Black Lilith: Book One (Black Lilith #1) (26 page)

Life full of pain like we were cursed,

You turn me on with every single word,

I can’t hold this back—be my girl?

I got feelings for you and a spot that’s reserved.

She is smiling now. Logan’s grinning through his song.

I just want to treat you the way you always deserved.

Just give me your body and I’ll do all the work.

I gave you my trust because that’s something you earned.

A blush creeps over her neck because she’s suddenly aware that everyone is following Logan’s gaze—the crowd, the roadies, the security detail,
everyone
is looking toward the wing of the stage, trying to catch a glimpse of the woman that caught the eye of
Black Lilith’
s singer. She lingers behind the curtain, unsure of herself.

Your slim and curvy body moving oh so freely—

Baby don’t tease me, you know that I'm needy.

Your long black hair makes me want to get freaky,

I want you to myself, does that make me greedy?

His words make her blush more deeply. A part of her is honored and surprised that he has written a song for her, and a part of her wishes he’d kept the sex stuff out. But she’s still smiling because the longer he sings, the longer he stares at her like she’s the only thing worth paying attention to on that beach, and the more she feels as though a weight is being lifted off of her chest.

Dash is grinning wildly as he strums along with his brother, shooting Mikayla a smirk when Logan sings about her body.
Little shit
, she thinks fondly, knowing that she’ll never live this down. Slate’s giving her a look like he can read her mind and completely agrees. Tommy has his eyes closed, which is a sure sign that he’s losing himself in the music. It must be strange for him to play a song which isn’t his. But he’s playing along happily.

You mean everything so sorry if I'm clingy,

When I'm with you, it's like life is so easy.

I've been holding back from telling you so long,

We confide in each other that's why our bond is so strong.

I know I am not wrong

And I want to say thanks for making me belong.

Mikayla waits as the song plays out. The crowd is clapping along with the beat, swaying in time with Slate’s playing. When it’s over the crowd applauds, whistling and howling for an encore.

Logan hands the acoustic off to Tommy. His eyes are still on Mikayla, focusing on her with an intensity that reminds her so much of their first, forbidden night together that she starts to feel her blush traveling down to settle between her legs. One look and she’s done for. She never even stood a chance. He walks across the stage. Mikayla meets him in the middle. The crowd screams when they see her come out, but it’s like they’re screaming through a wall of cotton padding because all she cares about is getting to Logan.

They stand for a moment. Even though Logan has his back straight and his arms loose at his sides, there’s something vulnerable in the look he gives her. As though, even now, when she’s standing in front of him in the middle of the stage, he’s still not sure how this will play out.

She throws her arms around his neck and catches the sudden, relieved grin which blossoms on his face before she kisses him for all she’s worth.

Logan told Tommy the truth. That was what the bass player had been upset about during their final performance in Miami.

“You were right,” Logan tells Mikayla, hours later when they are curled up in hotel sheets and each other, and he’s running his fingers down the soft skin of her back. “I shouldn’t have lied to him.”

“How did he take it?”

“Badly,” Logan says. He sighs. “But I expected that. I had the proof on my phone in case he didn’t believe me.”

Mikayla rolls over so that she can look him in the eye. The fact that her action exposes her breasts for his hungry gaze has absolutely nothing to do with anything. “I’m glad you told him.”

“I’ll tell Slate and Dash too,” Logan says. He rubs the teeth marks on Mikayla’s breast, and a sly grin spreads across his lips. “As soon as my legs start working again.”

They’d left the band at the beach as soon as Logan could get away. He stayed to finish the show, of course, but the rest of
Black Lilith
just nodded knowingly when Logan wrapped up the night and disappeared with Mikayla before the band even had a chance to get back to the green room. She hopes that Tommy isn’t angry with her for keeping this from him, but knowing Tommy, he’s probably angrier at himself for not being able to spot it. For not being able to spot everything.

“I loved your song,” she tells Logan while he’s still busy caressing the teeth marks he left on her. The ones he’d left weeks ago have faded, these new ones will be replaced before they even have a chance.

“Mmm,” Logan hums and dips his head to kiss the red spot on her neck. Right under her ear for all to see. “I’m glad.”

“I didn’t think you like writing songs?”

“I had a lot of inspiration,” he replies.

“Oh yeah,” she says. His breath tickles her neck. “What was it?
Your long black hair makes me want to get freaky
? I have brown hair, fool.”

“It’s the sentiment,” Logan replies, twisting a strand over his fingers. He sings breathily in her ear, “
Baby don’t tease me… you know that I'm needy…
”

There’s no teasing that night. It’s all hot and hard at first as the pair of them make up for lost time, but around two in the morning they fall into the warm, slow passion of real lovemaking. The gentle give and take of a pair of people who have all the time in the world to explore each other. No more sneaking around, no more hiding. No more pretending that this is something fleeting or purely physical.

Mikayla waits for him to finish singing the words he wrote for her before kissing him again. Slowly. Tenderly. With all the love she hadn’t put into words yet. Technically, he hadn’t said the words either, but it didn’t matter. Neither of them was very good with words.

For now, their bodies speak for them.

Weeks later, Mikayla sits across the table from Tommy, Dash, and Slate, with Logan’s arm draped around her shoulder. She’s waiting until after they eat before she tells them why she’s asked them here. She doesn’t want to spoil their appetites.

“So,” Dash asks with a mouthful of food. “Has
Bass Note
given us a release date for the next album?”

“Tentative, early February,” Mikayla replies.

All four men groan. They had returned home triumphant from the tour, practically sprinted to the studio, and recorded twenty-four new tracks of songs that Tommy had written on the road.
Bass Note
was thrilled to have so much new material, and they were already planning another tour, but they wanted to time the album’s release to coincide with it. Meaning the band had to wait for their fans to hear all of their new songs.

That didn’t worry Mikayla. What worries her is the notes that
Bass Note
made on the album, and the direction they plan to go in for the next one. And as the band’s manager—effective from the moment the band touched down on home soil—it is her duty to bear the bad news to
Black Lilith
.

Sometimes, she wonders how she would have turned out if she hadn’t met
Black Lilith
. If she would have gone on doggedly pursuing a career in events management, or if she would still be getting coffee at
Bass Note
and scrolling through job listings in her spare time. Trixie, the intern who’d helped train Mikayla, is still in those offices, probably fuming that Mikayla had landed the sweet gig of band manager to one of the biggest new bands in America.

Mikayla felt at home in the position. She had the title and the pay that she thought her degree deserved, but she also got to see her beloved
Black Lilith
every day. She got to listen to their music and offer suggestions about venues and playlists, got to run her fingers through Tommy’s hair when he was high, and throw exasperated looks at Slate when he managed to charm his way into an impossible woman’s bed. She placed bets over who would win when Logan and Dash started wrestling and almost always won. She felt like she’d gotten the best of both worlds. It was hard to imagine that it wasn’t all a dream.

Of course, she still has to deliver bad news to them. She doesn’t like this part of her job.

Logan, apparently sensing her trepidation, leans over and kisses her on the temple.

“Gross, affection,” Slate says. He doesn’t look grossed out. He looks like a benevolent father. Ever since the show in Miami he has claimed that he knew all along about Logan and Mikayla, and that he only
pretended
not to know so that they wouldn’t feel threatened.

Both she and Logan had called bullshit on that, but Slate remains stubbornly convinced of his own brilliance.

Tommy watches the pair of them with the same melancholy he has always borne. Mikayla had pulled him aside after the show in Miami, and after she had untangled herself from Logan to ask if he was all right with it.

“I’m not mad,” he’d said. “Honest, I’m not. I just… it makes more sense now. Why she left.”

Then she had held him while he’d cried silently, broken-hearted all over again. He still carries the same melancholy, just for a different reason. Mikayla can’t wait for the day that her favorite bass player can light up again. She hopes that she’s there to see that spectacular show.

Dash, as a typical little brother, responded to the news by tackling Logan and giving him a wedgie.

“Did
Bass Note
have any notes?” Tommy asks, stuffing a lettuce leaf into his mouth and chewing with his lips politely closed.

Mikayla almost cringes visibly, but she holds it in. “Not on
this
album, no,” she says. “They think it’s fantastic. Some of your best work, ever.”

They all look at her.

“How did you hide your relationship?” Dash asks, looking between Mikayla and Logan with a sad frown. “She’s terrible at subterfuge.”

Slate piped up, “I knew all along.”

“If you say that one more time, I’m gonna stick this fork—”

“What did they say?” Tommy asks, talking over the top of them.

There’s a tiny frown between his eyes, just like she expected that there would be. Tommy isn’t precious about his music by any means, but he’s a perfectionist, and this album was done in a rush of creative energy that must have left him doubting. Not to mention some of the songs were really personal—all about loving and losing and warring and grieving. One song was clearly about his anger at Logan, and Logan had sung that without batting an eye. One song was clearly about his love for Logan, which had made the singer tear up while they were recording it.

“They
love
this album,” Mikayla says. “Seriously, they love it. They’d just like to see the music evolve. You guys don’t want to put out the same type of album over and over again, do you?”

All four of them shook their heads.

“Okay,” Dash says. “So, what? They’re bringing in an oboe player?”

“What about that hard-core violinist on YouTube?” Slate asks excitedly. “Who is it? Lindsey Silver? Something like that? She totally rocks.”

“Not exactly,” Mikayla says.

She glances over at Logan, leaning into his comforting weight. He knows what she has to say, of course, she’d practiced saying it to him in the comfort of their bed, preparing herself for this task. He’d offered to bear the bad news for her. She’d declined. She was the band’s manager after all.

“They were thinking about bringing in a new… voice,” she says finally.

Slate and Dash frown. Then they slowly turn to look at Tommy.

“A new
voice
?” Tommy asks, pronouncing the word as though he isn’t sure that he’s heard it right.

“Yeah,” says Mikayla.

“So… a new lyricist,” he says.

She swallows. “Yeah.”

“Oh,” he says. He studies his fork for a while. “Well, fuck that sideways.”

“Tommy
writes our lyrics!” Slate says indignantly. “He always has. They can’t just bring in someone new now… we’re only famous because of his songs.”

Ordinarily, Tommy would have blushed and ducked his head. But he just points at Slate as though he’s said a profound truth.

Dash joins in, “So now that we’re finally making some money they’re just going to throw out everything that makes us…
us
?”

“Not everything,” Mikayla says in what she hopes is a placating tone. “Honestly, Tommy, I knew this would upset you, and you’re right to be upset—”

“Who is this guy?” Tommy asks. “Have we heard any of his stuff?”

“No,” Mikayla says slowly. “This is someone new. Never been published.”

“Never—” Tommy actually chokes on the word. “So they’re saddling us with some noob, probably straight out of college, with no credits to his name and expecting him to produce hit songs?”

Mikayla shrugs. “This lyricist came highly recommended.”

Slate leans over and mutters into Dash’s ear, “I smell Daddy’s money.” Dash nods knowingly.

“Look,” Mikayla says, knowing that she’s losing them. “Just meet the lyricist. You never know, you guys might hit it off.”

Tommy and Dash scoff. She tries to discretely check her watch and Slate notices the movement. He narrows his eyes.

“He’s coming here, isn’t he?” he asks her. “To lunch? To meet us?”

Mikayla glares at him annoyed that he’d put it out in the open without giving her a chance to soften the blow first.

Tommy goes red. Then he sighs and leans back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest and glaring at the table.

“No, fine, by all means… let’s meet the new kid. See what they learned in Writing 101 that makes them qualified to take my job.”

“This isn’t going to change us,” Logan says. It’s the first thing he’s contributed to the conversation. He squeezes Mikayla’s shoulder as he speaks and gives Tommy a significant look. “You are, and always will be, our lyricist. That’s it. Whoever comes to lunch today will be an assistant or a sounding board, but we’ll
never
replace our lyricist.”

Tommy’s shoulders unclench a little at his words, but he keeps frowning and doesn’t uncross his arms. Not even when the waitress brings their ice-cream out. He just eats with one hand, elbow tucked in, while the other arm wraps tightly around his chest as if it can do the work of two in showing how annoyed he is.