The Right Wish Page 2

  “I will,” I said with a solemn nod. “I promise. Starting right now. I’m going with you to the hospital. I’ll tell you one of my stories while you do your treatment. I made up a new one about an ice princess today.”

  “Okay, my fairest one.” She gifted me her brightest smile. Her sickness didn’t diminish the beauty of it. Nothing could. “I love you.”

  She leaned closer, the ends of the pink scarf wrapped around her head brushing her shoulder like her long black hair once had. She pressed her soft lips to my skin. Beauty, like one of her roses, bloomed inside me.

  “Kindness always makes a difference, Cam. Your kindness makes a difference to me, to your father, to your friends and loved ones, to everyone you meet,” she whispered. “Never forget that.”

  Chapter 1

  * * *

  Camaro

  The present

  Inside the living room, I stopped sweeping, mesmerized by the sight of the two lovers seated close together on the porch outside. Leaning on the handle of my broom, I watched them for a moment through the open patio doors.

  Jewel Anderson’s beautiful heart sparkled as brightly as the polished gold of her gaze. Gazing at her with devotion, Rush McMahon returned her smile while softly strumming his acoustic guitar. She was a former hooker, and he was a famous rock star. The entire world knew his name, but the only thing he wanted in the world was her.

  My grip tightened around the broom handle. I was happy for my best friend, so very happy, but deep down inside, witnessing her joy made me sad too. I knew I would never experience love like that.

  Don’t, Cam. Don’t slip into that lonely space. Spin the sorrow into something else.

  Falling into a world of my own creation, where all I wished for could be mine, I used the fragments of my broken life as building blocks for my dreams. In a castle high above the clouds of my regrets, I danced with an imagined partner. Lost in my fantasy, I swayed and swept, humming softly to Rush’s tune. My heart continued to ache, but now it didn’t hurt as much.

  Once the living area was clean, I emptied my dustpan in the kitchen trash can and headed down the hallway to the front of the condo. I could still hear Rush playing, and Jewel murmuring softly. Their love fueled my imagination.

  In the dramatic entryway, I leaned against the curved wall and my eyes drifted closed. My dream lover stepped forth from the shadows where I’d left him. So reliable, he was always nearby when I needed him. Tall, handsome, and strong, my hero was perfect, able and willing to love a broken girl.

  “What the hell are you doing?” a voice demanded, booming loud enough to shake condominium walls or crumble fantasies.

  “I’m cleaning.” I opened my eyes to see Rush’s handsome business manager shaking his head at me. Stamping my free hand to my hip, I arched a brow. “I should think that to someone of your supposed intelligence, that should be obvious.”

  Stubborn to a fault, I gave him attitude rather than the immediate acquiescence he was accustomed to. A small act of rebellion, but that was all I could manage with my heart fluttering like it usually did whenever he came around.

  “Cleaning? With your eyes closed?” He frowned down at me. At least six feet tall, Bradley Marshall was blond, blue-eyed, and gloriously handsome, strikingly similar in appearance to my imagined lover. He was also loyal, honest, and a good friend to those he deemed worthy.

  “I was taking a break.” I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze, even though he stood half a foot and a world of impossibility above me.

  “A break, huh?” He stepped closer, his insurmountable disapproval dismaying me.

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  “Wrong. You were daydreaming.” Bradley frowned at me as he arrived at that determination, an unsatisfactory one, the pattern continuing that began the first time we met.

  Now, like then, he was as impeccably dressed as any top CEO, and as good-looking as any high-fashion model. I had examples of each on my Pinterest board, strictly for story inspiration, of course. Certainly not because they reminded me of him.

  “I caught you off guard. Again.”

  “So what if you did,” I said, glaring at him. After all, even I deserved a little bit of harmless indulgence.

  “Dammit, Camaro. You know it’s not safe to drift off in your head like you do.” His eyes, a crystal blue like the Tyrrhenian Sea, narrowed. “Anyone could have come through this unlocked door like I did and caught you unaware. Hurt you. Hurt Jewel, or maybe Rush.”

  “Now who’s imagining things?” The hand at my hip curled into a fist.

  “You know I’m right.” Two horizontal creases formed in the center of his serious brow.

  His displeasure was intense. He was intense, scrambling my equilibrium with the bright sunshiny lemon, earthy rosemary, and fruity olive wood of his cologne that reminded me of springtime in Sorrento. Even with my eyes wide open, I was tempted to escape into a fantasy that involved me within his embrace.

  “But you won’t admit you’re wrong, will you?”

  “No.” I gripped the broom handle and lifted my chin higher, defying him.

  “But that denial in itself is an admittance.”

  “What a typical lawyerly thing to say.” I went with sarcasm, but secretly, I was as impressed by his intelligence as I was by all the rest of him. “Prepare a tweet for your Marshall Enterprises’ followers. Hashtag arrogant ass trumps hashtag I don’t give a fucking shit.” I narrowed my gaze, and he sharpened his.

  “I’m a finance major, Camaro, not a lawyer. And I don’t think you understand how tweets work.”

  “And I don’t think you understand that you’re not the boss of me.”

  “Dear stubborn girl.” His eyes flashed like a cobalt blue Waterford toasting flute held up to candlelight.

  “Don’t dear me, Mr. Bossy Marshall.” I clinked my clear-cut crystal gaze to his, engaging with him, not as dance partners but as verbal sparring partners.

  “What am I going to do with you when you continue to ignore reasonable safety precautions?” He shook his head, and layer upon layer of his silky hair slid forward. Gold, rose-gold, and platinum strands skimmed his thick lashes.

  “I don’t know,” I said, frustrated.

  A sophisticated comeback eluded me as I imagined plenty of things that I wanted him to do to me, not to mention the ones I wanted to do to him. My fingertips tingled with the urge to ruffle the perfectly tousled layers of his hair. But deep down, what I really wanted to do was ruffle him. Bradley couldn’t be as controlled as he always seemed to be.

  “How about we start with you admitting I’m right, and you’re wrong?” His firm lips curved, causing haughty crescents to bracket his sexy mouth.

  “You think you’re always right,” I said.

  “I am always right.”

  “You’re right some of the time.” I rolled my eyes. “But you’re delusional if you expect me to jump to do your bidding like everyone else.”

  His eyes suddenly darkened, and all traces of amusement vanished. “The type of jumping I’m envisioning isn’t likely what you have in mind.”

  “Lucky for me no cliffs are around, huh?”

  “Cliffs. Yes, of course.” He shook his head as if he had fantasies of his own to clear from his mind. “As stimulating as this discussion is, it’s time to end it at the usual place, with my point being made and you being too stubborn to admit it.” Creases reappearing in his brow, he glanced past me. “I’ve got some tour business I need to discuss with Rush. Is he home?”

  “He’s out on the porch.” I nodded toward it, gripping the broom handle more tightly. “With Jewel.”

  He lifted his chin. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome,” I whispered.

  My eyes burned as I watched him walk away. He did it so easily, walking away from me, today’s abrupt dismissal no different from the previous ones. I didn’t measure up, and I couldn’t seem to avoid the trap of letting it—letting him—get to me.

  Let it go, Cam.

/>   After a couple of controlled breaths, I managed to refocus. I’d had plenty of practice. Bradley wasn’t just Rush’s manager. He was his best friend. And as his best friend, he came around to see Rush often.

  Resuming my work, I soon had the entryway swept. I opened the door and shook out the excess sand from my dustpan under a bush outside the entrance to the condo. Closing the door afterward, I locked it and made a face. Bradley didn’t see my act of defiance. Even if he were standing right beside me, he probably wouldn’t consider it noteworthy.

  Turning, I slowly retraced my steps down the hallway. After I returned the broom and dustpan to the utility closet, I continued to the kitchen. A galley layout, it was open to the hallway on one side and the dining room on the other. It was a cook’s dream, appointed with stainless-steel appliances and top-of-the-line everything. Ironically, Rush rarely used it, and neither did Jewel. Although I was their houseguest, I was the only one who cooked.

  Needing to feel useful, I washed my hands, sliced some lemons, and poured three glasses of iced tea. Once I’d placed everything on a tray, I carefully balanced it and walked out to the porch. I paused before stepping outside to join them.

  It wasn’t the couple framed by the glorious sunset that stole my breath this time. It was Bradley. Golden light surrounded him like a nimbus, making him seem even more mythical than usual.

  As if he were some sort of omniscient being who could hear my thoughts, he turned his head. His steady gaze and the nuanced depths within his eyes captivated me.

  “What do you need, Camaro?” One dark blond brow rose to an inquiring height, kissing the fringe of multihued gold above it.

  To be remade right, was my instant thought, a telling one. A soul-deep desire.

  But Bradley couldn’t give it to me. I couldn’t even manage that miracle myself. The past was unchangeable, my mistakes making me unredeemable. In truth, I was too damaged to repair.

  Bitterness rising in my throat, I swallowed hard before answering. “I thought you guys might be thirsty.” Forcing my feet to move, I set the tray on the small table between Rush and his manager. I held my breath so I wouldn’t inhale any more of Bradley’s brain-scrambling cologne.

  “Thanks, Cam,” Rush said.

  “Thank you, Camaro,” Bradley murmured.

  I dipped my chin to acknowledge them both, but only one had a voice that sent pleasurable shivers racing along my spine. Straightening, I backed away, turning to offer the remaining glass to Jewel.

  “Thanks, Cam. Very thoughtful. But where’s yours?” she asked.

  “I’m not staying.”

  “Why not?” Her golden eyes narrowed.

  “I’m going out.” I tilted my head in the direction I usually went at this time of day.

  “Ah, okay.” She knew where I went and why. It was our secret.

  I helped around the condo. It was the least I could do for free room and board and a little spending money. But at the beginning and end of each day, I felt like my time was my own. I didn’t want to make a big deal about it. I was grateful for Rush and Jewel, and all they’d done for me. But I needed to be by myself, to try to get back to my old self, or at least as close as I could.

  “The guys are talking business.” Jewel gave me an understanding look. “Can I walk with you a bit?” Reaching for me, she closed her fingers around mine.

  “Sure,” I replied, my voice husky. Her easy affection was like a coveted balm. “I’d like that.”

  Turning again, I slipped my bare feet into the flip-flops I kept by the door. When I turned back around, I caught Bradley’s eyes following me. In the low light, their color appeared chambray, like my favorite pair of faded jeans. But nothing about Rush’s business manager was casual. Bradley’s personality was as starched as the shirts he wore under his designer suits.

  He’d only looked at me one time with his eyes filled with fiery passion, like a man looks at a woman he desires.

  A look like that from a man like him was powerful. It made me forget myself, what I had become, and what little I’d been wearing at the time. And so I’d acted on impulse and spoken to him directly from my heart. But he’d rejected my heartfelt words—and me—with his usual straightforward precision.

  Remembering that day, I rubbed the center of my chest where that pain still lingered.

  It had been a mistake to declare my feelings. I’d imagined interest where there was none. Although I didn’t know it at that time, Bradley had a girlfriend, a beautiful one, an accomplished actress.

  And me? I wasn’t girlfriend material. I wasn’t accomplished.

  In fact, I was barely anything at all.

  Chapter 2

  * * *

  Bradley

  “More,” Bree begged. My girlfriend hadn’t been home when I returned from my visit to Rush’s condo with Camaro on my mind, but Bree was certainly with me now.

  Grunting a response, I pumped my cock into her. Measured strokes. I knew what she liked. I’d get her there, but I wasn’t a talker during sex. My skills spoke for me.

  “Oh, Brad. That’s so good. Yes!” Her eyes squeezed shut, her forty-thousand-dollar tits bouncing as she rode my cock.

  Apparently, Bree wasn’t past talking. But talk or no talk, fucking her didn’t do it for me anymore. Not when I knew her passion was likely affected. But thinking about that wasn’t going to get me there.

  Instead, I concentrated on the slippery slide of my cock in her wet heat. Even sheathed, I felt her rhythmic clenches. My spine tingled, and I gripped her hips harder.

  Finally, I was getting close.

  “Yes, baby!” she cried, clawing my chest with her manicured nails. “Yes!”

  On my next upward thrust, I closed my eyes. My mind went straight to the fantasy of graceful curves, long glossy strands of ebony hair, unforgettable silvery-green eyes, and brilliant ruby-red lips.

  My cock stiffened, full of hot cum, and I ejaculated. My climactic groan was low. Bree’s chants of “oh, Bradley” were high-pitched.

  Gratingly so.

  I opened my eyes, not to who I wanted but to who I had, a live-in girlfriend who was probably stepping out on me. Gripping her hips, I plucked her off my cock. Once I was done with sex, I was done.

  I mentally crossed her off my to-do list.

  I had a busy day ahead that culminated in me seeing my fantasy again tonight, but not fucking her. Never fucking her. For all that infuriated and fascinated me about Camaro Moltepulciano—and there was a lot—she was off-limits.

  “I’ll shower first.” Bree’s gaze slid to the side as she scrambled off the bed.

  I rolled over in the opposite direction, not even tempted to watch her pad away.

  As I tossed the condom in the trash can, my cell flashed on the nightstand above it like a concert strobe with rapid-fire incoming text messages. The sun wasn’t even up yet, and already I had issues to resolve. Being a business manager to rock stars like my best friend, Rush, there were always issues to solve.

  Sitting up, I resisted the urge to pick up my phone and scan the messages. I couldn’t ignore them any more than I could the deteriorating relationship with my girlfriend, but I needed a shower and a run to clear my head before I officially began my day.

  As I swiveled in the bed and slid my legs over the side, I heard a distinct click from the lock on the door to the attached master bath. My head snapped in that direction, and I frowned. Not because I wanted to shower with Bree, but because I suspected, like I did more and more lately, that she was doing something she didn’t want me to know about.

  Standing, I let out a heavy exhale. We remained together, sure, but it seemed only one of us was making any effort. I needed to do something about it, but I kept putting it off. Addressing the issue meant admitting failure, and I didn’t like failing. My life was carefully arranged like a balance sheet so that every endeavor I took on went in the win column, not the loss column.

  I wasn’t clueless. I knew people weren’t cause-and-effect predictab
le like analytics. But in the structured way I lived now, I expected them to be.

  My thoughts troubled, I headed for the shower in the guest room. As I did, the water in the master came on, followed by the soft sound of Bree’s voice. She was talking to someone. On her phone. With the door locked. Right after we had sex.

  My suspicions coalesced into one unmistakable conclusion.

  Shaking my head, I entered the hall. The wide-plank hardwoods were smooth but cold beneath my bare feet. At this time of year, the offshore breeze from the Pacific Ocean gusted up the hill and streamed through the ground-floor garage level of my three-level house, lowering the temperature of the two floors above it.

  But the notable physical chill wasn’t what really bothered me—it was the freeze-out between Bree and me.

  I wanted us to work, or at least I’d wanted it to when we first started out. Prior to Bree, I’d taken what was offered, indulging in whatever woman I wanted each night. Sometimes more than one. That type of indulgence had been fun at first, but after a while, the fun felt forced.

  With so much in my life already superficial, I desperately longed for something real.

  At the room with the closed door, I stopped and reached for the door handle. A cure for the out-of-sync chaos within me was inside that room. But I yanked my hand back as if that cure had snapped razor-sharp teeth at me.

  I had no excuse to enter the only room in the house I hadn’t allowed the professional decorator to touch. With none of my signed artists in recording mode, the sound equipment and instrument cases inside that room gathered dust, much like the rhythms and rhymes inside my head. The longing to process through music persisted while I continued to try to convince myself that part of my life was over.

  Determined, I set myself in motion.

  Reaching the end of the hall, I turned to enter the guest room. Flipping on the switch flooded the dark space with light. A near replica of the master, it contained a king-size bed, nightstand, and a dresser made from reclaimed driftwood. The linens were in muted blues and greens. Like everything throughout the house, they were coordinated to complement the view of the Pacific Ocean out the windows. But the shades were currently drawn, the windows framing darkness that mirrored my thoughts.