Read Online Once More With Feeling by Nora Roberts - Free Book Online Page A

sighed and relaxed against his shoulder when he didn’t demand an explanation. “Music was always something I could hold on to. It was constant, dependable. I needed something that was wholly mine.” She turned her head a bit to study his profile. “Why did you?”
    â€œFor most of the same reasons, I suppose. I had something to say, and I wanted people to remember I said it.”
    She laughed. “And you were so radical at the start of your career. Such pounding, demanding songs. You were music’s bad boy for some time.”
    â€œI’ve mellowed,” he told her.
    â€œâ€˜Fire Hot’ didn’t sound mellow to me,” she commented. “Wasn’t that the lead cut on your last album?”
    He grinned, glancing down at her briefly. “I have to keep my hand in.”
    â€œIt was number one on the charts for ten consecutive weeks,” she pointed out. “That isn’t bad for mellow.”
    â€œThat’s right,” he agreed as if he’d just remembered. “It knocked off a little number of yours, didn’t it? It was kind of a sweet little arrangement, as I recall. Maybe a bit heavy on the strings, but . . .”
    She gave him an enthusiastic punch on the arm.
    â€œRaven,” Brand complained mildly. “You shouldn’t distract me when I’m driving.”
    â€œThat sweet little arrangement went platinum.”
    â€œI said it was sweet,” he reminded her. “And the lyrics weren’t bad. A bit sentimental, maybe, but . . .”
    â€œI like sentimental lyrics,” she told him, giving him another jab on the arm. “Not every song has to be a blistering social commentary.”
    â€œOf course not,” he agreed reasonably. “There’s always room for cute little ditties.”
    â€œCute little ditties,” Raven repeated, hardly aware that they had fallen back into one of their oldest habits by debating each other’s work. “Just because I don’t go in for showboating or lyrical trickery,” she began. But when he swung off to the side of the road, she narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you doing?”
    â€œPulling over before you punch me again.” He grinned and flicked a finger down her nose. “Showboating?”
    â€œShowboating,” she repeated. “What else do you call that guitar and piano duel at the end of ‘Fire Hot’?”
    â€œA classy way to fade out a song,” he returned, and though she agreed with him, Raven made a sound of derision.
    â€œI don’t need the gadgetry. My songs are . . .”
    â€œOverly sentimental.”
    She lifted a haughty brow. “If you feel my music is overly sentimental and cute, how do you imagine we’ll work together?”
    â€œPerfectly,” he told her. “We’ll balance each other, Raven, just as we always did.”
    â€œWe’re going to have terrible fights,” she predicted.
    â€œYes, I imagine we will.”
    â€œAnd,” she added, failing to suppress a smile, “you won’t always win.”
    â€œGood. Then the fights won’t be boring.” He pulled her to him, and when she resisted, he cradled her head on his shoulder again. “Look,” he ordered, pointing out the window, “why is it cities always look better at night from above?”
    Raven looked down on the glittering Los Angeles skyline. “I suppose it’s the mystique. It makes you wonder what’s going on and you can’t see how fast it’s moving. Up here it’s quiet.” She felt his lips brush her temple, “Brandon.” She drew away, but he stopped her.
    â€œDon’t pull away from me, Raven.” It was a low, murmured request that shot heat up her spine. “Don’t pull away from me.”
    His head lowered slowly, and his lips nibbled at hers, hardly touching, but the hand at the back of her neck was firm.