California Dreamin' Collection

by Heather B. Moore, Kaylee Baldwin, Annette Lyon, Jennifer Moore, Shannon Guymon, Sarah M. Eden

  “You’ve had a tough year,” Clyde said. “Trouble with the law, a long stint in rehab. Did any of that have an influence on your music?”

  Though he didn’t show it outwardly, Lance’s body had gone tight.

  AnneMarie looked up, and a rush of defensiveness rose inside her at the insensitivity of Clyde’s question.

  “I’d like to think that the mistakes I make don’t define me. Hopefully I can learn from them. I think I’ve changed— at least, I’m working on it.” His jaw tightened. “Rehab’s rough. I’d never wish addiction on anyone. But my experiences have definitely created who I am, and that person is reflected in my new album.”

  The lines on his face deepened as he spoke, and she wondered what he’d gone through. She felt guilt twisting inside over the fact that she hadn’t once considered how taxing his lifestyle had been on him in the ten years since he’d made it big.

  Clyde apparently sensed Lance’s tension too, and changed the subject. “Earlier, AnneMarie and I were talking about love, and she shared a personal experience with us that now has me curious about your romantic interests.”

  AnneMarie’s stomach turned over. Kill me now.

  “You have quite the reputation of a playboy; your name’s been associated with models, movie stars. And I heard that you recently broke up with Evangelina Porter.” He looked at the crowd and winced dramatically.

  The audience let out a groan.

  AnneMarie’s small bit of pity for Lance evaporated at the mention of his relationship with the gorgeous starlet. The twist of jealousy made her insides cold.

  Clyde turned back to Lance. “So, how are you holding up? I mean… Evangelina.” He let out a low whistle. “That had to be rough.”

  AnneMarie stuffed her hands under her legs.

  Lance leaned forward, his fingers interlaced. Clyde leaned forward, too— looking delighted to be able to get some firsthand Hollywood gossip. AnneMarie leaned back, simmering and wishing there was an ejector seat built into the couch.

  “Evangelina is an amazing woman,” Lance said. “But we decided it would be better if we were just good friends.”

  Clyde’s smile didn’t fully cover his disappointment at the lack of a scandal. “Well, you’re sitting next to the romance expert. Maybe you could get some relationship advice from AnneMarie— then next time, you won’t end up in the friend zone.”

  Lance turned toward her and laid his arm across the back of the couch, raising his eyebrow. “So, AnneMarie Sinclair. Do you have some advice for a bad boy like me?” A lazy smile spread across his face. For a moment she thought she saw a hint of vulnerability in his eyes, but it vanished so fast that she wasn’t certain it had been there at all.

  He could mock her all he wanted, but she’d give him a serious answer. AnneMarie did her best to hold his gaze. Her throat was dry, and her palms were sweaty. She might be a farm girl from Idaho, but she had things she’d have liked to tell Lance Holden over the past ten years, and this would probably be her only chance to say anything to him. A decade of frustration and pain bubbled under the surface, so she tamped it down, feeling dangerously close to exploding all over the man in front of millions of viewers.

  “I do have some advice. It’s pretty simple, and at the same time, it’s the theme of nearly every love story: a villain remains a villain until he cares about a woman enough to become a hero. She has to know there’s nothing he wouldn’t give up for her, nothing he wouldn’t change.”

  She kept her eyes locked on his, hoping he understood how hurt she’d been, but at the same time, her stomach was hard with self-reproach. He hadn’t been the only one unwilling to sacrifice. But he had been the one whose picture graced tabloids touting his relationships with a new woman in every issue. He’d probably been glad to be free of her.

  Any trace of lightheartedness left his face. Lance’s mouth moved as if he wanted to say something, but before he could, Clyde broke in loudly. They both turned their attention to him.

  “Well, there you have it, folks—romantic advice from today’s premiere romance novelist. Thank you both for coming tonight...”

  AnneMarie sank back into the couch not even caring that her blouse bunched around her waist. The gamut of emotions she’d experienced over the last hour left her feeling exhausted and shaky. She needed to get out of here. The camera zoomed in on Clyde’s face while he ended the show.

  The closing music started to play, and stage techs descended onto the stage. A man motioned for AnneMarie to stand and she shifted around as he unclipped the microphone from her collar and unhooked it from the back of her skirt. Looking up, she saw Lance studying her. He brushed her arm with the back of his fingers. “Hey, I wanted to talk to you. I—”

  “Great show,” Clyde interrupted.

  AnneMarie shook Clyde’s hand, thanking him again for the interview. When he turned to Lance, she bolted, practically running across the stage, through the curtain, and into her dressing room. She grabbed her purse and jacket from the vanity table before hurrying down the hall toward the back door that led to the alley where the station’s limo waited to take her to the hotel.

  “AnneMarie Sinclair?” a woman’s voice called behind her.

  She stopped and turned as a middle-aged woman in a pencil skirt and cardigan hurried toward her.

  The woman had a colorful scarf tied around her neck, a bob haircut, and a cheerful smile. A badge that said “visitor” was clipped to her sweater. “I’m so glad I caught you. Will you sign my book?” She pulled a copy of The Debutante’s Surrender out of her purse. “I can’t wait for The Rogue of the Masquerade Ball to come out tomorrow. I’ve got a copy reserved.”

  AnneMarie darted a glance back down the hall, still feeling frantic to escape, but seeing she hadn’t been followed, took the book and opened it to the title page. She fished around in her purse and found a pen. “Whom should I make it out to?”

  “Marilyn,” the woman said. “I’m a huge fan.”

  She wrote a greeting, signed her name and handed the book back, smiling but wishing she wasn’t running from a situation fraught with humiliation. Marilyn seemed like someone AnneMarie would have liked to talk to. “I’m so sorry, but I’m really in a hurry. Please excuse me, Marilyn.”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Lance step into the hall. She turned toward the doors behind her.

  “Lance!” Marilyn called.

  AnneMarie hesitated for an instant, glancing backward as Lance approached. Was Marilyn a friend of his?

  “You were perfect.” He reached them and Marilyn kissed his cheek then brushed the lipstick mark away in a maternal way.

  “AnneMarie, this is my manager, Marilyn Daniels.” He took a step toward her.

  His manager? Aren’t managers usually messy-haired hipsters with trendy suits, dark-rimmed glasses, and fake smiles?

  “Good luck with your tour, Lance,” AnneMarie said. “And Marilyn, it was nice to meet you. If you’ll excuse me, I was just leaving.” She nearly sprinted for the door.

  “AnneMarie, wait,” Lance called.

  She didn’t stop. Pushing on the metal bar, she opened the door and stepped out, heading toward the waiting limo.

  Chapter Two

  Lance shot a grateful look at Marilyn before he hurried out the door behind AnneMarie. No way would he let her leave without talking to her. Not after all the work he and Marilyn had put into making sure that they were on the same show. He could never have dreamed that she’d tell their story on air. And hearing it lit a fire under him.

  Maybe something still lingered between them after all.

  He’d read about AnneMarie’s success, but as the years passed, he’d known that she’d never have anything to do with him. Not with the mess he’d made of his life, of his career… of everything.

  But that was all in the past. He’d changed. Early on, he’d been so busy making a name for himself, and then he’d had to fight to maintain that hard-won success. He’d thought that booze and drugs were the on
ly way to keep up in a world where one day you were a king and the next, nobody remembered you. The last four years were almost a blur; his addiction had become a way of life. He hadn’t even been able to think for himself, but now he was clean. And the small spark of hope for another chance with AnneMarie flickered and grew.

  He caught up to her and slid in front of the open limousine door, blocking her way.

  She looked up, tossing her blonde curls over her shoulder with a flick of her wrist.

  A jolt shot through his chest at the gesture that was so familiar, even after so long. Her expressions, her mannerisms— everything about her was so her. A flood of memories washed over him, and the emotions that came with them took him by surprise with their intensity. With no substances in his body to dull them, the feelings were nearly too much to handle. He breathed deeply.

  I need to hold it together.

  “Is everything all right?” AnneMarie’s blue eyes lifted to meet his.

  He thought his heart would crash through his ribs. He brushed a finger on her earlobe. “You still wear pearls.”

  She tilted her head to the side, her eyes narrowing, but the expression didn’t fully hide the softness in her face.

  The fact that she hadn’t jerked away or pushed past him gave him courage to go on. “And I bet you’ve got a tube of some kind of fruity lip gloss in your purse.”

  “That’s why you chased me down? To point out that I’m still boring and predictable? And wearing outdated accessories?”

  He shoved his hands into his jean pockets and lifted his chin, studying her. “Not boring. Maybe constant… And, didn’t you always say that pearls are classic?” He lifted both shoulders. “I’m glad you haven’t changed.”

  Glad was an understatement. He couldn’t think of anything more comforting than her steadiness. And she looked fantastic. Her face had lost its youthful roundness, while her body had done the opposite— filling out and curving in exactly the right places.

  She darted a look at the limo driver, who had stepped away and waited a polite distance. “Well, I’m glad you hurried out here to tell me that.”

  She wasn’t making this easy on him, and he didn’t blame her. Why hadn’t he come up with a better plan to reconnect? Had he seriously thought that after all this time, she’d just fall into his arms? His mind scrambled for something to talk about to keep her here longer.

  “How are you doing? How’s your family? You still live in Aberdeen?”

  She nodded and raised her brows. “I’m fine, we’re all fine, and yes... still in Aberdeen.”

  “You still write poetry? Or have you completely converted to steamy romance novels?” He winked.

  AnneMarie blushed at his teasing and lowered her eyes, untwisting her purse strap.

  He realized that though she tried to put forward a self-assured persona, she was still shy, and likely lacking in confidence when it came to her talents. The realization stirred a fresh wave of nostalgia, making him want to pull her into his arms, to reassure her as he used to.

  “Maybe just a little steamy.” She glanced up through her lashes before looking back down and running her fingers over the strap. “As far as poetry, I don’t— at least, not much anymore. Not a lot of people are really interested in that sort of thing.”

  He reached out and tapped his finger beneath her chin, raising her face. “I always was.” He spoke in a quiet voice, hoping she could feel the sincerity of his words.

  She looked at him for a moment but then stepped back quickly. “I should go.” She crossed her arms, looking everywhere but at him. “I have a big day tomorrow and…” She gestured with a flapping hand for him to move out of her way.

  A wave of panic went over him. Why was his charm not working? “Wait. Can we talk? You want to grab a bite to eat? I know a great Thai place close by.”

  She glanced at the limo driver again. “I really can’t. Tomorrow’s my launch, and I still have a few things to get done for it. I need to get back to my hotel.”

  “How about I ride with ya?”

  AnneMarie paused, seemed to consider, then looked down and nodded, her cheeks turning pink. He remembered how he’d loved making her blush, and wished she would look at him again.

  She climbed into the car and scooted all the way across the seat to the opposite door.

  He slid in beside her. The door closed, and out of habit, his gaze moved to the limo’s bar, locking onto the bottle of champagne sitting on ice. He breathed heavily, and his mouth watered as he fantasized about grabbing it, popping the cork and drinking straight from the bottle.

  Annemarie’s gaze followed his line of sight. She lifted the bottle from the bucket and opened her door, leaning out and setting it on the curb. She moved back inside without saying anything.

  He slumped back in relief now that the temptation was out of sight. Did she have any idea of the craving that raged inside him every single second and was held at bay only by an immense amount of self-control?

  AnneMarie looked out the window, leaning her chin forward to look up at the skyscrapers as they drove through Los Angeles.

  Lance knew their time was short, and he wouldn’t have another chance. He had to know if she meant what she’d said on Clyde’s stage. He took a breath and plunged in.

  “About what you said on the show…”

  AnneMarie winced. “I shouldn’t have called you a villain. I’m sorry if that embarrassed you.” She held his gaze for a moment, then looked away quickly.

  She knew damn well that wasn’t what he was talking about.

  “I mean, what you said before that— about our summer.”

  She rubbed her hand up and down one arm and turned her body toward him— but not her eyes. “I don’t know why I said that. I was caught up in the moment with the audience and everything, I guess.”

  “But you meant it. Didn’t you?” He had to know.

  “Lance, I’ve never kept my feelings for you a secret. But why do they matter now? So you can feel sorry for me? Chalk it up as another conquest?”

  “That’s not it at all. I… I miss you.” He didn’t think he’d ever laid his feelings out like this, ever made himself so vulnerable.

  “I have a hard time believing that’s true,” AnneMarie whispered. She pushed a curl behind her ear and looked out the window. “I have a TV and a computer. Maybe you haven’t been to a grocery store in a while, but judging from the tabloids, you don’t seem to have missed anything.”

  He looked out the other window, trying not to let her see how her words— how the anger in her eyes— stung. He knew what she’d seen, and although some of it was true, most was exaggerated. The media loved to portray him as a player. But AnneMarie should have seen through the headlines, known the image wasn’t all true. She knew him better than anyone.

  The silence stretched uncomfortably between them. He kicked himself for not knowing what to say. She was going to leave, and all of this would be for nothing. Why had he thought that this might work? Did he really believe things could be the same— as if the past ten years had never happened? He shoved his fingers into his hair and rested his elbows on his knees. When she’d talked to Clyde, he’d had so much hope, but now he had no idea where to start.

  AnneMarie cleared her throat. “It’s been awesome to see your career take off. I have your albums.”

  He turned to her, grateful for the change of subject. It was just like her to take away his discomfort, even if he deserved to wallow in it. The spark of hope grew again when Lance realized she’d followed his career, as he’d followed hers.

  “Thanks.”

  She smiled at him. “I especially love ‘When You Say My Name.’ I’d have to say it’s my favorite song of yours.”

  His heart warmed. “When You Say My Name” was a ballad, and one of the only released songs he’d actually written himself. Of course AnneMarie had picked that one out. It was probably the least downloaded of any. Most of his fans skipped over it, but he should have known a person that k
new him— the real him, not his fame— would love it.

  “My manager wanted me to bury that one.”

  “Marilyn?”

  “No, the manager before her.”

  “Marilyn seems nice,” AnneMarie said.

  “She’s amazing. She’s the closest thing to a mom I’ve ever had. I don’t know how I would have gotten through the last year without her.”

  AnneMarie’s brow wrinkled at that, but she stayed quiet.

  The limousine pulled into the curving drive in front of the hotel, and Lance’s pulse sped up as he tried to think of a way to keep her from leaving. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to work so hard to get a woman to be with him. The car stopped.

  AnneMarie touched his arm and smiled. “It was good to catch up, Lance.” The attempt at cheerfulness didn’t fool him; her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

  He studied her expression, trying to find any sign that she’d be willing to see him again. “So, you in town for a while? Maybe we could get coffee or dinner or something, I mean, we’re both here in L.A., we haven’t seen each other in years.”

  The driver opened her door. AnneMarie studied him for a moment before her eyes tightened and she lowered her shoulders. “Sorry. I’m leaving the day after tomorrow. My flight is Saturday morning. It was good to see you, and I’m glad you’re doing so well.” She turned away. “Looks like you’ve got everything you ever wanted.” She stepped out, and the door closed behind her.

  He leaned his head back against the seat. Not everything.

  Chapter Three

  The next morning, Lance climbed out of the water and wrapped a towel around his waist. He glanced around, thinking how strange it was for his entire pool area to be empty. Since he’d gotten sober, it wasn’t just his pool that was empty. Once partying wasn’t his only goal in life, the people he’d thought were his friends simply disappeared into the woodwork.