Bassist Instinct (The Rocker Series #2) Read online

  When he walked into the hotel restaurant he saw Ryan jump out of his seat as if stung by a bee, a wet patch spreading across his crotch. Christie was trying not to laugh, and Ryan was moving toward her menacingly to hug her tiny self to him to get her as wet as he was. He stopped as Tate came to the table and gave him a smile.

  “Tate man, you’re just in time. Feed the wee bastards, I’m taking my woman to bed,” he said as the waiter appeared with napkins.

  “No you’re not,” Christie said grinning. “Behave yourself until I’ve eaten my own brekkie. Then you can take me to bed.” Ryan shrugged and sat next to her, leaned over and kissed her heartily and dabbed at his wet shirt and pants. The twins reached for Tate and he gave them both high fives.

  “All right you wee demons, quit painting your da with brekkie,” Tate said and they giggled. They were nearly sixteen months old, and more than a handful. Tate had always been closer to Christie than he was with his brothers, probably because she married one of his best friends, and he was definitely closer to her kids than the rest of his nieces and nephews. He was away from Dublin a lot.

  When Christie suggested coming to the States to visit with Connor over Thanksgiving he agreed in a heartbeat. He could spend some quality time with the twins, and give their parents a break. He was also excited about seeing Connor and his family. Connor the family man was completely different from Connor the perfectionist in the recording studio, and Tate was crazy about the family Connor had married into.

  They’d spend some time in New York and then they’d fly to DC to spend Thanksgiving with the Fleming-Damons, and then return to New York and do a thing with Jimmy Fallon to time nicely with their new CD out just the day before, then pop back to Ireland. It didn’t hurt that Tate loved American women, and America was full of them. He looked forward to it all.

  “What’s on the agenda today?” Tate asked Christie. Ryan rolled his eyes.

  “What else, man?” Ryan said.

  “Shopping, Tate. This is New York,” she said.

  “Are you going with?” Tate asked Ryan. Ryan smiled a little evilly.

  “No…” he said drawing the word out.

  “Christ, am I going with?” Tate asked cautiously and Christie smiled.

  “Would you? I know you’re not keen on shopping, but it would make me happy,” she said and batted her eyes at him.

  “Don’t bat your eyes at me, missy, I’m your brother,” he said.

  “No one is immune,” she said.

  “That doesn’t make it right,” Tate said. “I’ll take you shopping, Christie, but I’ve got to do the Tai Chi first.” Ryan smiled.

  “Guess who’s coming by in half an hour?” Ryan said.

  “Please tell me it’s Edgar,” Tate said referring to his Tai Chi Sifu, or master, who lived in Manhattan.

  “It’s Edgar, apparently he and Piper are going to DC tomorrow, so he’ll be there, too,” Ryan said and Tate sighed with relief. He hadn’t realized how much he would miss the taciturn Edgar Beasley, aka Mr. Clean, but he did. The only other person who moved through the 24 tai chi postures more gracefully than Edgar, was Ryan O’Brian, but Ryan wasn’t going to hear that from Tate, he was already insufferable. He wondered if Tess was still keeping up with it.

  “Can I get you some coffee?” The waiter asked Tate.

  “Please, and I’ll have the blueberry pancakes, too,” Tate said. He stopped a blueberry that was rolling away from one of his nephews and handed it back to him. He got a toothy smile in return which made him smile back. Man, they were cute, sticky, but cute.

  “I thought I’d find you lot here,” Connor Damon said from right behind Tate. The adults at the table cheered and stood to hug their friend.

  “I thought you were in Paris,” Christie said.

  “Aye, we were. Arrived last night, and showered in that gorgeous gigantic American shower for forty five minutes and crashed hard at 6:00 pm, but up at 3:00 am. I’m starving, you can imagine how Genna feels. I just managed to get out with all me parts intact.” Christie giggled.

  “Where is your better half?” Ryan asked him.

  “On hold, we have a fete tonight, she’s getting the particulars. I thought I’d come see if you lot were up.” He looked at the Ryan’s wet crotch. Ryan saw his pointed look and arched an eyebrow good naturedly.

  “I’m just so happy to see you, mate,” Ryan said and Connor laughed as he bent over to greet the twins.

  “Why are you only coming to brekkie now if you’ve been up since 3:00?” Christie asked and Connor, Tate and Ryan looked at her and laughed as she started to blush.

  “This means I’m off the hook for shopping, I couldn’t be happier to see you, mate. Sorry I didn’t piss myself, too,” he cocked his head at Ryan who glared at him. “But as usual, I’m even happier to see your beautiful wife,” Tate looked over Connor’s shoulder at Genna Fleming, the one who got away.

  Connor turned and saw her striding toward him. She smiled when she saw her husband like she had missed him terribly in the ten minutes they had been apart, and his stomach churned a little as it did every time since the first time he clapped eyes on her.

  “You found them,” she sounded proud of him and Connor knew it was idiotic, but he puffed up a little at her praise.

  “Genna,” Tate kissed her and hugged her to him. “Look at you, you look absolutely stunning. It’s true what they say about pregnant women, then?”

  “Yes, but I’m sure that’s the only thing that’s true, the mood swings and the healthy appetite, the waddle, those things are all a pack of lies,” she smiled and hugged Christie, and bent to the twins. “Hello, darlings. Look at how handsome you are!” They giggled madly at her, already pros at flirting. “You’re sticky, though.”

  “How was Paris?” Christie asked as Connor pulled Genna to him and kissed her, not being able to wait another second. Genna smiled at Connor and turned to Christie.

  “Sublime.”

  “Give us a kiss,” Ryan said leaning toward her.

  “Geez, Ryan, you’re as sticky as the boys,” she laughed and leaned over trying not to touch him.

  “That’s what I do now, I’m in the business of food catchment. I went from chick magnet to food magnet overnight,” he said winking at her.

  “When were you ever a chick magnet?” Tate laughed heartily.

  “I only ever wanted the one,” Ryan said and kissed his wife.

  “Very smooth,” Christie smiled at him.

  “I wish you had a sister, mate,” Tate said. “Then you’d see how unpleasant this behavior is.”

  “But I’m mad for her, that should count for something,” Ryan said gazing lovingly at his wife.

  “Even smoother,” Christie beamed at him.

  “I have a sister, it doesn’t bother me in the least to see Piper with Edgar,” Genna smiled at Tate.

  “It bloody should,” Tate laughed. “What took you to Paris again?”

  “It was mostly book related, my publisher is releasing the books in French. There was a big party and they really wanted me there. So, we did that, and there were various meetings of the Du Pre Corp, and took a tour of the facility while we were at it. Pretty boring stuff actually, but it was Paris, and we were there with each other, so we managed to have a little fun.” She smiled at her husband.

  “Did you know you could climb to the top of the Arch de Triumph? No? Well, we did it, and then I found out there’s a bloody lift,” he squinted at his wife and shook his head. She rolled her eyes.

  “You’d think he was pregnant the way he carried on about it,” she said to laughter.

  “Paris is the city of stairs, who knew? Genna even had us use le metro, it was the first time in twenty years I’ve used public transportation.” They all laughed. Connor was the king of the hired car.

  “You big baby, at least it threw off the paparazzi,” Genna touched his chest.

  “They were completely unprepared to follow us down, I laughed until I cried. Although, I have to
say, it was nice to have someone along with a command of the language,” he beamed at her. “By Christ, it’s sexy, too.” They grinned at each other remembering their shared experience.

  “So, why aren’t you with Tess?” Tate asked.

  “We’re going to a black tie affair tonight, here in Manhattan,” she said.

  “Aren’t you the social butterflies? Something to do with the Foundation?” Tate asked. Genna had a surplus of money from her husband who died over five years previously, and she and her family decided to start a foundation to support the arts and to award various scholarships.

  “No, not this time. This is really more of a friend of Piper’s than mine, but I’m happy to support her tonight. Piper met Sabrina Spenser in a Tai Chi class some years ago, and they have remained friends. She is having an important night tonight; HBO is making her books into a series.” Eyebrows went up appreciatively. “Piper sent me one of her books a few years ago and I told her I would love to write a blurb for her if she was ever interested. It turned out that she was very interested, and I wrote a very good one because the book was great. Later, we met and got on really well, and she invited us tonight. Actually, the publisher did, and I’m pretty sure that’s down to handsome, here.” She cocked her thumb toward Connor who grinned.

  “What’s a blurb, then?” Tate asked.

  “You know, on the backs of books there are often a few lines of praise from other writers or reviewers, it’s supposed to compel the buyer. Blurbs are sometimes hard to get, writers often don’t have a lot of time to read other writers, and it’s a remarkably difficult thing to ask someone to do. We writers have the egos of rock stars, we’re just terribly self-conscious.” She shrugged with a smile as Tate said the phrase “self-conscious,” like it was the first time he’d ever heard it. They laughed and looked up at the waiter, who brought Tate’s pancakes and stood staring at Connor looking very excited.

  “Apple juice for my lovely wife, and keep it coming,” Genna made a face. “Wait, she’s gone off the apple juice, orange?” She smiled and Connor grinned at the waiter. “Orange juice it is, then, and I’ll have coffee, and we’ll need a menu,” Connor said. The waiter nodded and hurried off.

  “Are those blueberry pancakes?” Tate saw the look of longing in Genna’s eyes when she saw his plate piled high with pancakes and passed it across the table to her. She decided not to be coy, she was starving.

  “You are a dear man, Tate Dylan,” she said and tucked in. Tate leaned back in his seat and smiled at her.

  Connor was a lucky bastard, Tate thought as he watched Genna eat his pancakes. He wished it was his child she carried, and it surprised him how powerful that longing was. He loved Genna, but he had gotten over his desire for her as soon as it was clear she wasn’t the slightest bit interested in anyone but Connor. Then what was the powerful feeling he felt? Envy maybe. He wanted to have someone who would stick around long enough to have his kids. Someone he would want to have around that long and longer. He wanted someone who looked at him the way Genna looked at Connor. Did he really just think that he wanted kids? He looked at the twins who were perfectly still and quietly staring at him in that creepy way twins had. He winked and they smiled blueberry colored teeth at him and went back to what they were doing. Was he having a midlife crisis? Was he growing up?

  He looked at the people around the table, these few, and his mate Razz back in Dublin, were his dearest friends. He’d spent most of his life with all of them but Genna, and he wanted what they had. They were secure in their lovers. Unlike Connor’s first wife, Genna was true to him. Tate had never slept with Connor’s first wife, Amanda, because he loved Connor, but she had made it clear that she would have been more than willing. He had never mentioned that to Connor, he thought he would find out about the kind of woman he married soon enough, and he did. Tate was extremely relieved when Connor’s son turned out to be the spit of Connor. Genna referred to him his little clone.

  “Where’s Alex?” Tate asked thinking of the boy.

  “He and Xav are expected at chez Fleming in Georgetown with Tess today. We talked to them last night, they plan on causing a riot,” Connor chuckled thinking of Genna’s parents with that handful of energy in their ordinarily staid household. He looked at Genna who somehow read his thoughts, and grinned at him. She was slowing down on the blueberry pancakes after inhaling the first quarter. She was eyeballing Tate’s coffee, but his generosity, it seemed, stopped at the food. Coffee had been making her sick lately, anyway. The waiter came with their drinks and menus which he handed to Connor and Tate.

  “I’ll have the blueberry pancakes since mine were commandeered, and more coffee,” Tate said with a smile at Genna. Connor ordered what he wanted and Genna sat back and smiled at Tate as she put a hand to her baby bump.

  “The nutmeg is very happy, Tate, thank you.”

  “If you’re done I’ll finish them, you’ve hardly made a dent,” Tate said reaching for her plate but Connor leaned back out of Genna’s line of sight and shook his head warningly at him.

  “I’m not done. Right this instant I’m so full I feel ill, but by the time your breakfast comes I’ll be starving again. She’s voracious. I don’t think we passed a single patisserie in Paris without getting something.”

  “And I’m the one who’s put on weight,” Connor said pinching his flat middle. Genna rolled her eyes at him.

  “Genna, when do we shop?” Christie said eagerly. Genna sighed. “I promise to keep you fed.” Christie grinned.

  “Whenever you like, I need a formal gown to accommodate my enhanced belly.” She tapped the nutmeg. “And I’m going to need a nap before tonight or I’ll fall asleep on the mayor.” Connor’s face lit up and Genna sighed again. “A nap for sleep, sorry.”

  “We can do that, too.”

  “I’m so glad you two are here,” Tate said and Ryan screamed again. They all looked his way and saw the syrup dripping off his shoulder and down his chest.

  Chapter Two

  The next morning Tate was in the Georgetown Inn, and he woke to the sound of someone moving around his room. He opened his eyes to see a different leggy brunette pulling her exceptionally tight leggings over an exceptionally tight ass. She smiled warmly at him.

  “Sorry to wake you, but I have to go,” she came to the bed and leaned over to kiss him.

  “You’re welcome to stay love, take the day off,” Tate said pulling her back on the bed and kissing her neck. She was tempted, he could tell. He liked her, she was an enthusiastic lover. “Or come back tonight.” She smiled ruefully at him.

  “I’d like to, but my husband will be home in about an hour, and I need to be there. And tonight I’ll be thinking of you while we’re at his parent’s house for Thanksgiving. I enjoyed myself, very much,” she smiled at him and stood.

  “I enjoyed you, too,” he said and she laughed. “Very much.”

  “You certainly lived up to the hype,” she said and he chuckled a little.

  “There’s hype?” He grinned.

  “Oh yeah,” she gave him a little wave at the door and stepped out of the room quietly closing the door behind her.

  “Husband? Huh,” he said under his breath.

  ***

  Fiona Brooks closed the lid of her grand piano and smiled. Nothing relaxed her quite like Debussy’s “Clair de Lune.” It was by far her favorite piece on the planet and she loved to play it. It wasn’t terribly complicated, but it was evocative, and often made her cry her eyes out. But not today. Today she didn’t feel like crying at all, life was good, she was going to meet her favorite student’s famous family, so she tried not to think of anything sad as she let the music enfold her in its arms.

  She stood and stretched her 5’1” frame and fanned out her fingers. She pulled her thick black hair back away from her shoulders and thought she’d have time for a quick bike ride before she showered and walked up the street to Tess’s grandmother’s house. She put a windbreaker and helmet on and rolled her bike out of he
r garage and on to Volta Place.

  She thought she’d do a quick recce so she could find the house in two hours when she was expected. She pedaled north and east from her house and was delighted that there wasn’t much traffic. People must be where they needed to be already, she thought and turned a corner to head back to her house when out of the corner of her eye she saw a black SUV swerve directly toward her. In an effort to avoid one black SUV she barreled into another black SUV, which luckily wasn’t going very fast, because she flipped over the high hood of it and landed hard on to the pavement, knocking the breath from herself. The driver stopped and a crowd of people got out of the car to see if they’d killed her.

  “Christ, are you all right, love?” A voice said above her. Fiona opened her eyes and saw a very pretty blond man with startlingly blue eyes looking down at her with concern. If she could have spoken, she would have said “Wow.” She sat up and he knelt down to her, holding her forearms gently and looking into her eyes for brain damage or something. “Don’t move yet, you wee lemming. Sit still, aye?” His voice was as gentle as the hands that held her, she liked his voice as much as she liked his pretty face.

  “Give me a second,” she gasped, happy to have air again.

  “Take your time.” After a few gulps of air and a proud smile from the pretty man, she assessed the damage. Once the necessity of breathing was fulfilled she started to feel her injuries.

  “Okay, that hurt,” she said.

  “Should I call the paramedics, Tate?” A young woman hovering over her asked. The woman was holding a phone, her finger ready to press the screen.

  “Do you think you need an ambulance, love?” The pretty man asked. She stifled a giggle, she hoped they were Irish and she didn’t have brain damage. She read an article about a woman who after some trauma suddenly spoke with a Scottish accent when she had never even been to Scotland. She wondered if she had a similar trauma, only hearing, not speaking.