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

by Kristin Miller

  “Thanks for coming tonight,” Cole said, pulling out Lucy’s chair.

  She smiled in that coy, flirty way she’d mastered so well. “Absolutely my pleasure.”

  Oh, boy.

  Rachael pulled out her own chair and sat, draping the napkin over her lap. Dinner had already been served: penne pasta with chicken and broccoli. StoneMill Pinot Grigio and French bread. Out of instinct, Rachael checked the temperature of the plate with the side of her hand. Still warm.

  Cole must’ve asked Rita to plan dinner so it’d be ready exactly when the limo pulled up. Where was Rita now? Hiding in the bushes around the base of the platform?

  “Are you ready for tonight?” Lucy asked, folding her hands over her plate. “I bet you get nervous before a show.”

  “I wouldn’t say I’m nervous.” He leaned back in his chair. “It’s more like that anxious, excited feeling you get before you have sex with someone for the first time.”

  The air whooshed out of Rachael’s lungs. She knew exactly the feeling he spoke of…she’d felt it last night. Those tingly jolts of anticipation still buzzed through her legs.

  “What about you?” he asked Lucy. “Are you nervous?”

  “Me?” she squeaked.

  “You’ve got a lot riding on this too, don’t you?”

  Eyes rolling, Rachael dug in to dinner, chomping into the French bread. Cole and Lucy gabbed for a good ten minutes. Rachael was half-finished with her penne when Lucy finally included her in the conversation.

  “Rachael had her first kiss under the amphitheater stage,” Lucy blabbed, “though it wasn’t a stage back then. It was a massive Oak tree in the center of the vineyard.”

  “Uh-na,” Rachael mumbled, cheeks full. “Dnotalkinboutthat.”

  “Really?” Cole leaned over the table. “Now this is getting interesting.”

  Swallow. Don’t choke. Chewchewchew. Swallow.

  “She kissed the guy who plows the roads.” Lucy matched Cole’s distance across the table. “Though he was much hotter then than he is now.”

  “Dom?” Cole’s voice pitched. “The guy from the bar?”

  Chew. Swallow. Chew.

  Why’d she take such a damn big bite of bread?

  “You met Dom?” Lucy laughed. “Then you know how funny it is to picture them together! He’s not much of a looker now, but back in school, he was hot stuff. Rachael was too.”

  “Still is, in my book.” Cole met her gaze for the first time of the night. His eyes were slightly narrowed, his chin angled down, the perfect come-hither-glare.

  God, she wished he wouldn’t look at her that way. She got shaky all over, edgy and unsure. The food clumped down her throat, but it was too late. They’d already moved on to talking about something else.

  “What do you say we dance?” Cole said, extending his hand to Lucy. “Seeing as how you and I aren’t eating.”

  Rachael eyed their full and barely-touched plates. Sighing, she dropped her fork, wrinkled her napkin and pushed away from the table.

  “Why’d you invite us to dinner if you aren’t going to eat?” Rachael asked.

  “Because that’s what you do when you wine and dine a beautiful woman. You eat, and then you dance.” He stood. “What do you say, Ms. Stone.”

  Smiling like she’d been pronounced Mrs. Turner, Lucy put her hand in his and let him swing her to the far end of the platform.

  How would they dance without—

  On cue, music flowed from the limo. It was slow and sultry. Etta James’s At Last. The limo driver had opened the doors and rolled down the windows. The radio must’ve been on full-blast.

  Rachael tried not to stare as Cole held Lucy against him and spun her around, but she couldn’t help it. She tried to ignore the pinch in her side, and the distaste in her mouth, but the penne was cooked to perfection and her clothes were smooth on the inside. There was no logical reason for her to be experiencing either.

  Hands in her lap, Rachael stared out over the vineyard toward the direction of the amphitheater. The wind picked up, bringing with it rumble of passing cars. People were already arriving at the winery to snag a seat.

  “You’re up.” Lucy shook Rachael’s shoulder. “I’d love to hog him all night, but what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t give you a turn?”

  Rachael caught Cole’s stoic expression over Lucy’s shoulder. His arms may’ve been relaxed at his sides, and his shoulders may’ve rounded forward slightly, but his jaw was clenched tight and a storm raged in his honey-brown eyes.

  “It’s all right.” Rachael took a huge gulp of water and chomped on the ice. “I’m not much of a dancer.”

  “One dance,” he said, extending his hand.

  How could she say no?

  As Kiss Me from Ed Sheeran resounded from the limo’s speakers, Rachael sighed, and then took Cole’s hand. It was cold and rough, though his hands had been soft last night…

  He spun her around and hugged her against him. Keeping her back rigid, Rachael stared over the grapes. When did they prune? How many varieties were there? How many people had already arrived to see Cole’s show?

  God, it wasn’t working. She couldn’t pull herself out of this moment no matter how hard she tried. His arms felt too good wrapped around her waist, his hand strong as it held hers.

  “Did you get everything straightened out with Joey?” he asked, his feet moving in a slow rhythm.

  Nope. “Of course.”

  “I’m glad.” His tone was flat. Void of emotion. “He’d be perfect for you.”

  “I know.”

  It may’ve been the smarter decision—Joey was a sweetheart, he really was—but he wasn’t the one she wanted to sleep with last night. When pressed with the decision to choose between them, she’d made her choice, although it wasn’t the best one for her.

  Why couldn’t she have it both ways? Why couldn’t Cole be a firefighter from Blue Lake? Why couldn’t he find a way to fit in here?

  Who was she kidding?

  Like Joey had said, Cole Turner was from a completely different world.

  Cole moved his hand up her back, until his fingers brushed her hair. She wanted to lay her head back in his hand and expose her neck so he’d kiss her there again. What she wouldn’t give to—

  “Your friend is nice,” he said, cutting her thoughts short.

  “Joey?”

  “No, Lucy. She’s great.”

  He leaned down so that his head rested beside hers. His chest ballooned slightly, as if he’d breathed in the smell of her hair. She must’ve been mistaken.

  “She looks like she knows how to have a good time,” he went on.

  Rachael barely resisted the urge to jerk out of his arms. “She sure does.”

  As they spun, his attention shifted to Lucy, who was pouring a second glass of wine. He was totally checking her out. Of course. Why wouldn’t he? Lucy was bubbly and petite. Full of energy and one hell of a good time. She’d be exactly the type of girl who’d fit into Cole’s lifestyle: lots of fun, low pressure. She wasn’t looking for anything serious with anyone in particular, and Cole Turner was her dream guy.

  “This may strike you as an odd question,” Cole whispered, his deep voice buzzing in her ear, “but do you know if she’s single?”

  Line totally crossed.

  “Know what? I have to go.” As something snapped in Rachael’s middle, she stepped out of his arms. “Is it all right if I have the limo take me back?”

  “Yes, but—“

  “Will you and Lucy have another way to get to the concert?”

  Even now, when she wanted to be selfish, when she wanted to take the limo and leave them up here to figure out their own way back, she had to make sure they wouldn’t be put out.

  “I can have Rita send another car,” he said, “but you don’t have to go.”

  “Yes,” she said, tears stinging her throat. “I really do.” The anxiety in her stomach balled into one giant knot as Lucy’s gaze shot her way. “Sweetie,”
she said to her friend, “I hope you have the best time of your life tonight. But I’m going to head home.”

  “What’s the matter?” Lucy’s face puzzled in concern. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, everything’s fine.” Don’t look at him. Just don’t look at him. “I’m just not feeling up to tonight. I hope you have an amazing time at the concert, and I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

  Frantic to get away from the two of them, Rachael bent over the top rung of the ladder and lowered herself down.

  “Rachael, wait,” Cole said, striding to the edge. “I was hoping you’d stay for the concert.”

  “Sorry.” She descended faster still, her hands and feet flying down the rungs. “Can’t stay. Have fun, you two!”

  “Rachael, I think you’ve—“

  In her mad dash, Rachael’s foot slipped off the step. She swung toward the ladder, her face swinging dangerously close to the wood. She screeched, and dropped her hand to the next rung, but missed that too. Her grip slipped, and she fell to the ground, landing on her knees before slamming onto her backside.

  “Rachael!” Cole bent over the side. “Are you hurt?”

  Pride, yes. Body, not so much.

  “I’m fine.” She pulled herself off the ground and checked the damage. No holes in her jeans, but her knees were scraped underneath, and her hands were raw and red. Skinned.

  “Rachael!” Lucy gasped, joining Cole at the ladder. “What happened? Are you okay?”

  “I said I was fine!” She took off down the path to the parking lot, rubbing her hands on her jeans. “Don’t worry about me!”

  She’d be more than fine. Sunday was only two days away and then Cole would be out of her life for good. She could handle anything for two days, and that included watching her best friend go out with the man she had a crazy-stupid crush on.

  As soon as the door to the limo shut, Rachael curled up onto the cold leather seat and let her tears fall.

  Chapter Eleven

  Cole stood in his dressing room, geared up in his first outfit of the night: dark-washed jeans with a white handkerchief hanging out the back pocket, combat boots, long-sleeve black shirt and black vest with spikes on the collar. If he had his way he’d ditch the handkerchief and vest with the spikes. He’d wear head-to-toe black and channel the simple, bluesy notes of Johnny Cash. But Rita had made it perfectly clear: do things her way for a while, and then he could do things his way.

  He tightened the guitar strap over his shoulder and played a few notes, his thoughts swarming around Rachael and the way she’d left.

  She’d been angry. She’d thought he was asking if Lucy was single so that he could date her. She’d been dead wrong. He’d wanted to set her up with Ronnie, his drummer. Ronnie was a sucker for gingers.

  But Rachael had no right whatsoever to be angry. No damned right.

  If she didn’t want to be with him, what did she care if he dated every single woman in Blue Lake?

  That woman tied him up in so many damn knots, he could burst.

  Someone banged on the door to his dressing room.

  Rachael.

  “Come in,” he said, his throat drying up.

  The door opened wide and Rita charged through in a leather coat that flowed around her ankles. “Do you hear them out there? They’re going wild!”

  Screams and shouts blended into one ear-splitting roar. As the crowd chanted his name, their voices blended into a deep rumble that shook the walls of his dressing room.

  “Yeah, I hear ‘em.”

  He continued to play the notes on his mind, closing his eyes as new verses came to the forefront. Rachael was in every single note. The honey-blonde waves of her hair, the softness of her cheek, the sweetness of her lips. As he imagined Rachael with him in this moment, the unruly, staccato notes molded into something flowing and effortless.

  “What is that?” Rita said, glaring at his fingers as they plucked at the strings. “What are you doing?”

  He shrugged. “Going over a song.”

  A song that was born as he sat in the living room of the inn, thinking about how he wanted to be the man Rachael needed him to be.

  How that wasn’t possible.

  He hadn’t named the song, but the core notes of the chorus were: Run to him, think of me.

  “That’s not a song in your act. Damn it, Cole.” Rita put two firm hands on his shoulders and shook. “You need to focus. After what happened in Houston, we cannot afford for you to slip up. You have to concentrate on playing the songs on the schedule for tonight. You have to make that crowd love the music so that they love you and forget all about the drama with what’s-her-pretty-face.”

  “I got it.” He slung the guitar over his shoulder. “Believe me, I hear you.”

  Thanks to Rachael, he’d already forgotten all about Tori West.

  Although she didn’t want him, she had no problem getting her panties in a wad when she thought he wanted to date someone else.

  “Okay, then.” Rita smiled wide and toothy. “Let’s get you out there.”

  As he strode out the dressing room door, his security team fell into line around him. Some flanked him, others followed two steps behind. Cole kept his head down, and his stride sure, as he closed in on the elevator that’d lead him to the stage. The roar of the crowd increased as he stepped into the elevator.

  Out of instinct, his fingers found the strings of his guitar and his heart raced.

  Drums pounded from above as Ronnie geared up for Cole’s intro.

  “Remember,” Rita said, moments before the doors hissed shut. “Keep your head in the music and your eyes on the crowd.”

  The doors closed, leaving him to his thoughts. Outside the elevator, the crowd went nuts. His fingers played:

  Run to him, think of me.

  In my heart, you’ll always be.

  Taking a deep breath, Cole struggled to put Rachael out of his head and stepped out of the elevator onto a small opening shrouded by black fabric swags. On the other side the heavy cloth, his fans stood, cheered, screamed, and jumped up and down. The roar was deafening, nearly blocking out Ronnie’s beating drums.

  Promise me you won’t wait,

  Deep down I know you deserve better.

  I want you to be happy

  Even if that means I sleep alone.

  Love isn’t in the cards for us,

  But it may be for you and him.

  The words struck him hard, causing him to stagger back. His stomach wrenched and those little floating stars flickered in front of his eyes.

  What the hell was happening?

  “Ladies and gentleman!” Jersey, his lead guitarist, hollered into the microphone. “Cole Turner!”

  Cole knew the routine. He should’ve charged through the black swags and ran to the edge of the stage. Slapped hands with as many fans as he could reach. He should’ve screamed and grabbed the microphone, starting the first song right away.

  But his feet wouldn’t budge.

  “Cole Turner!” Jersey announced again.

  Run to him, think of me.

  Did it really have to be this way?

  Thick beams of a spotlight criss-crossed over the stage. Jersey called his name a third time. The crowd chanted over and over again, demanding Cole’s entrance onto the stage.

  This was stupid. He wanted Rachael. She wanted him; he’d tasted the desire on her lips. So what was the problem? He couldn’t have her because he was leaving? Because she wanted something long term and he couldn’t give that to her?

  When did he turn into mother-effing Ghandi?

  With a deep breath and an odd warmth spreading through his chest, Cole pushed through the curtain and strode to the center of the stage.

  * * *

  Rachael was curled up in bed, the quilt pulled up to her chin, when the front door to the inn creaked open. She rolled over and glanced at the clock. It was nearly two a.m.

  Concert must’ve been a hit.

  Or maybe Cole and Lucy g
ot together afterward. She’d had a backstage pass, and who knew what went on backstage after a rock concert? Members of the band probably smoked weed, drank expensive liquor and divided up groupies. One helluva party.

  Heavy footsteps pounded through the living room and into the dining room beneath her. More than one set of footsteps, if she wasn’t mistaken.

  And then came the shouting.

  “I still don’t think you get it,” Rita hollered, her shrill voice booming through the inn. “You screw up once, okay, I’ll figure out a way to clean up the mess. You screw up again, and there’s nothing I can do!”

  “I get it!” he fired back. “You think I want to screw up like that? You think I don’t know how that makes me look?”

  Whatever happened must’ve been bad.

  Someone dropped something heavy onto the floor. Clutching the sheet to her chest, Rachael swung her feet over the edge of the bed and listened.

  “What happened?” Rita yelled. “Is it the model again?”

  Rachael listened harder.

  “No, it’s not her. It’s…” Another boom fell to the floor. Was someone stomping? Kicking the furniture? “…I started thinking about something else and lost focus for two seconds.”

  “Well two seconds was all you needed to muddle everything up!” Rita countered. “It’s a good thing you’ve got a second show tomorrow night to redeem yourself. You’re going to get the innkeeper to make you a pot of coffee right now and you’re going to sit your fine backside down and go over every song in the lineup. Got me?”

  “I got you.”

  “Where is that innkeeper anyway?” Rita spat. “Isn’t this her job?”

  Rachael got out of bed, slid her feet into her slippers and shrugged into her robe. As she made her way down the hall, her steps slowed. If she went downstairs now, seconds after Rita mentioned her, they’d know she’d been eavesdropping.