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  Beside me, Ben made a noise of agreement. “Liz told me he was hung up on her a while back.”

  Apparently not a single one of them understood what something being none of their business meant. I ground my teeth together, trying not to scowl because my face had started to ache. Stupid black eye.

  Without missing a beat, Mal flipped back his long blond hair. “You’re all incredibly freaking clueless. Sam’s around us like twenty-four seven and you don’t even notice when shit’s going down with him. Because I’m telling you, every time he looks at Marty since about forever, shit is definitely going down with that dude.”

  “Really?” I asked, despite myself.

  “Oh yeah. He gets all tense like his panties are in a wad or something. It’s actually quite entertaining.”

  Fingers moving expertly across the fretboard, Adam changed the music into more of a driving rhythm. “He does watch you a lot.”

  “See?” asked Mal. “Even young Aaron here has noticed.”

  “My name’s Adam.”

  “If you say so. Maybe. Though I think you’ll find Aaron’s an improvement. I’m good at fixing people’s names. Just ask Marty.”

  If looks could kill, Mal would have died under my glare. Probably about fifteen years ago, come to think of it.

  On Jimmy’s lap, Gibby’s eyes were closed, lulled to sleep by the familiar voices and soft strains of music, no doubt. Guess we should have realized Gib had fallen asleep when he failed to repeat Mal’s profanity slip. And I’d been trying to talk him into having a nap for hours. Jimmy could out-nanny me without even trying. I actually was the worst.

  “I’ll carry him up to bed,” said Ben, lifting him carefully out of the singer’s arms.

  Eager to finally escape, I followed, glad to be away from the confusing and complicated array of topics of conversation. Away from the band room, the house was quiet, peaceful. A balm for my frazzled nerves. “Do you really think I could be a manager?”

  “I think you could do anything you set your mind to,” Ben answered in a similarly low volume. Sweet of him, really. I had no idea his confidence in me ran so high. His big-ass boots padded quietly along the beige carpet. “We’re not going to talk about Sam, are we?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, good. Cause he’s my employee and you’re my sister. Not that I don’t care about you both, but if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather stay the hell out of it.”

  “I’d rather you all stayed the hell out of it since it’s personal and none of your business.” The words came out sharper than I had intended. But the day had not been going according to plan. Maybe if I went back to hiding out in my bedroom at night and keeping Gib away from the practice room during the day, that would work. Me diving behind a couch every time Sam walked in wouldn’t be the least bit suspicious. Much. Perhaps facing difficult things didn’t fall under my list of specialties. At least, not when it came to one man in particular.

  He laughed softly. “C’mon, you know what everyone’s like. The chances of them all minding their own business...”

  “Great,” I said glumly, trudging up the staircase. “Do you think he meant it when he said he was always on my side?”

  Ben looked back at me, gaze soft, understanding almost. “Sis, you ever known Sam to say something he didn’t mean?”

  “No.”

  “Exactly.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Wat den?”

  I exhaled. “Then the train drew a picture.”

  “Wat den?” asked Gib for about the hundredth time.

  “Ah, then the train went for a swim in the pool.”

  “Wat den?”

  “Well, then the train ate his vegetables. All of them. Without any fuss.”

  “No.” His little face scrunched up in disgust. “Wat den?”

  “Then the train went to sleep because it was way past his bedtime and he’d been drawing out this whole tell-me-a-story-Aunty-Martha thing for over an hour,” I announced. “The end.”

  “No-no-no!”

  “Yes, yes, yes,” said Lizzy, wandering over to tuck her son in. “Thank you, Aunty Martha, for the awesome story.”

  Gib just frowned. He might have gotten that particular facial expression from me, he did it so well. When I leaned down to kiss him on the brow, however, his little hands reached up and clung to my neck for a moment. As if he actually liked me and maybe appreciated the dumb train story. Not that I teared up or anything because how silly.

  “Goodnight, sweetheart,” I said, giving him an extra kiss.

  Gib smothered a yawn. “More twain.”

  “Tomorrow.” Lizzy had her firm-mother voice going on. “That’s enough for now. Thank Aunty Martha.”

  “Tank you,” he said tiredly.

  “Time to go to sleep,” said Liz, delivering her own goodnight kisses. “I love you.”

  “Mommy...”

  “Sweet dreams, baby.”

  A nightlight turned in slow circles, sending rockets, stars, and hearts moving across the walls. Over in the corner, the toy box was packed full of balls, trucks, a baby bass guitar or two, and various dolls. Gib and I had done a tidy-up earlier and everything seemed in order. Perhaps I wasn’t the absolute worst nanny to ever attempt being in charge of a child.

  Despite a full evening of playing hide and seek with Lizzy and Gib, a great distraction from the ridiculous conversation in the band room earlier as it turned out, I was wide awake. Then again, it couldn’t be any later than around nine. His bedtime might be supposed to be eight, but Gibby turned out to be rather ingenious when it came to extending it until all hours. Especially when his father was over working on songs with Uncle David and unavailable for goodnight kisses. Oh the woe. So much woe. Gib had even managed to squeeze out a couple of fake tears. The child was truly a master manipulator and I couldn’t help but be a bit proud of how much effort he put into attempting to get his way. Total dedication to the cause.

  “I’ve never heard of trains going shopping for handbags at Louis Vuitton before,” whispered Lizzy, following me out into the hallway, quietly closing the door behind us.

  “Every self-respecting train needs a Neverfull.”

  “Of course they do.” She slipped the baby monitor thingy onto her belt. “Can I offer you an alcoholic beverage of some description?”

  “Sounds good.”

  “You know, I was thinking of going for a swim. The pool’s heated. Or we could try out the hot tub?”

  I nodded. “Good idea. I’m pretty sure he broke at least part of my back making me give him horsey rides today. Meet you down there.”

  One thing I missed living in New York had been spending quality time at the beach. Not that rooftop pools and bars weren’t fun. But they weren’t Malibu. That said, Portland wasn’t Malibu either, though Ben and Lizzy’s outdoor area had been impressively designed and landscaped. During the day, you could see Mount Hood rising in the distance. But night-time was special too. Subdued lighting hid amongst the foliage and under the water, turning it a pale glowing blue. A long glass and stone wall served as an ornate fountain at one end of the pool. Even nature cooperated, delivering up a clear sky with a half moon and scattering of stars high overhead. It was a beautiful night. A peaceful one. And since Ben had gone over to David and Ev’s place before Lizzy got home, I could be reasonably certain they hadn’t yet had time to confer about today’s events. Me managing and Sam’s being on my side etcetera. Lizzy would eventually be all over me about it, but not tonight. Thank God.

  Meanwhile, Lizzy must have gotten delayed or something. I collected the waiting wine glasses and requisite bottle sitting in ice off an ornate ironwork table. As if we’d be going back and forth from the hot tub.

  Funny thing, the hot tub wasn’t empty and the person in it definitely wasn’t Lizzy.

  “Martha,” said Sam, raising his head off the edge to appraise my red bikini. “You look nice.”

  “Thank you.” I set the glasses and bottle beside the tub
. “Is this a set-up?”

  “Not by me.”

  I frowned on account of it being my go-to expression.

  “I’m out here every night after I finish my workout.”

  “Of course you are.” I sighed. “Lizzy would know that.”

  For a moment he said nothing, his gaze fixed on my face as if he could read me. And he probably could. “Breeze is cool tonight, but the water’s good and hot. Are you getting in?”

  I nodded and carefully made my way down the steps into the as-promised beautifully warm bubbling water. It did feel dangerously good.

  “What’s in the bucket?” he asked.

  I knelt on the step to inspect the bottle. “Fucking Cristal champagne. This is so a set-up.”

  “Doesn’t say much if you have to be tricked into spending time with me,” he said, tone deceptively light.

  “You know that’s not it.”

  “Do I? Because I can leave if you like.”

  With practiced ease, I popped the cork and filled the two glasses, handing him one. “Sam, will you please stay and have a drink with me?”

  “Why, Martha, I’d love to.” His big hand took the delicate glass from me. Everything about the man was solid, bulky. Not my usual type at all. Next to Sam, I felt positively delicate. Hilarious when you considered how many men I’d scared out of a second date. He made me wish I knew anatomy better. So I could put a name to all of the bumps and bulges in his shoulders and arms. His steamy wet shoulders and arms. “You’re staring.”

  “Hmm?” I asked.

  “You’re staring at me. Sit down.”

  “Oh.” I sat.

  “No need to frown.”

  “I’m not frowning.”

  “Whatever you say.” His voice was all placid and happy now. I amped my expression up to a scowl. An arm stretched across the edge of the tub, he put the glass to his lips, taking a sip. A wince. “Do you actually like this shit?”

  “I don’t mind it. Why, what do you drink?”

  He took another sip, gaze thoughtful. “Red wine, beer, bourbon if I’m in the mood for liquor.”

  “The beer and bourbon make sense, but I’d never have picked you as a red wine aficionado.”

  “No? Nice to know I can still surprise you.”

  “Oh, you’re all about the surprises lately.” I stared off into the distance, sipping at the champagne. Between him and the view, the latter would be far less likely to land me in trouble.

  “Am I?”

  No way was I going there. “Are you aware that answering a question with a question is really annoying?”

  “Is it?”

  I narrowed my eyes at the man.

  But he just laughed. “There, there, Martha. Everything’s fine. Relax and drink your champagne.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” I said, sitting back and taking another sip.

  “How did the rest of your day go with Gib?”

  “Good, actually. I mean, he half-heartedly kind of threw a couple of peas at me during dinner. But then he asked for me to tell him a bedtime story instead of Liz.”

  “I said he’d grow to like you. Just needed a little time.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. Where’s your pool housemate, Adam? Off writing another heart-rending ballad about casual sex?”

  Sam snorted. “No. Off getting some casual sex, I think. His cell goes off at all hours. I can’t keep up.”

  “Ah to be so young, dumb, and beautiful.”

  “You know, you’re not that much older than him. And while you’ve made some mistakes, I’ve never thought you were lacking in smarts,” he said. “But you’ve always been beautiful. You always will be.”

  “Thank you.” I averted my eyes, downed the last of my champagne, and reached for a refill. “That’s very kind of you.”

  “Compliments always did make you squirm.”

  “Stop it. You don’t know everything about me.”

  “No. But I intend to.”

  “Why?” My hand jumped as if to punctuate the statement, the cool fizz of champagne sliding over my skin. A pity to waste the good stuff. So I licked it up. There could be no imagining the way his gaze darkened, watching me. Holy cow.

  He cleared his throat. “Why what?”

  “Why do you want to know everything about me?”

  “C’mon, Martha, I only just finished saying you weren’t lacking in smarts. Don’t prove me wrong.”

  I huddled into my corner of the hot tub, clutching at my drink. Not feeling defensive, just…all right, so I was feeling defensive. “Maybe I just want to hear you say it. Everyone else seems to have a damn opinion about us. Who knew rock stars were such damn gossips? Sticking their collective noses in everybody else’s business all the time.”

  “They care about you, that’s all.” Sam placed his glass on the side and stood, moving over to sit beside me. Very close beside me. Our knees were even touching, all intimate-like. Then his gentle fingers turned my chin, making me face him. “Let me see.”

  “What?” Ever so carefully, he wiped away the worst of my concealer and makeup from beneath my right eye. His calluses slid across my skin in a not un-nice manner. “Yuck. Don’t. It’s ugly.”

  “Just let me see.”

  “Maybe I should have worn big sunglasses around all of the time and told everyone I was permanently hungover. They probably would have believed it.”

  “Then you’d have had Jimmy dragging you off to rehab and offering to be your sponsor.”

  “True.” I grimaced. “You were the only one in there today who wasn’t angry at me.”

  “About holding on to the bag instead of letting the robber take it?”

  “Yes.”

  He half-smiled. “Martha, my dear, I was fucking furious. But it was neither the time nor place to get into it with all of the guys gathered around.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What I mean is…if you were mine, I’d have turned your ass bright pink for what you did,” he said, all scarily matter of fact. “Thinking a handbag was more important than your life.”

  My eyes opened wide in surprise.

  “What kind of ridiculous shit is that?”

  “Guess I’m not as smart as you thought I was.”

  “No. You just don’t know how loved you are,” he corrected, his thumb stroking across my cheek. The man touched me like I was precious. But also like he already owned me and for some reason I didn’t have it in me to disagree. “For a woman with so much pride, Martha, you have a very thin grasp of your own worth.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. Yet what with his hands suddenly grasping my waist and lifting me onto his lap, any attempt at coherency on my part fled the tub completely. Since when exactly did we start sitting on one another?

  “At any rate, you and I are going to start doing some self-defense work together,” he announced. “Should anything like it happen again in future, you’ll know how to react. Regardless of what fucking designer handbag you’re carrying.”

  “Are you giving me orders?”

  “Do you disagree with the idea?”

  “Well, no. But you could have asked instead of phrasing it the way you did.”

  “I’ll make a note of that for next time. Now,” he said. “I believe you wanted some sort of statement from me as to my intentions.”

  “Your intentions?”

  Sam lifted the bottle of champagne out of the bucket of ice and topped up my glass. Next his arms wrapped tight around me before any kind of escape could be attempted. The man knew exactly what he was doing. But if ever a man was bound to have a plan, it would be him. “Have a bit more to drink. It’ll make you feel better.”

  “I’m fine. Or I was fine where I was. What am I doing sitting on your lap?”

  “You never did like being out of control of a situation.”

  “Stop acting as if you know what’s going on in my head all the time. You don’t!”

  He chuckled, the sound and the vibration of his s
trong chest against my side much too pleasant. “Considering I’ve been waiting for you for almost a decade, I think I’ve got a pretty good understanding of what goes in that gorgeous head of yours.”

  “Almost a decade?”

  “Mm-hmm.” He took a drink from my glass, wrinkling his nose at the taste. “No, I definitely don’t think that champagne’s going to grow on me anytime soon. Anyway, where was I?”

  “Almost a decade…”

  “Right. So—”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “Of course it is.”

  I shook my head. No one had ever wanted me for anywhere near so long. David and I had barely lasted half that amount of time before outgrowing each other and breaking up in a spectacularly messed-up fashion. Though mostly, he’d outgrown me. Left me far behind and largely forgotten. Or at least that’s the way it felt at the time. Since then, I’d dated men for a month or two at most. Then dumped them before they could dump me because better safe than sorry and hurt. Yet with Sam came a strange sense of safety. He provided exactly the sort of shelter I’d fled New York in search of, if I was being totally honest. The comfort of loved ones, family, and maybe even friends. Things I hadn’t had for a long time. Things I hadn’t quite been able to provide for myself, irritatingly enough. But to maybe need someone, to actually make myself vulnerable…

  “This doesn’t make sense,” I said in a quiet voice.

  “No?”

  I shook my head and sipped my champagne. It didn’t make me feel any better. So there, he didn’t know everything. “So if this thing is a decade old, then why are we here now? After all this time?”

  “You’ve always been a loner. Self-contained.”

  “True.”

  “But, I don’t know. It just seems like there’s something different about you, ever since you’ve been back,” he said. “Never struck me before that you weren’t happy with your life, and how it was going…”

  “Yes, but ten years?”

  “You’re really stuck on that, aren’t you? Let me explain,” he said, taking a deep breath. “You see, when I first started to work with the boys, I was all about the job. A lot of people think that’s the only way to do what I do. Total commitment. Seven days a week around the clock. Don’t even think of having a life of your own, let alone a relationship. Which was fine in my thirties. You were still wound up over Davie and needed time to get yourself sorted. So I put it off. Told myself it was the right thing to do.”