She wasn’t that. Would never be that. But pretty? Could that have happened at some point over the past few years when she’d been far too busy to look?
Laz grumbled in his sleep and she drew back to get a look at him. God, he was gorgeous. She could hardly talk around him, she was so distracted by all the different things to look at on him. She tipped her head back slowly to steal another peek.
His stubbled jaw was perfection.
Superman himself would’ve commented on the strength of it. And his lips were so soft, not in a feminine way, but in a way that made him look sensual, like he’d know exactly what to do with them. She wondered briefly if he had a girlfriend.
As if in answer to her question, his smartphone buzzed insistently beside him on the mattress and the glass screen lit up with the name “Elyse.” It was a testament to him that he had entered a name instead of just a number or some stupid nickname like “kankles” or “body shots” the way some guys did. Although the woman in the thumbnail picture that accompanied it was attractive enough to warrant going the extra mile.
The woman was all boobs and lips. Who was Syd kidding? Guys like this didn’t have girlfriends. They had sexual ports, and a guy like Laz could dock his schooner in any harbor he wanted. The thought curdled the grilled cheese sandwich in her stomach instantly.
Big whoop.
They’d spent all of an hour in each other’s company, and even that was only due to his liquor consumption. That surely wasn’t grounds for the level of crushiness she was feeling right now. She’d never considered herself the kind of girl who would be swayed by celebrity, but maybe she was. Maybe just the fact that he was in The Rift and this larger-than-life rock star was enough to make her fall head over heels into puppy love.
Whatever the case, tomorrow he probably wouldn’t even recognize her. Better she nip any such silliness in the bud before she humiliated herself making googly eyes at him.
A minute later his slowed breathing turned to soft snores and she plotted her escape. If she could just shift his arm over h—
“You feel so good,” he groaned, tightening his grip on her shoulder right above her breast and pulling her closer, until she was half sprawled on top of him.
She stayed still as a mouse, waiting to see what would happen next, but he just started snoring again. Now, though, her leg was anchored by his and it was going to be a real bitch to get free.
She was pondering a new escape plan where the hand on her shoulder drifted down her rib cage to cradle her hip. He angled his thigh outward, pressing it between her legs so her center was flush against his quad.
She swallowed hard as her pulse skittered wildly. Time to go, time to go, her brain screamed. But her body had clearly opted to don earmuffs because she couldn’t will herself to move, no matter how hard she tried. How long had it been since a man had touched her this way?
She shot that question down, because the answer was never. Even in sleep, Laz had an intrinsic sensuality about him. His subconscious moves were better than the average man’s most meticulously planned seduction and that was wholly terrifying. If she couldn’t control herself around this Laz, how was she going to keep her cool when he was awake and going out of his way to be social and charming for the next ten days?
It would be torture.
She began the painstaking process of wriggling inch by inch, slowly extricating herself from his grasp. It took ten full minutes, but finally, she was free.
Until she wasn’t.
He rolled to his side, covering her body with his, and she let out a soft ooph before she could stop herself. His lashes lifted, revealing chocolaty eyes, and he made a low humming sound in his throat before dipping his head toward hers slowly, giving her plenty of time to stop him or pull away. She did neither. Instead she waited, breathless, until his lips touched hers.
It wasn’t like a first kiss. It wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t tender.
It was a revelation.
He tasted her with his tongue, tracing the shape of her mouth, dipping between them to stroke the soft flesh inside her lower lip. She whimpered unconsciously and strained closer to him, giving in to the urge to touch him, tracing her fingers over his pectoral muscle, reveling in the catch of his breath at her touch. He speared one hand into her hair and snaked the other around her waist to curl around her bottom.
“What did you say your name was again?”
She swallowed hard and tried to squeeze a response past her too-tight throat. “Syd,” she said finally. “I’m the caterer.”
“The caterer?” he mumbled, his breath tickling the shell of her ear. “I met her before. Young, round cheeks? Who was that, then, feeding us all night?”
“My sous chef, Paula. I’m Sydney Metcalf.”
“Well you sure are pretty, Sydney Metcalf the caterer,” he said, patting her bottom lightly. “And I sure hope I get to kiss you again.”
She stared at him, speechless, but that was all right. His eyes drifted shut a moment later, leaving her alone with his parting words playing on a loop in her head.
I sure hope I get to kiss you again.
What she hoped was, in the morning, when he forgot he’d ever uttered those words, that she could, too. She wriggled out from beneath him, too desperate to get away now to bother being careful. If she didn’t leave now, she might never muster the will to do it. She spared one last look back at him, lying there looking sexy and tousled and gorgeous, before closing the door behind her.
God, she was screwed.
Chapter Four
“What do you mean you went to bed with him?”
Callie’s whisper was far from quiet and she grabbed Syd’s arm and dragged her into the kitchen. She wheeled on Syd, her face a mask of shock. “Are you messing with me right now?”
Syd craned her neck to make sure no one was hidden from view looking through the pantry or something before leaning in to answer. “We didn’t sleep together sleep together. He actually fell asleep, is all.”
Callie narrowed her eyes, tipped her head to the side. “So, you were in the same bed, didn’t have sex, and he just…went to sleep?” She seemed to consider that and then gave her head a curt shake. “Nope. You, I could see doing that. But Laz? Never happen.”
“Well it did happen. He was three sheets to the wind and could barely get up the stairs.”
The dubious look on her bestie’s face just confirmed what she’d known all along. Laz was a player. If he went to bed with a woman, it wasn’t to sleep. And Callie’s shock only solidified her suspicions that she wasn’t exactly the rock god’s type, in any case. The picture of the woman on his phone had been hard enough evidence of that.
The sooner she got this conversation over with, the better. She’d have just enough time to lick her wounds before meeting with Lori to go over some menu ideas. The last thing they needed was their fearless leader to show up for work completely sapped of confidence. “Well that’s exactly what happened. He came home from the pub crawl last night and caught me climbing out the window.”
Callie’s eyes bulged, and she held up a staying hand. “Give me a sec.” She crossed the room, snagged two water bottles from the refrigerator, and motioned for Syd to join her at the oversize granite island that centered the room. “Okay, clearly this is a story I need to hear and don’t leave anything out.”
Syd blew out a sigh and climbed onto one of the stools, resigning herself to the inevitable. It was quicker just to tell Callie what happened than it would be to try to get her to let it go. By the time she’d finished with the whole story, omitting the kiss and the parts where she almost considered not getting out of the bed at all and just waiting to see what would happen if she stayed, Callie was grinning from ear to ear, breathless from laughing.
“So you mean to tell me he thought you were a stripper?”
“Either that or a paparazzo dressed up like a librarian stripper.”
“Or a cat-burgling stripper.” She chuckled again and took a swig of her wa
ter. “That is so like Laz. Probably wishful thinking on his part.” She eyed Syd’s clothes and shrugged. “Although, to be fair, I can totally see the librarian thing. I think it’s high time you let me do that makeover on you.”
Syd shifted backward and hopped off the walnut stool. Annnd that was her cue to leave. Callie had been bugging her about a makeover since the eighth grade. Syd hadn’t had time or the money for it then, and she sure didn’t have either for it now.
Besides, who wanted to look great for a day only to find that they didn’t have the skills or the finances to recreate the look? Seemed kind of pointless and a little sad. Like feeding a starving person the best meal of their lives and then sending them back to starvation-land the next day.
Better not to know how the other half lived if you couldn’t live there, too.
“Nope. You really need to let that idea go. Right now, my focus is on making sure the food for all the events is perfect.”
“Speaking of which, you know this afternoon is just hanging out by the lake. I don’t expect you to cook for that.”
“I know, but someone has to man the grill.” Not to mention, she and Paula were dying to do a test run of the strawberry parfaits they wanted to serve at the wedding before any of the guests arrived.
“Okay, but I don’t want you working all week. Next week is going to be hectic for you, and I want you to at least have some fun while you’re here.”
She’d have plenty of time for fun when her business was a rousing success and she was rolling in dough. She might be rolling through the dough in a wheelchair by that time, but whatever. If she had to be back in Fairbanks, she was going to make the most of it. She kept her thoughts to herself, though, and nodded at Callie. “I will. Promise.”
“Speaking of food, Jake said the guys thought everything was really delicious last night, so that was a good start.”
Judging by the fact that the trays had come back into the kitchen practically licked clean, she’d felt pretty confident they’d enjoyed it, but the confirmation set off a warm glow inside her. “Glad to hear it.”
The only problem about this setup was that she felt like she consistently had to outdo herself, so she didn’t want to use up all her best dishes before the main event. The actual wedding still had to wow the guests.
She was back in work mode, trying to determine if she should head to town for more arugula. So far, she’d managed to avoid leaving the estate by sending Paula out for groceries, and she was highly motivated to continue that trend. She’d taken to pretending they were actually in Italy on Lake Cuomo and wasn’t ready for that illusion to be shattered.
Callie interrupted her thoughts with a soft snick of her lips. “This is all going to be very interesting. So do you think Laz is going to remember what happened?”
“I have no idea.” Wasn’t that the question of the day? The question that had haunted her dreams and made her feel seasick every time she thought about it? “If he doesn’t, I sure won’t remind him. It’s probably better for everyone if we just make like it never happened.”
“Yeah, sure thing.”
Callie’s nod sent a shiver of unrest slithering up Syd’s spine. She hadn’t been kidding. It was for the best. If Laz remembered, it could be catastrophic. He’d feel uncomfortable and they’d wind up tiptoeing around each other and making it awkward for everyone.
So why did the thought of him forgetting all about their kiss make her stomach ache?
…
“You look like dog shit.”
Dash’s flat observation was punctuated by a loud crunch as he tossed back a handful of peanuts from the living room side table. Laz hadn’t even seen him when he’d stepped through the front door after a painful hundred-yard walk from the guest house to the main dwelling.
The same Montana sunshine he’d been charmed by the day before seemed beyond cruel this morning. Now he was fighting a bear of a headache, and he had to contend with spots in front of his eyes. He made a mental note to thank Rocky again for pushing the shots.
Tack on to that the ten calls he’d missed from his ex-girlfriend turned publicist, and he had more than one reason to wish for a swift and silent death.
“Thanks,” he finally responded, closing the door behind him and taking blessed refuge in the relative dimness of the room. If this was what it felt like to be a vampire, they could keep immortality.
He gave his buddy the once-over before anchoring a hip against the couch. If he full-on sat down, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get up. “You’re looking pretty stellar yourself.” That was true, which was irritating. Dash had been keeping pace with him the whole time last night, so why did he look so well rested?
“Lori made me drink a gallon of water and take vitamin B before bed. Then, I woke up to a plate of eggs and bacon. I pretty much feel like a million bucks.”
Interesting, since that was the amount Laz would need to consider getting engaged ever again, even with the added benefit of hangover support thrown in for good measure. But he couldn’t fault Dash for his choices. He and Lori seemed really happy.
So far.
It would remain to be seen how they would handle things once Dash was back on the road. Laz could only hope that they fared better than he and Bridget had.
She shoved thoughts of his ex-fiancée aside and managed a grin for his friend in spite of the pounding in his skull. “Well, tell Lori to be a love and make doubles of everything next time, all right? Because this sucks.”
Dash laughed and started talking about the upcoming picnic, promising to exploit his hangover during the volleyball match, when Laz noticed a small figure in an apron skulking toward the kitchens with a huge pot in hand.
He cut off Dash midsentence with a wave and called her name, helpless to stop himself “Syd?”
He was already walking toward her when Dash snorted, calling after him. “Yeah. Sure. We’ll talk later.”
His friend stood and made like a ghost, exiting the room and leaving Laz alone with the woman who stood frozen, unwilling to turn and face him. Considering what they may or may not have done the night before, it seemed silly to pretend she hadn’t heard him. He touched her shoulder lightly. “Hey there.”
She turned then, and her expression told him about half of what he needed to know.
She sure as hell didn’t seem happy to see him, which meant they’d either slept together and he’d been underwhelming at best, or he’d fallen asleep on her before they’d gotten to the main course and she was angry with him. And even at that, his body still responded to her.
A fuzzy memory floated through his mind and he nodded to himself. He’d told her she was pretty. And she was. So pretty. Her golden skin was flawless, without a trace of makeup, her lips were full and pink.
But that wasn’t why he didn’t want her to be mad at him.
They had close to another two weeks together and their friends would surely notice if they ignored one another the whole time. The last thing Jake and Callie needed was something else to worry about, and it was up to him to be man enough to tackle this head-on. Time for some hard truths followed by some groveling.
“Look, I wish I could say I remember exactly what happened last night, but I don’t. I’m sure I did and said some things that I need to apologize for, and I’d like to take that opportunity now.”
She pursed her lips for a long moment before tilting her chin up to look him in the eye. “You mean you don’t remember the things we did? The things you said? The promises we made?” Her tone went shrill, and she shook her head accusingly. “What about all those plans? Little Laz and baby Chelsea? The house on Cape Cod and a sailboat named Flip? Were those all lies, Lazlo?”
He watched in horror as tears pooled in her blue eyes, threatening to spill over, and his stomach cramped. Jesus Christ, what had Rocky fed him to drink? Had someone at the bar slipped him a mickey or something?
He speared a hand through his hair, trying to do some damage control but at a loss for words
. “Look, I—”
A sound came from her lips that sounded like a deflating balloon and for a second he was sure she was going to burst into racking sobs. Instead, she laughed. Softly at first and then louder, until finally she was guffawing so hard, she was wheezing and had to use the hallway wall to hold herself up.
“Y-y-you should’ve seen your face,” she crowed between breaths, “Oh my God, that was priceless!”
He stared at her, the shock slowly fading to make way for the realization that she’d been pulling his chain. He wanted to be pissed off. She’d scared the shit out of him.
He was a lot of things, but the thought that he’d been so callous and had lied to a woman to get her in bed, making promises he could never keep, made him ill. And still, her laughter was infectious, and he could feel the smile tugging at his lips.
“Well you’re a real riot there, Sydney Metcalf,” he said crossing his arms over his chest. “But that was pretty harsh.”
She swiped at her eyes, still struggling for breath, and nodded. “Yeah, it was cruel, I know, but you deserved it. Do you know, Lazlo Stone, that you accused me of being a stripper last night? And possibly a cat burglar, who had presumably gone into the kitchen to steal the fine silver before trying to make my escape out a window?”
The memories came fast and furious then. Sydney sprawled on the porch, looking up at him, stunned. Sydney in his bed, in his arms, head tipped back, waiting for the last breathless second before he pressed his lips to hers.
Sydney beneath him, her hip in his hand, the scent of vanilla teasing him every time she moved. Sure, the stripper thing was kind of funny, but the rest? Not so funny.
In fact, now that it was all coming back to him, he found himself getting hard just thinking about kissing her again.
He cleared his throat and stepped back. He should be glad he hadn’t done some irreparable damage here and take the reprieve with grace.
“Sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight. I’d gone out to get some air, and when I saw you jumping out the window like that it never occurred to me that you were…you.”
Reforming the Rock Star Page 4