Secret Vows (Hideaway (Kimani)) (13 page)

* * *

Jason pressed his mouth to Greer’s hair. “Karma is a bitch, isn’t it?”

She smiled. “Yes, it is.”

“Not all men are like your ex,” he whispered in the fragrant strands. “Men who claim they love a woman don’t hurt them.”

“That’s what I keep telling myself. But it’s hard for me to trust a man because I never know when Dr. Henry Jekyll will turn into Mr. Edward Hyde.”

Jason had no comeback for Greer. He’d had a few quirky girlfriends, but fortunately hadn’t had to contend with stalkers or those who behaved badly in public. He’d dated a woman who was insanely jealous, and he had ended the relationship before he found himself in too deep. Another wanted him to promise never to leave her because all her boyfriends in the past broke up with her after a few weeks. What had saved him from public humiliation or scandal was that he never took any of them to award or red carpet events. He was always photographed with Ana on his arm. It was a win-win for him and Ana. She tended to keep her private life very private.

Greer stirred and Jason dropped his arms. “Stay here while I clean up the kitchen.”

“I’ll help you.”

“That’s all right. You cooked, so I’ll clean. Sit and relax.”

Pushing off the sofa, he smiled down at her. He was surprised that she could still smile after all she’d gone through with her ex. Jason usually didn’t make promises because he wasn’t certain whether he’d be able to keep them. However, he made himself a promise to help Greer overcome her distrust so she could possibly have a healthy relationship with a man. What he didn’t want to acknowledge was he wanted to be that man.

Chapter 11

G
reer sat on a stool staring at the filter covering the microphone in the sound booth. Jason had selected Bonnie Raitt’s “I Can’t Make You Love Me” to sing with the band later on that night. To say she’d been overwhelmed by the size and scope of Jason’s recording studio was an understatement. He’d explained the walls and floors of the basement were constructed with poured concrete, which provided excellent sound isolation. Insulation and interior walls and ceilings ensured that the noise from above would not intrude into the studio. A wall of sliding doors exposed shelves with every instrument in an orchestra, while a bass violin rested on a stand in a corner. Sophisticated sound equipment, two pianos, a computer and synthesizer provided Jason with everything he needed to compose and record his music.

Jason had also given her a quick tour of his home/office. A massive slab of beveled glass supported by twin wrought-iron sawhorses doubled as a desk. The colors of white, black and gray predominated. A black leather sofa converted into a queen-size bed, and two white leather love seats also converted into single beds. Now Greer understood what Jason meant when he said he had a half bedroom.

He claimed he’d had the band over for several rehearsals, but they didn’t like having to surrender their driver’s licenses at the gatehouse. So Doug paid a retired farmer a nominal fee to use his barn for band rehearsal sessions instead. Jason’s studio had a bathroom with a shower, a water cooler, minifridge and built-in shelves that were lined with family photos. He’d shown her the restored photograph of his grandparents on their wedding day. The woman Jason had referred to as
Abuela
was stunningly beautiful, and it was apparent she’d passed her black hair and dimpled smile down to her grandson.

Her eyes met Jason’s. “This song is as beautiful as it is sad.”

“It’s perfect for your vocal range. This is one of the two songs I want you to sing tonight.”

“What’s the other?”

“It’s another Bonnie Raitt favorite of mine. ‘Silver Lining.’”

A slight frown furrowed Greer’s smooth forehead. “I’m not familiar with that one.”

Taking her hand, he helped her off the stool. “Come with me.” Jason led her out of the sound booth and over to the computer where he typed in the name of the song and the artist. He adjusted the volume on a receiver.

Greer felt as if someone had open a chapter in her book of life to witness the madness that nearly destroyed Mrs. Jane Hill. The lyrics spoke of redemption and a renewal. A sadness filled her chest, and she struggled not to break down. She wondered if Jason had chosen the song because he felt it suited her voice, or was he trying to send her message. The song ended and she couldn’t get out of her head the line about being born with eyes open and now filled with hope.

She’d been raised both loved and pampered, yet somehow along the way, she’d permitted someone with whom she fallen in love to determine not only her future but also her destiny.

Being married to the son of a politician wasn’t glamorous nor was it fun. It had been pure torture for Greer. Meanwhile she’d fooled everyone, including her parents, brother, aunt and uncle into believing she was living a fairy-tale life.

“What do you think?” Jason asked, interrupting her thoughts.

“I’ll try it.”

“Let’s do this one first because you’re familiar with ‘I Can’t Make You Love Me.’”

* * *

Jason knew the song was perfect for Greer because she was still carrying enough pain to connect with David Gray’s poignant lyrics. He programmed the words to appear on the screen in the sound booth, waited for Greer to return to the stool as he took his seat at the synthesizer. All he needed was a guitar, drum and piano. He programmed the track, raised his left hand, then she inserted the earpiece in her ears.

Greer’s vocal register was lower than Bonnie Raitt’s and more soulful, and he knew she’d been born to sing blues. She’d admitted to being able to read music because of years of piano lessons, and that was one obstacle neither had to deal with. “I’ll play it through once for you,” he said into the microphone. Greer gave him a thumbs-up sign.

A chill washed over Jason when Greer sang the opening four words. He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until he felt the constriction in his chest. Ana had her Justin Glover aka O’Quan Gee aka OG, and Jason had his J. Greer Evans. Justin had the ability to become a crossover artist, singing pop, R&B, rap and hip-hop, while he hadn’t yet explored Greer’s versatility. If she was as good with blues as with R&B, then he had a winner.

Jason didn’t know whether she would ever allow him to promote her as a result of her psycho ex who may once again try to kill her. With her particular history, he understood her aversion to being in the public eye; yet all his life, he’d been in the spotlight because of his musician father. David Cole had put together a band in his twenties, and Night Mood had played every major U.S. venue before going abroad and touring for months.

David had finally left the band at twenty-seven to take over as CEO of Cole-Diz International Ltd. when his older brother Martin had run for governor of Florida. Martin had lost the election, but David continued running the company until their nephew Timothy Cole-Thomas assumed control of the family-run, privately-held conglomerate. Jason’s father had set up Serenity Records, an independent label with a focus on discovering new talent. David and his former band mates got together at least once a year to jam and reminiscence about back in the day.

Jason loved every aspect of music. Listening to it. Playing it. Writing it. Music was a drug—a very addictive drug he never wanted to tire of. There were occasions when he woke to music and went to sleep with it playing softly in his bedroom. Every room in Serenity West was wired for sound. Then there were the times when he wanted absolute silence, just like in the song lyrics in “Silver Lining.” He’d chosen the song not only for Greer but also for himself. It ended and he raised his fisted hand, smiling. He’d recorded the song in one take.

* * *

Greer opened the door to the booth, grinning from ear to ear, and walked into Jason’s outstretched arms. His smile spoke volumes. He liked it. What shocked her was she liked it, too. Yes, the song was evocative and moving, but it was as if she was born to sing it.

She felt sheltered, protected in his strong embrace. Her arms tightened around his trim waist. “How did I sound?”

Jason cradled the back of her head. “Incredible. Do you want me to play it back for you?”

Easing back, she met his glowing eyes. “I don’t know.”

His expressive eyebrows lifted a fraction. “What don’t you know?”

“I’m always my harshest critic. I always sang in the school choir, but never as a soloist.”

* * *

Jason resisted the burning urge to kiss Greer because he didn’t trust himself not to stop, especially if she’d pleaded with him to continue. “Well, J. Greer Evans, get used to being a soloist because once you step on stage tonight, everything changes. By the way, how do you want Doug to introduce you?”

“Greer will do.”

He nodded. “Come, baby, and listen to your debut effort. What you’re going to hear is the unedited version without the added electronic accoutrements we sometimes use to enhance and refine a singer’s voice. There aren’t too many Whitney Houstons, Mariah Careys, Christina Aguileras, Beyoncés or Kelly Clarksons who sound the same whether live or on a CD.”

“Which female singers do you really admire?”

“I can never get enough of Gladys Knight, Aretha Franklin, Celine Dion and Lisa Fischer. Her ‘How Can I Ease the Pain’ is one of greatest recordings of all time.”

“I love that song.” Greer sighed.

“Do you want to try it?”

She shook her head. “No, no, no. I don’t have her octave range.”

“That’s where I can make the synthesizer sound as if your voice is hitting the higher notes.”

“That’s cheating.”

“No, it isn’t. We’re living in the wonderful age of electronics.”

Greer rested a hand in the middle of Jason’s back as they sat down together. “Let me hear how I sound on this one, and I’ll let you know if I’m willing to make a feeble attempt to sing diva-extraordinaire Lisa Fischer’s Grammy-award-winning masterpiece.”

“Self-deprecation doesn’t suit you.”

Her gaze moved slowly over his face. “This is very new for me.”

Jason saw indecision in Greer’s eyes. “I understand that, but you should get used to it. You don’t want to be front and center, but as a backup vocalist or session singer, you’re going to be magnificent. Everyone’s going to want to know who is that girl blowing like that? And I’m going to plead the fifth because that’s what you want.”

Greer rested her head on his shoulder. “That’s what I
need,
” she said, correcting him. Even though Bobby had talked about her taking over the restaurant there was still the matter of her day job. She may have worked for tips at Stella’s but it was the feds that direct deposited her paycheck like clockwork. The ATF would remain her priority until she resigned or retired.

* * *

Greer felt a rush of butterflies in the pit of her stomach as she waited to take the stage. Her confidence at singing to a live audience had escalated once she had heard Jason’s playback. After rehearsing the Lisa Fischer classic megahit with Jason, he’d decided to postpone her singing “I Can’t Make You Love Me” to the following week. He’d made slight alterations to the song to fit her tonality, and the result was amazing.

It was Saturday and date night at Stella’s. The eating establishment and sports bar was filled with couples of all ages, and for the first two hours, ladies were offered half-price Cosmos and margaritas. Greer was shocked when Jason and the band filed into the restaurant. She knew something was different about them—they’d cleaned up. The regulars had trimmed their hair and beards. Tonight they were featuring country, and it had become a sing-along as they played popular hits by Joe Nichols, Keith Urban, Tim McGraw, Chris Young, Darius Rucker and Rascal Flatts. They ended their first set with Kid Rock’s “All Summer Long,” and Greer found herself singing along with the others. Doug sang lead, while Jason and the drummer backed up on the vocals.

Greer smoothed back her hair for what seemed like the umpteenth time. She had brushed it off her face, pinning it in a twist at the nape of her neck. She’d replaced tiny gold studs with large silver hoops. She was dressed in black: stretch pants, matching long-sleeved T-shirt and four-inch black patent leather and suede booties. Her makeup was more dramatic: smoky eyes and shimmering vermillion lip gloss.

“Stop fidgeting, honey bunny,” Bobby admonished. “You look beautiful.”

“I’m not worried about how I look, but how I’m going to sound.”

“You’ll sound great.”

She smiled at her uncle. “You’re biased.”

“Hell, yeah! I have a right to be. I’m so proud of you that I could pop the buttons on my vest.”

Smiling, Greer shook her head. She doubted her uncle could find a vest large enough to close around his massive chest. She rested an arm on his shoulder, recalling what he’d said about going on a diet. Ever since she could remember, Bobby had been literally and figuratively larger than life. His effusive personality coupled with his height and bulk made him a standout. She used to squeal in delight when he picked her up and benched pressed her until her aunt ordered him to “Put that child down before you drop her.”

“Your boyfriend is like a blood transfusion,” Bobby remarked. “It’s been a long time since folks have packed this place on a Saturday night.”

Greer didn’t know what the other Saturdays were like, but she had to admit that, since Jason alternated playing guitar and keyboards, the band was definitely more upbeat. Even the selections were more eclectic, effortlessly crossing genres.

Whistling, applause and stomping followed as the song ended. Doug wiped his face with a towel. He tapped the microphone. “Ladies and gents, we will play one more set before we take a short break. I don’t know how many of you were here for Karaoke Night, but we discovered a diamond in the rough when this pretty lady stepped up to show us what she’d been keeping from everyone. Not only does she have the face of an angel, but a voice to match. It took a little cajoling, but she finally came around and agreed to sing two songs for us tonight. As soon as I introduce her, I plan to turn off the mic because you don’t need to hear what she’s going to say me. I want to end this set with her singing a song that crossed over from country to pop for Lee Ann Womack, ‘I Hope You Dance.’ Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for Stella’s songbird, Miss Greer Evans.”

Greer’s hands curled into tight fists as she glared at Doug. How could Jason let him set her up when they hadn’t rehearsed the song?

“Get going, honey bunny,” Bobby urged, giving her a slight shove.

She affected a facetious grin as she wended her way through tables to the stage, wolf whistles following her. She felt the heat of hundreds of pairs of eyes on her as Doug approached her, extended his hand and helped her up the four stairs. Leaning into him, she whispered ribald words for his ears only.

Doug flicked on the microphone. “Y’all wanna know what she just said to me?” Doug shook his head, straight black hair swaying with the motion.

The crowd roared a resounding, “Yes!”

“I can’t tell you,” he drawled teasingly. Resting a hand in the small of Greer’s back, he said in her ear, “The lyrics are on the monitor to the right of the amplifier.”

Greer knew, if she didn’t unclench her teeth, she’d end up with an aching jaw. “Thanks.” She took the hand mic, tapping it softly. Counting slowly to ten, she stared at the crowd staring back at her. Even those playing pool and darts had stopped to watch.

“Lookin’ good, baby!” a man sitting at the bar shouted.

Greer flashed a smile and lowered her eyes. “Thank you. Is everyone having a good time?” The crowd responded with cheers. “Isn’t this band incredible?” More cheering ensued. She was stalling as much to engage the crowd as to calm her nerves. Walking over the corner of the stage, she pulled the stool closer to the center. She draped her body on the edge, one foot resting on the rung, the other on the stage.