(Complete Rock Stars, Surf and Second Chances #1-5)

by Michelle Mankin

  “Are you okay in there?” Cash sounded concerned.

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “It’s late.”

  “I know, I know. Hold on.”

  I crossed the room and slid open the door that separated the living room, where he had inevitably slept through the night, from the bedroom where I’d mostly tossed and turned.

  “Good morning,” I told the six-and-a-half-foot tall, blue-eyed, blond giant filling the door frame.

  Raising my chin to bring his very handsome face more fully into view, I tossed my long hair over my shoulder, affecting what I hoped appeared to be a casual response. It was an Oscar-worthy feat, considering I was standing in front of a guy I was very much attracted to and wearing only my pajamas.

  “Morning.” He raked his piercing blue gaze over me, a thorough, assessing glance.

  I experienced a head-to-toe shiver, my body reacting much as it would—or I imagined it would—if he’d physically caressed my flesh.

  “You don’t look okay.” He crossed his muscular arms over his brick wall of a chest. “You look pretty keyed up.”

  His brow creased beneath the messy fringe of hair that sometimes hid his eyes. On the sides, his hair was shorn close to his skull. The unruly blond strands left deliberately long on top were the only part of him that didn’t seem strictly regimented.

  “You didn’t sleep well.”

  I shook my head, and when his lips flattened, my stomach fluttered. I tried to avoid staring at his lips. To look at them was to risk imagining the feel of them pressed to mine.

  “I’m up.” I glanced down at my tiny tank top and sleep shorts. “Just not dressed yet.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I can see that for myself.”

  His thick drawl melted me, coating my tummy flutters in warm, Southern, butter-and-brown-sugar syrup.

  He ran his gaze slowly over me before he lifted it to scan the room beyond. “But I need to do my job, and I can’t do it properly from this side of the door.”

  His expression efficiently neutral, Cash stepped inside the room and slipped past me. A former military man, his muscles were battle-honed and his large frame was enemy-ready, but there were no enemies in my bedroom.

  “You saw me go in here alone last night,” I said, surreptitiously watching him in his usual navy security blazer, white button-down shirt, and khaki pants as he swept the room. “There’s no one in here but me.”

  He didn’t acknowledge my comments. His long strides took him quickly to the other side of the standard-sized hotel bedroom. He checked the attached bath with a quick walk-through of the spacious travertine interior, a methodical front-to-back inspection of the double sink, glass shower big enough for two—I wish—and the toilet, before he turned around and returned to where I stood.

  “Clear?” I raised a brow, my signature close-up move for the cameras. It made the teenage boys who were my biggest fan demographic go crazy, but it had no noticeable effect on my bodyguard.

  “Not done yet.”

  “Of course not.”

  I tapped my toes on the plush carpeting as he searched the rest of the room. He even dropped down to his knees to look under the bed.

  Don’t look at his ass, I told myself. But I did anyway. I couldn’t look away. The khakis fit him as if they were as addicted to the feel of his backside as I was to the sight of it. His posterior had been the subject of a few—okay, more than a few—fantasies.

  “You sure you don’t want to check the window too?” I stamped a hand to my hip, arching my back and lifting my breasts. As he moved to stand in front of me, his gaze dipped, and my nipples tightened to points, tingling beneath his lingering regard.

  “Not worried about the window. I checked it before. It’s painted shut.” His voice was rough, like the golden stubble that covered his square jaw.

  I looked up at him through my lashes. “Good to know that part of the room is secure.”

  He nodded, his face flushed. He had freckled skin like I did, but was tanned where I was pale. Reaching up, he dug a finger into his collar and tugged at it.

  Had I embarrassed him with my teasing, or was my attraction to him too obvious?

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be flippant, Mr. Cash.”

  He didn’t react to my apology. Besides being undeniably handsome, he was completely unattainable, with his glacial blue stare and his I’m-always-a-professional boundaries. He was an ice man, albeit from the South.

  “I know you’re just trying to do your job. I appreciate you looking out for me.” I twisted my hands together as he gave me another all-encompassing scan. “I just know Olivia will be here soon, and she’s going to give me a hard time about not being ready.”

  “No offense taken, Miss Lesowski.” He took a step back. “I’ll leave you so you can get dressed.”

  “Call me Hollie.” I didn’t want to be associated with my stepfather in any way whatsoever. I made a mental note to see if I could expedite the process to officially change my last name.

  Cash frowned at me. “You’re my boss. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

  “Maybe not. But I’m not a Lesowski. Samuel is not my biological father, and even if he were, after he . . .” I curled my fingers into fists, focusing on my nails biting into my palms and not on the events of that horrible night. I hadn’t told a single soul, not even Fanny, exactly what Samuel had done.

  “I understand.”

  “No, you don’t.” I shook my head. No one could truly understand.

  Samuel had betrayed the father-daughter bond, a sacred trust that should never be broken. But broken it, he had, treating me like I was an object and not the daughter who had once idolized him.

  Chapter Two

  * * *

  “You didn’t mention the interview yesterday.” Agitated, I shifted in the club chair that my agent made feel like a hot seat.

  “I emailed you the change in itinerary last night.” From her spot on the couch, Olivia lowered her readers to the tip of her nose and aimed her greenish-brown eyes over the lenses at me.

  “Late-late last night, I bet.” Needing a diversion, I picked up the pile of precisely folded linens Cash had used on the pullout sofa overnight. I placed the linens on the coffee table, resisting the impulse to hug them to my chest. “I certainly didn’t see it before I went to bed.”

  “If you had checked your private in-box this morning, you would have known about it.”

  But I hadn’t bothered opening my emails. I’d barely managed to get dressed before she arrived. My hair remained noticeably damp from my quick shower.

  “I’ve committed to the engagement on your behalf.” Giving me her no-nonsense tone, she swiped the calendar app on her iPad closed.

  “But Carter Besille—”

  “I’m aware he has a reputation.” She lifted her chin to frown at me.

  Cold droplets from my long hair trickled down my spine, chilling my skin and adding to my discomfiture from displeasing her. “He’s an opportunist who thrives on exploiting the pain of others.”

  “His talk show is the most highly rated one on television.”

  “I’m not prepared.”

  “Excuses, Hollie. We have the rest of the afternoon to get you ready.” She tucked a loose, perfectly curled strand of her gray hair behind her diamond-studded ear.

  “But I have a photo shoot today. A pile of potential contracts to go over. And a two-hour workout scheduled.”

  No gym. No trainer. I was out of shape. Evading my stepfather, food, shelter, safety—those had been the priorities for Fanny and me until Ash had opened up his home and his bank account to help us.

  “Your day is hardly unmanageable. Let’s start with the Alluring magazine cover.” Tapping her chin, she said, “I can’t reschedule. We were lucky to get the cover on such short notice. But you can put off your public statement about your next project.” She removed her glasses and folded the sides. “We’ll table that until tomorrow. As for your workout, I could ask you potent
ial interview questions while you’re training.”

  “Hardly.” I made a scoffing sound under my breath. She’d obviously never been through one of Ollie Sanders’s workout/torture sessions. Breathing was hard enough. Death was a possibility. Talking would be next to impossible.

  “During lunch then. It won’t look good if you back out of a commitment at the last minute.” Olivia reached across the narrow table and touched my arm, softening the reprimand.

  “I realize that.” I sighed. But just the idea of trying to deflect an unscrupulous interviewer like Besille nauseated me.

  “You don’t want to act in any way that will give credence to what your stepfather is saying about you.”

  “What is he saying?”

  “That you’re emotionally unstable. That you’re too immature to handle your own finances. That you misconstrued the events the night you and Fanny fled.”

  “My mind is perfectly sound. I’ll be eighteen and legal soon. He doesn’t get to determine my maturation status.” My heart racing, I paused to take in a breath. “He knows exactly what he did.” Tears filled my eyes. I tried not to think about it.

  A shadow suddenly fell over me, and I turned my head. Cash had moved directly behind my chair. The last time I’d glanced over at him, he’d been guarding the entrance. He was so silent and stealthy, I hadn’t noticed him changing positions.

  But why had he moved so close? Did he sense how upset I was? Did he mean to protect me from my own emotions, the way he protected me physically?

  Not possible, unfortunately.

  Olivia gave me a serious look. “The truth will come out when you have your day in court. Until then, we need to project calm, stay the course we have set, and control the narrative.”

  “It’ll take a miracle for us to control anything.” I twisted my hands together. “He has his own media-streaming company to spout his propaganda, and contacts in his corner at all the other top outlets. Everyone in this town wants to curry his favor. No one wants to risk speaking out against him.”

  “Yet you are, and I’m proud of you.”

  “Thank you.” I nodded. It felt good to have her support. But it didn’t take away my fear.

  “More witnesses are following your example and stepping forward each day. Andrew Hart is an excellent attorney. He doesn’t take on a case he doesn’t think he can win. You have your sister, Ashland Keys, his friends who have become your friends in Ocean Beach, and you have your friend Ernie Caballero here in LA on standby to support you. You need only ask, and each one would come running. That’s invaluable.”

  “I know.” I dropped my chin to my chest.

  “You focus entirely too much on the negative, Hollie. Any task seems impossible if you count only obstacles and not advantages. And you must realize that even a man as powerful as your stepfather can’t get away without consequences for the atrocious things he has done forever.”

  “Karma.” I could only pray that he’d get what he deserved. “Eventually.”

  “We hasten that eventuality when we agree to and keep our appointments on shows like Carter Besille’s.”

  “You’re right.” I lifted my chin and stopped wringing my hands. “I’ll do it.”

  Relaxing slightly, Olivia leaned back in her chair. “We need to use every forum available to us for you to speak the truth. You were brilliant at the press conference. We’ve been trending high and favorably in social media since you told your story. Stick to the type of details you shared then. You and Fanny on the streets of OB, starving, sick, afraid of your stepfather and terrorized by gang members.”

  She flattened her lips in distaste. “It was horrible what you went through. Samuel Lesowski is the villain in this piece. You,” she pointed at me with her glasses, “are the beautiful damsel in distress. Continue to play your part. Take the appearances and the advice I give you. And trust me, long before you have your day in court, we’ll have everyone rooting for you.”

  Chapter Three

  * * *

  “Excellent, baby. Fantastic. I love you up on the riser, in this dress with your hair down.”

  Frederick, the gray-bearded and debonair Alluring magazine photographer with no last name—he was too big a deal for that—focused his camera on me and circled his other hand in the air to let me know to continue holding my pose.

  I wanted to ask if we were almost done. We’d been at it for over an hour, and I was getting tired. No jetting off to some exotic locale for this shoot—we were in my bedroom at the hotel. As predicted, I’d been trapped indoors all day.

  A white sheet between two poles served as a green screen behind me. The photographer was in front of me, and his assistant hovered on the sidelines, which meant he stood by the window with the drapes drawn, alongside my stony-faced bodyguard.

  Three outfit changes so far, each dress prettier than the last. All glamorous, formfitting, and flattering. Obviously, Olivia had passed on my exact measurements to the magazine. The designer’s name wasn’t marked on the clothing. But whoever it was knew what they were doing.

  A minidress with frayed cuffs and hem constructed of black, blue, and metallic tweed, then a little black dress with an intricate sheer lace over a solid bandeau silk top and mid-thigh skirt, and now a clingy jersey material in the purist white that tied at my shoulders. It clung to my breasts, nipped my narrow waist, and flowed loose around my calves.

  I’d glanced over after changing into each outfit to see if Cash had liked them. More specifically, if he liked me wearing any of them.

  But if he had any opinion at all, I couldn’t tell. His expression hadn’t changed.

  My conclusion? Apparently, the dresses weren’t as flattering as I thought.

  “Hand on your hip now, baby,” Frederick said. His thick lips curved as I complied with his direction. “Yes, that’s it. Stick out your tits. Wet your lips and part them slightly. But don’t look at me. Gaze to the side. I want you contemplative.”

  I did as he instructed, my gaze coming to a contemplative halt on my handsome bodyguard. If Cash cared that I was staring at him—again, my attention had drifted to him more than a few times today—he didn’t let on.

  It wasn’t my fault, this fascination. Not really. It was just that proximity draped our time together in intimacy.

  We were basically living together, and that closeness made him seem like more than a bodyguard, made his concern feel real. When he knocked on my door first thing in the morning to check on me. When he stood protectively behind me during my meeting with Olivia. When the three of us had lunch together, and he listened to Olivia prep me for Besille.

  He was a serious, solicitous shield from harm, but I was beginning to think of him as my shield from harm. When in reality, he wasn’t my anything.

  “No, no, no.” Frederick lowered his camera. “I don’t know where your mind just went.” He pursed his lips in displeasure. “But I need you sexy. Think naughty naked things, baby.”

  Naked thoughts? About Cash?

  That body.

  Those muscles.

  Without the blazer, the button-down, and the khakis . . .

  Oh my!

  As if he’d heard my private exclamation, Cash’s arctic-blue eyes suddenly focused on me. Our gazes locked for a long moment, and then his expression changed. It didn’t soften, but it sharpened in a way that made my heart race. A fire flared in his eyes, melting the ice.

  My breath hitched. I felt controlled, captured, caught.

  Maybe he wasn’t as unaffected by me as I thought.

  “That’s it, baby.” Frederick’s camera motor whirred away. “Whatever you’re thinking right now, you have just the look I want. Aphrodite on her pedestal. The goddess of love aglow. Reel him in, that lover of yours.”

  Cash turned away. Just as quickly as that fire rose, it flickered and went out. A blast of icy humiliation doused my cheeks as I watched him dip a long finger into his collar like he had earlier in the morning.

  He’s not interested, Holl
ie. Snap out of it. You embarrassed him again.

  “She’s underage, Frederick.” The assistant hissed the warning. “Handsome prince. Fairy tales. Dream dates. High school prom. No naked stuff.”

  “My bad, baby.” Frederick dropped to a knee on the carpet for a different angle. “Only appropriate romantic thoughts, like Henry says.”

  I frowned. What good was being on my own and just a week shy of eighteen if I couldn’t think whatever I wanted to? Do whatever I wanted to?

  “Oh yes. This is good. The narrowed gaze, the heightened cheek color. Now you’re a defiant stunner. One who doesn’t like to be told what to do.”

  I didn’t, not really. But I tended to buckle to stronger personalities. My stepfather. Fanny. Olivia.

  My brow dipped. Was my people-pleasing tendency a habit I could change, or a personality trait I was forever stuck with?

  “What’s your worry, baby?” Frederick asked. “You’re frowning.”

  I quickly tried to smooth my features.

  “We’ve been at it a while, Frederick.” Henry pushed away from the wall and stretched out his hand. “Let me have the Canon. I think we have some usable shots. Why don’t we give the poor girl a break?” The previously unnamed assistant joined the one-name photographer. “I’ll go outside with you while you have a smoke.”

  “Yes, that sounds fantastic. We’ll be right back, baby,” Frederick said on his way out of the bedroom, his hand flourished high in the air and his assistant trailing behind him.

  “You’ve been abandoned.” Cash appeared in front of me, his gaze shadowed and his expression inscrutable. “Let me help you down.”

  “Thank you,” I said, then fumbled inwardly. We were only inches apart and almost eye to eye, courtesy of my pedestal.

  See me, I begged silently in the secret part of my heart. As more than just your client.

  “I was just considering how to get down from here.”

  “Happy to assist you, ma’am.”

  “Yes, of course you are. I’m grateful for that, really, but . . .”