Moonlight Kiss

Cricket Creek, Kentucky. Bingo.

“Mr. Rule?” asked the pleasant voice.

“Yes?”

“You’re in luck! The log cabin is indeed available weekly. It’s spacious, with cathedral ceilings, a stone fireplace, and lovely furnishings. The wraparound porch has a river view and there’s a hot tub to relax in. In a word, it’s gorgeous.”

“Sounds like it.”

“Oh yes, and you have the privacy of the wooded location, but the drive up into Cricket Creek is fairly short, so you have the best of both worlds. I can send you the information along with pictures. If you like it, I can hold it for you. I’d just need a credit-card deposit and some information.”

Damn . . . he didn’t want her to know his real identity. If word got out he was heading to Cricket Creek, he’d blow Addison’s cover and have paparazzi crawling all over the place. He’d have to wait until tomorrow and have his manager book it for him. He gave her Phil’s e-mail address. “Thanks. I’ll check it out and get back to you.”

“Sure thing. Let me know if I can be of any other help.”

“I will. Thanks a lot.”

After ending the call Rick leaned back in his leather office chair and blew out a long sigh. He ran his hand over his scruffy signature beard and then shoved his fingers through his shoulder-length hair, artfully cut to frame his face. He had a small gold hoop earring in one ear and wore black leather almost every day. More often than not he had a young, busty blonde on his arm whenever he went out on the town, which was just about every night.

Rick pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. Living the life of a rock legend was damned tiring. He’d been ready to head out for the night when a picture of him and Addison embracing flashed across the television screen. Rick remembered when the embrace happened . . . on the night his son had announced his engagement to Addison. But clearly some hotshot pop-news reporter had dug it up to throw fuel onto the rumor that Rick was responsible for his son’s broken engagement.

Rick sighed again and looked down at the big combat boots he almost always wore. They were heavy. The buttery-soft black leather pants were clingy and hot. His beard itched. And his long-ass choppy hair was ridiculous. But the long hair, bearded face, and leather were part of his brand, his style. Who he was . . .

Or was it?

“Hell, no.”

Was it ever?

Rick clenched and unclenched his fists, thinking, brooding. Wondering how his life had come to . . . this. Pretending until he didn’t even know who the hell he truly was anymore. He started humming the slow, soulful original version of his first breakout hit single, “Jagged Edge.” But his record label had wanted hard rock, and at eighteen who was he to argue? After “Jagged Edge” went platinum, his future was set. He’d had to work harder at a style of music that didn’t come as naturally and often felt as if he were playing a role instead of living his life. But money and fame were difficult to turn down.

Was Garret’s flippant, unconcerned attitude about life a result of being Rick Ruleman’s son? The answer was easy: of course. How in the hell could Rick expect his son to be responsible when he himself still lived off of his glory days, refusing to grow up? What had Garret’s mother called it when she’d shouted that she’d wanted a divorce? Oh yeah: the Peter Pan syndrome. He’d laughed in her face and walked out the door, never really thinking she’d have the nerve to divorce him or go for sole custody of five-year-old Garret. But she did, calling him an absentee husband and father. And he didn’t fight it because he knew she was right. But instead of letting Becca know that he was devastated, Rick had acted as if he didn’t care.

But he did care then and he cared now. . . . He just sucked at life.

Rick looked down at the combat boots. And so he played the role of badass rock star, but now that he was in his midfifties he was stretching it a bit. Thinking he needed a stiff drink, he pushed to his feet and headed for the liquor cabinet in the dining room. Except for drinking to excess now and then he had at least stayed away from drugs and preached against them. He did have that to be proud of. He’d seen too many of his friends go down that sorry-ass path to ever become a user. And to his knowledge Garret never touched the shit either.

After pouring two fingers of bourbon over cracked ice, Rick plopped down on the sofa in the great room. He took a deep swallow, letting the smooth, cold bourbon turn to fire in his belly and numb his brain. He leaned back, holding the crystal glass loosely in his fingers, willing his body to relax. It was early. He could still go out, but the thought held little appeal. He suddenly decided that for once he’d turn in early, get a good night’s rest. In the morning he’d head to Cricket Creek, Kentucky, to do some damage control.

And then the doorbell rang.

Irritated at the interruption he headed for the front door, thinking it would likely be Frank, who knew the code to open the front gate. But when he opened the door it was Caitlyn. Caitlyn . . . Hell, he didn’t even remember the last name of the twentysomething starlet who was his latest arm candy. Caitlyn was wild and insatiable in bed . . . making it damned difficult for a fifty-five-year-old to keep up with her. Before Rick could think of a plausible reason to send her packing, she pulled her skintight, super-short red dress up and over her head.

And stood there completely naked.

“Now!” was all she said, and when Rick failed to move she walked over on her impossibly high heels, pushed him up against the wall, and kissed him.

Rick resisted for a moment, easing her away from him. “Caitlyn . . .” he began, but she put a fingertip to his lips.

“Shh, no talking,” she demanded, and cupped his cock through the leather. “Ohhh, not ready, huh? I’ll have to take care of that little problem.” She gave him a slow smile as she unbuttoned his shirt and raked her nails down his chest just hard enough to almost cause pain.

He felt his cock respond. “Baby, I was born ready,” he said automatically.

“Me too.” She planted her high-heel-clad feet apart and then guided his hand between her thighs. “See, babe? Do me right here against the wall. I want it hard and fast.” She reached for the snap on his pants, undid the zipper, and boldly reached for him.

“God, you’re big. So sexy,” she purred, but Rick wondered if it was true. Yeah, he worked out, ran, lifted, but he was twenty-five years older than her. . . . Was he really sexy, or was it who he was that made him sexy to her? Would she give him the time of day if he wasn’t famous?

No. Hell, no. The answer was like cold water on his ardor.

“Caitlyn . . .”

“What don’t you understand about not talking?” she asked, and then covered his mouth with a deep, hungry kiss. She pushed her big breasts into his chest and moved slowly up and down, letting her nipples tease and taunt. With a groan, Rick gave in, cupping her bare ass, pushing her against the wall. “Yeah, here, and then take me in front of the fireplace,” she pleaded. “Over and over again. First, I want to straddle you and ride you hard. Then I’m going to get on my hands and knees while you give it to me from behind, going as deep and fast as you can.”

Knowing the floor would play havoc on his knees, Rick shook his head. “No, baby. I want you in my bed.” He took her hand and led her across the room, but when a shaft of setting sunlight illuminated her face she suddenly looked so very . . . young. Rick swallowed hard. This was wrong.

He stopped in his tracks.

“Caitlyn, I think you should go.”

When she reached for his cock again Rick pushed her hand away. She pulled a pout. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” Rick repeated this time with an edge to his voice. And in that moment he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he had to get his sorry-ass excuse for a life under control. “And you should think more highly of yourself.” He picked up her dress and tossed it to her. “I’m sorry.”

“Is this some kind of role-play? Because—”

“No, Caitlyn. As a matter of fact, I’m tired of playing a role. It’s time to get real.”

“What’s wrong with you? Are you tripping on something?”

“I don’t and never will do any of that crap.” Rick all but pushed a sputtering and protesting Caitlyn out the door. “Seriously, better yourself.”

He headed to the bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror. “Time for a makeover, beginning with the