4 Play

by Quinn, Cari

  Because he was freaking Logan King.

  She’d just eye-fucked the lead singer of All the King’s Men—their headliner and the darling of Winchester Falls. He barely resembled the same man in the poster. And not in a bad way.

  This version was a little more approachable, and yet no less intense.

  “Logan!”

  Bella’s eyebrows shot up as the mayor hotfooted her way across the barn. The formidable Mayor Darcy walked into his arms and gave him a friendly hug.

  She wasn’t sure Mr. Darcy even got a hug like that. Even more appalling…Logan hugged her back, bending down to whisper something in her ear.

  Sharon tapped his cheek and laughed like a schoolgirl. “I thought you went back into the city. We finished the interviews yesterday.”

  Had there been an alien invasion and the mayor had been replaced with one of those reptilian things like in that old TV show?

  “Isabella, come over here.” Sharon held her arm out, waving Bella over. “Logan King, this is the head of the Summer Festival planning committee, Isabella Grace.”

  Bella forced her feet to work and crossed to them. Somehow she bent her mouth into the half smile that helped get her through more than one dry dinner party.

  Logan held his hand out. “We almost just met. A pleasure.”

  Bury. Me. Now. C’mon, Earth. Open up and swallow me whole. That’d be amazing. “Nice to meet you.” No sparks please. Just a hand. A clammy hand would be preferable actually.

  She clasped his hand and…nothing. Just dry and firm. Professional.

  Disappointment rolled through her. So maybe she’d figured on sparks. At least on her part. Maybe because he was Logan King, but more because of her reaction to…well, everything else. But it seemed that he knew how to do the polite handshake and move on. No entanglements.

  It was better that way.

  Completely.

  As he released her hand, the calloused tips of his fingers teased the inside of her wrist.

  Okay.

  Sparks. Wow. Flay off a layer of skin kind of sparks.

  She slid her hand behind her back and curled her fingers into her palm. Go away now, tingles. You’re way past inconvenient, and bordering on inappropriate.

  Three

  Well, fuck.

  Logan jammed his hands into his pockets. That was something he did not need. This town was his no fly zone. So he sure as shit was going to ignore the hot rock that had materialized in the middle of his chest. He exchanged pockets for crossing his arms over his chest. Why the hell did he leave his shirt in the truck?

  Sharon gave him an indulgent smile. “You snuck off before we got to talk yesterday.”

  Logan laughed. “You know me, can’t stay still long.” His gaze tripped over Isabella’s lightly tanned shoulders, down to her twisting fingers, then back up to her dark hair. It was that freshly tumbled out of bed kind of hair that made his fingers itch. A red dress clung to all sorts of places he shouldn’t be looking at.

  Finally, he managed to focus on Sharon with an easy smile. “I came down to get some of Mrs. Stack’s lemonade. I forgot just how bad the humidity is in August.”

  “If you stayed more than a few weeks in the year you’d know that.”

  “You might just see my ugly mug a bit longer this year.” Logan forced himself to keep his eyes on the mayor. He’d been on the west coast so much lately that this wet heat was soaking into his damn brain. It was the only excuse he could come up with for his reaction to the woman with the topaz eyes who was trying to look at anything but him.

  But every time she did, he felt it like the humidity in the air. There, but not there. A caress of wet heat.

  Sharon’s hand fluttered across his forearm. “That’s wonderful. You work too hard.”

  “Normally I’d say time off is for wimps, but I’m exhausted.”

  He’d prowled his house all damn night. Sleep was as elusive here as it was on the road. He was up to fifty laps a day in the pool just to keep himself sane. He traded whisky out for wine last night to give his liver a break.

  “Time off is key,” Sharon said.

  “You certainly don’t follow your own advice. I hit Stack’s and all I heard was how much you guys were doing for the festival.”

  “Isabella has a lot of new ideas.”

  She met his gaze. “I had to bring my A-game. You make it the party to end all parties in our little town.”

  Treat her like any other woman. Easy smile and charm. He could do it in his sleep for fuck’s sake. Well, back when he’d actually gotten sleep. Was it the red dress making him nuts, or just the woman?

  No.

  It was the eyes.

  Jesus, they were haunting.

  Rule number one, King—don’t shit where you eat.

  Winchester Falls was his safe haven. He’d never gone for one of the locals. And fuck, they’d tried. Women from sixteen to sixty had made a play for him since the day his Mercedes had broken down on Main Street all those years ago.

  But he was not changing his one steadfast rule for a woman with topaz eyes.

  He needed the clean air and his falls. He needed the sameness. And most of all, he needed the quiet. Breaking rule number one was stupid, but getting involved with anyone right now was downright irresponsible.

  “Logan?”

  He blinked Sharon into focus. Fuck. He’d done it again. Zoned out. It was his perpetual state of being. He could barely stand himself, let alone people. He shouldn’t have come into town. Even for the best lemonade known to man.

  He scratched his chin where his beard was heaviest. “I’m sorry. I’m still on L.A. time.”

  Sharon nodded. “You run yourself into the ground and then come back here. It’s your way.”

  Logan laughed dryly. “You’re always right, Madam Mayor.” He glanced at Isabella, donning his polite hat. “She still likes to lord it over people, right?”

  Isabella gave a polite huff of a laugh, then linked her fingers behind her back which emphasized the little half-moons of sweat under her spectacular breasts. Before he could drag his gaze somewhere that wouldn’t get his face slapped, her nipples tightened. Little points that begged for attention.

  Son of a bitch.

  He clamped his hand on the back of his neck and up along his newly shorn hair. What he needed to do was stuff down the insta-lust. Only boys and idiots were ruled by their cocks. He dragged his attention off the woman that would be the friggin’ organizer of the festival. Because he was about to ruin her day.

  “I was driving through Main and saw the old barn was being renovated finally. She’s going to have a great sound to her.”

  Sharon nodded. “I brought Isabella over to tell her about the changes to the festival. This will give us more room for the musical acts for the festival.”

  A little muscle in Isabella’s cheek jumped.

  “Don’t hold back.” Her eyes locked with his and Christ he was going to hell with the thoughts spinning in his brain. Almost all of them were going to include those eyes. Maybe fantasizing about this woman would be enough. He’d be going to Manhattan next week for a charity benefit. He could find a way to ease the rest of his pain there. “Well, c’mon. Spit out whatever you’re thinking or you’ll end up with a headache.”

  She scraped her teeth over her top lip quickly, before she shook her head. “It’s fine.”

  Sharon turned to Isabella. “Is there a problem?”

  Miss Director’s hands came back to her sides and he said a quick prayer of thanks. Distracting body aside, at least he didn’t have the perfect outline of the curve of her breasts driving him to the bottle of Dalmore he had waiting at home.

  “Look, Sharon, I appreciate that you’re giving me more time for the musical acts, but when I don’t have the budget to go with it, then it really doesn’t work. The acts don’t work for free.”

  “But I do.”

  Isabella’s gaze swung to his, eyes narrowed. Insanely dark lashes and liner made her eyes
glow. Maybe he’d be drinking that bottle of whisky after all. “You’re main stage. I have you playing ninety minutes to two hours on the final night.”

  “Which I’ll do.” Like always. The hits and some cover songs that would suit the older set. He knew how to skew a playlist to a crowd. He didn’t even have to think. Words fell out of him with ease. Just like the trained monkey he was. “But I want time on this stage.” He nodded to the small, rickety stage.

  “No.”

  Logan’s eyebrows rose. “No?”

  “Of course,” Sharon said quickly.

  Logan ignored the mayor. “Look, Izzy.”

  “My name is Ms. Grace, Isabella or Bella.”

  “Izzy,” he said again. Her eyes flashed and his spine straightened, his chin lifted. “I’ll provide whatever you need to make the budget stretch, but I am playing on this stage. Twice.”

  “Why?” She twirled around. “This is a barn. You do realize that, right?”

  “Yes, I’m well aware that we’re in a barn.” He forced his eyes to stay on hers and not on the elegant length of leg she’d flashed. Women and heels were the bane of a man’s existence and he’d been afflicted since the age of twelve.

  “We don’t have the security or the insurance to cover the amount of people that are going to try to pack themselves in here. You’re famous.”

  Instead of sounding awestruck, her words were more like an insult. Possibly like she was talking to a toddler. And not a bright one. “We won’t advertise it.”

  “Now, Logan.” Sharon spoke up. “You doing a rare, intimate show. That can’t be downplayed, not when it can raise so much money for the foundation.”

  He tipped his head back. Exasperation faded as he got a good look at the peaks of the barn. The rafters were old, but they’d hold a small lighting rig. If he called in a few favors he could have one come down with the guys Thursday. He could already feel the lights and the humid air surrounding him as he sat with his Taylor. He had to play in there. His fingers itched for his guitar. A feeling that had been absent for months.

  He missed it. Craved it. But every time he’d picked up his guitar, his fingers felt thick and clumsy—not his own.

  Instead of facing Sharon, his eyes found her. The distraction. The pain in the ass. Sharon would let him do what he wanted in the end, but he wanted this woman to understand it. To make it work for him. “No. I don’t suppose I can.”

  Izzy folded her arms under her breasts, her hip cocked out. Clarification—the woman was officially distracting as fuck. And those eyes were going to put him into the grave. Did they glow like that when she came?

  Logan, you stupid fuck.

  He took a step closer to her. “Hundred dollar cover and I’ll bring in my own security.”

  She didn’t step back. In fact, her chin lifted so she could continue to meet his gaze. “Why?”

  Logan’s molars slammed together. “Because I want it.”

  She tipped her head to the side. “Oh, well, let me rearrange my entire schedule for you, Mr. King.”

  “Isabella.”

  She took a step back at the mayor’s sharp reprimand. “I have plans to see to and a schedule to figure out.” She stalked to the door.

  Sweet Jesus, the woman had an ass to go with everything else. Where the hell was the justice?

  She stopped at the doorway, sunlight gilding her hair and sun-kissed shoulders. “Three shows, Mr. King. Plus the main stage.”

  He barked out a laugh. Man, when was the last time he’d done that? “Deal, Iz.”

  Her hand fisted at her side, but she kept on walking.

  Four

  “I’m so sorry about that.”

  Logan shook his head. “I like her. She’ll make it work.” He didn’t know why he had that sudden faith, but he did. He recognized pride and spine. It was one helluva picture. A far too attractive one.

  “Are you sure you want to play in here?” Sharon turned. “It’s filthy and run down.”

  A sagging stage, lattice work that had been eaten by God knew what, stairs that would likely buckle under the weight of his drummer—and yet, all of it was his kind of paradise. They’d have to scale down their stage setup and just play. Like they used to when they took over the seaside joints in New Jersey and Maryland. When playing was fun.

  “I want all of it just like this.” At Sharon’s horrified look, he laughed. “Well, with some structural help.”

  A tall man with shaggy dark hair and a clean cut jaw came into the room.

  “Hey.” Logan raised his voice. “Cam.”

  The man holstered a hammer in his impressive tool belt and laughed. “Son of a bitch.” Cam reddened. “Pardon, ma’am.”

  “It’s all right, Cameron. I’ve heard far worse.”

  Cam grinned. “What the hell are you doing in here with us grunts?”

  Logan held out his hand. “Gotta keep you in line.” They shook hands, a solid clasp before Logan drew him in for a slapping hug.

  Cam dipped his thumb into his toolbelt. “It’s been a long time, man.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t really get to stick around last year.” For more than one reason.

  “Always the busy rock star. I get it.”

  Logan’s smile fell away. “Doesn’t excuse how I handled last year.”

  “Nah. Don’t sweat it. The crowd enjoyed the show.”

  Too bad he’d nearly had a meltdown by the end of the set. He was determined not to let her ruin the show again this year. He had an army of friends lined up to make sure of it. And now he had this place to focus on. Finally, a stage that pulled at him again. “So, Mr. Fix-it, you know a good electrician?”

  “I know one to call.”

  Logan nodded to the stage. “The junction box is old and half corroded. Can you have someone you trust come out and bring it up to spec for a whole lot of joules?”

  Cam tugged a small notebook out of his belt. “That’s a lot of rewiring and not much time to do it.”

  “Any costs send through to Sharon and I’ll take care of it.”

  He rocked back on his heels. “Whatever it costs?”

  Logan nodded. “This place has good bones and I want to play here. Once it’s rewired, you can probably hire it out for some income for the town.”

  Sharon stepped between them. “Is that true?”

  Logan shrugged. “It’s better than half the dives I played in as a teen. I’ll know better when the stage is framed out and I can practice with my band.”

  He knew that calculating gleam in Sharon’s eyes. She’d do anything to advance the town. It was a perfect getaway place for all of the seasons. There was hiking close by and skiing for the winter types. They were close to the Adirondacks, but far enough off the beaten path that they kept a small town vibe. He didn’t want to ruin that, but he knew a town needed revenue. Music could give it to them.

  At least he could do that.

  “Think you can get that stage ready for my band and some extra friends?”

  Cam twirled his pencil a few times, then nodded. “Can do.”

  Logan nodded to the hole in the roof. “And that?”

  “It’ll be done by noon tomorrow.”

  “Good. I’ve got a guy that will deliver a lighting rig.”

  Cam scribbled on his notebook and ripped off the page. “Have your guy call me and we’ll set it up.”

  He blew out a breath and kneaded his triceps. It was going to be a lot of work. “If you need another pair of hands, I’m available.”

  Cam’s eyebrows shot up. “Pardon?”

  He shrugged. “Not like we haven’t worked together before.” He wasn’t doing much up at the cabin. Sweaty work would keep his mind off of things.

  Cam scratched the back of his head. “Not that I wouldn’t appreciate the help, but I think the distraction level would negate any help you could give.” Cam’s attention zeroed in on the barn door where a handful of people had gathered. Phones were out and recording no doubt.

  The tabloids
would love to get a look at him sweating. Christ. As usual, he couldn’t even volunteer without causing trouble. “Gotcha.”

  Cam frowned. “Look, I could—”

  Logan held up his hand. “Nah, man. I get it. You need to get work done.”

  The frown lines grooved into Cam’s forehead smoothed. “Next time.”

  “Just let Sharon know how much you need to get it worked out for Thursday.” he dipped his hands into his pockets. “Evidently, I’m doing three extra shows.”

  “It’s going to take overtime to get it ready that fast.”

  “Sharon, have a hearty lunch brought in for the crew. My treat.”

  “Of course.”

  Cam gave him a half salute. “My crew will appreciate it.”

  Some days his money made things easier. Cam headed back to the group of guys that were obviously looking for direction. Or spying.

  Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. “All right, love of my life, I’m out of here.”

  Sharon pinked and laughed. “You’re incorrigible.”

  He arched a brow. “Innocent. Completely.”

  She patted his arm. “Do you want me to take care of that?” She threw a glance at the small crowd of people.

  “No, I’ve got it.” Game face time. “I’m not kidding about the stage and the budget.”

  “Oh, I’ll help you spend your money.”

  Logan laughed. “Great.” He leaned down and brushed his lips over her powdery cheek. “We’ll talk soon.” He crossed the room, wishing he hadn’t left his sunglasses in the truck. He felt naked and on display. And with the almost ninety degree day, he was one big sweaty freckle. That would look just great on the entertainment websites.

  He boosted his grin so that it hit his eyes as he walked through the huge bay doors. The phones were out and up for pictures or video. Within thirty minutes he’d be on Twitter and Facebook and their little town would be loaded with people by morning.

  Son of a bitch.

  He posed, he signed, and he chatted. All of it was the same to him, but he knew to the fan it was likely their first interaction with him. He didn’t recognize any of the faces and he had one helluva good memory for faces. Fifteen minutes later, there were four happy teenagers and three relieved mothers. He climbed into his truck and cranked the air conditioning until the sweat no longer dripped off his beard. First thing he was doing was diving into his pool and forgetting a certain pair of topaz eyes.