Luann McLane - Moonlight Kiss

Rick sighed again and looked down at the big combat boots he almost always wore. They were heavy. The buttery-soft black leather pants were clingy and hot. His beard itched. And his long-ass choppy hair was ridiculous. But the long hair, bearded face, and leather were part of his brand, his style. Who he was . . .

Or was it?

“Hell, no.”

Was it ever?

Rick clenched and unclenched his fists, thinking, brooding. Wondering how his life had come to . . . this. Pretending until he didn’t even know who the hell he truly was anymore. He started humming the slow, soulful original version of his first breakout hit single, “Jagged Edge.” But his record label had wanted hard rock, and at eighteen who was he to argue? After “Jagged Edge” went platinum, his future was set. He’d had to work harder at a style of music that didn’t come as naturally and often felt as if he were playing a role instead of living his life. But money and fame were difficult to turn down.

Was Garret’s flippant, unconcerned attitude about life a result of being Rick Ruleman’s son? The answer was easy: of course. How in the hell could Rick expect his son to be responsible when he himself still lived off of his glory days, refusing to grow up? What had Garret’s mother called it when she’d shouted that she’d wanted a divorce? Oh yeah: the Peter Pan syndrome. He’d laughed in her face and walked out the door, never really thinking she’d have the nerve to divorce him or go for sole custody of five-year-old Garret. But she did, calling him an absentee husband and father. And he didn’t fight it because he knew she was right. But instead of letting Becca know that he was devastated, Rick had acted as if he didn’t care.

But he did care then and he cared now. . . . He just sucked at life.

Rick looked down at the combat boots. And so he played the role of badass rock star, but now that he was in his midfifties he was stretching it a bit. Thinking he needed a stiff drink, he pushed to his feet and headed for the liquor cabinet in the dining room. Except for drinking to excess now and then he had at least stayed away from drugs and preached against them. He did have that to be proud of. He’d seen too many of his friends go down that sorry-ass path to ever become a user. And to his knowledge Garret never touched the shit either.

After pouring two fingers of bourbon over cracked ice, Rick plopped down on the sofa in the great room. He took a deep swallow, letting the smooth, cold bourbon turn to fire in his belly and numb his brain. He leaned back, holding the crystal glass loosely in his fingers, willing his body to relax. It was early. He could still go out, but the thought held little appeal. He suddenly decided that for once he’d turn in early, get a good night’s rest. In the morning he’d head to Cricket Creek, Kentucky, to do some damage control.

And then the doorbell rang.

Irritated at the interruption he headed for the front door, thinking it would likely be Frank, who knew the code to open the front gate. But when he opened the door it was Caitlyn. Caitlyn . . . Hell, he didn’t even remember the last name of the twentysomething starlet who was his latest arm candy. Caitlyn was wild and insatiable in bed . . . making it damned difficult for a fifty-five-year-old to keep up with her. Before Rick could think of a plausible reason to send her packing, she pulled her skintight, super-short red dress up and over her head.

And stood there completely naked.

“Now!” was all she said, and when Rick failed to move she walked over on her impossibly high heels, pushed him up against the wall, and kissed him.

Rick resisted for a moment, easing her away from him. “Caitlyn . . .” he began, but she put a fingertip to his lips.

“Shh, no talking,” she demanded, and cupped his cock through the leather. “Ohhh, not ready, huh? I’ll have to take care of that little problem.” She gave him a slow smile as she unbuttoned his shirt and raked her nails down his chest just hard enough to almost cause pain.

He felt his cock respond. “Baby, I was born ready,” he said automatically.

“Me too.” She planted her high-heel-clad feet apart and then guided his hand between her thighs. “See, babe? Do me right here against the wall. I want it hard and fast.” She reached for the snap on his pants, undid the zipper, and boldly reached for him.

“God, you’re big. So sexy,” she purred, but Rick wondered if it was true. Yeah, he worked out, ran, lifted, but he was twenty-five years older than her. . . . Was he really sexy, or was it who he was that made him sexy to her? Would she give him the time of day if he wasn’t famous?

No. Hell, no. The answer was like cold water on his ardor.

“Caitlyn . . .”

“What don’t you understand about not talking?” she asked, and then covered his mouth with a deep, hungry kiss. She pushed her big breasts into his chest and moved slowly up and down, letting her nipples tease and taunt. With a groan, Rick gave in, cupping her bare ass, pushing her against the wall. “Yeah, here, and then take me in front of the fireplace,” she pleaded. “Over and over again. First, I want to straddle you and ride you hard. Then I’m going to get on my hands and knees while you give it to me from behind, going as deep and fast as you can.”

Knowing the floor would play havoc on his knees, Rick shook his head. “No, baby. I want you in my bed.” He took her hand and led her across the room, but when a shaft of setting sunlight illuminated her face she suddenly looked so very . . . young. Rick swallowed hard. This was wrong.

He stopped in his tracks.

“Caitlyn, I think you should go.”

When she reached for his cock again Rick pushed her hand away. She pulled a pout. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” Rick repeated this time with an edge to his voice. And in that moment he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he had to get his sorry-ass excuse for a life under control. “And you should think more highly of yourself.” He picked up her dress and tossed it to her. “I’m sorry.”

“Is this some kind of role-play? Because—”

“No, Caitlyn. As a matter of fact, I’m tired of playing a role. It’s time to get real.”

“What’s wrong with you? Are you tripping on something?”

“I don’t and never will do any of that crap.” Rick all but pushed a sputtering and protesting Caitlyn out the door. “Seriously, better yourself.”

He headed to the bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror. “Time for a makeover, beginning with the beard.”

“SULLY’S IS FUN!” ADDISON TOOK ANOTHER SWALLOW OF her martini, called a Redneck Sunset. She and Mia sat at a high-top table near the back of the bar by flat-screen televisions showing a variety of sporting events. The event getting the most attention was two men in a cage grappling with each other until one tapped out. “How’s your Honky-Tonk Heaven?”

“Delish,” Mia replied with a chuckle. “It tastes a little bit like a Washington Apple but less tart. Even though Pete pokes fun at posh restaurants with fancy martini names, he’s an amazing mixologist. He knows the importance of chilling the glasses, and you’ll never see any shards of ice floating in one of his martinis.”

“Excellent.”

“It was Pete’s son, Clint, who actually came up with the funny names, but don’t be fooled. He only uses top-shelf liquor.”

“I can tell.” Addison nodded with appreciation and then lifted her glass. “And it packs quite a punch but tastes good enough to be dangerous.”

“Hey, if we get hammered we can walk to my condo from here, so no worries. We’re celebrating, remember?”

Addison felt another tingle of excitement. “I can’t really believe I’m opening a bridal shop, of all things. Everything is happening so fast! But Mom crunched the numbers with me and she thinks the shop will do well.” She tapped her toes to the country music blaring from the jukebox and looked around. She’d never been fond of going to clubs, much to Garret’s dismay. Unlike happy hours Addison was used to at piano lounges, where subtle music played in the background and hushed conversations buzzed at a low hum, accented by the muted tinkle of glasses, this bar was loud and hopping. Two couples played a lively game of pool at the far end of the bar. Darts were being tossed in the corner and an old-fashioned pinball machine dinged and flashed with enthusiasm. Music, laughter, shouted greetings, and friendly wagers mingled together in a loud blend of fun.

“Tonight is trivia night.” Mia picked up a sheet of paper lined and numbered for answers. “Want to play?”

“I have a lot of nerdy, useless knowledge,” Addison admitted with a grin. “We should put it to good use.”

“Let’s do it!” Mia picked up the pencil and turned the sheet of paper over. “For now, let’s brainstorm names for your shop.” She tapped the pencil against her cheek. “How about the name Happily Ever After?”

Addison snorted.

“Now . . . now. A bridal-shop owner can’t have that jaded attitude,” Mia warned in a low tone, but gave Addison a sympathetic smile and then raised her eyebrows. “Any other suggestions?”

“Wedding Bell Blues?”

“Addison . . .”

“Okay, okay.” Addison took another sip of Redneck Sunset and then nibbled on the inside of her cheek. “I don’t know. How about Wear White Anyway?”

Mia laughed.

“Third Time’s the Charm?”

Mia chuckled again but then sobered. “Listen, your prince will come along someday. Maybe when you least expect it. Trust me, if it happened to me, it can happen to you.”

“Mia, I already told you. I’m taking a break from men.”