Bend (A Stepbrother Romance) (3 page)

On the other hand… there was no harm in giving the girl a little taste of what would come…

CHAPTER THREE

Cadence

Oh my god, oh my god, omigod...
Keir Sonder wanted to take me on a date! He hadn't outright said "date," but what did that matter? He wanted to take me out, in public, to some glamorous event!

The suspicious part of me was still wary. He didn't know me at all. To him I was just some crazy fan posing as a photographer to get close to him.

But he likes me
. I tucked my now-empty cup into the crook of my leg and clutched my camera like it was a life preserver and I was out to sea.

He wasn't anything like I'd expected. Even in my wildest imagination, he was always cool and aloof. He was just as intense as I knew he'd be, but he was also sort of... warm. He teased me, took my teasing in return, and laughed with me. He was fun.

I’d even suspected that he was thinking about kissing me, at one point. But then he backed off. Maybe that was a good thing, I think I would have lost my damn mind if he’d gone for it.

"Come on," he said, slapping my knee, "We're clearing out of here and heading to some lounge downtown. Join us."

"Okay!" This was a dream come true. I ducked into the bathroom to pinch myself before we loaded into a big black SUV. Security had to rush us past a group of screaming fans.

"It's pretty different on this side of things," I said. The small mob shrunk in the distance as we pulled away.

"Yeah, see why we don't stop for autographs anymore?" Keir's drummer said from the row ahead of us. "I've lost a watch to a crowd smaller than that."

"I lost a patch of hair." Keir pointed to a spot amongst his dyed-black locks that looked shorter than the rest, upon inspection.

"We get excited!" I said, spreading my hands apologetically. I'd never pulled a souvenir off of him, but I had screamed his name from amongst a mob just like that one. More than once.

And now I'm here with him
. He squeezed my knee and grinned devilishly. "You know our drummer, right?" he asked, shrugging a lazy shoulder toward his bandmate.

"Ian Bellow," I nodded, smiling toward the bald man. The tattoos that decorated his arms were more colorful than Keir’s but just as intimidating. "Longest standing member of the live version of Jackal's Reign."
Because he’s extraordinarily chill, while Keir is borderline impossible to work with
. I didn't quote the gossip I knew about them, though, only the Wikipedia page.

"Correct, little lady," he said with a warm smile over his shoulder. "Now, who the heck are you?"

I bit back the truth about my job. I could share just about anything else, though. I was a girl of few secrets. "Recent college grad, new to LA, aspiring photographer."

He turned fully in his seat. "Only aspiring? The band's publicist must have mistaken you for someone else. She invited you backstage to take photos, didn't she?"

"I never even met her," I admitted. I hadn't really given the invitation much thought—not since Keir took me out of that hallway.

"Incorrect," Keir cut in, "She was brought in to jilt that bitch critic from
Hot Ear
s." He elbowed me. "That woman you stomped has been giving us unfair reviews for ages."

"Lorna Hills? That was her?" I nearly shrieked. Keir nodded with an impressed grin. Of course I knew of Lorna—she'd been one of the band's biggest detractors since the beginning. To be fair, she panned everyone she reviewed. "I'm extra glad I mashed her foot."

Both men laughed. "Hey," Ian said, "there's no such thing as bad publicity, right? Lady's gotta make a living. Negativity sells."

Keir shook his head. “That's why I like you so much, Ian. You find the positive in anything and anyone."

"Someone's got to balance you out, you morose bastard."

I couldn't help grinning gleefully at their banter. Four years of friendship had made the two musicians close.
And you can tell a lot about a guy by how he acts with his friends
.

The lights of downtown LA passed through the car as we drove, ghosting over Keir's face. I was hypnotized. I couldn't stop looking at him.

It appeared Keir felt the same, though what he wanted with little old me, I couldn't imagine.

But goddamn was I going to go along with it.

═ ♪ ♫ ♪ ═

The SUV pulled to a stop just a minute later in front of a poorly-labeled shopfront called “Simply Z’s.” We went right in through the front door, flanked by the security team, of course. There was a sign on the front window that said “closed for a private party,” which explained how Keir could get inside at all without being swarmed.

The lounge was dark. Little lamps sat in the middle of the round tables that were set up before a small stage with a piano—most of the seats were empty. The band and the crew were all pressed in around the bar.

We didn’t have to join them, though. Ian pushed into the group, but drinks were delivered right to me and Keir without us even asking. It was all so strange and exciting. He was obviously the most powerful man in the room, and it wasn’t just his fame that did it. It was his size, his stature, the way he held himself—like he was king of the place.

He led me down to a table right in front of the stage, but an older woman joined us before we could speak. “Keir,” she said, fake-kissing both of his cheeks. “I heard about Kelly.”

“New travels fast,” he said dryly.

“Can’t say any of us will miss her.” She nodded toward me. “This the photographer? How’d you get dragged along here, my dear?” She settled into a seat.
So much for having Keir to myself.

“Oh, um, I was invited,” I said, feeling really dorky. This woman was obviously someone with some amount of power herself, and she looked the part—hair straight and perfectly placed, hands manicured, dressed professionally in a navy blue skirt and light blue blouse… “Wait, are you the band’s publicist?”

“That’s me!” she said brightly, reaching out to shake my hand. “Sloane Ross. Sorry to drag you into our little spat with that Lorna woman, but it seems like you’re having a good time.”

“Yes, very!” I tried to calm my excitement. I couldn’t have her thinking I was having
too
much fun. I was supposed to be working, right? I tapped on my camera, resting on the table. “Lots of good stuff here.”

She winked. “Good.” Then, with another smile and a flurry of fake kisses, she left us to ourselves.

Alone, finally, Keir pulled my chair nearer to his. He leaned in close, his face a breath away from my neck, and my heart stuttered.
I'm so sweaty. I must stink. He's going to be so grossed out...
"Do you play?" he asked.

I blinked at the unexpected question. "Play what?" He pointed at the stage, where the baby grand piano sat all alone. "Oh. No, not really. A little
Chopsticks
is all I remember.
" I'd had lessons when I was young. My mother would bring me to some older man's house and listen while he taught me. After a while, my lessons grew shorter and her time "writing a check" with him in the next room grew longer. One day they were slamming doors while I practiced alone, and then we never went back.

"Want to watch me play?"

"Hell yes," I said.

I readied my camera as he hopped onto the stage. His presence there dominated the whole room, hushing everyone into silence without a word.

People settled down at the scattered tables as he began to play—just testing out the keys at first, running through a few chords with an ear turned to get accustomed to the tuning.

Then without warning he launched into a Hungarian Dance, playing so rapidly and beautifully that I almost forgot to snap a picture.

I zoomed in and carefully framed a shot of his face. That dirty, aggressive rock star looked downright serene as he played. This was another part of him the public never got to see. The man who knew and loved the history of his art. I only recognized the song because of cartoons, but he was obviously intimately familiar with it.

Little by little, the more I got to know him, got to glimpse the real him, I was starting to fall for him. Not in that celebrity worship way, but in a real way. He wasn't just a fantasy anymore; he was a living, breathing man, and I really liked him.

Bottle it up, Cadence. Even if he somehow felt the same, nothing could ever really happen between us. Nothing but a one night stand.

I lowered my camera as he finished the song. I wasn't a one-night-stand kind of girl, but for him? For my favorite rock star and the most fascinating man I'd ever met? I'd be crazy not to go for it.

His song ended and the last note echoed through the room for a long moment before everyone broke out in applause. Keir stood, took a bow, and gestured at me.
No. Oh, no.
My place was behind my camera, not up in front of so many eyes. I shook my head.

“Let's hear some noise for the girl who stomped on Lorna Hill tonight, guys. Come on, she's a little shy.”

My cheeks burned as the room clapped and cheered, surrounding me in their noise. I had to get up. They were watching, waiting. I forced myself into my feet, though my knees shook. “There she is!” Keir said, pointing. Hands guided me toward the stage, and I staggered forward.

I don't want to do this.
But I didn't want him to think I was afraid. I wanted to impress him. I climbed the steps onto the stage on trembling legs.

“Give it up for Cadence!” The applause made my face turn even redder—but when he took my hand, my stomach flipped with a different kind of anxiety.

“Come on," he said, "Show me this
Chopsticks
song.”

“If I can remember it.” I settled next to him on the bench. Luckily the crowd seemed to be losing interest—chatting at their tables or wandering back to the bar. Was this a common occurrence? Did he play the piano with a lot of girls? A new one every city?

It didn't matter. He was mine for now. I placed my fingers, trying to remember what little I'd learned so many years ago.

I pressed a few keys. The sound made us both cringe.

"Here." He placed his hands over mine and guided my fingers with his, sending little shivers down to my toes. When we pressed the keys together, it made a much more harmonious sound.

And the tune came back to me. I could remember playing it over and over, wondering when the heck I'd be allowed to go do something more fun, while my mother and the teacher thumped away in the next room. I didn't know what was happening at the time—I was just annoyed and bored.

I slowly and carefully tapped out the first beat of the song, glancing between my hands and Keir's face. He nodded approvingly, amusement creasing his eyes.

Then he took over, playing out the rest of the song with harmonies and little flourishes that I never would have been able to dream up. I could barely track the blur of his fingers on the keys.

Distracted applause rose from the room, but I wasn't conscious of them anymore. All I saw was him. Keir. My gaze fluttered to his lips, and he smiled. “Let’s check out the roof.”

═ ♪ ♫ ♪ ═

I knew that “let’s check out the roof” translated to “let’s go off alone,” but I played coy anyway. We stood at the edge and looked out across downtown LA, listened to the traffic, enjoyed the breeze, and I said, “This was a good idea. It’s nice up here. Makes me think of home.”

“Philly?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said, impressed that he’d remembered, “We lived in an eighth-floor apartment. I used to look out over the city like this every night. The lights, the traffic…” I didn’t miss home, but I did miss the city itself sometimes. “It wasn’t the nicest apartment, but it was a nice view.”

“I’ve got a nice view right now,” he said, but he wasn’t looking out over the ledge—he was standing right behind me. When I glanced at him over my shoulder, he was very deliberately staring at my ass.

A wave of warmth washed over me at the smoldering look in his eyes. He looked like he wanted to take a bite out of me. He looked like he was
planning
on taking a bit out of me.

I turned and lifted my chin, daring him to do it. I don’t know where the boldness came from—maybe the fact that I knew this was temporary. Maybe because this whole evening still felt like a fantasy. He ran his hands down my arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. The he pulled my camera out of my hands and slid the strap up over my head.

“Hey,” I said softly, He pressed a finger to my lips as he set it on the ledge behind me. “Careful.”

“Of course.” His voice had a raw edge to it—the same sound I loved so much in his music. A tone that made my heart ache.

And then it back flipped in my chest when his lips brushed mine. So soft it was almost sweet—not at all what I’d expected.

Then he did it again, as his hand slid up the back of my neck and into my hair.

The third time, he slicked the tip of his tongue along the seam of my lips. My body flashed hot all over.