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  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520

  Macon GA 31201

  Lady Sings the Blues

  Copyright © 2008 by Mallery Malone

  ISBN: 1-60504-051-7

  Edited by Jennifer Miller

  Cover by Scott Carpenter

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: June 2008

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  Lady Sings the Blues

  Mallery Malone

  Dedication

  To Bailey, my own personal guitar hero, for being my cheerleader in so many ways. And to the other Bailey for crawling into my lap and licking my face when I needed it. I love you guys!

  Chapter One

  Hotlanta was earning its nickname tonight.

  Alina Gabriel surveyed the crowd packing the lower level of her club, The Scarlet Lady. Ladies’ night always brought out a good crowd of hot bodies wanting to see and be seen, and this June night was no exception. She’d made sure the beer tubs and bars were well stocked, knowing that scantily clad women would be rushing the nearest bartender to order shots, beers and fruity drinks.

  The anticipated rush had nothing to do with the ninety-degree temperature outside. She had Joshua Hanover to thank for that.

  Brilliant blue eyes, somewhere on the spectrum between turquoise and teal, mesmerized the crowd through luscious dark lashes. His hair called to mind a luxurious mink coat, sleek, rich, begging to be touched. Generous lips almost always caught in a secret smile softened the strength of his features, the determined chin and proud nose.

  Still, Alina knew it wasn’t just his looks that had women packing The Scarlet Lady three nights a week. No, she also had his guitar to thank.

  For Joshua, his guitar was muse, lover, friend. It was bitch, goddess, mistress. He loved it as much as he needed it. He could make it cry and sing and moan. Every woman who flocked to his performances wanted to be his guitar.

  Night after night Alina would watch as his fingers, long and strong and callused at the tips, danced over each string, stroking, pressing, plucking. Every woman in the audience felt an answering chord strum deep in the channel of her sex. If they didn’t, they were dead.

  Alina wished she could be immune to his charms, but she wasn’t. After nearly three months of performances she still creamed her panties watching him make love with his guitar. Joshua had been very good for her bottom line, but he was hell on her hormones.

  Not that Joshua noticed, she thought ruefully. He didn’t notice his hordes of adoring fans either, no matter how desperately they jockeyed for position during his shows, knowing he was single. When Joshua performed, he was in a world by himself, just him and his guitar, with his band, Blue Highway, there almost as window dressing.

  Even if he would glance up from molding his guitar to his will to whip the audience into sonic bliss, he wouldn’t see the thinner, prettier and more desperate women clamoring for his attention. He wouldn’t see Alina standing at the glass wall of her second-floor office or prowling the bar top.

  Joshua was blind.

  Sometimes he wore tinted shades over those magnificent eyes, sometimes he didn’t. Having sat across from him in her office on more than one occasion, Alina was glad Joshua couldn’t see. Otherwise he’d realize just how hot and bothered he made her.

  She bit her lip in sexual frustration. The need had been building all night. Blues music always made her horny—Joshua’s music intensified that desire until it went from a need for sex to a need to be well and truly fucked. Joshua’s specialty: singing sensual songs about softly sexing someone.

  God, he made her wet.

  “You going down, Miss Scarlet? He’s playing your song.”

  Alina looked up, surprised to see Bobby, one of her bouncers, standing a step below her. She surveyed the crowd and found a large portion of the male contingent turned her way, rhythmically clapping. Over the applause, she could hear the bluesy opening riffs of what they’d all come to think of as her song, “Red-Letter Woman”.

  Alina smiled. As much as the women came to see Joshua, the men came to see her in her club persona as the Scarlet Lady. Miss Scarlet was known to dance atop the main bar with a riding crop in one hand and a bottle of Stoli in the other. Her alter ego was a throwback to her former life as an exotic dancer, a life that had financed her business degree and provided seed money to start the club. She’d made her money by looking good, and knew she had exercise to thank as much as the genes passed down from her black father and Latina mother.

  Tonight she had a different sort of exercise in mind, thanks to Joshua and his damned guitar. Since she had a while to go before she could sneak away to her private office, she’d have to get her kicks by dancing instead. The bar top wasn’t going to cut it, though. Joshua had gotten her hot. It was time to return the favor.

  She extended her left arm, encased from fingertips to elbow in red silk gloves. “You know what, Bobby? Since this is the last set of the night, I think it’s time to mix it up a little. I’m going to the stage.”

  Joshua hid a smile as the applause grew louder, accompanied by whistles and catcalls. Miss Scarlet had obviously taken the bait and agreed to grace the club with a dance.

  He didn’t need to see her. His band mates couldn’t talk about anything or anyone else since they’d started this gig. They debated whether she was black, white, Latina, or a combination of all three. Not that it mattered. A hot woman was a hot woman, his sax man said, and everyone agreed Miss Scarlet was definitely that.

  Alina Gabriel, aka Miss Scarlet, with the body of a fallen angel, wore a shade of red every day. Pete had gotten good at describing every outfit she wore and every move she made. Tonight, Miss Scarlet wore a pair of red leather boots with lacing up the back, a strip of black that would be a skirt on a first grader, a red corset and matching gloves up to her elbows.

  Joshua hadn’t seen colors or much of anything else since he was twelve, but he remembered red. It was his favorite color.

  No, he didn’t need to see her to know her. He knew the husky alto of her voice, the particular cadence of her words as they talked business and shows and receipts in her office. He knew her scent, a tantalizing combination of licorice and ginger and sometimes leather whenever she passed him or leaned close to make a point. He knew that most days in her heels her chin topped his shoulder, which probably put her at five-seven in her bare feet. He knew she had a soft laugh that made things tighten low in his gut.

  He knew he wanted her. Hell, every man in the club wanted her—and some of the women too. He also knew he didn’t have a chance. It wouldn’t stop him from trying, though.

  The heat around him receded some. Obviously they’d taken one of the spotlights off him. He leaned away from the mic, towards the left where Pete always stood. “Has she hit the bar yet?”

  “No, man, she’s coming to the stage!”

  Well, well. Joshua leaned into his microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage the one, the only, Miss Scarlet!”

  The crowd screamed as Blue Highway launched into the first verse of
“Red-Letter Woman”. Joshua could feel the electricity of the audience focusing on the stage, ratcheting up in intensity. Normally that was all he needed, though most times he didn’t even need that. For years he’d just played to the cobwebs. Tonight though, he wanted more.

  Miss Scarlet’s dances happened when she wanted them to and not a moment before. Joshua had composed the song to entice her to dance, even though he couldn’t see her. The lyrics had come to him easily, whispered in his ear like a dirty little secret in the middle of the night. He’d put everything into the musical homage, every hungry, hot, horny need. Knowing his song could prod her to dance gave him a thrill of pleasure.

  Come here. He sang out to her, plucking notes from the guitar to wrap around her, draw her closer.

  “She’s a red-letter woman/She’ll make you lose control. When she’s done having her way/She’ll own you body and soul. She’s a red-letter woman/Lord, what a way to go.”

  Then he felt her. Felt the heat of her body and the spotlight as she strutted across the front of the stage between him and the crowd. They screamed in response and Pete missed a note. What the hell did she do?

  He caught the licorice scent beneath the sultry perfume she usually wore, knew she’d come closer to him. His concentration rose away from the music, the guitar, and focused on her.

  She moved behind his stool, her hands lightly balanced on his shoulders. Somehow he kept going with the song even though all he could think about was the woman behind him.

  Her breasts pressed against his back as her hands slid down his arms. Now it was his turn to miss a note, then another as she breathed into his ear, “Thanks for the song, darlin’.”

  Next thing he knew, she’d pushed him to his feet, moving the stool away. It was time for his solo anyway, and he poured all his frustration and need into his guitar, wringing his want from the strings.

  Miss Scarlet only granted him a temporary reprieve, moving away for a four-count before pressing her back against him to slide slowly to the floor. He went as still as he could when he felt her slink between his legs. The crowd shrieked their approval, and he was very grateful for the wide-body Fender in his hands. The last thing he wanted to do was show the audience just how much he wanted Miss Scarlet.

  She moved away from him at last, allowing him to clear his head enough to finish his solo and rope the rest of the band back into the song. Somehow they managed to finish the number, but with none of their usual tightness. Joshua couldn’t hold it against them, though. He’d give his left nut to see her dance.

  Thunderous applause rocked the stage, but Joshua knew only a portion of it was for Blue Highway. He adjusted his neck strap so that he could shift the guitar to his right hip, then grabbed the microphone. “Thank you—and a special thanks to Miss Scarlet. I’m surprised the fire alarms didn’t go off after that!”

  An arm slid around his waist from the left, bringing warmth, the hint of licorice. “Come on, people—let’s hear it for Joshua Hanover and Blue Highway!” Miss Scarlet called out. “And while y’all are doing that, let me give Joshua a proper thank you for my song.”

  She leaned into him, put a gloved hand to his cheek, then kissed him.

  It was a hot, open-mouthed kiss. He couldn’t do anything but respond—except that he had a damned guitar in the way. Knowing there wouldn’t be a better time, he snaked his left arm around her waist to haul her closer, taking over the kiss as the crowd went wild.

  Damn, she felt good against him! His hand slid up her back, over the laces that held the satiny top closed, to brush the smooth bare skin just below her shoulder blades. She gasped against his mouth, a beautiful sound that made him want her more, want her writhing beneath him, singing his name.

  Finally she pulled away. “Hot damn,” she said into the microphone, her throaty voice breathless. “I think I need a drink after that! Which reminds me, it’s last call.”

  A chorus of boos and groans answered her. “I know, I know, but the city rules. Besides, that’s all the show you’re getting tonight, pervies. Remember, you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

  The heat of the spotlights left his face, but the heat of her body lingered. “Thanks again, Joshua,” she said, and with a final stroke of his cheek, left him.

  Oh, hell no. Joshua pulled his guitar off. She might consider that kiss just part of the show, but damned if he would. If she wanted a show, he’d give her a show—a show she’d never forget.

  Chapter Two

  Alina made it to her second floor office without incident. The last thing she needed was to have witnesses to her horniness, or be stopped by someone who could fit the bill of Mr. Right Now.

  Damn Joshua and that song! She’d been able to resist the first two nights, but not tonight. Tonight he’d been on her mind, and he’d launched into the song—her song—as if he knew it would bring her to the stage. And it had.

  She moved quickly through the reception area of her office, just a level above the VIP area of the club. Sitting behind soundproofed glass and offering a bird’s-eye view of the club, it boasted the expected black leather couches and chairs, crimson neon and a fully stocked bar. A flick of a switch piped the club’s sound system into the room, perfect for her rare private parties.

  Impatience had her muttering a curse as she used her teeth to strip her gloves off before punching in the private access code to her office door. She had a desperate need to masturbate. She needed Joshua. Since she couldn’t have him, her toys would have to do.

  The door swung closed behind her as she stepped into her personal sanctuary. Here the industrial décor gave way to warm, rich wood tones in the desk furniture and muted reds in the carpet and the oversized couch sprawling beneath a Renoir print. The two-hundred-gallon fish tank served as an additional soothing barrier, but she didn’t need soothing. She needed the collection she kept in the bottom left drawer of the massive maple banker’s desk.

  Reaching under her micro mini, she hooked her fingers into her G-string, pulling it down her thighs and over her boots. With a thrill of pleasure, she plopped into her leather chair, propped one booted foot on the desk, and prepared to vibrate herself silly.

  A soft knock was the only warning she got before the door opened. She looked up, prepared to fire the intruder on the spot, but it wasn’t Bobby or Salazar, her manager.

  The red tip of the cane poked through the open door a moment before Joshua’s foot, then the rest of him.

  “Alina,” Joshua called softly.

  Flushing, she started to pull her fingers away, embarrassed at being caught. Then she stopped herself. There was no way Joshua could know what she’d been doing. “Joshua. What is it?”

  “I think you know what.” A soft smile bowed his lips as the door closed behind him. He looked too damn good for her peace of mind with the snug jeans, the dark brown shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, those amazing eyes. He moved confidently through her office—she’d made sure not to move anything since he’d started playing in the club. “I could help you, if you want.”

  Alina took a cautious breath. She was pretty sure she hadn’t made a sound. “Help me with what, balancing the books?”

  His smile widened as he took the seat across from her. “Is that what you call it? A task you tick off so you can get back to your busy schedule? Somehow I don’t think so.”

  Temper rose as arousal ebbed, but she didn’t pull her hand away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I think you do.” His turquoise eyes—it was so wrong for a man to have eyes like that—seemed to bore right into her as he sat forward. “Don’t you want to come?”

  Shit. Somehow he did know. Still, she played it. “Come where?”

  His grin widened. Alina had an urgent need to lean across the desk and close her teeth gently on his lower lip. “On the desk, the floor, or your couch—doesn’t really matter, does it? You’re just about at the edge of it now. I can smell and hear how excited and wet you are.”
br />   “Really?” She tried to sound angry, but it came out breathy.

  “Really.” He sat back. “And unless I’m mistaken, you’ve got one leg up on your desk and two fingers working your pussy.”

  Busted. “I’m not getting myself off in front of you,” she exclaimed, trying to sound outraged, angry. She failed.

  “Not now you’re not. Like I said, I could help you with that.”

  It was tempting. Way the hell too tempting. She’d been simmering for him for months.

  “That little dance you did on the stage,” he said, his voice low, compelling. “My band never misses a beat. Never. Bar fights, boob flashing, hot girls kissing each other—the guys have seen it all and tell me all about it. But they never lost it. Until you came to the stage.”

  He swept a hand lightly over the surface of her desk, stopping when his fingers brushed across her booted foot. “Pete told me exactly what you’re wearing and every move you made before you came over to me. I didn’t need the play-by-play for that. And then there was that kiss.”

  “That kiss,” she repeated, her fingers brushing against her pussy lips.

  “Was that just part of the show?” His fingers plucked at her laces. “Your reaction when I kissed you back—was that just for the audience?”

  She knew he couldn’t see her, but his eyes, now a dark teal in the dimness of her office, seemed to bore straight through her, compelling the truth. “No.”

  “Good.” His fingers stroked over the leather encasing her foot. “Then there’s no reason why we can’t have our own private show, now is there? Unless, you have a problem with this?” He tapped his index finger against his temple.

  “I don’t have a problem with your blindness,” she exclaimed, heat creeping up her cheeks.

  “Prove it,” he shot back, his face set in implacable lines. “Come here.”

  Damn. He had to issue a challenge. She never backed down. Ever. It was her stubbornness as much as her business aptitude that made The Scarlet Lady a success. And her love life a mess.