SailtotheMoon (13 page)

“I did, just now.”

“In the emails. You didn’t know I was Zazz then. I was one
of the crew, not somebody who could help you. So why not?” He watched her, his
eyes too perceptive, but he didn’t come closer. Just as well, because she might
have backed off.

Vulnerability made her want to wrap her arms around herself
and rock, the way she had as a child when distress had taken her out of the
blue. She’d conquered her moods, and conquered her ambition, or so she’d
thought as she firmly put her songwriting into the realms of the hobbyist. “I
felt stupid and I didn’t want you, even when you were James, to think I wanted
a favor. It was important to establish a relationship with you for your
father’s sake.” She paused. “Then for mine.”

His expression softened, his mouth relaxed.

He carried on. “I was forced into it, the only way I had of
making a living after I left home. You might not want to, especially with a job
like yours.”

She almost laughed in his face. He had supreme talent. For
all his shit about his early stuff not being good, she’d bet that was when he
was seven.

But the thought of having a little success, maybe a few
minor gigs, support act, made her pause. She could have a taste. “I’ll think
about it,” she said.

“Good. Now let me show you what you did wrong just then.”

Oh great.
He came to sit next to her, his proximity
enticing, as always. But he didn’t kiss her or touch her, not in that way.
Instead, he reached for the guitar. “You’re shaping that chord wrong. You’ve
gotten into some bad habits. It won’t take you long to change, because it’s
minor, but if you do it differently, you can do the change to different shapes
a lot easier.”

He gave her the guitar back, settled it on her lap. “You
try.”

She tried kissing him, but despite the glow of desire she
saw in his eyes, he resisted her. “Later, and that’s a promise. Now try the
chord.”

She had no choice. When she’d done it the way he wanted, he
rewarded her with a kiss, but not the long, luscious one she craved. She needed
something to reassure her, to pacify her after the ordeal at her parents’. Today
she’d seen them through Zazz’s eyes. All the problems, all the years had come
back in renewed vigor, coloring her mind and driving her frustration levels
higher than they’d been in years. For the first time in ages she’d come close
to yelling at her father. Not that it did any good, which was why she’d
stopped. She only had to endure them once a week, and that kept her nicely
simmering until the week after. Oh she
loved
them, but sometimes she
didn’t
like
them.

Stumbling again, she let Zazz help her this time. When she
did it right, he gave her another kiss, and stroked her breast, a gentle touch
that she wanted him to continue. The next time, she got it wrong on purpose.
Then he laughed and took the guitar away, set it aside and dived, sending her
sprawling on her back on the sofa. Lying over her, arms propped on either side
of her head, he paused. “So where’s Kelsie?”

“She works at a cocktail bar twice a week.”

“Perfect.” He didn’t ask if Kelsie was seeing Riku later,
which kind of confirmed what Laura already thought. So another problem surfaced—telling
Kelsie she was going to London with Zazz later in the week. It would remind her
of Riku and that Laura was wanted where she was not.

When Zazz pounced, he made a good job of it. This time his
kiss held no restraint about it. He pressed his lips to hers like a desperate
man, sliding his tongue into her mouth to taste and tease. “Shit, I needed
that,” he said when he finally emerged. “Keeping my hands off you this
afternoon nearly killed me.” With a gleam in his eyes, he bent to kiss her
again. Laura curled her arm around his neck, pushing her fingers into the
short, soft strands.

She kissed down her neck, unfastening the top two buttons of
her shirt to get at the upper slopes of her breasts. “Beautiful,” he murmured.
“Just perfect.” He glanced up at her face, a mischievous expression curling his
lips. “Shall we christen the sofa?”

Regretfully she shook her head. “Someone’s done that first.
Not me, but this came with the flat. I bet it’s seen action before.”

“Not from us.” He could undress her almost faster than she
could do it herself. Her Sunday visit-the-parents clothes were soon in a pile
on the floor, shortly joined by his.

Naked, they sprawled half-on, half-off the sofa, as Zazz
traveled down her body, leaving no skin unkissed, no part of her uncaressed.
She shivered under his attentions, every nerve in her body sensitized, every
part of her poised, anticipating his entry into her wet pussy. She’d begun to
open and relax for him while he’d sat next to her, making her practice, and by
the time he got her knickers off, she was completely ready. But he seemed
determined to reacquaint himself with all of her. He must have snagged a condom
from his jeans—had he taken some to her parents? Of course he had, but the
thought of a quickie in their pristine bathroom made her giggle.

“What?” He glanced down at his now-sheathed cock, frowning.
“It does have its funny side, I admit, but I’ve never known it to make someone
laugh all on its own.” He took his hard, red cock in hand and gave it a mock
shake. “Learning tricks?”

That urged her to laugh more, as did his wince when it
didn’t respond to his shake well. “No, it’s not that. It was the thought of
fucking in the bathroom at my parents’ house.”

His attention went briefly to his jeans. “Ah, I see. Yes, I
should have thought of that. It might have made the afternoon— None of that,
now. I need you too much.”

She’d have thought he used rhetoric but she saw the
desperation in his eyes and knew it was reflected in her own. This afternoon
had made her hungry, starved for affection and human contact.

She reached for him at the same time he dragged her close.
They came together in a maelstrom of necessity and desire. And she would only
get this with him. “James,” she murmured before his lips met hers and his cock
met her pussy, driving into both simultaneously, completing them.

He took her in hard, relentless strokes, urging her higher
so her body responded without her even turning her mind that way. When he
fucked her, she
couldn’t
think of anything else. Not that she’d tried,
but it would be useless, and why bother when this was so much better than
anything she could imagine?

He drove deep and they both groaned at the same time. Relief
and satisfaction, although she was far from coming yet. She didn’t want to miss
a minute of this. She lay back and let him take her, smooth, deep strokes
urging her to a climax that seemed inevitable. She’d never come so much with
anyone else before.

When he hit the right spot, she shrieked, only dimly hearing
his chuckle and his, “I love a screamer.”

Panting, every part of her body responding to him, she
nevertheless managed a response. “I never screamed before you.”

“Even better. You’re
my
screamer. Remember that.
Mine.” He was gasping now and his body gleamed with sweat. He lifted his upper
body away from hers, the better to reach her inside, his cock grazing her
cervix with every stroke. He had her completely, could do whatever he wanted,
and today he wanted to drill her hard, power her into coming helplessly around
him.

She dissolved, but he didn’t stop, instead driving her into
another shrieking climax before he finally erupted inside her.

“What’s so funny?”

She hadn’t even realized she was laughing but she opened her
eyes and smiled at him. “Just this, us. I’d never have imagined this before I
came to the concert. All this…”

“Me,” he said smugly.

“You. C’mon, I’ll show you where the shower is.” No sense
getting too maudlin, he might realize how much he was coming to know her.

The more she got to know James, the more she could separate
him from the sullen, introspective Zazz. Oh she didn’t doubt they were one and
the same but Zazz was only part of the fuller, richer person that was James.

After showering, they went straight to bed, nakedness
beginning to come as naturally to her as it did to Zazz. As did talking. He
liked to talk. Probably good, considering the days of pregnant silences she’d
endured as a child. Her parents rarely raised their voices, as she told him
now. “They used to sulk me into doing what they wanted me to do.”

“Guilt-tripping.” He took a lock of her hair and twirled it.
“People do that in different ways. That was one reason I left home. Dad was
getting off on guilt-tripping me, getting me to stop him taking lethal doses of
the drug of the month. If I did something he didn’t like, he’d get stoned. He
was quite capable of ODing to have me rescue him. And I did. We were bad for
each other at that stage. We both needed the break.” He refused to let her
comment but went straight on with her problem. “Your parents do it differently,
but it’s still guilt-tripping.”

The rightness struck her as it never had before. She’d tried
not to make her mother unhappy, and avoided her father’s careful, lengthy
lectures. She loved them, of course. They cared for her, and the plethora of
bad parents she’d seen since she started her job had made her appreciate what
she had more. But yes, maybe—although her choices had also come from herself.
Her own fears. “They told me to get training and a good job. We never had
money, you see, and we all have to earn our own living.” He nodded. She knew he
understood that.

“But we had nothing,” he said. “That was the main reason he
came home. The welfare system here was better. For me. He could have coped, as
he always did, but he wanted to be sure I didn’t fall through the cracks as he
put it.”

“I wondered,” she said. “He talks about the USA like it’s
his home.”

“That’s why I don’t think I’m his,” he said suddenly. She
knew, from his quieter tone and the way he looked at the lock of hair he held
instead of her face, that this was important. “Since I’ve met him again, well,
it’s made me think. He refused to have blood testing or DNA tests. If they
proved I wasn’t his, he couldn’t have claimed British citizenship for me and
then they’d have kept me in the States. At least over here I had someone to
care for me.”

That aspect had never occurred to her before. In the USA,
with no parents, Zazz could have fared a lot worse. Whatever his motives, the
old man had done Zazz a favor. She’d concentrated on doing her job well,
getting to know an old man who needed friends and chatting to his son, James, a
relationship she’d hoped would mature into friendship. Not this. Never this.

“I admire what you do so much,” he said suddenly. “Without
you, and people like you, I wouldn’t be here. You get paid next to nothing, and
you work all hours for people who often don’t appreciate it. What I do, I love
it and I get paid obscene amounts to do it.” He planted a kiss on her lips,
grinning. “Who said life was fair?”

Certainly not her.

How could she have imagined the way Zazz filled her life?
How could anyone be ready for that?

“Pretty hair,” he said reflectively.

“Basic chestnut.” She couldn’t take the credit for it. “I
use a dye. Can’t you tell?”

With a wicked grin, he lifted the sheet and peered at her
pussy. “Well, you’re not a blonde.”

“Mouse.” Just like her parents. Her sister had been spared
that too, but she was glad for Amy rather than sorry for herself. These days,
changing or enhancing hair color was too easy to hold anything against a person
with naturally rich, dark-brown hair.

Then he laughed a sharp bark. “Mine’s natural. It grows this
color.”

She joined in his laughter and rolled on top of him to try
to stop him teasing. “Does it matter what color it is?”

He gave her a lascivious leer and an even more lascivious
fondle, inserting his finger between her folds and drawing it up to tickle her
clit. She jerked and pulled away. “You win.”

He followed her. “When I’m with you, I always win.” He half
closed his eyes while he ground his body against hers, his lengthening cock
hard against her belly.

“So do I,” she said in a voice suddenly grown hoarse.

“Manchester wasn’t the same.” Zazz shrugged. “The
restaurants had changed, the streets were cleaner.”

Chick huffed a laugh. “The streets? Are you kidding me?”

“Yeah. No sweet papers—candy wrappers to you, no cans, not
even a smell of dogshit.”

“And that’s what you missed? Did you think a city stays the
same for ten years at a stretch?”

Zazz stuck his hands in his pockets, adopting his favorite
slouch. “That and the fans. Are we that hot?”

“So you strut in front of thousands of people in pants that
threaten to fall off any minute. You hear them yell for you, you read the
critics and you don’t get it yet?” Chick stared at him, disapproval writ large
in his gaze. “What makes you think you’re not the hottest band on the planet
right now?”

“I knew. Just that I didn’t
know
, you know?”

“That makes as much sense as American politics.” Chick
snorted. “But I can guess. The others have felt it, in a way. Jace tried to go
home. Donovan tried to get back to a writing career, and you know about Hunter.
He went home and found everything the same. Except when he dug deeper, it
wasn’t. Don’t start me on the women.”

“I won’t.” Although each of the women who’d fallen for a
member of the band had their own stories too. Zazz liked them, got on with V,
Allie, Beverley and Sabina, but until recently he didn’t think he was missing
anything by not having a more permanent connection. He didn’t do permanent, any
more than his father had. “It was when I tried to take Laura for a meal in
Rusholme. When I had to sign something from the thirty people sitting at the
tables I realized it was time to go. I lasted until Wednesday,” he reminded his
manager. “I saw my dad, talked to him. But I need to find somewhere else for
him to live. Once I persuade him. He refuses to leave his home, but it’s
getting harder for him.”

“I knew you cared,” Chick said. Try as he might, Zazz
couldn’t see any cynicism or derision in Chick’s eyes. His manager rarely got
touchy-feely on them, but this seemed like one of those times.

He clicked his tongue in exasperation. “He’s my father, of
course I care. I thought of bringing him with me, but now I’m not sure he’d do
well. He saw the band in Manchester anyhow. He doesn’t need to get back into
this life again.”

Chick tilted his head to one side, regarding Zazz too
perceptively for his liking. “The drugs?”

Zazz jerked a nod. “Once an addict, always an addict. Not my
words, his. And with what goes on around the band. We don’t bother these days,
but you can’t keep them away. The dealers know we attract users.”

Chick shrugged. “There’s only so much you can do.”

“You do well.” Zazz flashed a grin. “I’ve seen you throw
them out with your own bare hands.”

Chick regarded his larger-than-average hands ruefully. “It’s
the wrestling background.” He shuffled a few papers. “Okay, bring her in, but
don’t expect any favors. This is business.”

He left Chick’s office-cum-bedroom and wandered into the
main room. This time they were using the largest room in the Presidential
suite. It was a grandiose art-deco-style space, flashy in dramatic charcoal
with plenty of brass trim to give it sparkle. Zazz quite liked it. At least it
had character, more than some of the hotels they’d used. At last, management
seemed to understand they wouldn’t trash the place. That had gone out years
ago, although some bands still did it for shits and giggles. Or out of plain
boredom.

Holding up his hand in vague greeting to everyone, he
crossed to where Laura sat with a plate of salad balanced on her lap. He
reached for her, grabbing the plate and putting it aside as he tugged her to
her feet and into his arms. He lowered his head and kissed her, lush and open-mouthed,
using his tongue to seduce her. He took his time, tasting her. He caressed
every part of her mouth, playing with her tongue, sliding his tongue against it
and then lifting to touch the roof of her mouth with the tip. He absorbed her
sigh, tried for another and ignored the whistles from the other occupants of
the room, other than giving them the finger. He concentrated on her. She
deserved it, and he wanted it.

Fuck, he wanted her, now. He broke away but kept his arms
banded around her. “We have three hours before we have to leave for the venue.”

She grinned up at him, her cheeks flushed adorably. “Don’t
you have stuff to do?”

“Nah. Tired?”

She smiled at his gentle tease. “Maybe I need a rest.”

He loved the way she colored up. “You’ve got to earn your
rest. Chick says he’ll listen to you now.”

Her expression closed and she looked down, away from him. He
lifted her chin with one finger. “Do it. Take the chance.”

“I can’t.” Her voice sounded small and unsure. He hated it,
but he understood.

“Come on.” He took her hand and led her into their room.
He’d thought telling her in the main room might have helped her cope, seeing
the sympathy of the other band members. None of them were nerveless, but the
nerves gave them an edge, reminded them not to take anything for granted.

He closed the door gently and drew her back into his arms.
“You can borrow my guitar if you like.”

She stared at him, bottom lip caught between her teeth. She
released it, making him want to soothe it with his own. But not now. He had to
concentrate on getting her into Chick’s office. He contented himself with one
kiss before crossing the room and picking up his guitar. Step one. “You should
do this.”

She shook her head. “I’m not that good.”

“I think you are. I think you can do it.”
Patience, keep reassuring
her.

“I can’t.”

Someone had done a number on her, and he had a good idea who
it was. She’d avoided talking about it before, and he’d let her. Not now. “Why
don’t you think you’re good enough? Is it your parents?”

She shrugged, avoiding his eyes. “They’re right.”

“So you’ve been careful all your life. What if I said I
wouldn’t go onstage tonight if you don’t do this?”

“That’s emotional blackmail!” At least he’d made her feel
something. Finally, she lifted her gaze to his face. Her eyes sparkled with
indignation.

“So it is. And don’t you think someone did that to you? Do
this or I won’t love you anymore?” He crossed the room and pressed the neck of
the guitar into her hand. Her fingers closed around it and he took a breath. “I
wouldn’t do that. If I don’t go onstage tonight, it won’t be anything to do
with you. So was it your father who made you so unsure of taking this path?”

She shook her head. “Mother. When she was little she wanted
to be a ballerina. Joined a class, danced, worked hard. Something happened and
when she was sixteen, she stopped. She had a series of auditions for ballet
schools.”

“She didn’t get in?”

“She did. But at sixteen she’d be putting all her eggs into
one basket.”

His heart sank. “She turned them down?”

“Her parents said she could do it after she’d passed her
exams. She never went back.” She paused, then carried on. “She said she never
regretted that decision.”

If he knew one thing, it was this. “She lied. Did you pass
up an opportunity?”

“No. I didn’t apply.”

“Shit. You gave up before you started.”

She twined her fingers together. “Not quite. I went to
university and got my degree. My mother praised me, said I’d done it right.
Otherwise, what chance did I have of making a life for myself?”

“The chance is higher. But if you want to, you can go for
it. Listen.” He mustered his thoughts and knew there was more at stake than he
cared to admit. If she rejected this chance, then they’d live apart, because
she wouldn’t give up her job for him. He wouldn’t ask her to. Pride for her filled
him when he thought how many people she’d helped. But she had the right to know
if she was good enough, and Chick was the person to tell her.

He put his hands on her shoulders, felt a faint tremble.
That was good. Nerves gave a person an edge. “If you want this chance, believe
in yourself and go for it. It doesn’t commit you to anything. What do you have
to lose?”

“You,” she said, and then clapped her hand over her mouth.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean that. But you were being nice, weren’t you? When you said
I was good. I’m just average.”

“Baby, you have something.” Where were these fucking
endearments coming from? So natural, they slipped out before he could stop
them. “I heard it in your voice. But I’m not sure what. Chick has experience,
and more than that, he has an instinct. He’ll tell you if you have a chance.
Can you afford to miss it?” The light in her eyes sparked and he knew he had
her. “Do you want me there with you?”

She nodded.

He had to get her there before she changed her mind. All she
needed was people to believe in her, and she’d fly. “Let’s go.”

In Chick’s room, she sat on the bed, balanced the guitar on
her knees and checked the tuning. Then she stared at the strings, as if unsure
of her fingering, but Zazz knew she didn’t need help. She gained confidence as
she went on, changing from strumming to a definite tune, her fingers curving
and plucking with more conviction. Then she sang. Laura had a sweet, pure tone
that she could edge and feather, adding hoarser qualities as she needed them.

Chick sat opposite her, watching her closely, seemingly at
rest. Zazz followed his expression, watched how his fingers drummed on the arm
of his chair, how he nodded once or twice.

She came to a halt, and Chick waved one hand in a circle, so
she carried on, played something else. A Murder City Ravens song, one of their
rockers, but she turned it into a plaintive acoustic number.
The fucking
nerve.
He loved it. Zazz tried not to grin when he saw her shape the chord
he’d taught her properly. That was how he’d originally written it. Jace had
suggested the heavier treatment. Then, more confident now, she played another,
a mash-up of a traditional folk song and something of her own. The song was
about a man about to be hanged and the woman who saved him. Clever, edgy,
bringing what was an old thing right up to date. Just as she had with the song
she’d played him when he’d first persuaded her to show him her music.

At the end of that one, Chick held up his hand. She stopped,
glanced Zazz’s way and then back at Chick. “Fun, right? Nothing else.”

“Don’t outthink me,” Chick said.

She clucked, clearly exasperated, but didn’t reply. Just as
well, because Chick launched into his assessment of her talents. “Any other
agent would take you in a heartbeat. You’re good, and you can make a career out
of what you do. But I want you to practice some more. Refine what you do and
decide where you want to take this. You need time.” He leaned forward. “Let me
be perfectly clear. If you go into the studio now, you’ll have a good album, maybe
a couple of hit singles. But you’ll run out of steam.”

She laughed. “Thanks for listening to me. I don’t have the
time or the money to do that.”

Zazz gave a huff of frustration. “Don’t give us that. Stop
it, Laura, and think. You don’t need money to practice, so at the least you can
go home and do it in your spare time.”

She gave him a look so stricken he wanted to take back what
he’d said. But she needed to stand on her own, he couldn’t, mustn’t, help her
in this. She couldn’t do this for anyone else, and she had to learn because
this business wasn’t just hard, it was a killer. Not that he’d tell her that
yet. But if she found her musical feet, and if she was sure about what she
wanted to do, then she’d be fine.

“You’ve got something,” Chick said. “More than the average,
but it’s still raw. I’ll pass on the good and wait for the great, because if
you do the work, it will come. I’m sure of it.”

“Wow.” That time he had to say something. “You never said
that to us.”

Chick didn’t take his attention away from Laura. “I didn’t
need to. You knew. This one, she’ll need support, but she needs the kind of
support that lets her fly free when she needs to.” He kept watching her. “I
apologize for not seeing you before.”

“You never heard me play before.” She sounded bewildered.

“I can usually see—something in interesting people.”
Finally, Chick grinned. “Sorry. That’s how I make a living. I facilitate.
Everyone has some kind of talent, I truly believe that. Mine is to make it
possible for others to do what they do. I make a good living out of it.” He
glanced at Zazz and shrugged.

“Hey, man, we’re all making a great living out of it. You
make your fifteen, we make more.”

“But I make more fifteens,” he pointed out. “Not every
client is a success though. Maybe they rush in before they’re ready, or the
public doesn’t like them, or they let commercialism get in the way.” He
grinned. “Sure, that means money for me, but hell, I hate to see good talent go
to waste. If I take you, I’ll fight for you.”

“Literally,” Zazz said. Laura shot him a sharp look and Zazz
spread his hands and grinned. “He went for the manager of one of the venues
shortly after he took us on. Fucking awesome.”

Chick threw back his great head and laughed. “That was a
good one, wasn’t it? They weren’t expecting that. I started my career in the
ring. Wrestling. Fun, but I soon found I was better at managing them than doing
it myself. Not before I learned a few tricks.”

“So what are you saying?” She rested her arms on the guitar
like someone at a folk club. But already Zazz knew she did more than that. She
took traditional folk songs and twisted them to her own vision, and she wrote
her own stuff too. He couldn’t wait to see what she did with Murder City Ravens
numbers. No, on second thought, she scoured out any vulnerabilities, and he
wasn’t sure he wanted to hear that. He looked for the heart of the issue, and
so did she, approaching it from a different angle.