SailtotheMoon (9 page)

By the end of the song he didn’t have to see her to know
he’d achieved it. That certainty made him proud of his skill, and the work he’d
done to perfect it. He felt like a million dollars.

Zazz came offstage drenched in sweat, his trousers sticking
to his skin. He’d discarded his jacket and shirt for the first encore, forty-five
minutes ago. He looked for her, but he couldn’t see her. No wonder, because it
would take time for her to get backstage, but shit, his heart still sank when
he didn’t see her. Grabbing a bottle of water, he unscrewed it almost in the
same motion, but after taking one gulp, he tipped it over his head. His body
needed it more. He’d drunk water through the performance, but he must have
sweated most of it off.

Then, there she was and before he could stop her, she
catapulted herself at him. Before he could stop himself, he closed his arms
around her and brought his head down to share a passionate, exuberant kiss.

Chick’s slow handclaps brought him back to earth, barely.
Before looking around, he murmured to her, “You shouldn’t have done that. I’m
disgusting.”

“I don’t care.” She smiled at him happily. “You sang for me.
And for everyone else.”

“One was for you. Just for you.”

Moisture misted her eyes, or was she as hot as him and sweat
had dripped there? No, before she’d hugged him, she’d been bone dry.

“Come with me.” Fuck the media, the fans and everything
else. Besides, they’d done the press con last night. He wasn’t up for another
one. Grabbing her hand, he towed her past the people wanting to congratulate
the band, and didn’t stop until they reached his dressing room.

The door had barely slammed behind them before he spun her
around and pushed her over one of the two chairs. “If you’re not okay with this,
say so now,” he gasped, barely holding on to what civilized behavior he had
left. “Otherwise I’m going to fuck your brains out.”

Her answer was a groan and, “Yes!”

He had her jeans down faster than his pants because the
leather clung to him so he had to peel it down, once he’d undone the laces.
Shit, no condom. But Laura proved his salvation, because she lifted her hand
off the chair and handed him one. “I wanted it, so I had one ready. Hoped you—”

“Christ, you wonderful woman!”

He tested her briefly with his fingers, that heat and her
soaking pussy making him incapable of foreplay. Thank God she was ready,
because his cock positively wanted to get inside her.

He sheathed, lined up and thrust. His eyes almost rolled
back in his head at the ecstasy as he drove deep inside her, not stopping until
he was fully enclosed. She cried out, lifted her head and he realized they
could see themselves in the mirror. Oh fuck yes, that made it even better and
there he was imagining nothing could. “Fuck, I need you now,” he told her as he
withdrew and then delved deep again, wanting it all, wanting it now. Her
breasts jiggled under her thin T-shirt and she gripped the front of the chair,
holding them steady as he bent his knees for better traction and took her.

She lifted her backside and his view got better, those
sweet, round cheeks daring him to take hold. Never a man to refuse such a
luscious invitation, he slid his hands over the silky-sweet skin, caressing
before sliding one finger into the delicate cleft between and teasing her. But
he didn’t do it for long. He didn’t have the control right now.

He let his cock do the work, gripping her hips and driving
into her relentlessly. “Hot, tight and made for me,” he growled. “Say it.”

“Fuck! Just for you.” Her gasps and moans sounded like the
best kind of rock music, hard, powerful and urgent. They provoked him into
pounding harder each time, their flesh slapping together, her buttocks
quivering with the impact.

She shouted his name when she came.

Not Zazz, but “James!”

And it sounded so good when she said it. He came hard, his
body shuddering against hers.

Despite the tiny dimensions of the shower, he shared it with
her, not willing to let her out of his sight yet. Leaving their clothes thrown
over the chair they’d put to good use, they stepped under the inadequate spray.
He laughed with sheer joy as he held her tight and found the shower gel. They
hadn’t had time to kiss once they’d entered his dressing room. So he made up
for it now, sharing a series of kisses with her, exploring her and enjoying
her, offering himself in return. When the inevitable happened and his cock rose
to greet them, he told her to ignore it.

Over the flow of water, a knock came on his door with a
peremptory, “Press call!”

She frowned. “I thought you weren’t doing a press
conference?”

“I’m tempted to ignore him and go back to the hotel. Because
we’d have to be serious contortionists to fuck in this space.”

That made her laugh, and her breasts quivered against his
chest, the hardened nipples deliciously tempting. Although they didn’t have
time or space to do their feelings justice right now, he ensured she was
properly clean.
Really
clean.

As he was about to rinse them both off, she put her hand on
his sudsy chest. “You might want to know something. Your dad was in the
audience tonight.”

That did it. His cock subsided and he chilled, despite the
hot water cascading over them both. “How?”

“He called Chick, or rather, Riku called Chick for him, and
Chick sent transport. They’ve taken great care of him. Zazz, there was nothing
you could have done to stop him, it would have made him unhappy. The best thing
was to do what Chick did, and make sure he was okay and looked after. I sat
next to him.” She paused. “He cried.”

“Oh God.” He should have sent tickets at the least, but he
recognized his emotion now for the truth it was. “I was scared, baby.” He
cupped her face in his hands. “He was so fucking good in his day. I guess I was
always scared I wouldn’t match up to him. Besides, rock music was never his
thing.”

“You’ve gone beyond rock,” she said.

The water started to cool and he reached behind her to
switch it off. “No heated towel rail here.” He handed her one off the rack and
stepped out to give her room to use it. “I should put one on the rider.”

That made her laugh. “Spoiled rock star.” She swiped the
towel across her back and wrapped her hair in it, scrubbing it haphazardly.

“Spoiled beyond rock star.” He took over for her, taking the
towel away before turning her face up to his. “It’s okay.”

“What?”

But he saw the trouble in her eyes. “You called me James.”

“It’s what I called you for two years, in those emails.”

“When you say it, I like it.” He wouldn’t let her look away.
“When we’re alone, feel free.”

“I just did.”

He loved her blush, rosy and inviting. Intriguing to see it
went right to her breasts, fading only then. Another time, he promised himself,
he’d kiss all that blush, around, back up and then the parts of her not tinted
rosy pink. Just for the hell of it. “So you did. It’s time someone called me
that again.”

Stopping her putting on the T-shirt she’d discarded, he
handed her his spare, a Foo Fighters shirt with a bleeding heart dead center.
It hung loosely on her, so he knotted it on one side, pulling it taut and
revealing some of her skin above her hip. Sexy. He growled and planted a kiss
there. “Keep that safe for me.”

Cheesy, stupid, but he didn’t give a fuck. She’d brought
back something to him—being a child, playful. He couldn’t remember the last
time he’d felt playful. As if a burden had gone from his shoulders.

And he knew what it was. Whatever his father thought of the
music his son played, he’d seen the band now. He’d know what his son had been
wasting his time on.

He took her hand, ready to leave the room, dressed in the
three-fuck jeans he’d arrived in and a clean T-shirt. He left the rest on the
floor of the room in the confidence that someone else would sweep them up and
get them cleaned. One of the luxuries he relished.

Leaving the room, he stopped dead at the sight of Chick,
blocking their way, arms folded. “You took your time. You know your father is
out there?”

“I do now. What have you done with him?”

“He’s talking to the media. I didn’t plan a conference for
tonight, but they hung around anyway.”

Zazz closed his eyes and fought for control. He snapped his
lids open. “Why did you let him?”

“I didn’t. Beverley sent someone to collect him, along with
Laura and the others out front, but he saw the press and headed for them. Is he
on anything?”

“Why do you ask?” Oh fuck, this could get worse. If someone
had fed him something, Zazz would kill them. Personally.

Chick shrugged a massive shoulder. “He’s talking fast,
that’s all. With his rep, I thought—”

“Yeah. Lead the way. Laura’s his social worker.”

Chick gave a hollow laugh. “I kind of know that. I’ve been
playing go-between for the last coupla years. I guess when you come out, you
make a real job of it.”

Zazz’s laugh was less forced, and he squeezed Laura’s hand.
“I guess. Is this press junket just for me?”

“The others have hung around.”

Of course they had. Warmth suffused him when he recognized
their loyalty. He’d do the same for them, no question, but it was great to have
people at his back. “What are we waiting for?”

Laura kept up with him, every step of the way to the room
where they’d held the official press conference the night before. The scene was
more chaotic tonight. Word must have got out, because people milled around, and
the murmurs they’d heard from a distance erupted when they entered. His grip on
Laura’s hand tightened. He needed her now.

Up at the front, Beverley had his father ringed with
bouncers. He sat at the trestle table, bare now, a bottle of water in front of
him, half empty. Zazz breathed a sigh of relief that his father had stayed away
from the drink. Exactly where he didn’t want his father, but it couldn’t be
helped now. He’d have to make the best of an appalling situation. Never had he
planned anything to come out this way. “How did it happen?”

“Somebody recognized him,” Chick muttered. “Then the old man
asked how he liked his son. Hell broke loose.”

“Shit.” He quickened his pace, knowing Laura had to trot to
keep up with him, but he’d make it up to her later, if she let him. When he’d
gone, Laura would have to protect his father from the media, and in the flat
where he lived and refused to leave, that would be almost impossible. Already
Zazz began to think of live-in help, but knew how impossible that would be. His
father would never agree to it, and even if someone bullied him into accepting
it, he wouldn’t be happy. He liked visitors, not sharing. Zazz knew that for a
fact. After all, he’d been the live-in once.

He joined his father at the podium, such as it was, and
helped Laura sit before he turned to his father. She gave him an apprehensive
stare. He tried for a reassuring smile.

Then he bent and embraced his father. Flashes went off, and
Jimmy hid his face in Zazz’s chest. Zazz found the shades in his pocket, the
ones he used for disguise and popped them on his father’s nose. Now he looked
like a cool jazz master, which, of course, he was.

He kept his arm around Jimmy’s shoulders and faced the
ravening hordes. Waited. Chick had taught him that trick, to stand and wait for
them. If they wanted to hear anything, they’d eventually hush. Or he’d leave.

Some shouted questions, but he ignored them all. It took
them five minutes and that was only because he eventually yelled, “Five minutes
and we’re out of here. Shut the fuck up.”

They silenced.

He’d make a statement, answer a few questions. After all, it
wasn’t as if this was some kind of state secret. Just a quirk, and with any
luck, it’d all be forgotten next week. What did they say around here? Oh yes,
“It’ll be tomorrow’s ash papers”. Used to wrap rubbish.

“This is James Asaro, otherwise known as Jimmy A. He’s been
living in Manchester since his retirement, twenty years ago.” Jimmy gave a
hoarse laugh as if about to say something, but Zazz ploughed on. “My name is
also James Asaro. In the States, they’d call me James Asaro Junior. I arrived
when Jimmy had given up on kids. I want him left alone. He’s frail and in
retirement. That’s the only reason I haven’t announced our relationship
before.”

Here it came. Like a torrent, the questions poured forth. At
least he could choose which ones to answer.

“No, Jimmy is a recovering alcoholic and addict. I’ve taken
care of him as much as I could. No, I don’t drink or take drugs.” They laughed
at that. He might have known they wouldn’t believe him. He didn’t give a shit
whether they believed him or not. “Jimmy has no plans to return to the jazz
world.”

“What does Jimmy think of your music?” someone asked. Before
he could head them off—after all, even he didn’t know—Jimmy put his hand on his
sleeve.

“I’ll answer that one.” His voice, still tinged with the
American accent, because he’d lived the most influential years of his life
there, pierced the suddenly silent atmosphere.

Zazz sat, knowing he couldn’t stop this. Whatever it was,
he’d hear his father’s verdict in public. Not how he’d wanted to do this. He
took Laura’s hand, not making a secret of their closeness. He didn’t know if
she wanted that either, but if she didn’t, too bad. Apprehension rose in his
throat, choking him.

“My son made his own life. He came up the hard way, like I
did. Jazz didn’t do it for him, and anyhow, the jazz market isn’t what it was.”
Jimmy spoke slowly, but clearly. “He did what he had to do and I’m proud of
him. I can’t say I liked everything tonight, but some of the music—” He turned
to address Zazz directly, and pushed up the dark glasses so Zazz could see his
gray eyes, full of sincerity. “You’ve made music to last, my son.”