Mine (9 page)

****

The past weighed heavily upon her slender shoulders. Her all too brief engagement, and the very public break-up stung her pride. The memory of Lily’s incessant, disparaging remarks grated on her nerves. She’d bravely faced down the smug smiles, the sympathetic frowns, the pitying glances.

And the
cameras…

She
shuddered. The press had been dogging her heels ever since the story broke, pushing for an interview, pleading for a comment.

But that was just the surface stuff. Griffin had been her Band-Aid, her way to prove to herself that she would survive after Angel’s Fury.

She’d figured that out when the initial anger and humiliation of a very public betrayal had worn off.

She’d cared about him. But she hadn’t really loved him. The loss of him was like the sting of a Band-Aid removed…shocking, but bearable. It wasn’t the devastating, crippling wound she imagined the loss of a soul mate might inflict. Not 92

that she thought overly much about soul mates, of course. No, Griffin didn’t really factor anymore, except for being one more tally on her long list of people she’d made the mistake of trusting. Her wounds went much deeper. Wounds that, no matter what she did to ignore them, festered and continued to wear on her.

Maybe she’d been too vulnerable when she’d agreed to this whole situation with Cole and his band. Maybe she’d still been in shock, she mused. That surely had to be the only reason she would agree to something so insane. Something she’d sworn to never,
ever
do again. She’d walked away from this life three years ago with her fingers burned, and her heart bruised. She’d worked so hard to reestablish herself, steering well away from the music business as if it were the plague.

Alex shook her head as her gaze lifted to consider the cloudless sky above through the thick tinting. She should’ve taken one look at the whole “rocker scene” in the back yard yesterday, and gotten back in her car. Forgotten the name Cole Gunnarrson even exi
sted. She should’ve remembered how
s
tereotypical some band
members could be before she’d even walked into that studio. How could she have forgotten what men like that were capable of?

A chill skittered down her spine as another studio and other faces swam before her eyes. She shuddered, pushing those memories away. She was past that now. She was a different woman, she told herself. She could protect herself. She’d made sure of that with three years of self-defense classes and grueling Aikido sessions.

Unaware she was speaking aloud, she murmured to herself, “Com
ing here…agreeing to this…this was all a lapse in
good

93

judgment…another one. I should have known better after last time…”

Cole’s hands settled on her shoulders without warning, and she jumped. Lost in thought, her reaction was instinctive. Alex whirled to face him, her guard up and her body tensed as the fight or flight mechanism engaged.

Cole blinked, lifting his hands in a placating gesture. He backed up a step, then another, apparently understanding she needed space. Her reaction was alarming, and unbidden, just like in the studio, and despite her brave façade, it weighed on her mind.

He cocked his head to the side and stared at her with eyes that saw entirely too much. “What did they do to you?”

Drawing a shaky breath, she stepped around him, eyes downcast.

“I’ll be in my room,” she tossed over her shoulder, but his words stopped her in her tracks.

“
Don’t let your creativity suffer because you
were burned. When faced with resistance,
persist—don’t quit. You owe it to yourself to let the
music flow, fight for it,”
he quoted, tossing the words she’d given to one of her readers back at her. “Who burned
you
, Alex?” She stood in the middle of the room, brittle as fine spun glass, staring at the door—so very far away—and she couldn’t move. His words sucked the air from of the room. Again, she fought to keep the dark memories from swamping her. Her shoulders slumped in defeat. Her hands were like ice, her heart even colder.

And then he was there, just behind her. Close enough that his warmth seeped into her, thawing her as nothing else could. How was it he made her feel safe when being near the others virtually 94

paralyzed her with fear? Though he didn’t touch her this time, his words forced her around until she looked up into his eyes.

“If you leave now…if you don’t go back in that studio and finish what you started, you’ll live with that regret for the rest of your life, Alex. And you’ll regret it, I know you will. I’ve listened to the music you wrote back then—and the music you write in your head as you sit at that piano,” he growled harshly, pointing at the Steinway beside them. Only Cole could blithely regard a Steinway as if it were any other piano. It was like saying a Stradivarius was just another violin, or U2 just another boy band, Elvis a passing fad. “Your music takes my breath away. How can you turn your back on such a large part of who you are?” He stepped closer, though he still didn’t touch her. “How can you let your music die without putting up a fight?”

She closed her eyes and dropped her chin to her chest, defenseless and dejected. He reached out at last and drew her hands up, cradling them in his large, warm palms in the slim space between their bodies.

“Alex…” He smiled, squeezing her hands.

“Trust me, the guys—Zack and Danny—they’re harmless. They’re used to women falling at their feet, and it goes to their head sometimes. I promise you, they know what the word no means.

Nothing will happen under this roof that
you
don’t want to happen.”

She tensed again, but he refused to allow her to pull her hands back, refused to let her run scared. The heat in his eyes intensified, fierce and protective. His eyes pleaded with her. “Let me fix this.”

Cole waited in silence as she battled insidious demons that preyed on her very ability to trust.

95

At last, she drew a deep breath and nodded, relaxing her stance the slightest bit.

Cole’s gaze held triumphant sparks of hope.

“Will you come back with me to the studio?” She nodded, clearly reluctant, her mask of cold professionalism slipping back into place right before his eyes. He frowned, looking as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he remained silent.

Upon their return, he made proper
introductions. Alex nodded to each man in turn.

With every new face he identified, her spine stiffened a little more, an anxious reaction to being in the room with the band. She understood why that was so. She’d been expecting it. What she couldn’t figure out was why she didn’t react like this when she was alone with Cole.

Pointing first to the tall dark-haired
Casanova, and then to the blond she’d forced to his knees, he offered with a wry twist of his lips,

“I believe you’ve already met Danny and Zack.” Each nodded in turn. Danny’s cheeks flushed an embarrassed red, while Zack eyed her with cautious reserve. “Danny’s our bassist. He takes care of backup vocals too. Zack’s forte is acoustic guitar, but he covers electric when the need arises. They’re both harmless.” She noted that as Cole said the last, his eyes held a menacing warning as he stared the two men down, as if daring either of them to argue.

Seemingly satisfied that neither would contradict him, he moved on down the room, pointing out one of the sports fanatics she’d seen in the gazebo.

“Devon’s on keyboard,” Cole remarked and then motioned to a man she’d never seen before.

“This is Deacon, the newest member of the band.

He’s on electric guitar, though he dabbles on the 96

keyboard and drums.” Deacon gave her a barely perceptible nod, lounging in his chair, eyes the color of pale gold flickered with mild interest. Cole turned a shrewd eye to Styx and added in a mock threatening tone, “Which, it seems, is fortunate for us considering we
may
be in need of a new drummer soon.”

Unaffected by Cole’s thinly veiled threat, Styx rocked back in his seat, stacked his hands behind his head, and shot Alex a shameless grin.

“Guys, this is Alex Sinclair, our new lyricist.” Cole placed a proprietary hand on the small of her back, unaware of
how protective, how possessive the
g
esture appeared to the
others…how possessive it
felt
to
her
. Broad, speculative grins spread across the room at large.

She frowned at them. Had they all lost their minds?

Apparently oblivious, Cole turned to Alex.

“How would you like to proceed?” Putting a little space between them for her own piece of mind, she suggested, “Why don’t you go on with the session like you normally would?

Just pretend I’m not here. I’ll just get the feel of things for today, if that works for you?” Cole
nodded, though his disgruntled
expression left her confused. Giving a mental shrug, Alex moved to a chair in the corner and made herself as unobtrusive as possible while the band began warming up. By the end of the session several hours later, Alex was much more relaxed around the band as a whole, and overall, felt it reasonably safe to chalk the day up as a win for all involved.

Now, if she could just get a handle on this strange affinity she felt for their lead singer, she’d be sitting pretty damned good.

****

97

That night, as the shadows of sin stretched long over the city, a lone figure—more monster than man—slithered through the nightclub scene, his nostrils filled with the scent of Human females. They were such easy targets, after all.

Like lambs to the slaughter, he chuckled. He danced with some, flirted with others. A caress of the eyes for this one, a brush of the hand for the next… He lured them right to the edge, delighting in their naïveté. They all saw what they wanted to see…muscles no gym could replicate, striking good looks, and bedroom eyes. Not one of them realized they flirted with death itself.

Too easy by half.

As with any predator, he was wholly aware of his surroundings, attuned to every stir of the air.

One eye was always on the door, watching and waiting. At present, a curvy blonde writhed in his arms while a tortured soul crooned over a broken heart left to bleed. He smiled over the irony as his little lamb stepped in from the night. Her short cap of red curls the flame to his moth. He stalked across the dance floor, the pouty blonde forgotten like the face of the waitress who’d served him unconsumed drinks all night.

As the redhead approached the bar, he slipped up beside her. Propping an elbow on the polished teak, he consciously turned the burning gleam in his eyes down a few notches, closer to the
I could take you for one hell of a ride
range and a few steps farther away from
You’ll whimper
my name as you die in my arms
territory. When the redhead’s friend gave her a sharp elbow and a definitive nudge in his direction, she turned limpid blue eyes his way. God, they were all so easy to read, it was pitiful. Cocky, arrogant, he smiled and slid closer, leaning down until his lips were little more than a fang’s breadth from her 98

jugular.

The Party Crasher’s drawl was honey smooth and dark as sin itself as he whispered in her ear.

“Hi there, angel.”

“Hi yourself,” she replied, batting her lashes.

His breath rippled against her neck, and he watched gooseflesh ripple over her skin. Though they’d never officially met face to face, he pouted,

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

She eyed him coyly, her head tilted to a flirtatious angle. Playing along, she cooed, “I’ll just bet you have.”

He brushed the back of his knuckles across her forearm, the lightest caress of butterfly wings.

A predator toying with his food. “Let me buy you a drink, and you’ll make my wait worthwhile.” Pursing her lips, the redhead played at considering his offer. Turning to her companion, she gave her the silent nod, the one that says
I’ll
see you later…with any luck, not until tomorrow
morning
. Accepting his offer with a gracious smile, she followed him back to a corner table, away from the bar, away from the dance floor.

Away from safety.

As the redhead followed where he led, the thrill of the chase began to grow. She had nothing to say that held any interest to him. He’d been watching her for weeks now, and though they’d never met, he knew all there was to know about Miss Madelyn Kinney, from the time she left for work in the morning from her two-bedroom, third floor apartment in Encino to the clubs she frequented with her friends. More important, he knew everything that mattered. She was the Studio Coordinator at Fast Trax Records. She was thirty-three Human years old.

And she was his next mark.

All that remained was a little lip service, and 99

a small bit of…
convincing
…a little insurance, if you will. After all, he needed to make sure his little lamb was in the right place at the right time.

Club Déjà Vu to be exact, three days hence.

100