Read Resisting the Musician (a Head Over Heels Novel) (Entangled Indulgence) for Free Online Page A

the intention of getting her the hell out of his house had ended with her lifting, sighing, sinking against him, lips parted, eyelashes lowered, hand reaching for chest.
    He could still catch her scent on the air. Hot. Spicy. Satisfaction.
    Rearranging the resultant bulge in his pants, Dash had to admit that was a need, too. One he’d reduced fantastically as part of his efforts at self-flagellation. One he wouldn’t be able to kybosh forever, as recent events would attest. He’d have to take care of that. As it’d be a cold day in hell before he let himself get mixed up with the likes of Lori Hanover.
    He headed back to the shed, ready to work.
    He could worry about the secret later. The song. The tempting blonde tangling it altogether.
    Talk about penance…

Chapter Three
    “We’re here, Miss Hanover.”
    Lori came to from the dismal fog inside her head to find Mack frowning at her from the front seat of the town car like he’d called her name a dozen times.
    “Thanks, Mack,” she said, massaging the tension headache that had ridden over her since she’d walked out of her last meeting.
    A small but prestigious magazine Calliope Shoes had advertised in for years had informed her that their publication was ‘going in a different direction,’ so fearful were they of being besmirched with her poisonous press they’d actually refused to be paid.
    It had been her teenage years in Fairbanks all over again, what with the sly glances and loud whispers like pinpricks attacking her skin. That’s Lori Hanover—she lives in the beat-up part of the Shady Maple trailer park. Works in the canning factory in Edgemont and the truck stop on the I-5. She’s the one who gave Janice Bickerson the black eye for calling her sister a mouse…
    The injustice sliced through her belly when she’d walked through the foyer after the disastrous meeting to find every coffee table covered in magazines, half of them with Callie, or Jake, or Callie and Jake spewed sensationally across the covers.
    Lori’s right thumb swished restlessly over the face of her phone and her focus shifted to take in the house in the woods. The morning might have been a mighty fail, but this—this project, this song—would make the difference. Retailers followed money. Money favored panache. Love was always in style.
    If Dash Mills was the songwriter Callie believed him to be, this song would be their saving grace. It had to be.
    She could only hope that he’d remember their appointment, that he’d live up to his end of the bargain and be home.
    It wasn’t raining anymore, but the ground was sludgy from days of misty downpour. Vowing to her glittery, taupe stilettos that she’d not let them perish like the ruffled wonders had, she shimmied out of the car, and with a renewed sense of purpose hiked up her skirt and hot-footed it to Dash Mills’s front door.
    Last time she’d made the rookie mistake of turning up in enemy territory unarmed. Since then she’d Googled, simmering the story of Dash Mills’ life down to a few salient points.
    He and Jake had been friends since they were thirteen years old. They’d started The Rift together in Jake’s mom’s garage—Jake singing and playing occasional bass. Apparently multi-talented Dash took on guitar, bass, piano, whatever the songs needed. He’d also written the music back then until Cesar ‘Rocky’ Cardano, the drummer, joined when he’d moved to Sausalito from New York. There were conflicting stories on how lead guitarist Lazlo Stone joined the band—mostly from his own lips.
    And four years earlier, in the middle of their biggest tour to date, Dash had shocked the world—and the band—by simply walking away.
    Lori didn’t find it so astonishing. Men did that kind of thing all the time. Her father, for one. One day he’d been there, the next day gone, leaving their bank accounts depleted and debts across town. Lori, then sixteen, had been left to raise Callie, working three jobs to feed,