A Bleu Streak Christmas (3 page)

Chapter
Four

I
zzy

The
buttery softness of this massive leather seat does very little to welcome me to
my adventure. My nervous fingers fumble with the seatbelt until it fits
snuggly. Horrible thoughts automatically kick up the obvious—
how in the heck is a seatbelt going to do
any good if the plane goes down?
Ugh!

“Can you breathe, little lady?” Logan
asks.

I glance up and find him watching me
from the other side of our shared table. I have a four hour flight with Logan
Hot-stuff Carter facing me. Oh my. He’s grinning at me, stealing said breath.
My face warms and nerves hold my voice hostage, so all I can manage is a slight
head nod.

This feels like some surreal dream. Not
only am I jet-setting in a luxurious flying hotel suite—creamy-white leather
and glossy warm woodwork—I’m also surrounded by the hottest band in the
country.

Raucous laughter steals my attention
from beside us. It’s a four person seating arrangement and the flight attendant
seems to be glued to it, too. I don’t blame the girl one bit. The four
occupants are Trace, Max, Mave, and Will. It’s a very attractive grouping. Jewels
and Dillon better have plans in place for keeping a bodyguard leashed to their
son. Will is an exact replica of his dad—jet-black hair, blue eyes that glow
purple, and heartbreaking dimples. That teenage boy is going to be dangerous
with all of those Bleu genes he’s inherited.

The thought—Bleu genes—has me
snickering louder than I intended, which draws the good looking groups’
attention. Embarrassed, I avert my eyes to the small circular window to my
left. Big mistake. This big ole jet is taxiing down the runway without so much
as a warning. I think I’m going to be sick.

Logan must sense this, because his warm
hand wraps on top of mine that is braced white-knuckled to the edge of the
table.

“Breathe, little lady. All’s good.” Mr.
Mellow croons this out, but I’m still close to freaking out. Logan Carter is
touching me!

I take that deep breathe he advised,
reminding myself he has a fiancée and is just offering me some friendly
empathy.

“First time flying?”

My gaze is still locked on the
terrifying scene outside this window. The land is disappearing right before my
eyes. My jaw refuses to unhinge, so I offer another nod.

He chuckles and I swear it sounds close
to a melody. “Can you speak?”

I finally look away from the window and
lock onto his kind, golden eyes. He normally has those babies hiding behind a
pair of aviator shades. I now see why. They are quite intense. Embarrassed, I
ease my gaze over to the silver hoops dressing his ear. Logan clears his throat
and that sounds closer to a velvety two-part harmony. He’s still waiting for me
to answer. Oh boy.

“Not right now.” I manage to squeak
this out around a tight throat.

He chuckles again and finally releases
my hand.

After we’re told it’s safe to release
our seatbelts—I do not—Ben scoots over to the guys and starts going over a few
changeups for the concert tomorrow night. Tate plops down on the edge of my
seat, which I’m actually okay with. We’ve met several times in the last two
weeks to get me familiar with my new job assignment, so I’ve gotten pretty
comfortable with this ginger-haired flirt. He goes over my duties for tomorrow,
which includes shopping for Christmas gifts. I wonder why the band didn’t take
care of their shopping before the tour, but it’s none of my business so I shrug
the notion off. I get to put together a grocery delivery and I’m sort of
excited over that. Food is definitely my forte. Tate hands over a list of the
band’s likes and dislikes, which pretty much is void of dislikes, making my job
easy.

An hour passes before a late lunch is
served. My stomach is on a constant flip-flopping mode, so Max gladly takes my
plate off my hands. I take this time to plan a menu. They don’t like to eat
heavy before going on stage, so I’m thinking about whipping up a light pasta
primavera with grilled chicken. A fruit salad with lemon scented whipped cream
will finish the meal off on a good note…

“Hey, doll. How about hand over that
fork,” Mave speaks, leaning over the small aisle and carrying a hint of a clean
citrusy cologne with him.

I am absolutely overwhelmed by this
whole blame situation. Where’s Jewels when I need a shield?

His chestnut-brown hair is a bit long
on top and a few wayward strands dip onto his forehead as he leans my way. I
have the overwhelming urge to brush them off, but keep my hands locked together
in my lap. Oh my. I’m staring at him stunned, when I realize he’s still waiting
with an outreached hand.

“I’m not a doll,” I stutter out, with
cheeks blazing. I really need to figure out how to get that under control. I
plop my unused fork in his hand.

His dark-brown eyes twinkle with I’m
guessing amusement. “You sure look sweet enough to be one.” He winks one of
those gorgeous eyes before straightening up.

Both he and Will have manned sets of
forks and set into tapping out a beat on the tabletop. In perfect sync with
each other, they launch into a deftly skilled routine. I’ve never seen such an
impromptu act so riveting and am unable to look away. Both have their heads slightly
bent and bobbing to the beat they are expertly beckoning from ordinary forks.

At one point, they set one fork down
and slam their fists on top of the prongs, sending them flying until they
nimbly catch the forks and continue without missing a beat. These two
outrageously talented drummers perform for us as Blake captures it with his
phone.

“You better ask Daddy’s permission
before posting his baby boy online,” Max says.

The beat concludes with Mave and Will
fist-bumping.

“You okay with that, boss?” Blake asks
Dillon as his considerable form emerges from the back bedroom.

“Sure, man.”

I manage to work up enough courage to
ask Dillon as he stops by my seat, “How’s Grace?”

“She’s still sleeping,” he says with a
weary smile while running his hand through his thick black hair.

His little princess isn’t crazy about
flying, and it’s evident in his expression he worries about her. What a lucky
girl to have this man for a daddy. I should have begged for a double-dose of
her children’s Dramamine. Maybe my nerves wouldn’t be so shot.

Dillon reaches over and unlocks my
seatbelt, giving me a teasing wink in the process, before stretching out in one
of the leather seats.

“I feel like singing,” Dillon announces,
and that’s all it takes.

Mave launches into another beat with
Will following behind him. The next thing I know, Dillon is crooning out lyrics
in that velvety rasp of his with Logan humming and Max and Trace singing backup.

Goose bumps show up all at once as I
take in this moment. I’m awestruck at how they have converted this cabin into a
concert hall and I get the distinct privilege of being in attendance.

The rest of the flight goes by
surprisingly fast with my nerves settling down. Maybe those guys were singing
me a lullaby of sorts. It worked. I even brave leaving my seat to go in the back
to color with my green-eyed Snow White. Grace’s friendship has been the easiest
I’ve ever formed. She’s even spent the night with me on occasion. But my nerves
frazzle completely out again when Mave stretches across the bed with us and
starts coloring. We have a lovely conversation with him speaking all the
dialogue and me blushing like a mute fool.

•♫•♫•♫•

California is sunshiny and swamped with
people. Never have I seen so many bodies in one location in all my life. Yes,
it’s been a sheltered life, but still. Wow. Luckily, the driver deposited me in
a mall that is surprisingly set up like any other mall. This made my shopping
task that much easier. I’m quite proud to be able to find everything on the
list and luck up with a giftwrapping service right there in the mall.

I’m a well-organized kind of girl. I
like lists and a schedule, so it was nothing to have one in place for today.
While I shopped, the helpful driver compiled a list of grocery services.
Grabbing us both an iced coffee, I lug the last load to the waiting Town Car.

“The first on the list is probably the
one you want to go with, but I added a few more choices.” He hands me the list
and I hand him his coffee.

“Thanks, Gary.”

After settling in the back, I dial up
the grocery service and rattle off my detailed list and give them the credit
card info Tate gave me. I also provide the address to Dillon and Jewel’s Malibu
beach house. I may just be able to pull this job off yet.

We pull up to the house and start
unloading the bounty. Tate and Blake meet us outside to help. I’m highly
impressed to see the grocery delivery truck is already here, too.

Entering in a quiet space, I ask Tate,
“Where’s everybody?”

“Just leave the gifts by the door,” he
says to stop me.

I backtrack and place them on a teak
wood bench. This place is amazing with a very breezy vibe decked out in the
neatest beachy touches. We arrived last night with it twinkling in Christmas
décor that Dillon surprised the kids with especially—even though we will only
be here two days.

“Jewels and the kids have spent the day
on the beach. The guys were with them earlier until the fans and paparazzi got
a little out of hand. Jewels banished them back inside after that. They’re in
the gym now.”

“Good.” I glance at the clock—two
o’clock—and head to the kitchen where Blake is helping put the groceries away. “I
should start preparing an early supper.”

“Sounds like a plan. We need to pull
out of here by five. The guys have a magazine interview backstage before the
show,” Tate says as he heads out.

Tate assured me I didn’t have to cook,
but I assured him I did. It’s my form of meditation.

“You need some help?” Blake asks from
the other side of the vast tiled island. He’s just the cutest guy—boy-next-door
with caramel hair and matching eyes. And always wanting to be helpful.

“No thanks. I’m good.”

He looks a little wounded, but offers a
small smile before ambling out to the deck.

With my earbuds firmly in my ears and
my iPod cranked up to some of my favorite Bleu Streak jams to get into the
spirit of the concert later tonight, I start in on prepping the vegetables.
Once that’s taken care of, I set the water boiling for the rigatoni. Humming
along to “Pretty Girl on My Mind” as I douse the chicken breast in Italian
seasoning, I am completely in my comfort zone. This is the gourmet kitchen of
my dreams and I am taking full advantage of it. All stainless steel and aqua
glass tilework. It’s simply breathtaking. I place the chicken on the indoor
grill.

The music switches to one of their
livelier tunes and I find myself dancing along to it as I stir the pasta into
the pot. After that, I turn back towards the fridge and freeze.

Maverick King, clad in nothing more
than earbuds and low-slung mesh shorts, stands with the fridge open, and I’ve
never seen water being chugged look so enticing. I am absolutely parched just
watching his throat work with draining the water bottle. A trickle of sweat
catches my attention as it travels down that neck and tracks along his firm
chest and then on to the perfectly sculpted planes of his abs before
disappearing into the waistband of those nice shorts—spurring pure jealousy in
me over that
sweat
.

My gaze slowly travels back up over
that tight tattooed body, and I’ll be darned if I’m not busted ogling him.
Those lush lips are moving, but the music is blaring in my ears. I yank the
earbuds out as he does the same. Yes, my cheeks are blazing. I really need to
find the off switch for that mess.

“You’re on fire, doll.”

“Huh?” Did any sound come out with the
word I was able to form? Is this man flirting with me? Oh my. I just… Wow.

He points over to the grill, smirking.
“Your
chicken
is on fire.”

Well, that snaps me right out of my
lusty fog. Good gracious. I yank the chicken out of the direct flames and turn
the grill down slightly.

“It smells good,” he says as he stands
too closely.

I feel him by my side, so I jump like
the freaked-out idiot I am and scoot away from him a bit. He chuckles at this—I
guess I’m amusing.

“I won’t bite, doll. Not unless you ask
nicely.” He slowly reaches out and traces the warmth of my cheek while looking
me directly in the eyes. It’s as though he sees something I’m not so sure I
want to be seen.

He saunters away and I decide right
then and there that this man is fire. And I can’t believe I find playing with
him so blame appealing. I take the time to chug my own bottle of water before
finishing up supper. Luckily, the chicken is saved and nothing else gets
burned.

Well, I’m pretty sure Maverick King
singed
me
with those scorching eyes.