Summer with a Star (Second Chances Book 1) (18 page)

“Simon Mercer,” Tasha repeated. Her heart was still beating somewhere up around her eyeballs. She forced her breathing to slow, forced her brain to grow back to full size and grasp the situation. “Hi?”

“Go downstairs,” Spence roared, grabbing Simon’s arm and pushing him toward the stairwell. “We’ll put some clothes on and meet you there.”

“No need to get all formal on my account,” Simon said, winking at Tasha.

“Go!” Spence ordered.

“All right, mate.” He held up his hands and sidestepped until he got to the top of the stairs, then headed down.

As soon as he was out of sight, Spence broke into a chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “Simon.” He shook his head.

“Some security we’ve got,” Tasha said, her voice an octave higher than usual.

“They know him,” Spence explained, then groaned, still smiling, and rubbed his face. “We’d better get dressed and head down there before he breaks something.”

Ten minutes later, after a lightning-quick shower, dressed in jeans and the most conservative t-shirt she had, Tasha headed downstairs. She could hear Spence and Simon out on the porch, talking and laughing like two old friends who had never been apart. A stab of jealousy shot through her.

She paused in the hallway and let out a breath, scolding herself. Of course Spence had friends. Every normal person had friends. It wasn’t fair of her to grudge him that friendship. Still, instead of heading straight outside, she made a detour into the dining room, where her phone sat on the table with their half-finished puzzle. Everyone had friends, but not everyone’s friends were notorious Hollywood playboys who made the headlines more than they made movies. If Spence didn’t think she was a boring, stodgy old teacher before, he would now.

Her phone was packed with texts from Jenny.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Earth to Tasha, are you there?”

“I’m desperate for some scoop here.”

“Is everything all right?”

“No, seriously, just text me to let me know everything is all right.”

“Hello? Are you still alive?”

“Okay, now I’m getting really worried.”

The last one was from a couple of hours ago.

Tasha signed and texted, “I’m trying to have a vacation here. You know, that relaxing thing people do at the beach? Stop pestering me.”

A twinge of guilt struck her as she hit send, but really, Jenny needed to let her have five minutes to herself without a text. She really was trying to enjoy a vacation. She left her phone on the table and headed out to the porch. Yes, a peaceful, happy vacation alone with the man of her dreams, who mysteriously liked her enough to do very naughty things with her, things the parents of her students would balk at. A man who you could search the internet and find naked pictures of, who needed security, who roared with laughter when his buddy,
the
Simon Mercer, told a joke. She’d never felt more out of place.

“Did I miss something funny?” she asked as she approached the wicker chairs where the guys sat.

Simon wiggled his eyebrows at her and took a long swig of the beer he’d managed to find.

“Not really,” Spence told her, his own beer in hand. She hadn’t seen him drink anything stronger than coffee at the house since she’d arrived. “Simon here was telling me about a party in New York he was at that got out of hand.”

“Ostriches everywhere,” Simon added with an expansive gesture. “It was a total mess.”

“Ostriches? In New York City?” A strange, slipping feeling crept down Tasha’s back. The same feeling she thought she’d banished a week ago. Who were these people, and what was she doing trying to fit in with them?

The worst of the sensation was soothed when Spence reached for her and pulled her down to sit in his lap as Simon went on.

“Of course, it turned out that the ostriches were from some stage show extravaganza and the handlers had the wrong address,” he said while Spence smiled at Tasha, closing an arm around her waist and kissing her shoulder. “But the police got involved because there may or may not have been a few illegal substances at the party. And then, of course, Yvonne found out about the whole thing.”

Tasha tensed. She peeked sideways at Spence. He met her furtive look with a calm smile, but his arm tightened at her waist. She wasn’t sure if it was meant to be comforting or if he was holding her there to keep from running.

“No wonder Yvonne left here so fast,” he said.

“Yvonne was up here?” Simon asked. He may have been a brilliant actor who had just been nominated for the biggest awards Hollywood had, but Tasha didn’t buy his sudden innocent act at all.

Apparently, neither did Spence. “She headed down to New York a few days ago to keep you from self-destructing,” he said. “I’m beginning to understand why.”

“Yvonne is the best thing since the wheel,” Simon said, “but she does lay it on a little thick now and then. Don’t you think so, Tasha?”

Wariness sat heavily on Tasha’s gut. She freed herself from Spence’s lap, whispering a short, “It’s too hot,” as her excuse, and sliding onto the sofa. “Yvonne certainly was interesting,” she replied to Simon.

“That’s one word to describe her,” Simon agreed. “She’s a corking manager, though.” He raised his beer in salute and took a sip before asking Spence, “Did she bring you that pilot script? Second Chances?”

Spence’s brow flew up. “You know about that?”

Simon finished his beer before answering, “Yep. She had me read one too. I read it again on the ride up here. She’s lobbying for me to play Dr. Wiseman.”

“The head of the hospital?” Spence asked.

“One in the same. It’s a strong role, just a little outside of my milieu, but meaty, challenging.”

“But it’s television. Don’t you want to keep living the high life of film?”

Simon shrugged. “I want a good part. I don’t care where it comes from.”

Tasha hunched back in the couch as the two continued discussing the role and Second Chances, feeling suddenly invisible. The uneasiness in her gut grew. Sure, men who worked in the same job talked shop all the time. Brad would go on for endless hours talking about the financial world, deals, sales, and money.

She signed and rubbed her back against the wicker of the sofa to work a few knots out. It had been days since she thought about Brad. For a second there she had been so close to moving on, to being someone new, someone free. Then this.

“The principle filming will be on the east coast, you know,” Spence was in the middle of laying out all the facts as her attention shifted back to the conversation. “You’ll be away from L.A.”

Simon shrugged. “Yvonne seems to think that’s a good thing.”

“Yeah, but what do you think?”

A split-second of exhaustion crossed Simon’s face. It was enough to spark Tasha’s curiosity.

“I think—”

“Sir, we have a problem,” their security guard, Duke, interrupted the conversation as he rounded the corner of the porch.

“This is illegal!” a familiar voice shouted just out of sight. “Tasha is my friend. If you’re holding her hostage in here, I’ll—”

Jenny stopped mid-sentence as she rounded the corner. Her eyes widened when she saw Spence. They widened even more when she noticed Simon.

“Miss, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Duke said, holding up his hands.

Duke was easily six-six, dark skin almost as black as his uniform, with his head shaved. Jenny was tall herself, but thin and dressed in a pink halter top and short-shorts, but she glared at Duke and stared him down as if she could crush him under one of her three-inch wedge heels.

“Tasha is my friend,” she repeated.

Both Tasha and Spence stood.

“It’s okay, Duke,” Spence said. “She really is Tasha’s friend.”

Duke backed off and Jenny stomped forward, heels thumping on the porch.

“What are you doing here?” Tasha asked, meeting her halfway for a hug.

“You weren’t answering your texts. I got worried. Especially after that story about the creep on the beach.” Jenny spoke fast and pulled out of the hug faster than usual. She stepped past Tasha to hold out a hand to Simon, who had stood and circled around the porch furniture to join them. “Hi, I’m Jenny.”

“Well hello,” Simon cooed, taking her hand and raising it to his lips instead of shaking it.

Tasha squeezed her eyes shut and sighed. This couldn’t be good.

Chapter Thirteen

Even in early morning, the beach was busy this late in July. Spence looked out over the mist that was settling back into the ocean as he stretched his quad and calves on the porch railing.

“Come on,” he told Tasha over his shoulder. “Everyone down there is just walking or running, same as we’ll be doing. And by this point they all know me and they all know you, and they’ll leave us alone. There’s not a camera in sight.”

Tasha stood by the edge of the stairs, rubbing her arms and half-heartedly stretching her calves. She gave him a doubtful look.

“I’m not worried about the people down there, I’m worried about the ones in there.” She jerked her head back toward the house.

Spence laughed. Simon was a tornado pretty much everywhere he went. He’d barreled into the house with hardly any explanation as to why he was there—though Spence had his suspicions—and knocked the peaceful atmosphere off-kilter. When Jenny showed up right before dinner two days ago, the match was lit. Everyone had been reasonably well-behaved when they went out to dinner, but Spence knew Simon. It was the calm before the storm.

“A little run will set everything to right,” he told Tasha. More like a quick escape from the house before it blew up would put her in a better mood to deal with the fireworks.

Tasha dragged her eyes away from the house and twisted to stretch her back. “I’m not much of a runner,” she admitted. “In fact, I’m probably going to fall on my face out there.”

Spence smiled at the image of her face-planting in the sand. “If you do, I’ll catch you. You’ll see.”

“I hope I won’t see.”

They headed down the stairs to the beach. The sound of his footfalls on the weathered wood, the scent of salt and seaweed that drifted up to greet them, the rush of the waves and the cries of seagulls had worked their way into Spence’s soul in just a few short weeks. He started up the beach at a casual jog, making sure Tasha kept beside him, like it was an ingrained routine.

It should be a routine. He could seriously get used to wet sand squishing under his shoes in the morning, and Tasha focused and serious at his side.

He waved to Kurt Palfrey, a middle-aged man who owned a cottage further up the beach, who he’d seen every morning on his run and talked to a few times. No wide-eyed wonder, no rushing to pull out a phone, just friendly casual acquaintance.

“You’re doing great,” he told Tasha, keeping his pace steady for her. “You’re a natural.”

“Ha!” She arched an eyebrow at him. “We’re not even halfway up the beach and I’m puffing.”

“It gets better as you go,” he said. “Can’t you see yourself doing this every day? Enjoying the fresh air and the rush of blood through your veins?”

She tilted her head to the side, arms pumping in tight arcs as she jogged. “Maybe. Is this what you Hollywood types do every morning? Exercise?”

He didn’t want to be bothered by her comment, but it sat over him like a raincloud. “Sometimes.” He kept things light. “But I hear that some teachers jog in the morning too.”

She smiled. The tension that had built up so quickly in his shoulders released.

“Honestly,” he confessed, feeling the impact of his strides as his feet hit the hard sand, “I’ve never felt less like a celebrity.”

“Oh?”

“And I love it,” he added.

I love you
.

The words popped into his head before he could think about them. It was a miracle they didn’t spill right out his mouth.
I love you
. It hung there like the sunrise, like the gentle mist rolling with the waves. Nothing had ever felt more true or more honest in his life. Nothing had ever felt so real.

“What?” she asked, her lips twitching into a confused half-smile.

“What do you mean, what?” he teased her.

“That look. What’s that look for?” She was breathless with exertion, but she kept on jogging.

No way. There was no way in hell he was going to say the words. Not after only a few weeks. Not when the possibility that anything he said would bite him in the ass and lay him flat.

Then again, this was Tasha, not some spoiled starlet. This was an honest woman, a wonderful woman.

“
What?
” she demanded. Her confusion and her smile deepened.

Just say it
, a voice whispered to him.
Say it and let the world know.

He shrugged, playing casual. “Nothing. Well, nothing much.”

“I swear to God, Spence, you are an absolute mystery,” she tossed back.

“All right, promise you won’t laugh at me?” His heart trembled in his chest. Blood pumped through him, and not because of their run.

“I won’t laugh,” she promised.

Do it. Do it. Do it! Say ‘I love you.’

“You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen, running along the beach like this.”

Pussy
, he scolded himself.

She laughed after all, snorting with all the self-effacing elegance of a bashful swan. “Obviously you don’t get out much.”

He left it there, laughing along with her as they pushed on toward the pier at the far end of the beach. He would find a way to tell her, though. When the time and the place was right.

They made it to the far end of the beach, paused for a rest, then turned and headed back. The view of Sand Dollar Point glowing in the sunlight up on its cliff spurred him on. That and the all-encompassing peace and beauty in Tasha’s eyes when as she looked at it. The house may have been her dream, but she was his. Four weeks or not, he was certain that if he just kept Tasha in mind, he would know exactly what to do, exactly what step to take next.

Spence’s feeling of certainty and strength lasted the length of the beach, up the stairs, and onto Sand Dollar Point’s porch. That’s where it vanished in a puff of smoke.

“Look at you two, all cute and sweaty together.”

Simon was there, lounging at the table on the south side of the porch, when they arrived. The table had been set for four, and a pot of coffee, a pitcher of orange juice, a bowl of fruit, and plate of pancakes was already in place in the center.

“What’s all this?” Tasha asked, panting and bending over to stretch her back.

Jenny walked out of the house with a plate of bacon as she straightened. “I made breakfast,” she said. Her glance instantly shifted to Simon. “I couldn’t let our special guest feel like no one was looking out for him.”

Tasha winced, approaching the table with caution. “I should really take a shower first,” she said, mostly to herself. She sent a warning look over the table to Jenny, but her friend was preoccupied, to say the least.

“You have made me feel at home,” Simon said. The way he winked at Jenny, raking her from head to toe—or rather from tits to ass—raised every warning flag Spence had.

“Thank you, Jenny.” Spence played nice anyhow and took a seat at the table as Tasha did. “It was nice of you to go to the effort.”

“I like cooking,” Jenny answered, looking at Simon with a smile as big as the ocean, even though he hadn’t been the one to compliment her.

“Jenny is the best cook I know,” Tasha conceded. She reached for the orange juice and pouring herself a glass.

“Is that right?” Simon asked. He helped himself to bacon and pancakes.

“I’ve always had a knack for it,” Jenny explained.

She leaned her chin on her hand, elbow resting on the table, and made dreamy eyes at him. Her long, blond hair was brushed straight and swept down her back, not at all like someone who had just gotten up and thrown together breakfast. Spence traded wary glances with Tasha.

“I like baking even more,” Jenny went on, leaning closer to Simon. “I bring cookies and things into work all the time. In fact, if I wasn’t so determined to be the best real estate agent in the Kennebunks, I’d open one of those trendy cupcake and muffin shops.”

“I love those places.” Simon swayed closer to Jenny, managing to make biting on a piece of bacon look sensual as he did.

“It’s hard to make it in that business, though,” Jenny went on, lowering her eyelids and staring at Simon’s mouth. “Real estate is so much more profitable, and I want to be big.”

“I’m sure you are, love.” Simon lowered his voice to a tiger’s purr. The light in his eyes was just as predatory.

Tasha had stopped to gape at them, a fork full of pancake halfway to her mouth. Spence couldn’t tell if the look in her eyes was horrified or enraged, but he had to put a stop to things.

He cleared his throat and said, “So Simon, you never really did answer my question of why you’re up here.”

He reached for the coffee, swinging the pot so that it broke the eye sex Simon and Jenny were having.

Simon was quicker to sniff and sit straight than Jenny.

“Can’t a man just want a vacation from the rat race?” he said.

Spence narrowed his eyes as he poured his coffee. “No.”

Jenny darted a scowl in his direction, as though it was his fault Simon hadn’t jumped up and taken her on the breakfast table. She turned that look on Tasha before he could communicate to her that it was for her own good.

“You came all the way out here to take a vacation?” Simon went on, turning his smile to Jenny, who was now having a silent conversation with Tasha, like only girls did. “Why shouldn’t I?”

Part of Spence hummed with contentment at the feeling of a bunch of friends having breakfast and innuendo, like normal people on vacation. But only part.

“If it was random, I’d say why not. But Yvonne headed down to New York specifically to take you in hand. She’s behind this. Why?”

Simon settled back in his chair with a wry chuckle, starting in on his pancakes. “She thought it would keep me out of trouble.”

Spence’s shoulders loosened, and he dug into his own breakfast. Simon was a livewire, but he was honest. Few people appreciated it, but he had never told a lie as far as Spence knew.

“That can’t be the whole reason,” Spence replied. “Particularly considering that trouble has a way of finding you, no matter where you go.”

Simon’s answer was delayed as he watched Jenny pour herself some coffee and grin at him, as though she would swirl his cream and pour sugar on him. Any other girl, and Spence would have shrugged it off as two grown people who knew what they were doing. But Jenny was Tasha’s friend, and at the moment, Tasha didn’t look happy.

“Yvonne may have said something about lighting a fire under your ass about a certain pilot,” Simon admitted at last.

“No surprise there,” Spence said. “We’ll talk about it later.”

Simon pried his eyes away from Jenny. “Yvonne said you’d avoid the issue.”

“It doesn’t need to be decided now.”

“The producers are mighty anxious to get the cast settled” Simon shrugged.

“Can they wait until after breakfast?” Spence asked.

“Probably,” Simon said, took a bite, shifted in his seat, then launched into, “What is there to do around here? Anybody want to go make some waves on the beach after breakfast?”

“Sounds fun.” Jenny smiled.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Simon went back to winking and flirting with her.

“Sure. Fun.” Tasha said, about as unamused as a woman could be.

Spence began counting the ways he could make this up to her in his mind.

It didn’t take Tasha long to come to the conclusion that there were two types of celebrities in the world—those who shrank from the limelight and those who embraced it. Spence had demonstrated he was the former by doing his best not to cause a scene, and to downplay attention when he got it. Simon was exactly the opposite.

“Oy! Come stand over here to get in the picture, love,” he shouted at a girl who had come with her friends to the pier for the movie they were showing on the side of one of the boathouses at the edge of the beach. As if he hadn’t drawn enough attention all day playing on the beach, he was sucking it in like air now that the sun was going down. “We can all fit in if we squeeze. Tasha, you take the camera.”

Half a dozen giggling girls, who Tasha hoped were of age, smooshed together with Simon as he stretched his arms around all of them. It wasn’t lewd. Simon wasn’t trying to feel them all up or anything. She wouldn’t have stepped in to take the phone from the odd one out if he was. She just didn’t see how he could love the spotlight that much.

Then again, he wasn’t the only one.

“Here, take my card,” Jenny said to an older couple she had been yammering at for the past five minutes. “I do rentals on occasion, but I’m on my way to becoming the Closer of the Kennebunks. Take two cards and give the other to anyone you know who’s looking to buy or sell.”

Tasha took the picture of the girls with Simon, shaking her head the whole time. When the giggling pack jumped away from Simon to snatch up the one girl’s phone so they could squeal over the picture, Tasha backed away and searched out Spence.

“Who’s next?” Simon called out behind her.

Tasha shook her head. Spence stood to the side, near the ice cream stand where she and Spence come what seemed like ages ago. A few of the older, parent-looking types stood around him. Unlike Simon’s picture-taking extravaganza, Spence was talking to his fans.