Once More With Feeling Read online

  They might have been on an island rather than on stage, spotlighted for thousands. She didn’t hear the tumultuous applause, the cheers, the shouting of their names. Her arms went around him, one hand holding the mike, the other the rose. Cameras flashed like fireworks, but she was trapped in a velvet darkness. She lost all sense of time; her lips might have moved on his for hours or days or only seconds. But when he drew her away, she felt a keener sense of loss than any she had ever known before. Brand saw the confusion in her eyes, the dazed desire, and smiled.

  “You’re better than you ever were, Raven.” He kissed her hand. “Too bad about those sentimental numbers you keep sticking into the act.”

  Her brows rose. “Try to boost your flagging career by letting you sing with me, and you insult me.” Her balance was returning as they took a couple of elaborate bows, hands linked.

  “Let’s see if you can carry the rest on your own, love. I’ve warmed them back up for you.” He kissed her again, but lightly now, on the cheek, before he waved to the audience and strolled offstage to the left.

  Raven grinned at his back, then turned to her audience. “Too bad he never made it, isn’t it?”

  ***

  Raven should have been wrung dry after the two hours were over. But she wasn’t. She’d given them three encores, and though they clamored for more, Brand caught her hand as she hesitated in the wings.

  “They’ll keep you out there all night, Raven.” He could feel the speed of her pulse under his fingers. Because he knew how draining two hours on stage could be, he urged her back down the hall toward her dressing room.

  There were crowds of people jammed in together in the hallway, congratulating her, touching her. Now and then a reporter managed to elbow through to shoot out a question. She answered, and Brandon tossed off remarks with quick charm while steering her determinedly toward her dressing room. Once inside, he locked the door.

  “I think they liked me,” she said gravely, then laughed and spun away from him. “I feel so good!” Her eyes lit on the bucket of ice that cradled a bottle. “Champagne?”

  “I thought you’d need to console yourself after a flop like that.” Brand moved over and drew out the bottle. “You’ll have to open the door soon and see people. Do try to put on a cheerful front, love.”

  “I’ll do my best.” The cork popped, and the white froth fizzed a bit over the mouth of the bottle.

  Brand poured two glasses to the rim and handed her one. “I meant it, Raven.” He touched his glass to hers. “You were never better.”

  Raven smiled, bringing the glass to her lips. Again, he felt the painful thrust of desire. Carefully Brand took the glass from her, then set both it and his own down again. “There’s something I didn’t finish out there tonight.”

  She was unprepared. Even though he drew her close slowly and took his time bringing his mouth to hers, Raven wasn’t ready. It was a long, deep, kiss that mingled with the champagne. His mouth was warm on hers, seeking. His hands ran over her hips, snugly encased in the thin black jumpsuit, but she could sense he was under very tight control.

  His tongue made a thorough, lengthy journey through the moist recesses of her mouth, and she responded in kind. But he wanted her to do more than give; he wanted her to want more. And she did, feeling the pull of need, the flash of passion. She could feel the texture of his long, clever fingers through the sheer material of her costume, then flesh to flesh as he brought them up to caress the back of her neck.

  Her head was swimming with a myriad of sensations: excitement and power still clinging from her performance; the heady, heavy scent of mixed flowers which crowded the air; the firm press of his body against her; and desire, more complex, more insistent than she had been prepared for.

  “Brandon,” she murmured against his lips. She wanted him, wanted him desperately, and was afraid.

  Brand drew her away, then carefully studied her face. Her eyes were like thin glass over her emotions. “You’re beautiful, Raven, one of the most beautiful women I know.”

  She was unsteady and tried to find her balance without clinging to him. She stepped back, resting her hand on the table that held their glasses. “One of the most?” she challenged, lifting her champagne.

  “I know a lot of women.” He grinned as he lifted his own glass. “Why don’t you take that stuff off your face so I can see you?”

  “Do you know how long I had to sit still while he troweled this stuff on?” Moving to the dressing table, she scooped up a generous glob of cold cream. Her blood was beginning to settle. “It’s supposed to make me glamorous and alluring.” She slathered it on.

  “You make me nervous when you’re glamorous, and you’d be alluring in a paper sack.”

  She lifted her eyes to his in the mirror. His expression was surprisingly serious. “I think that was a compliment.” She smeared the white cream generously over her face and grinned. “Am I alluring now?”

  Brand grinned back, then slowly let his eyes roam down her back to focus on her snugly clad bottom. “Raven, don’t fish. The answer is obvious.”

  She began to tissue off the cream and with it the stage makeup. “Brandon. It was good to sing with you again.” After removing the last of the cream from her face, Raven toyed with the stem of her champagne glass. “I always felt very special when I sang with you. I still do.” He watched her chew for a moment on her bottom lip as if she was unsure about what she should say. “I imagine they’ll play up that duet in the papers. They’ll probably make something else out of it, especially—especially with the way we ended it.”

  “I like the way we ended it.” Brand came over and laid his hands on her shoulders. “It should always be ended that way.” He kissed the back of her neck while his eyes smiled into hers in the glass. “Are you worried about the press, Raven?”

  “No, of course not. But, Brandon . . .”

  “Do you know,” he interrupted, brushing the hair away from her neck with the back of his hand, “no one else calls me that but my mother. Strange.” He bent, nuzzling his lips into the sensitive curve of her neck. “You affect me in an entirely different way.”

  “Brandon . . .”

  “When I was a boy,” he continued, moving his lips up to her ear, “and she called me Brandon, I knew that was it. Whatever crime I’d committed had been found out. Justice was about to strike.”

  “I imagine you committed quite a few crimes.” She forced herself to speak lightly. When she would have moved away, he turned her around to face him.

  “Too many to count.” He leaned to her, but instead of the kiss she expected and prepared for, he caught her bottom lip between his teeth. She clutched at his shirt as she struggled for breath and balance. Their eyes were open and on each other’s, but his face dimmed, then faded, as passion clouded her vision.

  Brand released her, then gave her a quick kiss on the nose. Raven ran a hand through her hair, trying to steady herself. He was tossing her back and forth too swiftly, too easily.

  “Do you want to change before we let anyone in?” he asked. When she could focus again, Raven saw he was drinking champagne and watching her. There was an odd look on his face, as if, she thought, he were a boxer checking for weaknesses, looking for openings.

  “I—yes.” Raven brought herself back. “Yes, I think I would, but . . .” She glanced around the dressing room. “I don’t know what I did with my clothes.”

  He laughed, and the look was gone from his face. Relieved, Raven laughed with him. They began to search through the flowers and sparkling costumes for her jeans and tennis shoes.

  Chapter 8

  It was late when they arrived at the airport. Raven was still riding on post-performance energy and chattered about everything that came into her head. She looked up at a half-moon as she and Brand transferred from limo to plane. The private jet wasn’t what she had been expecting, and studying the comfortably lush interior of the main cabin helped to allay the fatigue of yet one more flight.

 
It was carpeted with a thick, pewter-colored shag and contained deep, leather chairs and a wide, plush sofa. There was a padded bar at one end and a doorway at the other which she discovered led into a tidy galley. “You didn’t have this before,” she commented as she poked her head into another room and found the bath, complete with tub.

  “I bought it about three years ago.” Brand sprawled on the sofa and watched her as she explored. She looked different than she had a short time before. Her face was naked now, and he found he preferred it that way. Makeup seemed to needlessly gloss over her natural beauty. She wore faded jeans and sneakers, which she immediately pried off her feet. An oversize yellow sweater left her shapeless. It made him want to run his hands under it and find her. “Do you still hate to fly?”

  Raven gave him a rueful grin. “Yes. You’d think after all this time I’d have gotten over it, but . . .” She continued to roam the cabin, not yet able to settle. If she had to, Raven felt she could give the entire performance again. She had enough energy.

  “Strap in,” Brand suggested, smiling at the quick, nervous gestures. “We’ll get started, then you won’t even know you’re in the air.”

  “You don’t know how many times I’ve heard that one.” Still she did as he said and waited calmly enough while he told the pilot they were ready. In a few minutes they were airborne, and she was able to unstrap and roam again.

  “I know the feeling,” Brand commented, watching her. She turned in silent question. “It’s as though you still have one last burst of energy to get rid of. It’s the way I felt that night in Vegas when I called and woke you up.”

  She caught back her hair with both hands. “I feel I should jog for a few miles. It might settle me down.”

  “How about some coffee?”

  “Yes.” She wandered over to a porthole and pressed her nose against it. It was black as pitch outside the glass. “Yes, coffee would be nice, then you can tell me what marvelous ideas you have forming for the score. You’ve probably got dozens of them.”

  “A few.” She heard the clatter of cups. “I imagine you’ve some of your own.”

  “A few,” she said, and he chuckled. Turning away from the dark window, she saw him leaning against the opening between the galley and the main cabin. “How soon do you think we’ll start to fight?”

  “Soon enough. Let’s wait at least until we’re settled into the house. Is Julie going back to L.A., or have you tied up all your loose ends there?”

  A shadow visited her face. Raven thought of the one brief visit she had paid to her mother since the start of the tour. They had had a day’s layover in Chicago, and she had used the spare time to make the impossible flight to the coast and back. There had been the inevitable interview with Karter and a brief, emotional visit with her mother. Raven had been relieved to see that the cast had gone from her mother’s skin and that there was more flesh to her face. There had been apologies and promises and tears, just as there always were, Raven thought wearily. And as she always did, she had begun to believe them again.

  “I never seem to completely tie up the loose ends,” she murmured.

  “Will you tell me what’s wrong?”

  She shook her head. She couldn’t bear to dwell on unhappiness now. “No, nothing, nothing really.” The kettle sang out, and she smiled. “Your cue,” she told him.

  He studied her for a moment while the kettle spit peevishly behind him. Then, turning, he went back into the galley to fix the coffee. “Black?” he asked, and she gave an absent assent.

  Sitting on the sofa, Raven let her head fall back while the energy began to subside. It was almost as if she could feel it draining. Brand recognized the signs as soon as he came back into the room. He set down her mug of coffee, then sipped thoughtfully from his own as he watched her. Sensing him, Raven slowly opened her eyes. There was silence for a moment; her body and her mind were growing lethargic.

  “What are you doing?” she murmured.

  “Remembering.”

  Her lids shuttered down, concealing her eyes and their expression. “Don’t.”

  He drank again, letting his eyes continue their slow, measured journey over her. “It’s a bit much to ask me not to remember, Raven, isn’t it?” It was a question that expected no answer, and she gave it none. But her lids fluttered up again.

  He didn’t have her full trust, nor did he believe he had ever had it. That was the root of their problems. He studied her while he stood and drank his coffee. There was high, natural color in her cheeks, and her eyes were dark and sleepy. She sat, as was her habit, with her legs crossed under her and her hands on her knees. In contrast to the relaxed position, her fingers moved restlessly.

  “I still want you. You know that, don’t you?”

  Again Raven left his question unanswered, but he saw the pulse in her throat begin to thump. When she spoke, her voice was calm. “We’re going to work together, Brandon. It’s best not to complicate things.”

  He laughed, not in mockery but in genuine amusement. She watched his eyes lose their brooding intensity and light. “By all means, let’s keep things simple.” After draining his coffee, he walked over and sat beside her. In a smooth, practiced move, he drew her against his side. “Relax,” he told her, annoyed when she resisted. “Give me some credit. I know how tired you are. When are you going to trust me, Raven?”

  She tilted her head until she could see him. Her look was long and eloquent before she settled into the crook of his shoulder and let out a long sigh. Like a child, she fell asleep quickly, and like that of a child, the sleep was deep. For a long moment he stayed as he was, Raven curled against his side. Then he laid her down on the sofa, watching as her hair drifted about her.

  Rising, Brand switched off the lights. In the dark he settled into one of the deep cabin chairs and lit a cigarette. Time passed as he sat gazing out at a sprinkle of stars and listening to Raven’s soft, steady breathing. Unable to resist, he rose, and moving to her, lay down beside her. She stirred when he brushed the hair from her cheek, but only to snuggle closer to him. Over the raw yearning came a curiously sweet satisfaction. He wrapped his arm around her, felt her sigh, then slept.

  It was Brand who awoke first. As was his habit, his mind and body came together quickly. He lay still and allowed his eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness. Beside him, curled against his chest, Raven slept on.

  He could make out the curve of her face, the pixie sharp features, the rain straight fall of hair. Her leg was bent at the knee and had slipped between his. She was soft and warm and tempting. Brand knew he had experience enough to arouse her into submission before she was fully awake. She would be drowsy and disoriented.

  The hazy gray of early dawn came upon them as he watched her. He could make out her lashes now, a long sweep of black that seemed to weigh her lids down. He wanted her, but not that way. Not the first time. Asleep, she sighed and moved against him. Desire rippled along his skin. Carefully Brand shifted away from her and rose.

  In the kitchen he began to make coffee. A glance at his watch and a little arithmetic told him they’d be landing soon. He thought rather enthusiastically about breakfast. The drive from the airport to his house would take some time. He remembered an inn along the way where they could get a good meal and coffee better than the instant he was making.

  Hearing Raven stir, he came to the doorway and watched her wake up. She moaned, rolled over and unsuccessfully tried to bury her face. Her hand reached out for a pillow that wasn’t there, then slowly, on a disgusted sigh, she opened her eyes. Brand watched the stages as her eyes roamed the room. First came disinterest, then confusion, then sleepy understanding.

  “Good morning,” he ventured, and she shifted her eyes to him without moving her head. He was grinning at her, and his greeting was undeniably cheerful. She had a wary respect for cheerful risers.

  “Coffee,” she managed and shut her eyes again.

  “In a minute.” The kettle was beginning to hiss behind him. “How�
��d you sleep?”

  Dragging her hands through her hair, she made a courageous attempt to sit up. The light was still gray but now brighter, and she pressed her fingers against her eyes for a moment. “I don’t know yet,” she mumbled from behind her hands. “Ask me later.”

  The whistle blew, and as Brand disappeared back into the galley, Raven brought her knees up to her chest and buried her face against them. She could hear him talking to her, making bright, meaningless conversation, but her mind wasn’t yet receptive. She made no attempt to listen or to answer.

  “Here, love.” As Raven cautiously raised her head, Brand held out a steaming mug. “Have a bit, then you’ll feel better.” She accepted with murmured thanks. He sat down beside her. “I’ve a brother who wakes up ready to bite someone’s—anyone’s—head off. It’s metabolism, I suppose.”

  Raven made a noncommittal sound and began to take tentative sips. It was hot and strong. For some moments there was silence as he drank his own cream-cooled coffee and watched her. When her cup was half empty, she looked over and managed a rueful smile.

  “I’m sorry, Brandon. I’m simply not at my best in the morning. Especially early in the morning.” She tilted her head so that she could see his watch, made a brave stab at mathematics, then gave up. “I don’t suppose it matters what time it actually is,” she decided, going back to the coffee. “It’ll take me days to adjust to the change, anyway.”

  “A good meal will set you up,” he told her, lazily sipping at his own coffee. “I read somewhere where drinking yeast and jogging cures jet lag, but I’ll take my chances with breakfast.”

  “Yeast?” Raven grimaced into her mug, then drained it. “I think sleep’s a better cure, piles of it.” The mists were clearing, and she shook back her hair. “I guess we’ll be landing soon, won’t we?”

  “Less than an hour, I’d say.”