SCORE (Travis Brothers Book 1)

by Juliette Jones

  As I float, I can’t help thinking about something Frannie told me the other day.

  And as I do, my new rebellious streak is sort of manifesting itself as a light, sweet throb right between my legs, where the cool water laps. God. I let my legs open a little wider.

  I couldn’t believe what Frannie’s boyfriend did to her. It’s absolutely the wildest thing I’ve ever heard. She’s been dating him for a few weeks and he’s really into her, calling her all the time and hanging around. And the other night, she said, he kissed it. And then he licked me, there, until … well, you’ll find out soon enough.

  I couldn’t believe that! I couldn’t even imagine it.

  Ever since then, I’ve felt sort of strangely edgy. Like I’m still blushing at the scandalous things she described.

  We didn’t tell Momma but as soon as we heard that Daisy was pregnant, Frannie and I drove ourselves down to the free clinic and got ourselves a couple of prescriptions for birth control pills. All they have to do is breathe in our direction, Frannie said. If Delilah and Daisy are anything to go by, it’s practically true.

  I guess it just shows that all you need to do to bring out the promiscuous tendencies in a girl is to lock her up and tell her to resist every temptation known to womankind. As soon as she breaks free, there’s only one thing she’s going to want to do.

  It’s true that we’re sort of famous. Or infamous. The Faraday sisters, they call us, like one collective unit. We all have blond hair and light blue eyes and apparently the sort of voluptuous bodies that get the attention of men. Whenever we walk down the street, people stare. Being barely eighteen and just released from boarding school, a.k.a. prison, I’ve been the least visible, I guess you could say. So I haven’t really had a chance to figure all that out yet. To test it.

  It’s strange, though: I want to test it. Now. I feel wild in this sunny, perfect heat. My body is young and lush. Naked. Wet and hot and fiercely alive, maybe for the first time ever. I want to act on that feeling.

  It’s probably a good thing I can’t. Because now that I’m on my way to Nashville (almost), I’ve got to stay focused.

  The problem is, this small, sultry hunger, if you could even call it that, isn’t going away. This morning when I was driving, I heard a song on the Nashville radio station that got me even more agitated. It’s by some hot new solo act they keep playing, and I can see why. He’s got one of those voices that’s sexy in a way you can feel. And I did: I could feel it. Right there. My panties, as I was driving along, got all clingy and wet. All because of that song and that husked, manly voice, singing so sweet. Like he was singing just for me.

  I swim to the edge and make my way out of the pond. I climb onto a big, flat rock that’s warm from the day, not bothering to put my clothes back on. It’s too good to be loose like this. And completely alone. I can’t even remember the last time I was alone.

  I lie here, and that song plays through my head. I think of that gravelled husk. How deep his voice was. I feel the memory of that melodic rasp as a strange flush on my skin. I let my hands rove my body. I’m illuminated by sparkly, jeweled diamond-drops.

  The heat of the sun seems to center in a particular place. Like a slow, curling pulse. I lay still for a while, letting that pulse take hold. I think of trying to put it out of my mind, like I should. I think of trying to resist its licking heat. But it’s too sweet, this little promise, deep inside my own body.

  You’re a wild, wild girl, and I know what you like. I know how to tease and I know how to please.

  I just lie there, not moving at all for a while. Just feeling the heat of the sun on my skin and the glow of my own blooming femininity. I feel ripe, like a sun-sweet peach. Brimming.

  I imagine his strong hands as he strums his guitar.

  He kissed it.

  What would that feel like? It’s hard to even imagine.

  When I stretch languidly, I feel strange. I feel beautiful. More beautiful than I’ve ever felt. Slowly, I stand up. I walk down to the water’s edge. Gently, I wash myself. The water is cool. I splash water onto my breasts. My nipples, which had softened in the sun-warmth, contract into tight little peaks. I bend down and cup some water into my hand, to splash lightly onto my face.

  Then I see something. Movement in the near distance. Over the fence.

  Oh, my God.

  A man.

  Watching me.

  His dark hair is glinting with a gold halo in the sun and he’s big, even in this open landscape. Tall and broad. Shirtless and sun-bronzed and strong. I see the glint of his belt buckle. He might be in his early twenties or even twenty-five. Even through my shock it registers that he is insanely handsome, in an edgy kind of way. He’s standing there and he looks as stunned as I feel. There’s more to it that, though. Something darker. Hungry, that’s how he looks. Lusty.

  My heart lurches into an up-tempo beat. How much had he seen? I grab my sundress and pull it over my head.

  I disappear behind a row of trees and I run away.

  It’s goddamn peaceful out here in the country.

  I’m writing a song in the sound-proof recording studio I’ve had installed in my new barn – totally awesome and state-of-the art, by the way. I’ve got the intro down, and it fucking rocks. And the chorus is starting to come together. But I can’t quite get the lyrics to mesh. I’ve never had trouble with lyrics before – usually they gush out in a torrent of ideas. So I’m annoyed as fuck. I mean, I have a small clue as to why this is happening and it’s exactly the reason I bought a house way out here in the middle of goddamn nowhere. I need peace. I need quiet. I need to get away from my manager and my band. The photographers and journalists and culture-vulture dickheads who all want a slice of yours truly. Who can blame them, right?

  But I’m feeling the burn-out. Two years of solid touring has kicked my ass. So I told Vaughn I’m taking a break from touring for a couple months. I’ll do gigs in Nashville and they can come to me. The problem is, the paparazzi swarm my building. There’s only so much dodging and hiding away in a penthouse apartment a person can do without losing their fucking mind.

  I decided I needed a goddamn getaway.

  Which brings me here. To some idyllic backwater where nobody knows me. I bought the house under an alias, with my lawyer’s assistance. If I need to I’ll get a security gate installed, a fence, dogs, whatever it takes. I’ve got shitloads of land – and I mean shitloads. This place goes on for miles. I could fence around the house and still get the views. My house is on a hill, overlooking a pond and the hills.

  I can see the road from my kitchen Some cute little blond drove by this morning in a beat-up old pick-up truck and I wondered for a second if they’d already discovered me. But no. She put something in my mailbox and kept on going. Thank fuck. Although I almost felt a pang of regret this time, weirdly. Her hair caught the sun, a long strand of it trailing out the window as she drove away.

  I’m even burned out on the chicks, if you can believe that. There are just so many of them. Always begging for it. Waiting to obey my every command. It’s that easy. It’s so easy, in fact, it starts to lose some of its appeal.

  What I need is some undistracted writing time, to be alone with my thoughts, to let the music out. Before it can get shut down by some needy bitch who bangs at my door in a desperate attempt to get my attention. I know that sounds harsh, but some of these women are crazy. They go insane, they want a piece of me so bad.

  I need a beer.

  I haven’t put a fridge into my studio yet: something I’ll get to eventually. I only moved in a couple days ago, and I’ve had shows every night. This morning I ended up waking up in my tour bus before dawn and couldn’t get back to sleep, so I took my Shelby and drove out here alone. I can tell you, knowing I had the whole day ahead of me to do nothing but write was a nice change. The prospect and the sunrise made me feel happier than I have for a while. Sure, I’m living the dream but the dream sometimes takes its toll, of excess and exhaustion. Tonight’s t
he first night in weeks that I won’t have a gig, and I plan on making the most of my solitude. Shit, maybe I’ll even sleep for a while. Let the creative juices reenergize.

  I go outside and head towards the house.

  The day is absurdly beautiful. The blue of the sky and the green of the trees is practically surreal, the colors are so bright. I’m almost blinded after the relative dimness of my studio, so it takes my eyes a minute to adjust.

  Here I am, walking along, minding my own goddamn business. But then I see something. Down by the pond my house overlooks.

  A girl.

  At first I think it’s my eyes playing tricks on me.

  Because emerging from the water is not just any girl. She’s a goddamn goddess.

  With no clothes on.

  Holy hell, I mean it. I actually blink a couple times just to make sure I’m not hallucinating. I don’t take drugs but Dr. Daniels can stay with you for a while if you overdo the prescription. Not that I drank that much last night. At least I don’t think I did.

  But … this.

  Jesus H. Christ.

  She’s blond. Her long hair hangs to her hips and catches all these crazy hues of light, like she’s iridescent or something. Her skin is glimmering. God help me. Her body.

  Holy fucking hell, she’s ridiculously hot. Her beauty is sparked with a shining radiance that’s blowing my goddamn mind.

  She climbs onto a big flat rock and I watch her. Her hands lightly rove across her naked body.

  All I can do was watch her in some kind of goddamn trance. I’m suddenly twenty feet closer without even realizing I’d been walking towards her.

  Holy Mother.

  I’ve never been so hard in my life. My cock is pressed painfully against the zipper of my jeans. Jesus. She’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.

  Ever.

  I imagine what she would feel like. All that delectable sweetness.

  My cock is about to explode. I can practically feel how soft she’d be, how tight and wet she is for me as I enter her, as I push deep inside all that pink, snug, slippery beauty. I can practically taste her sweetness as I’d kiss her full mouth and lick the dewy sweat from her skin. As I take those perfect breasts in my hands and suck on her taut, rosy nipples.

  Sweet Jesus, show me some mercy.

  I watch her lithe little body and all I can think is: I want her. I want to hold her and feel her. I want to make her happy. My lust is so fierce it shocks me.

  But then her eyes open and she sits up. She looks peaceful. Happy. Holy hell. She is simply the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on. In all my twenty-four years I have never seen anything or anyone so entirely … addictive.

  Who the fuck is she?

  I have to find out.

  She gets up and wades into the pond, splashing herself. She cups a handful of water splashes it across her candy-pink nipples. Goddamn it.

  I think about calling out to her but it might scare her off. Of course it would. She might think I’m a pervert or a stalker or something. I take a step back.

  She looks up, like my movement has alerted her.

  Shit.

  She sees me.

  A look of panic crosses her face and I want to tell her not to be afraid of me but she’s already pulling her dress over her head.

  Just like that, she disappears.

  I run over to the fence, like a goddamn idiot. She’s gone, you fool. Then something occurs to me: could it be? The girl in the ancient pick-up truck, this morning, at the mailbox. White-blond, cute as fuck.

  It’s her.

  So I walk out to the mailbox. The walk gives me time to regroup but I still feel weirdly frantic, like I need to see her again. I take out the rolled-up piece of paper. Something about the handwritten flyer sort of bowls me over, I have no idea why. The whimsical handwriting, the gentle flair.

  Sadie Faraday, consider yourself hired …

  Table of Contents

  1: Skye

  2: Blake

  3: Skye

  4: Blake

  5: Skye

  6: Blake

  7: Skye

  8: Blake

  9: Skye

  10: Blake

  11: Skye

  Epilogue

  Epilogue #2

  Epilogue #3

  About HERO (Travis Brothers, Book #2)

  Hot Summer Lust excerpt

  Connect with Juliette Jones