And she loved him for it.
Her legs turned to rubber, and everything around her blurred and went sideways. She gripped the banister before her butt hit the step.
She loved him.
She loved Gavin.
She loved her husband.
A man who’d paid her to stay married to him. And it didn’t seem to matter at all.
This was a complication neither of them needed. How had she let this happen? He’d snuck past her defenses with his tea-making, his sweetness to Honey, and his irreverent sense of humor. And now look at the mess they were in.
A goofy, lovesick grin split her lips when he began to sing along with the music coming from his phone. He and Aretha Franklin sang a duet, and it was awesome. She leaned her shoulder against the banister and watched the show, which included quite a bit of hip action.
She gathered herself, determined to deal with the whole love thing later. The song ended, and she applauded. He swung around, spatula at the ready.
“Oh, hi.”
There it was. That boyish grin. And one more brick in the wall she’d erected between them came tumbling down.
“Aretha, huh?” She pulled herself to a standing position and prayed her legs held.
He shrugged. “Guilty pleasure. Besides, that woman can sing.”
“That she can.” She made her way to the stove to inspect the contents of the skillet. “Those smell great. I’m starving.”
“Good. Because they’re one of the few things I can cook.” He hip-checked her out of the way, then flipped the hotcake. “I have the tea you like.”
This man, she just couldn’t… Tears stung her throat at his thoughtfulness. She swallowed several times before answering. “Thanks.”
“The electric tea kettle is by the sink, the cream is in the fridge, and there’s the sugar bowl.” He pointed to the island in the middle of the kitchen.
She opened the refrigerator, and it was full of food. “Did you go to the grocery store this morning?”
He peered over his shoulder. “No. I called a service. They deliver.”
She rubbed her sleepy eyes. “What time is it?”
“Ten.”
“Oh, my gosh. I can’t believe I slept so late. I’m kind of embarrassed.”
“Why?” He poured more batter into the pan.
“I never sleep this late.”
“You had a shit day. I think you’re entitled.” He nodded to her cup. “Your tea’s getting cold.”
“Wow.”
“What?”
She made her way to the wall of windows that opened to a deck. In the distance, the L.A. skyline shimmered in the California sun. “This view is spectacular.”
“Yeah, it’s amazing. I hear it’s better at night.”
She strolled back to the bar and sat facing him. “You don’t know?”
“No. Until last night I’d never stayed here. I was so bone tired when we got in, I didn’t bother to open the blinds. I rented it sight unseen.” She gaped at him like he was speaking Chinese. “I did see pictures of the place. It seemed nice, had good security, and was in the right place. So I rented it.” He transferred a pancake to a platter.
That explained a lot. His signature wasn’t anywhere in the place. “What about the furniture?”
He wiped up a spot of batter on the counter. “It came furnished. I had Jack call the cleaning service yesterday when I knew we were coming and asked them to get everything ready.”
She gaped at him.
“What?”
“I…how…how did you get all of this done so fast?”
He turned the burner off. “In L.A., there’s not much you can’t have if you throw enough money at it.”
A shame bomb exploded inside her and left shrapnel in her conscience. “I’m sorry you had to go to so much trouble for me.”
“Hey.” He walked around the bar and took her by the shoulders. “We’re in this together, remember?”
She rested her forehead against his chest. “Okay.”
He stroked her back. “Don’t cry anymore, Scarlett. They’re not worth it.”
For a moment, she savored the feel of his hands on her. Then blinked her dry eyes. There weren’t any tears left. She knew he was right, she did. But it was hard to unlearn a lifetime of behavior.
She tilted her head back and peered at him. “At least my family isn’t upset with me.” She’d texted with them briefly before leaving for the airport the night before.
He curled a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “No, they’re not, but they are worried. You should call them.”
She leaned into his hand. “I will.”
“You’re lucky. You know that, right?”
“Yes. I do.”
He took his shirt from the back of a chair and pulled it on. The wild child within pouted.
“Okay. Let’s eat.” He sat down and handed her the platter of pancakes.
The first bite was a religious experience. “Oh, my gosh. These are awesome. Family recipe?”
He snorted. “Not hardly.”
She swiped another bite through a puddle of syrup. “Your mom didn’t cook?”
He shook his head without looking up from his plate.
“Mine either,” she said and stabbed another piece.
“Speaking of your mother, when Luanne and I got to your house you kept talking about her. Why is that?” He loaded two more pancakes onto his plate.
Every bit of doughy goodness she’d eaten coagulated into a nauseating ball in her belly. She did not want to have this conversation with him, but by the same token, she did owe him some explanation for her craziness. He wanted the truth, he probably couldn’t handle the truth, but she’d give it to him anyway.
She wrapped her hands around her mug. “My mother was…well, let’s just say her reputation wasn’t spotless.”
He didn’t say anything. He sat quietly and waited for her to continue.
She drummed her fingers on the table and refused to meet his gaze. “There are stories that go back before I was born about her outrageous exploits. Running around with other women’s husbands, skinny dipping in the local water tower, drunken crying jags. They’re ugly and notorious.”
He clasped his hands under his chin, still giving her his full attention. “That’s rough. But it was a long time ago.”
“No one ever forgets, Gavin. Two weeks ago, at the library restoration meeting, Marjorie Stewart reminded me of the time my mother got into a fist fight with a woman in the parking lot of the Dairy Bar. It was humiliating.”
“Why did she get into a fight?”
“Some woman confronted her about flirting with her husband, and my mother took offense and went after her with me standing right there. The cops were called, and by the time it was over the whole town was gathered at the Dairy Bar watching my mother get arrested and me get loaded into the back of the squad car with her so my dad could pick me up at the police station. I was six.” She couldn’t hide the bitterness.
“Shit.”
Now that she’d started talking she couldn’t seem to stop. “She was absurdly irresponsible too. In the middle of the day, she might decide she wanted to see the sunset over the ocean, and get in her car and drive to the beach three hours away.”
“That doesn’t sound so reckless.”
“It’s probably not. Unless you have a five-year-old you forgot about. And that little girl had to sit on the back porch for two hours after school, in the winter, until her father made it home from delivering a horse in the next county.” Air puffed in and out of her nose. For a second, she was that scared, cold child waiting for someone to come rescue her.
He set down his fork. “That happened?”
She peered up at him from her half-empty plate. “More than once.”
“Damn. They’ll let any idiot have a kid.”
“After the second time, Daddy asked Honey to come live with us to make sure someone was home to take care of me.”
�
�Why did Floyd stay with her?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ve never really talked about it. The subject of my mother is very painful for him, so I don’t bring it up.”
“Where is she now?”
“Dead. One Friday morning, she met a man at the convenience store and by four o’clock that afternoon she was tearing out of our driveway with him. I never saw her again. She and Mr. Right Now were killed in a car accident the next day in Louisiana.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
“So, when Luanne said you’re not your mom…”
She nodded. “Even before all this happened, there were comparisons made simply because I’m her daughter, and I look like her. And, now with that video…well, you can imagine.”
Gavin saw every emotion play across Scarlett’s face. He knew them well. He lived with them every day. Rejection, confusion, embarrassment, torment, hopelessness for something that never was and would never be.
“Anyway.” She waved her hand like she was swatting a mosquito. “What about your parents?”
“There’s not much to tell. I had a mother and a sperm donor. And I use the word mother loosely.”
“That bad?”
He shrugged. “I know people who had it worse.” He started to gather dishes.
She collected the plates. “Sit. You cooked, I’ll clean. Tell me about your mom.”
He didn’t talk about this crap, but he wanted Scarlett to know. It was a risk. She could reject him. The picture wasn’t pretty when you stripped away all the rock-n-roll crap. “She was an addict.”
“Was? Did she pass away?”
“I have no idea. The state took me away from her when I was five. The neighbor called the cops when they heard me crying. I’d been alone in the apartment for two days.” God, he hated admitting that shit. No wonder he was such a screw-up. Look at the cesspool he came from.
“So you were in foster care?”
“Some. I ended up in a group home, though. Nobody wants to take on a kid that acted like he’d been raised by wolves.”
“Oh, Gavin.”
He couldn’t look at her, and he didn’t need her pity. “It is what it is. It was a long time ago, I’m over it.”
He heard her approach, then her warm hands framed his head, and he lifted his face to look at her. What he saw wasn’t pity. She was pissed.
“You’re right. They’ll let any idiot have a kid. I’d like to wring your mother’s neck. I’m sorry that happened to you. You didn’t deserve that.”
She got it. He knew she did. It was another link in the unexpected chain that bound them together. He wrapped his hands around her wrist and drew her to him. He kissed the soft lips that had been center stage in his dreams since he’d met her. She didn’t resist, and answered with sweet intensity—the final punctuation on an unspoken sentence that began with I see you, I understand.
Something unfurled inside him. Something rich and fertile. Something only she brought out in him. It went beyond sex or physical attraction—it was a place where good things could grow.
And it scared the ever-lovin’ shit out of him.
Chapter 17
Scarlett smoothed the skirt of her flouncy yellow polka dot sundress. Not exactly the appropriate attire to wear to a corporate meeting with the executives at Storm Side Records, but Luanne hadn’t packed her business casual clothes, so it was the sundress or nothing. For his part, Gavin wore a pair of gray slacks, a black t-shirt, and a black blazer. His motorcycle boots had been replaced by a pair of very expensive loafers. If scruffy-rock-star Gavin was delicious, then polished-and-shined Gavin was downright delectable.
She continued to replay their earlier conversation over in her mind. He’d been left alone for days when he was five. Pity, compassion, empathy, understanding all blended with pride that he’d made something of his life. No wonder she loved him.
The familiar riot of butterflies beating in her stomach when she thought of him made a synchronized loop-de-loop. This had disaster written all over it, and she needed to figure out a way to distance herself from those emotions. It might be a battle she couldn’t win.
She made eye contact in the mirrored elevator doors. “Are you nervous?”
“No, why?”
She pointed to his hand beating out a rhythm on his leg.
He looked at it and chuckled. “I didn’t even know I was doing it. I’m fine, just excited.”
“Why do you think they wanted me to come too?” She blew a loose curl from her eye.
“I have no idea.” He reached for her hand. “You look beautiful. At least they won’t be able to fault me for my taste in women.”
The blush started at her toes and colored her whole body, while contentment slid up her arm from his calloused thumb rubbing little circles on the top of her hand. “Thank you.” Oh, sweet baby Jesus, she was a goner.
The shy smile he gave her was just about the last straw. The urge to hit the emergency button and jump his bones was stronger than a California earthquake. But that would be inappropriate, and she knew this meeting was meant to show they both could behave themselves.
The elevator door opened to the waiting room of the office, and they stepped out. The area was…to call it posh would be a gross understatement. It was gorgeous. Thick gray carpet cushioned every step. Silver gilded walls reflected indirect lighting coming from a huge crystal chandelier hung in the middle of the room, over a plush round settee. The whole area screamed you do not deserve to be here.
She was raised in the country, but she wasn’t a bumpkin. She’d been away to school, gone on vacations, but had never seen anything as opulent as the waiting area of Storm Side Records.
A beautiful Asian woman sat at an antique white desk in the corner of the room. Her almond eyes showed no recognition, nor anticipation of their arrival. She almost looked like a mannequin, so when she spoke it spooked Scarlett a little. “Mr. Bain, Mr. Petty and Mr. Weinberg will see you in a moment. Have a seat. May I get you anything?” she said, as flat as one of Honey’s pancakes.
“No, thanks.” Gavin pulled them to a pair of black-and-silver wingback chairs.
“Hey. I could use some water. My throat’s really dry.”
His phone buzzed, and he pulled it from his pocket and checked the screen. “We’ll get you a bottle of water when we get back there.” His fingers flew across the screen, then he put his phone away. “Jack just pulled into the parking garage. He’ll be up in a minute.”
“Oh, joy.”
“Your throat’s not too dry to drip sarcasm there, Red.”
She crossed her arms. “He’s just not one of my favorite people. In fact, I know you don’t suffer fools, so I can’t understand why you’ve hitched your wagon to that idiot.”
“First, he’s no fool. And second, Jack’s about the only person in this town I trust. He worked for the second agency we were with.” He played with the gold band on his left hand. She fingered her own band. “We didn’t deal with Jack then. He was just starting out, so he was more a glorified gopher than anything else. Anyway, after we’d been with the agency for a couple of years, Jack came to us and told us our manager was working a deal that would be bad for us and that he was dealing under the table. Because of the heads up, we got out of our contract and went somewhere else. Jack lost his job to do the right thing. He has integrity. And in this business, you can count on one hand the number of people who can spell integrity, let alone have it.”
“So, you all left, and he started representing Wolfe’s Bain?”
“Hell, no.” He laughed. “He was a little too green for our taste. But he did help us find an agency that would take care of us. Jack went to work for another group and learned the business, so when I decided to come back, he was the only person I called. He’d just gone out on his own, the timing was right.”
“Wow. I can’t believe he went out on a limb like that for you guys.” Wait until she told Luanne that Jack was one of the good guys. She’d nev
er believe it.
He cracked his knuckles one at a time. “Jack’s kind of a vigilante when it comes to his clients. He says what he means and does what he says. You know he’s got your back.”
“So he’s like the Superman of agents?”
He leaned forward in the chair, rested his elbows on his knees, and clasped his hands. “Pretty much.”
“Well, if it isn’t the happy couple.” Jack sauntered into the room.
“You’re right, he’s a real prince among men,” she said from the corner of her mouth.
“Nah, you’re right. He’s a dick,” Gavin whispered.
“Hey, that’s Mr. Dick to you, sunshine.” Jack shook Gavin’s hand.
He bent and kissed Scarlett’s cheek. “You’re as lovely as ever, Mrs. Bain.”
“Thank you, Jack.”
“Mr. Petty and Mr. Weinberg will see you now.” The receptionist opened the door to the executive office and ushered them into the inner sanctum.
Scarlett’s heart started that jitterbug thing it had been doing ever since she’d met Gavin. She smoothed her hair, straightened her dress, and ran her finger across her teeth to make sure she didn’t have lipstick on them.
She had no idea what to expect, but the two men sitting in the tricked-out office were not it. One wore buckskin pants, complete with laces down the side, and a dress shirt with turquoise buttons on the front and at the wrist. His straight silver hair was parted in the middle and hung to his waist. He introduced himself as Maury Weinberg. Mr. Wynn Petty, by comparison, was dressed more conservatively, as in, his severe black suit and shirt were topped off with a priest collar…an honest-to-goodness priest collar. He was not a priest. There were photos all over the room of him and his lovely wife and equally lovely daughters. He also sported a man bun.
They all took their seats, and Scarlett finally got her water.
Maury leaned back in his chair and gave her an appraising look. “So, young lady, are you aware you’re a viral sensation?”
Gavin held his breath. There was a beat of silence that seemed to Gavin to go on forever. Then the two record execs fist bumped and laughed uproariously.
Brides on the Run (Books 1-4) Page 16
