Covered In Lace

chapter TWO

Earl Fisher couldn’t believe his luck. First week back on the job as a union roadie and fate had plunked him smack-dab into the path of the bitch that had stolen the last six years of his life.

Five long and frustrating years behind bars, he thought. And one more year wasted doing weekly meetings with a probation officer that was only in it to take Earl’s hard-earned money. All that suffering was for what? Trumped-up drug charges stuffed up his ass because of a snooty, rock star slut.

Not a day went by that he didn’t fantasize about a little ‘reunion’ with the likes of Annie Logan. Six years ago in the bathroom of the Tallahassee Convention Center, she had seen his good side. He was a hardened felon now and the kid gloves were off.

He tucked a long, greasy clump of his hair beneath his ball cap and stepped closer. His eyes scanned Annie’s backside. She was still one of the finest pieces of ass he’d ever seen. As much as he hated her for what she’d done to him, his cock still came to attention at the sight of her. If she hadn’t been such a stuck-up bitch and spurned his advances, he wouldn’t have had to hurt her. It was all her fault. Everything. And he’d had years to think about it, contemplating the many ways he would get his revenge.

He slid up behind her with the grace and ease of a water snake, always cautious not to bring awareness of himself to the ever present security team surrounding the celebrities. He took two more steps. Now he could smell the flowery scent of her hair. Her skin. His cock twitched again. A security guard standing on the left side of the crowded, backstage hall started shifting toward Annie through the sea of people. Earl saw the movement and knew he had to make his move.

Annie pressed her cell phone to her ear and shouted a name Earl recognized:

Lacey Sheridan.

Annie played in Lacey’s rock band. Both were drop-dead gorgeous blondes, but Lacey was completely inaccessible, always surrounded by security. Looking for an easier mark that day at the Tallahassee Convention Center, Earl had settled for Annie. His efforts hadn’t gotten him much more than a pair of metal wrist bracelets and a trip to county jail.

He sprung toward Annie’s neck. The warmth of her body nearly blew him momentarily off course, but thoughts of his endless days and nights in prison made him regain control. He took that opportunity and struck, tossed out the threat to her, and slithered away before she or the security guard could nab him.

He had learned a long time ago, how to be a chameleon and blend into a crowd. In prison it was even more important to be part of the scenery. Much as he tried to be invisible, his slight stature made him an easy target as someone’s punching bag or f*ck buddy. He did what he had to do and left prison alive but with a few more external scars to show for the time served.

Now, it was Annie’s turn to pay.

And Earl would make sure she had plenty of internal and external scars afterward that would haunt her until she drew her last breath.





Flynn heard footsteps on the gravel drive and looked up from his task. The sight of Lacey caused him to jerk his head out of the engine compartment of the Jeep he was working on and bump his head on the underside of the metal hood. Her long, tanned legs took each stride with confidence. A short cotton skirt revealed deliciously toned thighs; a tight halter top hugged palm-sized breasts he knew would fit perfectly in his mouth. The wrench in Flynn’s hand pinched his finger against the bolt he was tightening on the engine and made him curse.

It was hot outside for June and Flynn was visibly sweating; the unexpected appearance of Lacey kicked up his core temperature even more. Perspiration dripped down his bare chest; the waistband of his jeans absorbing it like a sponge. He watched the gentle sway of her hips, the swirl of the loose skirt fabric brushing her thighs. His eyes rose to her face. The brilliance of her smile made his heart clench.

“You fix cars, too?” she asked, coming to stand by his side at the front of the jeep.

“Only if I have to,” he said.

Lacey peered at the engine. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Not sure yet,” he said. His sweaty arm bumped against hers and their eyes met and held.

“I was wondering if I could meet you out later and buy you a beer,” she said. “As a thank you gesture for fixing my disposal.”

Flynn stood upright and wiped his hands off on a rag from his back pocket.

“That’s not necessary,” he said.

“Maybe not, but I’d still like to do it - unless you already have plans.”

He glanced toward his house and dragged the back of his hand through the wetness on his brow. Why did she have to make this so difficult? he thought. Why’d she have to be so damn likable - so f*cking sexy, with a mouth that looked delectable beyond belief, making him fear he’d be forced to devour her where she stood?

“I don’t go into town much,” he finally said.

The scent of her hair filled his nose. Gardenias, he thought, or maybe it was her skin. Jesus, don’t think about her skin, he warned himself.

“Okay, I can take a hint,” she smiled. “How about we leave it open. If I see you later at O’Sullivan’s, fine. If not, then maybe we can do it another time.”

Lacey pulled the keys to her rental car from her purse and Flynn watched her turn away. He dug deep for the self-control he needed to avert his eyes and not look at her ass - and failed - miserably. He rolled his hip on the bumper of the jeep, putting his backside to her and closed his eyes. This would be the longest summer of his life.





Lacey met the other four members of her band at the recording studio atop a hillside in the heart of the Berkshires. God’s country, she thought, breathing in the fresh, mountain-cooled air. It sure beat the thick smog of L.A. or the constant stench of car exhaust hanging in the air over New York City.

Three hours of work in the studio testing out a new microphone system brought them to O’Sullivan’s to blow off the frustration. A quick scan of the half dozen patrons told her Flynn was a no-show. She shook off the disappointment and walked into the billiard room with her band members to set up for a game of pool.

Lacey was in the middle of a game when Flynn arrived and took a stool at the bar. The noise coming from the pool tables got his attention. He looked into the room and saw Lacey bent over the table, stick in hand, aiming to take her shot. Her short skirt dangerously close to revealing the mystery of her preferred undergarment choice - or if she was wearing any at all. Damn it! He did it again, he thought, allowing himself that brief moment of lust to suck the logic from his brain.

“You’re staring,” Emma said to Flynn.

“Already ate,” he mumbled.

“I wasn't asking,” she said. She waited and got no response, then called his name a second time.

Flynn finally snapped out of his trance and turned toward Emma. Her confused expression told him he hadn’t given her a proper answer. “I’m sorry,” he said. “What was the question?”

“Never mind,” she said. “I’ll get you a beer.”

A moment later Emma returned with a frosted beer mug full of the ale they had on tap. She plunked it down in front of Flynn with a loud thud on the wooden bar top.

“You like her,” she said.

“Who?” Flynn asked.

“Ms. Hollywood-Rock-Star.”

“Lacey?” he asked, making a sour face. “She and her band are renting the studio.”

“Rumor has it she's also renting the cottage next to yours.”

Flynn nodded and sipped from his mug. “What's your point?”

“You’ve had lots of musicians rent your studio, Flynn, and never once were any of them allowed the privilege of living next door to you. And I've also never seen you drooling over them like this, either.”

Flynn shrugged his shoulders and smiled at Emma.

None of his past renters had exuded such a palpable chemistry or had such a calming effect over him as Lacey seemed to, he thought. And none of them had stirred the sexual energy he thought he had buried so deep inside himself, he was convinced it would never surface again. Until now. Until Lacey.

He swore under his breath and stood up from his bar stool. He managed one step and felt the soft, warm touch of a hand holding him in place and the sudden scent of blooming honeysuckle filled his head. He didn’t have to turn around to know who it was...but he did, and he was rewarded with a face that took his breath away. Lacey didn’t need make-up to look beautiful. She was the ‘girl-next-door’ rolled into the body of a sex goddess. Her eyes sparkled in any type of light, no matter how dim; her lips always plump and full like she’d just been ravished or wanted to be.

“You leaving before saying hello?” Lacey asked Flynn.

He blinked several times, trying to clear the fog from his brain. “You looked busy,” he said. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

Lacey squeezed his forearm and smiled. “I promised you a beer,” she said, and tugged him back to his empty bar stool. She made sure he was settled, then bent across the bar to signal Emma. “Can you get him another beer?” she asked.

“I already had one,” he said.

“Then, I guess you’re having a second.”

She looked at him; his eyes warm and safe, the color of fresh, brewed tea. The corner of his mouth lifted in a lazy half-smile and Lacey felt her insides flip. What the hell was it about this man that made her feel like she was fifteen all over again, out of control, and completely unhinged?

Emma returned and set another chilled mug of beer in front of Flynn. He curled his fingers around the glass handle and lifted the mug to his mouth. Lacey was standing close to him; too close, her firm breasts pressing into the side of his bicep, her hip nudging his.

“Aren’t you drinking?” he asked her.

“I had one a few hours ago,” she said. “I’ve switched over to water.” She watched his eyebrows rise in surprise. “You don’t believe me?”

“Most of the musicians that use my studio tend to go heavy on the booze and other mood enhancers,” he said.

Lacey shook her head. “Not my thing,” she said. “I prefer to have my senses intact for other things.”

Flynn raised one eyebrow and Lacey blushed. “Jesus, I didn’t mean that to sound the way it did,” she said. “I meant in the creative sense.”

“I’m sure,” he said with a smile.

Lacey tipped her head back and laughed.

He looked at her, saw her exposed throat, and his smile slowly disappeared.

When Lacey finally met his gaze, the seriousness in his eyes made her breath catch. It was something carnal, hot and all-consuming, like they had seconds to tear the clothes off each other before the fabric burst into flames.

After a long moment she asked, “Want to go for a walk?”

“Outside?”

“Where else?”

Flynn tossed some money beside his mug, and followed Lacey to the front door. They stepped outside and the cool air hit his face. He stopped for a moment and inhaled. It was a perfect early summer evening. Moon hanging above the trees; silent except for Summer’s singing bugs resonating around them in chorus.

Lacey walked toward the outside barbeque pit and picnic tables located beside the bar, carefully navigating her footing across the dirt parking lot. Flynn watched her for a moment, then caught up to walk beside her; ever careful to keep a safe distance.

“How long have you lived here?” she asked.

“About fifteen years,” he said.

“Where was home before here?” she asked.

“Colorado,” he said. “I grew up there, did State college…then moved here.”

“I’ve lived in so many different locations,” she said. “I can hardly remember where home is.”

“But, mostly in cities, right?” he asked.

Lacey smiled, then gave him a playful shove on the shoulder.

“This place sort of feels like summer camp to me,” she said, “But for adults.”

Flynn leaned up against a wooden picnic table and crossed his legs at the ankle. Lacey stood in front of him. His gaze dropped to the strappy high-heeled sandals on her feet.

“How’s the project coming along?” he asked.

“Horrible,” she said.

“Why do you say that?”

“It’s been one complication after another,” she said. “Today it was malfunctioning microphones. I’m thinking I may need to extend our rental agreement on the cottage much longer than I had originally planned.”

“Use it as long as you need,” he said. “Same goes for the studio.”

Lacey stepped closer. Flynn shifted on the table to make room for her. Again, the electricity began buzzing between them like their own private lightning storm. Lacey set her hip against the table and turned to him. Her eyes dropped to his hand; the long fingers curling over the edge of the table, just inches from her leg. She ran the pad of her index finger slowly across the back of his hand, running over each ridge of tendon and knuckle. His skin was soft and warm with a sprinkling of soft, brown hair.

Flynn fanned his fingers and watched as Lacey ribboned hers with his. There was something comfortable about her touch; smooth against smooth; an easy caress that created an uneasy heat for him. Did she have any idea what she was doing to him? How close he was to losing control?

She melted into his side, perfectly conforming to his frame; as if she were meant to be there. She felt the hard muscle of his arm and shoulder, felt the warmth radiating from his skin, and smelled the herbal spice of his cologne. She was nearly delirious by the thought of how close she was to touching him. Tasting him.

Her face was starting to settle into the bend of his neck when Flynn stood upright. Lacey’s hand still clasped his. He turned to her, saw the lazy mask of arousal in her eyes, and knew he had to leave before he did something stupid. Crazy stupid; like acting on an impulse he knew in every bone of his body - and not just the ‘bone’ that was arching in his pants, that this was wrong. But, damn it, he also knew it would feel f*cking fantastic.

“It’s late,” he said. “I should head home.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, releasing his hand and already missing the comfort that came from holding it.

“Afraid so.”

Was the regret in his voice real, she wondered? Or maybe what she was hearing was ambivalence and he had no interest in her at all. She watched him disappear into the darkness of the parking lot, then heard the engine of his pick-up truck roar to life and headlights illuminate the woods beside the bar.



Lacey found her band mates at the bar doing Jell-O flavored shots when she returned from the parking lot. A purple colored shot was passed to her and a chant began.

“Chug! Chug! Chug!”

Lacey tossed the liquid into the back of her throat and swallowed. Her drummer handed her a second shot and then a third. Lacey refused a fourth and sat down on a stool at the bar.

“Where’d you lose the guy?” Mark, the drummer asked.

Lacey looked at Mark and shrugged. “He went home,” she said.

“Without you?”

“What makes you think I’d have gone with him?”

Mark laughed. “Because I know you, Lace. I know you well.”

“Just because we slept together a couple of times a million years ago doesn’t mean you know me.”

He saw the irritation in Lacey’s face and rubbed her back. “What happened?”

“Not your business, Mark.”

“That’s very protective of you,” he said, squeezing the tight muscle in her shoulder. “It must be love.”

“I hardly know him,” Lacey balked. She stood up from the bar stool and attempted to walk. She swayed left, then over-corrected and swayed right, before Mark wrapped his arms around her waist and holding her against him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, pressing his face into the warmth of her neck.

“Home.”

“Fine, but I’ll be doing the driving.”

Lacey happily dropped the keys to her rental car into Mark’s large hand and followed him outside.



Flynn was making his way back to his house after a refreshing late night swim in the lake, when he saw Lacey’s car pulling into the long driveway beside her cottage. He tightened the towel around his hips and continued walking. He heard her laughter from inside the car, then saw her exit from the passenger side.

A dark-haired man popped out of the driver’s side and held onto the roof of the idling car. “Want me to come inside?” he asked.

“No thanks,” Lacey replied.

“You might need help,” he said.

“Doubtful, but thanks for the concern.”

Lacey waved at her car backing out of the driveway and started moving toward her cottage. Flynn watched her stagger on the uneven lawn, lose her footing and fall onto her knees. She sat back and undid her sandals, then stood up again. When she tripped this time, Flynn was there to catch her.

Lacey felt wet, muscled arms circle her from behind and screamed, erratically thrashing against the tight hold.

“Lacey, it’s me - Flynn,” he said. He loosened his grip a bit but still held her in place.

She spun around and faced him; her hands pushing against his damp chest. “You’re all wet,” she said in protest.

“I was swimming,” he said, and released her.

“I thought you were going to sleep.”

“I tried,” he said. “But it was too hot.”

Moonlight played on his bare chest. She watched the thin rivulets of lake water cascade over each ridge of stomach muscle then disappear into the towel wrapped at his waist. She forced her eyes up to his face.

“You always swim this late at night?” she asked.

“Best time of the day for a swim,” he said.

“Maybe I should give it a try,” she said. She turned toward the cottage and lost her footing again.

“Too much to drink?” he asked, helping her to sit onto the back steps leading into her cottage.

“You left and I got bored.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he said.

“It had more to do with frustration,” she said.

A moment passed and Lacey closed her eyes listening to the crickets and the croak of a distant frog.

“At least you were smart enough not to drive,” he said.

“Except now I’ll probably never get my car back from Mark.”

“Who’s Mark?”

“My drummer.”

Flynn watched Lacey lean back against the step riser, resting on her elbows and cross her bare legs. Her eyes connected with his and held.

“Sit with me,” she said, and slid over making room for him. She waited until he settled before she spoke. “You’re an interesting man,” she said.

“Not sure why you’d think that,” he said.

“You keep your cards close to the chest,” she said. “That’s intriguing, but it also makes me wonder why.”

Lacey ran her index finger beneath his chin and collected a heavy droplet of lake water. His eyes dilated and the corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile. Her fingers skimmed the length of his jaw line then crossed the fullness of his lips.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked.

Flynn shook his head.

“Wife?”

He cleared his throat, “Nope.”

“You’re not gay, are you?”

Flynn laughed at her question.

“My bass player wanted me to ask.”

“Definitely not gay.”

Lacey inched closer to him on the step; her hip pressed to his. “He’ll be disappointed, but I’ll let him know.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

Her hand went around the back of his neck and squeezed. A moment later, Flynn’s fingers circled her forearm and removed her hand.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “One minute you seem interested and the next you pull away.” She waited for him to look at her and tried to read his eyes. Seconds passed and he did not respond. “Am I the only one feeling something here?” she finally asked.

Flynn glanced toward his house, then looked at his bare feet resting beside Lacey’s on the step. “You’re beautiful,” he said softly.

“So are you,” she replied.

He looked at her; his brow furrowed with frustration. He opened his mouth to speak and stopped.

“Just say it, Flynn. Whatever it is, simply spit it out.”

“You’re temporary,” he said.

“We’re all temporary.”

“That’s not what I mean,” he said. “You’re here for a month - maybe two. What’s the point?”

“Does there have to be a point?”

He nodded and stood up; tightening the towel around his waist. “Yeah, for me, I’d like there to be a point.”

Lacey rose to her feet and started up the wooden steps to the back door. “I may be a little drunk, but I think I’m hearing your message loud and clear. Sorry to bother you.”

She opened the door to her cottage and stepped inside, leaving Flynn outside alone.