Page 9 of Saving Mr. Bell

“No neighbors. The nearest cabin is about twenty miles away. Maybe more.” I gave the glass of water on the table a little shake and pointed to the painkillers. “So you’ll have to make do with these.”

He crossed the space and threw himself into the seat opposite, reluctance etched in every sinew of his body, and there was plenty of it on display, his club getup comprising a sleeveless T-shirt which molded itself to his impressive physique and that didn’t stretch far enough not to afford a quick glimpse of abs when he shifted position. He swallowed both tablets in quick succession before washing them down with half the glass of water.

“Eat,” I urged. “Before it gets cold.”

He stared at the plate, but made no move to pick up the knife and fork. “Did Jade put you up to this?”

“Who’s Jade?”

The look he leveled me with said he wasn’t buying my ignorance. “My manager. She’s been threatening to send me to rehab for some time. And I always tell her what she can do with the idea.”

I took a bite of sausage, the action seeming to spur Rudolf into eating something himself. He started with a forkful of scrambled egg. When that seemed agreeable, he moved onto the bacon.

“Perhaps she’s just looking out for you.”

“She isn’t.”

“How do you know?”

Rudolf stabbed angrily at a mushroom. “Because she’s a first-class bitch who has pound signs in her eyes whenever she looks at me. All she’s concerned about is getting me back in front of a piano as quickly as she can, so she gets her percentage.”

“Doesn’t she get her percentage whether or not you play? I mean, you’re still doing public appearances, right? That’s why you were here in Austria.”

“Only because I can’t get out of them. And If I disappeared from the public eye altogether, then I wouldn’t have any need for a manager, would I? And she knows that.” He paused for a moment to chew. “Anyway, I don’t have a problem with alcohol or drugs, so I’m not going to rehab. No matter what her or my father might have to say on the subject.” At my slightly raised eyebrow, he offered an explanation between bites of food. “She’s basically a mouthpiece for him.”

“How is your father?”

It was like a dark cloud descended on Rudolf as he reached for his mug and drank some of the coffee. “Same old.”

“That good, huh?” My dealings with Jeremiah Bell had been few, but they’d been enough for me to know he was a formidable man: a man used to getting his own way, and who had put himself front and center of his only child’s destiny. It hadn’t seemed that strange when Rudolf was seventeen, but if he hadn’t slackened his grip on the reins—which it sounded like he hadn’t from what Rudolf was saying—it was far more unusual now his son was twenty-three, and might offer some explanation why Rudolf was acting the way he was. He hadn’t rebelled as a teenager, so perhaps he was doing it now in the only way he knew how. When Rudolf only offered a shrug, I changed the subject. “How did you sleep?”

“Okay. The bed’s comfy enough.”

“I know. I’ve slept in it. Don’t worry, I changed the sheets,” I added as an afterthought.

“I wasn’t worried.”

Right. He’d probably woken up in no end of strange men’s beds if the rumors of his conquests were true. Although, knowing the press, there was embellishment there.

Rudolf sat back in his chair, seeming surprised to find his plate empty. “I don’t normally bother with breakfast,” he explained.“Now… how about you tell me why you’ve brought me here? Are you going to chain me to the bed and use me as a sex slave?”

My cock gave a traitorous twitch at the image he’d conjured up even as I said “no,” the word coming out sharper than I’d intended. Because older Rudolf, even with all the sharp edges he’d gained since last we’d met, was an incredibly attractive man. “I forgot the chains.”

“But you took my phone off me.”

I tilted my hip so I could slide my hand into the pocket of my jeans. Once I’d extracted Rudolf’s phone, I slid it across the table toward him. He looked relieved until he switched it on. “Haha, hilarious. It’s not much good without the SIM card, is it? What did you do with it?”

“I don’t remember,” I lied. Before he could call me on my bullshit, I leaned across to where I’d left my phone charging. “It wouldn’t matter if it did still have the SIM card in. There’s no reception.”

He snatched my phone out of my hand and studied it with a scowl. “Oh, you thought of everything, didn’t you?”

I laughed. “Not really. The reception was already sketchy, but it existed if you picked the right spot. The blizzard seems to have finished it off completely, though.”

Rudolf shoved my phone back across the table, annoyance etched in the gesture. “Are you going to answer my question?”

“Which one?”

Narrowed green eyes met mine. “Why. The fuck. Am I here? Is it like an Annie Wilkes inMiserything, only instead of getting me to write you a new version of a novel, I have to sit and play the piano for you?”

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