Darien is at a charity party, freshly separated from his wife of seven months, when Hell re-introduces him to an old friend…
Maybe he’d go talk to Brent. After all, Brent was a master at avoiding being social.
Decision made, he swallowed the last of his fruit tart and started down the short stairs, licking his fingers.
“Darien!”
He faced front, smile instantly in place for the woman who stepped up in front of him. “Hey, ’Chelle.” Reaching the bottom of the steps, he transferred his champagne glass into the hand that was sticky from the fruit tart and raised the other arm to hug the heavily made-up blonde who approached him.
She brought up a hand to hold his cheek, angling his face up for a brief but warm kiss. She was just a little taller than he was. “Johnnie told me,” she murmured, thumbing lipstick from his mouth with one long-nailed thumb. “How are you, sweetie?”
He kept his smile and hugged her waist tighter for a second before letting his hand slide down to just above the swell of her ass. Mmm, backless dress. Soft skin. Smells good. Very nice. “I’m fine, thanks.”
Michelle shook her head, keeping her arm about his neck. “She’s crazy to let you go.”
He laughed over the pull in his heart. “She said I was too crazy to be with.”
“Oh, honey, we all know you’re crazy.” She laughed. “But there’s nothing wrong with your kind of crazy.” Her laugh melted into a sensuous purr as she traced his chin with the tip of the nail on her index finger. Her blue eyes were shadowed by the heavy mascara she wore, and she tilted her head so she looked at him through the lace of those lashes. “You know I’d be happy to console you, right?”
He searched her face, waiting. Waiting for the surge of lust that should rise. Waiting for that inner voice to goad him on, make him take her off to a secluded corner. After all, he was free now, wasn’t he? Nicole had said so. And Michelle was safe enough. She was a former-model-turned-singer and something of an old friend. He’d slept with her before, no strings attached, just fun. But the spark wasn’t there. There wasn’t even much interest in his dick, which really pissed him off. No way his dick should be passing up on a fine woman like Michelle!
He reached up to smooth the backs of his fingers over her cheek. “Thanks. The offer’s tempting, but I’ll have to pass.”
She studied him a moment, then nodded. She kissed him lightly. “You know how to find me if you change your mind.”
“I do.”
She trailed her fingers down his back as she stepped away. At the end, she grabbed his hand. “Come talk with me?” she asked, tilting her head to the side so that some of that loose blonde hair caressed her shoulder.
He smiled and shook his head, squeezing her hand. “Maybe later.”
She let go of his hand. “Okay.” And walked away.
Moron, he labeled himself, watching the sway of her hips. He should be all over that. Instead, he turned back toward the balcony doors.
He passed by Hell with a wave. The angel-faced keyboardist sat on the wide back of a leather couch, the skirt of his long dove-gray jacket fluttering onto the couch’s seat behind him. His arms were braced to either side of him, and he even kicked his booted feet slightly, lending to the illusion that he was a kid rather than a full-grown man. Darien was sure he recognized a few of the men standing with Hell, but wasn’t interested enough to try and recall names. He just smiled the smile he used as a mask and stepped into the cool night air.
As predicted, Brent stood outside at the railing, looking over the hillside below, and thankfully, he was alone.
Darien stepped up next to him, turning to brace his elbows and back on the railing so he could watch the partygoers. Gretchen or one of her assistants would likely descend on them soon, requesting that they talk to someone. “Hey.”
Brent glanced at him. “Hey.” Darien kind of missed the dark sunglasses that Brent used to always wear. Hell had mostly broken him of the habit. He still wore them around big crowds and usually onstage, but in smaller gatherings he left them behind.
A few quiet moments passed. Darien felt like he should say something, but he was at a loss as to what. At least Brent would understand his silence.
“You doing okay?” Brent asked finally.
Darien shrugged, eyeing Brent’s jacket. It was nice. Faintly shiny navy. If he thought about it, he could probably come up with the designer, but he couldn’t be bothered. “Yeah. Just…not into it tonight.”
Brent nodded. “Welcome to my world.”
Darien chuckled. Not quite. Brent preferred to drift off to the sidelines when they weren’t performing onstage. People thought it was just his mystique. They didn’t know that crowds scared him. But Brent handled it with class. Usually. Darien would never be able to pull it off. Of course, he liked talking to people. Usually. Tonight just kind of sucked.
His gaze drifted over the colorful clothing of the partygoers, eventually landing on Hell, who he could just see inside the doorway. Damn, he was cute. Almost like a girl. In fact, one could easily think he was a flat-chested girl. Brent got a kick out of assuring people that Hell was, in fact, all male.
I could do guys, Darien told himself, considering Hell seriously. Heck, everyone else in the band screwed guys; why not him? Maybe that was the trick to a relationship and he’d just let that pass him by all these years? Then an inward sigh. Nah. Yeah, Hell was cute, but Darien wasn’t especially into the cute pixie look on girls. He could admire it, but didn’t really want to take it to bed. So Hell wouldn’t be his type.
He turned to his side, facing Brent. “So, what do you think of Luc’s news?”
Brent cocked an eyebrow. “The second movie deal?”
“Yeah. Ha, you knew, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.”
Figured. Luc and Brent told each other everything. They even used to be lovers, back before Hell and Reese. Maybe someone like Luc…? Nah. He put up with Luc because the man was like a brother, but a romantic relationship with someone who bulled through life like that would drive him nuts. He wasn’t Reese. Someone like Reese? Nah. They got along well enough as friends, but he and Reese were too much alike in many ways. “You think it’ll hurt the band?”
“How?”
“Luc might decide to be a big-time actor.”
“Not a chance.” Brent put out his cigarette in a standing ashtray on his other side. He stood straight, brushing a hand down the front of his black silk shirt. “He’ll do fine, but the band means too much to him.”
Darien wondered. The band meant everything to Brent, always had. Darien felt the same way. They were rockstars, sure, but they were musicians first. But Luc and Johnnie were different. Oh, they were totally into the band, but they were also a lot more into the “rockstar” part of it than Brent and Darien were. Both Luc and Johnnie liked to be seen, liked to be admired. They took great pains to look the way they did and act a certain way. They read the trades and knew how Heaven Sent was perceived across the globe. Darien wasn’t so sure that, if either were given the chance at a solo gig, they wouldn’t take it. He’d gotten the impression that Hell was very similar.
Okay, that’s depressing. “If you say so.”
Brent patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. Luc made a deal to do the next one sometime next year. Meantime, we’ll go back into the studio and make some music.”
“Yeah.” Darien grinned. Boy, did that sound good. “Hey, I was thinking, you know…”
For a little while, he lost himself in talking music with Brent.
Engrossed in their conversation, he almost missed Hell approaching from the doorway. “Darien.”
Darien looked around to see Hell standing beside them with a much taller man at his side. It took a second for Darien to recognize who it was, due to the shadows from the lights behind the man. It was a radical effect, actually, putting pretty much his entire face in shadow except for the gleam of moonlight on the small square lenses of his glasses. The soft lighting from behind him gave a golden cast to his hair, while the moonlight made silvery shadows of his face. It was like a comic book for a moment. Awesome!
Gold glittered on Hell’s elegant hands as he indicated the taller man. “Darien, you remember my friend Christopher Faith?”
The man turned as he extended his hand; the light finally caught his face, illuminating the smiling curve of his wide mouth. “Darien.”
Darien nodded, taking the hand, still a bit dazzled by the initial visual. “Sure, sure. I remember. How are you, man?” Sure he remembered Chris. An old friend of Hell’s.
Chris retrieved his hand, and those hazel eyes remained fixed on Darien’s face. Studying him? “I’m well, thank you.” That accent was so cool. Darien wanted an accent!
Now here was a man who was good-looking in an entirely different way than most of the men Darien knew. Darien was used to flashy looks, like Johnnie or Hell or any number of the other musicians and actors that he counted among his friends, but he could also appreciate the sedate look. Even though it was a trick of the light, that initial shadowed face intrigued Darien, made him wonder what was behind that crisp, cultured voice. Chris wore a thin charcoal sweater with a high neck. His straight, light brown hair was clipped short on the sides and only slightly longer at the top, the fringe halting maybe an inch or so above the classy glasses with thin wire frames that did nothing to hide the hazel eyes. Dark, arched brows slanted into the bridge of a straight, patrician nose that pointed to a wide mouth. He was classically good-looking without an in-your-face-ness about it.
Hell glanced toward the doorway, then back at Darien, violet eyes nearly black in the dim lighting. “I know you didn’t want to talk about your situation here, but since we’d discussed your need to find a lawyer for your divorce?” Hell held his hand out, palm up, toward Chris. “Chris is a lawyer. He’s handled divorce cases before.”
“I assisted on two,” Chris clarified, frowning slightly down at Hell. Then those eyes turned back to regard Darien. “One was somewhat high profile, however.”
Hell rolled his eyes, flapping his hand. “Chris enjoys downplaying his abilities. He’s a fine lawyer, and you can trust him.”
The “D” word poked at Darien’s heart. He ignored it as best he could, seeing the sincere concern in Hell’s eyes. He turned to regard the tall man again. Wow, he had broad shoulders, didn’t he? “Aren’t you English?”
Chris smiled, pursing out his lips a little, making them look fuller. Hey, that was a nice smile! “I was born in England, yes. But I studied law here. My practice is in New York.”
Darien’s eyebrows lifted with surprise. “You go to court and all?” With that voice? Oh, man, the juries didn’t have a chance.
Chris laughed. A nice laugh, too. Low and soft. “I don’t tend to do so, no. I’m more of a contracts lawyer.”
“But he has handled divorces,” Hell clarified.
Chris shrugged, sipping his wine. A gold ring flashed on his little finger.
Darien studied him. He wouldn’t bring it up now, but he knew Hell had intended for Chris to be his manager when he’d threatened to leave the band when he and Brent were having troubles right before the last Heaven Sent tour. Brent was a tad sensitive about it, although he didn’t hold it against Chris. But Hell trusted him. Darien had no reason not to do so as well.
“I don’t think my…divorce ‑‑” He was proud for only barely tripping over the word. “– will be that flashy. Nicole just wants to get it over with.”
Hell’s I-told-you-so look up at Chris told Darien that they’d discussed this already.
Chris, however, stayed focused on Darien. He slowly brought his glass to his lips and sipped. “She doesn’t want anything from you?”
“We weren’t married all that long.”
“Regardless, given that you are a celebrity, you should have some legal authority review the agreement.”
“I was just going to let Gretchen have one of the Heaven Sent lawyers look it over.”
Chris tilted his head. A few strands of straight hair fell toward his eyes, brushing the top rim of his glasses. “It wouldn’t hurt to have someone look it over for you personally.”
Oddly, a shiver of delight crept up the back of Darien’s neck at the sound of the last word. What the fuck?
Ignoring the shiver, he gave the offer serious thought. Chris looked like an upstanding guy. If he was Hell’s good friend, he had to be worth it. He nodded. “Okay.” He held out his hand toward Chris. “I’m game if you are.”
Chris took his hand in a warm grasp. “I’ll do my best to look after your interests.”