Chapter Thirteen
With a groan, Rachael rolled over and checked the time.
Nine o’clock.
She flopped back onto her pillow and covered her eyes with her hands. “I should make breakfast.”
“You should stay right where you are.” Cole’s breath fanned over her neck, bringing back the chills he’d sparked all night long.
“But I always make breakfast.”
He danced his fingers over her bare stomach. “Not this morning.”
She stared at him out of the corner of her eye. His dark hair was a mess, sticking up every-which-way. His eyes were heavy-lidded in a groggy, I’m-going-to-screw-you-until-you-can’t-walk kind of way.
“Are you always this convincing?” she asked, rolling over to face him.
He shrugged. “Usually.”
“I can’t get used to this, you know. I have guests checking in on Monday.”
“We’re not going there,” he said, resting a finger over her lips. “We’re not talking about Monday. Hell, we’re not even going to talk about tomorrow. Rita asked me to do two things today: stay away from StoneMill until right before the concert, and focus.”
“Staying here isn’t going to help you focus on the show.”
“You’re right.” He brushed his hand down her hair. “I’m going to focus on something else instead.”
Her.
He was going to focus on her.
God, what she wouldn’t give to let that happen. They’d made love four times last night. Her lips were numb, her legs were tingling, and her girly parts could use a break. It’d been the best sex of her life, but she’d told herself each time that this was it.
It had to end at daybreak.
An entire day with Cole…Could she handle that? The more he stood at her side the more she wanted him there.
Would she be able to watch him leave tomorrow morning?
“What’d you have in mind?” she asked, her breath already starting to hitch.
He brushed his fingers down her neck, over her shoulder, and down her arm. His lazy caresses lulled her into a weary trance.
“I was thinking we could spend the day together,” he said. “You mentioned lakes and rivers down the road that caught my interest. Or maybe you could show me what’s so great about this town of yours.”
“I’d love to, but I can’t.” Her heart fell. “Even though the place isn’t full, I still have to stop by the grocery store. And I have a meeting with the designer and painter for the inn addition this afternoon.”
“All right,” he said, without skipping a beat. “Sounds great.”
“Really?”
“Sure, why not? As long as I’m back at StoneMill by show time.”
He seemed so eager to be with her outside of the bed. Shock flittered through her.
“If I’m going to show you the town, what are you going to show me?” she teased.
“Oh, if that’s what you want I’ll give you an eyeful!” Grabbing the sheet, he yanked it over their heads and covered her body with kisses…focusing on a few places more than others.
After they made love again and the clock ticked over to eleven, Rachael rolled out of bed and slipped into the shower. She thought Cole would come in behind her so they could add more steam to the bathroom, but he didn’t.
She got out, dressed in her usual—jeans, a loose-fitting sweater, and black boots—and finished getting ready, pulling her hair into a ponytail. She carefully painted her eyelids with charcoal liner and glossed her lips with Lucky in Pink. She could use the extra luck today.
As she made her way downstairs, the smell of eggs struck her.
“Cole?”
“In here,” he called from the kitchen. “Hope you like omelets.”
She loved them, and made them often. But as she turned the corner and spotted Cole near the stove, jeans slung low on his hips revealing those slanting muscles on the side of his abs, Rachael forgot what he’d said. His hair was damp—he must’ve taken a quick shower downstairs—and his torso rippled with perfectly sculpted muscle.
“I didn’t know you cooked,” she said, throat going dry.
He wagged a spatula at her. “There’s a ton you don’t know about me.”
“Like what?”
“I grew up in a small town like this.” He diced up tomatoes and bell peppers and added them to the omelet as he went on. “My parents owned a house in a tiny ocean town in Oregon.”
“Really?” She’d planned on starting a pot of coffee, but there was already one freshly brewed. She poured a cup and sat in Cole’s usual spot. “Do they still live there?”
He shrugged as if he didn’t care. “Wouldn’t know. My mom ditched out on us when I was ten. My dad moved us to Portland, but not long after that he said he couldn’t handle me anymore and sent me to live with my aunt in Los Angeles. I haven’t talked to either of them after that.” He flopped an omelet onto a plate and slid it across the table. “Ketchup? Tabasco?”
“Umm, ketchup.” She replayed what he’d said in her head. “Thanks.”
Both parents had abandoned him. No wonder he didn’t let anyone in. She’d thought he kept his private life private because the media would exploit every little detail, and maybe that was true. But there was more to it than that. He kept his private life private because he didn’t want to rehash it. It was probably too painful.
He made his own plate and sat across from her. For the first time since she took ownership of the inn, she ate breakfast and didn’t think about washing the dishes or serving a full dining room. They talked about her parents, grandparents, and the inn remodel. She didn’t ask any more about his childhood, and he didn’t offer. He didn’t need to. It didn’t take mind-reading skills to figure out that his childhood had been difficult, and not what he’d wanted it to be.
There were definitely more layers to Cole Turner than she’d assumed at first glance.
As they finished eating, Cole took their plates and dumped them in the sink. He disappeared upstairs, and when he came back down, he’d added a black coat and gray scarf to his dark-washed jeans.
“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been grocery shopping?” he asked, as she locked up and they emerged onto Main Street. “Years.”
“Must be nice to have personal shoppers and a chef.”
They walked down the street like a normal couple out for a stroll. The air was cool and crisp—perfect for a walk—and the wood-planked sidewalks were full of tourists from the bay area.
“You could have a chef, too,” he said, weaving between a group of ladies on a wine-tasting tour. A few whispered, and then started to squeal. He didn’t notice. Or at least he pretended that he didn’t. Either way he scored major points. “Once you get the inn addition fixed up, you might make enough money to have a chef.”
She tried to imagine how that would work.
“I don’t know if I’d like that. I enjoy serving the guests, hearing about their travels, where they’re from and where they’re headed. I think it adds a personal touch.”
“Personally, I think your touch is what makes the place so memorable.” He brushed his hand against hers, but didn’t hold. “I didn’t know you get frisky with every visitor,” he joked. “I thought I was special.”
He was special. At least that’s what the pinch in her heart told her.
She gazed up at him and laughed when he winked. “Not every guest, but most. How’s that?” She stopped in front of Sawmill Market. “Here we are.”
He removed a shopping basket from the lineup outside and followed her around the aisles as she picked up necessities. He playfully rammed into her backside with the cart a few times. Put a bunch of broccoli back when she wasn’t looking—said he hated the stuff—and added a box of Power Bars.
It could be this way, she thought, as she stood in line at the register next to him. They could live in the inn, shop in the morning and cook together in the evening. He could write music and drive down the mountain to record when the time was right while she took care of the guests.
They could have a normal life…
As she turned from the conveyor belt, Cole plucked Gossip EZ Magazine from the shelves and stared at the front cover.
“Damn it,” he said, flicking the front page.
“What is it?” She peered around his shoulder.
COLE TURNER BREAKS UP WITH BEAUTY, BECOMES BEAST ON STAGE! DETAILS ON TORI’S HEARTBREAK INSIDE.
“It’s already made front page news,” he said.
“At least they didn’t mention you forgetting the lyrics last night.” She blinked quickly when he glared at her. “Could be worse.”
“That wouldn’t be worse.” He held up the magazine. “But at least I wouldn’t be called a beast.”
“Sir, will you be buying the magazine?” the cashier asked. Her face dropped when she realized the likeness between the picture on the cover and the man in front of her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—“
“It’s all right,” he said, shoving the magazine back into its rack. “I’m not buying this trash.”
As Rachael paid for the groceries, Cole strode outside and waited for her near the front door.
“Where to now?” Without being prompted to help, he carried every single bag, loading them onto his forearms. “Back to the inn?”
“Yeah, I’ve got to unload these before the designer arrives.”
They walked the slight uphill back to her place. Cole asked about the wineries on the main street, the cobblestone beneath their feet, and the gold mining history of the town. Rachael got the feeling he was making small talk so they didn’t have to talk about the magazine.
“Why do you let it bother you so much?” she asked as they unloaded groceries into the fridge.
He knew exactly what she meant without a lead-in. “Honestly, I think I’d prefer the article to be about the concert last night. I’d be more comfortable if it read: Cole Turner botches gig. If they wanted to say I couldn’t carry a tune or mock the fact that I don’t write my own music, fine. But calling me a beast for breaking Tori’s heart? Give me a break. I don’t know why everyone insists on blending my personal life with the one I lead on stage.”
“Because you’re intriguing both on and off the stage.”
He cocked a brow. “I’m not that intriguing.”
“I beg to differ.”
She bent to put carrots in the vegetable bin. Suddenly, Cole’s hands were on her waist and his hips were pressed against her backside.
“Do you have to argue about everything?”
She stood and spun around in his arms. “I think we can come together on a few things.”
He kissed her then, weakening her knees. The feeling humming in her heart when he slipped his tongue past her lips warned that she was getting too attached to him too quickly. The whole day had been a fa?ade, a fantasy version of what their life could be under different circumstances. If he wasn’t a rock star. If he was from somewhere local and planned to stick around longer than a day.
24 hours, she realized.
That’s all they had left.
“What time is the designer coming?” he asked as his hands roamed up and down her back. “Do we have time for—”
Two loud bangs on the window turned his attention elsewhere, dang it. His arms dropped from her waist and he circled back to the stove. She was suddenly cold without his arms coiled around her.
Dom stood on the opposite side of the closed window, waving his phone around. “Tried to call you!” he hollered through the glass. “You didn’t answer.”
Absentmindedly, Rachael patted her back pockets. She’d forgotten to take her phone off the charger; it was still upstairs.
“I’ll meet you around back!” she said, and when his balding head disappeared from view, she turned back to Cole. “I have to go. You can leave the breakfast mess. I’ll have the maid wash the dishes.”
He pursed those kissable lips. “You don’t have a maid.”
“I thought if I said it aloud, she’d magically appear.” Leaning over the counter, Rachael peered into the street. A Porsche SUV rolled up to the curb, and a tall blonde wearing stilettos got out. For a second, Rachael thought she might’ve showed up for Cole. But the woman pulled a briefcase out of the backseat and starting taking pictures of the outside of the inn. The designer. “This isn’t going to take long. An hour. Two, tops.”
“Rachael…” Cole took her hand and sent shivers scattering up her arm. “…you have to stop worrying about everyone else. Sometimes you need to do what you want and to hell with the rest.”
“I’ve never been good at that.”
Not since she’d had to take over the inn and run it by herself. Her parents had died in the car accident on Highway 56—every year she placed flowers off the road where the trucker had crossed the yellow line—before they could show her the ropes. All she’d had to keep the place running smoothly, was the memory of how they’d managed things, and it’d never been enough. She didn’t have the luxury of saying to hell with anything.
“If you want to be truly happy,” he said, gazing down at her with those gorgeous brown eyes, “you have to try. You can only live for others for so long. While you’re busy, I’m going to clean up from breakfast, go over my songs for tonight’s show, and have the limo pick me up at five thirty. There’ll be a ticket waiting for you at StoneMill’s front gate.”
Her stomach flipped. “Are you sure you want me to—”
“Yes.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Only I don’t want you to watch the show from the crowd. When you get to StoneMill, head toward the performer’s back entrance and I’ll have Rita escort you to your seat.” He paused, searching her face. “Say okay.”
He was too persuasive and she liked him too much. She enjoyed his company and the banter between them. They had undeniable chemistry that sparked over her skin when they touched. He was dangerously sexy, winding her up tight and pushing her buttons. But it couldn’t last. She couldn’t keep him.
24 hours.
But dang it, Cole was right. She never did anything for herself. With the inn full of guests, she never had time to go out or do things that she truly wanted to do. Tonight was the last night the inn would be empty for who knew how long? She owed it to herself to go out and have a little fun, especially since she didn’t get to see his concert last night.
“Okay,” she said, heart beating out of her chest. “I’ll meet you there.”
“Perfect.” He shot her the same sultry glare he’d given the camera on the Gossip EZ Magazine. “If you give me a ride back after, there just might be a tip in it for you…a really big tip.”
“Really?” She laughed. “That’s great, because I haven’t been given a big tip in a terribly long time.”
As he chortled, she elbowed him in the belly and dashed out the back door to make some major decisions on the remodel.