“If you haven’t told Joey a day, you can still go to dinner with us!” Lucy smacked Rachael with the floppy part of the broom again, this time across the knees. “Go out with Joey tonight and you can go out with us tomorrow!”
Us.
Lucy had met Cole Turner one time and they were already an “us”. He was definitely a charmer. Able to make every girl at his side feel uniquely beautiful. He was only in town for three more nights. Four days. There was no way she was falling for his games—or him—in that amount of time.
Why, then, was she so tied up about the idea of Lucy and Rhonda going out to dinner with him?
Because jealousy doesn’t listen to reason.
If she didn’t want to wind up heartbroken Sunday morning when Cole Turner left town like the rest of the men in her life, she’d have to keep her eyes on what was practical, her gaze trained on the attainable.
She fished her cell out of her pocket. “I’m going to text Joey now and tell him tonight will work.”
“You and Joey will be great together, you really will. He’s always looked at you that way.” Lucy swirled round and round, using the broom as a makeshift dance partner.
“What way?”
“Like he wants to lick you up and down.”
Rachael squealed, burying her head in her hands.
“Don’t try to tell me you couldn’t use some of that!” Lucy dipped the broom, stroked the bristles as if they were her lover’s hair, and pretended to lick the handle. “Does this mean you’ll come with us to dinner?”
Did she really want to let Cole get closer to her than he already was? If Lucy thought Joey glanced at her like he wanted to lick her, wait until she saw the way Cole looked her up and down. Rachael’s cheeks heated merely thinking about his hungry gaze.
Lucy swung at her with the broom. This time, Rachael caught it.
“If you stop using my broom as a weapon, yes.” Her heart sped. “I’ll go to dinner with Cole.”
“And me.”
Her eyebrows pinched. “What?”
“You’ll go to dinner with Cole and me,” Lucy corrected. “Don’t think you’re leaving me out of this, just because you two are shacking up.”
“Excuse me?” a gravelly voice said from the doorway. “Who am I shacking up with?”
Jolting off the bed, Rachael snatched the dust rag and pretended to be dusting the headboard.
“I was just say—saying,” Lucy stuttered. “That you two are sleeping under one roof. When you drop us off tomorrow night, it’ll be convenient since you’re staying here.”
“That will be convenient.” He strode across the room and checked the lids of the boxes in the corner. He stood over each of them, as if he was counting. “You didn’t go through these, did you?”
Rachael wasn’t curious about the boxes before, but she was now. What would he keep in them that made him so paranoid? He probably earned a couple million dollars last year. Surely he could replace whatever was in the boxes if the items were damaged or lost.
“We were cleaning,” Lucy blurted. “I may have accidently smacked the box with the back of my broom handle when I was beating Rachael with it.”
Cole smirked, the stress lines around his eyes vanishing. “I want to ask, but something says I shouldn’t.”
“Good call.” Rachael backed out of the room and motioned for Lucy to sneak out behind her. “We’ll leave you now. You probably want to rest.”
It was nearly two in the afternoon. Before meeting Cole and “his crew”, she would’ve thought musicians simply showed up before the show, played their numbers and went back to their hotels. Cole, however, seemed involved in the process.
He took off his coat and slung it over the chair in the corner. “What’s for dinner tonight?”
“Umm…” She glanced at her phone as it buzzed. It was Joey, confirming they were on for dinner and a movie. He wanted to meet at Angie’s at six thirty. “…I’m cooking something simple. Spaghetti and Caesar Salad. Is that all right?”
“If it’s edible, it’s perfect.” He flopped on the bed.
Lucy leaned around Rachael to peek in the room. She elbowed her friend, forcing her back.
“Dinner will be early tonight. Five o’clock. And I won’t be eating with you.”
He threw his hand over his forehead and turned to glance at her. “Why not?”
“I have a date.”
She started to close the door. He sat up, propping himself on his elbow as if he was posing for a GQ ad. “A date?”
“Don’t worry,” she said, her voice suddenly hoarse. “I’ll make sure everything is taken care of before I leave. I won’t leave a stone unturned. And if you need me, I’ll take my cell.”
As she closed the door further, he put up a hand to stop her.
“If I need you?” His voice was deep, a sexy husk. “What if I need you now?”
“Good God,” Lucy whispered from behind her. “My ovaries just moaned.”
Rachael gave her an elbow. “What do you need, Cole?”
He licked his lips, unhurried and ruthless. Her heart panged against her chest and wet heat pooled between her legs. Lucy whimpered over Rachael’s shoulder.
“I need my pillow back,” he said simply. “You must’ve taken it with the wash.”
Rachael nodded once. Twice. Three more times. It wasn’t until Lucy pulled her back by the sweater, did she realize she’d been in some kind of trance. She shut the door and ran down the hall with her best friend, giggling like a teenager.
Chapter Six
The fact that Rachael was going on a date with some backwoods mountain man—at least that was the image he’d drawn up in his head—didn’t bother him. Not at all. It was the fact that Rachael hardly responded to any of his advances…
Cole had made up his mind that she wasn’t interested in men for the time being or dating in general. She’d probably been burned before and was taking a dating hiatus.
He could’ve swallowed that truth and moved on.
But she was going on a date.
She was looking for someone.
How could she go out with someone else when he slept down the hall? He thought about asking her, but he’d sound desperate. Needy and shallow.
He wasn’t any of those things, so he kept his trap shut.
Rachael had dinner ready at five o’clock, like she said she would. His plate was on the counter, but his hostess was nowhere to be seen. He slurped spaghetti by his lonesome in the big, empty dining room and stared out over the back lawn.
He hadn’t had this type of quiet in years—the hustle and bustle of the business didn’t give him that luxury—so he fought the urge to surf the internet on his phone and stared out over the back lawn instead. The sun had set, casting slanting shadows across the grass. An unfinished building sat to the right of the inn, and Cole wondered if Rachael owned that lot, too. It was larger than the inn, from the looks of it, and had the same cream-colored paint job.
When the clock ticked over to six, Cole had enough of solitude: it reeked of loneliness. He rinsed his plate off in the sink and strode through the dining room, stopping in his tracks when he spotted Rachael putting on her lipstick in the entryway mirror.
She looked great from behind, in black jeans and a dark gray sweater. Her blonde hair was curled at the bottom and long enough to brush the sexy dip in her waist. She wore tall black boots with thick gray socks peeking out the top.
She could easily create a new fashion trend in Hollywood: Country Chic.
As she caught him staring at her in the mirror, she spun around. “Hey,” she said, smoothing her hands down her sweater. “I didn’t see you there. How was dinner?”
“You look great,” he said, ignoring her question. “Where’s this guy taking you?”
This guy. He chastised himself for sounding jealous. Which he wasn’t.
She thrust her arms into a knee-length pea coat and grabbed a small purse from a dresser near the entry. “We’re going to Ang
ie’s. It’s a really swanky restaurant on Main Street. Well,” she corrected, “swanky for Blue Lake. I’m sure it’s a hole in the wall where you come from, but the food’s good.”
“Where are you headed after Angie’s?”
Her lips quirked. “What makes you think there’ll be something after?”
“If you were my date, I wouldn’t let you leave my side until dawn.”
She seemed to soften, her lips parting slightly. “Well I’m not your date.”
“No,” he said. A spark of sadness nailed him in the gut. “You’re not.”
She averted her gaze to the door. “Help yourself to any food or drinks in the fridge and leave your dishes or glasses in the sink. I’ll wash them when I get back. I started a fire, so that should keep the place warm for a few hours. There are satellite stations, including Showtime and HBO, if the television is on channel three and—”
“I don’t watch TV,” he interrupted. “And I know how to light a fire if I get cold.”
She stared. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel incompetent, it’s more me than you.”
He felt his brows pinch in confusion.
“I’ve never left at night when there’s someone staying at the inn. I’ve always been here or sent out for something if I need it.”
It was clear that Rachael had gotten accustomed to taking care of people, of being the homemaker, the chef, the hostess, etcetera, etcetera. It was a funny, but people buzzed around Cole all day, telling him to do this and that, say this and not that…but they didn’t actually seem to worry about his well-being. He’d never felt more nurtured than he had the last two days. And she hadn’t even done anything for him. She’d cleaned up, cooked a few meals, and lit a couple fires.
It wasn’t what she was doing, he realized. It was the details. Her concerns over his comfort while she went out, and the quality of the fire and his dinner. She seemed to genuinely care about him…not him, specifically of course, but over her guest.
Did she treat every traveller this way? Must’ve been exhausting.
“I understand,” he said. “Hope your date goes well.”
“Thanks.” She fluffed her hair over her shoulder, and gave off a sexy, confident vibe. It was an odd thought, but weren’t women supposed to be nervous when going on a first date? “Hope it goes so well that I don’t see you until dawn.”
And with a sexy grin, she walked out the door, leaving the inn quiet and dark.
Keep busy. Dive into work.
He called Rita to check on the status of the show. She reassured him that everything was going as planned. Light and sound checks ran perfectly. Setup was finished. They’d spend tomorrow doing last minute run-throughs. He’d need to be there in the early morning to check everything over—his demand, not hers—and then report no later than 6 o’clock to get ready for the show itself.
He hung up, and twiddled his thumbs a whole two seconds before washing the dishes he’d made in the sink. He padded upstairs and took what he thought was the longest shower of his life, and then dressed in jeans and a black hooded sweatshirt.
It’d only been thirty minutes since Rachael left.
This was what Rita had wanted. She’d said he needed peace and quiet. She’d said the quaint town of Blue Lake would do him good after the train wreck performance in Houston.
As he walked out the French doors onto the back lawn, he breathed in the cold night air. His lungs didn’t constrict, the way they did in Los Angeles when he took deep breaths. He looked up at the bright smattering of stars and exhaled.
A sense of calm washed over him, but he wasn’t going back into the inn alone.
Maybe he’d meet the crew at their hotel and they could grab a few drinks.
As he strode down Main Street toward the center of town, he fished out his cell and called Rita again. This time, there was no answer. He searched the internet for their hotel, but didn’t have a signal.
Exactly how deep into the Sierra Nevada Mountains were they?
He kept walking, but something struck him as odd. He strode right down the middle of the street without people ambushing him for autographs. A few women caught his eye, smiled and whispered to one another as if they recognized him, but they didn’t run to his side, screaming their heads off.
It was almost as if they all knew who he was, yet respected his space.
Blue Lake was definitely a different beast than Los Angeles, in a surprisingly refreshing way.
Before he knew it, he stood beneath a wooden awning with a swinging sign that read “Angie’s.”
He glanced in the front window. The place didn’t look like a hole in the wall at all. Candlelight on every table created a warm feel that was inviting and homey, while silver decorations hanging from the walls added hints of modern décor.
It was exactly the place he’d take a woman like Rachael.
Determined not to be seen and look like a stalker, Cole kept his eyes on the wooden-planked sidewalk and stormed by the windows. And bumped right into someone who pushed out the front door. He got one glimpse of the woman with the flowing blonde hair and dark gray sweater, before he accidently knocked her to the ground.
Rachael.
* * *
Someone blindsided her, slamming against her shoulder like a bulldozer.
“Oof!”
The heel of her boot caught on a wood plank. She tripped.
Strong hands roped beneath her arms and caught her before she hit the ground. She steadied herself, got her feet beneath her and took a good hard look at who’d knocked into her…and then caught her. She lost her breath, though she wasn’t sure if it was from the fall or the sight of Cole, his honey-brown eyes softened with worry.
“Are you all right?” he asked, picking up her purse from the gutter.
She shook her head so it’d stop fuzzing and took her purse. “Yes, I’m fine. What are you doing here?”
“Going for a walk.” He glanced over her shoulder as if he was expecting someone to follow her out. “Where’s your date?”
“He, ah…” Geez, this was going to sound lame. “…cancelled.”
“Seriously?” He gawked. “Did he at least say why he stood you up?”
“He didn’t ditch me, if that’s what you’re thinking.” She started walking away from the inn and toward the center of town. It was a nice night and she’d gotten all dressed up for nothing. No point in rushing back. “He’s a firefighter and they got a call about a fire up the highway. They’re understaffed, so he volunteered to go.”
She completely understood, but it was a letdown nonetheless. She’d been excited to start something that could really go somewhere. Joey was everything she’d ever wanted—handsome and stable, a guy who was down-to-earth and sensitive.
Cole on the other hand, was the opposite. He wasn’t handsome—not even close. He was gorgeous and ions out of her league. He wasn’t stable because he was leaving on Sunday. Down to earth? Not with the gazillion guitars boxed in her living room. He had a sense of humor, but in a dry, cocky sense. And she felt exposed when he was near. Vulnerable and not like herself. She wasn’t in control and didn’t like it one bit.
“He rescheduled for Sunday night,” she threw in for his benefit.
“He stood you up to put out a fire? That’s noble of him.” Cole said, matching her pace as she sauntered down the street. “Either that or it’s the perfect way to get out of a date and still be praised for it.”
She backhanded him playfully in the shoulder.
“The guy’s either a hero or a genius.” He shrugged. “I should remember that the next time I want to skip out on a dame.”
She scoffed, but a teasing smile pulled at her lips. “I bet you would.”
He stopped in front of Shots Saloon, one of the oldest bars in the county. “Can I buy you a drink?”
She was all dressed up with nowhere to go. And Shots Saloon had the best Buffalo wings in the state. Since Joey stood her up, she hadn’t had dinner yet. But she didn�
�t want Cole to think this was a date. Because it wasn’t.
“One drink,” she said, spinning around. “But I’m buying my own.”
Chapter Seven
One Guinness and three shots of Jameson Whiskey later, Rachael’s world spun. After the first drink, she’d said she needed to stop. She’d told Cole that was her limit. Yet he’d already lined up three shots for each of them.
How he knew Jameson was her favorite, she didn’t know, but she took the shots in thanks and after clinking the glass against his, shot them all back.
Cole stared as if he couldn’t believe it, and then raced to finish off his own whiskey line-up.
As the bar began to empty out, Cole stood and tapped her on the shoulder. Sparks flew down her arms, humming through her fingers. Each time he’d touched her tonight—inadvertently or otherwise—she’d had the same reaction to him. She couldn’t shake it.
“Pool table’s finally free,” he said. “Do you play?”
“Psht.” Rachael buzzed her lips together to make the wet sound. Her lips were already tingly; another few minutes and they’d be completely numb. “I won a pool championship back in college.”
“Really?” He smiled and dropped his ID on the bar. “Where’d you go to school?”
The bartender traded Cole’s ID for the cue ball.
“UC Santa Cruz,” she said, her words slipping and sliding together. “Did you go to school? College, I mean.”
“No, that path wasn’t in the cards for me.”
Cue ball in hand, he turned and strode toward the back of the bar, where a pool table was situated beneath two Coca-Cola umbrella lights. It was private in back, with dim lights and not a single patron within earshot. While Rachael dug four quarters out of her purse and fumbled to stick them in the pool table slots, Cole measured sticks on the rack against the wall.
Lucky 7 Bad Boys Contemporary Romance Boxed Set Page 108
