Reckless Love: A Billionaire Baby Steamy Fantasy Multicultural Love Story Rockstar Romance (10 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Origin of Species

"What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck is wrong with you!" screamed Leo into the mic. His hair was flying, face dripping sweat. It was the last rehearsal they had, though the first one in the first stadium before the tour started. "Motherfucking soul-sucking stop-yer-crying now!"
The lyrics were helping. And Leo was starting to get excited, to anticipate the hordes of screaming girls reaching for him any time he neared the front of the stage. He loved to tease them, to dangle a hand across them as he ran the length of the stage. This tour they had gone all out, with two stages and a catwalk between them, and a huge screen projecting their image along the catwalk. It had been borrowed from U2, and according to them it was going to really add to the audience experience, as well as likely Leo's own megalomania.
A small part of him wondered, Is Jasmine going to come to our show?" He strutted, playing with the mic stand, imagining her big brown eyes on him. Her full lips. Her tits. Her sweet hand reaching for his cock, tightening around it.
"You'll never be what I am, never know what I know!" he sang, drawing the backs of his fingernails down his body dramatically, head back, legs apart. Colin was stomping around to his right, while Nigel's guitar was held erect, his fingers flying, coaxing out the growl and scream of the solo.
The song ended with a crash of the drums and they stood, looking at each other with pride.
"That was brilliant!" said Nigel, happily. "This is going to be a fucking awesome show."
"I can't wait to see my face on that screen," Riff smiled.
Reg piped up from behind the drums. "Fuck yeah." Aside from the drumming, he was usually so quiet, that they all looked at him strangely.
"Well it's got Reg's approval," smirked Leo. "But seriously, you guys were right. From now on, no more distractions. We sound better than ever, Reckless Love is climbing the charts, and tour sales are through the roof. I don't need anyone except the band."
"I do." Nigel was comically adamant. He drew himself up to his full height – about five foot seven. "I need a pile of fucking groupies with their laughing-gear wrapped around my tallywhacker."
"And that can be arranged!" It was Graham, laughing. "As usual. Just tell me what you want, and it will be done!"
A pang hit Leo in the stomach. Shit. How was he going to get through that. The groupies. Because despite his protestations, his brave face, he knew that things were different for him. He hadn't been able to get hard without thinking of Jasmine since that night. And he'd lost his taste for the masses. But would the group understand?
"Yeah, get a few extra for Leo," said Riff. "He's been mooning over some bird and we need to help him get over it."
"Dirty ones, too," Nigel added. "Ones that are up for anything."
"Shouldn't be a problem," Graham grinned. "Why else be in a rock band after all? Your music isn't that good!"
They laughed and broke for lunch, though Leo wasn't sure if he'd be able to eat. He'd lost weight as it was, which wasn't a bad thing to a point. His abs looked washboard, and his jeans hugged every sleek, lengthy, muscular plane of his body. But if he were to lose any more weight, he knew it would start to show in a negative way. He might lose muscle. And the boys would comment.
As it was now, he just said he was trying to tighten up for the tour, and the weight loss went by without too much comment - only Riff said that he should take a page out of his book.
The loss looked great in photos as well - he looked tougher, more muscular. Sexier. The tabloids were having a field day with it, his picture turning up with regularity on covers and insides. There was even a picture of him with Jasmine on the day they went to London in one of the rags. He had carefully cut it out and stashed it in his wallet, unfolding it every now and then when he was feeling particularly weak. But aside from the wave of speculation that sprang up about their status, luckily for him they had let it go fairly quickly when they hadn't been seen together again.
He never thought that
not
being focused on in the tabloids would be a source of sadness for him, but there it was. He almost wished that they were hounding him because he was 'canoodling' or however they put it, with a young black American girl, speculating on where it was going, whether there was a bump or if there would be a ring any time soon. Anything. Any news of Jasmine would make him happy.
Was she even thinking of him? He wondered.
This is stupid.
Focus, Leo. Fuck us Leo. Fuck us, Leo, the girls would be saying.
Perhaps he should just lose himself, like he always had, with drugs, drink, and girls. Sex, drugs and rock and roll was the name of the game in his business and it had always served him well.
Yes, perhaps he would allow Graham to bring someone to the room tonight. Just to see how it went. Maybe even two girls. Unbidden, a picture came into his mind of two Jasmines, but he quickly dismissed it. He didn't even know what to do with one Jasmine. She was altogether to threatening. No, bring a couple of nameless bimbos. That might be enough for him to forget her. And a bucket of Jack Daniels to go with it.

There was a palpable tension in the green room before the show. It was a good tension, a positive tension: the kind of tension that meant that the show was going to be full of energy. Nothing was worse than an opening show where the band wasn't excited about the concert.
Nigel was running around punching the air wildly, yelling out martial arts cries as he did so, barely missing certain valuable objects in the room, such as a Riff's face, for one.
"Piss off, you bugger," he said swatting Nigel away. But he had a smile on his face. "Why aren't practicing your chords, you should be practicing."
"I practiced all night, when you were asleep!" He continued to punch the air. "But I have to practice my fisticuffs, just in case Leo takes a swing at me again!" He grinned at Leo. "It's all in good fun mate, don't hit me!"
"I won't, I won't – as long as you behave!" Leo was doing deep knee bends, working in his skinny jeans to just the right amount of play. In a few minutes the makeup artist would be there, but for now the men's faces were the faces they had as boys, at least a little. Some of the innocence was left before the stage makeup went on. It wasn't overdone – just a little to look extra good in the monitors.
Reg was drumming on the back of a book, using it as a practice pad.
"Don't tire yourself out there," said Leo to both of them. "Save some of that energy for the show."
"We've got endless reserves of energy," scoffed Nigel. "It's you who has to worry, mooning around all day."
"Watch it, Nigel," said Colin. "You know how cranky he gets."
The door flew open, and Graham leaned in. "Are you lads ready? The show's supposed to start any minute. The opening band is just about finished, if you want to catch their last number from backstage." The band did as he said, grabbing their instruments and tumbling after him, as energetic as kittens, excited for the new American tour.

Leo hung back a little, gathering his energy. It was no easy feat to focus entire stadium on yourself, and make them feel as if they were you.
That was the trick, really. To get them to believe in their heart that it was just you and they. The ones who really understood each other. The cool ones.
Nigel looked back at him. "Hurry up mate, this band doesn't sound half bad." They listened to the last verse of their last song, before hearing the crowd erupt in applause, but then it was something else.
"Or-i-gin! Or-i-gin!" chanted the crowd as one, gaining more and more power with each repetition.
Leo stood backstage arms open, welcoming it all in. This is what it was all about. This moment.
This had to be better than anything. Didn't it?
Wasn't it?
 

CHAPTER THIRTY

The Quartet vs. Origin of Species in performance

The cellist was always the last to enter. Jasmine walked out on stage, trailing the two violinists and the violist. Her gown swooped behind her in a graceful gesture, as she settled herself on the artist bench. There was a buzz in the air, a sense of anticipation as the four women fine-tuned their instruments, and opened their music on the stands.
All eyes in the hall were on Carrie as she first held up her bow to the strings. With an almost imperceptible cue, she spurred the other musicians on to a rousing but perfectly controlled opening.

Jasmine fought to contain her excitement as well. She had to keep each note in the perfect range while still being alive and vital. Luckily for the quartet, the audience was listening so carefully, every nuance of their playing was audible, a true gift. When the audience listened like that, the hall was so silent – but the silence was anything but empty. It was expectant, it was caring, anticipating, waiting… It made it easy to pour all one’s passion, nuance, beauty into the rarefied atmosphere.

What was that they said?
thought Jasmine.
Silence is like a canvas for an artist? We paint with sound.

As the crowd screamed louder, Leo strutted out onto the stage, his arms still wide. They were eating it up. It was going perfectly. He could barely hear the other musicians. Nigel was yelling something to him – he could tell only because of the shape of his mouth, and the intensity of his eyes. In fact there was screaming as far as the eye could see, faces twisted in excitement, contorted in mid-shout, until he couldn’t make out any detail anymore. The individual appearances just became a sea of people.

The arena was huge – larger than anything they played in England, but rather typical for the states. That was one thing that made these American tours so exciting – the sheer amount of people who were desperate for you. If you could fill a theater like this, there was nothing you couldn’t do. Nothing.

He spun in the center of the stage, head back, as the crowd roared in approval, before he finally struck his first note. Thank heaven for the monitor in his ear that made sure he was relatively in tune – not that it mattered that much when you screamed.

In the silence, Jasmine ended the first piece harmonizing with her colleagues in the sheerest, finest way possible, doing a perfect and exquisite diminuendo, only a cell of one hair of her bow drawing the string as they finished. The audience was in complete silence for a full ten seconds as they finished, the unbroken stillness of the quartet looking at one another from under lowered eyelids. Then there was a burst of applause, held strongly for two minutes straight. They had done it – won over one of the most discerning audiences. The sound of the clapping was like the rush of a waterfall washing over Jasmine. Cleansing her. Washing away all the negativity from the last few weeks.

This was it. This was why she did it.

And it was better than love, wasn’t it?

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Jasmine and Leo

Birds were singing already. The dawn had come, but Jasmine was still awake from the night before. Something about their performance that night had been extra special - electric. The promoters were thrilled, looking to book them for the next season right away.
But there was something else flickering besides the first rays of the sun. It was her phone, beside her on the pillow. Jasmine picked it up.
"Just had our first concert of the US Tour. Had to tell you - was brill. Everything ok in UK?"
It didn't say who it was from but there was no question it was Leo. How had he gotten her number, she wondered? Regardless, after staring at the message for a minute, she put the phone down. Then picked it up again. Then put it down. Then picked it up and wrote:

"Congrats. We played last night too"
She sent, before she could think too much.
     How'd it go?
     Amazing - they want us back
     Gotta go, too much going on - will txt l8r
She put the phone down and a smile grew on her face. So he hadn't forgotten her after all.
Leo shoved the phone back in his pocket when Graham came bustling up to him.
"That was absolutely brilliant," he practically spat all the syllables at Leo in his enthusiasm. "You were bloody phenomenal. You really belong in an arena that size, my boy -"
"Only one big enough for his massive ego," quipped Nigel, coming up behind him. The boys clapped each other on the back. "Now was that a great show, or was that a fucking great show?"
"You've outdone yourselves, certainly," said Graham, and then, eyebrows waggling: "Now if you'll excuse me I have some groupies to wrangle."
Leo almost called after him to tell him not to bother, but when he saw Nigel's face, filled with anticipation and lust, he knew he couldn't. He'd have to just let whatever happened happen and roll with the punches. His plan to lose himself in groupies was shattered, when the only person he wanted to tell at the end of their triumphant concert was Jasmine.
And who knew if she'd even understand. She might be a musician, but it was so different for her. Still, she knew passion, power, the ability to hold an audience or not - they just had vastly different audiences in nearly every single way. But none of that mattered. What did matter is that she was the only one he had wanted, and needed to tell about the victory on American shores.
And she had texted back!
"Look mate, sorry if I spoke out of turn the other day," Nigel said, grabbing his arm. "I had no idea this girl was anything to you. You going to see her again?"
"I don't know," Leo turned to him and said. "I really don't know. But let's not worry about that right now, let's just enjoy the after party."
It was looking like it was going to be a good one. They could see celebrities milling about backstage - starlets, ingénues, even some established movie stars. It was the marker of success when other successful people wanted to be around you, to bask in your glow. It meant you'd made it.
Leo was just noticing how empty 'making it' was if there was nobody to share it with. He fingered the phone in his pocket before turning to a tall young blonde woman.
"What'd you say your name was?" Nigel was joshing. "Taylor?"