The Song Bird (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (5 page)

He stopped in front of her, so close she could see the dark bands around his irises, the thick lashes. He had a strong aristocratic nose, high cheekbones, and full lips that had parted slightly. His warm breath had a hint of mint as he bent his head toward her.

“You’re this unique blend of innocence and fire, aren’t you? May I?” he asked as he took the dress and tossed it somewhere behind her.

Very gently, he tilted her face upward in both of his hands. She trembled a little. He made her nervous. Not in a scared, terrified way, but she knew he could change her. Jason Braddock was the type of man who could make a woman forget all the rules of self-decorum and strict morals. He was dashing and debonair, a man with charm, and he knew how to use it.

He brought his mouth lightly to hers, the kiss nothing more than a brushing of lips. But after a moment, he deepened it, teasing them apart. His arms slid around her, bringing her fully against his hard body. His tongue eased in, exploring, mingling with her own. She moaned, caught off guard. Never in her wildest imagination had she ever thought a kiss would be something so incredibly erotic, more than two mouths pressing against each other. She was dizzy, breathless, her head swirling out of reality. Her body was heating from the inside out, a delicious warmth that promised heaven. She wanted more. She wanted
him
. She wanted to be under him. She wanted to be consumed by him, taken in ways she couldn’t even possibly imagine.

And it was wrong. It was all wrong. Jason Braddock could never be the type of man she needed, one who would be all hers, one who wouldn’t place restrictions on her or force her into a box. She had met men like Jason before, a charmer who used his good looks to seduce women until they promised to do anything or be anyone but who they really were.

Avilon broke the kiss and sucked in a lungful of air. She tried to move away from Jason’s hard body, but his arms were like steel bands around her. He wasn’t letting her budge.

“Don’t move,” he murmured, his voice rough silk.

“Let me go.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think I could ever let you go again.”

“W–What?”

Jason took a deep breath and pulled her in close again. But instead of kissing her mouth, he pressed his lips to her forehead.

“Jason?” she asked, not quite sure what he meant.

“Are you hungry?”

“Um, yes,” she replied as her mind whirled, confused at the change in topic.

He kissed the tip of her nose. “I’ll have something sent up.”

She managed to push away from him and retreated a few steps back, putting enough distance between them to break the haze over her mind.

“Does it get deducted from my pay?”

“What pay? You wanted questions answered, as I recall.”

“Then I’ll be eating all my meals here?”

“Well, you do have a room upstairs.”

“Oh, no,” she said as she shook her head vigorously. “I’ll retain my present accommodations.”

“And that is where?”

“The Sisters of the Sacred Heart were kind enough to offer me a bed at their parish on Vallejo Street.”

He snorted. “And how do you think you’ll be able to get back there after closing time? It’ll be near three in the morning, and I can assure you all the hackney cabs have stopped their fares.”

“I can walk—”

“Are you bloody insane? It’s a mile and a half away, at night, in the most dangerous section of the city.” He reached out and ran his knuckles down her cheek. “A beautiful woman like you wouldn’t last fifty feet past these doors.”

She cast her gaze around, landing on the clothes-strewn lounge. “Then I’ll stay here.”

“This room wasn’t designed as a bedroom.”

“I’ve slept in worse conditions. Besides, it’s right behind the stage, so it’s perfect after a performance.”

He studied her face. “If you insist this is more to your liking, then I insist on moving the bed down here.”

She bit her lip. “Thank you.”

“You may not want to thank me when I tell you I plan on being in that bed,” he told her. Avilon felt her eyes widen. “With you.”

She gasped. His eyes were lit with blue flame, making her insides squirm with molten desire. She could visualize them on the bed, their bodies naked, entwined together. And the problem was, she didn’t think she wanted to fight against the vision.

He gave a predatory smile, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. He winked, opened the door, and left her, her body yearning to rush back to him and throw herself into his arms.

Yes, he was very dangerous indeed.

Avilon peeked around the corner and saw the room packed with men. The lights were dim, the room hazy with a cloud of smoke rising toward the ceiling. Two waiters served drinks, transporting them on top of silver trays, hurrying their way to and fro as they scrambled to fulfill orders.

There had to be fifty men all waiting for her to sing to them. Her nerves were strung tight like piano wire. She slid her slick palms down her dress, trying to still their shaking. Her stomach rolled in waves, and she swallowed down the thick bile that rose in the back of her throat. Singing around Homer was one thing, but in front of so many drunk men was quite another.

Just before she ducked back, she saw Eli and Jason sitting in a booth in the back.

She took their image with her as she retreated back into the dressing room. The door clicked softly behind her. Her eyes fell briefly on the bed that Jason had ordered to be moved. Only this one wasn’t a small bed. It was large, large enough for two people. But that was the least of her problems at the moment. In one minute, she’d have to go onto that stage, ignore the stares of the men, perhaps some caterwauling they’d call out as she sang. Unexpectedly, tears welled up in her eyes, surprising her. She took a deep breath and chased them away, impatiently swiping the corners of her eyes. Nothing was ever resolved or fixed by crying, and she refused to feel sorry for herself. Her sister was depending on her.

Straightening her shoulders, she pulled the door open and marched determinedly back to the stage. She saw Homer at his piano, playing a jaunty tune, and smoothed down her dark gray skirt. She had tried on almost all the dresses, but none of them fit, the previous wearer possessing a larger bosom than she. There hadn’t been enough time to fix them, so she had settled on wearing the same dress she had appeared at the club in, plain dark wool and stiff brocade. The one concession she allowed was letting her hair down. She had brushed the dark locks until they gleamed, the hair curling into its natural bounce.

She caught Homer’s eye and gave a nod. Homer changed the tune immediately, effortlessly segueing into the opening of her first song. The audience quieted, and she stepped out onto the stage, taking a moment to run her gaze over all the patrons. Annabel sat on the lap of one man, and she winked. Avilon gave her a small smile. A man moved into the doorway, and she looked over. Ellis watched her, his face a careful blank as he folded his arms. There was something unsettling about him as he stared at her.

Homer stopped playing, giving her the cue to begin.

Closing her eyes, she found the melody in her head then opened her mouth and sang. She sang for herself. She sang for Amelia. She sang for the joy of singing. She let the stares fade away, let all the confusion fall aside. In song, she could let everything melt away and simply fly. And for the first time in her life, the restlessness that had constantly shifted under her skin calmed.

She had decided to change the song. Instead of singing
La traviata
, she tapped into something deeper. This time she sang Donna Elvira’s song “Ah! Chi mi dice mai” from
Don Giovanni
. She thought it appropriate to sing about abandoned love.

At the end, silence engulfed the room. Avilon opened her eyes. People stared at her, some with their mouths open, and some with drinks halfway to their mouths. Clapping came from the back of the room, and she raised her eyes to meet Ellis’s, the lone applauder. But seconds later, the room erupted as everyone surged to their feet, applauding long and loudly.

Avilon beamed widely as she absorbed the accolades from her first singing performance. Homer’s piano started up, and the crowd settled down quickly. This song was different, though, not opera. Instead it was a dirty little song involving a girl teasing the highest bid from two customers fighting over her. It was raunchy, and she played up the flirtation, even going so far as to flip her skirts so her stocking-clad ankle was visible. For the next half an hour, Avilon sang, and when she finished, the round of applause was astounding. She bowed and exited backstage.

For a moment, she just absorbed the amazing feeling, feeling as if she could fly to heaven. But a knock sounded at the door, bringing her back down to earth. She figured Jason was ready to escort her around the club, as per Eli’s orders, so she opened the door without a second thought. But instead of Jason’s handsome face, Ellis stood there with another man behind him.

“Miss Avilon,” Ellis greeted, “may I introduce Mr. Eugene Behr, president of the United Bank of San Francisco.”

She nodded her head. “Mr. Behr.”

He stepped forward, bending his head as he crossed the threshold, forcing her to take a step backward. “Miss Avilon, you sing quite divinely. I haven’t heard
Don Giovanni
since my days in New York.”

“You’re a fan of opera?”

“Heaven here on earth,” he assured.

Mr. Behr would have been considered handsome to most women, but his pleasant face held a cold stillness that unnerved her.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Behr, but I have to freshen up for my walk through the club,” she murmured, trying to maneuver him back to the other side of the door, but the man either wasn’t listening or didn’t care. He remained rooted firmly in her doorway. She shot Ellis an exasperated look, but he just stared back at her benignly.

“What is your charming accent? It reminds me of my travels through the South.”

“I’m from New Orleans. Have you been there?”

“I have, actually. I was an acquaintance with a woman named Odell Dubois. We were friends through our love of opera.”

“Odell was my cousin,” she replied, surprise heavy in her tone. “How odd we have an acquaintance in common.”

A strange look came over his face, and for a brief moment, she saw rage flash in his dark eyes. An instant later, he lowered his gaze, and when he looked at her again, that brief surge of anger she had seen was gone, or else carefully concealed.

“When I first saw you on the stage, Miss Avilon, I knew you were a rare gem indeed,” he murmured, though his admiration seemed at bit too practiced and smooth. It made the hairs at the back of her neck stand up.

“Thank you, Mr. Behr. Now, if you don’t mind—”

“I am a very powerful man in San Francisco, perhaps even more so than Henry Naglee and certainly more than Henry Wells and William Fargo.” He smoothed down his coat with his hands. He was looking at her as if he expected her to understand what he was implying. “In fact, I’m very close in negotiating with the US Treasury to organize the banking system here in San Francisco.”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know Mr. Naglee or the other two gentlemen.”

“Of course, business is such a tedious subject for females.”

“Excuse me?” she asked sharply. “I assure you I can understand the intricacies of the business world, Mr. Behr. It’s only that I’ve arrived in San Francisco two days ago, so my knowledge of who’s who is slightly lacking.”

She saw Ellis flash a quick smile out of the corner of her eye, but when she turned to look directly at him, he was back to being sober and blank faced.

“Or course,” Eugene Behr said, his tone patronizing. “I only meant someone as beautiful and delicate as you should never have to overly worry herself on the subject of money matters.”

But Avilon had had enough.

“Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Behr?” she asked curtly. “I’ve had a long day and wish to be left alone.”

The man looked taken aback for a moment. Annoyance flashed through his eyes as his mouth compressed into a flat line. “I’ve come here as a favor to you, so shut your mouth.”

She reeled back from the cold hauteur that had suddenly descended in his voice. The affable businessman he had presented moments before suddenly vanished. His personality had flipped so quickly it took her a moment to digest it.

“You’ll have to go now,” she ordered, grasping the door firmly and trying to close it.

His hand shot out, holding the door back. “I have a proposition for you,” he said. “And you will listen and accept me, because I can offer you more as my personal property than you can for whoring for that bastard Eli Masters.” There was something dark and menacing in his words, and they sent a shiver down her spine.

“I am no one’s property,” she told him icily. “But if I decided to be, then Eli Masters seems a far more enticing choice than you. Now get the hell out of here.”

Before she could blink, he grabbed her wrist, squeezing so hard she let go of the door and almost fell her to her knees in pain. Dimly she saw Ellis trying to pry Eugene Behr’s fingers off her, but she was focused mainly on the black rage darkening his features.

“Do you know who I am? I’m going to be one of the richest men in this godforsaken town. Hell, probably in all of California. And you’re just another two-bit whore from Louisiana. Don’t think I don’t have the means or the balls to make you disappear to get what I want. And, Miss Avilon, I always get what I want.”

“Let her go, you son of a bitch!” Jason’s voice rasped from behind them.

A second later, her wrist was free, and she slunk to the ground, cradling it as she saw Jason grab Eugene Behr by the shirtfront and slam him into the wall. Gone was the good-natured, easygoing seducer. In his place, Jason Braddock was all muscle and avenging fury. He slammed the gaunt Mr. Behr against the wall two more times before yanking him close.

“You touch her again, Behr,” Jason warned in a deadly cold tone, “and I’ll kill you.”