by LuAnn McLane
“Thanks,” she said, seriously not wanting him to go, but her pride wouldn’t allow her to let him know that she’d be content with a cuddle.
“Sleep tight,” he said, and then pulled the curtains shut.
Don’t get attached . . . don’t fall in love, screamed in her head as she watched him walk out the door.
Of course, although Belinda truly was bone tired and a little bit embarrassed at her invitation for him to kiss her—well, and more—she felt a warm rush of something she couldn’t put her finger on. Hope? She squeezed her eyes shut. Hope had been an elusive little shit for such a long time.
“Why is life so damned . . . hard?” All she ever wanted was to sing her music. With another longer groan, Belinda looked up at the pretty paddle fan turning in lazy circles. Unwanted tears stung her eyes again. What if she’d just sold out and become the pop star that her label wanted? Her parents would have everything they ever needed, but her damned young stubbornness had thrown up a roadblock that she couldn’t get around. She hadn’t realized then that she didn’t have any clout. But her parents were behind her decision to stick to her guns, proud of her for standing up for herself. Belinda remembered feeling relief when she’d declared she wanted to go back to her country music roots.
And then it all went to hell.
And look where that got her. But feeling sorry for herself wasn’t in her nature, and the past was over. She simply needed to . . . deal.
But now that she was almost thirty, Belinda felt as if life was moving fast while she stood still. Going home meant seeing friends who were married with adorable children. Ugh. Maybe instead of seeking stardom, she should have stayed singing in the church choir and lived a regular life. Buck up, buttercup. With a little angry huff at herself she turned on her side and snuggled into the pillow.
Sexy as hell Oliver Heart had given her a toe-curling kiss. He’d just tucked her into bed in his fabulous pool house. She was getting a second chance at a singing career, and if she had to wiggle her ass and belt out dance music, then so be it. She’d seen plenty of poverty in the hills of Tennessee. It was high time she started being thankful instead of full of regret or feeling sorry for herself.
A few minutes later her eyes fluttered shut and she drifted off to blissful, dreaming-of-Oliver-Heart-kisses sleep.
The sound of movement in the house had Belinda’s heart pounding. Groggy, she squinted in the dim light of the room, feeling odd . . . lost. Where the hell was she? Not in Nashville! Not at her parents’ house. Not a hotel.
I’m in Oliver Heart’s guest house, she thought suddenly, while reality slowly sifted through her foggy brain. Scenes from earlier in the day played like a trailer in her head: arriving, him naked, the fall, second fall, him naked again.
The kiss.
Belinda brushed her hair from her eyes, wondering what the hell time it was, and had no clue. Must be, like, three in the afternoon maybe? Turning over, she reached toward the nightstand for her phone to see the time, but then she remembered it was still in her purse somewhere in the main room. But then she spotted a digital clock and sat up straight. “Six o’clock?” She’d slept all afternoon! “Ugh!” She ran her tongue over her teeth and decided a shower and basic hygiene were in order. Or better yet, a long, hot bath. She’d never figured out why people preferred showers to baths. In the bath, you soaked in hot water, sat and relaxed instead of having to stand while water annoyingly sprayed you in the face.
Yes, she needed a bath.
Belinda sat up taller and stretched her arms upward, trying to get the kinks out of her out-of-whack, sore body. Hopefully she’d avoid further injury, but not likely. Distraction tended to cause her to run into things.
After fumbling around in the semidark, she found the light switch and turned on the lamp next to the bed. She looked around and nodded. “Nice.” Unlike the living area, the bedroom had a more traditional beach theme, but in an understated, rather rustic way. Driftwood decorated the top of the dresser, and the lamp on the nightstand was made of a huge conch shell that she needed to touch. Belinda liked the lack of clutter and clean lines of the artfully distressed furniture that stood out against the same seafoam color of the walls.
Pushing back the covers, Belinda looked at her knees, relieved to see just slight bruising. Although tomorrow it could look worse. She sometimes thought that furniture just jumped out in front of her. Sliding her legs over the side of the bed, she stood up and tested her weight on her ankle. She let out a sigh of relief when she only felt a twinge of pain. With a limp, mostly from her tender knees, she walked with a zombie gait into the bathroom and turned on the bright light.
Blinking, she mouthed Wow. Spacious for a guest house, the big bathroom boasted a deep whirlpool tub and a walk-in doorless shower. Slate tile and green plants accented the same soothing seafoam color throughout the house. A pedestal sink and large oval mirror gave the room a touch of elegance, and she smiled. Nice.
Belinda located her suitcase with her cosmetics and walked back to the bathroom and started filling the big tub. A few minutes later she luxuriated in a hot, fragrant bubble bath. Taking her time, she washed her hair, shaved her legs, buffed and puffed until she felt squeaky clean.
As she dried off with a thick white towel, she wondered if Oliver had spoken to Devin or Julie and felt a little pang of unease. But then she reminded herself that this little ruse was just as important to Oliver as it was to her, so the result was all that mattered in the end . . . right? She’d just gotten the ball rolling faster. Belinda rolled her eyes. Good thing, because Oliver couldn’t seem to make snap decisions . . . or slow decisions. She, on the other hand, tended to move too quickly, ruled by emotion before examining the facts fully. Maybe they could find a happy medium.
After applying lavender-scented lotion, Belinda calmed down a little bit, but then wondered if she’d see Oliver again that evening. With that thought in mind, she applied makeup and then blew her hair dry. She headed for the walk-in closet in search of her suitcase and tugged on a pair of purple yoga pants and matching top. Feeling human again, she went into the kitchen for something to drink. Much to her delight, the fridge was fully stocked, including a big pitcher of sweet tea.
Belinda put her hands together in prayer. “Oh Oliver Heart, you are the bomb.” She found a handwritten note on the kitchen counter: I knocked on the front door but you must have been sound asleep, so I let myself in. Hope you don’t mind. I’ll give you time to get settled and we can talk business in the morning. Oliver.
Okay, the note was simple and to the point, but for some reason it made Belinda smile. She read it again, and then reached back into the stainless steel fridge and poured herself a tall glass of tea, leaving out the Jack Daniel’s. She knew he was being polite and giving her time to rest, but she wanted to see him. Kiss him.
No! Slow your roll, sis . . . this is pretend. Business. Over in a few months with their lives not likely to cross again.
Belinda nodded slowly but firmly as she reminded herself not to get involved. Even if they did have a spark or developed something more, the timing couldn’t be worse. Two entertainers trying to revive careers and head on the road solo was also a recipe for disaster in so many ways. And she’d had her fill of disasters.
Belinda reminded herself to dismiss how sweet and thoughtful he was—and how smokin’ sexy! But then she made the mistake of looking out the window. There was Oliver Heart in all his shirtless glory, skimming leaves from the pool. She thought that surely he must have a service to do the pool, the lawn, and housecleaning, but he seemed to like doing chores himself. Well damn, she liked him even more. Why couldn’t Oliver be an arrogant jerk like most other pop stars? That way she’d be able to leave this all behind her without a backward glance once they’d completed the job. She smiled when Oliver paused to look up at the sky and she remembered he was kind of a daydreamer. She’d only been around Oliver for a few months
when they were younger, and then just mostly for photo ops. She was in one Heartbeat music video, and she remembered having a blast with his brothers, making her wish she’d had siblings. Grady, the oldest and front man, was superhot and usually quiet but friendly. She’d blushed furiously every time he’d looked her way. The twins, Jesse and Jimmy, were opposites: Jesse was always doing something funny and Jimmy was sort of soulful. She read that he’d written some hit songs for other artists in addition to the ones he penned for Heartbeat.
When Heartbeat had broken up, she’d been sad, just like every other young girl who adored the boy band. Their popularity had been waning when she and Oliver did their fake thing, and it pissed Belinda off that their talent hadn’t been taken as seriously as it should have been.
Belinda watched Oliver put his hand to his brow as if shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun to look up at something, or maybe he was just thinking. She watched him for a few more minutes, contemplating heading out there, but when he glanced over at the house she ducked behind the kitchen curtain, hoping he’d failed to see her gawking at him. Belinda took a sip of her iced tea and peeked out the corner of the kitchen window after a few moments to see if he was still outside. She nibbled on the inside of her cheek. Well, she could go out there to thank him for the food. Of course, her tender ankle and knees would make her approach rather awkward. Lumbering isn’t sexy. The pool did look inviting; maybe she could use going for a dip as a reason for coming outside. But then putting on her bathing suit held little appeal. Okay, she had to settle for catching glimpses of him, but then she felt stalkerish and ducked back behind the window.
Belinda grinned as she sipped her tea, remembering how shy he’d been back during their first pretend romance. She’d been surprised, expecting him to be cocky, brash, or arrogant, but he wasn’t.
Belinda closed her eyes. Jeez, they were—what—fifteen? Sixteen? Too young for anything real, and, if she was honest, too young to be in the glare of the spotlight. She smiled. The media sure did love them, and fans believed them being in love. Uh yeah, and she’d received hate mail from some of Oliver’s fans. And some body shaming. Her attempt at blond and reed thin didn’t last all that long. Although she’d developed a thick skin, body shaming still hurt, and while she spoke out about it, Belinda still sometimes felt self-conscious about her size.
The fact that he’d remained a little bit unsure of himself even though he was part of a megasuccessful boy band had also drawn her to him back then. Somehow they’d taken the music seriously but not the fame.
Belinda rubbed her hand down her face and shook her head. And of course she’d been all sass and attitude, mostly because she was also unsure of herself and of the pop music world as a small-town country girl.
Now Belinda cringed when she watched talent shows on television and the contestants were in their teens, many of them from small towns, working in burger joints and going to high school. She and her parents certainly didn’t have any knowledge of contracts or royalties, and they had put their faith in people who only had their own interests in mind. Belinda’s manager was a friend of one of her father’s band mates, the only reason Belinda had convinced her parents to allow her to move to Nashville. Gayle Porter was a sweetheart and knew classic country music inside out. Looking back, something Belinda did way too much, she should have listened to Gayle, who warned her about choosing money over her heart. Gayle was all about building a career that would last in the long run over a short-term burst of fame . . . and she’d been right.
Belinda inhaled deeply, wishing she’d invested her money more wisely back then, but quite honestly, she often wondered if she’d been swindled by those she trusted. But that was, as they say, water under the bridge. Even if she wanted to explore that road, she didn’t have the funds for lawyers to dig into her financial past. But instinct told her that something fishy had gone on. Not that she’d been frugal. For a farm girl to suddenly have what seemed like a constant flow of money? Belinda chuckled. And she’d loved buying expensive gifts for family and friends. “I was so foolish,” she whispered, and inhaled another deep breath.
With her hand over her mouth, Belinda risked another peek out the window, feeling silly. Oh, but looking at Oliver quickened her pulse and made her feel, well, all girly inside. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this giddy pull of attraction. Biting her bottom lip, she turned and leaned against the cool wall. This really sucks.
Belinda didn’t fall in love easily. Trust issues made her cautious, and being a celebrity, even a has-been celebrity, made dating difficult. And she was admittedly a handful, so it took a certain type of guy to let her be herself. How did she know this? Because she hadn’t found him yet. Her upbringing was pickup trucks, bonfires, fishing, and cowboy boots, pretty much like country song lyrics. Field parties on Saturday and church on Sunday morning.
Belinda often craved the simplicity of her childhood, the beauty of the mountains, the friendly small-town people. But most of all, she missed her parents. But after flirting with fame, going back home was never the same. And she somehow felt that her fall from pop stardom let her hometown down. They’d been so proud of her stardom. And now here she was, starting all over again.
She closed her eyes and conjured up the image of her parents’ farmhouse, the front porch where they’d spent so much time. She’d snapped beans with her grandmother. Gone fishing with her friends. Her mother still canned vegetables from her vegetable garden and made jam and jellies from fruit picked in the nearby woods. Oh, and the never-ending music.
Belinda sang in the chorus at school, the church choir on Sundays. At home, the front porch meant listening to the radio or harmonizing with her parents while strumming the guitar. Her father played a mean banjo, and sometimes neighbors would come over and join in. Barn dances meant entertaining hardworking folks on Saturday night, and it was where Belinda learned to entertain and feel the joy of an audience loving her voice, clapping for more.
Gripping her cold glass, Belinda fought back tears. Who knew all that joy would end up bringing her so much heartache?
Well, she wasn’t about to let her parents down. Her father loved the fields, the corn crops, and the fishing pond. Several barns on the property were filled with his collection of Civil War memorabilia and miscellaneous treasures collected over the years. Belinda grinned past the moisture in her eyes. Her mother said his collection was junk, but Jack Beal stubbornly insisted otherwise. Belinda sighed. If they sold the farm, what would happen to her father’s treasures?
Belinda glanced out the window one last time. Oliver was also depending upon her too.
Belinda knew she had to do this, and she would give it her best shot.
CHAPTER FIVE
MORE THAN A WOMAN
Oliver cracked open a beer and then settled into his favorite butter-soft leather chair in the living room. The sliding glass doors leading to the deck gave him a view of the pool house, and damn if his gaze didn’t keep going there. Earlier he could have sworn he’d spotted Belinda looking out the window, and he’d hoped she’d come outside by the pool while he made a show of skimming three lousy leaves from the pristine water.
Darkness had fallen, but seeing lights on through the windows let him know that Belinda was still awake, and it took a lot of willpower not to go over there.
Damn, he wanted to see her. He could use the excuse of checking up on her even though he’d told her he was going to let her get settled in. He wondered if she’d be in some sexy pajamas, and his brain offered him an image of Belinda Beal in a sleek red silk robe with nothing on underneath.
“No . . .” With a groan, Oliver picked up the TV remote, but after surfing through a ton of stations, he clicked the off button and took a swig of beer. How could something on television appeal to him with Belinda a short walk across the lawn? He sat there, tapping his fingers against the can until he annoyed himself. For a moment, he considered c
alling Grady for advice, but he knew he was just getting back from a cruise with Arabella. Breaking the news to Jesse or Jimmy might mean a visit, and he wasn’t ready for that just yet.
Restless energy had Oliver longing to take an evening swim, but being that close to the pool house might be too much of a temptation. He grinned, wondering what the hell she’d do if she caught him skinny-dipping again?
What if she joined him?
Oliver took another long pull from the beer and leaned his head against the cool leather of the chair. All he could think about was the kiss that nearly led to sex. And that behavior wasn’t like him. Just like everything else in his life, having sex was something he was not spontaneous about. He didn’t like the awkwardness or the regret of a one-night stand or sex with someone he barely knew. The problem was that although Belinda had just arrived on his doorstep, he somehow felt an instant connection with her that had nothing to do with their teenage pretend fling. Oliver shook his head, marveling at how none of his normal rules or constraints seemed to apply to Belinda, and this was just day one. Holy shit.
And hot damn, Belinda Beal turned him on in an intense way that he hadn’t felt in a long-ass time.
Part of him—no, all of him craved having her back in his arms, and honestly, in his bed. He wanted to explore every inch of her lush body, pausing at the good parts. “Ah . . . fuck.”
Oliver took another long swallow and decided it was time to call Devin again. His previous calls to his manager went to voice mail and it kind of pissed him off. While Oliver knew that Devin had a lot on his plate, he still deserved a return call. Scrolling down the screen, he hit the number hard, as if that would make Devin pick up.
“Hey, Oliver,” Devin said smoothly, as if he didn’t have two missed calls from him already. “What’s going on, my man?”