SailtotheMoon (14 page)

Unlike V, Laura didn’t belong in the band, which saddened
him. It would have made everything so much easier. No, she had to make her own
way. Even if she ended up playing small clubs, as long as she was true to her
vision, that would count as a success. And she’d be happy. He wanted to make
her happy, be part of it. More than he wanted almost anything else. He couldn’t
hold her back. She had to fly.

Which meant they had as precarious a future as ever.

In that room he realized he had to let Laura do what she
needed to, go where her vision took her. And yet he wanted her so badly, badly
enough to keep her. He couldn’t.

But he had her for now.

He checked his watch. Two hours before they had to go. “Come
on.” He got to his feet, held out his hand.

She opened her mouth, then closed it with a snap. She’d seen
something in his face. He’d always prided himself on his stone features when he
wanted them, but she could always see right through that. Their correspondence,
then meeting, closing the circle.

Fuck, he was in trouble and he didn’t only want her now, he
needed her.

In their room, he kicked the door shut and then slammed her
against it. He plastered himself against her and took her in a kiss so intense,
he doubted they’d ever come up for air. And he didn’t care. He thrust his
tongue deep, then opened his mouth wide, taking her, letting her take him. She
did with a voraciousness that matched his own. They were so suited, it didn’t
make sense.

Life didn’t make sense. It never had.

They’d left his guitar in Chick’s room, the first time he’d
let it out of his sight for a long time, but he didn’t care. He could always get
another one. He couldn’t get another Laura and she wouldn’t be in his life much
longer. She had two possible futures, and neither of them included him. He had
a future that involved extensive travel and he wouldn’t make her his accessory.
She deserved so much more than that. He saw her with his father and knew nobody
could have that level of dedication and not love their job. She had worked so
hard to get him with his father, and the genuine care she gave him probably
kept him going. If she took Chick’s offer, he’d have her on the small theater
circuit, making her reputation and, as he knew, a reasonable living. He had to
keep going with Murder City Ravens for his sake and the other band members. At
the moment they belonged together. In the future, who knew, but nobody ever
did. Zazz was allergic to long-term planning.

Desperation filled him to make the most of the short time
they’d have together. He held her, felt her heat, ran his hands over her body,
caressing her, savoring her soft skin, her slender body, curved in all the
right places. He had to taste her. As if they hadn’t made love a few hours ago,
his body responded with a voracious hunger. His cock hardened fast, pushing
against his fly.

He reluctantly finished the kiss, dropping a few gentle
caresses on her lips before he could bear to leave them. “So sweet,” he
murmured. “You, my angel, are the best. The cream.” He began to sing to her,
the first verse of one of his father’s favorite songs,
You’re the Top
.
She laughed, the vibration making her skin tremble under his lips. He kissed
her neck, flicking out his tongue to taste her skin. He made up his own
variations, calling her the spice in curry, the raspberry in peach melba. She
laughed more, but laughter stopped, or rather paused, when he concentrated on
taking off her clothes.

She wore a blouse today, white, crisp. He liked it so he
took care unfastening the buttons. That had its own appeal, revealing her skin
bit by bit, allowing him to kiss the pearly flesh as it became exposed. Her
breasts swelled above her bra, pale pink today. Pretty. It had to go.

He had her out of the blouse and bra while she was dealing
with his T-shirt, pushing it up to expose his chest. She kissed him, dragged
the shirt above his head so she could toss it away. She tongued his tribal
bracelet, making him feel every line, every trace of the tattoo. Never had the
ink been so fucking sensual. She had her finger on his little cat, pressing and
teasing, but he had his mouth on her nipple now, sucking and licking as if he’d
starved for her. Which he had.

“I need you now,” he whispered against her skin, knowing
she’d hear him. If she didn’t, she’d know what he said.

“Me too.”

The rest of their clothes followed quickly and he had to
pause to kick off his jeans. Fucking parallel cut. He’d get boot-cut next time.
Easier to discard. His underwear followed, the perverse tighty whities he wore
sometimes because someone had told him they were uncool. He’d fucking make them
cool, he’d thought, and then found the fuckers actually comfortable.

They lay on the floor now like a discarded dream. Nothing
mattered more than getting inside her. He’d had the presence of mind to snag a
condom from his jeans pocket and he made use of it now, groaning when she
insisted on helping him. “You’ll make me come like a horny teenager,” he
murmured, but she laughed.

“I doubt that. You want inside me too much.”

When had she become a siren? Now—standing naked in front of
him. Her dark hair swung around her shoulders, her eyes sparkled with
excitement. The perfect example of a nymph luring a man to his doom. Or his
fate.

He lifted her and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He
wanted her badly. No, he wanted something else first. To know every part of
her. He glanced around, saw the chaise longue in the corner of the room and
crossed to it with a few strides. She hung around his neck and waist, sat when
he lowered her.

Reaching behind his back, he tugged at her legs, urging her
to unwrap. She did, watching him closely. He grinned and touched his lips to
hers, spreading her legs wide so he could see the glistening center of her
heat. Her pussy was wet, but he wanted it wetter.

His first taste made him moan. Desire had a flavor and this
was it. Almost indescribable. He’d take it, make it his. Write about it, maybe.
He sucked her rigid little clit, curled his tongue around it and it was her
turn to moan. Her hands, pressed against the dark-blue upholstery, tightened.
She scrabbled, trying to grip, until she lifted her hands and held on to his
shoulders, kneading with all the rhythmic motions of a cat. Her knees pressed
against his sides and he went in for more.

Opening his mouth wide, he kept her clit in his mouth but
licked the rest of her, sliding his tongue down her crease, collecting her
juices and reaching her opening. Then he went in for the kill. When he leaned
closer, sucked and kissed her, she squirmed, but held on until he felt her
tense, her whole body going into meltdown as she screamed. A flood of fresh
juice rewarded him, temporarily quenching his thirst for her.

He pulled away, her hands sliding down his arms, then he
knelt and sheathed himself faster than he’d ever done in his life before. He
pushed his cock against her. It entered with minimum resistance. Almost in the
same movement, he lifted her legs, draped them over his shoulders and grabbed
her hips. He encouraged her to slide down the seat so her pussy was flush with
the edge and he could drive them both to madness, then oblivion.

“Fuck yeah,” he growled, driving deep, his thrusts pushing
her backward with each forceful stroke. When she opened her eyes they gleamed,
watching him with a wide-eyed wonder, soon replaced by drowning desire,
something he knew was reflected on his face. He took her outer thighs in his
hands, held her firmly as he stroked inside her. Her breasts jiggled against
his chest, her nipples grazed him, their hard points succulent evidence of her
need.

When he kissed her, slanted his mouth against hers, she
sucked on his tongue, seemingly eager to taste her orgasm on him. It seemed
churlish to keep it to himself. He pulled away, licking and tasting her, not
too far, so he could kiss, mouth wide, tongue plunging in counterpoint to his
cock. She cried out, held on, gripped his waist to keep her body aligned with
his until she held him so tight she took his breath. Her pussy pulsed around
his cock as she came again.

He didn’t hold back any longer. Two was all he could manage
to give her right now. It seemed poor payment when he came in a series of
juddering spurts, feeling the urge to send every jet deep inside her.

They stayed there for a minute. He pressed his forehead
against hers, their breaths loud in the quiet room. The murmur of traffic
outside and the purr of the air conditioner were the only sounds apart from
their gasps as they regained their sanity. Then he laughed and kissed her. “It
gets better all the time.” He didn’t have to tell her that. He guessed she knew
it already, but he needed to tell her, to break the dangerous pause after what
was increasingly becoming lovemaking.

He lifted away, wondering if he could say what he wanted to,
knowing he shouldn’t. “Come on, let’s shower. We don’t have much time.”

By now Laura knew she’d never tire of watching Murder City
Ravens. Every concert sounded different, felt different, and there were so many
layers to the performances that she could spend a long time studying them, if
she were so inclined. Tonight, the third night at Wembley, she chose to sit
alone and tucked her armful of wristbands up the sleeve of her hoodie, a
suitably grungy one she’d owned forever. Chick had found her a seat at the
front, to one side, where she could see the band better than most in this huge
arena. She sat next to a couple of girls, she’d guess in their mid-twenties.
They spent the half hour before the band appeared discussing the albums in
detail, and which tracks stood out for them.

Impressive knowledge of music. Laura longed to join in, but
instead, watched the audience and the stage, waiting for the charismatic lead
singer to make his appearance. The man who happened to be her lover, and the
man she loved. Two very different things. She’d thought he might say something
earlier, but he seemed to change his mind abruptly, and since then hadn’t let
her close enough to ask him if he was okay. He seemed on edge, even more so
than usual when she’d left him for his usual commune with his inner self. She’d
collected the wristbands she needed from the assigned roadie and quietly went
out to the front of house. She entered the way everyone else did, showing only
the wristband that was her ticket to entry.

The band slipped onstage in the near-dark and took their
places. Then, with a flash of bright light that would send most epileptics into
a flat spin and a corresponding
boom
from combined percussion and bass,
they were off.

For the first song, Zazz took his strutting arrogance to the
max. He owned the audience from his first note, snatched the mic off its stand
to stride along one side of the stage, then the other. Each swagger was in
perfect time, adding emphasis to his bitter lyrics about corruption and power. He
excoriated anyone going into positions of power, and then soothed them, giving
them excuses. Only next to the initial destruction, the excuses sounded weak.
As they were meant to.

With perfect timing they turned to a song of intimacy and
tender care, about a man who’d lost a woman after a long-term relationship,
lost in a big bed, but unwilling to share it again.

Note perfect, mood perfect, the concert rocked and sang and seduced.
If she hadn’t realized it before, she knew now how hard the band worked to
achieve what seemed effortless. An hour and a half disappeared, then the band
went offstage, only to return for their first encore.

Only Zazz returned, and he carried his guitar, the one he’d
lent Laura for her audition with Chick. Her heart leaped when she saw it. Now
she was just another fan. She absorbed the music like a fan, occasionally
grinning at the girls in the seats next to her as they passed comments or
yelled when a favorite song emerged.

Such a privilege to watch this band as often as she had
recently.

Zazz took his time ensuring the guitar was in tune, which,
as it was self-tuning wasn’t needed, but she guessed he was centering himself. He
had a panel at his feet, a machine that enabled him to sample his voice. He put
it on a loop, something that fascinated her, enabling him to harmonize with
himself live.

He lifted his head and gazed out into the audience. “This is
a new song. Let me know if you like it, okay?” Mixed cheering and hooting
followed. The audience wanted new and familiar, and they hadn’t played their
first number one yet. “For you,” he said. Was that the title or the dedication?

Laura knew. It was the dedication. For her. Fuck, he was
playing for her.

He played a few plaintive chords, creating a tune so
exquisite she couldn’t hope to emulate it. Then sang a simple phrase, repeated
it twice, “Don’t leave me, stay with me”, before he touched the board with the
toe of his black sneaker, sending the phrase into a loop. Over the top he sang
a contradictory phrase. “But I need my life and you need yours.”

Oh God. She’d dreamed about Zazz writing a song for her, had
even imagined it once or twice in the past, but not like this. Not opening
their dilemma for everyone to hear and comment on. She felt naked, stripped to
her skin, and his lyrics made her even more raw. Why hadn’t he told her he was
doing this? Was this what it was like, being with a man like Zazz?

Except there was no other man like Zazz. This was what he
was. In a way he had warned her, by telling her how he wrote his songs, that he
drew on his own experience and tried to make it universal. But he could only do
it by flaying himself alive, being unflinchingly honest.

He didn’t want her to go, but his less sentimental side knew
she must, knew they wouldn’t last if either of them gave up on their dreams. So
they had to part.

The girls next to Laura were in tears, dabbing their eyes
with tissues, trying not to smear their mascara. Only Laura stayed dry-eyed,
because what he was saying went beyond that.

He built on the uncertainty in the next verse, looping the
phrase “No way out, got to part” over the first. It wove and swerved, one
phrase coming, then the other, the volume and intensity subtly alternating. Then
he added more.

Impossibility led to speculation and despair, because while
one life was on hold, the other could blossom. In a different direction.

He wasn’t asking her anything, or expecting it of her. She
wasn’t even sure it was about her, because the situation worked for so many
couples, the old saying about ships that passed in the night.

He’d broken her heart and made her realize how many other
hearts were breaking from the same dilemma. Just Zazz—James—and his music and
twelve thousand other people. And her. The song ended with each thread slowly
melting away, leaving the original refrain, “Don’t leave me, stay with me”.

Then darkness and silence.

A pause followed, the one so rare every performer strove
for, but rarely achieved. The utter silence of all those people absorbing
something astonishing.

Applause, then the lights went up to reveal the whole band
again, and they sang another new one,
Anticlimax
, the one the band had
been working on recently. Tears ran down her cheeks, but she wasn’t the only
one. He had her guitar slung around his neck now, all six strings in place, but
he’d roughened them, and they were the old nylon kind. He only played it at the
end of the song, and he was right, it added the tinge of poignancy he’d
searched for. Perfect. But the song wasn’t about them, it was about the
failures in life, and the way the soul kept striving despite that.

After that, Zazz went into swagger mode for their first huge
hit, the one the crowd was waiting for.

Numbness held her in her seat, made her hold her pose,
afraid if she moved she might break. Even more people would know what he meant
once the song hit the internet. Zazz told them their bedroom secrets before she
was properly aware. He’d let her go, she’d let him go, and they’d live with the
knowledge they’d lost something that might never happen again. She was sure she
didn’t want it to. Once was enough, and the experience would tear her apart.

Her dream had become reality, only it wasn’t a dream. It was
a nightmare.

* * * * *

After the show finished, Laura left with the rest of the
audience. She meekly climbed the steep stairs and left via the double doors at
the top, past security provided by the arena, not the band, so they didn’t know
her. She had money and plastic, enough to get a room for the night at some
anonymous hotel. She’d go to the band’s hotel the next day when they were at
the sound check. She could pack and get home, forget everything and try to live
her life anew.

She couldn’t do this to him.

Her conscience screamed at her that she couldn’t repay his
honesty by cowardice. Like Zazz, she had to raise her head and go on, face him
and talk to him. She couldn’t hurt him that way and she couldn’t sneak off into
the night. She had no doubt he’d try to contact her. Or that she’d tell him it
had been nice, she had to go home on an emergency, excuses that he’d pretend to
believe.

No. No lies. When they parted, as they must, they’d do it as
friends.

Unless…unless she accepted Chick’s half-offer, threw away
everything she’d worked for so far and started anew. In her late twenties, in a
business that worshipped youth. She had no illusions, and Zazz had taught her
another lesson tonight. Only the best would do. Only that level of perfection
would satisfy her.

She wandered around the big area outside the auditorium.
Thronged with promotional stalls selling T-shirts, buttons, mugs. She even
spotted a tattoo artist offering to engrave the band’s name or images as a
permanent souvenir of the evening. Even more amazing, people were lining up to
get it done. She watched the crowd shoving to get to the bar or, with plastic
cups brimming, trying to get away without spilling too much. At those prices,
the beer would be as precious as gold dust.

Hands in pockets, she strolled around the area, as much as
she could in the crowds. People were talking excitedly, and if she heard “amazing”
one more time, she might scream.

Right now Zazz would be heading to the press room. She
should go, show him she was there for him, although after that song, she didn’t
know if she could, or how much longer she’d feature in his life. Pity all this
shit was so complicated.

Heading for the auditorium doors, now firmly closed, she saw
a security guy. She dragged her bands out from her sleeve and showed them to
him, and he told her the way to the nearest backstage entrance.

A discreet door right at the end of the selling area. People
gathered here, hoping to get in. Some were getting access, because the areas
were zoned, and some could get in and progress no farther. She showed the guy
only the pass she needed to get into the first part and kept her head down,
unwilling to draw attention to herself.

She had to pass through to another area before she found one
of the band’s security people and not the arena’s. He recognized her and barely
glanced at her wristband before he let her in. Now people knew who she was and
for the first time she experienced some kind of fame, although fame by association.

She couldn’t lie to herself. She wanted it for herself.

As always, she looked at him and his gaze went straight to
her, as if nobody else existed. The corner of his mouth twitched in a smile and
she smiled back. All they needed. A few journalists took her picture, but she
was almost getting used to that now. They’d do it for a while, she guessed,
even when they were apart, but they’d soon tire of it when it became
obvious—what? Her fatalistic tendency was getting in the way again. And her
lack of confidence in herself.

What more did she want? She’d received endorsements from two
of the movers and shakers in the industry, and one of them wasn’t sleeping with
her.

Shit, she should do this. She should so do this.

Decision made. She’d tell him later, because this time
belonged to him. Not that he seemed to think so, because he was beckoning to
her. His forefinger crooked in a way that reminded her what he did when that
finger was inside her. A shiver surprised her, but it shouldn’t have. She
couldn’t resist. She went, people making room for her.

“That first new song tonight? This is the inspiration.” Zazz
stood and curved his arm around her waist, planting a gentle kiss on her lips.
Flashes went off, but she concentrated on Zazz and his incredible blue eyes, which
were sending currents of arousal zapping through her. He turned back to the
assembled media. “But only the inspiration. It’s for everyone who faces that
dilemma—loving someone and forced to live apart.”

Loving? Did he say that? Laura swallowed, trying to keep the
smile fixed on her face, but when he glanced at her, his eyes were full of
amusement. He leaned closer to murmur in her ear, so no one could even lip read
what he was saying. With Hunter’s beloved Sabina in the audience, that could be
a distinct possibility. “What, it’s a surprise? With you, it’s too easy. I fell
in love the minute I saw you in person. Before we even touched.”

Oh fuck, the courage of the man. The way he’d opened his
heart and soul onstage, there for anyone to ridicule if they wanted to, the way
he held her now, so she could break away, laugh in his face if she wanted—it
took her breath away.

What could she do but try to match his bravery?

She gazed up into his eyes, not even trying to hide her
voice or her expression, which must be a dead giveaway. “I love you too,” she
said.

His kiss wasn’t anything like a peck this time. Curving his
hand over the side of her face, he took her in something long, deep and wild,
his tongue tasting hers as if he’d never sampled it before. She ate at him, as
eager as he, but she was the one to break the kiss. “You have a public to make
happy,” she reminded him.

“I think I just did. They’ll be talking about this for
weeks.”

Her cheeks warmed with her blush, but she wouldn’t stand
down. “Talk to them. Tell them what you meant.”

“Stay with me?”

She didn’t know if he meant now or forever, but it didn’t
matter. Not yet, although it would. “Yes.”

Someone had already provided a chair next to his, so they
sat, and he kept his arm around her. The rest of the band didn’t attempt to
break in, a symptom of how together and confident they felt in each other. They
might not know what he was about to say, but they trusted him. “At the moment
that song is specific to me and the situation I find myself in. It’s something
I will bring to the band, and together we’ll make it something else, something
universal.”

“Do you ever do solo efforts?”