SailtotheMoon Page 9

  “You should come, dude.”

  Zazz chuckled. “Oh I intend to.”

  “You look like a perverted Lord Byron tonight.”

  Zazz pretended to shake back nonexistent long hair. “Good thought. He was some character. Have you read Don Juan?”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  The others waited by the stage, ready to go on. Their preliminary music started, a custom mix of several tracks, some classical and one by the support group. He’d make time in London to see their full set, though he knew them and he liked what he heard. They could have been Murder City Ravens a few years back, just after the first album, playing smaller venues in their own right, and support to bigger bands. Or him, with the variety of bands he played with before this one. So many things happened, so many failed to make the leap to great. Some made a good living, some were happier like that. Zazz wasn’t sure that wouldn’t have suited him better. He’d been making a decent living, enough to send money home, and he hadn’t had all the shit that came with being this big. Their support band, for instance. Good, interesting, but they hadn’t had that push that would propel them to the next level.

  But when he heard the roar when Chick gave them the thumbs-up, he knew he was fucking with himself. This was what he wanted, what he fed on.

  Some members of the band preferred rehearsals and the creative side. Others liked the albums best. Zazz, this was him, the here and now. This mattered, really mattered. He could create here, turn the album tracks into something completely new, wholly different. He could get the guys to speed it up, slow it down, go heavy on the percussion and bass. Let Jace rip, tearing guitar solos out of the raw, throbbing atmosphere of the arena.

  So they started with Rock Is Dead, the first track from Nightstar. Like Led Zeppelin on their second album, Murder City Ravens opened with an unforgettable riff from Jace, and then Zazz grabbed the mic and swung right in, screaming the lyrics. No subtlety, just rock, straight up. Riku and Jace stood on either side of him, dueling electric guitars. Hunter and Donovan behind, driving the song on with an insistent, almost frightening throb that threatened to take the building apart.

  The audience roared its welcome. Not that Zazz cared. His personal monitor earplugs kept him on song and in tune, and the band charged in behind him until he briefly withdrew to let Riku and Jace shine.

  And shine they did. Riku literally, in a dazzling phoenix outfit, a red coat with a great golden bird embroidered on the back, red trousers with flames up the sides, and a delicately embroidered white waistcoat over a gold-colored shirt. Outrageous and totally Riku. But when he played, he became his instrument, total concentration engrossing him, and Zazz loved him for that.

  Riku and Zazz loved shitting the audience, sometimes dressing in the same colors and sometimes, as tonight, total opposites. They were the only peacocks in the band. V wore her trademark gold sheath. She had a case full of them. Hunter and Donovan preferred jeans and tees. Jace tended to go topless quite early, but until then jeans, tees and overshirts. Boring, Zazz thought. But from the beginning they’d decided to be their own people, to do it their way. That blend of individuals made the entity that was Murder City Ravens. When they played their more intricate music, they’d thread each strand together, sometimes vying for the lead, until it all coalesced into one heartbreaking or challenging melody.

  Zazz tended to come up with the basic songs, sentiments and poems, and simple tunes, or maybe a riff. Then they’d work together. They dumped more than they kept.

  The next song, Sex and Diamonds, had nearly become one of those. Instead, it had proved their breakout song, the one that got them on the charts worldwide and shot them to the top rank. Zazz knew why. A good, solid melody and a lyric everyone could identify with. Universality. Aching and lonely, but ending in hope, when the singer had reminded himself that he was on a journey. While this episode had ended badly, the next might be better. Riku had objected to the happy ending of the song, but Zazz had insisted, his instincts right on the button with this one. Grudgingly, Riku agreed, and added a haunting, who-are-you-kidding electronic tail to the song.

  As usual, the audience cheered extra loud and in the few seconds it took to set up for the next number, Zazz let himself bathe in the waves of approval. He wanted to ride this surf of happiness, so his instinct kicked in, told him it was wrong. He made a signal, and the band agreed, thumbs-up. They’d go to the alternative, Tomorrow You Die, a song about the realities of life, deeply cynical, but with a melody at its heart that harmonized. It died by the end, though, killed by Riku’s discordant pleas on one of the keyboards in his nest.

  That whipped them up nicely. The change of mood demonstrated Murder City Ravens’ musicianship as well as their ability to take an audience with them. Zazz crossed the stage for a drink between numbers, flaunting his tightly laced crotch.

  Only one person would get to see what was inside tonight. If she wanted to. He needed her with him, whether she desired him or was too tired for sex. That made Zazz pause in his strutting walk. It was new for him, the need to hold a woman and sleep with her. Oh yes, he’d done it. He wasn’t too fussy, as long as the bitch didn’t make off with his belongings. That was why Chick preferred to get the groupies out of the suite.

  As far as Zazz was concerned, those days were gone.

  He flaunted his talent, pushed himself further than usual, aware they had dates ahead so he couldn’t wreck his voice. Tonight he didn’t give a shit, and he caught the band casting him a glance every now and then, concern in their stares. He’d been doing this long enough to know when he could push, when his vocal cords were moist and his throat open, and when he couldn’t. Tonight that throat yawned wide for him, and he let his voice rip.

  For her.

  Other members of the band called for alternatives. Once, Hunter started all by himself and they followed, the lights crew having a fucking fit when they realized the band wasn’t playing the one on their list. They had a few set numbers, ones they played every night, anchors to work around, and this was one of those. Zazz wondered what had started Hunter off on this one, but he went along with it, and halfway through realized Hunter was right. This was the one to play at this point. Sometimes instinct had to take over. Reason and planning would only take a person so far. They knew it, but some of the more practical and analytical members of the crew didn’t. He saw one guy in the rigging miming tearing his hair out.

  Was it wrong that he gave the man an evil grin?

  Not entirely, because he got a cheer for it. He turned the grin onto the audience. No sense wasting a good crowd-pleaser. Then he spoke a few words before they went into the next one, back with the running order this time. He spoke nonsense, then realizing what was coming up next, did the cheesiest thing he’d ever done onstage. “This is for one special person. She knows who she is.”

  Quiet, reflective, a song about love not being what is expected of it. Falling to Earth contained a sweet melody, interspersed with Riku’s spiky, contradictory guitar. He took the keyboards for this one, a piano, another unexpected move for Murder City Ravens, so into electronics. But not this time. He wanted her to cry, but in a good way, so he set his mind for that.

  By the end of the song he didn’t have to see her to know he’d achieved it. That certainty made him proud of his skill, and the work he’d done to perfect it. He felt like a million dollars.

  Zazz came offstage drenched in sweat, his trousers sticking to his skin. He’d discarded his jacket and shirt for the first encore, forty-five minutes ago. He looked for her, but he couldn’t see her. No wonder, because it would take time for her to get backstage, but shit, his heart still sank when he didn’t see her. Grabbing a bottle of water, he unscrewed it almost in the same motion, but after taking one gulp, he tipped it over his head. His body needed it more. He’d drunk water through the performance, but he must have sweated most of it off.

  Then, there she was and before he could stop her, she catapulted herself at him. Before he c
ould stop himself, he closed his arms around her and brought his head down to share a passionate, exuberant kiss.

  Chick’s slow handclaps brought him back to earth, barely. Before looking around, he murmured to her, “You shouldn’t have done that. I’m disgusting.”

  “I don’t care.” She smiled at him happily. “You sang for me. And for everyone else.”

  “One was for you. Just for you.”

  Moisture misted her eyes, or was she as hot as him and sweat had dripped there? No, before she’d hugged him, she’d been bone dry.

  “Come with me.” Fuck the media, the fans and everything else. Besides, they’d done the press con last night. He wasn’t up for another one. Grabbing her hand, he towed her past the people wanting to congratulate the band, and didn’t stop until they reached his dressing room.

  The door had barely slammed behind them before he spun her around and pushed her over one of the two chairs. “If you’re not okay with this, say so now,” he gasped, barely holding on to what civilized behavior he had left. “Otherwise I’m going to fuck your brains out.”

  Her answer was a groan and, “Yes!”

  He had her jeans down faster than his pants because the leather clung to him so he had to peel it down, once he’d undone the laces. Shit, no condom. But Laura proved his salvation, because she lifted her hand off the chair and handed him one. “I wanted it, so I had one ready. Hoped you—”

  “Christ, you wonderful woman!”

  He tested her briefly with his fingers, that heat and her soaking pussy making him incapable of foreplay. Thank God she was ready, because his cock positively wanted to get inside her.

  He sheathed, lined up and thrust. His eyes almost rolled back in his head at the ecstasy as he drove deep inside her, not stopping until he was fully enclosed. She cried out, lifted her head and he realized they could see themselves in the mirror. Oh fuck yes, that made it even better and there he was imagining nothing could. “Fuck, I need you now,” he told her as he withdrew and then delved deep again, wanting it all, wanting it now. Her breasts jiggled under her thin T-shirt and she gripped the front of the chair, holding them steady as he bent his knees for better traction and took her.

  She lifted her backside and his view got better, those sweet, round cheeks daring him to take hold. Never a man to refuse such a luscious invitation, he slid his hands over the silky-sweet skin, caressing before sliding one finger into the delicate cleft between and teasing her. But he didn’t do it for long. He didn’t have the control right now.

  He let his cock do the work, gripping her hips and driving into her relentlessly. “Hot, tight and made for me,” he growled. “Say it.”

  “Fuck! Just for you.” Her gasps and moans sounded like the best kind of rock music, hard, powerful and urgent. They provoked him into pounding harder each time, their flesh slapping together, her buttocks quivering with the impact.

  She shouted his name when she came.

  Not Zazz, but “James!”

  And it sounded so good when she said it. He came hard, his body shuddering against hers.

  Despite the tiny dimensions of the shower, he shared it with her, not willing to let her out of his sight yet. Leaving their clothes thrown over the chair they’d put to good use, they stepped under the inadequate spray. He laughed with sheer joy as he held her tight and found the shower gel. They hadn’t had time to kiss once they’d entered his dressing room. So he made up for it now, sharing a series of kisses with her, exploring her and enjoying her, offering himself in return. When the inevitable happened and his cock rose to greet them, he told her to ignore it.

  Over the flow of water, a knock came on his door with a peremptory, “Press call!”

  She frowned. “I thought you weren’t doing a press conference?”

  “I’m tempted to ignore him and go back to the hotel. Because we’d have to be serious contortionists to fuck in this space.”

  That made her laugh, and her breasts quivered against his chest, the hardened nipples deliciously tempting. Although they didn’t have time or space to do their feelings justice right now, he ensured she was properly clean. Really clean.

  As he was about to rinse them both off, she put her hand on his sudsy chest. “You might want to know something. Your dad was in the audience tonight.”

  That did it. His cock subsided and he chilled, despite the hot water cascading over them both. “How?”

  “He called Chick, or rather, Riku called Chick for him, and Chick sent transport. They’ve taken great care of him. Zazz, there was nothing you could have done to stop him, it would have made him unhappy. The best thing was to do what Chick did, and make sure he was okay and looked after. I sat next to him.” She paused. “He cried.”

  “Oh God.” He should have sent tickets at the least, but he recognized his emotion now for the truth it was. “I was scared, baby.” He cupped her face in his hands. “He was so fucking good in his day. I guess I was always scared I wouldn’t match up to him. Besides, rock music was never his thing.”

  “You’ve gone beyond rock,” she said.

  The water started to cool and he reached behind her to switch it off. “No heated towel rail here.” He handed her one off the rack and stepped out to give her room to use it. “I should put one on the rider.”

  That made her laugh. “Spoiled rock star.” She swiped the towel across her back and wrapped her hair in it, scrubbing it haphazardly.

  “Spoiled beyond rock star.” He took over for her, taking the towel away before turning her face up to his. “It’s okay.”

  “What?”

  But he saw the trouble in her eyes. “You called me James.”

  “It’s what I called you for two years, in those emails.”

  “When you say it, I like it.” He wouldn’t let her look away. “When we’re alone, feel free.”

  “I just did.”

  He loved her blush, rosy and inviting. Intriguing to see it went right to her breasts, fading only then. Another time, he promised himself, he’d kiss all that blush, around, back up and then the parts of her not tinted rosy pink. Just for the hell of it. “So you did. It’s time someone called me that again.”

  Stopping her putting on the T-shirt she’d discarded, he handed her his spare, a Foo Fighters shirt with a bleeding heart dead center. It hung loosely on her, so he knotted it on one side, pulling it taut and revealing some of her skin above her hip. Sexy. He growled and planted a kiss there. “Keep that safe for me.”

  Cheesy, stupid, but he didn’t give a fuck. She’d brought back something to him—being a child, playful. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt playful. As if a burden had gone from his shoulders.

  And he knew what it was. Whatever his father thought of the music his son played, he’d seen the band now. He’d know what his son had been wasting his time on.

  He took her hand, ready to leave the room, dressed in the three-fuck jeans he’d arrived in and a clean T-shirt. He left the rest on the floor of the room in the confidence that someone else would sweep them up and get them cleaned. One of the luxuries he relished.

  Leaving the room, he stopped dead at the sight of Chick, blocking their way, arms folded. “You took your time. You know your father is out there?”

  “I do now. What have you done with him?”

  “He’s talking to the media. I didn’t plan a conference for tonight, but they hung around anyway.”

  Zazz closed his eyes and fought for control. He snapped his lids open. “Why did you let him?”

  “I didn’t. Beverley sent someone to collect him, along with Laura and the others out front, but he saw the press and headed for them. Is he on anything?”

  “Why do you ask?” Oh fuck, this could get worse. If someone had fed him something, Zazz would kill them. Personally.

  Chick shrugged a massive shoulder. “He’s talking fast, that’s all. With his rep, I thought—”

  “Yeah. Lead the way. Laura’s his social worker.”

 
Chick gave a hollow laugh. “I kind of know that. I’ve been playing go-between for the last coupla years. I guess when you come out, you make a real job of it.”

  Zazz’s laugh was less forced, and he squeezed Laura’s hand. “I guess. Is this press junket just for me?”

  “The others have hung around.”

  Of course they had. Warmth suffused him when he recognized their loyalty. He’d do the same for them, no question, but it was great to have people at his back. “What are we waiting for?”

  Laura kept up with him, every step of the way to the room where they’d held the official press conference the night before. The scene was more chaotic tonight. Word must have got out, because people milled around, and the murmurs they’d heard from a distance erupted when they entered. His grip on Laura’s hand tightened. He needed her now.

  Up at the front, Beverley had his father ringed with bouncers. He sat at the trestle table, bare now, a bottle of water in front of him, half empty. Zazz breathed a sigh of relief that his father had stayed away from the drink. Exactly where he didn’t want his father, but it couldn’t be helped now. He’d have to make the best of an appalling situation. Never had he planned anything to come out this way. “How did it happen?”

  “Somebody recognized him,” Chick muttered. “Then the old man asked how he liked his son. Hell broke loose.”

  “Shit.” He quickened his pace, knowing Laura had to trot to keep up with him, but he’d make it up to her later, if she let him. When he’d gone, Laura would have to protect his father from the media, and in the flat where he lived and refused to leave, that would be almost impossible. Already Zazz began to think of live-in help, but knew how impossible that would be. His father would never agree to it, and even if someone bullied him into accepting it, he wouldn’t be happy. He liked visitors, not sharing. Zazz knew that for a fact. After all, he’d been the live-in once.

  He joined his father at the podium, such as it was, and helped Laura sit before he turned to his father. She gave him an apprehensive stare. He tried for a reassuring smile.

  Then he bent and embraced his father. Flashes went off, and Jimmy hid his face in Zazz’s chest. Zazz found the shades in his pocket, the ones he used for disguise and popped them on his father’s nose. Now he looked like a cool jazz master, which, of course, he was.