Summer with a Star (Second Chances Book 1)

by Farmer, Merry

Oh the way back up, she met Spence’s eyes. Underneath their over-the-top smolder, she caught a hint of frustration.

  His hands were still busy, though. He inched his way to the hot folds between her legs and brushed against her opening. A jolt shot straight up Tasha’s spine, radiating honest heat through her for a second.

  But only a second.

  “Uh, babe?” she said, bristling with giddy discomfort as he delved into her privates with his thumb, “I’m on a kitchen counter. That’s awesome, but totally unsanitary.”

  “Whatever you say, angel.”

  He tugged her toward him, lifting her so that she could wrap her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders, and carried her away from the counter, out of the kitchen, and to the dining room. As soon as she caught on to his plan to lay her across the table, she gasped, “Not the puzzle, not the puzzle!”

  “Mmm,” he hummed, changing directions and carrying her into the living room. “I love it when you talk dirty to me like that.”

  “Not the puzzle?” She blinked. No, she could do better. “I mean, damn, babe, the puzzle pieces aren’t hard enough. I want your nails in my back. I want you to do me hard.”

  He reached the couch and spread her on her back. Their eyes met for a moment. She couldn’t read his expression at all. It was as if he’d gone completely blank or put on a mask. Yeah, he was still sexy as hell, but what had happened to Spence?

  He lifted one of her legs to drape over the back of the sofa, pushing the other one over the edge of the cushion. It certainly left nothing to the imagination.

  “How do you want it?” he asked, low and sultry.

  “Um….”

  He dipped down to nibble her ear. “Do you want it slow and hot, or do you want it fast and hard?”

  “Well….” What would Marissa Starr want? What would any supermodel celebrity girlfriend want.

  She wouldn’t want to mess her hair up, that was for sure.

  The thought didn’t help her hold onto the mood. Neither did the smell of waffles coming from the kitchen.

  “I want it fast and hard,” she decided. “And preferably messy.”

  “You want it messy?” His voice was just weird now, with a false gravel that didn’t fit what she knew of him at all. “I can do messy.”

  He licked her neck. Licked it with one long, wet stroke. The sensation made her blood run cold.

  “Okay, eew, eew!”

  She pushed him back and rolled off the sofa as best she could, her range of motion restricted by leather and studs. A chill ran down her back.

  “What’s the matter, baby?” Spence stalked toward her, the itchy blankness still in his eyes. “Don’t you want me?”

  “Okay, uncle, uncle!” She held up her hands, backing farther away.

  Blessedly, Spence’s super-hunk façade dropped. “Not such a great idea after all?”

  “No.” She hugged herself.

  He let out a breath and crossed his arms. “It was Yvonne talking, not me.”

  Goddammit, he was still mad at her, even if he had dropped his act. His frown was unrelenting and he crossed his arms over his chest. It was completely unfair that he still looked delicious while she probably looked like she was wearing a bad Halloween costume.

  She flopped into one of the armchairs flanking the sofa. Well, flopped as much as she could with no flexibility at all in her torso. Mostly she just tipped back at an awkward angle.

  “I give up. I’m not sexy and I know it.”

  “It’s that outfit that’s not sexy,” he scolded her. He paused, his lips twitching up to a grin. “Okay, it’s a little sexy. But not like this.”

  “I don’t know what Jenny was thinking,” she sighed.

  “Neither do I.” He shifted his weight and looked at her from another angle. “Although, let’s try this whole thing again later.”

  He was trying to be nice. She had to give him that. Jenny was trying to be nice too. It just wasn’t working out.

  “I’m going to go upstairs and take a shower and change into a nice, frumpy muumuu,” she said.

  “Or you could find a comfortable medium.”

  She sent him a sullen glare, then rocked forward, gripping the arms of the chair. The combination of cushy chair and tight corset made her five times more clumsy than she needed to be.

  “Here.” Spence scooped her around the waist and brought her to her feet. He kept his arm around her, pressing her flush to his stomach. A smile formed on his lips. “Do you know how sexy you are right now?”

  “Yeah,” she answered, moping. “About as sexy as a mop.”

  He chuckled. “Far more sexy than a mop.”

  She arched an eyebrow.

  “Hey, I like mops.”

  “You like mops?” She narrowed her eyes at him.

  “Yeah. They’re useful. They keep things clean.”

  She shook her head. “Too much. I don’t buy it.”

  He kissed her lips lightly and loosened his hold on her. “I had to try.”

  “So did I,” she said, losing her smirk.

  “No, you didn’t,” he said, as serious as she was. “Give me a little credit for not being an asshole.”

  She glanced down, but he caught her chin with his fingers and tilted her face up to meet his eyes.

  “I mean it,” he said. “Yvonne’s opinions are her own. My opinions are mine. I want to spend my summer with you, not a teased up biker chick with a sugar rush.”

  His description made her smile, but just barely. “Gotcha.”

  “Glad we sorted that out.”

  Did we? They must have, because he let her go with a wink and started back for the kitchen.

  “I’ll have fresh waffles and sausage and coffee waiting for you when you come back down,” he said.

  “Thanks,” she called after him. “Just make sure you wash your hands first. And the counter.”

  As soon as he was gone, Tasha held out her arms and looked down.

  “Oh, lord!”

  One of her breasts had succumbed to the pressure and popped out of the top of the corset. And Spence hadn’t said a thing. She looked ridiculous. She felt ridiculous. Spence could say sweet things all he wanted, but she still had a ton of work to do before she could consider herself a movie star’s girlfriend.

  If that was even what she was.

  Chapter Nine

  Waffles were a major step in wiping away the awkwardness of Tasha’s morning experiment in alter egos, but she didn’t feel truly herself again until Spence let her escape down to the beach with a book.

  “I just want to disappear into a story for a while,” she explained as she slathered on sunscreen. “Nothing personal.”

  “I understand completely,” he said, sinking into the wicker sofa on the porch with his stack of scripts. “I hope you don’t mind if I don’t come with you.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at the crowded beach. “I don’t blame you at all.”

  She finished with her sunscreen, then, on a dare to herself, skipped over to give him a quick kiss before grabbing her tote bag. That’s what people in a relationship did, right? Little displays of affection? At least that’s what other people did in relationships. Brad had never been much for PDA’s, and who knew what celebrities were used to.

  Spence smiled as if he liked it and said, “Have fun,” as she headed across the porch to the steps and on down to the beach.

  With the Fourth of July two days away, the crowd at the beach was thicker than it had been so far that summer. More families had come up from the Boston area or out from the mountains. Tasha had noticed a “no vacancy” sign on the hotel where her family used to stay the day before. She was able to find a spot to plant her umbrella and chair. The murmur of voices talking and children playing mingled with the steady roll of the waves. She opened her book with a smile. In no time, the awkwardness she’d created for herself and the weird feelings leftover from her stupid stunt that morning started to melt away.

  “Ex
cuse me, miss?”

  She’d made it through three whole chapters before the stranger’s question yanked her out of her book daze. She glanced up, a hand held above her eyes to shield the sun, and found a smiling, middle-aged man standing at the edge of her umbrella.

  “Yes?” She blinked, a warning trickling down her spine.

  “I saw you sitting here by yourself, and I just had to come over,” he said.

  Tasha’s face pinched to a frown. Years without a nibble on the man front, and now a total stranger was hitting on her?

  “Thanks, but I’m just here reading.” She lifted her book, hoping he’d get the point.

  He wasn’t deterred. “What’s your name?”

  “Tasha,” she said before she could think better of it. “But it’s none of your business. I’m not interested, but thanks.”

  “Tasha,” the man repeated. “That’s nice. And what do you do? Where are you from?”

  Cold worry sent prickles along her skin. She sat up straighter, looking at her things and wondering how quickly she could pack them up and run.

  “Please leave me alone,” she told the man.

  “How did you and Spencer Ellis meet?”

  She caught her breath and raked the man with a more careful glance. Jeans and a polo shirt. A bag slung over his back that could have held a camera. His phone out and at the ready. It was probably set to record what she was saying. The man was from the media, and he was on her case. A chill passed down her spine.

  “Leave me alone.” She shoved the bookmark in her book and tossed that in her tote, then jumped to her feet. She hadn’t brought much or unpacked and spread out, so taking down the umbrella was quick work.

  “I just want to know who you are,” the man persisted. “Everyone wants to know who you are.”

  “Everyone can mind their own business,” she said, her voice shaking.

  “Come on, don’t you want to be famous?”

  With sudden understanding, a piece of who Spence was fit into place. “No,” she answered and finished taking down the umbrella.

  “Sure you do. Everyone wants to be famous,” the man went on. “Tell me who you are, where you’re from, and I’ll give you five hundred dollars in cash, right now.”

  As she folded her chair, she twisted to see him holding five hundred dollar bills out to her. Behind him, the other beachgoers were beginning to take notice. Tasha could only hope that some of them would come to her rescue.

  “Not interested,” she said, lifting her tote over her shoulder and her chair and umbrella in her arms.

  It was awkward, but she managed to flee even with her load.

  “Tasha!” the man called after her. “Wait.”

  Some of the other beachgoers must have stood up for her after all. She heard a man’s voice calling, “Hey, leave her alone” and someone else say, “That’s private property. I’ll call the cops if you go up there” as she sprinted up the steps to Sand Dollar Point.

  When she reached the top, she peeked down to check where the man had gone. An older but still buff guy with a dark tan that marked him as a local was goose-stepping the media man up the beach to the concrete sidewalk. He practically threw the man off the beach. Tasha let out a breath. At least the locals were on her side.

  She stored her chair and umbrella in the space under the porch, hands shaking, then leaned against one of the porch’s supporting beams to catch her breath, nerves shot. The entire day had been off, which sucked after yesterday had been so perfect. She needed to put it all behind her, find Spence, and talk to him like a normal human being. Stuff like this was normal for him, right? It was nothing for her to get freaked out over. She pushed away from the beam and headed up to the porch and into the house. Too late. She was definitely freaked out.

  Spence was banging around in the kitchen, hopefully cooking. Once she stashed her tote in the living room, she headed in to join him.

  “You will never guess what just happened to me,” she called out as she crossed through the dining room, trying her best to play it cool. “I was just down on the beach and this random paparazzi guy came up to me. He wanted to know—”

  She stopped dead when she rounded the corner into the kitchen. The noise wasn’t coming from Spence. Instead, a short, plump woman who looked to be in her fifties was rifling through the cupboards. She wore a flowing, charcoal-grey linen suit and had her hair cut in forward-slanting bob. As Tasha entered the room, the woman spun to face her. The woman’s face was perfectly made up. Jenny would love her.

  Tasha blinked away the thought as deep wariness, brought on by the scene at the beach, rushed through her. “Who are you?” she demanded.

  The woman looked her over from head to toe, brow knitting in thought. “Well, it could be worse.”

  “Who are you and what are you doing in my house?” Tasha repeated, but something in the sharp tone of the woman’s voice was familiar enough to hint at an answer.

  “When I heard you were a teacher, I expected you to be a dog, but you’re cute, in a sort of old fashioned way. I’ll give you that.” The woman marched away from the counter on her shiny high heels, coming to stand in front of Tasha with an outstretched hand. “Yvonne Plummer. Spence’s agent.”

  The woman who just yesterday had told Spence to ditch her. The woman who didn’t think Tasha was good enough for a movie star. The woman who wanted Marissa Starr to replace her.

  Tasha took her hand and shook it, trepidation spilling down her back. “Hi.”

  Introductions over, Yvonne let go of Tasha’s hand and turned back to the counter and cupboards. “Where does Spence keep the good coffee. All I can find is that supermarket swill, and it’s probably older than this house.”

  “In the freezer,” Tasha said, slow with disbelief.

  “Of course.” Yvonne clacked her way over to the freezer and opened the door. “He’s very conscientious, Spence is. Keeping coffee in the freezer, staying in touch when his career is at a turning point, taking girls out to dinner and defending them from ex-boyfriends.”

  “Chip wasn’t my boyfriend, he was Brad’s bro—” She stopped and swallowed a wave of panic. “How did you know?”

  Yvonne turned to her, bag of gourmet coffee in hand, with a tight smile. “Info travels at the speed of the internet these days, honey. Three people tweeted from the restaurant, hashtag Spencer Ellis. I have a program that alerts me to all those sorts of things instantly. Lucky for you, Spence came out of that whole thing looking like a hero. It’s making its way around social media like wildfire today.” She delivered her speech without looking at Tasha. Instead, she took the coffee to the counter with the coffeemaker and got to work.

  Tasha needed a chair. She had to settle for leaning against the counter. “Where’s Spence? Did he let you in?”

  “No, he wasn’t here when I arrived. Unless he’s upstairs taking a nap or something. But Spence isn’t the napping type.” She focused on spooning coffee grounds into a filter and fitting it into the coffee machine, not once looking at Tasha.

  “How did you get in?” Tasha blinked. She liked the situation less and less with each second. Between the severe haircut and the heels at a beach house, Yvonne reminded Tasha a little too much of the superintendent of her school district right before she handed out bad news.

  “I have a key,” Yvonne said.

  “What? How?”

  Now Yvonne looked at her, a passing glance that said she thought less of Tasha by the moment. “I take care of my clients, honey. Better than anyone in the business. That’s why they stay with me, and that’s why producers like to work with me, and by extension, my clients. I wasn’t about to let Spence run off on this flight of fancy without keeping an eye on everything he does.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question about the key.” Tasha crossed her arms, feeling cold in spite of the balmy afternoon.

  Yvonne shrugged. “I had one made before handing the originals over to Spence. I was the one who found him this place and signed all the p
aperwork. Technically it’s under my name.” She paused. “Well, technically it’s under a false name, but that’s neither here nor there.”

  Tasha didn’t hear the end of her explanation. Her blood-pressure hit the roof halfway through. “You!” She pushed away from the counter. “You’re the one who ruined my vacation.”

  “Come again?” Yvonne asked, one eyebrow arched as she carried the coffee carafe to the sink to fill it.

  “I saved my pennies for twenty years to rent this house for a summer.” She advanced on Yvonne with each step. “I’ve had the arrangements in place for two and a half years. I worked for my entire life just to spend two months living my dream, and you come along and blow it out of the water like none of it mattered.”

  As Tasha stopped in front of her, Yvonne turned to face her, carafe in hand, her expression more bored than apologetic.

  “It’s just a house,” she said. “There are hundreds of them up and down the New England coast.”

  “Not this house.” Tasha’s voice shook with the anger. “Not my dreams. You can’t change out my childhood for some other Victorian by the sea.”

  Yvonne pursed her lips and stepped back over to the coffee maker. She poured the water in and fit the carafe in place. Once she pushed start, she turned back to Tasha, planting one hand on her hip.

  “Would it make you feel better if I told you I’ve already arranged for you to have the house next summer? For free?”

  “What?” Tasha leaned against the sink, needing something to prop her up.

  “It’s a done deal.” Yvonne waved her free hand casually through the air. “The old couple who owns the place were more than happy to have just one renter for the summer. They said it’s less work for them. They’re thinking of selling, you know.”

  That tiny revelation on top of everything else pushed the breath out of Tasha’s lungs. The Cavanaros must be getting older, but somehow she thought they’d always be there, the stately couple who owned her dream house. They were as much a part of her childhood memories as the ice cream stand, Pete’s Clam Shack, and Brad.

  She sucked in a breath and stood straight. She wasn’t going to let Brad feature as anything more than a bit part in her memories. Not when there were more pressing things to worry about.