by Emery Rose
“What makes you cry?” she asked.
“I don’t cry.”
“What makes you want to cry?”
“Country music.” She laughed. “Animal cruelty. Child abuse. Circuses. Fucking clowns. I hate clowns. Zoos. They’re even sadder than circuses.”
“Why?”
“I hate the idea of animals being taken out of their natural habitat and being forced to live behind bars with people gawking at them.”
“Some zoos are nice. What about safaris? Do you have an issue with them?”
“Never been on one.” I eyed her phone on the counter as it buzzed with an incoming call. “Do you need to get that?”
She glanced at it then reached over and silenced it. “It’s my brother. He’ll leave a message.”
I watched her phone light up with incoming calls and messages. Her brother obviously didn’t like being ignored. She flipped it over, so I couldn’t see the screen.
“My manager is calling now too.” She let out a weary sigh, her shoulders slumping. “I really needed this break, you know?”
“A break from what?”
She shook her head a little and gave me her back, turning on the gas ring under the pot. The oil sizzled when she added the chicken thighs and spicy sausage she’d cut up earlier. “I just finished the first two legs of my world tour. It started in Singapore. I was in Asia for the first leg and Australia and New Zealand for the second. After this break, I’m headed to Europe. Then South America before I come back to the States. And I just wanted some down time to rest up. Touring takes a lot out of you. Mentally and physically.”
I joined her by the stove and leaned my hip against the counter, drinking my cold beer while I watched her cook. “Did your Maw Maw teach you how to cook?”
“Yep. She always said that food is love.” She smiled as she added the vegetables and the spices to her stew, guided by instinct instead of using measuring spoons. “I don’t get to do it too often. I hardly ever go to the grocery store anymore. Sometimes I miss doing all the little, normal things I used to do. I wrote so many songs in the laundromat. There was just something about sitting in a laundromat and watching the clothes spin around in the washing machine that got my creative juices flowing.”
“The price of fame. A girl can’t even sit in the laundromat anymore. Add that to my list of things that make me wanna cry.”
She laughed and added rice and chicken stock to the pot, stirring the ingredients with a wooden spoon. “I never wanted to be famous. I just wanted to make a living doing something I loved.” She glanced at me. “You want to hear a secret?”
“Hit me.”
“I’m petrified.”
“Of what?”
“This tour. Every time I go out on the stage, I’m worried they’ll figure out I’m a fraud. I’m not worth the money they spent on the tickets. I’m still that girl from the Louisiana Bayou. Sometimes I still wonder... why me? Why did I make it when there are thousands of great singers and musicians out there who will never get the opportunities I have?”
“I don’t know a damn thing about the music industry, but I suspect it’s like anything else. You got a lucky break but I’m guessing you put in a shitload of hard work to get where you are.”
She nodded. “We really did. Everyone called Acadian Storm an overnight success. Like we came out of nowhere and boom, we hit the big time with zero effort. They don’t think about all the years when we were working crap jobs and begging for gigs. We were flat broke, living in roach-infested apartments and surviving on pot noodle. And now... well, now I don’t have to worry about money.”
“Ride it for all it’s worth. When you stop enjoying the ride, then it’s time to walk away.”
“Walking away isn’t so easy.”
“Never is when it’s something you love.”
“You sound like you know something about that.”
“I was a rodeo cowboy for years. A bareback bronc rider. I loved it but I hated that I loved it.”
“Why?”
“It was a spectacle. Went against everything I believed in. Using horses for entertainment. I hated that I wore spurs. They’re dull, not sharp but that’s not the point. To get a good ride in, to score high, you have to mark out the horse as it leaves the chute. Dig your spurs into their shoulders,” I explained.
“So why did you do it?”
“Money. The rush of adrenaline. The cheers of the crowd,” I admitted. At the time, I’d needed that kind of validation, but it wasn’t something I’d readily admit. “I walked away a couple years ago. Lost my appetite for it. Just couldn’t do it anymore.”
“But you still feel guilty that you loved it.”
“A part of me does, yeah.”
Her gaze roamed down my body before it returned to my face. “I bet you were good at it.”
“One of the best.”
“Humble too.”
“There’s nothing wrong with admitting when you’re good at something.”
She added more chicken stock to the pot and continued stirring the rice with her wooden spoon. If I’d been hungry before, I was practically salivating now.
“What made you walk away?”
I shrugged one shoulder. “I wasn’t one of the best anymore.”
“So you liked the glory?”
“Loved it. And I’m a bad loser.”
She wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her arm, reminding me that this girl was slaving over a hot stove for me.
“Why don’t you have the air con on?”
“I grew up in the deep South in a house with no air conditioning. I don’t mind sweating. In fact, I kind of like it.”
I tossed our empties in the recycling bin and grabbed two more cold beers from the fridge. Flipping the caps off on the edge of the counter, I pressed the cold bottle against her flushed cheek. She moaned, the sound shooting straight to my dick.
“That feels so good.” She took the beer from my hand and held it to her forehead then clinked her bottle against mine. “Here’s to new beginnings and knowing when it’s time to walk away,” she said, and I got the feeling she wasn’t talking about her music career.
We drank to that and I watched her throat bob on a swallow, trying my damnedest not to think of all the things I wanted to do to her. When she lowered her bottle, her eyes locked onto mine. I moved closer and brushed the backs of my fingers along her jawline, noting the way her breath hitched at my touch.
“Brody,” she whispered, looking up at me from beneath her lashes.
“Hmm?”
She leaned into me, her tits pressed against my chest and I set my beer on the counter and wrapped my hand around the back of her head. Her full lips parted on a sigh as my other hand coasted down her side and settled on her hip.
Her smoky grays were at half-mast and she exhaled a shuddering breath. “It’s been so long.”
“Since what?” My thumb brushed the soft skin just above the waistband of her shorts.
“Since someone made me feel like I would die if they didn’t kiss me.”
She tipped her face up to mine. She was so fucking beautiful, and I had that same feeling I did the night we met. Like I’d been waiting all my life for her without even realizing it. “You want me to kiss you, Shiloh?”
“Do you need an invitation? What are you waiting for, Cowboy?”
My eyes lowered to her full, pillow-soft lips. She tugged her bottom lip between her straight white teeth and I didn’t know if it was a calculated move or not, but my dick got harder. “Whatever happened to being just friends?”
“We can still be friends,” she breathed out, her arms circling my neck, her fingers tugging on the ends of my hair. She smelled like jasmine. Sexy. Exotic. Intoxicating. Like her. “Good friends.”
“Yeah?” I framed her face in my hands and angled it up to mine.
“Yeah.” She swallowed. “I mean... it’s just a kiss, right?”
“Right.”
I dipped my he
ad and took my first taste of what felt like forbidden fruit. Sweet. Tempting. Completely off limits. I would never be the kind of guy a girl like Shiloh Leroux would settle for. Our worlds were light years apart.
But it was just a kiss and neither of us had any interest in a relationship.
Her lips parted, and I slid my tongue into her mouth. She sucked on it, eliciting a groan from me as my hands roamed over her tight little body, exploring her dips and curves and her firm, round ass. She kissed me back with an urgency and intensity that made me think it had been too long since she’d been kissed.
I pulled back to catch my breath and gave her ass a little squeeze. “I like your idea of just friends.”
“Shut up,” she growled, fisting my T-shirt in her hands and pulling me closer, erasing the tiny space between us. I laughed, and she shut me up with a kiss then sunk her teeth into my bottom lip before placing a gentle kiss on my mouth. I loved pain mixed in with my pleasure.
Gripping the backs of her thighs, I lifted her off the ground and she wrapped her legs around my waist, grinding her body against my erection. I spun us around and propped her on the countertop, our lips fused, my tongue exploring the depths of her mouth, my dick straining against the confines of my jeans. But I had no intentions of fucking her tonight.
I lifted the hem of her black tank top, my eyes on hers. She licked her kiss-swollen lips, her chest heaving as I slid the material up her body and bit the fleshy underside of her breast through the thin fabric of her white tank top. She arched her back, her fingernails digging into my shoulders. I sucked one of her nipples into my mouth, kneading her other breast with my hand and her hands moved to the back of my head, her fingers tugging on my hair as I bit and sucked her nipple. Her legs cinched tighter around my waist and she rocked her hips.
I released her breast and kissed her lips then pulled back to look at her. “Brody...” she whispered.
“Where’s that dinner you promised me?”
She stared at me for a moment then her eyes widened. “Oh shit. I forgot about the jambalaya.” She shoved me out of the way, slid off the counter and flew to the stove, waving the wooden spoon at me. “If it’s ruined, it’s all your fault.”
“How’s it my fault you can’t keep your hands off me?”
She snorted. “Oh please. You’ve got nothing on my big boy.”
Oh. She was asking for it now. “Your big boy kisses you like that?”
“I slide my big boy into my mouth and then I suck on it. Nice and hard.” She winked at me.
Fuck. She was teasing me, and it was working. My dick jumped in appreciation.
“What else do you do with your big boy?”
Without answering, she turned from the stove and shoved a plate of food at my chest. “Here’s your dinner, Cowboy. Eat up.”
“We’re eating on the porch.”
“Whatever you say.” She did a little curtsy. “I’m at your beck and call.”
How I’d love that. Somehow, I didn’t think that would be the case. The girl had too much fire in her to be at anyone’s beck and call. Fine by me. I loved a good challenge.
I carried my beer and my plate of food out to the porch. It was cooler out here than it was inside the house, the air scented with sweet pine and juniper, the last of the evening sun dipping into the lake. The lake was small, only took up two acres of land, but the water was cool and crystal clear bordered by cypress trees.
Fuck, I was hungry and not just for the food either. There was no table out here, so I set my beer on the arm of the Adirondack chair and without waiting for Shiloh, I took a bite of jambalaya. It was good. Really good.
R&B music piped from the portable speakers in the living room and the screen door slammed shut when she joined me on the porch and sat in the chair next to mine, tucking her legs underneath her.
“I forgot to add the shrimp,” she said, guiding a forkful of jambalaya to her mouth. She’d put her hair up again, exposing the column of her neck, her high cheekbones more pronounced.
“Good thing. Would have ruined it. This is good as it is.”
She smirked. “I gave you the burnt rice from the bottom of the pot. It was the least I could do.”
I laughed at her sass. It didn’t taste burnt to me. We ate in silence, and she didn’t try to fill it up with small talk which I appreciated. When we finished eating, I carried our plates and utensils to the kitchen, rejecting her offer to help. After I washed the dishes and stored the leftovers in the refrigerator, I grabbed two more beers and joined her on the porch. She moved her legs so I could pass then propped her bare feet on the banister again and thanked me for the beer.
When she caught me watching her, she wrapped her lips around her beer bottle and hollowed her cheeks. Jesus Christ. She laughed that dirty sexy laugh of hers which didn’t help matters one bit. I adjusted myself in my jeans and that made her laugh harder.
“You’re looking a little hot and bothered there, Cowboy.”
“Nah. I’m chill.” I took a swig of my beer and propped my booted feet next to hers on the banister. “Why? Are you hot and bothered?”
“Cool as a cuke.” A few minutes passed in silence, but I could almost hear her brain ticking over. “I have a proposition for you.”
I chuckled to myself. I had a feeling I knew what was coming. “Yeah? And what’s that?”
“I’ve changed my mind. Maybe a casual hookup... no strings attached... is exactly what I need right now.”
I eyed her. “So you want to use me for sex while you’re here?” She nodded, a smile on her lips. “Looking to save on batteries?”
She laughed. “Maybe. But it sounds like a good plan, right? I can be yours for the rest of the time I’m here. You just have to promise not to be with anyone else because that shit don’t fly with me. When it’s time for me to leave, we’ll go back to our regularly scheduled lives. No harm, no foul. How does that sound?”
“Too good to be true.”
“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”
I laughed. This girl. She had me up and down and sideways. I couldn’t get a read on her. Which shouldn’t be surprising. Horses, I could read. People confused the shit out of me. Too many mixed messages. Too many ulterior motives.
Shiloh wanted something from me, and it wasn’t just sex. I hadn’t figured out why she was here or what she wanted yet. But it was only a matter of time before the truth came out. It always did.
I patted my lap, testing how far she’d go to get what she wanted. “Come here.”
She lifted her chin. “I don’t take orders from any man.”
Color me surprised. “And I don’t chase after anyone.” I finished my beer and set it on the porch then stood up. Time to go. “Thanks for dinner. See you around, Shy.”
“Wait. You’re leaving? Just like that?”
“You know where to find me,” I called over my shoulder.
“Brody.”
I stopped at the bottom of the porch stairs and turned around to face her. She was standing on the top step, the glow of the porch light behind her giving her a halo effect. Shiloh belonged in a spotlight, was born to be a star. Only a fool would have left her. I was a damn fool.
“Is that water safe for swimming?”
Not the question I’d expected. “Yeah, it’s safe.”
She looked over my shoulder at the line of trees. “And it’s private, right?”
“Nobody’s gonna come onto my property and take photos of you, if that’s what you mean.” She nodded. “Why? Thinking about taking a swim?”
She smiled and to me it looked devious. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. The moon shines nice and bright here.”
My eyes narrowed. “You wanna swim at night?”
“Mmmhmm.” She turned off the music from her phone and silence descended. “Under the moon and stars. Night Brody.”
I watched her ass as she sashayed away, the screen door slamming behind her with a ring of finality. Well, fuck. Now I was thinking I shou
ld stay and make sure she didn’t drown in my damn lake.
“Go home, Brody. I’m a big girl. I can look out for myself,” she called from inside. I debated for a moment before I finally walked away. She wasn’t my problem and if she did decide to go for a swim, I doubted she’d get much further than dipping her toes in. That water stayed cool, even in the summer when the temperatures hit a hundred.
I was walking through the woods next to the guesthouse when I heard the guitar music and stopped to listen. I waited, hoping she would sing but after five or ten minutes of straining my ears for the sound of her voice, I gave up and went home to an empty house.
Fucking Ridge.
As if I hadn’t suffered enough torture for one evening, I decided to torture myself further by listening to Shiloh’s solo album. I listened to “Damage” on repeat. It told the story of a woman who had been abused by her lover and talked about the scars that faded but never healed. And I couldn’t help but wonder if the song was autobiographical.
Had Dean the douche Bouchon abused her? I’d seen firsthand, with more than one person in my life, how drugs could change you. How they fucked with your brain, altered your perception, and made you do things you never dreamt you’d be capable of doing. I saw what drugs did to my mother, to the man I refused to call ‘Dad’, and then years later to my cousin Jude.
I had half a mind to go back over there and check on Shiloh. Just then I heard the front door open followed by something crashing to the floor and a decidedly feminine giggle.
Fuck my life. I scrubbed my hands over my face and stood up from the sofa. Now I had to go play bad cop.
Chapter Nine
Brody
The next morning, I showed up at Jude and Lila’s stone and timber farmhouse, slightly worse for the wear. Thanks to Ridge, I was operating on four hours of sleep.