Serena's Song (Siren Publishing Classic) Read online

  "This your car, sir?"

  "No. A rental." Which was why the company's discreet logo was on the license-plate bracket. Still, Riff kept his hands on the wheel, in plain view. The guy looked like he was wound tight enough already; Riff didn't want to give him any reason to spring. The officer—D. Boscoe, according to his nametag—nodded, like Riff had passed some kind of test by confirming that, yes, indeed, those were rental plates mounted on the flashy convertible.

  "May I see your rental agreement, sir?"

  Riff fought back a grimace. "No. Sorry. I left it at a friend's place."

  Boscoe made a noise that to Riff's ears didn't sound at all positive. "I see. Do you have your driver's license with you?"

  Riff dug his wallet out of the console and handed over the laminated card. The officer examined it and pulled out his ticket pad. If he recognized Riff's name, his face didn't show it.

  "Sir, I'm ticketing you for speeding in a residential zone and failure to provide sufficient information on your vehicle. If you provide the information within 48 hours, that portion of your ticket will be waived, but I can't give you a break on the speeding."

  Riff tried to keep his impatience in check as Boscoe methodically filled out the ticket. With a last stern look and an impersonal, "Have a good day, sir," he tore off the narrow sheet of paper and handed it over with Riff's license. Riff took the ticket and put away his license while Boscoe returned to his cruiser. The cruiser's lights finally flicked off, sparing Riff from the annoying strobe that flickered in his eyes, courtesy of the rearview mirror. Starting the Crossfire, he pulled away from the shoulder at a deliberately cautious speed.

  Dividing his attention between the road and the ticket, it took him a few moments to notice he hadn't been driving as much over the speed limit as he'd thought; in fact, only three miles above the posted limit Boscoe had noted on the ticket. Riff snorted and tossed the onion skin-thin paper on the passenger seat.

  He turned onto the main drag, intending to follow it out of town. That's when he spotted Serena's shop. Nestled in a row of other businesses designed to attract tourist dollars, the sign for Simple Pleasures hit a note between classy sophistication and warm country charm. A vehicle was just pulling away from the curb right in front of the store.

  On impulse, he pulled into the parking spot. Turning off the engine, Riff sat there for a moment, checking out the lay of the land. To the left of the front door, a large window held a brightly colored display that spoke eloquently of a Spring Break theme. The diorama held the expected books, but also an eclectic mix of paintings, a wall hanging, diaphanous scarves, spa products, candles and other crafts that somehow worked to create an inviting scene that pulled the viewer in. To the right of the door, another window looked into the café Serena had spoken of, complete with the expected tables and chairs, along with a few comfortable armchairs arranged in seating clusters around some lower coffee tables. From his position outside, it didn't look too busy.

  Riff couldn't deny that he wanted to see what had put the fire of pride in Serena's eyes. Impulsively, he opened the glove compartment and took out the ball cap he'd chucked in there earlier. Pulling it low over his eyes, he got out of the car and walked up to the front door and went in. The fairy wind chimes mounted in the entryway danced beside his head as he paused to let his eyes adjust to the dimmer interior lighting.

  A young woman behind the dessert counter came to attention as she noticed him. The few people seated at the tables also looked up to inspect the newcomer. Riff nodded politely and they returned to their conversations. The clerk seemed to relax as he bypassed the café and headed for the back of the shop.

  Serena's touch was evident throughout Simple Pleasures. Instead of orderly rows, the merchandise was arranged in eclectic, eye-catching displays. The open room held so many different things that it felt like it should be much bigger. And yet it all fit together.

  One display was obviously geared to the foodie crowd; cookbooks were piled on a table with a huge, hand-painted ceramic bowl and several platters in wood, glass and stone. Elegant, slim bottles of oil and vinegar filled with herbs caught the eye, along with several cloth bags of pre-mixed spice blends.

  Another display was clearly designed to lure the hedonist. Scarves, feathers and velvets were sinuously draped over the multi-tiered table. Candles and massage oils shared space with gold foil-wrapped packages of truffles and liqueur-filled chocolates. A fan of CDs revealed selections evocative of low lighting and soft sighs. And, of course, the books on the table made him raise an eyebrow when he flipped open the pages of one and began reading at random. Words like throbbing, pulsing, tasting, sipping and wet heat leapt out at him.

  "Riff Logan?"

  He snapped the book closed and unhurriedly slid it back on the pile. No use trying to hide what he'd been reading; the others on the table were just as incriminating. He turned to face the speaker, a plain-looking man of about his own age. He wore brown slacks, a loosened tie and a determined expression. He looked like a Chihuahua masquerading as a pit bull, without quite pulling it off. What he didn't look like was a Morven fan. But you never knew.

  "I'm Frank Switzer, with The Recorder here in town. I was wondering if you'd be able to answer a few questions for me."

  A reporter. Wonderful. Riff's pleasure in exploring Serena's shop evaporated. "No comment," he said, moving to go around the shorter man. Switzer was quicker than he looked, rounding the table to cut off Riff's escape.

  "Just a few moments of your time is all I need, Mr. Logan. As I'm sure you know, Mrs. Jeffries is a very prominent member of the community. Naturally, everyone's curious about her connection with you."

  Serena was a "prominent member of the community." What the hell did that mean? "No comment," he repeated through gritted teeth.

  Again, the reporter hurried to block Riff as he tried to walk away. Riff was fast losing his grip on his temper when a feminine voice interrupted them.

  "Frank!"

  Switzer's head swiveled towards the voice. The young woman—she must be Maddie, the assistant who'd helped Serena "sneak" home—had come out from behind the dessert counter and was closing on them with a long-legged stride that managed to hook the eyes of every man in the place. The reporter wasn't immune either, though he gamely tried to keep his attention on his quarry. Maddie wasn't having any of it. She twined her arm through Switzer's and looked at him with a faint, almost-believable pout.

  "Frank, you've been popping in and out of here all day and you haven't even given me a decent hello."

  "Uh, well—"

  Amused now, Riff watched as Maddie tied the man in knots with just a look. Without taking her eyes from Switzer's helpless gaze, she discreetly gestured at Riff with her free hand, shooing him towards the door. He gave her a grin and made his escape.

  By the time he'd made it out to the Crossfire, he could see that Switzer was edging closer to the front door. Maddie stayed right with him. Switzer looked torn between wanting to stay right where he was, with the gorgeous young woman draped on his arm, and tearing through the shop in hot pursuit of his interview. Riff thought the other man would have more luck escaping a set of handcuffs and a straightjacket.

  He chuckled, pulled into the street and followed it out of town. Like he'd told Serena, he wasn't leaving. Milo had made arrangements for him to stay at a resort the next town over, under an alias. No sense in giving the media the scent of fresh meat. With luck, the interest in him and Serena as a couple would die a quiet death. If not, he'd be nearby in case Serena needed help. Whether she wanted it or not.

  * * * *

  "Mom, why didn't you tell me?!"

  Serena rolled her eyes as her daughter threw her arms out dramatically. Jack slouched against the counter, seemingly absorbed in digging a cookie out of the jar. He'd always had a good appetite, but he'd become insatiable last summer when a growth spurt had hit. Now, her little boy towered over her by a good six inches, though his weight had a ways to go to catch up with
his height. He was all legs and arms.

  Jack grabbed a glass out of the cupboard and went to the fridge to fill it up. Serena wasn't fooled by the display of disinterest. She knew he was just as keen on her answer as Katie, he was just too cool to show it. He had every disc Morven had ever cut. She'd bought most of them for him herself. Admittedly, catering to Jack's interest in Finn's band gave her an excuse to buy the CDs.

  "Honey, it was a long time ago. Before I met your dad."

  "But Mom! Riff Logan wrote a song for you. How romantic is that?"

  Now Jack rolled his eyes, though he agreed, "It is pretty cool, Mom."

  Katie fished a cookie out of the jar and plunked herself down at the kitchen table. "So what happened with you guys? Beautiful Girl is so sweet and sad. Did you have a fight or something? Did you dump him for dad?" She laughed. "Wow, imagine that—my mother dumping a rock star."

  Jack scowled at that comment. It might have been fun when he'd first realized his mom knew Riff Logan, but it was harder to wrap his mind around the idea of his mother actually dating Riff Logan. Sure, it was fifteen years ago, but she never dated. Okay, since Dad had died, she'd gone out for drinks or dinner with that pharmacist guy, but it wasn't actually dating. At least, not the ditch-the-kids, spend-the-night, weekends-away kind of dating some of his friends' divorced mothers did. The thought of Mom doing that … He wasn't sure he liked it.

  "No, I didn't dump him," Serena was saying to Katie. "Finn and I split up before I went to college."

  "Finn?"

  "Finn is Riff's real name."

  "I didn't know that," Katie said. "I thought his real name was Riff."

  "Right, like anyone would name their child 'Riff'. He was born Finn McCool Logan. That's what I always called him."

  "Finn McCool?" Katie snorted. "What kind of name's that? Finn's okay, but McCool? No wonder he changed his name."

  "He wasn't too wild about it either. His grandparents named him, actually. They were very Irish, and Finn McCool was kind of like King Arthur, except in Ireland. That's also why the band's called Morven. Morven is where Finn McCool ruled."

  "That is so neat." Katie sighed. "I had no idea. Did you, Jack?"

  Jack grunted what sounded like, "Yeah," then said, "I gotta go pack."

  "Good idea," Serena said. "Your grandparents want to get an early start, so we won't have any time in the morning to go running around looking for stuff. Katie?"

  "Mo-om," she moaned. "Can't I stay here? Please?"

  Serena gaped at her daughter. "This from the girl who's talked non-stop for months about Florida? You know, the whole sun and fun and 'Mom, I neeeeed a new bathing suit for the beach' thing?"

  "Yeah, but that was before all this stuff started happening," Katie said, as if that explained everything.

  Jack, hand frozen with another cookie halfway to his mouth as he watched the byplay, finally shook his head in disgust. "Idiot."

  "I'm not an idiot!"

  "Jackson, please don't call your sister an idiot."

  Jack heaved a sigh, as if to say "women." "Sorry, Mom."

  "Katie, your grandparents have gone to a lot of effort to plan this trip for you. No way are you going to stay home just because this stupid story about me and Finn is getting some attention. Besides, it'll all be over in a couple of days, and then you'll be wishing you were in Florida. So why don't we cut out the wait, and you can go on your vacation as planned, all right?"

  Katie opened her mouth to argue, then groaned in surrender. "Okay, okay. Fine. I'll go to Florida."

  "Gee, thanks, Katie. I'm sure your grandparents will appreciate your sacrifice."

  The girl swatted at her laughing brother. "Ha ha, Mom. Very funny."

  "I thought so. Now, why don't you guys go and check your suitcases."

  "I packed days ago," Katie said.

  "I know, I know. Just go do one more check, okay? Make sure you've got everything you wanted to bring. Better to find out now that you didn't pack it, than get to Disney and realize you forgot it."

  The kids shared a glance Serena interpreted as an affectionately resigned, "Mothers—what can you do?" Still, Katie stood up to obey as Jack put the lid back on the cookie jar.

  "Wait a sec." Serena put her arms around their shoulders and pulled them in for a hug. Jack grumbled but submitted, even bending down so she could plant a noisy kiss on his check. "I'm sorry this all got dumped on you. If I'd had any idea this would turn out to be such a big deal, I'd have told you about it. Believe me, I'm not too wild about all these strangers hanging around, either. At least this'll all be over by the time you guys get back."

  She sniffed and hugged them again. "I'm really going to miss you guys, you know that?"

  "Yeah, Mom, we know." Katie gave her a smacking kiss and a tight hug around the waist. "Guess you'll have to find something to keep you busy. Like maybe a date or something." She danced out of the kitchen, but popped her head back in long enough to tease, "I hear Riff Logan's single."

  "We'll be fine, Mom," Jack said, pausing before following his sister out of the kitchen. "It's only a week. We'll be back before you know it."

  "Yeah, yeah, I know. Actually, I'm just saying I'm going to miss you. I'm really planning the party of the year, and you're going to be so sorry you missed it." She mock-frowned as her tall, dark-haired, lanky son smirked down at her. "What, you think I'm kidding? Get out of here and pack your stuff, buddy, before I drag out the baby pictures and show them to all your friends. I'm thinking of starting with pudding face and bath time."

  Jack held up his hands in surrender. "No! Anything but the baby pictures! I'm going, I'm going!"

  Laughing softly, Serena shook her head as he disappeared down the hall. She heard his bedroom door close, then the beat of music humming in the walls when he turned on his stereo. Not Morven, she noted.

  Serena opened the oven door to take the tinfoil off the pasta so the cheese could brown. As she straightened, the phone rang. Apparently, more than fifteen minutes of peace and quiet was too much to hope for.

  A look at the call display showed an unfamiliar number. Another reporter, she assumed. Annoyed, she finally gave in and did what she'd been tempted to do since Finn had left—unplug the phone. It had been ringing pretty regularly all afternoon, but she hadn't bothered to answer it. Anyone she knew who really needed to get her could call the cell phone. At least the media hadn't gotten hold of that number yet. Thank God for small favors.

  Mechanically, she pulled open drawers and cupboards to start setting the table for supper. With her hands busy, her mind slunk back to where it had been lurking all afternoon. The Kiss. Capital letters. Even now, she could still taste Finn, still smell his faint cologne. The heat of his kiss had curled up in her belly and wouldn't leave her alone. The truth was, it had been so good. She wished it hadn't been, but there was no point denying it.

  Why had he kissed her? That was another thing that had kept her mind busy since she'd watched Finn pull away in his flashy silver sports car—figuring out the why of it. He'd yanked her into his arms, kissed her into a puddle of want, then walked away. It was a suspiciously familiar scene. He'd done exactly the same thing fifteen years ago when he'd flat-out told her he didn't think "it" would work, "it" being "them." Or almost the same thing. There she'd lain, so stunned and hurt she couldn't put two words together, and all he could do was kiss her and walk away.

  Finn's rejection wasn't something she'd ever forget. She'd loved him; she'd thought he loved her. Once the initial hurt had eased, the anger had set in. Finn had obviously been having fun with the "girl next door" that summer. He couldn't get enough of her. When the summer ended, so had his passion for her. Witness the fact she hadn't heard one word from him in all these years, until her name and picture were dragged onto the front pages. For some reason, he seemed to care about that, "seemed" being the active word.

  She slammed a plate down on the table. Whatever. She'd learned the hard way that she knew nothing about what went on behind Finn
's quicksilver eyes. No doubt he was just amusing himself again, some twisted entertainment only he could dream up. Maybe not twisted—he wasn't a pervert, she grudgingly conceded—but certainly beyond her ability to comprehend.

  One thing she was certain of was the passion in his kiss. That hadn't been feigned. It had been pure sin, seductive and addictive. One kiss from Finn after fifteen years without, and she stupidly craved more. The realization made her annoyance flame hotter. What, there aren't enough women panting after him already that he has to get an old girlfriend back in the harem?

  Maybe he was bored. Wanted a little variety to add to his menu of starving models and big-breasted actresses.

  Well, wouldn't he be in for a surprise, then. No way was she going to fall for Riff Logan again. No way. Loving him hurt too much. Especially when he didn't love her.

  Chapter 6

  Riff tossed the magazine down on the coffee table in disgust. The motion sent a handful of others sliding off the table to land in a rustling pile of glossy pages and newsprint on the carpeted floor in the hotel suite's sitting area.

  Slumping against the back of the couch, he tipped the bottle up to take a swig of his beer. The cold, yeasty brew had a bitter bite that failed to satisfy. Somehow, it always tasted better when the air was hot and sultry, and the sun reflecting off the lapping waves was bright enough to make you see spots. Like on a sweaty summer day spent lounging on Granddad's dock. Broodingly, Riff nudged the pile of magazines with one bare toe, not really seeing the mess.

  It was Sunday afternoon, and Serena hadn't called.

  He hadn't really expected her to, but … he'd hoped. Instead, here he was, reduced to reading the celebrity mags and trash gossip to find out more about the woman she'd become.

  Milo had only been able to give him the sketchiest details over the phone, and there hadn't been time to read any of the published reports before he'd gone to Serena's place yesterday. Actually, it hadn't occurred to him. When he'd last seen her, Serena had been a sweet, vibrant, innocently sexy young woman about to head off to college. Not too sweet, though; she'd take on anyone and anything. Intellectually, he knew fifteen years could drastically change someone, but he hadn't really considered it in relation to Serena. Seeing her yesterday had been a shock to his system, no doubt. While he recognized the woman of memory, she was also so much more. Hence the reading frenzy.