CHAPTER TWO
HEARTBREAKER
Belinda stiffened her spine and tried to give her ass a sexy sway, which was not an easy task, considering her knees felt wobbly and her heart felt like it might jump out of her chest. Showing up at Oliver Heart’s house uninvited took a lot of nerve, and now that she was here, her nerve decided to take a flying leap out the window and run like the wind. In addition, she was bone-tired, road weary, and starving. The gas station junk food binge had her feeling slightly queasy and longing for a real meal. She nearly groaned at the thought. Wait, she did groan.
“Too heavy? Maybe you need to hit the gym too?” Oliver asked.
“I’m fine.” After hours behind the wheel, it felt surreal to finally be here, and she was far from being fine. Lugging her insanely stuffed suitcase toward the pool house impeded her progress and her sexy stride. And she just knew those Twinkies went right past go and landed on her butt. Suddenly not wanting to be strutting in front of him, she tried to pick up the pace. But when the wheels became stuck on something, the suitcase stopped and she nearly lost her footing. “Seriously?”
“Need some help?” Oliver asked.
She did, but the touch of humor in his tone put her off. “I’ve got this,” Belinda said, and gave the suitcase a hard tug. But since overcompensating was her middle name, the wheels instantly became free, sending her lunging forward. Dropping the handle, she took three bent-over, unsteady steps, clipped a giant potted plant, nearly knocking it over. With a silly little yelp, she pitched sideways, tripped over a large decorative rock, came down hard onto the ground, and rolled to an awkward stop, facedown in the grass. “Shit, shit . . . shit!” she said, and thought, Shit, I said shit out loud.
“Belinda!”
So much for being calm, cool, and collected, but then again, she was rarely calm, cool, and collected. A bead of sweat slipped down her back and she rolled over, spitting out a blade of grass and something she hoped wasn’t a bug.
None of this was going as planned.
Story of her life.
“Ohmigod, are you okay?”
With a hiss of pain, Belinda looked up from her prone position in the prickly Florida grass and glared at Oliver Heart as if this were all his fault. “Who puts a giant rock in the middle of nowhere?”
“It’s a hidden speaker. There are several, just so you know.”
“Now you tell me. There should be warning signs. ‘Speakers Disguised As Rocks Ahead.’ ”
Oliver knelt in the grass next to her. “Seriously, are you okay?” he asked in a softer tone that brought moisture to her eyes.
“Define okay,” she said in a husky tone, and brushed her hair from her face.
“As in is anything broken?”
“Well, luckily the ground broke my fall. Does that count?” she asked, but Oliver failed to laugh.
“No. Here, let me check you out.”
“Like you weren’t already doing that,” Belinda said, trying to let humor mask her humiliation of face planting while trying to be sexy. She’d been fighting with so many nasty people lately that the concern in his eyes made her want to start bawling. She swiped at a stupid tear and swallowed hard.
“Guilty,” he admitted, but she was too distressed to chuckle.
“Thought so,” she said. If she wasn’t so damned tired of singing in honky-tonks and being broke, she’d hobble right back to her car and put an end to this nonsense. And of course, there was that pesky bank payment she’d overheard her father talking about during her last visit home. Some sort of balloon note, whatever that was, due to be paid in full in less than a year now. When she’d questioned him on the phone just last week he’d brushed it off, telling Belinda he had everything under control. When asked, he’d stubbornly refused to elaborate. Belinda swallowed the hot moisture in her throat and sniffed hard, desperate not to cry.
The humor in Oliver’s warm brown eyes vanished. “Oh damn, what is it? An ankle?” He put a gentle hand on her calf and rolled up her pants to examine her ankle. Her brain took that precise moment to remind her how delicious he looked naked and she groaned. “Sorry, does that hurt?”
Sucking in her bottom lip, Belinda nodded, even though it didn’t really hurt. Of course, maybe she was just in shock and her injuries were worse than she thought.
“It does seem a little swollen.”
“Really?” She wanted to glance at her puffy ankle, but she was too busy thinking he had such nice, thick hair, the kind that a girl would want to run her fingers through.
“Yeah, hey, I’m sorry, Belinda. I should have taken the big suitcase.” He looked up and frowned. “Look, you stay put and don’t put any weight on it. I’ll get your stuff into the pool house and then help you inside. We’ll get the ankle iced and elevated.”
“Okay.” Of course, this was the opportunity to tell Oliver that her ankle didn’t hurt, but she gave him a small nod. “Thanks.”
“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Belinda watched Oliver walk the path back to her SUV. He’d been super cute back in the Heartbeat heyday and she had a very real crush on him, but hid it with sarcasm. Oh, but sweet baby James, now he was hotter than hellfire. Oh God, she pictured him naked . . . again! Would that image ever leave her brain? No, no it wouldn’t. Ever. She just knew it was going to be her own mental wallpaper.
Belinda blew out a sigh and wiggled her ankle. “Oh.” A twinge of pain eased her guilt a tiny bit. She reminded herself that coming here and agreeing to the publicity stunt was something she had to do whether she liked it or not.
And she didn’t like it. Not at all. And finding Oliver Heart insanely sexy wasn’t something she’d prepared herself for either. Of course, she knew he was hot, but she was used to being around attractive guys. She didn’t think that just being near him would make her imagination go where she should avoid. Oh . . . stop! No need to make this little ruse complicated by sleeping with her pretend boyfriend.
Keep your little ole hands to yourself, girl.
Belinda closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to keep her emotions in check. Losing it right now wouldn’t be a good way to get this thing started. She’d just have to use the whole “fake it till you make it” strategy. “And I’ve sure learned to fake it,” Belinda grumbled under her breath. Not many people knew that she’d grown up on a farm in the hills of Tennessee close to the Great Smoky Mountains. She’d discovered her voice singing in the church choir and taught herself to play the guitar while sitting on her front porch steps. Saturday night barn dances introduced her to singing on a stage, and in her early teens, she won a slew of regional and then national singing contests. Talent scouts took notice of her amazing voice and made offers. Her parents wanted Belinda to finish high school at home and remain living on the farm rather than being tutored, but Belinda wanted to be the next LeAnn Rimes, who shot to stardom at the age of thirteen.
After Belinda begged and pleaded, her parents mortgaged their farm to free up funds so Belinda could move to Nashville with her trusted manager, Gayle Porter, with hopes of becoming a country music star. They’d sacrificed everything and she’d tossed it all away when she’d lost the battle of creative differences with her record label. Belinda’s dream was to sing classic country music at the Grand Ole Opry, but her first hit single sounded more pop than country. Wanting to please, Belinda rolled with it. Hoping to have the next Britney Spears on their hands, they moved her to LA. Belinda was instructed to drop the accent, go blond, lose weight, and learn some dance moves. Gayle and her parents raised concerns, but Belinda played the part of a headstrong teenager quite well and she wouldn’t listen. When her parents threatened legal action, her producer instructed her to strike back at them, so her parents relented, allowing her to make the cross-country move. Belinda got sucked into the excitement and the promises of skyrocketing fame and did as she was told.
Only to end up hating every damned moment of it.
By the time she realized she didn’t want to wiggle her ass and sing songs with more than a dance party beat, it was too late. She was already locked in. While she enjoyed pop music and respected the hard work it took to put on an exhausting, electrifying show, it just wasn’t her thing.
After the release of the last album in her contract, Belinda decided to pull up her big-girl panties and put up a fight. She didn’t understand why she couldn’t ease herself away from pop music and go country, especially since country was exploding with popularity at the time. But her pleas went unheeded. And her damned manager wanted her success as a pop singer to continue, so she didn’t have one single person in her corner. But instead of backing down again, this time, she came out fighting.
After weeks of heated meetings, Belinda earned a reputation of being difficult to work with, causing her meteoric rise to the top of the charts to crash and burn. She’d been wrongfully labeled a diva, demanding her way, when in truth her stubbornness was all about the music and the direction she wanted to go in her career. It was never about money—well, until there was no money.
Now, her parents needed her to make a comeback to save them from losing the farm to the bank, and Belinda was willing to do whatever it took to keep that from happening. Two years ago, during a Christmas visit, her father had mentioned his debt in a joking way, but Belinda took the admission seriously. When she’d questioned him further, he’d shrugged it off. But since then, singing at the Opry took a backseat to keeping her parents in the home they loved, so she’d started the pop music comeback rolling, without much interest, but Belinda remained determined. She’d sing pop music and wiggle her ass.
And she’d pretend to be in love with Oliver Heart.
Belinda watched the pretend man of her dreams walk her way. He was still shirtless, and the low-slung board shorts seemed to have slipped lower on his hips. Wow, he sure had some serious sexiness going on. Fake or not, snuggling up to Oliver Heart wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to a girl.
“How’s the ankle?”
“What? Oh . . .” She moved her foot and winced. “I don’t know.”
“Well, let’s get you inside.” Oliver extended his hand and helped her to her feet. “Lean on me,” he said, and put an arm around her waist. But after a couple of awkward hops, he halted the progress and scooped her up into his arms.
“You don’t have to carry me!” Belinda wasn’t exactly tiny, and if he struggled she’d be mortified. “I’m serious!”
“Calm down.”
“Don’t you know that telling a woman to calm down is like throwing gasoline on a fire? Put. Me. Down!”
“No.” Oliver shook his head. “Just wrap your arms around my neck, Belinda. Trust me, I won’t drop you.”
“Someone sayin’ ‘trust me’ is another red flag of mine.” Her statement was all too true. The people she put her trust in had their own agendas, and they didn’t include her best interests or dreams.
“Belinda!” Oliver said, and she kind of liked his stern command. When he started walking she had no choice but to hold on tight. “Can you just chill?”
“I’m not a chill kind of chick, in case you didn’t notice.”
“I noticed. Come on, please?”
“Okay, but don’t start thinking you can boss me around,” she said, marveling at how easily he carried her. For a girl who always had a little extra meat on her bones, this made her feel light and utterly feminine. And being held against all that smooth, tanned skin wasn’t too shabby either. And those muscles? Why couldn’t the pool house be farther away? Like a few miles?
But all too soon Oliver had her perched on the couch in the living room. After removing her shoes, he gently propped a pillow beneath her foot. Thankfully, she’d recently given herself a pedicure with bright red polish.
“I’ll be back with the ice.”
“Thanks.” Belinda nodded and watched him walk out of the room. She sat up straighter and looked around, noting the pleasant surroundings. Instead of the usual seaside décor found in most beach houses, a music theme filled the room. Pictures of Heartbeat lined one wall, making Belinda wish she could get up and go over to get a closer look. Tilting her head, she wondered if she was in any of the early pictures. While her teen romance with Oliver only lasted a few months, the media loved them, and their smiling mugs were plastered all over the place. And they were damned cute together . . . well, at least in public.
A few moments later, Oliver returned and gently placed a bag of crushed ice on top of her foot.
Belinda sucked in a breath. “Oh, that’s cold!”
“Sorry.” Oliver looked down at her in all his shirtless glory. “It will keep the swelling down. Trust me, I’ve had plenty of sprained ankles.”
“You keep telling me to trust you. I’m inclined to think I shouldn’t.”
Oliver grinned. “Trust me, you can trust me,” he said, but then his grin faded. “Hey, I was telling the truth when I said that I hadn’t made a decision about the thing Devin and Julie cooked up. I’m sorry that the wires somehow got crossed.”
“That’s okay.” Belinda’s heart skittered around in her chest. Would Devin rat her out or take advantage of the fact that she was already here, moving things forward? She’d bet the latter. In fact, Devin had expressed interest in managing her career too, which was a good thing, since she was currently without a manager, publicist, or record label. Or money. “Stuff like this happens.”
“Having you show up here took me by surprise.”
“I could see that,” she said, feeling a blush light up her cheeks. Sometimes it was damned difficult pretending to be a badass.
“Uh . . . yeah. I’ll have to remind myself to keep my swimsuit on while you’re here.”
“Hey, don’t mind little ole me.”
Oliver laughed. “But anyway, I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot . . . no pun intended.”
“No problem. Maybe I jumped the gun a little bit by coming here so soon, so don’t get mad at Devin,” she said. For a wild moment she wondered if she should tell him the truth about her situation and why her comeback was so important. She knew that the Hearts were big on family, so surely he’d understand and want to help her get back in the game. But that wily little thing called pride got in her way. Plus, she didn’t want any of her family issues getting leaked to the media, so she remained silent. While Oliver seemed trustworthy, she didn’t want to take any chances. If she was trending on Twitter, she wanted it to be for a good reason.
“And I know that we gotta do the happy couple thing for the cameras, but I’ll respect your privacy here,” Oliver said, and swung his arm in an arc. “Make yourself at home. Right now, it’s mostly beer in the fridge, but I’ll have it stocked for you. Just make a list of things you like.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t mind.” Oliver shrugged his deliciously wide shoulders and his pecs did a little dance. “Other than LA and touring, I’ve lived in Sea Breeze all my life, so me being in the grocery store doesn’t cause much of a stir. It’s one of the perks of living in a small town. Now, if you were with me . . . that would start tongues wagging and cell phones clicking.”
“Which is what we ultimately want.”
Oliver nodded. “Well,” he said, and shrugged. “I guess we’ll just have to roll with it.”
“Yeah.” Belinda felt a twinge of . . . something. Disappointment that he didn’t like this any more than she did?
“We’ve done this drill before, so this time should be easier.”
“Right.” Belinda nodded and forced a smile. Oliver was probably attracted to reed-thin model types, and she sure as hell wasn’t one of those. Well good, his lack of attraction to her would make the whole pretend thing easier. Her attraction to him, however . . . damn, would not.
Oliver walked away for a moment and returned with a pen and notepad. “You said you wanted lunch?”
“Oh . . . well . . . I think I’m okay,” she replied, but at the suggestion, her stomach rumbled. Was there no end to her humiliation?
“Right.” Oliver grinned. “I make a mean club sandwich if you’re interested.”
“With bacon?”
“Of course. What do you take me for?” he asked, putting his palms in the air.
“The jury is still out.” Belinda laughed and felt the first little tingle of relief slide down her spine. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as painful as she envisioned. Perhaps they could become friends. Why did he have to be so damned gorgeous?
“Well, you can deliberate while I fix you a kick-ass sandwich. And make the list of things you need.”
Belinda narrowed her eyes. “It’s making me nervous that you’re being so nice.”
“If you recall, I was nice back when we were teenagers.” He tapped his chest.
“And I wasn’t?”
He arched an eyebrow. “Toast? Mayo?”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
“Yep.” Oliver nodded.
“Extra bacon and mayo, please.” She’d worry about counting calories tomorrow. Or the next day. Story of her life.
“You got it. Just sit back and relax.”
Belinda gave him a salute and leaned back against the sofa cushions. Oliver Heart was way too easy on the eyes, and even more dangerous was how much she liked him. She reminded herself to put her armor of sarcasm back into place and leave it there. Falling for him would be just plain stupid. But then again, she could be just plain stupid when it came to men. And life. Okay . . . everything.
“I’ll be right back.” He gave her that killer grin again. “Don’t go anywhere.”
Belinda nodded. “Even if I didn’t have a bum ankle, I’m too exhausted to move.”
“Then don’t. Make the list,” he said, and then jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “I put your suitcases in the bedroom. I’d give you a tour, but . . .” He pointed to her foot.
“Right.”
“I could carry you around.”
“No!” Belinda said, but his offer wasn’t without appeal. “I don’t want you to . . . pull something.”
“Uh, I do work out.”
“I can see that,” she said, and damn if she didn’t feel heat in her cheeks again. Since when did she blush?
Oliver raised his eyebrows. “Wow, a compliment instead of a barb? Is this the shape of things to come?”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Belinda retorted, but he only laughed as he walked out the door.
Belinda blew out a long sigh. Okay, so far so good. Right? Well, except for the whole falling-down thing. At least she’d made it to Sea Breeze all in one piece. She was settled in the pool house. For the time being.
Belinda rested her head against a plump pillow. She tried not to dwell upon the fact that getting back into pop music pushed her further from her dream of singing classic country music. For Belinda, country music represented love, faith, hope, and respecting the great names in an era she adored. She wanted to sing songs that told a story, touched hearts, got people through tough times, and paid tribute to her home in Tennessee. But now, all she really wanted was to make enough money to pay off the bank and make sure her parents’ future remained secure. Whenever she tried to approach the subject, her father clammed up. Apparently the pride gene came from her dad. And if she was being honest, eight years of singing in honky-tonks for tips was starting to get old. Oh, at first she’d loved the Nashville atmosphere, the energy, and the music. She’d thought her little apartment in the Vanderbilt University district was cozy and cute. She enjoyed blending in with the students, wishing more than once that she was one of them.
While she didn’t earn much in the bars, she’d still had money from her pop days to fall back upon. But when her savings dried up, she started questioning the sanity of what she was doing.
Of course, she led her parents to believe she’d been doing just fine. Ha, yeah right.
Belinda yawned as she looked at the paper and pen, but frowned. Damn, she was tired. Her eyelids felt so heavy . . . so she closed them, thinking she’d rest until hot Oliver showed up with her lunch. But just moments later the notepad slipped through her fingers and she fell fast asleep.