Heaven Beside You

Book 2: Drawn to the Rhythm

by Christa Maurice

Genres: Small Town & Rural; Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

He's her rock n'roll fantasy, but could he ever be more?

Half the year, Cassandra Geoffrey runs In The Pines Campground, and spends the other half alone on a West Virginia mountain. She's not completely happy with the situation, but she loves her wacky, close-knit hometown. Besides, the man of her dreams isn't likely to appear anytime soon—until Jason Callisto, lead guitarist for Touchstone, her ultimate fantasy crush, shows up. At her campground. It's gotta be fate.

After being dumped by his supermodel girlfriend, Jason has been impossible to live with. Now he's been exiled by his manager to West Virginia, before he breaks up the band on the eve of the Grammys. Clearly, Jason is Cass's adventure of a lifetime. To him, she's just an ego boost. . ..Or is she? With so much at stake, can they take a risk and reach for more?

87,605 Words

Release date: January 5, 2015

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 300

Sample

Cassandra grabbed her phone before it rang a second time. Her printer spit out expense reports as she tucked the phone between her ear and her shoulder. “Hello?”

“Cass, I stopped at your parents and they said you’d gone up the mountain early.”

“I have an off-season guest coming. Don’t worry, Finn. I’ll have my taxes to you in plenty of time.” If only he had a body and personality to match that exotic name, but he’d spent most of his life training to be as boring as possible. The rest of the time he spent pursuing her. He never seemed to realize one goal was in total opposition to the other.

“Taxes? Oh. Good.”

Good? He was her accountant. Timely submission of her paperwork should have been important to him.

“You have a guest coming? Now?”

“Don’t worry, Finn. I’m not going to change my season.” Cass glanced out the window for headlights. The guest’s plane should have landed at Pittsburgh hours ago. He could be here anytime. If it was a he. The name J.P. Barnswallow didn’t give much of a hint except that it sounded fake. The setting sun reflected off the snow, gilding the world. “This is my vacation, but the money went to my brain.”

“Oh, well, if you need any help, I can come up.”

“It’s practically done now. That program you recommended is great. Thanks.”

“Yeah, good.” Finn sounded less than happy about his recommendation.

“Well, thanks for the call, Finn, but I want to get back to this and my guest should be here soon. So I’ll talk to you in a week.”

“Give me a call and we can have lunch at Ida’s.”

Cass cringed. Lunch with Finn? She could predict what he would have based on the day. Of course, all she had to do was tell her parents and they would show up to run interference. Paul would be there too, and the food would be excellent. “Sure, Finn. See you then.”

Cass hung up and studied the computer screen. She’d been on the phone long enough for her screen saver to start up. Someday she had to grow up and take the Jason Callisto slide show off instead of continuing to update it. That day wasn’t going to be today. She admired the shot from Aspen where he was wearing his long black wool coat, no skis in sight, and moved the mouse when it started to disintegrate. Three more reports, and she could clip everything together and stuff it in an envelope for Finn.

Lights splashed across the wall beside her. She jumped and peered out the window.

A black Cadillac pulled into the parking space closest to her door. The rental agency had either not known their car was headed into the mountains or had been too busy talking the customer out of a sports car. Hopefully the fault lay with the agent because she had no desire to deal with a difficult guest.

She pulled on her coat and tugged her hair out of the collar. Scooping up the cabin keys, she walked to the front door. How had she allowed herself to be conned into renting out a cabin during her off-season? Money notwithstanding, this was her vacation.

Cass stopped in the open door, letting all her heat out.

Her guest slammed the door of the rental car, stomping his feet to get the feeling back. She’d recognized his lean six-foot-one frame and long black hair before he’d stopped rubbing his eyes and confirmed he was indeed Jason Callisto, guitarist from Touchstone. He wore a long black wool coat just like the one he’d had on in the Aspen picture, black gloves and trademark black Converse sneakers, making him appear longer and sexier than she’d ever imagined. She didn’t need to see his whiskey brown eyes to know it was him.

He squinted at her. “Are you the owner of this place?”

“Yes,” she squeaked. Her breath log-jammed in her lungs around the vicinity of her heart, which wanted to pound right out of her chest.

The office booking the cabin should have warned her so she would have time to prepare. But how could they know she’d be more dumbfounded by the sight of Jason Callisto on her doorstep than anybody else in the world, past or present, real or fictional?

Okay, fictional might have thrown her, but she would have been able to breathe if Ishmael had appeared on her doorstep claiming to need a break from hunting the white whale. To be honest, preparation would have consisted of a lot of semi-hysterical gibbering. One does not prepare for the appearance of one’s long term, unattainable lust on one’s literal doorstep. One merely hopes not to make a fool of oneself in the impossible event it should happen.

Okay, time to stop squeaking, start speaking in complete sentences, and not let her knees unhinge.

“I guess I’ve got a cabin reserved here for the next two weeks,” he told her, staring at the tall pines and firs surrounding the cabin. His voice was richer than she expected, like digital recording couldn’t quite capture its depth.

Cass clutched her parka closed. She wasn’t dressed to meet Jason Callisto. Her usual ensemble of baggy jeans and faded sweatshirt did not suit the guest. And she didn’t own a red carpet or anything.

She swallowed. “Sure, I’ve got your keys here. It’s the one with the shutters off the windows.” She was missing something but couldn’t place it. What was it? Give him the keys, show him his cabin...one more step. Five years of campground ownership and suddenly she couldn’t remember her job. “Oh, I need to have you sign some papers.”

“Can we do it inside? It’s fuckin’ cold out here.” He started toward the door.

Cass stumbled backward, holding out the keys like she would a cross to ward off a vampire. Bringing him into the office would almost be like letting him into her house. Could she invite him in without serious repercussions? Or was it too late for that? What would those repercussions be? She hadn’t cleaned the office since fall. It was dusty. Did he care if the office was dusty? “Here’s the cabin key. You’ll see it, it’s the only one open.”

“The one with the shutters off the windows. I remember. Thanks.” He snagged the keys without touching her hand and dropped them in his pocket as he followed her through the door. His dark eyes were smudged with something weightier than simple fatigue and the corners of his sensual mouth drooped. At least, compared to magazine pictures.

Cass turned to the counter where she’d laid out all her paperwork in anticipation. Good thing too, she’d have never remembered what she needed if it hadn’t been. “Normally I would have a schedule of events, but there aren’t any this time of year. It’s just you and me up here,” she babbled. “There’s some stuff that goes on down in town if you’re interested.”

“That’s okay, I’m not really fit company right now anyway.” He skimmed the rental agreement.

Cass pushed her hair off her face and wondered what his comment meant. She’d gotten past her shock enough to hear his tone of voice. He sounded worn out and miserable. Adding that to the darkness in his eyes and the cant of his mouth, the sum came up unhappy. People often showed up at her door tired and cranky. That was why they went on vacation. If his idea of a vacation was hiding out on a mountain in January, then the crowded airport was way more than he could handle. Especially since he couldn’t be cranky without having it wind up in People magazine. “Long flight?”

“Long two years,” he answered, signing the papers.

Last spring, Touchstone had released a blockbuster album heralded as their comeback. His band had spent all summer and fall touring. The summer before that, they’d been on hiatus and he’d released a solo album, which had been pretty awful.

Cass bit her lip. People magazine. Two years ago in the Valentine’s issue there had been an article on famous love affairs. His three-year relationship with supermodel Stella Marina had been in the “Over” side bar. Stella had since been in several high profile romances. Jason had not. If Duke would move those magazines away from the checkout she wouldn’t study them so religiously, but then she also wouldn’t have a file of the best ones under her bed, including the fateful People. Should she say something, or pretend his life wasn’t all over the gossip magazines? “Well, I’m sure I can put together a marshmallow roast if you’re interested.”

He smiled, but it didn’t quite make it to his eyes. “I’ll let you know. Right now, I just want to get warmed up. The heater wasn’t so great in the rental.”

“I turned up the heat in your cabin yesterday, so it should be nice and toasty. And there’s a fire laid. All you need to do is light it and add wood when it gets going. There’s a woodpile beside the cabin too. Should be enough to keep you for your stay.” Cass wrung her hands.

“Great. What about dinner?” Jason ran his fingers through his hair. He’d probably intended to put it in better order. Instead he’d managed to make it even more mussed and sexy.

Trying to loosen her throat before she started squeaking again, she swallowed. “Dinner?”

“No dinner?”

Cass bit her lip again and his eyes followed the action. Before Stella, Jason had been quite the Romeo. He’d wined and dined the most beautiful women in Hollywood and every one of them had claimed he could melt them with a look. She didn’t need any more melting. “Everybody brings their own food.”

He cursed at the floor. “A little detail Jody left out. Does Domino’s deliver?”

“We don’t have a Domino’s around here.”

He raised an eyebrow. “No Domino’s? Next thing, you’ll tell me there’s no McDonald’s.”

She shook her head. “Not in the valley. And you probably don’t want to head down the mountain this time of night anyway. It’s getting dark and it could be hard to find your way back.”

“No McDonald’s,” he repeated.

“There’s one off the highway but that’s—”

“Thirty minutes away.” He grimaced as if he were afraid of what might come out of his mouth if he opened it now. After a moment, he sighed. “Okay, this isn’t your fault. I should have known Jody would pull a stunt like this. I guess I go hungry tonight.”

“I’ve got a roast in the oven. It’ll be ready in about an hour, if you want to come back over.” She heard herself offer, but couldn’t believe it. How would she eat with Jason Callisto across the table when she couldn’t even breathe when he was in the same room?

“That would be great.” He sighed. “I promise not to be a huge problem while I’m here, I just didn’t know I had to bring my own groceries.”

“You probably didn’t bring linens either.”

“Was I supposed to?”

Cass nodded. All of this had been in the confirmation letter she’d sent his office over a week ago, and she’d repeated the information to the secretary over the phone. Whoever Jody was, she’d pulled quite a stunt. “I’ve got some extras you can borrow. I’ll get you a couple of towels now so you can shower, and have the rest ready when you come for dinner.”

“Thank you.” He bounced the keys in his hand. “The only one that’s open?”

“The first one around to the right. The rest have shutters over their windows.”

“So it’s just you and me,” he said.

She nodded.

This time when he smiled, it crept into his eyes, lighting them in a distinctly melting way. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

Had it suddenly gotten hot in here? Or maybe it was uncontrollable shivering without being cold. It didn’t matter; she was shivering all over. Even if he didn’t mean it the way it sounded, her body whole-heartedly believed the sexiest man alive was propositioning her. “I’ll get you those towels.” She tried to go up the steps backward and tripped on the top one then staggered backward a few steps before catching herself on the chair beside the mantle. Another two steps and she would have fallen into, and no doubt broken, the coffee table. She’d managed to attain the age of thirty with a modicum of dignity, but now that there was a cute boy in her house she’d dropped right back to puberty. Pulling herself up, she hurried out of the room.

* * * *

Fish in a barrel.

Jason set his suitcase on the floor beside the bed. He’d brought his guitars in first and left them in the living room. The bed was indeed a bare mattress. Leave it to Jody. She was still pissed because she hadn’t made the short list when Stella dumped him. The fact that nobody had been on his short list didn’t deter her for an instant. Of course, Jody wouldn’t understand something purely physical. She wanted everything, up to the diamond ring. Pre-nup optional.

The cute little campground owner didn’t have any of that predatory gleam. She had more than down-home charm. Something that looked suspiciously like honesty.

He glanced out the front window of his cabin at the owner’s little Craftsman style bungalow. What was her body like under that puffy parka? If the legs were any indication, excellent. And every redhead he’d ever known had run a little hotter than average. If the way she’d acted a few minutes ago meant anything at all, her temperature was already rising. Getting that woman in bed was going to be like shooting fish in a barrel. Nothing spelled ego boost like a good sexual conquest. He needed the ego boost.

Stella dumped him in People magazine. Walking though the airport from the first class lounge to the gate last year, he’d kept seeing that fucking magazine in all the newsstands, but he’d avoided it. Then the goddamn attendant came around with the basket of reading material and instead of picking up something logical like Forbes or Business Week or the goddamn New York Times, he’d picked up People. If the airline had had better movies lined up on the in-flight entertainment, he could have been spared the news at least until he’d landed, but no, they had to have bought the Bruce Willis block that month. He’d been looking forward to settling in to their familiar New York apartment until the moment he’d flipped to that fucking sidebar. Leave it to Stella to use even their breakup to forward her career. Leave it to People to stick it in a sidebar. At least he hadn’t had to face a half empty apartment unwarned when he’d arrived there. No, Candy had been on the phone with him seconds after the crew told them they were allowed to turn on their phones, pissed that her mole at People hadn’t warned her ahead of time as she made sure he was okay.

It was the lousy reception that album had gotten. Thanks to the off album, their relationship no longer helped her career. He’d wanted to believe she loved him so much, he’d ignored how she’d used his fame to get her acting career going.

No, he’d sensed something, because he’d planned on asking her to marry him so she wouldn’t leave. As if saying I do would have stopped her from jumping to a better gravy train.

Ditching the New York apartment hadn’t helped. Releasing that shitty solo album made everything worse. Watching Bear find, court and marry his own one true love had been agony. Throwing himself into promo for the last album had worked because dropping into malls and small town radio stations during the tour not only boosted record sales and made him valuable to the rest of the band, it gave him something positive. He needed positive or he was going to get thrown out of the band, no matter how valuable he was.

Once the tour ended, Sandy strongly suggested going to West Virginia to sit on the side of a mountain for a while and cool his heels far, far away from where he could piss off the band more. “I want you back on your feet for the Grammys, boy,” his manager had said. “You have two weeks.”

In two weeks, he could seduce and thrill the sexy little miss and leave her with exciting memories while soothing his ego at the same time. A good bargain all around, right?

Maybe not. Guilt gnawed at the back of his mind. He knew what it looked like from the female side when Mr. Right turned out to be Mr. Right Now And Gone Tomorrow. He still knew the names of all the men and boys who’d broken his sisters’ hearts even if they didn’t realize he’d noticed. No way did he want to be that guy for any woman.

Still, she knew what the score was. She didn’t have to bite. He showed up as Mr. Right Now. All alone up here all winter, sexy Cassandra had to have some time to kill, and judging by the way she’d reacted to him, she was inclined.

He checked his watch. Plenty of time to shower and shave before dinner. He opened his suitcase. Lots of black stuff, which suited his mood and his body. After ten years of being dressed by professionals, he knew what worked. With his swarthy skin and dark hair, black looked perfect. Blond Brian wore a lot of white and blue. Blond Brian, who was a husband and father before he ever meant to be. Unfair, to say the least. Jason had always wanted to settle down. He wanted a wife and kids and a house in the country. Brian had all that stuff. Bear had it now too. Some days it was hard not to hate Brian and Bear, even if they were his best friends.

Jason threw a black shirt and black jeans on the bare mattress along with some underwear and socks. Then he sauntered across the living room to the bathroom and turned on the shower. The place was warm. Sexy Cassandra had made sure of that. The water spraying across his hand steamed. When Jody told him the proprietor of the In the Pines Campground was a woman named Cassandra Geoffrey, he’d envisioned a tough old bird with a buzz cut, built like a Marine and wearing a scowl that could scare tempered steel. He’d expected to spend his two weeks holed up in the rented cabin playing guitar and talking to himself. But the vision that had greeted him at the door had been more than welcome. That mass of curly hair made his hands itch to be buried in it, letting it twist around his fingers, and it was so red he wondered if cuffs and collar matched. From the shade of her eyebrows and eyelashes, they did, unless she dyed those too. Did women in the real world do that? He’d been living in LA too long. Seeing Jennifer Aniston in reruns and at the neighborhood Starbucks tended to warp the mind a little.

Jason stepped under the water, feeling himself thaw. Cassandra’s sea-green eyes and lovely full mouth were pretty captivating too. And unlike most redheads, she didn’t have freckles. Nothing wrong with freckles, but they’d always made him think of little girls, and he preferred women. No, her skin, what he’d been able to see, had been smooth and pale as sweet cream. Maybe it was like that all over. That led him back to wondering what her body looked like under the parka. The hint had been strong enough that he knew it wasn’t bad, but how good was it?

He warmed to more than the water. It had been some time since he’d had much reaction to any woman. Getting dumped in the national press had sort of put a damper on things. He took a deep breath. If he didn’t get himself under control quick, he’d have to stick his head in a snowdrift on his way to dinner, and she might wonder about him then.

He smiled, hoping she was wondering about him now.

 

 

 

The tablecloth she’d spread on the table looked stupid. First of all, the very bright summery yellow did not suit the season. Second, it smacked of trying too hard, and she didn’t want to fawn. Jason Callisto hadn’t come to West Virginia to be fawned over. If he wanted that he would have gone to Aspen where the skiing was better, according to People magazine.

Yanking the tablecloth off, she folded it up before stuffing it back in the drawer. The roast had to go on the good platter because it was the only thing big enough, though she was not going to get much roast beef for sandwiches, which had been the point of cooking a big meal.

She checked the roast. It looked fine and would be ready on time. Good thing she’d done the full service carrots and potatoes.

In her bedroom, she surveyed the choices. If she didn’t make up her mind, she would greet him at the door in her birthday suit, and that would put an entirely different spin on the evening. At least, she decided, they didn’t do that in Aspen.

She picked up the jewel-tone purple sweater her mother had given her for Christmas. As yet unworn, but her mother had an unerring eye for color. However, it had a turtleneck. Hardly sexy. The other option was her tight black chenille with the low neckline. She’d bought it in the children’s department, which is why it was so tight and low. That’s also why almost nobody around town had seen it, but she felt voluptuous when she wore it around the house.

The dinner rolls had to get in the oven or they wouldn’t be ready.

She pulled on a pair of black bell-bottoms—they accentuated her curves—and the purple sweater because it didn’t make her look like a tart. A good trade off, under the circumstances. Then she hurried into the kitchen and, after wrapping an apron older than her mother over the ensemble, got the dinner rolls going and assembled her trifle.

Now, that was over doing it. Or looked like it. The pound cake and the strawberries were frozen and the pudding, instant. The whole thing took five minutes tops to throw together, but in a crystal bowl, it looked gorgeous and frilly. She turned the bowl. Did it even have a best angle? Every inch was bright, gooey and mouthwatering. Before she found one, the bell rang.

Jason stood outside, moody and seductive in his long black coat, like a member of the French Resistance who’d fallen out of World War II. Or a rock star who’d appeared in West Virginia to have dinner with a fan.

Because that happened all the time.

She pulled open the door and summoned up her normal speaking voice. Not an easy task when her tongue wanted to loll out of her mouth. “Hello, you’re just in time. Come on in.” She led him up the three stairs to her living room door.

Since she not only lived and worked here, but got stuck inside sometimes for weeks in the winter, the place was very cozy and warm. Dark wood floors, whitewashed walls, and overstuffed burgundy furniture facing the fieldstone fireplace, which she kept blazing most of the winter. Curtains blocked the view of her office. The TV sat where she could see it from the couch, but had a thick film of dust on it because she hadn’t cleaned since she’d come back up the mountain after Christmas. On either side of the TV, bookshelves groaned with books and DVDs. It was nice. Not MTV Cribs nice, but nice.

He bypassed all of that and walked straight to the window overlooking the valley. She hadn’t managed to set up her easel yet so there was nothing to block the view.

“Nice view,” he said.

She felt obligated to go stand beside him. Because he was a guest and not because she couldn’t resist the opportunity to be near him. Really.

Beyond her tiny side yard and across the access road, the ground dropped off for about five feet then resumed a more leisurely descent into the valley below. It gave the impression that her cabin was hanging on the edge of the mountain. The town below looked like a miniature in a snow globe, lit by a few lights from street lamps and houses, peaceful and sleepy. Across and down the valley, the new ski lodge did a brisk business, like an illuminated scar on the mountain. She hadn’t minded it until they’d started with the night skiing. Then it ruined her pretty view and kept all the tourists on the slopes in the evenings instead of giving them time to go into town for dinner and shopping.

“Is that a ski lodge?” he asked.

“Yes.” She kept her voice neutral. Finally, she’d found something to counterbalance his appeal. The ski lodge. She didn’t remember any of his press saying he skied, but he might. Or he might be bored enough to take it up over the next two weeks. His rented Caddy wouldn’t look as out of place in their parking lot. “Do you ski?”

“No, I don’t. I just was thinking it looks funny lit up like that. Kind of ruins the view.” He turned to her. “There. That’s better.”

“Better?” Her breath caught. So much for counterbalancing appeal.

“The view. It’s much better from this direction,” he said.

Cass glanced down to hide the blush she had to be sporting and realized she was still wearing her apron. And she’d been worried about what sweater to wear? “I should get the roast out.”

She spun around and dashed for the kitchen. The roast was done enough to take out, the rolls were not.

Maybe he’d agreed with her about the ski lodge, or he was buttering her up. But how would he know he was agreeing with her? What would be the purpose of buttering her up? She shivered at the thought.

“Anything I can do to help?”

Cass jumped and spun around holding the serving fork like a weapon. Jason leaned against the doorway smiling lazily. He seemed less harsh than he had before. She cleared her throat. “I suppose if you want a job, you can get this out of the roaster and start slicing while I make the gravy.”

“Gladly.” At the exact moment she lost her grip on the fork, his fingers brushed hers and she would have dropped it if he hadn’t been holding it. She fidgeted behind him while he moved the roast. “You look like you know what you’re doing.”

“I get a lot of practice. When the roads get bad up here, they can stay that way for weeks sometimes. I could probably get down the holler, but there’s no guarantee I’d get back up.” She took the roaster out of his hands and turned away to make the gravy.

“Couldn’t you stay with someon. . .