Love Revolution

  By

  Michelle Mankin

  Amazon Edition

  * * * *

  Love Revolution

  Book Two of

  The Black Cat Record’s

  Shakespeare Inspired Series

  Copyright © 2012 by Michelle Mankin

  Cover created by Okay Creations

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Discover other titles by Michelle Mankin at Amazon.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  To all the country musicians who rock the house…

  Revolution (rev-uh -loo-shuh n) n. A fundamental change in the way of thinking about or visualizing something.

  A flashing blue and red light pattern illuminated Sara’s pale blood spattered face. She wanted to crawl away and hide from its revealing glow. The continuous flickering magnified the splitting headache behind her red-rimmed eyes. Even at one AM, the Texas night air remained stifling and oppressive, adding another layer of discomfort to her battered body.

  A fine sheen of perspiration coated the exposed surface of her skin. Inside she felt numb, detached from the reality around her. She closed her eyes, wishing to be anywhere but here. Unfortunately, no amount of wishing could fix what had happened tonight. Nothing could. Nor would the present veil of darkness conceal for long the unspeakable evil that had taken place inside of her parents’ bedroom this night.

  A sudden gust of warm wind rustled against the thin fabric of Sara’s white nightgown. Feeling a tremor in the tiny hand threaded together with hers, she glanced down at the cherub face of her younger sister, Samantha. The beautiful trusting grey eyes that looked back up at her were wide and brimming with tears. That small hand anchored her in place, while every other instinct screamed at her to run away and escape this nightmare.

  Her body began to shake with the effort it took to keep from falling apart. Insanity clawed and butted like a ravenous beast against the thin barrier of her self- control. Wanting to take over. Wanting her to let go and give in.

  Over the years as her parents’ tumultuous relationship had deteriorated, more and more of the responsibility for Sam’s upbringing had fallen to Sara. She didn’t mind. She loved her four year old sister to distraction. Adorable as an old fashioned Kewpie doll with her round, ringlet-framed face, Sam also had a sweet innocent spirit that won over everyone she met.

  Sara’s head jerked up. The sound of her father’s loud, protesting voice reached her ears. He was handcuffed, and being escorted by two police officers out of the termite infested house they’d been living in for the past six months. He stumbled clumsily on drunken legs as he descended the dilapidated front porch steps. With bloodshot eyes, he scanned the weed infested trash strewn front yard until he found her.

  His eyes narrowed, and he lunged in her direction before being yanked back.

  Slurred words spewed from his vile lying mouth. “She had it coming. Sara, honey. Tell ‘em. She brought it on herself.”

  Anger hardened her gaze. The audacity of the man, always rationalizing. But no amount of words could justify this. Straightening her spine, Sara gripped Samantha’s hand tighter and turned away.

  “Don’t turn your back on me, you wretched, ungrateful child. I’ll wring your worthless scrawny neck. Your momma was a whore, Sara. You know as well as I do!” he yelled before pausing and gentling his tone. “Sara… please, Sweetie. Look at your Papa.”

  Never look weak. Never show fear. Sara repeated her coping mantra to herself before responding. Warily, she glanced over her shoulder and watched the cops drag him toward the waiting squad car.

  “You’re gonna have to stand up for me soon, Sara. Don’t be like her. Do what’s right when the time comes,” he implored before the cop shoved his head down and pushed him into the back seat.

  After the cruiser door closed, Sara sucked in a deep breath of the dank night air. It was finally over. “It’s ok, Sam. He’s gone. We’re safe.” She knelt down and the dry grass crunched underneath her weight. She wrapped her arms tightly around her sister’s delicate frame.

  Sam sighed and sagged in her embrace.

  “He’ll never be able to hurt us again,” she whispered into Sam’s ear, closing her eyes. Her momma’s image ghosted into her mind along with the labored last words she’d spoken.

  “Promise me you’ll always take care of your sister.”

  Sara Daniels walked offstage after the encore, taking the chilled bottled water and a hand towel from her manager’s outstretched hands. Lifting her straight light brown hair up off her sweaty neck, she blotted away the moisture.

  “Sold out venue again, girl. Preliminary numbers on merchandise looks to double the ticket take, easily. How you holding up?”

  “Good Leann.” Sara managed a weary smile. “Just worn out. Wanna get a shower and unwind, you know?” Patting her manager on the shoulder, she started to walk away.

  “Not so fast.”

  Sara froze and turned back around. “What?” she groaned. “What is it? Not another meet and greet. Leann, please.”

  “No.” Leann’s brow furrowed. “Mary Timmons is here and wants to talk to you.”

  “Oh, crap.” She should have made it a priority to return those calls. Mary Timmons, the high powered no nonsense CEO and owner of Black Cat Records, was not a woman to keep waiting. Sara had hoped to get through tonight’s performance before having to deal with her. Well, now it was time to face the music. “Where is she?”

  “In your dressing room.” Leann raised a brow. “She’s everything they say, isn’t she?”

  “No doubt,” Sara nodded.

  “Good luck with that,” she said, walking away with a parting wave over her shoulder.

  “Yeah, thanks,” Sara said, mumbling to herself. “I’m gonna need it.”

  Sara’s boots clapped against the tiled floor as she wound her way through the confusing maze of dimly lit cinderblock corridors following the signs put up by the road crew. Nodding to the security guard outside her door, she entered her temporary dressing room almost knocking Mary over. Th
e beautiful, petite exec had been standing near the door, deep in conversation, her ever present cell phone pressed against her ear.

  “Ok, Beth, make it happen. Hey, I gotta go. Sara’s here. I’ll talk to you later.” Mary ended the call, dropping her cell into a brief case before pinning Sara with a disapproving look. “You haven’t been returning my calls.”

  It was a statement, not a question, but it clearly demanded a response. Although only in her mid-forties, Mary’s maternal tone made Sara swallow nervously. She felt garish and underdressed in her black leather vest and rhinestone embellished Miss Me jeans juxtaposed against the well put together Black Cat exec. Impeccable in a flatteringly tailored eggplant suit with matching five inch platform pumps, Mary was every single inch the unruffled professional, looking as though she’d just bounded off the cover of a business magazine. She gave Sara herself a run for the money in the confidence exuding, don’t-mess-with-me category.

  Sara couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was about Mary that made her feel like a peasant in the presence of royalty, but she did nevertheless. Sara gave herself a mental shake. Snap the hell out of it. She was no easily intimidated newbie after all. She was Sara Daniels. Thirty-two years old and at the top of her game as country and western’s top grossing female singer… the past five years in a row. Yet still, underneath the pressure of Mary’s haughty gaze, she somehow found herself rushing to apologize. “I’m sorry, Mary. I planned to…”

  Mary cut her off with a dismissive wave. “I’m calling in the favor you owe me.”

  Hell. She didn’t waste any time, did she? Forget royalty, being in debt to Mary was like owing the devil himself. You sure as hell knew she was going to collect. “Okay,” she drew out. “I’ve got a two week break, starting tomorrow. What can I do for you?”

  All business, Mary crisply nodded and handed her an envelope. Sara took it while glancing back at her with raised brows.

  “That’s a first class seat nonstop to Vancouver at ten thirty tonight. You’re sitting next to me.” She spun regally on her royal heel and glided away without any further explanation. The sound of her pumps clacking on the concrete flooring kept time as “Hail to the Chief” played in Sara’s head.

  “Wait a minute. Tonight?” Sara protested. “I can’t just up and leave that quickly. I need to clear that with my staff. ”

  “I’ve already spoken to Leann.” Mary stopped with her hand on the door. “You’ve got fifteen minutes to get cleaned up and change. I’ll tell you what I have in mind en route to the airport.”

  At Black Cat, Chris Alex stopped in the studio doorway and stared at the woman inside. Holy hell. Mary had failed to mention that this country and western chick she was bringing in to sing on his album was smoking hot. Leaning his shoulders back against the doorframe, his gaze raked over her form. The corner of his mouth lifted in silent appreciation. She was tall, around his height, maybe a couple of inches shorter. Probably five foot ten if he wasn’t mistaken. Long, extremely well shaped legs were accentuated by skin tight denim. Boobs weren’t anything to write home about, but big enough to make him wonder what they would feel like cupped in his hands. They more than adequately filled out the form fitting red western shirt she had on. Meh, he was a leg man anyway.

  His pulse kicked up as he took in additional details about the southern goddess standing in front of him. Light brown hair with highlights that were almost blonde hung straight and long around her sun kissed face. Her lips were light pink and glossed up. He wondered how they tasted.

  Apparently sensing his perusal, she glanced up from her cell phone, and he looked into smoky grey eyes that were the most beautiful he’d ever seen. A jolt of desire hit him like a lightning bolt. The world seemed to shrink and magnify in that moment. Her eyes widened slightly before she blinked and flipped her hair over her shoulder.

  Shrugging himself out of whatever the hell that had been, Chris sauntered into the room past her and set his guitar case down on one of the stools. While undoing the latches, he tried to sneak a peek at her ass. Just as he was imagining grabbing it, she turned in his direction and leveled him with a steely, disdainful stare.

  Maybe this chick didn’t realize who she was dealing with. His brow rose. Obviously, introductions were in order. “Hey, babe. I’m Chris…”

  “I know who you are.” She cut him off with a husky boudoir voice that literally gave him a chill it was so damn sexy. “Shelve the come on. I’m not interested. The name’s Sara Daniels.” She said her name like it should mean something to him. “And I’m not your babe or anyone else’s.”

  “Fine,” he replied, sarcastically. Something inside of him immediately rose to the challenge of her confrontational attitude. He continued to hold her stare, carefully formulating his next words. “Sweetheart, I don’t recall saying I was interested. Barbed tongued old harpies like you are not my type.”

  Sara stiffened, back going ramrod straight. No one could ever talk to her like that, especially a guy who had just mentally undressed her. The longest line at Wal-Mart during black Friday was shorter than the amount of time he’d been checking her out. Arrogant ass. Well ok, if that’s the way he wanted to play. “Old huh? Take a look in the mirror, you geezer. You’re the one who needs help getting your motorized wheel chaired carcass back in the game.”

  “Hey wait a minute, witch. I’m not the one who asked you to come here. I don’t need this kinda crap from you or anyone.” He pointed. “There’s the door. Why don’t you hop back on your broom and fly back to your double wide mobile home lair?”

  “You, you, arrogant ingrate,” she sputtered.

  Turning his back, Chris bent over and picked up his guitar case. He was about fifty shades of pissed off now. When he turned around to face her, she jumped and her gaze popped back up. A telling rosy color stained her cheeks and her lips were parted. Well, well, isn’t this an interesting development, Chris thought, cocking his head. He’d bet good money that she’d totally been checking out his ass. Hmmm, what to do with that.

  Grinning, Chris thought it only fair to return the favor. Lowering his eyes, he made a big show of running his gaze slowly over her body, starting at her black cowboy boots and working his way back up to her face. He stopped to linger in certain areas, delighting in the fact that he seemed to be making her uncomfortable.

  Sara’s blush deepened.

  Chris decided it was time to turn up the voltage, and gave her his should be patented Chris Alex megawatt smile. “Babe, I could teach you a couple of things, if…” He paused, wiggling his eyebrows. “I was into older women.”

  He watched her hands clench and her grey eyes smoke into a fiery blaze. “I’m thirty-two, you mummy. What are you, like sixty or something?”

  “Forty-four,” he retorted. He was pleasantly surprised by her age. He’d thought she was much younger, actually. Setting back down his guitar case, he talked himself into giving this another try. This one had claws, but man she was a fine piece of ass. “Listen, Sara. I’m sorry. We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot. Can we rewind this whole deal and start over?”

  She gave him a suspicious look. “Ok. Sure. I guess.”

  “I mean if it’s possible for you to use that sexy voice of yours for something other than insults?”

  Sara arched a brow. So the man candy with the tight bod, perfectly mussed up brown hair, milk chocolate eyes, and smoldering smile thought she had a sexy voice did he? Sweet. She could work with that.

  “Have you seriously never heard the name, Sara Daniels?”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  She rolled her eyes. “And you mean to tell me that you’ve never seen a commercial for ‘Wild Texas Rose,’ my signature perfume?”

  “Nope.” He shook his head, making the stylishly long layers of his brown hair slide appealingly across his face.

  “You geriatric rockers don’t get out much, do you?”

  “Well, why don’t you play me one of your redneck songs,” he asked smugly. “Maybe I�
��ll recognize it.”

  “Alright.” Sara took a sip of bottled water and set it down. She dried her hands on her jeans before lifting her guitar off the stand where she’d placed it earlier. She took her time, carefully clipping it on. She gave him an I-am-the-diva-you-are-a-lowly-minion look, before launching into a rocking country tune.

  Shit, Chris thought as soon as she began singing. No wonder she had a huge ego. He did recognize the song. It was a huge cross- over hit. No way in hell was he going to let her know that, though. Her voice was incredibly strong and brassy. No perceptible hillbilly twang, just a slight and extremely sexy southern drawl. “Awesome,” he admitted when she finished. And although she was no Avery Jones, she did know her way around a six string. Competent and confident.

  She acknowledged his compliment with a curt nod, some of the previous tension seeming to uncoil from her spine. Taking another sip of water, she asked, “Did you have something in mind for this so-called collaboration Mary insists we do?”

  “Hold on. Wait a second there, Calamity Jane.” He raised both brows. “No one said anything to me about a collaboration. We’re just supposed to sing a tune together. Period. End of story.”

  Her grey eyes flashed and her back appeared to bow up again. “I don’t do backup vocals any more, you old fart. Mary said…”

  “I don’t care what she said. It’s not her album.”

  “Ok. Listen.” She rubbed her temples. “You’re giving me a terrible headache.” She started packing up her guitar, her movements herky- jerky. “I’m done here. If you figure this all out,” she picked up her case and paused in the doorway, “give me a call. Mary’s got my number.”

  In the break room Samantha Daniels slammed the refrigerator door shut hard. “Bother!” she spat, spinning around angrily. Her breath came out in a rush as she ran right into someone’s rock hard chest. “I’m sorry, excuse me,” she apologized, backing up a step and glancing up into a pair of mesmerizing mossy green eyes. Long layers of sun streaked blond hair artfully framed them. The rest of his face wasn’t half bad either. A close cut beard and mustache several shades darker than his hair enhanced the strong masculine planes of his face. His mouth was pulled back into a wide white smile. Very cute.