Blame It on the Bass (13 page)

And then their waitress returned with a large black jug of sake and three white china cups, shattering the tension.

Levi jerked his hand from Corbin’s groin, his blood roaring in his ears. Loud enough to damn near drown out the atrocious singing coming from the karaoke stage a few feet away. God, someone was really murdering Bon Jovi.

“Here’s to living on a prayer,” Corbin murmured, raising the small sake-filled cup closest to him in mocking toast. “Well-written fucking and sexual slavery.”

He placed the china cup to his lips and threw back his head, downing the wine in one mouthful.

“Best toast ever,” Sonja chuckled, lifting her own cup to her lips.

Her gaze met Levi’s across the table, held it for a heartbeat and then she too swallowed the sake in a single gulp.

The tight need thrumming through Levi’s body intensified. He drew a slow breath, reached for the last cup and held it aloft. “To being alive.”

Without looking for either Sonja’s or Corbin’s reaction, he closed his eyes and drained his cup.

The sake slid down his throat like liquid fire and warmed his belly. His cock pulsed, a primitive urgency stirring its hardened length.

When he finally opened his eyes, he found both Corbin and Sonja watching him. Slamming his empty cup down on the table with dramatic force, he grinned as they both jumped. “Let’s see if we can do better.”

Puzzled confusion flickered over Sonja’s face.

Levi shucked himself from the booth and strode to the stage, finding the karaoke MC perched behind a state-of-the-art laptop. “I’d like to cue up a request please?”

The MC squinted at him. “Do I know you?”

Levi flashed him a smile. “Maybe.”

The guy squinted some more, chewed on his bottom lip and then shrugged. “Sure. Can’t be any worse than our current songbird.” He threw a look of sheer exasperation at the stage beside him.

Levi followed his glance to the woman wailing through Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a Prayer”. There was something familiar about her.

“Who is she?” he asked, raising his voice over a particularly woeful high C.

“Some journalist for one of those travel shows on the telly,” the MC said, adjusting his butt on his stool. “Apparently they’re thinking of doing a feature on the bar and she’s trying it out beforehand.”

Levi chuckled. “Excellent. Let’s give her something to get excited about.”

The MC fixed him with another narrow-eyed inspection. “I
do
know you. You used to be in a band. Umm…umm…” He clicked his fingers a few times, rolling his gaze skyward before jabbing his index finger in the same direction. “Levi Levistan. Bass player for Nick Blackthorne, right? I saw you guys perform here in Sydney six years ago when Blackthorne announced his retirement.”

“That’s me.”

“What are you doing in a karaoke joint? Don’t you write music for movies now?”

“I’m on a date.” Before the MC could say another word, Levi tapped his finger on the song list displayed on the iPad beside the laptop. “This one, please.”

By the time he’d made it back to the booth, he’d heard his name twenty times. For the first time ever, it didn’t bother him.

Sliding back onto the seat, he took Corbin’s hand and raised it to his mouth, pressing his lips to the centre of his lover’s palm.

“And this is because?” Corbin asked, a rough breath in his voice.

For an answer, Levi leant forward and brushed his lips over Corbin’s.

“Oh fuck.” Sonja’s wobbly groan caressed Levi’s ears. The undeniable desire in her voice sent fresh hot blood to his cock.

Lowering Corbin’s hand from his lips, he placed it squarely on his erection and smiled at her. “I’ve picked the song. Perfect for a duet.”

Sonja’s breasts rose and fell. “For you and Corbin?”

Corbin’s chuckle was as ragged as Sonja’s breathing. “I don’t do karaoke. Trust me, I’d clear the bar if I tried.”

Sonja studied Levi. She licked her lips. He couldn’t help but notice her nipples were puckered points beneath the tight AC/DC tank top she wore. He couldn’t miss how full and round and perfect her breasts were.

“You and me, Sonny,” he said, closing Corbin’s fingers over his cock. “Up there on stage together. Singing.”

“Fuck, Levi,” Corbin groaned beside him. “You’re so goddamn—”

“Up next,” the MC’s amplified voice sounded through the bar, and it was only then Levi realized the reporter from the travel show had finished, “we’ve got a special treat. Someone who knows how to do this singing gig right with a classic hit from the movie
Grease
.”

A haphazard applause bounced around the bar, followed by a flickering on the super-sized screen on the stage.

Summer Nights
flashed on the screen in neon-green letters.

The applause intensified. Sonja raised her eyebrows at Levi. “Really?”

He dropped a wink at her. “Really.”

She rolled her eyes. “You have a twisted sense of humour.”

Throwing Corbin a grin, he shuffled sideways on the seat and out of the booth. “C’mon. Get your arse up on stage with me.”

Corbin chuckled. “This I can’t wait to see.”

Sonja snorted. “‘Summer Nights’ is hardly rock and roll, Stan.”

He shook his head, his body tingling. “No, it isn’t. No, it isn’t.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her from the booth. “Let’s go.”

He dragged her up to the stage, unable to keep his smile under control. She complained the whole way, a lump of resistant deliciousness. “‘Highway to Hell’,” she grumbled. “‘Sex on Fire’. ‘Born in the USA’. ‘Working Class Man’.” She continued to rattle off an impressive list of rock anthems as he pulled her to the stage.

Stopping at base of the stairs, he turned, hooked his fingertips between her belly and miniskirt waistband and yanked her to his body. “Shut up, Sonny. There’s a song to be sung.”

He kissed her before she could react, a quick crushing of her lips with his and then pivoted on his heel and jogged up the three stairs to the stage.

Scooping up the mics waiting on a stool beside the screen, he turned to the audience, most of whom—he noticed—weren’t remotely interested in who was about to start singing and nodded at the MC.

The opening note of ‘Summer Nights’ emanated from the bar’s speakers just as Sonja stepped onto the stage. He tossed her mic to her, grinned, raised
his
mic to his mouth and sang the first line. “Summer lovin’…”

Sonja glared at him, bringing the microphone in her hand up to her lips. She sang the next line, even as a twinkle began to dance in her eyes.

He wriggled his hips at her, continuing to sing the song.

Five minutes into the song, Mizuku’s customers were cheering, clapping and singing along with them, flash after flash from cameras and smartphones capturing Levi and Sonja’s performance.

Levi had never felt so charged, so happy and relaxed. Sonja played the part of Sandy with happy glee, the innocent lines of her part of the duet delightfully wicked given the short length of her micro-mini skirt, the thigh-high height of her black suede boots and the snugness of her AC/DC tank top. She flirted with him with every note she sang, her blue eyes devilish, her joy at singing evident in the way she moved to the music, the way she caressed his chest with her fingertips.

By the time the song reached its crescendo, by the time Levi squeezed his eyes tight and threw back his head, her fingers were threaded through his and his heart was thumping fast in his chest.

“Those
summer…”
he sang.

“
Nights
,” Sonja sang with him, her voice in perfect harmony with his.

The crowd erupted in wild applause, some singing the final coda of the song along with the backing track, some stamping their feet.

With a grin, Levi bowed deep at the waist. Sonja laughed beside him, and he hauled her into a rough embrace, flung her back in a dramatic dip and kissed her.

Ecstatic cheering filled the room.

He straightened with just as much flair, laughing into Sonja’s grinning mouth. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,” he called, dragging her off the stage. “Thank you.”

It took them much longer to return to their booth than it had to journey from it. They were stopped often, some of the other Mizuku diners asking for autographs and photos, others complimenting them on their singing, some asking Levi if the rumours were true that Nick Blackthorne was out of retirement and getting the band back together.

For the first time in his life as a rock star, Levi didn’t find the attention daunting or unnerving. He was sure it had something to do with Sonja.

Somehow she knew when he was getting antsy, when he wanted to move on. Somehow she knew how to end the social interaction with gentle but speedy ease. More than once, she stopped unwanted physical contact by putting herself between Levi and the excited person trying to hug, touch or maul him. More than once, she steered the questions away from Levi, mentioning Corbin with such subtle brilliance the person didn’t seem to notice the topic was longer Levi but movies.

When the reporter for the travel show planted herself in their path and asked for an exclusive, Sonja answered with a quick, “The chips and sake are fantastic,” as Levi stood behind her.

When the reporter ran a curious gaze over Sonja and asked who she was, Sonja laughed. “Oh, someone very important, I assure you.”

It was typical Sonja Stone—mirth-laced sarcasm.

If it weren’t for the fact at that very moment Levi caught a glance of Corbin at their booth, he would have introduced her. He wanted to world to know about her. But at the sight of Corbin shaking his head at a guy thrusting what looked like an iPhone at his face, all Levi wanted to do was get to his lover. Protect him.

Increasing his grip on Sonja’s hand, he gave the reporter a level gaze. “She’s the best editor of smut there is,” he said with a wink before continuing to their booth with Sonja in tow.

“The best editor of smut?” Sonja echoed, incredulous laughter in her voice.

He grinned at her. “True, isn’t it?”

Before she could answer, they arrived at their booth. He fixed the guy with the iPhone a pointed look, noticing on the screen a large graphic of an old-fashion microphone with an active recording bar at its base. “Personal time, mate. Do you mind taking off?”

The guy swung the phone toward Levi. “Don’t want to make a comment for the
Sun Herald’s
entertainment section, Mr. Levistan?”

Levi regarded the reporter without a word.

The guy snorted. “Figured as much.” He jabbed his phone at Sonja. “What about you?”

“The sake has some kick,” Sonja offered, her eyes twinkling.

Levi fell in love with her a little.

It was just like high school all over again. How many times had she diffused a tense situation when he was the centre of unwanted attention at lunch or recess with a sarcastic crack? How many times had she saved him from his father’s derision at the dinner table on weekends? How many times had her presence in his home on those Friday and Saturday evenings saved him from—

“So who’s the third wheel, Levistan?” a familiar male voice drawled from the shadows behind the man with the iPhone, a second before a blinding white flash bleached the immediate darkness.

Levi flinched.

Corbin lunged forward.

Sonja let out a stunned, “Fuck, who the hell—”

She didn’t finish the question. Another flash fired at the very second two massive men in Mizuku staff uniforms descended on the photographer and hauled him backward by the upper arms.

Someone at a table nearby captured the ruckus with a smartphone, the device’s inbuilt flash illuminating the situation for a brief moment.

Levi’s gut rolled.

Carl Holston.

The paparazzo bucked and thrashed against the Mizuku’s security team’s hold, spitting threats of lawsuits and retribution. No one seemed concerned. Probably because the guy was so notorious and reprehensible the word was most judges dismissed any case he brought before them out of sheer exasperation.

Levi watched him wave his arms about, still trying to take photos of Levi and Corbin even as he was dragged backwards from the bar.

“That was fun,” Sonja quipped at Levi’s side.

Corbin chuckled. “That was tame. Holston once tried to take a photo of me in the men’s room at the Sydney Opera House.”

Levi curled his lip. “He also turned up at Isabella’s funeral,” he murmured, tracking the pap’s less-than-dignified ejection from the bar.

“Mr. Levistan.” A man in an exquisitely cut suit appeared at the booth, shooing away the man with the iPhone with a dismissive hand motion. “Mr. Smith. I’m Marco Lee. Please accept my apologies for the invasion of your privacy this evening.”

Corbin waved his hand, a smile on his face. “No apologies necessary, Marc. We both know what Holston’s like.” He threw Levi a look loaded with wry pain. “And how tenacious.”

Marco Lee slipped his hand inside his jacket and withdrew a business card. “Still,” he said, passing the small rectangle to Corbin, “I am sorry he disturbed you. Rest assured you will not be harassed again. Your dinner and drinks are courtesy of Mizuku this evening.” He shot Sonja, still standing at Levi’s right, a curious glance. “And yours as well, Ms…?”