The Magic's in the Music (Magic Series Book 5) (8 page)

Greta stared at
him from across the club that had grown crowded in the hour he’d been playing. Word must have spread. How could she be so unlucky as to choose the one place he’d be tonight? Jax was in second heaven. She was dragging the guy she’d met—well, picked up if you wanted to be accurate—over to where the Ghost had disappeared into the back hall. Guess even musical specters had to take a leak.

Greta wasn’t sure how Jax could be so excited and happy after hearing that music. Greta was shaken. Like really, down inside her pancreas, shaken. The music had held so much torment, such pain, and then slowly, the pain had worked itself out into…how could she explain it? Nostalgia? Wistfulness? It had been like an epic story or something.

And then he’d raised his head and looked right at her, and the music had spiraled up into pain again. Was she imagining there might be a connection? She shook herself. Of course she was. It was just…well, he’d jerked himself away from those keyboards with such a sudden wrenching that the whole crowd was on edge. The story wasn’t finished. The monster had raised its head again after the hero had struck the killing blow, and the hero was in danger again and…nothing. No resolution.

“Hey,” the guy behind her at the bar shouted to his companion. “Did you see him blow off Antari? Michael fucking Antari was trying to get him under contract, I bet you anything.”

“You think Antari offered a contract, just like that?” The voice sounded wistful.

“Who wouldn’t want to put that under contract? Fuck, he’s a god. I hate him.”

They were right about the record contract. If you could bottle lightning, you’d make millions. Apparently the Ghost wasn’t interested in that.

The crowd around the back hall to the bathrooms grew impatient. He’d been in there a long time. She heard Jax call out to someone, “Did you see the Ghost in there?” She tried to take her mind off the guy who had just ripped open his heart to deliver that music. She sipped her drink. Drunk would be good, but she wasn’t the type. Across the bar from her, she saw a guy get up. It was the guy with the scar from the other night at Magma. What were the odds she’d run into him again and the Ghost too? She should thank him for the other night, but before she could decide to get up, he strode toward the front exit and melted into the now-sizeable crowd. Oh, well. He didn’t really look like the kind of guy who wanted to be thanked.

She glanced at her watch. One in the morning now. Suddenly, she wasn’t feeling really well. Her stomach started to roll. The hired band was making their way back to the stage. Had she had that much to drink? A couple of lemon drops shouldn’t be enough to make her feel so queasy. Finally, Jax wandered back with her acquisition of the night. He was a handsome lad in a high-school-football-hero kind of way, all freckles and strawberry-blond hair and square jaw. Greta wouldn’t have been surprised to see him wearing a letter sweater with his purple shirt and narrow, silver tie. Jax looked disappointed.

“Derek went in for me and there was nobody in the restroom,” she said.

“Nope,” Derek confirmed.

“We saw him go in,” Jax muttered. “I think. Four guys came out. None of them him.”

“Isn’t there an exit at the end of the hall?” Greta asked absently. Wow. She wasn’t feeling well at all. “There usually is.”

“Nobody went out the exit,” Jax said.

“You just weren’t paying attention.” Greta had broken out in a sweat.

“Nope.” Derek was a real powerhouse thinker. “Just that kid into the kitchen.”

“Look, Derek, let’s go down to Dutch. It’s only a couple of blocks. Maybe he’ll show up there.” Jax was in her flirty-wheedling mode.

“Sure. Night’s young.” That seemed like a long sentence for Derek.

“Come with us, Greta,” Jax pleaded.

“I think I’m done for tonight.” She felt like crap. Plus, she definitely wasn’t in the mood to be a third wheel. And while she could just hear Jax saying she could remedy that, Greta wasn’t the kind to pick up a guy she didn’t know in a bar for some quick company. Too dangerous for somebody in her position. She could see the tabloid headlines now. A few antacids and a good night’s sleep was what she needed.

Jax gave her a little grin before she turned to Derek. “Can I hitch a ride home with you?”

Derek looked like he’d just scored a touchdown. Or soon would. “Sure.”

Jax took Derek by the hand and wove her way to the front door, ass moving sinuously in her tight leather skirt for Derek’s benefit.

Some night this was turning out to be. Greta fumbled in her little purse for some bills that would include a generous tip for the bartender. She was antsy, anxious, as well as nauseated. What was wrong with her? Was the Ghost staring at her again? She looked around the club, noting that a couple of A-listers had come in during the Ghost’s set. Damon Jones and his girlfriend—what was her name? And Suzanna Patronia with her usual entourage. They’d all be tweeting about how they’d seen the Ghost to get extra attention for themselves.

She pushed herself off the faux-snakeskin barstool. Better get home. She had no desire to throw up in some club bathroom.

She headed out the front door. On a deserted Tuesday night, she’d just parked in the lot.

She hadn’t taken a single step before the flashes started going off. Shit. The A-listers had brought out the vultures. If she hadn’t been so preoccupied, she’d have realized the danger.

“Hey, isn’t that Gretchen Falk?”

“Hey, Gretchen, look over here.”

“This way, honey. Strike a pose.”

“Alone tonight or just going out different doors?”

“I hear Anderson wants you for the
Amazing
franchise. Can you confirm?”

“Gretchen! Gretchen!”

The paparazzi weren’t alone. Fans had lined up to get in the club, even as late as it was. Cell phones must have been busy reporting the presence of the Ghost. Now they were calling her name, holding out hands, wanting to touch her. Everyone surged against the velvet ropes in her direction. This was the downside of the movie business. The two security guys usually out front had been reinforced with two others, but they had their hands full. If she could just get to her car… Greta tried to still her pounding heart and find some balance. She felt dizzy. How could she have been surprised like this? She knew better. But now there was no avoiding them. If she managed to hail a cab, she’d still have to make it through the crowd to reach the street.
Just get to your car.
She hunched one shoulder and pushed along the sidewalk toward the parking lot, protected on one side by the wall of the club.

Unfortunately, the crowd surged after her. The creeps with the cameras pushed up into her face, shouting. As she made it around the corner of the building they enveloped her like a wave. Panic made it hard to get her breath. She hugged her purse to her chest as the cameras and cell phones flashed and video whirred.
Don’t get upset
. That’s how those horrible pictures of angry or fearful faces got on supermarket check-out stands everywhere, but she just couldn’t help the panic. Now some guys reached out for her. Fans? She gave a little shriek and looked around wildly. Everyone was pressing so close she couldn’t get through. Her car might as well have been in Nebraska. Her anxiety ramped up until she lost it.

“Leave me alone,” she wailed.

“Just one more.” “Have a drink with me.” “Over here.” “Who’s the guy in your life?”

Where was the guy with the scar when she needed him? The cacophony swirled around her. Hands touched her. Blinding flashes stabbed at her. She thought she might faint. She lost her balance. Her knees hit the pavement and she gave a little cry. They were all looming over her, hands reaching out for her. Then she heard the snarl of an engine.

*

Lanyon heard the
shouting from the parking lot just as he was slinging his leg over the Harley. Fight? He’d better go out the other way. He turned the motor over and revved the engine. Jesus, he felt like shit. Ahead, at the other end of the alleyway, he could see the traffic cruising by on Sunset Boulevard. At least he could avoid the front of the club with its crowds and the possibility he’d be recognized, or that someone would manage to tail him. He was pretty good at using the narrow alleys of Hollywood to avoid attention. Out to Sunset, then off immediately—just to make sure he wasn’t followed. As he turned his bike, the nausea hit him again, hard.

He leaned over, hoping not to hit his knees with vomit. Through all the noise from the parking lot, he heard a woman wail, “Leave me alone!” It was like a punch in the gut.

He’d never even heard her voice. But, strange as it was, he knew who owned that wail.

Shit, fuck, piss.

She was the last person he wanted to see, let alone be around. But it was clear she was right in the middle of whatever commotion was going on in the parking lot. And she wasn’t happy about it.

Disgusted with himself, he turned the bike around and gunned it. He had no idea what he was planning. He’d be no good in a fight, unless vomiting all over somebody was an offensive technique. But as he raced the cycle down the alley he felt better.

The shadowed alleyway opened onto the brightly lighted parking lot, and he saw the crowd. Cameras flashed. Fans—mostly guys—crowded around something or someone. Everybody was shouting. He couldn’t even see her, but he knew she was at the center of that melee. He didn’t stop to think, just hurtled toward the crowd. It broke apart like shattered glass as he barreled down on it. A couple of guys were set back on their asses in the exodus. He screeched to a stop.

Huddled at the center was the girl he’d been avoiding, but who’d been living in his thoughts for the past three days.
Damn, damn, damn.
Figured. And the shittiest part of it was that, much as he didn’t dare be anywhere around her, he couldn’t leave her.

“Get on,” he growled, “if you want out of here.”

Her big eyes stared at him. She slowly straightened. Her knees were scraped and blood trickled down one shin. He was only three feet from her. Her eyes were ice-blue in the incandescent vapor lights, her face unnaturally pale. The crowd began to reassemble. He heard the muttered identifications. “It’s him.” “Ghost.” “Ghost.” A camera flashed.

“Now!” he growled. “Or I’ll leave your ass here.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one paparazzi running for his car. Another followed. The rest were closing in around them.

She swallowed, gave a jerky nod and threw her leg over the seat. Good trick with that tight little dress on. It rode up her thighs. Her body pressed against his, and he thought his heart might have been on the receiving end of about a hundred and twenty volts the way it stuttered. The volts raced from heart to groin, creating an immediate erection. He gunned the engine a little too hard. It leapt forward. He felt her balance go.

“Hold on,” he coughed out. God help him, she did. She clutched at his body, which made her breasts press up against his back.

He nearly spun out of control. The bike jumped the curb, and they landed with a thud on the north-south street. A little cry of fear sounded in his ear. Even through the leather duster, he felt like he’d been branded with hot irons. He turned south, righted the bike and sped off. She was gasping. He heard it over the air rushing by his ears, or maybe felt it. Her breath was hot on his neck. But his larynx wasn’t working and he couldn’t ask if she was okay. He accelerated like he couldn’t get his fist to stop twisting the grip. He had the handlebars in a death lock. She was holding on for dear life, making things worse. His cock was a rod in the constriction of his jeans.

Get it together, asshole.
The speed would bring the cops down on them for sure. He tried to breathe. Better. He had some control. He slid the accelerator back down. Okay. He was thinking a little more clearly now. Didn’t mean he didn’t still have the erection of the century. It was positively painful. The cycle slowed. That was when he realized he had no idea where they were going. “Where to?” he shouted to her.

“Uh, well…” He felt her take a breath. That was bad. Pushed her breasts up against his back even harder. Her hands clutched each other right under his pecs. “I…I don’t know.”

He stopped for a red light. “Well, where do you live?”

“West L.A.”

“West L.A. it is,” he muttered. Why the hell did it have to be so far away? Maybe he could just take her to a hotel cabstand, drop her there. She could cab home.

A light flashed from a car that had pulled up beside them at the light. He turned to look, and it flashed again. Other cars had stopped at the light. They were hemmed in.

“Oh, no,” she whispered.

Damn paparazzi. He glanced at his rearview mirror. Two cars back, a guy was hanging out the window with an industrial-strength video camera. Who knew how many he’d have on his tail in another minute? Those creeps ran in packs.

“Now you really have to hold on.”

He gunned the bike and jumped off the line while the light was still red, turning right onto whatever street it was in front of two other lanes of cars. His tires screeched. They tore off into the night. He immediately turned into the next narrow alley and gunned it again. Glancing at the rear view, he saw a car turn in after him. Escape wasn’t going to be that easy. These guys were notorious for tracking their prey. He made it to a parking lot and scooted through parked cars to a narrow space between two industrial buildings.
Not following us through here.