Read Online Compact with the Devil: A Novel by Bethany Maines - Free Book Online

shook his head in disbelief. The guitarist began playing a riff, a little tease of music. Kit laughed and the bass player joined in, her braids swinging with the thunka-thunka bass line. The guitar players exchanged glances and then began the chord again, a little more seriously this time. Kit looked between the two of them and then shrugged. With a sly grin he turned back to the microphone. Burg, the drummer, started the drums with a light tap.
    “He’s not really…,” said Trista, turning to Nikki.
    “Not really what?” asked Nikki, mystified
    Kit began—“Girl, you are my shining star…” then stopped, laughing. “God, I haven’t done this song in ten years. I don’t think I can sing this on my own; let’s try it again with your help.”
    “Girl, you are my shining star…” He leaned the microphone out to the crowd.
    The stadium shouted the words along with him, incomprehensible in their multitude.
    “It’s an @last song!” yelled Trista as the music swelled. “He always swore he wasn’t ever going to sing those songs again!”
    Kit and the stadium hit the bridge and finally rocked into thechorus, the words becoming clearer as the crowd became more synchronized.
     
    Oh my sweet angel, my heart, my dear…
    Baby you’ve been heaven-sent
    Yeah you’ve been heaven-sent…
     
    “But I’m in hell without you here!” Kit sang a little before the beat, his voice carrying above the noise. Nikki knew the song was ridiculous boy-band nonsense, but somehow the way he sang, the way his voice soared, nearly took her breath away.
    They finished the song, and Kit leapt in the air, pumping his fist in Tom Cruise–like enthusiasm. He bounded offstage, and the backup girls came circling down to the front to take his place. Trista handed him a bottle of water. Kit chugged most of the bottle in one gulp and poured the rest over his head.
    “Who’s she?” he demanded, pointing at Nikki.
    “Never mind her,” answered Trista, yanking off his shirt. “She’s helping me.” She shoved a towel into his hand and pushed him down the stairs.
    Kit began walking down the stairs, toweling himself off. At the midway landing a small entourage awaited him, spearheaded by a woman in a headset, gray slacks, and a white blouse. In one hand she clutched a clipboard and phone. Her bottle-blond hair was slicked back in an overly gelled bun and Nikki frowned at her. Tracksuit could have been a woman. Was it gel or was her hair simply wet?
    “Mike and the sound guys say—” she said, but Kit cut her off.
    “I don’t give a shite what the sound guys say,” he said.
    Two men completed the waiting group. One was another headset-clad man who looked to be following the woman around. Theother was a large man with a handlebar mustache and blue eyes peering out from bristling eyebrows. He faded to the back of the group immediately upon seeing Nikki, but she was aware of his presence all the same.
    “Fix it or do it or don’t do it, just don’t bother me with it,” Kit said, handing the towel back to Trista. Trista tossed the towel to Nikki and began to unbuckle Kit’s belt.
    “Who’s she?” demanded headset girl, pointing at Nikki.
    “She’s helping Trista,” said Kit as Trista slid his pants down.
    “Shoes,” Trista commanded. Kit stepped one foot on the heel of the other and stepped out of his shoe, then reached down to yank off the other.
    “She’s not on my list,” said the blonde, rifling through the papers on her clipboard.
    “Do I look like I care?” shouted Kit, and the woman blanched.
    “Uh, no, sorry.”
    He was down to his Jockeys and socks by this time and heading for the spring-loaded platform that would shoot him back up to stage level. Singing and dancing for two hours a night had given Kit a sports-star physique, and Nikki was unprepared for the surge of pure physical attraction she suddenly felt. Nikki tried to look somewhere else that didn’t involve a mostly naked, glistening Kit Masters. No