The Has-Been and the Hot Mess

by Isabel Jordan

  His favorite? The Godfather, of course. Sure it was a great movie, but for men like Kyle who had a perverse need to control everyone around them, loving The Godfather was just cliché, somehow. Expected.

  Kind of like powerful businessmen who cheat on their live-in girlfriends with interns. Not that she was bitter or anything.

  But she was totally bitter.

  They moved on to the very important debates of Star Wars versus Star Trek, and Marvel versus DC films next. Thankfully, they both agreed that both Star Wars and Star Trek had their own very separate merits and weren’t an apples-to-apples comparison, and that Marvel films were so superior to DC films it wasn’t even funny.

  (Kendall still felt like Ryan Reynolds owed her money after she paid to see the turd that was Green Lantern in the theatre. Sure, the man was blindingly hot, but she required a little more quality in her films than that.)

  When they’d exhausted the topics of favorite rock band (hers was Maelstrom, of course, but she’d told him Aerosmith to preserve her dignity, and his was Queen), favorite color (his=green, hers=orange), and favorite junk food (his=pizza; hers=anything deep fried), the gentle sound of rain hitting the house’s tin roof was starting to lull Kendall to sleep.

  Jackson’s chuckle (and her own snuffling snore) snapped her back into consciousness. She couldn’t have drifted off for more than a moment or two, and she could only hope she hadn’t drooled on his furniture.

  “Why don’t we call it a night?” he suggested. “If you really plan to follow me around all day tomorrow, you’re going to need a good night’s sleep. We start at dawn.”

  “Start what?” she asked around a jaw-cracking yawn. “What exactly is it that you do all day out here? Is it cowboy stuff? It’s cowboy stuff, isn’t it?”

  Kendall salivated like Pavlov’s dog at the thought. She could work PR miracles with pictures of Jackson riding a horse and doing cowboy stuff.

  He gave her a wink that probably would’ve been cheesy or smarmy coming from anyone else. But from Jackson, it seemed right somehow. “It’s a surprise,” he said.

  “Great. I love surprises,” she answered with absolutely zero enthusiasm. She loathed surprises. No good ever came from surprises.

  Kendall smothered another yawn with the back of her hand, and she was sure that whatever she was going to say to him after that would have been clever. But she’d never know for sure because she passed out cold.

  Jackson had never seen anyone fall asleep as fast and hard as Kendall. One minute she was chatting and laughing with him, the next she was slumped over, snoring. It was cute.

  Pretty much everything she said and did was cute, which reminded him yet again that he really needed to get laid. No one was cute all the time, right? Surely this…whatever it was he was feeling for Kendall originated south of his belt. No other explanation made any sense.

  Well, he imagined he couldn’t leave her down here, passed out on the sofa. The way she was sleeping in a practically upright position couldn’t be good for her neck and back. And he hated to wake her up when she was so obviously exhausted. Which left just one option.

  Before he could talk himself out of it (because surely he was about to do something stupid), he lifted her into his arms and hoisted her up against his chest.

  Bridal carry, not fireman, since he knew that was her preference.

  Moving as slowly as he could, he made his way up the steps. Her head lulled onto his shoulder, and in her sleep, she tucked her cold little nose into the crook of his neck like it belonged there.

  And the weird part? It felt like it did belong there, which should’ve scared the crap out of him. But it didn’t.

  He hadn’t had a relationship since he’d gotten sober. He’d just never felt ready. When emotions and drama were high, that’s when an addict was most likely to relapse. And in his experience, emotions and drama were always high in relationships. The risk just hadn’t seemed worth it.

  Something told him that emotions and drama in a relationship with someone like Kendall would be especially high, and yet, there was something about her that woke up his long-dormant dating drive.

  Among other drives, of course. Ahem.

  She murmured something in her sleep, and he felt her lips part against his neck. The feel of those soft, warm lips at his throat shot straight to his dick, which went from semi-hard to full mast at an alarming speed. The sudden loss of blood to his brain made him a little lightheaded.

  He forced himself to think of anything and everything unsexy—dead puppies, that time he walked in on his grandparents having sex, day-old roadkill, Katy Perry music—to get himself under control as he made his way into Kendall’s room and gently laid her down on the bed.

  The second her back hit the mattress, she snuggled into the comforter and sighed a deep, contented sigh that made him smile.

  “Oh, Jackson, yes,” she whispered on a moan that reached down, grabbed his balls, and gave them a good, hard squeeze.

  Fuuuucccckkkkk.

  So much for getting himself under control.

  She’s off limits. She’s off limits. She’s off limits. She’s. Off. Limits.

  Jackson repeated the mantra in his head as he grabbed an extra blanket from the closet and gently tucked her into bed. He kept repeating it as he slid her glasses off and put them on the nightstand. Then he repeated it again as he backed toward the door, careful not to notice how the shaft of moonlight streaming in through the bay window sifted through her golden curls and brushed over her delicate cheekbones like a…

  He gave himself a sharp mental kick in the nuts to stop that train of thought. Jesus, he was starting to sound like a lunatic, even in his own head.

  Time to put up some emotional shields and remind himself (and his dick) that he wasn’t ever going to get the chance to be anything more than Kendall’s client.

  He just wasn’t sure which part of him was going to resent that more—his dick or his heart. It was a tossup at this point.

  Chapter 10

  “Wakey, wakey,” a disgustingly cheerful voice crowed in her ear.

  Kendall groaned and shoved Ray’s face away from her head. “Go away. It’s not even morning yet.”

  He yanked her covers off, causing her to screech in outrage and toss a few creative death threats his way.

  Ray laughed out loud as she sat up and hurled her pillow at him. She wasn’t wearing her glasses, though, so she couldn’t be sure the projectile had found its target. It might’ve missed entirely for all she knew. That’d suck.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” she groused, squinting at him. “It’s still dark. Why are you here?”

  The Ray-shaped blur at her bedside shifted a little, and a moment later, he gently placed her glasses on her face, then booped her nose with his fingertip. “It’s 5am, sunshine. This is when Jackson starts his day. He sent me to get you. If you hurry, there will be pancakes and bacon on your plate. If you don’t, I will eat every last scrap. I’m fucking starving.”

  Kendall narrowed her eyes at him. “Why are you so cheerful? You’re not a morning person. And you were out late last night. You shouldn’t be this happy.”

  “Sorry to disappoint, sugar plum, but I’m definitely a morning person today.”

  He looked entirely too smug for her liking. “Ugh. You got laid, didn’t you?”

  “Yep,” he said, making a popping sound on the p. “Hottest cowboy since Heath Ledger. He was very enthusiastic. And athletic. I might’ve pulled a few muscles.”

  Kendall knew she should’ve gone out with Ray last night. Then maybe she would’ve found a hot cowboy to ride instead of having X-rated dreams about her new client.

  And man-oh-man, had those dreams been X-rated.

  Her favorite (because, yes, there had been several) involved him pinning her down on the bed on her stomach with a firm hand around her throat while he slid into her—torturously slow—from behind, teasing and tormenting her until she broke, screaming his name.

  S
he’d woken up tangled in the sheets, sweating, breathing heavy, desperate, with wet panties and a decidedly empty feeling.

  Which reminded her that she’d left her vibrator in LA. In Kyle’s townhouse. Along with all her other stuff.

  If these dreams kept up, she’d have to go on Amazon and get a new vibrator. With overnight delivery, because fuck waiting.

  Or you could just ride Jackson. Pretend he’s a life-sized vibrator.

  Kendall shut that wayward thought down with a quickness. After all, she’d been the one to make a big deal about how she wasn’t unprofessional enough to sleep with her clients. And still…

  There’d been a moment or two last night when she was sure his gaze had dropped to her lips, and that his eyes had darkened with lust. They were fleeting moments, but she was fairly certain her poor, orgasm-starved body hadn’t imagined them.

  Ray’s nose wrinkled up. “Ew. You’re fantasizing about my brother, aren’t you?”

  Her eyes widened. “I am not,” she lied, injecting as much you’re fucking crazy into her tone as possible.

  He made a face like he’d just taken a big whiff of thick, chunky, sour milk. “I’m Jackson Hale’s brother. Do you think I don’t know what it looks like when one of my friends is thinking about fucking him? It happened to me my whole life. I recognize the signs.”

  She should’ve known better than to think she could ever hide anything from Ray. “OK,” she hissed, her tone low. “Yes, I’ve had some impure thoughts.” Really, really impure. Like, bordering on porn-y. “But I’m dealing with it. He’s attractive, OK?” All hail Kendall Quinn, the Queen of Understatement. “I’m only human. I’m not going to let anything happen, though. You don’t have to worry. I won’t mess up his chances at a comeback.”

  His expression softened. “Oh, Pooh Bear. I’m not worried about Jack’s career. I know you can help him. I’m worried about you. You’re on the rebound, and everything’s kind of up in the air for you right now. I just don’t want to see you rush into anything and get hurt.”

  Neither did she. She obviously wasn’t in a relationship-y place right now, and even a friends-with-benefits situation was probably more than she could emotionally handle. “Don’t worry about me,” she assured him. “I can control myself.”

  He raised a brow at her. “Tell me that again after you see what he does here all day.”

  Well, that sounded ominous. But come on. What could he possibly do all day that would make it harder for her to control herself around him?

  He rescued dogs. The motherfucker rescued dogs! He had that face, that body, that voice, and he rescued dogs.

  It just wasn’t fair!

  At this point, the only thing that would make him unfuckable would be if he hurt kids or old people, or was a Jon Mayer fan or something. And since none of that seemed likely, Kendall was left with the very real possibility that she had found the perfect man, and she couldn’t fuck him. She’d even made a big hairy deal about how it would never happen.

  Gah! Why was this her life?

  He cooked, too, as it turned out. He was too busy to cook all three meals every day, which was why he’d hired Florence. But watching him flip pancakes had been almost pornographic.

  With Ray sitting right there, she’d had to fan herself with her napkin and pretend that the sight of Jackson cooking, then loading the dishwasher when he was done, wasn’t making her wet.

  And now, just when she was sure—freaking sure—that there was absolutely nothing that could make Jackson more attractive to her, she sees this.

  Since this was Montana and she’d enjoyed more than a few Westerns in her day (Young Clint Eastwood was stupid hot, OK? Don’t judge), Kendall had assumed Jackson was running a cattle ranch. But the giant, tens-of-acres, fenced-in area behind the multiple outbuildings that housed equipment, supplies, and lodging for farm hands was full of rescue dogs.

  Big dogs, small dogs, three-legged dogs, blind dogs, puppies, seniors…holy crap, Kendall had never seen so many dogs. And they all looked so happy as they romped and frolicked and laid in the sun that she couldn’t help but laugh. These did not look like the homeless dogs she was used to seeing on ASPCA commercials.

  Beyond the fenced area, there were multiple rows of dog pens. But these were no ordinary pens. Within each pen, there was a patch of grass and what looked like one of those tiny houses the young urban hipsters were so enamored with. It would seem that each dog had their very own home, complete with a fenced-in yard.

  “The dogs play and interact with each other during the day,” Jackson said as they walked past a row of dog housing. “The ones who need it also get vet care and training. Then at night, they retire to their individual houses.”

  Kendall pressed her face up against one of the tiny house’s windows. “Holy crap! There’s a couch in there!”

  Jackson chuckled. “Of course, there is. What’s a home without a couch to curl up on? They’re also heated and air- conditioned. The weather out here is unpredictable, so we needed to make sure they were protected from the elements. Straw bedding and concrete floors like you find in most of the shelters out here wasn’t going to cut it.”

  She shook her head, absolutely amazed. “What made you decide to do this? It’s kind of an odd choice for a retired rock star.”

  “I’ve always been more comfortable around dogs than people,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “They don’t want anything from you but your love. Every dog deserves a forever home, and I was in a position to help. So I did.”

  He said it like what he was doing was no big deal. Like anyone would’ve done the same thing. But she couldn’t think of a single client she’d ever had who would do this much, spend this much, without getting anything in return.

  “This seriously must’ve cost a fortune,” she murmured. “How were you able to afford all this?”

  “Did you miss the part where my genius brother is an accountant? He took good care of my Maelstrom money and made a bunch of really smart investments. Every dog here has Ray to thank. This would be an unrealized dream if not for him.”

  “But it was your dream,” she reminded him. “None of this would’ve happened without you, either.”

  He shrugged, but didn’t seem to agree with her. How strange, she thought. He had to be the most humble rock star she’d ever met. Maybe that’s what hitting rock bottom did for you—made you appreciate what you have even more.

  When they came to the back row of houses, Kendall noticed a dog that wasn’t out with the others. He was a big dog, maybe eighty pounds, if she hadn’t missed her guess. Some kind of mastiff mix, perhaps? He had a short brindle coat and big, brown eyes that looked so sad. Kendall felt a lump forming in the back of her throat. He was all by himself, wedged under the front porch of his tiny house like he was trying to disappear. Her heart immediately went out to him.

  “Why isn’t he with the other dogs?” she asked.

  Jackson frowned. “That’s Howard Hughes. He’s been here about two weeks. Won’t budge from under that porch except to eat, and even then, he’ll only eat when no one else is around. No one is sure what his history is. Dog catcher in Jasper picked him up and he was deemed un-adoptable, so he was on the kill list. We keep tabs on all the shelters in the state and automatically pick up the ones on the kill lists, so he was only there for a day or so before we got him. But based on his behavior, we’re guessing he was abused.”

  Kendall could practically feel her blood pressure rising with her outrage. “What the fuck is wrong with people? Who could hurt a dog this bad? It’s not right. People like that should be locked in kill shelters, not dogs.”

  It occurred to Kendall that there were several parallels between this sad, lonely dog’s life and her own at the moment. Homeless, abandoned, and betrayed, only to be taken in by a kind stranger.

  How pathetic was that?

  For her, of course. Not the dog. Because best she could tell, this place was dog heaven. Howard Hughes might not realize it, but
he’d hit the doggy lotto when Jackson got ahold of him.

  “No, it isn’t,” he agreed. “But that’s why we do this. There’s no such thing as a bad dog. They all deserve a second chance, and we’re going to give it to them.”

  The conviction in his voice was inspiring. He was inspiring. And hot. His chest was doing things to that light blue Henley that should be illegal.

  But that was beside the point.

  She fanned her face with her hand. “Is it OK if I come back and visit Howard some time? Bring him his food or a toy or something?”

  He looked surprised, but nodded. “Yeah, that’s fine. He hasn’t shown any signs of aggression. He’s just apprehensive, mostly. And maybe a little depressed. Some company might do him good. We’ve tried to give him some extra attention, but it’s kind of crazy around here sometimes.”

  It totally was. By her count, they had at least twenty employees milling around, caring for the dogs and cleaning up their pens and common areas. “Do you guys do any fund- raising events, or anything to raise awareness of your cause?”

  “Not much. We have adoption events every other week. Sometimes one of the guys makes up flyers and puts them up around town, or out on their Facebook pages. That’s about it. Word-of-mouth is good around here, though. Everyone within a few hundred miles of here knows this is the place to come if you want to rescue a dog.”

  His rescue was a social media blank, just like Jackson, she realized. If she played her cards right, she could land Jackson the soundtrack gig he wanted, and get every dog in this place adopted within a month.

  He frowned at her. “There’s something about your smile that makes me nervous.”

  She laughed. “Why would a smile make you nervous?”

  “Because yours looks like the Grinch’s right about the time he said he had a plan to steal Christmas.”

  Her smile widened. “Well, we’re not going to steal Christmas, but we’re probably going to steal a few million hearts.”