Burning Up

by Susan Andersen

  “Because it’s an Irishman I am.”

  “Well, for goodness sake.” She studied him a moment. “Why call your band after another country?”

  “It’s not, really. Aussie Kiss is a slang term in my country.”

  “For?”

  “Uhhh…”

  To Macy’s delight, he actually blushed—something she’d never witnessed before. But taking pity on him, she leaned forward and whispered, “He doesn’t want to say, Auntie, because it’s dirrrrrrty.”

  “Then it’s probably best you don’t,” her aunt agreed. “I’m already subtracting points for the tattoos and the stickpin through your eyebrow.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said politely, but Macy watched her friend retreat inward a little. “Well, it was nice finally meeting you after hearing all Macy’s stories of her aunt and uncle. But I’d best get to town to see if I can find a place to park my trailer.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Lenore said crisply. “There’s a perfectly good spot behind the chicken coop for your trailer. I imagine Bud can even jury-rig some kind of hookup for electricity and water.”

  Jack looked at her a little uncertainly. “You wouldn’t mind then?”

  “Of course not. I might be old-fashioned about your body decorations, but Macy’s friends are always welcome in our home.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that, as I’d like to be close. I need to pick her brains for the first vid from my new album.”

  “Jack gave my career’s new phase instant credibility when he listened to my suggestions for his last video—then acknowledged me in the credits. Because of him, other artists started asking me to come up with concepts for them.”

  “No, that was strictly on the merits of her talent,” he told Lenore. “She’s a natural. Not only does she have an eye for the aesthetic of music videos, she imbues them with her own unique perspective. But regarding letting me park my rig, Mrs. Watson. I want you to know I realize you run a business. I’ll pay you, of course.”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “We’ll discuss that after we see what effect you have on my utilities bill. Meanwhile, you could use some fattening up. Come in the kitchen and I’ll fix you a plate.”

  He dove into the meal Lenore set in front of him. Macy could have told her aunt that for all he was heroin-chic lean, Jack could put away an amazing amount of food. Instead she simply enjoyed Lenore’s pleasure at watching him eat.

  “I see I’ll have to charge you for your meals,” Lenore said dryly as she slapped another dollop of potato salad on his plate and filled up his milk glass for the third time. “As it’s plain you’ll otherwise eat me out of house and home.”

  “It’s just so good.” He dabbed barbecue sauce from his lips with his napkin and shot her a crooked smile. “We don’t get much home cooking in my business, and this is fierce spectacular. You eat like this every night?”

  “Nah,” Macy said. “Usually we eat better.”

  Jack made a rude noise. “You’re havin’ me on. Food doesn’t get much better than this.”

  “I’m telling you, it’s a phenomenon. Every meal Auntie makes just seems to taste better than the one before. Give her a week and you’ll see what I’m saying.”

  Uncle Bud joined them as Jack was finally pushing his plate away. They talked for a while, then he directed the rocker to drive his trailer around behind the chicken coop. While they positioned it and got it leveled, Macy went back to the house to fetch Janna so she could introduce her to Jack. But her cousin was clearly worn-out by the day’s therapy session, for she was sound asleep in their room. So she went back out and explored the trailer’s interior as the men circled the vehicle outside, discussing the finer points of running utilities to it.

  “You won’t have sewer hookup,” she heard her uncle say, and glanced out the window over the little round stainless sink to see him and Jack squatting down inspecting she didn’t know what. “But you can always clear the holding tank at a dumping station when needed.”

  “Water’s not a problem,” he added, pointing to an outdoor faucet. “We can get you hooked up with that in no time.” He proceeded to do just that as she snooped freely through the sleek, well-appointed trailer. “Electric’s a little trickier. With the fire chief living here, it’s probably not a good idea to just drag out an extension cord.”

  “I heard that.”

  Macy immediately lost interest in the sleekly compact interior and made a beeline for the door. But, embarrassed that she might have exposed more of herself to him than she should have before Jack showed up, she found herself acting like a twelve-year-old with her first crush when she stepped out into the cooling evening air and promptly pretended she didn’t notice Gabriel. Still, that was better than her first impulse, which was to jump down his throat for making more work for her uncle.

  Because that wouldn’t do. Janna had already figured out her animosity toward him was partly hormone-driven. She’d just as soon her uncle didn’t cop to it, as well.

  “Slick little trailer, Jack,” she said as she joined the men. “But why didn’t you just bring the tour bus?”

  “The lads are off to Jackson Hole in it to do some fishing.” He gave the Airstream a fond look. “She’s a sweet little bird, isn’t she? Much smaller and easier to maneuver than the bus.”

  Macy made a rude noise. “Like you’ve ever driven a bus.”

  “I’ll have you know I drove the band’s first one all over the U.K.” He gave her a cheeky smile. “’Course that was a VW camper van we picked up on the cheap in Dublin.”

  “Hey,” Gabe interrupted without heat. “You want to jaw with Macy or get your rig hooked up sometime tonight?”

  “Sorry, mate. I haven’t seen me little luv here in a bit, but I’m all yours. I appreciate your willingness to figure out the hows of this wiring stuff. If I had to come up with a plan, you can be sure I’d make a complete bag of it.”

  She’d missed the part where they’d been introduced, but clearly it had happened somewhere along the line because the three men conversed with ease. The conversation, in fact, soon turned to posthole diggers and trenches and plastic tubing and electrical feeds. She felt her eyes start to glaze, but she perked right up when Gabe picked up a dual-handled device with two shovel-like blade thingies on the end.

  “Ooh. Men with tools,” she murmured and suppressed her juvenile satisfaction when those intense gray eyes fastened on her for an electric moment.

  Then he looked away and, keeping the handles together, drove the apparatus’s blades into the ground. Pulling the handles apart, he raised the digger out of the embryonic hole he’d made, emptied the dirt he’d excavated, then repeated the process.

  She was fascinated by all the small muscles that bunched and lengthened and shifted beneath his skin and under his T-shirt. Well, so did Jack’s, she saw as he used a shovel to start a shallow trench, and he had the added attraction of all those tattoos undulating with every movement. But he was Jack, so her appreciation for the view he provided was more in an ooh, buff-statue-in-the-museum sort of way.

  Bud joined her. “This is the advantage of having young bucks around,” he said jovially. “Someone else to do the heavy lifting.”

  She tore her gaze from the view and grinned at her uncle. “Want a chair to enjoy the show in comfort?” she asked. “I saw a couple in the little closet in the trailer. There’s also some Guinness in the cupboard. Jack’s got that Irish fondness for warm beer, but if you can tolerate it room temperature…”

  “You’re pretty familiar with the boy’s habits—never mind not shy about making yourself at home in his Airstream,” Bud said in a low voice. “You two—?” Pink crept up his cheeks even as he wagged grizzled eyebrows.

  “Nah,” she said. “I love him to pieces. But like a brother, you know?”

  “Gotta confess I’m relieved. From the little I’ve talked to him, he seems pretty grounded for a famous sort. But I can’t say I’m wild about the idea of him dragging you from pillar to post
any more than I was when it was your mother doing the dragging.”

  “Yeah, touring’s definitely not for me. You know I’ve been in the same little condo in Redondo Beach for more than eight years. I guess I’m a nester like you and Auntie.” She flashed him an affectionate smile. “So, about that chair and beer?”

  “I’ll take the first, but pass on the second.” He inspected the tube that ran parallel with the top of the trailer. “I’ll just get this awning set up while you fetch the chairs.”

  But Macy had barely spun around to go into the trailer when a car pulled into the parking area, sounding a cheerful beep as it rocked to a stop. Turning back, she watched Grace climb from her little Ford Focus, then observed Gabriel’s happy-to-see-ya smile and the poleaxed expression that crossed Jack’s face before he quickly covered it with his public persona, that slightly cool, slightly aloof rock-star shell that was a world removed from his actual warm personality.

  And she didn’t get it. She liked Grace, she genuinely did. But the girl dressed primly and was hardly loaded with man-eater do-me-daddy mannerisms.

  “So, what the hell?” she murmured, then fought a blush and shook her head at Jack when he raised an eyebrow at her.

  But, really. What was it about Grace that made her such a man magnet?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  GRACE HESITATED next to her car before heading for the group by the silver trailer. Holy crapoly, was that who she thought it was? Dear Lord. She’d assumed Macy was the height of cool. And now Jack Savage was in the Watson’s backyard?

  Don’t let me act like a stupid groupie. Please don’t let me do that! Putting on her calmest teacher face, she slowed her walk to a stroll.

  And still arrived before she was ready.

  Heart beating a frantic tattoo, she sidled up to Gabe, smiled at Macy and snuck a look at Savage.

  Only to find him staring back at her. When he caught her peeking, one side of his mouth curved up.

  “Grace, this is my friend Jack,” Macy said. “Jack heads—”

  “I know who he is,” she said and—yay—actually sounded fairly composed.

  “Oh. Sure.” Macy laughed. “I guess you’d have to be raised in a cave not to, huh?” She dug an elbow in the rock star’s side. “Jack, this is Grace. She’s Gabe’s girl, my nephew Ty’s teacher and my new friend. So be nice.”

  “I’m always nice.” He turned to her, flashing an easygoing smile. “Pleasure to meet you, Grace.” He thrust out his hand.

  Hoping she wouldn’t swoon like a rabid fan-girl at her first concert, she reached out to shake it. Savage’s callus-tipped fingers wrapped around hers, and an electric shock streaked through her system, followed by a wave of lust.

  She swallowed a snort. Because, please. As if that would ever be satisfied. She had a rich and varied love life, although unfortunately only in her head.

  It was her curse that men rarely saw her as a sexual being. They seemed to like her well enough, but because she didn’t dress or talk or, okay, behave in any way remotely like the hottie she fantasized being, they apparently thought she wasn’t interested in sex.

  Oh, she was interested. And not just in the plain old vanilla variety, either; she dreamed of out-of-control throw-caution-to-the-wind, Desire with a flaming capital D sex.

  Instead, her way-too-few lovers had treated her with lowering care. And Gabe, whom she’d been dating fairly steadily for the past six weeks and had thought might be her guide into the world of strip-me-naked-and-hold-me-down screaming orgasms, hadn’t even slapped any real moves on her. When he’d first asked her out, she’d thought for sure that finally she had a shot at the fantasy sex she’d been dreaming of since her teens. There was just something beneath his surface calm that made her know he’d be wild or—even better—dominant in that order-a-girl-to do-the-unspeakable-in-bed kind of way.

  But although they got along famously and had fun together, he’d never done more than kiss her good-night at her door. And to her surprise, as fantastic as he was in the smooch department, maybe she didn’t feel that out-of-control chemistry she’d hoped for with him, either. But would it hurt him to at least try? Just once she’d like to be treated less like a lady and more like a tart.

  She sure as heck didn’t fool herself that a famous rock star with densely tattooed arms and a lovely accent would be the one to suddenly sniff out her inner sex kitten and itch to release it. That didn’t stop her, however, from tingling right down to the bone when Savage looked at her with those heavy-lidded amber-brown eyes as if she had his full, absorbed attention.

  Unfortunately, it also didn’t stop her from blushing to her hairline. Because that was Part Two of her curse: her outer good girl was aeons stronger than the self she wished to be. A self who was fearless like Macy.

  Jack’s gaze drifted lazily to the front of her blouse. Oh, God. Could he tell her nipples were hard? Which bra had she put on this morning, anyway? Please let it be the slightly padded one.

  But when he gave her that one-sided knowing smile again and licked his lips, she knew. It was the skimpy, lace-trimmed number.

  The heat in her face was so scalding she was surprised her features didn’t melt right down her neck onto her firmly buttoned ecru blouse. She hated the fact that, as a teensiest-bit-repressed schoolteacher, she was already a cliché. Did she really need to compound it by reacting like a thirteen-year-old? He was a rock-and-roll god, for goodness sake. Probably every woman he met had this response.

  “You wanna get this done sometime tonight, Savage?”

  Gabe’s sardonic demand made her start skittishly. But Jack flashed him a smile that was surprisingly boyish. “Yeah, sorry, mate,” he said. “I just got sucked in for a minute by your pretty little bird here.”

  Fury shot up her spine and she forgot all about her schoolgirl blushes. “Listen,” she said in a low, stiff voice. “You might be a big hotshot rock star, but that doesn’t give you leave to mock me.”

  He’d started to turn away, but pivoted back to look down at her. “Oh, I’m far from mocking you, luv. I’ve had a thing for shiny-haired girls in Peter Pan collars since Caitlin Doyle led me around by my—” he cleared his throat “—uh, nose at Kill o’the Grange in County Dublin.”

  “What is that—Kill o’the Grange?” she demanded, her teacher’s interest piqued.

  “School I was in my sixth class. What you’d call an elementary, I guess.” His gaze drifted over her shirtfront again. “I had it bad for Caitlin when I was twelve.”

  “Savage!” Gabe bellowed.

  “Yeah, yeah. Keep your cacks on, guv. I’m coming.” He ran a finger down her nose, then strolled back to pick up a shovel.

  Macy came over. “A bit overwhelming on first meeting, our Jack.”

  “I’ll say.” She shot the tall blonde a glance. “I had this overpowering urge to throw my panties at him.”

  Macy laughed. “I like you, Grace. You’ve got depths I think a lot of people overlook.”

  “Absolutely. Because shedding one’s underwear for a rock star is so profound. Not to mention original.”

  “Oh. Well. He is Jack Savage.”

  “He certainly is.” She studied Macy’s fond smile as the other woman watched Jack work. “So, are the two of you—?”

  “No.” Macy’s attention returned to her. “But he is one of my best friends. Jack’s one of the good guys. For all the perks and attention his fame brings him, he’s generous and down-to-earth.” She flicked fingers toward where he was putting his back into digging the hole and spoke a little less softly than she’d been doing. “I don’t know many Hollywood types who would do their own work. Most of the ones I’ve met would be on their cell phones trying to hire someone—or better yet, getting their agents to do it. And never mind that it’s closing on nine p.m. in a farming community that rolls up its streets at six.”

  She waved her hand. “But enough about men. I was thinking we oughtta have a girls’ night out one of these evenings.”

  From the c
orner of her eye Grace saw Gabe suddenly raise his head from where he was bent over the posthole digger to glance over at them.

  “You, me, Shannon and Janna, if she’s up to it,” Macy continued, reclaiming her attention. “Maybe hit the Red Dog, throw back a shot or two and shoot the breeze. Or we could go to a coffee shop if you’d rather, although I’m not sure any are open in the evening.”

  She gave Macy a shy smile, feeling as if she’d suddenly been singled out to sit at the cool kids’ table. “Either sounds fun. Count me in.”

  “Good. Your schedule and Shannon’s are probably more complicated than mine or Janna’s, so why don’t you guys pick a night that works for you and we’ll go from there.”

  She was about to agree when she heard the beep of a pager. Glancing at the two men working alongside the chicken coop, she saw Gabe on his phone.

  A moment later, he snapped it shut. “Fire,” he said to no one in particular, already striding for his SUV. “Gotta go.”

  “Dude definitely needs to work on his social skills,” Macy muttered, but Grace doubted he heard her, since his long legs were eating up the distance to the parking area.

  Bud shot his niece a wry smile as he passed the two women, fishing a pair of leather gloves from his back pocket and pulling them on as he walked over to the discarded posthole digger. “Guess I’m not going to escape the heavy lifting after all.”

  Grace turned a questioning brow on Macy, feeling as if she’d come in on the middle of a conversation.

  “He was pretty pumped at having two strong backs to do the hard work,” Macy explained. She was quiet for a minute, then said, slowly, “I guess I never really thought it through before, but Gabriel’s really on call 24/7, isn’t he?” She gave her a searching look. “That’s gotta complicate your dating life.”

  Grace made a noncommittal noise, feeling it disloyal to admit that they’d had several dates cut short. In any case, she glanced from Gabe’s car reversing from its parking slot in a tight U to Jack wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and leaving behind a smear of dirt she had a ridiculous urge to wipe clean.