“Yes, it’ll be here, showcasing how I live.”
He kept drinking his ginger ale, with the off-limits bottles of hard liquor behind him. The wine rack on the bar was full, too. He was surrounded by the forbidden.
I was, too. Not the alcohol. That wasn’t a problem for me. My forbidden was Spencer himself. Crazy as it was, I was about to invite myself to his bedroom.
“Do you mind if I look in your closet to get a feel for your wardrobe?” I asked.
“No, I don’t mind.” He gestured to his attire. “Expect lots of jeans. Fancy clothes aren’t really my forte.”
He waited until I stood, then headed for a set of etched-glass doors that led to another part of the house. As I followed him, he glanced back and said, “I like your boots, by the way. They’re really...”
He didn’t finish his statement. I suspected he was going to say “sexy” or “hot” or something of that nature. But he let it drift instead.
I let it go, too. He guided me down a hallway riddled with artfully framed movie posters. I spotted a black-and-white still from The Wild One, featuring a young and defiant Marlon Brando, and my interest was piqued. The actor sat on a Triumph motorcycle, sporting 1950s biker gear. I knew the history behind his clothes. I’d taken a class about fashion in film.
Spencer opened the door to the master suite. “This is it, where my closet is.”
The first thing I saw was his king-size bed. It sat on a platform frame constructed from natural wood. The covers were tan and gold. Masculine. Overall, his room was warm and inviting, with an adjoining bathroom and French doors leading to the backyard. The curtains were open, with a view of his pool. Beyond it was acres of grass.
“Your home is beautiful,” I said. “I should have told you that when I first got here.” I wandered over to the doors and peered out.
He joined me, pointing to a flagstone path that cut through the grass. “My guesthouse is out that way. I turned it into a dog rescue. I have a slew of people who help me with it. Some are paid employees and some are volunteers.”
“I don’t have any pets.” I wondered if that made me lacking. “Mary and Brandon have a husky named Cline. My niece and nephew adore him. He was Brandon’s dog before he met my sister, and now Cline is the family dog.”
“I have two dogs.”
“You do? Where are they?”
He mock-whispered, “Hiding under the bed.” He smiled and said in a normal tone, “They’re just checking you out, deciding if you can be trusted. They were my first rescues, and I couldn’t bear to let them go, so they became mine.”
Curious about his companions, I glanced at the foot of the bed. Sure enough, there were two little white faces poking out from under it.
“They’re adorable,” I said. “They look like dust mops with eyeballs. What are they, actually?”
“Maltese. Normally they’re a fearless breed, but Cookie and Candy came from a traumatic situation. Once they get used to you, you’ll see whole new sides of them.”
“How long will it take for them to get used to me?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes they come around quickly and sometimes they don’t. If they’re agreeable on the day of the shoot, we might use them in some of the pictures. They already met the photographer and liked him.”
“That’s good.” The shoot was a little over a month away, so there was plenty of time for his dogs to cozy up to me. “Has the photographer discussed his vision with you and what sort of image he wants you to project?”
Spencer winced a little. “He said they want to go with a reformed bad-boy thing.”
I cocked my head. “You don’t like that idea?”
“It’s okay, I guess. We all have a brand these days, and that’s how mine is unfolding.”
“I can certainly build your style around it.” I knew just how bad he used to be. “I should check out your clothes now.”
“We can go into my closet together. It’s big enough for both of us.”
That was true. His walk-in was more like a room. Still, once we were inside, I imagined turning out the light and pressing my mouth against his. The first time I’d ever kissed a boy was in a closet. But not the urgent way I used to kiss Spencer.
To keep myself sane, I inhaled the fabric-cluttered air. His clothes smelled clean and fresh. He was right. There were a lot of blue jeans.
“I have a few suits,” he said, and showed me the garment bags.
As I unzipped them to check the labels, I almost felt as if I were undressing him. I shivered at the memory.
He stood back and his gaze roamed over me, and I hastily said, “You have great taste for someone who doesn’t place much importance on fancy clothes.” His Italian-cut suits were impeccably tailored. He’d certainly spent some money on them.
Spencer shrugged, but not in a casual way. He seemed as if he had a lot on his mind. I knew the feeling.
Finally, he said, “When I was a kid, my aunt and uncle used to make me dress up for their dinner parties and whatnot, so I guess some of it stuck. I know that I never told you this before, but they were rich as sin.”
I widened my eyes. He’d been raised with wealth and privilege? I hadn’t seen that coming. But as vague as he’d always been, how would I have known? “How old were you when you went to live with them?”
He frowned. “Ten. That’s when my mom died.”
I understood his pain, the ache I heard in his voice. I knew what being motherless was like. My poor mama had succumbed to heart failure when I was eighteen, and I missed her every day. I preferred to think of her before she got so depressed, but it wasn’t easy. I was eleven when Kirby had damaged her, when her struggles had begun. For me, those memories ran deep, and so did my rebellious behavior. By the time I was in high school, boys were writing my name on bathroom walls.
“No child should have to lose a parent,” I said.
Spencer stepped a little closer. “My mom was an aspiring actress, but she didn’t live to see her dream fulfilled. Mostly she worked at department stores, walking around spritzing perfume.” He paused to clear his throat. “My aunt and uncle are in commercial real estate, with properties all over the world. When my mother passed, they carted me off to their big, stiff mansion in Hidden Hills. It’s a gated community in LA.”
Were they as controlling as they were rich? Based on his description, I assumed that they were. I’d grown up in a low-income area in Oklahoma City, where Mama struggled to pay our bills. “They sound pretty uppity.”
“I learned all sorts of proper things from them.” He gestured to the suit in my hand. “I know at least twenty different ways to tie a tie.”
“Well, I’ve got you beat.” Had he rebelled because of them? Were they part of his cause and effect? “I’ve perfected thirty. Knots are one of my specialties. Ties, scarves. I can do it all.”
“Too bad we never discussed this before.” He teasingly added, “We could’ve had some bondage fun back in the day.”
“That’s not funny.” But I laughed anyway, sensing that he needed to lighten the mood and quit talking about his family.
I closed the garment bags and continued looking through his things. He had a couple of high-quality motorcycle jackets. I reached for one of them and ran my hand along the leather.
Before I stroked it too much, I turned my attention to the bottom shelf, where his shoes were perched. I noticed a pair of wonderfully scuffed biker boots with a vintage vibe, similar to the ones Brando had worn in The Wild One.
“Is it safe to assume that you still ride?” I asked.
“Yeah, Harleys are still my thing.”
I checked out more of his shoes. He had a nice selection of cowboy boots. “Horses, too?”
He nodded. “I have a barn just beyond the rescue with two really pretty palominos.” He looked directly at me. “But you already know I
’m partial to blondes.”
I forced myself to breathe, with his all-too-hungry gaze practically devouring me.
We exited the closet, and I felt my skin flush. I was horribly warm, overheated, in fact.
After an awkward beat of silence, I headed for the French doors and said, “It’s raining again.” I wished I could open them, go outside and let the water drench every anxious inch of me.
He came over to where I was. “It’s not supposed to let up until tomorrow.”
We stood side by side, body heat mounting between us. Even the dogs under the bed had crept closer to the edge, waiting to see what we might do.
“So, what happens now?” he asked.
I assumed he meant in relation to me being his stylist. But my mind was spinning in all sorts of directions. “Once we work out a budget, I’ll shop for you. Then I’ll bring everything here for you to try on. We can incorporate some of your belongings into the designs, too.” I wanted to see him in those motorcycle boots. I loved how battered they were.
“I’ll also need to take your measurements before I leave here today. That’ll give me an accurate handle on your sizes. I can’t just rely on the labels from your clothes.”
“That’s fine.” He shifted his feet, and one of the dogs pawed at his shoe.
He reached down to pick her up, and she cuddled in his arms. I didn’t try to pet her. Touching her would bring me too close to him. I was already stressing about taking his measurements.
I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t get intimately involved with anyone unless it promised to develop into a meaningful relationship. But now I was fantasizing about hooking up with my old lover and having hot and dangerous sex with him again. Did Spencer have the power to turn me back into the reckless girl I used to be?
God, I hoped not.
But a shameful part of me wanted to find out.
Two
Spencer
Damn, I thought. Alice McKenzie was doing a number on me all over again, just like the first time I’d met her. We’d both swiped right on Tinder, and after one flirtatious chat, I’d invited her to the trendy club where I used to work. Later that night, she’d followed me to my apartment, and I had the best sex of my life.
But things were different now.
So much different.
I hadn’t even kissed anyone since I quit drinking. For now, I was abstinent.
Painfully abstinent.
Funny, but I hadn’t actually thought of it as painful until today, and that was because of Alice. Pretty Alice, with her sultry brown eyes, spiky blond hair and killer boots. As much as I hated to admit it, I’d never really gotten her out of my head. I’d thought about her a lot over the years. The abrupt way she’d ended our affair had always bothered me. At the time, we’d still been going hot and heavy, and she’d left me wondering what I’d done wrong. Even now, I was trying to figure out what Alice really thought of me. Was that the reason I’d hired her to work for me? Was I looking for some sort of closure?
While my thoughts scattered, Cookie whined to be free. I set her down, and she scampered back to Candy. The two of them stared up at Alice as if she was a spaceship that had just landed. I was probably looking at her that way, too. I used to call her Alice in Spencerland when she was in my bed. I didn’t know what to call her now.
“Do they sleep here?” she asked.
My brain fogged. “I’m sorry. What?”
“The dogs. Do they sleep in your room?”
I shook my head. “They have their own beds in another room. But they like hanging out in here. They spend a lot time at the rescue, too, playing with the other dogs.”
“That’s nice that they have other company.” She hesitated before she said, “I should probably take your measurements now.”
I’d been measured by tailors before. When I was a kid, it seemed like a regular occurrence, given how fast I was growing and with all of the dress-up occasions I’d been forced to attend. But knowing that Alice was going to put her hands on me was a whole other matter.
She reached into her bag and removed a tape measure. She got out an iPad, too. “I’m going to do your chest first. Don’t flex or anything. Just stand normally.”
I did as she asked, and she wrapped the tape measure under my armpits and around the fullest part of my chest. She recorded my size on her iPad.
She did my neck and sleeve length and recorded those sizes, too. When she got to my waist, my stomach muscles jumped. But she kept going. She put a finger between my body and the tape measure, giving me room to breathe. My inseam was next, a measurement that was going to require her get on her knees in front of me. She instructed me to remove my shoes, which I did.
When she dropped down and ran the tape measure from the lowest part of my crotch to my foot, I watched her, remembering the erotic things she used to do to me while she was on her knees.
I could’ve kicked myself for letting my mind go there. Were her thoughts straying in the same direction? I did my damnedest not to get aroused, and she seemed to be doing her damnedest to be quick and efficient.
She said, “I need to measure your feet, too.”
“Sure. Okay.” I couldn’t protest, even if it meant that she had to stay on her knees.
She had one of those devices in her bag that they used in shoe stores. She placed it in front of me, and I stepped onto it.
Afterward, she stood and fussed with her bag. I put my sneakers back on. There was awkward energy between us. She was the first woman I wanted since I got sober, and I wasn’t sure how to deal with it. There was no denying that she was as attracted to me as I was to her. That much, I could feel. But feeling it and acting on it were two different things.
She said, “I should probably get going.”
I searched my brain for an excuse to keep her. Regardless of the effect she was having on me, I didn’t want her to leave. “Why don’t you stick around and let me show you the rescue?”
She bit down on her bottom lip. “I am curious to see it.”
I’d always been fascinated by the shape of her mouth. Her cranberry-colored lipstick intrigued me, too. It made her look dangerously kissable.
I broke my stare. “Let’s grab our jackets and go.”
She glanced out the glass doors, where the rain was pounding even harder now. “I left my hoodie in the car. I’ll have to go back and—”
“I can loan you something.” She’d already measured my body and handled some of my clothes. Her borrowing a jacket from me was the least of my concerns. I gestured to the closet. “You can choose what you want. Pick one out for me, too. Doesn’t matter which one.” I had plenty to go around.
“Okay.” She returned to my closet.
Once again, my thoughts drifted to the past and the things Alice and I used to do. We’d always had sex at my place. I don’t know why she’d never invited me to hers. At the time, I hadn’t bothered to ask. I hadn’t been big on conversation then. But now it made me curious to see how she lived. Was she neat and tidy? Or did she keep things strewn about? I envisioned her being beautifully messy. I’d been taught to be orderly, even when I was torn up inside.
She came back with two basic hoodies, gray for her and black for me. We slipped them on. The one she was wearing was big on her. She was only five-four, five-five at the most, with a slim build. I was six-two with plenty of muscle. Somehow, though, our hip-thrusting always seemed to work, even when we were standing in the shower, getting soaking wet.
“Ready to see the rescue?” I asked. “It’s about a five-minute walk.” Just long enough for us to get wet, I thought.
She gazed out the French doors, assessing the weather. “Sure. Let’s do it.” She lifted her hood.
We ventured outside, and I led the way, past the pool and onto the flagstone path, with the rain beating down on us.
I gla
nced over at Alice and noticed how troubled she suddenly looked, her expression as dark as the clouds. Was she thinking about me? About us? Or did she have Kirby on her mind?
Her opinion of him disturbed me, especially with how much I’d come to care for him. I trusted him with my inner feelings, something I’d never done with anyone else before. He understood my tortured psyche. I could confide in him about anything. Yet I’d lied to him about Alice, pretending that she and I used to go on casual dates. Not that Kirby was naïve. He knew that I was a drunk back then and that Alice used to party. But I’d played down my relationship with her, making it seem light and easy. In spite of her hatred for him, he was fiercely protective of her, so I figured the truth wouldn’t have sat well with him, anyway. Granted, what he’d done to Alice’s mother was wrong. But he was sorry for the pain he’d caused and truly wanted to ease Alice’s suffering. I admired him for that.
I said to her, “Kirby told me that you helped choose the artist who recorded your mother’s songs. That Tracy Burton was your top pick.”
She snuggled deeper into my jacket, tucking her hands into the pockets. “At the time, I wanted someone who was new to the business, but who understood the importance of Mama’s music, too. Tracy and I have become really close since then. I guess you could say that she’s my BFF now.”
“Then it sounds like things worked out.” I’d never met Tracy or worked with her, so I wasn’t about to comment on how fleeting her fame had been. She’d had a great run with her debut and the songs Alice’s mother had written, but as far as I knew, things had gone downhill from there.
I felt fortunate for my skyrocketing career. I’d come to Nashville with nothing, and now I was a Grammy Award-winning, highly sought-after songwriter. My aunt and uncle had refused to help me along the way, and I hadn’t heard from them since. Not one measly phone call, congratulating me on my success.
Alice and I continued walking, with the rain still falling between us. The path narrowed, and I stepped onto the grass, giving her more room.
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