Show Time (Juniper Ridge Romantic Comedies Book 1)

by Tawna Fenske

  “Because doctors and firefighters are slightly more important than gin and tonics.” Dean saunters in looking like sex on a stick, and my jaw falls open.

  Literally, my whole mouth unhinges like in cartoons. Somehow, I manage to pull it back together, but I can’t stop my gaze from sweeping hungrily over his torso. Everything ripples with lean muscle, from the curve of his perfect biceps to the slope of his pecs dusted with fine, dark hair. Does he seriously have eight-pack abs? I’ve never seen that in real life and ohmygod I need to stop staring.

  I whirl back to face Lauren. “Is that—uh—lighting all set up?”

  It’s clear she’s fighting a grin as she presses her lips together and nods. “Yep. All ready to go. Dean, why don’t you grab one of those big inner tubes over there?”

  Gabe flicks a switch on the camera and glances at me. “When we’re open for real, we’ll have someone up top handing them out. This is just for practice.”

  It’s taking all my self-control not to watch Dean walk across the wet concrete to grab one of the massive floatation devices the size of a small boat. I’ve seriously never seen such a perfect ass.

  Lauren’s still watching me, looking like she knows I’d like to eat her brother for lunch. “You look a little flushed. You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

  I swallow hard and struggle to croak a reply. “Nope, not afraid of heights at all.”

  That’s the least of my fears. I’d rather hang naked by my toenails from the top of this five-story staircase than let myself fall for Dean Judson.

  Speak of the devil, Dean rejoins us with a massive yellow innertube anchored under one arm. It bumps his leg as he walks, and he catches my eye before gesturing to the giant column of stairs beside the waterslide. “After you.”

  Squaring my shoulders, I turn and begin my march. My knees are Jell-O, and my tongue keeps sticking to the roof of my mouth. Halfway to the stairs, I realize I’d better ditch the robe. I drop my hands to the knotted belt and unfasten it with clumsy fingers. Shrugging off the terrycloth, I fold it neatly on a nearby table.

  There’s a long, slow hiss of breath, and I turn to see Dean staring. “Fuck.”

  “Close your mouth, bro.” Gabe slaps him on the shoulder so hard he lurches forward.

  “Dean’s definitely afraid of heights.” Lauren’s smirk tells me that’s not true at all, though I admire that she’s covering for her brother.

  Gabe gives Dean another nudge forward. “Give us a sign when you’re at the top. All that stupid lattice means we can’t see you, so stick your hand out or something.”

  With a pained look, Dean trudges toward the steps. I’m relieved he seems to have forgotten the whole “after you” thing, since I’d rather not climb several hundred steps in a bathing suit with a hot guy walking behind me.

  He starts up the stairs, and I wait a few beats before beginning my own ascent. No need to make this more awkward by placing my face at butt level, even if it is a fantastically fine butt.

  I concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, enjoying the scratch of the sandpapery treads beneath my feet. I’m doing pretty well not staring at Dean’s ass when his voice startles me.

  “So this is awkward.”

  A bubble of surprised laughter flutters up my throat. “I don’t know what you mean. I always start new jobs by stripping down and climbing five flights of stairs with my new boss.”

  “Not your boss.” He stops abruptly, and I nearly crash into the big inner tube under his arm. “Just so we’re clear.”

  I throw him a mock salute. “Crystal.”

  “Seriously, this shit matters. I don’t want this being any weirder than it needs to be between us.”

  “Weird?” I fold my arms over my chest, belatedly wondering if he can see right down my suit from four steps above me. “You mean the part where you poisoned me during the interview, the part where I tackled you in my backseat, or the part where we’re both half-naked my first day on the job?”

  Dean gives me a pained look. “Weren’t you supposed to go first up the stairs?”

  “Hell, no.”

  With a shrug, he continues up the steps ahead of me. We both fall silent, so the only sounds are the slosh of water and the thud of our footsteps on the sandpapery treads. Even Lauren and Gabe are quiet below, and I wonder if they can hear us.

  “How come you didn’t mention the bug we found in your office?” I’ve lowered my voice so it’s practically a whisper. I’m not sure he hears me, and he doesn’t turn around. “Or the postcard with my picture. You didn’t say anything to them just now.”

  Dean doesn’t respond at first. I’m figuring he’s not going to, so when he stops this time, I plow head-on into the tube. I start to bounce back, but Dean catches me by the arm. “Sorry.”

  “No problem.” I swallow hard, conscious of the heat of his hand around my biceps. “Uh, sorry if I startled you.”

  “You mean the questions?” He glances back to where Gabe and Lauren are working, though we can’t actually see them. “Coop will fill them in about the bug. Maybe they already know. But the postcard—” He stops himself, and I watch an odd mix of emotions play across his face. Uncertainty. Determination. Maybe a little worry. “I don’t want them jumping to any hasty conclusions,” he says at last. “Not until the PI has a chance to give us a report.”

  “Hasty conclusions,” I repeat, not sure I understand. “You mean, like—that I’m the target?”

  He nods once. “I want to get the facts before we bring everyone into the loop.”

  I can’t decide if I’m flattered by his protectiveness or exasperated by how controlling he is. Can I be both?

  “Do you think it’s about me?” My voice is a whisper, barely audible over the rush of water.

  Dean hesitates. Drops his hand from my arm. “No.”

  His silvery eyes search mine, and I watch him swallow again before turning. This time when he starts up the steps, I let him get ten ahead of me before I begin climbing again.

  “There are plenty of people who hate the Judsons,” he says. “Individual family members or all of us collectively.”

  “Oh?”

  I wait for him to elaborate, not sure he will.

  “There’s the Dave Wienerman scandal,” he says slowly. “The film director accused of assaulting all those women.”

  “He was shot at your brother’s premiere.”

  “Yep.” Dean clears his throat. “Some are pissed Gabe worked with him in the first place. Wienerman’s defenders are pissed he got shot. Others are pissed that he’s dead and won’t stand trial.”

  “That’s a lot of anger aimed in one direction.” Or is it multiple directions? It’s not like all the fury is aimed at the Judsons, exactly.

  Dean keeps climbing. “I’ve got my own fair share of enemies.”

  “Yeah?”

  His shoulders lift like he’s sighing. “When it came to business deals in Hollywood, I was always fair.” There’s a hesitation, both in his voice and in his step. “But I wasn’t always kind.”

  “I got that from the headlines.” If I had a nickel for every one that referred to Dean Judson as “ruthless,” I’d be lying on my private island in the Caribbean instead of climbing these slippery stairs. “You don’t think it’s enough for someone to come after you, do you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He stops short, and I bounce into the tube again.

  “For crying out—”

  “Sorry.” He catches me by the waist this time, dropping the tube. It goes bouncing down the stairs behind us, smacking against the wall fifteen feet down.

  Neither of us moves. I watch Dean’s throat as he swallows. “Look, I don’t have any idea what’s going on here.”

  “With the threats, you mean?”

  He hesitates, and I’m not sure at all that’s what he means. “Right. Maybe it’s a prank. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “People lov
e to fuck with celebrities.” He shakes his head like he can’t believe he used that word to describe himself. “Gabe’s a big name, and Lauren. Cooper, too. But all of us have been in the spotlight since we could crawl, and people get off on messing with that.”

  “Example?”

  His arm is still looped around my waist, and I can’t believe how good it feels.

  “Let’s see.” He frowns. “Right after Gabe got that Mustang, he came out to find this three-foot scratch all the way down the driver’s side.”

  “That’s awful.” And maybe not surprising. I’ve seen firsthand the resentment toward people with flashy cars and money.

  “Yeah, it wasn’t real, though. You know how you can pull those long, sticky threads off strips of duct tape?”

  I nod, not sure I get where he’s going. “I think so.”

  “That’s all it was. But someone took the trouble to make one that long and to stick it on so it looked like a deep scratch. One helluva prank, really.”

  “Damn.” That’s impressive. “Fairly harmless, though.”

  “Yeah. Not a big deal in the grand scheme of things, only we never found out who did it.”

  “You’re sure it wasn’t just a coincidence?”

  He shakes his head. “Someone had scrawled ‘fuck you’ on the windshield with a Sharpie marker.”

  “Ah, okay.” That does sound a bit more targeted. “So that’s one example. Any others?”

  He hasn’t let go of my waist, and I wonder if he realizes he’s still got an arm looped around me. I can’t bring myself to mention it.

  “Another time, someone leaked Lauren’s mug shot to the press.”

  “Lauren has a mug shot?” Everyone knows Cooper as the family bad boy, but I had no clue about Lauren.

  “It’s one of those things we tried to keep under wraps,” he says. “But shit has a way of getting out. We contained it, so everything was fine, but still.”

  “Yikes.” I suppress a shudder, but not very well. “It must suck being famous.”

  He shrugs. “It has its advantages. Point is, that stuff was mostly harmless. Maybe what’s happening here is just more of the same. Meaningless pranks.”

  I look into his eyes, mesmerized by the intensity there. For the threat to his family or something else? I lick my lips and taste chlorine, even though I haven’t set foot in the water. “You think this is meaningless?”

  Still holding my waist, Dean shakes his head slowly. “No.”

  I nod and shift my weight. Just slightly, but it seems to jar him. He glances down and sees his arm around me. “Shit, sorry.” He takes a fumbly step back.

  Tries to, anyway. He’s still on the stairs, so he stumbles with a yelp. I grab his hand, intent on helping.

  But Dean outweighs me by a good hundred pounds, so instead I topple toward him. I’m headed right for his chest when I grab the handrail at the last second.

  “Dammit.” The force yanks me back so hard my boob nearly pops out of my suit. “Shit.” I straighten and yank the straps up over my shoulders. I’ve just cursed twice and nearly flashed my tits at the boss, which is a great start to a new job.

  But Dean blinks up at me from the spot where he’s landed butt-first on a stair tread. “Is it just me, or is gravity conspiring against us?”

  I laugh back the blush creeping into my cheeks. “We’re almost to the top, right?”

  “Yeah, but who knows how we’ll manage to maim each other with two flights to go.”

  “I’ll take my chances.” I turn and start back down the steps. “And I’ll take the tube the rest of the way up. It’s only fair.”

  He hesitates. This is not a man who likes surrendering anything, even if it’s just a float tube. “Fine.”

  I can’t help feeling a sense of jubilation. I also feel his eyes on me as I move down the steps, but instead of making me self-conscious, I feel sexy. Straightening my spine as I reach the landing, I grab the tube and turn to start back up. Dean’s on his feet now, and he gestures me to go ahead of him. “Want to take the lead?”

  “No, thank you.” I grip the tube tighter and tip my chin toward the stairs. “Keep going. Eyes on the stairs.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He grins and turns back around, giving me the perfect, unobstructed view of his butt for the remaining flight of stairs.

  We arrive at the top to an array of signs directing us to line up with our water buddies, no more than four per tube. “The signs are left from BONK days,” Dean explains. “We didn’t see any reason to change them.”

  “They’re cute. And they get the job done.” I lean the float tube up against the wall and adjust my updo. “So how does this work? Do we get in together, or one at a time?”

  He shrugs and surveys the fast-moving flow at the mouth of the tube. “Beats me. I was working the day they all came up here to test it.”

  “You mean you haven’t done this yet?” That can’t be right. “You own a freakin’ waterslide that you’ve never tried.”

  “Correct.” He grabs the tube and plunks it in the water, anchoring it in place with his foot. “How hard can it be?”

  “Don’t say that. You’ll jinx us.”

  He laughs and steps into the center of the tube, holding the handrails for support. “What, like you’ll be knocked unconscious and sue the company for millions?”

  “I was thinking more like your swim trunks falling off or something.” Shit, bad example. Now he thinks I’m picturing him naked. “Or one of us will get a splinter in our foot.”

  He looks down at the AstroTurf-surface separating the two of us. “I think we’re good. You ready?”

  “Hang on.” I stick my hand through an opening in the lattice, waving for Gabe and Lauren’s sake.

  From miles below, Gabe bellows “Action!”

  I turn back to Dean. “Okay, let’s do this.”

  “Hop in on that side. I’ll hold it steady.”

  It’s just now dawning on me that this is like one of those corporate trust-building activities. The ones where you take turns falling backwards and counting on your co-workers to catch you. I bite my lip as I look at Dean, admiring the flex of his biceps and the tightness in his core as he anchors the tube in place with his body.

  But I suppose he has to trust me, too. Trust that I won’t jump in too fast and knock him off, leaving him stranded up here solo. I step carefully to the edge and dip a toe in the water. “Brrr.”

  “It’s not that cold.” His eyes flick over my chest then dart away. There’s the faintest hint of a blush beneath his stubble, and I realize my headlights are blazing.

  I start to fold my arms over my chest, then stop. “It doesn’t mean anything,” I say, parroting my own words from the backseat of my car. “Just a basic, biological reaction.”

  His eyes lock with mine and he nods. “Of course.”

  But it’s not just the cold, and we both know it. It’s the proximity of Dean’s body as I brush past him and clamber into the tube. There’s a handle on the edge of it, so I grab that with one hand and the rail at the mouth of the tube with the other. I’m conscious of my breasts aimed at his face like beacons, conscious of the warmth of his thighs as he slips in beside me.

  Our knees knock together and the bottom drops out of my stomach. Dean turns and looks at me. “Ready?” he asks.

  I nod because odds are good my voice will come out as a squeak if I answer. “Mmhm.”

  “Let’s do this.” He lets go and the tube starts to move. It’s slow at first, a gentle glide. Then we start to sway, gliding back and forth up the edges of the slide.

  The lights dim, and I give a startled yelp as we hit some kind of dip. I can’t help it, I grab Dean’s arm. “We do this in the dark?”

  “Guess so.”

  I suck in a breath as we swoop through another turn. Gravity pushes me so I’m almost in his lap. I squirm against him, knowing I should move, but not sure how to.

  We hit another bump, and water splashes up like a curtain, slicking my th
ighs and arms and breasts with a breath-stealing blast of mist. I clutch Dean harder, and I swear I hear him groan.

  “The dark must be part of the experience,” he says as the next turn pushes him my direction. I bite my lip to keep from moaning as his shoulder sinks into my breast.

  “Sorry,” he murmurs, and it comes out a little hoarse. “The lack of light, it’s probably to make it more exciting.”

  Like someone envisioned all this accidental groping and the need to hide my flushed face? “Mmhm,” I manage again, but it comes out sounding a bit like a moan.

  “Probably so the drop-off is a surprise,” he adds.

  “The drop-off?” I barely get the words out when the floor falls out from under us.

  I shriek as we plummet through blackness, Dean’s arm flexing under my fingers as he fights to hold us in the tube. I scream again, laughing this time as Dean clutches me against him and gives a shout of his own.

  “Holy shit.” He’s laughing and sputtering and holding me tight as we land with a splash. Our tube swoops up one wall, then veers left and climbs the other side. We’re moving so fast I swear we’re about to do a full circle. I’m dizzy and laughing and more turned on than I have any right to be in a freakin’ waterslide.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  “Yeah, you?”

  “Perfect.”

  Perfection doesn’t begin to describe this body tangled with mine in the dark. I know this is meant to be a family-friendly attraction, but it feels decadent and dirty in the damp, dim heat.

  “I think there’s another drop-off coming,” he says. “I noticed it from below.”

  “Okay, I’ve got a good grip.” I know I should be holding tighter to the handles than to Gabe’s arm, but I can’t seem to let go.

  He shifts his weight, probably trying to stabilize us, but I lean into him like a cat arching against the stroke of a palm. I’m horny and pathetic, but I can’t control myself.

  “Here it comes.”

  The floor drops again, and I fall into him shrieking. I’m making sounds somewhere between laughter and terror, conscious of every place where our bodies touch as we sail through another turn. My belly rolls as we hit the next curve. It’s like riding a roller coaster, only hot and wet and practically naked and ohmygod my hand just brushed his abs.