Rough Rhythm: A Made in Jersey Novella (1001 Dark Nights) (2 page)

Something new.
Anything
new. Lately, a voice had been chanting those words at the back of his skull. Louder,
louder
. He thought he’d found the solution to his restlessness this afternoon upon quitting his job as corporate council for a multimillion-dollar investment firm. But, no. It hadn’t. While it might have eased his ceaseless irritation knowing he wouldn’t be responsible for babysitting a bunch of pampered thieves in Armani suits come tomorrow morning, there was still a gnawing in his gut. A need to…
wake up
.

Fully aware that another pointless one-night stand couldn’t satisfy his growing hunger for a high he couldn’t name, here he was nonetheless. On his third whiskey in a place he could only describe as
obvious
, nursing hope so futile, he might as well ask for the check. But…maybe this time. Maybe tonight he would walk away satisfied from an encounter. Fulfilled even to the smallest degree.

A romantic or idealistic person might suggest James was searching for an emotional connection at the ripe old age of thirty-one. Someone he wanted to discuss current affairs with over bagels the morning after. Not so. He quite enjoyed his solitude, thank you very much. No, it was what took place between the sheets with a woman that left him hollow, and it was through no fault of theirs. This was
his
. He had a problem. And that same voice that chanted for him to chase an unnamable peak…had begun to project images. Rough, graphic images that shouldn’t turn him on. But did.

Hell yes, they did.

So he’d resisted. When you came from a background like his, you fought off any similarities at all costs. His determination was waning, however. Growing weaker by the second. Making a mockery of his will.

That’s when he saw the girl.

James’s lungs evacuated all air, deflating him like a cheap balloon.

And in a split second, nothing else mattered but her.

Too young
. But somehow he knew that wouldn’t stop him. Nothing would. His body responded beneath the bar, his hands gripping the wood to steady himself. It was more than the usual stirring of attraction. Far, far more. A moving picture flashed in his mind, the girl nodding as he spoke softly to her, that delicate chin pinched between his fingers. As if there were perfect understanding between them. Not right now, though. Now, she looked lost, an anomaly among an otherwise seamless pattern of overconfidence. A pattern he hated, needed to remove her from. Now. Urgency took him over, making him feel almost delirious.

Even the girl’s adrift expression couldn’t hide the sharp intelligence behind her wide eyes, couldn’t hide an unknown mission there. An unmistakable surety that she was looking for
him
wouldn’t go away.
She
was the reason he’d come here tonight instead of going home, which had been his initial plan.

Thank God he hadn’t.

When the girl stopped and faced a group of men, James rose to his feet, poison ivy climbing the back of his neck. Spiked and dangerous. Its leaves extended and curled tight. Scared. She was scared. Why? He was coming. She just had to hold on a second.

James’s world tilted right along with the girl when she pitched to the side, her beautiful eyes gone glassy with fear. He moved.

* * * *

Lita Regina wasn’t a prostitute. That’s not what tonight was about.

She just needed to get off the street for one night. One. Night.

Thought you were made of sterner stuff, didn’t you?
Well it turned out, a week of being homeless on the streets of Los Angeles was about all Lita could withstand. While crashing in shelters might have been an upgrade from the situation from which she’d split, cozying up in some rich guy’s hotel room sounded even better. Women had one-night stands all the time, didn’t they? Dressed up, put on expensive perfume and suffered through forced conversation just to feel needed by someone?

As Lita saw it, her reasons for cruising for a man ranked slightly higher on the survival scale. She’d stretched the fifty dollars she’d vamoosed with by sticking to street vendors and the McDonald’s dollar menu, but someone in the shelter had pocketed her last ten two nights ago as she slept, leaving her broke as a joke. And speaking of jokes, hunger pains were
not
one. Lita nearly staggered under the intensity of them as she crossed the crowded hotel bar on Wilshire Boulevard, looking for—

Who? A man with a thing for scrawny chicks with fading bruises? Gazes followed her as she circled the bar, customers probably wondering who the hell had let her into the swank establishment. If they knew she’d ducked in behind two tall blondes while the bouncer checked their identification, outrage would abound. How dare this imposter breach the inner sanctum?

Lita’s chin went up with that last thought. She wasn’t the imposter.
They
were. The privileged corporate slaves she’d laughed about with her bandmates, back when she’d had a band. Back when she’d had people who cared. If she hadn’t chosen a man over those friends, they might still be there, too. Then she wouldn’t be in the Beverly Wilshire trolling for someone who’d let her share his clean, fluffy hotel bed for the night. Maybe let her take a shower and share a plate of French fries.

At the thought of salty, savory goodness, Lita’s stomach rumbled loud enough to draw the attention of a group of men. Men in ties. Men that didn’t live in her world. Still, she sent them an inviting smile, praying her sparkly, thrift shop miniskirt looked better in the near dark than it had on the rack.

The words,
please, I’m hungry
, were burning on her tongue, but she couldn’t just
say
that, could she? They would alert security or turn their backs, muttering about the lack of decent drinking establishments for professionals such as themselves. Before they finished their drinks, she would be an afterthought.

One of the men—he wore a blue button-down shirt and ruby red tie—checked her legs out, his expression relaying interest. He nudged his friend with an elbow and Lita stood there, stomach twisting, as the four of them looked her up and down. A polar blast swept over her skin, far cooler than the air conditioning. No. This wasn’t what she’d envisioned, but could see now that she’d been wearing rose-colored glasses, even after being chewed up and spit out on the curb of life. After everything, she was still naïve. Still an optimist.

How fucking sad.

“How much for all of us?” Ruby Red Tie asked before tossing back the contents of his rocks glass. “At the same time.”

For the first time that day, an empty stomach was a blessing because Lita would have lost the contents right there on the men’s shiny loafers. They’d categorized her as a working girl in under ten seconds. Everyone in the room probably had. Maybe they were right. Even if she found a way off the street tonight, what about tomorrow? Would she keep doing this? Lita’s attention spanned the room in quick jerks, taking in the way other women were dressed. How men looked at
them
. With respect. One week. It had only taken one week for her to fall this far.

She had to get out of there—figure out a different way to eat. Anything was better than being judged. Laughed at.

Lita spun on a heel—too fast. She’d moved too fast. The room spun and blurred around her, stomach clenching around nothing. Her hip rammed into a table, upsetting drinks on a pair of female customers. She tried to mumble an apology, but her legs chose that moment to stop supporting her. Down she went, like a sack of wet laundry. Down…down…

Powerful arms caught her around the middle just before she hit the floor.

Chapter One

Four Years Later

This
time she would finally crack him.

Ignoring stares from her cellmates, Lita jogged in place, preparing for the confrontation with James, her band manager. This was her ritual before shows, too. It loosened the limbs, shook out the demons. She took her role as drummer for Old News seriously, same way she considered riling up James a form of art. For four freaking years, they’d been repeating this song and dance—and Lita was over it. Today was the day James lost his cool. The way he’d lost it the night they met.

Remembering the state she’d been in when James found her, Lita jogged a little faster. At twenty-three, she wasn’t that scrawny, starving girl now. Not in
most
ways, anyway. The memory of what took place that night still had the ability to steal her breath, make her restless. But unlike the girl she’d been at nineteen, Lita didn’t wait for fate to wave its magical hand. No. She grabbed fate’s wrist and shook,
shook
, until the pieces fell into an acceptable pattern. That modus operandi is what had landed her inside a musky, Wilshire division holding cell of LA County’s jail system.

Lita didn’t have a head for numbers, but was pretty damn sure today would mark the twenty-first time James had bailed her out of a jail-type situation. Looking after the interests of Old News’s members was his job. Their relationship, however, fell outside the parameters of a typical musician-manager arrangement. Not that he would ever admit it. No, James simply continued to show up when Lita got into trouble, lecturing her about proper behavior on the way to dropping her off. And leaving. He left
every time
, that distinguished jaw of his firmly set, sunglasses hiding the guilt she knew lurked in his eyes four years later.

Not this time.
Last night, Lita had gone above and beyond to ensure this morning wrought one of two outcomes: James quitting, giving up on her like everyone else did eventually,
or
his control finally slipped. One way or another, she wouldn’t be in limbo come tonight. She’d been there too long.

Lita stopped jogging when she heard the jingling of the guard’s keys. James was right on time, as usual. Her cellmates craned their necks, some coming to their feet in the hopes they were being released. Lita stowed a pang of sympathy and whipped her hair into a quick ponytail. The guard cast a tired-eyed glance in her direction and unlocked the door. “Lita Regina, your bail has been posted.”

“Sweet, thanks.”

The woman who’d recognized Lita held up a hand for a high-five as she passed through the cell exit. “Aren’t you worried about cameras waiting outside?”

Lita slapped the woman’s palm. “Not as long as they get my good side.” She turned and shook her ass, kicking up snickers around the cell. “Hope everyone gets home for dinner.”

Unenthused good-byes followed Lita down the hallway, at the end of which she knew James would be pacing in the waiting area. She already had a sarcastic comment chambered about the wrinkle-free suit he no doubt wore, how out of place he looked. Although, she held out hope he’d been so pissed off by her antics, he’d thrown on jeans for once in his life. James in jeans. Lita ran fingertips down her belly, imagining the way denim would ride his hips. How the smooth circle of the metal button would rest against his stomach all day, warming with his body temperature.
Please, please, let today be the day he stops treating me like a child.
If her body’s reaction to thoughts of James were any indication, she was all woman. And she needed the man who’d awakened her needs to tend them.

The guard pushed open the waiting room door, indicating Lita should precede him. When Lita entered the room and saw James, standing with his suited back to her, a smug smile tugged at her lips. God, his tailored glory put their surroundings to shame. Dark hair dusted with salt and pepper at the temples made him more suited to a corporate boardroom than a county jail. The scene reminded Lita of a Marvel Comics movie where the hero tries to blend in among mortals, but is so obviously everyone’s savior. Her savior. If he would only allow himself to be. “Well. If it isn’t my prom date.”

The band manager turned around—and ice formed in Lita’s belly, halting her progress halfway across the room. There was one thing she could count on in life—and that was James being furious with her for fucking up. For placing herself in jeopardy. Hell, for getting him out of bed at the crack of dawn. On rare occasions, James tried a new tactic, such as feigned indifference, but he usually broke before they even reached the parking lot. Once he’d attempted sensitivity, but that had failed with flying colors as well. James was a hard, unbendable man. It was one of the reasons she couldn’t live without him.

But this? This man waiting for her looked…blank. His arms were at his sides, eyes devoid of feeling as he gave her his typical once-over to determine she’d survived in one piece. A hamster ran on a wheel inside Lita’s stomach, faster and faster, when James said nothing. Just
existing
across the room without any of his usual bark or bite.

“James?”

His slate gray eyes lit on the guard, a silent command to leave. Although he held no authority in the jail, the guard turned and lumbered back into the hallway, keys clanking as he went. “Let’s go.”

She couldn’t move. “What’s wrong?”

A muscle ticced in his cheek. “We’ll need to go out the back exit to avoid the cameras.” He left the sentence hanging in the air, turning on a heel to stride from the room. Lita commanded her feet to move, to follow, but catching up to him was like wading through chilled molasses. Maybe this was just a new tactic James had thought up to frighten her. If so, it was working. So much dread had settled in her midsection, it was an effort to walk straight.

At the end of a brightly lit corridor, James stopped at the back entrance and pried open the metal door. He placed one shiny wingtip just outside and checked both directions, presumably for cameras, before gesturing her forward. “All clear.”

She started to pass him in the doorway and stopped, craning her neck to meet his stony gaze. “Why won’t you talk to me? Why aren’t you lecturing me?”

There. It was only a flash, but her proximity affected him, as always. Shoulders tensing, Adam’s apple sliding up and down. Yet his tone was dull when he answered. “When has lecturing you ever done any good, Lita?”