Hell on Heels Christmas

by A. P. Jensen

  “You have a car?” Regan asked.

  “No. I walked from work.”

  “I’ll give you a ride.”

  Missy was too calm. Regan was worried for her sister’s mental stability. Missy climbed into the passenger seat and rummaged around in her purse and fumbled with a pack of Tums. When the first tears fell from her sister’s eyes Regan patted her shoulder awkwardly.

  “It’s okay, Missy.”

  “No!” Missy shouted. “It’s not okay.”

  Missy looked through the windshield, tears pouring down her face. "I prayed for you every night. I didn't know if you were dead or alive. Angel looks just like you and it reminded me of how I should’ve helped and didn't."

  "I got by. I’m alive. No harm done.”

  “You shouldn’t have to get by!” Missy shouted. “That’s my point. You’re not an orphan. You have a family and we just let you go without a cent. God, it took us a month to realize you weren’t going to come back, that we’d left you with no choice but to fend for yourself.”

  “Missy,” Regan said firmly and her sister sniffled and glanced at her. “I’m fine.”

  Missy scrubbed at her eyes like a child and pulled out a handkerchief from her purse. "Mom said you might stay for the holidays."

  “I might,” Regan said cautiously. “Is that okay with you?”

  Missy sniffled. “Yes you stupid bitch. Sophie can’t stop talking about your Christian Louboutin shoes which reminds me, what size are they?”

  “Eight.”

  “I’m going to borrow them to go to work tomorrow and make my boss drool. Do you have more of them?”

  “I took what was in my office. Everything else is in the penthouse.”

  Missy went rigid. “Tell me you’re going to save your shoes from that cheating bastard.”

  Regan shrugged and Missy slapped her hand on the dashboard.

  “Regan Lee, do you want your shoes to go to his next bimbo?”

  “I’ll have one of his assistants send my stuff,” Regan said quickly because Missy looked in danger of having a major bitch fit.

  "If Kerry gives you anymore trouble you let me know."

  Regan looked her up and down. "Have you ever fought anyone in your life?”

  “You mean besides you?”

  “Yeah. Kerry looked kinda scared.”

  Missy fluffed her hair. “Kerry knows what’s up.”

  “You do know that you could get arrested for beating her ass, right? And your husband will probably be the one to do it."

  She sniffed. "Oh well. It didn’t come to that. I was trying to buy some groceries and my lunch.”

  “You didn’t get anything,” Regan pointed out.

  Missy repaired her makeup in the mirror. “And that’s your fault, as usual. Don’t judge me. Take me through the McDonalds drive thru.”

  “Whatever you want. What do you do anyway?”

  “I’m a legal secretary.”

  “Ooh. Fancy.”

  “Shut up and get going. I need some French Fries.”

  Chapter Six

  She and Brooks pulled up to his house at the same time. He looked tired and dirty but he smiled when he saw her. Regan felt as if she took a shot of tequila and sat in the driver’s seat, wondering if she should gas the car and drive all the way back to New York. Brooks came over and opened the door of the SUV.

  “Hi,” he said.

  Her heart beat so hard she winced. “Hi.”

  What the hell are you doing, what the hell are you doing? Her inner control freak shrieked. She should not be here encouraging Brooks to scramble her brains. He grabbed her hand and pulled her out.

  “Right on time,” he said.

  She tried to pull herself together.

  “I made a meatloaf,” she blurted.

  She knew she sounded proud and she was. It looked good and she followed her mom’s instructions to the tee. It didn’t hurt that her mom was so worried she would accidentally poison Brooks that she came home on her lunch break to make sure she was doing it right.

  “You cooked?” Brooks said in disbelief.

  Regan wasn’t offended. She had enough of the basics drilled into her by Valerie and Missy to survive but she avoided it whenever possible. She opened the back door of the SUV and pulled out the pan of meatloaf, mashed potatoes and vegetables. Brooks sniffed the air, took the pan from her and rushed into the house. She followed gleefully and wasn’t surprised when he ripped off the foil and stuck a fork in the steaming meatloaf before she closed the door behind her. He put a chunk in his mouth and closed his eyes.

  “Well?” she demanded.

  His eyes were heavy when he opened them. “Oh. My. God.”

  “Really?” She got herself a fork and dug in. “Damn. I am good.”

  “Did your mom make this and you’re trying to pass this off as yours?”

  She wagged her fork at him. “I slaved over this so give me credit.”

  “Okay. Let me shower. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

  She took another bite of the meatloaf and moaned. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”

  They ate meatloaf on his couch with their feet up on the coffee table and watched reruns of Friends. She was too stuffed to care when he changed the channel to sports. She snuggled into her corner of the sofa and stacked her hands on her tummy. Not even a week in White Mist and she was turning into a lazy couch potato.

  “Word is you’re sticking around for the holidays.”

  She grunted.

  “I also heard you chucked an apple at my sister’s forehead.”

  She opened one eye and saw the laughter on his face. “That is true. I also called her a heifer.”

  “Why? You used to be best friends.”

  “Apparently she never got over me saying no to you. She called me a slut and told me to stay away from you.”

  “What did you say?”

  A wicked smile curved her mouth. “I told her if I want you I’ll have you.”

  He spread his arms wide. “Take me.”

  “Maybe later. I could fall asleep right here.”

  “My bed’s softer.”

  She shook her head. “I am not sleeping with you.”

  “Why not?”

  “If I let you lead, you’ll get me pregnant.”

  A long pause. “I’m not sure I’m following.”

  “My mom said if I don’t know what I want to let you lead. I said if I let you lead I’ll end up pregnant before the New Year.”

  “Do you want to be pregnant?”

  “No.”

  “Then we’ll use protection.”

  “My mom offered me her condoms and put lube on my grocery list.”

  He laughed. “I love your mom.”

  She grimaced. “She’s really supportive if you haven’t noticed.”

  “I noticed.”

  Brooks scooted over until he sat right beside her with his hand on her upper thigh. He squeezed and then drew designs on her jeans. She suppressed the urge to turn towards him and give him better access to her body.

  “You’re still tired?”

  She stretched and yawned. “I’m relaxed. I’m surprised you’re still awake.”

  “I like my view.”

  His hand moved up to her tummy and rubbed gently. She grinned, thinking of a dog on its back, leg kicking as he got his tummy scratched. At the moment, she felt just like that.

  “Maybe I should call in tomorrow,” he mused.

  “Why?”

  “We could stay here all day and use a whole box of condoms.”

  She pumped a fist in the air. “Mom would be so proud. What days do you work?”

  “Monday through Friday, seven to three.”

  “Wow. So… domestic.”

  “Yup. I’m a dependable, boring old man. I go to sleep at a reasonable hour and usually never call into work.”

  “I should stay the hell away from you,” she muttered.

  He nuzzled her neck and scraped his teeth on her shoul
der. She murmured incoherently as he leaned half over her.

  “You can’t resist me and you’re trying to seduce me with meatloaf, he murmured.

  “Did it work?” she moaned.

  He sucked on her neck. Time stretched and before she knew it she was stretched out on the couch with Brooks above her. He was doing wonderful things with his mouth on her neck and his hand beneath her sweater splayed over her stomach and climbed higher. It roused old memories of making out when he snuck into her room at night. Their history shimmered in the air, making the connection between them electric and more exciting than actual sex with other men. His mouth covered hers and she dug her hands into his hair and tugged him even closer. She arched into him and he groaned.

  The ring of her phone broke through their heavy breathing. They froze, staring at each other. She took one hand out of his hair and dug into her pocket and pulled out the phone and squinted at the name. His hand flexed on her skin as she answered. He dropped his head between her breasts and cursed.

  “Hey,” she answered and her eyes widened. “You’re here?”

  She almost laughed when she saw Brooks’ irritated face. She patted him on the head with the hand that had been gripping his hair passionately a second ago. He let out an angry growl.

  “What’s your address?” she asked him.

  He rattled it off and belatedly asked, “Why?”

  Regan hung up and pushed at his chest. He debated for a moment but when he saw her eyes narrow he painfully sat back on his heels. She got up, smoothed her hair and he wanted to howl like a dog when she pulled her sweater down to cover her midriff. He watched her walk to the window and look out.

  “What’s going on?” he asked gruffly.

  “My friend’s visiting. I didn’t expect him today.”

  “Him?” Brooks said, voice flat.

  “Yeah. He’s in a funk and he visits me every now and then. He’ll probably be here for three days max before he goes insane.”

  “Who is he?”

  Headlights shone on the walls as someone pulled up the driveway. Regan opened the door and waved. Brooks came up behind her and watched a tall, thin guy in a leather jacket and jeans get out of the car. Regan ran towards the guy who picked her up in his arms and swung her around. Brooks flipped on the outside lights and froze.

  “Johnny Bentley?” Brooks snapped.

  Regan grinned up at her rock star and rubbed her hand over his stubbly cheek. He had a Mohawk that was artfully mussed, two hoop earrings on each ear, rings on his hands and although his clothes concealed them, beautiful tattoos. Johnny had fine features that were almost feminine they were so beautiful. Johnny was notoriously neurotic despite his public persona.

  “So what are we going to do here?” Johnny asked, looking around as if they were at an amusement park.

  “When was the last time you slept?” Regan asked suspiciously.

  He shrugged and looked beyond her to Brooks who was standing in the doorway of his house looking as if hell warmed over.

  “Don’t remember. Is that your brother?”

  Brooks sounded like he was eating rocks when he said, “Her what?”

  Johnny walked over to Brooks and held out a hand. “Hey bro. What’s happening?”

  Brooks looked at the outstretched hand and then Regan who had a hand clamped over her mouth. Her eyes danced with laughter.

  “You think this is funny, don’t you?” Brooks hissed.

  Regan walked up behind Johnny and wrapped her arms around his waist. She saw Brooks’ hands clench into fists at his sides.

  “Johnny, this is Brooks. He’s a huge fan. Had your poster up on his wall when he was in high school.”

  Johnny beamed at Brooks. “Always nice to meet fans. You want me to sign it?”

  Brooks crossed his arms over his chest. “Nah. I’m good.”

  “Remember I told you I sung on stage with Johnny?” Regan said innocently. “We hit it off and he took me on tour with him for two months. It was fun.”

  Regan took in the scent of her tortured artist-peppermint and cigarettes. It brought back memories of wild times. Brooks looked like he wanted to kill her so she kept her distance. Brooks was way too potent for his own good. She reverted back to her sixteen year old giddy self around him and that was so not happening. Maybe it was a blessing that Johnny interrupted when he had.

  “What do you do?” Johnny asked.

  “Do?” Brooks echoed.

  “Yeah, for a living.”

  Brooks tried to detect sarcasm in his voice but found none. “I’m a lineman.”

  Johnny leaned forward excitedly. “What’s that?”

  Brooks stared at him. “A lineman. You know, climb up poles, get electricity to people’s houses.”

  “You can climb a pole?” Johnny said so explosively that Brooks took a step back. “Can you teach me?”

  Regan frowned. “Johnny, honey, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why?” Johnny demanded.

  “Because you’re a scatterbrain,” Regan snapped. “I don’t think climbing a thirty foot wooden pole is the best thing for you.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Johnny said dismissively. “Stop fussing.”

  Johnny wrapped his arm around her shoulders and hugged her into his side.

  Brooks face looked as hard as steel. “You dated?”

  Johnny snorted. “Not long. Regan gave me the boot after two weeks. We were better as friends anyway, right, love?”

  She slapped him none too gently on his cheek and pursed her lips as she looked up at him. “You kissed that girl at that concert and that was it. I told you, no one cheats on me.”

  “She put some kind of itch powder in my pants during my next show. Everyone thought I was high on ecstasy I was grabbing myself so much.”

  Regan snickered. “That was a good night.”

  “Where we crashing, babe?” Johnny asked.

  Brooks went rigid. “What’s that?”

  She ignored him. “I told my mom you were coming.”

  When they turned away Brooks grabbed the back of her jacket and pulled her out of Johnny’s hold and whipped her around.

  “He’s staying in your mom’s house with you?” Brooks asked in a voice so forbidding she grinned.

  “What’s the big deal? You guys married or something?” Johnny said.

  Brooks glared. “You’re rich. Why don’t you stay in a hotel or something?”

  “I came to spend time with Regan.”

  “He’s sensitive right now,” Regan muttered.

  “So am I,” Brooks said and looked down at the bulge in his pants.

  “I’m not going to make a move on her, bro,” Johnny said.

  “You better not, pretty boy. I’ll be by first thing in the morning,” Brooks threatened.

  Regan rolled her eyes as Brooks jerked her forward and landed a very thorough, mind scrambling kiss on her mouth that made her legs go weak. When he finally released her she had her hands twisted in the front of his shirt and her eyes were unfocused.

  “You remember that,” he murmured.

  “Either you work really fast or there’s more going on than Regan’s told me,” Johnny said, wagging his brows.

  “I asked her to marry me ten years ago. She said no and took off. This is the first time she’s come back since then.”

  Regan didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or pissed at Brooks. Who the hell did he think he was, blabbing about her past? It was true but did he have to say it in that angry, challenging tone and stare at her, waiting for her to deny it? She wanted to because it made her sound like a coldhearted bitch. She left for herself and for him. She wasn’t for Brooks and never would be no matter how hot the chemistry was between them. She wanted to murder Johnny when a sympathetic expression crossed his face and he clapped a hand on Brooks shoulder in a man to man gesture.

  “If there’s anyone more restless than me it’s Regan. When I first met her you couldn’t get her to stay in the same place
longer than a month but then JC introduced her to that ass, Daniel and she went straight. God, it was like she was taken over by workaholic aliens. I was glad to hear she broke up with the bastard and came here.” Johnny looked around at the well maintained house and surrounding neighborhood. “This looks like a nice place. Never would’ve thought she had roots here.”

  “Ooookay.”

  Regan grabbed Johnny’s arm and hauled him towards his rented SUV. She revved the car and reversed without once looking at Brooks who stood in the driveway watching them.

  “Workaholic aliens? Really?” Regan snorted.

  “I’m serious. It was scary. You were a free bird hippy and then you changed your personality overnight. The only time you ever took a break from work is when me or JC visits.”

  She heard the worry in his voice and glanced at him in the glow of the passing street lights. “I was doing good.”

  “You had money,” he corrected. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

  “You’re one to talk,” she scoffed.

  “I’m a perfect example,” he said, spreading his hands wide. “I have it all. Women, money, adoring fans.”

  “Conceit,” Regan muttered.

  “I have it all,” he repeated, “and nothing satisfies me. I have this rush when I’m on tour. Being on stage is when I feel alive and the rush I get is…” He sighed. “You know? And then the tour is done and I’m exhausted but happy. There’s a gig here and there but then it’s a waiting game of finding inspiration to write new songs and record.”

  “You’ll find it, Johnny. You always do,” Regan said.

  “I love what I do, I crave it but when it’s all said and done, I’m this unhappy bastard that bothers the few real friends I have, hoping they’re going through something that can jump start my song writing.”

  “Poor rock star,” Regan mocked. “I would feel sympathy for you but I know you’re going to be inspired by something stupid, write a song about it and make more millions.”