SailtotheMoon Read online

  Sail to the Moon

  Lynne Connolly

  Book five in the Nightstar series.

  With a wild appearance as untamed as his personality, Zazz is the perfect front man for Murder City Ravens. When the tour takes him home to Manchester, England, he finds his father in trouble and a social worker desperately trying to help.

  Laura is nothing like the proper, older social worker Zazz assumed he’d been communicating with via email for months. She’s young and sexy. One look at her and he’s lost. One night in her arms and he knows this is more than a road romance. But Laura has a successful life and won’t give it up for a rock star.

  Zazz’s father needs Laura’s care, so how could Zazz even consider taking her away?

  Except they can’t keep their hands off each other and when they’re not heating up the sheets they’re connecting on a deeper level. But their way of life must change if they are to have a shot at forever.

  A Romantica® contemporary erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

  Sail to the Moon

  Lynne Connolly

  Chapter One

  Kelsie nudged Laura, a sharp dig in her ribs that made her wince. “I can’t believe we’ll get to meet them.” She said it too loud for Laura’s liking. People turned their heads to stare and she lowered her chin so her hair swung forward to hide her hot cheeks.

  “Not them, one of the crew. We’ll probably not even be in the same room as them.” Shit, now she sounded like a groupie. Why should she care what people thought? Kelsie didn’t. Laura grinned wryly. She’d never make a rock star, that was for sure. Their swaggering insouciance fascinated her, but she could never act that way. She’d look completely stupid.

  The smell of beer and weed surrounded them, pungent and sharp. Laura glanced at her bottle of water. It practically took a mortgage to buy a beer here and she wasn’t that desperate for a plastic cup of weak alcoholic brew. She was, however, increasingly desperate to see her favorite band. Not a vacant seat remained in the house, and the management had sent them great seats, three rows back from the front to one side of the mosh pit. Complimentary band seats. So cool. She wondered if anyone else around them had complimentary seats, and cringed anew at Kelsie’s comment. It wasn’t as if they were members of the band, or their entourage.

  The lights went out, snapping them into pitch black without warning. Laura caught her breath, excitement throbbing, as hot as sex. The huge arena melted into one black nothingness, except for the twinkle of mobile phones and cameras. That moment freed her, sent a shot of adrenaline through her, making her as one with everyone else here tonight.

  Without warning, lights flared on the stage, going from darkness to blazing brightness, giving her eyes no chance to recover. The sight seared into the back of her eyeballs, painful, as if it would leave a scar that would remain with her forever. Exhilaration surged through her, and her efforts to keep her anticipation within bearable levels melted away.

  Hunter Ostrander set a strong thud thud on the drums, mirroring her heartbeat, seducing her into letting the people onstage take control of her existence. That meant they were starting with Heartbreak. With that solid beat Murder City Ravens set an aura of trust between the six people onstage and the ten thousand spectators who’d come here tonight to commune with them and share their experience.

  As far as Laura was concerned, the link existed only between her and the band. Nobody else. She’d always been a fan, but she hadn’t understood how fucking intense they got onstage. For her, stage performances enhanced the albums, reflected them. They didn’t develop them and make them into something else. Not like this, never like this.

  The electronics kicked in, the outlandishly dressed Riku putting them in gently at first. He created an underswell of sound, like blood rushing through veins, responding to the heartbeat still sounding solidly from Hunter. Then V’s saxophone, the woman herself swaying gently in the gold dress she always wore onstage, her hair swirling around her body, sticking to her gleaming instrument with static electricity.

  Donovan next, his bass sitting behind the drums to add complexity and strength. Then, as the electronics swelled and grew, heading for a climax that never came, the sharp rattle of Jace’s guitar clashed through the piece. The first note of discord, but without discord there couldn’t be harmony. People wouldn’t notice it if there was nothing to oppose it. They’d take it for granted.

  Then Zazz, holding the mic close to him like a lover, his navy-blue hair gleaming in the bright spotlight focused on him. He crooned the lyrics for her, communing with every single person in the arena, every one of them in a one-to-one confrontation.

  When people cry

  They don’t have to die

  But I do.

  I do.

  He injected his truth into their bloodstream.

  Oh God, when he turned like that, Laura could see something in him, an echo of a movement she’d seen in someone else. Who? She couldn’t remember. Fuck, she couldn’t remember.

  Laura had been wrong about the song. She’d never heard this before, not with these emphases. When Hunter sped up the rhythm, infinitesimally at first, Jace fought him, driving against him, and Zazz’s voice sounded slightly off-key, except it wasn’t. The disturbance reverberated through Laura’s body. It set her ajar, pushed her awareness so that the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. The musicians toyed with her heartbeat, played with the trust she’d given them, and threatened to turn everything she was upside down and inside out. Until she wanted to scream.

  Zazz dueled with Riku, fighting him for control of the song until the whole number threatened to disintegrate under the stress. Then Riku spun around to another instrument and came up with a guitar. At first, she thought he was about to hit Zazz with it, such was the aggression in the gesture, but he hit the strings instead. She couldn’t call it playing, more like a concerted attack. Never had the phrase “axe man” been so apt.

  From the confusion came the solid thud of a drumbeat, gaining supremacy, and under its influence, the song reformed, and ended on a discordant note.

  Laura breathed hard, trying to regain control over herself. Beside her, Kelsie screamed and applauded. Laura hadn’t realized she was clapping until her palms stung.

  Shit, how was she going to survive this? Her heart was beating double time, and her legs shook with the strain of pressing against the hard concrete under her feet.

  The next number was the plaintive Let Me In, a stunningly beautiful melody, and Zazz showing his more tender side. Zazz wrote most of the lyrics, while the band collaborated on the music, but every member of the band had a writing credit. Laura understood why, now. Each member had his or her part to play, and their contributions were individual ones, reflecting the character of the musician. From the flamboyance of Riku, tonight in red and gold, to the jeans and T-shirt of Jace, the band nevertheless presented a coherent whole through their music.

  From the mesmerizing front man to the vivid contributions from every member of the band, they created a whole that was true synergy, the 2+2=“5” effect. Laura watched, stunned. The band members blended and merged, then spiked out in counterpoint, but worked together as if telepathic. Chord changes, tempo variations, all were on point and done closely together, although she saw no hidden signals apart from the initial counting-in, usually from the drums. Partway through, Zazz stripped off his T-shirt and performed topless for a few numbers. Jace lost his and never bothered to replace it, instead using his dragon tattoo as decoration. The crowd clapped and whistled, Laura joining in delightedly.

  At one point the stagehands wheeled in a piano and Zazz played it, with Jace on acoustic guitar. Zazz sang about never finding anyone special and despairing of ever doing so, despite trying affairs all over
the world. Was there something wrong with him? He would continue to look, though he doubted he’d find anyone now.

  Laura was surprised when she found tears on her cheeks. Hastily she wiped them away, but she saw others surreptitiously doing the same.

  A shared experience that belonged to her alone. She couldn’t explain it any better, but it felt like that.

  Two hours sped by as the band showed off glittering number after violent rocker after tender ballad. They did everything, from techno to full-out rock to something that was almost jazzy. Almost. Laura wouldn’t have been surprised to hear dubstep. She watched all the members of the band doing their thing, and the way they blended together. At the center, binding every sound together and making comments to the audience between each song, Zazz worked his brilliance. Known only by that one name, Zazz was one of the two British members of Murder City Ravens. He added the urgency and spikiness, took the edge off the slickness, added touches of difference that thrilled Laura, like light hitting shiny satin.

  After two encores the band quit the stage for the evening, leaving Laura wrung out. Even though her evening was just beginning. She sat and watched the roadies methodically dismantle the equipment offstage. Three guys climbed down a rope ladder from above, where they’d controlled some damn thing, she had no idea what, and let the people in their row file out.

  “Brilliant,” Kelsie said. “Loved it.” She flashed Laura a wide-eyed, thrilled grin. “Now we get to be groupies!”

  That jolted her out of her mood of stunned wonder. “No we fucking don’t. I’m here for business.” She said it more to remind herself than anyone else, although during the concert she hadn’t given her reason for being here a moment’s thought.

  “Yeah,” Kelsie said, not a bit put out. “I know. James Asano Junior. Let’s find him then.”

  James Asano Junior was part of the vast industry surrounding Murder City Ravens on this tour, and she was here to see him about his father’s welfare. They’d chatted by email for the last two years, and while she liked Junior, she was nervous about meeting him in person. He seemed reluctant to speak any other way, except for the occasional online chat. Their shared concerns about his father had developed into friendship, and at last, he’d agreed to meet her when the band was in town. Receiving complimentary tickets for the gig had surprised and thrilled Laura, who had tried and failed to buy tickets. She’d been at work when they went on sale, in a meeting she couldn’t avoid. By the time she’d logged on to the ticket website the concert was a sellout. James explained that he could get tickets, and he’d proved good for them. And the backstage passes.

  Laura and Kelsie already had the extra bands around their wrists that would let them in. The envious box office staff had put them there earlier when they picked up their tickets earlier. They’d included the gold Access All Areas band, something that had surprised Laura, as her business only needed limited access. Now they had to find out where to go.

  After the majority of the audience had left the massive Manchester Arena, instead of climbing the steep stairwell to the exits, Laura and Kelsie went down to the barrier that separated the seating area from the mosh pit. It stank worse, the beer, weed and sweat smell enhanced by a soupcon of piss. Wrappers and plastic cups littered the hard floor. A security guard stood there and she showed him her collection of bracelets. The man examined them, taking nothing for granted, but checking the wording and the color. “Can you climb over?” he asked. She nodded, glad she’d worn jeans. While she clambered over, the man gave Kelsie’s bands the same scrutiny. “If you’re press, better get a move on. They’re starting the conference in a minute.”

  Laura didn’t disabuse them. Her business had nothing to do with the band, but the thought of seeing a press conference for real enthralled her. She could go with that. She’d find James Asano when the band had left. James had told her to find the band’s manager, Chick Fontaine, who would locate Mr. Asano for her, but other than that she knew little, except that Chick Fontaine was a bear of a man, difficult to miss.

  One thing Laura had learned tonight was how big this tour was, what a huge number of people it took to put on this gig. The number of staff involved amounted to a company on an industrial scale. Everyone had a particular job. James Asano could be one of the guys who spent the duration of the concert in the rigging. Or maybe he was one of the roadies who looked after the instruments, handed them to whoever needed them, or a sound man, or one of the lighting guys. He’d never told her precisely what he did.

  Laura and Kelsie followed the security man to a small door by the stage and went through it.

  Not like entering another world, going from Kansas to Oz or a grassy bank to Wonderland. The corridors were the same drab-painted concrete as the ones in the bathrooms in the main area, the floors hard and unadorned, painted black. People moved around with purpose, most of them headed in the same direction. The guy who’d shown them the door handed them over to a man who introduced himself as “Rudi, assistant to Beverley Christmas”. Beverley was the partner of Jace Beauchenne, guitarist and effects man to Murder City Ravens, and she worked for Chick Fontaine.

  Rudi took them to the back of a room crammed with members of the media. At the front, behind a large cloth-covered table that could easily be a paste table sat the members of Murder City Ravens. Hair damp with sweat, wearing the same clothes they’d worn onstage, the band sat answering the questions thrown at them. Every member had an attitude, an air of confidence and charisma that filled the crammed space. She spotted the unmistakable figure of Chick Fontaine standing to one side, an electronic tablet in his large hands. “Stay here,” Rudi said. “I’ll take you to Chick when the conference is done. It’ll be less frantic then. And you can get something to eat and drink if you want.” He nodded to a table containing bottles of beer and water, and plates of sandwiches. “Help yourself.”

  “We’re fine,” Laura said.

  “Good.” Rudi moved them to one side, out of the way of the door. “Stay here then. Are you on Chick’s list?”

  Laura nodded, although she guessed Rudi thought they were press, not here for any other reason. But she wanted to hear the questions.

  Most were disappointingly predictable. Where did the band get its ideas from? How had reforming the band after the first two albums affected them? When was the next album coming out? She listened closely to the answer to that, eager as any fan to hear new material. They’d played two tonight. Nobody in the band answered with any kind of firm commitment, other than they were going into the studio after the tour finished and would see how it went. Only a band on top of its game could afford to answer so vaguely.

  “You’re going into Maxx Syccorraxx’s studio?” someone yelled.

  Chick frowned. He was indicating who had the right to ask questions, but Jace waved Chick’s concerns aside. “His name is Matt Sinclair and yes, with him. He made such a great job of Nightstar, we don’t want to go anywhere else.”

  “Zazz, how does working with the man you replaced feel?” the same person asked, directing his question at Zazz.

  Zazz shrugged, his handsome face weary, but with a restlessness displayed by the way he leaned back in his chair, shifting his position frequently. An edge of recklessness infused him and he fidgeted with the pencil in his fingers, twirling and twisting it as he answered. “I didn’t replace Matt. I don’t sing the same way. I don’t have the same approach to the band. I write, which Matt rarely did. To answer your question, I like him and we work well together.” He spoke with a generically British accent, but with the flat vowels of the north of England. Hard to place.

  The questioner opened his mouth again, presumably to ask something else, but Laura didn’t want him to ask anything stupid. For fuck’s sake, there were things she wanted to know, and this guy was asking things a dozen reporters before him had asked. Why waste time? Besides, Zazz seemed restless and he might leave. This was her only chance to see the band so close and personal. Right now she didn’t fucking care if
this got her thrown out. She wanted to know stuff.

  Before she could think her action through, she spoke. “Are the lyrics of Personal truly personal?”

  Zazz laughed, a sharp bark of amusement. “Why that one? Don’t you think the others are?”

  “I think you take on different parts of yourself for your songs, but like a method actor, you use other experiences too. Why call something Personal if it isn’t? The codes in that song, the use of the synonyms for personal, and the internal rhymes hint at something else.”

  In response, he gave her a slow handclap. “Best question of the night, and one I have no intention of answering.”

  A smattering of applause and laughter followed his answer. People stared at Laura as she blushed hotly, silently begging the floor to eat her alive. But Zazz continued to watch her, his cool gaze intent on her face. He ignored the questions directed on him, stared at her, until a slow, seductive smile replaced the former expression of boredom. She couldn’t help it. She smiled back.

  He turned his attention to the next reporter.

  His attention scrambled Laura’s brain. He despised her. Thought her question stupid and naïve, she could tell. Beside her, Kelsie nudged her in the ribs, not one of her best traits, but one that brought Laura back to earth.

  She tore her avid gaze away from Zazz and scanned the room, watching the crowd asking the band questions. Girls stood around, some wearing impossibly trendy clothes, others in miniskirts and skimpy tops, with no sign of warm outer covering. Far too inadequate for a Manchester that had turned chilly in recent days. Grimacing, Laura reminded herself that she was twenty-eight, not eighty-two, and she should feel ashamed of herself for being so practical. Especially in a situation like this.

  That was her trouble. Too cautious. She only let her inner wild child free when she played her guitar and sang in the privacy of her own room. Even tonight, her jeans were comfortable rather than tight and sexy, her top roomy and well-worn. Kelsie wore leggings and a tiny top with a jacket that owed more to style than to warmth. She looked great, if slightly on the sleazy side. Entirely appropriate.