Seductive Serenade: It Happened at The Hideaway, #1

By Simone J. Maxwell

How far will a shy wordsmith go to inspire a desperate rock star plagued by writer's block?

 

Cleo

Being the introverted twin of a mega famous pop star is a special kind of hell—especially since it's the stolen poems from my journal that turned my sister into a household name. I'm fine being Kennedy's assistant, and it's amazing to hear fans sing my words every night, but I wish I could step out of her shadow, just once.

 

A quiet week alone at the sun-kissed Hideaway resort is exactly what I need after months on tour. I'm ready to leave behind the chaos that comes with being "Kennedy's sister" and just be Cleo Maxwell for a while.

 

At least I was, until Benji Prescott, the heartbreakingly handsome ex-boybander I've crushed on for over a decade, knocks on my villa door and asks for songwriting help, mistaking me for my sister.

 

Benji

It's been five years since I've had a hit song. Five years of imposter syndrome and pressure to show my label I'm not some one-hit wonder.

 

After taking time out of the limelight to rediscover my passion for music, I'm determined to prove everyone wrong. There's just one thing—I can't come up with a decent song to save my life.

 

I came to The Hideaway seeking a cure for my creative block, but I found something—someone—even better. Kennedy Maxwell is nothing like I expected; she's insightful, authentic, and there's something about her that's just so damn seductive. It's hard to stay focused on the music when I can't stop thinking about the dirty things I'd like to do to her…

 

Each book in The Hideaway series is a steamy, stand-alone romance with NO cliffhanger and an HEA. Suitable for ages 18+. Come find your escape.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Simone J. Maxwell
• Release date: Aug 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9798224164646

Book preview

ONE

cleo

Miss Maxwell, we are now approaching our destination, the pilot of my sister’s Bombardier Global 7500 announced over the speaker system. Please ensure your seatbelt is securely fastened.

I tightened the belt across my lap, a smile on my face as I returned my attention to what lay just beyond the jet window. Acres of dense trees and lush mountainside grew closer as we approached The Hideaway Resort & Spa’s private airstrip. Further ahead, the deep blue of the Pacific shimmered beneath the midday sun. I longed to trade the concrete, pollution, and noise of interchangeable cities for sunshine, sea breezes, and tranquility. More than that, I looked forward to making the most of the seven gloriously chill days I’d have on my own before my twin, Kennedy, and her obnoxious entourage arrived at the resort.

As the identical twin of a world-famous pop star, I acknowledged I had privileges and opportunities beyond most people’s wildest dreams. I traveled by a private jet with my sister’s name emblazoned on the side, and stayed in exclusive, high-end resorts like the one I was about to visit. I even spent the night at Disney World for our twenty-sixth birthday a couple of years earlier.

But my role as Kennedy’s sister came second to my role as personal assistant. Sure, I was sitting across from her on the jet, but I was playing phone tag with her publicist. And yeah, I rode Space Mountain three times in a row at three a.m., but then I spent two hours hashing out logistics and details with Kennedy’s tour manager.

A thirty-five-city international stadium tour didn’t just come together out of thin air.

Being on Kennedy’s payroll meant her wants and needs—her life—took precedence over mine. After spending so many years in her shadow, I wasn’t even sure who I was outside of her.

When the jet touched down with a gentle jolt, I rested my head against the buttery leather of the seat and closed my eyes.

Some space would do us both good—especially me. For the next week, my time and my life were my own. The thought made me want to weep with joy, but I settled for wiggling in my seat.

I’m going to sit by the pool and finish the latest Christina Lauren with one of those fruity umbrella drinks. I definitely want to have a deluxe spa day. Maybe I’ll even try paddle—

Buzz.

The vibration of the phone in my lap made my stomach clench. I knew who was texting without flipping it over.

I’m on vacation, I snapped, stuffing the device into the oversized tote at my feet. For the next seven days, Cleo Lillian Maxwell comes first.

Did you say something, Miss Maxwell? The flight attendant who’d been taking care of me since boarding in Mexico City seemingly appeared out of thin air.

I blushed. No. Just talking to myself. Sorry.

She gave me a gracious smile. No need to apologize. Can I get anything else before you disembark?

I’m fine, thanks.

Ever the light traveler, I shouldered my tote bag and started for my mint green, wheeled Rimowa at the rear of the plane.

The attendant put out her hands to stop me. We’ll bring it for you, Miss Maxwell.

Right, I said. Normally, with everyone falling over themselves to accommodate Kennedy, I tended to open my own doors and carry my own luggage, hence why I traveled with so little. Allowing myself to relax and be taken care of for the next several days was going to be tough, but I was up for the challenge.

On the airstairs just outside the jet, I got my first real glimpse of paradise. Greenery as far as the eye could see, popping with vibrant pink and red tropical flowers. Towering palms swayed in a breeze that carried salt-tinged air to my nostrils. Above me, the sky was cloudless. Calls of exotic birds and the distant crashing of waves provided the perfect background music.

A girl could get used to this.

Carefully, I descended the stairs and planted my feet on an emerald green carpet embellished with The Hideaway’s logo, a single palm frond in front of an archway, all in gold. It was only then that I realized a row of stiff-backed people in immaculate uniforms were waiting for me with a basket of towels and a tray holding a drink and cocktail shaker.

An attractive man in a crisp white button-down and chinos rolled to his ankles stepped forward, beaming. With the full force of his smile aimed at me, I now understood why Diego Lomas, a tech magnate who’d made his first million before he’d even graduated college, had ended up on countless Most Eligible Bachelor lists, not to mention, the covers of Time and GQ.

Welcome to The Hideaway Resort & Spa, Miss Maxwell. We’re glad to have you here. He put a hand to his chest. I’m Diego Lomas, CEO of the resort and one of its cofounders. How was your flight? You came from Mexico City, right?

Buzz.

My smile grew strained. It was a smooth ride. Just under two hours.

Just what we like to hear. Can I interest you in a cool towel and welcome cocktail while I introduce the team?

Buzz buzz.

I’d love one. I clutched my bag tighter to my side, willing the damn phone to stop vibrating. I accepted one of the damp towels, and my eyes widened in surprise at the familiar scent. Is this rose water and eucalyptus?

I believe you listed them as your favorites in the questionnaire you filled out, the woman balancing the cocktail tray said.

Diego’s brow furrowed. Is something wrong?

I flushed. No, that’s not it all. It’s just… No one’s paid attention to what I want in ages.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

I gritted my teeth together. Couldn’t I have even half a day to myself?

Could you all wait just one sec? I asked. "I am so sorry."

It’s no problem, Diego said. Take your time.

I turned my back on the people ready and waiting to provide me with the vacation of a lifetime to swiftly deal with the people who’d made said vacation necessary.

Seven missed texts and two missed calls graced the phone screen. Most of them were from Nicole, Kennedy’s second assistant, asking ridiculous questions like, What does Kennedy prefer for dinner? Should I give Waffles a treat after his walk even though he didn’t poop?

I rolled my eyes. I hadn’t spent days compiling a binder filled with annotated, color-coded information that provided answers to those questions and so much more just for shits and giggles.

And Shay, Kennedy’s best-friend-slash-stylist with whom I frequently butted heads, had the nerve to send a text asking me to book an appointment at Albright LA.

Shaking my head in disgust, I sent Nicole a text telling her I’d call in a bit and ignored Shay altogether. After a brief hesitation, I switched off the phone and returned to the welcome line with an apologetic expression.

Sorry again.

Diego shook his head. "Miss Maxwell, it’s not an issue. This is your vacation and we’re on your time."

He was right—this was my vacation. Kennedy could survive without me for a few days.

Hopefully.

Welcome to your home for the next week! You’ll be moving into the other Miss Maxwell’s beach casita after, correct? Marisol, my personal concierge for the duration of my stay, cut the engine of the golf cart that had brought us to Jungle Villa Two.

That’s correct.

My shoulders tensed at the thought of giving up my private, peaceful retreat on the hill to share a room in the beach house Kennedy had booked for the following two weeks, but my stress melted away just as quickly when I stepped over the threshold into blessed air conditioning. We stood in the living room, its floor-to-ceiling windows filling the room with abundant natural light and a breathtaking view of the ocean. It was the perfect combination of opulence, comfort, and natural beauty.

There are three distinct living spaces: the living room, bedroom, and bathroom, Marisol said, gesturing around us. Outside, you have your very own 10-meter infinity pool, outdoor shower, lounge area, and fire pit. All of the villas here at The Hideaway are surrounded by strategic landscaping to ensure privacy.

I ran a hand over the plush white sofa. They might have to drag me out of here kicking and screaming.

There’s a selection of fresh tropical fruit juices in the fridge, gourmet tea blends, and a welcome basket filled with all of your favorite things waiting for you on your bed, Marisol said. If there’s something you don’t see, please let me know.

I walked into the spacious bedroom, and sure enough, a wicker basket overflowing with my favorite snacks, scented candles, and fuzzy socks sat in the middle of the giant bed with a handwritten note on top.

This place is heaven, I said. Was that an Hermès beach towel embroidered with my name? And a matching beach tote? You really thought of everything.

Marisol let out a chuckle. We try. Can I get you anything else?

No—wait—yes! Can I get another Passionate Palm?

I’d been so irritated after checking my phone, I’d slurped down the tequila-based cocktail without even tasting it. Typically, I didn’t drink when I was out