“Maybe I should just stay on this side.”
He sent her a frustrated look. “No.”
“Topanga Magic is in my car. Get her, will you, and then drive to safety. I’ll go back to the house.”
His next glance was furious. “Fuck no. There’s a flash flood warning.”
“I know that!” she shouted now. “So get to a safe place!”
“I’m not leaving you,” he said. “I’m never leaving you again.”
“You’re being stupid,” she cried. And then she was, crying. Hot tears joined the cold rain on her face. “Don’t be so stupid!”
She sank back to the mud, clutching the old toy, as all the pain and panic flowed through her and out of her.
“I don’t want to lose him, too,” she sobbed, talking to the ghosts that lived in the old house and that lived in her. “I can’t lose him, too.”
“Over here!” he shouted. “Damn it, Ash, get your butt over here!”
Her head came up. He’d found a pair of long, thick tree limbs that he’d settled across the fast-moving water. He had a boot on each end on his side, holding them in place with his weight. His hands gestured to her.
“Come on!”
As she rose, tears continued to run down her face and sobs racked her chest. Her ankle throbbed, but she limped in his direction, trying not to fall again. He watched her, his blue eyes startling against the gray of the sky and the silver of the rain.
“Hurry up, Ash.”
She paused when she stood opposite him, eyed the improvised passageway, and then glanced over her shoulder.
“Maybe I can find something more substantial to use back in the house.”
“I love you, baby, but I’m going to lose my mind if you make a move in that direction. Get your sweet butt to me right now.”
A sob made her hiccup. “You still love me?”
“Not if you don’t start moving.”
“I love you.”
The words flew from her mouth, and she saw him jerk back in reaction. He lost his footing on the branches and fell into the mud. The new “bridge” washed downstream.
“Fuck!” he yelled, looking after the pieces.
Then without saying another word, he was up and foraging again, finding more limbs to span the distance. When they were in place, he sent her another impatient glance and signaled to her once again.
“Let’s go.” When she didn’t immediately move, he raised his voice. “Let’s go!”
Be brave, she told herself, holding tight to the house.
The pieces of wood were slimy and wet, and she baby-stepped along their surface. The right one shifted, and she gasped as she fought to regain her balance. New terror froze her again, as she stared into the deep, dirty water that was moving much too fast.
“Ash, baby. Stay with me.”
Stay with me. She glanced up at him.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” Brody said. “Eyes on me. Keep walking to the man you love.”
Swallowing hard, she took another few steps. At the middle of the span she wobbled again. When she threw out an arm to keep her balance, her other lost its hold on the dollhouse. It slipped from her grasp and fell into the water with a splash, to be instantly taken up in the current and rushed downstream.
The last glimpse she had of it was the two little dolls, tumbling together head over heels in the direction of the sea. The past, washed away. Beyond her reach to change.
Sadness welled up like another great sob in her chest.
“Come on, Ash,” Brody said, the earlier edge to his voice softened. “You can do it.”
She had to do it. She had to go on.
Her mouth moved as she cast a final look at where she’d last seen the small toys. Goodbye, regrets. Goodbye, old Ashlynn.
Then she faced forward, looking to the future. Be brave, she told herself again. Be Brae.
And then another voice sounded in her head, her twin’s voice. No. Be you.
More grief broke through her barriers then, huge and impossible to smother or ignore. So this time Ash followed Cilla’s advice and hugged the grief to her, only to find, strangely, that it kept her steady. Not like a crutch, but like a companion, like something she didn’t have to be afraid of any longer.
Like something that was a part of her.
A part of life.
She continued moving.
Strong arms folded her in when she reached the far end of the span, and she threw hers around Brody. She cried against him, unashamed of her emotion. For the first time, letting it all out. He pressed his face to her wet hair and kissed it over and over and over.
“You’re safe,” he said, as if to make himself believe it. “You’re safe.”
And then he hustled her to his vehicle, retrieved the cat and the other things she’d shuttled to her car, and they drove away from the house, his SUV’s heater blasting.
She turned to look over her shoulder. The Mercedes was nothing. But the old place… “Do you think it will be okay?” Her eyes stung and another tear rolled down damp cheek.
“No matter what,” he said, reaching for her hand. “We’ll make it home again.”
And she believed him, her man who got heavy things off high shelves, her hero, her love. “Yes. A home again.”
In the empty lot beside Satan’s he put the car into Park, and together they stared at the small cordoned-off section of the roadhouse that had burned.
She glanced at him. “You heard?”
“It was in my newsfeed this morning. Do they know who did it?”
“We suppose it’s the same kids who vandalized the trailer. They caught two of them—the slow ones—and the Sheriff’s people say they suspect that under a little pressure they’ll rat on their friends.”
“How bad’s the damage?”
“Not bad at all, thanks to all the rain. If we can get someone in to repair it pronto”—she sent him a significant look—“we should only have to be closed a few days. Conroy the health inspector was here last night, and he said he’d go easy on us. I bet I’ll be back in business next week.”
He eyed her. “Change of heart about the roadhouse?”
“I discovered I have a bit of a possessive streak when it comes to the place. I actually happened to chase down one of the vandals myself. You don’t want to mess with an angry Ashlynn.”
His mouth twitched. “I’ll bear that in mind.”
“You came for me,” she said.
“I did.”
“I’m grateful. But…we didn’t leave on such very good terms the last time we were together.”
“You mean my grand exit line about not being enough for you?”
She swallowed. “Yeah. About that…”
“I’ve got a bit of a showman in me, sweetheart. Comes from Mad Dog. I think it’s only fair to warn you.”
“You did it for effect?” Her eyes rounded. “I felt terrible!”
“Well, me too, when you didn’t fall at my feet when I told you I love you. But I wasn’t giving up. Not at all. Just biding my time.”
“I should have known,” she grumbled. “I should have known when you had your brother deliver all those things for Topanga Magic.”
“You like the name?”
“It’s perfect.” Then she shivered. “We should get out of these wet clothes.”
“As soon as possible.” The look he gave her nearly melted them off her body.
Oh. My. Swoon.
“I’m going to love you for a very long time,” she blurted out, as the emotion surged through her—wonderful and liberating. She felt it in every cell, and it settled deep in her now-unlocked heart. “I’m going to love you forever.”
He reached over and ran his thumb over her lips. “We’ll be enough for each other, don’t you think?”
Ash nodded. “I’m positive.”
And happiness made her buoyant, as light as a feather, light enough to float over the Earth. But she’d never fly far from this strong, steady man who’d
walked into her roadhouse and helped her heal…and then find magic.
The End
Dear Reader:
Thanks for reading! Brody and Ash have faced down their ghosts to find a bright future together. This is the sixth book in the Rock Royalty series and I am so enjoying writing these emotional and sexy stories.
Interested in sharing your thoughts with other readers? I hope you leave a review for the book here.
The Rock Royalty rock on in the next in the series, WHO DO YOU LOVE. Indie musician Cami Colson fell deeply in love with a mysterious man, but now it seems that’s over. When danger touches her life, however, might her dark stranger return?
Currently available in the series:
Light My Fire (Rock Royalty Book 1)
Love Her Madly (Rock Royalty Book 2)
Break on Through (Rock Royalty Book 3)
Touch Me (Rock Royalty Book 4)
Wishful Sinful (Rock Royalty Book 5)
Wild Child (Rock Royalty Book 6)
Who Do You Love (Rock Royalty Book 7) Coming soon!
Rock Royalty Boxed Set – Books 1-3
Read on for an excerpt from TAKE ME TENDER, the first book in my Billionaire’s Beach series.
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Enjoy!
Christie Ridgway
Excerpt – TAKE ME TENDER
Billionaire’s Beach Book 1
© Copyright 2015 Christie Ridgway
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Sabrina fair
Listen where thou art sitting
Under the glassie, cool, translucent wave,
In twisted braids of Lillies knitting
The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair…
—JOHN MILTON, COMUS: A MASQUE
One
A good cook is like a sorceress who dispenses happiness.
—ELSA SCHIAPARELLI, FASHION DESIGNER
Slowly threading through the tables of the darkened restaurant, Nikki Carmichael refused to let a single tear fall. No, she wasn’t going to cry, though the night’s last entree had been plated and served two hours before and the last patron escorted out the door thirty minutes ago. For the final time, she’d heard the clear-bell clink of the wineglasses greeting their partners as they were slid into their nightly resting place in the rack over the bar. The kitchen’s enormous stock-pots that had simmered broth all through the dinner service were now clean, their steam no longer able to corkscrew the baby hairs that escaped her braids.
Pausing beside a table, she tweaked a white linen napkin already folded in the signature Fleming’s twist, ready for the next day’s dinner rush.
The dinner rush Nikki wouldn’t be here to see, sweat over, or even swear about, as from now on a different sous-chef was responsible for the production of the restaurant’s elegant meals.
Still, she wasn’t going to cry.
After all, she’d been the one to turn in her resignation. And she’d had plenty of time to accustom herself to the idea of leaving the place where she’d worked since cooking school.
Not to mention that she never cried—not since she was fourteen and her father told her at her mother’s funeral that crying was something big girls didn’t do. Don’t let anyone think you’re weak.
At the locked door of the employee break room, with nothing left to do but gather her things and head home, she keyed in the pass code and then pushed it open.
“Surprise!”
Startled, Nikki took an instinctive step back and felt that familiar, dangerous doughiness in her right knee. Her leg almost gave way, but she gritted her teeth and fought for balance. The small crowd in the room didn’t seem to notice, and then she was being dragged inside.
Colleen, the youngest member of Fleming’s full-time waitstaff, grinned at her. “You didn’t think we were going to let you go quietly, did you?”
Nikki had really hoped so. She didn’t know how much longer she could remain upright on her listing leg.
But slices of the pastry chef’s celebrated Chocolate Can’t Kill You cake were already set on a rolling cart beside champagne glasses filled with bubbly. The dishwashers, grizzled Joe and his baby-faced sidekick, Carlos, passed out forks. Colleen danced around with the champagne.
“To Nikki!” she finally said.
And everyone there, from the bartender, to the waitstaff, to her favorite prep cook who must have made a return trip just for the occasion, echoed the words, their glasses held high. The enthusiastic goodwill surprised Nikki all over again. She’d inherited her keep-your-distance DNA from her dad, so she didn’t get too friendly with people, not even coworkers.
In the convivial atmosphere, though, Nikki did okay through the next few minutes, sipping at the champagne she hoped would work like ibuprofen. Then Colleen asked her about her future plans.
“Do you have your next chef job lined up? You said you had prospects.”
It took a moment for Nikki to clear her throat of her latest swallow and her sudden awkwardness. “Not, um, yet. I’m still, uh, sifting through those prospects.”
“I have a friend—”
“What about—”
“Why not—”
The room filled with suggestions. Wearing a polite smile, Nikki listened to each of them. Her excuse for leaving Fleming’s was creative burnout, so their ideas ran the gamut from Japanese to Egyptian to a place that touted a Swiss-Argentinean fusion cuisine.
That last gave her pause. Swiss-Argentinean fusion cuisine. What would that be, exactly? Reuben sandwiches?
After the cake and champagne were consumed, the well-wishers walked her out to her car. She was forced to smooth her gait as she headed across the blacktop, pretending for the crowd she had two completely functional legs. She’d never wanted pity, or worse, the inevitable questions: Why not see a surgeon? Surely some doctor could…? There were reasons that wasn’t going to happen.
Once home, in the smallest rented condo Santa Monica had to offer, she called out, “Fish, I’m back,” then limped about to gather a 32-ounce bag of frozen baby peas and a week’s worth of unopened mail. With a sigh of relief, she perched on the recliner in the living room, setting the envelopes on the small table bearing a lamp, her answering machine, and the goldfish bowl.
Nikki switched on the light to cheer the early A.M. gloom, then tapped the aquarium with her fingertip. “How you doing, Fish?”
In seconds, she’d popped off her cooking clogs and shimmied out of her black-and-white baggy chef’s pants. Sucking in a breath, she stared at her knee. Swollen to the circumference of a summer melon, it throbbed with each one of her heartbeats. She slapped the bag of frozen peas on it, then pushed back on the chair to elevate the aching joint.
“I’ll take the anti-inflammatories before bed, Fish,” she said, glancing over at her finned roommate. Her eye caught on the top envelope in the pile of mail. Her name was written in a beautiful hand and the return address was Malibu, California, the famous seaside enclave just over the Santa Monica Mountains.
Curious, she picked it up. Leaving the hectic, ever-active restaurant business had become a necessity, thanks to her injury, but doing something else besides cooking—well, she wasn’t trained for anything else besides cooking. With a wonky knee and a decidedly private personality, she’d hit on the idea of working in a home kitchen where her work space and her contact with others would be limited.
So she’d advertised in L.A.-area neighborhoods where households might be interested in a private chef.
Bel-Air.
Beverly Hills.
Malibu.
Nothing had come of it…until now? Her pulse quickened as she tore open the seal—and then it slid back to a slow thud.
This piece of mail wasn’t what she needed. It was an advertisement—granted, a beautiful advertisement—for a yarn shop, address on the Pacific Coast Hig
hway in Malibu.
Join us each Tuesday for
Knitters’ Night at Malibu & Ewe!
Make a Connection!
Make something beautiful…friends, too.
An enclosed brochure showed the exterior of a cottage-styled shop overlooking a golden beach and an endless ocean. Other photos captured the displays of yarn and a cozy, comfortable-looking seating area filled with women chatting and knitting. There was an open spot on a particularly inviting sofa.
Shaking her head, Nikki tossed the papers back on the pile of mail. What she needed was a job, not a hobby.
“And who needs friends, Fish,” she murmured, glancing at the aquarium as she pulled the bands free of her braids and untangled her gold and brown hair, “when I have you?”
With a frown, she noticed his tail sinking southward and used her fingers to spoon him out of the water. Then she wound the tiny screw on his side and tossed him back in, gratified as he whirred around his little pond just as if he was a real, live pet.
He was perfect, wasn’t he? Perfect for her, anyway. She didn’t have a good track record keeping things that lived and breathed. And a twenty-seven-year-old woman with culinary school loans and without a job couldn’t afford to feed another mouth anyway.
“Yes, you are perfect, Fish,” she said aloud.
And she wasn’t going to cry, even though her knee was still throbbing like a bitch.
It was then she noticed the light blinking on her answering machine. Who would be calling? Her parents were dead and her social life was practically nil. Was this something about a job? Her heartbeat picked up again, even as she remembered how disappointing the envelope from Malibu & Ewe had proven to be.
Make a Connection!
She needed a way to make a buck or she wouldn’t be able to afford the water to fill Fish’s bowl, let alone the rent on her condo.
Crossing the fingers of her right hand, she reached over with her left to press Play. A man’s voice rumbled into the air.
Wild Child (Rock Royalty #6) Page 21
