She felt like her life was a simmering pot, beginning to boil, about to boil over. What she wanted was to resume her very normal life—one that even though it had been dysfunctional, had also been out of the public eye. That was one credit due her mom. Would it take hiding in a jungle to get back to that?
Hopefully not.
“You hungry?” He returned and dug through a plastic shopping bag on the table. They’d made a stop on the way to the airport because Gage had wanted an energy drink, and she had picked up some snacks.
“No. You?”
“No.” He cracked the window and lit a cigarette. She stared at the uncharacteristic action. Putting it to his lips, he spoke around it. “Although I was thinking I should have a last meal.”
“It’s not an execution.” She teased.
“I don’t know what kind of food I’ll be eating.” Crawling back into the bed with her, he blew a cloud of smoke toward the window.
When it was sucked neatly outside, she relaxed her nervous watch of the smoke alarm and teased, “I saw the information packet. Sushi. Seafood. The option to have the chef prepare a special diet. The only thing not mentioned was whether or not they’ll serve your gourmet meal out by one of those giant pools.” She traced a finger over the artwork of one of his tattoos. When he didn’t answer, she raised her head from his chest enough to look into his face. “I’m sorry. I’m not making light of it. I promise.”
“I know. I’m just really nervous.” His thumb made circles on her wrist, and she didn’t realize what he was doing until he asked softly, “What does it mean?”
Realizing he’d been caressing her tattoo, she settled securely against him and drew in a considering breath. She’d been asked before. But she’d never answered the truth. Until now. “Well, you have to stretch your imagination. But the treble and bass clef are an obvious salute to my dad.”
The pad of his thumb continued its rotations, feathering her skin.
“The semicolon. Where an author could have stopped a sentence but chose not to.”
His motion stilled. “Your dad, still?”
“Yeah.”
He curved his fingers to her wrist and squeezed.
“And then, it’s all in a timepiece, because… If I could turn back time…” She felt the comfort of another squeeze.
“That’s why the numbers are backward.” The awe in his voice reflected his interpretation.
She picked up her head to flash a surprised smile into his face. “Yes. No one ever notices the face of the clock is backward.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Good. Means no one’s really been this close.” He swiped his tongue over the inked art. “Means I’m the only one who’s watched you sleep.”
“Do I get to hear your secrets now?” She brushed a forefinger over his ink.
“Mine are easy. Anyone with any imagination. You know?”
“Did you design them?”
“All except… One on my back is from a drunken trip to a tattoo shop in Granada.”
“The sugar skull.”
“Uh huh.”
“Granada.”
“Me and Colt spent a month in Central America between tours a few years ago.” Answering the question in her eyes, he went on, “Colt was stuck on Latino women at the time. Me, I went for the monkeys. You have to see Monkey Island one day.”
She controlled a giggle at his kid-like enthusiasm and counted herself lucky the sugar skull wasn’t a monkey. Because it was debatable even being Gage whether she could be so hot for a man with a monkey inked on him. Tracing the art on his chest, she ventured, “So no ode to ex-lovers?”
He raised his head to peer into her face, took a puff of the cigarette, and turned his head to exhale. “The weird design on my shoulder blade. It was once an infinity line with my ex-wife’s initials.”
“Oh…”
“Yeah.”
She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear that. But now she had. The initial shock faded and a band-like bond tugged on her heart, tying it to his. He didn’t have to. But he’d told her the truth.
She kissed her way across the music bars entwined with thorns inked below his collarbone and rested her lips on a bicep. Continuing to trace, she studied the guitar neck running up the inside of his left arm and the broken string that twined around his upper arm. Suddenly her fingers stopped. In the dimness of the room and among all of the art decorating his skin, the punctures weren’t vivid. But her fingers felt the barest rise along smooth skin.
Repositioning herself, she propped on her forearms and stared into the brown irises ringing his pupils. His gaze softened, his unending worry these days fading some, giving way to a glow of love. Gulping down the lump forming in her throat before it prevented her from speaking, she questioned. “You using again?”
His shields shot up. The warmth dissipated and left a blank gaze in its wake.
“Yeah.”
“Since when?”
“The night the label dumped me.” Leaning, he dropped the cigarette into a soda can. “Are you mad?” He caught her neck with his hand, curving his fingers, holding her face to his.
“No.” Disappointed. Confused. But she wasn’t mad. She suddenly only wanted to kiss him. Kiss him until he didn’t need to push junk into his system. Their lips bushed together. Their tongues teased together.
“I’m sorry, Scar. So sorry. Seemed like if I was going in rehab anyway, what did it matter if I went in clean or not.”
Rationalization of an addict.
Although she had experimented and believed she’d done well in creating a natural detox, she knew nothing about the mental therapy that should have accompanied his treatment.
“I don’t care. Just fuck me, Gage. I’m going to miss this… miss you… so much.” When he stroked her with one long finger, she pushed at his wrist and her own twisted demons tumbled out. “Not yet… I want to watch you…”
Gage was happy to indulge as always, but took the game further when she decided that wasn’t how she wanted to play after all. When she reached for him, he pushed her away, all the while pinning those dark eyes to hers as he worked himself. At the last moment, he sank into her with one of his sexy groans. Unbelievably frustrated because she’d spent her time trying to lure him out of the show she’d requested instead of spending her time on herself, she heaved a sigh when his heartbeat began to slow against her chest. And then he whispered in her ear. “How do you want it, Scar, sweet darlin’?” Still connected with her, he lifted his head enough to stare into her face. “Because we’re going to do this all night, every way you want… Soon as I can move again.”
“If you fall asleep…” Her warning was stern, but in actuality, she knew he hadn’t been sleeping and would give up sex to watch him at peace for a few hours.
“I won’t. Plenty of time for sleep in the days to come.”
It was almost morning when she fell asleep. She wasn’t sure Gage ever had. Waking to his phone alarm was hell, but he was already showered and dressed.
He wouldn’t allow her to ride to Shady Oasis with him.
Holding herself together, she enjoyed one last kiss before he drew apart with the saddest expression she’d ever seen him wear and motioned her into the taxi. The moment he shut the car door, closing her inside, her eyes brimmed. The first tear fell as the taxi pulled away.
She had never flown first class before this last couple of weeks—that she remembered—and she was already feeling spoiled to the spacy comfortable seats with a cushy pillow and the attentiveness of the flight attendants.
Minutes after taking off, she ate a grilled chicken sandwich and sipped through a calming glass of wine. The moment the mess was cleared and the tray folded away, she began to doze.
An hour had passed when she awoke to voices in their section of the flight and with a smile of thanks, accepted another wine spritz from the attendant. The empty seat next to her was a stark reminder of the days of aloneness ahead.
&nbs
p; Would he be her same Gage when released from rehab? What if brainwashing against his addictions broke their relationship?
After the first week, they would be able to talk on the phone. After the first month, she’d be able to see him. But what if something changed with him and he didn’t want to pick up where they left off?
Chill, Scar Dar’. It’s gonna be fine. Did it make her a lunatic to pretend for a second she was hugged against the haven and heat of Gage’s chest?
She needed a better way to distract herself than what were possibly mentally unstable daydreams. Picking up her phone, she was relieved to find wireless on this flight.
Cautiously, remembering her last experience on a plane, she made sure her speakers were muted and although this time she didn’t have a seatmate, tilted her screen so only she could view it.
The website had been bookmarked in the deviant part of her mind since she had discovered it years ago. The Ivy and Bradley video was no longer top center. Thank goodness. Ignoring whatever new couple had this unfortunate honor of most views, she tapped the ‘new’ link.
The title of the most recently uploaded video was enough to almost bring her just eaten food back to the light of day.
Gage Remington and Mystery Beach Babe
She closed out the screen, unwilling to mar the memories of the last twenty-four hours while the soreness between her legs was still a pleasant reminder. Of all the times for his past to come back and bite her.
Taking deep breaths, she strived for an inner Zen. When that didn’t work, she ordered a crown and coke and swallowed it down. She was in the middle of another when she couldn’t stand it any longer. Pulling up the website, she sent a furtive glance around and jabbed with her thumb on the link.
It was Gage all right. His eyes alternately closed in ecstasy and open, either staring down at or beyond the woman in his arms.
Watching again, she was consumed by the beauty of him, of the two of them together.
The mystery beach babe?
Her.
Chapter 4
“What did she say?” Ivy dipped her toes into the pool before spreading a towel onto a chaise and plopping down.
Scarlette had come from a half hour video chat with a lawyer her publicist had referred. She had begun the process of getting the video removed the moment she’d returned to the privacy of Gage’s house, and continued to make and return calls from Big Sur. What she hadn’t done was call Gage.
“It’s exactly as you said. We were outside with no expectation of privacy. But since a zoom lens was used, there’s a possibility they will have to take it down.”
“Did she say anything about the person who uploaded it? About buying it? Making an offer?
“Yeah. She said if going this route, to get Gage to do it and do it before I’m identified.”
Ivy was in the motion of lying down, but she popped up. “Because if it is deemed legal to leave up, it’s going to be worth a lot. Holy cow.”
“I can’t talk to Gage for a week.”
“His lawyer can!” Ivy’s eyes flew open wide with that revelation. “They’ll put his lawyer right through to him.”
“But he’s in rehab… This sort of shit could be a setback to his health.” Scarlette pinched the bridge of her nose and ceased pacing to sit on the chaise near Ivy’s. “Besides. The documentary releases in theaters tonight. Somebody’s going to put a face to the random beach babe.” She forced a wry smile.
“But if they can pull it before someone does…”
“Yeah. But if they can’t, well…” Scarlette shrugged. “I’m not sure I care. It’s sexy. And even if I don’t get to keep Gage at the end of all of this, then at least there’s that.”
“Scarla Smythe!” Ivy feigned a properly shocked air.
“Scarlette Conterra,” she corrected, and curved her lips in a reflective smile. “I’m changing my name back. To what it is on my birth certificate. It’s in the works. With all the other legal work when I get back to L.A.”
Being with Ivy was like stepping a decade back in time. Her friend was still the same silly, sarcastic, sweet best friend she’d always been. Except for the several years Scarlette had only thought she’d been. But it was easy to let the past go when the blender was constantly whirring out cocktails and the Pacific Ocean stretched into infinity.
The only non-blissful part of this trip had been her decision to bring Rascal. Gage had turned him loose at Arrowhead Lake with no problems of him straying. When she did the same here at Big Sur, the animal took off, sometimes down the steep hillside to the ocean and only after much coaxing returned. She wondered if he was searching for Gage and had begun bringing him out of the house on a leash only. This led to him howling from inside the house while they sunned, or pulling at the tied leash hard enough to drag their chairs around when she wasn’t walking him.
A package arrived by private courier on the morning of her birthday. The note inside from Gage had her choked with emotion by the time she read to the last line.
Happy Birthday Scar Dar
Inside the box was a wide silver bracelet with antiqued engraved etchings. A single rose was the prominent art piece and it was surrounded by swirls. Looking closer, she saw them to be thorny vines with leaves.
Ivy kept the drinks flowing that afternoon, and lulled by the deceptive peace of the ocean waves far below their cliff, they discussed going into town for dinner as they had the night before.
Scarlette shrugged as she slurped the last of a margarita. “The town seems quiet enough.”
“It’s crazy to think how changed your world was the moment you opened your eyes this morning,” Ivy mused, twirling her straw.
Still unable to keep from looking at her bracelet for more than a minute, she gazed at it again while reaching for her phone. This is stupid. She clicked on the browser icon. So stupid. She stared at the blank search bar. But I have to know. She typed her name in. Hit search. Sipped, and then promptly coughed the sip up.
Scarlette Conterra… estimated billions… daughter of rock icon Tyler Conterra …only heir… of trust fund age…
In one form or fashion, headline after headline heralded the news of her birthday and what it meant. Because of the documentary, her part in it, and the publicity, there were pictures to accompany the news pieces.
“I don’t think we should go out, Ivy.”
But they did. Ivy had a devil may care attitude. And Scarlette felt silly and paranoid.
Dinner at The Star Fish was fabulous.
Drinks and dancing at Ten Club was fun until she saw a cell phone aimed her way.
Paranoid.
Cell Phone Girl made eye contact and instead of putting the phone away, she nudged her date, motioned with her head, and the guy looked her way.
Not paranoid when they’re really after you!
She turned her back on the couple.
Rapping her fingers on the bar, she waited for Ivy to return from dancing with some guy who’d been buying them drinks.
“We need to go!” Grabbing her wallet, Scarlette slid from the stool.
“What? No. I like him!” Ivy took the tone of a five-year-old who was having her ice cream jacked.
“This girl took pictures of me.”
Ivy’s preschool pout disappeared. She listened to the description of the couple, looked over Scarlette’s shoulder, and confirmed with a nod. “You’re right. She’s staring right at you. So is the chick at the table next to her. I can’t believe it’s happening already.”
Ivy clamped her mouth closed when her man joined them. Scarlette politely refused another drink when he offered and frowned when Ivy ordered.
“I have a bad feeling.” Scarlette confessed to Ivy after dragging her to the ladies room. “We need to go.”
“I really like this guy…” Gone was Ivy’s earlier whine, but still she protested.
“Hiiii…” A woman about twenty two slurred the greeting while looking at the two of them reflected in the mirror. Next, she turn
ed to address Scarlette in the flesh. “Some of the girls are saying you’re Scarlette Conterra.”
“Charlotte who?” Ivy jumped in front of Scarlette, her brows puckered into a confused frown. Less than a minute later, she had the drunken chick flustered and scurrying out the door.
The moment they were out of the club and closed in the taxi, Ivy groaned. “What is wrong with people? Why do they have to lose their shit just because…” She trailed off when Scarlette frowned at her and cut her eyes to the driver.
Ivy turned her attention to the window, likely still pouting over not getting the chance to bang her guy in some dark corner, and Scarlette pulled up her phone’s recent search history.
Bad feeling validated.
Gage Remington’s ‘Mystery Beach Babe’ already had a name.
Gage Remington and Scarlette Conterra Hot Hot Hot!
Chapter 5
Back at the house yet?
Sent 8:33 PM
Scar
Can you call?
8:33 PM
Without taking the time to text back, he tapped a thumb to her picture and she picked up before it even rang on his end.
“Hey Scar. It’s getting dark. I was hoping you’re home.”
He knew her transportation to and from Big Sur was by chopper, not crowded highways, but knowing she was home before dusk would settle his mind before he crashed for the evening.
“Yep. Got in about an hour ago. I texted.”
“Oh. Yeah. I see it now.” He paused a second, eyeing his surroundings to ensure his semi-privacy. “Listen. I got a voicemail from my lawyer about the video. They are issuing a new cease and desist because their expert is saying the angle of the recording looks like a drone.”
“A drone? Will that make a difference?”
The hope in her question was evident and he wanted more than anything to make it a reality. Scar had been calm and matter of fact when telling him of the video’s existence the first day he could take phone calls. Her legal firm had already been on it. She had texted him the link, and he had shamelessly watched it too many times in a row.
Hung Out: A Needles and Pins Rock Romance Page 31