Sweetest Obsessions - Anthology

by Anthony, Jane

  “What the hell happened out there?!” Boone folded his arms, his friendly demeanor gone.

  “Well,” Georgia’s chin started to tremble. How would she explain this? “Harlan told me there aren’t any roads to your house.” Boone’s heavy lashes shot up. “And he wouldn’t take me to see you unless it was on horseback.”

  “Really. Is that so?” Boone swung around to Harlan.

  “And then, after we rode all the way to your house, he told me he forgot to mention that you weren’t there.” The heat traveled to her cheeks. Georgia would bet fifty bucks her face was turning scarlet. Her thighs throbbed and her butt ached from the ride. She glanced at her car and seriously considered bailing.

  “Let me get this straight. Harlan forced you to ride?” Boone swiveled to his brother in a standoff. Harlan folded his arms.

  She could clearly make out their difference in height while they stood so close together, and guessed Boone was around six-one, compared to Harlan’s six-five. She sure didn’t want to see them fight, and Boone appeared exceptionally pissed.

  “Someone who went out of her way”—Boone raised his voice—“and out of her comfort zone, I might add, to drive all the way out here to do a story about me. And you did that to her?”

  “I was vetting her. Just like you asked.” Harlan didn’t seem the least bit riled over Boone’s reaction.

  “You needed to vet me?” Now Georgia folded her arms.

  Harlan snarled. “The vetting’s not over, sweetheart.”

  “Harlan’s had a tough time with the press,” Boone’s voice softened. “I can’t afford to let the same thing happen to me.”

  “And it will. If you spill your guts to her, it will.” Harlan began to pace. “Just you wait, my brother.”

  You have a hell of a nerve, Harlan Beckett. “You’re being ridiculous.” Digging in, Georgia hurled the words at Harlan like rocks.

  If nothing else, Georgia was honorable. And when it came to her career, she didn’t like to brag, but some considered her to be the Oprah of the music journalism world. Despite what her new boss said about her stories not having heart, her subjects always opened up and revealed their true selves to her, because she treated them with the utmost respect. Her friends thought she had a gift, but Georgia worked harder than anyone else. That was her gift. “Why don’t you just Google me?”

  Harlan sneered. “Who says I won’t?”

  Boone raised his hands pacifically, shoulder-high, palms out. “Okay, I think I’ve got the picture,” he said, glancing at Harlan. “Look,” he said sympathetically, “can we all possibly just forget what happened today and start fresh? Georgia, are you good with that?”

  Thank you. Thank you. “Yes. I’d love to get started.” She stole a look at Harlan, who stared back, wide-eyed with feigned innocence.

  “Let me show you inside, and we’ll get settled,” Boone offered, cupping her elbow to usher her to the porch. She caught him giving Harlan the eye over his shoulder. “You’ve had quite the day.”

  “Hey, don’t mind me. I’ll just put the horses away.” Harlan warned. “Be careful, Boone.”

  6

  “Are you sure I can’t find you a sweatshirt or something?” Boone pointed to her blouse. His eyes startled her. They were almost the same shade of deep blue with light sky rims as Harlan’s. Georgia shifted on the chair, banishing the thought, not about to let Harlan invade her brain. What did she have to do to get away from the guy?

  “Hmm?” Georgia twisted to look, chin down against her chest, trying to figure out the issue. “Oh. Yeah, I guess it is a little damp.” She tugged at the silky fabric. “A little rain won’t hurt me. It’ll dry any minute.” Now that he mentioned it, she was a little chilly.

  Boone tipped his head. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.” She wasn’t about to interrupt the interview when they were finally getting down to business.

  Without a hat, and wearing jeans, boots, and a white casual button-down shirt, Boone rested his arm on the buttery leather sofa’s back pillow.

  Soothed by the rain pattering outside the porch-facing windows and the fireplace crackling on the opposite side of the room, Georgia began to relax.

  Most of Boone’s answers were relatively par for the course. Harlan and Boone got their eye color from their mom, and their voices from their father, a singer who passed away a few years ago. Boone didn’t know who his oldest brother Colt took after. None of them did, apparently, but they were all thrilled to have Colt, a genius with numbers, look after their investments.

  One thing was clear. The brothers were a tight-knit family who looked out for each other. What would it be like to not have to fight every battle life threw at you alone?

  Boone had known most of his band members since college. He’d always been interested in music and picked up his older brother Harlan’s guitar at age five. Boone was twenty-six now, which made Harlan twenty-eight. The more Boone talked, the more Georgia couldn’t get around the dreaded realization that she couldn’t adequately tell Boone’s story without also writing about Harlan.

  An integral part of Boone’s success, Harlan was hands-on, helping Boone produce his first album by bypassing the labels and usual channels and launching it strictly on social media. Boone already had over a million followers on his YouTube channel, and a few million more on Spotify.

  “It’s been well over two hours.” Harlan interrupted, barging into the room carrying a beer. “In case you lost track of time.” He plunked down in the chair to her right, effectively positioning himself between her and Boone.

  When Harlan turned to Boone, Georgia tried to sneak a peek at him, but he twisted around and caught her. Harlan’s smoldering blue eyes locked on hers. Was he threatening her? She held her breath, unable to pull away from the stare.

  “I’d better get going,” she whispered, rising. “Thank you, Boone. I think we’re off to a great start.” She stashed her pen and notepad into her purse.

  Boone got to his feet. “Don’t you remember? I told you I was the last person they let through before they closed the road, and I was in my truck.” He peered out the window. “The rain hasn’t let up.”

  Alarmed, Georgia scrambled to the window and studied her compact rental. “Well, when will it open?”

  “Not today,” Harlan said, coming up behind her.

  Georgia’s buoyant mood plummeted. “This can’t be right. There must be someone I can call, or some way to get back to town.” She started trembling, and turned to Boone. “What can I do to get out of here? I mean, no offense, but… I’m stuck? I don’t even have my things with me, nothing to change into.”

  “Don’t worry about that, we can find you something. And I know Harlan has some extra toothbrushes around here.”

  “There are worse places to be stuck,” Harlan said in a low, husky voice that drilled through her. She reined herself in by remembering he made millions off his voice. It was supposed to sound good.

  “It wasn’t an insult. I said, no offense, your place is beautiful.” She shrugged. “I’m just very upset right now.” She glanced around the room, trying to keep from panicking.

  A loud bang came from the second story.

  Harlan looked up. “You two work it out. I need to close the shutters and get more wood for the fire.”

  After Harlan left the room, Boone turned to her. “We’re happy to have you stay the night.”

  Georgia swung around back to him. “Thanks, but I’m positive the road will open soon.”

  “No, it won’t. Hey, this house is over six thousand square feet, it’s not like you won’t have space and privacy,” Boone quickly added. “There’s an extra bedroom.” He chuckled. “Don’t look so scared. You don’t have to come anywhere near our bedrooms. You’ll even have your own bathroom.”

  Georgia gawked out the window. They’d left it open a crack, so she could hear how hard the rain was hammering down. She rubbed her forehead and let out a deep breath. “You are so sweet to offer. I just
didn’t expect my day to go like this.”

  “Okay, then.” Boone smiled while fumbling with his back pocket and pulling out his phone. She didn’t mean to invade his privacy, so turned her head while he thumbed through a text message. He was standing right in front of her. “Harlan will get you settled,” he said decidedly, shoving the phone back in his pocket.

  Georgia’s heart dropped. “Harlan? Are you going somewhere?”

  “Yeah. Look, you’ll be fine. My ex-girlfriend’s mother needs me to fix a barn door. She can’t close it.” He pivoted to the window. “She’s just a few miles away, so I’m going to ride over there. Depending on how bad the storm is, I might not make it back. Let’s plan on picking up our interview tomorrow morning.”

  “You’re going to be gone all night?”

  “Yeah. I might stay at Colt’s. His ranch is closer to her property.”

  “But… You can’t leave me here with him!” Georgia blurted as Harlan passed the window with an armload of wood.

  7

  Harlan’s mother raised them right. No matter how totally annoying they were, he couldn’t be rude to a houseguest.

  But honestly, Boone should’ve taken Georgia with him. She probably would’ve gone wherever he wanted after the way she drooled over him in the living room.

  “The guest room is this way.” He led Georgia past the smaller seating area near the fireplace, getting a whiff of her feminine, vanilla cookies scent. “Are you sure I can’t offer you a drink, something to eat?” He tilted his head, forcing her to make eye contact.

  “No, I’m good.” She bit her lip and stared off past him. “I had a big lunch and a few power bars earlier, thanks.”

  “Well, if you change your mind, let me know, or help yourself to anything in the kitchen. It’s down the hall.” Harlan pointed to the kitchen on the left, and then hung a right, ushering Georgia to the other side of the sprawling house and down a hallway that served as a photo album of sorts.

  His designer had gone all-out to make it a gallery, covering the walls with black and white photos in frames all the same size. He didn’t use this side of the house much, and wouldn’t have taken Georgia through there if he didn’t have to, but it was the only entrance to the third bedroom.

  Georgia paused in front of one of his favorite photos, the one he took to memorialize the day he finally had enough extra money to splurge on one of his dream guitars. “That’s a 1938 Gibson, a collector’s item,” he remarked, watching her move on to the family photo of him at age two. She kept strolling and eyeing the photos of him on various dates, with actress Jessica Sinclair at the Academy Awards, Lora Martell and Teegan James at the Grand Ole Opry and Monica Leona at fashion week in New York.

  “Ahhh,” she nodded at the photo of the party in Vegas. “It looks like you were having fun. They’re all half naked.” She heaved a heavy sigh and continued down the hall. “Not that it’s any of my business.”

  “It isn’t, but that was a publicity photo my manager set up.” Why did he feel the need to explain anything to her?

  “Publicity. Right.”

  Ignoring the comment, because he couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or not, he skirted past her to the end of the hall and opened the door. “Your room’s in here.”

  “Thanks,” she said, stepping in front of him and into the bright white and apricot bedroom the designer insisted on making more feminine than the rest of his home. “Wow.”

  Harlan scanned the room, noticing his housekeeper had added a few small vases with fresh flowers.

  He watched her check out the space, and the look on her face made him feel proud, even though he shouldn’t care enough to notice her reaction. What was he doing? The woman was a reporter, the lowest of the low.

  She sat on the bed, testing the mattress. “This is perfect.” Georgia smiled, making the damn room even brighter.

  Get a grip, man. You’re in enemy territory.

  “So…” Georgia patted the peach and grey bed cover and then looked up at him. “I guess this is good night.”

  “Right.” He remembered his manners. “I’ll get something for you to change into, and that toothbrush.” He started for the door.

  “You don't have to go out of your way. I’m okay.”

  Turning, he considered her a moment, and then pointed to a door on his way out. “Bathroom’s in there if you want to freshen up. Be right back.”

  Rushing to his bedroom on the other end of the house, Harlan chastised himself. He should not let himself get sidetracked by a pretty smile. He needed to protect Boone and find out about Georgia’s ulterior motives.

  How am I going to stay on target and get to the bottom of this when she smells so good?

  Harlan had been alone for a long time—too long. After the god-awful rumors about him fooling around with Danny’s wife, he’d kept to himself. He’d even cut back on seeing his friends with benefits.

  Rummaging through his closet, he found a few faded concert T-shirts, soft and comfortable to sleep in, and grabbed a sweatshirt too. Bottoms? No. Any pajama bottoms would be too big. His chest tightened at the visual flashing through his brain—Georgia’s long, smooth, bare legs, tapering up to her thighs, and then her—

  With the clothes bundled in his arms, he dug up an extra toothbrush and headed back to Georgia. When he reached her side of the house, he heard water running, and it wasn’t coming from the sink.

  Harlan slowed, listening again, now sure Georgia was running a bath. Christ. She’s naked in there? He rapped on the wall before turning the corner to the bathroom. “Are you decent? If not, I’ll just leave these on the floor outside the door.”

  She called out from the bedroom. “Come on in. After everything I went through today, I thought a hot bath might be nice, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a prettier bathroom.

  He found her standing by the window facing the garden. As far as he could tell it was pitch black out there, so she couldn’t see much. Maybe she liked listening to the rain?

  He passed her the T-shirts and toothbrush. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks,” she smiled so sweetly, with such a gentle expression, she snared him for a split second.

  “And I made sure the T-shirts are soft. Couldn’t find any pants, but you probably look good without ’em.” It slipped out. Damn it.

  She let out a gasp, but then started laughing. “Please tell me you’re not going to hit on me.”

  He stared at her blankly. “Trust me, your little world would never be the same. But sorry, sweetheart, you’re not my type, I was only being hospitable.” And with that, Harlan hurried out of the room.

  Why does she have to look all sweet and sexy with her hair tied up for the bath?

  8

  Georgia swore she’d typed the same sentence fifty times. Struggling to hold up heavy lids, she tried to focus again on the blurry computer screen and ignore her growling stomach. An apple, a slice of cheese, a burger, sandwich, grape, a piece of cardboard…just about anything sounded appetizing.

  After putting the laptop to the side, she raided her giant bag of electronic goodies, certain she’d tucked an extra power bar in one of the zippered compartments.

  Nothing.

  Georgia slumped back on the bed.

  Not taking Harlan up on his offer for dinner earlier was a stupid move. Maybe there was something to eat stashed away in her car?

  Unfortunately it was still pouring and she didn’t have a jacket with her. She found a thick terry robe in the closet and slipped it on over her borrowed T-shirt, then cautiously stepped into the crusty, oversized cowboy boots. She’d wash her feet again before bed.

  In minutes Georgia managed to navigate through the living room shadows without breaking anything.

  Outside, dodging puddles, with the cold rain dumping buckets down the back of her neck, she dashed to her car, climbed inside, and shut the door. Her teeth chattered while she skimmed her hands over the dashboard and rummaged in the glove compartment and the console b
etween the seats. As a last resort she checked the door compartments, the back seat, under the seats, and scoured every nook and cranny for a morsel of anything to tide her over until morning...and came up with zilch.

  Frustrated, Georgia shut the car door, tightened her sash and ran back inside the house. She wiped her feet on the mat, doing her best to ignore an oncoming headache.

  Feeling like a thief in the night, she crept down the dim hall and saw that someone left a light on over the stove. Her shoulders relaxed as she headed for a white tiled wall. Georgia didn’t touch any switches while she searched the polished counters for something edible. The top-of-the-line kitchen gleamed with a massive, fancy range with red knobs and at least ten burners. She broke out in a grin the second she spotted a fruit basket on the far right counter next to some cookbooks and—her phone!

  Her phone.

  Georgia hugged and kissed her cell, doing a little happy dance. How did he find it? It even still had a charge. She stole a banana from the basket and, while savoring the rich, creamy fruit, thumbed through her messages and checked Facebook.

  Thoroughly satisfied, she hunted under the sink and dropped the peel into the garbage bin.

  “I knew you’d get hungry.” A light flicked on. She jumped, slamming the cabinet door shut, and spun around to face Harlan.

  “Crap, I’m so sorry I woke you up,” she blurted, before noticing Harlan was still wearing the muscle-hugging black T-shirt from earlier. What a show-off. He took long strides into the room, taking up the entire space and most of her air. Without a hat, she could see his thick, tousled brown hair had just the kind of texture she loved running her fingers through. It was an obvious observation every journalist would make.

  “You didn’t wake me.” His dangerous eyes glistened, skimming over her boots and bathrobe, making her feel small and delicate.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed this.” She plucked at the terrycloth sleeve. “It was in the closet.”