by Cynthia Eden
“I’m an asshole.”
Oh, wow. Impressive. It was good that he knew that and admitted it.
“I’m not an easy boss.”
In the spirit of fairness, she said, “Hathway told me that. He said you can be a real bastard.”
Now Bran’s lips twitched. “Yet you still took the job?”
“I think you’re incredibly talented.” That was actually true. The man knew his music.
Instead of her praise working to charm him, Bran’s features hardened. “Don’t buy into the hype.”
It wasn’t hype. He probably had a closet full of awards and platinum records, and every concert the man had was a sold-out show.
He scraped a hand over the stubble on his jaw. “I’m moody.”
She nodded. Again, Hathway had told her about that personality trait. She thought the manager had been exceedingly honest. But her attention wasn’t really on the manager. Her focus was on Bran.
He had a cute little cleft in his chin. One that she would not ever think about licking. Whoops, wait. Just did.
“I work crazy hours. Stay up until dawn some nights. Sleep days away. When inspiration hits, I don’t stop.”
“I can work around your schedule.” She would do it.
“I demand complete confidentiality from all my employees. Whatever happens in this cabin, you will never be able to tell anyone about it.”
“I’ve already signed the confidentiality agreement.” Total truth. She had signed it. Hathway had insisted. It wasn’t the first time she’d had to sign one of those agreements while on a protection detail for the rich and famous. Celebs tended to treasure their secrets and guard them at all costs.
His head cocked. “Are you good at keeping secrets?”
You have no idea. “Yes.”
Another bolt of lightning lanced across the sky, easily seen through all of the house’s front windows. She started counting in her head, knowing the thunder would follow soon…
One.
Two.
Three.
Four…
“Do you have secrets, Julia Slate?”
The thunder boomed. “Everyone has secrets.” Hers were just particularly dark and disturbing. Most people couldn’t handle her secrets. That was okay. She didn’t enjoy sharing about her life.
“Can I trust you?”
His question didn’t make her hesitate. “Absolutely.” He could trust her to keep him safe. That was her job. As far as everything else was concerned…
“Julia, I’m afraid you can’t trust me.”
Now she studied him with sharper attention. She could hear the rain as it fell onto the roof.
“Don’t ever let me get too close to you. Don’t ever let your guard down around me.”
“Why?”
His lips twisted, but the humor never touched his eyes. “Haven’t you read the stories? I break the hearts of sweet women like you. I destroy them, and I leave pain in my wake.”
“I’m not sweet.” It would be the only warning she gave him. Since he’d warned her, she thought perhaps he deserved the warning, too.
In response, Bran laughed. It sounded like a real laugh, too. All sexy and rumbling and strong, and it warmed her a little bit, deep inside. In the spot that always seemed to be cold. That had been cold ever since a white-hot blaze had nearly destroyed her life and left her with ashes.
For a moment, she looked at him. Sexy Bran Copper. The guy who’d come from nothing to make himself into one of the most successful musicians of all time. The guy who loved danger, the most beautiful women he could find, and the roar of the crowds.
Only there were no roaring crowds surrounding him in that moment. There was no danger. It was just the two of them.
And he didn’t seem at all the way she’d expected him to be.
“Why don’t you let me put your bag in your room for you?”
She clutched the bag a little tighter. “I’ve got it.”
A shrug. “Then dump it in the bedroom and come back. I’ve got dinner ready, and there is more than enough for two.”
Dinner? He was offering her his dinner? That did not play with the rich asshole rocker persona.
“Why the suspicious look?” He turned away, heading toward the kitchen that waited a few feet away. A kitchen that a gourmet chef would envy. “My gumbo is the best you’ll ever taste.”
For a moment, she caught a hint of the south in his voice, the whisper of his native Louisiana.
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “If you’re staying, you’ll have to stop that.”
Stop what? Oh, jeez, had he caught her staring at his ass? It had only been for one moment. One quick glance down because he filled out those jeans so very well. No, it hadn’t been professional. She wouldn’t make the mistake again and—
“You’ll have to stop being afraid of me.”
Um. She wasn’t.
So why is my heart racing so fast? Why was she gripping the handle of her bag so tightly? This was not like her at all.
I’m playing a role. That’s all. Acting for him. Except her acting felt very, very real.
Crazy.
“I won’t bite,” Bran assured her.
She swallowed. The visual that popped in her head with his words was just—
She spun on her heel. “I’ll put my bag in the guest room and meet you in the kitchen.”
His warm laughter followed her. The man had barely let her in the front door, and now he was laughing at her. Obviously, she was off to a killer start.
Julia rushed into the first bedroom she found. It looked like a guest room. Had a queen-sized bed—a gleaming, brass four poster bed. The bed was covered with soft-looking quilts. A desk waited in the right corner, and a small dresser—with an attached mirror—was on the left. Julia kicked the door closed and yanked her phone from the bag.
Her text was fast and to the point.
I’m inside, and I’m staying. 24/7. He’ll go nowhere without me.
A moment later, the phone dinged as she received a response from her partner.
Of course, you’re in. How could he possibly refuse you?
With a roll of her eyes, Julia shoved the phone into her back pocket. She squared her shoulders, and she got ready to do her job…Guard Bran Copper. Whether he wanted the protection or not.
***
Someone was in the cabin with him.
The woman had walked right to the front door, a bag in her hand. The driver had spit her out of his car and left, never looking back. The woman had known Bran would let her inside.
And he had.
He’d stood at the doorway, spoken to her for only the briefest of moments, then he’d let her stroll inside.
A new lover? Had to be. She was in his cabin. The storm was raging, and they were alone together.
Bran would keep her for the night. When the sun rose, he’d toss her out, the way he always tossed out his lovers when he was done with them. She’d be picked up in the morning, and Bran would be alone again. When he was alone…
That’s when you’ll pay.
There was no sense staying out in the rain. Better to leave now. Plan an attack for the next day. An innocent woman didn’t need to get caught in the crossfire. She was simply another lovesick fool who was being used and tossed aside. She could go free when dawn came.
Then Bran—the fucking bastard—he could burn.
Chapter Two
“That smells really good.”
Bran spun around, a start of surprise running through him. He hadn’t heard so much as a rustle behind him. The woman moved like a damn ninja.
Her delicate brows arched over the frames of her glasses. Cute glasses. Black glasses that perched on her small, adorable nose.
Get your shit together, man.
“Did I scare you?” She put a hand to her chest.
No, do not even think of letting your gaze drop to her chest.
Instead of dropping to her chest, his gaze fell to her mouth. Her
bow-shaped, red lips. A mouth that seemed made for sin, and he should know. After all, he was the reputed king of sin. There was so much he could get her to do with that mouth…
Your shit is not together. “You didn’t scare me. I just didn’t hear you come in, that’s all.” It would take a whole lot more than a surprise visitor to scare him. Especially a visitor like her. “Hell, what are you, like, five-foot tall?” She was small—curved but still delicate—and he was pretty sure a strong wind would knock her down.
As if on cue, wind and rain pounded into the windows.
The storm had been the reason he’d let her inside. What kind of cold-hearted bastard turned away a woman on a stormy night? Even he wasn’t that much of an asshole. At least, not yet, he wasn’t. Though he was certainly well on his way to being the worst SOB in the land.
“I’m five feet three inches tall.” She straightened her shoulders. As if that would magically make her appear taller.
He stepped closer to her. Her head tipped back. She was…hell, the word that kept flashing through his mind was delicate. He could pick her up so easily. Carry her. Fuck her while she wrapped her legs around him. He’d have to be careful not to hurt her, not to bruise her when he got too rough because he was betting that gorgeous skin of hers would be—
“Why are you looking at me that way?” Her pretty, pink tongue snaked out and licked along her lower lip.
“I’m thinking about fucking you.”
She laughed. Her head tilted back even more as her blonde hair trailed over her shoulders. “That is hilarious.”
Why? Bran glowered. He’d been dead serious.
Julia pointed to herself. “Don’t tease, okay? I’m not here so you can make fun of me.”
He hadn’t been making fun of her. He wouldn’t make fun of her. For some odd-ass reason, he had the desire to kick the ass of anyone who’d ever made fun of her.
“I’m not a super model. I’m not some fancy heiress with a million followers on social media.” She gave a light, mocking laugh. “Followers who want to see me pouting my lips and being naked—”
Yeah, great, now he wanted to see her pouting her lips and being naked. Definitely wanted to see that.
“And I’m not some famous actress. I mean, weren’t you hooked up with Gwen Soloman a while back?”
Now his eyes narrowed.
But she gave him an expression of sympathy. “Sorry. I heard that break-up was hard. That you went a little crazy.” Julia winced. “One of those…if I can’t be with you, no one can things?”
“Hardly.” With a rough exhale, he turned back to his gumbo. “For the record, Gwen is a great woman. She’s involved with some bodyguard now and is happy as all hell. I wasn’t particularly thrilled with the break-up because Gwen was one of the few people I’d met who didn’t give a shit about my money or fame.” He grabbed a spoon and took a sample of his gumbo. Perfect. It had been on all day, just the way his grandmother used to prepare hers. The thing about gumbo…when you didn’t have a lot of money, you could survive on that feast for days. You put everything you had into the pot. You learned to improvise. You learned to like the heat and spice. Another sample on his spoon, and a moan slid from him. So fucking good. “That BS about me saying no one else could have Gwen? That was just the press, going wild as they usually do.”
Bran turned back to face Julia. Behind the lenses of her glasses, her dark eyes were huge. The woman truly had some gorgeous eyes. All deep, dark, and sexy. A man could stare into those eyes for hours. And the glasses—they just made her look even sexier. Smart and sexy.
She gave a little shake of her head. “You…ah, I thought you wrecked a hotel room after the break-up.”
He arched a brow. “Someone has been reading the tabloids too much.” He made a tut-tut sound.
“And I’m not supposed to believe everything I read.”
“Well, actually,” now he rolled his shoulders in a shrug, “you probably should believe that part because it’s true. The room was trashed. But I paid for the damages.”
Her lips parted. “Why did you trash the room?”
“Because I’m an asshole. Didn’t we cover that part?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I think you’re lying to me.”
“And are you good at telling when someone lies?”
“If you want the honest truth…yes.”
Then he’d have to be careful. “Come taste the gumbo.”
Rain pounded into the windows. Lightning flashed. She didn’t take a step forward.
“Ah, Julia…” He liked the way her name rolled from his tongue. “There you go again, acting like you’re scared of me.”
He turned away and reached for the bowl he’d put out for her. He put in the rice first, then ladled the gumbo on top. “Hathway did tell me you were coming, by the way. But I told him to contact you and tell you to turn around. Guess you didn’t get the message, huh? It’s okay, you can go back tomorrow.”
Now he heard her footsteps rush toward him. “You’re firing me already? But—but I thought you were letting me stay.” Her hand reached out and curled around his shoulder.
Her touch seemed to burn right through him. Huh. He’d wondered about that. When he’d shaken her hand earlier, he’d felt the same burn. One that pulsed through his whole body and made his over-eager dick stand up and salute.
Good thing he knew how to keep his dick in his pants. Despite what the tabloids said. He slowly spun toward her and lifted a spoonful of gumbo. “Have a taste.”
“But—”
“A taste.” What he wouldn’t give for a taste of her. But that wasn’t going to happen.
Her lips parted.
He slid the spoon toward her mouth. Once more, he noted that she had a gorgeous mouth. Her lips closed around the spoon. He could all too easily imagine those red lips closing around something else, and when she closed her eyes and let out a low, sensual moan…
I am so screwed.
He pulled the spoon back.
“That is really good.” Her eyes flared wide again. “You can cook?”
“You don’t have to sound so shocked.” That shit was insulting. “If I couldn’t make good gumbo, my grandmother would be rolling over in her grave.” The same grandmother who had spent such precious time taking him to Preservation Hall in New Orleans, back when he’d been a punk teen. On those trips, he’d learned to love Jazz. Learned to play music because one of the guys there had given him free lessons. Learned to get off the streets and get lost in songs.
And he’d gotten lost in those songs at exactly the right time. When his grandmother had died and he’d just been sixteen, music had saved him.
“I certainly wouldn’t want your grandmother to go rolling anywhere,” Julia told him, sounding so very serious.
Was she making a joke? Her face was smooth, and her gaze steady.
She smiled. A dimple on her left cheek winked at him. Sonofabitch. She was cute. She didn’t have two dimples. Just the one. Freaking adorable.
Her hand waved in front of him. “Are you okay? You just seemed to zone out on me.”
“That happens when I start thinking about songs,” he lied. “I get lost in my own head. Expect it to happen a lot.”
“Expect it to happen a lot…because you are going to let me stay? You’re not going to kick me out at dawn, are you? Because I have a contract.” A fierce nod. “I don’t want to have to sue you for breach of contract, but I will. I was thinking about this…I mean, I gave up a lot to come here. My old job, my apartment, and if you’re not going to give me a chance—”
“Do you want this gumbo?” He lifted the bowl in his hand.
“I want all of the gumbo. Definitely. One hundred percent.” She yanked it from him in a blink and sat down at the bar, swiveling a bit on the stool.
He grabbed a bowl and two waters and headed for the bar. He took the seat beside her as the storm kept raging. “Sorry I can’t offer you some wine to go with the gumbo, but that’s not an option here.
”
She glanced at him.
“Three years sober,” he heard himself say as he stared into her eyes. What the fuck? He shook his head. No, he had not just told one of his biggest secrets to a woman he’d just met.
“That’s something to be proud of,” she told him quietly.
He looked away. “So there’s no wine,” he rasped. “It’s a dry house. It’s—”
“You should tell the world, not keep something like that secret.”
Now he had to swallow. “You tell the world, and then you fail, and how does that make you look? I’ve been torn apart plenty, but this…this is for me, and me alone.” He forced himself to stare at her again. “Good thing you signed that confidentiality agreement, huh?”
Her head cocked as she studied him. “I…read about your motorcycle accident recently. The press said—”
He shoveled gumbo into his mouth. Savored it. Then muttered, “The press says plenty of BS. Despite what they’re claiming, I wasn’t drinking that night. My brakes just wouldn’t work. I couldn’t take the curve, I couldn’t slow down, and I jumped off the bike so I wouldn’t go over the edge of that ditch with my motorcycle.” He’d walked away with scrapes and bruises because he’d been extremely lucky, but the motorcycle had been totaled.
“I’m glad you’re okay.”
His lips hitched. “Me, too.” Sure beats being dead.
For a time, they ate in silence as the rain pounded down. It was strange. Usually, he didn’t like it when he was with someone and the silence stretched too long. Got all weird and awkward. It felt different with her. He didn’t feel like he had to talk. He could just sit there and, hell, something about her seemed to be soothing him.
Total bull of course. But…
“You can stay,” Bran mumbled.
She smiled at him.
Hell, for that smile, he might just have offered her anything. “What is your story, Julia Slate?”
She put down her spoon. The gumbo was gone. He should offer her another bowl. And he would…after he learned more about her.
“Didn’t you read my resume?” Julia asked him.