Love Me Sweet (Bell Harbor, #3)

His eyes narrowed, that black-coffee stare nearly knocking her from the piano bench, but still he whispered. “You’re Delaney Masterson. You’re Jesse Masterson’s runaway daughter.”


At least he’d called her a runaway instead of a video star. She glanced toward Grant and saw him watching, scrutinizing. Her smile back at him was half-assed. She couldn’t fake this one. She looked at Reggie again to see where he intended to take this.

“Who else knows?” She began playing an Elvis song, or maybe it was Huey Lewis, or the Stones. Her brain wasn’t quite paying attention. Her fingers just moved from stress and habit. And “Ode to Joy” was just too damned ironic at the moment.

“Nobody knows, I don’t think. If they do, they haven’t said anything to me, but why the cloak-and-dagger? Why the alias?”

“Haven’t you seen the headlines? I’m in hiding from the press.”

“Well that much is obvious, but why are you hiding from the press? Who does that?”

Reggie was new at this, the whole fame game, and he was a man, so maybe he couldn’t understand the downside of notoriety.

“I’m hiding because my name is a punch line right now. I figured if I disappeared for a bit, the frenzy would die down, but I didn’t expect to leave my car behind for the police to find.”

Reggie nodded but still looked confused. “That’s where we came in, right?”

“Yes.” Her fingers continued to play but she hardly heard the notes.

Reggie scratched his head, making his wavy hair sway. “So I have to be honest here, sugar. I don’t pay much attention to celebrity news, unless it’s about me. In that case I’m fascinated, but you have some sort of reality show, right? So why was the press hounding you in the first place?”

She looked up at him. Was it possible—?

“Oh, wait . . .” he interrupted her brief speck of hope. “Was there a naughty bit of video?”

So much for that.

“Yep.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah, I guess maybe I did hear something about that. Weren’t you giving—”

“Yep.” She glanced over at Grant but Sissy had him distracted again.

Delaney lowered her voice and looked up at Reggie. “But I didn’t know about the camera. That’s the kind of stand-up guy my old boyfriend was. Not only did he film us without telling me, but then he sold it to the tabloids.”

“What a douche bag!” Reggie exclaimed, then scowled and lowered his voice. “Worse than a douche bag. That guy is an ass-sucking douche bag. Can’t you go after him? I mean, legally. Or otherwise? I think Sammy might know some guys who could do a little damage to his kneecaps.”

Delaney had been giving that some thought. The legal aspect, not the physical injury aspect, although Melody’s offer to kick Boyd Hampton in the nuts was still very much on the table. “I may. I’m trying to sort out my options right now, but I got a little waylaid by this storm, and the fact that Grant’s mother sto—accidentally took my phone. She has my wallet and some other things too. It’s all just been one clusterfuck after the other ever since that video surfaced.”

“I’m sorry, honeybun. What does Captain America think of all this? He must want to fillet that SOB. I sure would.”

Delaney reached out and clutched Reggie’s wrist where it rested on the top of the piano. It was reflex, but she quickly pulled her hand back before Grant noticed. She leaned forward. “Reggie, Grant doesn’t know anything about . . . about anything. He doesn’t even know who I am.”

God, that sounded so awful when she said it out loud. She sounded like a horrible person. Oh, God. Was she a horrible person? How had that happened? Shit. She really should have told him by now.

Reggie’s dark eyes went round for a second, then a sassy smile took over his face. “Wait a minute. Are you telling me your boyfriend doesn’t know you’re Delaney Masterson? He doesn’t know your daddy is Jesse Masterson? And isn’t your momma somebody famous too? Victoria Secret or somebody like that?”

Breathe, Delaney. Just breathe.

“My mother was a model but now she makes soap. And Grant is not my boyfriend. We’re just sort of . . . well, traveling companions.”

“Traveling companions?” Reggie’s voice was flat disbelief wrapped around a stick of get-the-fuck-outta-here.

“Yes, traveling companions. Technically, he’s my landlord, but that’s another whole story.”

Laughter overtook Reggie and he collapsed over the top of the piano. Delaney’s misfortune was apparently of little consequence. Maybe she should be offended. Or maybe she should just laugh along with him. Really, it was either one or the other.

Reggie lifted his head. “He’s your landlord? Wow, I need to get me some rental properties right quick and find myself a honey like you,” he said between his chuffs of laughter.

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