Lost Melody (37 page)

The last song would be
“Melody.”

The band jammed while the roadies
pushed the grand piano to center stage. A wave of anticipation
rippled through the audience. Backup singers and a phalanx of
string musicians found their way to the stage, almost beneath
notice in their subtlety. By infinite degrees, BlackWing
masterfully brought the house under their control.

Chapter
Thirty-six

The spotlights panned around the
arena, and Hank’s gaze followed them across the crowd. A spark of
adrenaline coursed through his veins and a little of the old
excitement built. He owed it to the loyal fans that had paid good
money to see them play to do the best he could tonight. Wondering
if Melody was among them wouldn’t help.

He made eye contact with the other
four men on stage and one-by-one determined they were ready. With a
tiny nod, he listened for the click track to come through his
earpiece.

The beat began. He absorbed
it for a moment then brought his sticks up to chest height where
the others could see them and counted first to himself,
one, two, three, four
.
Then with the sticks—
tap, tap, tap,
tap
. They simultaneously burst into the
melody of their first song of the tour.

He fell into the beat—allowed it to
consume him. Energy emanated from the crowd in rolling waves. He
felt, as much as heard, the moment the others recognized it, too.
Their playing ramped up to meet the level of the crowd’s response,
and so it went for song after song. He recognized the adrenaline
rush for what it was—a powerful drug that gave him strength he
didn’t possess.

Where earlier he felt nothing, now he
knew it had been deceit on his part. He loved the music. He loved
performing, and he loved the enthusiasm from the audience. The
wilder the crowd became the more heart and soul the band poured
into the music. He would be all right if Melody was never his
because he still had his music and he still had the audience. Like
an addict with a habit he couldn’t kick, he craved the adrenaline
rush of being on stage. With or without Melody he would still
perform. He couldn’t walk away from it for any price.

Sir Jonathan took the stage
mid-concert. He’d never heard anything like the crowd’s response
for as long as he’d lived. A Rock and Roll legend was on stage
after a long absence, and the audience paid homage to his talent
and genius. BlackWing gave him his moment in the spotlight. He held
the crowd in thrall, and like he’d done it a million times, he
blended seamlessly into the group. Never in his wildest dreams had
he ever envisioned sharing the stage with Sir Jonathan
Youngblood.

The sequence of songs gradually set up
the finale, and as each blended one into another, he steeled
himself for his solo performance. It was one thing to hide behind
the drum kit with the cameras flashing close-up views of his face
and hands on the giant screen behind him. It was another thing
entirely to sit at the grand piano, center stage, while every set
of eyes in the house focused on him.

The band settled into a jam session.
The roadies pushed the piano to center stage and adjusted the
microphones. He continued to play, gently easing out of the mix
until the drums were silent. The others continued on, easing out
one at a time. Hank accepted a water bottle from Rick. He took a
long draw from it and exchanged it for a dry towel. He wiped the
sweat from his face and hands and tossed the towel back.

The last of the group eased out and
the stage and audience went silent. Hank took his place at the
piano. A single spotlight lit him from overhead. Darkness cloaked
the backup singers and string ensemble who would accompany
him.

He shut out the silence in the arena,
focused on the notes and lyrics written on his heart. He
straightened, adjusted the microphone. Eyes downcast, fingers
hovering over the keyboard, he spoke softly into the
silence.

“For Melody Harper Ravenswood. My
life. My love.”

Her heart skipped a beat, and she
automatically reached for the key around her neck. Hank faced the
VIP box where she stood, like everyone else in the arena too pumped
with adrenaline to sit. Two camera images split the giant screen,
one a close-up from overhead of his hands on the keyboard, the
other a direct close-up of his face.

His fingertips touched the keys. Love,
pure in its simplicity, pulsed across the arena. His deep, voice
melted like the smoothest, most intoxicating chocolate over the
crowd.

She ceased breathing. Every word,
every note, fired across her being. As soul-baring as the recording
had been it was nothing compared to what was happening on stage.
His voice replaced the life giving oxygen in her bloodstream,
sustaining her for those suspended moments in time. Swept up by the
magic spell he wove, her spirit soared above the crowd and merged
with his on another plane of existence.

The last note faded away, and the
stage went dark. Melody collapsed to her knees in the aisle. Her
lungs fought for oxygen like a diver breaking the surface of the
water. She tried to hoist herself up and heard concerned voices in
the fog of her confusion. Strong arms lifted and carried her out of
the arena.

Cold winter air slapped her in the
face, bringing her out of the darkness enveloping her. A limo
appeared, and her rescuer scooted her inside. Sunny, Henry, and
Miriam joined her.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t catch my
breath,” she whispered.

Sunny patted her hand. “No need to
apologize. Hank Travis is a vortex. He sucked the oxygen right out
of the arena. There wasn’t a woman in the place who was breathing,
including me.”

The car moved forward. “Where are we
going?” she asked.

“That depends on you,” Henry said. “If
you want to go back to Sunny’s apartment, we’ll take you there. Or
anywhere else you want to go.”

“Where’s Hank?”

“By now, he’s on the bus with the rest
of the band. They’ll be going to the hotel for the after
party.”

“Take me there.”

* * *

He managed to stand and make his way
across the stage to the drum riser. Rick handed him a water bottle
and a towel. He went through the encore on autopilot, wishing
they’d chosen any other song besides “One Night” to end with. He
remembered Melody’s innate reaction to the erotic and suggestive
beat. Where “Melody” drained him physically and emotionally, “One
Night” had the opposite effect. It aroused him almost beyond his
ability to endure.

The stage went dark. Rick was at his
side, penlight in hand, ushering him off the platform and across
the stage to the stairs. He stepped onto the luxury bus, his home
away from home for the next few months. Tonight it would take him a
few short blocks to the hotel where they would hold the after
party. Everyone was invited to the first one of the tour, from the
lowliest roadie to the executives from their record label, Madison
Square Garden, and even the Mayor.

He collapsed onto one of the sofas and
consciously relaxed every muscle in his body. He instantly fell
into an exhausted sleep. Rick woke him when they arrived at the
hotel and ushered him through the rear door and into the service
elevator. Minutes later, he was in the suite of rooms obtained for
his use until the tour moved on to Boston the following
week.

He braced against the shower wall and
allowed the hot water to wash away his fatigue. The adrenaline rush
subsided, and with it, his energy. Hunger gnawed at his stomach,
and another type of hunger rose anew. Rick would have a room
service meal waiting for him when he got out of the shower to
appease one of the appetites. Only Melody could appease the other
one, and she was in London.

He shut off the hot water valve. Cold
water hit him full force and a litany of explicit curses echoed
through the small bathroom.

Rick came through for him with a thick
steak, medium well, and a baked potato on the side. The ballroom
downstairs would have several buffet tables laden with enough food
for an army, but it would be hard for the band members to eat
there. They would pose for photos with people they didn’t know,
accept congratulations from nameless individuals, and make nice
with the executives who made it possible for BlackWing to exist.
And there were the interviews with the few select
reporters.

Invited guests would arrive first
followed by the roadies, who after securing the stage, would walk
over to the hotel only a few blocks from the Garden. Eventually,
BlackWing would be expected to make an appearance. Long ago, they’d
figured out it was best to trickle in one at a time rather than
arrive as a group. He had every intention of being the last to
arrive and the first to leave.

Chapter
Thirty-seven

Melody made her way along the buffet
table more to silence Henry and Miriam than because of any interest
she had in eating. Sunny worked the crowd, drawing attention to
herself and away from Melody. The older couple however, hadn’t left
her side since they’d entered the hotel. She questioned Henry and
learned Hank had a suite on an upper floor. He would go there first
to clean up before joining the party. She considered trying to get
to his room, knew with Henry’s help she could circumvent the
security, but if she did, he probably wouldn’t come down to the
party at all, and he needed to make an appearance.

She couldn’t lose track of the reason
she was there. She needed to see Jonathan tonight to congratulate
him on his successful re-emergence on the Rock and Roll stage and
to question him about the articles.

Henry knew many of the executive types
in attendance, and he introduced her and Miriam to several. Miriam
attracted her share of attention as Sir Jonathan’s fiancé—a fact
attested to by the enormous rock on her ring finger. She accepted
the congratulatory remarks with grace no matter the level of
surprise accompanying them. Miriam’s presence was a godsend as it
served to deflect attention away from Melody.

Sir Jonathan arrived in the company of
Chad Winston, who adroitly maneuvered them to Miriam’s side. He
wore his love for her on his face. He was protective and
possessive, inquiring if she needed anything, if she wanted to stay
longer or go. Her wish was his command. Miriam stood next to him,
fingers entwined with his while he accepted his accolades. She need
not worry about Jonathan—he had found the right woman.

A disturbance near the ballroom
entrance drew her attention. Hank stood in the doorway. She drank
him in.

He was magnificent, from his still
damp hair to his crisp tan chinos. He gradually made his way deeper
into the room, posing for snapshots and signing autographs as he
went. Each step brought him closer to her, and she pressed her hand
over her chest where the key lay warm against her skin.

Underneath his relaxed, pleasant
demeanor ran an undercurrent of tension. She sensed it first before
she noticed the evidence in the slight clenching of his jaw and the
way his smile never really reached his eyes. He glanced over the
heads surrounding him and made eye contact with his father, and
then his gaze shifted to the side. To her.

With no pretense of courtesy, he
closed the distance between them. His strong fingers clenched
around her upper arm, and he half-dragged her to the nearest door.
In the service hallway, he pressed her against the wall, and before
the door closed behind them, his lips came down to cover
hers.

He cradled her face in his hands. His
hard body pressed hers against the wall. She didn’t try to
resist—didn’t want to struggle. She had wanted to feel his touch
since the moment he stepped on stage.

He smelled of soap and the musky
aftershave he favored. He tasted like Heaven. She brought her hands
up to the back of his neck and speared her fingers through his
hair, pressing him tighter against her lips.

The door behind them burst open. A man
dressed in service attire clambered through with a stack of empty
trays. His eyes widened in recognition, and he apologized profusely
before scurrying along the hallway to the kitchens.

She dropped her hands to her sides,
and Hank shifted his from her face to her shoulders.

“Let’s get out of here. I have a suite
upstairs. No one will disturb us there.”

She nodded in agreement, and he took
her hand, lacing their fingers together. He pulled her behind him
to the kitchens where he stopped the first person he
saw.

“Where is the service elevator?” he
asked.

The stunned employee pointed, and a
few minutes later, they were on an upper floor of the hotel. He
fished a key card out of his pocket and slid it into the slot. The
LED flashed green, and he pulled her into the room.

He fused his lips with hers once
again, stealing what little breath she had. His hands scorched her
skin through her thick sweater. She tugged at his shirt, trying to
pull it from his waistband. He released her and took a step
back.