Rock Rhapsody
Page 22
She cocked her head, listening intently.
“Eventually, we might be able to get other people involved, do benefits, that kind of thing. I thought you might be interested in the organizational piece. Maybe bring Ava on to coordinate some events, fundraising.”
“What kind of foundation?”
He took a deep breath. “There are all kinds of needs out there, but I can’t seem to get your mother out of my mind. Thinking about what she must have gone through. How much worse it could have been for you both if she’d died before you turned eighteen. If she hadn’t had a life insurance policy in place. If Roy and Diana were without means … ”
Kate stared at him, her hand at her throat, tears trailing down her cheeks.
His own throat thickened and he took her hand.
“Alec, I don’t know what to say.”
He nodded. “I know nursing is your thing, but--”
“I want to do it,” she said, fiercely, wiping at her face. “Of course I want to do it. I can’t think of anything more meaningful than helping families with a terminally ill parent.”
“I think with your history, it might be better if we went public. Tell your story. I’ve got some clients with pretty deep pockets who might be interested in contributing. I’ve done enough research in the last few days to know there is a real need out there. The families need all kinds of support, legal, financial, medical. You name it.”
“Oh, Alec.” Her hands were clasped together in front of her.
“We can start slow. We’ll have to have a system to investigate applicants, but we can work with local hospices and state agencies. We’ll need a board, which I can help with, and a team that might include nurses, social workers, physicians and attorneys.”
Her eyes were shining, rapt. “Yes. I could coordinate those groups. I’ve worked with families on end-of-life issues at the hospital. We can do this, Alec.”
“I’m pretty excited about it, too, almost as much as the idea of getting back into the studio,” he said, grinning. “By the way, I booked Emma on a flight first thing tomorrow.”
“Good. Is she coming here later tonight with Ava?”
“No, they figured we could use some privacy.”
“Are they staying in a hotel?”
“No. Asher said he’d take them out on the town, and then put them up at his place.”
She drew back. “Oh Alec, Asher?” she said with dismay, her hands searching for and finding the locket on her chest.
He grinned and pulled her back down into his arms.
“They’ll have fun. He’s a good time.”
“That’s what I’m worried about!”
The End
About the Author
Fueled by black jelly-beans and pinot noir — never together — Rachel Cross writes sexy, sweet contemporary romance. She lives by the beach in California with her surfer/ helicopter pilot husband and two daughters. Before becoming a romance author, she was a firefighter, paramedic, clinical research manager, and Weekly World News tabloid model. Please visit her website at www.readrachelcross.com
A portion of the earnings from Rock Her will be donated to local Hospices. Thank you for your purchase and contributing to the care and support of families facing life-limiting illnesses. For more information about Hospice please visit http://www.nhpco.org/.
Rock Him
Rachel Cross, author of Rock Her
Avon, Massachusetts
This edition published by
Crimson Romance
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, Ohio 45242
www.crimsonromance.com
Copyright © 2013 by Rachel Cross
ISBN 10: 1-4405-7270-4
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-7270-8
eISBN 10: 1-4405-7269-0
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-7269-2
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Cover art © 123rf.com
For my girls.
Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to those who read and critiqued: Chris, Brona, Selena Laurence, Debra Kayn, Monica Tillery, Nicola, Stacie, Holly, Kristi, Gina, and Daniel.
Thanks to my editors: Jennifer Lawler, Tara Gelsomino, Jess Verdi, and a special thanks to developmental editor extraordinaire, Julie Sturgeon.
Finally, thanks to Kim who shared her experiences.
Chapter 1
Asher Lowe lay atop his buttery-soft, Egyptian cotton sheets, sandwiched between two women. The brunette on his right snored delicately into the pillow, exposing a booty so spectacular it was said to be insured by Lloyd’s of London. Last year’s Miss November, a stacked, all-natural blonde, was curled up to his left, hogging the covers.
Clubbing most of the night and living out every man’s fantasy into the wee hours was easier ten years ago. Well, the recovery from the all-nighters was certainly easier back then. The part in bed was easier then. Getting women into bed? Thanks to money, a wall full of platinum albums, and a couple of Grammys, that part was easier now.
Asher lifted his head and immediately regretted it. His head throbbed from all the damn Hennessy. Would he ever learn not to drink with rappers?
He glanced at the clock on the nightstand and did a double take. Eight A.M.? Why on earth was he up so early?
Bzzz.
Asher cringed. The headache reached nightmarish proportions and nausea rushed up as he broke out in a cold sweat.
More buzzing. What was that? Had some device been left on?
He sat up gingerly, moving to his knees, swallowing back bile, careful not to disturb either of the bed’s occupants. The brunette stirred and he froze. He didn’t have it in him for round three. Hell, he wasn’t sure he had it in him to make it to the bathroom.
Asher’s gaze swept the floor. Strewn about the plush, cream carpet was an assortment of satin underthings, an empty box of condoms, a pair of black thigh-high boots and a lacy, red thong. La Perla, by the looks of it. No vibrating paraphernalia.
He frowned. More buzzing. Coming from the corner of the room.
He inched his way to the bottom of the bed and stood. A wave of dizziness swept through him and he rested his hands on naked thighs, biting back a moan. Things were way worse vertical. Getting back to sleep would be impossible until he turned off whatever it was.
He spied his phone on the dresser, the telltale light coming on as the insistent noise started again. His brows went up. His phone? Who the hell would be calling at the crack of dawn? Must be a wrong number.
Only a handful of people even had his private cell number, and not one of them would call before noon.
The brunette mumbled something. Snagging his phone, he hustled to the bath
room. He put the phone down and rifled through the cabinets in search of some kind of hangover remedy. He tried a sip of water with a pink-stuff chaser. God. He had been here countless times over the years and it was never worth it.
Examining his reflection in the mirror, he saw the lines that marked years of exposure to the California sun and the inexorable march to forty. Bags and circles highlighted bloodshot eyes. Leaning against the vanity countertop, he cast a glance over his shoulder at the bathroom. Why were there towels all over the floor and a bottle of bubbles overturned, leaking clear goo — ?
Oh yeah. The two in his bed had wanted to play in his hot-tub sized bathtub.
His phone vibrated on the counter and he picked it up to stare blearily at the display. Six missed calls and six voice-mail messages from a familiar Vegas number.
Asher’s mouth twisted. His father knew his cell number? Interesting. Finishing in the bathroom, he stumbled out to the bedroom where he hauled on last night’s jeans. Shutting the door carefully behind him, he padded to the kitchen.
Dealing with Sterling Lowe would require coffee — in vast quantities.
He set the phone on the counter and pulled out the beans. The phone vibrated again. With a glare that renewed the throbbing in his head, he picked it up.
“Yeah?” he drawled.
“Asher.” His father’s voice was raspy.
Asher tensed.
Sterling Lowe drew a ragged breath. “Asher … I … I don’t know how to tell you this. I … I hate to do it on the phone … ”
His hand clenched into a fist, a cold, hard knot formed in his stomach. “Are you sick?”
“It’s Delilah.”
Delilah — Dee — Asher’s half-sister.
His body grew cold. The hair on the back of his neck stood up.
“What?” he whispered.
His father choked back tears, voice rough. “She was killed by a drunk driver in a head-on.”
Asher collapsed onto a barstool.
“Ella?” he asked.
“She’s here. I have her this weekend. Dee … Dee had a girls’ weekend … I … haven’t told Ella. I don’t know what to do.”
Some part of Asher could not believe his father had said that. Sterling Lowe always knew exactly what to do, or at least thought he did.
His father took a deep breath. “Can you come?”
“Of course.” He gritted his teeth. He loved Dee. God knows he had been a better brother to her than Sterling had been a father. It was on the tip of his tongue to say something caustic when he heard a muffled sound. Asher pulled the phone from his ear and stared at it. Through all the divorces, the battles, in thirty-seven years, he had never heard his father weep. He put the phone back to his ear. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“The jet is fueled up and ready at LAX. I sent a car — ”
“I’m on my way.”
“Wait. Asher?”
“Yes?”
“What do I tell,” his voice was thick with tears, “Ella?”
“Can you wait until I get there?” He knew exactly who to call.
The older man let out a long, relieved sigh. “Okay. Dee wasn’t supposed to pick her up until later today.”
“I’ll see you soon.”
Ella. With no father in the picture, what would happen to her?
His lips tightened and his hands formed fists. He’d be damned if he let his father ruin another childhood.
Asher hung up the phone and dialed Justin. He had been Asher’s assistant for ten years. Next to Dee, Justin Montoya was the closest thing to family he had.
“Asher? What the hell? It’s eight — ”
“I know.” He managed to speak through a throat half closed by unshed tears. “It’s Dee.” He gritted his teeth against a wave of grief, afraid if he said the words they would become true. “She was killed in a car accident in Vegas this morning.”
“What? Oh God, Asher, not Dee — ”
“I need to go,” he interrupted before the sympathy in his friend’s voice made him lose the slim bit of control he had left. “The plane is waiting. Do I have a bag packed somewhere?”
“Hall closet. What about Ella?”
“She’s okay. She’s with my dad.” A thump from upstairs made him squeeze his eyes shut in frustration. “Listen, there’s a couple of girls here. Can you — ”
“I got it covered man, you just go.”
“Thanks,” he said.
Ten minutes later, the car arrived and Asher’s hands had finally stopped shaking. Memories of his younger sister flashed before him. Ruthlessly, he pushed them away. He sent a group text to a handful of friends.
Dee killed in car accident. Headed to Vegas.
Better they hear it from him than from the news.
He put his bag in the trunk of the long, sleek, black limousine, nodded his thanks to the driver holding the door open and climbed into the rear seat.
Ella.
Delilah had become pregnant with Ella in her mid-twenties when she was still thoroughly enmeshed in partying with other children of the ultra-rich. It was a scene Asher avoided. A scene he tried unsuccessfully to extricate his sister from.
Knowing Dee’s crowd during that time, he was pretty sure the men she hung out with would either be horrified by the idea of becoming a daddy or thrilled for all the wrong reasons. Knocking up the daughter of one of the richest men in America had its advantages.
Asher had asked once, gently, about the father and Delilah told him she didn’t know. He left it alone. Having a baby changed Dee. She had renewed purpose and vitality; being a mom and a good mom was everything to her.
He made the call to Kate Sawyer, wife of his best friend, Alec. Kate was a nurse and ran a foundation for terminally ill parents with dependent children. She and her sister had lost their mother at a young age. If anyone could answer questions about how to deal with Ella and grief, it was Kate.
He filled Kate in on the events of the morning, forcing the words out through numb lips.
“Oh, no, Asher.” Her breath hitched.
“I’ve got to get on a plane in a few minutes and when I get there I need to know what to tell Ella.”
“Oh Asher,” her voice shook, “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”
Asher heard Alec in the background, asking questions.
Kate shushed him. “What is Ella now? Five? Six?”
“Five.”
Kate sighed. “The first thing you need to know is that her understanding of death will be limited.”
“What does that mean?”
“Understanding death is a process at that age. She’ll only understand what her mother’s death means as she gets older.”
“I’m not following you, Kate.” Asher’s control was slipping and he knew he sounded impatient.
“You need to explain to her in very simple terms that her mother died. She’ll need to be told that death is nothing like sleep, and that her mom is not coming back. She’ll cry and grieve but … it’ll take time. Even once you think she understands, she will probably ask for her. Sometimes it takes months or longer for a child that age to grasp that Mom isn’t coming back.”
Oh God. She was going to be asking when Delilah would be back? He fought another upwelling of grief mixed with acute nausea. “Children can also think something they’ve done or haven’t done may have caused the death … ”
“What?” he ground out through a stiff jaw, “that’s insane.”
“Asher, they don’t think like we do. They aren’t mini-adults. She’ll need constant, patient reassurance. There are therapists who can help with this. I know a few excellent ones in LA. I’ll call this morning if you like.”
“God. Yes. Thanks, Kate.”
There was a long pause.
“Asher?”
“Yeah?”
Kate waded in. “We’re here for you. Anything you need. Anything. Help. Visits. We loved Dee. You know we love you and Ella. And we understand your feelings toward your father.”
Only a handful of people knew about his conflict-ridden relationship with his father; Sterling and Asher put on a good front in public.
He loved Ella because she was his sister’s kid, but he had no interest in kids of his own. None at all. Not now at any rate. But Ella? My God. And his dad? No fucking way. He would not have her grow up the way he and Dee had, in a fractured family with a distant, disinterested parent. He would get the best people. He could set her up with a full-time nanny, the best schools. He could figure it out, not his dad.
Asher swallowed convulsively. “I know, Kate.”
“We’ll see you in a few hours, we’ll be flying in from Cielito.”
“See you in Vegas.” Asher disconnected the phone and buried his face in his hands, finally giving in to grief.
Chapter 2
The limo glided through the wrought iron gates and up to Sterling’s estate. Asher’s lip curled into a sneer. The twenty-million-dollar mansion jutted into the cloudless sky like a child’s metal dump truck left upended in a sandbox. The modern exterior was all hard angles and sharp lines.
He didn’t see the appeal — not in the stark house or the desiccated landscape. As far back as Asher could remember, when his old man wasn’t working, he was either at the country club, the nearest casino, or on vacation with a wife or girlfriend. Anywhere but home with his kids. Sterling could live wherever the hell he wanted, but Ella didn’t belong here. A wide limestone path sliced the yard and ascended to a double-door entry. Terraced retaining walls flanked the steps and outlined shrub-strewn patches of gravel filled with spiky yucca and sharp-edged palms. Hell, a child wouldn’t even be safe here.
The limo stopped. He grabbed his bag from the seat and got out without waiting for the driver. Asher waved a dismissal, and the driver got back in the car and put it in gear, leaving him standing in the brutal mid-morning sun. He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, fumbling his sunglasses into place as he tried to blink away the headache that threatened to re-emerge.