Chapter One
As applause thundered around her, Jane stared at the chiseled face of the blond man who had been guzzling shots of tequila all evening. His full pink lips were pursed, his facial muscles taut. His fingers curled around his empty shot glass. While his companion cheered with the rest of the audience, he didn’t lift a hand to clap. Clearly he was unimpressed with her and her music, but at least he hadn’t gotten loud and raucous. Yet.
Jane eyed the red-haired woman sitting in the back. Lisa Taylor, agent extraordinaire, had come to this show just to see Jane Rock and the Stones. The set had gone well and Jane smiled. Within an hour, God willing, her band would have representation and be on its way to the big-time.
“Encore, encore!” voices shouted.
Jane turned to Fernando, her bass player, and nodded.
“Thank you,” she said into the microphone. “You’ve been a great audience.” She signaled Lenny, her keyboardist, and began the count.
“Aw, fuck me! Not more of this musical atrocity!”
The voice boomed above her count, and Jane turned to stare at that same man who held another shot glass to his shapely lips. His chiseled jawline tensed. She inhaled. Should have followed your instinct, Jane, and asked to have him thrown out before it got to this. He might look like a Greek god, but she was hoping the bouncer would have him booted.
“Hey, Jim!” she called to the large man sitting by the entrance. “Could you get rid of that guy?”
Jim, burly and balding, headed toward asshole’s table.
Jane closed her eyes to clear her head. She tilted her head back and let her long dark hair tickle her bare back. Feel the music, Jane. Let it take you. The pure rawness of rock and roll always moved her. The cheers of the audience were icing on the cake. She breathed in, visualizing success. Though regionally Jane Rock and the Stones had been headlining for a few years, they hadn’t yet made it nationally. Lisa Taylor could change all that.
Jane exhaled and opened her eyes.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
The asshole’s voice was deep and just a little husky. Sexy, actually—a bit of a contradiction to his clean-cut looks. Gorgeous, yes, but very clean cut, as though he had been reared on milk and corn with a side of caviar and educated at the finest prep schools in the country. His honey blond hair was cropped fairly short above his ears, and his striped cotton shirt screamed Ivy League. All he needed was tortoiseshell glasses to complete the look. To cover those smoky green eyes, though, would be a sin. Even from the stage, they smoldered.
Not Jane’s type at all.
No, she preferred long-haired rockers.
Hmmm…asshole would look great with long hair. Wavy blond locks feathering around his perfectly-shaped face, dipping just a touch into those long-lashed green eyes…
“I’m kickin’ you outta here, is what I’m doin’.” Jim’s Southern accent boomed over the din in the audience.
“I haven’t done anything.”
Jane grabbed her mic and took a deep breath. “You’ve been rude all night,” she said. “You’ve been drinking like a fish and now you’re interrupting my music.”
Asshole scoffed. “You call that music?”
His companion touched his arm. “Calm down, Chandler.”
Chandler. Perfect rich boy prep school name.
“Uh, Chandler?” she said into the mic.
“What?” He jerked his arm away from his friend.
“If you have such a problem with my music, why exactly are you here? There are plenty of other clubs where you could harass the talent.”
He scoffed again. “Talent?”
Jim yanked him out of his chair. “I said you need to leave, friend.”
Jane’s blood boiled. But she had the rest of her audience to think about. Focus, Jane. Don’t let him get to you.
She closed her eyes again. Time to get ready for her encore.
“I bet Jane Rock isn’t even your real name!”
Her eyes popped open. Asshole, er, Chandler, again. Who did he think he was?
“Just something you made up to make yourself sound like a rock star.”
Jane seethed and the hair on her arms stiffened. “Jim, please.”
“I’m tryin’, honey. The guy’s stronger than he looks.”
“I’m really sorry,” Chandler’s friend said. “He’s had a rough week.”
“Sure, whatever.” Jane rolled her eyes upward. When she looked back out into the audience, her stomach dropped. Jim lay flat on the floor with Chandler standing over him, a loafer-clad foot resting on the burly man’s chest.
“What the hell?”
“He’s a black belt in taekwondo,” the friend said. “Shit, Chan, you’re gonna get yourself arrested.”
“Damn right you are.” Jim’s muffled voice rose from the ground.
“Fuck me,” Jane muttered. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said into the mic, “I’m afraid we won’t be able to offer an encore tonight after all. As you can see, we have—”
“Oh please,” Chandler lifted his foot and Jim eased into a sitting position, “don’t let me stop you. Continue with your noise.”
That was it. “You think you can do better?” Jane’s voice cracked, but determination won over nerves. “Come on up here and give it your best shot.”
“With pleasure.” Chandler stalked forward.
Jane tried not to stare. His green-and-white-striped button-down shirt covered his broad shoulders, and he had rolled his sleeves up, showcasing golden and muscular forearms. Crisp dark blue jeans covered what Jane instinctively knew were equally muscular legs. She readied to hand him her guitar, but instead he walked toward Lenny and the keyboard.
“Do you mind?” he said to Lenny.
Lenny raised his eyebrows at Jane and she nodded.
“Fine. Let’s see what you’ve got. We’re doing Come Back Alive. There are several key changes, so try to keep up.”
He sneered at her.
“One, two, uh, one two three!”
Jane strummed her intro and the melody floated through her amplifier. She’d written Come Back Alive when she was sixteen years old. She didn’t usually play it in her sets anymore, but it was her classic encore song. She could play it in her sleep. And indeed, she usually closed her eyes and let the music guide her as she sang. Today, though, she kept her eyes wide and focused on Chandler at the keyboard. She didn’t want to miss his fuckup.
Fernando’s bass joined in with low harmony, and Becca on the drums pounded a steady beat. Almost time for the keyboard. Lenny knew the song by heart, of course, and Jane didn’t have to cue him.
Damn if she’d cue Chandler, either. Let him figure it out on his own.
She jolted when he came in right on time. His smoky green eyes met hers as he matched every note, every chord, even adding intricate patterns to each melody and harmony that Jane had never heard before.
This man made Lenny, an accomplished keyboardist, sound like a hack. After God knows how many shots, no less.
Jane jumped when Fernando nudged her. She looked toward him just as he mouthed the word “sing”.
Sing! Shit, yes, she was supposed to be singing.
She cleared her throat before she advanced toward the microphone and fell into the lyrics of Come Back Alive.
She closed her eyes, captured the colors and vibrations of the chords and harmony, swayed to the quickening beat. Chandler’s playing only made the music more beautiful, more evocative.
She sang from her heart.
Perspiration dripped from her hairline when she finished to booming applause. She took a deep bow and then turned to acknowledge Fernando, Becca and, finally Chandler.
His friend in the audience whistled. Even Jim, who had recovered from Chandler’s Karate chop, clapped, though less than enthusiastically.
Jane bowed once more, and then looked past the audience to the entrance of the club. Two police officers stood silently, eyeing her new keyboardist.
Once the applause died down, Jane walked over to Chandler. His hands still hovered over the keys. And what hands they were! Large and golden, with long fingers that could work magic on Lenny’s keyboard. What other type of magic might they work, Jane wondered? How might they feel cupping her face, pinching her hard nipple, sliding in and out of her pussy or her ass?
Damn! She couldn’t let his amazing looks mess with her head like that. Nor his raw masculine fragrance—cloves mixed with fresh mountain air. She shook her head to clear it. He sure as hell wasn’t her physical type anyway, and even if he were, his attitude turned her off big-time. She grinned at him. “That was a nice job.”
He nodded. “I know music, unlike some people.”
She resisted the urge to snipe back at him. “I can see you do,” she said simply. “You’re obviously well studied. But I’m afraid your time on this stage is over.”
“Oh?” He arched his nutmeg eyebrows. “Maybe we should let the crowd decide who plays.”
Jane cocked her head and tapped her boot softly on the stage floor, relishing in what was to come. “First of all, the show’s over. But even if it weren’t, I think those cops over by the door might begin to lose patience. Unless I miss my guess, they’re waiting for you.”
* * * * *
“What the hell were you thinking, Chan?”
The hammer in Chandler’s brain pounded harder with each of Ryan’s harsh words. Damn, his head hurt. And the fucking sun was so bright! Had Ryan parked his car in the next county?
“Taking that bouncer down was just stupid. And giving that fine young thing on stage such a hard time. Look, I know you’d had a rough day, but was it worth getting arrested?”
Fine young thing? Hell, Jane Rock was beautiful, with a smokin’ hot body that she showed off in her tight leather rocker outfits. Those long slender legs, those mesmerizing dark eyes, the onyx cascades of hair…and when she turned to face her drummer, her back had been bare and incredibly sexy. If only the strappy leather top had left her front bare too… He’d had a raging hard-on all last night watching her strut across that stage. Her voice was something else too—a natural alto with just a bit of rasp. Very sexy, even if she did use it to belt out discordant noise. His groin tightened.
But even thoughts of Miss Jane Rock’s attributes couldn’t dull the hammer. No, a jackhammer this time. Ryan was still talking unusually loud and ridiculously fast, or so it seemed. Chandler had no idea what his friend was saying. Surely his brain would implode at any moment. “Christ, Ryan, I’ll pay you back the bail money. Just shut the fuck up, okay?”
“I didn’t have to pay any bail, moron, didn’t they tell you?”
“Didn’t they tell me what?” The last several hours had been a blur. Sharing a toilet with ten miscreants while nursing a drumming headache had never been on Chandler’s “to do” list.
“The bouncer dropped the charges.”
Chandler whipped his head around. Damn, that was a mistake. The pounding increased. “He did?”
“Yeah, they should have told you.”
“Hell, they might have. God, what is wrong with me?” He rubbed his temples.
“What’s wrong with you is you drank too much. Just be thankful Jane Rock took pity on you when I told her your sob story and talked the bouncer into dropping the charges.”
Chandler’s neck tensed. “You told her?”
Ryan grinned. “Calm down. You know I wouldn’t do that. I made something up. Said you’d been dumped by your girlfriend.”
Chandler’s muscles relaxed…a little. Humiliating, yes, but much better than the truth. The bouncer had dropped the charges. He should be thankful. Still, the thought of looking pathetic to Jane Rock rankled him, though he wasn’t sure why. Who did she think she was, anyway, intervening on his behalf? He could damn well take care of himself.
He turned to Ryan. “Thanks, man. I owe you one for having my back last night.”
“Well, I tried. I failed to keep you out of trouble, though.”
“You couldn’t have stopped me and we both know it. I was primed for trouble, and I think I found it.”
“What do you mean?”
“A black-haired rocker named Jane. She won’t get away with this.”
“Get away with what? Getting your charges dropped?” Ryan shook his head. “You’re something else, Chan. You ought to be thanking her.”
Ryan opened the door to his car and sat down in the driver’s seat. Chandler took his place in the passenger’s seat.
“In fact,” Ryan started the engine, “you can thank her this morning. I’m taking you to her place.”
Chandler jumped in his seat and hit his head against the vinyl ceiling of the car. There went the jackhammer again. “You’re what?”
“Did I stutter? I’m taking you to her place.”
“Why in hell would you do that?”
“Because you were in no shape to drive last night, and neither she nor I wanted to leave your Benz at the club all night. The neighborhood’s a little iffy, as you know.”
Yeah, he knew. His Mercedes would have been stripped and sold for parts before sunrise. But why her?
“Why didn’t you drive my car?”
“Uh, I had my own car to drive. We met there, remember?”
Right. Fuzz still cluttered his mind. But again, why her? She was probably halfway to Mexico by now. In luxurious air-conditioned comfort.
Within a few minutes, Ryan pulled into a modest apartment complex on the outskirts of downtown. There it was—his luxury sedan—parked in front. At least it was covered under a carport. Had she used her own parking spot?
“Here you go, pal. She’s in number 403.”
Chandler widened his eyes. “You’re leaving me here? You’re not even coming up with me?”
Ryan let out a chuckle. “You’re a big boy. You made your bed, now go lie in it.” He shook his head. “I mean that figuratively, of course.”
Ha! Chandler was in no shape to lie in anyone’s bed at the moment, though Jane Rock and her perfectly sculpted body were certainly tempting.
“You’re serious.”
“Totally. I have things to do today and this isn’t on the schedule. Get out.”
“Some friend,” Chandler muttered as he opened the car door and stepped onto the pavement.
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