4 Play

by Quinn, Cari

  The butcher shop was a lure, but he was sure the mainline of gossip had hit and people would be on the lookout for him. His housekeeper always had something in the crockpot, or in the fridge. Home. God that sounded good. The house by the falls was the first and only place that had ever climbed inside of him. The road was his life and his heart, but his secluded house was where his spirit recharged when his batteries were beyond low.

  As he neared the end of Main, the arched windows of a bookstore came into view. A huge chair was visible from the window with a stack of books and a whimsical striped scarf hung off the top corner. He knew that scarf. The corner of his mouth tipped up as he pulled over in front of the window. A side table was stacked with books, a pipe, and a little blue telephone box. Old library spines with Sherlock Holmes stories were side by side with paperback copies of Doctor Who stories.

  In the chair, a smoky gray cat was curled in a tight ball.

  Before he could talk himself out of it, he had his over shirt back on and had his hand on the doorknob of the tall, double door.

  “You wouldn’t believe the nerve of this guy.”

  Logan paused as he heard a voice that was going to haunt him for the rest of the damn night.

  “He looks me dead in the eye and tells me—tells me, not asks—that he’s going to play at the barn. Who the hell does he think he is?”

  It had been a long time since he’d heard a woman bitch about him within earshot. Because there was no way she wasn’t talking about him. He gently pushed in the door, reaching up to catch the little bell. He leaned against the door jamb to enjoy the rest of the show in Technicolor.

  Lord help him, she was awesome. In the barn she’d been cool and collected. Hints of this woman had been there with her flashing eyes and smart mouth. But here she was pure vitality. The fiery dress swishing around her phenomenal legs as she paced the room, just-fucked hair flying back with each pass, and finally, that mouth. It was almost as distracting as her eyes. He gave a brief glance around the bookstore. It was as amazing as her window, but he couldn’t focus on anything but the woman.

  Izzy’s friend pursed her lips. “The nerve of him.” She was sitting on some sort of counter-desk thing, snapping gum, her legs swinging gently. The lush brunette was beautiful. Pale skin and red lips with dark eyes. Any other day he’d have zeroed in on her…well, scratch that. He caught the glint of a ring on her left hand. He didn’t mess with married women.

  That never ended well.

  “I know that placating tone. Shut up, Nic.”

  “I was agreeing.”

  “You were humoring me.”

  “Look, if Logan King, sex-god royalty, slash gazillionaire, wants to sing on a small stage, what do you care?”

  “I care because he’s going to mess up my schedule. And he will have half the goddamn festival crawling in the rafters to get a better look at his I-can-wear-the-holy-fuck-out-of-a-pair-of-jeans self.”

  His eyebrows shot up. He looked down at his older than dirt jeans then back at her. Little vixen had been checking him out. He’d felt eyes on him in the barn. But he was so used to people staring at him, it barely fazed him anymore.

  But when he’d caught her mid-look, he’d felt the punch of awareness. Insta-lust was a curable condition. It usually took about three sweaty hours and ended with a bowl of Ramen noodles, but it was curable.

  This time his cure-all needed to be vaccinated a different way.

  “That good, huh?”

  “Geeze, Nic, I don’t think I could have been more surprised it was him than if Mayor Darcy stripped in the middle of the square.”

  Logan snorted and two pairs of eyes swung his way. “Hey.”

  Izzy’s topaz eyes widened.

  “Rude,” Nic said succinctly.

  He shrugged. “Do go on, Iz. I was particularly fond of your assessment of my ass.”

  “Iz?” Nic asked.

  “Shut up,” Izzy growled at her friend. She swung her gaze to him and tried to sear his brain with her laser beam eyes. At least he was pretty sure that’s what she was doing. It could have been something darker. Maybe a form of torture. “Wow.” She spiked her fingers through her hair and stalked to the back of the store and through an archway. The sharp slam of a door made him wince.

  Nic hopped off the counter. “Don’t make an enemy out of her, rockstar. She’ll eat you alive.”

  “I’ll do well to remember that.” He looked around, now that Izzy wasn’t sucking up all his attention. “She owns this place, right?”

  Nic slid a pile of books off the counter and into her arms. “We do. It’s a joint venture. Go ahead, look around. She’ll be back out in a few.”

  “Should I still be here?”

  “She probably hasn’t started sewing the voodoo doll in your likeness. You should be okay.”

  And for the second time in what felt like forever, he laughed. Now that Izzy was out of the room he could focus again. Vaulted ceilings and a varied collection of bookcases lined every spare inch of wall space. The huge piano bolted to the wall was too much to resist. He wandered over, his eyes tripping over a biography of Mozart next to one of Bob Dylan. A shelf down, sheet music from Prince was side-by-side with Miley Cyrus and Selena Gomez.

  Eclectic was one word for it.

  Organized chaos was another.

  He snagged a few books from there and wandered over to the literature section. A Kerouac book with a worn spine landed on his pile. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d read On the Road.

  By the time he’d made it halfway around the room he had an armload of books about music, fiction, poetry, and wine.

  “If you think that’s going to put you in my good graces, you’re quite mistaken.”

  Logan’s spine shifted and straightened at the sound of her voice. Crisp, clipped and smoky. A librarian with Scarlett Johansson’s voice. The kind that slipped into dreams and lyrics.

  He turned around. “I’m just supporting a local business.”

  A slim, dark brow rose. “You don’t shop on Amazon? I find that hard to believe.”

  Just because he did half his shopping on there didn’t matter right at that moment. Walking around her store was exactly what he’d needed. He’d been living with the same people, the same environment for far too long. “You don’t know a damn thing about me, Izzy.”

  “No?”

  He gently placed his pile on one of the end tables that littered the room. “No.”

  “You listened out of context.”

  “Oh, I’m fairly sure the context was spot on.” He folded his arms. “I’m not breaking your bal—” He cleared his throat. Being on a bus full of men for the last twenty plus months had dissolved whatever little manners he had lately. “Look, I just want to play something different. I’m happy to do the big show for the last night like I always do. I just need this too.”

  Her striking eyes softened and her fisted hands relaxed.

  Well, shit. He hadn’t meant to say that much. Now she was going to think he was some headcase.

  He was, but he didn’t need to advertise it for fuck’s sake.

  Five

  Isabella sighed. He had to be genuine. This, she did not need. Spoiled rockstar she could handle, but the flash of longing that had swirled into his clear, green eyes had slipped through her anger shattering it like spun sugar.

  “Mr. King—”

  “Logan.”

  Her heart stuttered and the earlier sweat of the day left behind a chill thanks to her air conditioned store. Sure, it was. No other reason.

  She didn’t have it in her to actually say his name out loud. Not when her skin was still oversensitized from the scene in the barn. The worst part, she didn’t want to like him, or feel compelled to make the schedule work. This was about the town, not one man.

  Even if that one man looked like he just might be drowning.

  Not your problem.

  At least he’d seemed like it a moment ago. Now the crinkles were back and an e
asy smile made his lips even more annoyingly distracting. Also, being this close to him, she noticed that the freckles dusted his face just as thoroughly as the rest of him.

  It seemed a shame to cover them up. How many times had she seen his face on the cover of music magazines or the rags in line at the market? She’d never seen freckles like these before. For God’s sake there were even freckles on his lips.

  She forced her gaze back up to his eyes and saw a flash of heat. Dammit. Once upon a time she’d have jumped at the chance to flirt with him. God, would she have, but he was so beyond blacklisted on her current plan that she couldn’t even entertain the thought of being friendly. Her traitorous body would just have to get on board with the idea.

  “I’m not being difficult. I’m being realistic. This is a small town that gets overrun every single time you do this festival.”

  “I do it for the town as a way to give back.” One insolent brow went up and then his voice went sultry with the barest hint of the south. “You’re new here or you’d know that.”

  Bella crossed her arms, folding her sweater over her chest to hide the tingle flaring over her skin. His voice was like honey-dripped sex. The unfairness of it was just cruel. “I know that. And we appreciate it every year.”

  “I’m not asking a lot, Izzy.”

  “It’s Isabella or Ms. Grace.” She didn’t like the flutters that happened every time he said Izzy. Especially since his voice seemed to deepen just on that one word.

  “Mz. Grace then, because you became an Izzy the moment you came back at me about this.”

  “Why?”

  He dug his fingertips into his triceps and looked down. “That’s just the way it is.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  With his head angled down, his eyes flicked up to meet hers. There was something else in his gaze. Frustration and loneliness she understood. It was the other part that made her want to back up. It was almost predatory. “Not sure you want the real answer, Izzy.”

  “Would you stop?”

  “You want the real answer?” His eyes flared with intent. “Because I don’t want to call you the same name everyone else does.” His voice lowered until it was a growling whisper. “Because you make me want something I shouldn’t. Because it suits that sassy mouth of yours.”

  She took a step back and bumped into a Highboy dresser filled with tiny glass bottles and fountain pens.

  He pulled her forward. “Careful.”

  She closed her eyes. Ms. Grace indeed. Jesus, she’d gone to the back to cool off and not rip his head off. Now, all she wanted to do was slug him.

  Or rip his clothes off.

  It was a toss-up.

  Neither was happening, but the fantasies were running neck and neck. How the hell was she going to get through this festival? She sidestepped him and his scent slid over her like a purring cat winding around her ankles. Like vanilla had sex with sandalwood and wrapped it in a fresh sheet off the clothesline.

  The unfairness was all of the wrong with a side helping of cruel.

  He caught her wrist. “Iz—”

  She swung her gaze back up to his. The fight was there in his eyes. It probably echoed in her own.

  The muscle in his jaw flexed as he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. We agreed to the three nights and I’m going to make this work. Money’s not an object.”

  She straightened and freed her hand. “It’s not about the money.”

  “Funny, I think you mentioned that was exactly the problem.”

  “That’s not the only problem, Logan.”

  His pupils dilated and she was fairly certain her heart was going to slam out of her damn chest.

  “I’ll make it work.” God, did she really sound so breathy? “It’s my job to make it work.” There. Firm and professional.

  “I’ll make it good for you.”

  She blinked. “I’m sorry?”

  The charm was back. It settled around him like another skin. And strangely, she wanted the intense and slightly growly Logan back. And that was stupid. She didn’t need that back in her life. It called to the parts of her that were long dead and buried.

  “The show. I’ll make it worth the effort. And I know you have a budget, but I’m changing things and I’ve got more money than any ten people can spend.”

  She had the strongest urge to tell him no again. “And that’s why the proceeds go to the foundation.”

  “And these three shows will triple the donations.”

  “Sure of yourself are you?”

  “Yes.” He rolled his eyes. “I might be a cocky bastard in your eyes, but I know my job, Izzy.” When she opened her mouth he just kept going. “Deal with it. You’re an Izzy to me. That’s just the way it’s going to be.”

  “You make me sound like a...I don’t know, a pet.”

  His eyes danced. “We can call it a pet name.”

  “Whatever this is.” She fluttered her fingers between them. “It’s not happening. I—”

  Chameleon fast, the pleasure drained from his features leaving a steely resolve. “No, it’s not.”

  She snapped her jaw shut. The jolt of disappointment rolled over her and then off her back as she lifted her chin. “Right.”

  He took a step closer until his chest overwhelmed the space and she had the strangest urge to move into him, instead of away. “Not because I don’t want it.” His gaze lingered at her lips. “Wanting you isn’t the problem.”

  She swallowed and licked her lips.

  “Fuck. Please don’t do that.”

  She pressed her lips together.

  He groaned and she felt the back of his fingers brush along the inside of her wrist, under her sweater. The skin-on-skin contact was as innocent as a scene from Jane Eyre. And just like that damn book, the lightest, most innocent touch was the most evocative.

  “I don’t mess with local women.”

  Her breath stalled in her chest. “Who said I was interested in being one of your legions of women?”

  He tipped his head down until she felt his breath fan over her face. “Iz, we’re old enough to skip the games. If you were a woman in a bar or at a party, I’d have you under me so fast the condom would still be snapping around the base of my cock as I was sliding into you.”

  “You can’t...” But she couldn’t even pretend to deny it. How many men had been in her bed just that way? She’d lived in New York City for long enough to have had her share of one night stands.

  The difference was, that no man had ever been so blunt about it. At least to her face.

  And the biggest difference was her. That had been fine for her life in the city. She could do something stupid and reckless because it only affected her. Now she was staying in one place and building a life. Now she wanted more than a fleeting orgasm that never quite lived up to the hype.

  “Yeah,” he said softly as he took a step back. “Knowing it makes it worse, doesn’t it?”

  “I wish like hell I could say no.”

  “An honest woman. I’ll take it as a sign to make sure I’m on my best behavior. I don’t know too many of them.”

  For the first time the sticky threads of attraction lessened. “God, what an awful way to live.”

  “Don’t feel sorry for me, Izzy.” He lifted his hand to her face and she braced for the contact. Instead, he followed the line of a single curl with the side of his thumb before he dropped his hand. “I don’t deserve it.”

  He scooped up the pile of books and headed to the front of the store. “Good luck with the board meeting tonight,” he said over his shoulder.

  Bella dropped into the club chair tucked between the Highboy dresser and the poetry section. It wouldn’t be ladylike to fan her skirt up, but holy crap her entire body was on fire. She pressed a shaking hand to her belly.

  One moment she’d been ready to fillet an inch of skin off his hide and the next she wished that she didn’t have to be responsible Isabella Grace. For a moment she’d wanted to be the crazy
Bella again. The one that went out and had a weekend fling in SoHo without remorse.

  The morning afters had never been her favorite, but she was fairly certain Logan King would make the walk of shame obsolete.

  “So, did that conversation come with a fire extinguisher?”

  Bella dropped her chin into her chest. How the hell long had she been there? “Uncool, Nic.”

  “What? I’m just asking because I’m pretty sure I have some of those sex vibes pinging me in the back of the head over here.”

  “I’m not having sex with him,” she whispered.

  “You say so.”

  “Who’s running the register?”

  “Calm down. Adam’s ringing out Richie Rich as we speak. I was taking a call from Bobby.”

  Bella craned her neck to see Logan hauling two cloth bags off the counter. He backed out the front door with a wink.

  A freaking wink.

  Honestly. The fact that he didn’t look like an idiot when he did it made her slump back in the chair.

  “That man is supah-fine, girlfriend.”

  Ignoring her, Bella pulled out her phone to check emails. “Did he find the book for Mr. Wheeler?”

  “Yes, he certainly did. I don’t know how that man does it, but he finds all the weird books.”

  “And that’s why Bobby gets twenty percent instead of the usual fifteen percent finder’s fee.”

  “This little badboy is one of only two in the world. Bobby’s finder’s fee will probably buy him enough oil to make it through the winter.”

  And the store a tidy sum. Some books were six dollars, and some were six thousand dollars. Mr. Wheeler had a taste for the supremely rare and he always paid for the trouble they had to go through to find the books.

  Of course, that kind of research was her favorite part. She’d spent hours down on the lower floor tracing a book’s lineage. And keeping a teaching certification gave her access to libraries that made her job a helluva lot less stressful. Even if she only stepped in a class long enough to keep her credentials.