by Shayla Black
“The coast is clear,” he told her.
Now, other than her dinner “date” with Tower tomorrow, he and Shealyn would be alone for three days—maybe his last here in California. He had no idea what to say to her now, what to do. His head told him to keep his distance. Mama, Cage, and especially Brea didn’t need the press poking into their lives. He’d sworn to protect the woman he would soon marry, even if it was in name only. That meant protecting her secret for as long as he could. But Shealyn needed his help, too. The danger to her wasn’t over. To complicate matters, he wondered if she might actually be developing feelings for him. She’d all but admitted that while pleading with Tower.
You know better than anyone that a person can’t always help how they feel.
But it didn’t fucking matter. Even if she decided she’d fallen madly in love with him, and they admitted their feelings for each other right now, their choices were limited. Could he move to L.A., be a star’s boy toy, and get sucked up in Hollywood games he barely understood? Or rip her from her career, move her to a place that might as well be called Nowhere, then go on his next mission and leave her alone to adjust to life in his small town? Impossible. Besides, Brea needed him, and it made more sense to go home and marry the woman who needed him. It was the right thing to do.
But in his heart, he’d ten times rather sweep Shealyn away from all this and make a life with her somewhere they could breathe, just the two of them, together.
Never. Going. To. Happen.
“Thanks for getting me past the paparazzi. I’m sorry for all of this,” she said softly as she sat up beside him, pushing the hair from her face.
“You don’t have to apologize again. You didn’t ask for this mess.”
“But I made the mistake.”
They both had. Their kiss outside the baseball diamond hadn’t been professional, but it had been a human response, both needing to connect with the other after the violence that shook them. He should have kept his shit wired tight, at least until they were alone. Foster, whoever he was, had been an entirely different mistake, but extortion and public hanging seemed like a terrible price to pay for a meaningless, ten-minute fling between two consenting adults.
In her purse, he could hear the constant noises of Shealyn’s phone. Social media notifications, e-mails, voice mails, and call after call, probably asking for comment. Every time he heard another beep or ding, he saw her flinch.
This couldn’t possibly be the life she had sought when she’d first come to Hollywood. She’d said she wanted to act, not that she was pursuing fame. As far as he could tell, those were two very different things.
“We’ve all made mistakes,” he pointed out as her phone rang again. “I think you should mute that, at least for tonight.”
Slowly, she nodded. “I can’t stand listening to it anymore.”
Shealyn fished the device out of her purse and turned it off. Merciful silence fell.
Cutter was trying to figure out how he could possibly comfort Shealyn without losing his clothes and falling into bed with her when they pulled up in front of her house and found a sleek red convertible blocking her garage. A tall redhead he recognized from the first few episodes of Hot Southern Nights sat on her porch.
“What’s Jessica doing here?” Shealyn mused as he parked the SUV beside the woman’s haphazardly parked car.
When he stopped the vehicle, she jumped out and the redhead rushed her way, arms open. Cutter stepped out to observe.
“Oh, my goodness. Hi! I didn’t expect you here.” Shealyn said.
“As soon as the news broke, I came to lend you an ear or a shoulder, whichever you need. I also came to get you shitfaced in case you didn’t want to talk,” Jessica raced back to the porch and snagged two bottles of wine, holding one in each hand. “Your call. But the way you’re being crucified in public, I couldn’t not come.” The redhead eyed him, looking him up and down. “Who are you? I recognize those shoulders from the video, so I’m guessing you’re the new boyfriend.”
“Bodyguard,” he corrected. “Name’s Cutter.”
When he nodded her way, she cooed and sent Shealyn a sly glance. “Good cover story. I don’t blame you, girl. Handsome, hunky, polite, and southern. If I found a man like that, I’d hang on to him, too. You might have handled your breakup with Tower better but—”
“No, really,” Shealyn insisted. “Tower and I didn’t break up. I actually did hire Cutter to be my bodyguard last week because I’ve had a little . . . trouble lately. The press doesn’t know his name, so I’d like to keep it that way, please.”
Jessica looked stunned. “You mean you’ve had trouble other than today’s news? And you didn’t tell me? What’s going on?”
“You couldn’t help me, and it’s nothing Cutter can’t handle. But thanks for coming over to take my mind off everything. Let’s go inside and open that wine. I could use it.”
As Cutter unlocked the front door, he felt Jessica assessing him. She was probably wondering about his motives. A good friend would. After all, the bodyguard should never be mistaken for the boyfriend and he should never be caught on camera engaging in hanky-panky on the job.
After he checked the interior of the house, he escorted the ladies inside. They drifted to the kitchen. Jessica didn’t appear to be any sort of threat. In fact, she was the only person who gave any indication that she gave a shit about Shealyn and the mess she was going through.
A scant minute later, corks popped. Liquid splashed. Glasses clinked.
“To you, honey. Look on the bright side. There’s no such thing as bad press,” Jessica assured.
“It sure feels as if there is. I know I’ve disappointed a lot of fans.”
“Of course. But there are also people who’ve never watched the show before because they didn’t know whether it was their cuppa. But today they saw that hot, forbidden kiss in the dark between you and Cutter and they’re now thinking they want more of that in their lives, so they’re queuing the show up on Netflix. I guarantee it.”
It was a cynical point of view . . . but Cutter figured she was probably right.
“Thanks for coming over.” Shealyn sounded exhausted. “Girl time is just what I needed.”
“I know we haven’t been able to connect in a few weeks. I’ve been super busy—I think I’ve got a new part!—but I know you’re filming and . . . when I saw this story hit everywhere, I grabbed two bottles of wine, sweet-talked Lance at the gate, then decided to wait for you. I figured you’d come here to hide the minute you could.”
He drifted into the kitchen just in time to see Shealyn hug the redhead. “It’s sweet of you to think of me. Thanks. Really.”
“My pleasure. How about you, Studly? Wine?” Jessica raised the open bottle.
“He doesn’t drink on the job.” Shealyn saved him from answering.
“Hmm.” Jessica threaded her arm through Shealyn’s. “How about we sit on the sofa? You can tell me everything. Or we can just drink and curse the terrible institution that is Hollywood. Maybe Studly over there would like to come a little closer to guard our bodies.” She sent him a mockingly flirtatious wink.
And she didn’t mean a thing by it. Her forced cheer grated on his nerves, but he couldn’t fault her for trying to do or say whatever it took to make Shealyn smile. So he could excuse the woman’s annoying tone. Or maybe his grouchiness all stemmed from the headache gnawing at his brain.
“I’ll be near, but I’ll leave you ladies to your wine.”
“Suit yourself. But if you change your mind . . .”
He nodded Jessica’s way, then melted into the background, settling against the wall eight feet behind the big sectional the women camped out on. In his experience, out of sight was out of mind. Unless they turned to look for him, they would soon forget he was here, especially once they started downing wine.
“So you think y
ou’ve got a new part? Tell me all about it,” Shealyn said, settling back against a fluffy cushion and sipping her red.
Jessica shook her head. “I don’t want to jinx anything. And it’s not official yet. Besides, you’re the news of the day.”
Shealyn groaned. “I’d rather not be.”
“I know, honey. What happened?”
“I have no idea who took that video or why they decided to release it to the public.”
But he suspected she did. The blackmailers had warned her this morning that she would pay for not following directions. They hadn’t been kidding. From Shealyn’s perspective, these creeps distributing a video of her kissing a man who obviously wasn’t Tower Trent surely caused a controversy in her nighttime soap’s fan base and the People magazine crowd, but she should be counting her blessings that they hadn’t decided to distribute the video of her and Foster.
Yet.
What else would they want from her in order to keep that buried?
“No, what I meant is, you and Tower . . . that dinner you had with his brother and sister-in-law on Monday? I saw the pictures of you two getting out of the car. You looked beautiful, and he was right by your side, the way he has been for what . . . a little more than a year?”
“I don’t actually want to talk about it, if that’s all right. I know this disaster is going to consume my weekend. I’d rather just not think about it until tomorrow.”
“Is Tower all right? What did he say when you talked to him?”
“We’re going to work it out,” Shealyn hedged. “We both want to.”
“Even though the guy you clearly have the hots for is still with you twenty-four seven?” Jessica sounded skeptical.
Put that way, if he didn’t know the full story, Cutter would be suspicious, too.
“I didn’t say it was going to be easy or quick. Tower and I are going to have dinner tomorrow night and figure out how we move forward from here.”
“That’s very . . . understanding of him. How’s Maggie taking all this? Have you talked to her or the rest of your family?”
“No.” Cutter heard the wince in Shealyn’s voice. “I need to call out to the ranch and warn her, Granna, and Papa. I can only imagine the chaos this will cause for them, especially with the wedding coming up so soon.” Groaning, she set her wine on the table and dropped her face in her hands. “I don’t know how to make people stop talking about me. Why do they even care who I’m kissing?”
“Short of leaving the limelight behind, you can’t make them stop gossiping about you. And they care because they have predictable, cookie-cutter, middle-American existences they hate. They’d rather be you. Since they can’t, they live vicariously through you. How many of them do you think wished that anyone would give a shit if they tossed their boyfriend over to kiss a super-hot guy that passionately?”
Cutter couldn’t disagree with Jessica’s assessment. He knew plenty of women in Sunset who perused the racks at the checkout aisles for gossip mags because they wanted this kind of juicy fodder to escape their nothingness.
Shealyn rose from the sofa and snagged the bottle of wine from the counter. Absently, Cutter knew he’d either have to stop her drinking soon or feed her. She had nothing in her stomach, and he wouldn’t have her getting sick.
As he mentally listed the contents of the refrigerator, the phone in his pocket vibrated. A glance at the screen had him biting off a curse.
Hunter Edgington.
Cutter declined the call. If anyone had determined Foster’s complete identity, Logan’s injuries weren’t too extensive to pick up the phone and let Cutter know. Hunter usually called only when someone needed their attitude whipped into shape, and Cutter had other things to focus on now. Besides, Hunter would probably only reiterate that he shouldn’t sleep with a client. That he shouldn’t get emotionally involved. And that he definitely should stay under the radar.
He’d failed on all three counts, and no doubt they knew it.
If, by chance, Hunter actually had information about Foster, he’d leave a voice mail. The FYI was too important to withhold out of anger or spite. And the brothers were too professional to pull that shit. But most likely Hunter wanted to cuss him out. Cutter knew he deserved it.
Before he could pocket the phone, it rang again. He didn’t dare dodge this call.
“Hey, Cage.”
“Bro. What the fuck?”
Cutter closed his eyes. He didn’t have to ask if his older brother had seen the video of him kissing Shealyn. Cage had, just as he’d obviously recognized him.
“Long story. Can’t talk much.”
“Yeah, then you need to listen. First of all, way to go, man. She’s smokin’ hot.”
“Cage . . .” he warned.
“Yeah, I know. You’re practically engaged, but—”
“Not practically. I am.” A fact that made him feel terrible every time he weighed his desires against his obligations. But why drag Shealyn into his personal mess when it wouldn’t change a thing between them? When he’d be leaving for home in a couple of days?
For once, he would love to shed a few responsibilities and do what made him happy. He’d never been good at that. He’d followed Mama’s example. She’d always sacrificed so her sons could have better, be happier, excel more.
“Brea mentioned that.”
If his brother had talked to her, Cutter needed more information. He stepped into the next room, where he could still see Shealyn, and dropped his voice. “How is she?”
Since he’d stepped foot in California, everything had been busy, chaotic, and confusing. He had been giving her space to think about her options, but he’d been worried like hell. Any information would be welcome.
“Hard to say. We actually talked more about her pregnancy than your scandal.”
“Has she seen the video. Does she know I’m the guy with Shealyn?”
“Is Mama’s pecan pie still the envy of every other woman at the church bake sale?” Cage challenged. “Of course Brea has seen it and knows it’s you.”
“What did she say?”
“Nothing. She was more concerned with whether anyone else had figured it out. It’s obvious to the people who know you. But around town—at least so far—you’re in the clear.”
“What about the rest of the world? I haven’t had the chance to monitor the gossip sites. I don’t have any social media accounts. I have no idea what’s being said.”
“I can’t help you much. I only have Facebook because of that community outreach program I was tapped to take over at the precinct following that miserable failure of a launch.”
Vaguely, Cutter recalled that. “Have you seen any site that’s deduced my name?”
“Not so far.”
He breathed a sigh of relief. That might be temporary, but he hoped not. Brea had a lot going on, trying to hide her secret. He couldn’t properly brace her for a press feeding frenzy when he was eighteen hundred miles away. “And no reporters calling around town this evening?”
“Not so far. And you know Mama. We’ll have to pry her home phone out of her cold, dead hands. She’s had that number for thirty-two years, by god—”
“It works just as well as those fancy devices y’all carry all the time,” Cutter mimicked, finishing the line he and his brother had heard their mother say over and over.
“Amen.” Cage laughed. “Since Mama isn’t hard to find, I’d have to think that any reporter who’d discerned your identity would call her for comment. But it’s been quiet here. Brea seems completely unconcerned that you’ve been sucking face with another woman.”
“Because she doesn’t care.”
“I didn’t believe you at first, but clearly you’re right.” He sounded a little stunned.
“The video doesn’t show my face, so I’m hoping y’all will be safe from that tabloid shit. H
as One-Mile been sniffing around her?”
“That’s the other reason I called. Yesterday, that asshole rode his Harley down Napoleon Avenue and rolled up to the salon where Brea works, then sauntered in the door, bold as you please, and told her in front of every one of those gossips that he wanted to take her out to dinner. She dodged him as best she could . . . but ultimately to make him go away, she had to admit that you two plan on getting married. So that went over well,” Cage said sarcastically.
Which meant that, by now, the whole damn town knew.
“Fuck. What did he do when he heard the news?”
“Besides scoff? He told her she was making a mistake and she knew it. He promised her that he wasn’t giving up on her. Now, he didn’t come out and say that he and Brea had been . . . intimate, but I think the ladies in town are chin-wagging the hell out of that possibility.”
Dread and fury thickened, mixing into violence. “I’m going to kill that bastard.”
“I figured you’d feel that way. As soon as my buddy Manny saw some guy on a motorcycle try to sweet-talk Brea—he watched it unfold from the café across the street—he texted me. Thankfully, I was just dropping something off at the post office for Mama, so I got my ass over there in two minutes. I had a man-to-man chat with him. Well, it was more like a man-to-douche chat. What does the guy with the loud Harley and a shitty attitude think is going to happen when he tries to cozy up to the preacher’s daughter, especially if he coerced her into sleeping with him?”
“I don’t think logic or reality has much to do with his thought process. Never has.”
“He doesn’t know Brea is pregnant.”
“No.” Cutter’s heart stuttered. “You didn’t tell him, did you?”
“I figured she had her reasons for keeping that a secret from the guy who knocked her up. Brea is the gentlest soul I know. If she wants nothing to do with him, I can only guess it’s because he did her wrong. Gotta say though, his ink is sweet. So is his ride.”
Cutter gritted his teeth. “But do you see him coupling up with Brea?”
“Absolutely not. Look, I can stay in town through tomorrow. I report in at five A.M. on Sunday morning. Manny said he’d keep an eye on her once I’m gone. I suggested that after I’ve gone to Dallas maybe she should spend her next two days off in Lafayette, at your place. Hopefully, he won’t find her there. And hopefully it will get the preacher off her back. He was plenty pissed to find out Brea had even met a guy like that.”