That dark, angry part of him had finally gone quiet. Like absolution.
The darkness of the club had remained undisturbed while he played. Nothing had moved out of place. No wolf. Just peace. There had been so many opportunities for the wolf to attack, yet none were taken. The wait at Segue, his “outpatient” surgery, the party, the loft, now Jack’s place. To what they owed this reprieve, he had no idea.
Maybe it wasn’t a reprieve at all.
Custo had kept an eye on Annabella in his peripheral vision while he played. Ready to drop Jack’s $20,000 guitar should she twitch in fear. Now he dared to look directly at her.
Annabella sat like a queen in her deep blue gown, always straight, never slumped and easy. She didn’t look so angry anymore. Her eyes were shimmery with tears, which was never a good sign in a woman. But she didn’t seem sad or scared either. He didn’t like it.
He was glad he had already decided not to read her mind. At the moment, he was nervous about what he’d find there. He had wanted her to hear him play, but now he felt exposed. Uncomfortable in his own skin.
He discarded the feeling. It wouldn’t take much to tick her off again. It was what he did best.
The bass player and drummer gave Custo a nod of recognition and Custo thanked them for backing him on the spur of the moment. He got a couple of sincere
Then Jack was there. “At least you were playing these past two years, even if you weren’t playing for me.”
Custo hadn’t touched a guitar for years. Somehow in all that time his fingers never forgot the intricate patterns of the song, and the music had obeyed. He probably owed the peak looseness and dexterity of his hands to his altered status, though he was still loath to own the title. Angel.
Jack held up keys and traded for the guitar. “Same room. I’ll send out for dinner. Any preferences?”
A simple question would be a good way to gauge Anna-bella’s real mood. “What do you want for dinner?”
She shrugged, expression transforming from shimmery tears to smug. “I don’t care.”
Also not a good sign. She wasn’t that easygoing. Not remotely. She was the most difficult woman he’d ever known. And what was she so smug about?
“The usual, then,” Jack said, “times two.”
A sax player jockeyed for space on the stage. “Man, that was scary good. I almost don’t want to follow you. Figure I better go up-tempo or out the door.”
Custo thanked him and yielded the stage. He took Annabella’s hand to lead her through the club. She held the skirt of her dress off Jack’s dirty club floor with her other. She still hadn’t said anything, still had a happy sparkle to her eyes. What did she have to be happy about?
The world was at war. She was being stalked by a wolf. Her life was at risk. And here she was about to tippy-toe through the club into which she had to be dragged in the first place.
Who got happy after hearing a blues song? She should be miserable.
They climbed a concealed flight of stairs to an upper level. The key unlocked the door to the apartment directly above the club. Jack’s pad was another flight up. They’d have to sleep to the vibration of the music until two A.M., when the club closed. Not a hardship for Custo; Annabella would just have to deal.
He unlocked the apartment and held the door while she entered.
“Nice,” Annabella said, appreciation in her voice. “Why is the club such a dive?”
Custo took a look around. Mismatched pieces of leather furniture were grouped in a small sitting area in front of an inset gas fireplace. The bedroom was visible through another door. Colorful art, mostly impressionistic renderings of jazz clubs and artists, brightened up the walls. The far side of the room had a brag wall, where Jack had hung black-and-white photographs of himself with music legends. None of the pieces really went together. No decorators. Stuff Jack saw, he bought. And his taste was usually expensive.
Custo threw his tux jacket over the back of the sofa and got rid of the damn cummerbund around his waist. “Club’s the same way it was when Jack bought it. He’s a little superstitious and doesn’t want to mess with his luck—which has been very good since he took over the place. Dive or not, he has no problem bringing people in to hear music.”
“He likes you,” she said, peering into one of the photographs. Her skin glowed against the deep dip of blue, her spine curving deliciously toward her ass as she leaned forward.
“What’s not to like?” Custo loosened his bow tie, and then left it hanging under his collar so it wouldn’t get lost.
Annabella laughed. Not twenty minutes ago she was all nerves, now she didn’t seem to have a care in the world. Custo didn’t understand. The wolf was still a problem. Could be here, in the apartment, right now. What was up with her?
The floor pulsed suddenly with the start of the next song, the rhythm driven by bass and drums.
She turned back around. The dress clung to the curves of her waist and hips before settling. “What were you playing?”
“Civil rights tune called ‘Alabama.’” The guitar felt so right, the song coming out exactly the same as he heard it in his head. He hated himself, but he had to ask, “Did you like it?”
Annabella’s eyes filled with feeling. “I loved it.”
The expression on her face made him take a step back, denying what he saw there, hating her choice of words.
A brow lifted. “Custo?”
He shook his head. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” Her lips curved into a smile, so she had to know what he meant.
“Like that.” He undid the top button on his shirt so he could breathe better, but still couldn’t draw one good lungful of air.
“Whatever you want.” But the happiness didn’t fade. She brought her hands up to her coil of hair, and the mass tumbled down into curls on her shoulders. Again that smug satisfaction.
He wanted to kiss it off her face. Wipe away the knowledge in her smile.
She
It had to have been the music that changed her. He’d gone too far, revealed too much. But that was the way with music; it demanded everything. No holding back. Denying what he’d played now was like trying to stop something that had already happened. Futile, wasted effort. And a lie.
He couldn’t lie to her again. Wouldn’t.
Fine, then. She knew. He loved her. He’d loved her since he first saw her dance in the Shadowlands.
It wasn’t as if pride had held him back from telling her, or the stupid macho shtick played up on TV and in the movies. He didn’t have the time or patience for any of that shit.
She had to understand.
He said, “I. Ruin. Everything.”
The smile faltered, a dark glimmer of sadness far away in her eyes.
So she did understand. No matter how he felt, he was no good for her. He could play well and fight better, but that was about it. He was a thieving, murderous opportunist. Not too long ago he’d taken all he could get from her, and he would again tonight.
He dropped his gaze to get rid of Adam’s cuff links. Everything borrowed, nothing his. Never his. He threw them on an end table, rolled his cuffs, and forced himself to look up again.
Her gaze was waiting.
“You’ll have to tell me what you’re thinking,” he said. She was smart; by now she had to have guessed that he’d quit trespassing in her head.
She pinned him with dangerous intent. “Fine then. You ruin everything? Ruin
Heat and shock burned away his bitterness. If ever there were an invitation…
“You told me this evening,
He hated when people quoted him.
“For some reason, the wolf has left us alone tonight. I don’t know why. Maybe you hurt him badly, or maybe he’s plotting something more horrible than we can imagine.”
