No Place Like You Read online

  Immersion therapy. Or something. That was the thing where they made you confront the thing you were scared of to make you lose your fear of it, wasn’t it? She just had to spend enough time with him so she could re-accustom herself to Zach, then her hormones would calm down and reality would be restored.

  But first, she needed a break. “Why don’t you grab a water or something? I just want to move some of the mics around. Maybe switch one or two out. That guitar has such a great sound, I want to make sure we’re getting all of it.”

  Zach’s brows rose slightly. Understandable. It was early to be changing the set-up, but what the hell. It was the best excuse she could come up with right now.

  “I promise I won’t take long,” she said.

  To her relief, he put the guitar down and stood. She did too, heading for the booth door. Zach opened it as she reached it and she almost walked straight into him.

  He caught her arm to steady her, and the shock of his hand against her bare skin was like fire. She stepped back in reflex and they did an awkward little dance around each other, while she tried not to breathe too deeply so that the smell of him couldn’t make things worse. Not easy when her heart was thumping so hard she felt like she’d been running a marathon. She made it into the studio, and then fussed with the microphones for about five minutes so Zach wouldn’t think she’d gone completely crazy.

  He wandered back in from the kitchen just as she was finishing up.

  “Hey, are you about ready to get going?” he said, passing her a fresh bottle of water.

  “I just need another minute,” Leah said. She bent back down and fiddled with the microphone stand. She was definitely stalling now. So ridiculous. Why was she being such a dork around him? It was just Zach. Time to put on her big-girl panties and get this done.

  She straightened. “There, that should be better.”

  Zach was standing way too close, the smell of him surrounding her. Warm man. Fresh soap. The spicy scent that was all him. She’d never quite figured out if it was cologne or aftershave or deodorant. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that it was brain-meltingly delicious. It made her want to lean in, press her nose into the curve of his neck. Taste his skin. Gah. She straightened, picked up the water, and beat a hasty retreat back to the soundboard.

  “Ready when you are,” she said, pasting on a fake-cheerful smile. She was going to get this done if it killed her. She held the smile, cheeks aching, while Zach settled back into his spot. All about the work. Right. She could do this.

  * * *

  A few hours later, she wasn’t sure either of them were going to survive the day. The music part was fine. But the part in between, when they had to talk to each other, well that was horrible. Long pauses. Stilted attempts at chat between takes. As long as she concentrated on the music, she could fake it for a while. But if the concentration lapsed, then she started noticing Zach. And her stupid traitorous body turned brain to mush. Stammering hot mess was not a look she was comfortable with.

  And, as for Zach, well he wasn’t doing much better. He’d knocked over a microphone stand, almost blown up the microwave, and somehow managed to delete a song from his laptop. Luckily, he had an online backup. He’d seemed just as tongue-tied as she was.

  For two people who’d had some smoking chemistry in the past, not to mention an easy friendship, they were both doing a good impression of really dorky teenagers trying to talk to someone they liked for the very first time.

  When five o’clock rolled ’round, she suggested they call it a day. Zach looked at her like she was a little nuts—most musicians didn’t keep to a nine-to-five schedule—but the speed with which he packed up and headed for the door suggested she wasn’t the only one feeling the weird vibe.

  After he left she did her usual end-of-day tasks—backing up files, taking notes for tomorrow, making sure all the equipment needing to be stowed was stowed. All the while wondering how the hell they were going to get past this. Surely there had to be a magic bullet? A way for them to become comfortable with each other again?

  That couldn’t be so hard, could it? They’d been friends once and, heck, she’d managed to talk happily enough with Zach at various Harper events on his infrequent visits home. When she’d been safely married to Joey and any attraction she’d once felt for Zach had been buried deep in the recesses of her brain. Surely they could get back there again?

  Perhaps she should invite Zach over for dinner or something? Sure, the dinner at Faith’s had been awkward too but she hadn’t had any time to prepare for that. No time to steel herself against his charms. But with enough notice, surely she could do it? To be safe, she could even invite Eli as well. After all, it would be nice to see him too. She couldn’t even remember the last time Eli had been to Lansing.

  That could do it. Maybe even round up a few other friends. Have the sort of big-raucous, shooting-the-breeze-and-ragging-on-each-other dinner she and Joey used to host. That was one of the things she’d missed since the divorce. Most of their friends had chosen Joey. She couldn’t entirely blame them. Most of them were townies, and well, technically she was a townie too, but her dad had always worked for the Harpers.

  Which put the Santellis, in the eyes of most of Cloud Bay’s residents, firmly in the music-people camp. Rich people, in other words. Which wasn’t even remotely true. Even though Sal had made a very nice living doing what he did here at the studio, her family had nothing like the sort of wealth the Harpers had. But still, their friends had reverted back to being Joey’s friends. Since she had Faith and Ivy, she hadn’t thought about it much at first, too focused on surviving the divorce and trying to sort out the messy tangle of feelings she had about it to notice what was happening. But as she had emerged from the divorce-crazy, she’d realized there were quite a few people she hadn’t heard from in a while. So, yeah, maybe dinner with Zach and Eli could be fun. She could ask Ivy and Matt as well.

  Have a dinner party like a freaking adult.

  Show her hormones who was boss.

  She coiled the last of the cables into a neat roll and tucked it back into its place. Then turned back to see if there was anything else she’d missed in the studio. Her gaze hit the stool where Zach had been sitting all day and stuck there, as though glued. The memory of his voice, low and crooning, hit her all over again, and a rush of heated want snaked down her spine and spread through her body. Her hands curled into fists as she tried to will the feeling away. But it did no good. Zach was back in her head.

  And she knew, deep in her gut, that it was going to take more than a damn dinner party to exorcise him.

  The alternative—at least the only one that spring to mind right now as she stood there hungry for him—was to seize the bull by the horns so to speak.

  The thought made her break out in a cold sweat, which at least cleared the fog of lust. Seizing the bull by the horns meant asking Zach to sleep with her, pure and simple. The nuclear approach. Burn off the awkwardness with some good old-fashioned sex. Though, if memory served her, sex with Zach had been anything than old fashioned.

  No, don’t think about that. Thinking about sex with Zach would only make things worse. Not that she was sure that anything could actually make the situation worse. They might grow more comfortable with each other over time, but, if she was honest with herself, she couldn’t see this inconvenient lust going away any time soon. After all, it seemed to have stuck around for over ten years now. So she was either going to be horny the entire time Zach was on the island, or eventually lose her head and proposition him. If it was going to happen anyway, what was the point in waiting?

  They were working together, yes, but Zach wasn’t the kind to kiss and tell. This didn’t have to have anything to do with that.

  All that waiting could achieve was them wasting time that could be better spent working on achieving some mutual satisfaction, as well as—hopefully—improving their ability to focus in the studio. After all, Zach was only going to be here for a few months at mos
t. Then he’d be gone again. Just like last time. Just like every time. She wasn’t dumb enough to let herself fall in love with the man. She knew too much about how he was built for that. So a few months fling could be exactly what the doctor ordered. Kill the weird and burn out this stupid crush once and for all. So that when he left, she would be cured and able to get on with the rest of her life.

  The only question was whether she could actually do it. March on over to Zach’s guesthouse and talk him into bed. Her hands clenched tighter, fingernails digging into her palm as she contemplated the thought.

  “What the hell?” she muttered and turned to leave the studio before she lost her nerve.

  chapter eight

  Zach was standing at the fridge, trying to decide if he had something he could turn into dinner or whether he would be throwing himself on Faith’s or Eli’s mercy again, when someone knocked on his door, rattling the screen.

  What the hell? He wasn’t expecting anybody. Barely anyone knew where he was, for a start. But maybe it was Faith or Mina or even Eli, come to see him. Or, in Eli’s case, come to make Zach come up with dinner for a change.

  But when he got to the door, the person facing him on the other side of the screen was Leah. Wearing the same clothes she’d had on at the studio, with her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail and those damn silver hoops that had been drawing his attention to the sweet curve of her neck all day dancing at her ears.

  She held up a six-pack of longnecks. “I thought our first day deserved some sort of celebration. I went with beer. Hope that’s okay with you?”

  “Sure,” he said. He opened the door and stepped out. It was too nice a day to sit inside when they could hang out on the porch. Besides, after the way he’d kept finding himself watching Leah all day at the studio, tracking her moves like a teenage boy following the head cheerleader around like a puppy, outside might just be wiser than inside. It had been weird between them. So some extra space couldn’t hurt. He lowered himself onto the top step, deliberately sticking close to the stair rail so that there was plenty of space for them both.

  Leah sat beside him, not as far away as he would have liked, and handed him a longneck. “Bottom’s up.” She took a long swallow, and he found himself focusing way too hard on her mouth.

  And on how close she was to him on the stairs.

  He stood abruptly. Walked back down to the grass, then turned back to face her. She was watching him with an odd expression. As though she was trying to make up her mind about something.

  “So, that was not the greatest first day ever,” she said eventually.

  “Can’t argue with that,” he said, glad he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. “But it was the first day. We’ll find our rhythm.”

  Leah took another swig of beer and then pushed to her feet too, came down the stairs, stopping on the bottom one. Which put her eyes almost level with his.

  He’d forgotten there were tiny golden flecks among the green. Kind of made you want to lean in and look closer. An impulse he wasn’t giving into.

  Those eyes narrowed slightly, her expression turning serious. “I’m not so sure.”

  He tensed. “What does that mean?”

  She pursed her lips. “I don’t think the problem is that we’re not used to working together.”

  He was suddenly gripping the beer too tightly. Partly because he was staring at that lush mouth again. But mostly because he agreed with her. Work wasn’t the problem. But he was just going to stay silent on that subject because opening that particular can of worms sounded like a really dumb idea. Pleasurable as hell, maybe, but destined for disaster.

  Leah waited for a beat—giving him space to answer, presumably—then tilted her head slightly, the expression in those fascinating eyes suddenly all challenge. “So I guess the question is, are we going to deal with the problem or pretend it doesn’t exist?”

  In the interests of sanity, he had to vote for the latter. “What problem?”

  She sighed. “Seriously? That’s how you want to play it?” She set her beer on the step. The big hoops in her ears were dancing when she straightened again and put her hands on her hips, staring at him.

  She’d liked it when he’d kissed her just behind her ears. Had trembled and sighed when his tongue had touched her skin. Soft. It had tasted of salt and warmth and something that was all Leah. His mouth dried.

  Her eyes were locked on his. She licked her lips. He swayed toward her, unable to resist the lure of that mouth any longer.

  “There!” she said.

  He almost dropped his beer as he jerked back. “What?”

  “That look.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Total lie.

  “I hope you’re not one of those celebrities who likes poker,” she said. “Because you are a terrible liar.”

  He took another step back, hoping space might equal sanity. “Did you hit your head on the way over?”

  “Nope. And neither did you, so why don’t we talk about it?”

  She wasn’t going to give up. Wasn’t going to go away. Trouble was, he was fairly certain his inappropriate memories weren’t going anywhere either. He sighed. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

  “It’s a better one than continuing to act like morons around each other in the studio.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe we’ll just get used to it. It might fade away.”

  If there’d been a picture in the dictionary next to the word “skeptical,” it would have shown Leah’s face.

  “So you’re suggesting I ignore the fact that every time you come close to me, I remember that I know what you look like naked. How you taste? How it felt when you—”

  “Leah, don’t.” God. She was going to kill him.

  “You know, I believe in just dealing with things,” she said. “Get it all out on the table.”

  They’d done it on the table. He’d laid her down and spread her legs and—

  He swallowed. Looked up. She was blushing. She remembered too. Fuck.

  “Okay, bad choice of words,” she said, and her voice was ever so slightly too high and breathless. But she didn’t falter. “I believe in being honest. So, yes, I remember those things.”

  Her gaze dropped to his crotch. Where there was no hiding just how right she was about the clarity of his memories. “Looks like you do too.”

  If he gripped the beer any tighter, the damn bottle was going to shatter. He should put it down. But that would mean bending closer to Leah. He didn’t want to get any closer. That would be stupid. Suicidal even. “What if I do?”

  “Well, then, we need to do something about it.”

  “I hear cold showers are good.”

  “Overrated.”

  “The ocean is cold. Early morning swims?”

  “You turn into a morning person? I find that hard to believe.”

  “No,” he admitted. And she hadn’t changed all that much either. She’d never been good at letting go of an idea. He’d learned that lesson the night of her eighteenth birthday when she’d made him an offer his younger self hadn’t been able to refuse.

  “Do you have any better ideas?” Leah asked, arching one eyebrow at him.

  He drank. It was something to do that didn’t involve thinking too hard about the topic of their conversation. The fact that Leah had the hots for him. The fact that the feeling was apparently mutual. The fact that he was an idiot of massive proportions.

  “I’ll take silence as ‘no,’ Leah said. “Well, I have one.”

  “Please don’t tell me,” he said, voice rasping. He didn’t know what he’d do if she said what he thought she was about to say.

  “Sorry, that’s just dumb.” She paused. Took a deep breath, which only drew his eyes to the curve of her breasts under her tank top. “There’s always no-strings-attached hot-sweaty sex until you leave town again.”

  He almost choked on his beer. Had to put it down and stay bent over for a moment, as he tried to remember how to b
reathe. How to breathe and how to ignore the fact he was now hard as a rock.

  Leah snorted. “Sorry, did I upset your delicate male sensibilities?”

  He straightened slowly. Shit, she was determined to talk about this. “No, but you did surprise me.”

  “Really? I would have thought that a big rock star would be used to being propositioned by now.”

  Well, he couldn’t deny that women made passes. But women whose names he didn’t know asking him to sleep with them apparently wasn’t half as … unsettling?… intriguing?… downright tantalizing?… as Leah doing it. “I think you’re overestimating my fame.”

  That earned him an eye-roll.

  “Hello, have you seen you?” Leah said.

  “I don’t stand around admiring my reflection, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “I don’t think you’re Narcissus, Zach. I think you’re a hot guy who would have to be an idiot not to know he was hot. Especially since you’ve been hot for quite some time.”

  “Oh, really?” He wasn’t an idiot. But he had to admit, there was something about Leah standing there telling him she thought he was that was … pleasing.

  “Stop fishing for compliments. I’m the woman who propositioned you at eighteen. You already know I think you’re hot.”

  He shook his head, trying to quell the heat rising through his body and tame the hard-on that was making him very glad his T-shirt was long. Apparently part of him was very happy with Leah’s announcement. “I didn’t know you still felt that way.” Not entirely true. There’d been too many little moments of chemistry since he’d come home to ignore that there was something there between them. But he hadn’t imagined she’d want to actually do anything about it. “Or that you wanted to do something about it.”

  That part was true. It hadn’t crossed his mind she’d even think about sleeping with him again. He’d known, at least some part of him had, that when he’d said “yes” to her all those years ago that he was going to hurt her. That part of her didn’t think he’d really leave and had spun teenage girl dreams about what would happen next. But he hadn’t said “no.” Maybe that made him an asshole, but he’d been young and Leah, at eighteen, had been gorgeous. And she’d asked.