Love Me Sweet (Bell Harbor, #3)



Police have canceled their search for the missing Delaney Masterson, 27, youngest daughter of ’80s rocker Jesse Masterson and supermodel Nicole Westgate after learning from relatives that she is hiding out in a super-secret love nest with a new beau. Even her closest friends and family don’t know exactly where she’s holed up, but one thing is for sure, absence only makes our hearts grow fonder for Pop Rocks’ favorite wild child.

   Sources close to the celebrity stylist say Delaney had grown increasingly frustrated by her limited role on the family’s increasingly popular reality show and vowed to do whatever it took to make herself a household name, even if that meant releasing a risqué video of herself with onetime boyfriend Boyd Hampton.

   “Delaney was always a good-time girl,” sources close to Hampton say. “She was up for anything, and obviously, so was Boyd.”

He kept reading, his eyes burning at each word, until the article finished with another quote.


“I guess dressing stars wasn’t enough for her anymore,” said one client who asked to remain anonymous. “Maybe Delaney decided it was time to be the star, instead.”

There were pictures dotted all around the article, seven or eight of them, and every single one was of Elaine. At least, the woman he knew as Elaine, but this woman was a stranger. She was glamorous in a shimmering, backless dress in one photo, sultry in another wearing a black miniskirt cut up to there. Her hair was various shades of light brown or nearly blonde in most, but there was one picture that made his heart feel like it had pierced itself on one of his ribs. It was her with dark hair and little makeup. She was in a cheerleading outfit and had to be a teenager, but that photo looked just like his Elaine. His Elaine.

But he didn’t have an Elaine. The woman he’d professed his love to not ten hours ago was nothing but a mirage. A propaganda machine, a master manipulator, and he’d fallen for every bit of it. How could he have been so blind? The article said she wanted attention. She’d certainly gotten his. Calling her a reality star was an understatement, though. She had real acting potential. She’d managed to convince his entire family, a busload of musicians, and him that she was just a sweet young woman trying to spread her wings. At least Miranda had been forthright about her career motives, but Elaine—Delaney—she was sly. She’d flat-out lied, and she’d used all of them.

Especially him.

For nothing more than publicity and fame. But he should have seen it coming.




Delaney was nervous as hell, but the minute Grant got back with that coffee, she was going to sit him down and tell him everything. Everything. Every last detail. She’d only sent him away so she could gather her thoughts for a minute, but she couldn’t stand the subterfuge any longer. Hiccup.

Last night she’d handed over her heart, and this morning he was probably going to drop-kick it right back to her, but full disclosure was essential. They were leaving for his aunt’s house just as soon as she was ready to go, so it was now or never.

Although never wasn’t actually an option.

So . . . it was just . . . now.

He took a while getting the coffee. She paced as she waited, thinking of various openers.

Oh, by the way, funny thing about . . . everything. I made most of it up.

Her skin prickled. She was perspiring, and she desperately wanted to rewind, but even if she could, what would she have done differently? If she had known then what she knew now, would she make the same mistakes? She paced some more, wishing he’d hurry.

She’d avoided having that panic attack the other morning, but now might work just as well. Hiccup. Finally, when she heard him at the hotel room door, she jumped so high she was practically a cat clinging to the ceiling with kitten-sharp claws.

Big breath, Delaney.

She was standing in the center of the room, right under the blue-sky-and-clouds mural, when he came inside. Empty-handed.

“Where’s the coffee?” she asked.

He pulled out something tucked under his arm. “No coffee, but I got you a magazine.”

He dropped it on the floor, right at her feet, but one look at his face and she already knew. She’d hit the tabs again. Her heart skidded to a halt and left her teetering on the edge of a cliff. No, no, no. Not now. Five more minutes. Five more minutes and she would have told him herself.

She bent over to pick up the magazine as he stalked into the room to stand by the window with his back to her, his hands jammed into his pockets. The floor tilted and the walls shook, but it wasn’t Memphis having an earthquake. It was her world that was falling apart. And maybe Grant’s. She hadn’t meant to involve other people in her charade, but she had, and the enormity of that surrounded her.

Tracy Brogan's books