Rehearsal lasted until about two hours before they were due to go onstage at the Purple Egg. After about five takes of “Chasing Shadows” and a few others they intended to play during their set, Scooby seemed to relax. The last couple of songs they worked on only required three run-throughs at most, though Ricki wasn’t familiar with the material. But her confidence grew with every song, and everything else followed.

They went back to the rental to change and then grabbed a bite to eat on the way. Tonight’s pick was pizza, which he only figured out she wanted because she clasped her hands together as they drove by the joint.

She was about as talkative as he was by this stage of the game.

Grabbing a whole pie of pepperoni and sausage, she ate her requisite female two pieces, then surprised him by going back for two more. And eating the sausage off a fifth.

Catching him staring, she raised her brows. “What?”

“Nice to see all your appetites are healthy.”

He regretted the comment once it was out, not knowing how she would take it. They’d finally gotten some of their equilibrium back, if it was shaky. Last thing he wanted was to send it teetering again.

“Oh, you don’t even know.” She reached over and snagged a pepperoni off his plate, folding it in half before she popped it in her mouth.

“Something else you hide?” He knew better than to go down that road. But he liked hearing the lilt of her voice, and the easiest way to get her talking was to insult her.

Basically, he was a twelve-year-old boy. At least he hadn’t resorted to kicking her chair.

Yet.

“Not sure what you’re referring to.”

“You can sing.”

“So can you,” she retorted. “Don’t see you prancing around as if you’re in the Sound of Music either.”

His mouth curved before he could stop it. She blinked before cocking her head.

“Did you just smile? At me? Voluntarily? This is a first.”

Now his ears were hot. Great. “Technically, that wasn’t a smile.”

“It sure was. Or as close as you can manage, Grouchy Pants.” She pointed at him and he leaned back, feeling more than a little ridiculous. People were probably staring. “You smiled.”

“Doubtful.” He picked up his pizza and shoved the rest of his slice into his mouth at once so he couldn’t say anything further. Or smile again, because fuck, she was cute.

One side of many for her. She could be sexy as shit, or soft and cuddly and warm as she’d been in his arms for that second before she’d awakened this morning. She could also be mouthy, bratty, and combative.

She also was insanely talented on the guitar, every bit as much as his brother. She could also sing. For real. Not at The Voice-wannabe tryout level, but well enough to warrant a stage of her own.

“You could challenge Molly.”

Evidently, he wasn’t finished talking.

She stopped chasing a sausage around the pizza platter to frown. “Only a moron would challenge Molly for anything. That’s not my scene. She owns that stage.”

“You could too.”

“Are you kidding me? I was sweating and on the verge of shaking through half of rehearsal.” She shook her head. “Don’t bring up last night either. It wasn’t that.”

“I’m not bringing up anything.”

“Oh, so you’re just going to let it go now? So magnanimous of you.”

“You warned me about your big appetite, so I’m sure that was nothing for you.”

She swiped her tongue over her lower lip, blotting up a drop of grease. It was a damn miracle he didn’t have to press his hand down on his cock to keep it from jumping to attention. “Wasn’t talking about that appetite and you know it.”

He grabbed his soda and washed down the cheese stuck in his throat. “I don’t know much about you. We’re practically strangers.”

“Strangers who shower together.” She snapped her fingers. “I know, maybe that should be Warning Sign’s next song.”

“Doubtful,” he said again. “We both know you’d never want any of your little friends to know you got naked with me.”

“‘My little friends’? You mean like your bandmates and your brother?”

“Sure. How about your brother?” He toasted her with his half empty soda. “We both know how much Nicky likes me, don’t we?”

She swept her hair over one shoulder, but he didn’t miss how she grimaced and tried to hide it. She needed to get into PT sooner rather than later.

Yet another landmine of a subject he wasn’t getting into tonight. Tomorrow, however, was a brand new day.

“My brother rarely changes his mind about people once he’s made it up.”

“Sounds like someone else I know.”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you.” She let out a brittle laugh and leaned forward, lowering her voice. “By the way, I heard you this morning. Loud and clear.”

Before he could respond, she got out of the booth and pulled out her phone, texting away as she sashayed her way to the bathroom.

His balls tightened. Damn that woman.

He reached for another piece of pizza and had managed to eat half of it when his phone buzzed in his back pocket. He dug it out and swiped at Ricki’s message. The only reason he had her number was because of work. She’d certainly never texted him before.

She’d sent a screenshot of her phone. On it was a text to his brother.

I took a shower with Mal. Now you know.

Michael’s response?

Yeah, right. Like you’d ever go there. How are you doing?

It was no less than Mal expected, and yet seeing the words in black and white pissed him off even more than he would’ve guessed.

When she came back out a few minutes later, her hair was up in some kind of loop thing and her phone was nowhere to be seen. That rich, dark plum scent of hers wafted over him as she sat opposite him in the booth, layered over the faintest hint of peppermint.

That shower was real. It had happened. Whether or not Michael believed it.

“Doesn’t really count as telling someone if they don’t believe you.”

She picked up her soda and bit into the tip of her straw. Another of her habits he doubted she was even aware of. “Should I have sent him pictures?”

“Didn’t take any.” He pulled off the crust on one of the remaining slices of pizza and set it on her plate. It was only when her eyes narrowed that he realized what he’d done.

Showed your hand there, didn’t you, jackass?

“But that’s an option for next time, if that’s your kink.” He waggled his brows.

It took her a minute to recover. Even longer for her to pick at the slice in front of her. She had to be stuffed, but he’d acted without thinking. “Sorry, I prefer guys who interact with me.”

“Interact. You mean like that loser you picked up who was banging some skank right on our bus while you were waiting for him in your skimpy lingerie at the hotel?”

Her eyes flashed and she dropped the slice, spraying cheese over the back of his hand. “You know what? Just don’t talk. Ever.”

“That gets you off too? Strong, silent type who’ll pick you up and fuck you against the wall with his hand over your mouth so you can’t scream.” Reveling in her flush, he licked the cheese off the back of his hand.

Any other time, she would have rolled her eyes at him and flounced off, hair and tits bouncing.

Not then.

“That’s a fun fantasy, but actually, no. I prefer someone who won’t ever keep me from screaming, because he doesn’t care who knows we’re together. I prefer not being the dirty little secret.” She pulled out her phone and turned it toward him, saying nothing. There was still a message on the screen.

Real funny about the shower. Mal asked for your address but he said he hadn’t seen you when I texted him earlier.

And then, another followup message from Michael beneath it.

Better for you. You don’t need his shit right now.

The jab hit Mal square between the shoulder blades, though he handed back her phone without a word. Of course she’d see it as him being ashamed to admit he was spending time with her. Not that he’d known damn well that his brother would think Ricki was slumming it with him out of gratitude.

But maybe that was another form of his shit too.

He grabbed the tray and carted it to the garbage, dumping out the last piece of pizza and folding his paper plate before shoving that inside too. He wanted to rip the unused napkins into tiny pieces, then slam his fist on the receptacle until it shook.

Instead he walked out the car. She’d either come out when she was ready or she wouldn’t.

She took her sweet time. When she finally deigned to join him, he pulled away from the curb without a word.

Back to their normal level of conversation. Aka none.

Once they reached the club, he parked and they used the side entrance for employees. Inside, they split up. Also without a word. He assumed she went off to do her thing in the ladies’ room.

Unless she’d gone off to find the same fuckers who’d fed her drugs the night before. If she’d even gotten it there. He didn’t know.

He’d taken three steps after her when he stopped and slicked a hand over his head. Christ, he wasn’t her keeper. He had to trust she’d make the right choices, and if she didn’t, it wasn’t his problem.

Hell, he was as much a form of poison for her as those substances. Ask anyone.

So he redirected toward the refreshment table set up backstage and chose a drink of his own.

Water. Ice fucking cold.

She reappeared backstage a few minutes later, as bright-eyed as she’d been when she left. His heart stampeded for a full minute before evening out again. The relief was staggering.

Dangerous.

In no time, they were due on stage. He dropped down behind the kit and reached for the sticks she’d given him, running the pads of his fingers over the grips.

At the front of the stage, she greeted the crowd in a voice that quavered.

No one else would’ve noticed, because they hadn’t shared a stage with her for more nights than he could count. She usually only said hello and maybe a quick line of banter with the crowd when prompted during Warning Sign’s shows, but she was easy, natural. Not so now. Nerves made her posture rigid, and when she moved toward the microphone, her heel caught on the cord and she stumbled.

Laughter rolled through the audience.

He didn’t think. He just flipped one of his sticks and it nailed her in the back of the thigh. Okay, ass really. She picked it up and whirled toward him, flinging it back at him with an aim that caught him square in the chest.

Fitting.

But when she turned back, she wasn’t shaky. More like annoyed. She spoke to the crowd again, talking about new shoes—and oh hey, look at the sling on her arm, clearly she was clumsy. Titters swept through the audience. She segued into mentioning new gigs and the sick Dobby. Then she motioned to Scooby, who moved toward her for a quick conference.

“We’re going to start with something different tonight,” she said, and Mal knew he’d miscalculated.

This woman would never need his help for long. But him? He was fucking sunk.

Done.

Gone.

Even prepared for it, he wasn’t ready for her to turn toward him again as she started “If I Was Your Woman.” Because this time, she wasn’t searching for her strength by channeling the anger she felt for him. Or perhaps she was. Something had to be fueling the passion in her eyes, that trembled in her voice. Not from weakness or fear. From a depth of feeling that made him grasp his drumsticks hard enough to cause a goddamn cramp. But he kept playing, needing to feel the familiar reverberation through the skins and the hi-hats while he fought not to look away from her.

He couldn’t look anywhere else.

She should be facing the audience. He knew it. Scooby definitely knew it, because he kept tapping his pedals and jerking on his guitar cord to try to get her attention. She paid him no mind. Her focus was riveted on Mal with a precision that could have flayed the paint off the walls.

The skin off his body.

He couldn’t hear beyond the throb of his heartbeat in his head to follow the beat in his earpiece. Didn’t really matter, since she dragged him through the song with her as if he was her captor. The spell she wove was more powerful than even his need to turn away.

Maybe he just wanted to fucking believe that for one moment, just fucking one, she could be his.

When she finished, she cupped the microphone in her good hand and shifted to face the eerily silent audience. Slowly, one by one, they started to clap and stomp their feet. Oh, there were a few grumbles—there always were—but overall, the response was overwhelmingly positive.

Behind the kit, Mal wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. He had to be smiling like an idiot. It was stupid to be proud of her, because she’d done all that without him. She had no clue of her own abilities.

In any way.

Her stance relaxed and her smile returned as she glanced toward Scooby to confirm something, and Mal ducked his head before she saw his dumb grin.

Except he wasn’t quick enough. Never was when it came to her. She shot him a look, her eyebrows pulling tight as she took in his face. He did his best to clear it, but after a second, she flashed him a dazzling smile that told him succinctly the game was over.

And he’d won, because he’d just been serenaded by the sexiest goddamn woman he’d ever known. Even if she hated him.

Even if he didn’t blame her.

Watching her for the rest of the set was torment like he’d never known. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know what it was like to be behind her every night for a couple hours. That was his life, and he derived a sick sort of pleasure from seeing her get really into playing her guitar, bending over it so her hair trailed almost to the floor while her head bobbed to the music. This was something else altogether. She was in a sort of command here, though this band was on loan. He never would’ve guessed it. She might’ve tripped at first, but she found her way.

By the end of it, he was the one who was lost.

He made it through the last couple of songs through sheer will. They were new to him too, obviously, since he’d only done a few gigs with Venus Rising. But that wasn’t why he couldn’t keep up.

He was addicted to watching her.

She was in her element. Those few moments she disappeared into the music enough to sway while she sang, and the little bits of laughter she gave to the audience—hell, even the irritated glance she flicked him when he fumbled a crossover during the bridge to “Chasing Shadows” and screwed up her entrance—were his undoing.

If he’d had to see her sing every night, he would’ve quit Warning Sign within the first month. There was only so much one man could take.

Your fault. This was all your bright idea.

After they took their bows and ran backstage, Mal headed straight for the men’s room. He needed a piss and to splash his face with enough icy water to get his head straight.

He wasn’t going to have made it this many months—years now—and reveal everything without even making the choice. It just wasn’t going to happen.

“What did you think?”

Her voice stopped him cold. He couldn’t ignore the question.

Not even if she figured out all he didn’t have a way to hide.

Swallowing hard, he turned back around. Her cheeks were ruddy with exertion, her huge eyes luminescent in a way he’d never seen.

More than anything, he wanted to keep that look on her face. And because he was a selfish, needy bastard, he wanted to be the one to put it there.

“You were magnificent.”

Her mouth quivered before her expression smoothed out into a smile. “Thank you. You weren’t though. So not like you. Normally, you’re flawless. What happened?”

For an instant, he was almost bold enough to tell her the truth—if only so he wouldn’t have to carry it around alone anymore.

I fell in love with a woman I can never have.

But telling her wouldn’t change shit. Words didn’t mean anything. He’d learned that a long time ago. Actions were what counted, and words were lies.

So he gave her a pretty one so she wouldn’t look too close.

“Must be because some hot chick hit me right here.” He rubbed the heel of his hand over his chest, slow and sure. “Some aim she has.”

Her grin spread and she wiggled her fingers. Not the ones on her injured arm. She still wasn’t using it for much. “Guess you’re not the only one who’s good with his hands.”

He waited until she went back to talk to Scooby before heading toward the men’s room. Just before he left, he heard Scooby mention wanting to gig with her again the next time she was in town.

Her laughter made it all worth it. And then some.