“Now, Logan.” Sharon spoke up. “You doing a rare, intimate show. That can’t be downplayed, not when it can raise so much money for the foundation.”
He tipped his head back. Exasperation faded as he got a good look at the peaks of the barn. The rafters were old, but they’d hold a small lighting rig. If he called in a few favors he could have one come down with the guys Thursday. He could already feel the lights and the humid air surrounding him as he sat with his Taylor. He had to play in there. His fingers itched for his guitar. A feeling that had been absent for months.
He missed it. Craved it. But every time he’d picked up his guitar, his fingers felt thick and clumsy—not his own.
Instead of facing Sharon, his eyes found her. The distraction. The pain in the ass. Sharon would let him do what he wanted in the end, but he wanted this woman to understand it. To make it work for him. “No. I don’t suppose I can.”
Izzy folded her arms under her breasts, her hip cocked out. Clarification—the woman was officially distracting as fuck. And those eyes were going to put him into the grave. Did they glow like that when she came?
Logan, you stupid fuck.
He took a step closer to her. “Hundred dollar cover and I’ll bring in my own security.”
She didn’t step back. In fact, her chin lifted so she could continue to meet his gaze. “Why?”
Logan’s molars slammed together. “Because I want it.”
She tipped her head to the side. “Oh, well, let me rearrange my entire schedule for you, Mr. King.”
“Isabella.”
She took a step back at the mayor’s sharp reprimand. “I have plans to see to and a schedule to figure out.” She stalked to the door.
Sweet Jesus, the woman had an ass to go with everything else. Where the hell was the justice?
She stopped at the doorway, sunlight gilding her hair and sun-kissed shoulders. “Three shows, Mr. King. Plus the main stage.”
He barked out a laugh. Man, when was the last time he’d done that? “Deal, Iz.”
Her hand fisted at her side, but she kept on walking.
“I’m so sorry about that.”
He shook his head. “I like her. She’ll make it work.” He didn’t know why he had that sudden faith, but he did. He recognized pride and spine. It was one helluva picture. A far too attractive picture.
“Are you sure you want to play in here?” Sharon turned. “It’s filthy and run down.”
A sagging stage, lattice work that had been eaten by God knew what, stairs that would likely buckle under the weight of his drummer—and yet, all of it was his kind of paradise. They’d have to scale down their stage setup and just play. Like they used to when they took over the seaside joints in New Jersey and Maryland. When playing was fun.
“I want all of it just like this.” At Sharon’s horrified look, he laughed. “Well, with some structural help.”
A tall man with shaggy dark hair and a clean cut jaw came into the room.
“Hey.” Logan raised his voice. “Cam.”
The man holstered a hammer in his impressive tool belt and laughed. “Son of a bitch.” Cam reddened. “Pardon, ma’am.”
“It’s all right, Cameron. I’ve heard far worse.”
Cam grinned. “What the hell are you doing in here with us grunts?”
Logan held out his hand. “Gotta keep you in line.” They shook hands, a solid clasp before Logan drew him in for a slapping hug.
Cam dipped his thumb into his toolbelt. “It’s been a long time, man.”
“Yeah, I didn’t really get to stick around last year.” For more than one reason.
“Always the busy rock star. I get it.”
Logan’s smile fell away. “Doesn’t excuse how I handled last year.”
“Nah. Don’t sweat it. The crowd enjoyed the show.”
Too bad he’d nearly had a meltdown by the end of the set. He was determined not to let her ruin the show again this year. He had an army of friends lined up to make sure of it. And now he had this place to focus on. Finally, a stage that pulled at him again. “So, Mr. Fix-it, you know a good electrician?”
“I know one to call.”
Logan nodded to the stage. “The junction box is old and half corroded. Can you have someone you trust come out and bring it up to spec for a whole lot of joules?”
Cam tugged a small notebook out of his belt. “That’s a lot of rewiring and not much time to do it.”
“Any costs send through to Sharon and I’ll take care of it.”
He rocked back on his heels. “Whatever it costs?”
Logan nodded. “This place has good bones and I want to play here. Once it’s rewired, you can probably hire it out for some income for the town.”
Sharon stepped between them. “Is that true?”
Logan shrugged. “It’s better than half the dives I played in as a teen. I’ll know better when the stage is framed out and I can practice with my band.”
He knew that calculating gleam in Sharon’s eyes. She’d do anything to advance the town. It was a perfect getaway place for all of the seasons. There was hiking close by and skiing for the winter types. They were close to the Adirondacks, but far enough off the beaten path that they kept a small town vibe. He didn’t want to ruin that, but he knew a town needed revenue. And music could give it to them.
At least he could do that.
“Think you can get that stage ready for my band and some extra friends?”
“Can do.”
Logan nodded to the hole in the roof. “And that?”
“It’ll be done by noon tomorrow.”
“Good. I’ve got a guy that will deliver a lighting rig.”
Cam scribbled on his notebook and ripped off the page. “Have your guy call me and we’ll set it up.”
He blew out a breath and kneaded his triceps. It was going to be a lot of work. “If you need another pair of hands, I’m available.”
Cam’s eyebrows shot up. “Pardon?”
He shrugged. “Not like we haven’t worked together before.” He wasn’t doing much up at the cabin. Sweaty work would keep his mind off of things.
Cam scratched the back of his head. “Not that I wouldn’t appreciate the help, but I think the distraction level would negate any help you could give.” Cam’s attention zeroed in on the barn door where a handful of people had gathered. Phones were out and recording no doubt.
The tabloids would love to get a look at him sweating. Christ. As usual, he couldn’t even volunteer without causing trouble. “Gotcha.”
Cam frowned. “Look, I could—”
Logan held up his hand. “Nah, man. I get it. You need to get work done.”
The frown lines grooved into Cam’s forehead smoothed. “Next time.”
“Just let Sharon know how much you need to get it worked out for Thursday.” he dipped his hands into his pockets. “Evidently, I’m doing three extra shows.”
“It’s going to take overtime to get it ready that fast.”
“Sharon, have a hearty lunch brought in for the crew. My treat.”
“Of course.”
Cam gave him a half salute. “My crew will appreciate it.”
Some days his money made things easier. Cam headed back to the group of guys that were obviously looking for direction. Or spying.
Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. “All right, love of my life, I’m out of here.”
Sharon pinked and laughed. “You’re incorrigible.”
He arched a brow. “Innocent. Completely.”
She patted his arm. “Do you want me to take care of that?” She threw a glance at the small crowd of people.
“No, I’ve got it.” Game face time. “I’m not kidding about the stage and the budget.”
“Oh, I’ll help you spend your money.”
Logan laughed. “Great.” He leaned down and brushed his lips over her powdery cheek. “We’ll talk soon.” He crossed the room, wishing he hadn’t left his sunglasses in the truck.
He felt naked and on display. And with the almost ninety degree day, he was one big sweaty freckle. That would look just great on the entertainment websites.
He boosted his grin so that it hit his eyes as he walked through the huge bay doors. The phones were out and up for pictures or video. Within thirty minutes he’d be on Twitter and Facebook and their little town would be loaded with people by morning.
Son of a bitch.
He posed, he signed, and he chatted. All of it was the same to him, but he knew to the fan it was likely their first interaction with him. He didn’t recognize any of the faces and he had one helluva good memory for faces. Fifteen minutes later, there were four happy teenagers and three relieved mothers. He climbed into his truck and cranked the air conditioning until the sweat no longer dripped off his beard. First thing he was doing was diving into his pool and forgetting a certain pair of topaz eyes.
The butcher shop was a lure, but he was sure the mainline of gossip had hit and people would be on the lookout for him. His housekeeper always had something in the crockpot, or in the fridge. Home. God that sounded good. The house by the falls was the first and only place that had ever climbed inside of him. The road was his life and his heart, but his secluded house was where his spirit recharged when his batteries were beyond low.
As he neared the end of Main, the arched windows of a bookstore came into view. A huge chair was visible from the window with a stack of books and a whimsical striped scarf hung off the top corner. He knew that scarf. The corner of his mouth tipped up as he pulled over in front of the window. A side table was stacked with books, a pipe, and a little blue telephone box. Old library spines with Sherlock Holmes stories were side by side with paperback copies of Doctor Who stories.
In the chair, a smoky gray cat was curled in a tight ball.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he had his over shirt back on and had his hand on the doorknob of the tall, double door.
“You wouldn’t believe the nerve of this guy.”
Logan paused as he heard a voice that was going to haunt him for the rest of the damn night.
“He looks me dead in the eye and tells me—tells me, not asks—that he’s going to play at the barn. Who the hell does he think he is?”
It had been a long time since he’d heard a woman bitch about him within earshot. Because there was no way she wasn’t talking about him. He gently pushed in the door, reaching up to catch the little bell. He leaned against the door jamb to enjoy the rest of the show in Technicolor.
Lord help him, she was awesome. In the barn she’d been cool and collected. Hints of this woman had been there with her flashing eyes and smart mouth. But here she was pure vitality. The fiery dress swishing around her phenomenal legs as she paced the room, just-fucked hair flying back with each pass, and finally, that mouth. It was almost as distracting as her eyes. He gave a brief glance around the bookstore. It was as amazing as her window, but he couldn’t focus on anything but the woman.
Izzy’s friend pursed her lips. “The nerve of him.” She was sitting on some sort of counter-desk thing, snapping gum, her legs swinging gently. The lush brunette was beautiful. Pale skin and red lips with dark eyes. Any other day he’d have zeroed in on her…well, scratch that. He caught the glint of a ring on her left hand. He didn’t mess with married women.
That never ended well.
“I know that placating tone. Shut up, Nic.”
“I was agreeing.”
“You were humoring me.”
“Look, if Logan King, sex-god royalty, slash gazillionaire, wants to sing on a small stage, what do you care?”
“I care because he’s going to mess up my schedule. And he will have half the goddamn festival crawling in the rafters to get a better look at his I-can-wear-the-holy-fuck-out-of-a-pair-of-jeans self.”
His eyebrows shot up. He looked down at his older than dirt jeans then back at her. Little vixen had been checking him out. He’d felt eyes on him in the barn. But he was so used to people staring at him, it barely fazed him anymore.
But when he’d caught her mid-look, he’d felt the punch of awareness. Insta-lust was a curable condition. It usually took about three sweaty hours and ended with a bowl of Ramen noodles, but it was curable.
This time his cure-all needed to be vaccinated a different way.
“That good, huh?”
“Geeze, Nic, I don’t think I could have been more surprised it was him than if Mayor Darcy stripped in the middle of the square.”
Logan snorted and two pairs of eyes swung his way. “Hey.”
Izzy’s topaz eyes widened.
“Rude,” Nic said succinctly.
He shrugged. “Do go on, Iz. I was particularly fond of your assessment of my ass.”
“Iz?” Nic asked.
“Shut up,” Izzy growled at her friend. She swung her gaze to him and tried to sear his brain with her laser beam eyes. At least he was pretty sure that’s what she was doing. It could have been something darker. Maybe a form of torture. “Wow.” She spiked her fingers through her hair and stalked to the back of the store and through an archway. The sharp slam of a door made him wince.
Nic hopped off the counter. “Don’t make an enemy out of her, rock star. She’ll eat you alive.”
“I’ll do well to remember that.” He looked around, now that Izzy wasn’t sucking up all his attention. “She owns this place, right?”
Nic slid a pile of books off the counter and into her arms. “We do. It’s a joint venture. Go ahead, look around. She’ll be back out in a few.”
“Should I still be here?”
“She probably hasn’t started sewing the voodoo doll in your likeness. You should be okay.”
And for the second time in what felt like forever, he laughed. Now that Izzy was out of the room he could focus again. Vaulted ceilings and a varied collection of bookcases lined every spare inch of wall space. The huge piano bolted to the wall was too much to resist. He wandered over, his eyes tripping over a biography of Mozart next to one of Bob Dylan. A shelf down, sheet music from Prince was side-by-side with Miley Cyrus and Selena Gomez.
Eclectic was one word for it.
Organized chaos was another.
He snagged a few books from there and wandered over to the literature section. A Kerouac book with a worn spine landed on his pile. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d read On the Road.
By the time he’d made it halfway around the room he had an armload of books about music, fiction, poetry, and wine.
“If you think that’s going to put you in my good graces, you’re quite mistaken.”
Logan’s spine shifted and straightened at the sound of her voice. Crisp, clipped and smoky. A librarian with Scarlett Johansson’s voice. The kind that slipped into dreams and lyrics.
He turned around. “I’m just supporting a local business.”
A slim, dark brow rose. “You don’t shop on Amazon? I find that hard to believe.”
Just because he did half his shopping on there didn’t matter right at that moment. Walking around her store was exactly what he’d needed. He’d been living with the same people, the same environment for far too long. “You don’t know a damn thing about me, Izzy.”
“No?”
He gently placed his pile on one of the end tables that littered the room. “No.”
“You listened out of context.”
“Oh, I’m fairly sure the context was spot on.” He folded his arms. “I’m not breaking your bal—” He cleared his throat. Being on a bus full of men for the last twenty plus months had dissolved whatever little manners he had lately. “Look, I just want to play something different. I’m happy to do the big show for the last night like I always do. I just need this too.”
Her striking eyes softened and her fisted hands relaxed.
Well, shit. He hadn’t meant to say that much. Now she was going to think he was some headcase.
He was, but he didn’t need to advertise it for fuck’s sake.
/>
CHAPTER THREE
Isabella sighed. He had to be genuine. This, she did not need. Spoiled rock star she could handle, but the flash of longing that had swirled into his clear, green eyes had slipped through her anger shattering it like spun sugar.
“Mr. King—”
“Logan.”
Her heart stuttered and the earlier sweat of the day left behind a chill thanks to her air conditioned store. Sure, it was. No other reason.
She didn’t have it in her to actually say his name out loud. Not when her skin was still oversensitized from the scene in the barn. The worst part, she didn’t want to like him, or feel compelled to make the schedule work. This was about the town, not one man.
Even if that one man looked like he just might be drowning.
Not your problem.
At least he’d seemed like it a moment ago. Now the crinkles were back and an easy smile made his lips even more annoyingly distracting. Also, being this close to him, she noticed that the freckles dusted his face just as thoroughly as the rest of him.
It seemed a shame to cover them up. How many times had she seen his face on the cover of music magazines or the rags in line at the market? She’d never seen freckles like these before. For God’s sake there were even freckles on his lips.
She forced her gaze back up to his eyes and saw a flash of heat. Dammit. Once upon a time she’d have jumped at the chance to flirt with him. God, would she have, but he was so beyond blacklisted on her current plan that she couldn’t even entertain the thought of being friendly. Her traitorous body would just have to get on board with the plan.
“I’m not being difficult. I’m being realistic. This is a small town that gets overrun every single time you do this festival.”
“I do it for the town as a way to give back.” One insolent brow went up and then his voice went sultry with the barest hint of the south. “You’re new here or you’d know that.”
Bella crossed her arms, folding her sweater over her chest to hide the tingle flaring over her skin. His voice was like honey-dripped sex. The unfairness of it was just cruel. “I know that. And we appreciate it every year.”
“I’m not asking a lot, Izzy.”
Anything But Mine Page 3
