by Quinn, Cari
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten that little scene I walked in on, missy.”
Bella sighed. “It was nothing.”
“Right. And I only have sex on Wednesdays.”
“Aww, I’m sorry about that. Is that why you’re in such a good mood on Thursdays?”
“Ha ha. You’re a funny girl.” Nic quickly shelved a handful of books that were sitting on a table in the poetry section. “It’s not like he’s an uggo. Or do you think he’s all looks and no penis?”
“Who?” The fact that she’d managed to ask without choking on the sharp laugh that wanted out was certainly pride inducing.
Nic flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I didn’t take you for a coward.”
Bella stood and tucked her phone away. “Being smart and a coward are two totally different things.”
“If this guy lights the fires, what’s the big deal?” Nic snapped the last book into place and leaned on the bookcase.
“Because he’s lit the fires—bad metaphor, by the way—with dozens of others.” Accurate metaphor, but Nic didn’t need to know that, for God’s sake. Surely her skin couldn’t burn from the inside out?
“That’s what condoms are for.”
Bella stalked to the register, flipped off her heels, and jammed her feet into the ballet flats she kept under the registers. “How much did you charge him?”
Adam folded his arms with a smug smile. “Three hundred.”
“No discounts?”
“Figured King Midas could take care of it.”
“Babe, would you tell Izzy here—”
“Don’t you start that crap. It’s bad enough that he calls me that.”
Nic tsked. “Oh, you like it. I bet your panties are asunder as we speak.”
Adam snorted. “I like the name. It’s quite the rockstar girlfriend name.”
“Both of you, that’s enough.”
“Oh, c’mon. That man has lost weekend written across his forehead. What’s the harm?” Nic slid behind the counter and hooked her arm around Adam’s waist. “Remember when we have those?”
Adam leaned into Nic’s ear and said something that made her dark eyes widen, then she smiled broadly. “Maybe we’ll be having one this weekend.”
“Oh, gross. Save it for after hours.” Bella pushed her hair out of her face. Adam and Nic were exactly why she wasn’t going to get naked with that man. Well, besides the fact that he seemed to be on the same page as she was. She wanted what Adam and Nic had. She wanted it with one person that would be there for her.
That man wouldn’t be Logan King.
As amazing as the sex would be—and she was pretty sure it would be appallingly amazing—it was only sex. It would be a memory to add to all the other misdeeds of her past. And she had enough of those for her own memoir. Just because his chapter would probably sell a million copies didn’t mean she should have a Logan chapter. She plucked a rubber band out of her stash behind the counter and scraped her hair back into a stubby tail. “I’m going downstairs to work.”
Nic slid away from Adam and dragged out her laptop. “We got a few new inquiries.”
“Good.”
“This isn’t the end of the conversation, Isabella Marie.”
Bella escaped to the stairs and down to her workshop. Nic was only being a good friend, but she had the love of her life since the age of sixteen. Hell, more like six. Bella hadn’t found her Adam yet. And she wasn’t going to find him in a famous musician.
So she focused on the things that she could understand. The clean air of her studio was a good place to start. Hermetically sealed cases were disguised by old paned doors and windows. The room was kept at a constant sixty-five degrees and a dehumidifier kept things as even as possible. Summer was a drag on her resources and she was entirely sure she didn’t want to see her electric bill this month.
And yet it was always her favorite room.
The bank of computers hummed. Some were on a constant search algorithm that Adam programmed, some tracking auction sites, and her favorite wide screen had quotes from famous books scrolling in screen saver mode. She also had a set-up to do some simple paper testing. The book forgery market was as rampant as paintings these days. So, she did her own testing as often as she could, but it wasn’t her specialty.
Hers was the research. It settled her and emptied her brain. And right now she needed both before she had to deal with the board. And to put Logan King firmly out of her mind.
Six
Logan slammed the door on his truck and walked around to the back of his house. He caught the flash of a lens in the brush and sighed. Word was out that he was home. He wasn’t sure what the paparazzi thought they were going to catch from the back of his property. Like he was going to lay out naked by the pool or do a full workout for them to record.
Zeke would be in with his dog, Cody, the following evening, so they could start rehearsing for the festival. Cody’s favorite thing was scaring the shit out of the photographers. Always entertaining to watch.
But right now he needed more time to figure out songs. And for the first time, he actually wanted to pick up his guitar.
He bypassed the lower deck and transferred the sacks of books into one arm and pressed his palm to the ID plate on the back door. He’d gone hog wild on the buying, but maybe he could lose himself in a book tonight instead of pacing the floors until sunrise.
He set the books on his table, uncapped his decanter of whisky, and splashed in a few fingers. He sipped, letting the bloom of heat and smoke fill his mouth. Now that he had three stripped down shows to design, his brain was in overdrive. He’d need more than just the usual songs. In fact, he needed something completely different. He picked up his phone and called his right hand guitarist in the band.
Zeke picked up on the first ring. “Is someone dead?”
“God, no.”
“Well, shit. Don’t scare a guy. You never use the damn phone.”
Logan dropped into his leather recliner and kicked out the foot rest. “If I had to text out all of this, it would take me longer than calling.”
“This ought to be good.” Zeke’s always sunny voice was back to full power.
“Where you holed up, son?”
“I started in Barbados and somehow ended up in Miami. There may have been a señorita involved.”
“Surprise.” He grinned. “You didn’t marry this one, did you?”
“Shadup.”
“Your track record speaks for itself.”
“Yeah, yeah. There is no ring on this finger, or hers. Lots of umbrella drinks though, which is how I probably ended up in Miami. You know how I am when rum is involved.”
He laughed. “I believe the word is malleable.”
“As modeling clay, my man,” Z said with a lusty sigh.
“So, you think you can come up a bit earlier? Say, morning instead of evening?”
“To the WF?”
“Yeah. I’m plotting something a little different.”
“Intriguing.”
“Could be.” Logan swiped a hand down his face. He might be an idiot for doing this, but the fact that he was actually excited told him to follow his gut.
“Can do, boss man.”
“Christ, Z.” They had started All the King’s Men together and yet Zeke insisted on playing second in every decision.
“I like calling you boss. Feels very Godfather. You know I’d kill for you, right?”
“Aw, hell. How much rum have you had?”
Zeke whistled. “Four umbrellas, no wait...five.”
Logan winced. He wanted Zeke to remember this conversation. “How about you switch out to water?”
“Señorita, cerveza por favor?”
“I said water, not beer, asshole.”
“It’s about the same here.”
“You’re in Miami, not Mexico.”
“What. Do. You. Want?”
He sighed. “Look, I’ve got an idea for a new sort of show. Three extra shows.”<
br />
“Three?” Zeke sputtered.
“And I want to call in some favors. It’s for charity.”
“So you want to get people to come out last minute in August, to do shit for free? Am I following you?”
He folded an arm behind his head. “Yeah.”
“Well, then you better go for the hungry ones.”
“I was thinking Cole Deveraux.”
“He’s a bit country, but I know a guy that’s toured with him. I’ll give him a shout.”
“Good. I think I’m going to pull the lever on that favor from Nash too.”
“Jesus. You’ve been holding onto that for years.”
He wanted a good show. Alexander Nash was happy to hide in the clubs in New York underground. Getting him there would give the shows a much needed buzz. And his friend an overdue kick in the ass. He was too good to squirrel away in his anti-social community.
“I’ve already got Lindz from Brooklyn Dawn. I know she’ll do the extra shows.”
“Oh, man. That sweet blond? You gotta do some duets.”
Zeke was thinking now. Maybe the bartender was being light-handed on the rum. “I bet she’d kill doing a Faith song or—”
“No, you guys gotta cover Lady Antebellum. You can do those lower registers and she can sing like a damn angel.”
Logan snapped his fingers. “I knew I called you for a reason. We need some songs for the young crowd and the older. A good mix of well-known covers.”
“Who else are you tapping?”
“Cage.”
Zeke whistled. “You sure you want that prick on stage with you?”
“He’s a good guy.”
“Dude, he busted one of my crowns.”
Logan twirled his pen between his fingers. “You hooked up with the girl he was with.”
“I can’t help it if she has taste and went for the more charming, much more handsome one of us.”
“And this is why you are hated throughout the land, son.”
“More like loved, my friend. But this isn’t about me and the ladies. Well, it could be if Lindz will have me.”
“She already told you to buzz off.”
Zeke sighed heavily. “I could change her mind.”
“Or end up wearing one of her stilettos as an accessory.”
“Eh, I only look good in magenta, not the pale pinks.”
Logan shook his head with a laugh. “Christ, I missed you man.”
“I don’t remember the last time I heard you laugh, Lo.”
“It’s been too long. But you should see this shitty little barn, Z. It’s just like when we played in Houston for that month to make enough to get back to Los Angeles.”
“Geeze that was a dive. Man, are you cha-chaing down memory lane. How many whiskies have you had?”
“Just one.” The tear of paper on the other end of the phone made him smile. Zeke was undoubtedly peeling his beer label off the bottle. It was a good sound. A familiar sound.
One that he hadn’t realized he missed. He and Zeke had lived out of each others pockets for the better part of fifteen years. Even ten days apart and it felt like a millennium.
Most of the ten had also been foggy as shit.
“I’ll be there by morning and I’ll make some calls.”
The tension he hadn’t known was sitting on his shoulders suddenly released. “Thanks, Z.”
“Anytime.”
The line went dead and Logan fished out his cell. The mountains were crap for cell service, but good enough for blasting off a few texts. Charlie, his manager, would have to do something besides wine and dine whatever girlfriend was with him in Paris.
He needed contact numbers and quick. With songs filling his head, he grabbed his tablet off the piano and scrolled through his playlist on both streaming media and his personal catalogue of thousands of songs.
From the obscure, to the new, he created a setlist that covered Dylan and Otis Redding, Bruce and Miranda Lambert, Bon Jovi with Maroon 5.
All the songs that would stir a crowd.
He’d make it work.
He always did.
Four hours later, he had a half dozen responses from people who were willing to come up for rehearsals and some who could come up the day of the festival. He made a tentative schedule and when his tablet let him know that his battery was beyond low, he plugged it in, then wandered into the kitchen.
It was well past eight and twilight was pulling the shade on the sun for the day. The sky was a wash of blood red and hazy pink. Another hot one would be upon them tomorrow.
He poured another two fingers of whisky and opened the fridge. A sticky note explained his two meal choices. He went with the marinated chicken and pulled a pan out. Though he was a mediocre chef at best, at least he could cook chicken.
His phone winked on, and an unknown email popped up on his notifications. He set the pan to heat and opened the email. His gut clenched at the name.
Isabella Grace.
She wanted to talk and left her mobile. Taking a chance, he dialed a number for the second time in the same day. It was a banner day for old school communication.
He knew it was a fifty-fifty shot of her answering since his home line would come up blocked. And sure enough, she declined the first try. Hoping she’d be curious enough to wonder if the same number called her back, he tried again.
“Isabella Grace,” she answered briskly.
“Good evening, Mz. Grace, have you been vetoed in the most recent town meeting?”
“You know very well that I was vetoed, Mr. King.”
Her crisp tone was all librarian crisp and shouldn’t give him a hard on, and yet his jeans were significantly tighter. He looked down at his zipper. Traitor.
When the blood swelled from semi to uncomfortable, he bit back a sigh. “I wasn’t there.”
“I’m sure your spies have checked in.”
“You give me a helluva lot more credit than I deserve.” The fact that he was expecting a call from Sharon that night or in the morning didn’t need to be shared.
“Hardly.”
“How about you come up to the house and I’ll show you the plans I have so far?” When she didn’t answer, he tried again. “Izzy?”
“You want me to come there?”
“Yeah.” He looked into the marinade. “I have two chicken breasts, a garden salad, and a bottle of Riesling.”
“I—”
“Have you eaten?”
She cleared her throat. “No, I didn’t have time.”
“Then come here and I’ll cook for you.”
“Why?”
Suspicious woman. Smart woman, but suspicious nonetheless. “Because if we talk this out over a bottle of wine, then maybe we won’t snipe at each other.”
“Are you sure me coming there is a good idea?”
He snapped off the burner. “I’ll keep my hands to myself, don’t worry.” Her indrawn breath made him smile. Her shoulders and spine had probably just straightened into a perfect T-square. “I’ll be on my best behavior or are you more worried about your own?”
“I’ll be there in twenty.”
He tossed his phone down on the breakfast bar and pulled out salad fixings and a sweet potato that would go with the teriyaki marinade. Fifteen minutes later he had the potato sliced and in the microwave. Normally he’d do the oven, but that would take almost an hour.
With the salad fixings back in the fridge to chill, he took a minute to finish off his whisky before putting the glass in the dishwasher. He turned the corner and hit the stairs two at a time to his bedroom. Showering would take too long, so he washed up, changed his shirt, and exchanged jeans for roomy cargo shorts that might hide his involuntary reaction to her husky voice.
He caught the flash of headlights in the pitch dark of his road. Hoping it was Izzy and not a reporter, he went back downstairs and braced himself at the intercom in the foyer.
“If you’re selling Girl Scout cookies, I only like Thin Mints.”
“Samoas is the correct answer. Open the gate.”
Logan grinned and gave her access. Man, he could get used to the buzz under his skin if he wasn’t careful. The pop and ting of gravel signaled her arrival. She parked next to his truck and gingerly picked her way to his walkway in a pair of heels that were never meant for his kind of driveway.
She was wearing another dress, this one a wild print in blues and golds that was anything but calming. It was as vibrant as the woman that wore the hell out of it. Those legs should be illegal. Her hair was pinned back and her eyes were softer, more natural. As she came up the stairs, he was thankful for the cargos.
He really should have thought his invite through. She was holding a bottle and thrust it into his belly as she sauntered by with a wildly dark flower scent in her wake. He rubbed his ribs. “C’mon in.”
He closed the door and looked down at the ten dollar bottle of Moscato in his hands. “This will go great with the chicken.”
“I know you said you had a bottle of Riesling, but I like sweet instead of dry,” she called from the kitchen.
He followed her in. “We can have both.”
She trailed her fingers along the granite edge of his kitchen island, then to the built-in bar that framed out the end of the kitchen cabinets. “Not on your life.”
“Worried, Izzy?”
“Hardly.” She curled her fingers around two wine glasses. “May I?”
“Now you’re asking for permission?”
She grinned over her shoulder and slid the glasses free. “It’s a beautiful place.”
“Thanks.” He looked around at all the wood. He took for granted how wide open the space was. The back of his house was a wall of windows blacked out with the inky darkness of the woods that framed his property.
The windows were tinted against the intruding eye of lenses, but they still found a way to get pictures when they really wanted one. Tonight, he hoped they would wander off.
Logan opened the wine and took her glass to fill, keeping one for himself. He took a sip and smiled at the crisp pear notes. Sometimes cheap wine was just what you needed after a long day. “It’s good.”
