Risky Return

  Risky Return

  Nicole Helm

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2014 by Nicole Helm. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 109

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Indulgence is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC. For more information on our titles, visit http://www.entangledpublishing.com/category/indulgence

  Edited by Wendy Chen & Libby Murphy

  Cover design by Heidi Stryker

  ISBN: 978-1-62266-511-2

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition March 2014

  Table of Contents

  Also by Nicole Helm

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Seven-Night Stand

  Indulge in more...

  Also by Nicole Helm

  Seven Night Stand: A Harrington Airfield Series book

  To Courtney, for stepping in and talking me off many a ledge.

  Chapter One

  Ryan Harrington stood at the entrance to one of Harrington Airfield’s hangars, eyes on the sky and hands jammed into his pockets. He waited, alone, for his past to land right back at his feet.

  The grim smile sneaked across his face briefly before he firmed it into a frown. As much as a shock as it had been to find out he was still legally married to his high school sweetheart, the one who’d disappeared the minute they’d thought their marriage wasn’t legal, the union served a purpose.

  Because CeeCee McAvoy was now Celia Grant, one of the biggest names in Hollywood, and he had a reality show that needed a star for its pilot episode. The idea of fixing up celebrities’ planes with his twin brother for television had seemed kind of odd in the beginning, but he’d gotten used to the idea over the past few months.

  With a name as big as Celia Grant for one episode alone, the show’s first season was sure to be picked up and filmed.

  Stumbling across the pastor’s name on the last divorce proceeding he’d handled as an attorney had been something like divine intervention. Once he’d seen the name, he’d done some digging, and found out the guy was a lot more legit than the church had led him and CeeCee to believe.

  And they were still married.

  Celia was exactly what he needed. Maybe the threat to slip the story of their marriage and her desertion to the tabloids if she didn’t film this pilot episode was a little underhanded, but it was necessary.

  Celia called it blackmail, but what he was really doing was making sure this show succeeded. Making sure Harrington would have the opportunity to become a household name. Making sure he gave Gramps something back for all the ways he and Grandma had supported him throughout the years, even if neither of them would be able to see it.

  Harrington Airfield had been cobbled together by his grandfather over fifty years ago. In the middle of nowhere, Kansas, Gramps had built this private airport and raised a family off it, passing along a love for flying. Though a stroke had all but taken Gramps’s lucidity, Ryan and his brother couldn’t ignore the legacy he left, one they wanted to make even bigger and better than it already was.

  A sweet Cirrus SR22 came into view, its bright white vivid against the blue sky and setting sun. It wasn’t the plane they’d be working on for the show. No, this one was like no other plane that had ever graced the aging tarmac of Harrington.

  This was the kind of plane only people who got paid millions of dollars for a few months of work had. Those types of people didn’t usually hang out in Demo, Kansas.

  But they soon would. Vivvy, his brother’s TV producer girlfriend, might be the muscle behind the concept of Celebrity Air, but Ryan was going to be a part of making sure it succeeded. Nate and Vivvy deserved this to work out, to be able to keep Vivvy here on a more permanent basis. And maybe Ryan felt as though he owed Nate for having stayed away so long while his brother shouldered all the family responsibilities. So Ryan had come back here to make this show something, to give Gramps something of a tribute, and there were very few things he put his mind to that he didn’t get.

  The plane took the landing a little hard, bouncing it, and Ryan shook his head. Taught by his grandfather, CeeCee—er, Celia—should have known enough to hire a better pilot than that. She’d had her pilot’s license, and had been pretty good at the controls back in the day. She should damn well know better.

  But as the pilot stepped out onto the wing, he found that it was no hired man. Nope, Celia Grant hopped onto the tarmac like a character straight out of one of her movies, perfectly unrumpled clothes, lips made up with bright-red lipstick. A breeze floated blond strands of wavy hair away from her face, as though there was some perfectly placed wind machine just out of sight.

  She crossed the concrete pad to him slowly, her eyes shaded with aviator sunglasses that probably cost as much as his entire wardrobe.

  “Ry.” Even her voice was different. Sultry and womanly. And, whether credit to her acting skills or to how pissed she was at him, just that one syllable echoed contempt, anger, and disgust.

  So he smiled, because some little bitter part of the old Ry Harrington really wanted to piss her off. “CeeCee. Or should I call you Mrs. Harrington?”

  Her full, painted red lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s Celia Grant. Period.”

  Her response seemed appropriate, because there was nothing about the woman before him that reminded him of CeeCee McAvoy. This woman was a stranger, a well-dressed, perfectly made-up stranger. No matter how different their lives were, he’d once loved this person. But there wasn’t even a glimpse of that. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected in this moment, but to find someone he couldn’t recognize hadn’t been it.

  Maybe it was for the best.

  She shoved her sunglasses up on her head and looked around Harrington. When her gaze rested on him, it was like a punch to his gut. In those dark-blue eyes, he saw the woman he once would have done anything for.

  The recognition hurt a lot more than he’d expected.

  “Ten years is a long time.” He said it to remind himself that a decade separated them from when they’d been in young, stupid love. When he thought he’d helped her escape…and then she’d escaped him, too.

  Her rigid posture slumped slightly and she flicked the sunglasses back down over her eyes, despite the quickly disappearing sun. “Yeah.”

  “One week out of your fancy life for a no-fuss, no-publicity annulment isn’t much to ask, now is it?” She had a cushy celebrity life now. She could be a little gracious about doing him a favor.

  “You have no idea what you’re asking.” She walked back to the plane and pulled out two oversize bags. “I guess your dreams of a fancy life never came to fruition?”

  “Don’t assume, darling. You know what it does to both of us.”
/>
  “Do not call me darling.”

  “After ten years of wedded bliss, what should I call you? Sugar? Honey? Sweet cheeks?”

  “This isn’t a joke to me. Do you have any idea…” She trailed off, hefting the bags over her shoulder as she shook her head.

  No, it wasn’t a joke. None of the discomfort in his gut or the reminders of how she’d disappeared felt very funny. “Relax, Celia. Hold up your end of the bargain, and nothing bad has to happen.”

  She snorted. “Right. Can we just go?”

  For some reason he wanted to argue more, spur her on, get under her skin. That bitter part of him he thought a minuscule thing seemed to grow, just by being in her presence. Whether or not she had once been the woman he loved, she was beautiful. He’d seen her movies, he knew she was a great actress, but part of her rise to fame had to do with a kind of beauty even Hollywood couldn’t manufacture.

  He didn’t want to find her attractive any more than he wanted to remember, and he’d been a lawyer too long to let anything override his goal. There was a small part of him he tried to ignore that remembered, that didn’t want to hold anything over anybody. But some things had to be done despite that little voice of conscience.

  “Sure. Vivvy set up a room for you at a hotel in Addington. False name, per your instructions. I’m driving you so you don’t have to worry about someone in town recognizing you. I’ll get the room key. Vivvy has a rented car there al—”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “I changed my mind.”

  “I don’t care how important you think you are, darling, but you don’t get to call the shots here. I’m in charge.” Too much rode on the show working out. And whether he’d admit to it or not, Nate was depending on him to make Celia film the pilot. She couldn’t boss him around; he had to make sure things went his way.

  “How quaint that you’d still be under that impression.” She smirked. “You might be blackmailing me, but I’m the star here, and if you want the Celia Grant name to grace this reality show, I’ll damn well be calling the shots.” The way she said “reality” dripped with sarcasm, and it grated.

  He ground his teeth together to keep from saying the words he really wanted to say. I always call the shots. He’d learned at a very young age the only way to survive his disappearing/reappearing father and unpredictable mother was to step in and control a situation. With most people, it was simple—believe you were in charge and they followed. Few people had ever challenged him on that.

  Unfortunately his ex, er, current wife seemed determined to do just that. “You made a deal with Vivvy.”

  She shrugged. “Too bad. Now I want to stay somewhere I know I’ll be safe from the media. Out of sight.”

  “Oh, and where’s that?” Couldn’t hurt to humor her.

  “With you.”

  Any humor was completely gone. “You’re not serious.”

  “Oh, I’m very serious. And we’ll discuss what your end of the bargain is going to entail on the drive.”

  She sashayed in front of him, swinging hips, bouncing hair. It was a flounce, plain and simple, and it didn’t sit well with him. He was in charge here.

  There was no way he was letting his soon-to-be ex-wife get the upper hand.

  …

  When it came to returning to Demo, Celia didn’t see anything amusing about it, but the look on Ryan’s face when she’d told him she was staying with him? That was damn funny.

  Well, except for the fact that he had a very nice face. In fact, he appeared to be one of those men who actually got hotter with age. The square jaw more pronounced, the few fine lines fanning out from his eyes—all they did was add a distinguished roguish look. And damn those green eyes to hell and back for still having any effect on her whatsoever.

  She wasn’t sure where the idea to stay with Ryan stemmed from. Really, she should want to stay far away, but something in the way he’d joked around about their ten-year marriage-that-wasn’t made her want to punish him. It was bad enough he was blackmailing her here, back to where everything could be ruined, but he had to treat this…them…what they’d been, as a joke.

  Leaving Demo hadn’t been easy. Nothing about the past ten years had been easy. It had been all about making herself into Celia Grant, a woman miles away from CeeCee McAvoy.

  She’d become America’s Sweetheart, not some after-school special’s cautionary tale. She was a star with the kind of reputation she’d always dreamed of, and she would not—could not—let Ryan screw that up. She’d spent years keeping her mother at bay; Ryan would be a piece of cake.

  She’d do this show, if she really couldn’t convince him to take the payoff she’d offered, and then they’d get the most secret annulment of all time. No one would have to know they’d been married as teenagers, let alone that she’d run out on him. That was definitely not the image she’d made.

  So she’d make sure he held up his end of the bargain and no one would ever know she’d ditched the love of her life three days after they’d been married for the bright lights of Hollywood. For the promise of her own life. Free of everything and everyone, including herself.

  She might never escape her deeper, darker secrets regarding her father’s death, but she could be free of this one. As long as her mother never found out she was here, within touching distance. Where she could demand more, and in person. Where she could make Celia remember.

  “Give me your bags,” Ryan ordered gruffly. Whatever confidence and humor he’d had when she showed up had morphed into anger and frustration.

  Good. She handed him her bags and he tossed them into his trunk without any finesse. Jerk. “Those are expensive.”

  He merely sneered and stalked over to the driver’s side.

  “You don’t get to sneer at me. You brought me here.” Even if the sneer was kind of hot in that “I’m a powerful man” kind of way. No, no, no, no, no, you idiot.

  “I can do whatever the hell I want.”

  Sobering thought. It was so utterly, painfully true. Ryan had always, always managed to do whatever he felt needed to be done—including helping her, while she floundered under pain and lies and secrets. Every time she thought she was getting what she wanted, something like this cropped up. Some reminder of everything she was desperate to leave behind.

  Celia watched the flat Kansas landscape out the window. Early spring gray. She hadn’t missed this place, the dreariness of it, the pain of it. But here she was, ten years after she’d escaped. The irritation and fear and frustration built, but she wouldn’t let it take her over. She’d keep fighting—fighting this past that wouldn’t let her go. She’d made it this long and someday, if she kept fighting, maybe she’d be completely free.

  Spending a week in Ryan’s house would hurt, would bring the memories to the forefront, but she could handle those. They weren’t abuse and they weren’t her mother’s manipulations. It was just the man she used to love.

  She glanced at Ryan. His hands clutched the steering wheel; his jaw was set tight. She remembered that look. Whenever he’d been angry with his dad for disappearing again. Whenever he’d discovered yet another bruise her father had put on her. Barely restrained fury.

  But he’d always restrained it. For her. He’d always been so careful not to scare her, not to hurt her. He might have controlled every situation, been so determined to make all their choices, but he’d been that careful.

  She would be an idiot to think he was being that careful for her right now. No, he was trying to get this show made, for whatever reason. After ten years and the way she’d left, he most certainly didn’t care about her now.

  “Why is this so important to you?” she asked, doing her best acting to remain flippant and judgmental when the simmering anger in her chest threatened to snap out. “Some pointless reality show. Really, Ryan. Couldn’t handle the demands of being a lawyer?”

  “You left to make something bigger and fancier for yourself, right? This pointless reality show can make Harr
ington bigger than it’s ever been.”

  “Harrington didn’t mean so much to you when you were making plans to leave.”

  “When we were making plans to leave, you mean?”

  We. So many years since they’d been a “we” the word barely made sense. “You wanted out. Just as much as I did.”

  “I got out. Now I’m back.”

  “Couldn’t hack it in the big wide world?” It was a nasty thing to say, a very un-Celia Grant-like thing to say, but she couldn’t let him believe she had any positive memories of him, any positive feelings. That would give him a power she couldn’t afford.

  And maybe in some weird way, she had the chance to be a little un-Celia Grant-like here, when it was just the two of them and he was threatening everything she’d built.

  “Same old CeeCee, completely missing the point.”

  “Stop calling me that, Ry.” He couldn’t make her into CeeCee McAvoy. Not with his memories or old names or anything. She wouldn’t let him put her back in that place she’d worked so hard to forget.

  He pulled his car into a drive in front of a pretty little ranch house. It was something like what she might have imagined for herself—for the two of them—a decade ago. Pretty little house with a neat yard and charming deck.

  She wanted to throw something at it. A big heavy rock to bash in the clean and sparkling windows. A pile of mud to mess up its homey, cozy exterior.

  Why was she doing this? To irritate him. To grab some control for herself. To make this her choice in the midst of so much that wasn’t.

  He got out of the car without a word, leaving her to carry her own bags.

  “Aren’t you going to get those for me?”

  He stopped mid-stride, glanced over his shoulder. “Sweetheart, this isn’t Hollywood and I’m not your servant. Get your own damn bags.”

  “I’m not your sweetheart, so let’s keep the endearments to yourself.”

  He resumed his angry strides toward the house. Celia pulled her bags out of the car, pleased with herself for getting under his skin.

  Because of Ryan she’d had to spend the past two months orchestrating this “vacation.” Only her lawyer knew she was here instead of some Caribbean island on a private beach vacation. She hadn’t even told her publicist, Aubrey, who was also possibly her only real friend since, well, Ryan.