Always My Girl (The Shaughnessy Brothers)

by Samantha Chase

  Rather than answer, everyone sprang into action. Anna pulled on her shorts and T-shirt over her bathing suit and joined in. She assigned Zoe to unpacking the master bathroom box just in case anyone took Quinn up on his offer to shower.

  In an hour, they were done and people were all filing out the door with the promise to meet up at the hospital. When the last car pulled out of the driveway, Quinn turned to Anna and swung her up into his arms.

  “Quinn? What in the world?”

  “This is our first home and I am carrying you over the threshold.”

  “That’s what you do when you get married,” she said with a laugh.

  He shook his head. “Well, I’m changing things up and doing it now.” He walked them into the house and kicked the door closed behind him. Carefully he locked the door and continued to carry her up the stairs of their new two-story home and into their bedroom. The room was a mess—the furniture was all in its place but there were no blankets or sheets on the bed and no curtains on the windows.

  When he placed her down on the bed and smiled, Anna smiled back. “Wow! That was kind of fun. We may need to make that a thing.”

  “Don’t get used to it. That was a lot of stairs.”

  “Hey!”

  He chuckled. “Just kidding.” And then he stretched out beside her. “Welcome home, Anna.”

  “Welcome home, Quinn,” she replied. They lay there in companionable silence for several minutes before Zoe said, “I think we need to get showered and changed and head to the hospital. I know first babies normally take a while, but nothing about Aubrey’s pregnancy has been typical. I wouldn’t be surprised if everything went really fast.”

  Rather than moving and getting up, Quinn began to kiss her shoulder, then her neck and her cheek.

  “Um…this isn’t helping us get ready,” Anna purred.

  “I disagree.” His hand trailed up her thigh to the button on her shorts and quickly popped it open.

  “Quinn…we need… We have to—”

  His lips claimed hers, effectively cutting off anything she was about to say. When he finally lifted his head, he gazed into her big brown eyes. “I was thinking about what we talked about earlier. I’m not saying we have to run off to Vegas tonight—or at all—but I certainly wouldn’t mind getting in a little practice on making a baby before we head to the hospital.”

  Anna smiled up at him and continued to smile as he stripped off her shorts, shirt, and bikini. His hand rested on her flat belly, and he smiled as she sighed his name.

  “This would be a big change,” he said softly.

  “Quite possibly the biggest one yet.”

  “Are you sure about this?”

  As much as she wanted to accuse him of being a chicken, she suddenly was one too. “Maybe we can talk about it a little bit more after we come back from the hospital. Or after we babysit a couple of times.”

  Quinn stripped his shirt off and grinned. “I think that sounds perfect.” He stood and kicked off his jeans, sneakers, socks, and briefs before joining her back on the bed. “We should probably let Aidan and Zoe have the spotlight for a little bit longer too.”

  She nodded. “And when it’s our turn, we’ll know it is the perfect time.”

  “You know it.”

  Even though they knew there was someplace they needed to be, Quinn made love to her slowly, sweetly, perfectly.

  And later, as they stood side by side smiling into the nursery to meet their new nephew, Quinn squeezed her hand. “Yeah, I definitely want one of those with you.”

  “Just one?”

  He shook his head. “Hell no. We’re going to need our own little league team!”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Just think, we can have our own team and challenge all the other teams in the community, and I can train them at home. The yard is big enough for a T-ball stand. How early is too early to start kids on learning how to hit a ball?”

  Anna could only chuckle. There was one thing she was certain of—her life with her best friend, the man she loved, was never going to be boring.

  And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

  The series continues in Book 4 of The Shaughnessy Brothers series, This Is Our Song.

  Click here to order

  For more info and updates about the series go to:

  http://www.chasing-romance.com/

  Like Susan Mallery and Fern Michels?

  Then you’ll love I’ll Stand By You by Sharon Sala!

  Click here to order

  For more info and updates about the series go to:

  http://sharonsala.net/

  Like Julie James and The Wedding Planner?

  Then you’ll love Every Bride Has Her Day by Lynnette Austin!

  Click here to order

  For more info and updates about the series go to:

  http://www.authorlynnetteaustin.com/

  Like Shannon Stacey and Jill Shalvis?

  Then you’ll love Find My Way Home by Michele Summers!

  Click here to order

  For more info and updates about the series go to:

  http://www.michelesummers.com/

  Can’t get enough of the Shaughnessys?

  Look for:

  This Is Our Song

  The Shaughnessy Brothers, Book 4

  Coming soon from Sourcebooks Casablanca

  As soon as Riley got a glimpse of his manager, he knew something was up. It was written all over the man’s face. “Okay,” Riley began as soon as they sat down. “Out with it.”

  Luckily, Mick wasn’t the type to play dumb. “I spoke to Rich Baskin earlier—that’s who called when I was here.”

  Rich was the head of Riley’s record label. It was all Riley could do just to nod.

  “I told him you really weren’t on board with using outside writers to finish the album.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “What do you think he said? He’s pissed.”

  “Great.”

  “However,” Mick went on, “he is willing to give a little.”

  Riley’s head shot up, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, he felt hopeful. “Okay. How?”

  “Do you know Tommy Vaughn?”

  Riley’s eyes went wide. “Of course I do! Who doesn’t? The man is right up there with Jagger, Mercury, Lennon, Bowie… I mean, the guy is a rock god. Why? Is…is he one of the song writers? Does he want back in on the music side rather than writing about it?”

  “Okay, so you’re aware of his magazine.”

  Reaching over the side of his sofa, Riley pulled a copy of Rock the World magazine. “Aware of it? I subscribe to it!”

  “That’s good,” Mick said. “Because you’re going to be in it.”

  Riley pulled back and frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Look, I don’t play dumb with you, don’t do it to me.” Mick paused. “Tommy wants to do a big piece on you—possibly multi-issue, something he doesn’t do very often. He’s got someone lined up to work with you. Rich wants this. So if you’re hoping to get back in anyone’s favor, you’re going to do this.”

  “Mick, you know how I feel about interviews. Especially right now!”

  “Then you’re going to have to get over it. Fast. Because if this deal doesn’t happen, they’ll pull the plug on the album—and think of the lousy publicity that is going to cause. ‘Riley Shaughnessy cut loose because he didn’t want to do publicity and couldn’t write any songs.’”

  “That’s pretty low,” Riley growled. “Even for you.”

  “I’m not here to candy coat it for you. I’ve been doing that for too long, and now look where we are.” Mick shifted in his seat. “You never asked for much and you were never complicated to work with—you were certainly never a diva—so when you started
to struggle, I let it slide. Well, I’m done with that now. It’s time for some tough love. You need to stop with the pity party and get your ass back in the game.” His phone beeped and Mick looked at it and stood. “I’ve got another appointment to get to. You’re gonna get a call from the magazine. Take it and be thankful.”

  “Mick—”

  “I’m not kidding, Riley,” Mick interrupted. “Everyone’s done playing around. We want an album from you—we wanted it six months ago. Don’t turn into a diva on me now. Do the interview. Hell, who knows, maybe talking to someone—even a magazine reporter—can be…what’s the word? Cathartic. Maybe you’ll finally get out of your head and get the music down like you need to.” With a pat on Riley’s back, Mick walked to the door. “I’ll talk to you in a couple of days. Think about it. I don’t want you to screw this up.”

  Riley stood and stared at the closed door for a solid minute before he could force himself to move. When he did, it was to go back to the couch and collapse.

  He’d sworn he wouldn’t do any interviews until the album was done and he knew it was perfect. Now what was he supposed to talk about? How he couldn’t write? Couldn’t play? Couldn’t sing?

  Yeah, the fans would love that.

  Unfortunately, he knew there was no way out. So he’d give the interview…a superficial one. No one said it had to be deep and meaningful. Nowhere was it written that he had to be sincere or enjoy it. The label wanted this? Fine. He’d do it. But he’d do it on his own terms. He’d say all the right things and smile at all the right times. They could take their pictures and think they were getting a glimpse into the real life of Riley Shaughnessy.

  But they wouldn’t.

  They never would.

  There was a time when Riley had loved the interviews, the press tours—when they were fun. Now they felt like a chore—one more thing to make him resentful toward the talent that had deserted him.

  Jumping to his feet, Riley walked to the window and looked down at the city. Somewhere out there was some reporter thinking he’d struck gold by getting the chance to sit down with him. Riley had a reputation for being a great subject. Well, news flash, that guy was gone and no one had seen him in about a year.

  God, he sounded morbid.

  He honestly felt sorry for whoever Tommy Vaughn gave this interview.

  * * *

  “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me,” Savannah Daly grumbled at her boss.

  Tommy studied her thoughtfully. “Hey, it’s not like I’m sending you on tour with a boy band or something.”

  Just the thought of that made her stomach clench. She’d been there, done that, and had the heartache to prove it. Not that she’d ever share that bit of information with Tommy Vaughn.

  Or anyone.

  “You might as well be.” She sighed and sat down in the closest chair. She took a minute to get her thoughts together. “Okay, say I decide to take this on…”

  Tommy’s bark of laughter shook the walls of his office. “Seriously? Did you just make it sound like there’s a possibility you won’t?”

  Savannah shrugged. “Maybe I miss cutting hair.”

  “Yeah, okay. And I miss eating ramen noodles ten times a week. Cut the crap, Savannah. You and I both know you’re going to do it.”

  She acted as if he hadn’t spoken. “If I agree to this piece, how do you propose I get Riley to agree to an interview? He’s been turning down people left and right for a year. I heard he turned down Ellen! And you really think I’m going to be the one to convince him to sit down for a conversation? You’re crazy!”

  Tommy smirked as he slowly sat down behind his desk. He took his time getting comfortable and folded his hands in front of him. “Sometimes it amazes me how little you think of me.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  He held up a hand dramatically. “No…no. It’s all right. Let me enlighten you on how I make things happen. For starters, I know everyone in this business. Everyone. Secondly, Riley’s people are just as anxious to get him back out in the spotlight as his fans are. So much so they’re guaranteeing that he’ll agree to this interview.”

  “You mean…”

  Tommy grinned. “They’re probably breaking the news to him as we speak.”

  “He’ll never agree to this,” Savannah said hopefully.

  Tommy shook his head. “We nailed the exclusive. You’ve got an all-access, monthlong pass to work with Riley Shaughnessy.”

  “A month? Tommy, I’m writing a piece for the magazine, not his autobiography.”

  “Yeah, well…from the way I understood it, Riley may be a little gun-shy, so this isn’t something you’re going to accomplish in a couple of sit-downs. Hell, for all I know, you may get enough information to make it a multi-edition story, and I’m okay with it. But we’ve got a basic timeline. All you have to do is reach out to him.” He handed her Riley’s number.

  Stuffing the paper in her pocket as she stood, she glared down at him. “You know, you can be a real jackass sometimes, Tommy.”

  He stood and chuckled. “Only sometimes? I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  * * *

  Back at her desk, Savannah sank down in her chair and sighed. In the past year, she’d done more than her share of second-tier interviews. It was supposed to build character, Tommy had told her. Only she had hoped that by now she’d built enough character and she’d start getting the assignments she really wanted. She had set her sights on Coldplay.

  No such luck.

  Tapping her keyboard, she watched her computer come back to life and immediately began a Google search on Riley. Instantly there were dozens, if not hundreds, of pictures, links, and blurbs about him. Her first hit went to Wikipedia.

  Riley Shaughnessy is an American singer-songwriter, record producer, philanthropist, and actor, best known as the founder and front man of the rock band Shaughnessy. During his career, he released four studio albums with his band, which to date have sold over fifty million albums worldwide, making them one of the world’s bestselling music artists. Currently Riley is embarking on a solo career.

  “Bor-ing.” Savannah sighed and then clicked through photos of Riley throughout his career. Tall, lanky, dark hair…all things she normally found very yummy in a man. He had the look—the sexy grin, the earring, and probably had a tattoo by now. She snorted. “Typical rock star.”

  She skimmed the rest—four brothers, one sister. Mother dead, father alive. Grew up in North Carolina. No marriages. Just the basics.

  With Riley doing his solo thing, Savannah did a quick search to see what the rest of the boys in the band were doing with their time. “Hmmm,” she began, unconsciously reading out loud, “Matt ‘Matty’ Reed is writing the music for a Broadway musical and starring in it. Not bad.”

  Scrolling down a bit, she continued. “Dylan Anders, the partier of the group, has been popping up onstage with various other artists…drunk. Lovely.” Scroll, scroll, scroll. “And last but not least…Julian Grayson.” She sat back and almost smiled. “Just got married and has a baby on the way. He’s taken up photography in his downtime and has no musical plans at the present.” She nodded with approval. “Good for him.”

  Okay, maybe this assignment wouldn’t be the worst thing…

  “Hey, Van,” Blake Jordan said as he sauntered by her desk, using the nickname he knew she hated. “Tough break about the Coldplay story. I promise I’ll give Chris and the boys your regards.”

  Once he was out of sight, she flipped him the bird. “Bite me.”

  Now she was even more ticked off. Knowing she wasn’t going to accomplish anything here, she packed up her laptop and made her way out to the parking lot. The sun was shining as she fished around in her oversized purse for her sunglasses. Sliding them on, she hastily combed her long black hair out of the way and trudged to her car, cursing Tommy, Blake, and Riley Sha
ughnessy the entire time.

  * * *

  Savannah kicked off her shoes and headed to the beach, lugging her giant purse and laptop. To sit and watch the sun set over the Pacific Ocean seemed like a great way to end the day.

  Midway to the water’s edge, she pulled a sweatshirt out of her bag and spread it on the sand. Once she got comfortable, she pulled out her laptop and then inhaled deeply, taking in the amazing scent of the ocean, and exhaled slowly.

  It took all of thirty seconds for her to realize that wind, sand, and her laptop did not make a good combination. With a sigh, she stuffed the computer back in the bag and decided to just relax.

  “Yeah,” she purred. The beach was her happy place. Someday she’d have a place of her own where she could have a view of the ocean whenever she wanted it. For a while, Savannah was content to sit and listen to the waves crashing.

  One minute everything was peaceful, the next all hell had broken loose. A rumble of thunder and a flash of lightning had Savannah springing into action. She pulled her sweatshirt on, raised the hood up, and began to jog back to her Jeep. With any luck, she could get there before the rain came down too hard.

  Unfortunately, she wasn’t the only one going in the direction of the parking lot, and there was a brief moment of panic when she almost got caught up in the mob and knocked off her feet. Dodging quickly, she picked up her pace and made it to her Jeep just as the sky opened up.

  “Thank God for small favors,” she said with relief as she climbed in. She was slightly sweaty and out of breath, but she was glad to have cover now that the rain was really coming down. It didn’t make any sense to try and pull out of the parking lot just yet—it seemed like dozens of people were doing the same thing—so she waited.

  The windshield wipers were swishing back and forth and Savannah sat back and people watched for a few minutes. And then she found herself focusing on one person.