by LuAnn McLane
“Well, Belinda Beal arrived and moved into my guest house.”
“Sweet. I’ll give Julie a call and we’ll get this moving quickly.”
“This is already moving so quickly my damned head is spinning. Uh, why didn’t you give me a heads-up?” Oliver glanced out the window, hoping for a glimpse of Belinda. “Or ask my permission?”
Devin hesitated. “Well, it makes sense for her to stay there. Think about it.”
“I wasn’t given that opportunity.”
“Well, I’m giving it to you now,” Devin said.
“Not really, since she is already here. Dev, it’s not like you not to give me a heads-up about something this monumental. Why did you leave me in the dark?”
“I didn’t mention it?” Devin asked. “Hmmm . . .”
“Um, no.” Oliver frowned. Something wasn’t adding up. Devin sounded odd. “Wait, was this her idea to stay here? Did you even know she was coming?”
“I’ve got sort of a client privilege thing going on here,” Devin replied in a serious tone, but Oliver thought that was a copout.
“Since when is she your client?”
“She isn’t actually, not officially, but I’m working with her.”
Oliver glanced up at the ceiling. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Oliver, just relax.”
“Okay, then, what if I refuse to allow her to stay here?” Oliver asked, even though his threat was empty.
“Don’t do that.”
Oliver shifted in his seat. “Dev, I think I have the right to know what’s going on.”
Devin blew a sigh into the phone. “Let’s just say that Belinda needs this to be a success. More than you do.”
Oliver read between the lines. “So she’s broke?”
“It goes deeper than that,” Devin replied. “And I’m not at liberty to say . . .”
“Oh come on! You can’t leave me hanging. And you know I won’t repeat anything to anyone.”
“I guess you’ll have to ask her.”
Oliver looked up at the ceiling. “I’m not going to pry into her personal business.”
“Uh, isn’t that what you’re doing?”
“Dev, I mean, I can’t ask her.” He stood up and started pacing. “Come on, man.”
“Why don’t you just go with the whole romance thing we cooked up and leave it at that? Bottom line is that you’re both trying to revive your careers and getting the ball rolling with some free publicity.”
“I don’t like being left in the damned dark. You know me better than that. I want to know what’s going on.”
“Why do you care what’s going on in her personal life?”
Oliver’s pacing came to a halt and he stared out across the yard.
“Ah . . . so you already have a thing for her?” Devin said. “Now I get it. You’re not just curious. You already care. Interesting . . .”
“Come on, Dev, she just got here.” And he’d already kissed her, nearly fell into bed with her.
“I remember how you two captured the heart of the nation with your cuteness. There had to be something real there to be so convincing.”
“We were kids! Come on! I barely got to know her back then.”
“Whatever.”
“I fucking hate it when you say that.”
Devin had the nerve to laugh. “Whatever.”
Oliver ground his teeth together, because Devin was hitting too damned close to home. Devin always had an amazing sense of intuition—it was one of the reasons Heartbeat rose to the top of the pop charts. “Don’t be getting any bright ideas.”
“I’m full of bright ideas,” Devin said.
“At least give me some hints. Don’t you think that would be a little helpful?”
“Okay, look, I’ll tell you this much,” Devin said in a more serious tone. “Belinda got a raw deal back when she was a kid. If I’d been her manager, none of that shit would have happened to her.”
“What shit?”
“She got railroaded into a pop career that she didn’t want. Country music was her thing. And when she had the guts to stand up for herself, she pretty much got blacklisted. And it really sucks because she’s got an amazing voice. This business can be ruthless.”
Oliver frowned, digesting this bit of information. “So she shared this with you?”
“Some, and Julie has taken a liking to Belinda over and above just business. And we want your solo career to take off quickly. Strike while Heartbeat’s single is still getting lots of airplay. Why wait?”
“Because I wasn’t sure I wanted to do this in the first place.”
“This isn’t her favorite thing either.”
“So why did she agree? You contacted her first, right?”
“Yes. I know she pretends to be this badass, but that hasn’t been my experience with her. Like I said, Julie loves her, and Julie pretty much hates most people.”
Oliver had to chuckle. “Being a celebrity publicist can’t be easy, especially these days. Too many egos.”
“That’s why I always liked working with you guys. Grady managed to get his mug plastered all over the place, but you guys were good at having a positive reputation without the bullshit. Belinda didn’t fare so well. But look, she comes from a humble background and she’s genuine. Julie and I want to make this happen for her too.”
“You said she wasn’t exactly a client.”
“She isn’t easy to win over. You’ll find out she has trust issues—and with good reason. Oliver, why don’t you just go with this? You’d basically agreed before anyway.”
“The key word is basically.” Oliver walked into the kitchen and tossed his beer can into the recycling bin.
“Okay, look, why don’t you get to know each other for this next week while Julie and I put together a game plan. I get that her arrival was unexpected and you’re goofy about being surprised.”
“So I’m goofy because I like to be informed? Prepared?”
“Just hang out with her! How hard can that be?”
Not hard at all, he thought, but Oliver didn’t want Devin to know that little bit of information. If his wily manager thought he might have something real to work with rather than a staged romance . . . well, Oliver didn’t want to think about it. “Okay.”
“Hey, she hasn’t had it easy. Cut her some slack.”
“Since when did you become a softie?”
Devin chuckled. “Guess I’m just getting old. I’ll get back to you in a couple of days.”
“All right.” Oliver sighed. After ending the call, he stared out the window. Conflicting emotions banged around in his brain. The excitement of the Heartbeat reunion made him crave the limelight, the rush of performing live. But going it alone put his stomach in knots. He chewed on the inside of his lip and decided to make a list of fun things to do to get to know Belinda better. One activity popped into his mind, and he groaned, trying to squash the memory of having her in his arms.
Damn, the girl could kiss . . .
Oliver scrubbed a hand down his face and wondered what the hell he’d gotten himself into. Maybe his brothers were right and getting back into the business would complicate his sedate life in Sea Breeze. Why in the hell did he have to be the king of second-guessing himself?
With a shake of his head, Oliver walked over and picked up his laptop from the kitchen counter. Netflix, alone, in bed . . . great.
CHAPTER SIX
SUDDENLY
Belinda stared at the contents of the fridge, trying to decide if she had the energy to prepare scrambled eggs and bacon or if she should opt for something simple like a bowl of cereal. Opening the small pantry, she found a box of some healthy fiber stuff alongside a box of Lucky Charms. She smiled. Apparently Oliver liked to cover all the bases.
Still undecided, she sel
ected the largest coffee mug in the cabinet, never understanding why small cups were even invented. Seriously, what was the point? Well, this chunky one required two hands. Perfect.
Belinda poured the steaming coffee nearly to the top, leaving room for cream and sugar. She dearly hoped the energy from caffeine would shift her mood in the direction of preparing bacon. She added a small amount of cream and sugar to her coffee and then, as usual, caved into adding more of each until the coffee tasted like sweet heaven in her mouth. She took another sip and sighed. “Ah, just right.”
After she drank half of the big mug, the caffeine kicked in and Belinda decided to go for the bacon and eggs. She located the skillets in the drawer beneath the stove and put them on the burners. There was a knock at the front door. She froze, thinking maybe she was hearing things, but then came another knock, a little harder this time.
“No!” Belinda’s eyes widened and she shoved her fingers through her tangled hair. Oliver? Who else could it be? “Oh . . . God.” Seriously, she had the worst bedhead ever. And she wore an oversized T-shirt she’d bought in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, that read BEAR WITH ME beneath the smiling cartoon face of a big black bear. The edge of the shirt stopped midthigh and she was braless. To add insult to her injury, overnight her bruised knees had turned a deep shade of blue and purple, and her ankle was more tender than she’d expected.
And she hadn’t even consumed a full cup of coffee! She wasn’t ready to face the world, much less Oliver Heart. And he was most likely all put together and perky. How do morning people do it?
Belinda remained rooted to the spot, praying Oliver would think she was still in bed and just go away until she’d had time to bathe and primp . . . yes, a lot of primping was on her to-do list before coming face-to-face with Oliver Heart again.
Like any good southern girl, she loved to look just so before being seen in public. And right now, she looked like something the cat dragged in. Dammit!
Belinda stood there, clutching her warm mug, barely breathing so as not to make a sound. What the hell time was it anyway? Who gets up this early? A glance at the digital clock on the microwave made her cringe. Oh. Eleven thirty? Okay, so she was closer to lunch than breakfast. Hey, could she help it if she had tossed and turned most of the night? Belinda lifted her chin a notch, thinking that her body clock was still out of whack or she would have been up hours ago. That was her story and she was gonna stick to it, but of course if she’d been wearing pants, they would have just caught on fire.
Belinda bit her bottom lip and waited, thinking surely the coast must be clear, but she didn’t even dare take a sip of her coffee. Cocking her head, she strained her ears. Nothing. Sweet. Closing her eyes, she inhaled a deep breath . . . and then a loud doorbell chimed, causing her to jump. “Well . . . hell!” She put her half-empty mug down so hard that her coffee nearly sloshed over the rim.
Annoyed, Belinda stomped toward the front door, making her tender knees and ankle protest. “Ouch, ouch . . . damn.”
Oh well, here goes nothing. With a sassy flip of her wild hair, she swung open the door.
“Good morning,” Oliver said cheerfully.
“Is it?”
“I hope so, what’s left of it, anyway.” He stood there in dark blue board shorts and a snug-fitting white running shirt that showed off his defined chest. He wore aviator Ray-Bans and looked so damned sexy that she swallowed hard. The man was living, breathing perfection. She wanted to pull him into her arms and kiss the hell out of him.
If only she wasn’t a hot, tangled mess who hadn’t brushed her teeth yet.
Oliver cocked his head to the side. “Not a good morning?”
“Uh . . . mornings aren’t my thing.” Growing up on a farm, she’d been up at the ass crack of dawn to do chores before school, so sleeping in still felt like a luxurious indulgence.
“Well, it’s almost noon, so not much further to go.” Oliver chuckled. “I just got back from the bakery and thought you might like some butter cookies.” He held up a small white bag. “They are da bomb.”
“Does anyone still say that?” Okay, she knew she sounded grumpy, but it just wasn’t fair for him to look so amazing while she stood there all rumpled and frumpy.
Oliver shrugged. “I guess I still use some of my boy-band lingo. I might just bust out wassup here and there.” One eyebrow arched above his sunglasses. “Why are you glaring at me?”
Belinda made a show of putting her hand in a salute over her eyes. “Sunshine,” she said, even though his tall body blocked most of the sunshine. “Sensitive eyes, remember?”
“Ah, yeah, those eyes.” He nodded and appeared a little nervous. “So, do you want the cookies?” Leaning one shoulder against the doorframe, he gave her that bone-melting smile. “I seemed to remember that you loved butter cookies.”
“Who doesn’t?” Belinda nodded. “But yeah, you remember correctly,” she said, and felt a warm rush of pleasure that booted away a bit of her grumpiness. “I’ll take cookies over flowers any day,” she said, but then felt heat creep into her cheeks. “I mean, not that, you know, I expect flowers.” She shrugged and then realized the movement made her breasts bounce, making her want to cross her arms over her chest. She reached out and took the bag from him. “Thanks, Oliver.”
“You’re welcome. And you might want to eat one now. You seem a bit hangry.”
Belinda rolled her eyes. She hoped he might leave so she could get herself in order, but he stood there, all gorgeous and tempting. Giving him a deadpan look, she opened the bag and nearly moaned at the sweet, buttery scent. Reaching in, she snagged one and took a bite. The delicate cookie sent her taste buds into overdrive. “Ohmigosh.” She took another bite, making sure to get some of the icing swirled in the middle.
Oliver grinned. “I know, right?”
Chewing, Belinda nodded.
“Um.” Oliver cleared his throat. “I spoke to Devin last night.”
Belinda licked a crumb from her lip. “Oh really?” she asked casually, but her heart hammered against her rib cage.
“Yeah, he’s going to brainstorm with Julie about where we need to be seen in public. He, uh, suggested we hang out for a few days to get to know each other first. So, would you like to take a walk on the beach later? Go for a swim? I also bought some fresh fish to toss on the grill if you’d like to join me for dinner. Wait, do you like grouper?”
“You are asking way too many questions before I’ve had my first full cup of coffee.”
Oliver laughed. “Grady’s wife, Arabella, is the same way, and she has to have a dash of cinnamon.”
“I read that they got married,” Belinda said with a smile. “I always thought they were so cute together.”
“Yeah, Grady proposed last November and they tied the knot on New Year’s Day.”
“That was quick.”
“Yeah.” Oliver nodded. “We were bound to secrecy so the paparazzi didn’t get wind of it. It was just a small beach wedding right here at my house. They didn’t want to wait.”
“Ah, romantic. I love beach weddings,” Belinda said, and then clammed up, not wanting him to think she obsessed over weddings.
“Grady said he’d waited long enough to have her back in his life, so they opted for a short engagement.”
“Understandable.”
“So, cream and sugar then?”
“That’s good, but don’t worry about cinnamon. I’m not so particular. Just give me a giant mug and stand back until I drink at least half.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
“I remember Arabella from when I was in the music video. I thought she was a cool chick. I was so impressed because dance moves and I don’t get along.”
“I seem to remember that you held your own.”
Belinda shrugged. “You have no idea how scared I was having to dance and sing at the same time. For me it was a re
cipe for disaster,” she said. Back then, the only way she could do the routines while singing was if she’d dug in her heels and learned the choreography until she could do it in her sleep. “My own choreography, then Heartbeat’s. My label wanted me to be like Britney, but I just didn’t have the skills.”
“Jimmy was the same way, but Arabella works miracles.”
“Wow, amazing that she and Grady got back together. I mean, I know the tabloids always had these crazy headlines about them, but we know how that goes.”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Okay, repeat just one of the questions you asked.”
“Do you like grouper?”
“One of my favorites.”
“Excellent. So, how’s the ankle?” Oliver took his sunglasses off and tilted his head.
“I dunno.”
“Do you mind if I come in and have a look?”
Well damn, there was no way of getting around this. “Oh, sorry, where are my manners?” Belinda stepped to the side, really wishing she’d gotten up earlier and was showered and wearing something cute. “Come on in.” With just a slight limp, she walked over to the sofa, feeing self-conscious in her sleep shirt. After she sat down, Oliver knelt on the tile floor and lifted her ankle into his palm. When he ran a gentle thumb over the slight swelling, she winced.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did that hurt?”
“A little.” When she shrugged, the wide neck of the shirt slid off her shoulder. “But not too bad. I think the ice helped.” He lightly rubbed her foot, being careful to avoid the bruise, making little tingles of pleasure slide up her leg. She wished she could ask him to massage her foot for like an hour or so.
“Good, glad you’re mending. I’ll go get some more ice.”
“You don’t have to wait on me.” She tugged the shirt back in place.
Oliver grinned. “It’s part of the boyfriend perks, remember.” He put her foot onto the cushion and stood up. “I warned you to get used to it. Just think of it as southern hospitality.”
“Oh well, since you put it that way, how can I refuse?”
“Exactly.”