by Rhonda James
“I told you I would stay didn’t I? I just needed some fresh air. You were busy in the studio, and I didn’t want to disturb you.” I got up and began making my way down the beach, the sudden urge to move was impossible to resist, he quickly fell into step beside me.
“You were down in the studio?” he frowned slightly. “I didn’t see you, I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize. I don’t want to intrude on your routine just because I’m stuck here for the next ten days. Don’t let me get in your way, you go about your business, I will be fine,” I waved my hand in front of me to indicate the casualness of our arrangement. “I don’t expect you to drop everything and be at my beck and call. My credit card should have arrived at the bank by now, and I’ll go pick it up later.” At this point I was rambling nervously, and my pace increased dramatically, yet he kept up without breaking a sweat.
“No, that’s not how it’s going to be at all. You are my guest; I can go about my business and still include you. I’m not sure what it will take to convince you that you’re not an intrusion on my life. It may have been unexpected, but I often find that’s when I make the best memories. What do you say Brooke, are you up for making some memories with me this week?” he nudged his shoulder playfully against mine, making my lips automatically curl into a smile.
I hesitated a few moments, but that was only because I didn’t want to appear too eager to take him up on his offer. What could it hurt? He had been a perfect gentleman so far, and I was free to escape to a hotel if at any point I felt uncomfortable. “Okay, yes, let’s make some memories together. How about we start with me making you lunch, I’m starving,” I stopped and turned, heading back to the house.
“Now that’s an offer I can’t refuse,” he replied, bending slightly at the knee before calling out, “hop on,” his hands patted his back, indicating that I should jump up and ride him back to the house.
“No thanks, I can walk,” I shook my head self-consciously, but he just motioned again. I shrugged my shoulders and jumped on, squealing as I tried to get settled. His breathing wasn’t labored, so I must not be too heavy, and once I had shifted into a comfortable position, he took off in a light jog, showing off. I held on tightly, enjoying the proximity. In this position, I could bury my face in his hair and breathe in his wonderful scent. He smelled like the ocean and suntan lotion, and I loved it. If I wasn’t careful, I would get drunk on it; I was that close. We both giggled at the playfulness of this gesture, and I was suddenly aware that I had never ridden piggyback on anyone, let alone a man. It was great fun, and I was a little saddened it had to come to an end once he had bounded up the final steps to the outdoor patio. I slid down his body, legs a bit numb from him holding on so tight, and gave him a gentle shove through the doorway.
Sebastian~
I wasn’t sure what prompted me to have her hop on my back, and for a moment I thought she was going to refuse. Most women worry too much about their weight, and I could tell by her body language that she had some insecurities, but she surprised me and jumped on. I wasn’t sure why she would have been nervous, she barely weighed anything. Her arms and legs were wrapped tightly around me, and as she settled she leaned in close, snuggling against the back of my neck, and I felt the warmth of her breath. It was too bad the walk back hadn’t taken longer, I could have gotten used to having her this close. The offer had started off completely innocent, but with each step I took I realized it had been a perfect excuse to touch her, even if it was only her calf. It was a beautiful calf. When she slipped down my body immediately mourned the loss, like me, it had become attached too quickly.
“Chicken pasta salad sound good?” she asked, looking over the leftovers in the fridge. She turned to me before pulling out ingredients.
“Sounds great, I’m easy; I’ll eat anything. Do you need my help?”
“Nope, just sit there, and I’ll take care of everything.” She got busy chopping and shredding, the knife moving quickly across the cutting board. “Do you like peas?” her blonde hair fell over her shoulder as she cocked her head to the side.
“Not really,” I scrunched up my nose.
“Too bad, they’re good for you, so I am throwing in a few.” She smiled sweetly before continuing to toss items together, seasoning and tasting along the way. In less than ten minutes, she had thrown together an amazing looking salad with items I would most likely have thrown out if she hadn’t been visiting. I’m a bachelor with lots of money, most days it’s easier for me to order out, so a home cooked meal is hard to come by, until Sunday when I go to my parents.
“Looks great,” I said, digging in. “Yum, thank you.”
“Oh, this was nothing,” she waved a hand in front of her face. “I hate seeing food go to waste; it’s the one thing about my industry that drives me crazy. I remember this one time at work we had a new kitchen recruit that wasted more food than he ever put out. Every night there would be plates tossed because of something he had messed up. I felt sorry for him, but it enraged me every time the food was thrown into the trash. Needless to say, he didn’t last long in my kitchen, we run a tight ship.”
“So tell me how you came to be a chef,” I asked curiously. It was obvious that she was passionate about her career, but I was interested in learning where that passion stemmed from. I knew from the moment my dad placed a guitar in my hands, teaching me how to work the fret board, that I wanted to be a musician. Holding that guitar in my hands just felt right, I was free to let my fingers glide over the strings, working magic as they moved. I was hooked, and from that point forward I made it my goal to perform on a stage one day, never once realizing how far that dream would take me. My band has toured all over the world, sold countless albums and merchandise, and made millions in the process. All I ever cared about was writing music and playing, the rest of it was just a nice bonus.
She pushed her plate aside and sat her elbows on the table, resting her chin in her hands. “I had a dysfunctional upbringing, as I mentioned before. My parents were professionals who were too wrapped up in their work to pay attention to the little things. My mother went grocery shopping, so the supplies were there to put together nice meals, but she would get home late and then would be too tired to make anything so she would order out. I watched her throw away more food,” she shook her head sadly as she recalled the memory. “They fought quite a bit, so between them being gone a lot and the fighting, the general atmosphere in the house was pretty blah. One day I came home from school and was hungry, I dug through the fridge and started sautéing a bunch of vegetables and boiled some pasta. I was only ten years old when I made my first meal of pasta primavera, and it was pretty good,” she sighed. “From that point on I would come home and dabble around, looking up recipes on the Internet and pouring over cookbooks that my mother had purchased but never opened. I became obsessed with food. I wanted to learn all about cooking techniques and how to make sauces.” Her hands fidgeted nervously in front of her. “After my father left, my mother became obsessed with work, sometimes working eighteen hour days; there were days when I never even saw her. I would wake up for school and find a note scrawled out on a piece of paper, left on the kitchen counter, and there would be a twenty-dollar bill to buy whatever I needed for lunch and dinner. I was only twelve years old at the time,” her gaze became vacant as she stared down at her hands in front of her. “I learned to cook as a way to keep myself occupied because I was lonely, but over time, it became a means of survival.”
“Because if you didn’t cook you wouldn’t eat?” I asked, instantly angry with her parents for abandoning her that way.
“No. I used my passion for cooking as a way to get out of that hell and I promised myself that once I made it out I would never return. And I haven’t.”
“Wow. I’m sorry if I upset you with that question. I just wanted to see what made you tick.”
“You didn’t upset me,” she responded flatly. “It’s who I am. It’s all part of that baggage we were talking
about yesterday. It happened, and I choose not to dwell on it. I look at it as unfortunate, but it also helped shape me into who I am today, and I consider myself to be a pretty well-rounded person. I’ve done pretty well for myself, all things considering.”
I sat there in stunned silence, trying to wrap my head around how a parent could be so cold to their own child. My parents made sure that our home was filled with love and laughter. As kids we always knew how much our parents loved us, they even went so far as to extend that same love to our friends. When Dek and Chris started hanging out in our garage every weeknight, my mom invited them to dinner. Natalie was welcomed into our home with open arms when she and Travis began dating in high school. When the band launched our first album, Mom and Dad threw a huge party, inviting the whole neighborhood and then some. Our house was always a home to all who entered. Listening to Brooke, it was painfully obvious that her house didn’t bear any similarities to mine. Her parents went out of their way to make her feel more like an inconvenience than a blessing. It was no wonder she had been hesitant to accept my offer of help, she had been left to fend for herself for so long that she would never dream of asking for assistance. It was a wonder that she had turned out to be anything but bitter, I know it would have made me full of hate. Not Brooke, she seemed to exude grace and kindness. I suddenly couldn’t wait for my family to meet her; they would show her what family was truly all about.
“You are amazing. I can’t imagine being treated so unfairly, and then turning it into something that propelled me toward a brighter future.” My head shook back and forth as I registered everything. “I’m in awe of you,” I covered her tiny hand with mine, smiling internally when she didn’t pull away.
“Listen, every Sunday afternoon my family gets together at my parent’s house. My older brother and his wife, Natalie, will be there with their daughter, and my younger sister and her fiancé will be there. We barbecue and laugh, we sing songs, and tell old stories. It’s a nice time of enjoying each other’s company. I would love it if you went with me this Sunday.” I knew it was bold of me to ask, given the fact that she had just shared about her rotten upbringing, but I wanted to give her a chance to experience a loving family. When it came to a supportive and loving family, mine won hand down. My parents are the best; they welcomed all of our friends as their own, and I knew they would fall in love with Brooke instantly.
“They wouldn’t think it was weird that I am there, I mean we’ve only known each other for two days. I guess it sounds like fun,” she looked at me as if questioning, and I gave her the full Sebastian smile, hoping to ease her uncertainty, and she nodded. “Okay, I’ll go with you. Thank you for inviting me.” I smiled and made a mental note to call my mom; she was going to be surprised that I was bringing a girl home, especially since this would be the first time it had ever happened. My parents had never gotten the pleasure of meeting Charlotte. After it was all said and done, it had been one thing that I regretted deeply; they had never gotten the chance to see what an amazing girl she was.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Brooke~
I couldn’t believe that I had shared my sad upbringing with him, twice now. He was just so easy to talk to, never judging, only offering a kind ear and a gentle smile. Jade was the only other living soul that knew about my past; I didn’t like the idea of people feeling sorry for me or taking pity on me. I wanted people to see me for what I had become, and what I had to offer now, they didn’t need to know how I had gotten there. I guess my thinking had been that I was only going to be with him a short time, and then he would most likely be out of my life. Sure, I would continue to buy his music, so in theory he would still be speaking to me through his lyrics, but I didn’t anticipate this would go anywhere beyond this week. He was a famous musician that had the world at his fingertips, and I was just a girl from Michigan with a dream of making my mark in the culinary industry. We ran in different circles and lived in two completely different worlds. He could have any woman he wanted, and I would be lucky to get a date with the fish monger I visited three times a week to place my seafood orders.
That night I slept restlessly, hoping my decision to stay had been the right one. He wanted me to meet his family. From what he described it seemed as if he had been blessed with the quintessential upbringing, something I had sorely lacked. To be honest, I wasn’t sure if I could tolerate witnessing everything I had missed out on. My mother and I had more of a love/hate relationship, the love being on my end. She had made it clear to me time and time again that love was for fools, even her very own flesh and blood couldn’t make the cut. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to harbor full-on hatred for the woman. Call me a hopeless romantic, but I still believed that true love was out there to be found; I just needed to be patient. Trouble was, I wasn’t a very patient person. For some strange reason, at the young age of twenty-four, I felt my biological clock ticking loudly. Even though I longed to pursue my dream of becoming an executive chef, I wanted a family. I wanted a man that loved me, faults and all, and I wanted to have children to love and encourage. When I pictured myself in my happy place, it always included a husband and at least three children, kids should always have siblings to prevent them from being lonely. I should know, I knew lonely very intimately, having spent most of my childhood there. I don’t remember falling asleep, but I was thankful that it finally came.
We spent the next morning hanging out in the house; he appeared to live a normal life. I prepared a nice breakfast of French toast and bacon with maple syrup; we both ate heartily until it was gone. He did some work from his office while I played around on my iPad, poking around on the numerous websites that mentioned anything about Sebastian or Paradox. I had been reading an article and clicked on one of the photos to find him posing in a pair of black leather pants and nothing else. I stared at it for a long time, memorizing each line of his face and chest. I sat back against the arm of the sofa and closed my eyes, drifting off with the iPad flat against my chest, waking only when I felt a hand on my shoulder.
“Hey sleepyhead,” he greeted me playfully. “Are you up for a drive, or do you want to sleep all day?” I sat up quickly, closing the cover on my tablet.
“Sure, that sounds great. Just let me freshen up a bit.” I stood and stretched, bending slightly at the waist to work out the knots in my spine from sleeping while sitting up. I lifted my head, finding his eyes glued to my rear end, when he caught me looking he quickly averted his eyes. I smiled sheepishly and dashed upstairs.
We drove up to Malibu, following the coast until we came to a strip lined with outdoor restaurants and boutiques. We got out and strolled side-by-side along the brick path, neither of us spoke, but there were a few stolen glances. He led me through store after store, pointing out rare finds and tourist collectibles. I opened the door to the next boutique and was immediately hit with the warm scent of the beach and loud music being piped through the overhead stereo. I made my way into the store, sifting through rack after rack of overpriced merchandise before I came across a rack of Paradox memorabilia. I held a shirt in front of me and turned to face him; eyebrows raised in question.
“I don’t know,” he replied, finger tapping against his chin as he studied the shirt I currently held. He moved to the rack and flipped through the remaining shirts until he found what he was looking for, he pulled it out; a broad smile filling his face. “I think this one is a much better choice for you.”
I looked at what he held out before me and burst into a fit of giggles. This one was still a band shirt, but it featured Sebastian performing on stage and read ‘I’d walk a thousand Miles on my knees to kiss Sebastian’.”
“Cute,” I smirked, “Nice play on words there.” I held it up in front of me, mock modeling the garment, fluttering eyelashes abound. “So, do you think it suits me?” I asked playfully, as The Vamps serenaded me with their current hit, “Somebody to You”, which happened to be one of my new favorites. “I love this song,” I exclaimed, swaying my hips to the catch
y beat.
His eyes locked on mine, remaining there as if bound by some mystical force. I tried to look away but remained frozen, completely star struck. It was at that moment it hit me, I was walking around Malibu with Sebastian Miles, and he was totally flirting with me. I know it sounded crazy, he could have any woman that he wanted, and probably has, but right now he was standing in front of me and looking at me like he wanted to kiss me. He was totally staring at my lips, which in turn made me focus on his. Damn, his lips were perfect, full and pouty. His lips were made for kissing. I was willing to bet good money he was a great kisser, and I would kill to nibble on that lip piercing. I needed to pull it together. I squeezed my eyes shut, then opened one just enough to see if he was still staring at me, he was, only this time he was also laughing, how embarrassing. I felt my ears getting hot. Damn.
“Aw, you’re blushing. You look really cute when you’re embarrassed,” he said mockingly, voice low and sexy. “And yes, that shirt most definitely suits you. I’m buying it for you right now.” He snatched it from my hand and started for the register, I followed closely behind.
“You don’t have to buy that for me, I have money now, remember,” I reached for the shirt, but he held it higher.
“Nonsense, I want to buy it for you. Think of it as part of the memories that we are making this week, a tangible memory of your crazy visit to L.A.” By now we were standing in front of the register, and my hands were planted firmly on my hips. The clerk looked at the shirt and then at Sebastian, taking a few moments to put two and two together.
“Fine, but I won’t be wearing this while we are making said ‘memories’.” I made finger quotes in the air to get my point across and followed it up with exaggerated eye-rolling. I couldn’t let him on to what I was really thinking; I would rather die a painful death than admit that I was crushing on him, big time. Let’s face it, Jade and I have been Paradox fans since they broke out with their first single. How on earth I didn’t recognize him when we first began speaking at the beach is beyond me, maybe it was because I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone famous, let alone on a public beach.