base of her neck, he worked his way through to the ends. Gently, he lifted the bubbly length of it and with his fingers massaged near her hairline.

She tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry.

“This ok?” he asked voice deep and husky. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

“No,” she managed.

His soapy hands brushed her hair aside and began massaging the base of her neck.

A moan escaped her lips before she could stifle it. Embarrassed, she started to lift her head.

“Relax, Red,” he whispered near her ear, a gentle but firm hand on her shoulder stopping her. “You’re totally tense.” He paused. “Lean back over. It’s time to rinse.”

As soon as she complied, warm water poured over her head again. Once. Twice. Three times.

“Your hair is so dark when it’s wet,” he observed quietly. “You’ll have to turn over.” She felt his fingers brush underneath her hair again near her forehead where she still held the towel in place. “So I can get the rest of the shampoo out.”

“Ok.” She flipped over, feet flat on the ground, shoulders balanced on the rim of the tub and arched her neck back. She replaced the towel over her face and waited.

Nothing happened.

“I’m ready,” she prompted. “Rinse away.”

“Shit,” he said, breathing unevenly. “Did I really promise not to ravish you?”

“You did,” she replied fully conscious of her provocative position. She shivered.

“Ok, then tell me that you’ve changed your mind.”

When she didn’t answer, warm wet hands slid across the top of her breasts pulling the edges of her robe closed.

“No, huh? Well, that’s a fuckin’ shame.”

He returned to the task, his bare chest brushing softly against her, the glass rattling against the rim of the tub as he filled it. Warm water ran through her hair, soaking the edges of the towel as he poured. A sensual haze wrapped itself around her.

“Conditioner?”

“What? No. I use a leave in spray.”

“Too bad,” he said voice rough edged. “I guess that means we’re done then.”

Removing the towel, she came forward onto her knees before standing. His back was to her and the view was mesmerizing. Scripted arms bookended a smooth toned torso, and broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist. He shrugged back on his shirt and turned around. She let out a breath, her gaze darting away from darkened eyes that tried to hold her.

“Thanks for the help,” she mumbled, moving to the counter and unwinding the cord from the blow dryer. She wished he would take the hint and leave soon so she could regain her composure.

“Where are you rushing off to so early this morning?” he asked instead, leaning a hip and lounging against the doorframe.

She sprayed in conditioner and brushed it through before answering. “Pacific View Middle School. I’m doing an appearance for Mr. Holland’s Opus.”

“That’s a great charity,” he said.

“How do you know about them?” she asked with a quick glance in his direction.

“I benefited from the program growing up on Seattle’s Southside. It’s a pretty poor neighborhood.”

“It’s good to hear firsthand that it works,” she said with a soft smile.

“Mind if I go with you?” he asked. “The Tempest bus doesn’t leave for a couple of hours, and I’d like to help too, if I can.”

“I don’t know if that would be such a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“It might start more rumors.”

“So what. Let ‘em make up stuff,” he said defiantly. “Besides you really seem like you could use a friend right now.”