by Kacey Shea
Except for the food. That was practical. That was helpful. And it was really nice not to worry about meals when cooking seemed so trivial.
Those are the thoughts that lead me outside my room and downstairs to the kitchen. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that my Grams’s sticky buns have magical powers. Okay, maybe it’s just the sweet icing and cinnamon baked combo, but food is the only way I know how to help.
The guys aren’t here today and I haven’t seen Trent’s mom or Jess yet. They’re usually around, or out in the garden, but today it’s just me in the mansion. The silence is comfortable, and I don’t have to explain myself as I rummage through the kitchen retrieving the ingredients I need. This pantry is fully stocked, and I hope it’s not a problem I make myself at home. I shake the doubt from my head. The guys have been insisting I do just that all week.
Plugging my new cell phone into the portable speaker on the counter, I find my favorite country music mix and crank it loud, shaking my hips as I sing along and measure, pour, and mix. The oven heats while I roll out the dough. It’s relaxing to work in the kitchen, and I find a rhythm, the way I’ve done with Grams a thousand times before. More scandalous though, since she made us listen to hymns and there was definitely no dancing involved. The thought brings forth a chuckle as I line up the rolls in the pan.
“Holy fuck.” Austin’s voice at my back causes me to jump and nearly knock over the open bag of flour. “Are you making apple pie? Please tell me you’re making pie.”
I reposition the flour further back on the counter and wipe my hands with a dish towel before lifting my gaze. “Gosh, sorry. No, I’m making sticky buns, but I can make you a pie next.”
“Don’t start giving in to his demands.” Trent strides into the kitchen, shoving Austin away from me and toward the barstools at the end of the island. “He’s a greedy bastard.”
“That I am.” The heated stare Austin directs across the counter is enough that I have to look away. Even still, I’m certain my skin blotches with the warmth of my blush. I don’t expect them to change how they talk, but it’s a harsh difference from the way I was raised that catches me by surprise.
“What is this shit?” Austin laughs, turning my music so low it’s not even audible.
“Sorry. Guess you can’t take the country out of the girl.”
“This is really sweet, Opal. Thank you.” Sean drops his keys on the counter and pulls up a chair.
I shrug. “Just want to show my appreciation for the hospitality. It’s nothing. I like to bake.”
“You’ll spoil us. We’re used to takeout and protein shakes on the road.” Trent dabs a finger through the icing and licks it off. “Actually, maybe you should join us on every tour.”
I grin at his compliment. Grams’ recipes are the best, and always a hit. She’d be proud of my baking today. I’m happy I’m able to pass along the joy that comes from her food.
“Speaking of the tour . . .” Trent glances at the guys and back to me. “We need to discuss a few things.”
“Sure.” I glance down at the baking tray. “Mind if I pop these in first?” I dust off my hands, grab a few dish towels, and slide the pan into the oven. One of the ovens, because there are two! This kitchen, it’s a dream. Everything a girl could need and more.
I turn back and exhale deeply. Unnerving, that’s how it feels with these three men staring, but I mentally applaud myself for pulling up a barstool and sitting next to Trent without letting my hands shake once.
“So, I don’t really know how to say this. I don’t want to ask you to get involved with our mess, but . . .”
I lift my chin to study the nervous tap of Trent’s fingers across the granite countertop and then meet his stare as it darts between myself and the mess I’ve made in the kitchen.
“Oh, God, would you just come out with it!” Austin rolls his eyes and points. “You’re giving her a heart attack.”
They don’t want me to come on tour. That’s my first thought, but that doesn’t fit given how they’ve just applauded my baking.
“We don’t trust our manager,” Trent whispers.
Sean nods, his jaw working back and forth. “We have reason to believe he’s shady as fuck.”
Trent holds my stare, drawing out his next works. “And it’s really important to Lexi that we keep you away from the press. That no one knows you’re sisters.”
“Y’all don’t need to worry. I’ll stay clear.” I wave a hand in front of my face. I have no intention of causing trouble or talking to reporters.
Austin shakes his head. “We’re not gonna hide you away. That’s no way to experience your first rock tour.”
“Yeah, so we came up with a plan. A guise if you will.” Sean waggles his brows and rubs his hands together.
Trent nods, a slight smile on his lips. “I’d like to hire you as my PA. If you’ll take the position.”
“Me?” My eyes widen with surprise.
“Yeah. It’s perfect. Lex says you like to keep busy, and this way we don’t have to explain anything to Bedo, our manager.” I appreciate his kindness, and notice he doesn’t point out I could use the money, too. “Kills two birds with one stone.”
I narrow my gaze, because though I have no problem with the arrangement, I won’t allow them to turn me into a charity case. “But you’ll give me real work? I want to earn my keep.”
“She’s right out of a movie.” Austin chuckles and leans back in his seat, his gaze holding a touch of interest that causes me to squirm in my chair.
“What?” Trent scoffs and shakes his head.
“I’ve always thought Betty Crocker was sexy.” Austin winks and blows me a kiss.
And yep, just like that my cheeks ignite.
“Austin.” Trent turns and glares as if he wants to hurt his friend. I’m not entirely sure he doesn’t.
“What? Just saying.” He holds up his hands, waits until Trent looks away, and shoots me another wink.
“The thing is, people who seem friendly, who act as though they’d like to help are almost always pushing their own agenda. We thought our manager was different. We’ve been with him since before we made it big.” The corners of Trent’s eyes and the pinch of his lips hold worry.
“Loyalty is something we value,” Sean says, clasping both Trent and Austin on the back.
Trent tips his chin. “I’ll give you work. It’d be awesome to have an assistant. But you’re okay with this? No one can know you’re Lexi’s sister. Only the three of us.”
“That’s fine by me. I can’t tell y’all how much I appreciate you.” The words catch in my throat, along with a surge of emotion. My hands shake and I place them in my lap as I release a long breath. “I don’t have much family.”
“You have us.” Trent stands, walks to my side, and offers me a hug. As much as we’re still strangers, his care and concern are obvious and only drives home how much he loves Lexi. “And we’re all gonna look out for you as if you were our little sister.”
I can’t help but catch Austin’s flirty gaze, and how it’s nothing like brotherly affection. How one look from him makes me feel more womanly than Hunter Anderson ever did. And how dangerous that could be. I drop my chin and glance away.
Sean must mistake my reaction for sadness because he stands from his chair and gives me a side hug. “Don’t worry. You only have to put up with all this testosterone for a few more weeks till Lexi joins up with us.” He releases me and walks across the room to snag his keys from the counter. “We good here? I’ve got to run an errand before Deb and Jess get back.”
“We’re good.” Trent moves to the fridge and pulls out a pitcher of iced tea. Or rather the tea pretending to be tea, because it’s bitter without sugar. I don’t understand, but it’s the way they serve it in California.
I wet a towel and finish cleaning the mess I made. The enticing aroma of cinnamon baked bread goodness wafts in the air and my belly grumbles. These are going to be so good. “What time do we leave tomorrow?�
�
“Eight in the fucking morning.” Austin groans.
“Someone not an early bird?” I raise my eyebrows to give him a hard time.
“God, don’t tell me you are?” He groans again, but this time there’s a trace of a smirk on his lips.
I wince and shrug. “Don’t hold it against me.”
The timer pings a few minutes later and I pull the buns out to cool on a rack, after I pour the icing on top. Perfection.
Austin pops off his chair and struts to my end of the kitchen island. With only a pan of baked goods between us, my body is fully aware of how close he is. I try not to stare at his muscled chest or the tattoos that sprawl down the sleeves of his arms, but it’s useless. He’s the gorgeous famous bad boy, and as dangerous as it is, I can’t help but be drawn to the lure. I lift my gaze and I’m met with a wicked grin.
“God, I need that in my mouth.” His gaze darts to the pan of sticky buns before it returns to mine.
“Don’t, it’ll burn,” I warn, proud that my voice holds confidence even though I’m a melted puddle at the very thought of Austin’s mouth on mine.
“I can handle the heat.” He holds my gaze and lifts his glass of iced tea to take a drink.
I doubt we’re talking about the cinnamon rolls. “Can you?” I raise my eyebrows with challenge.
He nearly chokes on his beverage.
“He’s full of shit.” Trent glances up from his cell phone and rolls his eyes. “Ask him who ate the most wings at lunch?”
Austin narrows his glare and points across the counter. “You cheated!”
“Admit defeat, man. No one loves a sore loser.” Trent’s grin is teasing, and he shoots me a conspiratorial wink which only riles up Austin more.
“Fuck you.” Austin holds up his middle finger.
Trent meets my gaze and lets loose a chuckle. “He loses every damn time, but I’ll give it to him, boy never stops trying.”
I open my mouth to ask how many times they’ve held such a contest, but before I do, a deep voice bellows from the front of the house. “Anyone home!”
“Back here!” Trent shouts, his lighthearted demeanor evaporating in an instant.
“It’s Bedo.” Austin leans forward, closing the space between us. “He’s retired CIA. Be cool.”
“What?” I press down the front of my dress and reach for my hair, ensuring all the locks are pinned back into my loose braid.
“He’s giving you shit.” Trent walks over and catches Austin with a punch to his arm.
“The fuck.” Austin rubs his arm. “Trent’s too nice. Watch yourself. Bedo’s a fucking shark.”
77
Leighton
“So, you all ran off in a hurry.” My uncle walks ahead into the kitchen, finds an empty space against the counter, and narrows his stare at the guys. He taps his toe almost inaudibly against the stone flooring and glares.
I slide into the kitchen and find a place on the wall.
Trent shrugs. “You found us.”
“Yeah.” Bedo turns his attention to the young woman in the room. “Who’s this?”
Yes, who is she? She drips with more sweetness then the freshly-baked rolls on the counter. God, how I’d like a taste. Of the food and the woman. It’d be rude to ask for either, but I’m sure as hell tempted.
“Meet my new PA,” Trent says, and the girl glances up. The second her golden green eyes meet my stare, her pale skin colors in a blush. Her auburn red locks are pulled back from her face, making her eyes stand out. Captivating. The freckles that dust across her nose and cheekbones, along with the simple flowery summer dress only add to her all-American look. Gorgeous. But it’s all natural.
“I wasn’t aware you needed a personal assistant.” My uncle stares at Trent.
“Well, I do.”
“The label would have provided one.”
Trent shrugs with all the nonchalance in the world. “Not necessary. I already hired Opal.”
For a second I’m worried my uncle might snap, that’s how tightly wound he appears. Silence compounds the tension in the room. Trent meets Bedo’s stare, but our lead singer’s lips tick up with the ghost of a smile. While Austin watches the stare down, my attention’s caught up with Trent’s new assistant. Does she have a boyfriend? Is she joining us for the tour?
“Let’s go downstairs.” Bedo’s voice is hard, but he’s the one to finally break. “Looks like we have lots to catch up on.”
Opal dishes out a plate of cinnamon rolls and hands them to Trent. “Oh, take these with y’all. They’re best warm.”
Y’all? Dear Lord, her country girl look is not an act. Fuck me, that’s hot. The urge to discover everything about her, where she’s from, how she ended up here, her family, her dreams—what turns her on—overcomes my thoughts and I suddenly want to know it yesterday.
“You coming, man?” Austin catches my stare and nods to where Trent and Bedo are already walking down a hallway.
“Yeah.” Shit. I don’t want to leave without speaking to this gorgeous woman. “Can you point me to the restroom?”
Austin purses his lips like maybe he doesn’t believe me, and then nods for me to follow. “It’s down here, third door on the left. Come back this way, and down that hall you’ll hit the stairs to the basement.” He catches my stare again. “Meet you down there?”
“Yeah, cool.” I’m trying for a less refined vocabulary.
Austin’s gaze darts back to the kitchen. “Don’t get lost.”
I can’t tell whether it’s meant to be a warning to stay clear of Opal, or he doesn’t want me wandering around his house, but either way the message is clear. Finish in the bathroom and get my ass downstairs. I find the restroom, step inside, and wait a good thirty seconds before exiting again. Relieved to find Austin’s not hanging around outside, I beeline for the kitchen. The smell of freshly baked goodness beckons as much as the beauty dancing inside.
Gorgeous. She shimmies those hips to the music streaming through the speakers, and sings along while she places a few ingredients back inside the cupboards. I’m tempted to stay here and stare. Hell, if time weren’t an issue I’d do just so. She’s beautiful and totally uninhibited. A sweet voice, too. Maybe she’s trying to make it in this biz.
She reaches for the flour and spins, letting loose a yip of surprise the second her eyes find me staring. Shit! The container falls from her hands but she catches it before it hits the floor. Unfortunately, not before half the contents dump onto the counter, floor, and mostly her.
“Goodness!” She sets what’s left on the counter, and her hands fly to her chest. She is covered—literally covered—in flour, and yet the sight stirs something inside me, along with my dick. If this were porn, she’d strip out of everything but that apron and we’d roll around the floor till we were both covered in flour and sweat.
“Lord!” Her wide eyes and exclamation pull me out of my naughty daydream.
“I’m so sorry.” Taking long strides, I close the space between us and reach for the rag in the sink to wet it. “Here, let me.” I reach forward.
“Oh, don’t mess your clothes.” She takes the rag from my hands before I can argue. “It’s my fault. I didn’t think anyone was up here.”
God, I feel like a dick. Not only did I scare her by staring like a voyeur, but I also make her feel worse by offering to help clean up. “My fault. I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that.”
“Go ahead.” She nods toward the hall. Shit. I need to get down there before they wonder where I went.
“You sure? I feel horrible.”
“No. I’m the one who should feel bad.” She exhales a big sigh, her gaze taking in the layer of powdered dust that covers this entire area.
“Opal?”
“Yeah?”
“Hand me the dishcloth.” I hold out my palm and she finally hands it over. Our fingers brush, just for a short moment, and fuck, it’s as if my entire body comes alive.
“I’ll wipe down the cupboards.�
��
“You don’t—”
I level her with one of my charming smiles. “I know. I want to.”
“Thanks.” Her gaze drops to her feet, and she doesn’t meet my eyes or say a word as I get to work. She retrieves another wet cloth and together we clean the spill in silence. Well, not exactly since the country music serenades our work. Our hands make light of the mess, and within minutes the kitchen is back to its flourless form. And I still know nothing about this girl other than I’m inexplicably drawn to her.
“So . . . personal assistant? How’d you get started in that?”
Her gaze lifts with my question, her eyes wide with apprehension.
“Sorry.” I shake my head before holding out my hand. “How rude of me. I’m Leighton.”
“Opal.” Her hand, long and skilled like a musician’s, fits into mine and swear to God, my body tingles—fucking tingles—with excitement.
What the hell? I’ve been with women. More than enough. But I have never in my life become hot and bothered by a handshake. Jesus. What is it with this girl?
She pulls her hand back, joining it with the other she hides behind her back, and rocks on her heels while I’m stuck in a trance like some idiot, staring at my hand and wishing I could touch her again.
“Thanks for helping. I appreciate it,” she says softly.
“No problem. I startled you. I’m sorry again.”
Her face heats with a blush and when she glances up again it’s from beneath her lashes. “You can’t tell anyone you saw that.”
“What?” My lips spread wide with a grin. “Wait. You mean your killer dance moves.”
“Stop!” She lifts her hands to cover her face. “I’m so embarrassed.”
Yeah, I’m gonna have to touch her again. At least once. I step forward and close most of the space between us, reaching up to circle her wrists in my hands. Gently I pull her hands from her face, not surprised to find her cheeks stained pink. “Beautiful.” The word slips through my lips without meaning to say anything at all.
