Facing the Music: A Rosewood Novel

by Andrea Laurence

  No big deal, right? It would just take a few seconds. And she could use her beach towel to . . . Ivy paused and looked around. Her towel was inside, too. With her phone. Folded neatly by the door, just as she’d left them. Now she couldn’t call her father to come with the extra keys.

  She’d have to man up and do this. Ivy untied the strings around her neck. Using one hand to hold the top up, she wiggled out of her confining swimsuit like she was tangled in a shrimp net. She tugged and twisted, squirmed and bent. Things seemed to be working.

  Until they weren’t. At the critical moment when the suit was wrapped around her head and arms, leaving her blinded and completely topless, she got stuck. Feeling the warm summer breeze on her bare breasts while she stared at the navy fabric covering her face like a giant eye patch was extremely disconcerting. With her luck, a local Boy Scout troop would march by. Or her daddy would come to check on her.

  With renewed fervor, she flopped and wiggled frantically until she finally got loose. Free at last, she brushed her hair out of her face, covered her breasts with her hands, and looked around for witnesses to her undignified dance.

  So far, the coast was clear.

  Ivy bent down to open the door to the porch while still keeping her lady parts covered. She moved quickly down the wooden steps to the mix of grass, mud, and sand that surrounded the lake. As she tiptoed delicately through the grass, the rougher blades and the occasional rocks reminded her she was a little more tender-footed than she used to be.

  At the front of the cabin, she climbed up the stairs, fully exposed to the road, the sun, and anyone who might roll by in their pickup truck. Ivy reached desperately for the knob and—

  Nothing. It was also locked.

  Ivy was barefoot, topless, keyless, phoneless, and standing in the yard in a cheeky pair of string-bikini bottoms with cherries on her ass. “Well, shit!” she yelled, stomping her bare feet on the wood and lodging a splinter in her big toe.

  “Ow, dammit!” Ivy howled, unable to pull out the splinter without exposing herself to the road. “You have got to be kidding me!” She hobbled down the stairs, walking on her heels back around the cabin.

  “Think, Ivy. There is a solution to this problem.”

  She was about to try one of the downstairs windows when she heard a loud wolf whistle from the lake. Her head snapped around in time to see an expensive bass-fishing boat come into view. It was navy sparkle-coated with orange racing stripes and the name Tiger swirled on the side. It would be the pride and joy of any Auburn University alumnus.

  And that’s when her heart dropped into her gut with a dull, nauseating thud. An Auburn alumnus.

  The tail end of the boat came out from behind the trees and at last she could see the man at the wheel. It was an Auburn alumnus, all right. The brown hair with golden highlights from the summer sun . . . the tanned skin and broad shoulders from hours training out on the football field . . .

  Of all the rotten damn luck she was having.

  At that moment her eyes met the smug baby-blue gaze of none other than Blake Flippin’ Chamberlain.

  God must be rewarding him for his patience and work with children. That had to be the answer. There was no other reason why he would trip over a scenario this sweet.

  Blake killed the engine and slowly pulled his boat up to the dock. He tied it up, taking careful steps to secure his baby and make Ivy wait as long as humanly possible. From what he could see, she wasn’t going anywhere, even if she wanted to.

  He climbed onto the dock and strolled causally over to the Hudson cabin with his hands thrust into his pockets. Taking his time, Blake soaked in every delicious detail, from Ivy’s irritated scowl to the full globes of her breasts pressed beneath her inadequate hands. He’d never been so jealous of a pair of hands in his life.

  His jeans tightened uncomfortably as his inspection ran over her mostly bare body. He was frankly surprised by the reaction. Not because she wasn’t a beautiful and sexy woman—she was; that was a given—but because his dick had a deep, abiding hatred of Ivy. So did the rest of him, but it was his penis that had become the center of national attention for being woefully inadequate. At the moment, however, he had ample evidence to the contrary.

  What the woman was doing outside in nothing but a pair of bikini bottoms he didn’t know, but he wouldn’t complain. From what he could see—and he could see a lot—she hadn’t yet opted to go under some Beverly Hills plastic surgeon’s knife. It had been nearly six years since he’d laid eyes on those curves, but he’d spent his teenage years learning and memorizing every inch of her body.

  Blake whistled again, this time the whistling equivalent of “Whoo . . . you’re sure in a pickle, girl.” Ivy ducked behind a nandina bush growing at the foundation of the cabin, but it didn’t help.

  “Well, look at who’s back in town . . . and naked at that.” He planted his hands on his hips and shook his head. “I was cruising around the lake and I said to myself, ‘That looks like Ivy Grace Hudson running ’round that cabin with no clothes on. But that couldn’t be true. She’s too big of a star for a little town like Rosewood.’ ”

  At first, he’d been relieved when Little Miss Rock Star had turned down the first request to do a charity concert. Then he’d gotten pissed off. How dare she be too busy to take the time to help the people who made her who she was? She had America duped with her sweet smile and angelic voice. Someone needed to write a song about her and tell the other half of the story for a change.

  Of course, then her name got smeared across every tabloid in the country. Suddenly the clouds parted, her schedule cleared up, and here she was to save the day.

  Why her? There were plenty of native groups to choose from. Couldn’t they have gotten Alabama or Skynyrd or Jimmy Buffett? Hell, even one of those American Idol singers would be better than the girl who turned her back on her town and made her career on his humiliation.

  Then again, she was way hotter than Jimmy Buffett. Damn. Even the red flush of embarrassment across her cheeks was enticing.

  “What changed your mind, huh?”

  Ivy’s lips twisted into an angry knot, but she didn’t answer him. Instead, she slunk farther behind the bush.

  “What’s the matter, Ivy Grace? Boy band got your tongue?”

  “You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about, as usual, Blake. I came because your grandmother asked me to, personally. I wanted to help out and when my schedule opened up, I was able to say yes.”

  “Swooping in to save us all, then? Very thoughtful of you to think of us poor normal folks.”

  “Don’t you get all humble and small-town smug with me. You and I both know you wouldn’t be cruising around this stinky old pond if you hadn’t blown out your knee after a couple of seasons in the NFL. Don’t criticize me for succeeding just because you didn’t!”

  As if on cue, Blake’s bad knee started throbbing. Shifting his weight, he tried not to wince. It was hard considering that only two years ago, some three-hundred-pound defensive lineman had snapped it like a twig and ended his career. “So that’s how it’s going to be, huh?”

  “Listen,” she spat. “I’m not the one who started being ugly. Don’t dish it if you can’t take it.”

  “You’re right. Most gracious apologies. You were just running around naked, minding your own business, and I interfered and started saying nasty things.”

  “I am not naked! But I would appreciate you being a gentleman and turning away, please.”

  At that, Blake had to laugh. His eyes had been glued to her since the moment he climbed from his boat, and that wasn’t changing anytime soon. “You and I both know I’m not much of a gentleman. And even if I was . . . ain’t nothing there I haven’t seen before, Ivy Grace.”

  The wider his smile grew, the more red-mottled her cheeks became. “That doesn’t mean you get the pleasure of looking at it anymore. You gave up that right when you put your hands up that cheerleader’s skirt.”

  Blake sighed heavil
y. How many times would he have to pay for that sin? He’d been drunk and lonely and the girl had thrown herself at him. He’d apologized a million times over, but Ivy didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t care that everything in his life had crumbled from that point on.

  “Do you want to stand in your birthday suit and fight about what happened six years ago, or do you want to tell me why you’re outside like this so I can help you?”

  “I don’t need your help,” she said, her chin tipping up defiantly despite her situation.

  “Oh really?” Blake said, crossing his arms over his chest. “So I guess you don’t want me to tell you that there’s poison ivy growing through that shrub you’re hiding in?”

  With a shriek, Ivy leaped from the bushes, her hands momentarily leaving their post as she panicked and then flying quickly back to cover the taut, pink tips of her breasts. Lord, he’d missed those. They’d been like juicy, ripe peaches. The memory of tasting them made his mouth start to water.

  So did the tantalizing glimpse of what looked like a tattoo on Ivy’s rib cage. He hadn’t gotten a good look, but he’d seen a blur of something. Now her arms were covering the spot, leaving his curiosity piqued.

  “Ugh!” she groaned, hobbling around on one of her heels with a toe that was visibly red and swelling. “I hate nature,” she howled. “I hate it!”

  At that, Blake burst out laughing. He’d bitten his lip to keep it in, but it was no use. This was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever seen. All the pent-up emotions of the past six years exploded out of him in a roar of laughter that brought tears to his eyes. He doubled over, bracing his hands on his thighs.

  A glimpse of her tight, indignant expression only made it worse. He wouldn’t feel bad for her. She deserved this. Lord knows someone should get a chuckle at her expense for a change.

  “This is not funny!” she shouted over his laughter.

  “It most certainly is,” he managed as he struggled for air. “It’s hilarious.”

  “Blake Chamberlain, you stop it right now!” she demanded, but Blake could see a faint curve to her lips. She was trying not to laugh. Eventually, she cracked. She adjusted her arms to keep covered while she hid a giggle behind one hand.

  He was relieved. The Ivy he’d loved could laugh at herself. Thank goodness she wasn’t so full of herself now that she didn’t see the humor in this.

  Finally, the bubble of laughter died away and he wiped his eyes. She might not have appreciated it at first, but the humorous outlet had helped relieve a lot of tension between them. At the moment, they needed that. Despite what she might think, he didn’t like kicking people when they were down. He had no doubt they’d have their long-awaited argument, but he’d wait until she wasn’t at a disadvantage and take her on fair and square.

  “What’s wrong with your foot?” he asked once his cheeks stopped burning.

  “I got a splinter on the front porch,” Ivy said. Her lips pressed tightly together to keep in another yelp of discomfort as she tottered around. “I went around to see if the door was unlocked.”

  Oh . . . this was too good. Blake tore his gaze from her bare flesh to eye the back door of the cabin. Hanging limp from the door frame was her bikini top. Only Ivy. Something like this could only happen to her.

  When he’d woken up this morning, he hadn’t been sure it would be a good day, but things were looking up. “You’re locked out?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she admitted through gritted teeth. “Are you going to help me or just laugh at me?”

  “You said you didn’t need my help.”

  “I am naked . . . locked out of my cabin . . . with a bloody toe . . . and possibly covered in poison ivy! Do I really have to ask you for help, Blake?”

  “Most people, no. But I think you should have to ask.”

  Ivy shook her head, steam nearly coming out of her ears. The light moment had passed. “You know what? Forget it.” She brushed past him, stumbling to the back porch and up the stairs before flinging open the screen door. She let the door slam shut behind her, marched over to the rocking chair, and sat down with her arms folded over her chest.

  Blake made his way over to the bottom of the stairs. “You just gonna sit there all night?”

  “You found me. Eventually someone else will, too. Hopefully someone who doesn’t get pleasure out of torturing me.”

  “Oh, I can guarantee someone will find you. I intend to call everyone I know to come by and say hi. I bet folks don’t know you’re back in town yet.”

  Ivy’s dark green eyes widened in fear, but she bit her tongue.

  Until he turned and started down the dock. “See you later, Little Miss Rock Star.”

  “Wait! You’re leaving me like this?”

  Blake stopped, his back to her. His boat was only a few feet away. It was so tempting, and it would be so easy, to get into that boat and speed away. He even got all the way into the boat. Why shouldn’t he? Ivy hadn’t given any thought to his feelings. She hadn’t called him to warn him before the song came out. He’d been blindsided. Humiliated. She could use a taste of that for herself.

  But before he could start the engine, he found himself grabbing two towels and walking back up the dock to the cabin. His grandma would tan his hide if he left a lady in this situation.

  He climbed the steps and opened the screen door. Ivy had gotten up while he was in the boat. Now she was standing there, in those damned bikini bottoms, looking at him with the big doe eyes he could never resist. The muscles in his neck and jaw tensed as he fought the urge to reach for her and kiss the pout from her full lips. He ached for her to wrap her arms around his neck so her bare breasts would press against his chest. One tug of the string and those bikini bottoms would fall to the deck.

  Because that would be so helpful to the situation. With a shake of his head, he thrust one towel at her. “For heaven’s sake, cover up.”

  Pushing past her toward the window, he used the second towel to wrap his arm. With a hard whack, his padded elbow broke one of the glass panes. Brushing away the loose shards of glass, Blake reached through the gap to unlock the door.

  “Ta-da!” he said as it swung open wide and her bikini top fell to the floor.

  Ivy hobbled around him to the door and stepped inside. Turning immediately once she crossed the threshold, she bent over and picked up her suit top. She looked at him. “Thanks,” she said.

  Then she closed the door in his face.

  Chapter 3

  What the hell was she doing here? How had this happened? Ivy honestly had no clue.

  It was eight o’clock on Saturday night. A night Ivy fully intended to spend in her cabin working. After her run-in with Blake, she had no interest in running into anyone else in town. And yet here she was, sitting in Pepper’s SUV outside Woody’s Bar. Pepper was glaring angrily at her through the windshield, her arms crossed over her chest, irritated because Ivy had taken her keys, locked her out of her own car, and refused to go inside.

  It was a surreal development for a night that should’ve been anything but noteworthy.

  After Blake left, Ivy had watched the road like a hawk all evening, waiting for the parade of people Blake had promised, but no one came, thankfully. At least until suppertime, when a little red SUV she didn’t recognize pulled up outside.

  It was Pepper, her first official visitor, and fortunately one she didn’t mind.

  “We’re going out!” Pepper had announced. Ivy had argued with her. She needed to work. She didn’t want to go out. She wasn’t ready to face the people in town sober, much less drunk. Excuse after excuse fell from her lips, but Pepper was a force of nature—a whirlwind who couldn’t be reasoned with. It also helped that she played to Ivy’s weaknesses.

  Nearly every day of the past few years, Ivy had been plopped into a chair while a team of highly qualified hairstylists and makeup artists worked their magic. Ivy just had to sit there, pucker as needed, close her eyes when she was told to, and in an hour or so, she was the Ivy Huds
on her fans would see on posters, on album covers, and in music videos.

  So when Pepper took her hand and led her over to a chair in the kitchen, she blindly followed. When the makeup case and the curling iron came out, she sat there as she was trained. Pepper distracted her with idle conversation as she worked feverishly on hair and makeup. Before she knew it, Ivy was dressed for a night on the town and sitting in Pepper’s car staring up at the neon bar sign.

  The moment they pulled into the Woody’s parking lot, Ivy’d snapped out of her fog and come to her senses. Pepper was dangerous. She looked sweet and perky with those red curls and bright eyes, but it was a ruse. And from the evil glare she was levying on Ivy at the moment, it was better that she was on the sidewalk and Ivy was safely locked in her car.

  “Ivy Grace Hudson, you get out of my car this instant!” Pepper stomped her foot, as though that would make any difference.

  Ivy shook her head. “You tricked me!” she shouted through the windshield.

  “Yes, I’m so horrible,” Pepper agreed. “I dressed you up and lured you out to a bar to have some fun. You shouldn’t ever speak to me again.”

  Ivy took a deep breath and scanned the parking lot, although she didn’t know why. It wasn’t as though she knew what kind of car or truck Blake drove. There was no way to tell if he was here. All she knew was that people going into Woody’s kept looking at her and whispering. There was no way she was going inside that bar.

  A loud thump on the window startled her up out of her seat. She turned to find Grant Chamberlain, one of Blake’s younger brothers, peering in at her. She’d heard that Grant was a local fireman now, and if rumors held true, he was even worse than Blake where monogamy was concerned. Perhaps it did run in the family.

  “Hey, Ivy!” he shouted through the glass. Grant had the same dark, handsome looks and strong build of his brother, but he was a little leaner with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. His gaze ran over her body, and then a smile curled his lips. “What? No bikini tonight? I heard you have a really nice one. At least, half of one!”