It's Just Sext (The Right Kind of Wrong) (5 page)

Chapter One

June's hand trembled as she took the microphone at the edge of the stage and gazed out at the crowd of thousands, stretching up the grassy hillside in the late August heat.

It's just a publicity stunt to promote the book
, she told herself.
Nothing to worry about.

She gave them her best Hollywood smile, tucked a long, dark strand behind her ear and pulled a small piece of notepaper from her pocket—like she needed a reminder of who was getting ready to take the stage. Carolina Jones was an all-star bluegrass band and half the people at the festival were here to see them anyway.

She glanced at her notes, gathering up her courage. She had been pushed uncomfortably into the limelight, but wasn't it what she had dreamed of all along? Before she got the first line of introduction out, the band had taken their places on stage, staring at her with big Cheshire cat grins, and Lucinda, the buxom, redheaded singer called out to her.

“So June, we here in the band all read your luuuverly book. Hot and steamy as all get out!”

Catcalls and whistles erupted from the crowd.

“But we're dyin' to know who it's about. Who was your 'inspiration'? Not any of these ugly fellers, I hope.” The crowd hooted and Lucinda rolled on. “We promise not to tell anyone. Right y'all?”

June smirked and shook her head. This wasn't how her publicist said it would go.

“I'll never tell,”
June said, a little too close to the microphone. She recoiled as the feedback hit her ears.

“Well, if it's all the same to you, we kinda put together a betting pool.” Lucinda took a hundred dollar bill from her pocket, folded it once lengthwise and tucked it at the top of her guitar’s fret board, waving like a little green flag. “We passed your book around the campfire last night and read out the steamy parts. Now we've each got some idea of who it is—'a course Daniel over there thinks it was about him.” The crowd laughed. “Come on over here.”

“No—no thank you!” said June, a hoarse laugh catching in her throat as she backed away.

Lucinda waltzed
over, stuffed June's introduction notes in her own pocket, then dragged her to center stage.

The crowd cheered.

“You all have heard of Ms. June Cricket, have ya not? Her little bestselling book has gone and brought the sexy back to bluegrass! She'll be signing it in the autograph tent later, so you go and get a copy for yourself, or your wife or girlfriend. You'll thank me!”

June smiled. Maybe it wasn't going badly after all. Now if Lucinda would just let go—

Lucinda pulled her closer.

“Was it Bo Bentley?” she whispered. Her warm breath billowed into June's ear, sending a shiver up her spine. “It was, wasn't it
?!” Lucinda's eyes sparkled and June felt a little sick. Why does everyone want to know so badly? She was too mortified to ever tell. It was better for everyone involved if she kept her hero's true identity a mystery.

June shook her head.

“No, it wasn't. Sorry.”

June raised a hand to wave to the crowd and turned to exit the stage, but someone else from the band stepped out in front of her and pulled her close. He whispered and June shook her head.

Then another.

And another.

June laughed. What was she worried about? They would never guess.

Daniel, the banjo player sauntered over.

“It wasn't you, Daniel,” June teased, shooing him away. The crowd ate it up. She would be signing books until sunrise.

Daniel moved in closer, ran the back of his hand down the length of her bare arm and grinned.

“Coulda' been,” he said, in a sultry baritone loud enough to elicit whistles from the crowd. Then he leaned in close and lowered his voice, whisky-scented breath blowing hot over her shoulder. “But, it was Nic Taylor.” June froze. A red heat crept up her neck and face.

Oh God, please don't...

“Hot damn!” shouted Daniel, clapping his hands together and strutting over to strip the cash from Lucinda's fret board. He waved it at the audience. “Ain't no way
Nic Taylor
is prettier 'n me, am I right?! You want to tuck this somewhere for me June, baby?”

By the time he looked back at her, June was gone.

Chapter Two

Ten Months Later

June tried to remember the men she had slept with before she drove off track and committed herself to the wrong man. It wasn’t that there had been so many—only that it was so long ago. She rolled onto her back, spreading out on the cool sheets of her now too-large bed, and stared into the whiteness of her sunlit, ocean front house in Malibu. It was one whole year to the day since she had a man in her bed. Not the kind of anniversary a girl wants to celebrate, but there it was.

The men she had sex with were there in the recesses of her mind, just waiting to remind her of who she once was.

Italy
.

She remembered that one easily enough—his body, if not his name. Smooth muscled shoulders the color of dark cocoa. She had called her best friend back in the states for advice then. No matter what time of day or night, they had a pact to talk each other out of bad hook-ups. “Bed him,” Camille had said. “Now let me go back to sleep.” He spoke little English. They had waited quietly until the shadowy castle ruins were closed up for the night, then sneaked up a forest path and came around to the front entrance. She let him take her there in front of the portcullis, her back grinding into stone. The regret lasted a few months, but no more.

June smiled to herself
.
No regrets now.

She thought back over the years between her very first clumsy night of sex and the day she met her husband-to-be. She knew there were others, but the only
guys that came to mind now were the ones she had desperately wanted, but turned away out of self-preservation. The ones who were too beautiful, accomplished or rich to want her for anything more than casual sex. At the time, it felt like she was protecting herself, but was that really it?

Saying no to them had been her way of staying in control—the only way, it seemed, to exert power over men who could crush her heart. Men she wanted too much from in the first place.

June had to wonder now. Had she stunted her own sensual development? Maybe if she had allowed herself...? No. She couldn’t believe that would have been right for her. She would have asked too much, forming an attachment despite herself, like an unwanted puppy.

She made the right choice for her 20-something self, but now where did that leave her, a woman with a stronger sense of self, not so desperate to tackle a man and drag him into the happily ever after?

June rolled up onto her side and glanced past the stack of books by her bed to the glorious ocean view, consciously avoiding the one at the bottom of the stack.
Her book
. The one that had put her on the New York Times bestseller list and cost her a marriage. Her gaze slicked past it, like so many times before, in an effort to avoid the mixture of shame and pride she felt about her success. She had never meant for anyone to know who inspired that book. Few authors want a reader to see behind the veil—is it really anyone’s business if her stories were based on real experiences or not? Didn’t matter now.

She got out of bed and reached up for a sun salutation, a series of yoga poses that felt entirely natural when waking up beside the ocean.
Buying this place after the divorce seemed smart, though she’d soon have to take in a roommate if she didn’t finish her next book.

Nic Taylor.

Her mind stumbled over the name and came to a screeching halt. Meeting him was real enough. But, had she slept with him? No. No, she hadn’t. Though he didn’t fit neatly into the “denied” category either.

June was sure he would have heard about the book by now. She could never, ever face him again, that’s for sure.

She tried to move on, but her mind refused to let her change the subject. Nic Taylor was the one that got away. She was still single, but he was already married when they met, and although that kept her physically at arm’s length from him, there was no stopping her heart from betraying her. She wept for him as if they had been star-crossed lovers, and not just a couple of people who met at a weekend bluegrass festival. It didn’t help that he was the famous son of a legend.

“You never stop smiling, do you?” he had asked, his charming Southern drawl melting June to a puddle as she escorted him to the next stage. Meeting the musicians was one of the
perks of volunteering at these shows, and though she’d never really listened to his music before, she knew exactly who he was. The Taylors were the quintessential bluegrass family band; their father’s songs were considered standards.

Listening to them play that festival, she was surprised to hear how many songs she hadn’t known were written by Nic’s dad. She had been hearing them at jam sessions since forever.

The idea that she had fallen instantly in love with an already-spoken-for bluegrass star was not something June liked to admit. It had been foolish fantasy, and yet she had carried the memory with her for almost a decade when all other schoolgirl crushes had faded away. She had convinced herself that an unspoken understanding arose between them that weekend—they had spent every free moment huddled in conversation, after all. The connection had been instant and natural, and subsequently heartbreaking for June. At least she had transformed her unrequited love into a bestselling novel.

June winced. Grant had left her because of that novel—said he couldn't tell if she had actually had an affair, or just wished she had. The story was different from her other novels. He knew her well enough to read between the lines, and he couldn't live with it.

June started tapping her foot nervously. Nic Taylor was probably still married, the picture of happiness and holidays, leaning against the rail of a cruise ship, one arm draped over his wife’s shoulders and surrounded by charming children.

She had dreamt of kissing that man many times—first kisses, passionate kisses, sweet Sunday morning kisses. They had an almost-kiss once, on the last night of the festival, drifting out of a late night performance, shoulders bumping, cracking jokes and deciding where to go next. June leaned against a fence railing on a small hill that overlooked the campground, and Nic came up next to her, closer than was strictly necessary, their bodies barely touching. A static heat filled the narrow space that separated them and hung there like a question, longing for an answer. Another joke, she laughed and smiled, catching his eye for the briefest moment. He was cute and funny.
She wanted to kiss him so badly, her lips ached. She looked down, staring blankly at a set of musicians jamming around a campfire below. The banjo kicked off the Clinch Mountain Backstep and June’s thighs had begun to tremble. Being that close to Nic had felt so right, and yet, so very wrong. She gripped the fence for support, resisting the urge to turn, until she could no longer deny what was going on in her peripheral vision. He was studying her. She could feel the warmth radiating from his hand, resting just inches away from her own. Her heart was insistent, urging her to yield, to nudge her fingers along the fence rail, closer to his. Someone stopped to talk to Nic, drawing his attention away, and they never had another moment alone.

June shook her head at the memory, the festival music,
the passionate connection with an unavailable man.

I
seriously need to get a boyfriend.

How long was it since she’d been to a bluegrass show? Her favorite music was one of those things she shamefully gave up for her ex after they got married. True, there wasn’t enough bluegrass around LA to make it easy to see, but that was just an excuse. She had given it up because her husband didn’t want to go with her, and she didn’t want to go alone. Well, lesson learned.

June grabbed her iPod and swirled through the playlists. She chose Alison Krauss rather than The Taylors.

The singer’s mellow twang floated out over the room, her fiddle close behind. Ah, now that felt right. She used to love a little bluegrass music on a Sunday morning. It was as natural as that sun salutation, opening up her heart and warming her soul.

She felt another small part of herself restored
.
Amazing what music can do
, thought June as she threw on her running shorts and yanked up the laces on her sneakers. She popped the ear buds in and swirled through the playlist again until she found her old running mix of hard driving banjo tunes, then headed for the long stretch of stairs that would take her down to the sand.

***

Nic had been in LA for less than a day, and already he was missing Southern hospitality.

He popped open his laptop just as the barista dropped his order at the table. Nice of her to come out from behind the bar, Nic thought.

“Beg pardon, Miss. Y’all have a password for the wireless?”

She tore a sheet off her order pad and scribbled the code, slapped the paper on his table, and walked off. A swirl of coffee splashed over the side of his cup and Nic wondered at how he had mistaken this woman’s surly demeanor for friendliness.