by Zoe Lee
“If you have the stamina,” Seth interjected in his easiest, slowest drawl, smiling, his heart pounding and his body reviving even though he’d thought he was totally satisfied.
“—Seth, ssh,” Astrid laughed, not in the least flustered or thrown off by him. “If you listen to the entire album, if you can wait through the silence and understand that it’s there to spark your curiosity and draw you in closer, then… then you get that hidden track. And it’s beautiful. It’s life changing, mind altering, and safe. It will make you dance and love.”
Swiping her hand across her forehead, the journalist giggled, “Whew, that’s romantic as hell.”
Completely serious still, Astrid nodded. “Yes, it’s absolutely romantic.”
The song switched over to an upbeat pop song with dirty lyrics, and Seth stood up slowly, stretching out his lean body with Astrid’s eyes locked onto it. “Will you excuse us? There are only a few things in heaven and earth better than dancing with Astrid.”
“I’m just going to sit here and try not to text my ex,” she mumbled, waving them off.
“Poor girl,” Astrid lamented as she turned into Seth’s arms, their fingers intertwining over his heart. “She’s based in Seattle. Do you know anyone there we can introduce her to?”
Twirling her out and then back in so that her shoulder blades and ass collided with his ribs and thighs, Seth chuckled. “Darlin’, did you just hijack a journalist at the release party for my friends’ album we recorded at my studio to promote me?”
“Sweetheart, your friends will all get time and consideration by deejays, other artists, and industry workers, and they’ll be fairly judged. That’s so very much more of a chance than most artists—including you when you started out—get,” Astrid said, both complimenting him and soothing him, and he hummed and dipped his lips to kiss the corner of her mouth. “So, yes, if I can entice a colleague with a keen human interest angle…”
Giving in, Seth laughed, low and intimate, and wound his arms around her until there was no space worth mentioning between his front and her back, their hips rolling in tandem.
One song spun into the next and nearly everyone was dancing, except for people sneaking out or taking quick breathers to grab another drink. Since this was a private party at a business, there was no last call, so Seth kept Astrid in his arms and danced with her until everyone had slipped away or fallen asleep on the comfortable furniture. There were empty bottles and cups strewn all over, a few spills to deal with later, and an impressive number of notifications on his cell for social media about the label, the album and the party tonight.
Before he caught up with Astrid at the exit, he stopped in the middle of the old factory, just about where he’d belted out Hedda’s favorite songs all those months ago. He tipped his head back and looked up, taking in a deep, peaceful breath, and then smiled. When he looked down again, Astrid was leaning on the open door, a stylish red jacket unbuttoned.
“You’re my soulmate, Astrid Sinclair,” he told her as he drew closer to her.
“Not my only soulmate, and not only my soulmate,” she affirmed, a raw belief which they softened by saying in an almost silly, cheesy way,“and I’m madly in love with you.”
She caught his tie with one hand and stroked up it with her other, then tugged gently until he obliged her, slicking his tongue over her bottom lip and then dipping into her mouth. The kiss was lazy and luxurious, the heat banked without regret or impatience because they both knew there would always be time to let it roar into a bonfire again.
Seth slid his hands up her from hips to breasts, then traced her necklace to the anyolite rock nestled between her breasts. It was green and purple and Seth had given it to her as a symbol of his commitment, of their two selves intermixing without losing their individual colors. I’ll be the green, steady as the earth, and you’ll be the purple, bright as the galaxy.
“Take me home,” Astrid sighed, then smiled crookedly as she walked backwards, hips swaying seductively, “where I can strip off your quite sexy suit and touch your anyolite.”
Instinctively, he ran his fingers over his own rock, which was a flat disk, watching her eyes sparkle and her breasts begin to rise and fall quicker at the possessive gesture.
“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, without a trace of insolence, like the promise it was.
The End
Acknowledgements
Thank you first to my husband for being proud of me and for being so in sync that we’d be the best musical duo… if I could sing at all.
Thank you to my dad, who used his lifetime of poetry skills to make sure my song lyrics aren’t totally awful.
Thank you to my mom and Candace, for listening to me rhapsodize about how Seth deserved the perfect woman, then complain I couldn’t write her.
Thank you to Emilie for a thousand things, like fashion advice and encouragement about basically everything, but also for this gorgeous cover and of the teasers and graphics.
Thank you to my beta readers (you need a team name), my husband while he was wearing his editor hat, and the lovely women who helped me with all the nerve-wracking business stuff, especially Colleen and Natasha.
Thank you to all of the bloggers and readers who have made my day by sharing and reviewing this book and all my others. It means so much more than I can say to be seen and read. If you enjoyed this book, please take the time to review it; you wouldn’t believe how much it encourages me.
About the Author
Zoe has published several romance novels on Kindle, believing that all love stories deserve to be told. She has traveled the world, and though many places have a hold of her heart, Colorado is currently home. She is married to a charming idiot of a man, who is also her editor sometimes, and mother to a fantastic and spritely sometimes unicorn.
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A PREVIEW OF POUR YOUR HEART OUT
Chase
Chase Cade slid into her rental car, a white Audi convertible, and caressed the steering wheel in delight. She hadn’t driven in months, so she drove away from the W Washington DC carefully. But as soon as she was out of the capital headed west, she pushed play on her most energetic playlist. With every mile and every rollicking, upbeat song, the lingering stress from her trip to the Middle East blew out into the summer air and was gone.
When her cell rang five hours later, she answered and shouted, “I’m in a convertible!”
“That would explain why it sounds like you’re in a tornado,” her best friend Sunny said.
After three weeks with a tour group where everyone else had a significant other or friend, Chase was so happy to hear Sunny’s deadpan wit again that she laughed at that.
“Since you’re in a convertible and not an airplane, does that mean you got my present?”
“You’ve gotten me a lot of random presents over the years, but a one-hour massage at a spa in someplace called Maybelle, Virginia, has to be the most random,” Chase told her.
Sunny chuckled. “Yeah, but you’re intrigued, right?”
“All of your travel suggestions so far have been amazing, so, yeah.”
“Before I explain, how was the Middle East?”
Her shoulders rose and fell in a shrug even though Sunny obviously couldn’t see. “The sites were so damn beautiful, but I got a little lonely,” she admitted.
“That’s not what I expected,” Sunny returned after a grunt of surprise. “You’ve been having so much fun traveling and making connections with new people, being all social.”
“I know, but I think having a lonely three weeks, out of the six months I’ve been traveling, is still a pretty good track record,” Chase countered with the optimism she’d rebuilt since she’d quit her job as a corporate lawyer and started to travel the world.
“Absolutely,” Sunny affirmed immediately. “And Maybelle is going to b
e a great place to forget all about the buttholes in your tour group who didn’t see your awesomeness.”
Chase burst into laughter so hard her foot lifted off the gas for a second. “What’s so special about this county in Virginia then? You’re a California city girl through and through.”
“First off, it was founded by a Civil War widow with three daughters,” Sunny started enthusiastically. “It was all farming until a trucking company started up, but then fifteen years ago, Maybelle got into the tourism industry. There’s three freshwater lakes—”
“Sunny,” Chase interrupted, fighting snickers. “I’m already driving there, you don’t really have to sell me on it. Just tell me how you know about it, and why you want me to go.”
“The spa is in a La Fontaine resort. That pint-sized graphic designer I’ve been seeing told me about it while we were at that luncheon, the one with the amazing cream puffs.”
“Before, when you were reading me the Wikipedia entry,” she teased, “I was into the story of the fading rural town that leverages local beauty to make it thrive again. Now I’m really excited though. Forget the revived-by-tourism thing, that happens all over the world. But there are only six five-star La Fontaine resorts in the world, and I’m going to one!”
There was a noise that Chase recognized as Sunny smacking her palm into her forehead. “Yes, get the massage. That’s why I bought it. But don’t just hole up in the resort. It’s almost the 4th of July and you’ll be in a cute southern tourist town. Listen to live music, sit on a beach, write some fluffy blog entries for me and your family to enjoy.”
While Sunny’s tone was light, Chase knew she was offering real advice too.
Ten years ago, Chase had really wanted to be a corporate lawyer, and she had achieved the goal with single-minded focus. But her coveted job at Ingelson & Barnes in Silicon Valley and her boyfriend Troy, who had his own coveted job at Sharpe, Sharpe & Teller, hadn’t brought her satisfaction, no matter how hard she’d worked on it.
Six months past it and three thousand miles away, it was much easier to shake off those regrets, especially while she zipped down a highway talking to her very best friend. She was going to Maybelle County, where she’d have new chances and experiences. Her regrets weren’t big or fresh enough to dampen her enthusiasm for more than a minute.
“You’re so right,” she finally declared.
“Great, because I have to get on a conference call in three minutes,” Sunny told her, “and now I have enough time to tell you the other thing I heard about Maybelle. It’s not exciting to me, but it’s going to be so good for you. This county is full to the rafters with hot men.”
Chase gave an exaggerated groan. “I’m not traveling so that I can see hot men!”
“No, but if you haven’t had at least one vacation fling yet, you’re missing out.” And then, before Chase could argue with her assertion, she sang out, “Gotta go, love you, bye.”
Snorting, Chase shook her head and turned up her music again, enjoying the simple pleasure of driving and singing loudly where no one could hear her.
Only a few songs later, she saw the Welcome to Maybelle sign.
She pushed her sunglasses up into her hair as she took the exit, so she wouldn't miss any details. Farmland shifted to intentional, well-kept neighborhoods, the lots smaller and the houses fancier as she neared the center of town, everything decorated for the 4th of July later this week. When she saw Maybelle Square, which took up a block and had a large gazebo in one corner and a booth with a Tourist Info sign on it, she parked nearby. Tourist Info offices were sometimes less than helpful, but Chase always made it a point to start there if she was exploring someplace without a tour group. It helped her make connections, and she was good at reading faces, so she learned a lot more about a place.
After she stretched, she rushed towards the booth and pulled on a beaming smile. It was still a mask, just like the prescription-free glasses she’d worn as a lawyer. But every time she used it, it became a tiny bit less of a mask and a tiny bit more of a natural expression. Once, when she was an aimless freshman in college, she’d beamed and laughed and flirted all the time, without feeling any stress or nerves, easy and free and natural. But now, she had to work on it all, fight her way back to her old, organic self.
So when she reached the booth, Chase greeted the old lady under an umbrella, her leathery arms folded on the counter and her bosom in her lap, “Hello. I know it’s last minute, but is there a room available in town?”
The old lady’s eyes slid down, measuring her.
She knew her outfit was too snotty, so she added, amping up the beam a little bit, “I saw the low-budget hotels on the highway, but I’m planning to stay a week and I’d love to stay someplace with a warm feel to it.”
“The Orchid Hotel, just there behind me, and the five-star resort are sold out,” the old lady said, but relented after Chase looked at her hopefully. “You might try the Dogwood Inn,” she suggested, her face softening further as Chase beamed again. “Would you like me to call?” After Chase nodded, she used the tip of a thick red marker to dial. “Hey, Jesse,” she asked, “you got anything starting tonight, for about a week?” She hummed an affirmative, a negative, and two affirmatives before she told Chase, “They only have the gable room, and it’s in the middle of being repainted. She’ll discount it to $149 a night.”
“Does it smell like turpentine?” The old lady repeated the question and Chase could make out an indignant squawk before the old lady shook her head no. “Then I’ll take it.”
The old lady hung up after another brief, mumbled exchange. “They’re holding it for you under Tourist Information until six,” she explained. “After six, they’ll give it away if someone else wants it, on account of it being such a busy time of year.”
“I’ll be on time, I promise.” With another nod, Chase pointed at the maps stacked under the old lady’s arms. “Can I have one? And is there anywhere you recommend I go?”
The old lady uncapped the big red marker and started to mark up the top map on her stack as she gave her speech. “The star is us here. The stores on the Square and on the backside of those stores there are the most popular for visitors. The three lakes are down these two roads; this blue dot is the public beach. There are a few restaurants and things up here, but that’s a little ways from the downtown. This exclamation point is the Dogwood Inn. The drive is almost hidden, so you be careful and watch for the sign.”
“This is great,” Chase praised her as she whisked the map up. “Thank you so much.”
“Not at all,” the old lady replied. “Enjoy your stay, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” Chase said again, too amused to be annoyed by being called ma’am.
She strolled across the street to the shops that bordered two sides of the square, which had matching blue-and-buff striped awnings. All of the doors were propped open with decorative statues, vintage lamp posts waiting to be lit up against a wide-open night sky on the other edge of the broad sidewalk. Chase usually wasn’t charmed by constructed warmth, but she stopped outside of Honey’s Salon when a chorus of laughter burst through the open doors. When she peeked through the window, she caught her reflection in it and saw her yearning to be in there, laughing boisterously too.
But it was almost five-thirty, so she headed straight for the Dogwood Inn, north of downtown. She kept her eyes peeled for the sign the old lady at the Tourist Info booth had said was easy to miss. It was discreet, although the inn was a white-washed, three-story Greek revival whose porch supported six Doric columns—not easy to miss.
She parked in the gravel lot behind it and took in the grounds. Acres of open land dotted by black willow trees kept the inn private, while the vegetable, flower, and herb gardens that had been planted haphazardly made the vista charming.
Glad that she was staying here, she got her things and walked into the inn’s foyer.
“Shit!” yelped a startled black man on a tall ladder, grabbing hold of the molding
he was repainting as the ladder listed. “I apologize, ma’am; I didn’t mean to curse,” he said as he climbed nimbly down the ladder. “How can I help you?” he asked.
“I like that. Everyone here asks how they can help.” She offered him a cheeky smile. “I don't know if it can be considered helping, but I have a reservation under Tourist Information.”
Nodding, he crossed to the reception desk and slipped behind it, fumbling around with the computer as he muttered, “I don't usually do this part, but Jesse—the manager, who's normally at the desk—stepped out for some last-minute dinner supplies. Shallots,” she swore he muttered, but she couldn't be sure as she suppressed a grin. “To confirm, your reservation is for six nights in the South Gable with a rate of $149 a night plus tax.”
“Yep,” she chirped, handing over her driver’s license and credit card.
“Someone did explain that the room’s being redecorated?” he followed up.
“Sure did. I don’t mind as long as there’s not an awful smell?” she double-checked.
“No, no, nothing like that,” he reassured her. He waited until she nodded again before he went to work slowly on the computer, frowning in concentration. She peeked into the formal parlor and empty study that flanked the large foyer until he said, sounding relieved, “There we go. So you'll go through the study, take the stairs to the third floor, and your room will be just to your right. Breakfast is included in your rate and is served from five-thirty to nine. The dining room is open for dinner on Friday and Saturday from five to nine-thirty. There’s always coffee in the parlor. Do you have any questions?”
She smiled as she accepted the actual key he held out, charmed by its size and weight. “Thank you for all of your help and I'm sorry I scared you on the ladder, Mr. ...?”