one of his earliest movies.
“I was drunk enough to ask for your autograph because I wanted proof for myself that I hadn’t dreamt the whole thing.”
Slowly, as if making its way through thick fog, Tyler caught a fragment: Toned legs in black fishnet stockings. As he gaped mentally with his mouth closed at the woman across from him, more fragments found their way to the fore: Platform high heels and worn, soft looking, blue denim shorts that curved around a succulent, illegal rear end. Full, red lips puckered around a tightly rolled, white cylinder. A flash of neatly manicured, matching dark red nails as they tucked either side of the joint and pulled it from her luscious mouth. A riot of black curls, dark brown eyes that smiled at him. You’re Ty Benson! I love you!
Her friends chorusing, We love you too!
A marker finding its way from one of the many pockets of her black leather motorcycle jacket into her hand. May I have your autograph, please?
The question so proper for someone in that outfit… The blonde at his side, forgotten as he ogled the young, mocha-skinned beauty, took note of the dusky cleavage that peeked from the edges of her zipped jacket. He became aware of a lack of paper. What do you want me to sign? he’d asked with his most flirtatious smile.
Her answering grin was cheeky, and flashed the most adorable pair of dimples he’d ever seen and, turning, presented her left hip. She pointed to the pocket of her shorts that silhouetted the generous swell of her derriere. Right here. And, thinking thoughts that would no doubt have him arrested if known, Ty Benson dropped to his knees, palmed that firm, lascivious backside, and signed his name. With Love. Then he’d straightened, planted a kiss on that dangerous mouth before the blonde reclaimed her position at his side. As he’d swaggered away, he looked over his shoulder. “Look me up when you’re legal.” Her friends had giggled as she blew him a kiss. He’d laughed and winked and she’d walked out of his life.
And into the present. His jaw lost the battle as the past faded. His eyes bugged as he gawked at the prim looking woman in front of him. “That was you ?”
His shocked amazement had her blushing. “That was me,” she admitted quietly, not quite meeting Tyler’s eyes, bunching a fistful of material. “A long time ago… in a galaxy far, far away.”
Holy shit.
Her dark eyes darting at anything but him, they found something to fixate on and she stood. “Julie sent the cavalry. Looks like our stroll down memory lane is over.”
Tyler came to his feet slowly, feeling as though he’d been sucker-punched and not quite knowing why. Jesus Christ. That was her . He’d gone back to his friend’s house alone that night because he hadn’t wanted the frivolous blonde who’d accompanied him. He’d wanted her , and her hot, bedroom brown eyes. Eyes that haunted him for the rest of that night and for many nights to follow.
His gaze never left her as she greeted the grips guy Julie had sent after them. He followed the pair back to the set as if in a trance. Maybe Chelsea felt their stroll down memory lane was over, but as far as he was concerned, it had only just begun.
Chapter Four
J ake Morgan was generally an intelligent man who not only enjoyed but preferred life’s simple pleasures. Singing with his drum group at powwows. His children –– even though he’d said he didn’t want any when he and Chelsea first met, and … His wife. Chelsea was his lover, his partner, and his best friend. There wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for her, which explained the house they lived in, the land they lived on, the kids that gave them such joy.
As he often told her, he would have been content to live in a trailer on a nice piece of land in the hills. But Chelsea had other ambitions. And one thing he’d learned throughout their years together, Chelsea on a mission was a force to be reckoned with. However, as
“I was drunk enough to ask for your autograph because I wanted proof for myself that I hadn’t dreamt the whole thing.”
Slowly, as if making its way through thick fog, Tyler caught a fragment: Toned legs in black fishnet stockings. As he gaped mentally with his mouth closed at the woman across from him, more fragments found their way to the fore: Platform high heels and worn, soft looking, blue denim shorts that curved around a succulent, illegal rear end. Full, red lips puckered around a tightly rolled, white cylinder. A flash of neatly manicured, matching dark red nails as they tucked either side of the joint and pulled it from her luscious mouth. A riot of black curls, dark brown eyes that smiled at him. You’re Ty Benson! I love you!
Her friends chorusing, We love you too!
A marker finding its way from one of the many pockets of her black leather motorcycle jacket into her hand. May I have your autograph, please?
The question so proper for someone in that outfit… The blonde at his side, forgotten as he ogled the young, mocha-skinned beauty, took note of the dusky cleavage that peeked from the edges of her zipped jacket. He became aware of a lack of paper. What do you want me to sign? he’d asked with his most flirtatious smile.
Her answering grin was cheeky, and flashed the most adorable pair of dimples he’d ever seen and, turning, presented her left hip. She pointed to the pocket of her shorts that silhouetted the generous swell of her derriere. Right here. And, thinking thoughts that would no doubt have him arrested if known, Ty Benson dropped to his knees, palmed that firm, lascivious backside, and signed his name. With Love. Then he’d straightened, planted a kiss on that dangerous mouth before the blonde reclaimed her position at his side. As he’d swaggered away, he looked over his shoulder. “Look me up when you’re legal.” Her friends had giggled as she blew him a kiss. He’d laughed and winked and she’d walked out of his life.
And into the present. His jaw lost the battle as the past faded. His eyes bugged as he gawked at the prim looking woman in front of him. “That was you ?”
His shocked amazement had her blushing. “That was me,” she admitted quietly, not quite meeting Tyler’s eyes, bunching a fistful of material. “A long time ago… in a galaxy far, far away.”
Holy shit.
Her dark eyes darting at anything but him, they found something to fixate on and she stood. “Julie sent the cavalry. Looks like our stroll down memory lane is over.”
Tyler came to his feet slowly, feeling as though he’d been sucker-punched and not quite knowing why. Jesus Christ. That was her . He’d gone back to his friend’s house alone that night because he hadn’t wanted the frivolous blonde who’d accompanied him. He’d wanted her , and her hot, bedroom brown eyes. Eyes that haunted him for the rest of that night and for many nights to follow.
His gaze never left her as she greeted the grips guy Julie had sent after them. He followed the pair back to the set as if in a trance. Maybe Chelsea felt their stroll down memory lane was over, but as far as he was concerned, it had only just begun.
Chapter Four
J ake Morgan was generally an intelligent man who not only enjoyed but preferred life’s simple pleasures. Singing with his drum group at powwows. His children –– even though he’d said he didn’t want any when he and Chelsea first met, and … His wife. Chelsea was his lover, his partner, and his best friend. There wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for her, which explained the house they lived in, the land they lived on, the kids that gave them such joy.
As he often told her, he would have been content to live in a trailer on a nice piece of land in the hills. But Chelsea had other ambitions. And one thing he’d learned throughout their years together, Chelsea on a mission was a force to be reckoned with. However, as
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