Bella ignored the woman’s condescending tone, and smiled and waved at people on the street outside the pharmacy. She said a quick hello to two women that had been in her store yesterday. They were chitchatting outside the salon. Finally, she managed to match her stride with the mayor. “Good thing I love dresses.”
Sharon glanced at her dress. “I hope you’re wearing a different…dress tonight.”
“What’s wrong with it?” She looked down at her poppy colored wrap-around dress. It was definitely on the modest side covering her from chest to knee, leaving only her shoulders and arms bare.
“It’s…red.”
Isabella schooled her features. Just because Sharon hadn’t bought a color in fifty years didn’t mean Isabella needed to change her wardrobe. “Red is a power color. It shows confidence.”
“Red is showy. Is that what you need to do to cover up for a flaw in your presentation tonight? Distract the board with your body?”
Bella dodged a few pedestrians until they came to the half wall in front of the park. She touched the mayor’s arm and they both stopped. “Look, Mayor Darcy. I understand that you’re used to people being afraid of you. I’m not one of those people. Like my dress, or don’t like my dress, I don’t really care. What I do care about is making sure the Summer Festival is amazing this year. So if this little field trip is about anything other than that, I will have to respectfully leave you to your own devices. I have a business to run.”
The Mayor’s shrewd brown eyes narrowed. “You have grit. I like that.” She started walking again. “Make sure it’s not too much grit, Ms. Grace. Manners are a must when dealing with the people of this town.”
Bella shut her mouth. She knew when to fight her battles and when to concede. When they passed the park that had been transformed into the bones of the festival and took a right onto Bartlett Lane, she frowned. “So, where are we going?”
“We have a new addition to the festival, thanks to Cameron. I wanted to make sure you saw it before your presentation tonight. It may change some of your plans.”
“A new what?” Bella lengthened her stride. “Cam did what?”
“The old Bartlett barn has been emptied. His good for nothing children finally hauled out all of the old equipment to sell. Vultures.”
This was not happening. She had everything scheduled down to the last detail. The amount of juggling she’d have to do made her eye twitch all over again. Cam knew this. Why in the sweet hell would he muck up her lineup?
She let the mayor babble about the good for nothing Bartlett children as she mentally shuffled her presentation. When there was finally a lull in Sharon’s rant, Bella jumped into the conversation. “I assume that I’m not getting more of a budget to cover the extra space?”
“Well, no. But this is a wonderful bonus for the festival. Cameron and his crew are all helping to get it up to code.”
She resisted the urge to rip her hair out by the roots. Cameron’s people would get it done. They were used to quick turnarounds from working with Habitat for Humanity. And because Cam was involved, it would be perfect. But that still meant she had to figure out how to rearrange the musical acts. Make sure their equipment wouldn’t short out the building’s less than modern wiring.
Wishing she’d worn her flats instead of the toffee colored heels, Bella stepped over piles of lumber and bags of cement. Why was it that on the days she did the whole cute outfit thing something happened to make her regret it?
A steady trickle of sweat was pooling at the base of her spine. And, of course, it would show with jersey material. Lovely.
Male shouts and the hissing compression of a nail gun told her they were getting close to the barn. It was just as shabby as she remembered, but the scent of freshly cut wood and sawdust made her feel a little better.
The racket made it impossible for the mayor to speak, so Bella took the time to look around the huge barn. The hardwood floor had been sanded to the natural finish of the planks. A stage that had seen better days two decades ago was half covered with huge scaffolding set ups on either end. The rest of the room was wide open.
A few folding tables held cases of bottled water with coolers tucked beneath them. A sunbeam, that looked more like a spotlight, arrowed across the floor, highlighting a pair of coffee urns like it was a gift from God. Isabella looked up to find a huge hole in the barn’s roof with Cam in a harness, hanging from the rafters.
Yikes.
Cam must have felt her gaze because he peered over his shoulder with a wave. He stopped nailing and pushed up his protective glasses. “Nice of you to make it, Mayor Darcy.” His smile widened and warmed. “Bella.”
Bella shaded her eyes. “Got a wild hair to build, Cam?” she shouted over the banging.
“You know me. Can’t let a space go to waste.”
Yes, she did know him. Efficiency and brains were only a few of the finer qualities of the town veterinarian. And now that she saw the space, she was already rearranging acts. It really was wonderful.
Maybe if she had the acoustic band from Connecticut, and the cover band from the city play in here, then she could still have the main stage taken care of. A few of the bands would need to do another night. How she was going to get around that without paying them extra…well, that would be the trick.
Sharon stalked over to a group of men huddled around one of the tables. She raised her voice over the noise, asking if there was any way people could take a break. Walkie talkies came out and slowly the hammering faded until it was just the occasional whir of a drill.
Isabella wandered over the wide, worn planks. Some of them were warped with time and any number of spills from machines or animals. A few coats of dark stain, and the barn would be lovely. Rustic and full of stories, it was the perfect backdrop for a show.
The hollow click of her heels filled the silence now. The workers had scattered, except for a tall man on the stage. Battered denim cupped a rather fine backside as he crouched in front of a junction box.
Electrician maybe?
An electrician that took care of himself from the flex of muscle under his army green tank top. He was all smooth, tanned skin with a splash of freckles across his shoulders. It was as if he’d been dusted with powdered cinnamon, some were big and some were a mere pinprick. More of the same dotted his arms and forearms. And lord, his hands.
What was it about a man’s hands?
Wide with long fingers and more of those damn freckles. Was the man covered in them from head to toe?
She swallowed at the thought. Everything?
Wow.
Gutter meet shameful hussy. Geeze.
She was picking apart the finer points of a complete stranger. Who probably did not have a face to match his superior back end. Those hands though. They were enough to spark a few fantasies in the dark.
Since her life consisted of fantasies instead of flesh and blood men lately, she’d been stirring up some decidedly racy ones.
He stood, and by the weeping angels, that man had muscles to spare on his back. He even had those hot little triceps denting his arms that made her drool for unknown reasons. A fine sheen of sweat on his shoulders matched her own. There was no breeze in the barn and the heat was cloying.
She dabbed at her forehead with the back of her hand and wished she’d pinned her bangs back. The original plan had been to spend the day in her over air conditioned store. She had to keep a lot of the collector books at a certain temperature and humidity, so the lower level of the brownstone had been heaven this week.
The man slapped the electrical box closed and turned so he was in profile. Chest of magnificence to match those shoulders—check. Long neck with more freckles hidden by a dense scruff in a ginger color made her mouth water. She had a weakness for men with a weekend beard. It was still prickly enough to give you a nice little buzz and soft enough not to rip your skin apart.
His looked soft though. More like a week’s worth of growth.
Full lips pressed to
gether then a swipe of tongue wet them. Would his lips be salty?
Could she get a grip?
Talk about a trip down Objectification Boulevard. When his mouth tipped up at the corner and perfect teeth peeked from those mackable lips, her gaze flew to his eyes.
Busted.
She looked down.
Crap.
Then recognition jolted through her. Her gaze swung to him again. He eased around the scaffolding and nimbly landed on the hardwood floor, all athletic grace and male perfection.
Because he was freaking Logan King.
She’d just eye-fucked the lead singer of All the King’s Men—their headliner and the darling of Winchester Falls. He barely resembled the same man in the poster. And not in a bad way.
This version was a little more approachable, and yet no less intense.
“Logan!”
Bella’s eyebrows shot up as the mayor hotfooted her way across the barn. The formidable Mayor Darcy walked into his arms and gave him a friendly hug.
She wasn’t sure Mr. Darcy even got a hug like that. Even more appalling…Logan hugged her back, bending down to whisper something in her ear.
Sharon tapped his cheek and laughed like a schoolgirl. “I thought you went back into the city. We finished the interviews yesterday.”
Had there been an alien invasion and the mayor had been replaced with one of those reptilian things like in that old TV show?
“Isabella, come over here.” Sharon held her arm out, waving Bella over. “Logan King, this is the head of the Summer Festival planning committee, Isabella Grace.”
Bella forced her feet to work and crossed to them. Somehow she bent her mouth into the half smile that helped get her through more than one dry dinner party.
Logan held his hand out. “We almost just met. A pleasure.”
Bury. Me. Now. C’mon, Earth. Open up and swallow me whole. That’d be amazing. “Nice to meet you.” No sparks please. Just a hand. A clammy hand would be preferable actually.
She clasped his hand and…nothing. Just dry and firm. Professional.
Disappointment rolled through her. So maybe she’d figured on sparks. At least on her part. Maybe because he was Logan King, but more because of her reaction to…well, everything else. But it seemed that he knew how to do the polite handshake and move on. No entanglements.
It was better that way.
Completely.
As he released her hand, the calloused tips of his fingers teased the inside of her wrist.
Okay.
Sparks. Wow. Flay off a layer of skin kind of sparks.
She slid her hand behind her back and curled her fingers into her palm. Go away now, tingles. You’re way past inconvenient, and bordering on inappropriate.
CHAPTER TWO
Well, fuck.
Logan jammed his hands into his pockets. That was something he did not need. This town was his no fly zone. So he sure as shit was going to ignore the hot rock that had materialized in the middle of his chest. He exchanged pockets for crossing his arms over his chest. Why the hell did he leave his shirt in the truck?
Sharon gave him an indulgent smile. “You snuck off before we got to talk yesterday.”
Logan laughed. “You know me, can’t stay still long.” His gaze tripped over Isabella’s lightly tanned shoulders, down to her twisting fingers, then back up to her dark hair. It was that freshly tumbled out of bed kind of hair that made his fingers itch. A red dress clung to all sorts of places he shouldn’t be looking at.
Finally, he managed to focus on Sharon with an easy smile. “I came down to get some of Mrs. Stack’s lemonade. I forgot just how bad the humidity is in August.”
“If you stayed more than a few weeks in the year you’d know that.”
“You might just see my ugly mug a bit longer this year.” Logan forced himself to keep his eyes on the mayor. He’d been on the west coast so much lately that this wet heat was soaking into his damn brain. It was the only excuse he could come up with for his reaction to the woman with the topaz eyes who was trying to look at anything but him.
But every time she did, he felt it like the humidity in the air. There, but not there. A caress of wet heat.
Sharon’s hand fluttered across his forearm. “That’s wonderful. You work too hard.”
“Normally I’d say time off is for wimps, but I’m exhausted.”
He’d prowled his house all damn night. Sleep was as elusive here as it was on the road. He was up to fifty laps a day in the pool just to keep himself sane. He traded whisky out for wine last night to give his liver a break.
“Time off is key,” Sharon said.
“You certainly don’t follow your own advice. I hit Stack’s and all I heard was how much you guys were doing for the festival.”
“Isabella has a lot of new ideas.”
She met his gaze. “I had to bring my A-game. You make it the party to end all parties in our little town.”
Treat her like any other woman. Easy smile and charm. He could do it in his sleep for fuck’s sake. Well, back when he’d actually gotten sleep. Was it the red dress making him nuts, or just the woman?
No.
It was the eyes.
Jesus, they were haunting.
Rule number one, King—don’t shit where you eat.
Winchester Falls was his safe haven. He’d never gone for one of the locals. And fuck, they’d tried. Women from sixteen to sixty had made a play for him since the day his Mercedes had broken down on Main Street all those years ago.
But he was not changing his one steadfast rule for a woman with topaz eyes.
He needed the clean air and his falls. He needed the sameness. And most of all, he needed the quiet. Breaking rule number one was stupid, but getting involved with anyone right now was downright irresponsible.
“Logan?”
He blinked Sharon into focus. Fuck. He’d done it again. Zoned out. It was his perpetual state of being. He could barely stand himself, let alone people. He shouldn’t have come into town. Even for the best lemonade known to man.
He scratched his chin where his beard was heaviest. “I’m sorry. I’m still on L.A. time.”
Sharon nodded. “You run yourself into the ground and then come back here. It’s your way.”
Logan laughed dryly. “You’re always right, Madam Mayor.” He glanced at Isabella, donning his polite hat. “She still likes to lord it over people, right?”
Isabella gave a polite huff of a laugh, then linked her fingers behind her back which emphasized the little half-moons of sweat under her spectacular breasts. Before he could drag his gaze somewhere that wouldn’t get his face slapped, her nipples tightened. Little points that begged for attention.
Son of a bitch.
He clamped his hand on the back of his neck and up along his newly shorn hair. What he needed to do was stuff down the insta-lust. Only boys and idiots were ruled by their cocks. He dragged his attention off the woman that would be the friggin’ organizer of the festival. Because he was about to ruin her day.
“I was driving through Main and saw the old barn was being renovated finally. She’s going to have a great sound to her.”
Sharon nodded. “I brought Isabella over to tell her about the changes to the festival. This will give us more room for the musical acts for the festival.”
A little muscle in Isabella’s cheek jumped.
“Don’t hold back.” Her eyes locked with his and Christ he was going to hell with the thoughts spinning in his brain. Almost all of them were going to include those eyes. Maybe fantasizing about this woman would be enough. He’d be going to Manhattan next week for a charity benefit. He could find a way to ease the rest of his pain there. “Well, c’mon. Spit out whatever you’re thinking or you’ll end up with a headache.”
She scraped her teeth over her top lip quickly, before she shook her head. “It’s fine.”
Sharon turned to Isabella. “Is there a problem?”
Miss Director’s hands cam
e back to her sides and he said a quick prayer of thanks. Distracting body aside, at least he didn’t have the perfect outline of the curve of her breasts driving him to the bottle of Dalmore he had waiting at home.
“Look, Sharon, I appreciate that you’re giving me more time for the musical acts, but when I don’t have the budget to go with it, then it really doesn’t work. The acts don’t work for free.”
“But I do.”
Isabella’s gaze swung to his, eyes narrowed. Insanely dark lashes and liner made her eyes glow. Maybe he’d be drinking that bottle of whisky after all. “You’re main stage. I have you playing ninety minutes to two hours on the final night.”
“Which I’ll do.” Like always. The hits and some cover songs that would suit the older set. He knew how to skew a playlist to a crowd. He didn’t even have to think. Words fell out of him with ease. Just like the trained monkey he was. “But I want time on this stage.” He nodded to the small, rickety stage.
“No.”
Logan’s eyebrows rose. “No?”
“Of course,” Sharon said quickly.
Logan ignored the mayor. “Look, Izzy.”
“My name is Ms. Grace, Isabella or Bella.”
“Izzy,” he said again. Her eyes flashed and his spine straightened, his chin lifted. “I’ll provide whatever you need to make the budget stretch, but I am playing on this stage. Twice.”
“Why?” She twirled around. “This is a barn. You do realize that, right?”
“Yes, I’m well aware that we’re in a barn.” He forced his eyes to stay on hers and not on the elegant length of leg she’d flashed. Women and heels were the bane of a man’s existence and he’d been afflicted since the age of twelve.
“We don’t have the security or the insurance to cover the amount of people that are going to try to pack themselves in here. You’re famous.”
Instead of sounding awestruck, her words were more like an insult. Possibly like she was talking to a toddler. And not a bright one. “We won’t advertise it.”
Anything But Mine Page 2
