Double Dealing: A Menage Romance(51)

"I can think of something," Jordan said, giving me a grin. She was being given a chance to be in her element, and she loved it. Shrugging off her jacket, she took to the stage in her leather pants and a tight gray t-shirt. Holding her hands out, the guitarist, who seemed more amused by the whole thing than anything else, handed over his instrument.

"Just a moment guys," she said into the mike, strumming and make a few adjustments. "All right, here's a good classic."

I’d expected something different. In all of her playing for us on the acoustic guitar, she’d done softer things, maybe some lightened versions of hard rock, but nothing really heavy metal. Instead, with a twinkle in her eye and a cocky grin on her lips, she started to play. The first few notes were slow, building, but an appreciative round of applause from the crowd, which was listening with piqued interest, showed me at least they knew what she was playing.

Francois grunted and looked over at me. "Metallica's One."

Jordan never sang, but everyone was shocked when the band's drummer sat back down and started playing along, adding percussion to the song. When the song went from slow and lyrical to hard and metal, Jordan bore down, a feral smile on her beautiful features as she tore into the guitar.

In the weeks of training for the job, Jordan had worked hard with us, and while she'd of course never be a thief, she’d become fitter. Still, she always in my eyes was the soft, feminine, beautiful creature that I held at night on the evenings when she spent time with me instead of Francois. In almost every moment we were together, she was kind, with her mind engaged and a charm to each of her movements that had even Charani and Syeira approving of her. But there on stage she was the powerful one, the angel and warrior and devil all in one, crying out to the heavens with her guitar. The voice of power screamed from underneath her fingertips, and it moved everyone and everything that was within its grasp. It was incredible.

With a final crash of her notes, she stood on stage, sweat glistening on her brow as the hot lights warmed her skin, and I broke into applause along with everyone else in the club. The guitarist from the band, clearly upstaged, accepted his guitar back with humility, but the lead singer, whose big mouth had caused the whole situation, was not so gracious.

Pushing Jordan away from the stage, the singer tried to shove her totally to the sidelines, Jordan stumbling and falling to her butt as she got tangled in the amplifier cords. I was pushing toward the stage immediately as the crowd booed, but Francois beat me there, nailing the guy with a right cross that sent him tumbling to the stage. I was up next to Francois and Jordan immediately, pulling him away while Jordan got to her feet.

"Come on, we don't need a brawl," I said into his ear. Still, I had to nearly drag him away from the stage and out the door. Thankfully, the singer's bandmates didn't feel like pushing the issue, and the bouncers were more interested in us just getting out of the building.

"I know he deserved it, but we can't be doing that," I chastised Francois. He yanked his arms away from me and took a step back, his eyes blazing.

"He deserved worse!” he yelled at me and stormed off. I watched him go, then just shook my head in resignation that he was going to be upset with me.

I turned to Jordan, who watched Francois storm away in fury, then looked at me. "He'll be okay?"

"He's tipsy," I said, opening my arms to her. "He'll be fine, he just needs to cool off. How are you?"

“Just a bump on the butt," she said, coming into my hug. I held her for a moment, relishing the feeling of her in my arms. "Damn, I forgot my jacket inside."

"Forget the jacket, you can wear mine," I said. "You played wonderfully. Come, let's go chase down Francois before he gets too far away. I’m sure he could use a hug too right about now.”





Chapter 23





Jordan




The next morning, as we drove from Stuttgart to Paris, Francois showed a talent that I hadn't heard before. Namely, snoring in loud, rumbling snatches as he slept off his evening's activities in the back seat of the Renault. At least in bed, he wasn't much of a snorer. Felix drove while I rode shotgun, watching the roads roll by. "Any reason you wanted to drive and not use the trains?" I asked. "I've never really ridden the trains before."

"You haven't? I keep forgetting sometimes — a lot of Americans haven't used the trains as much as I have," Felix remarked, surprised. “When we leave for Albania after this, we'll take the trains. We can put this car in storage, or just leave it at the farm house in Valence."

I nodded happily. "Thanks. It won't put you out?"

Felix shook his head. "Other than catching a cab ride from the train station to our house in Durres, not at all. The train would be more relaxing than driving anyway. So I guess you've never had sex on a train either?"

I chuckled and looked out of the corner of my eyes at Felix. "Why, Mr. Hardy, I do believe that’s a proposition."

"It is," he said with a grin, glancing over before returning his eyes to the road in front of us. "Do you think it might be accepted?"

"Like I could ever resist you," I said with a light laugh. A few more kilometers rolled by, and something came to mind. "Felix, do you mind if I ask about your Father and Syeira and Charani?"