Lucky 7 Bad Boys Contemporary Romance Boxed Set

by Pineiro, Charity

  Her chest warmed. “I think that’s a great idea.”

  “Rita won’t think so, but that’s all right. By the time it takes me to write an original song, she’ll warm up to it.”

  “It’s the right way to go,” she said, playing with the necklace in her hand. “Your fans will love the personal touch.”

  “Will you wear it?”

  “Of course.”

  He draped it around her neck and adjusted it over her chest. It was long, like a dog tag chain, with a tiny hole cut into the top of the pick.

  “Run to him,” Cole said softly, spinning the pick around. “But if you can, if it’s not too much to ask…think of me when you wear this and know I’ll be thinking of you. I want you to be happy, Rachael.” He leaned down and planted the softest of kisses on her lips. “No matter what.”

  Her insides tumbled. “I want you to be happy, too.”

  He kissed her again and it tasted like goodbye.

  * * *

  “And then he just left?” Lucy cried, leaning against the doorjamb in the downstairs bathroom. “What’d he say?”

  “Nothing.” Rachael scrubbed the tile behind the toilet. “Well, that’s not entirely true. He asked about breakfast again.”

  Lucy hmph’d. “Typical male. You know what they say…the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

  “Clearly I don’t know anything about how to get to a man’s heart,” Rachael said, putting up her glove-covered hand. “Can we talk about something else? Please?”

  “Sure.” Lucy tapped her boot heel against the wall. “Did you watch him as he drove away?”

  “Lucy!”

  “Hey!” She threw up her hands. “I didn’t talk about his heart!”

  Knees aching, Rachael peeled the gloves off her hands and tossed them in the trash. “I watched until he turned off Main.”

  Lucy smacked her. “I knew it!”

  “Why does that even matter?”

  “Didn’t you read The Love Game by Grey Thompson?”

  “No, but I hear he’s great.” Rachael sprayed Windex on the bathroom mirror and started swiping. “Isn’t he coming to the Book Bandit for some kind of tour in October?”

  Lucy grabbed Rachael by the shoulders and spun her around. “I’m not talking about the Book Bandit or Grey Thompson. I’m talking about you and Cole Hottie Turner. You love him, and that’s why you watched him leave. At least that’s what the book says.”

  Rachael’s stomach turned as she remembered the way she’d wanted to run into the street and holler for Cole to turn around and come back. To stay.

  But she didn’t.

  Couldn’t.

  “I don’t love him,” Rachael said, doubting the words as she spoke them. “I don’t.”

  Lucy pursed her lips. “Does saying it twice make it true?”

  “What kind of a fool would I be if I let myself fall in love with him?” Rachael scoured the sink and faucet until the entire vanity was squeaky clean. “It was a weekend fling. I always knew it.”

  “Is that what he said?”

  “No.” The necklace hidden beneath Rachael’s sweater burned against her skin. “I think it was more for him, too.”

  At least that’s what she hoped.

  “Then why are you here?” Lucy whispered. “Why don’t you go after him?”

  “How could I?” She tossed the towels in the laundry basket on her way down the hall. “The inn is full for the next week and I’ve got to finish the rooms in the other building.”

  Lucy followed a few steps behind, her heels clacking over the hardwood. “I could run the inn for you for awhile. I’d stay here and play goodie-goodie Rachael McCoy while you ran off with the rock star. If duty calls, I can always send my assistant Skylie to fill in. She’s really sweet and always eager to help with whatever I need.”

  “For how long?” Rachael spat, turning into her room. She snatched her robe off the back of her door and draped it over her arm. “Two days? Three? And then what? Don’t you think I’ve gone over every scenario in my head? There’s no possible way we’d work. Even if I went to Lake Tahoe to be with him and let you or Skylie stay here taking care of the inn, it would end the same way. He’d go back to Hollywood when his tour ended and I’d stay here. Whatever happened this weekend is over.”

  “Fine,” Lucy said as Rachael pushed by and charged back into the bathroom. “So in the meantime you’re going to settle for Joey?”

  Tossing the robe on the vanity, Rachael started the water for the shower. “No, I’m going to move on with my life. I’m going to go out to dinner with a sweetheart, a guy who’s going to be here for the next twenty years.”

  “Is that all you’re looking for? Someone who’s going to stick around Blue Lake? Gee,” Lucy squawked. “If that’s the case, Dom is available. Hell, if you head down to the saloon there’s bound to be a handful of losers who’ll—”

  “Okay!” Rachael said, folding her arms over her chest. “I get your point. But Joey isn’t a loser, and I’m not canceling tonight.”

  “And you shouldn’t.” Lucy leaned against the door. “You deserve the best, Rachael, and nothing less. If you end up with Joey, great. But don’t settle for anything less than electric.”

  Rachael leveled her with a stare. “Electric?”

  “Yup.” Lucy nodded. “If Joey doesn’t singe the clothes off your body, he’s not the one for you.”

  Rachael’s thoughts shot to Cole. He barely had to look at her and her insides trembled with anticipation.

  “Thanks for the advice,” Rachael said, checking the water temperature. “But if you stand here much longer, you’re going to get a peep show.”

  With a laugh, Lucy stepped out of the bathroom and locked the door before closing it behind her. She was a great friend. One of the best. Rachael was blessed to have someone like that in her life, someone who would hold down the inn for a night so she could go on a date with a hot fireman.

  If only she could find the great love of her life.

  Now that she thought about it, Joey was stable, shared the same dreams of raising a family and growing old in this town. He was good looking and a total gentleman. More than that, he was safe.

  But there’d never been a spark with him.

  Was the spark missing with Joey because she’d been too distracted by Cole?

  Now that he was out of the picture, it was time to find out.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It took two and a half hours to drive from Blue Lake to South Lake Tahoe.

  Every mile, every hour, Rachael consumed Cole’s thoughts.

  Sprawled out on the bench seat with his guitar in his lap, he didn’t mean to write a song about what happened between them. But he did. The chords came naturally, and the words followed after. By the time the SUV pulled into Harrah’s underground parking garage, Cole had finished Run to Him and was halfway through another song he hadn’t named yet. At this rate, he would finish the songs for his next album by the time the tour ended.

  He didn’t have time to wonder what Rita would think about the new direction; the driver killed the engine and three other Tahoes parked beside them.

  The security team whisked him upstairs to his room where he flopped onto his bed, turned Sports Center on the flatscreen television, and surfed the internet on his phone.

  Thank the Lord for wireless.

  An hour later though, there was nothing good on T.V. and his phone offered nothing new. It was the same old trash, the same hyper-tech monotony.

  Would Rachael be getting ready for her date? Would she be curling her hair and wearing those sexy knee-high boots? Would there be a fire in the hearth and the mouth-watering aroma of dinner in the air? If he was there, they could walk hand in hand down the street and find a quiet restaurant to grab a glass of wine.

  God, what he wouldn’t trade for one more night with that woman.

  But she was about to go out with someone else. His stomach soured at the thought.

 
Deep down I know you deserve better.

  I want you to be happy.

  “Knock, knock!” Rita hollered through the door adjoining her room to his. “Cole! You awake!”

  “If I wasn’t before, I am now.” He rolled off the bed and opened the door.

  She looked worried, the vein in her forehead protruding more than he’d ever seen it. She wore heels with jeans, a cherry-red sweater and matching lipstick. “The showroom manager called,” she said. “Scratchy and the Buccaneers were scheduled to play tonight, but Scratchy came down with something.”

  “Is it a rash?” Cole smirked, and when Rita didn’t laugh, he said, “You know, scratchy? With a rash?”

  “Please, Cole, can you be serious for a minute?”

  Rachael would’ve laughed at his pathetic joke.

  Damn it, why did everything revolve around Rachael? Every thought that streamed through his head, every thing he did or heard…it all started and ended with her. He’d known from the moment they slept together on the hard floor of the inn that something in his chest had softened.

  He’d dismissed the feeling at first, but now…he’d never felt this way before. No one had ever stuck with him the way she had. He wanted to be the one holding her hand on the way to dinner. He longed to be the one curled up in bed with her at night, and not just for the sex, though that was slammin’ too. He wanted to hold her until morning. Wake to the sweet smell of her hair.

  “They sold out the showroom and need an act for tonight.” Lucy punched him in the shoulder, jarring him. “You’re it.”

  His brows pulled together. “Aren’t Scratchy’s fans going to be irritated that they paid for him and got me instead?”

  “Are you kidding? Scratchy and the Buccaneers were huge in the eighties, but they’re washed up. Their fans will probably thank their lucky stars to be getting out of that show.” She turned off the television and sat on the edge of his bed. “Besides, Harrah’s is offering to refund the pre-ordered tickets. Any open seats will be sold at the door tonight. They won’t lose money, the fans won’t be angry, and you get a bonus show.”

  Suddenly, Cole knew what he had to do.

  He pulled a notebook out of one of the boxes his crew had brought in. “Since they’re not my normal crowd, do you think I could play a few new songs?”

  Her expression soured. “New songs?”

  “I wrote a couple on the way over.”

  She shook her head. “We haven’t had time to prep the band.”

  He flipped through the notebook, stopped on the page with the chords and lyrics and handed it over. “We don’t need to prep anyone. It’ll be nothing but me, a barstool, and my favorite guitar.”

  She glanced over his notes. “Cole, I think those few days in the boondocks have gone to your head. You’re a rock and roll performer, not a country musician.”

  “I know that, but I think there’s a way to mix both. The rock will be in my voice, deep and raspy over the notes, and the guitar will soften things. It’ll take away the smoke and mirrors, the fireworks and killer drum solos and give the crowd something personal.”

  “Personal,” she repeated, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “Can’t believe you’re throwing this at me now.”

  “This is going to happen,” he said. “I can’t keep singing songs that aren’t mine. I’ve been keeping the fans arm’s length away and they know it. They’re so desperate to feel something personal from me that they’ll believe anything they read in the gossip magazines.”

  “It’s not right for you.” She handed the notebook back. “It won’t work.”

  “It will work,” he demanded. “Whether you continue to manage my career or not, this is going to happen. If something doesn’t change, I’m not going to have much of a career to manage anyway.”

  She paused, measuring him with a pissed-off glare.

  “Okay, Cole,” she said finally, breaking the stand-off between them. “The way I figure it, you don’t have anything to lose.”

  “Thanks Rita. I think.”

  “Do the first set my way and nail it, and you can perform these two songs at the end of the show. I’ll instruct the showroom manager to dim the lights and focus the spotlight on you. Don’t choke,” she said, pointing into his chest. “You’re hot as hades and you can perform one hell of a show, but you’ve got a ton to prove when it comes to your singing, especially after Houston and the first show at StoneMill. Without the band backing you up, your tone, pitch, everything, has got to be spot-on. You better get tears, Turner.”

  “Don’t worry,” Cole said, as lyrics ran though his head. “This will be like nothing they’ve ever seen.”

  * * *

  Blue Lake had gone from quiet, peaceful town to three-ring circus in less than twelve hours. Cole had been right. The media had descended on the town like a plague of locusts. They took pictures of everything—meaningless things like the antique lampposts and wine barrels lining the sidewalks—and interviewed everyone, whether or not they’d even seen Cole around town. Three blacked-out Lincolns parked across the street from the inn—they’d showed up at dawn and hadn’t moved since—and the moment Rachael stepped outside, the windows rolled down and huge camera lenses popped out.

  She sighed, tightened the scarf around her neck and waited for Joey. He told her he’d pick her up at eight sharp.

  It was five after.

  As his lifted red pickup truck came into view and circled in front of the inn, the sound of pictures snapping hit her ears. Was the media really so desperate for one shred of information about Cole? He’d already left. There was nothing going on. And she was probably the least interesting woman on the planet.

  She reached for the handle but didn’t get far. Joey had hopped out the truck and ran around to open her door.

  Always the gentleman.

  More pictures clicked from the direction of the Lincolns. Joey nodded and waved, smiling politely as if they were here to see him.

  He wore a flannel shirt popped at the collar and rolled up at the sleeves, and a pair of loose jeans with cowboy boots. She’d seen him in the same outfit—different colors, of course—for years. He was a firefighter by day and a country boy by night. It was one of the things that had first attracted her to him. She’d always liked the strength of his profession mixed with his laid-back country feel.

  Tonight, his dark hair was parted down the side and slicked back, and he wore much too much cologne.

  “Let me get that,” he said, smiling, swinging the door wide. “Step up and grab the handle to jump in.”

  “Okay.” As she did what he said, his hands found her hips. “Oh!” She repressed a flinch and a backhand smack.

  Although Rachael couldn’t hear the clicks of the cameras, she could feel the heat from the lenses boring into her back.

  “I’ll help you up,” he said.

  Sure you would.

  He gave her a boost, shut the door, and then strode around the hood to get in. They drove down the street, turning after the Candy Shoppe, and down a gentle slope in the road leading to the residential part of Blue Lake.

  “That was crazy back there,” he said, breaking the silence in the cab. “All those people wanting to dish up gossip. You think it’ll chill out soon?”

  “I hope so.” She blew out an exasperated breath.

  “Reporters have been to the station,” he said. “Asking about you and Cole.”

  “They have?”

  Nodding, he turned the radio up and then tapped the steering wheel as the cab heated with tension. Rachael craned around to stare behind them. The Lincolns hadn’t followed. They must not have been interesting enough.

  “Where are we going?” she asked finally.

  “It’s a surprise.” Grinning, he turned toward her. “Do you like surprises?”

  “Only the good ones.”

  She’d had a few this weekend. The biggest surprise was six-feet-six with rippling cords of muscle and melting-honey eyes. He’d made her heart da
nce and her legs quiver, despite her best efforts to resist him.

  Joey turned left and drove behind the small shops lining Main Street. When the road ended at the highway, he made a right and followed the gentle bends in the road to the edge of the town. A small ranch house set apart from the others on the street came into view: white siding, blue shutters, white picket fence and a bright red barn in back.

  “Do the Sutherlands still live here?” she asked.

  Jan and Ox Sutherland owned the place when Rachael was in high school, and their daughters, Tiffany and Tierra, used to throw massive parties in the barn. If she thought back, her first kegger had been there sophomore year.

  “Tiffany moved in after her parents passed. I asked if it’d be all right if I brought you out here, and she said no problem. Actually,” he corrected, pulling into the drive alongside the house, “she said it was one of the most romantic things she’d ever heard.”

  Oh yeah. A date in a barn. If he handed her a bouquet of oats, she was really going to swoon.

  “I’ve got some interesting memories here,” she said instead.

  He met her gaze. “Me too.”

  As he parked in front of the red-paneled barn, he turned off the truck, rolled down the windows and cranked up the radio. A country song blared from the speakers: Carrie Underwood’s Someday When I Stop Loving You. One of her favorites. Rachael let herself out and met Joey at the front of the truck. He smiled and grabbed her hand. His skin was cool, his touch firm. There was no spark. No za-zing!

  Maybe that would come with time…

  He led her into the barn where a table and chairs had been set up in the center. Dinner had already been served—steak, from the peppery aroma filling the air. Tealights in mason jars lined the dirt floor. Music from the truck drifted into the barn, creating a very warm, cozy, romantic vibe plucked straight from The Bachelor.

  Okay, so she’d been wrong. Barns could be romantic.

  Still, if he handed her oats or hay, she’d bolt.

  He pulled out her chair—did he always do the gentlemanly thing?—and sat across from her, draping a plaid napkin over his lap.