Naked Love

by Jones, Lisa Renee

  “I think you need to focus on how much you owe this label and how much you cost us with your little detour from your contractual obligations before you decide to change what’s been proven to make money.”

  Ouch. That hurt and I must have shown it on my face because he had the bad manners to look like a smug dickhead. I knew I’d lost them money, but they’d also recouped a bunch of it by releasing a “greatest hits” album while I was in rehab. But my alternative was to tell them to shove it up their bottom line and see if some other label would buy out my contract. Nothing was guaranteed with my track record. I was hoping to get back on top with this tour and a successful next album, and then I’d have more options.

  “Fine, Liam. Obviously we have a lot to discuss about the new album.”

  “I think you need to be prepared to do some listening.” He nodded at me, spun on his heel and walked back into the café to navigate the danger zone of having his mistress and his wife in the same room at the same time. I’d taken no end of happiness by adding them both to the guest list. It was petty and mean and I was not sorry.

  I walked over to the staff lockers, slamming a door in frustration. I knew I had to make good on my promise to apologize for my failures, but having to kiss his ass was a whole other story. I needed to talk to my legal team about my power over this album. I wouldn’t go to Ron; he sided with Liam and thought the status quo was the way to go. Once I knew where the lines were, I’d figure out which ones I wanted to cross and which ones needed to go entirely.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  I turned to find Max standing in the doorway, partially blocking the noise and people in the Bluebird. He took one look at me, glanced behind him at the crowd and shut the door. He stalked over to me, eyes locked on my face, and even though I wanted to look away, I couldn’t. Instead I did what I did best. I hid.

  “Don’t do that,” he said.

  “Do what?”

  “That thing where you shut down.” He reached up to brush a curl off my face and I leaned into the touch in spite of myself. “You did it the other day when I gave you your guitar. For a couple of minutes you were real and then it was like you flipped a switch and this mask came down.”

  I just stared at him. I knew exactly what he was describing. I’d started doing it when I had come to Nashville on my own at sixteen. It was self–preservation to keep people at a distance and it had stuck once I’d become a celebrity.

  “It’s Super Kit,” I mumbled, wishing I had a better way to describe it.

  “Super Kit?”

  “Yeah, that’s what Bridget calls my alter ego. The make–up, the costumes, the band behind me—they’re usually a dead give–away.” I flexed my arms and struck a pose like a cartoon superhero. It was lame, but Bridget and I had done it so often when I needed a laugh that it was second nature. “Super Kit! Able to fill arenas in a single night!”

  Max didn’t laugh. Instead he cupped my face with his large, calloused hand and looked me right in the eyes, his own searching for something I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to see or miss. He was warm and I was freezing in the A/C, and it took super human strength not to latch on to him just to steal his body heat.

  And cop a feel. I could be honest with myself about wanting to grope his ass at the first available opportunity.

  “I could use one of those costumes,” he said.

  “Sorry. It’s one–of–a–kind. I made it myself.”

  He pulled me close and I rested my head on his chest and wrapped my arms around his waist. We couldn’t stay in here forever. The rumble of the crowd was just beyond the door but I would take this moment for an opportunity for calm before launching back into the fray. It was nice to have someone on my side. Really nice.

  I inhaled deeply, indulging in the amazing combination of hot male and spicy aftershave. Yum. His body was hard beneath the cotton of his shirt and his muscles bunched and rippled when I touched him. His hand caressed the skin exposed on my shoulders and back and the sensation from the touch raced under my skin, lighting me up and starting a slow burn deep inside.

  His voice rumbled in his chest, just under my cheek. “A job that requires all that armor doesn’t sound like much fun.”

  I rolled my eyes and poked him in the side. “Says the man who wears a ton of protective gear every time he goes out on a call.”

  “Point taken.” Max pulled back and smoothed the hair back from my face. “But that’s a physical danger. Your costume sounds more like it’s designed to protect your feelings.”

  Uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation, I pulled out of his embrace, turning to trace the name on the locker closest to me. “I love what I do.” I tried to play it cool but, even to my ears, my voice sounded defensive so I paused to collect my thoughts. “Dolly Parton said that those of us in the music business have the same problems as everybody else. Money, fame—nothing changes that—we just get to do it in public.” I smiled to myself, the rightness of my new music bubbling up in spite of the smack–down from Liam. “The music makes it worth it for me. It always comes back to the music.”

  Max’s arms looped around my waist, his front pressed against my back, head resting on my shoulder. His voice rumbled in my ear and I felt it down in my bones. “But you still need the costume?”

  I sighed and leaned into the warmth of his touch. “You meet people and they have expectations of you because of the image. The trick is figuring out who you can trust enough to let them see behind the costume.”

  “And people you know?”

  Somehow he’d zeroed in on what had put me in this funk. Smart, nosy bastard.

  “My label, my management—they don’t want me to change anything about the costume.”

  “And now it doesn’t fit.”

  I turned around then, staying within the circle of his arms, and eyeballed him, wondering how he’d gotten all of this so right. He didn’t wait for me to finish.

  “That song... it was amazing, but Liam Connor was the only one not thrilled about it. Then Bridget said some cryptic shit about the music not being about the music and Liam left you back here in a mood and slamming doors.” I let the shock show on my face. I was impressed. His lip tilted up in a sexy grin. “I’m more than just a pretty face and big dick.”

  While I desperately hoped the second part was true, he’d accomplished what he’d sought to do. Make me laugh and shake off the fun–killing mood.

  We stood like that for a few moments while his words settled between us. I was more comfortable with Max, almost a stranger, than I was with people who surrounded me every day. He’d been real since the first time we’d met and he treated me like a normal girl, even though my life was anything but ordinary. I liked him and I ignored the whisper that said I could do a lot more than like him if our timing was different.

  Curious about him, I turned the tables. “So, your turn. Do you love what you do?”

  Max backed us up until my back was pressed against the cool metal of the lockers, the sharp contrast causing me to give an involuntary shiver. He placed one hand against the lockers, tracing the line of the skinny strap on my dress with his fingers. That gave me the shivers, too—for an entirely different reason.

  He broke eye contact with me, instead focusing on the movement of his hands, his face losing some of its usual playfulness.

  “Yeah. After high school someone close to me died and I wanted a job that helped people.”

  “Because you couldn’t help your friend?”

  He nodded. “I considered teaching like my folks, but the thought of a job stuck in a building all day didn’t appeal to me. I signed on with the NFD and I have no regrets. I’d like to get promoted, be a shift leader someday, but I still love it.”

  I gazed up at him, struck by his simple sincerity. Max seemed like such a real guy underneath all the swagger. I didn’t doubt that he would deliver on everything his body and sexy mouth promised, but there was more to him. I’d met lots of people and I think I’m a good ju
dge of when I’m being fed a load of crap. I hadn’t always been adept at figuring it out and that had led to lots of heartache, broken promises, feeling used, and dating losers.

  Lots of losers.

  Losers who used me for rides. Losers who used me for a place to crash. Losers who used me for music connections. Losers who used me so they could sell the story to the tabloids.

  I was pretty sure Max wasn’t a loser. But I had to be sure.

  I already knew he had a truck.

  “Do you have a home, a place to sleep?”

  He was amused and baffled. “Yep. And I have a mortgage to prove it.”

  “Do you want to be in the music business?”

  “No, I can definitely say that I have no desire to be in the music business.”

  “Are you going to sleep with me and sell the story to the papers?”

  I cringed at how awful the question sounded actually spoken aloud. A quick peek to check his reaction and his thunderous expression told me that I’d definitely pissed him off.

  Max grabbed me and dragged me against him. His eyes were almost black as he loomed over me, trapping my body between his long, hard legs.

  He claimed my mouth in a kiss that was dominating, full of anger at my question, and the pent–up sexual heat that had simmered between us since we first met. Suddenly ravenous for him, I nipped at his lips and he plunged his hands into my hair, holding me still while he reclaimed possession of my mouth.

  I gasped when he pulled away and held my face in between his hands. Max’s voice was rough and edgy. “I want you. I want to do things to you that might be illegal in a few states. I want you in my bed, my truck, on a blanket by my favorite lake...” He moved even closer, grinding his cock against me and making my toes curl from the combination of his hard arousal and his words. “I want to lift up this skirt, push aside your panties and fuck you hard against this wall, but I do not want to tell any reporter about it.”

  His face was hard and intense and so damn sexy that I wanted to kiss him. So I did.

  I licked his bottom lip and kissed the corner of his mouth. My hands wandered; I couldn’t touch enough of him and I cursed the clothes that kept me from feeling the direct warmth of his skin. Max read my body like a book and he zeroed in on my neck, pressing kisses on the sensitive skin behind my ear, at the place where my pulse pounded under my skin. His hand returned to the strap of my dress and then drifted lower to cover my breast.

  I squirmed against his body, needing more of him than I could take here with a roomful of people just five feet away. I pulled back and soaked in the delicious sight of a spun–up, on–the edge–of–control Max and I knew what I needed to say.

  “Take me home, Max.”

  * * *

  Max

  “You live here?”

  I heard Kit laugh softly from the passenger seat of my truck. The directions she’d given me didn’t lead to the fancy, celebrity neighborhoods and farm–mansions that surrounded Nashville. Instead, she directed me to a part of downtown that wasn’t trendy, hip—or totally safe. A few blocks off Music Row, I pulled into an alley behind a building that housed an all–night Laundromat and a used bookstore. I’d plugged in the code Kit had recited at the gate and pulled in to park in a spot right next to a solitary door.

  I continued with my question. “Is it safe for you to live here?”

  “Yes. It’s safe.” She dug in her purse for her house keys as she exited the truck and I followed. “I have an alarm system and most people don’t know I live here—the celebrity home maps have it all wrong because they list my old place. I’ve never had any problems, but recently we’ve stepped up security with cameras that are monitored 24/7.” She gestured to cameras mounted all along the back of the building.

  Recently? What the hell did that mean? It was absolutely none of my business, but I tugged her close to get a better look at her face. “Is there a problem now?”

  She hesitated and I willed her to tell me the truth. The thought of someone trying to cause trouble for Kit made me want to howl as all of my protective instincts woke up. That link between us because I’d saved her life? Yeah, that was kicking in big time.

  She pulled away from my grasp and walked towards the building. “My life is always a little complicated, people wanting access that I cannot allow. My people are taking care of it. They tell me there’s nothing to worry about.” Her tone was clear that, even though she’d answered my question—the subject was closed.

  I let it go. My three weeks in her bed didn’t entitle me to a full access VIP pass to the rest of Kit’s life.

  I followed Kit over to the ugly security door and up a set of steep stairs. So far, I was unimpressed with the digs of a country music star but when I reached the top, it opened into a loft space that stopped me in my tracks. As she flipped on lights and threw her keys on a table, my gaze flickered over the open space, taking in the tall windows, the exposed brick, the living and kitchen area, and the area that was clearly her home office—the walls were covered with gold and platinum albums.

  “Surprised?”

  I turned to see Kit, observing my reaction. “I like it. I’m just surprised you don’t have one of those big mansions with security gates and a pool.” I shrugged and smiled at her. “You know, ‘Super Kit’s’ house.”

  “This place is just for me. Plain old regular Kit.” She turned away from me and nervously fiddled with something on the table behind her. She’d been all sexy and brave at the Bluebird but now that we were here—in the moment just before we took the leap from strangers to lovers—she was nervous.

  I watched her and marveled at how she constantly surprised me with her different sides. Kit was funny, sarcastic, sweet, and strong. But, now she was vulnerable and tender—and I wanted to walk over and hold her until she didn’t look so lost. I wanted to help her with the problem with her label and management team. I was hard–wired to do it. Hell, I ran into burning buildings for a living.

  I was three steps in her direction, when what I was contemplating hit me like a ton of bricks. This thing between us was not about becoming part of her life. This was about three weeks of fun and no strings. I couldn’t afford to forget the ground rules.

  Turning, I walked over to her display of awards and albums, and let my gaze wander over the signs of her success. Among the display were many photos of Kit with famous musicians, actors, and someone who looked suspiciously like the President of the United States. Fuck me.

  Shaking my head, I looked around and noticed a guitar and piano surrounded by stacks of paper that, upon closer observation, were filled with lyrics and musical chords.

  “Sorry about the mess.” I turned around to find Kit standing behind me. “I’m a complete slob when I’m writing.”

  She started to pick up the papers and I squatted down to help her organize the piles. I was impressed by the volume of work. She may have been a party girl in the past, but now she was clearly working her ass off. Letting out a low whistle, I said, “You sure do have a lot of songs here. Are these about anyone I know?”

  She winked at me and smiled. “I never write and tell.”

  “Protecting the guilty?”

  “Something like that.”

  Placing the last of the papers in her hands, I laughed, “So, are you going to write one about me?”

  “Nope.” Her tone was instantly chilly and I physically felt the temperature change in the room.

  Shit. I’d touched a sore subject and wasn’t sure how to proceed. That’s what happens when you forget the ground rules. Just sex. No talking. Talking always gets you in trouble. She was still silent so I decided to go with the humor angle. “You wanna think about that a minute before you just shoot me down?”

  “Sorry, but I won’t be writing a song about you.”

  Warily, I watched as she got up and took the papers over to a desk. Still looking down at her work, Kit continued, “I only write songs about men I fall in love with or who break my heart.” She tu
rned and caught me with her gaze. “We aren’t going to do anything crazy like fall in love or get hurt, are we?”

  Oh, hell. I’d walked into a minefield and had no clue where the danger was. Removing my tongue from the roof of my mouth, I swallowed hard and searched for the words that wouldn’t get me sent home with a major case of blue balls.

  “No. We aren’t going to do anything crazy.”

  We stared at each other and I recognized what passed between us—a silent agreement—that we would not cross over the line that was drawn in the sand. I was fine with it since I had no intention to go there again. I knew what held me back—broken promises, disappointment, loss. If half of what was printed in the magazines was true, I knew Kit had her reasons to stay away from the pitfalls of love and relationships, as well.

  Now that we understood each other, it was time.

  I stood up and walked over to where she stood, leaning against her desk. I watched her closely, taking the cues from her. She remained silent and still for so long that I’d almost decided the affair would end here, but then she reached out and gently brushed her thumb across my lower lip and my stomach dropped a couple of feet. I was hard, aching, and I had never wanted a woman so much in my life.

  Stepping forward, I pressed the entire length of my body against hers, groaning with the enjoyment of all her sexy curves. I lifted my hand to cup her face as my desire surged to flashpoint in about thirty seconds. I moved my hand back until my fingers wove into her hair, wrapping several curls in my grip and tugging her head backwards. I bit back my own groan when she gasped, her lips parting on the sound. Starving for her taste, I took her mouth in a bruising kiss. Our tongues tangled together in a slow glide and I thought I controlled the kiss until she pressed her body against my cock and my brain short–circuited.

  Releasing her mouth, I stared into her violet–blue eyes, lost to everything but the sensation of being here with her, right now.