Every Heart Sings (Serenity Island Series) (10 page)

When she stepped back inside the café, Stacey and Miranda from the grocery store had joined the crowd of women who were obviously loitering. You’d think they had jobs. Or couldn’t all afford to be off at the same time. But, no. Here they were.
En masse
, sitting in the café waiting to see the famous, bad-boy rock star.

And who was sitting at the center of their little stage? Josh Nicodemus. Looking hot and sexy as hell, and as if he loved every moment of adoration being lavished on him by the women of Serenity.

The
cabal
,
as she called the old men, came in as a collective group and sat at a table near Sidewinder. Jordan called the six old men the cabal because of their Serenity connections and heritage and the power they still wielded on the island and in the world at large.

Each man was a descendant of the founding fathers and mothers of Serenity. While the receding hairlines varied, the silvery white hair and age spots were a veritable patchwork testament of what Serenity sunshine and hard work could produce. Including Sidewinder, the cabal consisted of two professors, a state senator, a former Motown great, an actor of the golden age of eighties action films in Hollywood, a judge, and a minister. Talk about diametrically opposed opinions—if they existed in the world, these men owned them.

A group of younger men—who she’d dubbed the Serenity junior league—sat in a group near the front door. They weren’t much different than the cabal, except for their age—and that their primary topic of conversation was sports and women rather than history, religion, politics, and culture. Oh, and, yeah, they often settled their disputes over a game of basketball, instead of the raised voices, grumpy accusations, and the daily game of quarters the cabal used to settle their disputes.

One thing was consistent between the two groups. All the men ordered burgers and fries. And they gossiped worse than women.

Obviously, word had made its way through Serenity that Josh was in residence. The whole village had turned out to stroke Josh Nicodemus, and the big cat was sitting there soaking it all up and purring in satisfaction under their attention.

She didn’t buy it for a moment. From the bite she’d just gotten upstairs, she knew that cat had teeth and she had no doubt he’d do as much damage as any big predator given the opportunity to get his teeth into the good people of Serenity.

Well, they were big boys and girls.

They could take care of themselves.

She’d leave well enough alone. As long as she didn’t get eaten in the process.

The moment Josh saw Jordan, a pang of regret jabbed at him. Her eyes flashed with some unnamed emotion that could have been hurt, before she slammed on a mask—he’d say her performance mask. Her soft mouth drew into a wide smile and she slapped the guys on the back as she passed them.

“Hey, J.D.,” they chimed in chorus.

She waved. “I see you’ve all met our resident celebrity, Josh Nicodemus. He’s incognito. So make sure you give him the royal treatment, boys. But he’s working, too. So no showing up on his doorstep bugging him at all times of the day. He’s trying to produce an album.”

“Sure thing, J.D.” The men smiled at her. The women considered him. He knew what kind of royal treatment many of them would like to give him. And he wasn’t interested in anyone but the leggy blonde who drove him a little nuts.

The men, were a different story. Royal treatment from men always meant hazing of some sort. He saw their assessing looks, as they sized him up.

One guy with sun-streaked shoulder length hair, who looked like a surfer, wound his arm around Jordan’s waist and pulled her close to him. He wore cargo shorts, a tank showing off his muscles and natural tan, and flip-flops. Too much of his bare skin touched Jordan’s for Josh’s liking. The guy’s cheek rested on her abdomen as he hugged her to him, before she playfully pushed back.

Something hot and angry twisted in Josh’s gut.

“How were the waves today, Salty?” Jordan asked.

“Good, but I know what I’d rather be riding, J.D.” No one could ignore the suggestive tone in Salty’s voice when he responded.

Jordan swatted at him. “Stop that nonsense. What are you having?”

He waggled his brows. The guys laughed.

“—for lunch,” she finished, rolling her eyes.

A predatory feeling Josh wasn’t used to experiencing snaked through him as he watched the Salty guy’s hand wander to Jordan’s lower back and caress her ass before she smacked him and he dropped his hand good-naturedly.

Salty turned to Josh and he held his gaze.

A silent challenge.

Josh couldn’t claim Jordan, especially after the way he’d treated her earlier upstairs. But, hell, if he’d back down from this guy. He stared back, unsmiling.

All the men followed Jordan’s every move. Not just Salty. Her long toned legs glowed with a healthy tan. Her luscious ass filled those jean shorts to capacity. And the tight T-shirt that hugged her breasts and her narrow waist and flat tummy left none of her curves to the imagination. He understood the attraction. Every man here practically drooled over the woman.

He wanted this woman under him in the worst way.

And, apparently, so did Salty and every other red-blooded man in the joint. Sidewinder was the only one not following her every move. For good reason. But even the sightless man at the piano tracked Jordan’s movements through the room by the sound of her voice. The husky laugh. The friendly, chiding comments.

Jordan Drake twisted him sideways and inside out. Unlike any woman he’d ever come into contact with since—well, since ever. He was pathetic. Like a damned schoolboy.

He studied the men. But it appeared she had that effect on every man, because they all chased after her like dogs sniffing the enticing scent of a mate.

He wanted to fill her and keep her crying out in pleasure all day long. Panting for him. And, yet, somehow, after his latest stunt upstairs, he knew he’d probably ruined any chances he had of getting Jordan Drake to share his bed anytime soon.

He’d pulled the celeb card. There was no going back now. He knew what he was doing. But he didn’t need to like it.

Only he hadn’t known how much his need for her would rock him every time he saw her after she’d been so uninhibited, so over the edge with passion, and how much he wanted—no needed—to see her that way again.

Hell. It had been for her own good, right?

She shouldn’t get mixed up with him.

He wasn’t here for long.

Besides, Jordan Drake hated anyone involved in the entertainment industry. A relationship would never work for them. Not in a million years.

No, this would have to do. Watching her from afar and fraternizing with the locals. He could keep her out of his head and out of his bed. He needed to. Yet he understood he couldn’t hole away for two months straight. He’d die. Josh knew himself well enough to know that he needed people around him, drew energy from his interaction with them. So he couldn’t do without people totally.

However, he knew that one person in particular would be really, really bad for him. Jordan Drake. So he needed to keep her at arm’s length. Stay as far away as possible.

Too bad he was naturally drawn to her. He found her in the crowd of people, watched her move, and interact with the men and women who were her friends. This was her home.

Something shifted inside of him. This is what he wanted. He wanted a place to call home. A community of people who cared about him, about whether he came home at night, or how his last gig had really gone. Someone who took interest in him, not just the music machine he’d become.

Yeah. He could get used to this place—Serenity.

He liked it a lot. Hopefully he wouldn’t get too attached, because then he’d never want to leave. And that would be bad for business. He was sure of it.

“There’s a personal delivery for you, Josh.” Someone shouted from outside. About ten minutes away.” A teenaged kid with curly blond hair poked his head inside the front door.

“What?” Josh turned. “Oh, my production equipment for the studio.” He shrugged. “Good, I’ve been waiting for it.”

“Cool.” The kid slapped the doorframe and backed out.

“Should be FedEx,” Josh said.

He popped back in. “Nah. Some bigwig manager throwing around your name. Ben something. Aging rocker look. Tight jeans. Tighter T-shirt than I’ve seen on any woman. And a belt buckle that shouts Nicodemus.”

Yep. Ben. No one else had a belt buckle with the band name. He and the boys had it specially made for Ben.

“Shit.” Josh stood abruptly, the chair fell over. Every eye in the cafe turned toward him. It had to be his manager.

How’d Ben find him already?

“He’s been asking around, trying to figure out where you’re staying.” The kid smiled, a big mischievous grin. “No worries, though, no one knows anything about Nicodemus on this island. People come here all the time and mysteriously disappear. If you get my drift. Kind of like Jordan Drake.” He threw a saucy smile at Jordan.

“Hey, watch yourself,” Jordan said. “We don’t mention that name around here, even in jest. It’s J.D., plain and simple.”

“Sorry, J.D.” The young pup looked chastised.

“Nope. No one has seen Nicodemus. That’s a popular band, right? No band here,” Miranda piped up, shaking her head with wide innocent eyes. Then she smiled and winked at him.

Josh blew out a frustrated breath. “I don’t want to see Ben. Not yet. I need to get further on this project first.”

“Dude, no problem.” Salty picked up the toppled chair and slapped Josh on the back. “We got you covered. He’ll never know you’re here. We’re good at hiding anything we want to hide. Isn’t that right, J.D.?”

“Absolutely.”

“Seriously? You’d do that for me?” Josh hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and studied the good people of Serenity.

“No one is better at running interference than Serenity residents. We don’t like outsiders messing with our own. And as far as we’re concerned, you’re one of us now.”

Josh studied him. The surfer guy looked sincere, and now that he noticed it, just a tad familiar. There was something about him. Maybe with a pair of glasses and a haircut. Josh shook his head. He didn’t know where he’d seen the guy before, but he was sure he’d seen him somewhere. The cover of something—maybe FastCompany or Forbes. A men’s magazine. The jacket of a book. Something. He shook off the feeling of going crazy.

“Thanks, I appreciate the help. It’s complicated.”

Salty smiled, a small enigmatic twitch. “It always is, dude. It always is. Go. We’ve got this covered.”

“I appreciate it.” Josh looked at the silent group of people in the café. They all stared back at him with acceptance all over their faces. They understood. Somehow. And why wouldn’t they? They’d been protecting Jordan Drake for years now. If anyone knew how to hide celebrity, it was this crew.

“His name is Ben Johnson. He’s five-eight. Dark hair. Dressed all in black. Wears a belt buckle the size of a small armadillo. He’s a charming guy, so don’t let him con you into telling him where I am, okay?”

“Dude, trust us. We got this. We’re old dogs at this.”

“Old dogs at The Down Dog. Nice.” Josh chuckled.

Josh raised his hand in a wave and high-tailed it upstairs. Grabbing his guitar and the recorder from where he’d left it sitting in the shade on the rooftop, he locked all the doors to his apartment and pulled the curtains.

He wouldn’t put it past Ben to come nosing around. He couldn’t leave his discovery to chance. Hell, no. Not yet.

Chapter 9

Circling the Wagons

A stranger wearing all black walked through the front door of The Down Dog with swagger ten miles wide and he wore a belt buckle, no kidding, the size of a small animal. Jordan shook her head, laughing.

What’s he compensating for?

The man plopped down two guitar cases and a soundboard. He lowered his sunglasses to the bridge of his nose and peered over the top of them as he scanned the crowded cafe slowly. Scowling, he glanced over his shoulder to the street, stepped back outside, and checked the address on the building. Then, he came back inside.

“Hi. Can I help you?” Jordan asked the stranger who had to be Ben Johnson, Josh’s manager.

“Thought this would be a residence.”

Jordan lifted a shoulder and gave her best not-sure-why-you’d-think-that look. “Nope. Care for a coffee while you’re here? Maybe something a little harder? A coke cola?” She poured on the Southern accent that most days she tried to hide—had done since her early days of acting. “Sure is a hot one out there. We have ice cream, too, sugar.”

Ben cleared his throat. He wiped his forehead. “No, thanks. Looking for Josh Nicodemus.”

“Who?”

“Josh Nicodemus.” Ben pointed to the guitars and fancy soundboard. “I have a delivery for him. Said he needed his stuff pronto.”

“O-oooh. Gotcha. The hottie who motored over on the sweet GT205 Cruiser.”

“The what?” Ben’s brow wrinkled.

“Sorry. A boat. He dropped into the marina the other day. Asked for a good location to ship something. Said he was cruising the coast. Had a place up at Cape Hatteras.”

Ben smiled slyly, his face took on a subtle animation. “Cool. Did he leave an address? It’s important that I get this stuff to him today. He really wants it.”

“No. Sorry. He said he’d send someone to pick up the delivery in a week. I’m supposed to keep it in my storage closet until then. The local post office is too small to hold anything larger than a pack of gum.”

“Shit. What am I going to do in the middle of nowhere for a frigging whole week waiting on my star to come to heel?” Ben rubbed his neck.

“Heel? As in a dog?” It was okay for Jordan to think badly of Josh. He’d wronged her by slotting her into the same category as every other groupie he’d met. She was no groupie. But what the hell did Ben have to complain about? Josh was his cash cow. Not a dog performing tricks.

“Yeah, he’s a God damned pup I’m trying to train. Loveable, charming, great at performing tricks, but about as smart as a Golden Retriever.”

Huh. See. That was just downright mean and didn’t sound like the guy upstairs at all. Did Ben know Josh at all? “That doesn’t sound like the guy I met,” she challenged.

“No?” Ben tilted his head and looked Jordan up and down, going real slow and pausing at her tits to smile before he met her eyes again. “I guess you’d be focusing on something entirely different when you see Josh, wouldn’t you?”

She got the message loud and clear. Ben thought she was a dumb blonde. A waitress at a small-town café who had one thing on her mind when a big famous person walked into her restaurant.

Oh, hell, no.

She turned around to see the town’s folk looking at her with appalled expressions. She lifted her eyebrows and shrugged as if to say, oh well. I tried to help him, now it’s up to you.

Salty stepped forward and winked at Jordan.
Oh, no
.

Ben’s phone beeped. He pulled it out and looked at the screen. He thumbed in a response. “At least you have internet connection out here. Oh. Well, is there a place to stay on the island? Maybe a hotel nearby?”

Jordan shrugged. “We have one small motel on the edge of town. The Seashell Inn. You could try there. Otherwise, everything else is seasonal rentals here, or you could try the campground. Did you bring camping equipment?” She smiled a big, open grin that said, you can trust me, I’m the girl next door.

Hell, she was as far as you could get from it.

Always had been.

“No, I left the Winnebago in Charlotte. I’ll try the motel. See if they have a room available. Can I get directions?”

She caught Delilah Corbin’s eye—the owner and proprietor of The Seashell Inn sat right there in The Down Dog Café, she’d been ogling Josh along with everyone else in town.

Delilah shook her head in a slow, oh-hell-no motion.

Jordan returned the look with a little shrug and lift of an eyebrow that communicated
oh, come on
.

“Sure. No problem.” Jordan walked to the front window and pointed. “You follow Main Street until it ends. The Seashell will be on your right-hand side.”

“How far away? Can I walk it?”

She scrunched up her nose and looked him up and down. “We-ee-lll. Maybe not in those boots.” She pointed to the heel on his cowboy boots.

“Any public transportation? I left my car at the ferry lot on the mainland. They told me the address was right here on Main Street, close to the ferry.”

Jordan shook her head no. “No public transport. Unless you want to rent a bike?” She didn’t mention they all owned golf carts or scooters. But who was going to let a stranger use their baby? Not her. There were no cars or trucks allowed in town. It was a pedestrian only zone. Parking lots on the edge of town allowed anyone living on the south side of the island who needed transportation to park their vehicle. So most of the town’s people and those living in the houses along the beach used golf carts, bikes, or scooters to get around.

Ben chuckled. “I know they say you never forget, but I haven’t been on a bike in over twenty-five years. I’m not sure I want to test that theory.”

“I’d be glad to take you, dude.” Salty stepped forward with a wicked smile that Jordan recognized as pure mischief.

“My bike is parked at the public lot at the end of Main.” Salty stood, offered his hand. “They call me Salty.”

“A bicycle for two?” Ben pumped Salty’s hand.

“I say bike, but my ride is a Harley. Room for two if you need a hitch.” He put on his heaviest surfer-dude-peace-and-love accent. How did he do that? The man was from Southern California, but hadn’t ever surfed until he’d come to North Carolina two years ago. He’d been a buttoned up successful business suit before that.

Oh, man. Ben was in for a ride. A ten-mile ride to go a mile, no doubt, if Jordan knew Salty. And she did, she absolutely knew him. He was a born salesman. Could sell just about anything and charm the rattle right out of a crying baby’s hand.

CEO of a multi-million dollar conglomerate in Silicon Valley that produced some nano technology gadgets Jordan didn’t begin to understand, the man was brilliant. After the death of his wife to breast cancer two years ago, he’d walked away from it all—let someone else lead his company—and came to Serenity to find himself. Either he hadn’t yet found what he’d come looking for, or he’d liked the island enough to stay on anyway.

Jordan admired his ability to live in the moment. Even though a relative newcomer to the island, he’d embraced the slow lifestyle wholeheartedly. He’d learned to kite surf and spent countless hours alone on the water; she presumed working out his grief in the same dogged manner he’d worked all those years building his business empire.

But there was one thing she’d learned about Salty.

He was often an agent of chaos. He didn’t do things the normal way, and he liked to play around with people.

He was a regular Puck or Loki.

Give him a chance to create mischief, and he’d be the first to jump in and mix it all up. She’d watched him take to Josh a little earlier. Maybe Salty saw something there. She didn’t know. But he hadn’t played Josh like he normally did newcomers. Which was interesting in and of itself.

“You want a cup of coffee before you go?” Jordan asked.

“Nah, I’m good.”

“All right then, let’s go. There are a few detours along the way, but we’ll get you there lickety-split.” Salty led the way out of the café. When they passed the front window, he peered in and gave the whole crowd a thumbs up accompanied by a huge grin.

“How long before you think they get to The Seashell?” Delilah asked, standing up and fishing a few dollars out of the front pocket of her jeans and throwing them on the table. The thirty-something brunette was pretty in a simple, girl-next-door way. She wore her hair loose. And the pretty fitted top looked cute with jeans that hugged her curves.

Delilah was one of Jordan’s closest friends on the island. They’d been through a lot together in the last fifteen years.

“With Salty? Probably four hours.” Jordan laughed.

“How do you want me to play this?”

“You got any rooms available?”

“What do you think? You know exactly how I feel on this issue, girl. We get fewer and fewer tourists every year. Just not enough here in Serenity to draw them, even this time of the year. Our festivals are pathetic. Sure islanders turn up. But not tourists. We’re not trendy or hip enough. You could do something about that, you know.” Delilah played with her napkin, not looking her friend in the eye.

“Sheesh. Not you, too? You’ve been listening to Sidewinder again, haven’t you? I thought you knew better? There’s not a damned thing I can do to better the image of this island.”

She couldn’t help Serenity. She was who she was and she couldn’t get beyond what fame had done to her, not even to trade it in for tourism for the one place she’d come to call home.

She just didn’t know how.

There was no small brush when it came to celebrity. Everything was broad-brush, bigger than life. And, in her experience, it took over and overwhelmed you, stealing your identity and making you someone you didn’t want to be—or someone everyone believed you to be, whether it was true or not.

There was no controlling fame and media exposure once it started. No. She couldn’t go there again, to that dark place, not even to help Serenity.

Delilah played with the chain of her necklace. “Everyone here knows you could help revitalize this island if you just got over yourself. We love you, J.D., but we’re dying here.”

“You want some cheese to go with that whine, honey?” Jordan speared her friend with a pointed look.

Delilah grinned sheepishly. “Sorry, girlfriend.” She shook her head. “It’s just so hard these days to make a living. I’m trying to keep my mama in cheese doodles, sprite, and crosswords.”

They both chuckled. Delilah’s mom, Mercy Corbin, still kept The Seashell Inn running in tip-top shape, but the old woman sure had a penchant for cheese doodles and crosswords.

Jordan turned back to the counter and wiped it down. “We need to get rid of Ben Johnson, whatever that means. So either we let him check in to a room and find a way to keep him distracted from Josh for the week, or we drive him off. You decide.”

“I’ve got the perfect room. One that needs renovating. If that doesn’t send him screaming from the island by tomorrow, nothing will.” She directed the next comment at the café patrons. “Guys, I’ll need a little help occupying the rest of the rooms so that it looks like I’m full.”

A chorus of eager responses sounded.

“Sure, Delilah.”

“No problem. I’ll send Jimmy.”

“Glad to help.”

“I can give old Ben a boat ride he won’t soon forget,” Dan, who worked at the marina, said.

“Sounds like a great plan, Dan. Go for it. You could keep him on the ocean all day.”

“Absolutely,” Dan said. “And have him sicker than a dog for another day.”

“A little Serenity welcome is in order.” Jordan said as she followed Delilah outside to the innkeeper’s powder blue golf cart. The Seashell logo—shells scattered on a beach and a big wave circling it all—featured prominently on the sides.

Delilah climbed into her cart and inserted the key, turning it on. “You like this Josh character?” She peered at Jordan, searching her face for some sign of what was going on underneath. She shook her head. Appearing frustrated when Jordan showed nothing. “There’s some mighty strong chemistry between the two of you.”

“Now how could you possibly tell that? We weren’t even near each other.”

“Honey, everyone in that café could feel it arcing back and forth between the two of you across the room. Good thing no one got caught in the crossfire. Shit. You could have warned me. I might have worn a little bit of armor.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“What happened? Come on, let a girl live vicariously, would you?”

“Nothing happened. Nothing I want to talk about, at least.”

Her body flushed with heat, from her core outward. She couldn’t do anything about the telltale blush, but she could keep her face unreadable.

Delilah smirked at her. “Yeah, nothing happened? Right. We’ll talk later.”

Jordan only showed what she wanted to show. Ever. But who the hell could keep themselves from blushing. No one. Gah.

Her desire to guard her true emotions came from a lifetime of acting, of keeping her most secret feelings to herself because someone close to her, like her mother or her father, might decide to use them against her.

But she’d learned in Serenity that she had friends. People like Delilah who protected her and loved her for who she was today, not because she’d once been some famous child actress.

“Listen—”

Delilah shook her finger at her. “Ha. Something did happen. And I bet it was hot. I want the goods. Every single sizzling detail.” She looked at her watch. “But, damn, if I’m going to get things set up to convince Ben Johnson this island’s not for him, then I gotta high-tail it to The Seashell.”

“Go.”

“All right. But later you’re giving me details.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” Delilah put the cart in gear and grabbed the wheel. “I’ll call you later.” Her eyes twinkled.

Jordan waved her off.

She went around the corner of The Down Dog Café and up the iron fire escape along the outside of the building to Josh’s apartment. She knocked on the rooftop door, and it opened under the pressure of her knuckles. She debated whether she should enter or not. Rapping again on the now open door, she waited. If he was down in the apartment, he probably couldn’t hear her knocking from the rooftop entrance, especially if he was working—playing his guitar or wearing headphones.