The Nearness of You
KG Fletcher
Copyright © 2020 Kelly Genelle Fletcher
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-7320240-8-3
Printed in the United States of America.
**FAIR WARNING: This book contains scenes of detailed intimacy and liberal use of profanity. It is intended for readers 18+**
The Nearness of You is a standalone, celebrity romance.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, or events is coincidental and not intended by the author.
If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher. In such case the author has not received any payment for this “stripped book.”
For a complete list of KG’s books visit: www.kgfletcherauthor.com
Copy Editor - Vicky Burkholder
Cover art by Sodasac Author Services
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. The copying, scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Dedication
For Frank, Tony, Nat, Ella, Louis,
Etta, Barbra, Harry, Michael and Norah.
Thank you for the music…
Chapter One
Lauren’s voice echoed warmly through the cozy, upscale bar at the St. Regis Hotel in Atlanta. She gripped the microphone and closed her eyes, willing herself to relax into the painfully romantic Rodgers and Hart song, Where or When. It had been a rough day, and she was thankful to be in the dreamy space, doing what she loved the most—singing. Her accompanist, Miles Brooks, played effortlessly, using his whole body to play the baby grand, occasionally looking up and smiling at her. He was like a brother; their years of performing together on and off in shows and gigs a testament to their long friendship. He had had better days as well. She hated he was going through a bitter divorce that involved his two young kids who he adored. To see him in his element, oblivious to his current problems and lost in the music was comforting and helped to ease her tension. Her rough day was nothing compared to what he was going through.
During a musical interlude, Lauren brought the microphone down to her lap and smiled as she looked out into the audience of mostly businessmen, doing her best to exude her femme fatale persona. Her black cocktail dress had just enough cleavage to make them take notice, and her four inch, open-toed heels allowed her pretty scarlet toenails to peek through. Never one to overdue the makeup, she relied on her natural beauty enhanced by an extra application of mascara and lip gloss. She’d pulled her honey-colored hair up on one side, the Veronica Lake style adding to her sultriness as a lounge singer. Even though the hotel paid her an hourly rate better than most, she relied heavily on generous tips from the upscale clientele, using pure talent to draw in the crowd with her voice and song selections.
Miles had his eyes closed, playing through the chorus, his shaggy, jet black hair hanging over his brow. She swayed on the stool and brought the mic back up to her lips to finish the ballad, the song ending with polite applause from the Friday night crowd that had started to form. The St. Regis was located in the heart of Buckhead and Lauren anticipated a good payday, especially if enough date-night couples wandered in later with requests.
“Thank you. Thank you so much. I’m Lauren Rose and the handsome fella on the piano is Miles Brooks. We’re going to take a short break. If you have any requests, please let us know and we’ll do our very best to accommodate you.” She gave the audience one last smile before turning toward Miles. Light jazz started to seep into the bar area over several speakers hidden in the dark paneled walls. “That was awesome,” she said, her sultry piano bar voice replaced with just a hint of a southern drawl.
Miles stood and loosened the bowtie of his working tux. “Thanks, girl. Feels good to relax and just play.” She nodded sympathetically, clipping her microphone back on the chrome stand. “You want anything from the bar?” he asked.
“No. I’m good. I’ll see you back here in twenty minutes.”
“Sounds good.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and navigated between the tiny tables and overstuffed chairs.
Sighing, she grabbed her small purse, intent on making her way to the ladies room. Just as she suspected, an elderly gentleman who was a well-known regular, stood as she passed his table, holding his wrinkled hand out to her. He was impeccably dressed in a custom suit, his platinum cufflinks winking at her in the soft light.
“Charles… how are you?” The sultry voice was back as she extended her hand and welcomed the light kiss he offered across her knuckles with a smile.
“Lauren, my dear. You are a sight for my old eyes.”
She laughed and shook her head. “Are you enjoying the show?”
“Always.”
“And what can I dedicate to my favorite handsome man this evening?”
Charles put his aged, index finger against his wrinkled lips and thought for a moment. “Can you do that classic song? You know… the one about the bell?” A look of nostalgia briefly crossed his crinkly face, and she knew he was trying to remember the old Frank Loesser song from the musical, Guys and Dolls. It was one he requested on a regular basis.
Lauren grabbed both of his hands, looked him in the eye, and tilted her head. “Only for you, Charles.”
Grinning from ear to ear, he nodded happily before he pulled a fifty-dollar bill from his expensive suit jacket and placed it into her palm. “You’re a real gem.” She gave him a quick peck on his cheek before he politely stepped back so she could continue to the hallway where the ladies room was located. Tucking the fifty into her purse, she couldn’t help but grin. A big tip for a song dedication—it couldn’t get any easier than that.
Quickly, she primped in front of the gilded mirror in the upscale, marble bathroom and was making her way back to the bar in the dimly lit hallway when a male voice with a distinct British accent stopped her in her tracks.
“Excuse me, miss.”
Looking up with a smile, ready to accommodate another song request, she was taken aback, her breath catching in her chest. The man was tall, dark, and handsome and he looked very familiar. She started to panic, trying to place him in the shadowy light.
“I didn’t mean to startle you. I wanted to ask… the last song you just sang. I seem to recognize it but can’t quite place the name. Who is the artist?”
The molecules in her brain shifted, and she was suddenly aware of who was standing before her. In an effort not to faint or start screaming, she placed her hand on her heaving bosom and tried to breathe again, all the while his steady gaze penetrating her entire being. She swallowed hard, trying to get some moisture back into her throat so she could respond, but it felt as if her entire mouth had been force-fed a bucket of sand. The gorgeous man was holding a martini glass and looking like he had just stepped out of a high-class advertisement, his designer clothing obvious.
“Umm… that song was….” She cleared her throat. “It’s a Richard Rodgers, umm, song.” Eying his drink a second time, she reached for it and took it from his hands. “Do you mind?” She didn’t wait for his response, anxious to send moisture onto he
r hot tongue, throwing the drink back in one gulp before choking on the alcohol burning down her throat. “Oh my god! What was that?” she asked scowling.
The gorgeous man gently took the empty glass back from her, his index finger brushing her hand slightly. “Well, it was my gin martini. May I get you something more to your liking?” He tried not to smile but his blue eyes tinged with humor and gave him away.
Lauren held the back of her hand to her mouth and stared at him. “I know who you are,” she whispered, wide eyed. “You’re the super…” He interrupted her quickly by abruptly grabbing her by the elbow.
“Let me buy you a drink.” He started to lead her to the mahogany bar where her friend Tim was bartending.
“Hey Lauren. How’s it going?” Tim asked as he wiped down the polished wood in front of them. Could he tell she was coming undone being in the presence of one of the most stunning, sought after male models on the planet? Flashbacks of a recent trip to New York with some of her girlfriends came to mind when they stood in the middle of Times Square and took several pictures of the man’s famous image plastered on a giant billboard. His gorgeous, half-naked body was on full display for all the world to see wearing nothing but designer underwear. She started to swoon just thinking about it.
“Good, Tim.” Her reply came out a little too quickly, her voice three octaves higher than normal. She glanced at the illustrious man who stood mere inches from her, not sure if she would be able to continue a conversation. Her entire body felt like it was buzzing and she feared she might hyperventilate. Slowly, she eased onto the leather bar stool, hoping it wasn’t obvious she was coming undone.
“Sparkling water for you?” Tim asked knowingly. Lauren never drank while she performed, a lesson she’d learned many years ago when she had made the mistake of going to happy hour with friends before a show. Consuming one too many shots of tequila, she couldn’t remember the lyrics that night, and was lucky the manager hadn’t fired her.
“Yes, please,” she squeaked.
“And for you, sir?”
Leaning his strong arm against the back of her bar stool, he reached for a cashew in a crystal bowl causing his bulging bicep to come very close to grazing her breast. “I should like another gin martini, Tim. Hendricks please, with a cucumber garnish.” His British cadence was sophisticated and debonair, accentuating his high-class image.
Tim placed a green tinted bottle of sparkling water in front of Lauren and proceeded to mix the martini. As she tried to open her drink with trembling hands, she could feel heat tinge her cheeks. The damn cap wouldn’t budge.
“Allow me, Lauren,” he offered, the “L” of her name sounding beautiful with his lilting articulation. He effortlessly turned the cap just once and handed it back to her, his chiseled features dangerously close to her lips. She smiled politely before taking a sip and almost choked when he started to speak, palming her back with his hot hand.
“Feeling any better?”
She licked her lips and placed the bottle back on the bar. “Yes, thank you.” Her face continued to flush, and she was surprised when he leaned closer and whispered into her ear.
“It’s nice to meet you, Lauren. You have a lovely voice.”
His warm breath made her insides tingle and she had to inhale deeply before she could mutter a reply. “Thank you. It’s nice to meet you too… you have a lovely… face.” She forced herself not to roll her eyes after the words came out of her mouth, pressing her lips together in a tight line. What a stupid thing to say.
His name was David Randle; a muscular English model who was famous for his masculine fashion spreads. He toured internationally for a broad portfolio of clients, magazines, editorial shoots, interviews, industry awards and television appearances. Extremely popular in the United States, his face and body were instantly recognizable on numerous glossy magazine covers in racks at the local supermarket or on television in glamorous commercials advertising men’s cologne or designer underwear.
“I’m sorry for taking your drink from you. I didn’t mean to be so rude.” She could hardly look him in the eyes for fear his gaze might paralyze her.
“That’s quite all right. You took me by surprise.” He reached for his new drink Tim placed on a white cocktail napkin and raised it in the air. “Cheers.”
Lauren quickly fumbled for her bottled water and tapped it against his crystal glass, bashfully looking down to avoid eye contact. “Cheers.” As she started to take a sip, he interrupted her.
“Well that’s no good. You know what they say? If you can’t look a person in the eye when they make a toast, well, your sex life is shot to bloody hell.”
A look of panic contorted her features and he burst out laughing, his blue eyes bright and vibrant. His face softened as she continued to stare at him, speechless. “That’s more like it.” He leaned into her. “I’m not going to bite you, Lauren. You can look at me, you know.”
That was the problem. She wanted to gawk at him for hours. Sucking in a quick intake of air, she looked away. “I’m sorry, Mr. Randle.”
“Please, call me David. I insist.” He set his glass down and leaned on the bar in an effortless pose. When she shyly shifted her gaze back to meet his, she could feel her body actually swoon taking in his face—his striking, perfect, supermodel face.
“Okay… David. But I have to admit, I’m… I’m…” Looking around apprehensively to make sure no one could hear, she leaned into him and whispered, “I’m kind of star struck by you.”
His sigh was audible, and his remarkable blue eyes paled. “Please don’t be. I’m a normal man who puts his pants on one leg at a time, just like everyone else.” His eyes were mesmerizing, cerulean pools she was tempted to get lost in. “It is I who have been star struck by you, Lauren Rose.” One of his eyebrows raised, as if beckoning her into a trance. She couldn’t believe he remembered her full name. His voice was almost husky as he continued. “I truly look forward to hearing you sing again in your next set.” His focus remained pinpointed on her, and he nonchalantly picked up his martini and sipped, his irises turning a shade darker as if waiting for her to respond.
Staring open mouthed at the beautiful stranger next to her, Lauren felt like she was floating effortlessly as if in a dream. When Miles tapped her on the shoulder, she jumped back to reality.
“You ready, girl?”
She quickly closed her mouth and stood clumsily. “Yes. Yes, I’m coming.” Her heart accelerated, knowing her encounter with David was drawing to a close. “Thank you for the conversation. I hope you enjoy the rest of the show.”
His chivalry was on full display as he stood, took her hand in his, and kissed it, his full lips warm and moist on her skin. Those blue eyes of his reeled her in for one last close-up. “It’s been a great pleasure meeting you, Lauren.” He was irresistible, standing before her like a Greek god, and she was certain she’d never laid eyes on anyone more beautiful. Nodding quickly, she politely withdrew her hand and turned to walk away, his warmth lingering on her skin.
Miles settled onto the piano bench and whispered a little too loudly, “Who’s the pretty boy that’s got your panties all in a wad?”
“Shh! Miles!” Mortified, she stole a glance at David to make sure he hadn’t overheard.
Miles laughed and began tinkling on the piano keys, a cue for Tim to turn off the canned music so they could resume the show. Lauren gave him a stern look, and he mocked blowing her a playful kiss. As he started the intro of their first song, she took a deep, cleansing breath before facing the crowded bar and started to sing If I Were a Bell from the musical, Guys and Dolls for Charles. She didn’t dare look at David for more than a few seconds at a time, aware that a couple of patrons had recognized him, some of them taking photos as if he were a piece of art on display. A hotel security guard eventually ended up hovering near him, waving the fans off in an attempt to give the man some space. Lauren felt sorry for David having to be guarded in public, wondering if the price of fame was worth it. But eve
n with the added security, she noticed after every song she sang, he always led the applause and nodded, looking like he was thoroughly enjoying himself. As the set came to a close, she decided to be bold and dedicate the last song of the evening to him.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. I’m Lauren Rose and on the baby grand is my friend, Miles Brooks. We’re here every Friday night at the beautiful St. Regis Hotel. Before we say good night, we have one more song for you. I would like to dedicate this to my new friend in the audience…” she paused before his name left her lips. “David….” His reaction was priceless when he raised his eyebrows in surprise and offered an accepting nod and killer smile.
“Here goes nothing,” she whispered to herself. Miles started the haunting melody of the 1940s classic jazz song, The Nearness of You. Closing her eyes, she gripped the microphone and willed herself to calm down as she tried to communicate with this man the best way she knew how, through song. If he really listened, perhaps he might appreciate her gesture.
She sang of pale moons and sweet conversations, imagining what it would feel like to have David Randle hold her in his enchanting arms. To be granted the right to feel the nearness of him was every hot-blooded American girl’s dream, she was sure of it. The song ended with the last note from the piano fading into the air before the interruption of applause from the entire bar roared in her ears. Stunned, she offered a broad smile and a slight bow before gesturing to Miles who stood, and also bowed. David clapped exuberantly and nodded his gorgeous head before he brought two fingers to his lips to whistle. Lauren couldn’t hold back the giggle that erupted from her lips and felt a familiar blush as she swiftly made her way around the piano to hug her duo partner.
“Thank you, Miles. You were wonderful as always. We can look through the tips next time. Just remind me that Charles gave me a fifty… I trust you.” She grabbed her purse in an obvious hurry, hoping her duo partner would understand her excited haste.
The Nearness of You: A British celebrity, standalone love-at-first-sight romance Page 1