Chapter 1

Chapter One

Dex

If it were up to me, I’d blow up the entire month of December. All the lights and trees and lovely decorations. All the cheerful advertisements with puppies and children and fake Santas. The incessant holiday carols that are pumped into the atmosphere with the sole design to repeat forever in your brain. It’s not that I hate Christmas necessarily, in fact, in years past, I’ve rather enjoyed it.

But this year, two things happened.

One, my mum passed away about five months ago, which left an unhealable chasm in my chest. Two, I had a really bad night roughly two weeks ago that resulted in me getting arrested for assault. In fairness, I don’t regret breaking the nose of the man who was in my bed fucking my fiancée. Twenty-four hours later, my now ex-fiancée released a sex tape of me screwing another woman while I was still with my fiancée.

Before you go and judge, it was a threesome designed and led by my fiancée who told me she thought it would be so hot and fun and that it was one of her ultimate fantasies. She begged me to do it. I was dumb. I was in love—or so I thought—and wanted to make my woman happy by giving her everything she ever desired.

Again, I was dumb. And clearly far too trusting.

It’s put me in a bit of a bind with my record label who are less than thrilled with all the negative press.

Especially when the incidents hit front-page news not only across the UK but across the world. Then I dropped the cherry of all cherries on top of my ice cream sundae. I fired my PR manager. Stupid? Probably, but considering my fiancée was my PR manager, I didn’t exactly have a choice. She played me like a maestro and kept the video for retaliation, ready to exploit me at the most opportune moment.

And that moment was when I caught her actually cheating and reacted and then fired her. My name—my reputation—it’s all fucked thanks to her and her lies. No one wants to hear my side of it because she looks like the victim—the woman is in PR and knows how to spin a good story—and I look like the womanizing, violent, loose cannon.

As my best mate Will put it rather bluntly, I need to hide out for a while.

And as misery would have it, Will woke up yesterday with the flu. With that, his plans for a winter holiday with his wife were put on hold. He begged me to take over his rental in the States. Promised it was the perfect spot to take a break, let the news simmer down, and work on some new music.

So now here I am in bloody Wyoming of all places, and after nearly fifteen hours of travel, including a stop to refuel, I pull up in front of the house in my rental SUV and park in the driveway. That was a trip, driving on the wrong side of the road—something I haven’t done in years since I primarily live in London and not LA now. Light snow dances gently from the heavens, making the small cabin-style home tucked at the end of the long road, framed by mountains and fir trees, all the more picturesque.

There’s nothing for miles. No sound other than the wind gently rustling the branches of the trees. No reporters hiding in the shrubbery outside my flat. It’s pristine and beautiful and perfectly peaceful out here. It’s also more snow than I’ve ever seen in my life, and as I step out of my car, I take a deep inhale of the cold, clean air.

My insides immediately calm, shifting into a quieter pace for the first time in I can't even remember how long. This is what I needed. To get away and relax. To forget the nightmare my ex put me through and focus on myself. On my music.

And pray my problems resolve themselves somehow.

With the first smile on my face in two weeks, I pull my luggage out of the boot and then make my way up to the front door. I punch in the code on the lock, already knowing this place is going to be above all when I get inside since that’s how Will and Ava travel.

The lock makes a delightful chirp, and then I pull the lever and step inside to what can only be described as a quintessential Christmas in the mountains escape. The charming open area boasts a massive top-of-the-line kitchen complete with the biggest island I’ve ever seen. Nearby is a large oval dining table, already set for eight. Off to the side is a library with windows on all sides, and a desk that holds two monitors. The two-story sitting area is a conglomerate of brown leather and soft cream fabrics with a towering stone fireplace. There’s a colossal, fully decorated Christmas tree that practically touches the ceiling, and Christmas lights and decorations cover every inch, though done quite tastefully.

Will had mentioned the back of the cabin has a second seating room with an additional fireplace that leads to an outdoor area with a whirlpool tub that I can’t wait to check out. The views through the windows in the kitchen and great room are a continuation of the landscape I already got an eyeful of outside.

For a moment, I just stand here, taking it all in until small things start to spark at me. Like there’s a fire half-attempted in the fireplace, the logs charred and smoking with no flame, and the scent of freshly baked cookies lingers in the air, that is clearly from the plate of decorated sugar cookies sitting on the counter. But it’s the dishes in the drying rack that give me pause and have me squinting around, taking in other small things that suggest someone has been here rather recently.

Like the bottles of wine and spirits on the counter by the sink and the beep of the coffee maker when it finishes brewing its pot.

Will never mentioned a housekeeper, though that doesn't surprise me considering he and Ava go first class with all the luxury and perks wherever they are.

“Hello?” I call out, though I hear nothing, and no one responds. Will must have informed the housekeeper I was coming, and she popped over early to make me coffee and cookies. And deliver alcohol, which he knew I’d need.

I snicker a bit at that as I wheel my luggage toward the stairs and then carry it up.

The master suite—which is the only bedroom here it appears—takes up the entire second floor with yet another fireplace and a large dark wood, four-poster king-size bed, and more grand windows. But as I enter the room, I stop short when I find women's clothes strewn across the chair in the corner. Black yoga pants, a white pullover, and a very thin and lacy white bra with matching knickers.

What in the hell?

“Hello? I call out a second time, only to catch the sound of water running through pipes. Did the housekeeper take a shower? Seems rather inappropriate. And strange. What if it’s a reporter who somehow discovered I was here and broke into the house? Wouldn’t be the first time those maniacs went to such extremes.

I pull up my phone to start texting Will, ready to ask him what's going on when the water suddenly shuts off, and a moment later, the door to the bathroom opens. Steam billows out, shrouding the room in a floral-scented fog, until my I snag on a pair of bright blue eyes. Before I can do anything other than blink, the woman belts out a scream, jumping high in the air, making the towel she was clutching against her chest fall to the floor in a wet heap.

For a moment, all I can do is stand here mesmerized. I haven't seen Faina since Will’s wedding two years ago, and that night we did not hit it off. A blunder that was my own doing, but now as I take in her long, wet hair, glowing, smooth skin, and out-of-this-world stunning curves, I can't drag my eyes away even as I tell myself I have to.

Faina. Holy hell. What is she doing here?

Ava’s sister never thought highly of me, though I’ve always had a thing for her. Ever since she let me cheat off her math test in our sophomore year of high school while pretending not to notice I was and then smiled and winked at me after.

“Dex?!” she shrieks, flying forward and snatching her towel off the floor and unfortunately wrapping it back around her body, though the sight of her in a towel is still pretty damn sexy. The loaded pistol pressing against the zipper of my trousers won’t be going anywhere anytime soon with her like this. “What are you doing here?”

“Me?” I point to my chest, annoyed she’s in my special hideaway when all I wanted was peace and solitude. Even if she is a literal wet dream come to life. “I’m staying here for the week. What are you doing here?” I turn that finger on her.

“You’re not spending the week here. I am! I have nowhere else to go.” She looks as though she’s ready to skin me alive as her cheeks flush with fury and her pretty eyes narrow into tiny slits of hate. “I spoke to Ava just last night, and she told me the place was going to be empty.”

Feeling the need to one-up her, I take a deliberate step forward, getting right up in her face. Feisty little minx doesn’t back off even an inch. It’s certainly not helping my situation below with her being fiery like this.

“Well, I spoke to Will yesterday afternoon, and he told me this place was all mine for the week. I just flew for more than fifteen hours, and I can tell you, I am not leaving.” Frankly, I don’t care what sort of misinformation her sister gave her. I realize Will feels like rubbish and is laid up in bed, so he and Ava likely didn’t talk to each other about their rental. But there is no way in fucking hell I’m leaving now that I’m here.

If one of us is to leave, it’s her.

An aggravated noise clears her throat. “No. No way. I got here first. I’m unpacked. I baked freaking cookies.”

“Goodie gumdrops for you, love. Gold star for effort.” Sarcasm drips from my tongue, enraging her. “I don’t care if you’ve made a bloody five-course meal. I’m not leaving.”

“You’re such a bastard,” she cries, shifting and tucking the top of her towel in tighter. “I see that hasn’t changed. If you’re looking for a new bed to make a sex tape in, you’ve come to the wrong place. Now leave. Fly back to whatever celebrity tabloid you crawled out of.”

The disdain in her voice sets me off. I don’t even know why. Maybe because I have been traveling for over fifteen hours and didn’t sleep much on the plane. Maybe it’s because I haven’t slept much in the weeks prior to that. Maybe it’s because no one fucking believes me that I didn’t cheat and that my ex is the monster and not me.

Whatever it is, it has me lashing out. “You don’t have to worry about me wanting to film a sex tape, princess. We’re the only two people here, and I just got a good look at what you’re hiding beneath that towel.” The moment the words flee my lips, I instantly regret them. “Fuck,” I hiss, wincing at her hurt expression that she quickly tries to hide with vitriol. I scrub my hand up and down my face, my voice and posture softening. “Listen, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that, and frankly, I didn’t mean it. It’s been a very long day and a very long couple of weeks. All of that bullshit is why I’m here hiding out.”

“I’m not leaving,” she grits out through clenched teeth. “I don’t care about your celebrity woes. Some of us have real problems we have to figure out, and there’s only one bed. Newsflash: We’re not sharing it. So grab your bag and go find somewhere else to hide out.”

My head pounds, and part of me wonders if it’s worth the headache she’s giving me. She hates me, and she has every right to after what I said about her at Will’s wedding and then again just now. Maybe I should go and see if I can find another place nearby to stay. At least for tonight. Then I’ll have to figure something else out. I don’t own a home in the States anymore. My parents had one in LA that they sold after I completed boarding school there. My mum preferred London, and I couldn’t blame her for it.

Faina is clearly not going anywhere, and I’m not sure how much fight I left in me. It seems I’ve reached my breaking point.

With a grunt, I turn and head for the door. Only something she said hits me, and I plant my hands into the frame, my back still to her. “Why don’t you have anywhere else to go?” I ask gently, even with her mocking my life as celebrity problems.

She makes a pained noise in the back of her throat that has me turning to look over my shoulder. Grief seems to take over, and suddenly her tough-girl routine withers and dies before me.

“Not that it's any of your business, but I broke up with my boyfriend, and in doing so, I lost my job. They’re fumigating my apartment in Boston this week, and I was going to be staying with him until I discovered his mistress. Something you clearly know all about.”

I hold her gaze, ignoring the barb. “I'm sorry. That's rough.”

She clears her throat and shifts her stance, obviously not having expected that response from me. Or my genuine sympathy for her.

“Thank you,” she utters reluctantly.

“She wasn’t my mistress,” I state, though I don’t know why I feel the need to defend myself. Maybe so she understands I’m actually in the same boat she is.

She’s silent, watching me cautiously, so I continue.

“That video was taken from a threesome my ex orchestrated months ago. It was her idea. She picked the woman. She participated fully. Just not on video. Two weeks ago, I caught her screwing a stranger in our bed when she thought I was out of town. I broke his nose and got arrested for it because the prick pressed charges. Then when I ended it with her and sacked her as my PR manager, she retaliated. That’s what you’re seeing in the tabloids. That I cheated and then was a hothead who broke her new man’s nose.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” Suddenly I’m cheesed off all over again. “So you’re not the only one with real-life problems. While I may be a celebrity, my music is my life, and she’s fucked with that. I can’t even leave my flat without being stalked and hounded by the world which hates me for something I didn’t do. Now I have to try to find somewhere else to hide out.” I storm out of the room, slamming the door behind me.

What the hell am I going to do now?