Authors: Lexxie Couper
“Hell, yeah.” Enthusiasm flooded the answer. “Go for it.”
Noah’s stomach tightened. “You sure?”
Nick laughed. “Holden, I’m not going to lie and say I don’t miss performing at all. I do. And I miss performing with you guys a shitload. But I love my life now even more. I’m one hundred percent okay with you going for it. Replace me. Make fucking amazing music. Win awards. Lots of awards. Break chart records. Got a name for the new band yet?”
“Synergy.”
The name fell from Noah’s lips before he knew it was in his head. He blinked. A hot prickle razed over the back of his head.
“It’s a good name,” Nick said, the smile in his voice clear. “Helluva lot better than Blackthorne, that’s for sure. Not quite so egocentric.”
Noah laughed. “Yeah, you could say that.”
Opposite him, Samuel frowned. “
Well?
” he mouthed.
Noah tried to think about what the other guys had heard. At this point, they’d still be in the dark.
“Synergy?” Jax muttered beside him. “What the fuck is he talking about?”
Samuel shrugged.
“If it’s a band name,” Levi commented, popping a shelled peanut into his mouth, “it’s a truck load better than Semantics.”
Jax tossed a coaster at him, the square piece of cardboard flinging past Noah’s face like a ninja star. “Fuck you, Levi.”
Nick’s laughter slipped through the connection. “And on that note, Holden, I’m leaving you to deal with them. There’s a plate of toasted-cheese sandwiches waiting for me and my stomach is growling. Say g’day to the guys for me.”
“Shall do, mate.” For some reason, Noah let his stare wander to the waitress in the hot pants, now cleaning a table to his right. Her hair was the colour of lush sable. Her creamy skin seemed to almost glow in the bar’s muted lights. She was nothing like Heather, who was a sun-bronzed Californian-blonde bombshell.
The waitress straightened, and Noah’s heart slammed into his throat as her brilliant-blue eyes met his. Christ, she was beautiful.
“Oh, and Noah?”
“Yeah?”
“Look after your heart, okay?”
“I will,” he said into the phone, holding the woman’s stare for a heartbeat. And then she turned away, moving to the next table to smile at the three men dressed like Wall Street wannabes giving her their orders.
He disconnected, his head fuzzy. He’d never seen eyes so blue. Deep and clear and direct. Like she’d pinned his soul with just one glance. Damn, maybe he needed to order another drink? Why hadn’t she taken their orders in the first place? Had she been here when he first arrived? Could he convince the guys to move tables? Could he—
“Earth to Holden.” A sharp clicking noise sounded near his ear. “Earth to Holden. What did he say?”
Noah blinked, shaking the haze from his head. He frowned at the three men staring at him. “What did who say? Did you guys see the—”
“Nick,” Samuel burst out, almost throwing himself forward. He fixed Noah with an unwavering focus. “What did Nick say?”
Noah shifted on his seat enough to shove his iPhone back into his hip pocket. His gaze flicked toward the waitress again, almost of its own free will. Her ponytail hung over her shoulder, long and straight and thick. If he pressed his face to it, what would it smell like?
Returning his attention to his fellow musicians, he settled himself once again in his seat. “Before I tell you, has anyone thought to talk to Roger about this?”
All three men blinked.
Noah snorted. He may have ADHD, but at least he kept his business head on his shoulders when needed. It seemed none of the others had thought to contact their ex-manager.
Jax opened his mouth and shut it again. Levi fidgeted in his chair. Roger Daltry hadn’t exactly gotten along with any of them in their touring days. He had been a very good manager, had refused to take any of their shit and kept them on task when their wild parties had threatened to undo them, but he’d never hidden his dislike for their lifestyle. It didn’t surprise Noah at all no one had thought to call him.
With a wry chuckle, he waved a hand at them. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll call him tomorrow.”
Levi straightened a little. “So Nick said he didn’t mind?”
Noah nodded. “He told us to go—”
A pair of perfect breasts swung directly in front of his face, encased in snug red satin. He sat back, his gaze jerking up to find a platinum-blonde woman smiling down at him. “Sorry,” she said, barely moving her boob away from his face. “I was just reaching for some coasters.”
He frowned.
Behind the woman, Jax laughed.
“You’re Nick Blackthorne’s band.” The blonde drew herself upright, a deliberately slow shift in position designed to highlight just how incredible her body and boobs were. Noah couldn’t help but notice Samuel was taking great interest. “Where’s Nick right now? Is he with you?”
“Blackthorne’s in Australia,” Samuel answered. He turned a sultry scowl on the blonde. “With his wife.”
The woman leant forward and plucked a peanut from the bowl in the middle of the table, affording Samuel a generous view of her more-than-generous cleavage. “So what’s his band doing here?”
Noah bit back a low chuckle at Jax’s grin. “Partying,” the keyboardist answered. “Wanna join us?”
The blonde traced her fingers over Noah’s shoulder, her blue eyes gleaming with open hunger as she moved her gaze over all four of them. “I’d love to.”
Noah’s gut clenched. He’d participated in more than one gangbang with a groupie since the band had come together almost two decades ago. Heather had been the last. He’d woken up beside her the next morning—the rest of the band long gone—and never slept with another woman again.
Taking in the blonde’s lush breasts, tiny waist and long legs, he wondered if a group fuck was exactly what he needed to find his centre once more.
Or maybe it was performing with the band?
Or maybe nothing will help. Maybe you need to mainline Valium or Ritalin or some such shit until you’re a comatose—
“Give us a sec, love,” he said to the woman, killing the bleak thought. “We’ve got something to finish first.”
Samuel grunted and Jax chuckled. Levi snared a handful of peanuts, his expression ambiguous.
The blonde pursed her glossed lips, her gaze roaming Noah’s face. “Don’t take too long, ’kay? I promise I’ll blow your world.” She lowered her lips to his ear, her breath warm on his flesh. “I have no inhibitions. I’ll let you do whatever you want to me.”
Across the table, Jax groaned.
She flicked her hot tongue at Noah’s ear and then straightened. Her hips swayed with provocative rhythm as she walked away.
“I don’t know if you plan on tapping that, Holden, but I sure as shit do.”
Noah rolled his eyes at Jax’s enthusiastic declaration. “I don’t doubt it, mate.”
“Me too,” Samuel added. He shifted on his seat, his stare tracking the blonde’s path to the bar. “Three or four times, in fact. But Holden’s right. We need to decide if we’re doing this Synergy thing.”
Noah cocked an eyebrow at him. Samuel snorted in return, the side of his mouth pulling in a small smile. “It’s a good name. Two or more forces interacting in such a way their combined effect is greater than the sum of their individual effort. Suits us.”
A peanut struck Samuel in the temple. “Thank you, Mr. Dictionary,” Jax laughed.
Samuel glowered, although Noah couldn’t miss the fact his smile grew. “Shut the fuck up, Jax.” He turned back to Noah. “So, what did Nick say?”
Noah slid his gaze to the waitress in the hot pants a few feet away before returning it to his fellow band members. He pulled a deep, slow breath and then leant forward, retrieved his scotch from the table and held it aloft. “Gentlemen, let’s find ourselves a new front man.”
“To Synergy,” Levi murmured, tapping his beer to Noah’s glass, his smile relaxed.
Jax grinned, his glass meeting Noah’s and Levi’s above the table. “To rocking out with our cocks out.”
Samuel laughed, clinking his bourbon against their glasses. “Hell yeah.”
Noah smiled. He felt calmer already. More focused. Being a rock star truly was the best job in the world.
Being a waitress was the worst job in the world.
Okay, that wasn’t true. There were worst jobs. Pepper Kerrigan knew that. Inspector of the incoming pipes at a sewage plant would be worse. Cleaning up the horse poo at those medieval dinner shows would be worse. Handing out flyers for discount pork products at a vegan convention would be the pits. But what she was doing right now, waitressing at a bar in New York, was pretty depressing. Especially given she’d dreamed of so much more.
Of course, dreaming was easy. Almost as easy as failing. And Pepper had made a career out of failing. If she was good at one thing, it was failing. At least that’s what her mother told her. Right up until the time Lulu Kerrigan walked out on her family, leaving Pepper to be raised by her dad. Who, according to her mom, wasn’t good for anything either except “writing shit about shit”.
Pepper
was
good at more than failing. She knew that. For one, she had a knack for organizing. But failing was easier. And when you grew up being told you were a failure by your mom, you reached a point where you just accepted that was the case. When you were chronically shy like Pepper was, failure was a lovely safety blanket. One you could wrap yourself up nice and tight in. It had driven Pepper’s extrovert mother crazy. Turned her resentful. Or maybe the resentment had come from the fact Pepper got the
shit
her dad wrote about and could talk for hours on end about it. But only to Paul Kerrigan. Whenever someone else was around, Pepper clammed up. Withdrew.
Failed.
Lulu Kerrigan’s parting advice to her sixteen-year-old daughter was to aim low. “’Cause honey, you’re never going to hit high.”
So here Pepper was, working tables in a noisy New York bar where the customers didn’t pay much attention to her unless it was to feel her up. All in all, not the future she’d imagined for herself as a young girl.
But her head was still crammed full of the
shit
her dad wrote about, and her heart ached with a dream she wanted more than anything, and since Nick Blackthorne’s old band entered the place, the tickle of a plan had begun to form in her soul.
Her soul refused to believe she was a failure, and right now it was telling her to do something she’d never, ever done before.
Be courageous.
She watched the man with the choppy brown hair holding his half-empty scotch high. Noah Holden was the best drummer in the world. This was an indisputable fact. Music magazines and websites proclaimed it often. Her father had mentioned the fact more than once in more than one article on Nick Blackthorne and his band. Her dad had sat her down when she was twelve and made her listen to Holden’s various solos and fills, commenting often how the Australian had a way with ghost notes, time twists and technically demanding grooves. What her dad had never mentioned was how goddamn sexy the drummer was.
Pepper studied his profile even as she wiped a recently vacated table clean, the generous tip deposited safely in her apron’s pocket. No one on the planet could ever say Noah Holden was ugly, but holy smack, in person he was gorgeous.
His shoulders were broad and exquisitely muscled, no doubt from years of playing the drums. His honey-brown hair spiked up around his head in a sexy mess Pepper knew a lot of men paid a fortune to emulate. She’d worked as a receptionist in an exclusive men’s-only hair saloon for a while, and more than one wannabe had come in with an image of Noah Holden clutched in their optimistic hands.
Ice-blue eyes twinkled with an energy almost too charged for one man. Thick black lashes framed their electrifying depths, longer than a man’s lashes had any right being. When he’d looked at her earlier, when their eyes had connected across the room, her knees had almost buckled beneath her and she’d needed to swallow her gasp before it could escape her.
But it was his lips her stare kept falling to. They were friendly. Welcoming. His smile said, “Let’s do it.” Pepper didn’t know what
it
was, but there was no dismissal in his smile. It made her heart beat faster. And her soul whisper with encouraged possibilities.
It helped that she’d overheard what the band was discussing.
A new singer.
They were looking for a new singer. Someone to replace Nick Blackthorne.
Pepper’s father would scoff at that idea. In fact, Pepper suspected the entire music-loving world would scoff at that idea. But she didn’t.
Because of the whisper in her soul and the dream in her heart.
She’d managed an indie grunge-rock band for a while, and even as she’d organized their gig schedule, recording sessions and media appearances, she’d itched to do something else with them. Something they’d all laughed at when she’d asked.
Taking her time cleaning down the table, she watched Nick Blackthorne’s band—one of the most successful on the planet—complete their toast.
Her chest grew tight.
She didn’t think she’d have much time to act. The blonde woman who’d so blatantly offered herself to them earlier was now watching them like a hawk, predatory lust turning her blue eyes hard. Aggressive.