Rock Star Kisses (Romance on the Ranch Book 6) (13 page)

One: Male Model

Mims
Murphy followed Sissy Johansen, chief editor and co-owner of Imaginings
Publishing, through an ornate door and into a large photo studio on the
fiftieth floor of a high-rise in New York. Sissy had insisted that Mims meet
the cover models for her upcoming book,
Dream Kisses.
After writing five
novels with Imaginings with moderate returns, she had finally scored big on her
sixth, a chick-lit romance. Because of that success, Sissy had contracted with
her for three books in a "Kisses Series":
Dream Kisses, Honey
Kisses,
and
Baby Kisses.
Based on readers' exuberance, the books
were expected to be hits.

The
shoot had already begun when they slipped into the studio. Sissy motioned her
to a spot near a side wall. Mims leaned against the wall, her eyes riveted on
the models. Lights flashed and the photographer, a short skinny man with a
balding pate, called instructions. "Move in, Sage. Yeah, give her that
sexy, hot
hot
HOT look. Make her sizzle. Chastity, let him know who's in
charge."

Sissy
smothered a giggle and whispered, "Can you believe her name is
Chastity?"

Mims
bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing out loud.

The
photographer called another instruction. "Okay, models, let's try a kiss.
The title of the book is
Dream Kisses,
so how about some dream kisses.
Make my toes curl."

With
a rather bored expression, the male model glanced in Mims direction. Her heart
tripped when their eyes met, something that only happened to characters in her
books.

Sissy
whispered, "He's absolutely the most gorgeous man I've ever seen, and I've
seen my share. If I were twenty years younger, I'd throw myself at him unabashedly."
She sighed.

"Sissy,
you're kidding, right? You're married," Mims shot back.

"I
think I'm kidding; not really sure."

Mims
shook her head and looked back at the models now sharing a passionate embrace
and kiss. The female had hit the genetics jackpot: curvaceous body, flowing
blonde hair, sexy sky blue eyes, and full pouty mouth. Of course, maybe it
wasn't genetics; maybe it was implants, hair salon, contacts, and Botox.
Whatever,
she's still gorgeous.

A
fan billowed the female's lavender silk drape gently around her luscious body
and lifted her golden hair off her shoulders. The male model bent her slightly
backwards, all evidence of his boredom gone when he laid a whopper on her. His
hair, the color of rich mahogany laced with sunlight, also moved in the breeze
of the fan. His linen shirt, falling off his shoulder and open to the waist,
revealed tanned skin and washboard abs.

Sissy
said, "My God, I think I can scrub clothes on his abs."

Mims
choked and shook her head at Sissy's forthrightness.

For
the next hour they watched the photographer command the models, and the models
perform magic. The experience transported Mims into the pages of her book. It
was as if the characters had found life—a special world of romance, adventure,
and a happily ever after that she wanted to step into.

"Okay,
boys and girls, I think we can call it a wrap," said the height-challenged
photographer.

The
male model stretched and the female model ran her hands through her hair. For
obvious reasons, Mims had expected the models to gravitate toward each other,
but with the shoot finished, they appeared oblivious to one another. Then, to
Mims astonishment, the female rushed to the photographer and bent to kiss him
on the lips. He responded and whispered in her ear. She blushed and giggled,
pushing at his chest. "Hon, gotta run and pick up the kids. I'm making
lasagna for dinner."

Mims
mouth fell open. Sissy saw the look and chuckled. "Oh, yeah, you've never
met Chastity and Chuckie Chambers. They're the best in their fields and been
married since their teens. Got two kids, but always act like they're on their
honeymoon. It's a shock when people find out they're married. We never give it
a second thought around here 'cause we see them so much. Come on, I'll
introduce you to everyone. Now, the male model, Sage Tanner, he's new, so I
don't know much about him; only that he's in demand." Sissy elbowed Mims,
"Wonder why?" She grabbed Mims' arm and pulled her forward.

"Hey
Chastity and Chuckie, I'd like you to meet the author of the book for the cover
you were just shooting." The Chambers greeted her with warm handshakes.

"OMG,
I just love your books
.
When Chuckie told me I was going to be the model
for your next one, I got so excited I couldn't stop talking about it. It's such
a pleasure meeting you!"

"Chastity,
I should be thanking you for creating such a beautiful cover," Mims said
warmly.

Sissy
turned to Sage who'd slipped off his linen shirt to reveal the body of a god.
He reached for an old T-shirt and when his head popped through the neck, she
said, "Sage, Imaginings is extremely pleased you're doing this book cover.
When our artistic designer saw your portfolio, she refused to look further. The
shoot was awesome."

"Thank
you, ma'am," he politely replied with a slight drawl. He glanced toward
Mims and her heart thumped again.
You write about this stuff, girl, you
don't live it.

Sissy
introduced them. "Sage Tanner, I'd like you to meet Mims Murphy, our best
selling author."

"I'm
pleased to meet you, Ms. Murphy."

"Likewise,
Mr. Tanner. But please, call me Mims."

"Okay,
only if you call me Sage."

Mims
felt utterly tongue-tied. A woman could drown in the man's Caribbean blue eyes
and never want to be saved.

She
found her voice. "Thank you for the lovely photo shoot. The cover of a
book is so important."
Lovely photo shoot? What a lame thing to say.
How about unbelievably incredible, undeniably sensuous, mesmerizing, and sexy
photo shoot?

"I'm
glad you liked it."

For
a second, there was an uncomfortable silence. Sissy said, "Why don't we
all walk across the street for a java fix. I understand there's another shoot
tomorrow for publicity photos that are going on our website. We can all throw
out ideas."

Chuckie
said, "I could use a break, sounds great, Sissy."

Chastity
declined, "Sorry, I've got to pick my kids up from school."

Sage
agreed, "Sure, that sounds nice," but he didn't sound very enthused.

Sissy
grabbed Mims arm. "I'll let the powers-that-be, namely, my husband, know
where we're going. Mims and I will meet you in the lobby in five minutes. She
pulled Mims from the room.

"Sissy,
I really need to go."

"And
do what? Hack away on your computer? Give it a break, girl. I just got the most
gorgeous man on the planet to join us for coffee. If you say you're not
interested, I'm calling the paramedics. Better yet, I'll call the white-coats
to have you committed."

"Sissy,
what are you talking about? I'm not even in that guy's league. Besides, I'm
older than him."

"Not
more than five or six years. Cougars are out there dating men decades—yes, that's
plural—younger than themselves."

"Sissy,
guys like that
do not
go for gals like me. It only happens in
books."

"Mims,
I saw the guy give you
that
look."

"No
way, Sissy."

"If
you try to get out of this coffee break, I'll…I'll…refuse to publish your next book."

One: Reassignment

Veering off the U.S. 93 onto the off-ramp, Maximilian
Rutherford III, ground his teeth and slammed his three quarters-of-a-million
dollar RV to a halt at a stop sign with graffiti declaring, "hot as
hell," and then turned onto a narrow, two lane road with dips that even an
outrageously expensive RV couldn't disguise.

The next sign he passed said, "Oasis 12
miles." Staring at distant bluffs encasing flat desert of scrub brush, a
scattering of mesquite and juniper trees, and plenty of cacti, he once again
spewed a string of profanities at his grandfather.

Up until a week ago he'd considered his
relationship with his paternal grandfather, Maximilian Rutherford I—someone he
mostly saw only during management meetings because of their busy lifestyles—to
be satisfactory.

He'd always called his grandfather by his
shortened first name—Max. The old gentleman had never been "Grandpa"
or "Gramps" to any of his grandchildren, but that was to be expected from
one who ran the multi-faceted, multi-billion dollar Rutherford Acquisitions
empire. There simply was no time for family get-togethers when you were
globetrotting and looking for your next company to buy, overhaul, and sell to
the highest bidder.

Max III, who was supposed to be a chip off the
old "grandfather block," scanned the terrain before him. Being the
second of June, the weather wasn't outrageously hot…yet. He hated hot weather.
Grinding his jaw again, he replayed the unfortunate circumstances that had
landed him in the pits of hell in the Arizona desert.
Oasis, my ass
.

Ten days ago he had been happily—well, maybe not
happily, but studiously—performing his job as the interim CEO of their latest
acquisition, a company that developed and manufactured computer chips. His job
duties with Rutherford Acquisitions involved taking charge and reorganizing the
acquired company for the purpose of making it attractive to buyers. It usually
took one to two years before the failing corporation made enough of a turnaround
to sell for a profit, and that was one reason his grandfather's latest order
was so confusing.

He slammed his hand on the steering wheel.
Damn
the old man!
Max had flown all night from the West Coast to the East Coast
and the headquarters of his grandfather's vast empire in Manhattan after he'd
been summoned. His grandfather's call had come during the first meeting of a
week of meetings that had been scheduled with IT moguls—men who were key to
launching this latest acquisition back into the marketplace. It had taken Max
weeks to set the meetings up and when he'd tried to explain that to his
grandfather, the old man had just blown it off and insisted he reschedule
because his presence was mandatory in New York.

The minute Max had entered the office of
Maximilian Rutherford I, he'd known his grandfather was up to something.
Respectfully, he'd greeted his elder, accepted a shot of bourbon, and declined
a cigar. While the old guy puffed away and talked about his latest success in
the stock market, Max waited to hear what his gut feeling told him he wasn't
going to like.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Max, Sr. set his cigar in his crystal ashtray,
sipped his bourbon, casually leaned backward, and said, "I'm reassigning
you."

Frowning, Max had leaned forward. "But sir,
I'm about to close a deal that will skyrocket the value of the company in
California."

The old man made a dismissive motion with his
hand. "Your stepbrother can handle it. I've already reassigned him to the
project."

Max shot halfway out of his seat. "What!
Without even consulting me!"

Unfazed by his grandson's shout, Max, Sr. said
in his most commanding voice, "Sit down, Max."

Max could feel his blood pressure rising as he
sat back in his chair.

Max, Sr. stood and walked to the bank of windows
overlooking Manhattan sixty-three stories below. Without explanation, he said,
"As tough and mean as I am, I'll not live forever. I've been reviewing my
will with my attorney and before I make final decisions as to the disposition
of my company and assets after my demise, I need to know the tenacity of my
heirs."

Those words gave Max pause. Was the old man
dying of some disease?

Max, Sr. turned from the windows and answered
his grandson's unspoken question. "No. I don't have any dreaded ailment as
far as I know. But I do have a driving ambition to know what my heirs are made
of. My only child, God rest his soul, wasn't cut from the same cloth as you or
I. He was a tree hugger who would have driven this company into bankruptcy had
he lived and inherited my estate. He wanted to support every whiney cause that
crossed his desk."

Max, Sr. seemed lost in his memories and Max's
wrath softened. The old man continued, "It was one of those causes that
took his life. He drowned fording a river in the Amazon while heading up an
expedition to save some rare bird." He shook his head.

Max had heard the story a million times, but he
didn't interrupt his grandfather. As much as the old man bitched about his
son's "do-gooder" ways, it was obvious he'd loved his boy. Max waited
for his own fate to be revealed. He wasn't like his father. He was tough as
nails, so the reason for being pulled from his latest assignment, when he was
so close to success, irked and puzzled him.

Max, Sr. turned back to the bank of windows.
After a moment of silence, he said, "Don't take your next assignment
lightly. It will determine whether I hand the reins of my company over to you
after I'm gone, or give it to your step-brother, Bertram."

At the mention of Bertram, Max's anger renewed
itself. Two years older than Max, the man was an ass-and-a-half. Bertie could
play the part of a loving grandson when in the presence of Max, Sr., but he was
a thorn to Max. Max rued the day his mother had remarried to an oil magnate
four years after Max II died. Bertie's father had later lost his wealth due to
wrong decisions and died of a heart attack when Max was twenty.

Max, Sr. spoke again and his words sent an arrow
of foreboding down Max's spine. "I'm sending you to Arizona for six
months."

"What the hell is in Arizona?"

Max, Sr. turned from the window and studied his
grandson. Quietly, he said, "The keys to your fate, boy."

Max squinted and waited. He supposed he could
deal with six months in Phoenix. He wondered what acquisition his grandfather
had purchased there.

His grandfather's next words shattered his
vision of working from a high rise in the capital city.

Max, Sr. walked back to his desk, opened a
drawer, and pulled out a paper. He handed it across the desk and Max reached
for it. His grandfather said, "This is where you'll be staying in the town
of Oasis, about fifty miles northwest of Phoenix."

Max's frown increased as he accepted the page
that had been printed off a website with the internet address of
desertprincess.com. He furrowed his brow and read the page. Was this some kind
of a joke? It was an advertisement for a trailer park.

Spend your winters at
Desert Princess Trailer and RV Park in beautiful Oasis, Arizona.

Max lifted confused eyes to his grandfather's.
"What are you telling me?" he asked.

"I'm telling you that you're going to
manage that trailer park for six months and it will decide your future with my
company."

Max, who oversaw billion dollar investments and
hobnobbed with the most influential personalities in the world, couldn't wrap
his mind around his grandfather's instructions. He simply looked from the
printout with a picture of an assortment of trailers and RVs parked in rows
amidst desert sand dotted with cacti, a few scraggly trees and scrub brush,
back to his grandfather. The old man reached to push a button on his intercom.
"Peggy, when's my next appointment and who is it with?"

Peggy, Max's secretary since the creation of
man, who looked to be that old, said in her no-nonsense voice, "You have a
three-thirty with the governor of South Carolina."

Max, Sr. stood. "Son, it's nice seeing you,
but I've got some research to catch up on before meeting with the governor.
He's looking for assistance with their transportation issues and I may have
just the company to fit the bill."

Max, Jr. couldn't make his legs move. Softly, he
said, "Sir, you're joking, right? You're not really sending me to oversee
a trailer park?" He even managed a chuckle.

His
grandfather, looking completely serious, replied, "What part of 'head off
to Arizona' don't you understand?"