Friday, July 12, 2013

Surrender & Salvation

Ten years ago Skye Monroe left St. Francisville and David Kincaid just as his career was taking off. Now she’s back to take photographs of the bad boy Country superstar on sabbatical as he tries to rehab his image and career. She could have turned down the assignment, but she didn’t. Was it curiosity, the need for closure or something more that brought her home? Whatever the reason, she can’t deny the fire he still ignites within her with just a look, but is she willing to give him another chance?

David Kincaid’s life started to unravel the day he got his record deal, which also happened to be the day Skye Monroe walked out on him. Since then no amount of fame, fortune or women can fill the void she left behind. When she suddenly appears on his door step for a magazine shoot, looking and sexy as ever, he realizes he’s willing to do whatever it takes to win her back. But is it too late to salvage their relationship and what’s left of his career?

Read Part One - Homecoming - here

Skye Monroe? David pushed off the door frame and stared down at the tiny blonde in stunned silence. He should have known it was her by the way his dick reacted the moment he opened the door. Sure, she was wearing a baseball cap pulled low and sunglasses, but she was right. How could he have not recognized her? He groaned inwardly.

 “Skye, of course I recognized you. You’re just the last person I expected to see today.” He was lying, and she knew it.

She snorted softly and shook her head. “Whatever David, I’m here to take some photos and get out before the weather hits, that's all. Now, are you going to ask me in or are you just gonna stand there and watch me melt?”

Her pretty pink lips were set in an angry pout, and she was shooting daggers at him, but her eyes also glistened with unshed tears. His lack of recognition had hurt her, but she was doing her damnedest to cover it up. In the past, he would have kissed her until the anger melted away. Hell, he wanted to do that now, but he knew he couldn’t. Instead, he just sighed, ran a shaky hand through his hair and stepped aside to let her pass.

As she did, his eyes involuntarily dropped to the exposed skin of her sun-kissed shoulders, down the form fitting white tank top to the small of her back and came to rest on her tight little ass. The beautiful, gawky girl with the innocent eyes he remembered was gone and in her place stood a damn sexy woman. Her blonde hair was longer and blonder, and her eyes were an even deeper shade of emerald than he remembered. God, she’s gorgeous. His gaze dropped down her long tanned legs to her delicate ankles and meandered back up to where they disappeared into her khaki shorts. The sight of the well-defined muscles of her thighs made his dick hard again as he envisioned those legs wrapped around his waist as he buried himself deep inside her. Aww man, that’s the last place you need to be going.

She turned to face him. “Where do you want me?”

Oh baby girl, if you only knew where I wanted you right now. He met her gaze and felt himself flush. He closed his eyes and ran his hand through his hair trying to scrub the last of the rogue vision from his head. This was going to be an even longer afternoon than he had anticipated. He was going to need a drink. He huffed out a sigh. “Why don’t you set up in the living room? We can work our way around from there.”

She nodded in response and moved toward the closed double doors to her left. Grasping the door handle she paused to glance over at him. He nodded. “You’re right, girl. Not much has changed ‘round here since you left.”

He watched a wounded expression flash across Skye’s pretty face, but she recovered quickly, masking it with an aloof, dead-eyed stare. “I’m just making sure, David. I wouldn’t want to walk in on anything I wasn’t supposed to.”

Ouch. She couldn’t have cut him deeper if she had physically stabbed him with a knife. He winced as a new and poignant wave of guilt washed over him. He supposed he deserved it. It was, after all, his fault they’d split up. What should have been the happiest, most exciting day of his life would be forever tinged with sadness because of his stupidity. Like a bad Super 8 movie, their last few moments together ten years ago flickered through his brain.

When he’d gotten word of his record deal, she had been visiting friends in California, but made arrangements to fly back immediately to celebrate the news with him. Unfortunately, he got caught up with his band mates and their celebratory chaos and forgot to pick her up at the airport as he had promised. When the taxi dropped her off, she walked in to find the house littered with empty bottles of booze and him lying on their bed in a drunken fog with, Queen of the Bitches, Chrissy Jordan sauntering out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a pair of panties and a cat that ate the canary grin. It wasn’t what it appeared to be. But she never gave him a chance to explain. She just ran out. For a time he held out hope that she would at least talk to him long enough for him to vindicate himself, but she never did. She just packed up and moved to California without even saying goodbye.

Ten years later, the fact that she hadn’t believed in him enough to hear him out still hurt, apparently as much as having found him with another woman hurt her.  This whole situation was going from bad to worse every second that passed. Unless you’re gonna let me explain, let’s not go there, baby. Please. He pleaded with her silently as he pushed her aside and opened the door.

“Set your gear up on the game table. I’ll move my stuff out of your way.” He muttered as he crossed the room to the mahogany table that was centered in front of the bay windows, and quickly cleared the note pads and music sheets he’d been working on prior to her arrival. He smiled ruefully as he grabbed the half empty bottle of Jack Daniels that sat on the table. That bottle had become his closest companion and confidant over the years. A temporary, not always effective way to relieve the pain and self-loathing he always felt on some level. He sighed, as shitty as he felt right now he seriously needed a shot to take the edge off his current predicament, but he wouldn’t. He had promised his manager he would behave himself during the interview. Little did he know how hard it would be to keep that promise.

The good part of him died the day she left, and he hadn’t tried to save it. He buried it, along with her memory beneath endless nights of belligerent self-indulgence and debauchery.  He became a caricature of the out-of-control musician and embraced it. To his way of thinking, the harder he hit it, the faster he’d burnout. And he was right, he was almost there.

Anger roiled up inside him when he caught her staring at him with something resembling pity. Screw it! She already thinks you’re an ass and a loser, might as well prove it.

“Can I get you something to drink, Skye?” He smirked, before taking a pull from the bottle. “I’m almost done with this one, but there are plenty more to take its place.”


  1. Can I just say - I want to yell 'cut'; walk into the scene, slap the smirk right off his face and then yell 'roll' again.