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"If you only knew." I toss my hair over my shoulders. "And I’ll be damned if I’m going to sing for you here."
"Either you sing for me here and get practice, or we head over to our appointment, and you can sing for the leading talent manager in the business."
14
Declan
She opted to audition for Harry Baldwin directly. Not that I was surprised. Not that I wouldn’t have loved to hear her sing just for me. Not that I hadn’t given her that choice, knowing full well she’d opt out of giving me a private audience.
I shove my hands in the pockets of my jeans and rest my shoulder against the wall on the far end of the studio.
Her voice fills the air, and in the sound booth, she squeezes her eyelids shut as she sings the coda of her original song. The notes soar, and the emotions in her tone paint the atmosphere with a raw sensation that cuts through the walls I’ve put up around my heart. Once more, I’m transported back to that beach, the scent of the sea in my nostrils, that sweet scent of her that laced the briny air and drew me toward her. An arrow toward a bullseye. I’ve been headed in her direction all this time, and now I have her. Except, I can’t let myself have her. Not in the way I want. Not when my own tastes have changed so much over the years.
I brought her to LA for one reason only. To allow her to find herself. To give her talent a stage. Yes, I might have started out thinking I wanted to punish her for what she did to me all those years ago—and maybe the emotional part of me still wants to—but the more rational part of me knows she was a kid. She made a mistake. Anyone in her position would have done the same thing to save herself. I did hold a grudge against her, but I also share the blame for what happened.
Her voice rises on the last note, and the hair on the back of my neck rises. Goosebumps pop on my skin. She pulls off the headphones, opens her eyes, and her gaze connects with mine through the glass wall of the sound booth.
Her green eyes are large, luminous; her cheeks are flushed. Her blonde hair is in a cloud about her shoulders. With her simple white dress and ballet pumps on her feet, she looks like the young eighteen-year-old she really is.
Then she smiles at me, and my breath catches in my chest. My heart seems to drop into my stomach. Her voice is every bit as pure as I remember, but it has added depth now, a huskiness that speaks to her awakening as a woman. Her lower notes are darker, more erotic; her timbre is feminine, more sensitive and mature than what I recall.
She’s blossomed into a talent ripe for the picking. A soprano the world is going to welcome with open arms. One I’m going to step away from. To my right, Harry jumps to his feet and claps. A-n-d that is a first. I’ve never seen the man this excited in all the time I’ve known him. He strides to the door of the recording booth, twists open the handle, and steps through. She tears her gaze off of mine and turns to him with a smile.
He throws up his arms and waves them around. "Incredible. Your voice, the lyrics, the pitch, the impressive breath support and ability to hold notes for extended periods without wavering.All of it has blown me away." His voice reaches me through the open doorway. "Did you say you wrote the lyrics yourself?"
She nods.
"And the melody is yours?"
She nods again.
"Excellent.” He claps his hands. “It could do with a few minor tweaks to make it more approachable to the audience overall—"
She scrunches up her eyebrows.
"But nothing that’s going to take away from your unique mix of rich dark notes and bright upper range. You’re a darker Taylor Swift, my dear. A lighter Lady Gaga. You’re in that perfect sweet spot between them. You’re the next big—"
I push away from the wall, head to the door and walk out, then pull out my phone and dial Rick’s number. "Stay with her," I say when he answers.
I head down to the reception, then jerk my chin at the girl behind the counter.
"Keys to Baldwin’s Ducati."
She blinks, opens her mouth as if to protest.
I arch an eyebrow and color flushes her cheeks. "Yes, of course, Mr. Beauchamp." She reaches under the counter, then hands the keys to me.
I head for the parking lot of the studio, then toward the bike parked in the corner. Fringe benefit of being a well-known star? No one refuses you. I snatch the helmet hung around the handle, plant it on my head, then straddle the bike. I thumb the start button until it roars to life, before turning it around and heading for the exit.
She comes running out of the building and plants herself in my path.
Goddamn it. I slow down and come to a stop. The throbbing of the engine mirrors the beating of my heart.
She heads closer, her mouth moving as she speaks. I rev up the engine and shake my head. I know, arsehole move. She scowls up at me. Her lips continue to move. I shake my head again, indicating I can’t hear her. She stamps her foot, then punches my shoulder. Fucking adorable. And I thought she was a subservient Mafia princess. She’s going to be a handful. I stay in place, one foot on the ground balancing the bike. She slaps my chest, then indicates to me I should raise the screen of my helmet. I shake my head.
She leans into me, and I swoop my arm about her waist and throw her across the fuel tank. The hem of her dress flips up, so her arse is exposed. With each vibration of the motorcycle’s engine, her thighs quiver. My cock instantly thickens. She writhes around, and I lean one arm over the small of her back. She continues to buck, and I bring my palm down on her butt. She must be shocked, for she stills. I take advantage of her temporary compliance and spank her left arse cheek, then right, then left again. She begins to squirm and thrash around. I bring my hand down on her butt one last time, and her entire body shudders. Her thighs quiver and fuck if she isn’t aroused. Which wasn’t my intention…
Or maybe it was, but not consciously. I simply wanted to teach her a lesson for her sass. I was planning to get away from her—that’s why I came down here—until she thrust herself in my path and threw me off kilter. Again. But I’ve learned my lesson. I’m not going to let her subvert me again.
