Rock Me Gently (24 page)

“You have to forgive me. Can you believe I didn’t take my own advice? People who don’t learn their history are doomed to repeat it and I made the same damn mistakes. I’ve no idea where to start to make it up to you, but I’m going to show you that you can trust me.” He ran his hand over his mouth. “If I could go back, you’d never shed a tear. I’d take things slow, just like I promised. I’m not Jase West anymore. I’m Jason Westlake and I love you. I won’t give up, my Lainey love, so be prepared. I’m gonna fight like hell to make you see that you’re the one for me. We were meant to be.”

Laying his head down on his arms, he kept a light hold on Lainey.

“I love you too, Jase,” she mumbled.

To Jason, there were no sweeter words ever spoken.

* * * *

Lainey woke groggily, slowly taking inventory of all her aches and pains. Moving stiffly, she realized she wasn’t alone. She tried desperately to open her eyes, but found the action difficult. When she’d accomplished that small task, she looked down to find Jason’s dark head tucked into her side.

Too weak and defeated to cry, she moved her fingers on the side of his face and he roused.

“Lainey? How are you?” Even half asleep, she could see the concern on his handsome face. She didn’t even want to know how bad she looked.

“I’m doing just fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Were you writing a new song earlier?” she mumbled.

“No, why?”

“I thought I heard the makings of a very sweet love song.”

“I was merely pouring out my heart.”

“Well, I think you’d better write that one down. I think it’s a hit.”

“None of that means anything to me, if you’re not in my life.”

The sincerity in his eyes might not have been enough a few days before, but it was now. Thad was right. Life was too short. And she would not suffer regrets where Jason Westlake was concerned. She couldn’t allow him to get away and spend the rest of her life wondering.

“Perhaps someday you might sing it, at, say…a wedding?”

His dark gaze darted.

“Are you saying what I think you are?”

Lainey tried to smile through stiff, swollen lips.

“Did you just ask me to marry you?” he asked, looking relieved and smug all at the same time. His grin widened. “Well, I just don’t know what to say, Lainey. This is so sudden. I wasn’t expecting—”

“Jason!”

He chuckled and it warmed her heart even more.

“Yes, I could definitely sing that at a wedding.”

“Oh? Do you know someone getting married?” Lainey asked innocently.

“Oh, you are a witch.”

“I’ve been called worse. Just recently.”

“I’m sure I don’t want to know.”

He kissed her forehead.

“I was so scared.”

“I know, I heard you. But I’m going to be all right and we are too.”

“And what about Thad?”

“Thad’s going to be fine and hopefully be around a good long time for Jilly.”

“Just like I’ll be around for our own kids?”

Lainey paused. “Our kids?” she asked slowly.

“Let’s not have that conversation right now.”

“Good choice.” Lainey moved over making room. Jason hopped into bed, gathered her close and rocked her gently.

Epilogue

Jase and Lainey sat up in bed reading the Sunday paper.

“Hey, Ma, have you seen the cover of
People
?” Jill called from the room she’d picked out as her own in Jason’s house. At least for the limited amount of time she would stay in it before she started college.

“No, why?”

“They’ve got a great photo of your and my new daddy’s engagement announcement.”

Lainey and Jase shared a conspiratorial smile.

“When do you think the press will find out that we’re already married?” Lainey asked her new husband.

“Oh, I’m guessing any time now.” Jase was incredibly proud of himself for pulling off the wedding and the honeymoon without the paparazzi discovering any of the details. No cameras, no helicopters, no event-crashers. It had been a small intimate affair and the best day of his life.

“Hey, Jase?” Jill bellowed.

“Yes, my lovely new daughter,” he called back, tongue in cheek.

“Did you see Jase West’s
Rock Me Gently
hit Number One in the Billboard charts?”

“It did? That’s awesome.”

“Now the press is clamoring for a Jase West comeback.”

“Well, they’re shit outta luck. Jase West has officially retired.”

“What about Jason Westlake?” Lainey asked, watching him steadily.

“Jason Westlake is a husband, a father, a teacher, and a songwriter. In that order. And if I do any more recording, it will be with my lovely wife.”

Leaning over, he then kissed her on the lips.

“When are we going to tell Jilly about the other little duet we got goin’ on?” Jason placed his hand possessively over her tiny swelling tummy.

Lainey opened her mouth to speak when Jill stuck her head in their room.

“Do you two really think that I’m sooo naive that I don’t know there’s a little rock star in the oven? Really? Give me some freakin’ credit here. Gawd! Does it say paps on my forehead?” She lifted up her bangs and stared closely into the mirror. “No, it clearly does not.”

“Your new daughter is a smart-ass,” Lainey remarked.

“Yeah, she takes after her mother. We can only hope this one takes after me.”

Lainey tossed a newspaper at him. He used it as a good excuse to tackle her and wrestle her onto her back and kiss her senseless.

“Oh, you two, will you get a room…? Oh wait, I guess this is your room. Carry on!”

Jill backed out quietly, closing the door.

Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:

If You Can’t Stand the Heat

HK Carlton

Excerpt

Chapter One

Sesto Théodore walked confidently through the atrium lobby of the swanky New York hotel, one of three celebrity judges shooting the pilot for the newest reality competition.
Protégés
, was a pathetic copy to the cooking channel’s popular
Hacked
as far as Sesto was concerned, but if the network were willing to pay him an exorbitant amount of money to insult young chefs and kill their dreams, who was he to argue.

He’d paid his dues, slugged his own way through culinary school without having to resort to pimping his talents for twenty-five grand on some TV show. Sesto had methodically achieved everything he’d set out to do in his career. The owner of four five star restaurants, five by the end of the month. He was handsome, rich and women loved a man that could cook.
And the saying is that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach!
He chuckled to himself as he pulled open the convention center door.

Swiping imaginary lint off the shoulder of his black designer suit coat, Sesto looked over the table where the other two judges were supposed to be seated by now. He’d been fashionably late on purpose, making them wait for him. But, foiled again he was the only one there besides the camera people, the contestants and the harassed-looking director and producers.

* * * *

Going unnoticed Syn slipped quietly into the convention centre. Using some large artificial potted ferns as cover, she observed the scene before her. As a writer, she was an avid people watcher. But for today she was intent on getting a lay of the land and a good look at the people she would be working with before she subjected herself to it.

This whole proposal or conspiracy—she hadn’t decided which yet—had been a little collaboration between her assistant and her agent. Doing the
Protégés
show wasn’t something Syn would have chosen to do on her own. What did she know about judging a cooking competition? But between the two of them, they’d convinced her this was something she needed to do and that her fans would eat it up, so to speak.

Scanning the room, Syn was impressed with the entire kitchen and cooking area. It all looked well done and quite professional. That was one worry quashed. She knew this was only a pilot and things would adjust and improve if the show was picked up, but she didn’t want to be involved in anything that was poorly done. Syn hadn’t done much television, preferring to stay behind the scenes. She’d done a radio talk show or two and a couple of photo shoots for book jackets but other than that, she preferred to keep a low profile. Even keeping conferences, book signings and special appearances to a minimum if she could help it.

There was a small commotion to her left and Syn finally caught sight of the man that
Protégés
had been adapted for.

Sesto Théodore, the alleged star of the show, walked across the conference room floor, exuding self-confidence. She’d done a little research on the man before she’d agreed to work with him, had watched tapes of some of his interviews. She’d even called some mutual friends that she knew had worked with him in the past and had asked their opinion before she’d signed on. By all accounts and reputation he was an arrogant asshole and difficult to work with. But in addition, an absolute expert in his field as well as quite renowned and respected as a chef and restaurateur. A perfectionist, he demanded the same from everyone around him. Syn could respect that.

One thing Syn hadn’t bargained on was how incredibly drop-dead handsome he was in person. She’d agreed with Sam, her assistant, that the man was good-looking, yes, but in the flesh, he was quite something to behold. He not only conveyed self-assurance but also radiated power with his size and an animal magnetism that was undeniable. And as she gave him a critical full body-scan as she did with the muscular men that graced her book covers, it was irrefutable—the man could fill a suit quite like no other.

Syn caught herself biting on the tip of her index finger. Sam often teased her about it. A bad habit she’d picked up. Apparently, it was something she did when she was writing, mainly when choreographing or choosing the best wording for a particularly steamy scene. It would seem Chef Théodore’s good looks had just been written into her memory for another time. She suddenly looked forward to sitting next to him for the next week or so.

Syn watched on with interest as Sesto approached the group. She was close enough to hear what was being said.

“She’s about five minutes out, Mr Parks,” said one of the assistants to the producer.

“And the Russian hockey player?”

“He just hit the lobby.”

“Good. And that over-inflated chef? What’s his name? Théodore? Where’s he?”

“Um, uh,” the kid stuttered, as he gestured to the over-inflated chef in question.

Sesto looked down at his well-groomed fingernails and drawled, “It’s pronounced Tee-a-Door. And if you ever refer to me in such a manner again, I will walk. I’m the only credible judge you’ve got going on here. What does a hockey player and a romance novelist know about food?”

That was her cue. Syn stepped out from behind the greenery.

“We both eat, Mr Théodore,” came a sultry voice to his left.

Sesto scrutinized the owner, a beautiful exotic looking brunette in a red come-fuck-me dress that dipped almost to her navel. Her lovely breasts bulged beautifully out the sides of the halter, her generous cleavage on full display in the vee of the scarlet creation.
She must have those babies taped in there
, he thought.

“I believe owning taste buds is qualification enough,” she continued.

Sesto willed his gaze from her full pale tits, long enough to look at her face. Her dark eyebrow lifted as if she knew that he was now thinking with his dick and not his brain. But that was her fault. A woman could not possibly slip into a dress like that and then think any man would be able to make scintillating conversation.

“Sesto, may I call you Sesto?” the producer asked not waiting for a response. “This is your fellow judge, Ms Syn Fully.”

He snorted his disdain, partially because he found it incredibly comical and partly because he couldn’t believe a grown woman would go around calling herself such a ridiculous pseudonym. Even he had given thought to changing his name in the beginning of his career because people butchered the pronunciation of his all the time. But he was proud of it and his American-Italian background, besides correcting people was what he did. And even if they mangled his name, they remembered it.

It was his turn to raise an eyebrow. “Seriously, you couldn’t come up with something better than that as romance novelists go?” he asked, giving her a cold assessing look.

“Laugh if you will Mr Théodore…” Even she said it wrong but coming from her beautiful full lips he didn’t mind. She said Tay-a-door with a bit of an accent, giving it an almost French connotation. But he’d still correct her just to be an ass.

“But no one ever forgets my name,” she finished, as if she’d just read his thought.

“Yeah, after they quit busting a gut. I’m sure mommy and daddy
Fully
are incredibly proud of the titillating mommy-porn you push down despondent women’s throats.” He could dole out sarcasm like no one else. “And I can assure you, it’s not your name they’re remembering” His gaze dropped to her ample bosom. “And its Tee-a-door,” he said slowly as if she were not overly bright.

Giving the slightest little roll of her shapely shoulder, Sesto watched as she slowly ran her tongue over her full bottom lip. Sesto’s cock jerked as he followed the trail of moisture it left.