“It’s Isabella or Ms. Grace.” She didn’t like the flutters that happened every time he said Izzy. Especially since his voice seemed to deepen just on that one word.
“Mz. Grace then, because you became an Izzy the moment you came back at me about this.”
“Why?”
He dug his fingertips into his triceps and looked down. “That’s just the way it is.”
“That’s not an answer.”
With his head angled down, his eyes flicked up to meet hers. There was something else in his gaze. Frustration and loneliness she understood. It was the other part that made her want to back up. It was almost predatory. “Not sure you want the real answer, Izzy.”
“Would you stop?”
“You want the real answer?” His eyes flared with intent. “Because I don’t want to call you the same name everyone else does.” His voice lowered until it was a growling whisper. “Because you make me want something I shouldn’t. Because it suits that sassy mouth of yours.”
She took a step back and bumped into a Highboy dresser filled with tiny glass bottles and fountain pens.
He pulled her forward. “Careful.”
She closed her eyes. Ms. Grace indeed. Jesus, she’d gone to the back to cool off and not rip his head off. Now, all she wanted to do was slug him.
Or rip his clothes off.
It was a toss-up.
Neither was happening, but the fantasies were running neck and neck. How the hell was she going to get through this festival? She sidestepped him and his scent slid over her like a purring cat winding around her ankles. Like vanilla had sex with sandalwood and wrapped it in a fresh sheet off the clothesline.
The unfairness was all of the wrong with a side helping of cruel.
He caught her wrist. “Iz—”
She swung her gaze back up to his. The fight was there in his eyes. It probably echoed in her own.
The muscle in his jaw flexed as he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. We agreed to the three nights and I’m going to make this work. Money’s not an object.”
She straightened and freed her hand. “It’s not about the money.”
“Funny, I think you mentioned that was exactly the problem.”
“That’s not the only problem, Logan.”
His pupils dilated and she was fairly certain her heart was going to slam out of her damn chest.
“I’ll make it work.” God, did she really sound so breathy? “It’s my job to make it work.” There. Firm and professional.
“I’ll make it good for you.”
She blinked. “I’m sorry?”
The charm was back. It settled around him like another skin. And strangely, she wanted the intense and slightly growly Logan back. And that was stupid. She didn’t need that back in her life. It called to the parts of her that were long dead and buried.
“The show. I’ll make it worth the effort. And I know you have a budget, but I’m changing things and I’ve got more money than any ten people can spend.”
She had the strongest urge to tell him no again. “And that’s why the proceeds go to the foundation.”
“And these three shows will triple the donations.”
“Sure of yourself are you?”
“Yes.” He rolled his eyes. “I might be a cocky bastard in your eyes, but I know my job, Izzy.” When she opened her mouth he just kept going. “Deal with it. You’re an Izzy to me. That’s just the way it’s going to be.”
“You make me sound like a...I don’t know, a pet.”
His eyes danced. “We can call it a pet name.”
“Whatever this is.” She fluttered her fingers between them. “It’s not happening. I—”
Chameleon fast, the pleasure drained from his features leaving a steely resolve. “No, it’s not.”
She snapped her jaw shut. The jolt of disappointment rolled over her and then off her back as she lifted her chin. “Right.”
He took a step closer until his chest overwhelmed the space and she had the strangest urge to move into him, instead of away. “Not because I don’t want it.” His gaze lingered at her lips. “Wanting you isn’t the problem.”
She swallowed and licked her lips.
“Fuck. Please don’t do that.”
She pressed her lips together.
He groaned and she felt the back of his fingers brush along the inside of her wrist, under her sweater. The skin-on-skin contact was as innocent as a scene from Jane Eyre. And just like that damn book, the lightest, most innocent touch was the most evocative.
“I don’t mess with local women.”
Her breath stalled in her chest. “Who said I was interested in being one of your legions of women?”
He tipped his head down until she felt his breath fan over her face. “Iz, we’re old enough to skip the games. If you were a woman in a bar or at a party, I’d have you under me so fast the condom would still be snapping around the base of my cock as I was sliding into you.”
“You can’t...” But she couldn’t even pretend to deny it. How many men had been in her bed just that way? She’d lived in New York City for long enough to have had her share of one night stands.
The difference was, that no man had ever been so blunt about it. At least to her face.
And the biggest difference was her. That had been fine for her life in the city. She could do something stupid and reckless because it only affected her. Now she was staying in one place and building a life. Now she wanted more than a fleeting orgasm that never quite lived up to the hype.
“Yeah,” he said softly as he took a step back. “Knowing it makes it worse, doesn’t it?”
“I wish like hell I could say no.”
“An honest woman. I’ll take it as a sign to make sure I’m on my best behavior. I don’t know too many of them.”
For the first time the sticky threads of attraction lessened. “God, what an awful way to live.”
“Don’t feel sorry for me, Izzy.” He lifted his hand to her face and she braced for the contact. Instead, he followed the line of a single curl with the side of his thumb before he dropped his hand. “I don’t deserve it.”
He scooped up the pile of books and headed to the front of the store. “Good luck with the board meeting tonight,” he said over his shoulder.
Bella dropped into the club chair tucked between the Highboy dresser and the poetry section. It wouldn’t be ladylike to fan her skirt up, but holy crap her entire body was on fire. She pressed a shaking hand to her belly.
One moment she’d been ready to fillet an inch of skin off his hide and the next she wished that she didn’t have to be responsible Isabella Grace. For a moment she’d wanted to be the crazy Bella again. The one that went out and had a weekend fling in SoHo without remorse.
The morning afters had never been her favorite, but she was fairly certain Logan King would make the walk of shame obsolete.
“So, did that conversation come with a fire extinguisher?”
Bella dropped her chin into her chest. How the hell long had she been there? “Uncool, Nic.”
“What? I’m just asking because I’m pretty sure I have some of those sex vibes pinging me in the back of the head over here.”
“I’m not having sex with him,” she whispered.
“You say so.”
“Who’s running the register?”
“Calm down. Adam’s ringing out Richie Rich as we speak. I was taking a call from Bobby.”
Bella craned her neck to see Logan hauling two cloth bags off the counter. He backed out the front door with a wink.
A freaking wink.
Honestly. The fact that he didn’t look like an idiot when he did it made her slump back in the chair.
“That man is supah-fine, girlfriend.”
Ignoring her, Bella pulled out her phone to check emails. “Did he find the book for Mr. Wheeler?”
“Yes, he certainly did. I don’t know how that man does it, but he finds all the weird books.”
&nbs
p; “And that’s why Bobby gets twenty percent instead of the usual fifteen percent finder’s fee.”
“This little badboy is one of only two in the world. Bobby’s finder’s fee will probably buy him enough oil to make it through the winter.”
And the store a tidy sum. Some books were six dollars, and some were six thousand dollars. Mr. Wheeler had a taste for the supremely rare and he always paid for the trouble they had to go through to find the books.
Of course, that kind of research was her favorite part. She’d spent hours down on the lower floor tracing a book’s lineage. And keeping a teaching certification gave her access to libraries that made her job a helluva lot less stressful. Even if she only stepped in a class long enough to keep her credentials.
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten that little scene I walked in on, missy.”
Bella sighed. “It was nothing.”
“Right. And I only have sex on Wednesdays.”
“Aww, I’m sorry about that. Is that why you’re in such a good mood on Thursdays?”
“Ha ha. You’re a funny girl.” Nic quickly shelved a handful of books that were sitting on a table in the poetry section. “It’s not like he’s an uggo. Or do you think he’s all looks and no penis?”
“Who?” The fact that she’d managed to ask without choking on the sharp laugh that wanted out was certainly pride inducing.
Nic flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I didn’t take you for a coward.”
Bella stood and tucked her phone away. “Being smart and a coward are two totally different things.”
“If this guy lights the fires, what’s the big deal?” Nic snapped the last book into place and leaned on the bookcase.
“Because he’s lit the fires—bad metaphor, by the way—with dozens of others.” Accurate metaphor, but Nic didn’t need to know that, for God’s sake. Surely her skin couldn’t burn from the inside out?
“That’s what condoms are for.”
Bella stalked to the register, flipped off her heels, and jammed her feet into the ballet flats she kept under the registers. “How much did you charge him?”
Adam folded his arms with a smug smile. “Three hundred.”
“No discounts?”
“Figured King Midas could take care of it.”
“Babe, would you tell Izzy here—”
“Don’t you start that crap. It’s bad enough that he calls me that.”
Nic tsked. “Oh, you like it. I bet your panties are asunder as we speak.”
Adam snorted. “I like the name. It’s quite the rock star girlfriend name.”
“Both of you, that’s enough.”
“Oh, c’mon. That man has lost weekend written across his forehead. What’s the harm?” Nic slid behind the counter and hooked her arm around Adam’s waist. “Remember when we have those?”
Adam leaned into Nic’s ear and said something that made her dark eyes widen, then she smiled broadly. “Maybe we’ll be having one this weekend.”
“Oh, gross. Save it for after hours.” Bella pushed her hair out of her face. Adam and Nic were exactly why she wasn’t going to get naked with that man. Well, besides the fact that he seemed to be on the same page as she was. She wanted what Adam and Nic had. She wanted it with one person that would be there for her.
That man wouldn’t be Logan King.
As amazing as the sex would be—and she was pretty sure it would be appallingly amazing—it was only sex. It would be a memory to add to all the other misdeeds of her past. And she had enough of those for her own memoir. Just because his chapter would probably sell a million copies didn’t mean she should have a Logan chapter. She plucked a rubber band out of her stash behind the counter and scraped her hair back into a stubby tail. “I’m going downstairs to work.”
Nic slid away from Adam and dragged out her laptop. “We got a few new inquiries.”
“Good.”
“This isn’t the end of the conversation, Isabella Marie.”
Bella escaped to the stairs and down to her workshop. Nic was only being a good friend, but she had the love of her life since the age of sixteen. Hell, more like six. Bella hadn’t found her Adam yet. And she wasn’t going to find him in a famous musician.
So she focused on the things that she could understand. The clean air of her studio was a good place to start. Hermetically sealed cases were disguised by old paned doors and windows. The room was kept at a constant sixty-five degrees and a dehumidifier kept things as even as possible. Summer was a drag on her resources and she was entirely sure she didn’t want to see her electric bill this month.
And yet it was always her favorite room.
The bank of computers hummed. Some were on a constant search algorithm that Adam programmed, some tracking auction sites, and her favorite wide screen had quotes from famous books scrolling in screen saver mode. She also had a set-up to do some simple paper testing. The book forgery market was as rampant as paintings these days. So, she did her own testing as often as she could, but it wasn’t her specialty.
Hers was the research. It settled her and emptied her brain. And right now she needed both before she had to deal with the board. And to put Logan King firmly out of her mind.
CHAPTER FOUR
Logan slammed the door on his truck and walked around to the back of his house. He caught the flash of a lens in the brush and sighed. Word was out that he was home. He wasn’t sure what the paparazzi thought they were going to catch from the back of his property. Like he was going to lay out naked by the pool or do a full workout for them to record.
Zeke would be in with his dog, Cody, the following evening, so they could start rehearsing for the festival. Cody’s favorite thing was scaring the shit out of the photographers. Always entertaining to watch.
But right now he needed more time to figure out songs. And for the first time, he actually wanted to pick up his guitar.
He bypassed the lower deck and transferred the sacks of books into one arm and pressed his palm to the ID plate on the back door. He’d gone hog wild on the buying, but maybe he could lose himself in a book tonight instead of pacing the floors until sunrise.
He set the books on his table, uncapped his decanter of whisky, and splashed in a few fingers. He sipped, letting the bloom of heat and smoke fill his mouth. Now that he had three stripped down shows to design, his brain was in overdrive. He’d need more than just the usual songs. In fact, he needed something completely different. He picked up his phone and called his right hand guitarist in the band.
Zeke picked up on the first ring. “Is someone dead?”
“God, no.”
“Well, shit. Don’t scare a guy. You never use the damn phone.”
Logan dropped into his leather recliner and kicked out the foot rest. “If I had to text out all of this, it would take me longer than calling.”
“This ought to be good.” Zeke’s always sunny voice was back to full power.
“Where you holed up, son?”
“I started in Barbados and somehow ended up in Miami. There may have been a senorita involved.”
“Surprise.” He grinned. “You didn’t marry this one, did you?”
“Shadup.”
“Your track record speaks for itself.”
“Yeah, yeah. There is no ring on this finger, or hers. Lots of umbrella drinks though, which is how I probably ended up in Miami. You know how I am when rum is involved.”
He laughed. “I believe the word is malleable.”
“As modeling clay, my man,” Z said with a lusty sigh.
“So, you think you can come up a bit earlier? Say, morning instead of evening?”
“To the WF?”
“Yeah. I’m plotting something a little different.”
“Intriguing.”
“Could be.” Logan swiped a hand down his face. He might be an idiot for doing this, but the fact that he was actually excited told him to follow his gut.
“Can do, boss man.”
“Christ,
Z.” They had started All the King’s Men together and yet Zeke insisted on playing second in every decision.
“I like calling you boss. Feels very Godfather. You know I’d kill for you, right?”
“Aw, hell. How much rum have you had?”
Zeke whistled. “Four umbrellas, no wait...five.”
Logan winced. He wanted Zeke to remember this conversation. “How about you switch out to water?”
“Senorita, cerveza por favor?”
“I said water, not beer, asshole.”
“It’s about the same here.”
“You’re in Miami, not Mexico.”
“What. Do. You. Want?”
He sighed. “Look, I’ve got an idea for a new sort of show. Three extra shows.”
“Three?” Zeke sputtered.
“And I want to call in some favors. It’s for charity.”
“So you want to get people to come out last minute in August, to do shit for free? Am I following you?”
He folded an arm behind his head. “Yeah.”
“Well, then you better go for the hungry ones.”
“I was thinking Cole Deveraux.”
“He’s a bit country, but I know a guy that’s toured with him. I’ll give him a shout.”
“Good. I think I’m going to pull the lever on that favor from Nash too.”
“Jesus. You’ve been holding onto that for years.”
He wanted a good show. Alexander Nash was happy to hide in the clubs in New York underground. Getting him there would give the shows a much needed buzz. And his friend an overdue kick in the ass. He was too good to squirrel away in his anti-social community.
“I’ve already got Lindz from Brooklyn Dawn. I know she’ll do the extra shows.”
“Oh, man. That sweet blond? You gotta do some duets.”
Zeke was thinking now. Maybe the bartender was being light-handed on the rum. “I bet she’d kill doing a Faith song or—”
“No, you guys gotta cover Lady Antebellum. You can do those lower registers and she can sing like a damn angel.”
Logan snapped his fingers. “I knew I called you for a reason. We need some songs for the young crowd and the older. A good mix of well-known covers.”
“Who else are you tapping?”
“Cage.”
Anything But Mine Page 4
