by Karen Booth
“I’m just glad I have you to talk to.” Without her, I’d really be lost.
Our conversation halted when the waitress appeared with our specials. After she left, we dug into our meals.
A few minutes later, Tracy looked up from her plate and asked, “Did Spencer happen to mention that he’s going to be working with Dash on his next album?”
“No, he didn’t say anything about that.” Dash Smith was Tracy’s former fiancé. They’d gotten engaged years ago, when both of them were still trying to make it. But nowadays, Tracy was struggling again, and Dash was a big star. At the moment, he was off on a world tour. “How do you know Spencer is going to be working with Dash?”
“I read about it.”
“You need to stop reading about Dash and following his career.”
“I know.” Beneath the brim of her hat, her expression turned tortured. “I’m a glutton for punishment.”
I was, too, apparently, judging how badly Spencer was affecting me. But my hang-up was based on lust. Somewhere in the pit of her broken heart, Tracy was still in love with her ex. “It’s not healthy for you to obsess about him.”
“I only do that because he’s so famous now.” She glanced toward the rainy window, then back at me. “I don’t begrudge him his success. I know how hard he worked for it. Dash was poorer than you and I ever were. He barely had food on the table when he was growing up. But it’s just so painful to see him out there, living the high life, while I can’t even get another record deal.” She blew out a sigh. “Even my indie career sucks.”
“I hate that you’re going through this.” These days, Tracy was putting her music out there herself, without a label to back her. But nothing was really happening. She was barely getting any downloads, even though her songs were really good. “Just don’t lose hope. You know how things can turn around in this business.”
“They certainly turned around for Dash. He has the number one country album in the world. He’s even crossing over into the pop charts.”
“I’ll bet he’s lonely on the road.” Or I hoped that he was, for her sake.
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, sure. With all those groupies out there, he’s probably suffering something awful.”
“Maybe you should reconsider his offer to help you.” She’d told me before that Dash had been reaching out to her. He’d even suggested them doing a duet.
“Are you kidding? I don’t need his charity. When I top the charts again, it’ll be because I earned it, not because I’m riding my ex’s coattails.”
“As much as I admire your principles, maybe you’re being stubborn about this, Trace.”
“Oh, yeah?” She shot me a silly grin. “At least I’ve gotten laid in the past five years.”
“Okay, smart-ass.” I laughed in spite of myself. “Punish me for being a good girl now.”
She leaned forward, pressing against the table. “Do you think Spencer wants you as badly as you want him?”
“Yes, I do.” I wasn’t going to pretend otherwise. I’d seen it on his face; I’d felt it from his reactions to me.
She sat back in her seat. “I understand that you’re waiting for the right guy, and I want nothing more than for you to find him and live happily ever after. But if something does happen between you and Spencer, it won’t be the end of the world, will it? I mean, at least it’ll be with someone who’s being cautious about his sex life, too.”
I swallowed the last of my mac and cheese. “That’s your answer to my problems?”
“No, of course not.” She gentled her voice. “But it seems pretty obvious that your attraction to him isn’t going to go away anytime soon.”
“Maybe not. But just thinking about being with him scares me.” The man who’d triggered my celibacy, who’d made me long for a husband and children and everything else I was missing.
She gestured to our near-empty plates. “Do you want to share a piece of pie since we’re almost done eating?” She pushed the free-standing dessert menu toward me. “It might make you feel better.”
I could definitely use something sweet today. “Maybe I should get my own slice instead of us sharing.”
I flipped through the laminated pages, even if my hunger for Spencer wasn’t something a warm gooey pie was going to satisfy. But it was safer than Tracy’s other suggestion.
I knew better than to slip back into bed with my old lover. I just needed to stay focused on working for him.
And nothing else.
CHAPTER FOUR
Spencer
I got up early, gulped down a ridiculously strong cup of black coffee and took a long, hot, stare-at-the-walls shower. After that, I spent the next few hours working on some new songs. Or trying to, anyway. I was distracted with thoughts of Alice.
When I’d first hooked up with her, I’d sympathized with her position that Kirby was a rich, spoiled, womanizing superstar who only cared about himself. But when I met him a few years later, I saw a strong and stable man sorry for his sins. He’d hurt lots of people. By no means was he perfect. Sometimes he could still be brash and arrogant. But overall, he had a damned fine heart.
I wasn’t going to let Alice taint my opinion of him. But that wasn’t my only problem with her. I wanted to strip her bare, all over again. I wanted to hold her in my arms afterward, too, and remove some of the stigma of what we’d done before.
Was that a foolish fantasy on my part? Me, trying to play the gentleman? In all honestly, I had no idea what kind of lover I would be now. What if I sucked at being romantic? Drunk or sober, what if that wasn’t who I was?
Dragging Alice back into my mess wouldn’t be fair. Beautiful, temperamental Alice, searching for Mr. Right. We didn’t belong together, and I had no business wanting her.
I glanced at the bar, with its shiny glass bottles lined up in pretty rows. If I sat here long enough, steeped in a woman from my past, would I get the familiar urge to drink?
Fighting my fears, I rose from my piano seat and moved about the room, telling myself that I could handle any hardship that came my way. But because she had me tied up in knots, I decided this would be a good day for a meeting. I knew the next one was at two o’clock. I had the schedule memorized.
I texted Kirby, asking if he would be there. We were part of a group that included a number of celebrities. In this town, it was mostly music industry folk. Our counselor was a heavily tattooed dude named Sam who’d seen and done it all. There was nothing you could say that would surprise Sam.
My phone signaled a text. It was Kirby, telling me that he planned to go. I replied, letting him know that I would see him at the clinic.
I wasn’t going to discuss my attraction to Alice with the group. I couldn’t tell my story without revealing the edgy stuff I used to do with her, and I couldn’t do that in front of Kirby, not without putting my sordid history with her on display. It was better left unsaid, not just for Kirby’s peace of mind, but for mine and Alice’s, too.
* * *
The meeting brought a bit of calm to my storm, and once it ended, Kirby invited me to his house. He lived in a plantation-style mansion, with a big sweeping staircase in the entryway and a sparkling stream running through the backyard. The property also included a recording studio and a menagerie of luxurious guesthouses. The entire compound had become known as “Kirbyville.”
We shared a picnic bench near the stream, eating barbecued beef sandwiches and crispy fries his chef had prepared. The weather was nice, but already I was missing the rain.
I glanced across the table at Kirby. At sixty-six, he was a rough-looking guy, handsome in a country outlaw way, with hard lines in his face, graying hair and a salt-and-pepper beard. As a self-taught musician who’d worked his way up the ranks, he’d been around Nashville a long time. He had three sons, six grandkids, one supermodel ex-wife and countless everyday women who’d become his for
mer mistresses.
What I’d told Alice was true: I’d never met anyone from Kirby’s family. He kept trying to make it happen, though. He invited me to all of their gatherings—birthdays, holidays, the whole bit—hoping I’d warm up to the idea. But I always declined. After my mom died and my aunt and uncle took over, I’d lost my zest for being part of a family. Just being in those types of settings gave me a cold sweat.
“Did you ever contact Alice about that magazine thing?” Kirby asked, interrupting my thoughts.
“Yep. I sure did.” I tossed out an easy vibe. The last thing I wanted was for him to notice how she affected me. “She came by my place yesterday. We’ll be working together on the shoot.”
“That’s great. She’s a little spitfire, isn’t she? But I guess you already know that since you used to date.” He paused. “How long did that last, anyway? You never really said much about it, other than how casual it was.”
“I can’t remember how long it was. A few months, maybe, here and there.” In reality, it was every time we needed each other, day or night, which was pretty damned often. “Mostly we just hung out at clubs.” At least that part wasn’t a complete lie. On the night we’d arranged to meet, she’d sidled up to the bar where I’d worked, eager to check me out. She’d even dared me to spike her mojito mocktail with an illegal shot of rum. Serving alcohol to a hot little twenty-year-old could have cost me my job, but I was so taken with her, I almost did it. Later, when we were in the shower, having our second round of sex, I played a stupid game and poured Bacardi all over both of us.
Kirby dipped a fry in the glob of ketchup on his plate. “Did she tell you what a jerk she thinks I am?”
“Yes, but she told me that when I knew her before. She’s always been testy about you.”
“She talked to you about me before you and I ever met?” His voice turned tight. “Why are you just telling me this now?”
“Because it didn’t seem relevant until now.” I braced myself, waiting to see if he would accept my response without further scolding. Sometimes Kirby had the same fiery temper as Alice.
“You’re right.” He backed down. “It doesn’t matter what she used to say about me. It’s what she’s still saying that counts. I love that I’m so close with her sister. Mary has completely forgiven me. But Alice…”
“She made a crack about you maybe being my dad. She didn’t mean it, though. She was just messing with me.”
“That’s an odd thing for her to come up with.” He gave his head a quick shake. “What made her say it?”
“Because of my heritage and your affair with Matt’s mom. I hadn’t really told her much about family before. She didn’t know that my mom was white.”
He met my gaze. “I’d be proud if you were my son. You’re a good man, Spencer.”
“Thank you.” His words warmed my heart. “I’d be proud to have you as my dad, too.” Unlike my aunt and uncle, he cared about my well-being.
He studied me, gently, kindly. “Are you still thinking of searching for your dad? You haven’t mentioned him in a while.”
“Yes, I still think about it.” Only I had other things on my mind now that I’d seen Alice again. “But there’s no rush.”
“You definitely need to be ready to tackle something like that. But I think paternity matters. I’m still ashamed of what an awful parent I was to my boys when they were growing up.”
“You’ve made up for that now.” He’d done everything in his power to redeem himself. He loved his sons with every fiber of his being. He adored his grandchildren, too. His family was everything to him. “You’re not the same guy you used to be.”
“I wish Alice saw me the way you do.”
“I wish she did, too. But with all of the pain it’s causing both of you, maybe you should let it be for a while.”
“And quit trying to win her affection? I can’t do that. I need to keep trying.”
I understood that he felt guilty about hurting her mom, but now I was worried that he might be taking it too far. With a bit of goofy sarcasm, I said, “Be careful, or someone might mistake you for being her dad.”
I expected him to scoff at my remark, but that wasn’t what happened. Instead, he flinched like I’d never seen him flinch before, squeezing the sandwich in his hand so hard some of the filling came out.
He replied, “You don’t actually think…”
“Come on, Kirby, I was kidding. You being her dad is as impossible as you being mine.” But seeing how panicked he was, my stomach dropped, like an elevator speeding to a bottom floor. “Isn’t it?”
“Yes, of course.” He eased his grip on his sandwich, even if he’d already done considerable damage to it. “Alice was eleven years old when I got involved with her mom.”
I watched him stuff the mangled roll into his mouth and take a big messy bite.
“You didn’t know her mom before then?”
He shook his head. He was still chewing his food.
“For real?” I pressed him. “Alice isn’t your daughter?”
“No.” He shifted in his seat. “Her old man was a truck driver named Joel McKenzie.”
I remembered Alice telling me that her father had died when she was a baby. But that was all she’d ever said about him. “Did you have some sort of connection to Joel? Something Alice doesn’t know about?” Was there more to this than Kirby was letting on?
He sent me an annoyed look. “I never even met the man.” He put his sandwich down and pushed his plate away. “There’s nothing nefarious going on. You’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“Then why are you acting so strange?”
“Because your joke about me being Alice’s dad wasn’t funny. You shouldn’t have said something like that.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” He’d never lied to me before, so why would he start now? In spite of his sullied past, I trusted him more than anyone. But here I was, lying to him about my affair with Alice. Should I admit that my relationship with her was more difficult than I’d let on? Or should I continue to keep it private? I chose the latter. This wasn’t the time to open Pandora’s box. “You deserve better than that from me, and so does Alice.” I tried for a smile, hiding my feelings. “But we should probably change the subject now.”
I didn’t want to keep talking about Alice. Or thinking about her. Or wanting her. I was already anxious about seeing her again.
* * *
Two days later, Alice was back at my house with some clothes for me to try on. As she draped the garment bag over the back of my sofa, I caught sight of her profile. Her makeup was especially dramatic this afternoon. She’d even drawn those little lines in the corners of her eyes, for a catlike effect. It seemed fitting, considering what a hellcat she used to be in bed.
Would she still scratch and claw? Or would she be tamer now? I still had the foolhardy fantasy of being romantic with her. But I had feral urges, too, with how hot my blood ran every time she got near me. Not that it mattered. I wasn’t planning on starting another affair. The issue wasn’t how gentle or rough the sex would be. It wasn’t her celibacy or my abstinence, either. Our problem was another man. The guy Alice had been waiting for. The Mr. Right who wasn’t me.
“I brought a toy for Pete,” she said.
I redirected my attention. I’d been too busy analyzing the affair we weren’t going to have to notice the shopping bag at her feet. She reached into it and removed a squeaky toy shaped like a truck.
I let down my guard and smiled. It was damned cute. “He’s going to love it.”
She delved into the bag again. “I brought these for Candy and Cookie.” Two more squeaky toys. “The cupcake is for Candy, because it has candy sprinkles on it. And the cookie is obviously for Cookie.” She waved it around. “It looks like it already has a bite taken out of it.”
Kill me now, but I wanted to take
a lusty bite out of her. Being Mr. Wrong wasn’t making my libido behave.
I shifted my stance and said, “Thank you for thinking of them. That was sweet of you.”
“I hope the noise doesn’t drive you crazy.” She squeezed the cookie. “They’re pretty loud.”
“No worries. I’m used to it. They have lots of those types of toys. Sometimes I accidentally step on them. They always seem to leave them in my path.”
“Then I better put these out of the way.” She placed them on the coffee table. “Do you want to check out the stuff I brought for you?”
“Sure.” As long we were on the subject of clothes, I took an appreciative gander at her outfit. She wore a flouncy little mini dress and ankle boots. Her legs were sleek and bare. Touchable, I thought. Or untouchable, depending how I looked at it.
She reached for the garment bag. “I still have a lot more shopping to do for you. But I wanted you to try on these shirts for now.”
I would try on whatever she gave me. I’d hired her to be my stylist. That was the point of her being here, even if it had become an exercise in restraint.
She continued talking. “I have this idea to put you in a formal shirt, hanging loose over a pair of holey jeans, like the ones you had on the last time I was here. We can even use those, if you want, rather than me getting you a new pair and tearing them up.” She ran her gaze along the length of me. “You wear your jeans well.”
I sported a different pair today that were less trashed. But the way she was looking at me was giving me goose bumps. Should I give up the fight and seduce her? For all I knew, she was already seducing me. My mind was too boggled to know who was doing what.
She unzipped the garment bag. “I got you three different shirts: a white, a black and a red one.” She handed me the white shirt. “Let’s try this first. Oh, and do you mind putting on your holey jeans, too?”
“No problem. What sort of shoes am I supposed to wear with this look?”
“I’m going to get you some leather oxfords. Dress shoes with a dress shirt. But I also want to try your biker boots and one of your motorcycle jackets with it, too. We’ll just mix everything up and see what we get.”