Crazy in Love (Contemporary Romance) (Blue Lake Series)

by Kristin Miller

  “Yeah, but hearing someone else say it really drove it home.”

  “If you want to listen to your boyfriend, that’s fine, but what we’re about to do has nothing to do with forever, remember?”

  She looked shocked, her skin paling. “Joey’s not my boyfriend.”

  “Maybe he should be.”

  Truer words had never left his lips.

  “One part of me knows you’re leaving and screams that I shouldn’t get involved…” She rose up on tiptoe and brushed her lips against his. “…but the other part of me wants you so bad. I can’t stop myself from kissing you, from wanting you to do naughty things to me.”

  His jaw clenched so tight, he thought he heard it crack. For some reason he couldn’t explain, he didn’t want her to regret tonight…to regret inviting him into her bed.

  “Listen,” he said, his voice nearly a growl. “I’ve got no qualms sleeping with you and leaving it at that. But if this is going to be the big mistake of your life, the oh-shit moment when you slept with the rock star when you knew better, I’m not sure I want any part of it.”

  There. He mentally patted himself on the back. Way to take the high road.

  “You don’t want to be a regret,” she said softly. She paused, hesitating, scissoring her bottom lip between her teeth. “Then I think I’m going to go upstairs and take a bath.”

  He curled his fingers around her hip. “Am I invited?”

  “Not this time.”

  As she walked away, Cole’s insides wrenched. He wanted to ask her to wait, to reconsider, but he’d never begged someone to sleep with him, and he certainly wasn’t going to start now. He clenched his back teeth so hard they hurt, and watched her disappear as she turned at the top of the stairs.

  Chapter Nine

  Rachael awoke to the soft strums of a guitar. It was raspy. Warm and soothing like a lullaby. At first she thought she’d misheard it. She rolled over, pulled the comforter over her ears and tried to go back to sleep. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she didn’t want the day to start just yet.

  She wasn’t ready to see him.

  The tempo slowed until she strained to hear one slow pluck after another. It was beautiful, lulling her into a state of peace. Her eyelids fluttered close and her heart danced.

  Had she left the radio on downstairs? It was quite possible she’d turned it on last night and forgotten about it. She wished there were other things she could forget…starting from the second she’d thrown herself at Cole, ending with the moment when she realized what they’d been about to do.

  Shoving her feet into her flip-flops, Rachael draped her robe around her shoulders and cinched the tie at the waist. She crept out the door and followed the angelic sound, down the stairs, and into the living room.

  Cole sat near the fire, his legs resting on the coffee table, a guitar in his lap. He didn’t see her at first, but when his eyes met hers, his hand flattened against the guitar’s strings and he jerked his feet to the floor.

  He’d been playing that song the whole time?

  Wow.

  She’d heard he was a talented performer, but she’d also heard that his songs lacked emotion and a personal touch. If he gave his fans a hint of that, she’d bet they’d change their minds.

  “Good morning,” she said, trying not to sound moved by what she’d just heard.

  His eyes were guarded, shadowed to a thick molasses shade of brown. “Morning.”

  “That’s a beautiful song.” She tightened her robe. His gaze followed her hands. “What was it?”

  “It’s not a song.” He set the guitar in its case and locked it up. “It’s nothing.”

  “It didn’t sound like nothing.”

  He exhaled heavily and nailed her with an irritated glare. “What’s for breakfast?”

  He must not have liked people eavesdropping on unfinished projects.

  “Corned beef, hash, and eggs. I should get started.”

  For a moment, she’d forgotten her place. She shouldn’t have come downstairs in her robe and slippers—she never did that. She must’ve been getting used to the calm and stillness of the inn without the abundance of guests walking down the halls. She shouldn’t have allowed herself to get comfortable this way. The halls wouldn’t stay empty; three couples were checking in Sunday afternoon and another handful on Tuesday.

  She ran upstairs, gathered her hair into a ponytail and dressed in jeans and a black sweater. She pulled on a pair of fuzzy socks. Brushed her teeth and splashed cool water on her face. As she raced downstairs and into the kitchen, she caught sight of the roses Joey had given her. They were on the hardwood near the front door, lying flush against the baseboard. She scooped them up, fluffed the buds and turned.

  Cole stared, a pad of paper on his lap, a pen in his hand. Only the pen wasn’t moving. His expression was blank, his jaw clenched tight. Why was he glaring at her that way? As if she’d done something wrong.

  “Breakfast will be ready in thirty,” she said, and scurried into the kitchen.

  She cut the stems short and put the flowers in a Mason jar on the center of the table. Taking two Advil from a cabinet beside the sink, she swallowed them back, and palmed four more. She set those on the kitchen table with a bottle of water. Her head was pounding—Cole’s probably was, too.

  As she set the corned beef on the frying pan and chopped bell peppers and onion, Cole entered the kitchen and slid into the seat facing her.

  “These for me?” he asked, pointing to the Advil.

  “Yeah, thought your head might hurt.”

  He didn’t respond. Had she not spoken loudly enough? Spatula in hand, she turned and met his gaze. It was questioning. Tender. Gripping her from across the kitchen.

  “Thank you.” He dropped them back and then stared at the flowers, a pained expression on his face.

  He must’ve had a headache as nasty as hers.

  Rachael took the reprieve from his prying eyes and dove into breakfast. She made a pot of coffee, flipped the potatoes and splayed three eggs on the grill. As the coffee finished brewing, she filled his cup and set it on the table, and then heaped food onto his plate.

  Cooking for one was odd. When the inn was full, she’d make a dozen eggs, three pounds of potatoes and countless slabs of corned beef. It felt much more personal this way. As if they were a couple. Husband and wife, maybe.

  She could almost picture it now: she’d get up early, start a pot of coffee and cook his favorite breakfast, just the way he liked it. He’d come in from the living room, where he’d been playing his next big hit, and wrap his arms around her as she hovered over the stove. She’d lean her head back on his shoulder. He’d tell her how wonderful breakfast smelled. How beautiful she was. They’d eat together, just the two of them, and talk about plans for the future: his next song, upcoming album, and the inn expansion.

  That all sounded great. Except for the tiny fact that there was no future with Cole. There could never be anything long-term between them. He was going to leave the way everyone else did.

  Don’t get attached. Don’t get used to his presence here.

  “I’ve never seen someone cook the way you do,” he said. “You don’t use recipes?”

  She dropped his plate in front of him. “Not anymore.”

  He pushed the Mason jar to the far edge of the table. To keep the flowers away from his food, she guessed.

  “Do you have a set menu you make every day of the week?” he asked.

  She got the feeling he was making small talk so they wouldn’t have to talk about what happened last night. It was a mighty fine idea.

  “I try not to make the same meal in a given week,” she said, “as most people stay about that long.”

  He dove into the corned beef without making a sound. Cheeks full, he mumbled, “Do you fill up here?”

  She brought over the pot of coffee for a refill, but he set his hand over his mug. Fumbling to swallow the food in his mouth, he circled his hand over his
head and pointed upstairs.

  “You’re asking if the rooms fill up?”

  He nodded.

  “They’re full year round, for the most part.” She brought the frying pan to the sink and scrubbed. “That’s the great thing about Blue Lake. There’s beauty in every season. In winter, it storms pretty hard. The windows fill up with pillows of snow and Dom plows his way up and down the street. Moose Valley Ski Lodge is up the road so we have an influx of skiers and snowboarders who want to hit the slopes and stay somewhere cozy for the night. In spring and summer, the place is full of visitors from the bay area. They frequent the wineries up here and want a close place to stay so they don’t have to drive back home. There are lakes and rivers up the road that rival the most beautiful in the country. People flock to them when the weather heats up.”

  She slid the pans under the cabinet and washed off the counters. Anything to keep her eyes off Cole.

  “Sounds busy. Ever thought about expanding?” he said. “The building out back, the one on the east side of your lawn, would be perfect.”

  She spun, leaning back against the counter. Had someone told him?

  “I’m working on it, actually,” she said, and her gaze landed on his empty plate. “Do you want more?”

  “God, no.” He put his hands on his stomach and arched back, the chair creaking beneath him. “If I eat any more I won’t be able to play tonight.”

  She checked the clock on the wall. Eight a.m. Did he not plan on eating until the show? Didn’t they have dinner plans with Lucy? Not that she’d been looking forward to them or anything.

  “Do you own it?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “The building out back.” He drank his coffee slowly, eyeing her over the top of the mug. “Is it yours?”

  “Yeah, I’ve owned it for years.” As she finished cleaning the kitchen, she glanced out the front window. A black Tahoe pulled up to the curb. “But I’ve been stuck in Remodel Hell.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  The doorbell went off.

  “It’s nearly finished, but I haven’t had the funds to furnish it the way I want,” she said, walking into the dining room. “Until you showed up and rented every room for quadruple what I’d normally charge.”

  “Glad I could help.” He followed her through the dining room, winding around tables. “Have you ever thought about renting out that building and keeping the inn for yourself?”

  Forcing out a laugh, she strode through the living room and paused before opening the door. “There are nine rooms in this building. What would I do with that much space?

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged those big, strong shoulders. “You and your husband could stay in one, you could have an office, a guest room, and plenty of room for children.”

  “Children?” she squeaked.

  “Don’t you want kids?”

  The doorbell dinged again.

  “Absolutely.” She grabbed the handle. “Eventually. Right now that’s nothing but a dream on the horizon.”

  “You could have that dream sooner than you think.” He grabbed the handle, his hand over hers. His touch was warm, soft and consuming. For a second, she thought he might’ve leaned down and kissed her. “You could have any guy in this town.”

  “Thanks for reminding me.” She ripped her hand from beneath his. “I need to give Joey a call.”

  She left the room as Rita Flint and Cole Turner’s entire crew burst through the door. On her way up the stairs, she turned and glanced back. Cole stood beside Rita, hands on his hips, a pissed-off scowl on his face. He looked like he wasn’t listening to whatever she rambled about. He looked angry. Torn about something.

  She whistled the tune she’d heard him play earlier, all the way to her room.

  Chapter Ten

  “I’m so excited, I could wet myself.” Lucy stood in front of the mirror hanging in the entryway and yanked down her black shirt.

  “You act like you’ve never met a musician before,” Rachael said from the couch. “Didn’t Ricky Waters play at StoneMill last weekend?”

  Lucy gaped. “You’re comparing Ricky Waters to Cole Turner? Not even close! Cole’s got that charisma, you know?” She snapped. “He’s got that thing.”

  Oh, he had that thing all right. She’d seen it and couldn’t erase the image from her mind. She’d tasted him, and couldn’t scrape the yumminess from her tongue.

  “Do I look like someone who likes rock music?” Widening her stance, Lucy stuck out her tongue and gave the “I-L-U” sign with her fingers. Or was that the “party hard” sign? Crimson-red curls framed her face. Leather pants stretched tight around her thighs, and black rubber bracelets circled her wrist. “What do you think?”

  Lucy was the youngest and wildest entrepreneur Rachael knew. Looking at all she’d done with her life and the weight of the responsibility she bore, it was easy for Rachael to forget that Lucy was only twenty-one when she took over StoneMill after her parents’ passing. She’d always been crazy, a little wild and off-kilter. Owning a successful winery hadn’t changed the person she was at the core, thank goodness.

  “If you’re trying to look like a Billy Idol groupie,” Rachael said, sifting through the contents of her purse. “You’re there.”

  “Mission accomplished. What are you digging around in there for, anyway?” Lucy lined her lips with glossy pink lipstick and gave an overenthusiastic pucker.

  “Nothing.” Rachael pulled out her wallet, opened it up and separated her ID and VISA from her other cards. “I’m getting ready.”

  “Aren’t you taking your bag?”

  “And risk getting it stolen?”

  Lucy spun, glaring. “You honestly think someone’s going to snatch and run at my winery? You know how much I pay for security, and if you don’t, let me tell you it’s an arm and a leg.”

  “Yet you still seem to have both of yours.“ Grinning, Rachael slid the cards into her front pocket. “I still can’t believe you’re here. It’s not like you to hand off your duties to Skylie.”

  Skylie Evans was Lucy’s operating manager, and the only one she’d found who she could trust to run things when she was out. Even though Skylie had been on staff for over a year, tonight was the first weekend Lucy had ever taken off, leaving things in Skylie’s care.

  “It’s not every day you get invited to dinner by a rock star.” Lucy’s eyebrows waggled. “There’s a benefit to stressing about the grapes, you know. For four months of the year, the weather warms up and I can invite whomever I want to play at the amphitheater. Cole Turner’s one of my favorites. If you think I’m going to work the night of his concert, you’re nuts.”

  “You’ll still be working,” Rachael argued, grabbing her coat. “You’ll be running around making sure everyone’s doing their job.”

  “You know me so well.”

  Honk!

  Lucy squealed. “That’s him!”

  “Nah, it’s someone from his crew. Cole’s been at the winery for hours.”

  He’d left shortly after breakfast (without saying a word), and had sent the car back at two o’clock to pick up three bags and two guitar cases. Not that she’d been paying attention or anything. She’d had plenty to do through the afternoon to keep her busy. She’d cleaned the inn top to bottom, baseboards to ceiling. She’d tried to hold her breath when she cleaned Cole’s room and told herself it was from the bleach fumes in the bathroom.

  “Didn’t you see him there earlier?” Rachael said, picking a glob of wax off the pad of her finger.

  “Of course! I don’t mean it’s him, I mean it’s him. His people.” Running to the door, Lucy crossed her purse over her body and onto her shoulder. “Ready?”

  Rachael got the feeling if she weren’t ready, Lucy would leave her behind.

  “As I’ll ever be,” Rachael said and opened the door.

  “Oh. My.” Lucy gasped. “Limo!”

  The thing was black and stretched longer than the width of the inn. People walk
ing the street stopped and ogled; wasn’t every day a limo cruised into Blue Lake. Cars denied the space to pass on the opposite side of the narrow road lined up behind them. The driver stepped onto the curb and opened the rear door.

  “Ms. Stone and Ms. McCoy, I presume?” he said.

  Lucy dove through the door, like Alice jumping through the limousine’s rabbit hole. “Get your behind in her, Rach! There’s champagne!”

  They drove west, out of town and toward the winery. At the last second, before the exit for StoneMill, the driver veered left off the freeway.

  There was nothing this way but old gold-mining sites.

  The driver parked not far off the road, in the middle of an empty gravel lot. He killed the engine and strode around the back end of the car to open the door. Lucy got out first.

  “Where is he?” she asked, spinning around.

  Rachael stepped out, and gazed over the grape vineyards below. StoneMill was to the right, over the freeway, but the grassy rows of the amphitheater stood out in the distance.

  “Down here,” Cole said.

  The deep rumble in his voice sparked something in her belly. How could he elicit that kind of a response so easily?

  They walked to the edge of the lot and gazed down the gentle slope of the mountain. On a raised wooden platform that had once been used for some kind of gold-mining contraption, a table and three chairs had been set up. White lights dangled down from the edges. Candlelight flickered over the table. Cole stood in the center of it all, lifting his arms from his sides.

  “Welcome to our private dinner party.” He strode to the edge, and kicked his foot on the ladder. “Come on up. There’s a kick ass view from up here!”

  Lucy took off first, nearly running down the path. Rachael followed, and climbed up the ladder after her friend. Cole helped her once she reached the top, extending his hand for her to grab ahold of.

  But when Rachael reached the top, he said, “Do you got it?”

  Of course she did. Would she have liked help? Wouldn’t have freaking hurt.

  As she climbed onto the platform and straightened, she couldn’t believe the view. It was breathtaking, with vineyards and rolling mountains as far as the eye could see. Pinks, reds, and oranges streaked across the baby-blue sky as if someone had taken a heavenly paintbrush and smeared the colors together. The air smelled of roses and grapes, sweet and sour. And in the distance, Rachael picked up the soft humming of StoneMill’s speaker system.