Sweetest Obsessions - Anthology

by Anthony, Jane

  “Yeah.” His throat got tight as he zeroed in on Georgia’s mouth. “And then we'll play with it for a while, try different changes.”

  Why didn’t you let me carry you? You felt so good.

  “Or sometimes we’ll bring in the band and kick it around till it’s right,” Boone explained.

  Harlan snapped out of it and appraised his brother. They didn’t always write together, but their collaborations were a kick. “Then, when we’re sure we have a tune, we let it simmer, come back, and put the lyrics to it.”

  Georgia wrote something in her notebook and moved to the right of him, probably to get a closer look at the mixing board. If he wanted to, he could’ve reached around her hips and dragged her onto his lap, but he cocked his head up and threw her a grin.

  She rocked back and forth, holding on to the smile like she had something on her mind. “Sounds like fun. I can’t wait to hear you guys in action.”

  Georgia hunched over his shoulder, and he smelled those vanilla cookies again, mixed with something lovely he couldn’t identify coming from her hair. She focused on the console and all the gizmos while Harlan pushed a lever up on the board.

  “You look like a pilot in a cockpit.”

  She made him laugh. “That’s exactly what it feels like sometimes. Master of the universe. That’s me.”

  “Why don’t you fly it, Georgia?” Boone suggested, looking from her to Harlan, silently checking if it was okay. Harlan had a tendency to be possessive about his equipment, but she could touch anything of his she wanted to.

  “You want to?” he asked.

  “Sure.” Georgia scanned the board.

  The air in the tiny room changed when it dawned on him. Georgia had entered their sanctuary. Besides moms, wives, or girlfriends, Harlan couldn’t think of another woman they’d allowed into the studio.

  There was something undefined, a type of creative magic bubbling under the surface and mixing with all the other emotions he was hiding from her, making his heart race. “Go ahead.” Harlan pointed to a red square above several nobs.

  Georgia reached for it and then hesitated. “Are we going to take off?”

  “In a matter of speaking, yes.”

  “Okay, gentlemen. Strap yourselves in.” She chuckled, pressing down on the button.

  In a heartbeat the emotional melody he and Boone had listened to fifty times already that evening poured through speakers from every angle. Harlan waited for Georgia’s reaction. Someone who'd worked around the industry for as many years as she claimed would know her stuff. What would she think of this song?

  “It’s gorgeous.”

  Harlan caught her staring. When her expression changed, he studied her face and body language, not sure he was reading her correctly. If he was, the way she was looking at him had almost nothing to do with music. Damn. That look went straight to his groin.

  He quickly surveyed the board, then adjusted the sound. Maybe a little more bass would drown out his thoughts before he picked Georgia up, threw her over his shoulder, and dragged her off.

  “It has an orchestral feel to it, a little different from my usual sound, don’t you agree?” Boone raised his voice above the music. “Now, wait for it.”

  “Okay, I’m ready.” Harlan heard the happy lilt in her silky voice and felt his chest tighten.

  The guitar and drums built up, first to a faster and faster momentum, then slowed to a softer beat, and then built up again.

  Keeping to himself, Harlan focused on the peaking pattern the sound waves made on screen, purposely staying out of Georgia and Boone’s conversation. Boone sang the lyrics up to the point of the missing line and picked up the song. Repeating the pattern until the end of the tune.

  Boone shrugged. “That one last phrase, after ‘baby, be mine.’ I don’t know why, but we’re blanking on it.”

  The song faded. Harlan glanced from his brother to Georgia.

  She shifted, staring off at the ceiling, tapping her foot. “It’s so good, and you’re so close. Would you mind playing it again?”

  Boone nodded and Harlan hit the button, starting the track over, keeping the volume lower this time.

  Boone started singing again, and Harlan hummed the harmony without thinking, and when they got to the line and Boone belted out, “baby be mine…” Georgia blurted, “It’s just a matter of time.”

  Boone shot him a look. They both stared at each other, wide-eyed, letting the light bulb stay on and burn bright. “It’s perfect, Harlan...right?”

  “It is?” Georgia brought her hands to her mouth and laughed like she couldn’t believe what she’d done.

  And neither could Harlan. Astounded, he gaped at her.

  Holy shit, can this woman be any more attractive? Did she just finish our song?

  “I think it might be,” Harlan grinned excitedly, stopping the song and starting it over. “From the top, Boone, with the line, it’s just a matter of time.”

  Boone sang the lyrics again, using her line, and when Georgia turned to Harlan and held his gaze, with Boone singing from the bottom of his heart, everything came together.

  Maybe there was something to what Boone mentioned earlier about the way he’d been acting around her. Was it possible that Georgia was the real deal, and it was just a matter of time before he finally figured it out?

  12

  Downtown Lonesome looked exceptionally charming from the passenger seat of Harlan’s truck. Maybe Georgia had jet lag after her flight from New York the day she arrived, because today the little town at the base of the Rockies looked like a picture postcard.

  She didn’t trust herself to turn and look at Harlan. Georgia folded her hands in her lap, reminding herself that a ride to town wasn’t a big deal, even if this was the longest time she’d ever spent alone with him.

  But something between them shifted yesterday. And after their studio session she tossed and turned all night thinking about him.

  The jagged peaks beyond the town were still capped with a bit of snow. Georgia gazed out the window, taking in the old west vibe of downtown, with its wooden sidewalks and covered porch shops.

  “This town has such a happy vibe,” she commented to the window, ignoring Harlan’s fresh-from-the-shower smell. She shifted her position, trying to get more air. The masculine pheromones pouring off him set off sparks between her legs.

  “Wouldn’t you be happy if you lived here?”

  Why did his voice have to sound so husky and deep?

  “Maybe.” She nodded, admiring the majestic curves and sharp angles of the mountains. “Oh.” She bounced a little off the seat. “This is me. I’m staying at the Old Brick.” She pointed to a nondescript two-story red brick building on the right. Now she could finally put some distance between them.

  Harlan cranked the wheel and glided into a parking spot without hitting the brakes. There wasn’t any need to, there wasn’t traffic for miles.

  Georgia grabbed her purse. “Thanks, I’ll be right back,” she said, hurrying out of the truck.

  “Nice try,” Harlan said, getting out and calling after her. “I promised Boone I’d be your escort.”

  She stopped on the sidewalk, cupping a hand over her eyes to shield against the bright sun. “So you’re on your best behavior today, huh?”

  A slow smile crossed his handsome face. “It depends on what you mean by best.”

  Was he trying to make her nervous?

  Georgia snickered as she entered the Old Brick’s rustic lobby. Harlan’s song, “Heart Don’t Lie,” blared from a radio behind the old-fashioned check-in counter. She spotted a batch of Mrs. Miller’s out-of-this-world macadamia-chocolate chip shortbread cookies on a small table, and reached over to snag one from the basket.

  Mr. Miller looked up from his book, adjusting his bifocals while Georgia took a bite of warm, melty, chocolate cookie heaven. “Well, look who’s back. Good morning, Miss Monroe.”

  Georgia swallowed quickly. “Morning, Mr. Miller. I’m afraid I ended up tak
ing a detour in all the rain.” She held up the cookie. “Your wife is amazing.” Georgia took another bite.

  “Well, I hope you got to the bottom of the story and discovered the secret.” He grinned, and then nodded a “be right there look” to someone standing behind her.

  “Secret?” Georgia peeked over her shoulder and found Harlan hulking behind her, or was it hunking?

  Mr. Miller straightened and leaned over the counter, beckoning for her to come closer, so she did.

  Covertly scanning the lobby, Georgia tried to guess what could possibly be mysterious about a town as precious as this one, although, the name Lonesome was a little odd. “What’s up?”

  “You said you’re a reporter,” he kept his voice low, “so I thought you were coming here to investigate the legend.”

  “Legend?” All ears, she propped her arms on the counter, leaning closer to Mr. Miller so she wouldn’t miss a word. “Investigative reporting isn’t my specialty, really. I’m here to interview Boone Beckett, but please fill me in. I just knew there was something different about this town.”

  “I'll say.”

  Georgia swung around from the counter to see a brown-haired woman in her thirties cross the lobby. She pulled her sunglasses down to the top of her nose and peeked over them at Harlan. “Every cowboy in this town is hotter than hell.” She smiled at Harlan before hurrying out the door.

  Georgia inspected Harlan’s reaction. He lifted his hands and shrugged.

  “You were about to tell me a secret.” She rotated back to Mr. Miller.

  “Nah.” He waved her off. “I don’t know. It’s just a rumor, and I don’t need to be spreading any.” Mr. Miller left her standing there with her mouth hanging open and turned to Harlan. “Tell Boone we’ll be at The Owl, cheering him on.”

  “Will do.” Harlan moved up to stand beside her.

  “We wouldn’t miss his show for the world.” The hotelier paused, biting his lip. “We sure would like to see you up there onstage again, Harlan. Maybe one of these days, huh?”

  Harlan dipped his head as though he was embarrassed and ducking the question. “Well, I appreciate that. I do.”

  Mr. Miller dropped the subject and turned back to Georgia. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m afraid I have to check out today.”

  He winced. “Oh, I’m sorry. Was the room not up to your standards?”

  “Oh, no. It was perfect,” Georgia explained, immediately feeling guilty. “But I need to be closer to Boone, that’s all. He’s super busy preparing for the show—and the album.”

  Mr. Miller let out a sigh. “Well, if you have to go, I guess we’ll let you.” He chortled. “Okay then, let me get someone to help you with your bags.” He picked a small walkie-talkie up off the counter.

  “No need.” Harlan stepped up. “I’ve got this.”

  Georgia swung around to him, shaking her head. “No, no, no,” the words came out as one. He wasn’t thinking of coming into the room with her, was he? They’d have way, way too much privacy.

  Harlan glared down at her with a resolute, locked-in, don’t-take-no-for-an-answer stare. “I’m helping you with your bags.”

  “Oh,” she nodded, confused. Maybe he was just being polite? “I’ll get my things and be right back to check out, Mr. Miller.” She searched her purse for her wallet and dug through the compartments until she found the room key. “I’m on the second floor.” She led Harlan to the short staircase, feeling her neck heat.

  Georgia quickly found her room, took the do not disturb sign off the handle, and unlocked the door while her mind raced for something—anything—to talk about to fill the silence. “I don’t have much to pack.” Georgia glanced over her shoulder nervously as he followed her in the room.

  “Um.” She scanned the sunny suite, spotting a pair of panties that had fallen on the floor. “Sit anywhere,” Georgia said, dashing to her undies and scooping them up.

  Harlan stayed exactly where he was, just inside the door, sucking up all the air.

  She met his stare for a second before turning away from the intensity and hurrying past him to the closet. The heavy wood hangers knocked together while she shoved them to the side and snagged a sweater. “So, ah… did you write ‘Heart Don't Lie,’ in your studio too? I know ‘Heartbreak Kid’ was recorded there.”

  “Oh, you do, do you?”

  Georgia peeked over on the way to her luggage. He seemed startled by the question.

  “Don’t look so surprised.” She smoothed the sweater in her suitcase and pulled out the pair of socks she’d wished she had with her the past few days. She shook out of her ugly boots and put the socks on over her bare feet. “I told you, I do my research,” she said, slipping back into the boots.

  He raised his brows. “Weren’t you supposed to be researching Boone?”

  She made another trip to the closet. “Well, yeah. But I knew about you before Boone. Knew of you, anyway. The first time I heard ‘Heartbreak Kid’ and ‘Heart Don’t Lie,’ I had a feeling you wrote them somewhere special. They don’t have that factory sound to them, you know what I mean?”

  “I do.” Harlan whispered, turning to watch her shuffle through the closet again.

  She stretched up on tiptoe, checking the top shelf next to the safe. She didn’t bring much jewelry, but ran her hand over the smooth wood, feeling around for anything she might’ve stashed there. It was a whole lot easier to do that than face Harlan.

  “The lyrics are so poignant, so meaningful,” Georgia explained. “They had a completely different vibe than some of your other songs, not that the other tracks sounded overly produced or anything, there was just something unique about those particular tunes.” When she came up empty-handed, she pulled a blouse off a hanger and folded it into her suitcase.

  Harlan seemed to be somewhere off in the distance.

  Maybe she hurt his feelings? Despite its success, some of the critics panned his first album. “I’m not sure all my colleagues understood the meaning of ‘Heartbreak Kid.’”

  Harlan flinched.

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  “No. I’m just shocked you picked up on it.” He ran his hand over his thick brown hair, treating her to a full buffet of his features. No question, Harlan was drop-dead gorgeous with his hat on, but the sight of him without it, where she could see his face clear as day, made it hard to look anywhere else.

  “So, it’s a good thing?” she asked. “That I picked up on the different vibes?”

  He reached out to her. She held her breath as he wrapped his big hand around her fingers, giving her a look so filled with desire, it seared right through her panties.

  “You wanna get to know the real me, Peach?” he asked, low and husky, tracing his rough fingers along her jawline, knocking the wind out of her and locking her in his stare.

  “I-I…” She stared up at his full lips, wanting to latch onto them with hers. The hell with Boone or anyone else’s story.

  “You wanna kiss me, Peach? Feel what I can do to you with my tongue? Tell me what you want,” he purred, moving his hand to the nape of her neck, and pulling her so close she felt his breath on her skin.

  “I...I,” her voice shook. “You’re making it awfully hard for me to concentrate.”

  “Exactly.”

  She gasped, her heart hammering so hard she could hear it.

  Even if they hadn’t gotten off on the wrong foot, getting to know celebrities “off the record” on a more intimate basis was way above her pay grade.

  Georgia learned the lesson the hard way in the early days of her career, when she interviewed her childhood crush, the lead singer of the boy band she had plastered all over her bedroom walls as a teenager. Danny Lincoln flirted madly with her during the interview, and it had taken every ounce of determination she had not to crack and fall all over him. Charisma was a powerful aphrodisiac.

  Once the meeting with Danny was over, she waltzed right up the elevators with him to his room and slept
with him, believing Danny when he said his attraction to her was a once-in-a-lifetime thing. And after they said goodbye, she waited and waited for the call that never came. The next time she saw Danny was on television at the music awards with Kate Mallory, the actress he’d been dating at the time of their interview.

  After that experience, Georgia made a solemn promise to never look at a celebrity or any subject of an interview “that way” again.

  “I think I need to keep a clear head,” she admitted softly.

  “I could say something about head now that would be totally inappropriate. And I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’m into you, beauty. I am so into you.” Harlan ran a knuckle along her cheek. “Peach.” He let out a moan and yanked his hand back to his side.

  “Thanks for understanding,” she whispered, immediately reconsidering. Her heart sank. She hadn’t been kissed in a such a long time, and if there was ever a man to break that dry spell with toe-curling finesse, it was Harlan.

  In another ten minutes she’d checked out of the Old Brick Hotel and was sitting across the street at Pearl’s at a two-top with Harlan. Harlan insisted that if she wouldn’t kiss him yet, he at the very least deserved her company over a plate of the best pecan waffles in the state.

  Happy for a change of venue and not having to get in his truck—where she was afraid she might maul him—Georgia sipped her coffee. Her pulse began to normalize, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Harlan...not now, while she still tasted his almost kiss. At least he was out of arm’s reach and she was safe from making any bad decisions.

  By the time she dug into her second waffle, Harlan excused himself from the table. Georgia watched him make his way through the crowded diner to the men’s room, but he didn’t get more than a foot before someone either kissed him or man-hugged him. Everyone knew Harlan.

  “A little more coffee, sugah?” Pearl, the diner’s owner, asked, all decked out in a pink, fifties-style waitress uniform, grinning while she tipped the pot over Georgia’s cup.