Three of Hearts (8 page)

I did not want to lose all that.

The idea that we might have screwed up something so incredible made my heart race so fast I thought it might explode.

The smart thing would be to tell them no. To talk about how it would be a mistake to mix up sex with business. Because even though music was my love, I firmly considered what we did to be business. We were all professional musicians and that was one reason we got along so well. We all took it seriously, we were all committed, and we all wanted the same things.

But yeah, there was chemistry . . . there was a whole shipload of chemistry. I’d always known it. In my head, all along, it was musical chemistry—it was how we collaborated on songs that hit the charts, sold out concerts, and started rumors that Lucas and I were a couple.

But maybe I’d been blind. Or in denial. Because the chemistry was definitely sexual. And I was about to do something crazy and wicked and hot as all damn hell.

We all headed straight to our bedrooms to unpack and change when we got home. But unpacking seemed overwhelming just then. I had laundry to do and dry cleaning to drop off. I had emails to go through and voice mails to check. All I wanted to do was change into sweats and crash on a couch with a beer and some music on the stereo, but I had two hot guys to deal with.

I ignored my suitcases and changed into loose sweats which I rolled down on my hips. I reached for my Nashville Predators hoodie, but then wrinkled my nose remembering I’d bought it because of Doug.

Holy bejeebus, I hadn’t thought of Doug all day. Now, remembering what had happened just yesterday merely annoyed me, instead of stinging hard like it had. My lip curled. Asshole. I clearly was better off without him.

What would Doug think if he knew what had happened in my hotel room last night? I remembered once Doug had complained about the time I spent with Ben and Lucas, with all these questions about what happened on the road, as if he was jealous or suspicious of us. I remembered him saying he didn’t like the way Lucas looked at me, and I’d laughed at him, thinking his distrust was ridiculous—
as if
those two guys would look at me any other way than as their partner and buddy, when they had hot groupies hanging off them! But that had been then, and—wow, things had, um, changed. So there, Doug Brandt! Except now he probably didn’t even care.

Sadly, I liked watching hockey, which I’d learned to love growing up in North Dakota, and I’d been a Predators fan for a while before I’d met Doug. Hopefully I’d be able to go to games without being bummed about him.

I grabbed another hoodie, a soft Tennessee Titans one. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail and headed for the kitchen, undeniably hungry now.

I still couldn’t really believe Lucas meant it when he’d said I was supposed to make up to them for what hadn’t happened last night. My insides did a flip of excitement. Last night had been really, really hot, and I’d felt really, really sexy for one of the few times in my life. Despite my misgivings, I wanted that again.

Then I looked down at myself. Oh yeah. I was dressed for seduction all right. I stopped at my bedroom door, a small battle waging inside my head. Last night I’d been all glammed up. Was that why that had happened? Should I go change?

Nah. That was stupid. If I dressed up, it would look ridiculous. That wasn’t me. I was learning to present an image to the rest of the world, but in my own home with Ben and Lucas, I was just me—jeans and boots, sweats and hoodies. If I looked like I was trying too hard, they’d fall over laughing.

Whatever. I was hungry.

In the kitchen, I surveyed our empty refrigerator. Uh-oh. This might be a problem. My favorite Greek yogurt was a month past the best-before date. All that was there besides that was ketchup, mustard, margarine, and a jar of pickles. And one lonely, lovely beer.

The cupboards were marginally better. We had boxes of pasta and a can of tomato sauce, so I could put those together. But first, I pulled out an unopened can of my favorite snack, peanuts. God, I love peanuts.

With my peanuts and beer, I headed to the living room. I switched on the gas fireplace—Ben turned his nose up at it, thinking it should be wood burning, but that was how the house had been built. As the fire warmed up the room, I started the stereo with a playlist queued up from my iPod―Alison Krauss and Lee Ann Womack, Eric Clapton, and Eddie Van Halen.

My home—or should I say,
our
home—was my refuge from the constant action and travel and interaction. Yes, I spent hours on the computer doing promotional work. I spent nearly as much time on the charity work I was involved with, raising money for Children’s Hospital at Vanderbilt, and for Parker Home, an after-school program for at-risk kids. But home was where I refilled my creative well, with quiet time and listening to favorite music that inspired me, stretched me.

I leaned my head back and let the music surround me.

Other words started filling my head, though, thoughts and feelings. Last night . . . Sweet heat swept over me.

You make me feel so beautiful . . . You make me feel so right . . . You make me burn and want to fly, you make me smile and make me sigh.

I got up, turned off the stereo, and padded in my sock feet across the hardwood floor to my baby grand piano—my prize possession—in what should have been the dining room. I sat down and opened the lid, let my fingers stroke the keys. Eyes closed, I heard the rhythm of the words and the melody, and I began to play.
Adagio
. Slow and soft. I let my hands play and my fingers sought out the right chord progressions until I had it right, then I reached for the pencil and paper I always kept nearby and began to put the song to paper with my right hand, while the left was still finding notes.

It was always best when I didn’t have to try, when it was fun, and pleasure rushed through me as the music just came to me.

I shouldn’t want these things, especially from you. I’ve never felt this way before. Your touch, your smile, your arms around me, make me feel so beautiful. Waited all my life, wanted so much more . . . Didn’t know what I wanted was gonna be so hard, and I don’t want to lose this.

“Hey, sweetheart. Whatcha doin’?”

I blinked into the dark room. I’d become lost in the song, and now the lamp over the piano and the fireplace in the living room provided the only light. Whoa.

Ben was standing there.

I held up my pad of paper. “Writing.”

He looked at me for a long moment, and I sensed that disquietude still inside him. “Let’s hear it.”

I stared down at the piano keys, pure white and black, so smooth and beautiful. For the first time ever, I found myself shy to share with him what I’d written. It felt so personal—yet the best songs were the ones that came from the heart and the soul, deep inside. Music was so sacred and powerful . . . a way to express emotion, a voyage of discovery and change, a celebration. I’d learned so much about myself through music, and I knew there was more to discover.

So I played what I had so far, and sang the words. It wasn’t a complete song; I wasn’t even sure at that point if it was something that would work.

Ben picked up a guitar and made me sing it again as he played, adding chords, making it richer.

The
ping
of the door alarm sounded as someone entered the house, and then the scent of spicy tomato sauce, sausage, and melted cheese reached my nose.

Lucas appeared holding a huge pizza and a twelve-pack of beer. He set them down and joined Ben and me, listening, and then he hummed with me when I sang the words
fill me up with wanting more
. There was only a short pause before he sang back to me,
more
love.

Our eyes met.

He tilted his head as if listening, but the room was silent. I knew he was hearing music in his head. He nodded slowly, his mouth soft and lovely, eyes heavy lidded. The air went electric around all of us, and I shivered, which meant something beautiful was happening. It had happened before. Then Lucas straightened. “Yeah.” His voice was husky. “I got it. That’s the chorus.”

I handed him my pencil and staff paper, but he shook his head. “It’s okay. I got it.”

I wasn’t sure what he had, but I just nodded.

“Let’s eat,” he said. “I’m starving.”

Ben set down his guitar, and I could see that his shoulders had lost some of their tension. The power of music. I felt calmer also.

My hands rested on my thighs, and I gave both guys a slow smile. “Yeah. Me too.”

We all moved to the kitchen, and I found plates and glasses. “I didn’t know you’d gone out to get food. Things were a wee bit sparse in the cupboards.”

Lucas cracked open a beer. “I know. And no one feels like cooking our first night back.”

“I would like a home-cooked meal,” I said wistfully, sliding a piece of pizza onto my plate, “sometime.”

We loaded up with pizza and poured beers. Then we headed into the living room, where we often ate in front of the television.

Ben and Lucas set their plates and drinks on the coffee table. I was going to sit on one of the armchairs since they’d each taken an end of the couch, but Lucas patted the cushion between them, so I sat there. Ben grabbed the TV remote and found a football game.

It wasn’t the first time we’d ever done this, and the familiarity of it only served to make last night more absurdly dreamlike. There was no way we were going from this—pizza, beer, and football—to hot ménage à trois sex. This was just too normal and platonic.

Or maybe I was in denial.

Except it wasn’t really platonic, because sitting shoulder to shoulder with them on the couch made my skin tingle. Shivery sensation shimmered over me and heat built around us.

Lucas started talking about the song. “It’s got two parts. You start with the first verse, I sing the second, we sing the third together. I know just how it’s going to go.”

“I’m glad
you
do.”

He grinned and lifted his pizza to his mouth.

My mind didn’t want to let the song go yet. “It needs a hook.”

“We’ll get it,” Ben put in.

“I don’t even know what it’s about.”

Lucas’s eyes met mine. “I do.”

Heat crawled from my neck up into my face.

Lucas shook his head. “Relax, baby.”

“I am relaxed.”

“Uh-huh.”

He knew I was lying. He knew my insides were tight and my breasts were heavy and I was all distracted and perturbed.

I looked down at my beer. “We can work on it tomorrow.”

Ben leaned his shoulder into mine. “We just got home, and you’re gonna make us work already?”

“Oh. Sorry. I know you guys wanted time off over Christmas . . .” I bit my lip.

“We’ll work on the song,” Lucas said firmly.

“When did you get so bossy?”

“Babe. Always have been. Are you seriously just noticing now?”

I tipped my head to one side. “You have a point.”

At my concession, his eyes crinkled up.

Yes, Lucas was the unofficial leader of our group. Not that Ben and I let him walk all over us. We’d had more than one heated argument over music, staging, business decisions . . . all kinds of things. Lucas was the one who liked being in control and making decisions, confident in his thinking and strong willed. I was equally driven and had my own stubborn streak, but in our two years together I’d learned how to sneak past his single-mindedness and get him to occasionally admit there might be another way. And even though I argued with him, sometimes it felt good to have someone that strong and sure of himself leading the way for us. At times when I was doubtful or questioning what we were doing, it made me feel secure and safe in our path. And weirdly, with his focus and determination to succeed, I felt good when I could make him laugh too.

Ben sighed.

Lucas cast him an amused glance. “You know it’s not work, you fucking love it as much as I do.”

“Yeah, yeah, fine. But we’re both leaving Christmas Eve.”

I shrugged. “I’ll be here. I’ll be working.”

“We could all use a break,” Lucas said quietly. “I think
you
could use a break.” He eyed me, and I blinked.

“It’s in my head, and I need to get it out.” I needed to get the song out so I could share it with the world. Lucas was right. It wasn’t work. I loved it.

They both smiled, knowing exactly what I was talking about. “Even though we’re done with the tour, things are still busy.” Ben dropped a pizza crust onto his plate. “Lots of business to catch up on.”

Lucas nodded. “Party at Brandon’s place. And the gig we’ve got lined up at the Ryman. Jesus, who booked us for the day before Christmas Eve?”

I sighed. “Brandon did.” My gut twisted into knots at the idea of singing Christmas songs. But I had to do it. For the band. For Ben and Lucas.

Ben shook his head. “Christ.”

“I know. And you guys can’t even leave to go home until Christmas Eve because of that gig.”

“Eh, it’s okay. It’s a great opportunity.”

Lucas focused on the TV. “Whoa. Look at that.”

We all leaned forward to watch the Titans’ player run with the ball for a touchdown.