by Quinn, Cari
Bella sat back in her chair. “Really?”
“Yeah. They want the exposure. My assistant will do a social media blast and special ticket sales. All proceeds to the King Foundation. I’ll cover whatever costs come up with the last minute tickets. And my manager will likely have my ass for it, but it’ll be worth it for the kids.”
Her head spun with plans. Maybe the extra shows would actually be good for the town. Increasing the musical bill would bring in more people. “Security is going to be a mess.”
“I’ll cover—”
“Yes, so you’ve said. But can we get the security on such short notice, that’s the question?”
“I know a firm in the city. They’re discreet and flexible.”
“All right. I’ll leave it in your capable hands.” She picked up her knife. “Don’t make me regret this.”
He grinned. “I knew we’d make this work.”
She sighed. “I don’t really have a choice in the matter.”
“It’s going to be great.”
“I’ve heard that a few times—usually just before disaster strikes.”
Logan laughed and took another bite of chicken. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Generally in the books I read.”
He lifted her bottle of wine and refilled her glass.
She was too slow to stop him from pouring. “I don’t—”
“Might as well finish it.”
“You’re not the one that has to drive home.”
“You can crash here if you’re worried about it.”
She paused with her fork to her mouth. “Excuse me?”
“I’ve got four extra bedrooms upstairs. The guys always stay here when we record.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize you do your real recording here.”
“Studio space is hellishly expensive. I figured it would be better to just have my own spot where I can record as long and as late as I want.”
She looked down at her plate, surprised to see she’d finished everything, including two helpings of salad. Her bottle of wine was long dead.
They discussed the three different nights and the other musicians he’d invited that had yet to get back to him. He’d listed some famous, some on their way to famous, and still others that had been around for as long as she could remember. His eyes lit and his hands became animated as he explained just what he wanted to do.
An hour later she’d ended up drinking the better part of another bottle of wine from his extensive wine fridge.
“You look beat, Izzy.”
She traced her fingertip around the lip of the glass. “Gee, thanks.”
He crossed his arms on the table and rested his chin on his stacked arms. “Doesn’t make you any less hot.” His eyelids were heavy with a bit more than she’d had to drink. He didn’t seem overly drunk though. Just this side of sleepy and relaxed.
“You’re the one that looks like he could sleep on the table.”
“Oh, I have.”
“This does not surprise me.”
He started yawning and pressed his forehead to his arms to cover it.
“Now who looks like the tired one?”
“I think I’ve forgotten how to sleep.”
“Aww, the perpetual party boy doesn’t have an off switch?”
“Something like that.” He smiled, but it was the fake one. The easy one that was supposed to reach his eyes and yet didn’t. But he wasn’t her friend, wasn’t her lover, and surely wasn’t her problem. So why did she want to smooth back the lock of hair that hung over his forehead and ask him what was wrong?
Too much wine.
Had to be.
“Well, thanks to you, I have now had far too much wine for driving. Especially down your crazy roads.”
“Good idea. Let me show you to a room.”
She stood and gathered their glasses.
“Leave it. I’ll take care of it.”
“Aren’t you going to bed?” She looked at her watch. “Or is this too early for you?”
“Gotta do the locking up thing.”
“Ahh, right.”
She slipped her feet back into her shoes and followed him out of the kitchen and around the corner. The staircase was narrow with collages of pictures covering the wall. Landscapes in black and white, people she didn’t recognize, and instruments. So many instruments.
When they got to the top of the staircase, she lost her breath. Moonlight bathed the entire upstairs in a soft silvery white. Huge potted plants with body-sized leaves were shoved between couches and chairs that could be classified as couches. Guitar cases, various sized drums, and a case filled with tambourines were jammed around all the greenery.
She could only imagine what it would be like in the daytime. A sunroom in the middle of the upstairs. Or in this case, a moon room. A single guitar sat on one of the leather chairs. It looked like it had been through a lifetime of torture. Scrapes along the front, the fret worn through from the finish to bare wood in spots. A million stories probably lived inside of that guitar.
“Izzy?”
She turned, realizing he was already down the hall. “Sorry.”
He was in shadow, save for a sliver of moonlight that had dented the darkness to highlight his cheekbones and bearded jawline. She was all alone with him in his house. The stupidity level of this was off the charts. Even with the ridiculous level of tension that ebbed and flowed between them, she didn’t have the least bit of fear about walking down a darkened hallway to him.
What did that say about her?
Not even too much wine should make that possible.
He stood outside the third door down the hall. “Next one down is a guest bathroom.”
She came up in front of him and rested her shoulder against the door jamb. He reached into the room, but she touched his arm. “No lights.”
“You do make it difficult to be a good guy.”
“Actually, I was trying to help. Maybe if I didn’t get a good look at the bed, then I wouldn’t have dumb ideas.” Because she wanted to let all the bad ideas out to play. Her belly quivered with the need to take short, panting breaths that ended in skin-to-skin contact.
“All the stupid ideas start in the dark.” His voice was so low it was almost pure sandpaper. All of the velvet was gone.
“Good thing we’re not stupid.”
Sandalwood and vanilla were going on her list of avoids. They would be forever woven into thoughts of Logan. And in the dark, there was only the sounds of his breath and that incredibly distracting scent to concentrate on.
She took a step into the bedroom and he suddenly gripped her arms. He pushed her into the door frame, his knee sliding between her thighs. She let out a strangled moan as his muscular body crowded her. His nose brushed against hers. Wine-scented breath fanned across her cheek then her lips.
“You have no idea how badly I want to ask you to be stupid.”
His lips were right there. All she had to do was lift her mouth and find his. To let go and fall into the chasm of pleasure he was offering. One word, one sound was all it would take.
She pressed her forehead to his chin and breathed in his scent and heat trapped along his neck. Then she slipped away from him and into the bedroom. Every bit of warmth dissipated the moment she stepped away from him. She gripped the doorknob until her hand throbbed. “Good night, Logan.”
He slapped his palm on the door. And for a moment, she thought he was going to push. One more offer and she’d cave. His bracelet charms scraped along the door as he dropped his hand. “Goodnight, Izzy.”
And he was gone.
Eight
He woke with the sun searing his face and a tongue swiping up his cheek. “Get off.”
“Get up, you lazy ass.”
One hundred and ten pounds of Akita landed on his balls. Logan curled into himself and hoped like hell the squeak that came out wasn’t as awful as it sounded. “Jesus, Cody.”
“My man missed you.” Zeke Sta
cey dropped onto the couch next to him in the atrium. Paws with gouging nails dug into his thigh as Cody turned around and dove onto Zeke’s lap. “That’s my good boy.” Zeke scrubbed his head and the dog’s leg thumped into the leather.
Logan tried to get up, tripped over his guitar, hip checked the next chair and fell into it.
“Smooth. No wonder you’re sleeping on the couch alone, Lo.”
There had been much whisky after he’d left Izzy’s door. He’d made sure to put a sticky note on the front door with the code for the security system, then he’d found the bottom of the bottle. In fact, he wasn’t completely certain if he’d passed out last night or actually fell asleep. Masochist that he was, he’d stayed in the atrium, just down the hall from her.
Had he been hoping she’d come out to find him?
She’d closed the door in his face. You couldn’t get much more effective on the whole no thing than that. Thank fuck she’d been the one to say no. Last night he’d been so hard and aching so bad that he’d been ready to promise her anything. Beyond stupid.
Izzy didn’t deserve to climb into his crazy, even if they’d enjoy a little sweaty one-on-one first. What then? He’d have to avoid her for the rest of his days? Or worse, try to become friends after they got horizontal? Or vertical. Or both. Because last night he’d been hard enough to pin her to every surface in his house and maybe a few outside.
More than a few.
He bowed his head and pushed that thought away.
“Earth to Logan.” Zeke crouched in front of him, all blond surfer curls and as furry faced as his damn dog.
He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Yeah, yeah. I need fucking coffee.”
“You look like shit, man.”
“And you look like a beach bum.”
Zeke grinned and stood. “This beach bum just left the arms of a beautiful woman. I don’t think I can say the same for you. When’s the last time you actually slept?”
He looked down at his watch. “Pretty sure I got about four hours last night.”
“No, you smell like a bottle of whisky. I mean real sleep. Sober and in a bed.”
“Like your rum and tequila is any better?”
“We’re not talking about me. I only do that on special occasions.”
“What? Days that start with T and S?”
“Hey, that’s three days of rest for my liver, buddy.” Zeke held his hand out. “Up off the floor with you.”
Logan clasped his forearm and pushed up as Zeke pulled. Cody lumbered off the couch and leaned against his knee. He gave the dog a quick rub down with a return trip of a scratch. Then the dog happily bounded down the stairs.
“Good to see you, Z.”
“I was hoping for a better state of affairs after that call yesterday.”
He grunted as he padded down the hall to his room and the master bathroom. He brushed the funk out of his mouth and looked up to see Zeke’s face in his mirror. “What the hell? It’s not like I’m coming in here to slit my wrists.”
Zeke crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway.
“If you want a show, keep standing there. I’m taking a shower.”
Zeke rolled his eyes. “I’ll go make coffee and breakfast.”
With a wince, he slid his hand over his belly. “Just coffee for me.”
“Dude, you’ve lost at least ten pounds in the last month. You’re eating a skillet full of bacon.”
Logan tipped his head back then whipped his shirt off and threw it in the hamper. He looked at himself in the mirror. He wasn’t that skinny. A bit more defined than he’d been in years, but he didn’t look sickly.
Zeke was just being a mother hen.
Fifteen minutes later he was decidedly less beardy and much more clear-headed. He followed his nose downstairs to the breakfast production being held in his kitchen. Cody was sprawled on the tile floor, snoring softly. Zeke had three pans going on the stove, a pile of bacon, eggs, and what looked like a sweet potato hash.
“Hey, look at that. You don’t look like a grizzly bear anymore.”
“You should talk, fur face.”
“Ah, but I look good with it. You looked like my scary Uncle Mike.”
“Fuck off.” He filched a piece of bacon off the pile.
“So, tell me this trip into small town USA, earlier than expected, is worth it.”
“You get to spend my money for toys. Oh, speaking of toys. I got you something while I was in the city. I had a layover.”
Zeke clapped then rubbed his hands together. “A present? I love presents.”
Logan went through the living room into the music room and picked up the case sitting behind the piano. He came back into the kitchen and pulled two chairs together from the breakfast nook. “A little incentive to do rehearsal today.”
“Bribes are my favorite thing.” Zeke washed and dried his hands before coming around the island. “Oh, shit is that…?” He crouched in front of the guitar case, his hand at his mouth. “How?”
“I walked into this little hole in the wall guitar place in SoHo and there she was. I couldn’t fucking believe it.”
“Cherry, no less.”
His best friend was an Epiphone freak. They’d been on the hunt for a decent Sheraton ‘62. “Limited edition with all the original hardware.”
Zeke stood. “You’re really not dying, right?”
He pulled him in for a hug. “No, I’m not dying.” He slapped his back. “It was just there. Like it was meant to be.” He stepped back and crossed his arms. “I need to figure out that barn and this should keep your attention on the rehearsal.”
Zeke hated to rehearse more than anything. He’d play for hours in a jam session or under searing lights, but ask him to put together a setlist and the guy was looking for the door. “I had some of my equipment delivered to the park like I usually do.”
“Good.”
He stroked the fret-board lovingly, then hurried around to the stove. “It’s your fault we have extra crispy potatoes.”
“Best kind there is.”
“There is truth in that statement.” Zeke scraped the potatoes onto a plate with the eggs and bacon.
They ate at the island standing up as they’d done hundreds of times before. He filled Zeke in on the artists that were coming up for rehearsal tonight, and the ones that would be in over the next few days. Logan still had to hear back from a few people and to call his manager for an update.
All in all, things were shaping up.
Z helped him pack up the truck after they ate. He brought a half dozen guitars down to the barn. He knew what to use for the open air show on Sunday. The little barn was going to be the wild card.
They drove through the shopping area of town, Zeke leaning out the window with a matching Cody sharing the space. People recognized him as usual and his best friend shouted out friendly hellos. He and Z had the uncanny ability to remember names and it came in handy with networking. However, Z, used it with fans and promoters to a degree that astonished Logan.
It didn’t matter if they were store clerks or store owners, Zeke shouted out to anyone who’d engage with him, as they crawled down Main Street. By the time they’d passed the park and turned off Bennett Lane, Zeke was happily chirping about all the people in town.
“So, what’s with the hat place I saw? That wasn’t here last year.”
Logan parked and hopped out of the truck. “That one and the bookstore are new since the fall.”
“Hot store owners?” He sighed. “Probably not. Who wears hats these days?”
“The Princess of Wales.”
Zeke pushed out his lower lip. “Truth. So the shop owner is hot? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“I don’t know, man.”
“How about the bookstore owner?”
“Always on the make. Can’t you take a night off? The town will be full of girls Friday night.”
“That, my friend, was not an answer. So, the bookstore owner is hot.”
Zeke slid in front of him. “Well, well…more than hot.”
“Stop.”
“Okay, way more than hot. Did you break your own rule, Lo?”
“No.”
“So grouchy and final. Maybe if you broke your rule then you’d get some sleep. After sex sleep is the best. Relaxing and brain draining.”
“That’s because you think with the wrong head ninety percent of the time.”
“Nah, eighty-five.” Zeke waggled his eyebrows.
Logan rolled his shoulders. Zeke always saw too much. It was one of the reasons he’d gone off the road for a while. He just wanted to get through this festival and maybe, just maybe, find a little love for his music again. He started around Zeke. “Can we just work?”
Zeke gripped his upper arm. “You need to let it go, man.”
Logan’s smile vanished. “We’re not talking about that.”
“If you’d just get over it—”
“We’re not,” his voice lowered as he crowded his best friend, “talking about it.” At Z’s clenched jaw, Logan swore. “She’s not here. Can we not make this about her for one show?”
“It doesn’t matter if Aimee is here or not. Yeah, she has a name. She’s a self-indulgent, spoiled rich girl, that’s all. Nothing special.” He tapped the middle of Logan’s forehead with his forefinger. “You never let her out of there.”
Logan jerked his head away. “We’ve got a setlist to hammer out.”
“You know she’s going to show up. Especially this show. She gets off on rattling you.”
He fisted his hands and paced away.
“You need to get over this shit, Lo. It’s fucking with everything. You’re the one giving her all the power.”
The bright sunny day faded as his vision fuzzed around the edges. “Back off.”
Zeke sighed. “You’re walking the edge and I don’t like it. Maybe if you actually let another woman into your life you’d be able to deal better. Have something else to focus on.”