by Scott, S. L.
This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-940071-73-2
Design: RBA Designs
Photographer: Nikita TV
Editing:
Jenny Sims, Editing4Indies
Marion Archer, Making Manuscripts
Marla Esposito, Proofing Style
Kristen Johnson, Proofreader
Team Readers: Lynsey Johnson and Andrea Johnston
RIDGE
RIDGE
The One didn’t exist.
Then I met Meadow.
The band's honorary little sister was off-limits. Too late for that. She says we’re “nothing serious,” but she’s gotten under my skin and I can’t stop thinking about her. And when I touch her, I know we’re meant to be.
Happy Endings don’t exist.
Not even with Ridge.
My big plans never included falling for a rock star. Too soon for that. He wants to make us a “thing,” and I can’t deny our chemistry is combustible. His persistence is wearing me down, making his proposition hard to resist.
If true love only exists in fairy tales, why am I beginning to believe that Ridge just might be my happily ever after?
Prologue
Dave “Ridge” Carson
Somewhere between El Paso and Tucson, I found my soul under the bright stars of the Southwest.
Looking up, I drink her in. Meadow hates when I stare at her, but beauty like hers is rare. Her chin dips down, and she kisses my cheek, trailing more toward my ear where she whispers, “You feel so good inside me.”
“You have it all wrong. You make me feel good inside you.” I capture her lips on the edge of a laugh and kiss her while she continues to rock on top of my lap.
The sound of our bodies, our skin slick against each other becomes part of the hum of the desert outside the car. A night wind whistles through the cracked open window as the temperatures continue to fall well after sunset. We couldn’t wait—not for a hotel or a rest stop. When her hand dipped to my pants and she rubbed over me, causing my body to react, I pulled over.
Time is our enemy. There’s never enough of it when I’m with her. Every time I’m with her, I want to drain every ounce of life from the seconds, minutes, few short hours we get to be with each other.
My gaze rolls over the bottom of her jaw as her head tilts back, her mouth open, her bare breasts in front of me. I want to hold her still, hold her here, right the fuck here on top of me.
I run my hands over her body as I make love to the woman who’s become an addiction of mine. I breathe better, easier when I’m with her. The music of our bodies together is the only melody I hear. She’s become my friend.
My lover.
My muse.
Lifting up, she eases back down and then lifts again, gripping my shoulders and digging her nails into my skin. The pain is pleasure when doled out in provocative ways. “Dave,” she whispers on the end of a purr. No other name has been uttered in pure ecstasy like the way she says mine.
I hold her by the hips in the back seat of the SUV taking in the full view. “Hey,” I say.
She comes back to me, her eyes open, her soul exposed in such a vulnerable way, setting my heart on fire. “Hey.” She smiles, and I hold her still again, wanting this to last forever while equally wanting to rush the release.
A few sips of the wine we’ve been drinking straight from the bottle make her eyes sparkle. Caught between want and need, her smile is even until the corners, which curve up. It’s a smile that both hurts and heals my heart when it appears. “Don’t leave.”
Leaning down, she kisses my forehead, my nose, my mouth. With her lips against mine, she whispers, “I have to go.”
I’ve been careful about making plans with her for so long that the words feel foreign to me even now when this feels more intimate than any other time before. Every time with her is like this—better than the last. “I want you to stay.”
I fell for the free-spirited beauty long before we left Austin. But like all who are meant to soar, she can’t be caged by antiquated notions of romance. Meadow Fellowes has been clear about what we are or ever could be—nothing serious. But sometimes, when she looks at me, I see more hidden in the emerald pools of her eyes. I understand the yearning. She says, “My flight is tomorrow night.”
We’ve been so good at keeping it casual, but nothing serious means we’re fucking because we want to have sex. This isn’t fucking, just like we’re not casual, not to me. “Can you change it? Give us another week. Another day. Give us a chance.”
Leaning down, she kisses me and then sits back up. With her palms on my chest, she holds her smile. “I am. By leaving.” Her eyes close, and she starts moving on top of me again.
So I grip her a little tighter, holding her while I can. I meet every one of her pushes with a thrust of my own. As she comes back to me, the lids are half-mast, but her gaze is fixed on me. She whispers, “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I’m thinking how good this feels. Just us. Alone. In the desert, making love, having sex, fucking. All of it. All of you. You feel so good to me. Maybe we should be more to each other.”
“You’re more than you know,” she purrs softly and then leans back as if our connection is too much before she starts a slow gyrate. God, she feels amazing. A hand rubs over my chest, and this time, my eyes meet hers, coming back from the hazy edge of release. “We’re not those people.”
“What people are those?”
“The kind of people who make plans.”
Our bodies glide together as I say, “We’ve made plans before.”
“Spur-of-the-moment plans. Those don’t count.”
“They count.” They fucking count. I want to argue, but my mind clouds as our bodies move of their own volition. My eyes dip closed, and I swim in the moment, buried deep inside her.
We fall, tipping over that line that keeps us safe and the one that will end us—heart, body, and soul. It’s where I prefer to be with her. If only we could stay in this place longer than it takes for our breathing to recover.
My heart calms, and my breathing steadies. Meadow slides down with me still inside her and rests her head on my shoulder. Her fingers toy with the hairs on my chest before a kiss is placed on my neck. “Six months,” she says. “I’ll be back in six months.”
I tighten my arms around her. I don’t care that my body’s too big for this back seat or that we’re covered in sweat. All that matters is that I have her in my arms for a short time, and I intend to savor every second until she boards that plane.
1
Meadow Fellowes
Six Months Later . . .
Act surprised.
They’ve gone to a lot of trouble for “the American,” the nickname I’ve been called on a daily basis since I started my internship last January. Working in London has changed me. My look. My attitude. My future. My gratitude for this experience at Brown and Davies can’t be summed up in a simple thank you.
I hate surprises. I hate surprise parties even more, but they’ve gone to a lot of trouble to make me feel like a part of the team while I’ve been here. And from the french fries and burgers I smell wafting over the cubicle walls, I’ve made an impact on them, even if it’s just the fine art of appreciating junk food.
Opening the blush compact, I use the mirror to apply my favorite shade of red lipstick, Tom & Cherry. I never wore red lips before moving here. It’s bold, like I’ve become the past six months. And apparently makes my green eyes sparkle like emeralds. So I’ve been told. My flatmate’s c
ompliment came after a drunken night out, but I’ll take it.
When I snap the compact closed, I pick up the burgundy Mont Blanc pen and read the engraving—Well done, Miss Fellowes.
Carrig Davies set the gift down on the table at lunch earlier in the week. My gaze flicks back and forth between the classic white paper and gold bow and his ice blue eyes for an uncomfortable beat too long. “What’s this?”
“Open it.”
I don’t know why I hesitate. Unsure if this is a last-ditch effort to date me or if it’s work related, I hold the oblong box in my hand and study it. I’m not sure why he gave me this present. “You shouldn’t have.”
“It’s not a big deal. A parting gift to remember me . . . the company by.”
Although he’s a Davies, as in Brown and Davies, and his father is the founder and CEO, it will be his company to run one day. The contracts are already in place. He’s been groomed for this since he was born. Basically, a dream come true—handsome, successful, loaded. But I have dreams of my own, and they’re starting to come true. This internship is prestigious, and I’m returning to America with not only experience working for a global marketing firm, but also a recommendation that holds weight wherever I apply after graduation next year.
I have no intention of insulting a friend. He has shown me nothing but support at the office, so I slowly pull the bow and rip the paper away from the leather box. When I lift the lid, the light hits the pen. I must look confused because he says, “For all those deals you’ll sign one day.”
It actually is very kind. I smile, taking it out of the box. “Thank you. It’s very nice.”
“Like you.”
. . . I use the expensive pen to sign my exit interview and then stand, adjusting my black pencil skirt and straightening my white silk blouse. I’m going to miss this place. Miss London. My flat, and my flatmate, Darcy. But I miss my sister so much, and every once in a while, when I’m home alone, I allow myself to think about a road trip I once took from Austin to LA, and I miss the man who looked at me like I hung the moon.
When I look down, the curled ends of my blond hair shine from the rays sneaking in through the window. I click my red-soled heels and silently remind myself—there’s no place like home. Until I land back in the States, I put on my best straight face and pretend to know nothing regarding this party and start walking toward the conference room. I open the door, and it’s showtime.
* * *
The pub is packed, which is typical for a Thursday night. Darcy is chatting up two guys from Australia who wandered into Punch and Judy a little while ago. Revelers needing a drink after work overflow onto Covent Garden.
Several pitchers in, my work mates are drunk fools. They claim they’re celebrating as part of my going away party that started in the office and flowed down to the pubs shortly after. They’ll use any excuse to have a pint. I guess I’m theirs tonight.
“. . . Meadow.” I usually leave Darcy to her own devices, but without fail, she eventually involves me in her shenanigans. “American . . .” I pick up bits and pieces of her conversation, still hoping she’s not trying to set me up again, especially considering it’s my last night here. “To Texas tomorrow.”
Holding my hand up, I correct her with a slightly embarrassing slur. “LA actually.”
I shouldn’t have said anything. Darcy has stars in her eyes when it comes to celebrities, whether British or American, or any other. She loves the gossip, and here it comes. She clears her throat. “Meadow’s sister is getting married to one of The Crow Brothers,” she half-whispers but makes sure to speak loud enough to have everyone in the vicinity’s attention. “You know, the band?”
They nod enthusiastically, and then I feel the heat of all eyes on me. I swivel in the other direction on my barstool until my knees bump into Carrig. “Oops. Sorry.”
His hand braces my knee to keep from slipping another few inches and endangering another part of him. But he leaves it there. “Are you having a good time?”
“I am. Too good. I should have gone home an hour ago to finish packing.”
“I’m closing out the tab for our group. May I see you home?”
The offer is tempting, considering the state I’m in, but I worry that a kiss is coming under the pressure of this last goodbye. “Thank you, but Darcy and I can manage,” I say, slipping off the stool but wobbling on the high heels.
Carrig helps to steady me. “Let me hire a car for you then.”
Surely there’s no harm in that. “Darcy,” I say, nodding toward the door. “Time to go.”
She’s dramatic and over the top with her arms in the air and a big disappointed sigh. She’ll thank me later, though. We walk out with Carrig, and she elbows me, clearly more drunk than she realizes since that hurt like hell. I rub my arm and stand on the sidewalk as Carrig steps to the curb, looking in either direction and then back down at his phone. “The car’s down here.”
We walk down a bit and around the corner. When he sees it, he opens the door, and Darcy slides in like the princess she acts like she is. I stand, clutching my purse with both hands. “Guess this is it.”
“Yes, I suppose so. You’re off to America and back to your life.”
He makes it sound more exciting than the reality. Not sure what to do, I say, “I should go.”
As I duck into the back of the car, he says, “Take care of yourself, sunshine.” He shuts the door, and I roll down the window.
“I will. You too.” Guilt overcomes me. “If you’re ever in the States—”
“I’ll look you up.”
“Yes.” I smile and lean forward to give the address to the driver. Looking back, I wave. “Bye.”
As soon as the car pulls away, Darcy says, “I will never understand how you can pass up that man. Whoever kept you from moving on with Carrig Davies must be one hell of a great lay.”
This time I elbow her lightly. “Darcy.” My face heats when the driver’s eyes meet mine in the mirror.
Dave. It’s a name I don’t ever say and I think about too much—the man more than the name. Out of habit, I take my lipstick out of my purse and pull the cap off.
Darcy swipes it away and glides it over her full lips without a mirror and to perfection. She’s the one who got me into makeup—to play with it and use it to my advantage. I don’t wear as much as she does, and I’m not as colorful, but I’ve learned a trick or two since my Austin days.
She says, “It’s true, and I cannot wait to meet him.”
“There’s no him to meet. I’m single. I was single when I left the States, and I’ll be single when I return.”
“Speaking of single, am I going to be your plus-one to the wedding? Don’t forget, you promised me over cider and biscuits last month.”
“We may have been drinking, but I didn’t forget. Don’t worry, my sister already knows you’re coming.”
We wake up early to catch the tube to the Square Mile, work our derrieres off all day, and then hit Covent Garden five out of seven nights. I never tasted freedom until this move. With no friends or family to rely on, I made my own way.
Darcy never needed a roommate but moved me in before I could pay another month’s rent at the other place. We just became instant best friends. She became someone I could rely on.
But she can drink. Returning to the States will give my liver a much-needed break, but it’s been a blast. “I’m going to miss you.”
Her curly tendrils cover my neck when she leans her head on my shoulder. “You’ve come a long way, Fellowes, and I’m not referring to the miles. Whoever shall I party with now?”
“You have a billion friends. I’m sure someone will happily take my place.”
“You’re going to have an amazing time back in Texas, but I still get full credit for bringing you out of your shell.”
“I know it’s hard to imagine,” I say sarcastically, “but I had a life before meeting you.” Patting her leg, we both laugh.
She leans against the window and
looks at me. “Until I see it with my own eyes, I refuse to believe it.”
“I can’t wait to show you around Austin and then Los Angeles when we’re there for the wedding.”
“You know, you’ve never shared how your sister snagged a famous rock star.”
“Because, my dear Darcy, he is the lucky one who snagged her.”
While laughing, she leans over and hugs me. “If she’s anything like you, he is most definitely the lucky one.” Slumping back in the seat, she closes her eyes. “Wake me when we arrive.”
“Okay.”
It’s not much longer until we reach our row of flats, but just enough time for her to doze off.
* * *
Before heading to the airport the next morning, I jump on Darcy’s bed and smother her with a hug. “I’ll see you in two weeks.”
She pushes me off with a smile on her face and an eye mask crooked across her forehead. “I need peace and quiet, noisy American.”
“I’m going. I’m going.”
I make it to the door before she sits up, and says, “I’m going to miss you.”
Tears well in her eyes. She’s usually great about having a stiff upper lip, but now that we’re saying goodbye, I’m glad to see her give up some of the pride.
Running back over, I flop onto the side of the bed and hug her silly. “You too. Only a couple of weeks.”
There’s no time to waste. The car’s waiting downstairs for me, so I hop off the bed and walk to the door again. She pulls her eye mask down and waves me away. “Go. I can’t handle this much emotion early in the morning.”
“It’s almost eleven.”
“Still before noon,” she singsongs. “Anyway, you need to get back to whoever has preoccupied your sexual mind for the past six months.”
