"Hey." Garrett looked at the two women. His mother on his right. The love of his life on his left. There was no rock. No hard place. With a snap of his fingers, there would be a thousand men lined up to take his place. He was no fool. He knew he had it good. "I give up," he said, wisely conceding the point.
Dazzled by Jade's smile, Garrett melted. He tucked a lock of her long, silky red hair behind her ear. The unconsciously intimate gesture had his parents smiling with approval.
"A wise decision, son." Caleb nodded at Garrett with a wink. "When you realize your lady is the brains in the relationship, the sailing will be much smoother."
"Where are you on Exile?"
Garrett and Jade were just back from Vancouver where he had finished principal shooting on his current film. His last project had garnered him an Oscar nomination for best director. Caleb believed this one would win his son the statue.
"I'm in the studio next week. The soundtrack needs some tweaking, but the composer assures me it will be ready."
"It better be," Wyatt added. "The Los Angeles Philharmonic doesn't come cheap. You have them for a week. That's all the budget will allow. After that, I'll take it out of your salary."
"It's my own fault for working with family," Garrett sighed. "I could knock any other producer on his ass if he talked to me like that. Mommy would have a fit if I bruised her baby's face."
"Jade, you're marrying an idiot."
"Pardon my French in advance, Mom." Garrett gave Wyatt the finger, and then added, "Fuck you, Wyatt."
"Nice mouth, brother. You might think about washing it out with soap before kissing your woman." Out of Callie's sight, Wyatt flipped Garrett the bird.
"I just brushed. How about kissing me instead?"
"Nate!"
Callie was across the room in a flash. Instead of jumping into his arms, as was her custom, she held back. She knew the doctor said Nate's ribs were healed, but she was his mother. The thought of causing him the slightest pain was unthinkable.
"Where's your sling?"
"Gone for good. Thank God."
Nate's left arm was still in a cast. With little effort, he used his right to swing Callie in a circle. The comforting scent of roses and vanilla drifted around him. As always, it took him back to his childhood when she would tuck him in at night. Burying his face in her hair, he breathed deeply.
Mother. Love. Safety. From the time he was born, she had steered him with a gentle yet firm hand. There was a fine line between controlling and supportive. Callie Flynn showed her sons by example that a woman could thrill the world with her acting and still be the best mother anyone could ask for. Nate affectionately kissed the top of her head. What would he have done without this woman?
"We didn't think you were going to make it." Callie took his good hand, leading him to the table. "Sit. I'll get you a plate. I swear, since the accident you've wasted away to nothing."
Colt snorted in disbelief. "How can you tell? The man is a freaking brick wall."
"Callie's right." Jade smiled at Nate. "You look thinner."
"I knew the woman couldn't keep her eyes off me. Tell me you've finally realized you picked the wrong brother."
"One more word and I'll forget you're my twin." Garrett turned to Jade. "I always felt sorry for him. I got the looks, the brains, and the charm. And Nate got the…? What did Nate get?"
"The ability to kick your ass?" Nate flexed his impressive biceps. "And more women than even Colton could handle."
"Hey," Colt interjected. "That's my reputation as a man-whore you're besmirching. What would the tabloids say if word got out that my brother was getting more women than I was?"
"Don't listen to him, Colt." Garrett loved jabbing at his twin. Just as Nate loved returning the favor. The sport never grew old. "He overcompensated for his shortcomings by living in the gym. I suppose some women find brawn over brains attractive."
"More than a few."
"Enough." Callie chuckled. She had heard this banter for years. "You," she said to Nate, "stop talking — eat. And you," she looked at Garrett. "Leave your brother in peace for five minutes."
Thanking her with a smile, Nate took the plate from his mother. It overflowed with roast beef, mashed potatoes, fresh green beans, all drowned in rich, brown gravy. Adding three fresh baked rolls from the basket on the table, Nate was a happy man.
The truth was, since the accident on the movie set last month, he hadn't been himself. It would be different if he could work. Keeping busy was the best way to calm his mind and body. Unfortunately, the injuries he had sustained kept him sidelined.
Too much time on his hands. Too much time to think about what had gone wrong. The botched stunt could have ended in tragedy. Thanks to his quick reflexes, physical strength, and determination not to end up in a heap of mangled bones, Nate walked away with a few cracked ribs and a broken arm. The only reason he stayed the night in the hospital was to appease his mother. The doctor assured her Nate didn't have a concussion. Callie didn't want to take any chances. One night of observation was a small price to pay for his mother's peace of mind.
It didn't hurt that his nurse was a curvy brunette with warm, soft hands.
"I know that smile." Wyatt shook his head. "Which conquest are you thinking about now?"
"You wouldn't give me such a hard time if you were getting laid more often." Remembering where he was, Nate gave his mother a repentant grin. "Sorry."
"Your brother's love life is his own business," Callie said firmly.
"Thank you." Wyatt gave Nate a take that glare.
"Though…"
"Ah, crap." Wyatt's head fell forward, his chin hitting his chest.
"Come on, Wyatt," Garrett laughed with delight. "Every man lives to have his mother discuss his sex life."
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DREAMING OF YOUR LOVE
(Hollywood Legends Book Three
PROLOGUE
LIGHTS FLASHED FROM every direction. It blinded and dazzled all at once.
Screams drowned out every other sound. This was Los Angeles. Busy streets in every direction. Jet patterns overhead. The excited—in some cases rabid—fans that surrounded the roped-off red carpet made it seem like nothing existed but them and the bright lights.
It shouldn't have been a pleasant experience. Alighting from the over-the-top luxury of a Rolls Royce into chaos and mayhem? No normal human being would willingly seek out such an experience.
However, Colton Landis was not a normal human being. He was an actor.
Colt turned his world-famous megawatt smile on the crowd, eliciting another deafening burst of heartfelt screams.
"We need to get inside, Colt. The movie starts in ten minutes."
"Relax, Deb."
Colt's publicist had been with him for five years. Deb Kline knew how to spin a press release like nobody else. They saw eye to eye on most things. Except how much he should expose himself to his fans. If she had her way, he would zip from point A to point B as quickly as humanly possible.
In this case, point A was the limo, and point B was Grauman's Chinese Theater.
"I'll relax when you are safely inside. Have you forgotten Dallas already?"
"Dallas was an anomaly."
Colt continued to wave and smile. Deb wanted him to curb his accessibility. She had always been cautious, but after a fan somehow breached security during a press conference to announce his next movie, she was particularly leery of events like this one.
"Colt."
"Don't go over there, Colt."
Deb knew the second Colt observed the waving autograph books, her words fell on deaf ears. He believed in giving his fans what they wanted. It was one of the things that made Colton Landis a huge movie star. He genuinely loved his fans. He loved meeting them, speaking with them, having his picture taken with them. Most of her clients searched for any reason to avoid these moments. Not Colt. He didn't
have a public persona and a private one. What you saw was what you got—twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.
Colt made her job as a publicist a dream. Keeping him safe was a nightmare.
He refused to have a bodyguard. Part of it was ego—and he had plenty of that. Many of his parts portrayed him as a big, macho, tough guy. How would it look if he had a bigger, more macho, tough guy constantly shadowing him? Not great for his reputation. He would look weak. And in Hollywood, perception was everything.
It was a valid argument. Not so valid? Colt believed that, for the most part, his fans were harmless. Not that he was a naïve Pollyanna. There was no need for Deb to point out the entertainment world's tragic examples of the heinous acts obsessive fans could commit.
Colt lived the life. He grew up watching his superstar mother traverse that fine line between making herself accessible to fans and maintaining some much-needed privacy.
However, he didn't have a family to consider. No wife. No children. His life was his own. A bodyguard would mean he was giving in. Turning his life over to fear instead of embracing every single moment of his fairytale existence.
"Ten minutes."
Deb didn't know if Colt heard her over the screams. Nor did she care. She was getting him into that theater if it meant grabbing his ear and dragging him along like an errant five-year-old. And wouldn't that make a great picture in People magazine? Okay. No ears. Ugh. This man was going to make her old before her time.
Colt held a woman's phone at arm's length, including himself in a selfie of her and her three friends.
"I love you, Colton."
Colt couldn't single out the speaker. The cry came from every direction. He waved and called out, "I love you, too."
He signed a few more autographs, moving along the line. Deb was right. He needed to get inside. It wasn't fair to keep everyone waiting. Ten more, he promised himself. It killed him to see the expressions on the faces of the fans who were left out.
"Thanks. See you soon," Colt called out to the crowd.
Handing her signed book to a dreamy-eyed woman, Colt gave the crowd a final wave.
"Ready?" Deb tried to maintain the stern teacher expression she had spent twenty years cultivating.
Colt had a way of making her professional mask slip. Thank goodness she was old enough to be his youngish grandmother. While his charm was undeniable, her age and experience allowed her to put the sexual pull that radiated around him into perspective.
Until he turned his smile on her. Full blast.
"Am I that big of a pain in the ass?"
There it was. That naughty twinkle in his deep blue eyes that made the world swoon. On screen, it was irresistible. Paired with dark hair and a tall, muscular frame, was it any wonder the camera loved him?
Reluctantly, Deb returned his smile.
Colt was her client. He was also her friend. She knew he wasn't trying to be difficult. He was being himself. For a man who was adored by millions, catered to on a daily basis, and could buy and sell two or three third-world nations without raising a sweat, Colton Landis was surprisingly down to Earth. And hard-headed. And opinionated.
On top of that? On occasions such as this one, a major pain in the ass.
Still, if she were honest, there wasn't a single thing about him that she would change. As movie stars went—hell, as human beings went—Colton Landis was a joy to be around. Not that she would ever tell him that. The last thing he needed was another person extolling his endless virtues. Colt hated that kind of treatment. One of the reasons they worked so well together was because Deb didn't kowtow.
Deb was about to hit him with one of the nifty sarcastic one-liners he loved, when a scream came from the crowd. Not a we love you cry, but one of terror. Before she could react, Deb saw a man jump over the velvet rope. He carried a knife.
Colt pushed her to the side, effectively putting himself between her and the attacker. He isn't after me, Deb wanted to protest. But everything happened so fast, she didn't have time.
In the blink of an eye, the man raised the knife and stabbed Colt.
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IF I LOVED YOU
(Harper Falls Book One)
PROLOGUE
IT WAS SOMETHING out of a fairy tale.
Thousands of flickering lights dazzled her senses, almost as much as the tall, wickedly handsome man who so expertly danced her onto the shadowed balcony. The music that filtered from the nearby ballroom only added to the already magical atmosphere.
Women dreamed their whole lives of a moment like this — a prelude to a happily-ever-after ending. Ever so briefly, she let herself drift into that fantasy as if she was one of those women. For a moment, she let herself pretend that her childhood had been filled with the kind of whimsicality that allowed those fantasies to carry over into adulthood.
But no, she wasn't a romantic, hopeless or otherwise. She didn't want a prince to sweep her into his arms and carry her away on his faithful steed. She was more than capable of rescuing herself. She preferred it that way.
The stars were in the sky, not in her eyes.
"I'm glad you asked me to dance," her partner whispered, pulling her closer.
Suddenly, she was nervous. The champagne she downed earlier had completely worn off. No more floating on a cloud of false courage. If she was going to do this, she was going to have to do it on her own.
"Jack," she said. Damn, it was hard to sound seductive when your voice squeaked. "Jack." That was better, lower, and slightly husky. She'd read somewhere that guys liked husky voices.
"Rose."
"Yes?"
"Nothing, I just thought we were saying each other's names." He put his lips next to her ear. "I like the way you say mine."
"Jack." Good Lord, she had to stop repeating his name. "I need a favor, Jack. A big one." Or should she say, she hoped he had a big one. Rose groaned to herself. At least she hadn't said that aloud.
"I'll help if I can."
"You're the only one who can help." She took another deep breath. "I need you to take me home and screw my brains out."
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FLOWERS FOR ZOE
HART OF ROCK AND ROLL BOOK FOUR
PROLOGUE
FOUR YEARS OLD. Zoe Hart was a big girl now. She could dress herself—mostly. Get her own bowl and cereal from the cupboard—with the help of a chair. And pour her own milk—the few spills that her brother Ryder quickly cleaned up didn't count. She was almost grown up. Unlike Suzy next door who was a whole year older, Zoe didn't need a nightlight, and she never wet the bed.
Pre-school was fun. Finger painting was the best because Zoe was allowed to make a mess. Ryder told her they couldn't make messes at home. She did her best—she was a big girl now. But sometimes she forgot. Her big brother would rush to put things right, keeping an eye on the front door. Then he would wipe away her tears—she didn't cry very often because only babies cried—holding her on his lap, telling her everything would be okay.
Ryder always made things right. He brushed Zoe's hair without pulling too hard and made the best peanut butter sandwiches ever. He knew how to tie her shoes and always held her hand when they left the apartment. He never scolded. She loved Ryder more than anything in the whole world—even her teddy bear.
It seemed like Zoe's friends were afraid of everything. Spiders. The dark. And something they called the boogeyman. She didn't know who that was, but she knew he wouldn't frighten her. Nothing scared Zoe. Except the Monster.
The music brought the Monster. Deep asleep, Zoe never heard it, but Ryder always did.
"Shh," he urged, waking her up with a gentle shake. Before she could complain, he would put a finger to Zoe's lips. "Hear that?"
Counting flowers on the wall, that don't bother me at all.
The sound was faint, but Zoe could hear the
words through the thin apartment walls. When she was a little girl—a whole year ago when she was three—she thought the music sounded happy. Now that she was grown up, she had figured out that the song made Ryder sad. He was sad for a long time after it finally stopped playing. She might not understand the reasons, but Zoe knew one thing. If her big brother didn't like it, neither did she.
"Do you have your teddy?" Ryder would ask.
Zoe nodded, she always slept with teddy. Ryder would take her hand. He had her crawl under the bed, way in back to the farthest corner, before tucking a blanket around her.
"Remember the invisible game?" Ryder whispered. "You have to stay right here, Zoe. Curl up in a little ball, don't make a sound, hold on to teddy, and keep the blanket tight. The Monster can't see you if you follow the rules. He won't know you're here."
"I remember," Zoe whispered back. She knew it was part of the game. But she didn't like it. She didn't want to play by herself. "Stay with me."
"Shh." A loud thump from the other room made Ryder hurriedly look over his shoulder. "You know I'll be back."
"But—"
The bedroom door slammed open, making Zoe jump, the squeak she let out muffled by Ryder's hand.
"I need my little boy." The Monster's voice was sing-songy, and though the words were slurred, they were unmistakable.
"I'll always come back for you, Zoe. Always. Now close your eyes. Please?"
Reluctantly, Zoe scrunched her eyes tight.
"There he is." Zoe knew she wasn't supposed to, but she couldn't help peeking. The Monster grabbed Ryder's arm, jerking him from under the bed. "Come keep Daddy company."
With a silent sob, Zoe shut her eyes. Daddy. She never thought of the Monster that way. He was rarely around. Ryder made certain Zoe had something to eat. They would play games or watch something on the television. After she brushed her teeth, her big brother would tuck her in, reading her a story. Zoe liked it when it was just the two of them.
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