The XY Factor E-Book

Scarlett Finn

• Herausgeber: Moriona Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Lights! Camera! Oh my gosh, it’s a nightmare come to life!
 
Inverquay needs money. Darcy steps up. She has to. There’s no other way. But a TV talent show?
 
As if that wasn’t bad enough, drama at an event puts her in the media’s spotlight. All eyes are on her.
Alone in the big city, no friends for miles, this small-town girl’s only support is the town’s most notorious bad-boy.
 
After roaring out of Inverquay on his bike, Sloan swore he’d never go back. Thirteen years later, the town that rejected him is a distant memory until he stumbles on a Quay princess. They met once, on the night he left their town, but she trusts him…
 
Why in the hell would she do something as stupid as that?

Leseprobe

Copyright © 2014 Scarlett Finn

Published by Moriona Press 2014

All rights reserved.

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

First published in 2014

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. It may not be used to train AI software or for the creation of AI works.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

www.scarlettfinn.com

For Jack, as all I am is.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Prologue

‘I don’t want to talk.’ Darcy turned to see that the dark-haired man looming behind her was not the one she’d been expecting. ‘Who are you?’ she asked, taking a step backward bringing her back abruptly against the tree she had been using for cover.

‘This is my party, who are you?’

‘I’m with Lottie,’ Darcy said, allowing herself to lean forward. ‘You’re Johnny Sloan?’

‘The one and only, Cookie… Aren’t you a little young to be hanging here?’

Her attention was drawn to the dimple that formed in one of his cheeks as his lips ever so slowly curled upward in one corner. Mostly he was in shadow; the woods around the community hall had been used by generations of manic teenagers for clandestine activities, as demonstrated by the cigarette his long-fingered hand was bringing to his mouth when the dimple disappeared.

‘I wanted to be alone.’

‘You’re never alone in these woods, haven’t you heard the stories?’ he asked.

Stories of the un-dead, scorned lovers taking revenge, and the dangers of drugs were passed from generation to generation. If all the tall tales were to be believed, the forest was more heavily populated than the town.

‘Why are you leaving town?’ she asked and took a step toward him. ‘Is it true your mother killed herself? Is it true you had sex with Mrs Taylor in the art cupboard?’

‘You’re a curious little thing, aren’t you?’

‘I heard your dad was sending you to rehab for heroin addiction… Did you really beat Sawyer for buying Josie that Pepsi last summer?’

‘Man,’ Sloan said on an exhale. ‘And you wonder why I’m getting out of this town?’

‘You’re a legend around here. I heard that Josie was admitted to hospital for a mental breakdown when you told her you were leaving… Did your dad really stab you?’

‘Where do you get these stories?’

Darcy’s hands trembled as she brought herself ever closer to his static figure that still loomed in shadow. Illumination cut through the trees from the community hall security light, the harsh yellow sliced his cheek, showing the harsh angle of that chiselled jaw and the bulk in that infamous shoulder.

‘Lottie says that your father kicked you out for driving your mother to drink… Is that what happened?’

‘You’re practically salivating there, Cookie. Don’t you have some drama of your own?’

His tone was as she would have expected: un-rattled. She was nobody and chances were he had heard all of the rumours about himself and then some. Her wide eyes relaxed, her fingers stretched out of the fists that had gathered her skirt against her legs. When she realised she was leaning forward, she straightened and tried to do what any other self-respecting teenager would do in this situation: act cool.

‘My drama isn’t driving me out of town,’ she said and moved back to her original position against the tree. This time she let the tension go from her shoulders and lounged, except the tree wasn’t that wide and the roots had broken ground. Sliding from the bark, her shoulder stung, and she lost her footing, hooking her heel on a gnarled root that took pleasure in sending her backward into the compacted mud with a thud.

‘You okay there, Cookie?’ His attempt to hide his humour was pathetic.

Growling, Darcy pulled her shoes from her feet and threw them to the ground, she flopped her elbows to her knees and dropped her forehead to her wrists. ‘Oh, laugh it up, Sloan… You’d hardly be the first.’

A sharp inhale followed a low exhale and then his burning cigarette appeared on the ground in her peripheral vision. His heavy black boot ground it out and then before she could wave him off, he appeared at her side, landing on the earth much more gracefully than she had.

‘What’s your name, Tyke?’ he asked.

‘Darcy Holmes,’ she grumbled, trying not to watch as he took off his leather jacket.

‘Ah,’ he said as if understanding something. Without a word he hooked his jacket over her shoulders.

Rolling her head on her arm she looked up at him through her rapidly curling hair, the straightening irons never kept it under control for long, even with a whole can of hairspray. ‘What?’

‘You smell like, cakes and cookies,’ he said. ‘You’re Hayley Holmes kid.’

‘Grandkid,’ Darcy said.

Her mother had died when she was just a few months old, so Darcy was used to the mistake. She and her father had lived with her grandmother ever since, Darcy had no memory of her mother. Although living in a small town, she had heard all the stories about how wonderful her mother was. Those stories gave her a lot to live up to.

‘She owns that bakery, on Main Street, right?’ Darcy nodded. ‘It must be great to have access to all of those free baked goods, whenever you want.’

‘It means I learned the importance of exercise young.’

When he conceded a smile so did she. The charm in that dimple alone would be enough to bring girls running Darcy realised. Her breath stopped in her throat when he leaned closer, his hair flopping in wide fingers over his long-lashed coal eyes.

‘What are you doing at a party like this, Darcy? You hardly seem the type.’

‘For drink, drugs, and rock ‘n roll… no,’ she admitted. ‘You’re probably right… Ricky said he would get Lottie in, and she didn’t want to come alone.’

‘My cousin Ricky?’ Sloan asked.

Darcy nodded. ‘He’s been trying to get into Lottie’s underwear for like two years.’

‘Lottie who? Is she even legal?’ Darcy snorted a laugh, her hand flew to cover her mouth, but his relaxed smile goaded her on. ‘Got something to say, Tyke?’

‘You and Josie were caught having sex at school when you were fourteen.’

‘That was different,’ he said. ‘That was then, no one cared about that shit then.’

‘You just turned nineteen,’ she said, hiding her smile that seemed glued in place. He wasn’t breaking eye contact, and neither was she. ‘It wasn’t that long ago.’

‘Half a decade,’ he said then his smile disappeared. ‘Jesus that makes me sound old.’

Falling back onto her elbows, she let herself laugh. ‘You’re still a teenager.’

‘Just,’ he said. ‘You know a lot about me.’

‘You’re a legend around here.’

‘So you’ve said,’ he said.

Darcy was sure there was an edge of irritation in his tone. It occurred to her for the first time that maybe being cool and popular wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Anytime anything went wrong in the town everyone automatically assumed it was perpetrated by Johnny Sloan and his crew of renegades. Darcy – having never known any of them personally – always assumed the gang enjoyed the notoriety and, like everyone else, she assumed the reputation was accurate. But if the way he scuffed his boot against the tree root while he muttered under a lowered brow was anything to go by, maybe all the stories about him weren’t true.

Suddenly her back straightened as she considered the opposite, what if all the stores were true? What if his mother did kill herself? What if his father did kick him out because he blamed Sloan? What if his girlfriend really was mentally unbalanced?

‘Johnny,’ she murmured, her hand sliding onto his forearm. Her touch caused him to recoil as though she had burned him. His head snapped around and he pinned her with such a fierce glare that it made her physically shiver.

‘What about you, Cookie?’ he asked. The glare relaxed a little, but she could still see anger burning behind his eyes.

‘What about me?’

‘Are you legal?’

His deep voice rumbled now as he twisted his body and brought himself closer to her. Tension flooded through her. As much as she tried to tell herself it was fear that made her eyes round and her breathing quicken, she couldn’t help but notice his heat radiating to her own. His nicotine-laced breath warmed her lips and filled her nose, the aroma of his leather jacket and deodorant joined in a heady mix that made her mind fog.

‘In six weeks,’ she managed to croak.

‘Close enough,’ he muttered, his lips only a hairs breadth from hers. His fingers combed her hair from her face until his hand cupped her base of her skull and he angled her mouth toward his.

Squeezing her eyes closed she waited for the unthinkable, Johnny Sloan, the Johnny Sloan was going to kiss her! Darcy Holmes was about to be kissed by Johnny Sloan!

His hand relaxed and before his mouth made contact with her the heat of his breath cooled. When Darcy opened her eyes, she saw him frowning at her.

‘What?’ she asked still unable to control her breathing.

‘Rocks?’

Oh no! Darcy wanted to curl into a ball and die. ‘I didn’t… Was I singing?’

‘Aye,’ he said his frown relaxing as his eyebrows inched closer to his hairline. ‘You were.’

Darcy swallowed down her embarrassment. ‘It’s a nervous habit.’

‘What is?’

‘I sing,’ she said. ‘At least you got Primal Scream, when Tom Welsh kissed me for the first time, he got Prince.’

‘What?’ Sloan was definitely backing off now. His hand left her hair and she wanted to scream in frustration.

‘I said he wasn’t beautiful,’ she said, sitting up as he did. ‘You know, Kiss.’

‘I know the song,’ Sloan said running his hand into his hair. ‘You weren’t attracted to him… and you think I’m a drug dealer or a thief… maybe both.’

‘It’s not like that,’ Darcy said. ‘I just… I’ve done it since I was a child. I don’t know I’m doing it… really. Usually it stays in my head.’

Sloan ventured a look over his shoulder and she managed an awkward smile. Just as he returned it her body slackened in relief. The moment didn’t last long, a twig snapped, and Darcy sprang to alert when she heard her name.

‘Darcy!’

‘Someone is looking for you,’ Sloan said. ‘And it doesn’t sound like a girl named Lottie.’

‘No,’ Darcy hissed and pounced to her feet. ‘It’s Tom.’

‘Boyfriend Tom?’

‘He dumped me tonight,’ she said. ‘Rather I caught him snogging Lottie’s face off.’

‘Nice of her to invite you to the party,’ Sloan said retrieving her shoes from the dirt.

‘Generous to a fault is our Lottie,’ Darcy said wiping the earth from her skirt. ‘I better go… It was nice to meet you.’

‘Ditto, Tyke, take care.’

‘Darcy!’

Tom’s voice grew louder but as Sloan got to his feet he held Darcy’s attention and for just a second, one second, the intensity of those vortex eyes made her heart stop in her chest.

‘You too, Johnny. Good luck in the big bad world.’

‘I think I might need it.’

A smile spread to her mouth. ‘No, Johnny, I think it’s the big bad world that needs to look out.’

Darcy barely caught the wink he sent her way because she was momentarily mesmerised by his dimple again. The sound of Tom coming ever closer made her spin on her bare feet and rush away from the happiest happenstance of her teenage years. One that she would never speak of to anyone, because who would ever believe her anyway. The only evidence she had of him was his leather jacket that still to this day hung at the back of her wardrobe.

Sloan was a legend and through the years became a myth, a cautionary tale told to youngsters seen to be heading onto a similar path. Life went on in Inverquay after Sloan left. Those who knew him personally spoke of him fondly, but he had his share of enemies, most notably his father. As such, Sloan didn’t come back to Inverquay and through time, the stories became fable. Darcy wondered if he had really ever existed at all, and if he did, would he remember the serendipitous few minutes when their lives collided, and they were the only two people in the world.

Chapter One

‘I’ll kill him,’ Sloan muttered, shuffling from foot to foot as he watched the fog of his breath curl out into the night air. ‘Here I am, busting my balls; I’m a fucking idiot… Yeah, Sloan, I’ll be there Sloan, don’t worry, I’ll be right on time… bastard.’

On an almost deserted side street in the centre of the city, Sloan dug his hands into the pockets of his zipper and pinned his arms to his body. Backing into the secluded residential doorway he leant on the scarred wooden door and closed his eyes thinking of the most effective ways to murder Doug with the least amount of mess and the most amount of pain.

The time had to be after midnight now, but in these Baltic conditions Sloan wasn’t about to take his hand from his pocket to look at his watch. ‘The story of a lifetime,’ Sloan groaned again and banged his head back on the door; he was an idiot who got everything he deserved. Since when had Doug ever been reliable? He screwed his best friend’s sister; his best friends married sister for goodness’ sake.

A rush of air and what sounded like a pant made him crack open one eye. Ready to scream bloody murder at Doug he was surprised to see a waif of a woman sharing his doorway. Not only was she short and skinny but her wild curly hair almost covered her face as it cascaded to her more than ample chest. He could make that observation because she was also barely clothed. Clutching a pair of platform spike heels to her cleavage the rest of her chest was covered by what appeared to be nothing more than a bikini top that tied in a neat bow between her breasts. His eyes travelled down across her flat abs and to the skintight siren red micro miniskirt that started at her hips and ended, well a few inches below that. Short she might be but as his gaze moved further south, he noted she was all leg, long, slender, shapely—

‘Hold these,’ she barked and thrust her shoes against him.

His choice to take them was not his own but his curiosity was piqued. She had to be a working girl, this naked, this deep in the city, had to be.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked, hazarding a closer look.

‘Oh, just dandy, pal, thanks.’

Her obvious note of sarcasm was aimed at him, but her attention slid out of the doorway to peer up the street the way she had come. Scooping her hair from her face she came back into the doorway and took a hair band from her slender wrist with her teeth. Shaking her head back, Sloan became fixated on the line of her neck. Taming her hair took her a few seconds but she deftly secured it back and peeked out of the entryway again.

Only now, when the line of her neck and her cleavage was out of his sight did he realise she was talking, muttering to herself… No, he thought and found himself going slack jawed; those weren’t words, they were lyrics.

‘You’re singing,’ he said.

Her attention snapped back to him. ‘What? Who are you? Please don’t tell them you saw me.’

Narrowing his eyes, he stared into those fathomless green eyes. Eyes filled with such innocence that he couldn’t help but recognise them. ‘Darcy,’ he breathed and found himself smiling at her.

Something in the way her innocent pleading melted told him she recognised him too. When her hand went to his face and her thumb traced his dimple, he saw nothing but wonder in her eyes. Their quiet appreciation of each other was abruptly ended when he saw the vibration in her chin, and he realised her lips were blue.

‘What the fuck are you doing out here like that?’

He unzipped his hooded sweatshirt, dropping her shoes to the concrete he stood on, and pulled it off to wrap around her. She didn’t hesitate, which he took as a sign she was grateful. Shaking fingers failed to do up the zip so he swiped her manicured nails away and did it up for her then took his time rubbing her arms through the cotton.

Heavy make-up tried to hide the girl she once was, but her body betrayed the woman she had become, and his own body found himself all too aware of the fact when he pulled her into his arms and began to rub her back.

Though shivers wracked her whole body she forced her hands between them and pushed herself away. Just at that he heard what sounded like voices, a lot of voices, and stampeding feet. He watched as her eyes slowly closed, her lips were moving again but the lyrics were silent this time.

Bouncing on her bare feet he saw her pull his hood up over her hair and pull the strings tight. ‘Good to see you again, Sloan,’ she whispered.

Before he could open his mouth, she slid out of the doorway and bolted down the street. Nimble on her tiptoes he thought, but realised the concrete would be like ice under her toes. The voices grew louder, as did the footsteps. Actually it was more like thunder now, Sloan looked over his shoulder and he realised the voices were shouting after her. Ducking back into his doorway to avoid the stampede, his jaw fell again when he absorbed the scene. These voices, the thundering feet running belonged to dozens of men and women, most with camera’s, some with notebooks or smartphones and some with pictures just waiting to be autographed and they were all shouting for Darcy. Darcy Holmes from Inverquay, a girl he hadn’t thought about for ten years and yet somehow the world knew her, better than he did apparently.

Doug didn’t bother to phone. But it wouldn’t have mattered because as soon as the rowdy mob turned the corner and disappeared out of sight Sloan remembered his phone was in his hoody pocket, as was his wallet, and his house keys. Cursing at himself he fell back into the doorway, this time thumping his forehead against the door. When his eyes opened, he saw her shoes scattered at his feet. A smile threatened his lips as he realised this was the second pair of her shoes he had been left holding. He had just lifted the silver sequined straps when he heard footsteps behind him, heavy footsteps, soled footsteps, no chance she had returned.

‘Did you see her?’

Sloan turned to see Doug’s usual exuberant grin. ‘Her?’ Sloan asked but knew already whom his friend was referring to.

‘Darcy! The hottest thing on two legs! I went to see her for the floorshow, but I got way more than tits and ass! The girl is… Shit! I don’t even know how to describe her, the voice is one thing, the body… don’t even get me started but wow, I don’t think anyone was expecting tonight.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Buy me a drink and I’ll fill you in,’ Doug said, slapping Sloan on the back and bringing him out onto the street.

‘Buy you a drink? I’ve been stood here freezing my balls off for half an hour.’

‘No one was betting on waiting for the emergency services… I guess that’s why they call them the “emergency” services though, right? They’re not the “expected” services, are they?’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ Sloan said, noting the way Doug was looking at the shoes in his hand.

‘Something you want to tell me, mate?’

‘How about you first?’ Sloan asked, pushing his way into the bar that Doug pointed at.

Doug took his usual time buying the drinks, ensuring to stop and flirt with anything that smiled his way. When he put the pints on the table Sloan had found, Doug’s eyes were still on the bar. ‘You want the blonde or the brunette?’

Sloan glanced over his shoulder to see the pair at the bar smiling at them. Containing his growl, he snatched up his pint and slurped it down. ‘Neither. Tell me about Darcy.’

‘Hidden talent,’ Doug said, gulping his own pint and putting down the glass to wipe his palm on his jeans. ‘New reality thing on some satellite channel… Anyway, the producers tour the country looking for talent, no auditions malarkey; they just find people who actually use their talents to earn a bit of income. The Darcy girl apparently applied for some cooking show and got the knock back but one of the producers remembers her, catches up with her singing in some local dive.’

‘Singing?’

‘Whatever,’ Doug said. ‘Back story is boring… No one expected anything, the producers put the talent they like in front of six agents, each agent picks three acts and spend a few months trying to make their acts the next big thing. It’s all about turnover, whichever agent pulls in the least money each week gets one of their acts evicted by the public. It’s bullshit, money making scheme. Tonight was the big reveal of the acts. Each of them got to sing a number at the Winter Hall round the corner.’

‘You were there?’ Sloan asked. Not that he had any interest in reality TV, but if he had known Darcy was going to be there he would have had Doug take him along.

‘Aye,’ Doug said, sampling his pint again. ‘It’s a gimmick; they don’t do big studio shows. The agents have to work with their acts to get them doing shows in standard venues, the bigger the venue, the bigger the crowd, the bigger the turnover, blah, blah, blah.’

‘Hence the Winter Hall.’

‘Exactly,’ Doug said. ‘It’s the introduction to the acts and the only venue the studio ponies up for. They invite a few media pundits to get the ball rolling.’

‘So, what was special about tonight? You get invited to loads of crappy events by people who want exposure.’

‘Aye,’ Doug agreed, shoving his pint aside and practically bouncing into Sloan’s lap. ‘That’s what I thought. Bit of a laugh, good view, nothing serious.’

‘So?’

‘So! This Darcy chick starts singing, the crowd is like stunned into immediate silence, she is that good.’

‘Great,’ Sloan said. ‘Good for her—’

‘No,’ Doug said actually grabbing Sloan’s wrist as he sprang to the edge of his seat. ‘This girl is so good that Paulie Hayes, who is front row, literally drops down dead.’

‘What? She killed him?’

‘That’s not even the best bit!’ Doug was, vibrating with excitement now. ‘Paulie falls to his knees, clutching his chest.’ Doug fell to his knees next to Sloan doing a dramatic reconstruction. ‘Gasping for breath, his life is slipping away, the room in suspended in silence as his heart stutters to a stop…’

Sloan found himself caught in the moment too, leaning toward Doug as his voice lowered in a typical croaking, near death fashion.

‘And?’ Sloan prompted as his friend’s eyes closed.

‘Darcy!’ Doug called, his eyes snapping open and his face glowing in a renewed grin. ‘Leaps from the stage, like a ninja, freaking superwoman or something! She starts barking orders, “everyone back off! Someone call an ambulance!” she’s loosening his tie, undoing his shirt and then get this! She starts mouth to mouth! The babe has got skills, serious skills! No panic, no hesitation, complete calm. A room full of people, probably even a first aider on site and this girl with the incredible set of lungs is using them to resuscitate the media’s most shrewd, calculating bastard! And! And! She keeps it up for twenty minutes! The fucker is still hanging onto life when the paramedics appear and take over!’

‘Wow,’ Sloan breathed, slumping back in his chair while Doug climbed back into his.

‘You’re telling me,’ Doug said, moistening his throat. ‘This girl has this competition locked on night one. She’s a media sweetheart. The woman saved the most influential man in print and music media north of the border.’

Sloan could see it now; the paramedics come in and start their work as Darcy backs off then the questions start. She’s in a room full or reporters, full of camera’s… the first night of a reality show, she’s not used to the media, she’s alone, she panics and somehow escapes. That explained the outfit, the hair, and the shoes.

‘Why didn’t you follow her?’ Sloan asked Doug.

He shrugged, downing another mouthful. ‘I thought I was getting laid tonight, I didn’t take any equipment. I didn’t think it would be that entertaining.’

Doug was a photographer for the Daily National, a newspaper they both worked for. ‘Toby will have your behind in a sling.’

‘We’ll get something,’ Doug said. ‘We always get something. She was doing CPR for twenty minutes; there will be dozens of pictures. Toby will be more interested in the story.’

‘I thought backstory was boring,’ Sloan said relying on his trusty facade to hide his own awkwardness.

None of his colleagues knew he was from Inverquay but if anyone started asking questions around the village his name could come up. Okay, so he couldn’t claim to have history with her exactly, but if Darcy had told anyone about the few minutes they’d shared, chances were someone would tell the media the story.

‘You want it?’ Doug asked. ‘Toby owes me a favour, wouldn’t be much of a hardship to tail her for a few weeks.’

‘No,’ Sloan said, trying to think if there would be anything worse than having to tell Darcy’s story.

Yes, he could omit facts about his own connection, but he would bet his boots that the whole village would read that story and with his name on it… he could kiss a happy welcome home goodbye. Not that he was sure there would ever be one on the cards for him.

Doug bartered with him to stay for another two pints. In exchange for Doug buying them, Sloan worked his magic with the women at the bar, ensuring Doug got his wish for the evening. Doug also gave Sloan taxi fare and his house key. Sloan only let Doug move into his flat after Nick – another reporter at the paper – vouched for him; or rather begged him. The two had only been flat sharing for a few weeks but already Sloan was missing his seclusion.

Ready for bed, Sloan rubbed his hand across his eyes as he slid Doug’s key in the lock. Frowning when it didn’t turn, Sloan made note to tell Doug off for leaving the door unlocked. Except when he opened the door and heard the boom of music – that he had assumed was coming from elsewhere – he realised the flat was not vacant.

Much to his surprise when he rounded the wall that separated entranceway from open plan kitchen, living area, he saw a woman swaying her hips and grinding her body to the music as she looked up at the CDs on the shelving unit in front of her. Her hair was damp and draped to her waist; she was wearing what appeared to be his tee shirt, and not much else. His jaw once again hung loose as his feet sloped slowly toward her. At a crescendo of the music, she spun around and froze, blinking at him as he too stopped in the middle of the room.

To her credit, she turned and flipped off the music immediately before spinning to grin at him. ‘Hi, Johnny.’

‘Tyke.’

The word had come out of its own volition but the pet name caused her grin to widen further.

She leapt toward him, snatching his hand from his side. ‘You are going to laugh when you hear this story.’

From the way her teeth pressed into her lower lip, he could tell she wasn’t sure of that herself. But he had to give her what she was due because she confidently held eye contact with him and had the decency to appear contrite.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I know we don’t know each other very well—’

‘At all.’

‘No,’ she said with a shrug. ‘I suppose we don’t but see… I don’t know anyone in the city. I don’t know anyone away from the village and I—’

‘Why aren’t you in the village?’

‘It’s a long story.’

‘I thought you were running Hayley’s bakery.’

‘How would you know that?’ she frowned. ‘You haven’t been back, not since… your party.’

‘I still talk to Glo sometimes.’

Gloria was his father’s sister; she was the only one who had been in contact since he had left town. She persisted in asking him to come home, but Sloan knew the blood between him and his father had long been putrid.

‘You asked about me?’

‘What are you doing here, Darcy?’ he asked again this time not allowing the emerald of her eyes to mesmerise him into forgetting himself like he had done in that doorway.

The false grin fell from her face and for a second, he saw the truth.

‘I need help, Sloan. I’m alone here and I… I think the bottom just fell out of my world.’

Allowing her words to hang in the air between them he drew in a long breath and dropped his hands to her shoulders. ‘What is a girl like you doing in a place like this?’ he sighed.

‘I,’ she started and wriggled under his palms. He squeezed to hold her still, the last thing he needed was for her to start squirming and reminding him of the body she possessed under that tee shirt, his tee shirt, that currently had the pleasure of skimming those lush curves. ‘I needed money.’

‘Money,’ he said surprised by the answer.

Most people on reality shows wanted fame, exposure and yes, the lifestyle but she didn’t strike him as an attention-seeking party girl.

‘I signed up to do this reality show, it’s silly really, but it’s temporary… I didn’t think for a second I would ever have to deal with… what happened tonight… I need somewhere to stay, just for tonight. I couldn’t go back to my hotel the place is swarming with reporters… I don’t have any money, nothing so—’

‘So you stole my wallet?’

‘It’s in your room,’ she said. ‘I didn’t take anything I swear. When I realised your wallet was in there, I was already a mile away. I’d lost most of the reporters and I was going to return it, so I checked your address. I got here and you weren’t home, I left the door unlocked so you could get in… Then once I got here I… well I was cold and I… I thought I would get a shower and… I’m sorry I, I don’t have anywhere else to go.’

When he saw the moisture glisten on those long dark lashes of hers, he couldn’t stop himself from pulling her against him and burying his face in her hair. What he hadn’t been expecting was for her to wrap her arms so tightly around his waist and cling to him wholehearted. As they stood holding each other in the middle of his living room he was struck by how natural it felt and yet, he had never held this woman before in his life, not properly. But they held each other without thinking, their bodies obedient to each other, both locked in automatic trust without question.

‘I could be a complete bastard,’ he muttered into her hair. ‘Do you know that? We don’t know each other.’

‘Are you kidding,’ she said into his chest. ‘You’re Johnny Sloan. I already know you’re a bastard… But right now, you’re my only hope.’

There was something oddly comforting about settling her in the middle of his big bed. No further questions were asked; she used his toothbrush, washed her face, and lay down in his sheets – the whole time smiling at him as if he had just given her an answer to the meaning of life.

‘Stop looking at me like that, Tyke,’ he said as he pulled the curtains closed.

‘Why didn’t you come home, Johnny? Are you married?’

‘If I was married, I doubt my wife would be happy with a woman like you in our bed.’

Finding himself watching her as she smoothed his duvet down on her waist, he forced himself to take a step toward her and reach for the light. ‘A woman like me, what does that mean?’

Oddly when he paused with his hand halfway to the light, he could see that she genuinely meant it. The women he had experienced over the years knew just what affect they had on men and just how to use that to their advantage. Yet, Darcy Holmes, perhaps the most luscious of any woman he had the pleasure of seeing in his sheets was smiling at him, her head tipped slightly to the side, blinking at him as innocently as a child.

‘Go to sleep, Tyke, we’ll talk in the morning.’

Managing to avoid the question, he reached for the light and clicked it off. Before he could remove himself from the bedside, he found his hand snatched into hers. Both of her tiny, delicate hands cradled his, pulling it closer to her and before his eyes adjusted to the new darkness around them the petal soft skin of her cheek was under his palm.

‘Thank you, Johnny,’ she said turning her head back and forth against his touch as though she were a stray kitten grateful of a dry bed.

Frozen against her caress he supposed the thought wasn’t so inaccurate. Then, just as his body relented to her presumptuous act and began to react in a typically raw male fashion her warm skin was gone. His vision adjusted to see her lying in the centre of his bed, eyes closed, slight smile on her lips and the gentle rise and fall of that chest beneath the stark white of his quilt.

Chapter Two

Finding himself on his own couch was no hardship. Somehow knowing Darcy was safe provided major consolation. Although when he woke up with a crick in his neck, he was ready to curse. Jumping into the shower he stood under the hot, hard jets for twenty minutes trying to relieve the ache. That was until the pounding started on the bathroom door. Panic hit him, he worried that Darcy had woken to reporters, maybe they were on the phone, or maybe they were crowded under his bedroom window. He couldn’t work out how anyone could have known she was here. It took him only seconds to jump from the shower and wrap the towel around his waist.

On opening the door, he was prepared to see the nymph he had tucked into his bed last night. Instead, he found his reluctant roommate grinning like a clown.

‘There’s a woman in your bed!’ Doug exclaimed.

‘What the hell are you doing going into my room?’

‘I was looking for you,’ Doug said, all innocence. ‘I wanted to tell you about my night.’

Sloan looked at the wall clock. ‘Can’t have been that good, it’s eight a.m. and you’re home.’

‘It’s proper to duck out before breakfast. Breakfast means commitment.’

‘You’re insane,’ Sloan said, ignoring his personal disgust at his friend’s intrusion. Fixing the towel tight around his waist he knew his only clean clothes were in his bedroom. ‘Future reference, you go nowhere near my room, ever… And I have no interest in the details of your sordid sex life.’

‘My sordid sex life?’ Doug said, trotting along behind Sloan as he headed to his room. ‘You’re the one with the naked babe in his bed.’ Sloan stopped. ‘When the hell did that happen between the taxi and the flat?’

‘You saw her naked?’

Doug took a step back and held up his hands in surrender. ‘I got a boner at a flash of thigh anything more I think I’d have come in my pants. She’s a little cracker.’

Sloan found himself frowning at his friend. Friend – that was a loose term. Doug was a great laugh when nothing had to be taken seriously. That said, Nick had told him that Doug was instrumental in getting him with the girl of his dreams: Sloan found it hard to believe. It was easier to believe Doug had nearly caused Nick to lose the girl in the first place, which, apparently, he’d also done.

Taking the last couple of steps to his bedroom Sloan paused with his hand on the door and pinned Doug with a glare. ‘Stay,’ he commanded and noted the flicker of disappointment in Doug’s eyes.

Sloan entered the room, careful to keep his attention away from the bed as he closed the door. Keeping his eyes front, he crossed the room to the built in wardrobe on the opposite wall. Although aware of the figure slumbering stretched out in the centre of his bed the white lump remained static. Deliberately blurring his eyes, he reached the wardrobe and opened it silently. Inside was a set of drawers, he slid open the top one and began to retrieve his clothes.

‘Johnny?’

The quiet, husky voice had him squeezing his eyes closed and cursing. He wondered if he was worse than Doug because her voice could provoke the same reaction in him that Doug achieved through sight.

‘Sorry.’ His reflex apology wasn’t heard or at least wasn’t acknowledged by her. Her hands reached for his ceiling, and he vaguely heard an Amy Winehouse lyric as her body followed her hands.

Something in him clicked, literally, he heard the snap. Mindlessly he turned to stare at the figure bathed in white cotton and the sunlight that streamed through his muslin curtains. Truly, in that moment his breath caught, and he witnessed an angel liberated from her purpose.

‘I haven’t slept this late in years,’ she said, her eyes on the clock by his bed. Only then did he notice the way her hands had moved to her chest. ‘Your bed is really comfy.’

‘Uh.’

‘But boy does it get warm in here.’

‘We’re above a pizza place,’ he said. ‘The oven is on all night, it’s right under us.’

She nodded and sighed as she flopped back against his pillows. ‘It’s like sleeping in a cloud,’ she giggled.

The number of pillows at the head of the bed was to support him as he sat up into the small hours writing. Usually he didn’t sleep with them; usually he stuffed them all to one side. But now as she lay back with the duvet pulled to her chin, the smile on her face and her drowsy gaze locked onto him. Just then he realised while she smiled, he stared without a word.

‘Sorry,’ he said again, turning his attention back to the drawers.

‘That’s twice you’ve said that,’ she said with a hum in her voice. ‘Shouldn’t I be apologising to you for kicking you out of your bed?’ Sloan opened his mouth, but he needn’t have. ‘Which you didn’t have to do by the way, but I suppose it’s just a little late to be saying that now. Although I can just imagine the kick Lottie will get out of hearing I slept in Johnny Sloan’s bed… Not that she’d believe me… Everyone in town is pretty sure you’re dead.’

‘People really think that?’