After Midnight Read online

  She stacked the compact discs and pushed them a few inches away from her. “It’s true. I no longer make music. I leave that to others.”

  “You can’t ignore it, you know.” He sounded as if he spoke from experience.

  “No?”

  “Music is everywhere. It’s inside you, you can’t ignore that.”

  The comment hit her like a slap in the face. She covered her mouth to keep a startled cry from breaking free. Pain, sharp and blinding, knotted her stomach.

  She should have known, guessed it when he strolled into her bar carrying her music. Her pain-filled past could be uncovered with a few keystrokes in any Internet café. Her entire life spelled out in black and white, and a bit of it in all too vivid color. He’d seen it all—the truths as well as the lies.

  Old fears and uncertainties returned. Her hand dropped away from her mouth to fist against her thigh. “Tell me something, Noah. Is it morbid curiosity that brings you in today, or something else?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Of course he did. Not for a minute did she believe the confusion that flashed across his face. “I don’t play anymore because the music is no longer inside of me. It’s gone.” Except it wasn’t. It cantered through her skull like a caged beast finally set loose. “Now if you want to know anything else, you’ll have to go back to your source.”

  “What if I want the truth? Will I find it there as well?”

  He couldn’t possibly know of the lie that burned her tongue like acid. “Since when does anyone care about the truth?”

  “I care.”

  She shook her head in denial. He sounded so sincere she almost believed him. Almost.

  “Leave.” She paused at the emotion in her voice. “There’s nothing for you here.”

  He hesitated.

  Desperate to have him gone, to quiet her painful memories as much as her mind, she shoved the compact discs across the bar top. The stack tipped, one slid off the other and spread out as she’d arranged them a few moments ago. Three unblemished, cherubic faces looked back at her, reminding her of how much she’d lost. “Please go.”

  Noah plucked the CDs from the bar without taking his eyes off her face. He didn’t understand that she clung to the slippery edge of control. But then, he didn’t need to understand. He needed to leave her.

  Then he did. Just like she’d wanted.

  So why did she suddenly feel empty?

  Chapter Two

  The place hadn’t changed at all. It remained as memory recalled. But the woman behind the polished, chestnut bar was better.

  Noah Clark slid into the booth in the far corner, his gaze drinking in the dark-haired beauty. Her hair was parted in the center and framed her face in layers that started at her chin and continued to the base of her shoulder blades. Sometime over the past two months she’d cut it, for he remembered it longer, all one length and hanging to her waist. Although he couldn’t see them from this distance, he knew her eyes were the most remarkable shade of gray-blue—pale and misty. Set in a complexion that appeared darker now, kissed by the summer sun.

  She wore faded jeans that hugged her slender hips. A black tank top revealed arms sleekly muscled in a feminine way that told him she was stronger than she looked. Her legs were surprisingly long for a woman her height. His gaze lowered, lingered on her legs before arriving on her boots—a pair of those high-heeled, pointy-toed boots that made him wonder how she kept her balance as she approached a nearby table with a tray full of drinks.

  While classic rock blared from the speakers, he took a moment to study the profile that looked both soft and angular. She wasn’t beautiful in the traditional sense, but compelling. She had a way of looking at a person as she spoke with them, like they were the most important person in the room. And a wide, friendly smile that could steal a man’s breath. He’d been on the receiving end of it once, just once, and he’d yet to fully recover.

  Keeping his eyes on her, he settled more comfortably into the booth and thought about what brought him back to her bar on a Monday night, after midnight. Ten weeks before, a meeting with the record company already set and nowhere to begin work on their demo, he’d gone in search of somewhere to record. The studio had to be small, private, and reputable, somewhere outside of the mainstream recording industry, where they could make their own hours and work at their own pace.

  He’d had his mind made up, his eyes set on a private studio near Sacramento when he’d come to New York. The man who ran the studio in Long Island City was a friend of the band’s manager, Tony, so heading back home without seeing this final place hadn’t seemed right. Still, even with the scheduling problem that would need to be worked out, California felt like the best fit.

  Until the night he’d decided he didn’t want to spend his birthday alone in some strange city. The night he allowed the flashing neon to lure him through the doors into Izzy’s and he’d set eyes on its namesake.

  She’d stolen his breath. One look and every nerve ending in his body stood at attention. One smile and he’d been lost.

  Right then, that first night, he’d made the decision and started the ball rolling. Later he asked Pete Knowles, the man whose studio he’d signed on with, if he knew the woman who owned the bar down the street and learned her name.

  Isabeau Montgomery.

  He went back, to the bar and the woman who irresistibly drew him. Only to discover that what she felt for him was anything but pleasant. So here he sat, ten weeks later, living out of a hotel because of a woman he couldn’t forget. A woman he felt a connection to despite the fact that, by all accounts, she couldn’t stand the sight of him.

  Noah sighed. He tracked Isabeau’s smooth glide across the hardwood floor. On her tray remained one lone bottle—his preferred brand. He didn’t want the lager, but kept that information to himself.

  “Isabeau.” A jolt of electricity arced through him. Stronger than he recalled. “You look well. You cut your hair.”

  Surprise flickered across her features. The corner of her mouth began to tip up, then stopped. Her gaze, carefully cleared of emotion, moved slowly over his face, down his body. Heat flared, followed the path of her eyes. Desire curled in his stomach.

  “I did,” she verified, her voice pitched to be heard over the sudden burst of laughter from a raucous group at the far end of the bar.

  He shot the group a cursory glance. “Busy place tonight.”

  “They’re celebrating a job promotion. Although that group never needs much of an excuse.”

  One glance told him as much. “No?”

  “They’ve convinced me to keep the kitchen open, so if you’re hungry let me know.”

  “I didn’t know you offered food.”

  “Just soup and sandwiches. Everything is homemade by me using only organic ingredients.”

  “Not sprouts and tofu?”

  “Who doesn’t enjoy a good bean sprout sandwich with their lager?”

  He shuddered; caught the barest hint of a smile before she controlled it.

  “Organic as in no chemicals used in the growing process,” she corrected. “Today’s special is roast beef on rye. Having food available helps to keep the level of inebriation under control.” As if on cue, the sound of a glass shattering carried to them. It was immediately followed by more laughter. Isabeau sighed. “Well, usually.”

  She turned her head, her gaze settling on a waitress carefully picking up the larger shards of glass. “I apologize if they’re disturbing you. They’ll be gone soon.”

  The group didn’t look eager to leave. “How can you be sure?”

  “I called their wives and girlfriends.”

  “Smart.”

  “Yeah, well they’re a bit too grab happy for me tonight. It’s time for them to go.”

  The muscle in his jaw began to tic double time. He leveled his gaze on the men across the room, while the urge to teach them some manners flared.

  “I should get back to it. Let me kno
w if you need anything else.”

  Fighting the foreign compulsion, he could only nod as she turned and walked away. A knot settled in his gut as she skirted the tables, taking a wider than normal path around the noisy group. He scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck, eased out a breath.

  There’d been no note with the package she’d sent him, no way of knowing why she’d taken the time to mail him the compact disc. There’d been no return address either. Only the disc itself told him the identity of the sender—her disc, the one he’d been missing.

  He’d thought of her often in the weeks since receiving the gift. Why did she send it? What did it mean? He wondered again tonight, as he watched her, unable to gauge her reaction to his sudden reappearance in her bar.

  “Nick said I’d find you here. It seemed out of character enough that I had to check it out.”

  Noah shifted his attention to the man leaning against the wall at his right, hands tucked in the front pockets of his jeans. Dominic Price was tall and wiry, with wavy black hair that hung just past his shoulders and a face women swooned over. Today that face was lined with fatigue. The wall appeared to be the only thing keeping him upright.

  “Dom, how was your flight? Did you get settled into the hotel yet?”

  “Yeah.” Dominic eased into the booth with a sigh. “This one’s better than the last hotel we lived out of. At least the art is recognizable.” He paused, but only briefly. “You’re not falling back on old habits, are you?”

  “Of course not.”

  Dom’s gaze settled on the bottle of lager. “You’re sure about that?”

  Before Noah could reply, a shadow fell across their booth.

  Isabeau slid a napkin before Dominic. “What can I get you?”

  “I don’t suppose you have any tea?” Dom asked.

  “Sorry.”

  “How about bottled water and something for a headache?”

  “Certainly.” Her fingers dipped into her back pocket and removed a thin object about the size and shape of a credit card. Her thumb moved across the top of a tiny remote unit, and the speakers above their table and along the back wall went silent. “Is that a little better?”

  “Yes, luv, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” she replied, gifting Dominic with the smile she’d denied Noah.

  Noah clenched his jaw. “Isabeau Montgomery, my band mate and bassist Dominic Price.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she said as she returned the remote to her back pocket. “I’ll be right back with your water and an ibuprophen.”

  Noah watched her departure, fascinated by her smooth stride in those skinny heels and the way her small, shapely bottom swayed. His gaze stayed with her as she pulled a bottle of water from the cooler, snagged something from beneath the bar, and started back.

  She settled the water onto the napkin before Dominic, tore open a small white packet, and dropped the contents into his upturned hand.

  Dom tipped the bottle to his lips and swallowed the pain reliever. “Your name’s Isabeau, as in Izzy? Is this your pub?”

  “It is.”

  “I like it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You have unique features. What nationality are you?”

  A brief shadow crossed her face. Her eyes changed color, from pale blue to dusky gray. “My father was Mohican.”

  “Your mum, I bet she has blue eyes.”

  “Yes. She was a blue-eyed blonde.”

  “Ah. Noah fancies blondes.”

  The light went out of her eyes the moment her attention turned to him. It appeared the passage of time had not lessoned her animosity toward him. He’d read too much into her sending that disc to him, had hung his hope on the idea that she’d meant the gesture as an offering of peace between them. Hope died, replaced by disappointment.

  Her gaze slid to the still full bottle at his right hand. She picked it up, gesturing with it as she spoke. “Is something wrong with your beer?”

  “I guess I’m not in the mood.”

  “Can I get you something else?”

  Because he was tempted to reach out and smooth his fingers across the white-knuckled grip she had on the lager bottle, Noah balled his hands in his lap. She eased back a step, obviously anxious to leave.

  “I’m okay for now.”

  The moment she was out of earshot, Noah turned to Dom. “What was that about?”

  “She does have unique features.”

  That’s not what was going on and they both knew it.

  “She spoke of both her parents in past tense.”

  He’d noticed. Noah straightened in his seat, frowned at his closest friend. “What’s on your mind, Dom?”

  Dominic turned and gave him a level-eyed look. “This isn’t like you.”

  “What?”

  “It explains a lot, though.”

  “What the bloody hell are you talking about?”

  His eyes flicked from Noah to a retreating Isabeau, back to Noah. “She’s why we’re here.”

  “We’re here to make a demo,” Noah replied tightly.

  “Yeah? How long have you been sitting there?”

  Noah didn’t like the awareness in Dom’s eyes. “A bit.”

  “This isn’t like you,” Dominic repeated. “You’re usually not one for self-deception.”

  They fell into an uncomfortable silence. A silence Dominic broke. “We’re supposed to be starting over. The guys and I trusted you to choose the best place for that to happen.”

  Noah let out a controlled breath, and pushed his fingers through his hair. Anywhere else and he would be on his feet, pacing. “I did, damn it. This place has everything we’re looking for.”

  “Including a woman close by who happened to catch your eye.”

  “This studio is quality. It has a fantastic reputation and is private.”

  “Yeah,” Dom agreed, setting his elbows on the table and leaning forward. “But let me take a wild stab. It wasn’t the only one.”

  “No, it wasn’t the only one.”

  Dominic began to swear, slowly, steadily.

  “It’s only temporary. Before you know it we’ll be back in California.”

  Not a fan of California, the information didn’t make Dom happier. “Great.”

  “At least you won’t have to live out of a hotel room. You can have my guest bedroom.”

  “I wouldn’t be living out of a hotel right now, if you hadn’t decided to let your dick do your thinking.”

  Noah set his teeth. “Do you actually believe that I would do anything to jeopardize our future?”

  Dom closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, I don’t think you would consciously make a decision that would jeopardize our future.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Women have a way of messing up a man’s decision making.”

  Exhaustion pulling at him, Noah sighed. “Becca,” he said. It was all he needed to say, the bleakness in Dominic’s eyes said everything. Rebecca Dahlman, the woman Dom hadn’t managed to move beyond even after all the time they’d been apart.

  Dominic slid out of the booth. “I hope you’re right about this place, Noah. I’d hate to think I flew across the Atlantic for nothing.”

  So did he.

  “Do me a favor,” Dom continued. “Don’t bring this up again anytime soon. I’m going to pretend we didn’t have this conversation.” He turned his back, mumbled under his breath. “Maybe after a few days sleep, I’ll see the humor in this.”

  As Dom walked away, Noah looked to the ebony-haired beauty behind the bar. He hoped he hadn’t made the biggest mistake of his career.

  ****

  Isabeau leaned against the bar, eyes closed, absorbing the welcome silence. The total, absolute silence…that wasn’t. For the first time since she’d reopened the bar, no music played while she prepared for the lunch crowd. It would have been too much to handle what with the music in her head already at an earsplitting level.

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nbsp; The relentless, unavoidable rhythm kept her from sleep the night before. Today, it threatened to sour her mood. Nothing helped, not her morning run, a hot shower, or even the tapping of her fingers against the polished chestnut bar.

  The source of her pain was obvious. The return of the man brought the return of the music. It ebbed and swelled, adagio to allegro, pianissimo to fortissimo. It wouldn’t stop and it was not to be ignored. But ignore it she must. She had no choice.

  She raised her hand, pinched the bridge of her nose and pleaded with whatever god listened to make it stop.

  The door squeaked as it swung inward. The echo of boots upon the wood floor drew nearer then stopped.

  What had she done to deserve this?

  “I’m not going to say it,” she mumbled before gaining the strength to open her eyes and focus on him. “You never listen anyway.”

  His mouth curved into an irresistibly devastating grin, and everything female in her stood at attention. He strode the rest of the way to the bar, his every movement fluid and easy. Confident. Naturally sexy. His lean, rangy body was clad in snug jeans and a black tee. Jeans so worn and faded that only their seams gave hint to their original color. Jeans that rode low on his hips, cupping his sex as tightly as a hand.

  Her body reacted before she could steel herself against it. A burst of heat snapped along her nerves. Her pulse raced. She was staring. She knew she was staring but she couldn’t stop.

  He moved, sliding onto the stool directly before her, so that suddenly their gazes locked. She waited for him to speak, to say something to break this spell that had come over her. He remained silent, sitting there watching her with those eyes that seemed to see right into her.

  As he leaned forward, casually resting his forearms atop the bar, she took a step backward. Already a warm, masculine scent, which she recognized as uniquely his, swirled around her, muddling her thinking.

  “Would you—” Was that her voice, all husky and breathless? She cleared her throat. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “Water.”

  He did things to her, made her wish for things that could never be. Whether it was his effect on her body or his effect on her head, his sudden reappearance in her life was not going to be easy for her to handle. She would have to come up with a way to discourage these impromptu visits of his. Maybe discourage all visits altogether. Let him find a different place to unwind.