Once More With Feeling (3 page)

Raven twirled once around the room, pleased with herself for no specific reason. I'm happy, she thought, just happy to be alive.

Grabbing a rose from a china vase, she began to sing as she walked down the hall. It was the sight of Julie's long, narrow bare feet propped up on the desk in the library that stopped her.

Raven hesitated, seeing Julie was on the phone, but was quickly gestured inside.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Cummings, but Ms. Williams has a strict policy against endorsements. Yes, I'm sure it's a marvelous product.” Julie lifted her eyes from her pink-tinted toenails and met Raven's amused grin. She rolled her eyes to the ceiling, and Raven settled cross-legged in an overstuffed leather chair. The library, with its warm, mahogany paneling and stately furnishings, was Julie's domain. And, Raven thought, snuggling down more comfortably, it suited her.

“Of course, I'll see she gets your offer, but I warn you, Ms. Williams takes a firm stand on this.” With one last exasperated glance at the ceiling, Julie hung up. “If you didn't insist on being nice to everybody who calls you, I could have thought of a few different words for that one,” Julie snapped.

“Trouble?” Raven asked, sniffing her rose and smiling.

“Get smart and I'll tell him you'll be thrilled to endorse his Earth Bubble Shampoo.” She laced her fingers behind her head as she made the threat.

“Mercy,” Raven pleaded, then kicked off her elegant, orchid-toned shoes. “You look tired,” she said, watching Julie stretch her back muscles. “Been busy?”

“Just last-minute nonsense to clear things for the tour.” A shrug dismissed the complications she had handled. “I never did ask you how the recording went. It's finished, isn't it?”

“Yeah.” Raven took a deep breath and twirled her rose by the stem. “It went perfectly. I haven't been happier with a session since the first one. Something just clicked.”

“You worked hard enough on the material,” Julie remarked, thinking of the endless nights Raven had spent writing and arranging.

“Sometimes I still can't believe it.” She spoke softly, the words hardly more than thoughts. “I listen to a playback, and it's all there, the strings, the brass, the rhythm and backups, and I can't believe it's me. I've been so incredibly lucky”

“Talented,” Julie corrected.

“Lots of people have talent,” Raven reminded her. “But they're not sitting here. They're still in some dreary piano bar, waiting. Without luck, they're never going to be anywhere else.”

“There are also things like drive, perseverance, guts.” Raven's persistent lack of self-confidence infuriated Julie. She'd been with her almost from the beginning of Raven's start in California six years before. She'd seen the struggles and the disappointments. She knew about the fears, insecurities and work behind the glamour. There was nothing about Raven Williams that Julie didn't know.

The phone interrupted her thoughts on a lecture on self-worth. “It's your private line,” she said as she pressed the button. “Hello.” Raven tensed but relaxed when she saw Julie smile. “Hi, Henderson. Yes, she's right here, hold on. Your illustrious agent,” Julie stated as she rose. She slipped her feet back into her sandals. Raven got up from her chair just as the doorbell chimed.

“I guess that's Brandon.” With admirable ease, she flopped into the chair that Julie had just vacated. “Would you tell him I'll be along in a minute?”

“Sure.” Julie turned and left as Raven's voice followed her down the hall.

“I left it where? In your office? Henderson, I don't know why I ever bother carrying a purse.”

Julie smiled. Raven had a penchant for losing things: her purse, her shoes, her passport. Vital or trivial, it simply didn't matter. Music and people filled Raven's thoughts, and material objects were easily forgotten.

“Hello, Brand,” Julie said as she opened the front door. “Nice to see you again.” Her eyes were cool, and her mouth formed no smile.

“Hello, Julie.”

There was warmth in his greeting. She sensed it and ignored it. “Come in,” she invited. “Raven's expecting you; she'll be right out.”

“It's good to be here again. I've missed this place.”

“Have you?” Her tone was sharp.

His grin turned into a look of appraisal. Julie was a long-stemmed woman with a sleek cap of honey-blond hair and direct brown eyes. She was closer to Brand's age than Raven's and was the sort of woman he was usually attracted to: smart, sophisticated and coolly sexy. Yet, there could never have been anything between them but friendship. She was too fiercely devoted to Raven. Her loyalty, he saw, was unchanged.

“Five years is a long time, Julie.”

“I'm not sure it's long enough,” she countered. Old resentments came simmering back to the surface. “You hurt her.”

“Yes, I know.” His gaze didn't falter at the confession, and there was no plea for understanding in his eyes. The lack of it touched off respect in Julie, but she dismissed it. She shook her head as she looked at him.

“So,” she said softly, “you've come back.”

“I've come back,” he agreed, then smiled. “Did you think I wouldn't?”

“She didn't,” Julie retorted, annoyed with herself for warming to him. “That's what matters.”

“Julie, Henderson's sending over my purse.” Raven came down the hall toward them in her quick, nervous stride. “I told him not to bother; I don't think there's anything in it but a comb and an expired credit card. Hello, Brandon.” She offered her hands as she had at the recording studio, but now she felt more able to accept his touch.

She hadn't bothered to put her shoes back on or to repaint her mouth. Her smile was freer, more as he remembered it. “Raven.” Brand brought her hands to his lips. Instantly she stiffened, and Brand released her. “Can we talk in the music room?” His smile was easy, friendly. “I was always comfortable in there.”

“Of course.” She turned toward the doorway. “Would you like something to drink?”

“I'd have some tea.” He gave Julie his quick, charming grin. “You always made a good cup of tea.”

“I'll bring it in.” Without responding to the grin, Julie moved down the hall toward the kitchen. Brand followed Raven into the music room.

He touched her shoulder before she could cross to the sofa. It was a gesture that asked her to wait. Turning her head, Raven saw that he was giving the room one of his long, detailed studies. She had seen that look on his face before. It was a curious aspect of what seemed like a casual nature. There was an intensity about him at times that recalled the tough London street kid who'd once fought his way to the top of his profession. The key to his talent seemed to be in his natural gift for observation. He saw everything, remembered everything. Then he translated it into lyric and melody.

The fingers on her shoulder caressed once, almost absently, and brought back a flood of memories. Raven would have moved away, but he dropped the hand and turned to her. She had never been able to resist his eyes.

“I remember every detail of this room. I've pictured it from time to time when I couldn't do anything but think of you.” He lifted his hand again to brush the back of it against her cheek.

“Don't.” She shook her head and stepped away.

“It's difficult not to touch you, Raven. Especially here. Do you remember the long evenings we spent here? The quiet afternoons?”

He was moving her—with just his voice, just the steady spell of his eyes. “It was a long time ago, Brandon.”

“It doesn't seem so long ago at the moment. It could be yesterday; you look the same.”

“I'm not,” she told him with a slight shake of her head. He saw her eyes darken before she turned away. “If I had known this was why you wanted to see me, I wouldn't have let you come. It's over, Brandon. It's been over for a long time.”

“Is it?” Raven hadn't realized he was so close behind her. He turned her in his arms and caught her. “Show me, then,” he demanded. “Just once.”

The moment his mouth touched hers, she was thrown back in time. It was all there—the heat, the need, the loving. His lips were so soft, so warm; hers parted with only the slightest pressure. She knew how he would taste, how he would smell. Her memory was sharper than she had thought. Nothing was forgotten.

He tangled his fingers in the thickness of her hair, tilting her head further back as he deepened the kiss. He wanted to luxuriate in her flavor, in her scent, in her soft, yielding response. Her hands were trapped between their bodies, and she curled her fingers into the sweater he wore. The need, the longing, seemed much too fresh to have been dormant for five years. Brand held her close but without urgency. There was a quiet kind of certainty in the way he explored her mouth. Raven responded, giving, accepting, remembering. But when she felt the pleasure drifting toward passion, she resisted. When she struggled, he loosened his hold but didn't release her. Raven stared up at him with a look he well remembered but had never been able to completely decipher.

“It doesn't seem it's altogether finished after all,” he murmured.

“You never did play fair, did you?” Raven pushed out of his arms, furious and shaken. “Let me tell you something, Brandon. I won't fall at your feet this time. You hurt me before, but I don't bruise so easily now. I have no intention of letting you back into my life.”

“I think you will,” he corrected easily. “But perhaps not in the way you mean.” He paused and caught her hair with his fingers. “I can apologize for kissing you, Raven, if you'd like me to lie.”

“Don't bother. You've always been good at romance. I rather enjoyed it.” She sat down on the sofa and smiled brightly up at him.

He lifted a brow. It was hardly the response he had expected. He drew out a cigarette and lit it. “You seem to have grown up in my absence.”

“Being an adult has its advantages,” Raven observed. The kiss had stirred more than she cared to admit, even to herself.

“I always found your naiveté charming.”

“It's difficult to remain naive, however charming, in this business.” She leaned back against the cushion, relaxing deliberately. “I'm not wide-eyed and twenty anymore, Brandon.”

“Tough and jaded are you, Raven?”

“Tough enough,” she returned. “You gave me my first lesson!”

He took a deep drag on his cigarette, then considered the glowing tip of it. “Maybe I did,” he murmured. “Maybe you needed it.”

“Maybe you'd like me to thank you,” she tossed back, and he looked over at her again.

“Perhaps.” He walked over, then dropped down beside her on the sofa. His laugh was sudden and unexpected. “Good God, Raven, you've never had this bloody spring fixed.”

The tension in her neck fled as she laughed with him. “I like it that way.” She tossed her hair behind her back. “It's more personal.”

“To say nothing of uncomfortable.”

“I never sit on that spot,” she told him.

“You leave it for unsuspecting guests, I imagine.” He shifted away from the defective spring.

“That's right. I like people to feel at home.”

Julie brought in a tea tray and found them sitting companionably on the sofa. Her quick, practiced glance found no tension on Raven's face. Satisfied, she left them again.

“How've you been, Brandon? Busy, I imagine.” Raven crossed her legs under her and leaned over to pour the tea. It was a move Brandon had seen many times. Almost savagely, he crushed out his cigarette.

“Busy enough.” He understated the five albums he had released since she'd last seen him and the three grueling concert tours. There'd been more than twenty songs with his name on the copyright in the past year.

“You've been living in London?”

“Mostly.” His brow lifted, and she caught the gesture as she handed him his tea.

“I read the trades,” she said mildly. “Don't we all?”

“I saw your television special last month.” He sipped his tea and relaxed against the back of the sofa. His eyes were on her, and she thought them a bit more green than blue now. “You were marvelous.”

“Last month?” She frowned at him, puzzled. “It wasn't aired in England, was it?”

“I was in New York. Did you write all the songs for the album you finished up yesterday?”

“All but two.” Shrugging, she took up her own china cup. “Marc wrote ‘Right Now' and ‘Coming Back.' He's got the touch.”

“Yes.” Brand eyed her steadily. “Does he have you, too?” Raven's head whipped around. “I read the trades,” he said mildly.

“That comes under a more personal heading.” Her eyes were dark with anger.

“More bluntly stated, none of my business?” he asked, sipping again.

“You were always bright, Brandon.”

“Thanks, love.” He set down his cup. “But my question was professional. I need to know if you have any entanglements at the moment.”

“Entanglements are usually personal. Ask me about my dancing lessons.”

“Later, perhaps. Raven, I need your undivided devotion for the next three months.” His smile was engaging. Raven fought his charm.

“Well,” she said and set her cup beside his. “That's bluntly stated.”

“No indecent proposal at the moment,” he assured her. Settling back in the hook of the sofa's arm, he sought her eyes. “I'm doing the score for
Fantasy.
I need a partner.”

Chapter 3

T
o say she was surprised would have been a ridiculous understatement. Brand watched her eyes widen. He thought they were the color of peat smoke. She didn't move but simply stared at him, her hands resting lightly on her knees. Her thoughts had been flung in a thousand different directions, and she was trying to sit calmly and bring them back to order.

Fantasy.
The book that had captured America's heart. A novel that had been on the bestseller list for more than fifty weeks. The sale of its paperback rights had broken all records. The film rights had been purchased as well, and Carol Mason, the author, had written the screenplay herself. It was to be a musical;
the
musical of the nineties. Speculation had been buzzing for months on both coasts as to who would write the score. It would be the coup of the decade, the chance of a lifetime. The plot was a dream, and the reigning box-office queen had the lead. And the music . . . Raven already had half-formed songs in her head. Carefully she reached back and poured more tea. Things like this don't just fall in your lap, she reminded herself. Perhaps he means something entirely different.

“You're going to score
Fantasy,
” she said at length, cautiously. Her eyes met his again. His were clear, confident, a little puzzled. “I just heard that Lauren Chase had been signed. Everywhere I go, people are wondering who's going to play Tessa, who's going to play Joe.”

“Jack Ladd,” Brand supplied, and the puzzlement in Raven's eyes changed to pure pleasure.

“Perfect!” She reached over to take his hands. “You're going to have a tremendous hit. I'm very happy for you.”

And she was. He could see as well as hear the absolute sincerity. It was typical of her to gain genuine pleasure from someone else's good fortune, just as it was typical of her to suffer for someone else's misfortune. Raven's feelings ran deep, and he knew she'd never been afraid to show emotion. Her unaffectedness had always been a great part of her appeal. For the moment, she had forgotten to be cautious with Brand. She smiled at him as she held his hands.

“So that's why you're in California,” she said. “Have you already started?”

“No.” He seemed to consider something for a moment, then his fingers interlaced with hers. Her hands were narrow-boned and slender, with palms as soft as a child's. “Raven, I meant what I said. I need a partner. I need you.”

She started to remove her hands from his, but he tightened his fingers. “I've never known you to need anyone, Brandon,” she said, not quite succeeding in making her tone light. “Least of all me.”

His grip tightened quickly, causing Raven's eyes to widen at the unexpected pain. Just as quickly, he released her. “This is business, Raven.”

She lifted a brow at the temper in his voice. “Business is usually handled through my agent,” she said. “You remember Henderson.”

He gave her a long, steady look. “I remember everything.” He saw the flash of hurt in her eyes, swiftly controlled. “Raven,” his tone was gentler how. “I'm sorry.”

She shrugged and gave her attention back to her tea. “Old wounds, Brandon. It does seem to me that if there was a legitimate offer, Henderson would have gotten wind of it.”

“There's been an offer,” Brand told her. “I asked him to let me speak to you first.”

“Oh?” Her hair had drifted down, curtaining her face, and she flipped it behind her back. “Why?”

“Because I thought that if you knew we'd be working together, you'd turn it down.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “You're right.”

“And that,” he said without missing a beat, “would be incredibly soft-headed. Henderson knows that as well as I do.”

“Oh, does he?” Raven rose, furious. “Isn't it marvelous the way people determine my life? Did you two decide I was too feeble-brained to make this decision on my own?”

“Not exactly.” Brand's voice was cool. “We did agree that left to yourself, you have a tendency to be emotional rather than sensible.”

“Terrific. Do I get a leash and collar for Christmas?”

“Don't be an idiot,” Brand advised.

“Oh, so now I'm an idiot?” Raven turned away to pace the room. She had the same quicksilver temper he remembered. She was all motion, all energy. “I don't know how I've managed all this time without your pretty compliments, Brandon.” She whirled back to him. “Why in the world would you want an emotional idiot as a collaborator?”

“Because,” Brandon said and rose, “you're a hell of a writer. Now shut up.”

“Of course,” she said, seating herself on the piano bench. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Deliberately he took out another cigarette, lit it and blew out a stream of smoke, all the while his eyes resting on her face. “This is an important project, Raven,” he said. “Let's not blow it. Because we were once very close, I wanted to talk to you face-to-face, not through a mediator, not through a bloody telephone wire. Can you understand that?”

She waited a long moment before answering. “Maybe.”

Brand smiled and moved over to her. “We'll add stubborn to those adjectives later, but I don't want you mad again.”

“Then let me ask you something before you say anything I'll have to get mad about.” Raven tilted her head and studied his face. “First, why do you want a collaborator on this? Why share the glory?”

“It's also a matter of sharing the work, love. Fifteen songs.”

She nodded. “All right, number two, then. Why me, Brandon? Why not someone who's scored a musical before?”

He answered her by walking around her and slipping down on the piano bench beside her. Without speaking, he began to play. The notes flooded the room like ghosts. “Remember this?” he murmured, glancing over and into her eyes.

Raven didn't have to answer. She rose and walked away. It was too difficult to sit beside him at the same piano where they had composed the song he now played. She remembered how they had laughed, how warm his eyes had been, how safe she had felt in his arms. It was the first and only song they had written and recorded together.

Even after he had stopped playing, she continued to prowl the room. “What does ‘Clouds and Rain' have to do with anything?” she demanded. He had touched a chord in her; he heard it in the tone of her voice. He felt a pang of guilt at having intentionally peeled away a layer of her defense.

“There's a Grammy over there and a gold record, thanks to that two minutes and forty-three seconds, Raven. We work well together.”

She turned back to look at him. “We did once.”

“We will again.” Brand stood and came to her but this time made no move to touch her. “Raven, you know how important this could be to your career. And you must realize what you'd be bringing to the project.
Fantasy
needs your special talents.”

She wanted it. She could hardly believe that something she wanted so badly was being offered to her. But how would it be to work with him again, to be in constant close contact? Would she be able to deal with it? Would she be sacrificing her personal sanity for professional gain? But I don't love him anymore, she reminded herself. Raven caught her bottom lip between her teeth in a gesture of indecision. Brand saw it.

“Raven, think of the music.”

“I am,” she admitted. “I'm also thinking of you—of us.” She gave him a clear, candid look. “I'm not sure it would be healthy for me.”

“I can't promise not to touch you.” He was annoyed, and his voice reflected it in its crisp, concise tone. “But I can promise not to push myself on you. Is that good enough?”

Raven evaded the question. “If I agreed, when would we start? I've a tour coming up.”

“I know, in two weeks. You'll be finished in six, so we could start the first week in May.”

“I see.” Her mouth turned up a bit as she combed her fingers through her hair. “You've looked into this thoroughly.”

“I told you, its business.”

“All right, Brandon,” she said, conceding his point. “Where would we work? Not here,” she said quickly. There was a sudden pressure in her chest. “I won't work with you here.”

“No, I thought not. I have a place,” he continued when Raven remained silent. “It's in Cornwall.”

“Cornwall?” Raven repeated. “Why Cornwall?”

“Because it's quiet and isolated, and no one, especially the press, knows I have it. They'll be all over us when they hear we're working together, especially on this project. It's too hot an item.”

“Couldn't we just rent a small cave on the coast somewhere?”

He laughed and caught her hair in his hand. “You know how poor the acoustics are in a cave. Cornwall's incredible in the spring, Raven. Come with me.”

She lifted a hand to his chest to push back, not certain if she was about to agree or decline. He could still draw too much from her too effortlessly. She needed to think, she decided; a few days to put it all in perspective.

“Raven.”

She turned to see Julie in the doorway. “Yes?”

“There's a call for you.”

Vaguely annoyed, Raven frowned at her. “Can't it wait, Julie? I . . .”

“It's on your private line.”

Brand felt her stiffen and looked down curiously. Her eyes were completely blank.

“I see.” Her voice was calm, but he detected the faintest of tremors.

“Raven?” Without thinking, he took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” She drew out of his arms. There was something remote about her now, something distant that puzzled him. “Have some more tea,” she invited and smiled, but her eyes remained blank. “I'll be back in a minute.”

She was gone for more than ten, and Brand had begun to pace restlessly through the room. Raven was definitely no longer the malleable young girl she had been five years before; he knew that. He wasn't at all certain she would agree to work with him. He wanted her—for the project and yes, for himself. Holding her, tasting her again, had stirred up much more than memories. She fascinated him and always had. Even when she had been so young, there had been an air of secrecy about her. There still was. It was as if she kept certain parts of herself locked in a closet out of reach. She had held him off five years before in more than a physical sense. It had frustrated him then and continued to frustrate him.

But he was older, too. He'd made mistakes with her before and had no intention of repeating them. Brand knew what he wanted and was determined to get it. Sitting back at the piano, he began to play the song he had written with Raven. He remembered her voice, warm and sultry, in his ear. He was nearly at the end when he sensed her presence.

Glancing up, Brand saw her standing in the doorway. Her eyes were unusually dark and intense. Then he realized it was because she was pale, and the contrast accentuated the gray of her irises. Had the song disturbed her that much? He stopped immediately and rose to go to her.

“Raven . . .”

“I've decided to do it,” she interrupted. Her hands were folded neatly in front of her, her eyes direct.

“Good.” He took her hands and found it chilled. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, of course.” She removed her hands from his, but her gaze never faltered. “I suppose Henderson will fill me in on all the details.”

Something about her calm disturbed him. It was as if she'd set part of herself aside. “Let's have dinner, Raven.” The urge to be with her, to pierce her armor, was almost overwhelming. “I'll take you to the Bistro; you always liked it there.”

“Not tonight, Brandon, I . . . have some things to do.”

“Tomorrow,” he insisted, knowing he was pushing but unable to prevent himself. She looked suddenly weary.

“Yes, all right, tomorrow.” She gave him a tired smile. “I'm sorry, but I'll have to ask you to leave now, Brandon. I didn't realize how late it was.”

“All right.” Bending toward her, he gently kissed her. It was an instinctive gesture, one that demanded no response. He felt the need to warm her, protect her. “Seven tomorrow,” he told her. “I'm at the Bel-Air; you only have to call me.”

Raven waited until she heard the front door shut behind her. She pressed the heel of her hand to her brow and let the tide of emotions rush through her. There were no tears, but a blinding headache raged behind her eyes. She felt Julie's hand on her shoulder.

“They found her?” Julie asked, concerned. Automatically she began kneading the tension from Raven's shoulders.

“Yes, they found her.” She let out a long, deep breath. “She's coming back.”