Yours to Love: Bad Boys and Bands

by Adele Hart

  At first my heart thuds at the thought that Malcolm is sending my gift back, but I know that’s not the case. He sent me a French pastry, and that means something else is in the envelope, and I know exactly what it is.

  I grab the envelope and let the box fall to the floor, crumbs and all. With the swipe of my wet finger, I open the envelope and look at the gift. It’s a five-day course by world-renowned chef Ripley Stark.

  Like a child, I dance around the marble entry of my parents house and chant, I’m going to Vail, over and over again.

  “What’s all the ruckus?” Mom peeks her head around the corner and frowns. Her eyes go directly to where the flaky crumbs sit on her black, marble floor. I told her black was a bad idea, but she never listens to me.

  “Malcolm bought me a gift.”

  Mom joins me in the hallway and jumps up and down beside me, no longer caring about the crumbs. It isn’t because of the gift, but simply because her hope is renewed. Surely there must be an attraction if gifts are arriving.

  “See sweetheart? He likes you.”

  I nod like a bobble doll. “Yes, he does.” I rush upstairs to my room and grab my phone to text Malcolm.

  “You crazy man, I want to hug you and throttle you, but first I want to thank you.” When you’re rich, no one thinks to buy you gifts. The thought is always, what can I get them that they can’t get themselves. The answer is, a gift. No one wants to buy their own gift.

  He doesn’t respond right away, but the three dots that keep flashing on my screen tell me he’s writing.

  “Thanks for the getaway for Luke and I. We’re excited to have time dedicated to us.” Under his message is a link. “Check out Ripley Stark, I hope you love his class. I did some checking up on him. No cover model. That’s him. If you’re lucky, maybe he can fill your croissant.”

  I press on the link and gasp, there are hundreds of photos of Mr. Dark and Delicious. My whole body shudders at the idea of being close to a man who looks like sex dipped in chocolate.

  “Behave yourself.”

  He pastes in a devil emoji. “Never. Get used to it. Now that you adopted me as your brother from another mother, my dirty mind is part of the package. Class starts next week, so get ready. I think it’s a perfect idea for that hunk of a man to put a bun in your oven.”

  I bust out laughing and cover the phone with my hand before I realize no one is going to see it. Mom would never come into my room unannounced. It’s too long a walk to the west wing of the house.

  “And you want to babysit my bun? I’m going to have to think long and hard about that.”

  Malcolm texts immediately, “You keep thinking long and hard. I want all the details when you get back.”

  I send him an emoji of a face with a tongue sticking out.

  He texts right back. “Men like tongues.”

  I raise my hand to my hot face. I know if I look into the mirror right now, my cheeks will be Hot Tamale red.

  “Go back to work. Someone has to.” Over the last few days I’ve fallen in love with Malcolm. Not in a romantic way, but in a comfortable he-can-be-my-best-buddy way. He lives an affluent life, so he understands how lonely it can be. Money brings out the ugly in people. They are ugly if you have more and ugly if you have less. Even the rich have a pecking order.

  I flop on my bed and scroll through the pictures of Ripley. There is Ripley at the beach, and oh my God, his abs are delectable. There is Ripley at a conference, and his suit is impeccable. Ripley skiing. Ripley surfing. Ripley cooking. That is the sexiest of them all because he is in his element, and power and confidence radiates from every pore.

  I squeeze my thighs together trying to quench the achy feeling that throbs between them. If I’m this worked up looking at his pictures, what am I going to do with him face to face?

  Three

  RIPLEY

  I pace the baggage claim area holding up a sign that says Madison Leclerc. I say a silent prayer that the woman has some cooking skills, preferably pastry skills. With a name like Leclerc, it’s possible she’s French-trained.

  People come down the escalator in waves, and with each group that ropes down the moving staircase, I raise the sign high above my head. At six-foot-three, it’s not hard to be seen. I scan the crowd, not sure who I’m looking for. All I know is she’s on the five o’clock flight from Los Angeles.

  By the time the third group comes and goes, I am ready to give up. I don’t have time for this shit, but my sister is the philanthropist in the family and conned me into giving one of my coveted classes away for a fundraiser. ‘Full package’ is what she said, which meant flight, room, board, class and airport pick up.

  Another group rounds the corner and I raise my arms again. I search the faces for some recognition. A brunette turns the corner and stumbles onto the escalator. She grabs the handrail to right herself. I can’t take my eyes off her, not because she’s clumsy, but because she’s perfect. Her hair hangs over her shoulders and falls on top of the nicest set of tits I’ve seen in years. I know this because she’s wearing a low-cut blouse, and after her near-fall, her breasts spill out like an offering from the gods.

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  Kiss Me-Sneak Peek

  Scarlett

  “Yes, this will be perfect. It's exactly what he said he wanted. Remote. Private. Quiet.” I watch Grace Smythe as she sweeps through the cabin, going from room to room with a keen eye for detail. She's a production assistant for Newman Brothers Films, and she's here looking for accommodations in our little town of Aston Valley, Montana, for a major motion picture they'll start shooting here next month.

  I don't know who she's talking about, but he sounds as picky as a toddler in front of a plate of greens. No matter how grumpy he might be, I desperately need him to rent the cabin. I've been trying to sell the property for almost a year now so that I can move to New York, but in the meantime the property taxes have sucked up everything I earn down at the diner. Instead of getting ahead, I'm pretty much running out of cash.

  Grace tries out the taps in the bathroom sink and shower, then turns to me. “So, who lives here now?”

  “Nobody. I inherited the property from my uncle two years ago. This was his place, and I took the smaller cabin next door.”

  “Big space for one person,” she says, as she takes out her phone and snaps a few photos of the master bedroom. “Gorgeous view from here.”

  I stare out the floor-to-ceiling window to the valley of trees stretching out as far as the eye can see. It's late spring, and the wildflowers are just starting to open up their purples and pinks in the meadow below. “I don't think you'll find another spot near as pretty as this anywhere in the Rockies.”

  “That's one of the reasons we decided to use Aston Valley for the film. It's extraordinary.” She crosses the room and sits on the bed to test it out.

  I tug a little at my T-shirt, feeling suddenly ratty. Grace has all the sophistication I lack. She's tall and thin, dressed all in black with her blonde hair cut in a blunt bob at her chin. Her nails are perfectly manicured, while my hands are red and raw from doing dishes. She looks like she hasn't had a proper meal in years, with the way her cheekbones stick out. I, on the other hand, haven't missed a meal in years and the way the waistband of my jeans is digging into me right now, I think they're telling me it's about time.

  “So, you're a cook?”

  I nod. “I work at the diner in town, but I'm saving up to go to culinary school. I grow my own herbs and have a garden in the summer, so I have fresh ingredients. If it's needed, I'd be happy to prepare meals for the person staying here.”

  “That was my next question. He'll need two meals a day. An early breakfast, around five a.m., and a late supper. He'll have lunch on the set."

  "Just let me know what he likes to eat, and I'll make sure there's plenty of it.” I give her a firm nod and stand a little taller. Now that we're talking about food, I'm in my comfort zone.

  “Excellent. I'll draw up the contract
and email it to you.”

  “Perfect.” Yes! Not a moment too soon either, because in about three months, I'll be completely broke.

  I follow her to the front door and see her out. “Oh, Grace? Can I ask who it is that'll be staying here?”

  “Heath Lawson.” She slides her sunglasses on, but not before she gives me a knowing smile.

  I'm pretty sure I could catch flies right now the way my mouth is hanging down.

  Heath Lawson is only the hottest man ever to light up the silver screen. He was People's Sexiest Man of the Year three years in a row. And in a month, he'll be sleeping right here? I could almost faint just thinking about it.

  “Heath's a doll. You'll love him. The two biggest rules to remember are to keep him fed, and make sure that you don't tell anyone he's staying here. He has had real problems in the past with women—and some men, as well—stalking him when he's on location.”

  “Oh, goodness. That sounds awful.”

  “He's a big guy. He can take care of himself, but it's never something anyone wants to deal with.” She opens the door to the rental car and tosses her notepad onto the passenger seat. “Listen, Scarlett, the privacy thing is really serious. The contract will have an iron-clad non-disclosure agreement. Are you familiar with those?”

  “Well, I know what it means, but I haven't ever had to ask anyone to sign one,” I give her a wink, but then realize I've miscalculated the moment. She's dead serious. I drop my smile. “Don't worry. I won't tell anyone anything. I'll just cook, clean up as Mr. Lawson needs, and stay out of his way.”

  “Excellent. I'll be in touch.” With that, she climbs into the car and shuts the door.

  Late that night, the email finally comes. I open it and read the terms. Newman Brothers Films will rent the cabin from me for two thousand dollars a week, for a minimum of six weeks, up to a potential twelve weeks. I'll be paid two hundred dollars per day to provide meals for Heath Freaking Lawson. I skip around the living room causing Einstein, my sheepdog, to open one eye from his spot on the couch.

  “We're not going to be broke, Einstein!” I give him a scratch behind his ears. “And a very hot man is going to be staying right next door, night after night, all through summer. Maybe if I'm lucky, he'll actually talk to me a bit here and there.”

  Two Weeks Later

  “Heath wants to come a couple of weeks early, to get acclimated and work on his lines. Will that be all right?” Grace asks.

  She just called, and when I saw her number, I felt a sudden panic that maybe they were canceling.

  “Absolutely. Just let me know what day he'll be here, and I'll have everything ready.”

  “How about tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow works.” It doesn't really because I have a whole lot of cleaning to do and I'm in the middle of a double shift today at the diner, but I'm not going to tell her that.

  My heart skips a beat, and I spend the rest of the day grinning like a fool until the owner of the diner, Jasmine, finally stands with her hands on her hips and says, “Spill it, girl.”

  “Spill what?” I ask innocently.

  “Something's got you smiling today.” Jasmine is in her early forties, but you'd never know it to look at her. She's a tiny little brunette who always has a high ponytail and enough energy to run Gravy Mountain Diner from five in the morning until ten at night."So...who is he?”

  “Nobody.” I turn back to the grill and season the burgers I just flipped.

  “Liar.”

  “I'm just about to come into a little unexpected cash. The guy renting my cabin is coming to town a couple of weeks early.”

  “Ooh! It's Heath Lawson, isn't it?”

  “No, why would you think that?” My face turns bright red.

  “I put two and two together. I know he's in that film they're shooting here, and nobody else has come running in here screaming at the top of their lungs that he's staying at their place, so it's got to be you.”

  “How do you know he's not staying in a trailer on set?”

  She raises one eyebrow at me while she puts together a spinach salad for table nine.

  “You're the only one in this entire town who doesn't have a big mouth, Scarlett, so it's got to be you.”

  I can't help but grin. “I'm not saying a word.”

  “It is you! You lucky, lucky bitch.”

  “Why is it lucky? I'm just going be his maid and his cook for a few weeks. It's not like he's going to come into town, fall in love with me, and whisk me off to Malibu to live happily ever after.” I prep three plates with buns and all the fixings. “I probably won't even meet him.”

  “But you're hoping, aren't you? Admit it.”

  I turn back to the grill. “It'd be nice to meet him. Maybe see if I can get an autograph or something before he leaves.”

  “I hope you'll get a lot more than an autograph from that fine piece of man candy.” She laughs and bumps my shoulder with hers.

  “Quit putting ideas in my head. I don't want to spend the entire summer hoping for something that's never going to happen. Heath Lawson is one of the hottest men on the planet. I'm a chubby cook.”

  “You're not chubby. You're curvy. And you're more than just a cook, Scarlett. You're the one person in this entire town with any potential at all.”

  “If you call scrubbing toilets for a movie star potential, then you're bang on.”

  “Stop selling yourself short. You're a beautiful girl. Any man would be lucky to have you.”

  I slide the burgers onto the buns, finish the plates off with fries fresh from the deep-fryer basket, then ring the bell even though Jasmine's standing two feet away from me. “Order up!”

  Four hours later, I race home, let Einstein out, and spend three hours giving the cabin a good scrubbing. Even though my feet feel like two lead bricks, I keep moving until the place sparkles. Tomorrow I'm working the breakfast shift, so I'll have time to pick up some groceries, and maybe some fresh flowers on my way home before he arrives. I know he's a man, but in my opinion, flowers brighten any space, and who knows, maybe he'll appreciate it?

  Two

  Heath

  I don't mean to complain because I know I have it pretty sweet, but lately, I could use a break from the chaos that is my life. I'm an actor who's had the good fortune of being cast in some pretty big movies over the past eight years since I left Texas and moved to Los Angeles. My first part was in a screwball high school comedy, Meatheads. I played 'Hot Guy Number One.' That got me noticed by some producers over at Newman Brothers Films, and since then I've been cast in at least two blockbusters every year.

  It's the life I set out to have, and I'm damn happy to have it, but once in a while, a guy could use a break from the parties, the press junket, and the premiers. I've been on a dead run since award season. Between promoting my latest superhero flick to wrapping up filming on the next in the Aliens franchise, I haven't had a full night's sleep or a day off in five months.

  But now's my chance. I'm going to get away from it all for fourteen glorious days before my next film starts shooting. Just me and my fishing rod (that's not a sexual euphemism, I actually do want to go fishing). I'm going to stay in a remote cabin in the Rockies so I can sleep, fish, lay out in the sun, and practice my lines, so I'll be all ready.

  Right now, I'm packing while my assistant, Pete, pouts about not coming with me. I usually bring him everywhere, but this time, I decided to go it alone. No bodyguards, no assistants, no agents or managers or public relations people.

  “You're going to get bored, you know," Pete mutters. "Two weeks without human contact is too long.”

  “It's just what I need,” I say, tossing my swim trunks in my suitcase like it's a basketball and I'm at the three point line. “I was thinking you should stay here while I'm gone.”

  That shut him up. He's grinning now because instead of staying in his cramped apartment over by Hollywood Boulevard, he'll be here in Malibu staring out at the Pacific. “Okay, if you need someone to, I guess
I could.”

  “Thanks. That would be a big load off my mind,” I grin to myself as I grab three novels off my bedside table and lay them in my suitcase.

  “You should probably read that script that Jacinta sent over while you're away. She's been on me like white on rice about it.” He disappears out of my room and returns a few minutes later, carrying a stack of scripts.

  I shake my head. “No way! Not this time. Just the script I need for this movie. Nothing else.”

  “Come on, just three, okay? There are a lot of people waiting for answers.”

  I sigh. “Fine.”

  Pete takes the top three scripts from his pile and pops them in my carry-on bag.

  I stare at him for a minute. “You only needed me to take those ones, didn't you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Dammit. Every time.” I zip up my suitcase and set it on its wheels.

  When I reach the door, I see that there's already another suitcase waiting for me. It's filled with portable workout gear—a jump rope, suspension trainers, and a hydro medicine ball that I fill when I get to my location.

  Pete nods his head to the bag. “There are three scenes without your shirt on and one full backal.”

  “Right. Thanks.”

  So, maybe not a complete break, but a good enough one, right?

  I'm just about to shut my eyes for a little in-flight nap when my phone rings. It's my mom, and I know she's gonna be madder than a hornet who's just had her nest knocked down. I might as well get this over with.

  “Hey, Mama, how's my favorite lady?”

  “Don't you 'favorite lady’ me, Heath Bradley Lawson.” Uh oh, she pulled out the middle name. I'm in deep shit now. “You promised you'd come home on your next break, and now I find out that you're heading to Montana instead.”