Halo (Fallen Angel, #1)(10)

It was fucking magic.

I’d been in a couple of bands before, but holy shit. The way it all came together when you had musicians at the top of their game was leaps and bounds over anything I’d experienced before. And though my voice was naturally a bit deeper than Trent’s, I still matched him note for note.

The first song went off without a hitch, and they went straight into the next song off the album. Never one to stand still for long, I ripped the mic off the stand and prowled the room, getting a feel for my surroundings and my place in this band. As I faced them again, all four guys playing masterfully, I could barely believe this was my life. Would be my life for years to come, because after having this taste of what being part of TBD was like, there was no way I was giving it up. And since this was another test to see how I fit in, I wasn’t going to dick around.

Part of any successful band was stage presence. It didn’t matter how good you sounded on an album. If you sucked ass in front of thousands, if you didn’t give the crowd something to watch, then they wouldn’t stick around for the next tour. So with that thought in mind, I sauntered over to Viper, and when he saw me coming for him, his dark eyes flared.

Not missing a note, he stared back as I moved closer, his wickedly fast fingers flying up and down the neck of his Fender Telecaster. There was a reason he was known as one of the greatest living guitar players—dude was a legend. And, according to Imogen, every person on the planet thought he was “bad-boy gorgeous” or whatever, which, now that I was face to face with the guy, I supposed could be true. With a penetrating gaze and stubble along his strong jaw and lining his smug mouth, I could see the appeal.

Wait, what? Uh, no. I could see the appeal for my sister or anyone else. Not for me. I wasn’t checking out another guy’s lips. I was just focused on winning over the one person I knew could potentially stand in my way of making this situation permanent.





Eight





Viper





UNFUCKINGBELIEVABLE. AFTER YEARS on tour with Trent as our frontman, and being surrounded by some of the most talented musicians in the world, not much shocked me these days. Rarely was I rendered mute by someone’s ability to hold a stadium captive, and I was even less impressed by someone trying to sing the words I’d poured my heart and fucking soul into.

But from the moment Halo opened his mouth and sang his way through the first song to right now, he’d held my attention in a way that I knew was going to be a big goddamn problem.

As I played the intro to the second song off Daybreak, a simple six-note arpeggio I repeated and modulated with the pedal by my foot, Halo pulled the mic off the stand and turned in my direction.

With those light eyes of his, he sized me up as though trying to decide whether he should stay where he was or come closer, and when the rest of the band joined in and the beat began to really throb, it seemed to act as the shove he needed.

Halo walked in my direction with more swagger in his little finger than most people had in their entire body, which was a good damn thing considering the song he was singing. As he came to a stop in front of me, his fingers tightened around the mic as he sang the first verse, and I couldn’t help but wonder what was running through his head as his eyes swept down my body to where I was plucking the strings of my guitar.

This close, I could smell the fresh scent of whatever soap he’d used this morning as he sidled in closer, and I allowed myself a moment to really look at the guy since he’d walked into the studio.

In well-worn jeans, a black T-shirt, and Converse, Halo wasn’t dressed to impress—more likely dressed for comfort. But with a leather strap wrapped around his right wrist, that tangle of messy waves on his head, and a full mouth singing a song I’d written about unrequited lust, I was pretty fucking glad I had a guitar covering the lower half of my body.

I’d known this was going to happen. From the second he’d walked into the audition to last night, when I’d told Killian this was a bad idea. The frontman always played off the lead guitarist, and our band was certainly no different. Chemistry, that was what Killian said he wanted. So, let’s see what the angel had up his sleeve.

As Halo sang toward the first chorus, and Slade sped up on the drums, I flicked my eyes over to Killian, whose gaze was locked on the two of us; he was probably wondering what the fuck I was gonna do next—but hey, that was his problem, not mine.

Instead, I returned my attention to Halo, singing the background vocals to go along with his. I was just in time to catch his eyes dropping to my mouth, and fuck if that did anything to squash the arousal licking through my veins from having him so close, and when he seemed to realize where he was looking and his eyes flew up to clash with mine, I couldn’t stop the smirk that crossed my lips.

Arching an eyebrow, I all but dared him to come closer, and as we came up to the next round of the chorus, he lowered his arm, leaned in, and shared the mic with me, putting his lips in dangerously close proximity to mine.

The guy had balls, I had to give him that, and as the beat of the drums pulsed around the room, driving us toward the second verse, Halo wrapped his hand around my mic stand and angled his face toward me, as we sang the final line of the chorus in complete sync with one another.

As the words cut off and the music took over before the second verse, Halo released the mic stand and took a step back. His eyes were still fastened to mine as though he couldn’t believe what he’d just done, but then an arrogant smile curved his lips and it was obvious he was pretty fucking pleased with himself—and so he should be.