Authors: Donna Michaels
Wyne and Song
Ethan entered, and in the space of time it took him
to shut the door, his strong, sexy presence turned the room back into a closet, and her slow pulse to wild. Unaware of the havoc he caused, the gorgeous man set the vase on the table then turned to face her.
“Oh, sorry, I thought you said to come in.” He blinked, then twisted his back to her in a surprisingly sweet, gentlemanly gesture.
“I did,” she said. “It’s okay, you can turn around. I actually need your help. Again.”
She watched as he slowly faced her, hesitancy clouding his gaze.
“You do?”
“Yes,” she replied, heat flooding her face. “I’d planned to be dressed by now and save us both the embarrassment of seeing me in my knickers.”
A slow smile spread across his lips. “How’s that working out for you?”
“Swell.” She laughed. “Until my hair got caught on a button. Can you help get it unstuck?”
His attention transferred to the knotted mess. “Sure,” he said, and stepped closer, carefully taking the garment from her hands. “Turn around.”
The gravelly timbre of his voice awakened a fluttering in her stomach. But she had bigger worries, because as he worked the button loose, his fingers brushed her neck and shoulders, and the feel of his calloused hands on her skin stole her breath. By the time he finished, her body trembled and the goose bumps returned. With reinforcements. Those suckers raced down her back so fast they bounced up the front, peaking body parts her undergarments were not going to hide.
About Wyne and Chocolate:
“
The Citizen Soldier series has a fantastic new addition with Wyne and Chocolate. The book had a great start. I found myself laughing out loud right away - and that set the tone for a light-hearted, funny, and romantic read. I've read a LOT of romance books, and Wyne and Chocolate has one of the best first kisses that I have read.”
—Reviewer- Romancereader
About Her Uniform Cowboy:
“Ms. Michaels pens a tale with pure heart and true grit! This story will hit so many readers close to home there is not one part of the plot that will feel foreign. No super models here, just true, down to earth servicemen and woman getting back to their place in the world. The characters and plot have a wonderful arc and the laughter, tears and emotional ride readers get to take on this journey will not disappoint.”
—InD’tale Magazine,
Crowned Heart of Excellence 4.5 Stars
--Voted BEST COWBOY in a Book/Reader’s Choice-LRC
--1
st
Place BTS eMag Book Award/Reader’s Choice-Best Romance
--2
nd
Place BTS eMag Book Awards for Best Book
About Locke and Load:
“The second book in the Dangerous Curves series, is guaranteed to keep you turning pages, and wondering what will happen next. The characters in this book seem so real and down to earth and I could not help but feel that I was right there with them, as their story unfolds. I am a huge fan of Donna Micheals, Harland County cowboys and now she has me addicted to the men and women who work for the Knight Agency. If you love a romance with twists and turns, hot alpha men and strong willed women, a book that will pull you in from the very first page then I strongly recommend this series, a five star read all the way!!”
—Reviewer-Debbie Collins
Thank you for purchasing Wyne and Song. This is the third book in my Citizen Soldier Series.
Guarding the hearts of the Pocono Valley..
.
This book is about the oldest Wyne brother, Ethan. He’s not only a part time National Guardsman, and part owner of the family run Wyne resort, he’s a single father who has trust issues due to the fact his late wife cheated on him while he was deployed. He doesn’t date. He puts his son’s needs before his own. The last thing he’s looking for is a love.
Broadway star Phoebe Weston heads to the Poconos for Summer Theater while waiting for a call from her agent about a Hollywood screen-test to fulfill her mother’s dream. But encounters with her friend Leah’s future brother-in-law, the sexy, fun man she’d spent a spontaneous night with back in NYC a month earlier, puts a song in her heart.
This is another hot, heartfelt, sexy read in this series involving some series regulars, and introducing some new ones.
Thanks for reading,
~Donna
Also by Donna Michaels
~Novels~
Cowboy Payback
(Cowboy-Fiancé Sequel)
She Does Know Jack
Royally Unleashed
The Spy Who Fanged Me
~Time-shift Heroes Series~
Captive Hero
(Time-shift Heroes Series-Book One)
~Harland County Series~
Harland County Christmas
(Novella/Brock and Jen)
Her Fated Cowboy
(Harland County Series-Book One)
Her Unbridled Cowboy
(Harland County Series-Book Two)
Her Uniform Cowboy
(Harland County Series-Book Three)
Her Forever Cowboy
(Harland County Series-Book Four)
Her Healing Cowboy
(Harland County Series Book Five)
Her Volunteer Cowboy
(Harland County Series Book Six)
~Citizen Soldier Novels~
Wyne and Dine
(Citizen Soldier Series-Book One)
Wyne and Chocolate
(Citizen Soldier Series-Book Two)
~Dangerous Curves Series~
Knight’s SEAL
(Book 1/Lisa/Hot SEALs Kindle World Crossover)
Locke and Load—(
Book 2/Nikki)
~Novellas~
Cowboy-Fiancé
(formerly Cowboy-Sexy)
Thanks for Giving
Ten Things I’d Do for a Cowboy
Vampire Kristmas
Valentine’s Day Do-Over
Valentine’s Day Do-Over Part II: The Siblings
UPCOMING RELEASES:
~Harland County Series~
Her Indulgent Cowboy
(Book 7/Jesse)
~Citizen Soldier Novels~
Wine and Her New Year Cowboy
(Book 4/Ring In A Cowboy Boxed Set Novella/Rel. 12/28/15)
Wyne and Song
A Citizen Soldier Novel
Book 3: Ethan
By
Donna Michaels
NY Times & USA Today Bestselling Author
WYNE AND SONG
A Citizen Soldier Series Novel//Book 3: Ethan
Copyright © 2015 Donna Michaels
Cover Art by Donna Michaels © 2015
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author—except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the web. For information, please contact the author via email at
[email protected]
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
ISBN-13:
ISBN-10:
To Citizen Soldier fans. I appreciate your unending support! To my family, the HOODS, my great street team, and wonderful editors.
♥
I
t’s official. I’m going to hell.
In the five minutes since the last curtain call, Phoebe Weston had lied to not one, but three fellow thespians. Her inability to hurt someone’s feelings was going to fast-track her straight to the seventh layer.
It wasn’t her fault. Her lack of the
cruel
gene prevented her from stating their performances tonight rivaled the Three Stooges. On steroids. She’d wager that wasn’t exactly what Irving Berlin had had in mind. The brilliant composer no doubt rolled over in his grave, then covered his ears.
And flinched.
Twice.
Still, all actors were susceptible to an off night. Phoebe included. Her performance tonight had suffered a minor hiccup. Unlike most shows where she breezed through her lines and danced flawlessly, tonight she’d floundered near the end of Act II. She’d made the mistake of glancing out at the audience to seek her visiting friends, but her gaze had snagged on a deliciously handsome man in the second row. His dark hair, five o’clock shadow, and sexy half-smirk had rendered her stupid.
She’d blanked.
Her mind had momentarily shut right down while she was in the middle of a dance routine in front of a sold out crowd in the biggest theater on Broadway.
Who does that?
Not exactly her finest moment on stage, but it was certainly her most memorable. No man had ever knocked her out of her character like that before…especially with just a smile.
Heck, the glance had been so fleeting she hadn’t even been able to make out the color of his eyes, but somehow she knew they’d be brown. A deep, dark chocolate brown, resembling the decadent candy her good friend created.
Which made sense. Everyone in theater knew better than to indulge in chocolate before and during a performance. A coating on your vocal chords would close your throat and affect your singing. A delicious, but debilitating treat.
Just like the hot eye-candy in the audience.
Luckily, her waltz partner had picked up the slack and led her around the stage without anyone the wiser. A quick learner, Phoebe had made a point to avoid glancing in that area again. She was at work. On stage. People paid a good penny to see her perform her best, not trip over her feet and tongue like a hormonal teenager glimpsing her first heartthrob.
“Great news, Pheebs.” Her agent Niles Goodwyn, grabbed her attention as he appeared out of the chaotic backstage crowd, gaze beaming as bright as the light reflecting off his balding head. “There were Hollywood representatives in the audience tonight, and they loved your performance. They’re going to contact me to set up a screen test.”
Holy
wow.
Her heart tripped at the news.
Screen test?
She sucked in a breath, and the dank, musty air of the old theater clung to the back of her throat like the ancient, crimson fleur-de-lis wallpaper covering the walls.
An excited shriek echoed through the narrow passageway, drowning out her cough before her mother stepped out from behind Niles to pull her in for a tight hug. “Hollywood! Isn’t that wonderful, Phoebe?”
In her mid-fifties, her mother still turned heads with her caramel-colored hair, big brown eyes, and the cute dimple Phoebe did not inherit. Instead, she got her mother’s star-shaped birthmark. On her butt.
She’d rather the dimple.
“This is what we’ve always wanted. What you’ve worked so hard to achieve.” Her mother drew back and smiled. “I’m so darn proud of you, hun.”
The joy and hope lighting the tears gathering in those big brown eyes warmed Phoebe’s heart. “It’s all because of you, Mom, and the sacrifices you made for me.”
Anna Weston had been a promising Broadway star with her eyes set on Hollywood when she became pregnant. The father, a philandering playwright, had suddenly remembered he’d had a wife and hightailed it back to L.A., leaving Anna pregnant and alone.
Instead of giving Phoebe up, her mother had sacrificed her career, personal life, everything, sometimes working two jobs to afford Phoebe’s dance lessons, voice lessons, piano lessons, and acting coaches. Not once had her mother complained, she just happily carted her from audition to audition, play to play, agent to agent.
She’d only been with Niles for several weeks when the agent realized her mother knew almost as much as he did about show business and hired her on the spot. The upgrade in pay allowed her mother to quit her other jobs and work at only one. One she loved.
Phoebe owed the giving woman much more than she could ever repay, so to see joy, instead of stress, gracing her mother’s face made her feel as if maybe she’d just wiped out a small piece of that debt.
“Well, I don’t want to keep you.” Her mother released her and stepped back as several cast members scooted by. “I know you’re supposed to meet up with Lea and Jill for Jill’s engagement celebration.”
Her friend, Jill Bailey, was a former New Yorker, a genius with chocolate, and newly engaged to Phoebe’s neighbor Lea’s soon-to-be brother-in-law.
The six degrees of separation gave her a headache.
“Please pass on my congratulations,” her mother continued. “And enjoy yourself. Just be mindful of those around you.”
She knew the drill all too well. The price to pay for fame. “I will.”
With today’s technology, and a camera on everyone’s phone, she was always in danger of making the tabloids. But only if she did something stupid. Her name wasn’t big enough for people to camp outside her high-rise. Much.
“Yeah, the last thing you need is to be caught in an awkward situation.” Niles shuddered. “Damn paparazzi is always there, and if it’s not them, then it’s someone looking to gain fifteen minutes of fame.” He chewed on his lower lip. “Maybe you should order in and celebrate at your friend’s place. We’re so close. I can feel it. I don’t want anything to ruin your shot.”
She reached out and touched his shoulder in an attempt to bring him down from anxiety’s ledge. “Don’t worry. Mason booked a private room at Bellandini’s.”
“Oh, Italian food. Lucky you.” Her mother smiled. “But be careful. Giancarlo’s Alfredo is so rich and creamy your thighs might gain an inch from the aroma alone.”
Note to self: Order marinara.
She released Niles and turned to her mother. “You can come. You were invited, too.”
“No, you young ones enjoy yourselves. I’ve got a fundraiser meeting for that off Broadway theater, then a date with a handsome Scotsman on my DVR and some Chinese takeout.”
Niles cocked his head at Phoebe. “You’ll be in a private room? Good. How many people are going?”
He was still uptight about the party?
She blew out a breath and faced him. “Seven. It’s just Jill and her fiancé, Lea and her fiancé, me, and the other two Wyne brothers.”
This would be the first time she met the youngest brother, Keiffer, and the oldest one, Ethan, the single father, although, she already felt she knew the whole Wyne family. Lea often talked about them during their semi-weekly girl’s night in.
“And then you’re going back to Lea’s?” her agent asked. “She’s the one who lives in the other penthouse on your floor, right?”
She nodded, happy to skip the first question by answering the second. The less he knew about the dancing planned afterward, the better. “Yes, Lea took over her sister’s lease.”
Phoebe still couldn’t believe Gwen, her stunning, former neighbor, actually gave up modeling to live on a ranch in south Texas. But according to Lea, Gwen was beyond happy. She wondered fleetingly what that would feel like, then reeled back.
Where the heck had that thought come from?
She
was
happy. Very happy. She had a successful career that was about to take a giant leap forward. A mother who cared about her, good friends, and an agent/manager she could actually trust. What more could she possibly want?
An image of the handsome, dark-haired man with the five o’clock shadow and sexy half-smirk skittered through her mind.
Phoebe shook it off and lifted her chin. She did not need a man to make her happy. This day and age, technology had a gadget for that, too.
Several.
In fact, she kept one in the drawer of her nightstand. The
French Tickler
had been a gift Gwen had bought her while in Paris on a photoshoot. Phoebe had renamed it
Pierre.
If she was going to contemplate sticking the gadget near her good parts, then it needed a manly name, and, well, Peter sounded too crude. But, despite his romantic name, Pierre was still useless without batteries, so she’d stuffed the gadget in the drawer, promising to get reacquainted as soon as she bought a box.
That’d been two years ago. Pierre probably wouldn’t work from lack of use.
Poor thing had died a virgin.
“Well, we’d better let you go to your dressing room,” her mom said, regaining her attention. “I know you don’t like to wear your theatrical makeup in public.”
She nodded. It was too heavy for her tastes. “Yeah, and I need to change back into something from the twenty-first century before I meet the Wynes in the lobby.”
Her mother laughed. “Congratulate Jill for me, and enjoy dinner.”
“Will do.” She smiled and patted her rumbling stomach as her mother disappeared down the hall.
An unpleasant and embarrassing incident in her youth had taught Phoebe to avoid heavy meals at least two hours before a performance, so counting the two curtain calls tonight, it had been over six hours since she’d had an actual meal, having only nibbled on a light snack and sipped hot lemon water with honey between performances backstage.
Bellandini’s definitely beckoned.
“Have fun, but not too much.” Niles frowned. “Watch for cameras. Now that we know Hollywood is interested in you, they’ll also be watching.”
With a salute to her agent, she pivoted, as much as the tight hallway allowed, and headed to her dressing room to shed her stage persona. The sooner she slipped back into Phoebe, the sooner she could eat.
In an attempt to hasten her steps, she grasped a handful of her long skirts and lifted them off the floor as she scurried around a handful of cast and crew still lingering backstage. After exchanging a few more congratulatory remarks along the way, she finally made it to her door. Her blocked door. Her
unlocked
blocked door. With so many quick changes between scenes, it was best to leave the dressing room unlocked, which wasn’t normally an issue.
Until now.
A borderline creepy fan stood in front of her door.
Where was security? She glanced around the dimly lit hall, but only saw a few crew members. The cast was either gone, or safely tucked inside the common dressing room the rest of the cast used. Security was usually pretty good about keeping the strange fans from gaining access backstage.
“You were wonderful as always tonight, Ms. Weston. I made this especially for you.” The man, in his late forties with pale blue eyes, glasses, a crooked nose, and brown hair combed straight back from his balding temples, leaned his thin frame against the closed door while he handed her a white cowboy hat.
Thanks to that darn missing
cruel
gene of hers, Phoebe tamped down her unease, released her skirt and grasped the hat. “Th-thank you.” A red rose was tucked into the band.
More sweet than creepy.
“I’ve seen all your shows,” he gushed, color flooding his cheeks. “Can I have your autograph?”
Maybe then he’ll leave
.
“Sure.”
Smiling, he thrust a red permanent marker at her. “On my chest. Right next to our tattoo.”
At first, she thought she’d heard wrong, but a second later, he ripped open his shirt, and sure enough, on the left breast of his boney chest, was a heart tattooed in red with the black letters F + P in the center.
Okay, back to more creepy than sweet. Especially since the heart was shaped like the organ, not the sentiment.
Call security,
common sense urged.
“Ah, I-I’m sorry. But I’ve got to go,” she said, contemplating if trying to get inside her dressing room was a good idea, since the man could be stronger than he appeared, and possibly force his way in, as well.
“Where?” His chin lifted. “Do you have a date? I could be your date.”
“Thanks, but I have one.” Technically not a lie, since she had plans with her friends.
The man’s expression turned suspicious. He shook his head. “But you don’t have a boyfriend.”
Did Pierre count?
Not that he’d be much help, although, he’d probably make a good weapon. She cringed as a headline flashed through her mind:
Broadway Star Delivers Death By Dildo.
Her mother would faint, Niles would drop dead of a heart attack, and any chance of heading to Hollywood would die with him.
“I’ve read all the papers, and I google you every day. You shouldn’t lie, Ms. Weston.” He stepped closer, blue gaze no longer friendly.
She shouldn’t have been kind to him, either. Fear thumped through her ears louder than the base drum in the finale.