Cover Story: Love n Trouble, #5

By Autumn Piper

He's a rock legend … she's just a face in the crowd—but their secret past is about to be uncovered.

Once, good girl Cara Carter rebelled in a wild Las Vegas night with teen idol Brady. Convinced that she could never be enough for him, she ran home to family responsibilities, covering her tracks. Now he's a rock legend with a past as wild as his music, and she's just a nobody—a florist in Nowhere, Utah with a steady, responsible boyfriend who rocks out only to 'air guitar'.

But when Brady's anti-drug tour makes a stop in her hometown, Cara's quiet world is rocked to the core. He announces he's dropping the tour to stay and spend time getting reacquainted. What if the sexy, charismatic rock star uncovers her wounded heart all over again?

Brady has secrets of his own. His night with Cara meant more than she knew, and when she disappeared, he slid into a heartsick tailspin, nearly wrecking his career. Now he's rock steady, but he has people who guard his well-being, and they want Cara at a safe distance. To keep her close, he hires her to design the cover for his new album.

When covers are ripped wide open and secrets explode around them, will the future they're building be strong enough to stand on their past?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Piper Denna
• Release date: Feb 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386613213

Autumn Piper

Born and raised in itty-bitty Rifle, Colorado, Autumn Piper studiously avoided trouble…but is now inclined toward it, particularly in her novels. She thinks the best things in life are funny, and the runners-up, romantic. An admitted carb addict, Autumn writes, edits, and cares for her two grown kids, a cat, a box turtle with a huge personality, one husband and many supersize houseplants, and does the cooking and cleaning when forced to.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Rebel Yell

Nine years ago...

Not fair. It’s not fair, Cara mumbled to herself. No matter how many times she’d repeated it the last twelve hours as she packed her things, life had looked no more fair than when she’d started. With a noisy whump! the laundry bag holding a few dirty clothes, loose change from around her room, and her well-read Cosmo magazines landed on top of the heap. Good thing she didn’t have more stuff. Her beat up Festiva wouldn’t hold much more. In fact, as she shoved her wadded comforter and sheets in the back seat, her new Lady Gaga CD slid out to the ground. Before she could shove Gaga back in, Justin Bieber took a dive too.

Damn it. Habitual guilt for swearing pricked her.

Managing to get the passenger door shut before more of her stuff could come flying out, she took a minute to lean against the door and stare back at the building. At the dorm she’d shared with her friends, where she’d lived and really thought she was going somewhere in life. They’d wanted to throw her a big send-off party, but she had to get on the road. Besides, a party would do nothing but get her down.

No, better to start her long drive back to Utah and forget about this. Feeling bad for herself had gotten her nowhere. She kicked the front tire on her way to the driver’s side door, as much out of frustration as to check how low it was today. It had been leaking for months, but she always seemed to have something more pressing to do than go get it repaired. Much quicker to add air as needed. Dad would read her the riot act if he knew she’d driven clear down here to school with a leaky tire. But hey, if he wanted her to be an adult now, then she could take chances when she wanted to.

Her door squawked when she pulled it open. Probably needed to be oiled. God knew she’d have plenty of time to do it after she got home. She slid into the driver’s seat and gave the door a mighty slam.

She reached down and rubbed her poor bleeding knee. Somehow she’d managed to fall down the stairs with a crate of books. Hurting herself wasn’t the bitch of it. Tearing her favorite jeans was. She should have changed into her shorts earlier, instead of waiting until after her fall. Well, just one more casualty of the day.

Now the tears were coming again, as they had when she’d called Dad this morning and begged him on the phone to not make her do this.

She felt like a heel now, for dumping on Dad. He had it rough enough.

Junk from the passenger seat had settled around the gear shift and she had to move it around in order to drive. She started the engine and backed out of her parking spot like so many times before. Except this time she wouldn’t be returning. To make sure she didn’t go weak and turn around, she wouldn’t let herself look back. Not ’til she got on the highway and had San Diego in her rearview.

Before she’d driven down here yesterday, she’d managed to hold it together. To be strong, and not let on how much it hurt. It killed Dad to make her leave school and come home to take care of her younger siblings, but they really had no choice in the matter. At home for the funeral, this had made sense. She’d been calm in front of him. Something told her Dad would never get over Mom’s death, and he sure didn’t need more hurt.

But once she’d been inside her dorm, surrounded by her friends and all their carefree junk, she’d felt like any other nineteen-year-old with every right to go to college and do what she wanted with her life. The injustice had hit her. The pure, hot fury. Her life was sacrificed because some jackass left the bar one Tuesday afternoon and ran a red light, plowing into the side of Mom’s minivan on her way to pick up the kids. Because of some drunk, she’d never get a chance to become a graphic designer.

Poor Dad had gotten the brunt of it. Before she’d finished her fit on the phone, she’d had him in tears too.

Please Daddy, can’t somebody else come stay there to take care of the little kids? Please? she’d said.

She knew he had nobody else. He was a trucker, and made good money at it, but he often had to be away from home overnight.

Darlin’, maybe we can find somebody else soon and you can go back to school next semester. He hadn’t sounded any more convinced than she’d felt. It would be too late by then. All her hard work, the sacrifices she’d made in high school to earn the full ride scholarship would go to waste.

This was it. She’d live forever in podunk Utah, raising her little brothers and sisters. Probably be a virgin forever. Her life was over.

She should have stayed the night and had that last party. Slept with Ricky, like she’d planned to by spring break. She could turn around. Refuse to go back home. At nineteen, she wasn’t obligated to do anything her dad said. She was an adult. Everyone else her age lived for themselves and didn’t worry about baby brothers and sisters.

A billboard loomed ahead. Rooms available in Las Vegas. Sin City. Her life was over and she’d never been to Las Vegas. Even when the family had gone to Disneyland, they’d driven right through without stopping. Vegas hadn’t been Mom’s style. Gambling, drinking, general debauchery. But Mom was gone now, and she’d be doing Mom’s job for the next thirteen years or so.

Dad wouldn’t go back to work until tomorrow night.

Okay. Yeah, she’d take that turn and go home via Las Vegas instead of Phoenix. And if her mood still sucked when she got there, she just might stop in Sin City and, well...sin a little.

Chapter 2

She’s a little runaway

The gray-haired hippie with reading glasses hanging from his neck wasn’t a likely target. He seemed pretty out of it, oblivious to anything but working his register, selling sundries to guests who wandered into the casino gift shop.

But a bet was a bet, which meant no turning back for Brady. If he chickened out, he’d never hear the end of it from Larry and Bruce.

If he asks for my autograph, you guys owe me fifty, he muttered.

Deal, Larry answered back with a laugh. "Dude, that guy won’t have a clue who you are. He probably hasn’t listened to the AT Forty since nineteen sixty-seven."

Bruce punched Larry’s arm. "There was no AT Forty in sixty-seven, shit for brains! With a sympathetic clap to Brady’s shoulder, he said, Dude. If that guy recognizes you, I’ll give ya a hundred."

Brady tried to ignore the two of them snickering while he floundered for a plan. Probably best to get it over with. The guys would laugh at him, but then maybe they’d go gamble while he hit the room for a nap. The late nights were catching up with him and he needed to rest up for tonight’s concert.

I don’t know, Brady. Maybe if you had on the leather pants, Larry teased.

Dude! Bruce cut in, I could wear the leather pants and get asked for my autograph.

Keep your nasty ass outta my leather pants, Brady growled. He couldn’t fit underwear inside them, they were so tight. And to think of another guy in there, naked and sweaty like he always was after a show, well, yuck! Sick, man! Sick and wrong. Dudes might share lots of things while they partied, but never clothes. And he couldn’t afford to be linked with anything remotely gay. Some gossip rag was always printing an article, calling him a prettyboy and bi. He’d all but cut off his long hair because of it.

Don’t start freakin’ about the homo thing, Bruce said. You scored the twins, right?

True. He’d had his share of women. Probably more than his share, and not always one at a time. Yeah, guess I’m still pretty hot, huh? He grinned.

No, they told him in unison.

You’re still the same baby chickenshit who wouldn’t let go of the rope swing at Bass Lake and plowed back into the tree instead of hitting the water. Larry laughed.

Swear to God, Larry, if that story ever goes public, I’ll have you capped, he muttered.

Stop stalling and go buy something. Bruce shoved him into the gift shop.

Hippie Clerk was opening a roll of coins, eyeing them past a display of pyramid-shaped magnets.

Brady scoped out the store. Maybe he could cheat a bit and get a customer to recognize him first. There’d been no stipulations in the bet that the target couldn’t overhear somebody else saying his name. Grinning to himself at his own genius, he looked to his left, past a rack of screen-printed Vegas tank tops.

There, walking down an aisle with a pack of cookies in hand, was a chick. A hot chick. Light blond hair, falling in soft waves to the middle of her back. Something about the way she moved, the way her arms hugged her stomach when she stopped to look at the shelved alcohol...

He had to sidestep so he could get a better view.

Yummy, Larry purred behind him.

Yeah, pure, Bruce agreed. Schwing!

Jesus, some days it seemed like he’d made a mistake hiring his two best school chums to be his personal security. Would they ever grow out of repeating lines from that movie? The chick was young—younger than him—and this was his first trip to Vegas since he could legally party and gamble. Twenty-one didn’t mean he was a geezer picking up on a kid, even if she was barely legal. Eighteen? Nineteen?

Pure. Not like him. Way too clean for him. She looked like an angel standing there. It would make a bad day worse if she turned him down, but he had to approach her. Alien-feeling nervous excitement made his heart kick up its pace.

He needed something funny, something cute to say when he reached her. That would be soon, since he was on his way. Behind him, the guys booed and complained about the bet, but he didn’t care. He’d give them their hundred bucks later. Snatching a hot purple tube top on his way, he held it by the hanger in front of him as he approached.

Oh, hell. She had more pink around her eyes and nose than on her cheeks. Had she been crying? Just a few freckles beside a perfect little nose. No makeup. Wow. When was the last time he’d seen that?

Excuse me, but do you think this is my size, or should I go with a large? I don’t want to show too much cleavage, you know, he said. Shit. Of all the goofy pickup lines, he’d chosen to impersonate a cross-dresser. Wasn’t his brain getting enough oxygen to function normally? Probably not, because now that he could see the girl’s hooters pushing up against her t-shirt, he couldn’t breathe right.

When she faced him, her eyebrows shot up and her face broke into a smile. Did she recognize him? Christ, she was pretty. Sparkly blue eyes and almost dimples. And that one crooked tooth on the top...

She’d said something and he’d missed it.

Er. He shook his head, trying to guess what her reply had been. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say with that line of conversation. Best to change the subject entirely, while she still wore a half-smile. Hanging the shirt back on the nearest rack, he said, Milk is what you want, while he pointed to her hands, to go with those cookies. I can tell you from experience, dipping Chips Ahoy in vodka is a mistake.

She giggled and shook her head. Still no light of recognition in her eyes.

Should have worn the leather pants, dammit! Besides screaming rockstar, they looked great. They must, because all his videos had so many shots of his ass, he couldn’t stand to watch.

Over by the door, Larry hollered to Bruce, Know anybody who has a hundred bucks?

Angel looked uncomfortable, ready to bolt.

Tell you what, he said in his smoothest, most pleading voice, I’ll buy the milk and cookies if you’ll eat them with me.

I don’t even know you, she answered, and that crooked tooth disappeared with her smile.

Well, that was easy to fix. He hadn’t always relied on fame to catch girls. He’d picked up babes before he was a celebrity. Hadn’t he?

Hi. I’m Brady, he said a hand held out toward her empty left one. Would his name ring any bells?

With a sigh, she answered, Cara. She shifted the cookies to her other hand and offered her right.

He slid his around it, savored her warm soft fingers, but didn’t shake or let go. Nothing like assertive touching to get a girl going.

He grinned. "Cara. As in cara mia, in Italian?" My dear. Or how about my angel? He’d have to get somebody to look that one up for him.

Not quite, she said. With a long ‘a,’ not a short one.

So what do you say? Cookies and milk? Or cookies and Jim Beam? he teased.

When she looked at him, she fidgeted. Next would be the shake of her head, and he knew it would destroy him.

Her eyes glossed up and she bit her lip as she blinked them clear again. With a final defiant what the hell shrug, she nodded and handed the bag of cookies over. Thank Christ she sniffed back those tears before he had to watch them fall. Okay.

He grabbed two cartons of milk from the cooler on the way to the register, where the hippie guy stared off into space until the merchandise thudded against the counter.

From the doorway one of the guys stage whispered, Moment of truth!

Brady barely managed to keep from flipping his pals the bird. No, the clerk wouldn’t recognize him. And neither had Cara. Fine. Just what was her story anyway? Why would she be alone in Vegas, crying? That left him with an uncomfortable thought. Maybe she’d had a fight with someone, who’d made her cry. The bastard didn’t deserve her if he’d done that and left her to roam the casino alone where anybody could pick up on her. Like a lecherous, woman-chasing dog, humping and dumping as fast as he could fly outta town to the next concert.

With the very ordinary and recognition-free transaction complete, they exited the store.

Larry and Bruce took low-key posts in different directions only a few feet away from them as they walked, but Cara had yet to notice them.

Unlike most chicks, who talked constantly around him, Cara remained silent. Made him buggy, made him feel like he needed to talk.

So. Are you here—um, in Las Vegas, that is—alone? he asked.

Beside him, she looked like she’d been sucker-punched. Obnoxious noises came from some slot machine, making it at least as loud as onstage during one of his concerts. He wouldn’t hear her answer, so he watched her lips. She nodded.

Alone. That was good. Right? She couldn’t be a hooker, could she? No. She didn’t move like a hooker. Or like a groupie who didn’t want pay, but would give sex in exchange for the chance to be near someone famous. Sex didn’t seem like a currency at all with Cara. Maybe she’d just moved here to become a dancer and been turned down for a job. Those legs peeking out of her shorts could easily belong to one. He pictured her on a stage in next to nothing and instead of it revving his engines, it pissed him off. Men would ogle her. This quiet, hurt girl. They’d never even notice her cute tooth or those sweet freckles. To them, she’d be nothing more than tits and ass. That couldn’t happen. Whatever he had to do, that couldn’t happen.

You know, these cookies would be better if we dunked them. We could go up to my suite and use some glasses and—

Cara stopped dead in her tracks.

He had to take a step back to be beside her again.

Look, Brady. I don’t go into strange guys’ hotel rooms.

Too bad he couldn’t answer that he didn’t take strange women into his room. Well, he didn’t usually in the daytime.

Maybe a joke... So you’re saying I’m strange?

The freckles on her cheeks stood out now, more red than before. From the corner of his eye, he spotted Larry giving him a thumbs-up, then down, as if questioning whether he’d be able to score.

Cara shifted from one foot to the other before tossing her hair over one shoulder and rolling her eyes.

Time for another angle with the angel. Okay. Answer me this. Do you usually walk around casinos crying?

She looked away. Damn, he’d lost her!

Her nose wrinkled, then she puffed out her breath and blew a half raspberry. Promise you’re not an ax-murderer?

He tried to hold back a grin. I’ve sworn off ax murdering. I’ve been clean for fifty-five days now.

Her answering smile made him resolve to learn many, many more jokes.

His free hand settled against the small of her back. No tramp stamp there, he’d bet money on it. He guided her to his bank of elevators and they stepped inside an empty one. Inserting his room key, he looked out at Larry and Bruce, both standing with their arms crossed in the lobby. He curled his lip in victory at them just as the doors closed.

So, Cara breathed beside him, you’ve, um, got an expensive suite, then? Her face got pinker, then her eyelashes fluttered as she looked at the floor.

You could say that. Four grand a night, definitely on the pricey side. But thanks to being who he was and knowing who he knew, spending what he spent in the casino, the hotel comped his room. Christ, after last night’s bender, the in-room bar tab alone would be as much as the room normally went for.

The elevator took off with a lurch.

Cara grabbed hold of the safety bar like she’d never let go, then bit her lip and turned redder. The ride smoothed and she unclamped her hands. Looking miserable, she tried to shove her hands in her pockets, but he seized one.

Pretty rough elevator, he said.

She blushed and shook her head. I do it on escalators, too. Not many of either one where I come from.

Um, where’s that? Small town, obviously.

The car stopped with an even rougher lurch. Poor Cara tipped sideways, so he steadied her by pulling her against him. He swallowed hard at the feel of her soft chest smashed against his ribs. Refreshing, the way her shirt covered her instead of showing off as much cleavage as possible. Kinda made his imagination run wild, guessing what was hidden under that cotton. He’d bet they were real. A woman who didn’t wear makeup wouldn’t spend the time or money on silicone. They didn’t look small, but they weren’t in-your-face huge, either. Speaking of face...he met her eyes.

Busted. She’d caught him staring at her boobs. Great. She didn’t seem to mind, though. Her hand still gripped his, and the other clung to his bicep like he alone kept her attached to the planet. Her blue eyes didn’t leave his face.

Now. Now she’s recognizing me. Will that be good or bad?

Ding! The doors opened, cueing them to exit.

Here’s my floor. He led her by the hand, again wishing he had on the leather pants.

Oh, good. Housekeeping must have been by, since the door hanger begging for service was gone. Cara didn’t need to see evidence of last night’s party. Groupies were forever leaving underwear and bras behind in the hopes of being remembered.

He fumbled trying to open the door. With a soft giggle, she took the gift shop bag from his hands. That giggle, holy shit. It was like a massage down his spine, leaving him warm as it went through him.

Finally. He got the door open and ushered her in. Other than a lingering whiff of tequila in the air, the place looked pretty good. The doors to Larry’s and Bruce’s rooms stood open, but since they’d been cleaned, their occupancy wasn’t obvious.

Wow, she whispered, turning toward the windows where his view of the strip rolled out below them.

The lady likes the view, he crooned, "then the lady gets the view." He slid first an end table, then the leather sofa, near the floor-to-ceiling windows. With an exaggerated bow and a sweep of his arm, he beckoned her to sit.

With two glasses from the bar in his hand, he settled near her on the couch.

She grinned and shook her head at him, then emptied a milk carton into their glasses.

He took both glasses and sat back, putting his feet up on table.

Cute as hell, how her jaw dropped and then her grin widened so those little dimples appeared. She relaxed back next to him, putting them nice and close. Perfect. With the bag of cookies in his lap, body contact was a given.

Cara, you have got to be the quietest girl I’ve ever met. He slurped up a whole cookie.

I’m not usually. One tiny wrinkle line spanned her forehead as she concentrated on her dripping cookie. What was she thinking?

"Wow. Big day for you, huh? Hanging in the casino alone, then in a strange guy’s hotel