Running From A Rock Star (Brides on the Run Book 1)

by Jami Albright

  Me too. “It’ll be fine.”

  “Soooo, Renegade Bride, how was the sex?”

  Scarlett’s headache squeezed tighter. That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? She wished she had an answer. “Don’t call me that.”

  Luanne laughed. “It’s a ridiculous name, but oh so funny. Now quit stalling and give me a play by play of your first time.”

  Her first time. The sadness and regret she’d held at bay trampled her. She’d held on to her virginity for twenty-five years, guarding it like the Crown Jewels. A giggle bubbled at the thought of her hymen and Queen Elizabeth together. It wasn’t like she hadn’t had opportunites to lose it. But, anytime she’d been tempted, she remembered a devastated seven-year-old girl watching her foolish, sexually irresponsible mom drive away with a man she’d just met at the Stop-N-Save. Nothing killed desire like childhood mama-trauma.

  Her first response was to lie to Luanne. She always told the truth, no matter what the consequence. Now she was about to lie to her best friend. Oh, how the mighty had fallen. “Lou, it was—”

  The door opened, and a sweaty rock star stood on the threshold.

  “Do not come in here,” Scarlett shouted.

  “Why the hell not?” He braced his hands on the door jamb and glared at her.

  “Luanne, I’ll call you back.” She pointed at Gavin. “Stop.”

  “Why?”

  “You have horse manure on your jeans.”

  “What?” He jumped back like he’d been electrocuted.

  She vaulted off the sofa and ran from the room.

  “Where are you going? A little help here?”

  His curses greeted her when she ran outside with a towel. She doubled over laughing when she saw him. He was holding onto the rail while using the edge of the porch to scrape the manure off his jeans. It was on his calves so every time he bent to his task he smeared it up the back of his thigh.

  “Stop.” She fought for control but lost to another round of giggles.

  “What? Why? God, it stinks. Quit laughing.” He contorted himself around to try and inspect the damage.

  “You’ve smeared it up your legs.”

  “This is bullshit.” He kicked off his boots.

  “Not bull. Horse.” The hilarity took her again.

  Scarlett’s laughter sputtered to a stop when he went for the buttons of his jeans. “Wha…what are you doing?”

  “Taking off these shitty pants. What do you think I’m doing?” Buttons undone, he carefully slid them off, revealing a pair of Jockey low-rise trunks and tanned, muscled legs. He should have looked ridiculous standing there in his black underwear, t-shirt, and socks, but he didn’t. Not one little bit. Her mouth went as dry as the Mojave Desert.

  When he bent to remove his socks, she fought the urge to fall to her knees and worship his incredible backside.

  He looked down his body. “I need a shower.”

  “Yeah.” She wished that hadn’t sounded so dreamy.

  He rested his hands on his hips and shot her a cocky grin. “You like what you see?”

  She regained her composure and frowned. “Not exactly.”

  “Liar.” He amped up the wattage on his smile.

  “No. Not lying.” She bit her lip.

  “Then why are you looking at me like that?”

  “You have a spot of poop on your…” She pointed to his forehead.

  He gagged and grabbed the hem of his shirt.

  She looked away. She was a sympathetic puker. If Gavin started barfing, she might follow suit.

  There was horse dung all over her porch. His muffled grumbles followed her down the steps as she retrieved the garden hose. The old faucet squeaked when she twisted it on, and cold water poured out. She covered the end of the hose with her thumb to make a more pressurized spray. Geez, he’d made a mess. She ignored his griping and sprayed the steps then turned to wash the porch and froze.

  He’d taken his shirt off and was using it to wipe his face. Oh. My. Lord. He was standing there in nothing but his underwear. Her fingers itched to stroke the golden skin that provided a perfect canvas for his amazing ink. A tattoo of a lock with a chain wrapped around it peeked above the waistband of his underwear, below his navel and above his… Now, she was drooling.

  She yearned to explore the hills and valleys of his abs—with her tongue. Oh, sweet Lord, they were incredible abs. The average man didn’t have a sculpted six-pack. Then again, he was anything but average.

  A tsunami of desire rolled through her senses and crested low in her belly. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand. The hose hung limp in her hand, cold water pooled on the ground, and blood pounded in her ears. She needed to look away, but her iron-clad willpower failed her.

  Suddenly, she was angry, angrier than she’d ever been in her life. No. Not angry. Furious at his hotness, his sexy tattoos, his stupid black trunks, and her incomprehensible reaction to it all.

  She snapped.

  When she lifted her arm, the water hit him square in the chest. He stumbled backward, and she kept spraying. She couldn’t have lowered the hose if she’d wanted to. And, she didn’t want to.

  “What the fu—?” A mouthful of water shut him up in a hurry.

  “Stop saying that!” she shouted.

  “What. The. Fuck?” Gavin bellowed.

  “Stop it.”

  “This is for the first drink you bought me.” She sprayed him in the face.

  “For insisting we get married.” The stream moved to his chest.

  “Your stupid attorney.” Back to his face.

  “Comments made in the truck.” His chest again.

  “And for my lost underwear.” She nailed him in the crotch.

  There was a distinct possibility she’d turned the bend, never to return. She was appalled at her behavior but helpless to stop. Crazy felt too good.

  “Have you lost your mind?” Water choked him as he took a shot in the mouth. Righteous indignation glowed in her expressive eyes. She was a Bible-thumping Terminator, and he was her quarry. The image of this lovely avenging angel coming after him with a garden hose was too funny to believe. This would never happen in L.A. Of course, he wouldn’t have horse shit from one end of his body to the other in L.A., either. He laughed and a burst of water hit him in the face.

  When he stopped sputtering, he gave her a half-hearted glare. “I’m warning you. Stop now, and nobody gets hurt.” Her only response was to go for his crotch. Again. She was vicious and seemed to be opposed to him reproducing.

  Enough was enough. When she was less than an arm’s length away, he pounced. They wrestled for the hose. Impressive. The girl had spunk.

  She clung to the hose, but he had some wicked moves of his own and wrenched it from her grip. The water was his. Game on.

  A squeal exploded from her when the freakin’ cold water poured over the sweet body that’d caused him more hard-ons in the last two days than in the last couple of months.

  She screamed. He laughed. “Invigorating, isn’t it? Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.” Her only response was to scream louder. She twisted, turned, bent and bucked. “There’s no escape, wild girl. I’ve got you, and I’m not letting go.”

  Her shirt rode up, and wet skin rubbed against his bare belly. He could see her pale pink bra through her wet shirt, the thin fabric clinging to her breast. Damn, cold water and a see-through bra—sexy as hell. But it was also hilarious.

  When had he had this much fun while fully clothed? Of course, naked and wet was fun, too. It could happen if he could stop laughing long enough to get her undressed.

  Her screams turned to laughter as he slipped and they almost went down. His heart did a funny thump thing.

  They clung to each other soaking wet, laughing madly and panting hard.

  “What the fuck?” he gasped.

  She stepped away from him and pushed back the sodden mess of her hair, still giggling. “Could you please refrain from using that word?”


  He dropped the hose and bent over with his hands on his knees. It was an effort to catch his breath. He looked up at her from beneath his hair and grinned. “All you had to do was ask.”

  She shoved him. He caught himself on the porch rail. “You’re a terrible person. I’d hoped you weren’t. But you totally are.”

  There wasn’t any heat in her words. They were still playing. She took the towel she’d brought for him and her tight round ass disappeared into the house.

  Damn. He’d known a lot of outrageous women in his day. But his straight-edged, pillar of society, goody-two-shoes wife was quite possibly the most dangerous woman he’d ever known.

  Chapter Nine

  She’d seen the man in his underwear. And she’d liked it. Honestly, like was too weak of a word for their wet wrestling match.

  Best three minutes of her life.

  Scarlett stirred the pot of soup on the stove and tried to get her mind right. Gavin Bain was the least appropriate man in the whole world for her. The stories that she’d read and heard about him were legendary. He’d left a trail of bar fights, verbal altercations, trashed hotel rooms, and heartbroken women in his wake. They didn’t call him The Delinquent for nothing.

  Also, everyone knew how self-absorbed rock stars were, and if there was one thing she couldn’t abide, it was selfish, narcissistic people.

  Equilibrium returned to her piece by precious piece as she reviewed all the reasons Gavin was not for her and needed to be out of her life as soon as possible.

  “Something smells good.”

  She screamed and flicked the spoon across the room. “Oh, my gosh, you scared me.”

  “Sorry.”

  She took in the rock star leaning against the door jamb, grinning like a fool, and knew he wasn’t sorry at all.

  Lord, had a man ever looked so good?

  No, the answer was no.

  He wore a faded Seattle Seahawks t-shirt that hugged his pecs and shoulders. It looked so good she wanted to ditch her beloved Dallas Cowboys to become a Seahawks fan. Thin navy sweat pants covered his long legs, legs that she’d seen that afternoon in all their muscled, tan fineness.

  Tattooed arms were crossed over his chest. His damp hair looked darker in this light, like polished onyx. It was short but longer on top, and she wanted to spend hours running her fingers through the silky strands.

  “Your hair is short.” What? Where had that come from?

  He chuckled and ran his hand over his head. “Yeah, I’ve worn it long, but I don’t like how it gets in my way. And I’m not really a man-bun kind of guy.”

  “You should put on some socks. Your feet will get cold.” She kept spouting random things, but his bare feet were distracting and somehow incredibly intimate.

  He gave her a strange look. “I’m good.”

  She turned toward the sink and away from him. “Fine, but don’t blame me when you catch a chill.”

  “Got it. What are you making?” He moved to the stove and peeked inside. What small amount of room there was in her galley kitchen was devoured by his presence.

  “Joyce brought soup.” The words squeezed into the tiny gap between them. He was too close, and he smelled so good. Not cologne good, but Gavin good. She’d noticed this afternoon during their tussle, but now after his shower, it was intoxicating. She wanted to bury her nose in his neck and stay there for a very long time.

  “I’m starved. I haven’t eaten since this morning. And you gave me quite a workout this afternoon.” He chuckled.

  “Mm-huh.” She retrieved another spoon and gave the pot another stir.

  “Can I help?”

  “Um…” That was unexpected. “You can get drinks. The glasses are in this cabinet.” She pointed to the door just to her left. “I’ll get out of your way.”

  With one step his front was pressed to her back. “No problem,” he whispered in her ear. “I can reach.”

  Holy…wow. The buttery goodness of his voice spread all over her body. Every inch of hard-won ground she’d gained with her little pep talk crumbled under her feet.

  “Thanks for your help.” While he sounded like warm toffee, her words came out like dehydrated bitterroot.

  Thankfully he stepped away, and her blood pressure could regulate. “No problem. What should I put in these?” He held up the glasses.

  “I don’t have any alcohol.”

  “Probably best. Know what I mean.”

  Heat tingled under her cheeks. “Yes…well, there’s iced tea and water in the fridge. I’ll have tea.”

  He flipped one of the glasses into the air and caught it. “Coming right up.”

  When the wild child swooned, she kicked the tramp in the shin, then took the soup to the table.

  Once they were seated, she ladled the soup into their bowls. “Be sure to try some of Joyce’s beer bread. It’s delicious.”

  He spooned in a bite and groaned. “This is fu—”

  She raised her brow.

  “Freaking amazing.”

  “Joyce was a famous chef in San Francisco before she came back to Zachsville.”

  “What brought her back?” He cut a slice of bread and dunked it in his soup.

  “Her husband had an affair with his secretary.”

  “Original.” Disgust trailed behind the word like the tail of a kite. At that moment she liked him very much. “I’ve got no tolerance for people who cheat. And a man who cheats with his secretary is just lazy.”

  “I agree.” Look at them having a civil conversation. “The worst part is, they ran off together, and he took all of their money.”

  “He cleaned out their bank account?”

  She reached for the knife and cut a piece of bread. “And investments, anywhere they had money. He was some kind of financial guru, so Joyce let him handle all of it. She had a household checking account and a small savings account, nothing more. My understanding is there was a lot of money, and now it’s gone. She came back virtually penniless.”

  Gavin’s spoon stopped halfway to his mouth. “Does she need money? Because I’ve got money.”

  “I beg your pardon?” She couldn’t possibly have heard him correctly.

  “If she needs cash I can give her some.”

  She must’ve looked like she didn’t speak English, because he continued.

  “I have money. She doesn’t, and she’s got a kid, a kid she’s obviously nuts about. If she needs assistance, I can help.”

  His words flailed, flipped, and flopped in her head and she tried to arrange them so that they made sense.

  “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  Her spoon clattered to the table. “Why would you make such an offer? You don’t even know her. For heaven’s sake, you met her all of three hours ago.” She knew she sounded pissy, but she couldn’t help it.

  “Scarlett, it’s not a big deal. I do it all the time.” His hair fell over his forehead, and he pushed it out of the way.

  “You do it all the time?” Her incredulity spewed from her mouth. “What? You walk up to single moms on the street and throw money at them?”

  He scooped up another spoonful of soup. “I donate to an organization in Seattle. It helps get single moms back on their feet. They provide housing, family therapy, educational assistance, financial counseling, and job placement help. I play at their fundraisers.” He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal—like he hadn’t just pulverized her preconceived notions of him.

  She closed her eyes and tried to catch her thoughts running laps around themselves.

  “Do you have asthma?”

  She glanced over at him. “What? No, why?”

  “Because you’ve done that weird breathing thing a lot this afternoon, and I would have no idea what to do if you had some kind of attack.”

  “I’m fine.” Her hand shook as she picked up her spoon. “No asthma here, so you’re safe.”

  “Alright. If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure. Eat your soup before it gets cold.”


  “You don’t have to tell me twice. Remind me to thank Joyce the next time I see her.”

  The grin she gave him was a brittle representation of a genuine smile, but she couldn’t help it. She didn’t want to think about him having depth and character. She’d placed him in a shallow, entitled, rock god box and that’s where she wanted him to stay. Couldn’t he simply stay in his box?

  He was trouble.

  So much trouble.

  “Dad-gum-it.” Scarlett gripped the yarn she knitted with and yanked.

  “What’s wrong?” His bare feet were propped on the coffee table while he changed the strings on his guitar. Chinese characters were tattooed across the top of one slender foot. She wondered what the symbols meant.

  “I dropped a stitch.” She’d knitted and ripped out the same row three times. Who wouldn’t be distracted? Gavin’s agile fingers moved expertly along his guitar. He hummed along to a song from the playlist on her phone. She tried to fight the pull of his dirty whiskey voice, but he was the snake charmer, and she was the snake.

  Not to mention the revelation of his philanthropic endeavors still had her reeling. The guy seemed to have a real heart for single moms and didn’t that just suck. Well, it was good for the single moms, but bad for her.

  The guitar string made a ting when he cut it. “I like your books.”

  The needles scraped together. “What?”

  “I like your books. I couldn’t sleep last night and saw them on the bookshelf.”

  “Oh…well, thank you.”

  He rested the guitar on his lap and opened a package of strings. “That Fiona is cool. I like that she’s kind, but she’s not a pushover, you know? She sets those woodsy animals straight. But she’s so cool about it that they’re all like, Sure thing, Fiona.”

  All she could do was nod. He got it.

  “And she’s not all big-headed about being right either. When she’s wrong, she straight up says she’s wrong. Which makes her alright in my book.”

  “I wish everyone could see it that way.”

  “What do mean?” he said around a string he was holding in his mouth.

  She uncrossed and recrossed her legs. “It’s a long story, but the short version is the Carousel Network told me they wanted to make them into a weekly television show. But when I got to Vegas to meet with them, they said they wanted me to change Fiona and make her more street smart. Basically, take away some of. I have a month to get them something new.”