Once More With Feeling (9 page)

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

I
t 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.”

“Good. The less time I spend awake on a plane, the less time I have to think about being on one. I slept like a rock.” With another sigh, Raven stretched her back, letting her shoulders lift and fall with the movement. “I made poor company.” Her system was starting to hum again, though on slow speed.

“You were tired.” Over the rim of his cup he watched the subtle movements of her body beneath the oversize sweater.

“I turned off like a tap,” she admitted. “It happens that way sometimes after a concert.” She lifted one shoulder in a quick shrug. “But I suppose we'll both be better today for the rest. Where did you sleep?”

“With you.”

Raven closed her mouth on a yawn, swallowed and stared at him. “What?”

“I said I slept with you, here on the couch.” Brand made a general gesture with his hand. “You like to snuggle.”

She could see he was enjoying her dismayed shock. His eyes were deep blue with amusement as he lifted his cup again. “You had no right . . .” Raven began.

“I always fancied being the first man you slept with,” he told her before draining his cup. “Want some more coffee?”

Raven's face flooded with color; her eyes turned dark and opaque. She sprang up, but Brand managed to pluck the cup from her hand before she could hurl it across the room. For a moment she stood, breathing hard, watching him while he gave her his calm, measuring stare.

“Don't flatter yourself,” she tossed out. “You don't know how many men I've slept with.”

Very precisely, he set down both coffee cups, then looked back up at her. “You're as innocent as the day you were born, Raven. You've barely been touched by a man, much less been made love to.”

Her temper flared like a rocket. “You don't know anything about who I've been with in the last five years, Brandon.” She struggled to keep from shouting, to keep her voice as calm and controlled as his. “It's none of your business how many men I've slept with.”

He lifted a brow, watching her thoughtfully. “Innocence isn't something to be ashamed of, Raven.”

“I'm not . . .” She stopped, balling her fists. “You had no right to—” She swallowed and shook her head as fury and embarrassment raced through her. “—While I was asleep,” she finished.

“Do what while you were asleep?” Brandon demanded, lazing back on the sofa. “Ravish you?” His humor shimmered over the old-fashioned word and made her feel ridiculous. “I don't think you'd have slept through it, Raven.”

Her voice shook with emotion. “Don't laugh at me, Brandon.”

“Then don't be such a fool.” He reached over to the table beside him for a cigarette, then tapped the end of it against the surface without lighting it. His eyes were fixed on hers and no longer amused. “I could have had you if I'd wanted to, make no mistake about it.”

“You have colossal nerve, Brandon. Please remember that you're not privy to my sex life and that you wouldn't have had me because I don't want you. I choose my own lovers.”

She hadn't realized he could move so fast. The indolent slouch on the sofa was gone in a flash. He reached up, seizing her wrist, and in one swift move had yanked her down on her back, trapping her body with his. Her gasp of surprise was swallowed as his weight pressed down on her.

Never, in all the time they had spent together past and present, had Raven seen him so angry. An iron taste of fear rose in her throat. She could only shake her head, too terrified to struggle, too stunned to move. She had never suspected he possessed the capacity for violence she now read clearly on his face. This was far different from the cold rage she had seen before and which she knew how to deal with. His fingers bit into her wrist while his other hand came to circle her throat.