Fall: a ROCK SOLID romance

by Karina Bliss

  Seth saw her and smiled and her pulse did another leap. Down, girl. “You look like a construction worker,” she commented, frowning as she joined him. “All you need is a hard hat.”

  “Another fantasy?” He started filling a second plate.

  She took a few seconds to regroup. “We’re not talking about that.” He’d told Kayla and Moss that he’d passed out on one of the mansion’s many beds, ruining Dimity’s plans, and they’d bought it without question. As she poured herself some coffee from the urn to his right, she registered the second plate. “What are you doing?”

  “I look after my girlfriends. You need to get used to it. And before you accuse me of sexism, it works both ways.” His expression was all innocence. “Cream and one sugar, thanks, Honey B.”

  “Sure, Red, let me just get rid of the boring ol’ business stuff that’s paying for all this.” She dropped her briefcase and jacket at a nearby table and returned to pour a second coffee.

  The guy serving himself beside them did a surreptitious double take—obviously trying to work out where he’d seen Seth. People rarely made the connection to one of the world’s most famous—now infamous—rock bands. His manner was too humble, too self-effacing for a rock star. Probably, the guy was wondering if they’d been in Little League baseball together.

  Seth carried their plates to the table.

  Dimity passed him his coffee as she sat and he grimaced after the first sip. “You forgot the sweetener, Honey B.”

  “I’m concerned about your cholesterol levels, pun’kin.”

  “Everyone knows I only date women smart enough not to try and change me.”

  She tossed him the sugar sachet hidden in her palm. “You’d better fill me in on your family so I can say, ‘Seth has told me so much about you.’ Do you have a picture?”

  “Yeah.” As she piled cheese on crackers, he pulled out his cell. “This was at my aunt’s sixtieth last month.”

  The shot had been taken informally on a beach and Dimity saw exactly what she expected: a numerous, sandy-footed family with unaffected smiles, an embarrassing number of children and three Labrador-cross dogs. “There’s Mum and Dad…” Seth pointed to a smiling, gray-haired couple before indicating a younger pair. “And my little sister, Janey, her husband Tom, and baby Emily.” Absently, he stroked the bald infant’s face. “I was at Emmy’s birth.”

  How could she forget? His sister and her husband had been living in London at the time and he’d made the dash from Dublin after a Rage concert, barely making it to their next in Belfast.

  He flicked to another picture of himself teary-eyed and holding a squalling newborn.

  “Why is she covered in white grease?”

  “It’s vernix. Premature babies are often born with the natural protective coat—”

  “Stop!”

  “Sorry, I forgot your phobia.” He swiped to the earlier photo and identified every relative while she nodded and asked questions, and tried to desensitize herself to his close proximity. How did they do it in homeopathy? A gradual exposure to the substance you wanted to rid from your system. After a couple of minutes, her heart rate slowed and she could smell other things beside sandalwood soap. This was why she preferred drive-by intimacy—no consequences.

  The earth hadn’t moved when they’d slept together, but it had shifted an inch or two, and she itched to return everything to its rightful place. Seth knew her better now than she wanted him to, and she felt exposed in some indefinable way.

  “So is the whole tribe going to be meeting you at the airport with welcome home signs and balloons?” She didn’t need to see a picture of Mel. Until their breakup, her smiling face had been Seth’s screensaver.

  “At five-thirty in the morning? No. I told them not to bother.”

  There was a curious tautness to his tone. But before she could question it, he added, “Okay, your turn.”

  “My mom’s not critical to operations.”

  “C’mon, I showed you mine.”

  There was a micro-second of mutual awareness which she covered by turning on her iPad and pulling up a photograph. “Brace yourself.” Dressed in diaphanous white, she and her mother sat on white velvet and gilt chairs under a glittering chandelier. Dimity had realized young that she could either be ashamed or entertained by Helena’s idealized worldview. And chosen to be entertained.

  “That’s your mum?” Seth blinked. “You look like—”

  “Sisters. That’s where a lot of my money went, on eternal youth. Hopefully, her new husband has more success in convincing her to age gracefully.”

  He looked as appalled as she’d felt looking at that vernix-covered baby. “You don’t buy into that shit, do you?”

  “To a point, sure. Unfortunately, I’ve nursed Mom through a couple of recoveries so I’d probably wimp out.”

  “Good,” he said. “Dinosaur’s eyes staring out of a young face…it’s creepy.”

  “And here’s my dad.” It was an old photograph, taken when she was ten years old and still had hopes of keeping her parents together.

  “Do you see much of him now?”

  She switched off the screen. “He takes me out to lunch on my birthday or as close to it as we can schedule.” She didn’t like this telekinetic link she had with Seth since they’d slept together—she could sense his sympathy.

  But he only said, “Another type A?”

  She smiled. “I’m a chip off the old DNA.”

  Her cell rang. It was Zander’s realtor, with a higher offer on the New York loft. Excusing herself, she moved away to take it.

  Seth didn’t talk much on the flight and she spent the first couple of hours working through fan mail. Weary of second-guessing Zander’s prognosis, she took a sleeping pill after the dinner trays had been cleared, figuring she’d get the bed made up after she finished her peppermint tea.

  Through the gap between the seats in front, an old Katharine Hepburn/Spencer Tracy movie was playing, and she watched idly as she waited for tiredness to kick in.

  Seth fell asleep before the last drinks were cleared, as naturally as a cat napping, still with his headphones blasting the muted strains of heavy rock, and his hand on her armrest. It was a square hand, with a sprinkle of freckles and finely shaped nails, cut very short. She resisted the impulse to slide a fingertip over two bruised knuckles.

  Idiot for defending my honor.

  Reaching past him, she pulled the cord of his headphones from his armrest, then sat back and examined his profile—the sweep of dark red lashes over a lightly tanned cheekbone, the stubborn chin and wide mouth, none of which added up to gorgeous. Or explained the slightly panicky feeling she got looking at him.

  For another minute she watched him sleeping, trying to work out why he was having this effect on her, but there was nothing in his face to solve the puzzle, only the unwelcome tenderness in her own heart.

  Annoyed, she pulled up a note-taking app on her iPad and started brainstorming ideas for rousing Mel’s territorial instincts, including making Seth’s screensaver a picture of a honey badger and changing his Facebook status to “in a relationship.” She only paused to watch Katharine soundlessly tell Spencer she loved him.

  * * *

  The Maori guy processing their passports looked at Seth’s name, then at him and broke into a wide grin. “Welcome home.”

  “Thanks.” Being hailed as a friend by strangers was one of the things Seth enjoyed about becoming famous.

  “You home for good now the band’s broken up?”

  Beside Seth, Dimity stiffened. Casually, he draped an arm over her shoulder. “Just taking a break while our lead singer recovers from vocal surgery.”

  “I used to be one of his biggest fans. On this, I’ve got no sympathy for him.”

  “Why is that—” Seth looked at his name tag “—Tane? We’re always open to fan feedback.” He repeated the band’s mantra for Dimity’s sake. She’d gotten overprotective of their boss since the scandal broke.

 
; “Lip-syncing from rock’s hard man just didn’t sit well with me. He should have canceled that charity performance.”

  “The charity wouldn’t have been able to find another headliner at short notice.” He explained for the hundredth time. “The veterans would have suffered the financial shortfall.”

  “Okay, but why go on to play two more concerts? All his talk of paying small contractors, covering wages—what about short-changing loyal fans?”

  Dimity’s shoulders were rigid with suppressed outrage. Seth tightened his grip. “All the concerts got great reviews. It was only after the lip syncing came out that the press called foul. And Zander offered a full refund to any dissatisfied concert-goer.”

  “Really? Why wasn’t that reported?”

  “It was.” Dimity broke free of his hold. “Only humans are evolutionarily predisposed toward focusing on the negative because potential harm is more of a priority than a potential benefit!”

  Tane looked at Seth.

  “If I tell you a saber-tooth tiger’s coming and she tells you the roast dinosaur is done, which one gets your attention?”

  “Got it.” Tane stamped and returned Seth’s passport, picked up Dimity’s. “First visit to New Zealand?” he said politely.

  “Second. Know how many actually took up the offer of a refund? Less than five percent.”

  “Is that right?” He asked his questions, stamped and returned her passport, then smiled. “I’ll be sure to pass that on.” He offered Seth a quick handshake. “Hope to see Rage in concert again soon.”

  “Thanks, mate.” Seth didn’t share his hope. Everything Zander had done since his surgery—setting up informal meetings with other musicians, making his home studio available for writing new songs, and encouraging them to attend key music events—suggested their lead singer was expecting the worst. Regardless of what his PA thought.

  Seth hoped like hell Zander made a triumphant return, but if he didn’t—couldn’t—his efforts on their behalf had given Seth confidence that he, Jared, and Moss could form a successful new band. And the stress of this waiting game was nothing compared to the stress surrounding his departure from New Zealand.

  He deeply regretted hurting the people he loved as he chased his dream of becoming a professional musician, but not for a second did he regret his choice of vocation. This was who he was meant to be.

  “You’ve got to stop taking all this personally,” he reminded Dimity as they waited at the baggage carousel. Her lack of a Plan B seriously worried him. It wasn’t like her to rely on miracles.

  “The glacial pace of getting the truth out there and accepted is just so frustrating.” She dumped her laptop in the tray of the empty luggage trolley. “Thanks for saving me from a cavity search.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Her offloaded her pink suitcases from the carousel and shouldered his leather duffel bag, nervous at the thought of seeing his father.

  Rage’s tour schedule had been so consuming that he hadn’t seen his parents since he’d returned to LA after winning a place in the live audition show. He talked to his mother and sister weekly, but he and his dad had spoken maybe a dozen words during the past fifteen months.

  His father hadn’t cut ties, but Frank Curran’s icy disappointment was proving a higher wall to scale than anything George R.R. Martin had devised.

  Whenever Seth phoned home he ended every call with, “Give Dad my love.”

  His mother would say softly, “I’m working on him.”

  His sister, Janey, would blow it off. “Don’t worry, he’ll get over it.”

  Twice his father had answered the phone only to say, after he’d identified Seth as the caller, “I’ll get your mother.”

  The only real exchange they’d had since Seth left was when the press speculated that Rage wouldn’t survive its lead singer’s latest disgrace.

  “So, you gave up a secure future for nothing.” The triumph in his father’s bitterness cut deep.

  “You can have a relationship with me, or the last word, Dad,” Seth said quietly. “But not both.” His fingers were sweaty on the handset before his father finally answered.

  “I’ll get your mother.”

  Whatever the hell that meant. He was home to find out.

  * * *

  Even at five-thirty a.m. the arrivals hall was chaos, multitudes of people hugging amid cries of welcome and tears of joy. Seth couldn’t stop himself scanning the crowd for a familiar face, though he’d insisted on catching a cab to his parents’ place.

  He was sitting on Dimity’s luggage trolley taking his cell off flight mode when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Surprise!”

  His sister stood there beaming, an owl-eyed baby perched on her hip.

  “Janey, what are you doing here?” Jumping to his feet, he caught her in a hug. “I told Ma I’d catch a taxi.” One arm still around her shoulders, he reached out, awestruck, to stroke the small, downy head. “Hey, beautiful girl.”

  “Em wakes at dawn so I figured I might as well be at the airport as home. Mum was amping to come, too, but I told her to make your favorite breakfast instead—pancakes and homemade blueberry syrup.”

  “Wait…that’s your favorite breakfast.”

  Her brown eyes widened. “Oh, did I mix them up?” She patted the pink suitcases he’d been sitting on. “Please tell me these aren’t yours.”

  “They’re mine.” Returning from the ladies’ room, Dimity looked at the baby and positioned herself safely on the other side of the trolley.

  Seth chuckled. “Dimity, this is my sister—”

  “Janey.” Smiling, his faux girlfriend offered her hand across the trolley. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

  “And I’ve heard so much about you.”

  His sister’s glee clued Seth in. “That poor baby didn’t wake up by herself, did she? You pinched her.”

  Janey laughed. Confused, Dimity glanced between them.

  “I think she knows we’re an item,” he explained for her, suddenly uncomfortable. It was one thing to plan this soap opera in La La land, where melodrama was normal, another thing to play it out here, in the real world. “How did you find out?”

  “I have my sources.”

  Mel, then. It wasn’t too late to put the brakes on this. “It’s early days,” he began to say.

  “And even earlier nights,” Dimity finished. Tucking her arm through his, she gave Seth one of her strap-in-for-a-wild-ride smiles.

  Familiar from their professional interactions, it usually roused an answering “Yee-haw.” Now that smile was hopelessly tangled with hot sex. For a straightforward guy, he’d gotten himself into a shitload of complicated.

  “I’m soooo jealous.” Janey shifted the baby to her other hip. “Since Em arrived, all Tom and I want to do in bed is sleep.”

  “Can I hold her?” Unable to wait any longer, Seth stole his niece from her mother. Last time he’d cuddled her she’d weighed seven pounds, and her new chubbiness was a tangible reminder of how much he’d missed by living overseas. “Hey, gorgeous, remember me? I’m your Uncle Seth and I saw you being born.”

  “Ugh,” Dimity murmured. Fortunately, Janey didn’t hear.

  “She likes you.” Janey eyed her daughter fondly.

  “Yeah?” All Seth saw was the same grave watchfulness. Then Em cooed at him, little spit bubbles forming on her rosebud mouth, and he lost his heart.

  Dimity shifted uncomfortably, drawing Janey’s attention. “I know, adorable right? Want a turn?”

  “God, no!”

  “She’s scared of babies,” Seth explained.

  “It’s not personal,” Dimity assured Janey. “I’m wary around any wild animal.”

  “Okaaaay.” His sister looked at him. “Look after bubs, while I get the car.”

  “Just to tell ya,” he commented, when she’d left. “It’s always personal with mothers. And if you want to make a good impression you’ll need to disguise your horror when you lo
ok at Em. Won’t she, sweetheart?” Em returned a toothless grin and Seth kissed her downy head, unashamedly breathing her in. “Damn, that baby smell is addictive.”

  “Okay, now you’re just being creepy,” Dimity said.

  “C’mon, take a sniff,” he coaxed, holding out the baby. “Her nappy’s clean.”

  “Diaper,” she corrected, tentatively leaning forward.

  Em grabbed a fistful of hair making Dimity shriek. “Get it off!”

  Laughing, Seth stepped in to create slack and tried to pry open the tiny fist. “This girl’s got a grip like a wrestler.”

  “Seth,” Dimity wailed, and he put his free arm around her. Now two blond heads lay against his chest.

  “We’ll need to offer her something in exchange. My wallet’s in my jeans.”

  Dimity fumbled behind him, patting down his ass for the wallet.

  Em brought her fist to her mouth and chewed on Dimity’s hair.

  “It’s okay, baby girl,” his voice trembled with suppressed laughter. “Just relax.”

  “Oh, sure, comfort the assailant.”

  “I was talking to you.”

  “Funny.” Her face still buried against Seth’s shirt, Dimity yanked his wallet free and thrust it behind her. He released her to make the trade.

  Keeping a proprietary hold on Dimity’s hair, Em made a grab for the wallet with her free hand.

  He lifted it out of reach. “Nah-uh, first release the hostage.”

  Em gurgled and let go. He made the exchange.

  “Is it safe yet?” Dimity’s muffled voice said.

  “Nearly.”

  Carefully he rubbed the sodden end of her hair dry with the sleeve of the sweater tied around his waist, dropped a kiss on the baby’s head, and one on Dimity’s because… Shit. Because?

  Yeah, seeing the fearless one freaked out by a baby was so damned cute.

  Her muffled voice said, “Did you just kiss my hair?”

  “Awww.” Janey’s voice saved him from having to confess. “Aren’t you three sweet? I knew Em would win you over.”