I’d worn my man out.
My man.
Swoon.
Ash was sound asleep, his breath soft and rhythmic as the sea where it unraveled at the shore. I stroked his arm, a light caress of my fingertips over golden skin dusted with fine platinum hair. My gentle touch woke him.
“Hey, little one.”
“Hey.” My heart hitched and then restarted faster in response to his slow lazy grin.
“You sleep ok?” I asked.
“I always sleep well with you.” His voice was a raspy rumble.
“Me, too.” One of his hands glided up my body. He stroked his thumb across the underside of my breast. My breath did more than hitch in response. It raced.
“So soft,” he purred. “Like a rose.”
“Ash,” I breathed as he found and pinched my already taut nipple.
“Right here with you, gypsy.”
“I know.” There was a smile in my voice. “Hard to dismiss your presence when we’re tangled together, and you have your hand on my tit.”
“I’m hard all right, and I’ll have more than just your tits in a moment.” He came up in the bed throwing a heavily muscled thigh over my leg, the hair on his rough against my smooth skin
“Promise?” Unabashedly I stared up at him while he gazed down with eyes cobalt blue like a wave rising from the depths ready to unleash its power.
“Promise.” Shiny sheets of platinum curtained his handsome face. “When have I ever not delivered?” He settled his hips between my thighs. I started to throb. Ok, truly I’d been throbbing since he had opened his eyes and smiled at me.
“There was that time in San Francisco,” I reminded him, inhaling sharply when he brushed the pad of his thumb over me.
“There’s no tour manager with a walkie talkie here.” He swirled a seductive circle around me.
“So stop teasing,” I said huffily. “And deliver.”
“You like my teasing.” His voice was low, the lines of his face drawn. I lifted my hips. He pressed his thumb right where I ached. “You’re so wet.”
“Please,” I moaned.
“Yes.” Balancing on one arm, his bicep flexed as he grabbed a condom and rolled it on. When his gaze hit mine, it glittered knowingly. He had caught me watching him.
“Babe.” He gave me the smile that creased his cheek and wrecked my heart. “Spread your legs wider.” I did. He slid in. My body stretched eagerly to accommodate him. He pulled out, he sank back in. I grabbed his tight ass and lifted my hips. He pounded into me one deep delicious thrust after another.
“Hold on, baby.” He seized my hips in a masterful grip. I placed the soles of my feet on the back of his tensed calves. He started to hammer into me. Toes to scalp, my entire body shimmered with the heat of his possession.
“Ash,” I warned, feeling it building, my breath catching on his next thrust. “I’m close.”
“I know, babe.” He growled. “You feel so good.”
“You do,” I countered, though he was pounding me so hard my voice rocked, my breasts bounced and my nipples tingled.
“Let it go,” he demanded. So I did, and the heady sensations tore through me.
“Ash!” I screamed as I detonated. “Yes! Yes! Oh, yes!” My ecstatic cries matched his powerful thrusts. The headboard slammed the wall. My climax crashed over me like a massive wave. I went under as he groaned, stiffened and erupted inside me. Our bodies melded by heat and passion, we tumbled through the pleasurable aftershocks together.
“I love you.” His voice was the lifeline I followed to return to the surface. The flame in the water. The heat. The light. My light.
• • •
Ashland
I watched her as she cooked us breakfast wearing nothing but my shirt. I watched her beneath my lashes as we did yoga side by side on the roof. I watched her while we surfed. But I wasn’t sitting on the sidelines of life anymore. I was an active participant because of her.
“Yo, Ash? Where’d you go just now?” Ramon bumped his shoulder against mine jostling me a little harder than was necessary. The dude was punchy from sleep deprivation since Dominica started teething. He and his surfer girl took turns rocking her back to sleep every night.
“Thinking about Fanny.” My gaze sought and found her, out on the dance floor, her eyes alight with her spirit. She held her own dancing with our friends. Karen and Simone were shimmying just as frenetically to the punk beat Freewave was laying down.
“They look good out there,” Linc decided as he returned from the bar, fresh brews in hand.
“Thanks.” I took one and we raised and clinked our bottles together.
“Fortunate fucks. All three of us,” Linc pronounced as he slid into the barstool next to mine.
“Yes,” I agreed wholeheartedly. “Only…” I shut down that thought. She said it didn’t matter. But it mattered to me. I wanted to give her the world. And I had wherever it was in my power to do so. Having, holding and keeping my gypsy rose happy were my goals. We only lacked that one piece that would make us a family.
“I know you’re anxious to get started since you’ve fulfilled all of our touring commitments,” Linc said watching me closely.
Yes, my preference was now. Everything was in place for us to have a baby. With Simone’s blessing Linc had donated his sperm in anticipation of Fanny’s eventual assisted reproductive procedure. Much on-line research, medical guidance and heart-to-heart discussions among the four of us had resulted in our decision. And it felt almost like closing a circle for Linc to be our sperm donor.
I glanced over at Simone as she appeared at my cousin’s side. Linc stood, pulling out her chair and helping her up into her seat.
“You ok?” he asked her, his gaze sweeping her head to toe.
“Yes.” She placed her hands over her significantly swollen abdomen. “Baby’s just kicking a lot.”
Linc grinned and put his hand over hers. “He likes to boogie.” His smile widened.
“She likes to boogie.”
“We’ll see,” he returned. They had agreed not to know the gender until the baby was born.
They were blitzed out happy about the pregnancy. We were all happy for them. But sometimes, because I watched Fanny so closely, I noticed her sadness when she regarded our friends. Our love was a beautiful miracle. She never made me feel like she was settling with me. Quite the opposite. But I knew with love there was always sacrifice.
“Want a soda?” Linc asked Simone.
“Yes. Please.”
“I’m on it.” Linc kissed her cheek and moved to get the overworked bartender’s attention.
“Glad to be home?” Simone asked me.
“Hell, yeah. We all are.”
“Karen and I are certainly glad you guys are back.” She turned her head. I followed the direction of her gaze. “Fanny’s happy.” Her tone was part statement part question.
“She is,” I clarified.
“Has she heard from Hollie yet?”
“Nothing on that front.” My gaze was frozen on my gypsy. She was making her way back toward our table, but periodically stopping to receive congratulations for her second academy award nominated song. The one she had written about the two of us.
“I wouldn’t worry.” Simone’s tone was as soothing as a gentle breeze. “Hollie just got back from filming in Switzerland. Once she gets a moment to unwind and relax, it’ll happen.” She cocked her head at an inquiring angle. “She is ready to start a family, right?”
“Definitely.” The two sisters had decided they wanted to be pregnant at the same time. And they had made that pact before Simone’s good news. If Fanny got pregnant soon all our children would grow up together. There would be a next generation of cousins who could potentially be as close as we all were now. I just didn’t like the uncertainty that went along with waiting on Hollie. Especially when I knew what we were waiting on was something Fanny very much wanted. Something I very much wanted. We kept getting our hopes up, but then Hollie w
ould get another enticing role she couldn’t turn down.
“Maximillian is a great guy.”
I nodded. Cash had certainly swept the young actress off her feet. Apparently his rule about not getting involved with his clients hadn’t applied to Hollie. I could relate. None of my rules had mattered when it came to my gypsy rose, either.
“They’re amazing together. He wants her to slow down her filming schedule, doesn’t he?”
I nodded absently in response to Simone’s question. My brows drew together as Fanny veered to the right. I wanted her in my arms. It had been too long since she had been there.
Where was she going?
Fanny stopped at the painting of the mermaid. She reached up and placed something on the shelf next to her. The Lakers cap. I stood as she leaned in and kissed her.
What had she wished for?
Wearing a determined visage, I moved through the crowd toward her. She turned when I reached her as if she sensed my presence.
“Ash.” She put her hands on my chest, and my pulse settled into a steadier rhythm beneath her gentle touch. Her beautiful grey eyes brimmed with love and hope like they usually did whenever she looked at me.
“I love you,” I told her. She smiled as I wrapped my arms around her and drew her deeper into my embrace.
“I love, you too,” she returned.
“What did you wish for?” I asked.
Somewhere nearby a cell rang.
“I think you’ll know soon.” She smiled softly.
HIGH TIDE
Rock Stars, Surf and Second Chances - Book 4
Michelle Mankin
All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players.
As You Like It, Act II, Scene VII by William Shakespeare
Prologue
* * *
“You were awesome!” Cedric Wells smiled.
At me.
Hardly able to believe it, I wanted to pinch myself. But then again, I didn’t. If this was only a dream, I certainly didn’t want to wake up from it.
In my bed last night, I’d picked up a magazine with his image on the cover and imagined what it might be like to have the teen heartthrob notice me. As you can probably guess, the real-life experience beat the imagined one. By the factor of—well, I wasn’t very good at math, so let’s just say a lot.
“Thank you.” I gave his compliment an affected nod, pretending I was the coolly confident Paris Geller from Gilmore Girls, my favorite television show, a show that I wished were my real life. The sense of family and belonging in it were extremely appealing. So was the way it had chronicled awkward Rory Gilmore blossoming into a beautiful woman who could stand on her own.
If only that could be me.
Instead, I was a thirteen-year-old novice actress jumping up and down on the inside and feeling like a total dork while talking to the most popular boy on set.
“The crew cracked up watching us film that scene.” His teen heartthrob grin widened. “I could barely keep from laughing when your toilet brush wand got stuck in the evil stepmother’s wig.”
His gaze dipped to my chest.
Again.
I got it. The interest in my boobs. He was a guy, and I was a girl on the verge of womanhood. Over the past summer, I didn’t shoot up in height. I remained five-foot-two and three-quarters of an inch tall. But I had grown notably in one significant area.
Suddenly, all the boys were noticing me where I’d felt mostly invisible before. Not that I’d minded being overlooked by the opposite sex. My life was too complicated for romance.
Sure, I liked boys. The ones who were nice to me, attractive, and bathed regularly. Not a given with boys my age, so quite a few were automatically excluded.
Certainly, I believed in love, or I wanted to. I liked to imagine the fairy-tale setup—the perfect dress, the prince, and the moment when clocks stopped, eyes connected, and hearts began to beat as one.
It was mainly the happily-ever-after following the initial setup that I doubted.
“I ad-libbed throwing the wand. It seemed like something a protective fairy godmother would do.” I swallowed as Cedric’s gaze rose from my chest.
His eyes darkened, and although his smile remained, it was different, no longer amused.
“It was perfect. Totally in character.” His deep voice lowered. “You’re miscast in the role, though.”
“Really?” I tilted my head to the side. “How so?”
“You’re too pretty to be the godmother.” He reached out and brushed a long lock of my strawberry-blond hair away from my face, making me feel a little shivery as his fingers skimmed my skin. “You should’ve been the princess. Then I could’ve kissed you.” Regarding me intently, he rubbed a wispy strand of my hair between his thumb and finger. “I would’ve liked that.”
Our gazes locked, and my legs wobbled.
Pinning me in place with his piercing blue stare, he asked, “Can I see you later?”
I might have doubts about the integrity of lasting love, but it did suddenly seem to me that time stood still.
“Ced,” a boy called from across the crowded dressing room. “Leave the newbie alone and come over here for a sec. Marla wants to ask you something.”
“In a minute.” Cedric lifted one finger in the air and returned his attention to me. “l’d like to talk some more. We’re having a party at my apartment later.” Releasing my hair, he stroked the back of his knuckles down my cheek. “Could you come?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so.” Does he not realize how old I am?
“At least give me your number. We can talk some more until I can convince you to go out with me.” He cocked his head to the side and his shiny blond hair fell forward, shadowing his eyes as his gaze dipped to my mouth. “What’s your name?”
“Hollie.” I flushed, my lightly freckled skin surely blazing bright pink. “Hollie Lesowski.”
“Oh.” His eyes widening, he took a step back. “Lesowski, as in Samuel Lesowski, the director?”
I nodded, noting that Cedric was the one who looked nervous now. “He’s my father.”
“Oh, um . . .”
An imaginary clock tolled. Time restarted. Reality reasserted itself.
“Maybe you should go,” I said as my almost-prince predictably faltered.
My father was one of the biggest directors in Hollywood, and undoubtedly one of the most feared. He had a reputation for destroying careers for the slightest offenses. Powerful and moody, he made sure no one dared to cross him.
Nodding, Cedric turned and moved away. He hadn’t bothered to take one of my shoes. In other words, he wasn’t returning to reclaim me.
A moment of time to capture a boy’s attention?
Sure.
The accessories?
Certainly.
I was a girl who liked to dress up and wear pretty shoes. I was a fan of all the glitz and finery that went along with the fairy-tale setup to make you feel like a princess.
But the undying love part?
I was mature enough to know that was only a fantasy.
No longer jumping up and down inside as I processed my disappointment, I murmured a general good-bye to everyone, scooped my backpack off the counter, and exited the trailer. Threading a path between other trailers in a studio back lot cluttered with equipment, I headed toward the parking area and set my thoughts to another dream. A more practical one.
Making a career for myself in film.
Did I have it? That undefinable charisma? The confidence needed to connect with an audience in a real and meaningful way?
Based on my costars’ reactions to my performance today, I thought I might be on the right track. None of my peers had been as enthusiastic when I dabbled in ballet or cheerleading.
My disappointment in the interaction with Cedric faded. I smiled softly, remembering how good it had felt today with the camera trained on me and the crew seeming to hang on my every word.
Had I fo
und my place to belong? My calling? Maybe even a part to act out within some grander design?
“Finally,” a deep voice boomed.
My smile faltered as my father appeared, striding across the parking lot toward me.
“What took you so long?” He towered over me, his frown drawing attention to features I thought were severe, but some seemed to find handsome.
“I had to put away my costume, take off my makeup, and change clothes.” Ever the dutiful daughter, I hurried to apologize. “I’m sorry.”
I lifted my chin to maintain his gaze, though being on the receiving end of his displeasure made me feel more like crawling into a hole and hiding.
“You’re half an hour late, Hollie.” His gray-green eyes narrowed as he stopped directly in front of me.
My half sister, Fanny, said his eyes were the same shade as the money he worshipped. She was the bold one, not as eager to please him. Turning eighteen seemed to have made a difference for her.
“Come along.” He stared down the length of his nose at me, accustomed to most people bowing and scraping before him as if his glowing box office numbers and the Oscar statuettes on his shelf made him royalty. His younger daughter certainly was no exception. “Your mother’s waiting in the car.”
He clucked his tongue at me, turned, and walked away without another word, anticipating—correctly—that I would follow. I might be a teenager, but I rarely openly rebelled against him.
“With the paltry amount of money they’re paying you, I don’t know why you agreed to participate in this second-rate production.”
“It’s only my second speaking role.” I swallowed with difficulty, my confidence demolished by yet another criticism he thought was constructive. “It’s a popular show. The exposure will be good for me. I’m honored to have the part.”
“I saw the playback of your performance.”
At the end of a row of cars, he turned right but didn’t slow down. I hurried to keep up with him.
“How is that possible?” I asked as I drew closer. It had been a closed set today.
(Complete Rock Stars, Surf and Second Chances #1-5) Page 88
