Steady Beat
by Lexxie Couper
Copyright © 2017 by Lexxie Couper. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Chapter One
“How the hell do you replace Nick fucking Blackthorne?”
The surly question dragged Noah Holden’s contemplative gaze from the nearby waitress in snug black hot pants holding his attention. He blinked, turning to face the man slouched in the chair opposite him. Sitting here with the four remaining members of what was once the hottest rock band in the world, Noah let his confusion show. “Why are we talking about Nick?”
Samuel—the lead guitarist—scowled. “You too busy checking out the broad in the tight duds to follow the conversation, Holden? Levi’s writing the score for the sequel to Dead Even and the director is on the lookout for something different for the closing credit soundtrack. Jax suggested we get the band back together for it and maybe record an album as well, just for shits and giggles.” Samuel tossed the two men sitting either side of Noah an exasperated glare. “And I just pointed out finding someone to replace Nick was fucking impossible.”
“Not impossible.” The man to Noah’s left—Jaxon Campbell—leant forward with a grin, snaring Samuel’s beer from in front of the guitarist and taking a swig. Letting out a satisfied, “ahh,” he wiped away the thin line of foam on his top lip and turned to Noah. “Just bloody tricky, is all.”
Noah snorted. Jax reveled in taunting Samuel. The keyboardist thrived in seeing just how far he could push the man before Samuel lost it. It made for a turbulent relationship—but holy hell, it also made for an amazing dynamic on stage and in the recording studio. The two men loved each other like brothers—and antagonized each other the same way.
Plucking Samuel’s beer from Jax’s grip, Noah returned the sweating bottle to its rightful owner and tossed the man on his right a curious look. “So you’re thinking we can do this, Levi? Find someone to sing lead and hit the studio?”
Levi Levistan’s broad shoulders rose and fell. “Why not? We’ve spent the last six years fucking about, and none of us are truly happy. And I know the director is keen for us to record the track. If we can find someone to replace Nick, that is.” He shrugged again. “It worked for Alice in Chains. And Genesis.”
“Genesis?” Noah shook his head. “If we’re using Genesis as an example, I should become lead singer, and we all know I can’t sing lead for shit. Backup vocals, sure. The odd solo line when Nick worked the stage, but lead, nope. Not if we want to keep our dignity intact.”
Levi rolled his eyes and shoved a hank of dirty-blond hair from his eyes. “I’m not saying you should sing, Holden. I’m saying we go looking for new talent. Inject something different into the band. Surely we’ve had enough interaction with the music world to know what’s out there?” He tossed a peanut at Samuel. “You’ve been touring with the Boss this last year. You must have scoped out his talent. What are his backup singers like?”
“All girls,” Samuel answered. He threw the peanut back at Levi. It stuck in the bass player’s hair, dangling by his temple like an oversized bead for a brief moment before Levi snared it in his long-fingered hand. “Besides, what are we going to call ourselves? We can’t be Blackthorne without a Blackthorne in the band, can we? And we’ve only ever performed under that name.”
Jax waved a hand. “Semantics.”
Samuel cocked an eyebrow. “You want to call us Semantics? Really?”
Levi threw the peanut back at him. “Fucker.”
Samuel grinned, his blue eyes dancing with sardonic mirth. “I’m only repeating what Jax over there is suggesting.”
Noah chuckled. A wave of warmth swelled through him. It had been a long time since the band was altogether in one place, and he’d missed the sense of familiar mateship. They’d gone their separate ways the night of Nick’s swan-song performance in Sydney over six years ago, only coming together as a group again for his wedding a year after that.
Samuel had toured with various solo performers, filling in whenever a guitarist who knew how to wring out a note was needed. Jaxon had written a tell-all biography that had stayed on the New York Times Best Seller list for three years and ended the persistent rumours about his sexuality once and for all. Levi had become Hollywood’s latest musical darling, writing more than one award-winning soundtrack for equally award-winning films that somehow always involved an extreme level of angst and violence. And Noah…
Noah drew a slow breath, the warmth in his chest cooling. He let his gaze on his scotch shift out of focus. Well, Noah had had his heart ripped out. Figuratively speaking, of course. Eight years with the love of his life and she’d up and left him for their dog walker. Their dog walker, for fuck’s sake. If it weren’t so bloody painful, he’d be laughing himself silly right now.
“Oi!”
Something small and hard struck Noah on the nose and he blinked himself out of the bleak memory.
“Focus, Holden.”
Drawing his attention to Samuel sitting opposite him, he frowned at the word. “I am focused. Levi’s brought this opportunity to us, Jax’s keen to give it a try and you’re…what? Scared?”
Samuel scowled. “Blow me, Holden.”
Noah shook his head, his smile pulling at his lips. “Samuel,” he leant forward to rest his elbows on the table between them, “I think it’s a bloody brilliant idea. If we can find the right man to fill Nick’s shoes. If we can’t, I’m not interested.”
Levi slapped him on the back. “There you go! The drummer boy here makes three.”
Samuel slumped low in his seat, his fingers plucking at invisible strings on the table, an unconscious action Noah knew only occurred when Samuel was seriously weighing up options.
“C’mon, Gibson.” Jax threw another peanut at the lead guitarist, a cajoling grin on his surfer-tanned face. “It’ll be fun. The money is freaking easy. No live shows, an air-conditioned recording studio, we get to see a movie before the rest of the population, and who knows, you may even add an Oscar to that embarrassingly large award collection you’ve got. This is a Nigel McQueen film after all, and Chris Huntley can’t fart without being handed one gong or another at the moment. And Levi’s been making a shitload of money writing music for Hollywood. With him bringing this opportunity to us, you could buy your own island.”
Samuel slid his gaze to Noah. Of the four of them, Noah and Samuel were the closest. They’d been with Nick the longest, the first to join him after he signed his first recording contract. Samuel and Noah’s names were on the back of every album Nick had released, from his first at the age of twenty-one to his last at thirty-seven. “So you really think this is a good idea, Holden?” he asked. “Re-forming? Finding a replacement for Nick? Pulling a Linkin Park and writing a song for a movie?”
Noah fixed him with an unwavering look, turning the questions over and over in his mind. Did he think it was a good idea? When Nick retired, Noah had removed himself from public life and focused on a sedentary existence with Heather. As focused as Noah could be, that was. All his life he’d struggled to keep his attention fixed on one thing. His parents had bought him a drum kit when he was eight in an effort to find him some kind of outlet for his almost manic energy. The trouble was, even now Noah had difficulty locking his attention on anything that wasn’t music, that wasn’t the beat. Hand-built yachts were never finished. Memoirs never completed. The interior of the house he’d shared with Heather for seven years never moved beyond three-quarters painted. The home theatre he’d begun to build had never had its first screening. Even their dog hadn’t manage to snare his constant attention—hence the dog walker. Heather’s last words to Noah as she left their partially painted home, with Maxie the mutt in tow, were four letters: A D H and D.
Playing for Nick Blackthorne had been the one true focus of Noah’s life. The only time he’d felt truly centred. Calm. Which, for a drummer, was bloody ironic. But was that focus due to the magic and talent of Nick himself, or was it music in general? Did Noah want to risk the hideous discovery it wasn’t the beat that had kept him sane, but the influence of a man no longer performing?
“Well?” Samuel asked, uncertainty clear in his blue eyes. “Do you?”
Noah drew a slow breath, his stare locked on the guitarist’s. “I do.”
“All right!” Levi shouted, drawing more than one curious glance from the bar’s patrons. “It’ll all up to you now, Samuel.”
From the corner of Noah’s eye, he noticed the cute waitress in the sexy hot pants cleaning the table beside them. She had bloody gorgeous legs. They went all the way up to her—
“Anyone spoken to Nick about this?” Samuel’s question pulled Noah back to his fellow band members. The faint whiff of delicate perfume tickling his nose told him the waitress was still there.
Levi pulled a face. Jax rubbed at the back of his neck, his expression sheepish. “Err, nope.”
Samuel rolled his eyes. “You don’t think he’d like to know?”
With a snort, Noah dug into his hip pocket and withdrew his mobile phone. “What’s the time in Australia, Levi?”
“Five p.m.,” the bass guitarist provided. “Tomorrow.”
“Still freaks me out how quick you are with shit like that, Levistan,” Jax muttered.
Grinning, Noah scrolled through his contacts until he reached Nick’s number. He lifted his attention to the men sitting around him. “Now, we’re sure about this?” He focused on Samuel. “About finding a replacement for Nick for a new album?”
Jax and Levi turned their stares on the lead guitarist.
Samuel studied Noah. On stage and in interviews, Samuel had played the bad-boy brooding guitarist to Noah’s slightly unhinged, manic drummer. The truth was, Samuel was more grounded and contemplative than the rest of them. Making a decision like this quickly wasn’t part of his nature.
Noah raised an eyebrow at his friend, thumb paused over the call key. “Strings?”
With a grunt, Samuel threw up his hands and dropped back in his seat. “Fuck it. I’m in.”
Noah hit dial. The phone rang three times. No one uttered a sound. Three sets of eyes watched him.
Halfway through the fourth ring, Nick answered. “Holden, you bloody bastard. How goes it, mate? To what do I owe the honour?”
Noah laughed, the sound of Nick’s voice at once calming and exciting. “G’day, Nick. Doing well. You?”
“Not bad. Currently watching Lauren waddling around the kitchen making dinner. Pregnant women are bloody sexy, mate. Never knew that before now. How’s Heather?”
Noah’s gut clenched. He balled his free hand in a fist, glad it was resting on the top of his thigh under the table where his bandmates couldn’t see it. “No more, I’m afraid. She finally got jack of me three months ago. We haven’t gone public with it yet.”
“Ah, fuck.” Regret cut through Nick’s curse. “I’m sorry, Noah. Shit, you should have called me. You okay?”
Noah drew a slow breath. “Yeah. Thinking of getting a cat. Or a fish.”
Nick laughed, but Noah didn’t miss the sorrow in the sound. Even in his wild groupie days, Nick had always believed in a happy-ever-after. No one in the band had realized how much until he’d found Lauren again and retired. He’d spent many a night when they were still touring in a drunken haze telling Noah how Noah had it all with Heather and to never fuck it up.
Despite all those inebriated words of advice and guidance however, Noah had fucked it up. Big time. By being—
“Where are you?” Nick’s question yanked Noah back to the conversation. “In Australia? Wanna come spend the week with me and Lauren? We’ve got plenty of room, what with Josh living in Sydney and Aslin happily entrenched in L.A.”
Noah chuckled. There was a part of him that wanted nothing more than to crash at Nick’s house to lick his wounds. However, Noah doubted he could survive a day watching the man who’d once made women scream with lust the world over dote over the love of his life. “Thanks, mate, but I’m in New York,” he answered, pulling a face at Jax who was waving his hand at him. No doubt in an effort to hurry him up. Behind the keyboard player, Miss Hot Pants took an order from two very gropey men in business suits. “With the guys.”
“Really?” Delight filled Nick’s voice. “Tell ’em I said g’day. What are they all up to?”
“Well, that’s the reason for the call. Nigel McQueen wants us to record the end-credit title for Chris Huntley’s next film, the sequel to Dead Even, and we’re thinking of saying yes. On the proviso we can find someone to fill your bloody big shoes.” He paused, picturing Nick’s face. “What do you think?”
“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.
Calculating groupie eyes, Pepper’s dad had called them. The eyes of a woman who planned to score herself a famous fuck, maybe even a famous offspring to snare a famous paternity payment.
The blonde wasn’t the only one though. The moment word had gotten out Nick Blackthorne’s band was in Rupert’s Bar, it had begun filling with women poured into tight dresses. Women who watched the four men like leopards waiting for the optimal time to attack.
The blonde had been but the first to make a move.
Pepper heard more than one competitor call the woman a skanky bitch. Pepper wanted to point out just how revealing the speaker’s neckline was, and how high the hemline of her dress.
She didn’t, of course. That would mean opening her mouth and drawing attention to herself. She didn’t do that.
And yet, she was running out of time to do that very thing.
What if the band left before she found the courage to put her plan into play?
What if—
Samuel Gibson and Jaxon Campbell stood.
As did Levi Levistan.
Pepper’s stomach dropped. “Oh no,” she whispered.
Like a blur in skin-tight red satin, the blonde moved from the bar, pressing her voluptuous curves to Samuel’s side. The lead guitarist smoothed his long-fingered hand over the woman’s ass as words Pepper couldn’t hear moved his lips. Jaxon threw a handful of bills onto the table, his smile wide, and then, with a wink at Noah, the three turned and walked away, the blonde flattened so close to Samuel’s side Pepper wondered how she managed to walk.
Movement from the corner of Pepper’s eye caught her attention. She froze, watching as two women dressed in body-hugging black leather damn near slithered over to the remaining band members. One woman stroked her hands up Noah’s muscular arm. The other trailed her fingers over Levi’s hip, skimming the sizeable bulge of his groin with black-polished nails.
Pepper’s heart smashed into her throat. She stared at the spectacle, cursing herself.
She’d failed. Again.
All she’d needed to do was speak to the band before they left. Easy, especially when the table they sat at was next to her section. But no, she’d held back, taken too long. And now, Noah and Levi were—
The women in black leather walked away from the drummer and keyboard player, disappointed scowls on their immaculately made-up, sultry faces.
Pepper’s breath caught.
She snapped her stare back to the musicians.
Noah rose to his feet, offering his hand to Levi.
They shook hands and then hugged. Levi slapped Noah on the back with a solid thump before leaving the table, dark sunglasses covering his eyes as he made his way toward the exit.
At least, Pepper assumed he was heading for the exit. She couldn’t tear her stare from Noah Holden.
He’d always been her favourite of the band. While her friends had creamed their panties over Nick or Samuel, she’d imagined what it would be like to meet the drummer. To stand close to him and feel his manic energy radiate from him as he awoke the throb in her very core. He was almost forty, eleven years older than her, but that didn’t make him any less sexy. Yet it wasn’t the desire to sleep with him that made her stomach knot and her mouth dry now. It was…
No pressure, no diamonds, chickpea.
Her father’s words whispered at the edges of her self-doubt.
She studied the drummer, the plan in her soul fed by the dream in her heart. A dream she’d held since the very first time she’d ever watched Nick Blackthorne perform live, ten years ago.
Driving her nails into her palms, Pepper drew a deep, slow breath, counted to ten and crossed to the lone member of the band.
“Hi, Mr. Holden,” she said, holding out her hand. God, she hoped it wasn’t sweaty.
Arctic-ice-blue eyes swung up to her, and for a split second Pepper almost turned and fled.
Almost.
And then Noah Holden smiled, that let’s-do-it smile that gave her hope, and Pepper lowered herself into the chair beside him, resting her elbows on her knees and giving him her own smile back. “I have a proposition for you.”
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