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“Oh, I’ll help you spend your money.”
Logan laughed. “Great.” He leaned down and brushed his lips over her powdery cheek. “We’ll talk soon.” He crossed the room, wishing he hadn’t left his sunglasses in the truck. He felt naked and on display. And with the almost ninety degree day, he was one big sweaty freckle. That would look just great on the entertainment websites.
He boosted his grin so that it hit his eyes as he walked through the huge bay doors. The phones were out and up for pictures or video. Within thirty minutes he’d be on Twitter and Facebook and their little town would be loaded with people by morning.
Son of a bitch.
He posed, he signed, and he chatted. All of it was the same to him, but he knew to the fan it was likely their first interaction with him. He didn’t recognize any of the faces and he had one helluva good memory for faces. Fifteen minutes later, there were four happy teenagers and three relieved mothers. He climbed into his truck and cranked the air conditioning until the sweat no longer dripped off his beard. First thing he was doing was diving into his pool and forgetting a certain pair of topaz eyes.
The butcher shop was a lure, but he was sure the mainline of gossip had hit and people would be on the lookout for him. His housekeeper always had something in the crockpot, or in the fridge. Home. God that sounded good. The house by the falls was the first and only place that had ever climbed inside of him. The road was his life and his heart, but his secluded house was where his spirit recharged when his batteries were beyond low.
As he neared the end of Main, the arched windows of a bookstore came into view. A huge chair was visible from the window with a stack of books and a whimsical striped scarf hung off the top corner. He knew that scarf. The corner of his mouth tipped up as he pulled over in front of the window. A side table was stacked with books, a pipe, and a little blue telephone box. Old library spines with Sherlock Holmes stories were side by side with paperback copies of Doctor Who stories.
In the chair, a smoky gray cat was curled in a tight ball.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he had his over shirt back on and had his hand on the doorknob of the tall, double door.
“You wouldn’t believe the nerve of this guy.”
Logan paused as he heard a voice that was going to haunt him for the rest of the damn night.
“He looks me dead in the eye and tells me—tells me, not asks—that he’s going to play at the barn. Who the hell does he think he is?”
It had been a long time since he’d heard a woman bitch about him within earshot. Because there was no way she wasn’t talking about him. He gently pushed in the door, reaching up to catch the little bell. He leaned against the door jamb to enjoy the rest of the show in Technicolor.
Lord help him, she was awesome. In the barn she’d been cool and collected. Hints of this woman had been there with her flashing eyes and smart mouth. But here she was pure vitality. The fiery dress swishing around her phenomenal legs as she paced the room, just-fucked hair flying back with each pass, and finally, that mouth. It was almost as distracting as her eyes. He gave a brief glance around the bookstore. It was as amazing as her window, but he couldn’t focus on anything but the woman.
Izzy’s friend pursed her lips. “The nerve of him.” She was sitting on some sort of counter-desk thing, snapping gum, her legs swinging gently. The lush brunette was beautiful. Pale skin and red lips with dark eyes. Any other day he’d have zeroed in on her…well, scratch that. He caught the glint of a ring on her left hand. He didn’t mess with married women.
That never ended well.
“I know that placating tone. Shut up, Nic.”
“I was agreeing.”
“You were humoring me.”
“Look, if Logan King, sex-god royalty, slash gazillionaire, wants to sing on a small stage, what do you care?”
“I care because he’s going to mess up my schedule. And he will have half the goddamn festival crawling in the rafters to get a better look at his I-can-wear-the-holy-fuck-out-of-a-pair-of-jeans self.”
His eyebrows shot up. He looked down at his older than dirt jeans then back at her. Little vixen had been checking him out. He’d felt eyes on him in the barn. But he was so used to people staring at him, it barely fazed him anymore.
But when he’d caught her mid-look, he’d felt the punch of awareness. Insta-lust was a curable condition. It usually took about three sweaty hours and ended with a bowl of Ramen noodles, but it was curable.
This time his cure-all needed to be vaccinated a different way.
“That good, huh?”
“Geeze, Nic, I don’t think I could have been more surprised it was him than if Mayor Darcy stripped in the middle of the square.”
Logan snorted and two pairs of eyes swung his way. “Hey.”
Izzy’s topaz eyes widened.
“Rude,” Nic said succinctly.
He shrugged. “Do go on, Iz. I was particularly fond of your assessment of my ass.”
