Crazy in Love By Kristin Miller
A Blue Lake Novel
Chapter One
Rachael McCoy had never rented the entire Blue Lake Historical Inn to a single person before. But a rock star like Cole Turner had never come to town, either.
He was playing at StoneMill Winery Friday and Saturday night, from what she’d heard. She’d also heard he was voted “Rock Vocalist of the Year”, but hadn’t written a single song since he signed his first music contract. He was more of an entertainer than a musician, really—a music industry puppet with a pretty face and a hot body—and willing to sing anything for the right amount of money.
At least that’s what the Google article said.
If it was true, she couldn’t fault the guy. After all, the only reason she agreed to leave all the rooms in the inn vacant for the next four days was because he’d offered to pay a hefty sum of cash in exchange for privacy. She was in the middle of a massive inn expansion—the out-building to the east would soon have a few rooms with a separate living room and small kitchen. By letting Mr. Turner rent out the inn, she was making four times as much as she would’ve if the rooms were full of regular paying tenants.
She stopped vacuuming the throw rug in the main living space and checked the clock.
Five on the nose.
Mr. Turner wasn’t scheduled to show up until eight, which gave Rachael plenty of time to stock up the fridge and make sure the rooms were still in order. She drove to SawMill Market just before dark, and picked up some basics that’d make a few solid meals.
Cole Turner was on everyone’s lips.
He’s staying at the inn for the next four days, and then driving to Lake Tahoe for a mid-week show at Harrah’s. Will he have extra tickets to the show? Will he be bringing his manager…I hear she’s a woman, a real looker.
Refusing to get caught up in the gossip, Rachael rushed through the register, loaded up the back of her Rav4, and drove to the inn. She pulled into a tiny driveway on the side and parked near the back door. After she unloaded the groceries, she kicked the door shut, and paused…listening.
Something wasn’t right.
Suddenly, the upstairs shower faucet squeaked and water flushed through the pipes.
The inn was not unfamiliar with light paranormal activity from time to time. No one had ever seen a ghost, but they rattled pipes, tweaked picture frames, and shook beds. This was different. There was a lingering scent on the air—saffron, cedar wood, and something heady—and a leather jacket thrown over the back of the couch.
Someone was in the house.
She’d locked up before she went to the store, and Mr. Turner’s manager said he’d call when they were getting close to Blue Lake. No calls. Doors still locked, the way she’d left them.
Chills gathered at the nape of her neck. Yanking open the cabinet drawer, Rachael grabbed the biggest knife she could find, and gripped it tight.
“Hello?” she called. “Hellloooo!”
Footsteps overhead.
Couldn’t be a thief. Thieves didn’t pass up televisions and radios to shower. Was it a bum? Some drunk on his way home from the brewery who broke into the wrong house?
It had to be Mr. Turner. He must’ve arrived early. Looking out the front windows, she scanned the drive and sidewalk. No cars. No entourage. No groupies. Didn’t they still follow rock stars around?
Even though the logical part of her thought Mr. Turner was upstairs, she’d seen enough horror movies to know that under no circumstances should she go check. Being hacked to pieces didn’t sound appealing.
As she dug around in her purse for her phone, footsteps pounded overhead.
“Holy f*ck!” a man screamed from upstairs. “Cold! It’s f*cking ice—cold!”
Out of instinct, she ran to the first landing and yelled, “You have to let it warm up first!”
More cursing blared from the direction of the bathroom.
“Hello?” she called. “Excuse me!”
“Coldcoldcoldcold.” Someone hopped around over the tile. “What the hell kind of place is this? Rita didn’t say shit about cold showers.”
Definitely not a thief.
She trudged up the stairs and stopped when she reached the top.
“I’m going to kill her!” he hollered.
Murderer, then.
“Who’s there?” Her hands slickened with sweat and when she turned the corner into the hallway, the knife slipped from her fingers. She bent to pick it up, and when she stood upright, a man stood in the middle of the hallway…buck freaking naked. She gasped, averting her gaze, but she’d already seen enough. Rock hard body. Golden skin dripping wet. Hung like a horse.
Wouldn’t get that sight out of her head for a while.
“Rachael, I presume?” he said.
She nodded, shielding her eyes from his manhood. “And you are?”
“Not here to hurt you. You can put away the knife.”
Wasn’t that what every killer would say to disarm a woman? She held it up, just in case.
“Listen,” he said, covering his junk with his hands. “I’ve got a lot of flesh showing and you’re wielding a knife around. Those two don’t mesh. Why don’t you put that away so we can introduce ourselves properly? I’m Cole Turner, your guest for the next few days. I believe you were expecting me.”
The worry in her mind eased, but her body remained tight. On high alert. “Rachael McCoy.”
“Nice to meet you.”
He held out his hand, exposing himself.
She yelped, covering her eyes once more. “There’s a robe hanging on the back of the door.”
“Robes are for women.”
She pinched her eyes shut, but images of his soaking wet bod kept flashing through her head. “Okay, then. Nice to meet you, Mr. Turner. I wasn’t expecting you until later, but everything should already be good to go. I’m going to start dinner—it should be sexy in about an hour if you want to meet downstairs in the dining room.”
“Sexy?”
She blocked the lower half of his body with her hand and met his honey-brown eyes. They were narrowed. Hungry. Like a predator eyeing its prey.
“Excuse me?” she said, repressing a shiver.
“You said dinner should be sexy in an hour.”
“No, I said it’d be ready.”
He nodded, smirking. “My mistake.”
“I can show you around the place, if you’d like,” she said, her face flushing hot, “or you can check it out yourself. There are five bedrooms upstairs, and four downstairs, one bathroom on each level.”
“I saw that,” he grumbled. “I also noticed the freezing cold water. Does it ever get warm, or do I have to bathe in a glacier every morning?”
“You have to let it run for a few minutes first.” She started down the stairs, fighting the urge to steal one more glance at his body. “And you probably won’t have much hot water when it warms up, so I suggest you bathe quickly.”
“Thanks for the tip. And, hey, sorry about scaring you. The side door to the den was open and I was filthy. I didn’t think you’d mind if I showered.”
Filthy. Oh yeah, he was probably dirty to the core.
Something deep in her belly squirmed excitedly at the thought.
“No problem,” she said. “Don’t worry about it.”
She’d completely forgotten to ask him about how he’d gotten in.
When she reached the first floor, the air whooshed out of her lungs and her legs wobbled. She nearly collapsed against the wall, laughing from her body’s reaction to this man. He oozed raw sex appeal. Not only from his body—though good gracious, she’d never seen a man with so many muscles—but from his caramel-colored eyes, the subtle pout of his bottom lip, the way he stood in front of her buck naked with more confidence than she had fully dressed.
Don’t get involved.
He’s staying less than a week.
She had steadfast rules about these things: no sleeping with guests. It never panned out well. Single men who stayed at the inn had propositioned her more times than she could count. They wanted flings over their vacations, something to go home and tell their buddies about. They promised to call, swore to come back and visit.
They never did. Not one of them.
Cole Turner may’ve flustered her, but she was over it…she had to be.