by Desiree Holt
Text copyright ©2016 by the Author.
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From Desiree
People ask me all the time if I always wanted to be a writer. I don’t know if “always” is the word but certainly for all the years I can remember. I was a voracious reads, as were my mother and sister and books held a royal place in our home. The funny thing is I always thought I would write mysteries because that’s what we all read. I didn’t read my first romance until 2004, when I was sitting with the same three chapters of a mystery on my computer that had been there for three months. But then my eyes were opened and they never closed.
Submitting that first book was scary, but after a lot of rejections you stop being scared and become determined I’m glad I never gave up, because I am having the most fun in my life I have ever had. (Well, maybe not ever! LOL!) So here I am, with all these titles under my belt.
Writing a book is a solitary experience but it never comes to the bookshelves, virtual or other, alone. For me it starts my treasured friend and beta reader extraordinaire, Margie Hager, who has the best eagle eye in the world. Thank you, Margie my love, for all the hours you put in to help me bring my stories to life. And for your friendship, which is a highlight of my life.
More thanks to the heart of my team—Janet Rodman who always looks out for me, Phuong Phan, Vicki Capper. To Joe Trainor who keeps me honest n all things related to law enforcement and military elite.
My cats, of course, keep me company while I write. You all have seen pictures of Bast at the keyboard with me. She thinks she should get co-author credit!
Last but very far from least are all of you, my wonderful readers, who send me such great emails and posts and are so faithful. A special shoutout to Phuong Phen, Fedora Chen, Shirley Long and Patricia Sager who have been with me since my journey started and in frustrating times give me the inspiration to push ahead.
Thanks to Joseph P. Trainor for letting me pester him with a million questions and for keeping me honest and providing me with invaluable information on all things law enforcement and military elite.
To my family, who believed in me from the beginning and are my biggest promoters: my daughter Amy and Suzanne, my son Steven and my granddaughter Kayla.
Huge thanks to Nicole Kuhn of eBooks Galore and N. Kuhn Author Services. I don’t have enough space to list the many, many things you do for me. If not for you I’d never have time to write.
And to all of you out there who buy and read my books—my success is due to you. I love you so much. You are my extended family and I send you all many hugs.
There are a lot more stories to come. Please stay tuned.
I love to hear from my readers. You can write to me at [email protected] and I hope you will do that.
Where else can you find me?”
www.desireeholt.com
www.desireeholttellsall.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/authordesireeholt
Twitter: @desireeholt
Pinterest: www.pinterest.com/desiree02holt
Let’s continue on this journey together.
Desiree
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
To Joseph Patrick Trainer, my oh so valuable adviser
To my wonderful son, Steve Horwitz, who is always available to answer the most ridiculous questions and give me sane answers. Thanks for Sweet Dixie and Cobra. And a very extra special thank you to Kate Richards and Wizards in Publishing. Without you I could never, ever do this.
Man of My Heart
By
Desiree Holt
Chapter One
Jasmine Grey took off her signature white Stetson, ran a hand through the tumble of her auburn curls, and gave a sigh of relief.
“Done for the night.” She grinned at Gary Lockwood, her tour manager. “But it rocked, didn’t it?”
Gary gave her a smile a mile wide. “It sure did. You were hotter than a pistol. Carson’s gonna be real excited at the response you’re getting.”
“It’s hard to believe a year ago I was still playing any club in Austin where I could get a gig and sending out demos to anyone and everyone.”
“Then, one night, Carson dropped into that club where you were filling in,” Gary reminded her, “and the rest, as they say, is history.”
Carson Wagner was one of the hottest managers in the business. Unlike many others, he chose to make his base of operations in Austin, Texas, rather than Nashville. He told people Austin was rich with talent they hadn’t even discovered yet. He’d grown up a big Willie Nelson fan and loved to tell people he thought Willie’s real career started when he left Nashville and began recording in Austin. He also hung out each year at Austin’s annual South by Southwest Music Festival. Jasmine knew he’d found some of his top talent there.
Carson managed both Jasmine and Sweet Dixie, the very hot country rock band she was opening for. This was a ten-stop tour, promoting new albums for both Jasmine and Sweet Dixie and, so far, she had to pinch herself at the success. Her merchandise was selling, fans lined up for autographs, and she had two encores every performance. The best part of it was the pleasure Sweet Dixie took in her success and the encouragement they gave her. Last night they’d even called her onstage to sing one of their songs with them. She felt blessed Carson had paired her with this group. She could have landed with a bunch of egotistical assholes who tried to walk all over her.
“This business is funny, isn’t it?” She shook her head. “You work your patootie off trying to be a success, and, in the end, it’s 90 percent luck.”
“Yeah, but if you don’t have the talent, all the luck in the world won’t help.” Gary cocked his head. “You’ve got the talent, lady. I predict by a year from now you’ll outdraw Sweet Dixie.”
“Ohmigod.” She fanned herself. “From your lips to God’s ears.” But his words made her feel so good. Gary was a no-bullshit guy who’d been in the business a long time and an experienced road manager, which she knew was why Carson had assigned him to her. Life was good.
If she could just figure out a way around this thing with Cobra, everything would be terrific. Her bass player was turning out to be a real problem. She started to say something to Gary about it, but, just then, the door to the big dressing room they all shared banged open and her band walked in, hot and sweaty from an enthusiastic performance, giving each other high fives.
“You all nailed it tonight,” she told them. “I mean, right on the money.”
“We could have done a third encore if the promoters hadn’t been so stingy with the time,” Cobra griped. But then he grinned and made straight for her. “Hot damn, baby!” He grabbed her, whirled her around, and tried to plant a kiss on her lips. “C’mon, Jas. We smoked it tonight. Let’s you and me do a little celebrating.”
Gary pried Cobra’s arms from around Jasmine and tugged him to the side.
“No touching the merchandise,” he joked, trying to
lighten the situation.
“Hey, Cobra.” Hondo Carr, the band’s rhythm guitarist, threw a towel at him. “Mop up your sweat and get ready for the ladies. You know they’ll be all over you. Leave the star alone, or we might not have a job.”
Jasmine would never fire Cobra or the other two. They were top of the line backup musicians and she was lucky to have them. But something would have to be done about Cobra. They just needed to get past this last night. Then she could talk to Carson about it.
He had assured her he’d vetted all her backup musicians, but he must have missed something in John “Cobra” Mattice. Rehearsals had been great, and she chalked up his overt flirting to the ego of a much-in-demand musician. But, once they were on the road, he went after her with a full court press.
She’d heard of this happening to other female singers, so it wasn’t an isolated thing. When she’d asked how they handled it, they told her a lot of humor and a firm refusal usually took care of it.
Well, it sure hadn’t worked with Cobra. He might be one of the best bass players in the industry, but he had an ego a mile wide and couldn’t seem to keep his hands off her. She tired of having to avoid being near him except for rehearsals and using Gary as a shield. Tonight was the closing night of the tour. As soon as she got home, she planned to talk to Carson about making a change.
“Don’t I get a little kiss for those hot licks in the closing number tonight?” Cobra called to her.
“Here.” Jack Duval, the band’s drummer, wrapped his arm around Cobra’s neck and hauled him close. “I’ll give you a kiss.” He laid a smacker right on Cobra’s cheek.
The bass player shoved him away, eyes hot with anger.
“Not you, asshole. Miss Sweet Cheeks is the one I want.”
“And disappoint all those groupies waiting for you?” Hondo teased.
“Okay.” Gary took Cobra’s arm. “Let’s all play nice. Jasmine’s wiped after tonight’s performance. Can you cut her a little slack and keep your juvenile shit to yourself?”
Jasmine held her breath, waiting to see how Cobra would react. Finally, he blew out a breath and pasted a grin on his face.
“She sure doesn’t know what she’s missing.” He brushed his long black hair back from his sweat-slicked face and stared at her with heat in his eyes. “But that’s okay. We got time.”
“Time to greet the public,” Gary reminded him. He looked around the room at everyone. “Get cleaned up a little, you guys. There’s an afterparty as soon as Sweet Dixie finishes, but I’ve got a few people coming to see Jasmine and the band before then. Jas, honey, get yourself a cold drink and pull out your best smile. Two of them are reporters.”
“Okay.” She nodded, releasing the breath she didn’t even know she’d been holding. She looked around at the band. “You guys let Gary prep you for a few minutes. You know they’ll want to talk to everyone.”
Everyone nodded in agreement. They pulled off the sweat-soaked shirts they’d worn on stage, and Gary handed out fresh Jasmine Grey T-shirts for them to put on.
Someone knocked on the dressing room door, and Gary went to answer it. He talked to someone in the hall, looked at his watch, and nodded his head. When he turned back to the room, he was grinning.
“Make yourself beautiful, Jas, and get your patootie back out there. Sweet Dixie’s got a surprise for you. They want you on stage for another number with them tonight.”
Her eyebrows flew up to her hairline. “They do?”
“Uh-huh. Next to last song. Come on.” He tapped his watch. “Get it together. Time’s a-wastin’.”
“B-but what about the reporters and stuff?”
“Hell, I’ll bring them to the wings and they can watch from there. They’ll be salivating. This is big, sugar. Sweet Dixie wants you to sing with them again and on the last night of the tour. I smell big headlines and big record sales.”
“Hey. What about us?” Cobra asked.
“You know the score,” Gary told him. “She succeeds, you succeed. And that could mean another album and more studio money for you guys.” He paused. “And Cobra? Behave yourself.”
“Man.” He laughed. “That’s no fun.”
“It would be less fun to get kicked off of this gig.”
“Yeah?” The bass player’s features arranged into a sneer. “I’m the best fucking bassist you can buy, man. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
“Just behave. You ready, Jas?”
Jasmine grabbed her little cosmetic bag and did a quick repair job, fluffing her hair and checking her outfit. She slapped her Stetson back on and turned to Gary.
“Okay?”
“We think you look gorgeous,” Tony Baez, her lead guitar player called out. “Forget about him.”
There was another knock on the door.
“That’ll be your cue,” Gary said. “Let’s move it, people.”
Jasmine tried to still the swarm of butterflies doing a dance in her stomach. It’s just another song, she told herself. She was glad she knew a lot of Sweet Dixie songs because last night, when they’d had her sing their latest hit, she was prepared. She just hoped she didn’t throw up or pass out or forget the words.
Come on, come on. You can do this.
Sweet Dixie’s road manager motioned them to the wings at the side of the stage.
“Wait right here,” he told them. “Rodeo’s gonna announce you when it’s time.”
Holy shit! Rodeo Jermaine was Sweet Dixie’s lead singer. Holy shit again!
She stood there, doing her best to calm herself, glad when Gary came to stand beside her.
“It’ll be fine, Jas. My money’s always on you.”
The applause had just died down, and Rodeo beckoned her from the stage. His road manager gave her a nudge.
“We’ve got a surprise for you tonight, everyone. You loved Miss Jasmine Grey so much earlier we decided to bring her back again. Last night, she sang with us on one of ours. Tonight, we’re doing one of hers.” He waved at her again. “Come on out, sweetheart, and help us do you proud on ‘Sweet Man of Mine.’”
Jasmine started to shake. She looked at Gary. “They’re singing one of my songs?”
“Uh-huh. Little surprise for you. They loved having you on the dates with them.” He nudged her. “Now, go on. Show ’em your stuff.”
Jasmine could not have told you what happened after that. She remembered going onstage, getting a hug from Rodeo, and seeing the entire band clapping for her. Rolling into an incredible version of “Sweet Man of Mine.” Doing encores with the band. The afterparty where she hoped she answered questions with some intelligence.
Finally, it was over, everyone had been politely ushered out of the arena, and they headed back to the hotel. She couldn’t believe how excited her own musicians were for her.
“We told you,” Tony said. “What’s good for you is good for us. We’re with you for the long haul, Miss Jasmine Grey.”
Gary agreed with him. “Carson’s gonna be sorry he wasn’t here, but he’ll sure know how to capitalize on this. There may be another tour coming up right quick.”
At the hotel, everyone headed for the bar. Jasmine was wiped and knew she should get to bed, but she was still so high on the excitement of the night’s success.”
“Don’t let me stay too long,” she told Hondo.
“We’ll take good care of you,” he assured her. “Gary will make sure of that.” He looked at the road manager. “Right, Ace?”
Gary gave them a thumbs-up. “You bet. We all just want to celebrate tonight. It had a lot of magic.”
“It did, didn’t it?” She smiled up at him. “Okay, drinks are on me.”
She just had to make sure she sat as far away from Cobra as possible, but she needn’t have worried. Hondo and Gary sandwiched her between them, across the table from Cobra.
It was fun celebrating their success. She knew she owed much of it to the band and especially to Hondo. As the de facto leader, he kept everyone in line, ran rehearsal like a f
ield general, and took care of getting them where they had to go when they had to be there.
“Okay, guys, I’m not much of a drinker anyway. And we’ve got a long haul back to Austin tomorrow.”
They moaned and groaned a little, but each gave her a hug—except Cobra, who she avoided like the plague. Back in her room, she threw herself on the bed and lay there for a long moment, letting the feeling of pure excitement roll through her. Tonight had been incredible. She couldn’t wait to hear what Carson had to say. Sweet Dixie had learned one of her songs. One of her songs!
Holy crap!
Finally, as the energy drained from her body, she exchanged her clothes for her sleep pants and tank top and slid into bed. She was sure she’d never fall asleep but passed out almost before her head touched the pillow.
As if from a great distance, she heard knocking on her door. No, not knocking. Banging. What on earth? It took her a minute to separate it from her dream. She had no idea what time it was except it was still dark in the room. With a tremendous effort, she dragged herself up from sleep and staggered to the door.
“What the hell’s going on?” she asked as she opened it. “You’ll wake everyone in the hotel.”
She squinted to see who was there. As soon as she recognized Cobra, she tried to slam the door shut, but he blocked it.
“I came for our private celebration.” His words were slurred, and the odor of alcohol surrounded him like a thick cloud.
“Go away, Cobra. I told you to stop this.”
Again, she tried to close the door, but he was too quick for her, shoving it all the way open so it slammed back against the wall. He barreled his way into the room and pushed her back to the bed. It took a minute for her sleep-fogged mind to catch up. When she did, she realized she was flat on her back, Cobra’s sweaty body crushing her into the mattress. His hands held her face immobile as he ground his wet mouth to hers. When he tried to force her lips apart with his tongue, she pressed them together, turning her head away from the stink of the liquor he’d been drinking.
