by Aleah Barley
The porch swing squeaked as Anna straightened. Her face went pale.
The hammering stopped. The saw cut off in the middle of a job. Without the whine of the blade hitting air or the solid thump of a board, dropping the house went quiet.
Nick’s head turned slightly. A long black car was slowing in front of the house. A boxy limo with a uniformed driver.
Anna’s sigh of relief when the oversized vehicle passed the house was audible.
It stopped and backed up. Parking neatly on the street, the driver had to jog around to open the passenger side door. His hat slipping down the back of his head.
“Damn,” Anna muttered.
Nick frowned. Something was going on that he didn’t understand, and he didn’t like it. He reached out to lay a reassuring hand on her shoulder, but Anna was already standing upright.
She pushed past him to stomp angrily down the front stairs.
The limo door opened and a blonde man got out.
Hair stood up on the back of Nick’s neck as he started after Anna, lengthening his stride so that they reached the stranger at the same time.
Sandy colored hair and movie star good looks. It took Nick a moment to recognize the man standing on a Mill City street with a disgruntled sneer on his face.
Trevor Bliss. The biggest thing to hit movie theaters since buttered popcorn.
The newspapers had him down as a mixture of Cary Grant’s suave good looks and the raw sexuality of a young Marlon Brando. The tabloids didn’t have the space for long winded comparisons. Every time Nick went to the grocery store, he was confronted with brightly colored covers shouting that Trevor Bliss was the next big thing. ‘Sex on legs.’
“Sugar!” Standing less than two feet from Trevor Bliss, hands on her hips, Anna didn’t seem to care about the man’s good looks or famous charm. Her cheeks flushed. Her nostrils flared. “What the heck are you doing here?”
“I should ask you the same thing,” The movie star stepped forward until he was standing toe to toe with Anna, his muscular form looming over her. “Europe was a long haul. You’re supposed to be in Los Angeles, recovering from the tour. Instead, you’re playing house in some Podunk town—”
“Easy.” Nick moved forward, trying to get between the pair. There was something about the way they were standing—so close they were almost touching—that made his bones ache. “You need to take a step back,” he warned.
“Who the hell is this?” Trevor demanded.
“Trevor Bliss, I’d like you to meet Nick Maddox.” Anna reached out, putting a hand on Nick’s bicep to restrain him. Her delicate fingers against his arm were light.
Her touch cooled the rage building in Nick’s veins. There was no reason for him to be jealous. Trevor Bliss might be a box office blockbuster who could have any woman he wanted, but Anna wasn’t just any woman.
“He lives next door. With his son.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Trevor growled angrily. “Darryl was right. You’re going off the deep end.” His lips pulled back into a cold sneer. “Get in the car. I’m taking you home.”
“Darryl needs to learn how to keep his mouth shut,” Anna snapped. “This is my town. My house. I’ve got a team starting renovations right now. I’m putting a recording studio in the basement.” Except for the hand resting on Nick’s arm, it was like Anna and Trevor were in their own separate universe, reciting a familiar script.
“I’ve got a plane waiting on standby. We need to go.”
“No.” She struggled against him. “I can’t leave my dog.”
“Your dog?” The animal in question was sleeping on the porch. Leroy’s snores were quiet little rumbles followed by soft wheezes. Every once in a while the wolfhound-mix would let out a soft sigh.
“That thing? It’s a prop. If you want a dog, I’ll get you a dog. A real dog.” Trevor grabbed Anna’s wrist, tugging her towards him like a stubborn child with a favorite toy he couldn’t let go of. “We’re going home.”
“Let go of her.” Nick’s voice was cold. “Now.”
His hands curled into fists. Instincts he’d never used before were taking over. His last fight had been in sixth grade—wrestling another boy on the floor of the school gym—but there was no way he was backing down.
Not with Anna staring up at him, an expression somewhere between shock and surprise on her face.
Bam.
Sprawling across the ground, his head spinning, Nick stared up at the sky. Fluffy white clouds on a blue background.
One moment he’d been standing there. Now his head throbbed and his body ached. The punch had been lightning fast. He’d never seen it coming. A knot was growing on the side of head.
“Damn it, Trevor,” Anna said. “He’s a friend of mine.”
She reached down and grabbed Nick’s wrist, trying to tug him upright. Nothing happened
“He’s a really good friend of mine.”
The movie star let out a pathetic little sigh—like he was the one who’d been injured—before reaching out a hand.
Nick’s muscles tensed. His legs rose slightly, bracing his feet against the ground. The man’s hand was hanging there in midair, like a red flag in front of a bull.
Nick rolled sideways, pushing himself up onto his feet without any assistance. “You sucker-punched me.”
“Be glad I didn’t do something worse.” Trevor glared. Blue eyes squinting against the sun. His voice was full of outrage, “Don’t you dare tell me how to talk to my wife.”
Wife. His wife.
Nick couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think.
Getting popped in the head had been nothing compared to this. The world was shaking underneath his feet. His jaw clenched, trying to keep from screaming.
Blood was thick in his mouth, sharp and coppery. Whether he’d bitten his lip or his tongue, he couldn’t tell. Sucking air into his lungs, his throat was dry.
Each breath was like swallowing sandpaper.
Anna was married. The things he’d done to her—the things he’d wanted to do to her—to someone else’s wife.
“Ex!” Anna crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I’m your ex-wife. We haven’t been married in years, Trevor.”
Ex! Nick let out a breath that he hadn’t known he’d been holding. She hadn’t lied to him. Not really. No more than could be expected from a grown woman with a lifetime of baggage.
“We got a divorce.” Trevor’s world famous voice cracked, sonorous tones wavering. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to abandon you in a tiny backwater with some—some—” He waved a hand distractedly in Nick’s direction. “Some hick!”
“Hick?” Nick blinked in surprise. When his ex-wife had thrown the word at him, he’d laughed it off. Sure, he was from a small town. There was nothing wrong with that. His teeth ground together. “I’ve got a college degree. I lived in the city.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Not that I need to defend myself to you.”
Anna wasn’t paying attention. Why should she? A Hollywood siren with a movie star ex-husband. She must have found Nick’s romantic gestures hilarious. The fact that she hadn’t burst out laughing on the spot was a testament to her own acting abilities.
Hell’s bells. The rubber ducky. The present had been fun, whimsical, and bright yellow. Its squeak was the caterwauling of a cat in heat. Anna had looked at the duck like it was an exquisite creation hand carved by blind virgin nuns and coated in diamonds the size of baseballs.
She should know.
Trevor Bliss was a man who could afford to pitch diamonds in his wife’s direction.
Nick’s mind scrambled. He didn’t exactly follow pop culture, but he read the tabloid headlines while he was standing in supermarket checkout lines. Surely he would have noticed of Anna’s name had been in the headlines. ‘Trevor Bliss and Anna Howard.’
Only, there had been a headline. Dozens of headlines.
Not about Anna Howard.
About another Anna.
A blonde
pop princess with a painted on smile.
Anna Montera.
Nick was finding it hard to breathe. He’d never head of Anna Howard, but Anna Montera was another story entirely. Everyone had heard of Anna Montera. Her music was everywhere. Her face was plastered on billboards across the country. If he concentrated, then he could probably recite all the words to her first big hit, ‘Baby, Be Mine.’
His ex-wife had owned the CD. Bright red with a picture of a teen idol in a tiny dress printed across the top.
Anna Montera was Anna Howard.
His Anna.
The rational part of his brain said that there was no reason for her to have told him the truth. It was just supposed to be a fling. The irrational part of his mind said that she must have been laughing at him for days.
Nick took a deep breath, swallowing hard. Anna didn’t seem to notice his distress. She was too busy locked in her own personal drama, yelling at Trevor. They might have been divorced for years, but there were clearly some unresolved issues between the pair.
Nick turned and grabbed his son’s hand. “Time to go.”
Chapter Fifteen
Trevor Bliss was a good man—and a better friend—but he had to go.
Anna waved goodbye from the porch. She was ready for a nap. Listening to Trevor tell her exactly what she was doing wrong—from her decision to take a month off to spend in Mill City, to the tiles she’d chosen for her bathroom, to adopting a giant dog who seemed more intent on finding the perfect place to nap than anything else—wasn’t exactly her idea of a relaxing afternoon.
“You really married that guy?” The question from the neighboring porch was loud, impatient. Nick’s arms were crossed in front of his chest.
From thirty feet away she couldn’t see the damage he’d endured earlier in the day, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. The punch had been solid, strong, and lightning fast. It had sent Nick flying. There was no way he could walk away without any serious damage.
“I really divorced him.” Anna shifted uncomfortably. Her marriage wasn’t something that she liked to discuss. “Where’s Adam?”
“A friend’s.”
“Want to come over?”
“You sure there’s enough room? It was pretty crowded this morning.”
“I sent all the guys back to their hotel.”
It had become necessary the second time Trevor tried to fire her workers. When she’d contradicted him, he’d put a fist through the nearest wall.
Everyone on the crew had signed confidentiality clauses before leaving Los Angeles, but there was a big difference between keeping quiet on a residential renovation and snapping a multi-million dollar picture of Trevor Bliss fighting with his ex-wife.
“We could get something to drink.” Her lips pulled upwards, baring her teeth. She concentrated, hard, relaxing her face. It was the same practiced smile that she gave to crowds of fans, wily paparazzi, and hardnosed studio executives.
Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be having the expected response.
“I’ve already got something to drink.” Nick raised a glass that she hadn’t noticed before. A single ice cube rattling against the glass, floating in half a cup of liquid.
Lemonade. Anna sucked in a breath. The sun was still high overhead, the heat almost overwhelming. A glass of lemonade would go a long way toward fixing what ailed her.
She was off her porch before she could think twice, walking across the short strip of land between the two houses. Leroy was less than a foot behind her. The big dog must have gotten out sometime earlier. Given the skill that he’d displayed at sneaking out of the house all day, she’d be installing a fence next. Cutting off access between the two backyards. Unless she built a door.
“Can I have some?” The planks that made up his front steps were rough beneath her bare feet. If she didn’t watch out, she’d get a splinter.
Nick handed her the glass without saying a single word. Fine, if that was how he wanted to be about it. Anna took a hasty swig, wondering what had brought on his bad attitude.
The liquid burned her throat.
Not lemonade.
Fire ignited in her veins, her eyes squeezed shut. For a brief moment, the world was rough, angry, and then she felt a glow settle in her bones. The world was a slightly better place than it had been a few seconds earlier.
“That’s definitely not lemonade.”
Nick snorted is disbelief. Taking the glass back, he sipped the liquid where she had gulped it. “It’s whiskey.”
Whiskey. Anna’s tongue darted out, licking her lips. Rough and ready, the liquor had staying power with a surprising depth to its flavors. It was a lot stronger than what she normally drank, champagne with its bright taste and tongue tingling bubbles.
“Can I have some more?”
“Not until you learn to treat it with some respect. That’s a ten-year-old single malt you were guzzling.”
Leaning back against his porch railing, Nick took another sip. His brow furrowed, chocolate eyes staring into the depths of his glass. His free hand rose slightly to rub his jaw. He winced when his fingers connected with the black and blue bruise blooming across his handsome features.
“That guy sucker punched me.” The skin had split under his right eye, blood dripping down his face. In the intervening time, he’d washed himself clean, but the damage was still clear underneath the thick gloss of antiseptic ointment. “You know that?”
“It wasn’t a sucker punch.” Anna reached out, lightly running her fingers across the edge of his cheek. Her manicure was chipped. Scarlet varnish flecking away in spots, just a shade brighter than the dried blood that still stuck to his skin in places. “You might be the toughest thing in Mill City, but Trevor’s dad was a bare knuckle boxer back in the day. Trevor still works out in a pro gym to keep in shape.”
“I could take him,” Nick insisted. There was a short pause. “You ever feel like you’re falling?” He asked. “Like the world’s coming apart in front of your eyes, and you don’t have any idea where you’re going to land. Like you thought you knew someone, and you just realized that they’re a complete stranger.”
“Is this about Trevor?” Anna’s teeth dug into her bottom lip. “I’m not the only one with a past. What about your ex-wife?”
“This isn’t about Trevor. This is about you, Anna. Anna Howard.” There was a harsh edge to his words. “Anna Montera.”
Anna Montera. Anna’s gut twisted. “You figured it out.”
“You should have told me, Anna.” He laughed. “Hell, I should have known. I’ve seen your face enough times. Posters. CDs. Tabloid covers. Weren’t you at the Oscars last year?” He drank another gulp of whiskey. “You must think I’m such an idiot.”
“I don’t think you’re an idiot—”
“Did you laugh about it? With him?” Nick put his glass down on the wide porch railing. “Did you laugh at me with Trevor—freaking—Bliss?”
“I’d never laugh at you, Nick.”
Hands reached towards the sky, stretching out long arms. His legs tensed, straightening, pushing him even higher onto the tips of his toes like a dancer preparing to take the stage or a warrior readying for battle. Whatever the action was meant to do—invigorate tired limbs or relax tight muscles—it didn’t seem to work.
His body collapsed in on itself, his head slumping forward, his entire frame bowing forward slightly. “I know it was just supposed to be a one-night stand, but I really thought we had something.” Anger and confusion colored his voice. “I thought—”
A quick step forward and his hands were on Anna’s body, one resting lightly on her shoulder while the other gripped her wrist. Another step and he had her backed against the wall of the house, rough wooden boards digging into her spine.
There was nothing soft or tender about his kiss. His mouth captured hers forcefully, taking her prisoner. Sharp teeth nipped at her tongue.
He tasted like blood, and sweat, and more than a little like the whiskey in his
glass. How long he’d been drinking, she couldn’t be sure. Long enough to make him reckless, dangerous in a way that Trevor could never be.
For all his quick temper and flying fists, she’d never once felt like her ex-husband would hurt her. It just wasn’t possible.
Nick was different. He would never hit her, never put her in any kind of physical danger, but one angry look, one harsh word, and she’d find herself crumbling inside.
The hand at her hip tightened while the hand on her shoulder dropped down. Nimble fingers squeezed her breast, teasing her already taut nipple through a fragile layer of fabric. The dress she was wearing was lightweight, flimsy, a refugee from her grandfather’s attic chosen for its bright color and the way the skirt swung around her legs like a bell.
The scarlet cotton worn thin by too many rounds through the washing machine making it possible for her to feel every callus harsh against her skin. Fire ignited across Anna’s body making her skin hot, sticky.
Whatever good sense she’d managed to retain fled. It didn’t matter that they were standing on Nick’s front porch that any passing stranger could see her—could take her picture—flushed and panting, desperate to feel him naked, inside her. The only thing that mattered was the way his body moved against hers, hard muscles pressing into soft flesh.
Her hands were pinned against her waist, struggling to get free, desperate to touch him, to run her fingers down his back, tugging his t-shirt off over his hand and digging her manicured nails into bare flesh.
This wasn’t about what she wanted.
Nick ignored her attempts at participation, pinning her to the wall as his head dipped lower. His lips caressing her neck. Every breath he took sent hot air shuddering across her collarbone making her tingle. The hand at her waist went even lower, long fingers crushing her dress against her hip, fumbling at her skirt until he reached bare flesh. The feel of his hand on her thigh was electrifying, making her gasp and shudder against him.
“Nick.” A single syllable dropping into the sea of silence between them. “Wait.”
Birds were chirping overhead. Leroy was snoring, his head resting on his paws only a few feet away.