Indigo Rain Read online

  “Travis is gonna bust a nut.”

  “I doubt that. It’s just a dress.”

  A tightly fitted, dangerously low-cut dress with a funky skirt made of black mesh and slinky silver fabric. Goodness only knows why Mother had bought it, but it was perfect for the ERMAs. Her stylist had straightened my hair into a sleek blonde curtain before taping my boobs in and giving me smoky, dramatic eyes. Oh, and then there were the five-inch spiked heels.

  “Dress and shoes,” Dex said. “How can you walk in those?”

  “Ask me later. I’m not sure which of us’ll be holding the other up by the end of the evening.”

  “At least I don’t have to run around a stage all night. We’re only performing one song.” Dex touched the tip of his index finger to the choker around my neck. “Diamonds?”

  “Created white sapphires.”

  Mother had bought them for a costume party, apparently. She’d happily give me a dress, shoes, and make-up, but she drew the line at expensive jewellery. The cheap option would have to do.

  “I feel like I should bow at your fuckin’ feet.”

  “How about you just hold me back if I get tempted to stab Reagan with one of my stilettos?”

  “You’ll have to wait in line for that.”

  I wasn’t sure what was sweeter when I climbed out of the cab and into the rented limousine outside the band’s hotel—Travis’s jaw dropping or Reagan’s. I smiled sweetly at her.

  “Turns out I managed to find a dress after all.”

  “What… How…”

  “It’s by Ishmael?” Rush’s supermodel asked.

  “Yes. One of a kind.” Victory was so, so sweet. “But your dress is nice too, Reagan, for something off the peg.”

  Meredith bit her lip beside JD, obviously trying not to laugh. She’d gone with a classic little black dress, or so I thought until she turned away. The back was made from ripped purple mesh and showed off her tattoos nicely. I couldn’t help wondering whether Travis had designed them, and a hot little ball of jealousy rolled around in my stomach.

  Stupid, Alana.

  Not only had she gotten her ink before I even met Travis, but Meredith was also far better suited to him than I was. Another singer, used to life on the road. I forced myself to focus on Dex. He was my date for tonight, and he’d been nothing but kind to me today.

  And I was super grateful for his help on the red carpet. Whenever anyone asked who I was, he simply said “a friend” and hurried us through the gauntlet of photographers and autograph hunters and screaming fans like the seasoned pro he was.

  Once inside, it only took ten seconds for my phone to buzz.

  Zander: What the hell, Lanie?

  I looked around, noticing the stern-faced security guards for the first time, each with Blackwood’s shield logo on the badge around their neck. Oops. Not only did I have the eyes of the press on me, but fifty of Zander’s colleagues were watching my every move too.

  Me: Dex’s date dropped out at the last minute, and I’m standing in. THAT’S ALL!

  Zander: Dexter Reeves had better keep his hands above your waist.

  Shit. I leaned in close enough to whisper.

  “Dex, someone told my brother I’m here. He’s not very happy.”

  “Because you’re with me?”

  “Because I’m not sitting in a convent, clutching rosary beads. Uh, if you could just not touch my ass, I’d be really grateful.”

  “It’s Travis he should be worried about, not me.”

  “No, Travis always behaves like a gentleman.”

  “Travis is walking on a tightrope of propriety, and sooner or later, he’s gonna fall off.”

  Before I could question Dex further on what he meant, a lady with a clipboard waved us towards the auditorium. Time for the fun and games to begin.

  CHAPTER 14 - ALANA

  “AND THE BEST rock group of the year is…”

  Oh, get on with it. On stage, a reality TV starlet made a drama out of opening the envelope, drawing the process out for as long as possible to make the most of her precious seconds in the spotlight.

  “Indigo Rain!”

  Thank goodness. The tension I’d been carrying all night escaped in one long exhalation as Rush squashed the breath out of me. His date would probably have snapped in half if he’d tried the same trick with her. The poor girl looked so thin and brittle, and she’d only drunk sparkling water for the entire evening. Dex hugged me too, but Travis didn’t, because Travis was sitting opposite me between Reagan and Meredith. Every so often, he moved his chair another half inch in Meredith’s direction, but as soon as the winner was announced, Reagan flung her arms around him, squealed, and made a show out of kissing him on the cheek. Meredith rolled her eyes, and I giggled while at the same time plotting Reagan’s murder.

  “Put the fork down,” Dex whispered as he stood up.

  “Huh?”

  I looked at my hand. Hmm… Yes, I suppose I was holding it rather tightly. I forced my grip to relax, then applauded as the boys got up and walked to the stage. Even Dex had a spring in his step tonight.

  This was the last award, and once the boys had made a speech thanking their crew, the Jack Daniels distillery, Fender, their support acts, their fans, the women of Pornhub, the manager of the club in LA where they’d played their first gig, Frank, JD’s former pet rat, hotel housekeeping—in fact, everyone but Gary and their record label—the whole show began to wind down as people headed off to various after-parties.

  “What do you want to do?” I asked Dex. “Carry on or go back to the hotel?”

  “I’ve saved up today’s quota of painkillers for this evening.”

  “I’m not sure you’re supposed to take them all in one go.”

  “Done it before, and I’m not dead yet.”

  “Try leaning on me instead.”

  “Are you okay walking in those shoes?”

  No, I needed the bloody painkillers myself. “Absolutely fine.”

  “In that case, thanks.”

  Someone’s record label—not Indigo Rain’s because the execs were too cheap—had set up shop in a local hotel, and the alcohol was already flowing by the time we arrived. Dex slung an arm over my shoulders, and I clung onto his waist as we made a circuit of the top-floor bar, Dex talking to reporters and women and fellow musicians and women and talk-show hosts and yet more women. Fortunately, none of the conversations lasted long.

  “The trick is…” Dex told me as he washed a painkiller down with neat whisky. “The trick is to insult everyone in the first sentence, and then they move on to their next victim.” He nodded in Travis’s direction. “Or take Reagan with you. That works too.”

  Poor Travis. He’d definitely drawn the short straw tonight. Reagan made catty remarks to everybody, and I suspected the glass in Travis’s hand contained orange juice and nothing more. Rush’s supermodel had already gone home, but he looked quite in his element surrounded by girls, and JD and Meredith were talking to a bunch of industry suits.

  “This is the ultimate in people-watching, don’t you think?”

  “The first time or two, it was okay, but now it’s just a chore. At least JD has Meredith to help him tonight. Last time, he got mauled by a drunk Z-lister.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah. Meredith was supposed to go with Travis until the Reagan thing happened.” He cut his eyes left to a singer I recognised backing away from the bitch in question. “Poor guy. Now do you see why he took a blow-up doll last time Gary insisted we all needed dates?”

  “Should we try to do something?”

  “Reckon that would only make the situation worse.”

  Unfortunately, Dex was right.

  “Did you go out much before your knees got bad? You seem different from the others. Much more…” I couldn’t think of a way to put it without sounding insulting.

  “Dull? Boring? Conservative?”

  “Sensible?”

  “Not sure sensible’s much better.”
/>   “How did you end up playing with the band, anyway? I mean, I know from Wikipedia that you answered an advert on the internet, but you’re each so different.”

  “Back then, the music was all that mattered. Yeah, we did our own shit in our spare time, but when we jammed together, everything fit.”

  “Opposites attract?”

  “More times than you’d think.”

  A guitarist from another band came over to talk to Dex, and when Dex didn’t immediately go out of his way to be rude, I figured they must be friends.

  “I need to visit the little girls’ room.”

  “You know where it is?”

  “On the floor below.” I’d heard one of the waiters mention it earlier.

  Whew, the relief as I peeled down my control underwear was indescribable. Lucky I didn’t need to dress up like that every night. How did my mother do it? To Marianna de Montfort, appearances were everything, but I preferred jeans or sportswear. Or even pyjamas.

  Tempting though it was to camp out in a toilet cubicle for the rest of the evening, I sucked in my stomach and tugged everything back into place, then touched up my lipstick. At least the tape was still secure. What the hell had Mother’s stylist used? It would probably take a layer of skin with it when I peeled it off.

  I was still puzzling over the conundrum when I walked out of the bathroom. Straight into Travis.

  “Oops. Sorry.”

  He smiled, the first time I’d seen him look happy since the awards were handed out.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  “Shit, blue-eyes, you’re killing me tonight.”

  “I’m killing myself. If the government ever needs to convince terrorists to talk, they should just put them in these shoes and this dress, and they’ll spill everything.”

  “Sore feet?”

  “Walking across a red-hot barbecue grill would be less painful.”

  Travis caught me by surprise when he scooped me up into his arms, bridal-style, and strode off along the hallway. My squeal sounded like a passable impression of Reagan.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  He shoved open the door to the stairwell, then settled me onto my feet inside. Actually, I preferred being carried.

  “I’m taking a moment to tell you that you look pretty.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh?”

  What the freaking heck was I supposed to say to that? Logic flew out the window, and I started babbling instead.

  “Well, that’s actually a good thing, because I think I might be stuck in this dress forever. The stylist used tape, and even if I get that unstuck, I can’t reach the zipper, or I might break an ankle on the way back to my hotel room and having to go to the hospital in this outfit would be mortifyingly emb—”

  Travis pressed a finger against my lips. “Blue, stop talking.”

  His kiss caught me by surprise, the softest brush of his lips against mine, but he might as well have struck a match against my skin because fire burned all the way through me.

  “Travis?”

  He rested his forehead against mine. “I want you, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Travis Thorne wanted me? Me? A ditz from London who didn’t know the difference between a melody and a harmony? A girl who’d shoehorned herself into a world where she didn’t really fit? Except I fitted quite nicely into his arms, right there in the empty stairwell. Zander better not have set up any spy cameras.

  “You won’t hurt me.”

  “Not deliberately. But in the end, I won’t be able to help it.”

  I knew what he was saying. That there was no hope for us. He’d be living on a tour bus for the next two years with women throwing their undergarments and themselves at him every time it stopped, and I’d be back in Chelsea.

  But dammit, I really, really liked him. For the first time in my life, I felt both safe and ridiculously turned on around a man, and my girly bits were just one big bowl of hormone soup.

  “You’re worried about the future?”

  He nodded.

  “I’m more worried about the here and now. I’ve… I’ve never done more than kiss a man before.” I buried my face in the crook of his neck and mumbled into his shirt. “If I ever got out of this stupid dress, I’d probably die of embarrassment or fear.”

  There it was—my soul laid bare. I’d exposed myself to a man I’d met little more than a week ago, but one I felt I’d known for much longer.

  “Fuck, I—”

  A door opening on the floor above us interrupted our awkward discussion, and I groaned out loud. Why hide my feelings anymore?

  Travis didn’t miss a beat, just tugged me out of the stairwell and along the hallway until we found a dimly lit alcove complete with two leather armchairs and a table full of car magazines. Was this the place men went when they needed to escape from their wives?

  Backed into a corner with Travis a millimetre from me, I didn’t feel threatened the way I’d thought I might. No, I felt safe. Protected. The man did crazy things to my insides. Think fireworks going off in the middle of a spin cycle.

  Fireworks that fast became damp squibs.

  Things started off hopeful. Travis ran his thumb over my bottom lip, and my mouth dropped open as a low moan escaped. Then he shook his head.

  “I can’t do it, blue. I can’t do this to you.”

  “What? Why?”

  “You’d be so easy to fall in love with, but you deserve better.”

  “But I want you,” I whispered.

  “I’m not a good guy, Alana. You’ve seen how I behave.”

  “I also understand why you do it.”

  “The press would rake over your life. Every damn detail. Gary and Reagan would give you hell. And even if your brother didn’t kill me right away, what have I got to offer? Nothing. Nothing but a bunk on a fucking tour bus and a whole world of trouble.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “But I care. It might not matter today or tomorrow, but a month down the line, a year if we’re lucky… You’d be cursing the day you ever met me.”

  I rested my hands on his arms, conflicted over whether I wanted to hold him at bay because everything he said made perfect sense or pull him closer because I desperately wanted those lips on mine.

  “I’m right, blue. You know I’m right.” He kissed me on the forehead, already backing away. “I need to go.”

  My knees turned to jelly, and I sank into one of the ugly chairs, shaking, as he disappeared along the hallway. Why did it feel like I’d been dumped from a relationship that had never even existed? If this was how love felt, then perhaps Travis was right. We were better off apart.

  Breathe, Alana.

  My eyes prickled, but I couldn’t wipe them because I’d end up looking like a heroin-addicted panda. A minute passed, two, five, but the dampness didn’t subside. Maybe I could just dab at the corners if I had a tissue or—

  For the second time in as many weeks, a scream tore through the air, high-pitched and terrified. My spine went rigid, and I scrambled to my feet, trying to decide between fight or flight. Okay, in these shoes, running wasn’t an option, but I heard rapid footsteps approaching.

  “Thank fuck.” Travis skidded to a halt in front of me. “I was scared that was you.”

  “I’m fine. Where did it come from?”

  “Somewhere close. Keep behind me, okay? We’ll go and find out what the hell’s happening.”

  CHAPTER 15 - ALANA

  A SMALL CROWD had gathered near the stairwell, and as we approached, a girl staggered her way towards us and puked.

  “What’s going on?” Travis asked nobody in particular.

  “There’s a dead girl at the bottom of the stairs,” a British guy said.

  “Who?”

  “Dunno. Some blonde.”

  “How do you know she’s dead?”

  “It’s obvious, innit?”

  “Stay there,” Travis told me, then pushed through the wall of bodies.
I heard his curse even over everybody talking.

  “Fuck.”

  Who was it? Did I want to see? Not really, but nosiness won out. A bead of sweat rolled down my back as I slipped between two men wearing leather trousers, mentally steeling myself for a gruesome scene.

  “Holy shit.”

  Reagan lay crumpled in a heap on the floor, her neck twisted at an unnatural angle. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth as she stared at the wall, unseeing.

  “I thought I said to stay back,” Travis said.

  “I’m not very good at doing what I’m told, okay?” Wow, that was creepy. Reagan looked like a broken doll, not a human being who ten minutes ago had been alive and well and irritating everyone who crossed her path. “Has somebody called the police?”

  Some shakes of the head, some shrugging, and one more person threw up. Great. I pulled out my phone and did the necessary, and exactly ten seconds after I hung up, Zander called.

  Just when I thought this evening couldn’t get any better.

  “Hello?”

  “Why did you just dial the emergency services?”

  “Are you monitoring my freaking phone?”

  A beat of silence. “Certain numbers may be flagged.”

  “Do you know how to spell ‘invasion of privacy’?”

  “Just answer the question, Lanie.”

  “Someone fell down the stairs. The band’s PA.”

  “Which band? Indigo Rain?”

  “Yes.”

  “Badly hurt?”

  “I think so. She looks dead.”

  “Fuck. Where are you?”

  “About three metres from the body.”

  “I meant where are you in Paris?”

  “Uh, the Hotel Nova. On the ninth floor.”

  “I’m sending someone to help. Don’t speak to anybody until they get there. Got it?”

  “Yes. I’m so, so sorry.”

  “Just try not to get involved.”

  Try not to get involved? Yeah, right. Someone I knew had just died. True, I didn’t like her, but she was only a year or two older than me and until that moment, I hadn’t really considered my own mortality. I shuddered involuntarily, and Travis squeezed my hand.

  “Want to go and sit down, blue?”

  “Will you come with me?”