Fall Into Temptation (Blue Moon Book #2)(2)

“Can we talk about something else?” Beckett begged.

Phoebe sighed again and let him have his way. “How was your trip?”



Victoriously, Gia rolled back on the mat. Nailing the conversion from headstand to handstand was a pride-booster. But she was just as grateful for all of the stumbles and falls along the way. Earning her place with hard work and sweat was more satisfying than falling into something great, she decided. And with practice and focus she’d learn to minimize the stumbles.

Gia stared up at the ceiling of her studio. Her very own yoga studio.

When life threw you curve ball after curve ball, eventually you had to hit one of them out of the park, she thought.

And this would be her home run. She had a gut feeling about the way everything had fallen into place. The newly available studio space. A charming rental that was walking distance to the studio. And being closer to her father was an added bonus. Growing up, she’d been so close to him as he took on the role of both father and mother — not to mention mediator when she and her sisters feuded. She’d missed him in the recent years when circumstances kept them apart.

But now, things would be different. She would be different. Life wouldn’t revolve around the whims of someone so casually careless with hearts. The foundation she’d build here would provide the much-needed stability for those who depended on her.

Blue Moon — with its good vibes and quirky traditions — would be the fresh start that she needed.

Gia stood up and stretched her arms over her head. She tugged her paint-splattered tank top down and, hands on hips, studied the space.

The paint looked good. It was colorful, but soothing. The rest of the space had received a tasteful facelift with new dimmable lighting, brightly colored cushions and soft throws, and Zen-inspired art on the walls. She had repainted the smaller studio in the back and changed out the vanities in both bathrooms.

A quick, surface clean and she would be ready for the ribbon cutting tomorrow. She’d meet more of her neighbors and celebrate this new beginning.

The ceremony was representative of more than just a new business. It was a new start. A new home, a new way of life. A steadier one, with fewer mistakes and bigger rewards.



Beckett tossed the handwritten messages in the recycling bin and reached for a glass. In ten days, he’d piled up fifteen messages from modeling agencies interested in representing him and his brothers.

He made a mental note to kill Summer when he saw her next.

Her article on his brother Carter and the family farm had garnered undue attention when it was published in a New York-based women’s magazine. The article had been edited down to the equivalent of a Playgirl pictorial. The piece earned enough attention on its own, but when Summer published the original article on her blog, it had gone viral.

He and his brothers had since attracted ridiculous offers from both modeling agencies and women. Ellery took a great deal of joy in reading aloud some of the more creative offers that arrived via his business email.

He was filling a glass straight from the tap in his kitchen when the lights in the guesthouse caught his eye. Beckett checked his watch. Eight-thirty. It was early enough to stop by and introduce himself to his new tenant.

He walked out the back door, off of the porch, and crossed the small patch of grass that separated his home from the guesthouse. It was a cozy two-story built to compliment his rambling Victorian. Two bedrooms upstairs, a doll-sized kitchen downstairs and reasonable living and dining spaces, it was cozy and charming. And had rented faster than he anticipated.

He stepped onto the narrow porch and rapped his knuckles on the glossy black door. Through the glass, he saw a kid climb off of the couch and shuffle toward him. He had sandy colored hair and suspicious eyes.

“Yeah?” The kid said.

“Hey. I’m your landlord slash neighbor,” Beckett said jerking his thumb toward his house. “Is your mom around?”

“She’s not my mom.” The kid said it sullenly as if it were a constant point of contention.

“She kidnap you?” Beckett asked with an expression of mock concern. “If you’re being held against your will, blink twice.”

The kid’s lips twitched into a smirk.

“I know the sheriff. I can have him over here in five minutes. It’s pretty boring crime-wise here. He’d love to get his hands on a good, old-fashioned kidnapping case.”

“She’s my ex-stepmother,” he said by way of an explanation. “And she’s not here.”

“Well, I’ll stop by some other time and make sure she’s not making you scrub floors or live in the closet under the stairs.”

It was almost a smile this time.

“Later, kid.”

“Later, landlord.”





2





Cheerful from caffeine and a good night’s sleep, Beckett breezed through the doorway into the section of his house that was dedicated to his law practice. Originally a parlor, the high-ceilinged room opened onto a glassed-in sun porch, making the entire space bright and comfortable.

Here he’d stripped the dark plaid wallpaper from the walls, but left the waist-high wainscoting. Built-ins flanked the double doors that opened into the library that he used as a conference room. On the back wall was a large stone fireplace.

His office was through a set of ornately carved pocket doors toward the front of the house, overlooking the porch and driveway.