by LuAnn McLane
“Right.” Belinda nodded and forced a smile. Oliver was probably attracted to reed-thin model types, and she sure as hell wasn’t one of those. Well good, his lack of attraction to her would make the whole pretend thing easier. Her attraction to him, however . . . damn, would not.
Oliver walked away for a moment and returned with a pen and notepad. “You said you wanted lunch?”
“Oh . . . well . . . I think I’m okay,” she replied, but at the suggestion, her stomach rumbled. Was there no end to her humiliation?
“Right.” Oliver grinned. “I make a mean club sandwich if you’re interested.”
“With bacon?”
“Of course. What do you take me for?” he asked, putting his palms in the air.
“The jury is still out.” Belinda laughed and felt the first little tingle of relief slide down her spine. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as painful as she envisioned. Perhaps they could become friends. Why did he have to be so damned gorgeous?
“Well, you can deliberate while I fix you a kick-ass sandwich. And make the list of things you need.”
Belinda narrowed her eyes. “It’s making me nervous that you’re being so nice.”
“If you recall, I was nice back when we were teenagers.” He tapped his chest.
“And I wasn’t?”
He arched an eyebrow. “Toast? Mayo?”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
“Yep.” Oliver nodded.
“Extra bacon and mayo, please.” She’d worry about counting calories tomorrow. Or the next day. Story of her life.
“You got it. Just sit back and relax.”
Belinda gave him a salute and leaned back against the sofa cushions. Oliver Heart was way too easy on the eyes, and even more dangerous was how much she liked him. She reminded herself to put her armor of sarcasm back into place and leave it there. Falling for him would be just plain stupid. But then again, she could be just plain stupid when it came to men. And life. Okay . . . everything.
“I’ll be right back.” He gave her that killer grin again. “Don’t go anywhere.”
Belinda nodded. “Even if I didn’t have a bum ankle, I’m too exhausted to move.”
“Then don’t. Make the list,” he said, and then jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “I put your suitcases in the bedroom. I’d give you a tour, but . . .” He pointed to her foot.
“Right.”
“I could carry you around.”
“No!” Belinda said, but his offer wasn’t without appeal. “I don’t want you to . . . pull something.”
“Uh, I do work out.”
“I can see that,” she said, and damn if she didn’t feel heat in her cheeks again. Since when did she blush?
Oliver raised his eyebrows. “Wow, a compliment instead of a barb? Is this the shape of things to come?”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Belinda retorted, but he only laughed as he walked out the door.
Belinda blew out a long sigh. Okay, so far so good. Right? Well, except for the whole falling-down thing. At least she’d made it to Sea Breeze all in one piece. She was settled in the pool house. For the time being.
Belinda rested her head against a plump pillow. She tried not to dwell upon the fact that getting back into pop music pushed her further from her dream of singing classic country music. For Belinda, country music represented love, faith, hope, and respecting the great names in an era she adored. She wanted to sing songs that told a story, touched hearts, got people through tough times, and paid tribute to her home in Tennessee. But now, all she really wanted was to make enough money to pay off the bank and make sure her parents’ future remained secure. Whenever she tried to approach the subject, her father clammed up. Apparently the pride gene came from her dad. And if she was being honest, eight years of singing in honky-tonks for tips was starting to get old. Oh, at first she’d loved the Nashville atmosphere, the energy, and the music. She’d thought her little apartment in the Vanderbilt University district was cozy and cute. She enjoyed blending in with the students, wishing more than once that she was one of them.
While she didn’t earn much in the bars, she’d still had money from her pop days to fall back upon. But when her savings dried up, she started questioning the sanity of what she was doing.
Of course, she led her parents to believe she’d been doing just fine. Ha, yeah right.
Belinda yawned as she looked at the paper and pen, but frowned. Damn, she was tired. Her eyelids felt so heavy . . . so she closed them, thinking she’d rest until hot Oliver showed up with her lunch. But just moments later the notepad slipped through her fingers and she fell fast asleep.
CHAPTER THREE
YOU STEPPED INTO MY LIFE
Oliver cleaned up the kitchen counter, put the condiments into the fridge, and surveyed his handiwork. With a nod of satisfaction, he picked up a plate laden with a massive triple-decker sandwich, dill pickle spear, and a generous helping of barbecue potato chips. “Damn, that looks good.” Although he tried to avoid junk food, potato chips were his favorite indulgence, especially barbecue flavored. Oliver carried a tall glass of sweet tea in his other hand, thinking he’d done a damned fine job preparing lunch for Belinda, all the way down to extra bacon and mayo.
Oliver couldn’t remember the last time he’d waited on someone, and he had to admit it felt . . . satisfying. A maid service cleaned his house once a week, but Oliver kept his home spotless between visits. Even when he was a kid, his mom didn’t have to scold him into cleaning his room. And he couldn’t cope with a dirty car. He suddenly wondered if Belinda was neat or messy and then grinned. He’d bet on messy.
After one last look around, Oliver headed out the back door and took a deep breath of the sea-scented air. He shook his head, still a bit floored that Belinda Beal had basically just moved into the guest house, but he had to admit that he felt relieved that he didn’t have to make the final decision.
Oliver paused for a moment and looked up at the clear blue sky. She was here and he’d just roll with it.
Although the past year had been busy with the Heartbeat reunion concert for the Susan Heart Lupus Foundation, the rehearsals were all but over, at least for now. They’d scheduled a few appearances here and there, but after the hectic days of planning, Oliver felt at loose ends. He helped Grady at the foundation and still gave music lessons, but boredom and restlessness followed him around like a shadow.
When his brothers flatly refused to tour again, moving forward with a solo career seemed like the perfect answer, but Oliver continued to have his doubts. Although he had confidence in his voice, Grady had been the Heartbeat front man, the leader. Could he really pull off a solo act? He needed something to get him going to squash his self-doubt. He just didn’t think it would be the arrival of Belinda Beal.
Oliver felt a sense of anticipation while crossing the lawn to the pool house. The realization that Belinda was unexpectedly here continued to blow his mind. While he wasn’t sure if he was completely down with the idea, she sure as hell had captured his full attention.
Oliver had to use some interesting twisting moves to get through the front door of the pool house with his hands full, but he somehow managed. He’d changed from his sandy board shorts to a pair of jeans and white T-shirt. He’d considered wearing something better and then decided he didn’t want to look as if he was trying too hard—or like he was trying at all. But the fact that he contemplated what to wear spoke volumes. Seriously, when was the last time he worried about how he looked for a woman?
Um . . . a long-ass time ago.
When Oliver’s gaze fell upon Belinda he stopped abruptly. Her dark hair spilled over a cream-colored throw pillow. Slightly on her side, she’d tucked a hand beneath her cheek and her eyes were closed. He could hear the soft sound of her even breathing, and for some reason, he smiled. The angle showed off sweet curves and long le
gs that he wouldn’t mind having wrapped around him. Swallowing hard, he told his thoughts not to go there, but his brain, along with other parts of his body, failed to listen.
Damn. Belinda Beal was flat-out sexy. And he sure could listen to her seductive southern drawl all day long. He suddenly knew that playing her boyfriend in public wasn’t going to be difficult, but keeping his hands to himself in private might be a challenge. He needed to keep reminding himself that she was only here to further her career. This little ruse was a means to an end for them both. Allowing himself to develop real feelings for her would likely end in disaster. Mixing emotion with business was never a good idea.
Oliver stood rooted to the spot, wondering if he should put the food in the fridge and let her sleep. Or should he wake her? Or kiss her . . . no, damn, stop! Still, he used the indecision as an excuse to gaze at her for a few more moments, wondering what to do.
As the youngest member of Heartbeat, he’d had to stay focused to learn the dance routines and harmonize while moving around the stage. He’d often feared the huge crowds, the paparazzi, and the constant travel. He’d missed out on childhood and wasn’t prepared for the craziness of fame in the beginning. Just when he found his footing, Heartbeat’s magical run ended. And dealing with the death of his mother had been agonizing for all of them. They’d all gone to therapy and it helped, but the pain of losing both their parents left lasting scars.
Oliver looked at Belinda’s even, steady breathing and thought she probably needed the sleep more than the sandwich. But just as he took a step toward the kitchen, Belinda suddenly shifted sideways, causing the ice bag to slide to the tile floor with a loud clank.
“Oh!” Belinda sat up quickly, but her angle on the couch caused her to lose her balance and roll forward onto the floor. She landed on her hands and knees, giving him a nice view of her ass. “Oh, damned all to hell and back!”
“Belinda!” Oliver hurried over and placed the glass and plate on the coffee table. “Are you okay?”
“That seems to be the question of the day,” she answered, then pushed up to a sitting position. She rubbed her knees and emitted a weak little moan.
“Oh . . . shit. Wow.” Oliver frowned, not quite knowing what to do.
“You’re stealing my line again.”
“That had to hurt.”
Belinda winced. “I think I broke both kneecaps. I may never walk again.”
“Are you serious?”
“No, but I bruise easily and that’s definitely gonna leave a mark.”
“You seem to fall down a lot,” he said, and was rewarded with a scowl.
“I’m not clumsy,” she said defensively. “I just get easily distracted. Or startled.” She gave him a pointed look.
Oliver raised his palms upward. “Hey, it was the ice pack that startled you, not me.”
She spotted the bag on the floor. “Oh. Okay, you’re forgiven.”
“So are you still hungry? I made you a kick-ass sandwich, if I do say so myself.”
“You did say so yourself.” She nodded toward the glass coffee table. “Please tell me that’s a Long Island Iced Tea.”
“Sorry, no . . . but I can add some whiskey.” He arched an eyebrow in question.
“Jack Daniel’s?” She looked at him with hopeful eyes. Ah, those eyes. “What?” she asked.
“Do you wear contact lenses? I’ve always wondered.”
“If I had a dollar for every person who asked me that question, I’d have my own private jet.” She blew out a puff of air. “I have blue eyes.”
“Then why do they look violet?”
“Some sort of mutation.”
“Seriously?” He looked at her eyes more closely.
“Don’t look at me like I’m a freak.” She rolled those gorgeous eyes and then sat down. “The red blood vessels kind of come through, making me look like I have violet eyes. It has something to do with the amount of melanin in my iris. You might think it’s cool, but I’m sensitive to light.”
“Interesting.”
“I’m told it’s a rare thing.” Belinda shrugged. “Now, about that Jack Daniel’s?”
“You were serious?”
Belinda gave him a steady violet stare. “I drove all night, so my body clock is off-kilter. I do occasionally day drink, but to put your little ole heart at ease, I don’t drink to excess. Unless there’s a good reason. Then all bets are off.” She waved a hand through the air.
“So is there a good reason right now?”
“A high possibility. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”
Oliver chuckled, but wondered if he could handle a drunk Belinda Beal. They’d been too young to drink years ago, so he didn’t have any knowledge of what kind of drinker she might be, and he had to admit he was curious. Then again, he seemed to find that he wanted to know everything about her. Which was not good. He should keep his distance.
Belinda wagged her index finger at him. “Don’t be giving me that look. I won’t be pawing all over you if I have a little bit to drink. I’m not that girl. So, again I ask . . .”
“I might not have food in the fridge here in the pool house, but I do keep a well-stocked bar.”
“Ah, my kind of man,” she said, then frowned. “Uh, in the extreme case that I do—”
“Paw all over me?”
“Yeah.” Belinda nodded emphatically. “Stop me.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I am a lot, but not now.”
“Okay, look, my mother raised me as a gentleman, but I’m only human. I can’t make that promise, because when I make a promise, I keep it. You’ll just have to drink at your own risk.”
Belinda pursed her lips as if mulling over the answer. “Well . . .”
“Oh come on. Live dangerously.” Oliver chuckled, then reached out to help her to her feet. When she sat down on the couch he handed her the plate. “I promise that I’ll try to be a gentleman,” he added, then put the ice pack back onto her ankle. “Need anything for the pain?”
“My ankle?”
He tilted his head to the side. “Well, anywhere at this point. You seem to have covered all the bases.”
“I think I’m good.”
“’Kay.”
Belinda eyed the sandwich. “Wow, how am I ever gonna get that thing in my mouth?”
“Open wide.” Oliver’s mind immediately went where it shouldn’t and his body reacted. Belinda wasn’t the only one who needed a drink, and judging by the sudden pink in her cheeks, her mind went the same direction, or perhaps it was wishful thinking on his part. Oliver cleared his throat. “Um, I’ll hunt down some Jack Daniel’s.”
“You are the best pretend boyfriend ever.” Belinda picked up the pickle and took a big bite.
“Thank you, I think.” Oliver reached for her glass. “Drink a little bit to make room for your Tennessee whiskey.” When his fingers brushed against hers, he was surprised at the jolt of awareness, but if she felt anything, she hid it behind a long swig of her drink.
“This is really good sweet tea.”
“I always have a pitcher in the fridge.”
Belinda licked her bottom lip. “You made the tea?”
“It’s not hard.”
Belinda lifted one shoulder. “I’m kind of a disaster in the kitchen.”
“So you don’t like to cook?”
“Oh, I like to cook. But that’s when the whole easily distracted thing comes into play hard core. Things tend to . . . burn,” she added with a chuckle. “Ingredients get left out.”
“I’ll make sure you have some tea on hand,” Oliver said, and was rewarded with a smile that trembled just a tad, making him wonder if she was as confident as she wanted to appear.
“Thanks.” She opened her mouth as if ready to say more but then returned her attention to her tea.
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br /> “And I do like to cook.”
“And you’re good at it?”
“I’d like to think so. Why do you seem so surprised?”
Belinda shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I thought you’d have a cook or something.”
“You’ll find that I’m pretty down to earth, Belinda. So are my brothers.”
“I didn’t mean to imply otherwise, but it’s been a long time since we had our first pretend fling.”
“Well, you’re going to be spending a lot of time with me, so you’ll get to know me better,” Oliver said, and realized that the idea was quickly growing on him. After she had a few more swigs, Oliver took the glass from her and headed over to the liquor cabinet next to the wet bar located at the other side of the room. He added a generous amount of Jack Daniel’s and then found a rock glass for himself. He poured two fingers of whiskey and plopped in a couple of ice cubes, figuring he might as well join in. Conflicting emotions had him feeling off balance. Walking over to her, he handed her the cocktail and then repositioned the ice pack on her foot. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.” She raised her glass. “Cheers,” she said, and waited for him to tap his glass to hers.
“What are we drinking to?”
“To the revival of our careers,” Belinda replied, and then took a long swallow. “Ah . . . day-um, that hit the spot.” She closed her eyes and smiled. “Woo. Thank God for small favors.” Belinda took another swallow. “Oh boy, this is going down so good.”
At her comment, Oliver choked on his sip of whiskey.
She looked over at him “Not used to the hard stuff?”
Dear God, he thought.
“You okay?” She looked at him with concern in her eyes, laced with just a bit of humor.
“I’m . . .” Oliver paused to cough. “Good.” After recovering, Oliver took a sip from his glass while wondering if everything she said would make him think about sex. He sat down in a chair to the side of the couch. After a moment, he asked, “So what’s the game plan? Did Devin give you any indication?” He still wondered why Devin failed to give him a heads-up on Belinda’s arrival, but then again Devin always seemed to have a method to his madness.