Magic's Song (4 page)

“Don’t pay any attention to the voice behind the curtain,” the sexy voice cajoled from the darkness. “We’re going old school, guys. I think Marcus can play
Middle of the Road
. Can you do that one?”

She knew she shouldn’t have worn the blasted dress. It was too short.

Wait.
Another broad doing oldies?

Something inside Tanith rebelled. Nerves morphed into calmness and calmness jelled into determination. She nodded in the direction of the voice.

And the witch who’d made the oldies comment.

The man she couldn’t see quipped, “Don’t be nervous, Marcus won’t bite.”

The skinny man with the tattoos and kohl-lined eyes re-materialized. Her eyes had adjusted enough to see the same grin he’d flashed at the bathroom door.

He took his position behind the keyboard and whispered, “I do too bite.” He made a snapping motion with his teeth and winked at her. “Take the microphone, sweetie. I’m really hoping you’re good. I have different reasons, mind you, but like Broom Hilda, I’m sick of these auditions.”

“Marcus, I heard that.” The witch had a good, if somewhat bitchy, voice. Why didn’t she sing?

Marcus started playing, drowning out anything else the woman might have said.

Tanith closed her eyes, praying she remembered the words.
Another broad doing oldies?
Frig that.

Blotting out the room, she began to sing. Her voice, hesitant at first, followed the keyboarder’s lead when he increased the volume. By the time she’d reached the chorus, she belted the tune confidently, oblivious to the people in the dark, oblivious to the world.

After the last lyric, no one said a word. Every insecurity she’d pushed aside reassembled and jumped down on her head. They’d obviously heard enough. Or too much.

She put the microphone on its stand and walked toward the door. Why wait for her dismissal. She just hoped she didn’t have to see any of their faces.

The sexy male voice halted her. “Hold on. Any chance you could sing
Me and Bobby McGee
?”

Stunned, all she could do was twirl and nod.

“And can you let your hair down? That
I’m-doing-my-laundry
style isn’t working for me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your hair. Get rid of the ponytail.”

The request threw her off kilter. Actually, it wasn’t just the hair thing, Tanith felt confused about everything. Had the voice issued an order or a request?

After the nasty woman said the Pretenders were oldies, Sexy Voice wanted her to let her hair down and do Janis?
These people are nuts.

She opened her mouth to say no, but stopped. Why run? She loved Janis Joplin. After today, she’d never see these people again anyway. Why not play out the fantasy she’d had as a child?

Tanith jerked the clip from her head and her hair tumbled down past her shoulders. She ran her hand through it to get it away from her face before she glanced at Marcus. “I’m ready.”

“Wow.” Marcus gave her a thumbs-up and started to play.

She cleared her throat and let her vocal cords have fun. She withdrew into her mind—into a place where only a teenager, a hairbrush, and her bedroom mirror existed. She sang with confidence.

She barely noticed when Marcus stopped playing. She finished one more line and let her last note fall flat.

“Oops.” What had she done wrong?
I did sound like a seagull.
Every synapse urged her to run, but she forced her heels to stay planted on the stage.

“Emm.” The voice in the back interrupted the silence. “Julian, tell everyone else to go home. We’ve got our singer.”

Tanith waited. What did he mean?

The lights erupted, blinding her for a second time. “Sorry, love,” the sexy voice said. She could tell from his volume he’d moved closer. “Welcome to the group.”

Her eyes adjusted quicker in the light. The man in front of her must be the leader of the Tough Guys. His face slowly came into focus, like pixels on a graphical image.

No.
Her fingers grasped for the microphone stand—she needed to hold on to keep from falling.

The man in front of her was the man from her dream.

Her dream lover held out his hand, “I’m Brent Holden.”

She staggered backward. A web of emotions encircled her—fear, amazement, more fear.

Brent blinked and pulled his hand away. Too late, Tanith realized she’d appeared rude. She tried to compensate with a big smile as she reached for his fingers, but her mouth wouldn’t cooperate. The grin that cracked from her jaw felt fake and insincere.

The man’s eyes narrowed into slits as he stared at her waiting hand. He looked at her face again and put both hands in his pockets.

“Marcus will introduce you to the rest of the gang.” His voice was harsh. “He’ll give you the song list, the music, and the practice times. Learn every lyric. And don’t be late.” He left before she could respond.

Darson came running onto the stage. His bone-crushing hug gave her a chance to compose herself.

“I knew you could do it!” Darson turned to Marcus. “Isn’t she fabulous?”

“She is definitely fabulous.” The keyboardist grinned. “This is Julian, the drummer. Amanda, the bass guitar player.”

The introductions happened with a flurry of activity. Unable to focus, Tanith barely caught the names. Julian gave her a friendly, “Hello,” but Amanda sniffed and walked away.

“What crawled up her butt?” Darson asked. He turned back to Tanith with a cheery, “I’ll wait outside.”

“Huh?”

“Marcus said you should follow him. Go on. I’ll wait outside.”

Tanith watch Darson swagger offstage and then she wandered in the direction Marcus had gone. She found him inside a makeshift office, pulling papers from an old filing cabinet. He handed the stack he’d accumulated to her.

“You sure he wants me in the group?” she asked, still afraid she might be in the midst of another dream.

“What do you mean?”

“He seemed a bit…brusque.”

“Oh, you mean Brent?” Marcus laughed. “You’ve nailed him. He is Brusque Brett, my little thesaurus woman—now there’s a title for a song.” He crooned, “My little thesaurus woman.”

After he disembarked from his self-amusement park ride, he patted her on the arm. “Of course he wants you. We all want you. You’re the answer to our prayers, luv.”

“I don’t think Amanda wants me.”

“Amanda doesn’t want anyone around but Brent. Don’t mind her—or Brent either. Amanda’s always a bitch, but Brent’s usually a friendly chap. You see, there was a recent episode with a stalker and, before that, there was a worse episode with Amanda. So lately, me boy’s been a bit of a dick. Don’t take it personally. Trust me, he’s a dick to everyone, but deep inside, he’s a good chap.”

Tanith tried to smile, her mind twirling from Marcus’s compliments. She wondered if she should confess that Brent’s rudeness could have been her fault. He’d been pretty nice until she backed away like he had the plague. “I’m…”

“Whatever you do, don’t let him scare you away. We need you.”

Marcus didn’t give her time to reply. He bombarded her with music and schedules. Before she could comprehend everything, he looked at his watch. “Oh, shit. Gotta bounce.”

He left her standing in the office, holding a stack of paper. Shaking her head, she placed her pile on the desk and went in search of Darson. She found him, chatting with Julian. She sat down to wait. Knowing Darson, he would pepper the band member with questions until the drummer refused to answer. Her friend loved music almost as much as he loved gay men.

She didn’t know how long she’d waited, her mind too bewildered by the day’s events to complain, but a woman called from the door. “I’m not waitin’ another minute for you, Julian D’Abreo.”

“Sorry to have kept you.” Darson actually sounded like he meant it. Her friend spun to face her, a big grin on his face. “You ready, Tan?”

She nodded. “Let me get my stuff.”

Before she could reach her stack of lyrics and schedules, Amanda stepped in front of the door, blocking her path. Tanith saw only red-brown hair with spiked bangs and red-brown lips curled into a sneer. The two nose studs made Tanith feel like Mary Poppins. The guitarist popped an elbow, exposing a cat suit underneath her black leather jacket. The clingy fabric hid little and emphasized every perfect curve. The woman looked even more stunning than the woman with the green-and-purple hair.

She glared at Tanith, hatred sparkling in her sapphire eyes. “Stay away from Brent,” she hissed. “He’s mine.”

The beautiful woman tossed her silky mane. She spun on one foot, making a Hollywood exit.

Chapter Five

For the first time in his life, Brent Holden understood fear. Deep, gut-wrenching fear.

The band,
his band
, might actually make it. Despite the group’s massive talent, until now the Tough Guys had been indistinguishable from a thousand other local bands. The new singer’s voice could be their ticket to unique-ville. Tanith Cox’s sexy sound would take them away from gigs in local pubs and catapult them to…to better things. The idea loomed frightening, yet thrilling.

He could still hear that voice in his head, the voice of an angel in a body with the sex appeal of the devil. Red was definitely her color. The gods had decided to send him precisely what he’d wished for—a woman who had the pipes to sing his songs the way he wanted them sang.

And he’d almost scared her away. He couldn’t believe he’d been such an ass just because she didn’t grab his hand and yelp with joy. He thought she’d been snobbish, but in hindsight, she could have been scared. Or dazed. Nope, a million reasons for her to back away, but his ego didn’t let him think. Maybe being the leader of a band had gone to his head.

If he’d offended Tanith, and he felt certain he had, he’d beg her forgiveness. He’d grovel, do whatever it took to get her to join the group.

“Idiot,” he said aloud, chastising himself, finally able to acknowledge the real reason behind his general ass-edness. That little zing.

The zing shocked the zombie right out of him. He didn’t want to deal with zing. Wasn’t ready to deal with zing.

So genius that he was, he’d treated her like sour milk.

He didn’t want to examine his psyche too closely, but he knew he’d built a shell, thick enough to keep out the hurt. Even so, he didn’t want some chick penetrating his comfortable existence.

Best to keep his distance from one Tanith Cox. The damn woman scared him more than having his dreams within reach. Her voice alone could seduce him. When an instrument like hers was combined with curves that would send a construction worker into cardiac arrest, she was pure temptation. Temptation was the last thing he needed.

He tried to clear his thoughts and focus on his latest song, but his mind kept drifting back to the audition. When she’d let her hair down, his breath had caught and he hadn’t been able to find it. Worse, Amanda heard him suck in too much air. That could be bad on so many levels.

“Concentrate,” he issued the command aloud. He had to keep the focus on the music.

Nothing else.

He’d learned that lesson from Amanda. Unless he wanted to write the heartache of country music, he’d need to behave like a monk. That meant Tanith Cox remained off-limits.

He forced his mind back to writing lyrics. His intensity kept other thoughts away. Until he read the words aloud, imagining Tanith singing each syllable.

“Shit.”

The memory of her sultry sound soothed his overworked, underpaid soul. The woman oozed with raw talent that had been trained. And controlled.

Too controlled. If he could get her to let go, she’d be dynamite. He pictured her, backlit on a stage singing his songs—wearing a dress that showed even more of her cleavage.

He felt the beginnings of an erection. “Damn, I’m doing it again.”

“Doing what?” The unexpected voice washed over his arousal like a cold shower.

Amanda had the nastiest habit of popping up when least expected—or wanted. If he had a choice, she’d never show up again but the band needed her as much as they needed Tanith. The woman’s fingers were magic on the bass. Once, those same fingers had been magic on his body, but that was months ago.

And he’d paid the price. Now Amanda was a necessary evil.

It hadn’t been hard for Amanda to lure him into her abyss. Her body was centerfold perfection and her bedroom skills could control men more worldly than him. Against his better judgment, Brent had allowed himself to be seduced. And used.

Amanda maneuvered and manipulated until she’d controlled almost every aspect of his life. Brent danced to her tune, not because of her sex appeal, but because it was easier than listening to her bitch if he didn’t do what she wanted.

He knew she lacked anything resembling kindness, but over time, he discovered a truly nasty person lurked inside her voluptuous shape. His heart had taken a hike
a long time before his person managed to follow. The break from her had almost broken up the band.

Never again.

“I said, doing what?”

Brent sighed, wishing he could ignore her, but he knew she’d keep asking the question until he answered.

“Amanda, I’m working here. I wasn’t talking to you and I don’t want to start now. I need to be here, but if you keep needling me, I’ll leave.”

“Ah, poor baby. That’s not very friendly.”

“Don’t go there.” Brent had fallen for her
can’t-we-just-be-friends
act before. They couldn’t. He had also fallen for her
give-me-one-more-chance
and
it’s-just-sex
routines. The results were the same—more attempts at manipulation, more disaster.

She wanted him back, he got that, but she didn’t care about him. She just couldn’t stand to lose.

Undaunted, Amanda walked around the piano and propped her elbows on his keyboard, squeezing her breasts tightly between her arms. Knowing her, the boob display was intentional. He couldn’t remember the last time so much cleavage had so little appeal. Probably never.

“Amanda, please move.”

“You like her, don’t you?”

“Like who?” Brent knew exactly who she meant.

“Oh pleeeease. You’re too smart to play dumb.”