Jonas stood at the gaping entrance of the blocked-off stairwell, seats filled with fans stomping on the cement above and all around him and packed to the dark, laser-swept rafters, waiting for Xan and, this time, Rhiannon, too. The burly security guys had returned from running to the SUVs with the rest of the band.
Xan had to call Leena. She would set the singer straight that he couldn’t go on like this. No one could.
Rhiannon stood out on the thrust stage, surrounded on the peninsula that stuck out into the crowd. She was checking in with Xan, coordinating their ad-libbing, but she sang to the crowd, swaying to the music and the crowd’s chorus.
Jonas watched her more closely, watched the crowd respond to her, even the girls down below the boards who should have been eye-fucking Xan.
Huh.
Rhiannon was beautiful out there and as charismatic as Xan, which was saying something.
He snagged a set of oversized headphones off the wall and, speaking into his walkie-talkie, asked Rock, the head roadie, to feed her channel into the headset.
After a second, her bright soprano rang through the headphones, clear and sweet on some lines, throaty and sexy on others, and damn near perfect. Every line sounded like she was speaking with heartfelt emotion, not singing notes.
Jonas stroked the five o’clock shadow on his chin, wondering just how much longer Rhiannon would be content to sing upstage in the supporting role and what he should do with her when she was ready to make the leap to the front of a band.
Plans swirled in his head, plots for getting air time and interviews, what type of music she would be best suited for, and what kind of musicians she would need behind her to make this work.
The song ended with the chorus of the audience holding a sustained note while Xan plucked a few final notes from his guitar, and an instant of silence stretched before the crowd erupted into applause.
That was a victory out there.
Chills ran down his back, just the same as when he had seen Xan carry an acoustic guitar onto a scummy little stage at a New York bar’s open-microphone night and captivate a crowd in thirty seconds.
She had upstaged Xan Valentine.
Rhiannon had Jonas Rees’s full professional attention.
A thrill shocked down Jonas’s spine like he had picked up a shiny rock on the side of a mountain and then seen the blue fire inside an enormous rough diamond.
Rhiannon trotted off the stage, leaving Xan standing in the last spotlight within the thundering darkness. Jonas reached out to her and she held his hand to yank off her shoes, just like every night, and he hadn’t quite realized how much he looked forward to this moment of contact with her.
He tugged her hand to pull her close. His lips were just above hers when he whispered, “Wait. I’ll run with you.”
She stepped back and looked wildly around at who might have seen them. Xan was still backing off the stage, blinded by the follow spot.
“But I’m slow,” she said, her blue eyes wide on her sweet face.
“I won’t leave you behind.” He still clutched her satchel. On the stage, the white cone of the follow spot turned black, and from the wan lights in the stairwell, they saw the outline of Xan turn and walk toward them.
As soon as he reached the safety of the stairwell, Xan grabbed Rhiannon, pulling her into his arms—she went shock-stiff—and he whispered, “Thank you.”
Jonas was just reaching to pull that arrogant rocker off of her, but Xan set her back and broke into a run, brown and blond hair flying.
Most of the security guys fell in step around him.
Jonas yelled after him, “Call Leena from the car! Seriously!”
He held Rhiannon’s hand and ran with her at her pace, which wasn’t nearly as slow as she had made it sound. They were only a few yards behind Xan when he dove into the lead SUV and yanked the door closed behind him. The black SUV screeched as it accelerated into the night outside of the garage.
The last SUV crept closer to the door, idling and waiting for them.
Jonas whirled, swept Rhiannon into his arms, and shoved her in the SUV ahead of him. He slammed the door and was thrown against the back seat as the driver took off and the glowing neon lights blurred into lines.
Rhiannon was grabbing at her seat belt, but Jonas pulled her to him. He whispered into her red-gold curls, “You were magnificent. Xan would have gone out there and broken a cord before he stopped a concert, especially this one. Thank you.”
“I didn’t even think.” She was panting in his arms, a vibrating bundle of nerves and feminine softness. “I just grabbed his note when I heard his throat close up. I think he’s having, like, muscle spasms. He’s going to fire me, isn’t he?”
Jonas tapped the seat and asked the driver, “Privacy screen, if you would?”
The screen whirred so goddamn slowly into place. He watched the damn thing drift upward forever before it clicked.
He told Rhiannon, “He won’t fire you. You saved the show. Xan will forgive anything if it was done in service to the show, and now we’ll have to take a break. Leena will set him straight.” Jonas ran his fingers under Rhiannon’s soft jawline, and her face lifted toward his. “You looked beautiful out there.” He dragged her against his body, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. “You always look beautiful, Luscious.”