Love Resolution (Black Cat Records series) (28 page)

“No,” he admitted, voice and eyes soft with sincerity. As if anyone else would interest him. “There’s been no one but you.”

She let out a long breath.

He reached for her, but she stepped back away from him. “I’m sorry, Avery,” he apologized, his tone pleading for her to understand. “At the time I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“Well, you thought wrong.” Her beautiful green eyes burned with anger, all of it directed at him. She stared at him for a long time, and even though he braced for it, her next words leveled him.

“But congratulations.” She laughed bitterly. “You’ve got what you wanted.”

She turned her back on him and even though she was only a couple inches away, he realized she’d never been further out of his reach.

Without looking at him, she continued. “In my life I’ve been let down by a lot of people that I loved. But you trump them all, just so you know. It’s past time that I grew up, stopped believing in fairy tales and started looking out for myself.” Her voice broke. “I suppose I should thank you really,” she said sarcastically.

He could see her shoulders shaking as she sobbed. “Avery,” he groaned, taking a step toward her.

“Stay away from me.” She faced him. Her lips pressed together and waved him away. “I don’t want you anymore, and I certainly don’t need you.”

He closed his eyes tightly. He could hear her walking away, walking out of his life. When he finally opened them again, she was gone.

“Holy shit, Marcus.” His brother shook his head incredulously.

“Leave me alone, Dwight.”

“Whoa, dude!” JR exclaimed, jumping down from the drum riser, voice jarring in the shocking aftermath. “That’s jacked up, even for you.”

“JR,” Dwight cautioned, glaring at him.

“It is. Tell him the truth, man.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Dwight bit out over his shoulder.

“Safe to say rehearsal’s over, huh?” As JR walked away, he muttered, “Maybe l should make a preemptive call to Alex, see if he’s still in the market for another drummer.”

Dwight fixed Marcus with a measured look. “JR’s right, you know.” His brother’s brow was creased. “What’s going on with you?” He studied Marcus for a moment. “You using again?”

“Hell no, Dwight.”

“Thank God for that. How are things going with the shrink?”

“I don’t have time for this.” Marcus tried to walk around him.

“You gotta give me more than that, little brother.” Dwight’s hand shot out, fingers gripping and digging into his shoulder. “You’ve got me real worried here.”

“We’re working through some things.” He gave a self-deprecating smile. “Apparently she likes a challenge.”

“What are you going to do about Avery?” he asked.

“What can I do?” Marcus replied. “She’s moved on. You heard her.”

“I don’t know, Marcus,” Dwight said skeptically. “I wouldn’t jump to conclusions. There’s been enough of that already.” His expression became thoughtful.

While Marcus pondered that, Dwight continued, “She sure was keyed up for someone who’s
moved on
.” He rubbed his jaw. “Little brother, if I were you I’d decide right away what I wanted. Don’t underestimate the competition. If you want her back, you’re going to have to lay it all on the line.”

With her shoulders back and her head held high, flanked by Trevor and Ray, Avery made her way down the busy corridor at the arena. The five inch platform heels of her black leather boots clacked against the wooden floor boards as they entered the backstage area. She heard the low murmur of the crowd mingled with the recorded music piped in over the sound system. The road crew scurried back and forth wheeling in equipment to change over from Tempest’s simple set up to Brutal Strength’s more elaborate one.

“Fuck me.” War stopped in his tracks when he saw her. His brows disappeared beneath his red bandana headband. Reeking of booze, he stumbled closer.

Ray stepped protectively between them.

“It’s ok, big guy. I’m not gonna hurt her.” War chuckled, peering around the burly bodyguard. “Bullet see you in that getup yet?” he asked her.

Avery shook her head.

“Ha! I wanna be there when he does. Your new look is right up his alley.” He hooked his arm around the groupie beside him. “Come on, babe. Let’s go find Jackson.”

Trevor’s cell rang. “Barnes,” he barked. “Yes, we’re here.” He glanced over at her before pocketing the phone. “C’mon, Avery. He’s starting to use profanity.”

“Holy shit!” JR exclaimed when they rounded the corner.

Dwight turned, his blue eyes immediately widening. “Bro.” He slapped his brother on the shoulder.

“What the hell…” Marcus trailed off. His eyes met hers briefly before they slid slowly down her body and back up again for a more thorough examination.

She’d expected that the skintight black leather skirt slit to the thigh and the midriff baring bustier would make him angry, but apparently it was also eliciting another response. One she hadn’t counted on. Her body tingled as he caressed her with his gaze.

“John, can I have my Ibanez, please?” she asked.

Her guitar tech, mouth agape, handed over her guitar.

Leather and silver bracelets slid down her left arm as she threw the strap over her shoulder and clipped it on. She moved past Marcus without another word. Poised just offstage, she listened as Trevor introduced the band. Being late had been another calculated move on her part. She’d wanted to send him a message that from now on she’d do as she pleased.

“Avery.”

She felt his warm hard body slide in behind her. Her breath caught.

“You look like a hooker,” he breathed, stirring one of the styled curls near her neck.

“You would know,” she said acidly.

“Every man in that audience is only gonna have one thing on his mind, and it won’t have anything to do with how well you play that guitar.”

She turned to find his blue eyes blazing with anger.

“Is that really the kind of attention you’re looking for?” He stalked out past her, onto the stage, the bright lights illuminating his taut body, his hand up in the air waving to the crowd.

Brutal Strength launched aggressively into the set. Marcus hammered out power chords that she augmented with complex swirling riffs. Beyond the natural chemistry that they had always shared, an extra undercurrent of tension swirled between them tonight.

Six feet plus of threat and intimidation, Marcus prowled around the stage always watching her, always close. Every brush against her seemed calculated.

Trying to remain focused, her guitar balanced on her knee, she bent her head down and dug in on a spotlighted solo. Suddenly, she felt his body behind her and his lips on the bared skin between her neck and shoulder.
Shit
. Though she covered up brilliantly, he’d made her flub it.

On edge, her stomach fluttered uncontrollably with nerves after that. She rushed all the way through the next song. At the end, she lifted her head just in time to catch a lewd hand gesture from a man in the front row.

Is that really the kind of attention you’re looking for?

Marcus was right. Damn him. She could feel his eyes on her even now.

After JR punctuated the last number with a frenetic flurry, Avery let out a pent up breath. Marcus thanked the audience and headed off stage.

JR hopped down from the riser and crossed to her, grabbing her elbow before she made it to the center mic. “You sure you still want to do this encore thing? Don’t you think you’ve already got him angry enough?”

She shook her head, her jaw tight.

“Ok. It’s your funeral,” he warned. “I’ll grab Dwight.”

“Hey Phoenix.” She tapped the center mic. “You want another one?”

The crowd roared in response. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Marcus spin back around.

“Ok. Ok. You asked for it. Here goes Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Oh, Well,’” she said, turning her head to look at him. “And Marcus,
honey.
This one’s for you.”

He scowled, digging his hands deep into his pockets, every line in his body tense as she strutted toward him. Her fingers picked out the instantly recognizable opening chords, her rebellious eyes meeting his displeased ones.

When Dwight’s bass and JR’s drums joined her, she turned dismissively away from him, flicking her hair back over her shoulder. Back at center mic, she sent him the sarcastic message, singing the defiant lyrics while sassily swaying and undulating her hips to the rhythm. Her fingers flew over her guitar during the raucous, extended instrumental portions.

As the crowd cheered their approval, she popped off her strap, guitar neck held in one hand as she strutted by Marcus, who hadn’t moved a muscle during the entire performance.

“Whoa, Red!” Bryan exclaimed, extinguishing a cigarette under his booted heel. “Smokin’!”

She acknowledged his compliment with a nod while handing her Ibanez to the tech.

Bryan closed the distance between them, grabbed her by the hips and pulled her into him. “The cover wasn’t half bad either.” He grinned.

She stiffened at first, but when she noticed Marcus watching, she covered Bryan’s hands with her own and moved them down to her ass. Then she placed her hands behind his head, brought his lips down to hers, closed her eyes, and pressed her tongue into his mouth.

She felt a breeze of cold air lift her hair as someone blew past her.

“He’s gone now.” Bryan broke off the kiss and stared down at her. “That wasn’t nice, Red.” His expression was a blend of hurt and anger. “If I want to be used, I’ll just go back to my girls. At least with them, it’s upfront and honest.”

She stood there stiffly, shame darkening her cheeks.

“Now.” He paused, pulling a rumpled cigarette pack out of his jeans pocket, his brows drawn down over glittering grey green eyes. “If you want to try that again,
without
an audience.” He shook out a cigarette and lit it. “Come find me. I’ll more than make it worth your while.”

The meet and greet back at the hotel was torture. Everyone gave her a wide berth, Bryan and Marcus both staring daggers at her. She kept glancing at her watch. After she’d been there the mandatory amount of time, she slunk out.

The evening had not gone the way she’d envisioned. Far from feeling triumphant, she felt like the biggest loser. Payback had been bitter instead of sweet. She inserted her key card and rode the elevator up to their reserved floor. A couple of roadies gave her wary glances as she passed them in the hall. Yeah, it’d been a shitty day.

When she stepped inside her room and fumbled for the light switch, she suddenly found herself flattened against the wall, arms pinned at her sides.

“That was quite a performance tonight, Ace.” Marcus’ eyes glittered, reflecting the city lights framed by the open curtains out her window.

She swallowed nervously as he stared down at her.

He pressed tighter into her, rocking his hips against hers.

She moaned. Even as hurt and angry as she was, she wanted him and he felt so good.

“You moan for the boy like that?” he asked, his voice a low arrogant rumble.

She yanked her hand loose and slapped him across the cheek. Her eyes darted away and he gripped her chin turning her back to face him. His expression shadowed and possessive, he gazed down at her.

“I suppose I deserved that.” He closed his eyes. When he reopened them, his expression was softer. “I fucked up, Avery. I fucked up real bad. I know just telling you how sorry I am isn’t going to be enough. I realize I’ll have to prove it to you, and I will. But for now I just need to be with you.” He lowered his head, sculpted lips touching hers and moving earnestly against them.

A momentary resistance was all she managed before melting into him. “Marcus,” she breathed against his lips.

He pressed his advantage, his tongue slipping inside her mouth and plundering it. Her heart thundered and her will completely collapsed. She had committed this to memory, but the exquisite reality of it was so much...

Wetter.

Hotter.

Better.

She grabbed his shirt and pulled him tighter, matching him stroke for stroke, tasting his mouth, teasing his tongue, tracing his teeth.