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  Heat flooded her face and she had to force herself to meet his gaze. Thad’s hazel eyes were absolutely entrancing, the little specks of green and gold in what at first appeared to be brown eyes kept her transfixed. For the first time she realized just how attractive he was. Oh, she’d always known he was a good-looking guy. He had a strong jaw and a high forehead. He wore his thick, light brown hair at a length that grazed his jaw and it was just shaggy enough to make a woman want to straighten it up for him. He was a little taller than average height at about six feet, but his shoulders were broad and well filled out, and she loved the muscles in his arms and hands from years of guitar playing. She drifted off for a moment thinking about a time when she’d seen him at a party and he’d given her a hug in greeting. She remembered the warmth of his body pressed against hers and his woody, masculine smell. He was surprisingly fuckable and she couldn’t help but wonder what he’d be like in bed. Would he be soft and tender, or a pull her hair, spank her ass kind of lover. With this guy she wouldn’t mind either option.

  What the hell was wrong with her? This was Thad, her buddy. She’d known him for years, but now all of a sudden there was…something. She wasn’t sure what but something had definitely fired up between them. Her lips curled into a slow smile as she contemplated what all this could mean. That should make this tour interesting. She smirked with inner derision. As if she didn’t have enough to think about. From the way he was looking at her she was fairly certain he felt the attraction too. Her fingers moved restlessly on the guitar picking out a tune she didn’t really hear. Thad was an unassuming kind of guy. So shy when he joined the band he would play with his back to the audience. Despite the geek chic attire that was his trademark and his self-effacing demeanor, she suspecting he knew his way around a bedroom. At least she hoped so because she definitely intended to find out.

  “I like this one,” Thad said, gesturing toward a page in the tattered notebook.

  “Huh, what?” she said, jolted out of her reverie and grateful for the melanin that hid her heated face.

  “This one, “A Girl Named Sioux”. It’s deep and personal.”

  She took the notebook he extended to her from his oversized hands and followed the words on the page. “Yeah, probably too personal. That song puts all my business out in the street.” She could envision her mother responding like Betty Wright’s; "I know you not going to sing that song!"

  “Hate to break it to you sweetheart, but most of your business is front page news and has been for years.”

  “Yeah, but most of that is lies. That song is the truth.”

  “Really? Well you don’t seem to pull any punches on any of them. So what’s the difference? You’ve got to sing something.”

  “It wasn’t from lack of trying. I didn’t mean to write about most of this stuff, and certainly not this way. Unfortunately I’m not a very good liar.”

  "Bryan always says that what's in your heart just naturally comes out on the page. Anything else is fake and sounds fake. You can’t touch other people's souls without exposing your own."

  "Yeah, but that exposure. Being vulnerable is scary as hell."

  He nodded. "It is. Putting your business in the street as you say, is awful, but you're not an artist if you don't."

  "Damn, funny thing is, the drug songs. The ones about rehab I don't mind so much, but the other ones..."

  “You mean like this one," he said as he removed the songbook from her hands. He quickly flipped to a page covered in so many scratch outs and erasures it was almost impossible to decipher. “The Killer”? Pretty obvious you’re talking about your relationship with Trigger Happy.”

  Sioux raised her eyes from the notebook. “You think? I was with Trig for three years. Our relationship was…tempestuous. I’m sure I could fill a dozen CDs with that story alone.”

  “Tempestuous? Is that what you’re calling it? Here you called it a ‘delicious catastrophe’,” he said gesturing toward the songbook.

  “Yeah, it was that too.”

  “The two of you made some great songs together, though,” Thad said. Sioux was surprised by the ruefulness of his tone, as though he didn’t want to acknowledge the fact. She and Trig were good together. They had the Grammys and the record sales to show for it. Too bad the aftermath of their relationship had left both of them covered in huge gaping wounds.

  “Yeah. Trig is a very talented man,” she said, unable to keep the sadness out of her voice.

  He must have picked up on it because he didn’t drop the subject. “Anyway, that’s not the story most people know.”

  She exhaled heavily. She’d known this was coming sooner or later. Might as well get it out of the way now. She and Trig had been front-page news for years. Thad would be less than human if he wasn’t curious about it. Their relationship had been loud, vivid and worst of all, public. Oh so very public. Amazing how they'd both reveled in that aspect of the affair. Deliberately doing outrageous things to draw attention to themselves, even to the point of using the media to incite jealousy and convey messages to one another. They had brawled and loved in a fashion that had kept more than one tabloid in business.

  “I know. According to the media he was the bad boy rapper who led the pop princess into drugs, destruction and more than one near-death experience," she said with a wry twist of her lips. “Reality was almost the exact opposite of that. Daddy’s a helluva P.R. man. You know how it goes with relationships: Two sides and then the truth,” she said with a heavy sigh. “Most of the time I felt like I was taking crazy pills, which, ironically enough, are probably the only pills I didn't take!” It was a pretty lame joke, but he joined her in the brief spate of laughter that followed. Afterwards she stared into space as she struggled to put her feelings into words. Funny how much harder it was to do when she wasn’t focusing on writing in rhyming pentameters. Too much opportunity to feel what she was saying. “Trig was my first love. My only love really. I destroyed that with the drugs and assorted craziness. I was hell-bent on wrecking myself and did a damned good job of taking him down with me.”

  “Can’t you get back together? You’re clean now and so is he, or so the gossip blogs say,” he asked, his gaze fixed on her face with an intensity that made her shift uncomfortably under his scrutiny and lower her own eyes. Despite his focused stare, she got the impression that this wasn’t the question he really wanted to ask.

  “Shame on you for reading gossip blogs, but yeah, I’m really proud of him. But no. No. We can’t get back together. I’m toxic for him. I ruined his life.”

  “Bullshit. You can’t ruin anyone’s life,” he said.

  “Really? When I met Trig he rarely drank more than a beer or two. Would occasionally smoke some weed if it was passed to him, but that was it. By the time I was done, he was a raging crackhead who would sell his soul for a rock. I introduced him to drugs. He did them trying to hang with me.”

  “Yeah, but he made that choice. Did you put the pipe in his hand?”

  “You weren’t there. You don’t know. You’ve never had a relationship like that.”

  He paused and she watched as a vivid flush rose high on his sharp cheekbones.

  Suddenly his amazing hazel eyes shuttered, as though he’d totally shut down. “Yeah, you’re right. I have no right to try to tell you anything about your love life. So are you going to sing it?”

  “What?” Sioux asked, still distracted by the sudden change in his expressive eyes. Clearly there was more to that story, but due to her big mouth she doubted she'd ever hear it.

  “The song. Are you going to sing it?”

  “Which one?”

  ““A Girl Named Sioux.” I think it’s a hit. Sing it for me.”

  Sioux lowered her head to study the lyrics though she knew them by heart. “Of course it’s a hit. Everybody loves gossip.”

  “Not just for sensationalism. For the honesty. The vulnerability. Your songs are real. People respond to that.”

  Sioux didn’t know what to say
, so she began to sing. “Spotlight, moonlight shining all through the night. New city, new town. Don't ever let them down. Pills and horse and a bump of snow, of course. You can never be blue when you’re a girl named Sioux,” she sang her voice lower and raspier than usual, the after-effects of the previous conversation. She paused at the bridge. “I’m not sure what I want here. It’s an odd key and I’ve struggled with the change.”

  He picked up his own guitar from the floor beside him, and toyed with it for a moment then he looked over her songbook and began to sort out notes. He picked up the chorus with a syncopated rhythm. “A girl named Sioux can never be blue. So what you gonna do, when you’re a girl named Sioux,” he sang in his sweet tenor. Sioux joined him, changing key to harmonize. They continued to the end of the song, and she immediately picked up her pen to jot down some notes.

  “Don’t know why I didn’t think to ask you before. That’s perfect.”

  “Glad to be of help,” he said. Sioux realized he’d moved closer when he began to play and now they were less than a foot apart. He was staring at her mouth with a quizzical expression on his face. Then to her amazement he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers in a gentle salute. The feel of his lips against hers was indescribably delicious. They were velvety soft, but firm and manly and her response was immediate. She inhaled a lungful of his masculine scent; earthy and woodsy, it reminded her of her mother’s greenhouse. She exhaled on a sigh, loving the tenderness of the kiss even as she moved closer to deepen it. Before she could do so, however, he pulled away.

  “Don’t know why I did that,” he said, his voice deep and husky. He cleared his throat as he turned to his side to place his guitar into the open case. “Wonder where Rocky is., She’s ridiculously late.”

  Sioux gave him a long look before responding. What the hell? They were going to pretend like nothing happened? Okay, if he wanted to play she’d go along.

  “I’m sure it’s traffic. I don’t know where she lives, but you know how awful it can be getting out to Santa Monica,” she said.

  “Rocky lives in Malibu, not far from Jon. I live in Venice. I bought Bryan’s old house when they moved out to Malibu, too. You’ll have to visit sometime. My house isn’t as large as this one, but I like it a lot. I’ve got a sweet stereo set-up, but not much else. I just moved in last year.”

  So they were going to do “House Beautiful” now? “Last year? Where did you live before that?”

  “With my mom. And when it got to be too much of a pain to schlepp down from Santa Barbara, I got a hotel room.”

  “A hotel room?”

  “Yeah. I mean, why not? Built-in maid and room service. It was totally convenient. B.T. finally made me buy the house because he said I was wasting my money, giving it all to the government.”

  Oh to hell with this. At this rate they’d be talking about mutual funds and tax shelters next. She was tempted to go on just to see how far he was prepared to go to avoid the subject, but impatience was her besetting sin. “What do you mean you don’t know why you did that?” she asked, almost immediately annoyed by his prevarication.

  He hesitated as though it took him a moment to catch up to the shift in conversation. She didn’t believe that for a moment. “Just what I said. It’s a very bad idea.”

  Well that certainly cleared things up. “Why?”

  “Because we’re about to go on the road together,” he said, the tightness of his voice betraying his irritation at the subject matter.

  Well she was pretty damned aggravated too. “What’s that got to do with anything? Kiss me again.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” Dude had certainly flipped the script. She’d never been in this position before.

  “Why should I?”

  “Because you want to,” she said with a deliberate pout.

  “I don’t go around kissing everyone I want to kiss,” Thad said, frustration evident in his tone.

  “Why not? Have there been that many?”

  “No. Yes. Fuck, I don’t know.”

  She watched as he ran his hands through his hair, leaving it attractively mussed. Static cling lifted the fine strands from his head, creating a halo effect in the late afternoon sun streaming in through her French doors. “So are you going to kiss me?”

  “Jesus, you’re a persistent little thing, aren’t you?”

  “I’ve been chasing your band for years now and you just figured that out?”

  “Did you really try to give Bryan a blowjob at the VMAs?”

  Sioux leaned back until she rested against the low-slung sofa that anchored the room, and stared at him for a moment. That was one way to change the subject. “Hell if I know, but sure, I probably did. I was using pretty heavily back then.”

  “You were fifteen!”

  “And your point? You’ve been around and you know it’s not that uncommon. Is that why you don’t want to kiss me? You think I had something on with Bryan? Just for the record, I’m pretty sure he turned me down.”

  “No, I don’t think you had something on with him. If I did I wouldn’t have kissed you the first time. We’re not Fleetwood Mac.”

  “So, what’s the problem?”

  “I already told you, we’re about to go on the road together. If something goes wrong with the relationship it could ruin the tour. Do you have any idea how many bands have been destroyed that way?"

  "Of course I do. But you're missing one important point; it's not a Michelle Phillips situation. I'm not in the band. If things go sideways I can exit stage left. No muss. No fuss. Somehow I doubt anyone would regret my leaving."

  "I would. I think this tour can be great. If we stay out of each other's pants."

  “Oh for fuck’s sake,” she muttered before leaning forward to press her lips against his. For a second she thought he wouldn’t respond, but then he grabbed a fist full of her braids as he slanted his mouth over hers.

  Oh hell yeah, this is more like it, she thought, placing her guitar on the floor before leaning into the kiss.

  He pulled away, leaving a breath of space between their parted lips.

  “And what about your boyfriend?” he asked his breath coming out in pants.

  “I haven’t dated anyone since Trig two years ago.”

  “So the tabloids got something right.”

  “Apparently so.”

  “You still got it bad for him like they say?” he asked.

  “If I did, I wouldn’t be kissing you. I love hard. Too hard. I love sex, but I don’t cheat. Ever. How about you?” she said.

  “Cheat? Hell no,” he said, looking surprised by the question.

  “Are you seeing anyone?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well now we got that out of the way,” she said leaning in to continue the kiss, but he moved back.

  “Still not a good idea,” he said with a firm shake of his head.

  Before she could respond the doorbell rang.

  With a muttered curse, Sioux rose from the floor to admit Rocky. This was so not over.

  Rocky McPherson was a tall whippet-thin woman with a no-nonsense manner that could be intimidating on first meeting. Or for that matter on the second or third meeting as well. She looked to be in her late thirties, with a flawless sepia-toned complexion. But as the daughter of an aging superstar, Sioux recognized the subtle signs of work done by a skilled plastic surgeon. Sioux was in no position to judge, having had to have several rounds of treatments to correct the ravages of drug abuse from her own face. Fortunately plastic surgery hadn’t been necessary, but she certainly wasn’t above it. Besides, dozens of acid peels and several rounds of microdermabrasion probably did equal to at least one brow lift which she was sure Rocky had had. Of course she wanted people to focus on her talent, but she had no desire to look any worse than she had to. Sioux had little doubt the woman kept her remarkable figure by sheer force of will. Fat wouldn’t dare accumulate anywhere near her form.

  Sioux knew of Rocky by reputation at least.
The woman ran a tight ship with almost military precision and Sioux all but lost the ability to speak as the road manager steamrolled into the room.

  “So you’re Sioux Dupree,” Rocky said with an accent acquired only in the finest European finishing schools. Many affected the plummy intonations, though primarily on the East coast, but Sioux knew an authentic one when she heard it.

  “That’s what my birth certificate says,” Sioux snapped back, irritated by the way the other woman was eyeing her. Thad, still sitting on the floor, shook his head briefly signaling that smarting off at the band’s road manager probably wasn’t the best idea, but Rocky just stared at her for a moment, then barked out a harsh laugh.

  “You’re just like your mother. Smart mouth and all.”

  “You know my mama?” Sioux asked. Of course her parents knew pretty much everyone who was anyone, but Sioux couldn’t recall them mentioning Rocky. Certainly she’d never been in attendance at their lavish New Year’s Eve parties. The woman was eminently unforgettable. Then again, she had avoided those festivities in the past few years herself, so perhaps she’d simply missed her. She made a mental note to ask her mother about her.

  “This business is very incestuous. I was just starting out when your daddy had Dupree on tour. I worked for him for a while.”

  “He never mentioned it.”

  “That was before you were born, and there was no reason to mention me. I was very small potatoes back then.”

  Sioux nodded. Certainly no one would call Rocky small potatoes now.

  “I’ll be honest, I wasn’t exactly thrilled when B.T. told me you were going to be added to the bill. I mean, he’s over the moon because the added publicity will sell tickets. That’s all well and good, but it’ll be my job to keep you guys in good shape and keep all the craziness from ruining the show. Thing is, B.T. will be doing everything in his considerable power to drive up the crazy level, while I’ll be doing everything I can to minimize its impact on you.” Rocky made a dismissive gesture as though to indicate that working at cross-purposes with the band’s manager was just part of the job.