The sound of the front door opening and male voices sent a wave of nerves through Syd and she straightened. Time to get her game face on. This was the first meal she’d be serving as Callie’s official wedding caterer, and she wanted to make her proud. And if the handsome men in there liked her cooking? Well that sure wouldn’t hurt her feelings, either.
“Syd, thanks so much for taking me on this job. It’s literally the highlight of both my life and my journal.” Paula’s plump cheeks were pink with delight, and Syd couldn’t help but smile. She’d met Paula when she’d first moved from Fairbanks to Butte five years before.
Paula had been a busgirl at the bistro Syd had been cooking at. She’d been about fourteen at the time, struggling to save enough money to go to culinary school. She was eager to learn, bright, and a joy to be around. And she’d reminded Syd of herself.
Tough home life, not a lot of support. It was a no-brainer to take her when she’d left to venture out into the catering world. Now Paula was a year from graduating, and she was well on her way to being a great chef.
“I’m happy to have you, now go on. Don’t forget the cheese and crackers so they have something to munch on while they wait for me to plate up the rest. Once the food is out, you can head home. I’ll take care of cleaning up.”
Paula had a big test tomorrow on soufflés, and Syd had told her the only way she would be allowed to help with the bachelor party was if she promised to leave when told so she could make the forty-minute drive back to Butte and be in bed by midnight.
A tired chef made mistakes, and while she didn’t want her friend to miss out on all the excitement, the investment in her long-term career was more important that hanging out with a bunch of rock stars.
Paula protested, but Syd wouldn’t hear it, shooing her off. A few minutes later, Paula whisked away the first tray, kicking open the kitchen door and delivering the cheese plate to a chorus of male cheers.
Good start.
Syd didn’t allow it to sidetrack her, though, instead focusing on the task at hand. People ate with their eyes first, and whether Laz cared or not, she was going to make sure she put out some beautiful food for them.
When Paula came back in, tray empty, a few minutes later, a grin split her face from ear to ear. “Well, they’re ready for more food, that’s for sure.”
Syd stepped back to survey the now-filled trays with a satisfied nod before cleaning the steam off her glasses. The food looked delicious and plentiful. Time to toss it into the wolves’ den and start cleaning up so she could disappear. “Take it away.”
She fussed at each one before Paula carried them out, each time to shouts of encouragement from the men. By the time the last one had been delivered, her assistant was truly beaming.
“They’re raving about everything. Home run, boss.” She held up a hand for a high five, and Syd obliged her before eyeing the clock pointedly.
“I appreciate all your help. Now you get going. I need you fresh tomorrow after your test. We have a long week of prep ahead of us before the rest of the guests start arriving.”
Paula pointed toward the sink full of dishes and opened her mouth to argue but Syd jerked a thumb toward the outdoors. “Go.”
Her sous chef nodded meekly, scurrying out the kitchen door, and Syd smiled as she heard the guys calling after her with their thanks.
She turned back toward the dishes and dug in. It had been a total whirlwind, but she thrived on the pressure, and when she was assured of a job well done, nothing beat it. Now if she could finish and sneak out before she ran into anyone, she’d call it a perfect night.
She made quick work of the cleanup and had almost gotten up the courage to stop in and introduce herself on her way out, when snippets of their conversation filtered through the door. Most of it was jumbled, but the word “strippers” was certainly in the mix.
Jesus, she had to get out of here, and the sooner the better.
The last thing she wanted was to dump on their parade by waltzing through the room once the “entertainment” arrived. God, and what if she saw something she didn’t want to see? Jake seemed like he was madly in love, but who knew for sure?
Not like musicians were known for monogamy, and considering the way they’d met and started their relationship with Jake breaking off his engagement to someone else because he’d fallen in love at first sight with Callie… Heck, Lori was still trying to undo the damage to Calliope Shoes after the scandal.
Headlights flashed as another car rounded the far side of the house. Probably the strippers. It was do or die. But what choice did she have? There was no way out of the kitchen except through the great room.
Or the window, a little voice in her head whispered.
Which was ridiculous. Totally ludicrous. She eyed the window facing the driveway but dismissed it out of hand. Too small. She turned to assess the wide pane of glass above the sink and tipped her head to one side. It was plenty big enough. She could scoot out and no one would ever be the wiser.
And you could put off meeting the man behind the voice for one more day.
Which was really the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? Not just the strippers and not just looking a mess, but also if Lazlo Stone saw her and instead of the warm appreciation in his tone like it had been during their phone conversation, she’d have to see his face drop when he got a load of how ordinary she was. Especially when standing next to the women that were about to show up to the party.
The window it is.
She stripped off her apron and glanced down at her clothes. The white button-down was her favorite, and she’d managed to wear it dozens of times in the kitchen without staining it so far. Paired with the sensible black pencil skirt, and comfortable flats, it was her best cooking-for-business outfit.
Nondescript, but professional.
It said, you’re in good hands. If she dove through the window and out onto the porch, she was sure to destroy her tights at the very least. Another peal of laughter rent the air, and she opened the window with a renewed sense of urgency.
The night was warm and the breeze tickled her face as she dangled her purse and knife case out the window and lowered them gingerly onto the porch. Then, she hauled herself onto the counter, straddling the sink.
God help her if someone walked in now.
She scaled the sill with a grunt. Shimmying forward, she swung her legs out first and found herself hanging halfway out, feet scrabbling for purchase. She tried to keep moving downward, but her leg wouldn’t budge. With a jerk, she finally freed herself. The last thing she heard before tumbling out the window was a distinct and ominous ripping sound.
“Argh!”
She landed on the ground with a thud, flat on her back. The breath left her lungs in a whoosh, and she gasped, trying desperately to get air even as she tried to assess the damage. Aside from a twinge in her elbow that felt more like a scrape than anything serious, she was good. If only she could catch her breath.
“You okay?”
She turned to see Lazlo Stone, hip hitched against the porch column, the suspicious glint in his eyes at odds with the bemused smile perched on his beautiful lips. Even if she’d had the breath to answer him, she couldn’t have.
He was like a statue created by some Greek or Italian master sculptor with a vowel at the end of his name. Just stunning. And she thought he’d seemed big from afar. Up close he was a giant. Larger than life.
From her position—flat on her ass and blinking up at him—it looked like he could have hung the stars in the sky.
“Anybody home?” he asked softly. He stepped toward her, weaving a little, and she scuttled backward, instinctively. He froze and held up both hands. “Look, I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to make sure you’re okay and talk to you about what you were doing jumping out of that window there.”
He gestured to where blue-checkered curtains fluttered in the breeze. Which meant he hadn’t just come in at the tail end of things. He’d officially witnessed her toppl
e out a window and land on her back like a flipped tortoise. Excellent. She considered his question as she sucked in another breath.
How to answer him?
It had seemed so clear at the time but now, with him staring down at her through bleary but gorgeous so-brown-they-were-almost-black eyes, it was hard to remember why she hadn’t just gone into the great room, introduced herself, and said her good-byes on the way out.
He closed the space between them with another few steps and held out a big hand.
She took it and allowed him to pull her gently to her feet.
“You could’ve been hurt.” There was an underlying note of censure in his voice that made her bristle. Bristling was good. Far better than fawning, at any rate.
“It, uh, it couldn’t be helped.”
“Mind if you tell me what you were doing in the kitchen that made it necessary for you to sneak out the window? Are you like a cat burglar or something?”
She craned her neck back to gaze up at him. His scent was so masculine—like beer, hot buttered man, and testosterone in a blender—that it was distracting as all be damned. “Cat burglar? God no. And I wasn’t sneak—”
“You don’t look like a thief, so I’m guessing it’s worse than that. Who are you with?” he pressed impatiently.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“The Times?” He let out a disgusted snort, “Please tell me it’s not fucking TMZ.”
“TMZ? Wha—I don’t even know what that is.”
His brow quirked as he studied her and took a step back to assess her clothing. “So you’re not a reporter?”
She shook her head firmly, not sure which of the allegations to tackle first. God, how had this gotten so out of hand? “No, of course not. I—”
The thunderous frown faltered, giving way to a knowing smile. “Ah, I got it now. Which one of the guys called you?” He didn’t wait for her to answer, and continued, his speech slightly slurred. “You know, if you’d asked me an hour ago if I was down with the whole sexy-librarian thing, I’d have said not really. Kind of played out, you know? But you…” He let his dark gaze travel down the front of her body and back up again. “You’re getting it done, doll.”
He lifted a hand to her dark hair, and the clip that had been holding the mass in place came tumbling down. He caught his breath and let out a low growl. “Oh, yeah. That’s real nice.”
Wait, so now he thought she was the stripper? Anger bubbled through her veins, but right on its heels was a warm flush of pathetic pride. Laz Stone thought she was sexy enough to be a stripper?
Her heart fluttered wildly, and she wet her lips.
What the hell was the matter with her that she took that as a compliment? She had to stop this insanity and tell him who she really was. She opened her mouth and laid a hand on his chest, with every intention of pushing him back, but the words stuck in her throat.
Jeez, he was fit. The hard wall of muscle beneath her fingers flexed at her touch, and she was flooded with the desperate need to touch him. Explore the planes and dips of that amazing physique.
Total madness.
Maybe once. Just once, for just a second, she could give in to it.
“Laz, I—”
“Hold that thought,” he muttered before he swayed forward, falling heavily against her, hard enough to pin her against the very window she’d fallen out of.
And a second later, he began to snore.
Chapter Three
Was he in a hotel? Laz closed one eye and peered around the room in hopes of lessening the whole fishbowl effect that was happening, but it didn’t work. What the hell had Rocky been pushing shots of all night? He’s said it was Everclear, but it seemed more like absinthe or maybe rat poison. He hadn’t passed out since high school and hadn’t been this fucked-up since…well, ever.
“Lazlo? Are you going to be sick?”
The female voice that called softly to him from the bottom of the bed was sensual enough that, even in his inebriated state, it made him wonder if he could find a way to get her to lie down next to him. Who was that again? Ah, maybe the librarian stripper. That would be nice.
“If you’re going to be sick, tell me. I’ll get you a bucket.”
Thoughts of seduction fled, and he bolted upright to defend his honor as a man. “Sick, like throw up? What do you take me for, woman?” Sitting up was a bad idea, and he flopped back onto the mattress with a grunt. He might not get sick, but tomorrow he’d be hurting like a motherfucker.
“I’m just taking your boots off, all right?”
He nodded wordlessly and stayed motionless as she tugged his boots from his feet.
“Where are we?”
He remembered drinking yet another round of shots when they’d gotten back to the carriage house. It was one too many and he’d gone outside for some air, only to find a pair of shapely legs sticking out the window. A second later, she’d toppled after them, landing in a heap…
Then what? Because he was definitely in a bed now. “Did you carry me up here?”
He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus. She was tiny, no way she could’ve carried him. Had she enlisted his boys to help? God, that would’ve been almost as bad. They’d never let him forget it.
“No. You managed on your own power. Mostly.”
Wispy memories of leaning on her, the scent of her hair filling his head as they trudged up the stairs filled his head. She’d gone quiet for a long moment, and he wondered if his Flo Nightingale had left.
“Hello?”
“I’m here, I just wanted to get you some water. Lift your head for a second. I have aspirin for you. You’ll be glad of it tomorrow.”
He braced himself for the spins and raised his head, bringing him face-to-face with his librarian stripper nurse. He squinted to try and bring the three of her into focus. Weird how, when he’d first seen her sprawled on the porch, she’d seemed a little plain.
Granted, that impression had lasted as long as it had taken her to lock her cornflower gaze on him. Her cheeks had turned a pretty shade of pink and her lips had made a shocked o, and all he’d been able to think of was what they would feel like on his.
Now, as she looked down at him, concern furrowing her brow, he found himself wondering that yet again.
“You’re pretty,” he murmured. Smooth, considering he’d drunk his weight in grain alcohol and could barely move his tongue.
Apparently she didn’t agree because her brows folded into a frown. “You really must be drunk. Do you think you could have alcohol poisoning?”
He laughed, and then instantly regretted it. The motion sent the room tilting again, but he managed a reply. “Definitely not.”
“If you say so.” She shrugged. “Open your mouth.”
He did and she popped two pills in and then pressed a cool glass to his lips. He swallowed like an obedient patient before lowering his head gingerly back to the pillow.
“You made me swear a blood oath—without the blood—not to let the guys see you like this before we snuck up the back stairs. I hate to be a blood-oath breaker, but if I leave you here without telling anyone and you asphyxiate in your sleep or something, I’d never forgive myself, you know.”
He could feel the smile stretching his lips. She was funny, his stripper librarian nurse. “Well, I wouldn’t want that at all. Why don’t you climb in and keep an eye on me. That way your conscience is clear.” He waited to see if she’d take the bait. To his surprise, she didn’t say no right away.
“I’m not sure that’s the best idea, but the alternatives aren’t so hot either. From what I could tell when we skulked by, all your buddies are pretty much in the same state as you are.” He cracked one eye open again to see her adjusting her glasses, lips pursed as she thought. Finally, she picked up the remote and flipped on the TV. “We’ll do topsies, bottomsies.”
Laz ran through the list of sex positions he’d done in the past and narrowed it down to one, although he’d never heard it cal
led that. “I’m in. Only, give me like twenty minutes to get a quick power nap in there first. I want to make sure I’m in shape to get the job done.”
He was pretty sure she rolled her eyes.
“Nice try. Get under the covers and slide over. I’ll lay next to you on top of them. In an hour or so, once I feel confident you’re going to be okay, I’ll let myself out, all right?”
He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and tugged until she toppled lightly onto his chest. The scent of vanilla filled his head again.
Nice.
He inhaled more deeply and tossed a leg over hers to pin her more tightly against him. She was a sweet little package, perfectly pocket-sized and snugged tight against his shoulder. Her body was so stiff, he wondered hazily if maybe she’d changed her mind about staying. He toyed with her soft hair idly, and a minute later, she began to relax.
“I’ll stay until you fall asleep,” she said in a breathy voice.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d fallen asleep with a woman in his arms. It was probably the booze that had him looking forward to it so much.
…
What the hell had she gotten herself into? If someone had told her she would end her night in Lazlo Stone’s bed with him wrapped around her like a starfish on a clam, she would’ve laughed herself silly. But now, here she was with the rock god himself, his warm breath tickling her hair, his big hand draped over her shoulder, perilously close to her breast.
She was torn straight down the middle. One half of her wanted to take a deep breath and close the distance between his fingers and her breast. The other half wanted to leap up and run out of the room screaming.
This was like bizarro world.
Women like her didn’t find themselves in the company of men like this.
You’re pretty.
She wet her lips and let the words embrace her like a warm hug. Whether it was the alcohol talking or not, that was the loveliest of compliments and one she would never ever forget. If he’d said “beautiful” it wouldn’t have meant half as much because she’d have known it for a lie.
Reforming the Rock Star Page 3