“Wait a minute,” she said, her gaze narrowed on his face. “Did I hear right? Did you just say you’re in love with me?”
Shit. “You caught that, huh?” He kept his hands loose and relaxed at his sides. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
He saw her swallow and in the glow of the streetlight he detected the flush rising on her cheeks. “Why not?”
Why not? No matter how closely they were pressed together, the reason why not stood between them, as big as if he was really the size of the cardboard cutout Gabe had made of his photo. Why not was America’s high-class hero, General Wayne Weston. In comparison to her husband, Noah Smith, convict’s son and soldier-from-the-sticks, had nothing to offer this woman. He’d known it from the start but for a few weeks had allowed himself to forget that fact.
“Because…because it made me really glad to hear it, Noah,” she said.
What? Startled, he watched her swallow again.
“When I saw you just now, I knew… I knew…” She hesitated, then plunged on, “Well, I’m done with hiding away and hiding how I feel. I want you. I want you back in my life.”
Despite his best intentions, his hands lifted, one to her hair, the other cupped that sweet indentation at her waist. “I can’t… I don’t…” Christ, what to say? She was dangling half a dream in front of him. He wanted everything with her, he wanted it all, but another, better man already filled her heart.
He dropped his arms and broke her hold, putting breathing room between them. “I can’t come back into your world and start washing your windows again, Juliet.” Christ, and it made his blood boil thinking about it, because he was afraid if she insisted he’d settle for just that.
She stiffened. “That’s not what I meant.”
“And I also can’t be the ‘any warm body’ in your bed when you feel like you want one of those.”
“That’s not what I meant either!” Hot color shot across her face. “You know I’m not asking for a servant. Or a gigolo. You know me better than that.”
“Juliet…”
The three syllables seemed to incense her. Her body went rigid. “ ‘Juliet’ what? You make me so mad! You’re leading me on again, damn it, playing Mr. Hot-Then-Cold. ‘I love you, I’m in love with you, I need you,’ you said that, and then you back away.” She crossed to her front tire and gave it a swift kick.
Noah winced, even as she took aim again. He grabbed her elbow and yanked her out of range before she could hurt herself. It only served to turn her ire back on him.
“Because that’s what I want,” she said hotly, wrenching her arm out of his hold. “A man who will love and need me in the same equal measure that I love and need him. I thought for a minute that was you.”
Her eyes were bright with anger—or something else.
“But if you can’t or won’t be that man,” she continued, “then eff…eff… No, let’s make this simple and clear, Noah. If you won’t be that man, then fuck you.”
It was the F-bomb that finally got through to him. His head cleared for the first time since hearing about Tim, and Noah looked at her, really looked at her. Her face was red, her hair a little mussed, her fingers curled into tight fists. The Juliet who had been the general’s wife was a lady, always controlled and composed. But this Juliet, his Juliet, was a woman with temper and passion.
Hah. He got it now. Really got it. This was what he had to offer her—himself, a man who brought out this woman, this real Juliet. And he would take pleasure in her every mood and every flame forever.
Except looking at her angry expression, he wasn’t sure she’d let him.
“Okay,” he told her, taking hold of her again. She tried jerking free, but he was firm. “You win. We win.”
Her chin jerked upward and heat leaped in her eyes. “This isn’t a game.”
“Not a war either,” he said. “Both sides can come out of this stronger. United.”
He felt the tension in her muscles ease. “Noah. I don’t want to fight you any longer,” she whispered. “Not when I love you so much. Not when I need you so much.”
The last of the wall he’d tried to put between them crumbled. With those blue and green eyes on his, he knew, he finally believed there was a place inside her heart for him, too. And if she was strong enough to take the chance on him, he could do no less. “I love you, too,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion and hope. “I need you, too.”
He hauled her closer and kissed her, unsurprised when fire flashed around them. It was only an imitation of the passion he felt for this incredible woman.
“Noah,” she said against his mouth, and that brightness flashed once more, forcing him to look up. It wasn’t only love lighting up their world, he realized, but that damn paparazzo who had been plaguing them for weeks.
“Get lost,” Noah said, returning his gaze to Juliet, to his woman, the one who unbalanced and who steadied him, too, both in equal measure. “Get lost now.”
“Or what?” the man asked, taking another photo.
“Or I’m going to sic the lady on you. She’s tougher than she looks and I imagine she’ll kick your ass.”
Juliet laughed, her whole face alight with happiness. “I’ll bet he’s softer than that rubber tire.”
“Just give me a quote and I’ll go away,” the tabloid guy offered.
“We’re getting married.” Noah lowered his forehead to touch Juliet’s. “Yes?”
Her smile was brilliant. “Yes.”
So brilliant that his heart ached to see it, because he owed her one more thing. Before he really let her make such a commitment to him, he owed this brave, generous woman who thought she loved him his very last, his very own secret.
“Juliet.” He cupped her beloved face in his palms. “Listen for a minute. I’m not sure I deserve you. I—”
“What are you talking about?”
He blew out a breath. “I’m not the man you think. I’m not noble; you should know that. You should know what you’re getting if you take me on.”
Her hands closed around his wrists. “I am taking you on,” she said, her voice fierce. “Do I have to start throwing things to make you believe that?”
“I’m not like the general,” he said, determined to get through his confession. “I’m not that kind of man. What I feel for you…oh, God.” He thought of all he held in his hands and of all he could lose.
“Noah.” Tears brightened the blue and green of her eyes. “What is it?”
“You have to know…I could never sacrifice like he did. I’ll hold you to me with my last ounce of strength.” He swallowed past his tight throat. “The way I love you… I want you beside me today and tomorrow and the next day after that and when…”
“And when?” she prompted.
“And when I take my very last breath.”
Tears spilled over to catch in her eyelashes.
“Is that all right?” he asked, as one of her hot tears rolled over his thumb. “Are you okay with that?”
She nodded as more tears fell. “It’s what I needed to hear to make me the most okay ever. I want a partner, Noah, not a protector.” Then she pressed closer and he gathered her against him. “But in regard to those ‘lasts’ you spoke about…I fully expect sixty blissful years first.”
Epilogue
Real love stories never have endings.
—RICHARD BACH
One week later…
Juliet loved Malibu & Ewe, especially on midweek late afternoons when it quieted down from the morning and lunchtime rush of shoppers. She wandered to the doors that led to the balcony overlooking the ocean. The bright sun glinted off the water, but the air was too cold to spend time outside unless she bundled up. So instead she stayed sheltered inside the shop, and looked northward through the glass toward Zuma where she’d laid Wayne’s ashes to rest.
What a wonderful man he’d been.
How pleased he’d be for her now.
Cassandra wandered from the back. “What are you smi
ling about?”
“Nothing. Everything.”
The front door banged open with a loud peal of the bells. Their sister burst into the shop, wearing starched chef gear and waving a newspaper. “How did this happen?” she demanded, her agitation disturbing the peaceful atmosphere.
The other two hurried to her, just as she slammed the pages of a tabloid onto the table between the couches. “SURGEON’S SECRET!” the headline screamed. Right below it read: “Renowned Celebrity Doctor Fathers Beautiful Malibu Babes!”
It was all there. The three sisters, with names and photographs. Dr. Frank Tucker’s photo was there, too, as well as a sidebar containing a list of his Hollywood clients and the procedures he’d allegedly performed on them.
“What do you think of that?” Nikki demanded again, waving her hand toward the tabloid.
Cassandra bent down and scanned the text. “I don’t think Oomfaa really had a nose job.”
“Cassandra!”
“Well, it’s the first thing that came to my mind,” she said. “That and ‘Who the heck spilled the beans?’ ”
“I haven’t even thought about contacting him,” Juliet confessed. “My mind’s been on other things since…” Her voice trailed off as she remembered that odd conversation with Marlys about Botox. Marlys the tabloid snitch. “Oh, brother.”
“We’ve got a couple of those, by the way,” Nikki said, gesturing to the paper again. “Dr. Tuck has two sons he adopted with his wife. She died a number of years ago.”
Cassandra looked down at the photograph of the plastic surgeon. “What are we going to do now?” she asked, her gaze shifting to Juliet.
The oldest sibling role felt more natural than ever. Putting an arm around each sister, Juliet drew them close, trying to dispel the concern on their faces. “What we were going to do anyway. Have a lovely holiday dinner tomorrow and give thanks that we’ve found each other. As for the rest…we’ll figure that out together.”
At that moment, the door to Malibu & Ewe opened again and Noah walked through. She felt her own worry lift as he paced toward her with single-minded purpose. A kiss was already forming on his lips.
As she lifted her face for it, she composed a diary entry in her head.
Dear Diary:
This afternoon, with my sisters by my side and the man I love in my sight, I know who I am. I know exactly who I am. I’m a very—wait for it, Diary—Happy Woman.
The End
Dear Reader:
Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the second book in the Billionaire’s Beach trilogy and continue on to discover more enhanced content. It was fun to put together some extras to enrich your experience. If your device does not support audio, you can find the mp3 file in which I talk about the story on my website at www.christieridgway.com.
Juliet and her “younger man” Noah now have their future secure. Juliet thought her happiness was in the past but it was a pleasure to write about her reawakening…to new sisters and to romance. You’ll see the new couple again (as well as Nikki and Jay from Take Me Tender) in Take Me Home, the last sexy and emotional book in the series.
Interested in sharing your thoughts with other readers? I hope you leave a review for the book here.
How is the hurting Gabe and the oh-so-giving Cassandra going to resolve their relationship? And what about Marlys? Is she destined to keep self-destructing? Find out in Take Me Home.
To not miss out on new releases and to get other information about upcoming books, sign up for my newsletter. You can also follow me on Facebook, Twitter, or visit my website.
Below, find an excerpt to the first in my Rock Royalty series and links to buy other Ridgway romances you may have missed.
Enjoy!
Christie Ridgway
Buy Take Me Tender (Billionaire’s Beach Book 1)
Buy Take Me Home (Billionaire’s Beach Book 3)
Excerpt – LIGHT MY FIRE
Rock Royalty Book 1
© Copyright 2014 Christie Ridgway
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Chapter One
The children of America's premier rock band learned early to sleep through anything. Late night jam sessions, liquor (and worse) -fueled arguments, raucous parties raging from dark to dawn that were peppered with wild laughter, breaking glass, and the squishy thud of fists against skin. At twenty-four, Cilla Maddox had not lost that skill, though she'd recently come to view it as something less than a gift.
Still, she didn't stir from her curled position on the edge of the king-sized bed when a tall, broad figure entered the room in the middle of the night. No streetlights disturbed the darkness this deep in Laurel Canyon and the newcomer found the bed only by deduction. When, at his sixth cautious step, his shin met an immoveable object, he dropped the motorcycle boots and duffel bag he carried to the plush carpet and took a leap of faith by tipping his long body forward. Finding firm mattress and feathery pillow, he instantly fell into sleep.
Hours later, Cilla came awake to the sound of birds tweeting and chirping their odes to another Southern California morning as they flitted through the shrubbery and tall eucalyptus trees that grew inside and outside the canyon compound where she'd grown up. Eyes closed, she breathed in the country-scented air, such a surprise when the famous Hollywood Boulevard and its twin in notoriety, the Sunset Strip, were less than a mile away. Flopping to her back, she stretched to her full five-feet, five inches. Then she pushed her arms overhead and swept them back down until her fingertips met—
Something solid. Warm. Alive.
On a gasp, her eyes flew open and her head whipped right. She yanked her hand from a man's heavy shoulder to press it against her thrashing heart.
As it continued to beat wildly against her ribs, she stared at her bedmate. Though his body was plastered to the mattress belly-down, his face was turned toward hers and it only took another instant to realize he was no stranger. But recognition didn't calm the overactive organ in her chest that continued sending blood sprinting through her body.
She blinked, just to make sure her eyes weren't deceiving her. They apparently had told the truth, she decided. After years of adolescent fantasies, she was actually sharing a bed with him. With Renford Colson.
No mistake, it was her teenage fantasy man. His glossy black hair that tangled nearly to his shoulders. His days'-old stubble of beard that made his mouth look softer, fuller, more kissable if that was even possible. Those were his spiky lashes resting against his sharp-angled face.
Yet...was he really here? To make herself believe it, she mouthed his name. Ren.
As if he heard the silent syllable, his eyes flipped open.
She started, their distinctive color—a silvered green, just like eucalyptus leaves—jolting her to the marrow.
Dark brows met over his straight nose and she watched the drowsiness seep from him as his gaze sharpened. "Priss?"
She frowned. He was the only one to call her that nickname and it had annoyed her since she was old enough to understand it telegraphed something about the way he viewed her. "Excessively proper," she remembered reading in the dictionary. "Prim."
"Cilla." Her voice sounded morning-husky as she made the correction.
One corner of his mouth kicked up. "Priscilla."
Ugh. That was worse. To her mind, Priscilla was the name of some old-fashioned china doll that was deemed too nice to play with and so grew dusty on a high, forgotten closet shelf. As the youngest "princess" of rock royalty (an article in Rolling Stone had described the nine collective children of the Velvet Lemons in just such terms), she'd often been overlooked. Likely Ren hadn't given her a single thought in the nine years since she'd last seen him.
"Why are you here?" she asked, sitting up.
His gaze dropped from her face to the size XL T-shirt she wore, an authentic Byrds concert souvenir, one of the several such clothing items she'd collected (read: purloined from her careless father) during her lifetime. "Priss," Ren remarked with a note of mild surpris
e, "you've grown up."
Grown-ups didn't react to the red flush they could feel crawling over their skin. Grown-ups didn't check out their chest to determine if it was a modest B-cup that led him to such a conclusion. So ignoring both compulsions, she repeated her question. "Why are you here?"
"Couple reasons." Ren flipped over then jackknifed on the mattress to face her. Both palms rubbed over his eyes and down his cheeks, his beard making a scratchy sound. He'd fallen asleep in his worn jeans and wrinkled dress shirt. On the floor near him were a pair of battered boots and a leather bag, both as black as his hair. His hands went to the buttons marching down his chest.
She swallowed. "What are you doing?"
"I've been wearing this damn thing for—Christ, who knows?—it's got to be a couple of days. However long it took me to get here from Russia with a fucking long layover in Paris."
Her gaze didn't leave his nimble fingers as they continued unbuttoning to reveal a stark white undershirt beneath. "You didn't stop off in London?" That was where he was based. Ren had started as a roadie for the band, then moved into concert tour planning and security. When he'd left the employ of the Velvet Lemons, he'd set up shop across the pond and continued doing the same thing—just not for their fathers' band.
Cilla couldn't blame him for that. The three Lemons might as well have been named the Odd Ducks. They'd achieved superstardom in the 1970s and when they were nearing forty, somehow decided they wanted more than sex, riches, and scandalous reputations. Each had produced three kids before declaring their paternal urges satisfied. No mothers came attached to the children they'd fathered. They'd been bought off or wandered off and as long as Cilla could remember the nine rock progeny had spent their childhoods in the expansive Laurel Canyon compound that consisted of three separate houses and then this smaller cottage where she and Ren had chosen to sleep.
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