35
SCARLETT
Desperado
“I can’t believe you’re still making me do this,” Scarlett groused to Cara in the backseat of their chauffeured SUV. “What part of ‘we broke up’ did you not understand?”
Cara was texting, her manicured fingers flying across her phone’s screen. She was always multitasking. Always wheeling and dealing.
Scarlett frowned. “Hello? Did you hear me?”
Cara glanced up at her. “Are you still complaining? We’re on our way to the photo shoot, Scarlett. It’s a done deal.”
“I realize that,” she grumbled. “I’m still allowed to voice my displeasure.”
“Which you’ve been doing since you picked me up from the airport. Maybe I should have requested a separate car.”
“Or maybe you should have just called this whole thing off.”
“Nope. Not an option.”
Scarlett let out her breath in a little hiss of exasperation. “Why am I the only one who thinks it’s crazy for me to be doing a magazine spread with a guy I’m no longer dating?”
Cara went back to texting. “You’re just taking some photos—”
“What about the interview?” Scarlett challenged. “Are we supposed to sit there and answer questions like we’re still a couple? That’s perpetrating a fraud.”
Cara waved her off. “Don’t be so dramatic. You’re not perpetrating a fraud. There’s nothing wrong with keeping up appearances for the sake of good PR. Celeb couples do it all the time. By the time this issue comes out, you and Viggo will probably be back together.”
Scarlett frowned. “We haven’t seen or spoken to each other in two weeks.”
“Pfft. That’s nothing. Talk to me when it’s been a year.”
Scarlett’s heart wrenched at the thought. The past two weeks had been hellish enough. She couldn’t imagine going an entire year without Viggo.
Cara’s expression softened. “If he wanted nothing to do with you, he would have told the editor to cancel the photo shoot. It’s very telling that he didn’t.”
The same thought had occurred to Scarlett. But she didn’t want to get her hopes up.
“God, it’s pretty out here,” Cara gushed.
Scarlett said nothing as she stared out the window. She’d been born and raised in Colorado, so the beautiful passing scenery wasn’t new to her.
They were shooting on location at a private ski chalet tucked into the Rocky Mountains. The owners had rented out the property to GQ for the photo shoot. To accommodate Viggo’s busy travel schedule, the editor was flying in from New York that afternoon to do the interview. Scarlett was dreading it.
Twenty minutes later, they arrived at a quaint little chalet nestled in the forest and surrounded by ski runs.
“Wow,” Cara said appreciatively. “This is amazing. It looks like something out of a painting or a movie.”
As Scarlett gazed out the window, she had a flashback to the night she and Viggo went stargazing. On the way to the lookout point, he’d joked about them running off to the mountains to find their own secret hideaway.
Her heart twisted painfully at the memory.
When they pulled up in front of the chalet, the photographer’s assistant came out to greet them, introducing herself as Lissa as she ushered them inside. Scarlett had an impression of rich wood flooring and blazing fireplaces before she was whisked off to hair, makeup and wardrobe.
Her hair was blow-dried and sculpted with mousse so that it swept over one side of her face in edgy layers. Her makeup was dramatic—sparkly silver eyeliner, super long false eyelashes and bold red lipstick.
The first outfit selected for her consisted of a pair of skintight black leather pants, a midriff-baring leather halter top and spike-bedecked stilettos that would make a dominatrix jealous.
After the wardrobe stylist finished fussing over her, Cara entered the dressing room and squealed excitedly, “Oh my God! You look sooo fucking hot!” She circled Scarlett, inspecting her from head to toe. “I would totally bend you over and do you if I weren’t straight. Which feels really inconvenient right now.”
Scarlett snort-laughed. “You’re such an inappropriate manager.”
Cara cackled and skipped over to the wardrobe rack to sift through the designer outfits. She pulled one out and breathed, “Ooh. Look at this.”
Scarlett stared at the sheer white lace-up bodysuit dangling from the hanger. “Where’s the rest of it?”
Cara frowned. “What do you mean?”
“They want me to pose in lingerie?”
“What’s the problem? You’re a rock star. You dress super sexy all the time onstage.”
“I’m a drummer,” Scarlett countered, “and I always keep my ass covered. That thing’s barely gonna cover my coochie.”
Cara made an exasperated noise. “Did you see the spread with Iggy and Nick? They had Iggy naked in some glass tub, and she wore a lace bodysuit in another photo. What can I say? Sex sells, modesty bores.”
“I realize that,” Scarlett grumbled. “I’m just saying. My dad’s still getting used to my tattoos and piercings. He won’t appreciate seeing me in a men’s magazine with my tits and ass hanging out.”
“Then tell him not to look.”
Scarlett frowned. “I don’t think Viggo will be too thrilled about it either.”
“Seriously? Do you think Nick Young objected to Iggy being naked in that tub? Has Kanye ever stopped Kim from posting naked selfies every five minutes? Has Jay-Z ever berated Beyoncé for dressing hella sexy?”
“Point taken.” Scarlett grinned sheepishly. “I guess I’m just a victim of my upbringing. My dad used to say that when a man loves and cherishes a woman, he’ll slay dragons before he shares her body with the world.”
Cara rolled her eyes. “What antiquated mumbo-jumbo. Was your dad a caveman?”
“No,” Scarlett laughed. “He’s just super old school.”
“How cute.” Cara put her hand on Scarlett’s shoulder and pinned her with one of her direct stares. “Here’s the reality, babydoll. You’ve got a great body, and as you just noted, GQ is a men’s magazine. Of course they want to show off your killer curves. That’s a big part of the allure of your relationship with Viggo. You’re both beautiful and you look smokin’ hot together. I’m sorry if that sounds shallow or if it offends your feminist sensibilities, but that’s just the way it is.” She held up the skimpy bodysuit. “They picked this out for you to wear, so you’re wearing it. Capisci?”
Scarlett scowled. “You’re such a damn ball buster.”
Cara laughed. “I’ll always take that as a compliment. Especially coming from a fellow ball buster.”
“I’m not as bad as you,” Scarlett grumbled.
Cara snorted. “Your bandmates would beg to differ.”
The longer they sat around the dressing room waiting for Scarlett to be summoned, the tighter her nerves grew. She’d done photo shoots before, but she’d never been this nervous. Her stomach was churning with thousands of crazed butterflies, and she couldn’t stop toying with the silver lightning bolt earrings that dangled from her lobes.
“Stop fidgeting,” Cara told her.
“I’m not fidgeting,” she mumbled.
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in!” Scarlett and Cara called at the same time.
The photographer’s assistant poked her head through the door, her eyes widening when she saw Scarlett. “Wow! You look amazing!”
“Doesn’t she?” Cara beamed like a proud brothel madam.
Lissa gave Scarlett a big thumbs-up and grinned. “He’ll be ready for you soon. He’s just finishing up with Viggo.”
Cara got excited. “Can we watch?”
“Sure. Follow me.”
Lissa led them down to a high-ceilinged room with a large chandelier, beautiful antique furnishings and a baby grand piano tucked into the corner. A fire roared in the grate, and tall windows allowed natural light to flood the room. Camera equipment, tripods and lights were strewn everywhere. Music was playing from a laptop, and several crew members were standing around the set.
Scarlett and Cara hovered discreetly by the entrance. When the photographer moved out of the way, they got their first glimpse of Viggo.
He was reclining on a dark leather vintage sofa with one long leg draped over the arm and the other leg bent. He wore a hand-tailored brown suit and expensive Italian loafers. His hair was loose and artfully tumbled around his sculpted face. His head was tilted slightly back and he had an index finger to his temple, as if he were contemplating the meaning of life—or the hockey game he’d just played.
The sight of him squeezed Scarlett’s heart. Gah. Such a beautiful fucking man.
“Holy shit,” Cara breathed beside her. “He’s out-of-this-world dreamy.”
No lies detected.
“That’s a Desmond Merrion suit he’s wearing,” Cara said in an awed whisper.
“Who?”
“Desmond Merrion. His suits are, like, the most expensive in the world. The one Viggo’s wearing costs almost fifty thousand dollars.”
Scarlett nearly choked. “For a suit?”
The photographer’s assistant grinned at her reaction.
“Are those A. Testoni Norvegese shoes?” Cara asked in the same awestruck tone.
Lissa nodded and smiled.
Scarlett didn’t even want to know how much the shoes cost. They looked and sounded expensive.
When the photographer finished snapping away, Viggo slowly stretched to his feet, unfolding his long body from the sofa. There was an audible sigh as every woman on the set swooned.
He sauntered a few paces across the room and then stopped, staring at Scarlett.
The look on his face was priceless as she began strutting toward him. She wanted him to know what he was missing and what he’d so easily given up. So it gave her some satisfaction to see him practically slobbering on that ridiculously overpriced suit.
That’s right, sucka. Eat your fucking heart out!
As he watched her approach with those smoldering gray eyes, she could practically feel the air sizzling between them. When they broke up, she’d expected their sexual chemistry to go bye-bye as well. No such luck.
She stopped before him and gave a cool inclination of her head. “Viggo.”
“Scarlett,” he murmured, without the hint of a smile.
She swallowed tightly. “How’ve you been?”
He raked her with a leisurely inspection, taking his sweet time getting back up to her face. “I’ve been better.”
The admission plucked at her heartstrings. “Same.”
Something flickered in his eyes, something soft and regretful, before his expression grew stony.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Cara gesturing to them, reminding them that they were supposed to be a hot young “It” couple who couldn’t keep their hands off each other.
Scarlett ignored her.
After fiddling with some equipment, the photographer came over to introduce himself to Scarlett. He was an attractive fortyish man in a white button-down shirt and fashionably faded jeans.
He gave Scarlett a long once-over and smiled approvingly. “Perfect.” He thrust out his hand. “Hi. I’m Guy.”
She smiled and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Scarlett.”
“Of course you are.” He winked. “You’re in good hands, I promise.”
“I know. I’ve seen your work.”
He gave her a warm grin. “I like you already.”
She laughed.
Viggo glowered at them.
“So let me just run through what we’re gonna be doing today,” Guy said.
Scarlett tried to pay attention while he explained the theme of the photo shoot, but her tingling awareness of Viggo made it hard to focus on anything but him. She could feel his hot gaze sliding over her, spiking her body temperature and setting off goosebumps. She couldn’t believe she’d let Cara strong-arm her into doing this. It was insane.
“So let’s get you two warmed up before we start.” Guy smiled at them, backing away as he lifted his camera. “Why don’t you show each other some love? You know, give me a little PDA.”
“With pleasure,” Viggo drawled, hauling Scarlett against him. The sudden contact with his big frame made her gasp like she’d just been body checked. Her breasts swelled and her nipples tightened, crushed against the unyielding wall of his chest.
He stared down at her with a mocking gleam in his eyes. “You heard what the man said,” he murmured for her ears only. “You’re good at performing, so let’s give him a good show.”
The taunt cut deep, but she smoothly recovered and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Just for the record,” she said through her smile, “I didn’t want to be here. I had to be dragged kicking and screaming—”
“I’m sure you did.” He lowered his head, rubbing his nose against hers. Even though the affection was just for show, her foolish heart melted like warm taffy.
“Nice!” the photographer called out, snapping away on his camera.
Holding Viggo close, Scarlett brought her mouth to his ear and nibbled his lobe, feeling him shiver. “I just wanted to make that perfectly clear,” she whispered against the shell of his ear. “Wouldn’t want you to think I’m riding your coattails—”
“Never crossed my mind. Speaking of riding—” He shifted his hips, grinding his pelvis against hers.
She shuddered and nearly moaned.
He was dangerously aroused, the hard bulge of his erection pressing into her mound. They had an audience, but that didn’t stop her hungry hips from rocking into his boner.
He sucked in air, his eyes flashing like a silver bullet. Before she could register the warning, he grabbed a handful of her ass and dragged her even closer, practically fucking her through her leather pants.
“Whoa,” someone exclaimed.
The photographer laughed. “I think we’re, ah, ready to begin.”
Viggo and Scarlett broke away from each other like two prizefighters in the ring. Her body was burning up, her legs were wobbling and her hormones were going ballistic. But Viggo’s obvious predicament made her feel like she’d won the first round.
Tearing his gaze from hers, he smoothed a hand down the front of his suit jacket and tried to adjust the massive erection straining against his pants. When that didn’t work, he threw a sullen glance at the photographer and muttered, “I need a minute.”
“I figured you might.” Guy looked amused. “Good thing it’s time for your wardrobe change.”
Viggo nodded curtly and stalked off with the photographer’s blushing assistant. While he was gone, Guy took some pictures of Scarlett vamping by the window.
“Everything okay with you two?” he asked between shots.
She forced a smile. “Just having a little lovers’ quarrel.”
“Sorry to hear that.” Guy grinned. “But I’m loving the fireworks. So, ah, no complaints here.”
Scarlett didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Viggo returned wearing a brown leather bomber jacket, black jeans and crisp Versace high-top sneakers. Even in the casual outfit, he looked so damn sexy Scarlett wanted to jump his bones.
Once the photo shoot got under way, she tried to relax and pretend that Viggo was anyone other than the man she loved. As the photographer snapped away, she moved through different poses: leaning back against a wall as Viggo caged her between his arms; straddling him on a red velvet sofa; seductively threatening him with a dominatrix whip as he sprawled in a chair, his lids at half-mast. When he sat down at the piano, she lay across the top and watched his long fingers drift over the keys, wishing he would stroke her instead.
She couldn’t get her pulse under control, and the heat rushing through her body made her feel like a human volcano.
When it was time for a wardrobe change, she practically ran back to the temporary safety of her dressing room. The stylist fussed with her hair and makeup while she put on the sheer white lace-up bodysuit. It had a deep V in front that plunged down to her pierced navel. Her breasts bulged enticingly over the wired lace and her ass cheeks were exposed. The skimpy bodysuit was paired with white stiletto sandals that laced all the way up to her thighs.
She didn’t feel comfortable roaming around half naked, so she slipped on a white robe before the photographer’s assistant escorted her upstairs to the new set. They’d moved to an elegantly furnished bedroom suite with a view of the mountains.
Viggo stood by the fireplace, his phone pressed to his ear. He was wearing hockey pants and nothing else.
Scarlett gulped at the sight of his ripped chest and tattooed biceps. She wasn’t the only lust-struck woman in the room. As she watched, an assistant hurried up to him and began spraying his chest with a fine mist of oil. She was so nervous that she dropped the spray bottle. Mumbling an apology, she dove down to fumble it off the floor. When she popped back up, her face was bright red. Poor girl.
When Viggo glanced over and caught Scarlett staring at his bare chest, his mouth twitched into a cocky smirk.
Cheeks heating, she quickly turned away.
He’s enjoying this, she realized. He enjoyed seeing her all flustered and fighting for composure. Maybe that was why he hadn’t canceled the photo shoot. Maybe he wanted to exact his revenge by tormenting her.
Well, two can play that game!
Lifting her chin, Scarlett removed her robe and handed it off to an assistant. As she started across the room, a chorus of wolf whistles and cheers went up from the crew members.
Viggo ended his phone call and turned from the fireplace. When he saw Scarlett’s attire, his eyes bulged out of their sockets. He looked her up and down and swallowed hard.
Then he scowled.
“No. Fuck no.” He shot a menacing glare at the photographer. “She’s not wearing that.”
Guy looked around as if Viggo were speaking to someone else. “Uh, what?”
“That.” Viggo jabbed a finger at Scarlett. “She’s not wearing that. Put her in something else.”
Guy exchanged incredulous glances with the crew members.
“It’s okay, Viggo,” Scarlett spoke up.
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is. Really. I’m a big girl.”
He glared at her. “Scarlett—”
Her chin went up. “It’s my body. I can wear whatever I want.”
His eyes darkened to the ominous shade of thunderclouds, and his jaw clenched so hard it looked like it was made of stone.
“Now stop holding us up. Time is money.” Scarlett’s expression was stern, but inwardly she was beaming and twirling and singing on a mountaintop like Julie Andrews.
He cares! He still cares! He’d slay dragons for me like Lancelot!
She watched as Viggo raked a hand through his hair, frustration rolling off him like deadly gamma rays. He looked her over once more, then swore under his breath in Swedish and stalked away.
Guy looked relieved.
Cara raised both eyebrows at Scarlett and mouthed, I changed my mind! That was hot!
Crisis averted, Scarlett was directed to sit in a silk-upholstered chair while Viggo knelt before her. He was pissed off and turned on, a dangerous combo.
“You two embody the perfect marriage of hockey and rock ’n’ roll,” Guy explained the photo concept with a teasing smile. “Scarlett’s wearing all white because it’s your wedding night.”
At those words, Scarlett’s breath jammed in her throat.
She and Viggo stared at each other for an arrested moment. Then she dragged her eyes away and joked to the photographer, “He won’t be wearing hockey pants on our wedding night.”
Guy laughed.
Viggo sat back on his haunches, staring up at her from under his thick golden lashes.
She bit her lip, trying not to stare at his bulging biceps or eight-pack abs or that yummylicious V muscle. She ached to touch him, to slide her lips and tongue over his gleaming skin. It had been too long. Way too damn long.
“So it’s our wedding night,” he murmured as he trailed one finger down her hip to her thigh, stopping right at the edge of her lace-up sandals.
A hot ache shot through her, electrifying her clit. Holy G-spot, did this man know how to push her buttons. In every way imaginable.
“We’ve exchanged vows.” His thumb traced slow circles on her leg, each one spiraling closer to the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh. “That means you’ve promised to love, honor and obey—”
“Obey?” Her voice was breathy. “What year are you living in?”
His eyes glimmered.
“That’s it. Keep it up.” Guy moved closer, his camera lens zooming in on Scarlett’s ankle tattoo. “Beautiful ink. Both of you. Really awesome and photogenic.”
“Want a better view?” Scarlett lifted her leg and planted her stilettoed foot right on Viggo’s chest.
“Nice!” the photographer said approvingly as he clicked away. “Very sexy, Scarlett.”
“She is, isn’t she?” Holding her gaze, Viggo ran his palm down her calf to her ankle. His touch sent electricity zipping straight to her core. “She’s fucking dangerous.”
With a little smirk, Scarlett dug her ice-pick heel into the hard slab of his pec. His eyes flashed a dark warning that shot a thrill through her.
He lowered her leg to the floor and put his hands on her thighs, spreading them wide apart. Then he gave her a slow, filthy-sexy smile that reminded her of all the ways he’d made her lose control and scream his name.
Her pulse pounded like a thousand drums as she stared back at him, watching as he bent his head and began kissing his way up the inside of her thighs. She trembled as every part of her skin reacted to the heat of his mouth, goosebumps breaking out all over her body.
When he reached her crotch and deliberately paused, she almost whimpered.
Slowly he looked up at her, lifting only his eyes.
Her breathing stopped. Her girl parts were quivering and she was embarrassed to realize how drenched her crotch was, staining the white fabric of the bodysuit.
She saw a spark of pure lust in Viggo’s eyes before he lowered his lashes and pressed his mouth to her sex, kissing her through the lace crotch.
Rocked by a full-body shiver, she grabbed two fistfuls of his hair and arched off the chair with her head thrown back.
The photographer snapped furiously away. “Perfect! So fucking hot!”
Much of the photo shoot was like that, fraught with sexual tension and barbed innuendo. It was like having angry sex, except with an audience. But there were lighthearted moments, too. For one pose, Viggo was given a pair of drumsticks and Scarlett received a hockey stick. She strummed it like a guitar while Viggo used the drumsticks to tap on her ass like tom-toms. It was fun and playful, and when they both laughed and looked at each other, she felt the first glimmer of hope that all was not lost between them.
Halfway through the photo shoot, they learned that the editor’s connecting flight had been canceled due to bad weather, so the interview would have to be rescheduled.
It was the reprieve Scarlett had been praying for. So why didn’t she feel more relieved?
Her final outfit of the day was a crimson Balenciaga dress with a fitted bodice and flowing skirt that swirled around her calves. The femininity of the dress was offset by a chunky pair of black leather buckle-strap ankle boots, which added the perfect touch of badass rocker. She loved the whole look. So did Cara.
The final set of photos would be taken outdoors against the stunning backdrop of the Rockies. When Scarlett stepped outside, Viggo was already waiting for her.
He sat astride a gleaming Harley with one hand on the throttle. His hair was finger-combed back from his face. He wore a simple white V-neck sweater and dark jeans cuffed over black boots. It was very James Dean. Very Rebel Without a Cause.
“Ooh, I love it!” Cara squealed beside her, clapping her hands together. “He’s got that whole ‘young, brooding badass’ thing down pat, doesn’t he? And it’s also perfect because he is a Rebel. Get it? Denver Rebels?”
“I got it,” Scarlett said dryly.
Cara laughed.
Viggo was talking to Guy. As Scarlett started down the veranda steps, he turned his head and looked at her, his eyes running over her from head to toe. She saw him swallow tightly and clench his jaw before averting his gaze.
Guy did a slow clap of appreciation. “Beautiful!”
Scarlett shot him a grateful smile as she walked toward the Harley, rubbing her bare arms against the cold.
“Sorry you’re not wearing something warmer.” Guy grinned at her. “We couldn’t do a spread with a rock star named Scarlett and not put you in a red dress.”
She laughed. “Just so you know, I’m keeping the dress and the boots.”
“You should. They look fantastic on you.” He winked.
Viggo shifted on the Harley, recapturing Scarlett’s gaze. She could see a muscle twitching in his cheek as he stared straight ahead.
“Be careful getting on,” he said in a low voice.
“I’m good.” She hitched her dress up, climbed onto the back of the motorcycle and wrapped her arms around his midsection. The heat of his body instantly tightened her nipples and warmed her crotch. When she felt a slight tremor run through him, she realized he was just as affected by their nearness as she was. That made her smile.
To set the mood, someone turned on Rihanna’s “Desperado.” Guy began taking pictures, circling the motorcycle as he shot Viggo and Scarlett from various angles and directions. The clicking of the camera shutter was interspersed with his enthusiastic utterances of approval.
“Your dress is popping, Scarlett. That bright splash of red against the trees…oh hell yeah…loving this…”
So am I, Scarlett thought, tightening her arms around Viggo. Being this close to him was the sweetest torture. The feel of his powerful body notched between her legs had heat throbbing at her core. Her breasts were heavy and tingling, aching for his touch and the wet stroke of his tongue. An intoxicated little moan caught in her throat as she clung to him, breathing in his warm male scent and wanting to absorb him into her skin.
The photographer’s camera shutter was clicking at lightning speed, capturing what she assumed were great shots of her and Viggo framed against the surrounding mountains.
“Scarlett,” Guy instructed, “can you reach around Viggo and put your hand on his leg?”
With pleasure.
She felt Viggo shiver when she touched him.
“Cold?” she murmured, her mouth near his ear.
He closed his eyes and shook his head.
When she curled her fingers into his hard thigh, his hand clenched around the motorcycle throttle. She was getting to him. Good.
Kneading his thigh, she kissed the skin just below his ear and whispered, “I miss you.”
He inhaled sharply, the muscles in his back expanding beneath his sweater.
“And you know something else?” She nuzzled the nape of his neck. “You miss me, too.”
“Fuck.” The word came out a rough whisper.
Delighted, she pressed her body tighter against him and rested her cheek against his hair.
“Beautiful!” Guy was snapping furiously away. “You two make my job so fucking easy.”
Scarlett smiled blissfully. She didn’t even mind the cold. She would have stayed out there all day if it meant she could hold Viggo, soaking up his heat and strength. Soaking up his essence.
As if he could no longer help himself, he took his hand off the throttle and cupped her knee, caressing her with light strokes.
Her heart soared, tears springing to her eyes.
As the photographer moved in closer, she beamed at the camera.
No matter what happened after today, this single moment would be imprinted on her memory forever.
When the photo shoot was over, they headed to their separate dressing rooms.
Scarlett changed quickly, hoping to catch Viggo before he left. Cara was on the phone confirming details for the rescheduled interview with the editor.
Scarlett left her and headed down the hallway toward the lobby. When she passed Viggo’s empty dressing room, she felt a sharp stab of disappointment. Had he left without even saying goodbye?
Frowning at the thought, she went outside to see if his truck was in the parking lot. Just as she stepped out the door, a black sedan pulled up in front of the chalet. When the driver got out, she froze in shock.
Myles slowly removed his sunglasses and smiled at her from the bottom of the veranda steps. He wore an expensive black wool coat, leather gloves and tailored black pants.
“Hello, Scarlett,” he said smoothly.
Her shock gave way to fury. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Like I told you on the phone, we need to talk.”
“And I told you we have nothing to talk about!” Scarlett glared furiously at him. “I can’t believe you showed up here! Are you crazy? How did you even know where to find me? Seriously, Myles. This is super fucking creepy!”
He frowned. “Calm down—”
“Don’t tell me to calm down!”
“C’mon, baby girl.” When he climbed up one step, she instinctively scuttled backward. He stopped, his frown deepening. “Just hear me out, okay? I have some things to get off my chest. Things I should have said to you a long time ago.”
She glared at him. “I have zero interest—”
“Just listen. Please.”
She hesitated another moment, then angrily folded her arms across her chest and hissed, “You have three minutes.”
His lips tightened. “I was hoping we could go somewhere—”
“Not a fucking chance.”
“Fine.” He stared up at her. “I made a mistake. I never should have let you go. Nothing’s been the same without you.”
“You seem to be doing just fine,” Scarlett jeered contemptuously. “And don’t you have a ride-or-die fiancée waiting in the wings?”
“We broke up.”
Scarlett smirked. “What happened? She finally had enough of your bullshit?”
He frowned. “I ended the relationship. You know why? Because I’m still in love with you.”
“Give me a fucking break, Myles,” Scarlett said with a harsh snort of laughter. “You don’t know the first damn thing about love. You never did.”
“And I suppose your hockey boyfriend does?” he taunted.
That made her flinch.
Myles pounced with vicious triumph. “What’s wrong, baby girl? Trouble in paradise? Don’t tell me he already dumped you?”
She gave him an icy look. “Your three minutes are up.”
He laughed. The sound scraped along her nerves and set her back teeth on edge. “He’s a professional athlete, Scarlett. Love ’em and leave ’em—that’s what they do.”
“Goodbye, Myles,” she said coldly. “Stay the hell away from me.”
He started up the steps toward her. “We’re not done—”
“Yes the fuck you are.”
Scarlett whirled around to see Viggo charging out the door, practically knocking her aside on his way to meet Myles at the top of the steps. He towered over him with a look of such lethal fury, the color drained out of Myles’s face and he hastily backed down a step.
“What the fuck do you want?” Viggo growled, low and dangerous.
Myles swallowed nervously. “Stay out of this, man. It doesn’t concern you.”
“She already told you to get lost,” Viggo snarled into his face. “So why the hell are you here?”
Myles looked like he was going to piss his pants. Which was understandable. Viggo was absolutely terrifying.
Scarlett took a step forward. “It’s okay, Viggo. He was just leaving.”
“Didn’t sound that way.” His big hands were fisted so tightly at his sides that his knuckles were white. He glared menacingly at Myles. “You need to leave her the fuck alone. You understand? Don’t let me catch you anywhere near her again.”
“What’s it to you?” Myles challenged, finding a scrap of courage. “You’re not even with her anymore. You got what you wanted and moved on.”
Viggo made a low growling noise in his throat. Then suddenly his hand shot out and grabbed Myles by the neck, lifting him until his feet dangled off the steps.
As Myles’s eyes bulged in terror, Scarlett let out an alarmed gasp. “Viggo, stop!”
Myles wheezed, fighting for air as he swatted helplessly at Viggo’s hand.
“Let him go, baby,” Scarlett pleaded. “You’re gonna kill him!”
He smirked darkly. “And that would be a bad thing?”
“Yes! I don’t want you getting locked up over a piece of shit like him!”
Viggo clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing as he contemplated the panic-stricken man dangling at the end of his arm. Myles’s face was turning purple from lack of oxygen.
“Please, Viggo,” Scarlett entreated desperately. “Let him go.”
With a snarl of disgust, Viggo tossed Myles to the ground like a sack of rotten potatoes.
He landed hard and lay there choking and gasping and clawing at his throat. He looked like he might need CPR.
“Shit!” Scarlett stomped down the stairs, cursing with every step. “Shit. Shit. Shit!”
Myles had finally caught his breath and rolled onto his side, curling into a ball on the cold ground.
Scarlett stood over him. “Do I need to call 911?”
He coughed a few times and shook his head. At least the color had returned to his face.
“He’ll live,” Viggo growled from the veranda. “Now get back up here, Scarlett.”
Bristling at the command, she shot him a dark look. Through the lodge windows, she could see Cara and Guy hurrying toward the entrance.
When Viggo started down the steps toward her, she held up her hand to stop him. “I got this.”
He scowled at her. “Dammit, Scarlett—”
She turned away to watch as Myles sat up with a pained grimace. He took a moment to get his bearings, then pushed gingerly to his feet, shrugged his coat back into place and smoothed his hair down with a shaky hand. She’d never seen him so humiliated. Couldn’t happen to a more deserving asshole.
“Hey.” She waved her middle finger in his face. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
He glowered at her.
“I just want to make sure you’re not concussed or anything. You need to comprehend what I’m about to say to you because I’m not gonna repeat myself.” She pinned him with a hard glare. “I never want to see you again. Don’t call me. Don’t text me. Don’t follow me on social media. Don’t come to my shows. And do not show up on my fucking doorstep. Stay the hell away from me, Myles. If you ever contact me again, I’ll take out a restraining order against you. And if you’re stupid enough to violate it, I won’t hesitate to press charges. Do you understand? Leave. Me. The. Fuck. Alone.”
His face twisted with hatred. “Fuck you, Scarlett.”
“In your dreams.” With that, she turned and started back up the steps.
Viggo warned sharply, “Scarlett, look out—”
She spun and delivered a roundhouse kick to Myles’s chest that sent him sprawling across the ground with a loud yelp of agony.
“Son of a bitch,” she snarled at him, fists balled at her sides as Viggo came charging down the steps. “What the hell is wrong with—”
“You fucking cunt!” Myles choked out furiously. “That’s why you’re never gonna make it big! You and your bandmates will always be—”
The clacking sound of a rifle being cocked suddenly tore through the air.
Everyone whirled around to see a white-haired old man standing on the veranda, the business end of his rifle pointed right at Myles’s face.
It was the chalet owner. He’d popped in during the photo shoot to introduce himself to everyone, but his name escaped Scarlett at the moment.
“You’re trespassing on private property,” he barked, glaring down at Myles. “If you don’t get the hell out of here, I’m gonna blow your fucking head off. Then I’ll call the cops.”
Well, damn, Scarlett thought. Old dude is not playing!
Myles threw a sullen glare at her and Viggo as he slowly picked himself off the ground, pride wounded but still exuding arrogance.
“Just so you know,” the chalet owner growled, “my receptionist is jotting down your license plate number as we speak. You should also know that my son-in-law is an FBI agent. You try anything funny, he will take great pleasure in hunting you down like a wild dog.”
Myles blanched at the threat.
Scarlett inwardly pumped her fist.
“Now you got till the count of three before my finger starts twitching,” the old man warned.
Visibly shaken and humiliated, Myles turned and skulked back to his rental car with his tail tucked squarely between his legs. Everyone watched him start the engine and pull away from the curb.
As Viggo and Scarlett climbed back up to the veranda, Guy said incredulously to her, “That was your former manager?”
“Unfortunately,” she muttered.
Cara smirked. “They upgraded.”
“No kidding.” Guy snorted, pulling out his phone. “What’s his name? I work with a lot of musicians. I’ll make sure they stay far away from that nutjob.”
“Myles Katsaros,” Cara cheerfully volunteered, spelling out his first and last name for Guy.
The chalet owner didn’t lower his rifle until Myles’s car disappeared down the tree-lined road. Then he turned to Scarlett with a look of grandfatherly concern. “Are you okay, young lady?”
“I’m fine,” she assured him. “Thank you for intervening.”
“No thanks necessary.” He chuckled appreciatively. “Looks like you can handle yourself just fine.”
“Seriously.” Guy was impressed. “Where’d you learn that move?”
She grinned sheepishly. “I took taekwondo when I was a kid.”
Viggo looked vaguely amused. “She has a red belt.”
“Wow!” The photographer and chalet owner were even more impressed.
“You two are like a crime-fighting duo,” Guy joked. “Seriously. You really make a great team.” His eyes twinkled at them. “Let me know if you ever need a wedding photographer. It’s not really my thing, but I’d make an exception for you two.”
Scarlett blushed and dropped her gaze to her feet.
The chalet owner grinned, slapping Viggo on the back. “Better hang on to this young lady. She’s something special.”
As the others went back inside, Viggo and Scarlett stood on the veranda staring at each other.
Her heart ached from the torrent of words she wanted to say.
I’m sorry I hurt you….
I would never use you for your money….
I should have trusted you….
I was so afraid of losing you, I pushed you away….
I love you….
Please come back to me….
“He’s right,” she finally whispered. “We do make a great team.”
The light went out of Viggo’s eyes, like a switch had been turned off.
He took a step back. “I have to go.”
She swallowed her disappointment and nodded.
He glanced down the road and frowned before his gaze returned to her face. “Let me know if he bothers you again.”
His concern gave her a sliver of hope. “I think we’ve finally seen the last of him.”
Viggo nodded slowly, looking like he wanted to say more.
She waited, breath held.
“Goodbye, Scarlett,” he murmured.
Her heart twisted and her throat closed.
She watched him turn, walk down the steps and head toward his truck.
He didn’t look back at her. Not even once.