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“I’m tryin’, honey. The guy’s stronger than he looks.”
“I’m really sorry,” Chandler’s friend said. “He’s had a rough week.”
“Sure, whatever.” Jane rolled her eyes upward.
When she looked back out into the audience, her stomach dropped. Jim lay flat on the floor with Chandler standing over him, a loafer-clad foot resting on the burly man’s chest.
“What the hell?”
“He’s a black belt in taekwondo,” the friend said. “Shit, Chan, you’re gonna get yourself arrested.”
“Damn right you are.” Jim’s muffled voice rose from the ground.
“Fuck me,” Jane muttered. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said into the mic, “I’m afraid we won’t be able to offer an encore tonight after all. As you can see, we have—”
“Oh, please”—Chandler lifted his foot and Jim eased into a sitting position—“don’t let me stop you. Continue with your noise.”
That was it. “You think you can do better?” Jane’s voice cracked, but determination won over nerves. “Come on up here and give it your best shot.”
“With pleasure.” Chandler stalked forward.
Jane tried not to stare. His green-and-white-striped button-down shirt covered his broad shoulders, and he had rolled his sleeves up, showcasing golden and muscular forearms. Crisp dark blue jeans covered what Jane instinctively knew were equally muscular legs. She readied to hand him her guitar, but instead he walked toward Lenny and the keyboard.
“Do you mind?” he said to Lenny.
Lenny raised his eyebrows at Jane.
She nodded. “Fine. Let’s see what you’ve got. We’re doing ‘Come Back Alive.’ There are several key changes, so try to keep up.”
He sneered at her.
“One, two, uh, one two three!” Jane strummed her intro and the melody floated through her amplifier.
She’d written “Come Back Alive” when she was sixteen years old. She didn’t usually play it in her sets anymore, but it was her classic encore song. She could play it in her sleep. And indeed, she usually closed her eyes and let the music guide her as she sang. Today, though, she kept her eyes wide and focused on Chandler at the keyboard. She didn’t want to miss his fuckup.
Fernando’s bass joined in with low harmony, and Becca on the drums pounded a steady beat. Almost time for the keyboard. Lenny knew the song by heart, of course, and Jane didn’t have to cue him. Damn if she’d cue Chandler, either. Let him figure it out on his own.
She jolted when he came in right on time. His smoky green eyes met hers as he matched every note, every chord, even adding intricate patterns to each melody and harmony that Jane had never heard before. This man made Lenny, an accomplished keyboardist, sound like a hack. After God knows how many shots, no less.
Jane jumped when Fernando nudged her. She looked toward him just as he mouthed the word “sing”.
Sing! Shit, yes, she was supposed to be singing. She cleared her throat before she advanced toward the microphone and fell into the lyrics of “Come Back Alive.” She closed her eyes, captured the colors and vibrations of the chords and harmony, swayed to the quickening beat.
Chandler’s playing only made the music more beautiful, more evocative. She sang from her heart. Perspiration dripped from her hairline when she finished to booming applause. She took a deep bow and then turned to acknowledge Fernando, Becca, and finally Chandler. His friend in the audience whistled. Even Jim, who had recovered from Chandler’s Karate chop, clapped, though less than enthusiastically.
Jane bowed once more and then looked past the audience to the entrance of the club. Two police officers stood silently, eyeing her new keyboardist.
Once the applause died down, Jane walked over to Chandler. His hands still hovered over the keys. And what hands they were! Large and golden, with long fingers that could work magic on Lenny’s keyboard. What other type of magic might they work? How might they feel cupping her face, pinching her hard nipple, sliding in and out of her pussy or her ass?
Damn! She couldn’t let his amazing looks mess with her head like that. Or his raw masculine fragrance—cloves mixed with fresh mountain air.
She shook her head to clear it. He sure as hell wasn’t her physical type anyway, and even if he were, his attitude turned her off big-time.
She grinned at him. “That was a nice job.”
He nodded. “I know music, unlike some people.”
She resisted the urge to snipe back at him. “I can see you do,” she said simply. “You’re obviously well studied. But I’m afraid your time on this stage is over.”
