by Tara Andrews
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Her Everything
Copyright © 2014 by Tara Andrews
ISBN: 978-1-61333-741-7
Cover art by Tibbs Designs
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC
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Long Overdue
Her Everything
A 1Night Stand Story
By
Tara Andrews
~Dedication~
To my sister, Mary, who came through big time with a name for the band, and for knowing my heroine would be four inches shorter without her Louboutins, not three. You’re awesome—love you and thank you!
Chapter One
“What do you mean, she’s sick?” Rachel Turner leaned away from the whisperer and glanced around to see if anyone had overheard. Her fellow attendees of the all-star benefit concert were far more occupied talking with each other to have taken note. All of them dressed in formal black and white, and had paid $10,000 a seat to be there. Except her, of course. She’d received a ticket courtesy of her sister, Sasha. A sister who should be opening the show in less than twenty minutes!
Sasha’s assistant, Gwen, leaned down again. “Like, praying-to-the-porcelain-god sick.” The message was delivered with a low voice and hot breath against Rachel’s ear.
Wonderful. After standing, she scooted her chair closer to the small table of the lounge-style balcony seating and banged the corner into her neighbor’s leg.
“I’m sorry.”
Mark Travis, front man for Rachel’s favorite band, barely acknowledged the little incident. Ouch. She’d been initially excited to find herself in his section. Sasha’s doing, arranging the surprise meeting. However, big mistake to blurt out, “I’m a fan.” Not the brightest way to strike up a conversation. So, while he chatted with others, she had soaked in the A-list scenery, waiting for the performance to start, and wished the floor would swallow her up.
She navigated around minglers in the aisles, following Gwen until they were outside the theater. They hurried through the corridors of the Las Vegas Castillo Resort and Casino to the performers’ dressing rooms backstage. The pace caused the black silk of the borrowed Alexander McQueen to twist around her calves, and pull against the hard, jeweled collar of the halter-style dress. Rachel hoped it wouldn’t leave a mark.
Without knocking, Gwen pushed open a door, and they entered the small, crowded room to the sound of retching. Sasha wailed, her usually beautiful voice reduced to an earful of agony. Rachel hurried to the bathroom, past the other members of Wicked Vixen who stood around with a mix of worry and distaste on their faces.
Sasha sat on the floor next to the toilet with a pale face and a brow beaded with sweat. Rachel lifted the full-length gown above her knees and knelt beside her. “What happened?” Her sister, her twin, had looked fine an hour earlier.
“I don’t know. I think I ate something that didn’t agree with me.” She leaned against the wall and panted, her exhaustion clear. But the way she avoided meeting Rachel’s eyes cemented the growing suspicion about her health over the last few weeks.
“Did you call a doctor?” More specifically, an obstetrician?
Gwen stepped behind them. “The casino sent someone who told her it needed to run its course. She’s supposed to be in her room, lying down and staying hydrated.”
“Where’s Victor?” Rachel hadn’t seen the group’s manager in the room. And she already knew Sasha’s boyfriend, Jonathan, would be coming straight from the airport after he landed. “Will he cancel the act?”
“No.” Even weak, the protest came across determined. “Can’t.”
Rachel realized the impossibility. This wasn’t an ordinary local concert. The people attending had paid a small mint, and many had traveled from all over the world to be there, some of them specifically to see Wicked Vixen. “I suppose the rest of the group can go on without you. Your fans would understand.”
Sasha raised a brow, a sign there were too many ears nearby for her to challenge the idea aloud. Rachel nodded in delayed understanding. Without Sasha singing lead, it wouldn’t be much of a performance. Aside from the lack of vocals, it’d also throw off the dance arrangements to be without a member.
“Gwen, can you excuse us?” Rachel shut the door behind the assistant without waiting for a response. “Crap. You’re in no shape to perform.” She wet a washcloth to cool Sasha’s face then handed it over. Instead, Sasha reached past the offering and grasped her wrist.
“I need you to take my place.” The grip tightened, preventing Rachel from pulling away.
“No. I can’t.” Never mind the difficulty fooling hundreds of people. The idea of being up there on stage…. Her head swam, and an erratic, uncomfortable rhythm beat in her chest. Even her protest had come out shaky. She couldn’t imagine her voice would sound much better to an audience.
“Please, Rach. This charity is a good cause. I’d hate for it to suffer because of me. And I know it’s important to you, too. Please.”
True, the event was being held to raise money for breast cancer research, something close to both their hearts after losing their mother to the disease three years earlier. Sasha had taken on the charity like a personal crusade, using her fame to promote the event and recruit sponsors for the silent auction to be held after the show. Jeopardizing its success would tear her apart.
“No one would ever believe I’m you. I don’t know the routine, our voices are different—”
“You know the routine, and it’s only two songs. Eight minutes, tops.”
Two songs. A variety of entertainers were donating their time and names to help raise money. “Hey, you got some color back, and you’re sounding better—”
Sasha gagged and lunged for the toilet. Rachel banded a hand around her sister’s hair to keep it out of the way, but had to avert her face to avoid any empathetic gagging. And failed.
When the episode ended and they were both back to their original positions on the floor, Sasha’s obvious misery hit her in the heart. Rachel sighed. “I suppose this means there’s no possible way you’ll feel we
ll enough to go on stage in the next ten minutes.”
Sasha shook her head.
They hadn’t traded places in a long while. Not since they’d been teenagers and Sasha had double-booked dates for the same night. It hadn’t ended well for Rachel. The stupid guy had never caught on, but she’d ended up really liking him. Stupid me. She’d even let him kiss her at the end of the night. The following weekend, Sasha went out with him for a second date then came home disheveled from head to toe, proclaiming herself in love. Rachel nursed her own bruised heart alone.
Still, she never learned how to say no to Sasha. Her twin always seemed to get away with anything and remained impervious to trouble. While the unfairness might still bug Rachel once in awhile, it sometimes gave her the excuse to live outside her comfort zone—covered by Sasha’s luck. At least temporarily. All the responsibilities she’d assumed always waited for her come morning.
But this wasn’t just fun for Sasha; she had worked so hard. “No one can know.”
With a tired smile, Sasha held up a pinky. “Swear.”
Rachel hooked her finger with her twin’s. “You know, I think I’m going to be as sick as you in a second.”
“Don’t worry. Just shake your ass like it’s mine.”
Mark dropped into an open seat when the lights flashed on and off, signaling the start of the show. He deposited his empty glass on the small round table he sat near. Two of the chairs in his section were occupied by Hollywood’s current favorite couple, the other two empty. Another woman had left earlier but hadn’t returned. Maybe she’d only snuck in there to meet him, since she had admitted to being a fan. Unfortunately.
He’d tried not to be too distant with but her, but hadn’t wanted to lead her on either. In his experience, female fans tended to read more into one-on-one interactions with him than warranted. He’d been hit on more times than he could count by pretty fans who believed nothing more than a suggestive whisper would earn them an invitation to his hotel room.
This one, though, with the I’m-yours baby blues peering out behind cat eyeglasses, pulled at more than his cock. He liked the genuine regard and the excitement in her voice—awe mixed with a good dose of respect. For his music or for him, he didn’t know, but he wondered if she truly was different from the rest.
Which meant he needed to stay away.
He’d learned his lesson. Fans tended to focus on the money, the glamour, and the partying associated with being a musician. He needed someone who understood the reality of his career. A woman who knew the pressure, the demands, and the work that went into creating albums, touring, and promoting the band. Someone he could take home to meet his daughter.
Not that he wanted a relationship at the moment.
The lights dimmed and the neighboring areas quieted. A man entered the section and occupied one of the available seats. Mark glanced over, noting the familiar goatee, but couldn’t quite place him. Definitely not a musician. Maybe an actor.
He hated attending industry events and usually avoided them at all costs. Another reason why he’d often disappointed women he attempted to have a relationship with; he didn’t capitalize on most opportunities to rub elbows with other celebrities. He wouldn’t even be at this event if it weren’t for the cause, and to honor his late wife at the same time.
The new guy rapped on the table, grabbing Mark’s attention. “Hey, did you see another woman here?”
“She left about twenty minutes ago.”
The man cast a look around, evidently searching for the lady in question. Though, in the low light, people at a distance became indistinct, so Mark doubted he’d spot her.
“Do you know where she went?”
Mark shook his head. “Didn’t say.” Great, he’d ended up alone in a section with two other couples. He should have brought someone with him.
Scratch that. No more dates. At least not for a while.
“Did she talk to you?”
“Briefly. Only to introduce herself.” Raquel…no, Rachel.
The guy sat back, and fished a phone from an inside breast pocket. “Odd. She’s a big fan of yours.”
“So she mentioned.”
“Her sister arranged for her to sit here as a surprise. She’s not going to be happy if you chased her off.” The man leveled a narrow gaze on him, his jaw tight, as if he were trying to decide if Mark was somehow at fault.
Not that he really cared, but he asked anyway. “Who’s her sister?”
“Sasha Turner.”
Mark knew music stats like most men rattled off sports figures. Sasha Turner, the lead singer from Wicked Vixen…. The band had the current number-one single in the US for the last six weeks, their third number-one that year. The album had gone multi-platinum within a month. Come to think of it, he finally placed the guy across from him—the pitcher for the Diamondbacks, Jonathan Chandler.
Mark shrugged. “Sorry, didn’t know she’d arranged a blind date for me.”
The MC began the intro, interrupting their conversation. Peering over the balcony railing, Mark focused on the stage. He’d never met Sasha, but being in the same business, he would think she’d understand personal boundaries.
When the music began, he let those thoughts drift away. Lights flashed blue, yellow, and red, in time with the beat. Smoke billowed, and then a backlight projected a silhouette of five shapely figures onto a white screen. At the downbeat, the screen dropped, revealing Wicked Vixen. With choreographed steps, the members sashayed down the steps of a raised platform. Sasha’s famous soprano layered into the song, singing about love and destiny. Her hips swished and swayed while the head mic left her arms free to undulate up, down, left, and right—punctuating the pop beat.
The small theater allowed Mark a clear view of the performers, not even two hundred feet away. Even so, a huge video monitor off to the side projected an image of the show to ensure no one missed a thing. Sasha’s face filled it, and aside from the missing glasses, it was the same face as the woman that Jonathan had asked after. Not a simple sisterly resemblance, either. Twins?
He glanced over at the pitcher. The man jabbed his fingers on the phone instead of watching the show. Which of the women was he involved with? Sasha made better sense. The MLB player didn’t strike Mark as the type to be all right with his girl being set up to meet another guy—not even for a celebrity crush.
He returned his attention to the stage. Thunderous applause erupted, peppered with a few whistles and more than a couple we love you’s shouted out. The girls waved and began their next song.
It struck him that Rachel, as the sibling to a pop star, would have a better-than-average understanding of what his life involved. Intrigued, he hoped to see Rachel again. Maybe he wouldn’t try so hard to resist her pretty blue eyes after all.
Chapter Two
Rachel didn’t head back to her balcony seat to see the remainder of the performances. It had taken longer than expected to soften the heavy stage makeup and redo her French twist. By the time she’d changed back to her dress, half the acts were done. And when she finished checking on Sasha, the entire concert had ended.
A cocktail reception followed the show. Displays arranged around the perimeter of the room showcased items up for the silent auction to elicit bidding—not that Rachel could afford to even contemplate bidding on any of the objects, so she headed straight to the open bar instead.
Still high on the adrenaline rush from performing, she wanted to celebrate with her favorite drink. Though she suspected adding alcohol to her excitement might not be the best idea. “Disaronno and soda, please. And can you add a twist of lemon?”
The bartender set the amber-colored drink in front of her. She opened her clutch to pull out a tip, but Jonathan stepped beside her and pushed a bill across the bar.
“Allow me.”
Uh-oh. The clipped tone conveyed his displeasure—at her for taking part in the charade, or at her sister who has been avoiding him, she didn’t know. Maybe both.
“Thank
you.” Lifting the glass she took a sip through the thin straw, the fizzy mix of sweet almonds and bite of lemon filling her mouth. She savored it for a second before vacating the bar.
Jonathan followed her away from inquisitive ears before speaking. “What were you thinking?”
“That I wanted to help.” Rachel stepped up to an empty high-top table, sliding around to the opposite side, putting it between her and Jonathan.
“If anyone—”
“It’s done and no one said a thing.” At least she hoped.
“Not yet.”
Unable to meet his eyes, she glanced around the room to find something distracting. In truth, she had worried that others might have noticed. She’d counted on distance, lighting, and the glitz of the performance to camouflage her switch with Sasha, though neither she nor her sister had counted on the ginormous LED screen projecting the entire show. Still, not many people outside Wicked Vixen knew the twins well enough to tell them apart.
“I knew right away.”
Rachel did look at him then. “Of course. It’d be pretty disappointing if you hadn’t.”
“Where is she?” Worry etched Jonathan’s face. “Rachel, please. If Sasha is sick, I should be there.”
Sasha had only replied to him with an I’m fine when he’d texted. If he’d known her room number, he’d have been at her door in a heartbeat. Rachel suspected Sasha forestalled the confrontation to avoid any questions he might have—ones that would inevitably lead him to the same conclusion Rachel had already reached. Questions Rachel certainly didn’t want to be pressured to answer.
Sasha would be so pissed, but Rachel trusted Jonathan, even if her stubborn twin swore she didn’t need to be taken care of. Rachel envied her for that. No man had ever gone out of his way, let alone his mind, for her in such a way.