Enticing Interlude (Tempest #2) (35 page)

She didn’t move. “I don’t believe you.” Stubborn emerald eyes drilled into my own.

“Fine.” I sighed. I thought she’d lighten up with the mother hen routine after I’d told her that I’d found Bridget and Carter, that they were safe at the farm, and that I was going out to see them first thing in the morning.

Wrong.

“Justin,” she started. Sensing the impending lecture, I stopped her.

“Listen.” I put my hand on her arm and glanced around the room. We were on in fifteen minutes. King and Sager were seated in front of the makeup mirror, the last to have their turn with the stylists. Dizzy had his boots propped up on the coffee table. Lace was in Bryan’s lap in an overstuffed chair.

The atmosphere was thick with expectation. Make or break time as the new lead singer of Tempest was nearly here.

“The stress level’s already high enough.” I lowered my voice. “Everyone’s watching my every move, afraid I’m gonna blow. I’d feel much better if you were out in the audience, supporting me.”

She studied me for a moment. “Ok.” She rose, smoothed out the nonexistent wrinkles in her leather skinnies, and said a general good luck to the room before leaning in close to my ear. “Brother, you’re gonna bring down the house. Not that the women in the audience are gonna care how you sing,” she said in a louder teasing tone with a pointed glance at my low slung jeans. “They’re gonna be too busy watching to see if those pants of yours stay up.”

There were snickers and chuckles all around. Ironic considering that I was more covered than any of the rest of those shirtless rockers. Her teasing had lightened the mood considerably.

I loved my sister.

“I’m heading out.” I stood and nabbed the laminated set list from the coffee table, leading the way. I had one eye on the set list even though I already knew it by heart, devoting the other to the task of dodging bodies as I made my way down the corridor.

I was paying so little attention to where I was going that I nearly ran him down as I climbed the stairs that led to the stage.

Warren Jinkins.

The whole world froze solid.

Fuck.
Like I needed this shit right now.

“War.” Bryan was the first to speak. I don’t think he noticed the glance War gave Lace. It was clear from that look that he wasn’t over her, even if she had moved on. “I didn’t know you were on the bill tonight.”

War straightened and not in a friendly way. “Morris pulled some strings last minute.” He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, but I got the opposite impression. “Still letting that bitch Timmons lead you around by the balls I see. Can’t believe you’re letting her front Tempest with this pussy.” His narrowed condescending gaze swept over me.

“I’m sick of your shit.” Bryan started toward him, hands clenched, but I stepped between them.

This was between War and me now.

“I don’t get you, Jinkins. You act like you’re indispensable, but you’re not.” I lifted my chin to acknowledge King and Sager’s presence on one side of me. Dizzy and Bry quickly moved to the other.

Lines were being redrawn and not in War’s favor. And he knew it, too. His eyes hardened. A muscle started twitching in his jaw. He looked as furious as I felt.

“
You
left.” I leaned forward. “
You
made your choice. Now you’re just the guy who
used
to sing for Tempest. And these guys haven’t said shit about you despite that. Why they would still have your back after what you did, I’ll never know.”

He bowed up even more, but I wasn’t backing down. “One thing I do know. No one’s
letting
me do anything. I’ve earned my place in this band. Now get out of my way, ‘cause I’m about to go out there and kick ass proving it.”

Carter bounced up and down on the seat next to me, his shadowed face pressed to the window. The only illumination in the cabin came from the instrument panel in front of the pilot. Down below us the ocean was as black as spilled ink and we were speeding low and fast across it.

When Carter had seen the helicopter land on the front lawn at the farm, you’d have thought it was Christmas morning. I still was amazed by Mary Timmons’ extremely thoughtful and extravagant act. In the last few days on the farm with Justin’s dad, I’d seen firsthand how debilitated he had become. There was no other way he’d have been up to seeing Justin’s debut performance with Tempest. Regular commercial travel was out of the question.

I leaned forward to check on him. Eyes just like Justin’s met mine and Arthur reached over Carter’s lap and gave my hand a squeeze. I took it and squeezed back. He smiled reassuringly. I could see my excitement and anxiety reflected in his gaze. The Vogue Theatre sat twelve hundred, and there’d be a lot of press and important industry types in attendance. The stakes were high. We were all eager to see Justin succeed. I was nervous just to see him. In person. To make things right between us again if I could.

The helicopter set us down in a vacant lot on Smithe Street. A waiting car dropped us at a discrete side entrance. A friendly uniformed escort greeted us with programs and a wheelchair for Arthur who got a stubborn look on his face the moment he saw it.

Hoping to persuade him, I told him how tired Carter was and asked him if he would mind letting Carter ride in his lap.

I’m pretty sure Arthur was on to me, but I let out a relieved sigh when he let go of his pride and accepted the offer of assistance. It turned out to be a good thing, as our assigned seats ended up being quite a long distance away just two rows from the stage. I spotted Marcus Anthony in the first row alongside Mary Timmons. I looked for Avery but couldn’t find her before the houselights dimmed.

We sat through several bands, and though they weren’t bad, they weren’t very memorable either. My heart was set on Tempest. They were the last band slated to perform, but just before they were scheduled to come out, the MC made a surprise announcement that Warren Jinkins’ new band was going to perform first. Whoever had orchestrated that change certainly knew how to amp things up. The tension in the audience was palpable. I’m sure it was off the meters backstage.

I scooted forward in my seat as War strode out, rolled bandana holding back chin length brown hair, sunglasses askew on his head. He looked a little shaky on his feet, but I had to admit he was brilliant, a raw bundle of dark energy and pain. But he eclipsed his bandmates, who were nowhere near his caliber of talent and who were entirely too polished for War’s stripped down style. I wondered who had mismatched them so badly.

War’s expression was dangerous as he finished the two song set and stormed off the stage. I’d bet money there’d be some hell to pay.

After a short set change, the introduction was finally made for Tempest. I spotted Avery as she slipped down the steps on the right side of the stage and moved into the vacant seat next to Marcus. Then all the lights in the theatre went completely out.

Suddenly, a lone spot light illuminated center stage. Back arched, chin raised up in the air, mic held near his mouth, dressed in low slung tight jeans and a completely unbuttoned shirt, looking like a groupie’s wicked fantasy, Justin let out a primal yell that sent goose bumps rippling over my skin.

That was obviously a cue. The rest of the lights blazed on. The band kicked in, and Justin strutted confidently to the front of the stage. The audience went wild for him. I did, too. He was mesmerizing. His voice was breathy and he had the ability to somehow make me feel as though he were singing just to me.

Bryan moved closer to Justin as they transitioned into “Truth.” Back to back, leaning on each other, Bryan’s fingers flying over his guitar and Justin crooning into his mic. When they reached the bridge, Justin and Dizzy harmonized into the same mic.

They all seemed larger than life. King high on his riser, heavily muscled arms banging aggressively, Sager’s inky hair in his eyes undulating to the bass, Dizzy’s steady rhythm balancing Bryan’s frenetic solos, but I had eyes only for Justin and my gaze remained fixed on him throughout the set. I was so proud of him. By “My Way or the Highway” his skin was glistening with sweat and his hair was drenched. He oozed sex appeal, prowling the stage in nonstop motion.

“Take off your shirt!” I heard a female voice beckon.

He smiled, but shook his head. And that’s when I realized which one he was wearing. I sat up straighter. The lavender one I’d bought him that day everything went wrong. The one I’d thrown in the kitchen trash before I’d left. He must have salvaged it. That tiny glimmer of hope, that belief that what we had was something worth saving, too, intensified becoming bigger and brighter in my heart.

A Tempest roadie cleared the stage of the colorful lingerie that now littered its surface while another handed Justin his guitar. He strapped it on with practiced ease and leaned into the mic.

He closed his eyes as the crowd fell silent. “There’s this girl,” he said in a thick voice.

Whistles and catcalls filled the pause, and a male voice yelled, “There always is!”

“Yeah, but this one’s special.” Justin opened his eyes and smiled. “And this one’s for her. It’s called ‘Girl behind the Glass.’ We hope you like it.” Bryan took lead on the subdued acoustic piece, but it was Justin who had me transfixed, his voice resonating with deep emotion as he sang.