Chapter One

1.

Sutton walked into the smoke-filled bar not able to see five feet in front of her as the flicker of candles upon the small wooden tables sporadically placed around the raised, wood stage was the only light in the packed and stuffy room. She heard the strum of an acoustic guitar and took a deep breath, embracing the warmth it penetrated into her soul. His first word came out low, sultry, and it made her heart race immediately. She knew that voice, even if it had been almost seven years since she’d heard it. But, it couldn’t be…he was dead. Of course, it may be possible that someone else could sing in a way that made her insides tighten, ache and smolder with raging desire to be touched everywhere; but never in these past seven years had she found it. And now, it was crawling through her body like hands caressing her from the inside.

This was her first time out of her small hometown of Ponchatoula and in the sexy and richly eclectic city of New Orleans, Louisiana, in seven years. Although only about fifty miles apart, she’d refused to go back to the city that destroyed her life, obliterated her heart, murdered her love, and almost killed her. Isolated and battling for the motivation to continue living, her will was discovered in the only thing she had left – keeping Ethen alive by pursuing her dream, their dream. She’d left the confines of the only home she’d ever known and made the move that she knew would change her life forever; but never in her existence would she have expected the turn her life was about to take.

She just settled in today at her temporary home in the Maison Dupuy Hotel on Toulouse. Even though her parents didn’t approve of the move, they wouldn’t let her go without at least financial assistance. Besides, the multi-million dollar inheritance from her great-grandfather’s passing a few years back was left to her; though, she couldn’t touch it until she turned thirty.

Walking the red brick sidewalks down the city blocks on this sweltering hot August night with guitar in hand, Sutton looked upon all the old, faded buildings, none of which were over three stories, with their black, wrought-iron balconies like lacy eyelashes protruding from their faces. It was a typical summer Friday night; the city pulsated with effervescent nightlife as throngs of party-goers celebrated in the middle of the streets. Music infiltrated the air all around, mixing with a vast array of smells from food to alcohol, cigarettes and uhm, yeah the guy vomiting on the corner of Toulouse and Bourbon. She couldn’t help but laugh, though that sight was not as good as the couple she’d seen getting it on in the alley a couple of blocks back. Well, more like the woman was giving it more than getting it as the man held her face against his naked groin with his pants around his ankles.

She received plenty of hoots and hollers as she crossed over the fully aroused and congested Bourbon Street from all the drunken men in what looked like the beginnings to one hell of a bachelor party. Sutton was used to having all eyes on her. At five-foot-eight, with deep olive skin, long, toned legs, flowing, chestnut waves that brushed the top of her rounded derriere, full, curvy breasts that led into a narrowed, tight waist, and her startling, brilliant green eyes that sparkled like they had their own spotlight – she’d gotten used to having to fend off the unwanted. She smiled politely but kept going a few more blocks, taking a right on Decatur and went down to The House of Blues for open-mic night.

The voice that sent chills over her entire body made her eyes instantly burn with tears as she listened intently. Her first night here and already his memory flooded her being. There had to be plenty of blues-singing, guitar playing, heart-wrenchingly beautifully-voiced men floating around here…didn’t they?

She stepped closer to the stage, feeling an overwhelming sensation of loss and ache from the melody strummed by the thick, long fingers on the beautiful, maple D’Aquisto jazz acoustic. It was so smooth and curvy – sexy – like a full-figured woman, with a sleek ebony bridge and iridescent ivory binding. It was quite impressive; and put her Variax seven-hundred to shame.

“Excuse me…”

Sutton looked down to the table she’d bumped into while being entranced by the longing tightness in her chest as she tried to get a better look at the darkened stage. Through the haze of cigarette smoke creating an almost impermeable layer of coverage, the one single spotlight over center stage – where this hypnotic tune emanated into the stifling warm air – broke through to highlight the effortless flow of flawless, bronzed hands gliding across the silky strings as if the guitar was a lover instead of an instrument. His melody infused the room with fervor, lust and pure sexual ambiance.

The tightness in her chest crawled further down into places long since touched, causing her to press her thighs together and bite her bottom lip while wishing that guitar was her body.

Her trance was regrettably disrupted by a stiff tap on her shoulder. The man behind her staggered back as she faced him; a look of desire burning brightly in her jewel-toned eyes. He was short – even without her four inch heels she’d have towered over him – with a round, pudgy belly and graying hair that had thinned in the middle.

“You must be Sutton,” he said, extending a sweaty, shaky hand to her.

She shook off the lusting twinge in her lower body quickly and smiled her best, sincere smile. “I am. Mr. Hebert, I presume.” She extended her hand and shook his firmly, giggling to herself at the Boss Hog look alike.

He motioned for her to follow him towards the other side of the room, closer to the bar. They weaved through the crowded room of people; some sitting at the little tables, sipping their drinks, some standing, swaying back and forth – she couldn’t tell if it was because of the music or they were just too drunk to stand straight – and some were dancing with no regard to the proximity of those around them. She followed Mr. Hebert, but she couldn’t keep herself from looking back to the stage where she’d left her breath.

He went over the set list with her while her fingers eagerly fidgeted and she rocked back and forth on black, strappy heels. She was very appreciative of the chance to finally play for a crowd other than the locals at The Pub back in Ponchatoula, but since the second she’d heard that raw, luscious, purely masculine voice, her mind couldn’t seem to focus. She didn’t want to miss the rest of that performance or miss the chance to see the face of the being that instantly invaded her soul, enveloped it like a warm, flowing breeze. The only person to ever make her feel so unbridled had been long lost from her life, and she never thought she’d live to see the day that it would, it could, happen again.

She turned abruptly to the stage as the last chord echoed in her heart. The crowd of people erupted into ear-splitting applause and “whooohooo’s”, and he walked away. Her pulse accelerated and she looked back to Mr. Hebert who was still speaking.

“Excuse me, Mr. Hebert…where is the ladies room?”

He pointed around his shoulder as he penciled in something on the piece of paper laid out on the black lacquered bar.

She walked quickly towards the side stage as someone walked up to the microphone, raised it and said, “Let’s hear it one more time for Greysen!” Again, the crowd went wild. Women screeched and whistled; one shouted, “Marry me, Greysen!”

She quickened her pace, fighting her way through the crowd of lusting women with their drinks raised high in the air as they screamed, but when she got to the back stage area, he was gone. She looked around, but not knowing who exactly she was looking for made it rather difficult to find the being that belonged to the voice that reached deep inside her body.

Sutton slipped her way back through the swarm of patrons and checked back in with Mr. Hebert. She keenly searched the room with her eyes as she sat at the bar sipping water until it was her turn on stage.

“Our next debut comes to us from the small town of Ponchatoula,” the announcer chuckled lightly, “It’s her first time here, boys, so no biting! Let’s give a rousing New Orleans welcome to Ms. Sutton Grey.”

The night went fabulous! She couldn’t have asked for better. Ole Mr. Announcer stood beside the stage, mouth open, staring as if she were the last woman on Earth while she stood before the mic playing her guitar and reaching into the depths of the audiences most private of places with her breath-stealing voice. He definitely didn’t chuckle again the rest of the night. When he tried to buy her a drink after the first set, she politely declined but made sure that the mocking look in her eyes was clear.

The crowd adored her. She even got a request for an encore. Mr. Hebert invited her back tomorrow night for the “spotlight performance” as he called it. Tomorrow night there would be agents in the crowd scoping new talent and only those that “wowed” him were invited back. She asked if Greysen would be back and Mr. Hebert laughed a light chuckle that made his belly jiggle. “Of course! That boy has more talent in his little toe than most of the people in this room combined!”

She lay in her big, comfy, king-sized bed recalling the deep, opulent voice of the faceless, bodiless figure hiding in the smoky darkness and the voice that lived clearly in her mind; the voice of the man she knew she’d love forever, even if he was no longer physically with her.

Ethen was her first and truest love. They’d been together since kindergarten. Well, if you’d consider pulling hair and calling names as together – they did. Because once they were “together” they knew it had started even then. When they were thirteen, they'd finally made it official and were inseparable from that day on.

They’d discovered their shared passion for music very young, and began going to New Orleans to listen to the locals play when they were fifteen. They were intrigued by the infinite assortment of awe-inspiring sounds from the eight-man brass band that played regularly at Donna’s on North Rampart to the down-and-dirty blues at the Funky Pirate on Bourbon. They'd spent almost every weekend in the city – it was where their dream was born – and they went every chance they got. Well, until the day he was taken so tragically from her.

Engaged right out of high school, they'd started college at the local university of Southeastern Louisiana that fall. The next year exceeded all their expectations. Then one cold and dark November night, walking to their car from dinner through downtown New Orleans, they were held up at gunpoint. Ethen, being the natural protector he was, stood in front of his fiancé and quickly handed over his wallet. As two more men approached Sutton from behind, pulling her down to the ground, Ethen instinctively turned and began to fight for his love. Sutton struggled on the cold, wet concrete, screaming for her love, but it was no use. She watched the bullet tear through the front of Ethen’s head and was showered in his blood.

Sutton shuddered reliving the memory and touched the silky, dime-sized scar above her left breast. It was a miracle she’d survived the shot. She’d awakened in the hospital a week later, hysterical, frantically screaming for Ethen, when she was told of his death. Being he was an orphan, with no family to claim his body, her parents had signed off on his cremation before she had the chance to tell him good-bye. Her last memory of him was seeing the front of his head explode out in a bloody, chunky, fleshy mess and his body plunge to sidewalk next to hers.

Eight weeks after the attack that had left Sutton’s life in a never-ending downward spiral of depression and suicidal thoughts that consumed her every waking moment, she'd discovered the life-changing news that she was pregnant. Feeling hopeful and blessed that she would carry a piece of her love with her always, she was then informed of the devastating news that she’d been raped the night she was shot. Without Ethen having any living family and his body being cremated, they'd had no way of knowing if the baby she was carrying was his or that of one of his murderers.

Determined that the baby was Ethen’s, she'd decided to continue the pregnancy, against her parents’ wishes, and gave birth a beautiful eight-pound, nine-ounce baby boy. The day she was to be released from the hospital, a nurse entered her room, solemn, with tears in her eyes. Finding out about the sudden and unexpected death of her son had driven her over the deep end. The next year was spent in her room, not speaking, barely eating – barely existing. She’d given up on life and prayed everyday that she could find the courage to take herself out of her misery.

It had taken a few years before she'd built up enough strength to leave the house and try to resume some normalcy. The one thing that had pushed her to keep fighting was her dreams of Ethen. He'd come to her almost every night and gave her a small bit of peace to push through the next tragic day of her reality without him. He'd inspired her to press on and do what they’d always dreamed of – leave Ponchatoula and pursue their dream in their passion for music. Ethen had always believed in her, and told her that she would make it big on her voice alone.

When she finally realized it was time for her to believe in herself and move forward, seven years had passed. Knowing the only way to truly make the change was packing up and never looking back, that’s what she'd done…or that was what she'd planned, anyway.