It's been twenty years since security specialist Charley Roper and country star Dallas Creed had their bitter parting. Now a killer has brought them together again, but neither is ready for a reunion - despite signs that their explosive chemistry hasn't waned with time. She can't forget the feel of his hands on her body. He can't forget the hot touch of her mouth. When they finally tumble into bed, the sex is just as good as they remember, hot enough to singe the sheets. But is it enough?Thrown together during an exhausting, frenzied concert tour, with a killer nipping at their heels, Dallas and Charley find themselves on a hot, suspenseful, erotic roller coaster ride. Can he convince her to trust her heart to him one more time, to reach out for a richer, deeper, more mature love?
More importantly - can Charley keep Dallas alive long enough for either of them to enjoy a second chance?
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An Excerpt From: DOWNSTROKE
Copyright © DESIREE HOLT, 2011
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
Chapter One
One week later
I stood in the back of the Baker Amphitheater, leaning against the brick half-wall that separated the seats under the roof from those on the lawn, wondering for the hundredth time what the hell I was doing here. It wasn’t that I’d never been to a concert before. I’d been to plenty, running security detail for high-profile musicians. But I’d never been to a Dallas Creed concert. A deliberate choice, one I’d stuck to until tonight. Morgan Creed, Dallas’ brother, had given me a ticket to the performance with a seat right down front, but I didn’t want to be that close to the man yet. Or give him a chance to see me.
When Dallas Creed and I destroyed our relationship twenty years ago, I stumbled away from it with my heart bleeding and swore never to lay eyes on him again. I had loved him with an intensity that consumed me and I’d been so sure he felt the same way. Then he dropped his bombshell, leaving me emotionally wiped out, with a bitter outlook on love and a determination never to be hurt again.
All these years I’d managed to hide behind an invisible wall, refusing to buy any Dallas Creed albums, as if by ignoring his music I could ignore the man. But his songs were played everywhere and television covered him like green on grass, so avoiding him completely had been next to impossible. It bothered me after a while to discover I actually liked listening to him. Despite that, I was definitely finished with the man. Over and done. Finis.
When he’d had his disastrous accident I hadn’t even called to find out how he was, afraid to open old wounds and let my heart bleed all over the place again. The man was just plain poison to me. Or maybe we’d poisoned each other. I didn’t know anymore; only knew that I’d survived by keeping my distance all these years. We’d been too obsessed with our own careers to care enough about each other to compromise. The blame was certainly not all his. In that secret place that I’d deliberately hidden away, I knew that. I was equally as guilty as him. It just made it easier for me to lay everything at his door.
Yet here I stood, waiting for the show to begin. I wondered not for the first time what had driven him to the excess of drugs and booze that led to the accident, and why he was so determined to put himself through the agony of the climb back to the top.
Stop!
I mentally shook myself. I didn’t want to know and didn’t care. Silently I repeated it over and over to myself, much as I had to Morgan Creed when he’d appeared in my office two days ago…
Just seeing him, with his close resemblance to his brother, was a kick in the stomach. Same dark blond hair, same smoky gray eyes, same lean build and loose-hipped walk. The smile was a little tighter, the eyes not quite as intense, but add a couple of years and it could have been Dallas standing in front of me.
Thank god it wasn’t. I used every bit of my willpower not to affect an air of disdain.
“Whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested.”
“You’ve done very well for yourself,” he commented, ignoring me and looking around at my surroundings. “I’m impressed. There aren’t too many women who’ve reached this level in your business.”
He was right about that. Roper Protective Services was my baby, probably the only one I’d ever have, and it had grown and prospered. My love life might suck but otherwise, I was great. In the central computer system was a file that gave the location and assignment of every agent at all times. Just outside the office door my secretary worked steadily, updating the current files. Down the hall, any operatives who weren’t already on the road were planning for their next assignments and tying up loose ends from the last one.
Yes, I’d done well. I’d gotten the success I’d obsessively believed was so important. But had I paid too high a price? That was something I chose not to think about.
“You have a great reputation in the industry,” Morgan went on. “You’re known for providing the best security for iconic figures.”
“Iconic?” I couldn’t keep the sarcasm from my voice. “Exactly what does that mean?”
“You know damn well what it means, Charley. And you know you’re the best.”
“Thanks, but I don’t think you came here to pay me a compliment.” I fiddled with a pen on my desk, needing something to do with my hands. “I was shocked when I saw your name on the appointment schedule.”
And that wasn’t the only reaction I’d had. When I’d seen Morgan’s name on the calendar it had reminded me of Dallas, a sharp sensation like a punch to the gut. It invaded my body, stirring up memories and emotions I’d worked so long to keep under lock and key.
“You could have called me and cancelled,” he pointed out.
Which I probably should have. “The message said it was important.”
He smiled, the same little boy smile Dallas had, the one the Creed brothers apparently never lost. My stomach knotted and my mouth went dry. No, no, no. Not after all this time. Would I never recover from my shattered heart? By sheer effort of will I managed to block Dallas’ face from my mind.
“And you were curious about what I wanted.”
I kept my face impassive. “Mildly.”
“But not about Dallas,” he added softly.
Yes! No! Go away, Morgan.
“My personal interest in Dallas Creed has long since disappeared. I don’t want to know anything about him.” I dropped the pen and picked up my coffee mug. Anything to keep Morgan from seeing just how much discussing Dallas unsettled me. “I have to say, though, he’s certainly had a long ride.”
Morgan nodded. “The majority of performers like him peak after five years, slide back down to appearing in clubs, then retire before people begin to feel sorry for them.”
“But not Dallas.”
He nodded. “But not Dallas. And I’ll be goddamned if I can figure out why. Maybe because he’s neither pure country nor pure rock. He crosses over, a very important thing in success in the music industry.”
He paused.
“And?” I prompted.
“And…he’s just got something…indefinable that takes him to the top and keeps him there. Not once but twice. Charley, he’s bigger this time than he ever was.”
I shrugged and sat up straighter. Why was I even listening to this? It killed me to realize that after twenty years, my emotions could still be so raw that just discussing Dallas made them bleed around the edges.
“Not my business. I’m just interested in why you might need my services. I thought all promoters had security.”
“That’s basically to keep people from rushing the stage and weird things like that.” I couldn’t mistake the tension in his voice. “Or keep a lid on the groupies.”
I made a rude noise. “That must not go over very big. Keeping the groupies away.”
The look Morgan shot me was hard but he didn’t comment. Instead he walked to the big window and stood there, hands in his pockets. When he finally spoke again, I had to work hard to conceal my shock at what he said. The very last thing I’d expected him to tell me was that someone was trying to kill Dallas. That there had already been three attempts and he was getting threatening notes as well.
“Kill Dallas?” I still couldn’t wrap my mind around it. “Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
“But who would want to kill him? He’s just a…”
“Singer? Performer?” He turned to look at me. “When you reach that level of fame there’s always someone out there making you a target. Failed wannabes. Discarded groupies. Someone with an imagined slight.”
“Why not just report it to the police?” I asked.
“Because I have no one to point the finger at. No place for them to dig. And it would just throw the tour into chaos.”
“Oh yes.” I couldn’t keep the tinge of bitterness from my voice. “Let’s be sure nothing happens to the tour.”
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