Staged Page 7

  Her tongue tentatively touched his lip, and he came completely undone, his admittedly limited self-control scattering like dandelion fluff in a hurricane. He devoured her mouth, drawing on the fiery heat of the passion he knew she kept hidden just beneath the surface.

  She moaned, the sound deep and aching. Her lips parted to allow him to taste her.

  He needed her completely bare before him. Not just the body he so desperately craved, but her heart, her soul, her thoughts and dreams. He wanted all of her out in the open, free and uninhibited. No constraints or limitations. No fear.

  Her hand pressed against his chest, and she pulled her mouth from his. “We can’t do this.”

  “You don’t want me?” He knew she did. He was prepared to call her a liar and prove to her that she did.

  “So much. Too much.” She stood, her chair skittering across the floor behind her at the haste in the motion. “But I can’t get involved with you, Aimes.” She smoothed his hair back and kissed his brow. “Stay beautiful,” she whispered before backing away.

  And she fucking left him there, with a hard dick, an aching heart, and half a cold steak on a colder plate.

  Seven

  Why am I so fucking stupid? Roux clutched the bottom of her corset and allowed herself another glimpse of Steve, who was currently in the satellite radio studio rocking out with his drumstick against a wooden block as Exodus End played an acoustic version of “Bite” for the station’s lucky listeners.

  “Don’t look so depressed,” Iona said, nudging Roux in the ribs with her elbow. “The station couldn’t get a piano for you to play under such short notice and, well, a keyboard isn’t technically acoustic, so you can’t play that. And that xylophone suggestion?” Iona cringed. “Yeah, no.”

  Roux wished not being able to play during their live acoustic satellite radio spot was the reason she was miserable, but that was just disappointing. She was utterly depressed because she’d done the sensible thing last night and walked away from that beautiful, sexy, shockingly sensitive drummer instead of taking him for a long, invigorating, undoubtedly satisfying test ride.

  When she’d said hi to him earlier, he hadn’t even looked at her. He probably thought she was a cock tease, a frigid bitch, or worse, not interested. She glanced around the small booth at her sisters/bandmates and reminded herself that she’d pushed Steve away for their sakes. The last thing Baroquen needed was trouble on this tour, and she had no doubt that getting involved with Steve would bring nothing but trouble, trouble that she would willingly embrace if she were the only one who would face the consequences. But she wouldn’t risk repercussions harming any of her sisters. The unaware bitches had better appreciate her sacrifice!

  Roux squeezed her eyes shut, her false eyelashes digging uncomfortably into her eyelids. She wished she’d gotten some sleep last night. She was feeling more than a little testy this morning.

  I should have just fucked him before I walked away. Why didn’t I?

  She had no answers to that question. She’d hooked up with a few guys in the past. It wasn’t a big deal. She wasn’t the type who expected lasting commitment from a quick and dirty fuck, but she’d connected with the ass. Liked him. That was why she wouldn’t have been able to hook up with him just once. And hell, in less than a month she’d be on foreign soil and have to see him every night while they were on tour. She would get to see him, wouldn’t she? She glanced into the studio again and about choked on her tongue when she caught him staring at her. He quickly looked away and said something insulting to Logan, which the host found hilarious.

  “Maybe it’s the hangover talking,” Azura said, wincing, “but I think Steve has the hots for Roux.”

  Only Raven knew Roux had gone to his room last night. Only Raven knew she’d returned way too early and without sealing the deal.

  “It’s the hangover,” Roux assured her. Azura didn’t even remember Steve carrying her upstairs. Or puking her guts out into a plastic bucket in the limo.

  “He does keep looking at her when she’s not paying attention,” Sage said.

  “He totally has a hard-on for you,” Iona said. “Like literally.”

  Roux caught him adjusting the crotch of his jeans, and yeah, looked like Iona was correct. So why had he completely blown her off when she’d greeted him earlier?

  Because he’s sensitive and easily hurt, her subconscious whispered to her. Nah. That couldn’t be the reason. He was just horny because he hadn’t had sex with five different women in the past three hours. Or maybe he had.

  Not that she cared.

  Ugh, why did she insist on lying to herself about the man?

  She told herself he wasn’t worth the time or effort, when he was so worth it.

  She told herself she wasn’t interested in any relationship with him—serious or casual—when she wanted any relationship with him as long as she could be near him.

  She told herself musicians were notoriously unfaithful and that she shouldn’t believe his story about being jilted by his ex-wife, when she had believed every word of it. Still believed it.

  Roux scowled and turned her back to the large window that looked into the sound booth. If she couldn’t see him, maybe she’d stop obsessing over him. Yeah, right.

  At least she was too worried about trying not to worry about Steve to be nervous. She wouldn’t be able to play during the segment, but she sang duet with Iona on most of the choruses of Baroquen’s songs, so she wasn’t entirely off the hook.

  “I heard you won’t be playing your ridiculous keyboard during your band’s segment,” Steve said from behind her, his voice deep. “I guess you’ll have to stay out here with me.”

  She conjured up some anger, when she wanted to do nothing more than melt into his heat. “My keyboard is not ridiculous.” She spun around and was blindsided by his cocky grin. She knew he was baiting her, but for what purpose? “And didn’t you just play a wooden block? Talk about ridiculous.”

  But it hadn’t been ridiculous. Ridiculously amazing, perhaps, but . . . Damn him anyway.

  “I do enjoy your fire, Red.”

  He lifted his hand to touch her jaw, his thumb drawing slowly across her slightly parted lips. Well, if he enjoyed her fire, that little movement had definitely set her ablaze.

  “After your segment, I have something for you.”

  “If it’s in your pants, I don’t want any part of it,” she snapped, but she couldn’t hold his gaze, because she was lying worse than a politician.

  He chuckled softly, the sound making her belly quiver. “It is in my pants, as a matter of fact, but don’t worry. I’ll take it out for you.”

  Entirely flustered, she stammered, “A-as if!”

  “I think your band is waiting for you to join them.”

  Huh?

  She turned to find the observation booth they’d been waiting in was now empty, with the exception of herself and Steve.

  “You made me late.”

  “I didn’t have to try very hard,” he called after her as she rushed out into the sound studio.

  “Sorry,” she whispered, bobbing her head in the host’s direction. Wow, was that really her favorite disc jockey, Jack Bryant? He was even cuter in real life. Roux cringed over her bad form.

  “No problem. We’re not live yet,” Bryant said, his voice excitingly familiar. Roux heard it on her favorite satellite radio station almost every day.

  The incredulity of her current situation suddenly kicked her heart rate into high gear. When had this become her life? A quick glance toward the glass waiting area made her life even more surreal. Steve Aimes was currently undressing her with his eyes, and he had something in his pants for her. How would she ever resist him?

  On a cue from his staff, Bryant began speaking into the microphone. “With us now is the band you’ll be talking about tomorrow if you aren’t already talking about them today. They’re joining Exodus End on their world tour next month, and there’s a reason for that. We played you their latest
single a little earlier on Fast Tracks . . .”

  They did?

  “. . . and you, our loyal listeners, loved ‘Starlight.’ ”

  They had?

  Roux exchanged excited smiles with her sisters, barely able to stay on her stool with the nervous energy flowing through her body.

  “I’m sure our listeners wish they could see you in person, because, wow! You look as good as you sound.”

  Iona laughed, always completely at ease in the spotlight. “We’re not quite that good looking.”

  “You in particular look familiar,” Bryant said to Iona. “Where might I have seen you before?”

  Roux forced her face to remain neutral. Iona had used her middle name when she’d been a favorite contestant on the reality television show American Voice a few years ago. She worked hard—and now wore a lot of stage makeup—to keep the general public from realizing who she was.

  “Do you frequent the Delancey after midnight?” Iona asked.

  “Been there a time or two,” Bryant said. “A bit too goth for me.”

  “No such thing,” Iona said, tonguing the corner of her black-painted lips as she stared him down. It did the trick; he turned his attention to Roux, who straightened as if her corset stays were attached to a released spring.

  “You’re the keyboardist, correct?” Bryant asked her, his blue eyes flicking to the swell of her breasts before settling on her face.

  “That would be me. Though I won’t be playing today.”

  “Unfortunately, we weren’t able to get our hands on a piano in time, so, listeners, make sure you crank up the track as it was recorded, because that keyboard work is phenomenal.”

  Roux flushed. She was glad someone in the business appreciated it.

  Iona met the eyes of each of her bandmates in turn, making sure that everyone was ready to rock.

  “We are Baroquen,” she said, “and this is a never before heard unplugged version of our latest single, ‘In Lights.’ ”

  The intro sounded hollow without Roux’s keyboard, but Sage and Azura filled in beautifully enough that anyone who’d never heard the original version would get the general idea. Roux leaned in toward the microphone and sang one long note in a low sultry tone. Her voice was most often compared to Janis Joplin’s. Perhaps that was why she sang backup. She didn’t have a unique enough aperture to get the high, haunting quality that blessed Iona with pitch-perfect talent. Normally Roux didn’t mind singing backup, but because she didn’t have her keyboard to focus her attention on, she was very conscious that everyone—particularly Steve—was watching her sing. Or they were until Iona started the first verse. She didn’t have her bass guitar today, so she gave her voice even more power than usual. So much so that Roux was pretty sure that opera singers would be jealous. Out of the corner of her eye, Roux caught the look Azura and Sage exchanged as they strummed their guitars. Iona is such a show-off!

  But Iona was used to holding the spotlight. She’d almost had a solo career—probably still could if her boyfriend pressed the issue—but she said she preferred being part of the group. You sure couldn’t tell that this morning. So when Roux’s part of the chorus came around, she belted out the words with everything she had.

  A muffled whistle drew her attention to the observation booth, which apparently wasn’t completely soundproof. Steve had two fingers in his mouth, blowing whistles of appreciation while thrusting his opposite fist into the air like he was at some live concert. Roux licked her lips, unable to stop the little smile of pleasure that turned up the corners of her mouth. Steve gave Max a dirty look when he tried to shush him but switched to clapping instead of whistling. She couldn’t hear his applause over the music in the sound booth, but she imagined it was loud.

  The crescendo built in the middle of the song, Roux’s voice and Iona’s no longer competing, but harmonizing, rising together on different octaves. At the onset of Sage’s subdued guitar solo—acoustic did not do it justice—Roux leaned away from the microphone and sucked in a deep breath to relieve her aching lungs. Iona squeezed her elbow and gave her a thumbs-up. She was always encouraging Roux to concentrate more on her singing, but at heart Roux was a pianist and always would be. And though Iona played bass guitar, at heart she was a singer. She was a good bassist, but it was more of an afterthought for her rather than a focus. Maybe that was why the two of them worked so well together; they weren’t competitive. Azura took the second half of the solo—her style more frenzied than Sage’s wail—and it was obvious the same could not be said about their two guitarists. They were forever in competition with each other, and it made them both strive for a higher level.

  Roux’s smile spread as pride suddenly grabbed hold of her. The five of them had come so far from where they’d begun, and though they had the occasional disagreement, they each championed the others. It was times like these that Roux felt truly blessed for having this surrogate family full of talented and supportive women.

  Lost in her happy thoughts, Roux almost missed her cue at the end of Azura’s solo. She’d performed this song enough that the words came automatically, so while her sound started off a bit weak, she quickly ramped up her tone, her fingers playing imaginary keys across her knees.

  It would be four weeks before their first opening show at the Download Festival in England. She couldn’t wait to perform in front of a live audience. This studio performance was fun but couldn’t compare to dozens of screaming fans spurring her on. Of course, she seemed to have picked up at least one screaming fan today. She covered her mic with one hand and laughed aloud at Steve’s over-the-top cheering in the observation booth. He was literally leaping off the floor in his enthusiasm. She wondered if he’d still feel that level of enthusiasm once he heard the song with her keyboard. He claimed the instrument had no place in a metal band.

  “Wow,” the host said, clapping. “The studio version of that song is amazing, but wow.” He shook his head, seeming at a loss for words. “I know I’m not alone in thinking these ladies rock.”

  A muffled woo came from the observation booth.

  Bryant laughed. “Steve Aimes apparently agrees.”

  “Which is odd,” Iona muttered, glancing over her shoulder at Exodus End’s drummer. The same drummer who hadn’t had a single positive thing to say about them the night before.

  Sage shot a knowing grin at Roux and said, “Not so odd, really.”

  Iona’s eyebrows drew together. A feat of strength considering the length of her false eyelashes and how much eye makeup she was currently wearing. Roux shrank down on her stool.

  “I guess I missed something,” Iona said.

  Which was a good thing. Iona insisted that nothing but trouble could come from a romantic relationship between band members—either in the same band or from different bands—on tour together. She’d even had her talent scout of a boyfriend back her up on that one. Not that Roux was planning to break the rule they’d all agreed upon before signing the contract to go on this tour—she agreed with the rule—but she couldn’t deny that she was attracted to the guy in the observation booth who’d told her just ten minutes ago that he had something in his pants for her . She straightened in her seat and tried to look as nonchalant as possible as Iona scrutinized the members of her band.

  “So why don’t you introduce yourselves,” Jack Bryant said, nodding at Iona. “Let’s start with the one with the pipes. I had chills during the chorus.”

  Iona brightened at his praise, which focused her attention on him and allowed Roux to relax. Roux peeked at Steve, who was making obscene kissing faces against the observation booth glass. She slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. Max had his fingers pressed to his forehead and was shaking his head at the disgrace his bandmate was making of himself.

  “I’m Iona Clark. In addition to singing lead, I also play bass guitar.”

  “The drawback to radio is that listeners can’t see you. First, trust me when I say she’s as gorgeous as she sounds. They’re all as go
rgeous as Iona sounds. Second, each of these women is color coded.”

  They all laughed at that description.

  “Iona is purple,” he added.

  Iona said, “I hope you mean that I have purple streaks in my hair and as accents in my costume. If I were purple, you might want to do the Heimlich maneuver.”

  Obviously charmed, Bryant chuckled. “I’d rather give you mouth-to-mouth.”

  “My boyfriend might take issue with that,” Iona said, “unless I actually needed CPR to save my life. Then he’d thank you.”

  “I should have known you were all taken,” Bryant said.

  “Not all of us,” Sage said.

  “You heard it here first. One of Baroquen’s amazing guitarists is single,” he said, as if it were a public service announcement. “The green one.”

  “The blue one too,” Azura said, holding up one hand and wiggling her fingers in a wave.

  “Well, that has my fantasies running wild.” Bryant fiddled with his shirt collar.

  “As it should,” Azura purred, resting her head against Sage’s shoulder.

  The two of them always played around like they were lovers. Thing was, Roux wasn’t entirely sure their faux onstage attraction was entirely fabricated. Not that it was any of her business.

  “The second set of pipes in the band wears red. What’s your name?”

  “Roux Williams. And as you pointed out earlier, my real role is keyboardist. I just sing backup and harmony.”

  “I do wish we could have gotten a piano in here for you to play. If you missed our airing of ‘Starlight’ earlier, you must give it a listen. The entire song is amazing, but that keyboard solo . . . Wow. I bet smoke comes off your fingers when you play that.”

  Roux chuckled. “Maybe a little.”

  “We also didn’t get to hear much out of Baroquen’s drummer,” the host said, turning his attention to Lily. “She’s the fastest chick with sticks I’ve ever had the pleasure of thrash dancing to.”

  Iona snorted, but Bryant continued his description of Lily. “Her color is white. Is that a color? Or an absence of color?”