Is your life a hamster wheel of craziness too?
Apr 03, 2023 11:01 am
Hello! How's the world treating you today?
If you pre-ordered Luca, you already know I had to push the release date to April 20. I don't like pushing dates, but this was necessary. The book just wasn't ready for a number of reasons.
In the last two months, our kitchen has flooded twice. As in pulling up the wood flooring, tearing out the lower cabinets, cutting holes in the wall, multiple plumbers, kind of flooding. A company is laying fiber optic cable near our home, causing our internet connection to be erratic. I write in an online app, so it's been crazy. We've also had extended family health issues and family visiting for the next two weeks.
This is no woe-is-me tale. Things could be a lot worse, and I'm grateful they aren't. But there has been a lot of distraction lately, and it's cut into my creative energy. I apologize for any inconvenience. Luca will be ready to read on April 20! Thank you for your patience.
💜💜💜
INSTALOVE SPOTLIGHT'S ON...
Rock Star Recluse! short & steamy, close proximity, protector romance - now with a bonus scene linked at the end of the story.
When I started my short romance journey, Christmas was on the horizon. I didn't think I could write quickly enough to get holiday stories out in time. I wanted to write Rock Star Recluse and wait to publish until after the holiday. My mentor suggested strongly against this idea and encouraged me to press on and get the Blue Collar Holiday series written. I followed her advice and waited patiently.
Once that series was finished, I went back to my mentor and pitched the Rock 'n Roll Romance series again. She said no. I needed to write about a family of men and give them a strong surname. She suggested cowboys, mountain men, billionaires, etc. Basically, anything but rock stars. I countered her ideas with my own, and we compromised. I wrote about a family of orphans living in a small town. You might recognize that as Soulmates for the Sinclairs.
By the time I had two series under my belt, she cut me loose with my ideas, while remaining my sounding board. She's still my sounding board, even though I'm a bit stubborn.😀
I started the Rock 'n Roll Romance series with Rock Star Recluse because the story of a brooding, retired rock star who can no longer perform on stage, spoke to me.
Phoenix lives in a secluded compound named Whiskey Ridge. His place is the perfect hideaway for someone in need of privacy. When Phoenix reluctantly agrees to open his guesthouse to the next big thing, he isn't expecting Cassidy. She has crippling anxiety, writer's block, and the country's number-one music artist harassing her night and day. But Phoenix soon discovers he needs Cassidy as much as she needs him, maybe even more.
Trivia:
- Rock Star Recluse's setting is modeled after Jackson Hole, Wyoming, playground of the rich and famous.
- I'd love to do a follow-up series with the limo driver service, the bar, and the theater mentioned in the series.
Scroll to read the first two chapters. Hit the button above to read more.
Rock Star Recluse contains copyright material.
Chapter 1
Phoenix
“Thanks for agreeing to this, Phoenix. Blaze has been breathing fire down my neck for the last month. If Cassidy doesn’t get that music to her in the next ten days, there’s no telling what Blaze will do.”
“Blaze could write her own damn music like she claims to. Drop her lying ass, Riley.”
“She's Rock's Female Artist of the Year for the last three years. She’s on the industry’s top 100 most influential list. She could crush me.”
“Her popularity is based on lies.” My frustration level rises with each excuse Riley makes for the woman. People like her tarnish the industry.
Riley continues to drone on about Cassidy, the songwriter heading my way, and her special needs; a quiet place to work, access to the studio, and meals. If Riley added a rider of requirements beyond that, I’d tell him to go to hell. I'm not an agent, and I'm sure as hell not a babysitter.
I don’t know why I agreed to let Little Miss Priss songwriter stay here. She’ll be underfoot and a pain in my ass within a day. Guaranteed.
I live away from everything for a reason, privacy. I spent too many years with people poking into my business. I don't need an uptight, spoiled, fangirl rock star wannabe stomping around making demands. Riley owes me big time.
“She should be arriving by car service by three o’clock. Make her comfortable, Phoenix. Quit being a grouch.”
I lower my head and pinch the bridge of my nose. This is going to be a disaster.
"I got it, Riley. Little Miss Priss will have everything she needs."
“Don’t be a dick. She’s a nice girl, Phoenix. Give her a chance." I think he's done talking, but he continues to grate on my nerves. "And her name's Cassidy, not Miss Priss."
I hang up the phone before Riley can issue any more requests. His ask is already a tall order. No one's set foot on this property except me and a handful of trusted friends and delivery people in the last five years. I should’ve offered to pick her up at the airport myself, but that's just risking someone trying to make a quick buck selling photos to the paparazzi.
At least the weather's cooperating. Snow isn't supposed to roll in until late evening. The forecast suggests we'll see seven inches, but my money's on ten. No one in their right mind visits Wyoming this time of year. It’s one of the reasons I chose the place. Fresh mountain air and solitude.
My private studio and guest quarters aren't far from the main house. An outdoor firepit links the adjoining guesthouse and main house patios. It's warm and peaceful with the fire going, even on the coldest snowy nights. The perimeter wall is a welcome protective barrier from the brutal cold and prowling animals.
I enjoy one more sip of coffee before donning the necessary winter gear to stay warm outdoors. I make a last check around to ensure everything is in order before she arrives. There's plenty of wood on the rack and a variety of food in the guest house pantry and fridge.
The studio is my pride and joy, my personal playground where I can lose myself in the creation process. No one else calls the shots. It’s just me and my music. Another reason I’m so edgy. I'm hesitant to allow Riley's client, Cassidy, in the studio than anywhere else on the property.
I step out onto the studio porch, double-checking the door lock. The front gate alert buzzes my phone. Showtime. I buzz the Jeep Wrangler inside the security gate, watching as it slowly makes its way up the drive. I'm pleased to see Quinn in the driver's seat but perturbed my guest isn't riding shotgun. She's probably used to being chauffeured around wherever she goes. That kind of pampering stops here and now.
I signal Quinn toward the guesthouse and meet him there. The Jeep comes to a stop, and Quinn steps out. Quinn led the band’s concert crew back in our heyday. When I got out, Quinn followed suit. He runs a fleet of chauffeured vehicles now, primarily for shuttling the rich and famous while they hide out on holiday. Quinn’s reputation for discretion is rock solid.
“Hey, Phoenix. Brought you a little present.” He winks as he shakes my hand.
“You shouldn’t have.” I glare at the car, meaning every word. “I’ll lend a hand with the bags.”
"No, man." He shakes a grin from his face as he waves his hands like he’s surrendering. "Don't touch her bags. I already made that mistake."
What has Riley gotten me into?
I glance past his shoulder into the Jeep. I can barely make out the silhouette of a person behind the tinted windows.
When the door opens, a tall woman with dark hair tied into a messy bun emerges. Her dark sultry eyes scan the property and then land squarely on mine. Her deep-set eyes are heavy with long lashes. A swath of thick, dark hair hovers loosely over one eye. Wispy long strands of hair trail along her heart-shaped face, tangling in her oversized hoop earrings. She scrunches a thick scarf snugly to her neck. Her perfect Cupid’s bow lips part as she sucks in the cold Wyoming air.
Her eyes are hauntingly beautiful, eerily evocative, though the shadows betray loneliness and sorrow. Her melancholy stare is cheerless and ghostly. She’s nothing like I imagined. She ducks her head into the Jeep, pulling out a guitar case and duffle bag. She backs away from the door and taps it closed with her foot, then walks around the front of the Jeep.
I run a palm over my jawline and chin as she moves closer. Her jean jacket is no match for the cold weather. It gapes open, emphasizing her plump chest as she moves gracefully in snug, curve-hugging jeans tucked into knee-high boots. She stops just short of too close for comfort, throws the duffel over a shoulder, and extends a hand.
"Cassidy Stone. Nice place." Her voice is low and silky smooth, like a fine-tuned instrument. It does crazy things to my sudden rapid heartbeat.
"Phoenix." Her fingertips glide across mine, and an electric vibe shimmies through my arm, putting the zap on my foul mood.
Holy hell.
She needs a warning label. Cassidy has trouble written all over her.
Chapter 2
Cassidy
Phoenix isn't what I expected from Riley's description. When he said reclusive former rock star, I pictured someone like Syd Barrett, co-founder of Pink Floyd. Syd was handsomely disheveled and a bit wiry in his rock days. But one day, he dropped off the grid and spent the next forty years sheltered from the public, tending to his garden and dabbling in art. He didn't even attend his own induction into the Rock Hall of Fame.
Maybe he had anxiety issues like me. Maybe touring, fans and loss of privacy were too much. Whatever his reason for withdrawing from the spotlight, Phoenix is definitely not comparable to Syd. Phoenix is younger than I imagined. Mid-thirties, maybe. And one hundred percent stud. Tall, broad, and handsome with brooding, watchful eyes. I bet he's sporting some impressive muscles under that coat.
None of that matters, though. I have work to do and no time for distractions. If I don't get these songs written for Blaze, my entire career will go up in smoke, fizzling before I’m barely out of the starting gate. When my phone buzzes, I know it’s Blaze without looking. She’s texted non-stop since my plane landed. I won’t get any work done if she keeps texting at this pace.
I pull the phone from my pocket and power down. There’ll be hell to pay for not responding, but my brain needs a little peace. I shiver, partly from cold, but mostly from what the wrath of Blaze looks like in real life.
“Let’s get you settled.”
Phoenix breaks through my muddled thoughts. I follow the movement of his hips and ass as he trudges to the back of the Jeep. A second later, he pokes his head around the open hatchback.
“That all the luggage you brought?”
"If I can't carry it, I'm not packing it."
Everything I own is in this one bag. I have enough internal baggage to carry without lugging around more.
Phoenix slams the door shut and plods toward me. His fingers glide over my shoulder to the duffel strap.
“Let me-”
“I’ve got it.” I cut him off mid-sentence, shrugging him off.
"Told you, man." Quinn snorts, rocking his head from side to side, then slips back into the Jeep with a solitary wave.
The look on Phoenix’s face is priceless, a mix of irritation and surprise. I guess I’m not who he envisioned either.
Phoenix leads me to the stone-walled guesthouse. It's a miniature version of the ginormous mansion that sits at the head of the property. If my nose hadn't been stuck in my phone reading Blaze's exhausting demands, I would’ve gotten a better look as we breezed by it.
But I can't complain about the view right now. Phoenix's jeans fit snuggly across his ass and muscular thighs. His butt muscles tighten and release with each step of his lengthy gait. Good thing I'm not short, or I wouldn't be able to keep up.
“Welcome to Whiskey Ridge.” He opens the guesthouse door and ushers me in.
I stomp my boots on the porch and scrape the soles across the rough welcome mat before stepping inside. I slide the duffel off my shoulder to the floor and lean the guitar case against the wall.
“Whiskey Ridge? Isn’t this Mason Valley.”
“You flew into Mason Valley, playground to the rich and famous. My place is Whiskey Ridge. We’re a few miles from Mason Valley.”
I eye him curiously, assessing whether naming the place is an ego thing or something usual for Wyoming. He doesn’t seem egocentric. But my man radar has never been up to snuff.
“If there’s anything you need, shoot me a text or knock on my door.” He leads me through the guesthouse quickly, skulking about like a grump. He reaches for the doorknob to leave without a glance back at me. “You get settled, and we’ll get started in the morning.”
“Riley said you like your privacy. I’ll stay out of your way.”
There’s a hint of irritation and snit in my voice. I know it and don’t care. I’m in his personal space, but he could stand to be a tad less grouchy. I’ve had my fill of moody, brooding rock stars.
He shifts his stance, turning toward me. It’s the first he’s looked at me since we left the driveway. His chiseled jaw clenches as his devilish dark eyes pour over me. I gulp back a quick breath as my feminine bits begin to hum and purr at the most inopportune time.
“Anything else Riley tell you?”
He’s perturbed, which irks me. Not too personable, is he?
“Um, he mentioned you’re a washed-up aging rock star who called it quits before your time?”
Will he come unglued and call the Jeep back to haul my ass away? I need the time here and have nowhere else to go. But I hold my ground.
“Did he now?” He cocks an eyebrow, and his dark eyes bore into me, scanning my face for a clue. His chin juts out and stiffens.
“Not really,” I smirk. “He left out the washed-up aging part. I added it to gauge your sense of humor.”
He turns to the back door and steps out onto the flagstone patio.
And so, I have my answer. He’s humorless.
♥♥♥
Continue reading Phoenix and Cassidy's story, where performance anxiety is only stage related.
♥♥♥
Home Wrecker's Construction
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AUTHOR CORNER
Kendra Woods is the biggest star in Hollywood, but she’s got a secret. Someone wants her dead. When her handsome bodyguard whisks her away to the boonies, she’s more than a little miffed. Especially, when he gives her exactly what she needs.
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I'm leading a 30 Self-Care Challenge in the reader group this month. Join me there for a small daily challenge and a few free printables to help with your self-care journey. It's a safe place to hang out.
Thank you for allowing me a few moments of your time. I hope you have a wonderful week filled with happiness.
XOX Piper