Heartbreaker

by Kate Kisset

  Chapter Twelve

  DOWNTOWN LONESOME LOOKED exceptionally charming from the passenger seat of Harlan’s truck. Maybe Georgia had jet lag after her flight from New York the day she arrived, because today the little town at the base of the Rockies looked like a picture postcard.

  She didn’t trust herself to turn and look at Harlan. Georgia folded her hands in her lap, reminding herself that a ride to town wasn’t a big deal, even if this was the longest time she’d ever spent alone with him.

  But something between them shifted yesterday. And after their studio session she tossed and turned all night thinking about him.

  The jagged peaks beyond the town were still capped with a bit of snow. Georgia gazed out the window, taking in the old west vibe of downtown, with its wooden sidewalks and covered porch shops.

  “This town has such a happy vibe,” she commented to the window, ignoring Harlan’s fresh-from-the-shower smell. She shifted her position, trying to get more air. The masculine pheromones pouring off him set off sparks between her legs.

  “Wouldn’t you be happy if you lived here?”

  Why did his voice have to sound so husky and deep?

  “Maybe.” She nodded, admiring the majestic curves and sharp angles of the mountains. “Oh.” She bounced a little off the seat. “This is me. I’m staying at the Old Brick.” She pointed to a nondescript two-story red brick building on the right. Now she could finally put some distance between them.

  Harlan cranked the wheel and glided into a parking spot without hitting the brakes. There wasn’t any need to, there wasn’t traffic for miles.

  Georgia grabbed her purse. “Thanks, I’ll be right back,” she said, hurrying out of the truck.

  “Nice try,” Harlan said, getting out and calling after her. “I promised Boone I’d be your escort.”

  She stopped on the sidewalk, cupping a hand over her eyes to shield against the bright sun. “So you’re on your best behavior today, huh?”

  A slow smile crossed his handsome face. “It depends on what you mean by best.”

  Was he trying to make her nervous?

  Georgia snickered as she entered the Old Brick’s rustic lobby. Harlan’s song, “Heart Don’t Lie,” blared from a radio behind the old-fashioned check-in counter. She spotted a batch of Mrs. Miller’s out-of-this-world macadamia-chocolate chip shortbread cookies on a small table, and reached over to snag one from the basket.

  Mr. Miller looked up from his book, adjusting his bifocals while Georgia took a bite of warm, melty, chocolate cookie heaven. “Well, look who’s back. Good morning, Miss Monroe.”

  Georgia swallowed quickly. “Morning, Mr. Miller. I’m afraid I ended up taking a detour in all the rain.” She held up the cookie. “Your wife is amazing.” Georgia took another bite.

  “Well, I hope you got to the bottom of the story and discovered the secret.” He grinned, and then nodded a “be right there look” to someone standing behind her.

  “Secret?” Georgia peeked over her shoulder and found Harlan hulking behind her, or was it hunking?

  Mr. Miller straightened and leaned over the counter, beckoning for her to come closer, so she did.

  Covertly scanning the lobby, Georgia tried to guess what could possibly be mysterious about a town as precious as this one, although, the name Lonesome was a little odd. “What’s up?”

  “You said you’re a reporter,” he kept his voice low, “so I thought you were coming here to investigate the legend.”

  “Legend?” All ears, she propped her arms on the counter, leaning closer to Mr. Miller so she wouldn’t miss a word. “Investigative reporting isn’t my specialty, really. I’m here to interview Boone Beckett, but please fill me in. I just knew there was something different about this town.”

  “I'll say.”

  Georgia swung around from the counter to see a brown-haired woman in her thirties cross the lobby. She pulled her sunglasses down to the top of her nose and peeked over them at Harlan. “Every cowboy in this town is hotter than hell.” She smiled at Harlan before hurrying out the door.

  Georgia inspected Harlan’s reaction. He lifted his hands and shrugged.

  “You were about to tell me a secret.” She rotated back to Mr. Miller.

  “Nah.” He waved her off. “I don’t know. It’s just a rumor, and I don’t need to be spreading any.” Mr. Miller left her standing there with her mouth hanging open and turned to Harlan. “Tell Boone we’ll be at The Owl, cheering him on.”

  “Will do.” Harlan moved up to stand beside her.

  “We wouldn’t miss his show for the world.” The hotelier paused, biting his lip. “We sure would like to see you up there onstage again, Harlan. Maybe one of these days, huh?”

  Harlan dipped his head as though he was embarrassed and ducking the question. “Well, I appreciate that. I do.”

  Mr. Miller dropped the subject and turned back to Georgia. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m afraid I have to check out today.”

  He winced. “Oh, I’m sorry. Was the room not up to your standards?”

  “Oh, no. It was perfect,” Georgia explained, immediately feeling guilty. “But I need to be closer to Boone, that’s all. He’s super busy preparing for the show—and the album.”

  Mr. Miller let out a sigh. “Well, if you have to go, I guess we’ll let you.” He chortled. “Okay then, let me get someone to help you with your bags.” He picked a small walkie-talkie up off the counter.

  “No need.” Harlan stepped up. “I’ve got this.”

  Georgia swung around to him, shaking her head. “No, no, no,” the words came out as one. He wasn’t thinking of coming into the room with her, was he? They’d have way, way too much privacy.

  Harlan glared down at her with a resolute, locked-in, don’t-take-no-for-an-answer stare. “I’m helping you with your bags.”

  “Oh,” she nodded, confused. Maybe he was just being polite? “I’ll get my things and be right back to check out, Mr. Miller.” She searched her purse for her wallet and dug through the compartments until she found the room key. “I’m on the second floor.” She led Harlan to the short staircase, feeling her neck heat.

  Georgia quickly found her room, took the do not disturb sign off the handle, and unlocked the door while her mind raced for something—anything—to talk about to fill the silence. “I don’t have much to pack.” Georgia glanced over her shoulder nervously as he followed her in the room.

  “Um.” She scanned the sunny suite, spotting a pair of panties that had fallen on the floor. “Sit anywhere,” Georgia said, dashing to her undies and scooping them up.

  Harlan stayed exactly where he was, just inside the door, sucking up all the air.

  She met his stare for a second before turning away from the intensity and hurrying past him to the closet. The heavy wood hangers knocked together while she shoved them to the side and snagged a sweater. “So, ah... did you write ‘Heart Don't Lie,’ in your studio too? I know ‘Heartbreak Kid’ was recorded there.”

  “Oh, you do, do you?”

  Georgia peeked over on the way to her luggage. He seemed startled by the question.

  “Don’t look so surprised.” She smoothed the sweater in her suitcase and pulled out the pair of socks she’d wished she had with her the past few days. She shook out of her ugly boots and put the socks on over her bare feet. “I told you, I do my research,” she said, slipping back into the boots.

  He raised his brows. “Weren’t you supposed to be researching Boone?”

  She made another trip to the closet. “Well, yeah. But I knew about you before Boone. Knew of you, anyway. The first time I heard ‘Heartbreak Kid’ and ‘Heart Don’t Lie,’ I had a feeling you wrote them somewhere special. They don’t have that factory sound to them, you know what I mean?”

  “I do.” Harlan whispered, turning to watch her shuffle through the closet again.

  She stretched up on tiptoe, checking the top shelf next to the safe. She didn’t bring much jewe
lry, but ran her hand over the smooth wood, feeling around for anything she might’ve stashed there. It was a whole lot easier to do that than face Harlan.

  “The lyrics are so poignant, so meaningful,” Georgia explained. “They had a completely different vibe than some of your other songs, not that the other tracks sounded overly produced or anything, there was just something unique about those particular tunes.” When she came up empty-handed, she pulled a blouse off a hanger and folded it into her suitcase.

  Harlan seemed to be somewhere off in the distance.

  Maybe she hurt his feelings? Despite its success, some of the critics panned his first album. “I’m not sure all my colleagues understood the meaning of ‘Heartbreak Kid.’”

  Harlan flinched.

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  “No. I’m just shocked you picked up on it.” He ran his hand over his thick brown hair, treating her to a full buffet of his features. No question, Harlan was drop-dead gorgeous with his hat on, but the sight of him without it, where she could see his face clear as day, made it hard to look anywhere else.

  “So, it’s a good thing?” she asked. “That I picked up on the different vibes?”

  He reached out to her. She held her breath as he wrapped his big hand around her fingers, giving her a look so filled with desire, it seared right through her panties.

  “You wanna get to know the real me, Peach?” he asked, low and husky, tracing his rough fingers along her jawline, knocking the wind out of her and locking her in his stare.

  “I-I...” She stared up at his full lips, wanting to latch onto them with hers. The hell with Boone or anyone else’s story.

  “You wanna kiss me, Peach? Feel what I can do to you with my tongue? Tell me what you want,” he purred, moving his hand to the nape of her neck, and pulling her so close she felt his breath on her skin.

  “I...I,” her voice shook. “You’re making it awfully hard for me to concentrate.”

  “Exactly.”

  She gasped, her heart hammering so hard she could hear it.

  Even if they hadn’t gotten off on the wrong foot, getting to know celebrities “off the record” on a more intimate basis was way above her pay grade.

  Georgia learned the lesson the hard way in the early days of her career, when she interviewed her childhood crush, the lead singer of the boy band she had plastered all over her bedroom walls as a teenager. Danny Lincoln flirted madly with her during the interview, and it had taken every ounce of determination she had not to crack and fall all over him. Charisma was a powerful aphrodisiac.

  Once the meeting with Danny was over, she waltzed right up the elevators with him to his room and slept with him, believing Danny when he said his attraction to her was a once-in-a-lifetime thing. And after they said goodbye, she waited and waited for the call that never came. The next time she saw Danny was on television at the music awards with Kate Mallory, the actress he’d been dating at the time of their interview.

  After that experience, Georgia made a solemn promise to never look at a celebrity or any subject of an interview “that way” again.

  “I think I need to keep a clear head,” she admitted softly.

  “I could say something about head now that would be totally inappropriate. And I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’m into you, beauty. I am so into you.” Harlan ran a knuckle along her cheek. “Peach.” He let out a moan and yanked his hand back to his side.

  “Thanks for understanding,” she whispered, immediately reconsidering. Her heart sank. She hadn’t been kissed in such a long time, and if there was ever a man to break that dry spell with toe-curling finesse, it was Harlan.

  IN ANOTHER TEN MINUTES she’d checked out of the Old Brick Hotel and was sitting across the street at Pearl’s at a two-top with Harlan. Harlan insisted that if she wouldn’t kiss him yet, he at the very least deserved her company over a plate of the best pecan waffles in the state.

  Happy for a change of venue and not having to get in his truck—where she was afraid she might maul him—Georgia sipped her coffee. Her pulse began to normalize, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Harlan...not now, while she still tasted his almost kiss. At least he was out of arm’s reach and she was safe from making any bad decisions.

  By the time she dug into her second waffle, Harlan excused himself from the table. Georgia watched him make his way through the crowded diner to the men’s room, but he didn’t get more than a foot before someone either kissed him or man-hugged him. Everyone knew Harlan.

  “A little more coffee, sugah?” Pearl, the diner’s owner, asked, all decked out in a pink, fifties-style waitress uniform, grinning while she tipped the pot over Georgia’s cup.

  “Thanks. Just a little, please.”

  Georgia watched her fill the mug. “Pearl, is there something going on with this town?”

  Pearl tilted her head. “What are you trying to say, honey?”

  “Well, look at everyone.” Georgia adjusted her position, gesturing to the packed restaurant. “Every person in here looks like they’re having a good time. And there are so many couples.”

  “Are you asking me if everyone is getting laid in Lonesome?” Pearl chuckled. “Is that what you’re trying to get at?”

  “No.” Georgia laughed. “I mean, maybe—who knows? Everyone I know in my neighborhood is a grump. Come to think of it...” she giggled, looking up. “We’re also all single.”

  “Well, I’ll let you in on a little secret.” Pearl bent closer to her ear, keeping her voice low. “And I’m only telling you this because you’re with Harlan, which means you’re good people.”

  “Um, I’m not exactly with Harlan. I’m here doing a story on Boone.”

  “Well, whatever you say.” Pearl turned and started to walk away.

  “No, please tell me,” she begged. Pearl turned back and smirked down at her, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, thinking it over.

  Georgia leaned closer. “Please,” she whispered, “I won’t tell a soul.”

  “Well, you better not or I’ll come after you myself.” Pearl leaned down and whispered in Georgia’s ear. “The town of Lonesome has the lowest divorce rate in the country.” She harrumphed, straightening, holding the coffee pot up as if to toast. “What do you make of that for a town called Lonesome?”

  “Really?” Georgia, surveyed the jovial faces in the diner again. “I have no idea what to make of it, but I guess it makes sense. Although I don’t know why.”

  “Psychologists, psychiatrists, doctors, drug manufacturers, all kinds of people have tried to figure out why. But luckily no one knows, and the secret hasn’t spread, or this place would be busier than a wedding chapel in Vegas. Now I have to help Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery over there, but let me tell you one more thing before I go.”

  “Please do.”

  Pearl nodded. “You are one lucky lady to be sitting here having breakfast with Harlan Beckett.”

  “Oh? How’s that?” Georgia coaxed, smiling back at Pearl’s kindly, middle-aged grin.

  “Harlan hasn’t brought anyone here for as long as I can remember. And we look out for each other here in Lonesome, that’s another secret.”

  “Small town life must be lovely.” Georgia, mumbled, not knowing what to say while she watched Pearl help the older couple at another table.

  What on earth was she implying? Pearl didn’t have to look out for Georgia, or worry about Harlan being harmed by her in any way. On the other hand, the comment put a smile on Georgia’s face. Harlan didn’t take just anyone to Pearl’s.

  Harlan took up the whole room when he sauntered back to the table, leaving everyone’s head turned on a trail behind him.

  Georgia couldn’t help rubbernecking him too, while trying to concentrate on getting the coffee cup to her mouth without spilling.

  “Miss me?” he asked, zeroing in on her, flashing his dimples. Harlan settled into his seat, kicking back as far as someone six-five could do in a small chair.

  Geo
rgia was hesitant, afraid she’d blurt something that would lead her down a path of no return and into his arms. She was already heading there. She felt it with every cell. The effect of Lonesome was probably rubbing off on her, too.

  “I’m going to have to include you in Boone’s story. Colt, too,” she explained, chaperoning her brain back to business. “You’re all so close, I couldn’t do the story justice if I left either of you out.”

  Harlan sipped his coffee, those piercing blue eyes of his appraising her face, neck and breasts over the rim of his cup. “Have you given any thought to our story?”

  “Our story?”

  Nodding coolly while setting his cup down, Harlan leaned in. “I think we’re writing it now, our story. I know you can feel what’s happening between us.”

  Heat raced to her neck. Feeling a full-body flush coming on, Georgia looked down at her plate, buying time for an answer. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you.” She avoided his sizzling stare. “You know, I’m thinking of changing the subject and ordering more waffles.” She laughed nervously. “You're right, they're absolutely the best I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Ah, but you haven’t tasted everything, darlin’. Give it another day, and then decide,” he purred, calling her out on everything she already knew, taking her breath away in the process.

  Georgia scanned the room, trying to suck air back into her lungs. “Where’s Pearl when you need her?”

  “Fine. We’ll play it your way for now, but there’s no use fighting it.”

  Georgia took another sip of coffee, hoping to settle the swarms of butterflies in her stomach, and shifted gears again. “Boone’s story isn’t going to be in a question and answer format. It’ll be more in-depth, with a narrative—”

  “Oh, like the Tim McGraw piece you wrote?” He asked, licking his lips, throwing her a mischievous smile.

  “Wait.” She swallowed, frowning while she tried to figure out if he was joking. “You read my interview with Tim?”

  “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me.” He leaned back, beaming at her. “As a matter of fact, I read every word.”