Possession

Chapter Six

Sitting in her hard little seat at the café, Cait started clapping, and it was a case of join the crowd. Everyone in the whole place was applauding the singer up on the stage, and he was so gracious about it, nothing arrogant in his bowing. If anything, he seemed sheepish.

“What’d I say,” Teresa spoke up over the din. “What did I say.”

“You were right. He’s …” When she hesitated over the wording, her old roommate got really superior looking. “Oh, come on, I was an art major, not an English one.”

“Speechless is speechless.”

The singer waved to someone in the back, and laughed like there was an inside joke between him and whoever it was. Then he took another bend at the waist and waved to somebody else. More bowing.

How many songs had he done? Seven? All from memory—hell, she didn’t know if she could do more than “Jingle Bells” and “Happy Birthday” without sheet music. And that “Live Forever” song he’d composed? Truly incredible.

“You know, he writes his own material.” Teresa’s eyes stuck to the guy as he came down off the stage and chatted with a couple of women across the way. “And I mean, no Auto-Tune or anything like that for him. He’s the real deal.”

Cait nodded, and really wished she wasn’t gawking like everyone else, but her eyes were where they were. When he’d been performing, it had been like watching TV—no stumbles, no amateurish high notes that barely made the pitch, no trite-and-sappy Hallmark verses; he was, in fact, the real deal, and that made him unreal, in a way. So the idea that he was just walking in and out of the tables, gabbing with the regulars, laughing like a normal person? Almost more captivating than him up onstage—

Without any warning, the man looked over at her, their eyes meeting, her body jerking from embarrassment … and a shot of heat that was a shock.

Cait looked away fast, paying all kinds of attention to her mug of water. When she figured the coast had to be clear, she glanced over again.

He was still staring at her, even though there was another woman standing in front of him, making gestures big enough for a cheerleader.

“Well, well, well,” Teresa said, “looks like someone else’s noticed your new hair.”

Cait went back to her water, tracing triangles on the smooth, thick flanks of the mug. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, my God, he’s coming over.”

“What?”

“He’s coming—”

“Hi,” a deep voice said.

“—over.”

Not looking, Cait told herself. Nope. There wasn’t enough of her water left to douse her when she spontaneously combusted.

“Hi,” Teresa replied in an octave higher than normal. “Great set. Songs, I mean. Fabulous.”

“Thanks, that’s really cool of you. I think I’ve seen you before?”

“Oh, you know, I’m kind of into the music scene.”

News to me, Cait thought with a grin.

Another pause.

Shoot, she was going to have to make eye contact. It was either that or Teresa was going to kick her shin under the table like it was a football. God knew the woman had done that before—

Okay, wow. He was even better-looking up close.

“I’m G.B.,” he said, putting out his hand.

“Cait. Cait Douglass.”

As she shook what he offered, he smiled as if he liked the feel of the contact—and then he held on to her palm for a split second longer than was polite.

“Is that with a C or a K?” he asked.

“It’s C-A-I-T as in Caitlyn.”

“That is a beautiful name.”

Cait grimaced. “I’ve always hated it. Too girlie— Ow.”

As she glared at Teresa, G.B. laughed. “I’m a Gordon Benjamin, so I know how that goes. G.B. is as close to my real name as I can stand to get. So, are you into music, too?”

“No.” She shot a don’t-you-dare at Teresa. “But I’m glad I was invited out tonight. You really are something.”

“Thanks, but the set felt rough on my end.”

He was cut off by the arrival of a trio of women, all of them crowding in and talking fast—saying pretty much what she and Teresa had, and wasn’t that embarrassing. As the din got louder and more fervent, Cait fully expected him to peace out and pay attention to his fans. Not how it went. Five minutes later, Gordon Benjamin, a.k.a. G.B. of the golden pipes and Fabio-without-the-cheese hair, had parked it at their table, ordered a chai latte, and was leaning back in his chair, apparently ready to stay the night.

“So what do you do for a living?” he asked Cait.

“I’m an artist. I teach at Union College and I illustrate children’s books.”

He nodded as his bowl-size mug arrived. “So you’re like me, making a living off your passion.”

“It must be hard to be in the music business. Things have changed so much, haven’t they? I mean, file sharing, piracy, all that.”

“Actually, that’s just the business side. Creatively? So much worse. The overuse of Auto-Tune, singers functioning as marketing concepts, everything so totally packaged.” He pushed his hair back, and she was momentarily distracted by how beautiful it was. “There are very few of us left who write our own material—and I’m not a twenty-year-old girl writing about famous boyfriends who treat me like crap. I want to convey truer emotions than puppy love gone bad, you know?”

“Teresa told me you write your own lyrics.” She nodded across the way to make sure her friend was included. “That song about eternal life was … inspirational.”

Like he was reading her mind, G.B. smiled at Teresa. “And that’s what everybody wants, right? The time we have here is so damned short—and we need to leave something behind.”

“So you’d be immortal if you could be, huh?” Cait said.

“In a heartbeat. Come on, life is great—I don’t want to lose all this. I don’t want to get old. I certainly don’t want to die.”

“With the way you sing,” Teresa cut in, “everybody’s better off with you on the planet.”

“Does that mean you’ll vote for me on American Idol?”

Teresa clapped her hands. “Hell, yeah! Are you trying out?”

“Maybe. Will you vote for me, too?” he asked Cait.

“I don’t watch that kind of TV, but if you’re on it? I’d be there every night.”

“You guys are the best.” He pushed that amazing hair back again, and Cait lingered on the way the stuff gleamed. “But I haven’t pursued that one yet. I don’t know … I hate to go that route. It feels like a copout in some ways, but the reality is—it’s time for me to break out on a national scale, and I need a platform. I mean, I do okay money-wise, like, singing backup for people on tour, and doing voice-over work down in Manhattan. And I’ve just gotten a part in the local production of Rent.”

“Have you sent any tracks in to record companies?” Cait asked, like she knew anything about “tracks” or “record companies.”

“I have, but again, it’s hard to get noticed. That’s the only reason I’d do Idol. If I could get on there—”

“You would,” Teresa said.

“And you’d do well,” Cait echoed. Star quality, it was called. And he had it.

“Thanks. That really means a lot.” G.B.’s smile was so genuine, Cait found it hard to believe the three of them hadn’t been friends for years. “It’s not about the fame thing, by the way. I just … you know, I want to leave behind something important, something that lasts. And that’s not a bad thing, is it?”

Cait thought of recent events … and upcoming funerals. Shaking her head, she said grimly, “Not at all.”

“So how about you?”

“Me?”

“If you could be ageless, would you?”

She took a drink of her water and grimaced. The ice cubes had all melted and there was a tinny aftertaste now. “I don’t know. I suppose if everyone I loved could be along for the ride with me? Well, then the losses wouldn’t be that bad and I’d say yes—because the thing is, it’s not only you. What good is having forever if you just have to watch your friends and family die? That would be hell, not heaven.” She shrugged. “Personally, I think it’s better to just focus on the here and now. Immortality is not going to happen, so why not learn how to live the best life we can in this moment?”

When G.B. fell silent, she winced. “I sound like Oprah, right? I don’t mean to get preachy—”

“You are a deep thinker. And I like that—a lot.”

Flushing, Cait looked away. She didn’t know what to do with comments like that, and the fact that Teresa was with them made her feel even more awkward.

When another couple of women came by to chat with him, she checked her watch. As much as she was enjoying this—

“So, you look like you’re getting ready to head off.” As she glanced over, G.B. smiled at her—and wow, his dark eyes were pretty. Were they brown? Blue? “Do you have anyone waiting at home for you?”

Cait’s brows rose. He wasn’t suggesting that—

“She doesn’t even have a cat,” Teresa interjected. “Or a goldfish.”

“Oh?” G.B. smiled again. “So no one, huh.”

Cait started to feel truly antsy. “Well, I’m allergic to cats.”

“Me, too.” G.B. took a long drink of his tea and then resettled with the base of the mug balanced on his knee. “Is it okay for me to ask for your number?”

As G.B. waited for Cait as in C-A-I-T to respond, he was more than happy to pass the time looking over at her.

The blond hair was hella ’tractive, and that smooth skin—his hands just wanted to touch her again. That shake of theirs had been way too short, and he’d been racking his brain ever since to find another socially acceptable reason to make some sustainable contact. Not that this was Regency England, but come on—he didn’t want her to think he was a letch.

He really wanted to go out with her.

The second he’d gotten on the stage, he’d seen her in the crowd, sure as if she had been sitting under a spotlight: long and tall, simply dressed, really good hair. Nothing bar harlot about her, and she was listening to him like she was interested—but not with that rapt thing that most of the women sported.

This one was going to be different. He could feel it.

“I promise to be a perfect gentleman,” he tacked on, since she seemed to be on the fence about the whole phone call thing.

“I—ah …” Cait jerked upright in her seat and then shot a hard look at her friend.

“Of course you can call her,” the dark-haired woman said. “Here’s her number.”

As the buddy took out a pen and scribbled on a napkin, he was more than happy to take what was offered. But he looked first to Cait—he wasn’t touching those digits unless she was okay with it.

“You sure about this?” he asked her.

The fact that she seemed shocked that he’d call her made him want to get on his knees and beg her—just so she would feel like a queen.

Abruptly, she straightened her shoulders like she’d given herself a pep talk, and met him right in the eye. “I’d love to hear from you.”

Yes, he thought with triumph. The day hadn’t started off all that well—what with someone messing with his guitar while he’d been voicing a commercial for Petco, and then him fighting a northbound traffic jam coming out of Manhattan. But this blond woman with her even-toned voice and her expressive hands and that delicious reserve had turned it all around.

“Well, I think I’d better get going,” she said as she bent to the side and picked up her purse.

“It’s Friday night,” her friend pointed out.

“I’m under deadline.”

“What are you working on?” G.B. asked, hoping to keep her around a little longer.

“It’s a book for five- to eight-year-olds—about a chocolate Lab who worries about things. I have to admit, it’s been one of my favorite projects. The puppy’s adorable, if I do say so myself.”

“I’d love to see your work sometime. Seems only fair after you’ve heard me sing.”

She got to her feet, and she was even taller than he’d thought—and that was just more good news. “I can’t imagine you’d be interested in that kind of stuff.”

“Oh, I’m interested.” His eyes drifted down to her mouth … and then went farther, to the pale column of her throat. “I’m sure you do beautiful lines.”

God knew she was made of them—at least according to his peripheral vision, which was working just fine, thank you very much. And he knew better than to go any farther with the gawking than that. Whereas some women might be flattered by him going all obvi with the check-out stuff, she was not one of them.

And yup, that was a really nice change of pace.

Although … that being said, he wasn’t exactly sure he was looking for a long-term relationship with anything other than his singing. Then again, he’d been “dating” the same kind of groupie for how many years? Maybe it was time for quality instead of quantity.

As Cait smiled at him, he felt a shot of lust go right through him. Yes, he really did want her…

“You’re a charmer, you know that?” she drawled.

“That’s been mentioned before—maybe once or twice. Is it such a bad thing, in your opinion?”

“Of course not.”

Liar, he thought.

Leaning forward, he wanted to take her hand, but didn’t. “Just so you know, it is possible to be both charming and honest.”

“Of course it is.”

She was still lying. And didn’t that make him want to prove her wrong. “I will call you, by the way.”

“Of course you will.”

G.B. smiled again as she put the strap of her purse up on her shoulder. “You’ve made my night, you know,” he told her.

Cait actually rolled her eyes—and though her friend looked mortified, he loved it. This was not your average woman, easily seduced by a song and a stare.

“I’m serious about that,” he said. “You really did.”

“Well.” There was a pause. “You’ve cheered me up also, how about that.”

“Answer my call and I’ll see if I can keep the trend going.”

“It’s a deal.”

And a date, he thought.

With a couple of words to her friend and a casual wave over her shoulder, she was gone, weaving in and out of the little tables, passing by the bar, disappearing through the front door.

G.B. carefully folded up the napkin and put it in the front pocket of his shirt. Then he smiled at her friend. “She’s pretty special.”

The dark-haired woman nodded. “Yeah, she is. And this is really good timing for her.”

He stared at the exit she’d used. After a moment, he murmured, “Me, too.”