I knew I’d already spent too much time in the old greenhouse but, since there was no guarantee that Cora would actually come back to the mansion, I decided not to rush. Besides, the song was progressing much too well.
The bridge was solid, and now I was letting the variations take over. I played through the entire thing again and this time, let the notes stretch out and reverberate. There was something else in the song, something I wasn’t saying clearly yet.
I heard car doors slam up at the mansion and realized Tyson had driven right past me.
Curiosity buzzed in my head and drove the last reverbs of the song out. I wondered if Cora had come back with him or if I would ever see her again. Before that bluesy theme could take me off on another variation of the song, I packed my guitar away and pulled out my phone.
“Hey, Rick, it’s Storm.”
“So, you survived the party, huh?” Rick asked.
I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. “Better than that, actually, but that’s not what I’m calling about. I’ve got a new song. You got some time to play?”
Rick must have heard the smile in my voice. “Inspired? I wondered if maybe you met a girl at the party.”
“No one said this has anything to do with a girl.” I frowned into my phone. Had Rick seen me with Cora at the party? “How about you? Meet anyone fun?”
“Oh, no, you’re not changing the subject. What’s got you so inspired?” Rick asked.
“The idea of finding new bandmates,” I growled.
Rick laughed. “All right, fine. I’ll ask again at practice. When and where?”
He promised to call Bobby and set everything up, and I hung up the phone, satisfied the song would soon be out of my head. So what if he saw me with Cora? It’d be nice to know she wasn’t just a figment of my imagination.
I grabbed my guitar and headed up to the mansion, no longer able to wonder if she’d returned. I wouldn’t blame her. I wasn’t any good at one-night stands and my offer had been more an awkward gesture than anything. I didn’t know how to ‘go with the flow’ as my father had often preached.
Wishing I could loosen up, I strode into the front foyer and stumbled to avoid Cora.
“What the hell?” I regained my footing and whirled around. “What are you doing down there?”
Cora scrambled to her feet. “I was taking photographs of the chandelier but then I caught this sunbeam in the dust on the glass table and—”
I held up both hands to stop her nervous flow of talk. “You’re photographing the dusty table in my foyer?”
“I didn’t mean to trip you,” she said.
I shook my head and backed away. I had been so sure Cora would be gone that I had no idea how to handle the flood of excitement and nerves her sudden reappearance had let loose.
“No, it’s not that. It’s just Tyson is going to flip his lid when he hears the foyer is dusty. If you’re not careful, you’re going to send us into a deep clean. It’s miserable, I promise you.” I took her arm and looked around for her bags. “Why don’t I take you up to your room?”
“It’s really a glorious picture with the grand chandelier like a halo way up above. It’s not about the dust,” Cora protested as I pulled her upstairs.
“Dusty glory.” I snorted. “You might be too perceptive for your own good.”
Before Cora could protest again, I whipped her upstairs to her guest suite. It was satisfying to see her point of view on my dusty foyer fade away in front of her elegant accommodations. She stood gaping and then turned for the door.
I caught her arm as she tried to slip away. “Sorry, I should have given you a full tour first. You’ll get the lay of the land, I promise.”
Cora turned back to the guest suite with its dreamy mix of driftwood, white marble, and rose-petal pink. “I don’t need all this. You don’t have to do all this for me.”
“Do all what?” I asked. “This is the guest suite. Tyson’ll have a stroke if you take any other room.”
Cora moved to the seashell-encrusted fireplace. “Yes, but I’m basically an intruder. I don’t deserve more than a lumpy couch.”
“There’s always the old greenhouse,” I said.
The temperature in the guest suite shot up a few degrees. Hot flashing scenes of Cora stretched beneath me on the wicker sofa took my breath away. The blazing blush on her cheeks made me think she was remembering the same things.
I cleared my throat. “I mean, you’re welcome here. I invited you. In fact, I’d also like to invite you to have dinner with me tonight.”
Cora nodded, her eyes still darting all over the beautiful room. I left her to explore and rushed to find Tyson. He was in the pantry looking over the decimated supplies.
“Looks like some guests made it into the kitchen late last night?” I asked.
“Early this morning,” Tyson said. “Caught ‘em high as kites and making a ridiculous cake mix of everything.”
“So, now’s a bad time to ask what we’re serving Cora for dinner tonight?” I stepped away from the pantry door as I asked.
Tyson popped out. “You’re supposed to give me two days’ notice before a dinner party!”
“It’s not a dinner party. It’s just her and me.” I bit my lip, thinking that was too much. “Though you should join us.”
“Oh, no.” Tyson shook his head and pushed past me. “You’re the one that invited her and now she expects to see the rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle. I’m not the star. I don’t have to put on a show.”
I leaned back against the kitchen island. “You really think she expects something fancy?”
Tyson shrugged. “She expects a lot more than you and I ordering Chinese takeout again.”
I swore under my breath. Tyson was right. I had invited Cora to stay at the mansion. I was the one who had just shown her to the most luxurious guest suite. She was going to expect something worthy of the mansion and the wealth it boasted.
“So, we have to clean up our act.” I rolled up my sleeves and grabbed a notepad usually reserved for grocery lists. “Here’s a list of things that need doing ASAP, starting with dusting. She’s taking photographs and catching all the details.”
Tyson stood up straighter. “I’m on it. What are you doing?”
“Trying to remember some plays from my dad’s book,” I said.
“Can’t remember how to be a big deal?” Tyson laughed.
“Fine. You’re so good at it, why don’t you tell me? What am I supposed to do to impress Cora?” I asked.
Tyson stopped and gave me a thoughtful look. “So, you want to impress her, huh?”
“What’s wrong with that?” I growled. “What’s your problem with her?”
“I don’t have a problem with her.” Tyson skirted around to the other side of the kitchen island. “She just seems familiar somehow. Like I know her.”
“Well, maybe you know her well enough to guess her dress size.” I pointed to the phone number I had found on the Internet.
Tyson sidled back to the computer. “The designer? Nice move.”
“And some exclusive reservation. You still have some pull, right?” I asked my manager.
He snorted. “I’ve got it. We’ll just have to see if you still do, too.”
I chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder as he dialed the designer’s phone number. Ten minutes of schmoozing and ridiculous promises later, and Tyson had Cora’s fitting scheduled for within the hour. He then called and booked a helicopter.
“Gotta go all in and take her to dinner in New York City,” Tyson said.
We argued over restaurants while he selected a few bottles of expensive wine. Then, from the wreckage of the pantry, Tyson pulled out an aged brie, crackers, and a smoked salami. Dinner reservations for two at Manhattan’s most exclusive restaurant were secured by the time he’d put everything on a silver tray.
“Better go break the news to our houseguest that she’s going out to dinner,” my manager said.
I took the tray and carried it carefully up the stairs. I tapped my boot against the guest suite door and wasn’t surprised when Cora immediately whipped it open. She did not strike me as the type of person who would stay put for long.
“What’s all this?” she cried.
“Appetizers.” I brought the tray into the suite and placed it on the glass buffet table behind the sofa. Then I poured her a glass of wine. “My manager might have gone over the top with tonight’s dinner reservation.”
Cora took the wine glass with wide eyes. “We’re going out? But I don’t have anything to wear. I mean, nothing formal.”
I pretended like I did suave stuff like this all the time. “Exactly. So, I took the liberty of asking a designer friend to come by. He’ll make sure you have the right thing to wear.”
She shot me a look like I was bluffing her somehow. “Great. I’m ready.”
I clinked my wine glass against hers, appreciating her stubborn bravado in the face of a dare. “Wonderful. See you at dinner.”
I wouldn’t have been so smug if I knew how stunning she would look. A few hours later, and it was my turn to stand slack-jawed as Cora descended the stairs. She’d called my bluff and the designer’s boastful grin told me she’d let him go all out.
Still, the dress was a modest black. From there, the details flowed and stitched together into the vision of a goddess. Satin shimmered along a low-dipping neckline, while a tight empire waist accentuated Cora’s already delicious curves. Then a long, flowing black skirt swirled around her sinuous legs just far enough to leave a long glimpse of her graceful ankles. Strappy leather heels more art than structure finished the sweeping, sexy look.
I tugged at my tuxedo collar and couldn’t believe I was doing this. I was out of my mind. Inspiration had struck and wiped all other sense out of my head. Why else was I putting on this show for Cora?
“You clean up well,” Cora said when she reached the bottom of the staircase.
A smile cracked my tension. She was daring me right back. I would have dropped the whole thing if she’d hadn’t taken my arm and faced the landing helicopter with a mask of total nonchalance.
It was definitely on.
Cora didn’t look so sure of herself when we landed in the midst of Manhattan and were immediately whisked away in a stretch limo. And after we were bombarded by a small band of paparazzi that Tyson had clearly tipped off, Cora clung to my arm. I pulled her close and had to admit I was having fun.
The awkward gasps of recognition, the whispered opinions, and the hundreds of curious eyes were almost fun as I watched Cora experience it all for the first time. Fame was a lot harder, colder, and strange than anyone ever thought, but she made it fun.
“Now I get why celebrities are always wearing sunglasses.” Cora held up her menu to block the random smattering of camera flashes.
Soon the maître d’ chased the cameras away, and we were treated to all five-stars and more that the restaurant had to offer.
“So, what do you think?” I asked.
“I think I know why the word ‘reclusive’ has such a nice ring to it,” Cora said.
I laughed and drew a dozen more eyes our way. “But the food’s better than takeout.”
Cora leaned closer to me, and her dark blue eyes dared me again. “Bet it’ll taste even better in a doggy bag.”