Rage

by Michelle Pace

  couldn’t help but snort at her remark since she was a profession-al photographer. She sighed melodramatically and flopped back

  against the headrest. “Can we at least…stop somewhere before

  we get to your grandparents?”

  “What? Like a bed and breakfast that rents rooms by the

  hour?” He retorted. She tried to shoot him a dirty look, but a wry smile won out.

  “I missed you, Phillip. If I molest you in front of your

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  grandparents at tea, you’ll have only yourself to blame.” She was watching traffic as she said this, always the backseat driver. Phillip bit his lip to keep from smiling. He was taking her directly to their cottage where he would have his dirty way with her, but

  tomorrow he would take her to Nana and Grandad’s estate. He

  hoped his family was hitting it off with Cedric and Adam by

  then. Considering the astounding charm that the priest possessed, he had no real concerns regarding Cedric. Adam? It was anyone’s guess. He and Steph were two of a kind. Reality hit him

  like a wall of rabid fans attacking Fury’s limo: this time tomorrow, Stephanie would be his fiancée. No more Skype dating. Her

  falling asleep in his arms every night…no more bloody flights back and forth across the pond.

  “I’m sure we can find a quiet back road to park on,” he said

  in a conciliatory tone.

  “Ooooo. Dirty.” Her husky murmur quickened his pulse.

  They made it to the private jet just five minutes before they

  were scheduled for takeoff. Stephanie shot him a lascivious

  smile before sliding out of the car. Considering that their first kiss had been in an airplane restroom, the private jet rental was somewhat sentimental.

  “Ya know, I’m not typically much of a joiner, but the Mile

  High Club? Sign me up!” Steph chirped, pushing past the crew-

  members as if they were part of the furnishings. Phillip gave

  them a sheepish shrug, but they appeared professional and com-

  pletely unconcerned. He proceeded to the back of the plane,

  where Steph stood on her tiptoes stowing her purse and camera

  bag. She plopped down in the middle of the bench style seat and

  when he took the seat next to her, she surprised him by grabbing him by his shirt and pulling him down on top of her. He made a

  half-hearted effort to pull away, knowing they needed to fasten

  their seatbelts for takeoff. But she tasted so bloody delicious, his instinct was to strip her down and take her, privacy or not. When he heard the flight attendant clearing her throat, he was neither 8

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  surprised, nor overjoyed.

  “Seatbelt, Mr. Kersey.” The flight attendant insisted, her

  whimsical Irish accent matching the amused twinkle in her eye.

  “Yeah. Seatbelt, Phillip. Gosh.” Steph chimed in, acting

  frigid and proper, as if she weren’t the instigating vixen. He

  cocked an eyebrow at her, but she merely blinked her blue eyes

  innocently. Cedric’s ability to lie like James Bond shouldn’t

  have been all that surprising to him, in retrospect.

  Sadly, they had zero privacy on the plane so they spent the

  flight catching up on band happenings, who and what she’d been

  photographing, and trying to cram a month’s worth of “Honey,

  how was your day,” moments into about an hour. He talked at

  length about the new songs he and Bret had written since they’d

  last seen one another. When she asked to hear them, he promised

  he’d play them for her when they reached their destination. Since she’d been the inspiration for his lyrics, having her be the first to hear them had been part of his plan all along.

  Steph launched into a recap of her schedule and mentioned

  that after Paris, she planned to slow way down. Her agent had thrown a fit when she heard the news, so Steph had responded in

  typical Steph fashion: She immediately sacked the agent and

  hired a new one. One whom she felt really had her best interests in mind. A British agent. This seemed like a sign that they had similar paths in mind and were moving in the same direction. He

  smiled slyly to himself.

  When they landed, his Aston Martin was full of petrol and

  waiting curbside. They’d had to be escorted by airport security

  when some Furies spotted them and got a bit unruly, but it was

  very minor scene in the grand scheme of things. That’s what the

  media had taken to calling Fury fans. Furies. The fact that the

  term represented terrible winged goddesses with serpentine hair

  who pursue and punish people was most likely a coincidence.

  Since midway through the American tour, every member of the

  band had been forced to hire around-the-clock security. He’d had 9

  TAMMY COONS & MICHELLE PACE

  a vicious row with the head of his team about going to Ireland

  unescorted. The paparazzi made Steph livid. The entire debacle

  with her movie star ex-boyfriend Kevin had had long-lasting re-

  percussions. Strangers in their car and zero privacy had been the status quo for months. He just wanted this trip with her to be as normal and stress free as possible.

  Minutes later, they were on their way out of Dublin in the

  direction of their love nest. With her again as a captive audience, he pressed her about what she planned to do with all her upcoming down time. But before she could answer, her damn phone

  rang.

  “Uncle Keith! You never call, you never write. How the

  hell are ya?” She answered, rolling down her window and snap-

  ping a quick picture of a shepherd and his sheep. She nodded and responded with unintelligible monosyllables and seemed to be

  continuously cut off when she tried to speak. She turned to Phillip and made an obscene gesture, implying that the person on the other end liked the sound of his own voice.

  “I’m sorry, what? Can you tell Mick to shut the hell up? I

  can barely hear myself think.” Phillip gaped at her and nearly

  swerved into oncoming traffic. World famous lead singer or not,

  Steph’s contacts still made him feel like a pimply faced fanboy

  playing in his parent’s garage.

  “Yes, Uncle Keith. No. Tell him to call my new agent in

  London, Christopher Hoult. And tell Mick to keep his belt on.”

  She practically threw her phone back into her purse and

  groaned. “Ugh! Getting a new agent is like creating a new email

  address. Such a pain in the ass!”

  When she mentioned wanting to see his pictures of her and

  Baby Liam, he pulled out his phone and handed it to her.

  “I want to know how people as svelte as Cheyenne and Scot

  produced such a rotund spawn.” Phillip stated as Steph flipped

  through his pictures. She cooed and carried on for a bit in her

  typical exuberant manner. He was still a bit overwhelmed by her

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  reaction to Liam. He’d had no idea she liked children so much.

  They’d never talked about whether she wanted kids. Come to

  think of it, they’d never talked about the future at all. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure Steph had even known she liked kids until

  the moment she first held Liam in her arms.

  She giggled and the sweet sound lightened his mood. “Look

  at that chubby little pork chop! I just want to chew on that fat little leg!”

  “You and your cannibalistic tendencies…” He smirked and

  after she placed his phone on the dash
, he was forced to grasp

  ahold of her tiny hand as it wandered up his thigh driving him to distraction.

  As they drew nearer to their destination, he wiped sweat

  from his brow and realized his hands were shaking.

  Fucking brilliant. You sing in front of hundreds of thou-

  sands of people and don’t bat an eyelash, but a tiny American ginger makes you fall apart!

  When he slowed to make the turn, he saw Steph’s brows

  knit. She turned to him, momentarily confused. The landscaping

  was dramatically different since the last time they’d been here, and they’d approached on foot-and in the rain. The cottage had a long lane that crossed a traditional humped-back bridge over a

  sparkling stream. Though it was remote-located on 6 private

  acres, he’d had extra trees and shrubbery planted to make the

  cottage invisible from the road. He knew it seemed paranoid, but he very much hoped that the tabloids would never discover their

  secret home. As they rounded the curve, the freshly white-

  washed cottage came into view. Its bright red door reminded him

  of an inviting valentine. Steph sucked in a loud breath.

  “Oh, my God, Phillip!” Her cheeks blushed a rosy pink. She

  leaned forward, her wide eyes darting everywhere in blatant

  astonishment. Then a bright smile lit up her face. “Someone

  fixed it up!”

  He tried to keep a poker face and his response was simple.

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  “Yep.”

  “Wow. They ripped off the porch! That’s probably a good

  thing.” She laughed, and remembering how she’d tripped over

  the dilapidated boards and fallen in the mud, he joined her. He

  pulled up next to the cottage and parked. When he turned off the ignition and looked at her, she was no longer laughing. She

  gazed at him wordlessly, unshed tears standing in her eyes.

  “I can’t believe you rented our cottage.” She took him com-

  pletely off guard by scrambling onto his lap and nearly knocking the car out of gear. He gladly accepted the spoils of her happiness as she attacked him with kisses.

  “It’s mine. I bought it.”

  Her blue eyes widened, and he watched the wheels turning

  as she processed the implications. “That’s just… so…”

  “Romantic?” His breathing felt labored as she gripped his

  hair and looked him in the eye. He was deeply touched by her

  uncharacteristic display of vulnerability. She seemed genuinely

  moved, but recovered quickly and batted her eyelashes at him

  with a cheeky smile.

  “I was gonna say hot. But it is romantic as hell.” The soft look in her eyes didn’t match her brash words. She leaned in, and her lips teased his slowly and gently. Then with a contented sigh she nuzzled into him. He inhaled deeply, the peppermint scent of her hair enveloping him like a warm blanket. Cradling her pos-sessively, he smiled, knowing that they would both remember

  this trip for the rest of their lives. For a moment, he tried to simply savor her closeness rather than worry about the execution of

  his plans. He was tempted to take Cheyenne and Cedric’s advice

  and ask her here at the cottage, in front of the fireplace with a glass of wine. As tempting as the prospect seemed, he cast the

  idea aside. He couldn’t buckle this close to the finish line. If there was one thing he was an expert on, it was showmanship.

  He reached out and popped the door handle.

  “Come. I want to show you the bedroom.”

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  They entered through the red front door. She inhaled sharp-

  ly and stopped in her tracks causing him to nearly bump into her.

  He didn’t blame her; he’d had the same response when he first

  set foot inside after its completion. What had once been a dusty, forgotten shack had been transformed into a quaint and cozy refuge. Polished wood floors, chalk white walls, and fresh flowers

  greeted them.

  “It’s perfect.” Steph said in a soft, resigned whisper. She

  dropped her purse on the floor then carefully placed her camera

  bag on the table. Then she was in his arms kissing him again

  with all her might. Just as he was about to rip open his fly and bend her over the couch, she pulled away with a wide grin.

  “I’m going to take a look around.”

  It was his turn to let out a frustrated moan. She winked at

  him saucily and vanished into the hall with her suitcase rolling behind her. He turned to survey the cottage for the provisions

  he’d requested. The caretakers had stacked wood in the hearth

  per his request, and as he lit it, he heard her footsteps on the stairs. He took some cheese, fruit and a bottle of wine from the icebox and popped the cork. Doubt wriggled in the back of his

  mind. Should he pop the question here and now and have the

  moment be theirs alone? He could whisk her away to the Carib-

  bean for a wedding on the beach, just the two of them and the

  setting sun. As appealing as this idea was to him, he quickly

  dismissed the idea. Someone like Stephanie Brier required some-

  thing bigger and flashier than that.

  He sent a quick “thank you” text to the caretakers for their

  impeccable attention to detail. Slipping his phone into his jacket, he took it off and tossed it over the arm of the closest chair. Now where the hell had she disappeared to? He was certain he’d heard her come back down the stairs, so he wandered into the master

  bedroom. Her suitcase was open on the hope chest at the foot of

  the bed. He heard the shower running in the bathroom, so he

  kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto the king-sized bed with a 13

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  contented sigh. Closing his eyes, he slowly felt the weight of the day lift from him. She was here. Here was perfect. The stars had aligned, and all was right with the world.

  Freshly showered, Steph was blow-drying her hair upside

  down, but uprighted herself as a flash of vertigo gripped her. As she steadied herself on the sink, she blinked at her reflection in the mirror. Flashing lights floated across her vision as she

  watched her flaming waves fall around her shoulders. Thankful-

  ly, the ninja dizziness vanished as quickly as it appeared. In the past twenty-four hours, she’d almost fell down on two separate

  occasions. She scrambled to pop an Andes Mint in her mouth.

  and the queasiness lessened. It was probably low blood sugar

  from lack of food. Lately she’d been way too busy to eat right.

  She’d been traveling a lot, including a recent laborious jaunt to Japan. She’d only been back in her New York apartment for a

  couple of days when she got the call that Cheyenne’s water had

  broken, so she had assumed her abdominal issues were probably

  due to jet lag, exhaustion, and bad sushi.

  However, since arriving in the U.K., she’d had some dull

  pains in her right side. Fucking cramps. Her period wasn’t due

  for another month, and the last thing she wanted was to have it

  early. She glanced at her pill case. Steph had often wished she’d invested in stock in the pharmaceutical company that created her birth control pill that let women have only four periods a year. If she ever met the scientist who’d created the drug, she’d kiss him right on his geeky little mouth.

  It probably didn’t help that she was experiencing a serious

  lack of appetite. She knew she should have eaten something to-

  day, but hospital vending machine food turned her stomach. So

&
nbsp; at the moment her body was fueled on wretched day-old coffee,

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  two crackers, and the mint she’d just had. A shower to wash

  hospital germs off of her had been much higher on her list of

  priorities. She suspected she looked hideous, based on Phillip’s responses to her. Lately he seemed a bit put off by her appearance, even though she’d been on a diet for the last two months.

  She’d just wanted to drop ten pounds, but somehow she’d over-

  shot her goal and lost 20. She figured she should just be happy

  about it. Even if it was a losing battle, with a boyfriend like Phillip, she’d have to try keep up with those models who were al-

  ways hanging around backstage.

  Phillip had been acting distant and distracted last month

  when he met her in New York and the month before that when

  she’d come to his flat in London. On both occasions he seemed

  totally preoccupied. If he hadn’t just bought “their cottage,” she would have thought he was prepping to break things off with her.

  As she pulled a “barely there” blue nightie over her head,

  she glanced around the lovely yellow bathroom and smiled. He’d

  fixed up the cottage just the way she would have. Her mind was

  officially blown. She never imagined she’d see this place again, let alone looking so beautiful. Thinking back on their first sexual encounter on the living room floor of this very cabin, she could feel her heart swell in her throat like it was yesterday. She still couldn’t believe that he’d actually bought it.

  Phillip’s mushy side really got to her sometimes. He

  seemed to have a knack for sweet gestures. If anyone would have

  asked if he were capable of anything remotely sweet when

  they’d first met, she would have rolled her eyes so hard that she would have given herself a concussion. Once when they’d

  hooked up after a concert in San Francisco, she mentioned lov-

  ing the Riesling they ordered from room service. She’d arrive

  home to find a case of it on her doorstep. And when she called to thank him, his husky response had left her breathless.

  “I love to make you smile, Stephanie.”

  She felt her eyes growing a little misty. What the hell?

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  TAMMY COONS & MICHELLE PACE

  Teary eyes twice in one day? Now she knew she was exhausted