Breaking and Entering Is Not a Turn On

The B-Sharp Life

By:

Nicole Pouchet

www.NicolePouchet.com 

Chapter One – “Breaking and Entering Is Not a Turn On”

Sarah Poole eased into the warm, bubbly bliss of the claw-footed tub, careful not to get a drop of water on the notebook perched on the marble table nearby. Candles lit the room. A glass of shiraz sat within reach. She sighed as her head sank into the bath pillow. Now this was a writing retreat.

With forty-eight hours left to finish her stalled feature story on the unchartered path of a legislative bill through Congress, her editor had demanded she shake up her normal routine and find a way to meet her deadline. Sarah jumped at the excuse to book the first flight from her home in Washington, D.C. to New Orleans. No place was a better setting to get the creative juices flowing than the Big Easy.

As she grabbed the fluffy, white towel and dried her hands, the chaos of the day’s travel dissipated. Thank heaven for her sister’s empty vacation rental. All the perks of a luxury resort, and none of the cost.

She pressed the remote for the overhead speakers and smiled as Marcus Cambry’s soulful voice filled the room. Her sister loved the sexy singer; of course she’d programmed the audio system’s “Relaxation” playlist to begin with one of his songs.

Sarah picked up her notebook and got lost in her writing, now and then checking the facts she’d scribbled into the margins.

“I don’t know how you got in here,” a male voice interrupted, “but you have to go. No matter how lovely you are, breaking and entering is not a turn on.”

Sarah screamed. As she thrashed in the suddenly restrictive tub, the precious notebook slipped from her fingers into the water. “No!” Fear of the intruder became horror of losing her work as she grasped the only copy of her almost complete assignment and stood. “It’s ruined!” she screeched.

Stepping out of the tub, she grabbed the towel and blotted at her pages. At least the ink of the ball point pen she favored wasn’t the type to run. The paper was just bloated to all hell. It would be OK. She would keep patting each individual page, ensuring it remained legible.

“Excuse me.” The man dropped what sounded like luggage into the doorway of the bathroom.

Refusing to lift her gaze from her task, Sarah responded. “I’m naked here, if you haven’t noticed. And a bit preoccupied. I assume by your bags and the fact you haven’t tried to rape me—I’m a black belt in karate, by the way—that this is a misunderstanding.”

“How so? You’re in my condo, listening to my music, naked as a jailbird. ‘Misunderstanding’ my ass. If it looks like a stalker and acts like a stalker…” The amusement faded from his voice. “I’m calling the cops.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m sure my sister double-booked us. Calm—” Sarah paused to glance at the intruder. Holy mother of all that was good in the world! The gorgeous, furious face of Marcus Cambry stared back at her. She closed her eyes. She’d had a bit too much steam to the head. It wasn’t the wine because she hadn’t finished one glass. When she opened her eyes again, there would not be a world-famous singer glaring at her. That was not possible.

“Your sister?” he asked.

She dared to look again. Yep, he was still there. All six feet of gorgeous man in milk-chocolate skin, kissable lips, and deep brown eyes stood ten feet from her. The thin white shirt clung to his defined chest, and his biceps flexed as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. Jeans graced his hips, leading down to the pair of sneakers she just saw him wearing on the cover image of the fashion magazine left on her airplane seat. Marcus Cambry was as flawless in person as he was on the rag she’d tossed aside hours ago. And he was standing in her bathroom.

“You’re Marcus Cambry.”

“Yep, but you knew that, right? Who’s your sister, crazy-cakes?” The impossible man crossed his arms over his chest, head now cocked to the side as he watched her.

Right. She closed her jaw, which had been hanging open, and struggled to get her mind back in order.

“Jessica Poole is my sister. She owns this place.”

Sarah was still naked. But, more important—regardless of her ridiculous situation—her assignment was still dripping wet. First things first. She wrapped the towel around herself to shield her nudity, and then opened each cabinet and drawer of the vanity. Perhaps her sister, with her long straightened tresses, had left a blow dryer somewhere. Sarah never bothered with such a tool for her big kinky-curly afro.

“Ms. Poole is your sister? I guess you’re not a stalker, then.”

“Glad you believe me…” The old folding hair dryer from their youth peeked from a pile of curling rods and flat irons. “Aha! I knew Jess wouldn’t have a house without hair products.”

Marcus Cambry let out a deep laugh. “That sounds like Ms. Poole. But I’m surprised she would double-book us. She strikes me as far more professional and organized.”

“Oh, she is. I don’t have a reservation. But, then, neither do you. I checked the online log before I came.” She turned on the blow dryer and aimed it at her open notebook, flipping through each page. The paper dried crinkly and stiff, but blessedly legible.

Marcus waited until she turned off the dryer. “I have a standing reservation. I come here every year for the Essence Festival. Ms. Poole knows that.”

“Oh…” Pieces clicked into place. Jess was so proud of herself for luring a celebrity name to her roster of regular clients. “You’re the one she couldn’t mention because of confidentiality agreements.”

“Probably. We insist on tight security.” He picked up his bag and moved out of the bathroom. “Tell your sister I’ll find somewhere else this year.” He began down the hallway toward the front door as his voice lowered. “And next year as well.”

Damn! Sarah couldn’t lose this big client for Jessica. “Wait! I’ll leave. Stay here. I’ll go find somewhere else for the weekend.” The words tumbled out of her mouth as she ran past him to block the front door. “My sister will never forgive me if I screw this up for her. She works so hard getting everything right for her clients, no matter who they are. When you stay at a Jessica Poole Establishment, you’re staying with family.” She winced at her cheesy delivery of the business motto.

Marcus laughed again. The rich vibration settled in Sarah’s belly and she marveled at how every sound the man made was musical.

“Yeah,” he responded. “I’ve read the website. I just didn’t take the ‘staying with family’ part so literal. It looks like you’ve got a lot on your hands, with the wet notebook and all. So, I’ll just get out of your hands, Mrs…”

Ms. Poole,” she supplied.

“So you’re not married?” He licked his bottom lip, and Sarah realized with a flood of heat that she was standing in front of a man nearly a foot taller than her wearing nothing but a towel.

“Um, no. I’m single.” Was Marcus Cambry hitting on her? No, of course not. He was damn near married to Liliana Munroe, his former singing partner. Regardless of her overactive imagination, she had to fix this client issue for her sister. “Call me Sarah. And, I mean it. You stay here at the condo. Don’t make me beg. Do I need to beg?”

His eyes darkened as he stepped closer. “A woman in no clothes begging, huh? You seem like a nice lady, so I guess I’ll stay at your sister’s condo and keep my mouth shut.”

Awkward! Cheeks burning, she focused on the victory as she stepped around the towering figure in front of her and walked back toward the couches. “Thank you. You sit down and relax while I go pack my stuff.”

“Fine,” he sighed. “You’d better find a room while you’re at it. This town fills up pretty quick during the Fest.”

“I know.” She had only a vague idea from how onerous her flights had been. Of course she’d heard of the Festival, but she’d never been. On the contrary, Sarah tended to stay away from big events, preferring intimate settings over loud venues.

Back in the master en suite, she put on some clothes, drained the tub, and put away her salvaged notebook. Her trusty old laptop would have to save the day for last minute hotel reservations. Forty-five minutes of searching later and tears of frustration threatened to spill down her cheeks. Marcus was right. There were no rooms available within a 100-mile radius of New Orleans. Just her luck, there was also a traveling Broadway play opening downtown, and everything was booked.

She had nowhere to go. Oh, that wasn’t true. A few five-figure per night rental homes and penthouses were still available. She couldn’t afford those places, but megastar Marcus Cambry sure could if she couldn’t find a way to keep him at this Jessica Poole Establishment. She was a creative person. She would come up with something.

Sarah walked into the living room where Marcus sat reading a hard-cover novel, a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. Typical magnetic, charming celebrity. Even in this peaceful position, he looked so inviting and gorgeous that she yearned to curl up next to him or perhaps jump on the sofa to rattle him. Luckily, his relationship with Liliana prevented her from making a fool of herself.

Shaking off her attraction, she cleared her throat to get his attention. “I’ve got a proposition for you.”

He raised his eyebrows and smiled. “I’m all ears.”

“When was the last time you had a home-cooked meal?” She forced herself not to fidget under his appraising gaze.

He shrugged. “I don’t remember. We’ve been on tour for the last three months.”

“How about I cook for you while you’re here?”

“Really? That sounds great.” He cocked his head again. “But, what’s the catch?”

She winced. “I stay in the guest room.”

 “Can’t find a room, huh? I told you this city fills up,” he laughed. “Girl, does your sister know about this? She might not be happy with you spending the weekend with the likes of Marcus Cambry. Women can’t help but throw their panties at me.” Marcus bit his bottom lip as he raised his eyebrow.

Sarah held up her head, unwilling to admit that her knees wanted to buckle at that exact idea. No, she’d never knowingly poached another woman’s man and she wouldn’t try now. Beyond the bad karma that kind of action drew, Marcus and Liliana were more than a popular Hollywood couple. Almost as widely photographed as the Obamas, they exemplified a positive black image her fellow journalists insisted was necessary in today’s times. The pair possessed innate talent and God-given beauty, rising above all the trashy tabloid gossip plaguing so many celebrities. Dozens of memes described his gallant treatment of Liliana as the model for how all young men should behave. Sarah wouldn’t dare taint that image, no matter how electrifying the man proved to be in person. Besides, he was just teasing her.

“I think we’re both adults here, right?” she played along. “Liliana can trust you on tour. I already trusted you in my bathroom. I’ll agree to keep my underwear on and we should be fine.” Yeah, that sounded convincing. She could do this. She could keep Jessica’s top client and her own dignity.

“You’re lucky I like to eat. I’ll agree to your proposition, Ms. Sarah, on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You have to have dinner with me.” He smiled one of his signature, radiant smiles, and Sarah felt the corners of her mouth turn down.

*  *  *

Marcus watched the petite woman’s reaction. Her features showed every emotion as if she’d never learned the adult art of manipulation. Joy, anxiety, arousal, and finally steel resolve flitted across her captivating face. Sarah Poole was about to reject his dinner invitation.

“I’ll leave unless you eat with me. ‘Staying with family,’ remember?” He’d never stooped to blackmail to get a woman to spend time with him, but he wasn’t above the tactic in this case.

She narrowed her almond-shaped eyes. “OK, I’ll eat with you, but this is not a date. I will not be the skank who tears apart ‘Marliana.’”

“Oh, right. Liliana.” Wow, he’d managed to forget about his farce of a relationship for a moment.

Sarah’s hands flew to her hips.

“I’m joking,” he spoke up before her scowl deepened. “Of course, it’s not a date. I would never cheat on my girlfriend. I promise I’m not that kind of guy.” He wished he could confess that his relationship with Liliana had been over for more than a year. But, his manager would kill him if that bit of news leaked. And, obsessive fans developed into actual stalkers less often when he was in a public relationship. So, Marliana—that horrible joining of their names—continued to wreck his life.

“Good. Now, I’m going to work on my assignment so I have time to cook tonight.” She turned and gave him a welcome view of her toned ass.

He would probably never see a woman so fine, so perfect as he’d seen in the last hour. First, Sarah was naked and too flustered to cover up. He wasn’t enough of a gentleman—or an idiot—to look away from her honey-colored curves. Instead, he noted that her breasts appeared to be the exact right size to fill his hands. Her soft belly was rounded just enough to show that she would enjoy their meals, and he wouldn’t be forced to eat rabbit food all weekend. Her shapely legs went on for miles; maybe she was a runner. But she clutched that wet notebook in front of the best part, so he was still curious.

Now a tight pair of jeans hugged that backside. He’d caught a glimpse of her ass when she was running around in the towel. She was comfortable in her skin, possibly an exhibitionist. He wondered how far her kinky side went.

“Marcus?” Sarah’s voice broke into his thoughts. “Are you OK?” She’d turned back and caught him mid-fantasy.

“Um, yep.” He had no smooth explanation. Where was his honed musician persona?

She blinked. “Well, I asked if you have any allergies I should know about. Are you a vegetarian or gluten-free?”

“Nope. I’ll eat anything you have to offer.” He chuckled at his double meaning.

Sarah shook her head with a bit of confusion and then disappeared into the guest room.

Marcus sighed as he removed his glasses. There was an intriguing woman staying with him in his homey hideaway. To be honest, he didn’t need this kind of distraction right before a big show. If he wanted temptation and debauchery, he’d have booked a room in the hotel with the rest of his band. He came here for a calm, relaxing weekend away from drama.

Now, he had the drama of living with a woman who promised good food and no sex. If he could get his mind off her delectable body, he would appreciate the company and home-cooking. Instead Marcus quirked his lips up in anticipation of a long-lost challenge. These days, he could crook his finger to have whatever female he wanted, though it was all kept secret. Ms. Sarah Poole with her wet notebook and lack of inhibitions was what he needed for the weekend.