Out of Time

By Melissa Klein

Before filming starts on her next movie, America’s sweetheart, Grace Carradine, wants a girls’ night out. As she dons a disguise to evade the paparazzi, her brown hair isn’t the only deception, so is her upcoming marriage to her costar. Naval-pilot-turned-author, Sebastian "Bash" Baron finds his friends are pairing up and starting families. Given his history, he knows that life isn’t for him—even if the period romance he wrote is being made into a movie. Those stories only exist in fiction—or other people’s lives. The two begin a secret romance, meant to last only as long as the starlet is on location in Bash's hometown. When the paparazzi, obligations, and pride tear them apart, will Bash come to his senses in time, or will Grace marry the wrong man?

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Aug 16, 2017
• ISBN: 9781509215287

Melissa Klein

Melissa Klein writes southern fiction about everyday heroes fighting extraordinary battles. Whether facing the demands of caring for a child with special needs or the struggles of a soldier returning home, her characters take on the challenges life throws at them with perseverance, courage, and humor. Her favorite work-avoidance devices are gardening, pottery, reading, and playing with her grandsons. While she won Georgia Romance Writers Unpublished Maggie award and Rose City Romance Writers Golden Rose award, she still hopes to win the lottery. If she does, she’ll buy a huge farm in north Georgia and convince her children to live next door. Until that time, she lives in Atlanta with her husband and cat. You can visit Melissa's website at www.melissakleinromance.com.

Book preview

Inc.

Stay?

Bash hesitated for a moment before letting his jeans fall back to the floor. He eased onto the bed, drawing her close. For just a while, he whispered into her hair.

She snuggled into his body. I wish…

My grandmother had a saying. Something about if wishes were horses.

I know. I feel guilty for wanting things to be different when so many would kill to have my life. She angled up, propping her head in her palm. I’d trade it all for a little house in the suburbs and a family.

His eyes widened.

Oh, crap. How had she let that slip? He could probably feel the noose tightening around his neck. Sorry. I didn’t mean that I’m expecting something permanent to come from this. Even if she wanted it, she’d made a promise to David.

Out of Time

by

Melissa Klein

Out of Uniform Series, Book Three

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Out of Time

COPYRIGHT © 2017 by Melissa Klein

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Angela Anderson

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Champagne Rose Edition, 2017

Print ISBN 978-1-5092-1527-0

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1528-7

Out of Uniform Series, Book Three

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

To my daughter-in-law,

Kerrie Klein,

with all my love.

Chapter One

Grace Carradine peered out of the sedan’s passenger-side window. If we wanted to see a knife fight tonight, we’d have plenty of places to choose from. She and best friend, Sarah Griggs, had already driven past half a dozen of Wrightsville Beach’s dives and honky-tonks in search of a beachside bar for their girls’ night out.

What about the Blue Oyster? Sarah lifted a hand from the steering wheel to point at a cinderblock building painted a blue so vibrant it glowed even in the twilight.

Ah, that would be a no. Grace shook her head, noting the number of motorcycles and leather-clad men loitering in the parking lot. I don’t think we’ll meet any guys interested in dancing with us in there.

She leaned back against the seat, second-guessing their scheme. What if someone sees through my disguise and starts snapping pictures, or worse, what if we didn’t give Pete Vader the slip after all. Her chest tightened, pulse raced. Anxiety pricked her scalp. She fingered the charm bracelet on her wrist.

In recent months, the paparazzo had escalated his coverage of her, even following her into the women’s restroom at Exchange LA.

It’s not worth it, Gracie. Sarah reached over to grasp her hand. I really don’t need a night out. I was just being selfish. We can watch a movie back at the house.

Grace let out a breath, guilt adding its voice to the emotional discord playing in her head. Her best friend sacrificed time with her parents and siblings back in California and her own acting career to be Grace’s assistant. One night on the town wasn’t too much to ask in return.

Sarah pulled into a parking lot, and while she waited for the traffic to clear, Grace studied the clapboard-sided building a few yards away. Wayfarer’s neon lights called to her. Wait. She hit the button to lower the window. A gentle breeze carried a Jimmy Buffet tune across the gravel parking lot. This is the place.

Sarah arched an eyebrow. Are you sure? It doesn’t look like much.

I’m certain. A glimmer of excitement sparked inside her. No one would ever expect America’s Sweetheart to hang out here. More importantly, the leader of the paparazzi mob who dogged her every move wouldn’t expect his meal ticket to be seen here either.

Okay, if you’re sure. Sarah finally found an open spot between a dust-coated pickup and a mom van. We’re farther from the front door than I’d like, but it’s under a light. She exited the car along with Grace.

Good idea. She linked arms with her friend. If we’re lucky, we won’t be heading back to the house until closing time. With filming starting on her latest movie tomorrow morning, this was her last opportunity to escape her public persona and pretend she was simply a twenty-four-year-old out for an evening of fun with a friend.

Grace took a moment to adjust the dark wig that hid her signature blonde locks. Do you think this will work? She’d been pretending to be things she wasn’t since the age of two, so this ruse shouldn’t have caused such worry.

Sarah looked her over. You’re perfect. The brown contact lenses were a brilliant idea. I’m glad I thought of it.

What would I do without you? She squeezed her friend’s hand. I love you, you know that, right?

Sarah shot her a warning glare. Don’t get emo on me. We’re here to have fun.

Do people even say that anymore? Her joke sent them both into a fit of giggles that lasted until they reached the door. She drew in a steadying breath. Let’s do this. If she could perform a comedic scene the day after her mother’s funeral, this evening’s performance should be a snap. Hell, she’d been taking on roles for the sake of her career so long she wondered if she still remembered how to be herself—which was why she needed this evening so much. At times, her identity seemed to slip from her grasp. Oh, crap, I nearly forgot. She tugged the five-carat engagement ring off her finger then slipped it into the zippered pouch inside her purse. Pretending to be just another beach babe on spring break wasn’t her only ruse, so was her engagement to co-star David de Rossi, not that anyone but Sarah knew that.

****

Sebastian Baron balanced a cell phone between his shoulder and ear, the conversation marring the pleasure of finally returning home after weeks on the left coast. Was I hired to write the script or not? he asked his agent/manager, Vanessa Erickson. Raking a hand through his hair, he took in the orange glow of the sun against the Atlantic and tried to let go of some of his frustration.

I don’t care what the director thinks. The hero wouldn’t be driving such an expensive bike. On a seaman’s pay, he can barely afford a moped.

The success of his latest book had many advantages. The thirty-foot ocean cruiser he’d purchased from his navy pal, Titan, was one. Plus, thanks to Vanessa’s negotiating skills, not only was he writing the screenplay, but Times of Turmoil was being filmed on location in his hometown of LaGrange, North Carolina, a few miles inland from Wrightsville Beach where he berthed The Nemesis.

Don’t be so touchy, she cooed. It’s how things are done in Hollywood. You’ve got to give a little to get a little.

Bash growled. Compromising ranked right up there with cleaning the boat’s bilge pump. Besides, he’d spent enough time in California to understand the ins-and-outs of movie production. The weak got crushed beneath the heel of the strong, which was why he was so glad to be back in North Carolina he could hardly stand himself. Here folks weren’t always vying to gain the upper hand, and he didn’t have to second-guess the motives of everyone who was nice to him. "I’m not conceding this. My readers expect to see James Baron, the wounded sailor home on leave, not someone out of Top Gun."

Vanessa let out a sigh. I agree, but that’s not the way Mike Ivey sees it.

You didn’t score me the screenwriter gig so some asshat could screw up my story, he barked back.

You’re losing your objectivity. It’s not that big of a deal.

Perhaps, but that changes nothing. If it had been one of his military espionage novels he wouldn’t have objected to a few changes, but this book was different—personal. I’m not changing the script just so the director can feed his jones for fast motorcycles.

Fine. She let out a breath. You can duke it out with the director tomorrow when filming begins.

He can count on it.

After killing the call, he grabbed his keys and wallet and headed up the dock to the beach. A few yards later, he stood at Wayfarer’s front door. God, it’s good to be home. Stepping inside, he called out in his cheesiest Latin accent, Lucy, I’m home.

Bash! Misty rounded the hostess podium to give him a hug. When did you get in town?

This morning. He returned her embrace. Damn, girl, you’re a sight for sore eyes.

The woman blushed from the top of her plunging neckline to her ears. Thanks. She lowered her eyes.

He studied the younger sister of a high school buddy. Did you do something to your hair? He loved women, and flirting came as natural as flying and writing.

She twirled a bright pink lock around her finger and giggled. Rachel talked me into it, but Troy says it looks like cotton candy.

Bash toned down the bull. He’d known Misty since childhood. While she might not be beautiful by Hollywood standards, she was sweet, honest and deserved better than life had given her. What does that ne’er-do-well boyfriend of yours know about fashion? All that matters is that you like it.

Misty straightened her shoulders and met his gaze. You’re right. Now then, do you want your usual table, or are you sitting at the bar?

When in town, he usually met the wait staff in the parking lot at opening time, and on days when he couldn’t face returning to The Nemesis alone, he closed it as well. Since finishing the screenplay for Times of Turmoil, he’d hit a creative wall. In his experience, the best cure for writer’s block was living life, and that meant hanging out at his favorite watering hole. Sure, there was an element of avoidance going on, but it was working for him. God knew after spending the past several weeks out in HollyWeird he’d earned a little recreation. Not tonight. I’m meeting some friends. He looked to the covered patio that jutted onto the beach. I see them outside.

It’s good to see you again, Misty called as he crossed the bar.

Bash stepped onto the deck. Who plans a baby shower at a bar? He made a beeline to place a kiss on Avery St. James’ cheek. The expectant mom glowed as she returned his hug.

Stephanie Collins, the wife of one of his former shipmates, handed him a beer. I figured it was the only way I’d get you guys to attend.

After taking a sip, he offered a hand to the father-to-be. Titan, you’re a lucky guy.

Don’t I know it. He gave his new wife a sappy grin then turned back to Bash. And before you warn me about what you’ll do if I don’t take care of her, Opie and Hank beat you to it.

Bash clapped the guy on the back. Good to know. He moved over to one of the wooden tables their group had commandeered, taking a seat with another of his navy buddies and the woman crazy enough to take him on. Pushing aside an arrangement of pink and blue balloons, he said, Mia, you’re looking lovely as usual.

A low growl escaped her fiancé’s throat.

Bash extended his hand, hoping it didn’t get knocked back in his face. No hard feelings, I hope.

After a moment’s hesitation, Hank accepted the handshake. There won’t be as long as you behave yourself.

Mia patted Bash’s arm. Pay him no attention. If you hadn’t asked me to dance at Avery and Connor’s wedding, we wouldn’t be together. She elbowed Hank in the ribs. We owe you a huge debt, don’t we?

I guess, he admitted before shooting Bash a dark glare. Though I’m am still sore about you making a move on her.

I don’t blame you one bit. If he was ever lucky enough to find a woman as smart and beautiful as Mia he’d kill any man who tried to interfere.

From the nearby table, Avery joined in the conversation. When are you going to settle down?

Yeah, isn’t it about time you found the first Mrs. Sebastian Baron? Titan asked. Instead of macking on other guys’ women.

Avery swatted her husband.

Hey! Connor rubbed his arm. It’s a legitimate question. Our boy is a menace with the ladies.

Bash barked a laugh. You say that like it’s a bad thing. In truth, he hadn’t been with anyone since the admiral’s wife. When it all went to hell, he’d ended up with more than a black eye. That piss-poor decision had also ended his naval career. It’s the strictly unattached for me. If he did find a woman to bed, he’d be for damn sure she was single.

I’ve got a friend from the DA’s office you might be interested in, Mia chimed in. You’d like Veronica. She is smart, pretty, and loves sailing.

That’s sweet of you, Mia, but with filming starting tomorrow, I won’t have time to do right by a woman.

Let me know if you change your mind. She leaned into Hank’s embrace.

It looked like the others had each found their perfect match, which was fine for them. True love wasn’t in the cards for him. As the deck filled up with locals and college kids on spring break, he pulled a greeting card out of his pocket and added it to the pile of gifts. I’ve got a reputation to protect. Let’s get this baby shower thing started before any of my drinking buddies see me.

Chapter Two

Holy crap, I think we’ve hit the hot-guy lottery, Sarah said, louder than Grace would have liked, especially as the couple at the nearby booth turned to stare at the two of them.

Her heart beat against her chest. Did they see through her disguise? Should she have insisted Sarah wear a wig as well?

The sound of the bar’s door opening behind her sent a bolt of dread dancing up her spine. Glancing over her shoulder, she half expected to see Pete Vader’s camera trained on her. Back at the house, a night of fun seemed like a good idea. Now, not so much. The huge grin on Sarah’s face had her swallowing her fear.

Let’s get a table. She grabbed onto Sarah’s arm for support. Her whole body trembled.

Are you okay? Her best friend’s bright smile dissolved. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.

Grace hated she’d dimmed her friend’s pleasure. I’ll be okay. Fingering the charm bracelet, she steered them to the far side of the bar, near the windows overlooking the ocean. A gentle breeze caressed her skin, easing her anxiety.

Sarah took the seat facing the room. I think I’ve died and gone to hunk-heaven.

Grace chuckled. There was a buffet of guys to choose from: preppies, cowboys, surfer dudes, and good ole boys. So many men. So little time, she said, getting into the spirit of the evening.

I heard that. As her personal assistant, Sarah’s life was as busy as hers.

A twinge of guilt added its voice to the tangle of emotions. As they appreciated the scenery, a server took their diet cola order. Look at those two over there. Grace nodded toward a pair of young guys leaning against the bar.

Where?

The ones in the T-shirts that looked painted on.

One guy had dark blond hair that curled around the edges of his ball cap, while his buddy’s hair was short enough to be hidden. Both wore clean but worn jeans and boots. Watching them laugh as they flirted with the bartender ignited her imagination. The one on the left probably worked on the family farm, while his buddy had gone to community college and worked at the town’s only insurance agency.

Dibs. Sarah nodded toward the blond. Let’s go talk to them.

Grace shook her head. Go ahead. I’m going to watch from here.

Sarah stood then tugged her ear. "Just give me the signal when you’re ready to head back to the house.

As she sauntered over to the bar, Grace’s imagination continued to create stories about the two clean-cut men. Perhaps one day when things slowed down for her, she’d finally get the chance to write some of the ideas pinging around in her head.

What would it be like to create whole worlds, to control what others did even if they were merely fictional characters? All her life, she’d played the role written by another’s hand. The power must be heady. She made a mental note to seek out the author and screenwriter of Times of Turmoil, and put the question to him. She’d actively pursued the part of flower child, Polly Hough and couldn’t wait to start filming—that was until David was cast as the male