Low Tide Bikini (A Pleasure Island Romance) (14 page)

Sam dropped her suitcase. “I can’t believe you kept this from me.”

Leah squirmed and stammered, “I...I didn’t think... this is just some harmless fun. Don’t get all bent out of shape about it. Calm down.”

“Fun for you, maybe.”

Leah broke out in a big smile. “What happened to your face?”

Great. She was pissed off, and her friend couldn’t even take her seriously because of her funky sunburn. ”I fell asleep on the beach this morning.”

One side of Leah’s mouth rose, and her eyes twinkled. “Guess you forgot to set the timer to turn over.”

“Very funny. If Brock and Ted hadn’t been making so much noise with those saws and hammers, I wouldn’t have been forced to sleep outside.”

“Awww, you’re a grouchy one. Let me get you something to eat.” Leah shut her laptop and scurried off to the kitchen.

Figures she’d run off before Sam had a chance to interrogate her further about this voting thing Myrtle had going on.

Sam snagged her makeup bag from her suitcase and went to the bathroom to attempt to even out her face before Mazy and Kendal showed up.
 

She smeared foundation over the sunburn and put blush on the other side of her cheek, blending until her whole face looked like one huge pink blob on a tan neck. She put on some lipstick, thinking it might help, but the lipstick was a lighter shade of pink than her face and only made her look worse. Tossing everything back in the bag, frustration coursing through her veins, she gave up.

When she stepped out of the bathroom, Mazy, Kendal, and Leah were all seated around a table of food.
 

Mazy spotted Sam and pointed with one hand and covered her mouth with the other. Leah kicked Mazy under the table. Mazy yelped, “Ouch. Why’d you do that? I didn’t say anything.”

“Do what?” Leah batted her eyes at Mazy.
 

Sam didn’t want to talk about it. “I got sunburned. I tried to use makeup to camouflage it, but that didn’t work out so well. Let’s eat.”

There was an empty chair beside Kendal. Sam sat in it and faced Mazy, who clearly wasn’t going to be able to control her laughter.

Yep. A laugh tore from Mazy, and she nearly choked on a hushpuppy. Served her right.

Sam’s fury boiled over. “I can’t believe none of y’all told me about Myrtle’s little voting poll.”

Kendal wiped her mouth. “I wanted to tell you, but everyone said you’d get mad. I figured that wouldn’t do any good, because Myrtle had already posted it.”

“Damn right I’d get mad. How would you like it if Myrtle took a poll about your love life or wrote a blog post about your date last night?”
 

Kendal’s shoulders rose to her ears, and she shuddered.

Sam turned her attention to Mazy. “What if she did a poll on whether or not you were finally going to hook up with Ted?”

Mazy’s brows pleated. “Ted? What made you say that? Somebody been spreading rumors? I just had ice cream with him today. Not even a full meal. That isn’t a date. I don’t like Ted like that. I know he’s a cutie, but I just don’t have those kinds of feelings toward him. How’d you know I went out with him anyway?”

“Paranoid much? Fun having your personal business Topic Tuesday on the ostrich ranch?” Sam ground her teeth and clenched her fist then looked at Leah, who averted her gaze as she busied herself by lining up her french fries longest to shortest on her plate.
 

“Forget it. Let’s just eat.” Sam’s eyes kept drifting to that stuffed flounder in front of her, and it smelled so good.

Kendal lifted a container of cupcakes from the floor beside her. “My mom made banana walnut cupcakes with cream cheese frosting for us. Save room.”

Yum. Mrs. Duvall’s cupcakes could bring world peace, they’d definitely improve Sam’s cruddy mood. Thank heavens for sugar highs, otherwise she’d be destined to nose-dive straight to the bottom of a fifth of tequila like a pickled worm.

Sam sat in the makeup trailer, staring at her natural-disaster face, freshly washed and hideous.
 

A bleached blonde pushed a makeup cart into the trailer. She wore blue, sparkly lipstick. Seeing as this grown woman looked like she’d overdosed on manga, Sam wasn’t sure she trusted her judgment.

Miss Blue Lips parked the cart beside Sam and bit the end of an eyeshadow brush. She hooked a finger under Sam’s chin and turned her face side to side. “Look what we have here. Gonna be tricky, but I think I can fix you up. Never a dull day at the studios. I haven’t seen a sunburn this bad since I drank a bottle of Jack Daniels and woke up bare-assed slung over a donkey in Mexico.” She laughed at herself. “Spring break sophomore year. Man, I miss my college days.” She scrambled around in a drawer on the cart. “I’ll be gentle. By the way, I’m Colleen.”
 

“Sam.”

Colleen bent over in her skin-tight, black leggings and skull-printed tank top, giving Sam a Grade-A view of a calligraphy tramp-stamp that read—Please Use Other Door. At least the girl had some standards. Colleen pulled out a tube of some sort of mint green paste, squirted a glob on her finger, and came at Sam.
 

Sam pulled away. “What is that stuff, toothpaste?”

Colleen lifted a pierced brow. “It’s just a base. The green will cancel out the red tones in your face then I’ll cover it up with foundation. Trust me.”
 

That was the problem. Sam didn’t trust her, but seeing as she made the big bucks doing makeup at a movie studio, Sam closed her eyes and said, “Fine. Just so we’re clear, if it looks stupid, I’m wiping it off.”

“If it looks stupid? Coming from a woman walking around like this?” Colleen snickered. “You’re lucky they hired me today. Otherwise, Rolando would be doing your makeup, and he’d make you look like a drag queen.” Miss Blue Lips slathered minty goop on Sam’s face. It didn’t smell minty, though. It smelled more like old-lady-cold-cream.

Mazy entered the makeup trailer, decked out like a movie star with intense smoky eyes, spiked red hair, and a slinky black mini dress. Her killer, studded-black-pumps were hot.

“Holy shit, Mazy. You look badass.”
 

Mazy spun and shook her hips. She patted the makeup artist on the back and said, “This woman wields magic. I can’t wait to see how you turn out. What did you bring to wear?”

Sam pointed to her suitcase in the corner. “It’s in the suitcase. I brought two outfits. I wasn’t sure which one was best.”

Leah entered the room in a robe and hot curlers. “Hey, girls.”

Mazy pulled out the two outfits Sam had packed and held them up. “Hey, Leah. We have a choice between silver cocktail dress and a white, halter jumpsuit.”

“Jumpsuit.” Colleen announced her selection without even looking at the choices. “White shows up well on screen, and silver will make you resemble a baked potato wrapped in aluminum foil. Plus, with your long legs, blonde hair, and tan skin, the white will make you look like a goddess on film. Think Marilyn Monroe and Lana Turner. What instrument do you play?”

“Double Bass.”

“Definitely the jumpsuit. Wow, I can almost see it now. You should let me pull your hair up to show off your back and neck.”

Leah nodded yes quickly and repeatedly like a bobble head that belonged on a dashboard. “Go for it. You’ll be stunning.” She placed a hand on her hot curlers and glanced at her watch. “I have to get back to my trailer and finish getting ready. Have y’all seen Kendal?”

Mazy pulled a pair of sticks out her stick-bag. “She’s already warming up on set, and she looks fierce. I almost didn’t recognize her.”

When the four ladies gathered on set, they gawked at each other. Leah wore a red chiffon dress that floated in the breeze of an enormous fan planted directly in front of her, causing her dark hair to whip around her supermodel face. Kendal had on a black and white panel dress that accentuated her hourglass figure, making her waist appear to be cinched by a corset. Her hair had been straightened, and she had on fire-engine-red lipstick. This was the best they had all looked, ever. Leah had one of the camera guys take some still shots so she could use the photos in future promos.

A couple of hours of playing, and they were done. It took them longer to get made up than to do the actual gig.

As Sam packed up, a slender woman in a business-like, gray dress with brown hair cut into a sleek bob approached her. She said, “Excuse me. I’m Josephine Bennet, executive producer.” She extended her hand.

Sam shook it. “Sam Carlisle.”

Josephine smiled, revealing an unexpected set of braces that gave her otherwise mature facade a hint of teen playfulness. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. You’re awesome on that bass. I was blown away. Listen, I have a friend who is looking for a studio bassist, and I was wondering if you were available.”

Holy crap. Studio musicians made decent money. Heck yeah, she was available. “I’m pretty sure I can squeeze in some studio time around my other obligations.”

Josephine did a fist pump. “I’m so glad. I think you’re exactly what the project he’s working on needs. Give me your card, and I’ll have him call you.”

“Sounds good.” Score. Gigs equaled money, and money was just what she needed. She’d be out of that house before the six weeks were up.
 

AFTER A COUPLE of sets at Reel to Real Good, Sam pulled into her driveway at one in the morning. Home sweet temporary home. Her bass felt heavier than normal as she lugged it up the stairs—
thump,thump,thump
. The flicker from the television reflected in the living room window, which meant—Papa Bear was still awake. Darn. Goldilocks really wanted to sneak past him and find the bed that fit just right. She turned the doorknob, and hoped she wouldn’t be greeted by a grizzly.

BROCK HEARD THUMPING outside, and he went to the window. Sam was dragging her bass up the stairs. His first instinct was to go out and help her. Because of the frigid vibes between them, he hesitated. She’d been getting along without his help for years. She could make do a little longer.

When she entered the laundry room, he got a good look at her. His mouth fell open. She could’ve been a beauty queen. A slinky white outfit skimmed her luscious body. With her hair piled high on her head, her neck appeared swanlike and tantalizingly kissable.

She looked up at him with a shadow of uncertainty darkening her haunting blue eyes. Her face showed no signs of sunburn. She was a living Barbie. Holy hell.
 

He found himself moving toward her as if pulled by magnets. He placed his hands on her bass and said, “So that’s what has gouged the stair treads, the wheels of your bass case. I’ve been trying to figure out what caused those peculiar divots.”

 
He mentally kicked himself for being an arse. Couldn’t he think of something better to say?

Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll save up some money and pitch in for repairs to your precious treads.”

“I didn’t mean... no, that’s not what I was trying to say.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and silently counted to three. “I was just curious. I don’t mind. You don’t owe me anything.” He was blowing this big time. “You look beautiful.” There. Finally, something worth saying, even if it was weak.

She fidgeted and blushed. “Thank you. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

His shoulders deflated back down into their normal position. “No. No, I was just watching a bit of telly.”

She smiled. “Telly. Cute.”

He despised the word “cute”. Cute applied to puppies and dollies, not him. Nothing about him was cute.
 

She turned and slid her bass into the corner. Everything inside him went rigid. Her outfit was backless. He got a full view of her sinfully bare, whiskey-colored skin, from the nape of her neck to her spine, all the way down to those two succulent dimples on her lower back. He moved closer to her. She smelled like flowers with a hint of intoxicating musk. He wanted to nibble on her neck. Instead, he bit his bottom lip so hard he nearly drew blood.

She glanced over her shoulder. “Do you need something?” Her voice was low and sultry.

He could live with her invading his privacy. Yep. He was over it. In fact, he was ready to bare it all to her right now.
 

“I’m sorry I acted foolishly last night. I’m guarded about my personal life, especially my poetry. It’s common for men from my country to write poetry. It’s not that I’m concerned I’ll be labeled a sissy. The thing is...that notebook is a sort of diary, and I choose which—“

She shushed him. “I’m the one who should apologize. I had no business reading your work without permission. Listen, I want you to know that I didn’t go into your room with the intention of snooping. I really was looking for Princess.”

“I know. She’d apparently gotten locked in my closet.”

“How did you know that?”

He hadn’t intended on telling her, but since she asked, “Your cat left a present for me in my suitcase. A rather putrid gift.”

Sam’s face turned red, and she closed her eyes. “Oh no. I’m sorry. She’s never done anything like that before.”

He touched her arm. “It’s okay. At first I thought she did it because she disliked me, but then I decided she’d probably been trapped in there or something. Cats aren’t my thing, but—“

“Are you allergic?

“No. I’m...” She smiled up at him, and the awkwardness between them evaporated. He lost his train of thought as he gazed into her eyes.

She placed her hand on the center of his chest and parted her lips—those luscious, glistening, pink....

He inclined his head toward hers, and she didn’t retreat. He slowly closed the distance between their mouths, searching her eyes for permission. She tilted her face up to his, and he kissed her.
 

At first, he held his lips softly on hers until her hand slithered up his chest and neck and into his hair.

He opened his mouth, and she mirrored his action. He slowly painted her lips with his tongue and dipped it into her warm, plush mouth. A soft moan poured out of her as he plunged his tongue deeper, searching the origin of her moans, wanting to hear more.