For a moment Amia faced Prest in silent rebellion. It was impossible to guess what she was going to decide to do.
"Please, Amia," Zande said softly, persuasively, "we have an audience. Do not give Prest any reason to go berserk on us."
Amia blinked once, her long lashes fanning her high cheekbones. Her large eyes moved over Prest with faint haughtiness. She swung her long hair over her shoulder and seated herself for the second set, her back to Prest. There was something regal about the way she held herself.
Prest finished his guitar solo, his body once more relaxed, but his eyes remained hard and watchful. Zande flashed a quick, relieved smile Jacob's way. Rich's guitar joined Prest's and Zande's voice soared into the air, bringing the spectators to their feet.
