The Air She Breathes

By Laura Kitchell

Erol “Air” Finster, British heavy metal guitarist, is heart-sore and in need of some fun. Beatrice Cooper has what he craves – a good time with no conditions or expectations. She has her own reasons for not wanting a romantic attachment, so one night with a rock star suits her, too. What they find in each other’s arms is unexpected, however, and may redefine their idea of love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Laura Kitchell
• Release date: Oct 31, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370448609

Laura Kitchell

Laura Kitchell lives in Virginia and was published for the first time in 2007. She became a member of the Quality Novelists Coalition in 2013. She is a member of Romance Writers of America and Chesapeake Romance Writers. Connect with her on Facebook at [e-mail] and visit her website at laurakitchell.com.

Book preview

THE AIR SHE BREATHES

Book Three of FlameSmith in Love

by

Laura Kitchell

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or deceased, is entirely coincidental.

A Quality Novelists Coalition book

A FlameSmith Romance

Book Three: The Air She Breathes

Copyright© 2016 Laura Kitchell

Smashwords Ebook Version

ISBN-13: 9781370448609

Cover Artist: Laura Kitchell

Editor: Katherine Alexander

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

Photo attribution for Air: Copyright: fotogestoeber / 123RF Stock Photo

Photo attribution for Beatrice: Copyright: iordani / 123RF Stock Photo

Quality Novelists Coalition  QNC. All rights reserved.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

To my mother, my biggest fan, my honest critic, and my greatest cheerleader. To Sara, a staunch friend and a beautiful writer. To Katherine, whose work on this book was priceless and made it worth reading. To Kristen, for input and assistance on the cover. And to Chesapeake Romance Writers and Romance Writers of America, whose support and expertise made me the writer I am.

A special thanks to Renee Raya Brass for helping me pin down a title for Air’s story.

DEDICATION

For Steven, the air I breathe.

Chapter One

I do.

Air clapped with everyone else as V and Izzy’s lips met at the altar, but he couldn’t summon any enthusiasm. Their drummer, Jay, had succumbed to marriage first by wedding his sweetheart from Manchester shortly after their band became popular.

Now V, their vocalist and front man, had fallen into the trap. If their lead guitarist’s moony eyes toward his personal assistant was any indication, Burn would go next. Air had thought Burn, if anyone, would prove impervious to the love bug after the nightmares he’d suffered at the hands of women.

Of course, Air would be a hypocrite to say he didn’t want marriage. Had it gone differently, he might have stood at this altar with Vivian. Well, if she had loved him better. Or maybe he hadn’t loved her the way she needed. Aaargh! He was tired of beating himself up over her.

He closed his eyes, trying to summon some pain from her leaving him after their two-year engagement. He found only a cavern of numbing emptiness. Ever since her departure from his home and life, he had a hard time believing in the idea of forever.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he released a slow breath and followed the groom down the aisle toward the exit. He inserted a finger into the collar of his starched shirt and yanked. Why the groomsmen had to wear tuxedos, he couldn’t guess. It had probably been Izzy’s idea. They were a heavy metal band. They should’ve worn jeans and T-shirts. Leather at the most.

While the receiving line formed and congratulations began, Air snuck out a side door onto the church grounds and lit a cigarette. He let his gaze follow rough gray stone blocks past vaulted, stained glass windows to a steeple towering against a rare azure sky. Wasn’t rain on a wedding day meant to give the marriage a brilliant beginning? He breathed a whisper of a laugh. Ironic that V and Izzy picked the one day in England when it didn’t rain.

Facing the carpark, he inhaled a mouthful of smoke. He hated breaks in the FlameSmith schedule. He craved the adrenaline rush and non-stop activity of tour. Stealing sleep. Close quarters. Adoring fans and eager groupies. Damn, he missed it.

Without exhaustion and excitement to take his mind from reality, he had to face his true nature, his preference for quiet and a slow pace. For as long as he could recall, he never had anyone he could consider dear. As an orphan, he had no family. No woman aside from Vivian had attempted to become more than a lover. Vivian had given him his first chance at true intimacy and an end to loneliness. If she had wanted the same, she wouldn’t have slept with that damned photographer. What a disappointment.

FlameSmith came as close to family as he’d ever gotten, and he considered them brothers. Since the band didn’t have another album planned anytime soon, and with V and Izzy going on honeymoon, they wouldn’t even have practice. What the hell was he supposed to do for the next two months?

The idea of knocking about his house in Los Angeles for weeks on end caused an aching throb in his temples. At least he didn’t have to worry about memories of Vivian there. She had rarely spent time at home, and she’d done nothing to make his house her own. When she’d vacated, not a trace of her remained.

He took a final drag on his fag then flicked the still-smoking butt into a crevice between two sections of pavement. He needed a fucking drink.

Inside, he joined the wedding party in the sanctuary for professional photos. He faked every smile until Dan kicked his shin and made him laugh. Air gave the bass player a hard shove, landing him in a monstrous flower arrangement that spewed petals across the burgundy carpet. He laughed harder, enjoying the glare Izzy shot him. This was more like it. A rock-n-roll wedding of merriment and mayhem.

The guys joined his laughter, even Dan who stood and swiped flower bits and green foam puffs off of his tux. The photographer called it a wrap, so they piled into limousines and headed to the reception center. Everyone went inside, but Air stood at the curb and lit a cigarette.

Those’ll kill you, luv. A blonde in a skin-tight yellow mini-dress and black stab-you-dead stilettos approached on stiff, mincing steps.

The pink ends of her curling hair caught his attention, and he lifted one corner of his mouth in approval. She had good taste in color.

Brushing his hand across the tips of his magenta spikes to make sure his hair gel held, he exhaled a cloud of smoke. So will those shoes. A fall from that height could snap your pretty neck.

She laughed. This height? You’ve got at least thirty centimeters on me.

But I’m not tottering about on stilts. He squinted as he drew from his fag.

Her pale blue gaze lingered on his hair as she fingered a pink-tipped curl at her shoulder. You’re in the band, aren’t you? I didn’t recognize you in your fancy suit.

Great. A fan. He glanced around for a security guard. In his mood, he’d say something he might regret if she asked for an autograph. If she tried to take a photo of him that could explode all over social media, God help her.

What’s your name? Sorry. Izzy’s the music fanatic. She switched a tiny black clutch purse to her other hand and glanced at the reception’s entrance.

So she knew Izzy. Turning from her, he said, You don’t have to patronize me, sweet cheeks. Go on inside.

It’s just that I’m running late. I don’t want Izzy to worry. I didn’t mean to sound patronizing, luv. I’m a bit nervous, I suppose.

Luv. She’d said it twice, but coming from her, it didn’t hurt. He cut a glance at her. Banging body. Cute face. She looked better than most of Vivian’s model friends, though much shorter despite her high heels. She had no reason to be nervous. How do you know our back-up singer?

She sagged a little and smiled. Izzy and I are long-time friends. We went to nursing school together. We shared a flat for years and worked at the same rehab hospital.

Then go inside. If you two are so close, she’ll be thrilled to see you, especially since this is her first time back in Manchester since moving to Los Angeles.

She cast a furtive glance at the doorway. Right. Of course.

When she didn’t move, he drew the last from his cigarette then squashed it in a dish of sand atop a trash bin. I’m Air.

Beaming, she offered a delicate, long-fingered hand. I’m so pleased to meet you. I’m Beatrice. Beatrice Cooper.

He took her cool fingers, but instead of shaking her hand, he gave her a gentle tug that made her squeal. Smiling, he held firmly and half-dragged her inside. What has you so nervous?

I don’t know anyone. There are famous and important people here. I’m just a nobody nurse from the Midlands.

He took her to the side, into a hallway marked by a sign directing to the loo. You know Izzy, and now you know me. That makes you more of a somebody than the acquaintances in there who have some lame claim to fame. Nothing to fear. It’s just a party.

She sank pretty white teeth into her lush bottom lip, and he hesitated. The adorable woman made him want to kiss her. That gave him pause. When was the last time he’d wanted to kiss somebody? Too long, for certain.

A party. She stood straighter. Nothing to fear.

He let his gaze drift from her mouth to her high, round breasts then to her large eyes. This close, he realized her irises held a cerulean depth he could dive into. Sweet cheeks, you should never fear anything or anyone. You’re fierce.

I am?

He couldn’t resist her honesty. Grasping her tiny waist, he pulled her flush to him and lowered his mouth to hers. She wore flavored lip gloss, a sweet and fruity taste he liked way too much.

You taste good, he murmured against her lips.

Sighing, she melted into him. She felt warm and smelled like flowers. Her easy assent gentled him in a way he hadn’t expected, and he relaxed. He urged her to open. When he tentatively touched his tongue to hers, she jerked away.

You taste a bit like an ash bin smells, luv. Her nose wrinkled.

Shit. He’d just had a smoke. Right then. Sorry about that.

Rather than rushing past in an effort to leave him behind, she stood before him with her small purse clutched in both hands and an expectant arch in her pale eyebrows. She couldn’t want him to kiss her again. She’d shown her distaste quite clearly.

He wanted to ask if he could see her later. Instead, he said, Perhaps it’s best if I take you to Izzy.

When she didn’t answer immediately, he smiled. She had kissed him without hesitation, yet she didn’t come across as easy. At odds with Vivian’s worldly confidence, she bore an air of innocence he found irresistible. Maybe Beatrice was what he needed. A fun, beautiful diversion to help him get past the numbness engulfing his heart.

As he opened his mouth to ask her out, Jay emerged from the men’s toilet. There you are, mate. I need your help carrying in my wedding gift.

Get Dan. Air sidestepped to avoid the drummer’s attempt to grab his sleeve.

Why? You’re here. Come help me. Jay frowned as he rubbed his bald head.

"I’m busy."

Help your friend. Beatrice offered a retiring smile and retreated two teetering steps toward the doorway to the main reception room. I can find Izzy on my own. I imagine she can’t be missed. You know, glow-in-the-dark grin. Veil. Probably stands right out.

Damn. As she disappeared through the doorway, he punched the drummer’s shoulder. I was in with her.

Not from where I stood. Jay chuckled and headed for the exit. Come on. This cabinet Celeste insisted on buying is fucking heavy.

Casting a glance at the doorway to the main hall, he followed Jay outside.

♫✯✯♫

With the effect of Air’s kiss still making her heart pound, Bea surveyed the gathering and eased the death grip on her purse. What had she expected? Big-haired rock musicians and glamorous movie stars from Hollywood? She chuckled. It looked like anyone’s wedding reception.

Everything was bomb. Flowers spilled from glittering crystal upon every table. Servers dressed in tailored trousers, waistcoats, and bowties presented gourmet meals to guests upon fine china rimmed in gold. In a corner, a seven-tiered monstrosity of a cake towered past the top of the groom’s head. They had spared no expense.

Laughter burst from the head table where Izzy had her head thrown back in mirth. Her friend glowed in her happiness, her dark eyes twinkling and her tawny skin especially lovely. She wore her black hair in shiny curls piled artfully