BornontheBayou (12 page)

Enough. He was enjoying this woman too much. He loved the
control, the way he could back off a little, then give a sharp, hard pull and
send her right up again. She gripped his shoulders, her nails digging in, and
cried his name. Good. She was forgetting how many people were moving about
outside. He wanted her abandoned and concentrated on him.

He left her clit to drive his tongue into her pussy,
pointing the tip by curling his tongue again, then lapping her as if he were a
cat at a bowl of water. But she tasted much better than water. Apple tart,
overlaid with the sweet musk of her inner flavor.

She shivered and he felt her inner muscles contract. Then
she came in a glorious flood, soaking herself and him.

He grabbed the torn pieces of T-shirt and roughly wiped his
face, but he wanted some of her on him when he kissed her lips. With one final
kiss on the hard point of her clit, a kiss that sent her quivering again, he
got to his feet, unzipping, then grabbing the condom from his pocket. He could
get ready faster than most men could strip, and he wasn’t giving her a chance
to come down. Taking his sheathed cock in his hand, he guided himself to her
and drove inside, not stopping until his balls bathed in her sweet juice.

He wouldn’t let her speak until he’d given her a kiss as
deep as the one he’d given her clit, sucking her tongue to remind her what he’d
done, humming into her mouth. She whimpered and he withdrew enough to drive
back in. He tore his mouth away from hers. “I can’t wait, sweetheart. Come with
me now.”

Grabbing her legs, he pulled them apart as far as they could
go and drove into her. She had to bend her knees and he drew her up so she
could clamp them against his sides, opening her a little more.

Her cries told him she was keeping up, but the compulsion to
fuck her hard and fast overtook him. All he could do was try to make sure he
didn’t hurt her, because he instinctively knew she wouldn’t like that. He kept
a finger on her rosebud, allowing it to slip and caress the sensitive skin as
he worked her. They hammered against the door with each stroke, but he couldn’t
care less who heard them and she was too far gone to concern herself with that.

She felt so good, so fucking good, and with each deep thrust
she cried out, when she could, because he kissed her again. He took her
voraciously, greedily, drinking her up, fucking her senseless.

Slapping and pounding, gasping and crying, they created
their own music until, with one last shout, he poured everything he had into
her. As he was coming, he felt the contractions that told him she was joining
him, and he kept going long enough to ensure she screamed his name one last
time.

Slowly he let her down, and then made sure he could stand
again before lifting her and taking her into the bathroom.

Chapter Ten

Beverley stood at the side of the stage next to an ice
machine and a crate of beer, waiting for Murder City Ravens to take the stage.
She’d seen Jace, heard him play now, but only on his own, or talking and
writing with his band mates. She’d heard the albums, listened to them
repeatedly over the last few days. Two with Maxx Syccoraxx, and the last one
with Zazz, Riku and V.

Less like a new band, more like evolution. She’d left Jace
to prepare himself, recognizing his vague answers to her questions as nothing
to do with her. He needed space before going onstage. So she made an excuse,
said she needed to visit the bathroom and she’d watch from the wings.

It had taken her a while to find her way to the stage. This
venue was primarily a sports stadium, but used to putting on other events so it
had quickly and efficiently been converted. Even the last-minute change of band
hadn’t fazed them. If she hadn’t found Chick backstage, she doubted she’d have
found her way to this spot so fast if at all, but after asking her if she
wouldn’t feel better in the audience, he’d given her the equivalent of an
Access All Areas pass—a selection of different-colored wristbands—and brought
her here.

So she got to see the preshow, though she missed the opening
act. Watching the lighting guys climbing up to the spots they’d occupy
throughout the whole performance made her wish she could go there. But these
days, very little remained to chance. She wouldn’t get halfway there before
they caught her. The lighting guys wore safety harnesses and, as far as she
could see, every cable was grounded, encased and tracked so no one would trip
over it. Not what she’d expected from the stories she’d read about wild boys
and wild living, but nothing had worked out the way she’d expected it so far.

Someone touched her shoulder. Chick moved so quietly that
she hadn’t heard him but he’d alerted her to his presence. She jumped anyway
and heard his low chuckle. “I want you to watch this,” he said. “
Really
watch it. Realize what they’re doing here and what they could do, given time
and space.”

“I’ve heard the albums.”

“It’s nothing like this. Nothing. Experience it. And don’t
forget that they’re still growing.”

She hadn’t suspected the pragmatic Chick of having a
sensitive side until then. She’d thought of him as a man who delighted in
making things happen for people he deemed worth the effort, and a man who
enjoyed butting heads with authority. She’d seen that too, when some of the
band’s riders had met with demurs and “Will this do?” responses. Chick made
everything work in Murder City Ravens’ favor.

“That’s what I’m here for.” She tried for an easy response,
not trying to take it too deep.

Chick seemed to accept it. He stepped around to face her. “I
know Jace is thinking about leaving. Managing that fucking house of his and not
giving it to the soulless hotel chain. He thinks he can use music as an outlet,
a hobby. He can’t. It’s his life, Beverley. So if you’re here for the hotel,
I’m gonna fight you every inch of the way. Know that.”

She swallowed. “I want him to make up his own mind. But I
don’t have any influence on that decision. It’s entirely up to him.”

“Are you saying you don’t want him back in his house with
you?”

She took a breath and told him the truth. “I don’t know what
I want. Great Oaks was a challenge, and I’m proud of what I achieved there, but
most people won’t notice. It was all administration, getting people in the
right place at the right time.”

His eyes narrowed. “But you don’t want to stay there?”

She shrugged. “I enjoyed it but I didn’t love it. Is that
what it’s like having a regular job? I’m not stupid, I know people spend their
lives doing things they don’t love, working for the Man, but I still have time,
a few years, to make up my mind. But I won’t be a nothing, a hanger-on,
somebody’s extra. I can’t do that.” She gave an awkward laugh. “I was dreading
the summer. I don’t suit the temperature in Louisiana.”

The corner of Chick’s mouth kicked up in a half-grin. “I
know what you mean. Just listen and see if you think he should make his music
his hobby. See if he can be happy that way.”

Everything went black and she gripped the beer crate next to
her in instinctive reaction. A slow thump resounded in her ears, under her feet,
echoing the rhythm of her heart but just a tiny bit slower. Hunter, the
statuesque Swedish drummer for Murder City Ravens began the show.

The lights went up slowly, the backdrop, which was really a
mesh of lights, twinkled like stars, flickering on and off to give shifting
definition to the figures on the stage. The bass player, Donovan, set up the
next, coming in softly under the thunder, subtly adding and setting the mood,
dark and lonely.

Then Riku, adding a swirling, otherworldly feel on some kind
of electronic doohickey. Only then did Jace come in.

He didn’t creep in or set up a mood. He struck over the top,
pushing something harsh and discordant—strong, vibrant guitar, fuzzy at the
edges. Clashing, not harmonizing with the others and adding a new, half-scary
edge.

Like Zazz’s voice, when he began with a soft croon, building
in intensity, singing about loss and bleak loneliness. A stray note from V’s
saxophone wound around him, thready and hardly there, caressing him, trying to
comfort him, fading away when it failed.

Murder City Ravens wrapped Beverley up in its music. It told
her what to think and she let them lead her to places she’d never known before.
Finally she realized what Chick had been trying to tell her. This was a single,
complete experience drawn out of the consciousness of six very different
people. Together they made something else, something new. Something that took
her breath away.

Their songs were about living. All the experiences that each
had undergone, described in sometimes aching detail, as much through the music
as the lyrics. Sometimes people found each other, and this band had done just
that. The earlier incarnation of Murder City Ravens had been a great rock band,
one that could have earned its living, but this—this was something else.
Although they played songs she’d become familiar with, they sounded different,
took her to different places than they had on the album, as if Murder City
Ravens was a living, breathing entity. Of course it was, and her lover was an
integral part of it.

Every member of the band was as important as everyone else.
Losing any one of them would destroy what they had. When Matt, aka Maxx
Syccorraxx, had left, the band had recruited and changed. V, the last member to
join, had completed it. If she left, they’d be something different, and the
same went for every member. Unlike Chick, who wanted to preserve the current
lineup, she could see the fluidity and appreciate that if someone left, they’d
change, but not necessarily be worse.

On the other hand, the songs about loss and joy and the
corrupt nature of the world appealed to her inner self. They kept her
wondering, opened questions she’d pushed into the back of her mind. This music
challenged her.

Like every other fan, she wanted more.

The performance passed in no time at all. The band took her
and the rest of the audience through an experience, inviting them to
participate. A few numbers involved samples from local people and local TV
stations, pictures flashed up on the screens on either side of and above the
stage. Altogether, the concert was a crafty combination of pure musicianship
and dazzling light and video work.

At one point, during a slow, sensuous song, Jace connected
with Beverley. Their gazes clashed for a fraught moment, but she didn’t know if
he’d really
seen
her or if he was dazzled by the bright lights focused
on him. Nevertheless, she felt the connection. It mattered to her.

It appeared it mattered to him too. Although his spot was on
the opposite side of the performance area, he made a point of crossing over to
her, taking her chin in one hand and delivering a long, leisurely kiss. As if
he had all day.

He broke away and struck a chord, grinning at her. Exactly
on time, and she laughed for sheer joy.

Chick watched, occasionally leaving to answer his phone.
They were supposed to switch them off, but Chick ignored it and went his own
way. As he always did, she was beginning to realize, and that was one of his
strengths. Chick did what he wanted and fought people when he thought they were
going against the interests of his clients. Just as he had with her, telling
her what she was threatening to do, whether she meant it or not.

She grabbed a beer and used the opener tied to the wall by a
piece of string. Taking a swig, she watched them burst another explosion of
sound over the audience and then follow it with quiet, delicate notes, all the
more effective because of the major notes of a moment earlier. She loved it.

The band’s confidence overflowed the stage, swept through
the arena, infecting the audience, and she felt it even more because she stood
so much closer to them. She could see when they took a drink from the small
refrigerator onstage—who knew?—and she watched them wipe themselves down with
towels and toss them aside. Would they sell the towels afterward?

“Nope,” Chick said in her ear. “Nobody gets souvenirs unless
I want them to. I’m not planning to feed online auction sites.”

She smiled up at him. “I saw you looking,” he said, by way
of explanation.

He couldn’t say any more, as Zazz roared “Rock!” into the
mic, and they swung into something raucous from Matt’s days with the band.
During that number Jace lost his T-shirt and let the crowd see his dragon. The
screens focused in on it, and the audience yelled its approval. Although his pants
had slid low on his hips, the dragon’s tail still disappeared below the
garment. She knew where it ended, had traced it with her tongue. Would do it
again. The very thought made her mouth water.

Jace came to her when they left the stage and she went to
him, heedless of the sweat that slicked his body. He hugged her, his guitar
slung behind him. “Like it?”

“Love it,” she assured him.
Love you.

Not the time. But if not now, when? If she waited and
waited, would she never tell him, never get the chance again? No, she had to be
brave, had to take the moment. She’d let a few go by. Not now. Hugging him
close, she murmured to him, “I love you.”

He drew back, his blue eyes reflecting his startled look but
he couldn’t reply. They were ready to go back for the encores.

She staggered him. For the first time ever, Jace’s mind
didn’t remain totally on the performance. Oh he coped, but that amazing
announcement, right out of nowhere— Did she mean it or had the performance
carried her away?

Just as well the first song in the encore was a rocker,
because he could get by on power chords, although the way Zazz glared at him
told him he had some shit coming his way later. The second one, though, was one
of the crowd-pleasers, a sweet-sounding song about the torture of prisoners.

Why people loved it so much he could never fathom, because
they’d all thought this one wouldn’t fly at all and had to fight to keep it on
the album. But it had proved popular, and one they could use in concerts to
different effect. A flexible song. For that reason he had to force himself to
concentrate, and then, once he got back into the zone, the groove, whatever, he
found it again.

This time he played for her. What she’d said stunned him,
and he still didn’t know what to say. Not in words, that was. He hadn’t thought
about it, hadn’t considered the possibility. Not this soon.

His guitar knew what to say. He couldn’t have put anything
in words, but the music flowed through him and out of him. By the end of
Some
People Hurt
, he knew what he should say to her. He understood his heart.

He let himself sink into the music. He gave his guitar to
one of the roadies and went to his array to find the Kaoss Pad. This one,
Forever
,
took a fuck of a lot of concentration. He worked on blending and twisting the
music his band mates played as slowly, one by one, they left the stage. Only he
and Riku were left. They could do this for hours, duetting on the song,
twisting it into something else. Tonight he felt nostalgic and calm, so his
side took that mood, but Riku had a spiky, angry part of him and he let that
out to contrast rather than blend.

Riku gave him the signal and they put down the last of their
instruments and left to the roar of the crowd. They never came back after
Forever
,
but the audience could stay and listen to the echoes if they wanted to. It gave
them a chance to get out of the building before the rush started.

Tonight they didn’t want to. Jace went straight to Beverley,
hooking her around her waist and following the others back to their rooms. “Just
as well someone has a sense of direction,” he murmured in her ear. “I’d be
wandering around these hallways all night.”

“You’re tired,” she said.

“You can tell? I’m hyped. I feel this way after every
performance.” He was, but underlying that was a streak of exhaustion, physical
and mental. The war between the two had driven him to drugs in times past.
Tired, but not able to sleep times a million. Now he had her, but wise from the
drugs, he knew he had to take care now, when he was at his most vulnerable. Otherwise
he’d—what, get addicted to her? Probably too late for that.

“So what’s the cure?”

“There isn’t one.” Knowing that meant he wouldn’t go insane
too soon. Not yet. Recognizing what he needed at times like this helped. Right
now he needed her. But not hasty and frantic, not fucking hard. He wanted to do
this right.

He followed the others into the large room set aside for
refreshments and after-show interviews. Before they got there, he stopped and
turned her to face him, ignoring Riku’s curse as he nearly fell into them. “We
have media in there. You can go back to the hotel if you want or play it cool.
Will it hurt your career, what you want?”