Texas Heat Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Table of Contents

  Look for these titles from Rhonda Laurel

  Title Page

  Copyright Warning

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  About the Author

  Also by Rhonda Laurel

  More Romance from Etopia Press

  Look for these titles from Rhonda Laurel

  Now Available

  The Blake Boys Series

  For the Love of the Game (Book One)

  MVP (Book Two)

  The Blake Legacy (Book Three)

  Texas Heat (Book Four)

  Ebb Tide

  Shutter

  Star Crossed

  “Masquerade” Halloween Heat IV

  In Print

  The Rhonda Laurel Collection

  “Masquerade” Halloween Heat MF

  The Blake Boys Collection

  Texas Heat

  The Blake Boys Book Four

  Rhonda Laurel

  Copyright Warning

  EBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared, or given away. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is a crime punishable by law. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded to or downloaded from file sharing sites, or distributed in any other way via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/).

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Published By

  Etopia Press

  1643 Warwick Ave., #124

  Warwick, RI 02889

  http://www.etopia-press.net

  Texas Heat

  Copyright © 2014 by Rhonda Laurel

  ISBN: 978-1-940223-97-1

  Edited by Lauren Triola

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Etopia Press electronic publication: April 2014

  ~ Dedication ~

  To Tate and Isabelle, thanks for making beautiful music together.

  Chapter One

  The sounds of laughter coming from the bathroom in his hotel suite jolted Tate McGill out of his sleep. He’d had a wild night at the Epic Music Awards, and from the throbbing of his head, it was probably a night he’d want to remember.

  The mysterious guest in the bathroom began to sing bits of “Down-Home City Girl,” the song he’d performed last night with Lana McNeal. Holy crap! He prayed it wasn’t Lana in there. The singer was beautiful, but she was damn near half his age. He’d kept his eyes on the young starlet’s face and his hands on his guitar while trying to ignore the two unrehearsed waist grabs and Lana pressing herself against his body several times during the performance.

  Tate ran a hand through his curly blond hair and got out of bed. It was time to put himself out of his misery and find out who was in his bathroom. He took a few steps and nearly fell, tripping over his Epic Award that was partially hidden beneath his jeans on the floor. Damn, hopefully there was some aspirin in his shaving kit. He pushed open the door to the steam-filled bathroom only to hear giggling coming from the shower stall. He could see the silhouette of a tall, slender woman with full breasts. His cock twitched as he watched her lather herself. This could have been an enjoyable moment if only he could remember her name.

  Damnit! How could he forget? That was the million-dollar question. He’d celebrated pretty hard with his entourage after the surprise win. Truth be told, he hadn’t bothered remembering a woman’s name in a long time. After a good time, he’d say a tender good-bye while walking her to the door, promising to write a song about her. For some reason every woman he met wanted a song written about their two ships passing in the night.

  Perhaps her name started with a C? Candice, Clementine, Christy, Connie, or maybe Carlotta? Tate opened the stall door and, to his surprise, there was not one woman but two in the stall washing each other. Tate’s mouth went dry, and his cock did a full salute. The shorter of the two women pulled him into the shower, sandwiching him between them.

  “We were going to get back in bed and wake you up.” The woman who’d pulled him in pouted.

  Tate smiled. “Ladies, no way would I have missed this.”

  The woman behind him took a loofah sponge and began lathering him up. “You had a big night. It’s only fair we clean you up.”

  Tate closed his eyes as four nimble hands began to roam all over his body. He thanked his lucky stars he had a brand new box of condoms in his shaving kit. And if he was lucky, he’d get to use every one of them today.

  * * *

  Tate bid the ladies farewell early that evening and began to pack his bags. Being nestled between two beautiful women for the better part of the day was just what he’d needed to unwind. As predicted, they asked if their rendezvous would be on his next CD. He promised them he’d scribble a tune about their delightfully erotic time together, hustled them out the door, then called room service and ordered dinner. It was time for his daily call to his nephew Jake.

  Jake was only a year old, but Tate wanted him to know at an early age that Uncle Tate kept his word. It was eight o’clock in Philadelphia. Jake should be getting ready for bed. Tate scanned his phone for the video conferencing app and hit dial.

  Morgan’s face appeared on his screen. “Congratulations!”

  “Thank you, darlin’. How are you?”

  “I am doing great. Just gave Jake his bath, and Seth is going to fix me a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream.” Morgan rubbed her flat tummy.

  Tate laughed. “Having cravings already?”

  “Nah.” She sighed. “But Seth is on an expectant daddy rampage, and feeding me ice cream makes him feel better.”

  “Ah, then you won’t want none of this filet mignon I’m eating.” He waved a piece at her.

  Morgan scrunched up her nose. “That’s pretty fancy for you.”

  “It’s this fancy hotel I’m in. What decent restaurant doesn’t have a porterhouse on their menu?” He sniffed.

  “I know! How dare they make the winner of the Best Collaborative Song of the Year eat dainty fixin’s?” She stuck her tongue out at him.

  Tate laughed and swigged his beer. “How’s the big man?”

  “Never seen him this happy.” Morgan put her hand on her cheek.

  Tate nodded. “He has everything he needs. A beautiful woman, great family, new fat contract, and five more years with his team before he retires.”

  “Stop flirting with my woman, McGill!” Seth yelled from the other room.

  “He always hears when I’m talking about you. Sometimes I think he’s part robot.”

  Morgan just shook her head and ignored Seth. “So did Lana McNeal place you under citizen’s arrest before she frisked you on stage?”

  “I thought I was going to have to do the jitterbug just to get away from her.”

  “I sent her a message via her social media account, asking if
she found what she was looking for in your pants.”

  “You didn’t!” Tate let out a deep chuckle.

  “Yes, I did. Nobody molests by brother-in-law on national television and gets away with it.”

  “Uncle Tate!” Jake appeared from nowhere and grabbed the phone.

  Tate loved talking to him. They talked mostly about Jake’s dog, Rowdy, who lived at the ranch in Texas, and his fascination with race cars, no thanks to Tate’s brother Tyler. After about a half hour of chatter and four I love yous, Jake was ready for bed and gave Seth the phone. Morgan carried Jake away.

  “Had a wild night last night?” Seth raised an eyebrow.

  Tate’s cheeks reddened. “How can you tell?”

  “I can always tell when you’ve had too much liquor or too much sex. By the looks of it, you had too much of both.” Seth burst out laughing.

  “Let me tell you…”

  “No, you can’t.” Seth shook his head. “I’d like to have sex again this month.”

  “What?”

  “Every time you tell me about one of your escapades, somehow I get punished for it, but you get a heartfelt speech about finding the right woman.” Seth folded his arms over his chest.

  Tate laughed. “You know Morgan can’t stay mad at me.”

  “Tell me this.” Seth looked over his shoulder. “Will it be on your next CD?”

  “Probably.”

  “I heard that!” Morgan yelled from the other room.

  “Gotta go.” Seth tugged at his shirt collar. “You feel like doing your brother a favor?”

  “Sure.”

  “Morgan and I wanted to get away until the chatter about my renewed contract dies down. Do you feel like coming to town to babysit?”

  “Say no more. Just let me know when you need me there.” Tate grinned and ended the call.

  After Tate disconnected he had so many message alerts his phone went off like a Ping-Pong machine hitting a high score. He didn’t feel like talking to anyone right now. Talking to Jake about Rowdy, and whatever was going on in his young mind, always made Tate feel good. Jake had made such a difference in all their lives. And Jake would never have the kind of childhood he had: a rough upbringing with an abusive father and alcoholic mother.

  The sun was beginning to set as Tate stepped out onto the terrace of the hotel suite. He’d achieved so much despite the less than idyllic childhood. Perhaps that’s why he’d become so successful. He always had the devil on his back. Tate squeezed his eyes shut, an image of his parents fighting flashing in his head. He instinctively rubbed just over his brow, where a shard of glass had cut him when he was five after his father threw a pitcher against a wall. That was his first visit to the hospital, and seven stitches felt like seven hundred to a frightened little boy in the middle of a war between his parents. Thanks to the Blakes taking him in and nurturing him, he’d left a lot of the past behind him, but the scars remained.

  Tate shook his head, trying to chase the memories off. He had a new album with Atlantis Blue due out in six months. He’d scribbled a few notes, but his usual song-writing mojo was on the fritz. He was headed back home to Texas to show his award to Teri-Lyn and John Jacob and do some work around the ranch before he went to Philadelphia. That ranch truly had healing properties—his spirit felt renewed just driving through the main gate. Maybe this time it would give him the inspiration he needed.

  * * *

  Isabelle Reed took a break from unpacking and retrieved the invitation to her cousin Dana’s wedding in Philadelphia from the pile of mail on the coffee table. Dana had sent a sternly worded e-mail last night demanding a response. She hadn’t known about the delay in Isabelle receiving her mail because no one in the family knew about her new living arrangements.

  Only her cousin Morgan knew about her divorce from Ned. After months of Ned’s repeated attempts at reconciliation had fallen on deaf ears, he’d finally acquiesced and signed the divorce papers.

  Isabelle looked down at the cast on her arm and groaned. She had to keep it on for another six weeks. The injury meant she couldn’t work—no way could she play the violin with a broken arm. The doctors had assured her it would be fine, but the real test would be when her arm healed and the physical therapy began. She prayed she’d be able to perform again. It had only been a few weeks, and she was already salivating to play.

  Isabelle took out her phone and dialed Morgan. If she had to go to Philadelphia for Dana’s wedding, she’d need a safe haven.

  “Hey, Morgan.” Isabelle shouldered the phone as she lit the fire under her teakettle.

  “Izzy! How are you?”

  “I was fine until Cousin Dana sent me a curt e-mail last night. I got berated for my bad RSVP manners. Are you going to the wedding?”

  “Under duress. I haven’t gone to any family functions in a while, and there are rumblings.” Morgan sighed.

  Isabelle laughed. “Since when do you care about rumblings?”

  “I don’t. But it’s Dana’s wedding day, and I don’t want to take away from that by having a death match with that witch of a cousin Charisma of ours. She and I are bound to be in the same room at some point, and I’d like to get it over with.”

  “I don’t know. She’s been pretty quiet since that fight with Lamont.”

  “Enough about her. What’s new with you? Have you told anyone else in the family about the divorce?”

  Isabella swallowed hard. “Not yet.”

  “OK. Waiting for anything in particular?”

  She looked around at the unpacked boxes. “Courage.”

  “Well, they’re going to know when you go to the wedding without Ned.”

  “I was thinking of dressing up a crash test dummy and bringing it instead. Half of the Reeds will be so wasted at the reception, they won’t know the difference.”

  Morgan laughed. “Sad but true. I could find a way to distract them. Maybe I’ll yell ‘rich eligible bachelor’ and watch Charisma elbow Grandma to get to the door.”

  Isabelle giggled. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  “I’ve missed you too. I’m so glad you’re coming home for the wedding, Izzy.”

  “How about when I get there, we pig out and gossip all night like we used to do when we were kids? Well, as long as you can stay awake.”

  “I’d like that very much.” Morgan laughed.

  “I don’t want to cramp your style at the Ashcroft, but could I stay with you while I’m in town? I’m not up for the family spotlight.”

  “Of course you can stay here with us. You never have to ask.”

  “Thanks. Give Jake and Seth a kiss for me. I’ll see you soon.” Isabelle ended the call.

  She let out a sigh of relief. Attending Dana’s wedding wasn’t the issue. She was happy for her. She just didn’t want to deal with the questions that would come about Ned. Why should she have to answer for his destruction of their marriage? She loved her family, but they could be a gossipy bunch. No doubt they would grill her at the wedding to find out what happened.

  Isabelle looked for the box labeled Audio Equipment and pulled out her premium sound system. She took her iPod out of her purse, placed it in the docking station, and started scanning for some good unpacking music. She’d sold the house, not wanting to remain in a place where her marital dreams had been shattered. An apartment would be good for a year or so until she figured out what she wanted to do. She didn’t want to go back to Philadelphia, but she suddenly felt alone and out of place in Georgia.

  She was scrolling through the M’s when a name caught her eye: Tate McGill. Seemed like McGill had been her standing engagement for months now. She wasn’t a big country music fan, but since he was now related to Morgan, she’d thought she’d give him a chance. It helped that he was easy on the eyes—a tall drink of Texas tea that made her thirsty every time she glanced at his cover. He had a nice body and curly blond hair tucked under his cowboy hat. Not to mention his beautiful blue eyes had more than a little hint of mischief in them. Too bad he
was a big manwhore.

  She’d listened to “I Lost My Soul at the Candlewood Hotel in Houston” and enjoyed it until Morgan had told her the story behind the song. In the new context it made her blush six ways from Sunday. She fantasized how sex would be with a man like that. He looked like the strong, silent type who didn’t like to do too much talking in bed. He seemed more like an intensive stare kind of guy between the sheets. She was way too demure to catch a man like Tate. For heaven’s sakes, she got hot and bothered by his lyrics alone. On her wildest nights she would wear a plum-colored lipstick, and she still measured her shorter skirts with a ruler as her grandmother used to do when they were kids. Wild and sexy she didn’t feel, but when she hit that button and heard his velvety voice, she had to resist the urge to pleasure herself, fantasizing that he was singing to her and only her.

  “Look like it’s you and me tonight, McGill.” Isabelle smiled as she turned up the volume and danced her way into the kitchen.

  Chapter Two

  Tate was juggling so many bags he thought he was going to keel over into the koi pond. He’d forgotten how adventurous a day of shopping with Teri-Lyn could be. They’d spent the day in the mall and were now getting something to eat. When they weren’t arguing about him paying for all her stuff, they talked about his career plans. Sometimes he missed the days of playing for a few people at the Bright Star. A million screaming fans were nice, but when he could get Earl, a grubby trucker with about three teeth in his mouth, to tap his foot while having a steak and drinking a beer, he knew he was a success.

  Teri-Lyn had settled on Italian food, so they made their way to her favorite restaurant. They perused the menu and ordered as soon as the waiter appeared.

  “So what’s new with you, baby?” Teri-Lyn smiled.

  “I am tired.” Tate stretched his arms over his head. “Those awards shows are exhausting. A lot of ‘stand here,’ ‘go over there,’ ‘sound check this.’ I just finished up the tour, and now I’m gearing up for the new album. The time frame is a bit tight for my liking, but the new label wants to capitalize on the success of this single.”