Hot Nashville Nights

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  I couldn’t help but smile. I envisioned him with a bandit mask over his eyes. “What about the department store work? Wasn’t that enough to pay the rent?”

  “The perfume gigs? That was freelance. She tried to keep her schedule open for auditions. When she didn’t have a babysitter for me, she would take me along.”

  I liked the way he spoke of her, the loving tone in his voice. “What was her name?”

  “Lynnette.” He reached for a napkin and handed me one, too. “I know that your mom’s name was Cathy Birch. I saw her songwriting credits. Was Birch her maiden name?”

  “Yes. She and my dad were never married. They just lived together and had us kids. That always bothered me.”

  “Them not being married? Why? It was still a committed relationship, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, but Mama wanted him to marry her. She used to say how it made her sad that he didn’t believe in marriage.”

  “Maybe that’s why marriage is so important to you now.”

  “Maybe.” To stop him from delving deeper into how badly I wanted a husband, I said, “Wait until your aunt and uncle see the photo spread of you, looking all badass and beautiful. You should send them a signed copy.”

  “Badass and beautiful?” He laughed. “I hope that isn’t how the magazine describes me.” He leaned closer to me. “Now you...you’re the beautiful one.”

  Fueled by his compliment, I kissed him. He pulled me onto his lap, rubbed against me and made both of us moan.

  All over again.

  Seven

  Spencer

  Alice and I rolled over the bed, knocking our plates and leftover food onto the floor.

  I tore open her blouse, the buttons popping. Immediately realizing what I’d done, I cursed to myself and said, “Sorry. I’ll get you another one.” I would buy her anything she wanted.

  “It doesn’t matter.” She ran her nails down the front of my body, leaving scratch marks on my chest and stomach.

  I went after her panties, practically tearing them off, too. Then I gripped both of her wrists, held her hands above her head and kissed her soft and slow, bringing the frenzy to a halt. She stopped thrashing and sighed against my lips.

  After the kiss, I looked down at her. She was looking up at me, too, waiting to see what came next. I was still holding her hands above her head.

  I released my hold on her and said, “I need your permission.”

  “For what?” she asked, blinking at me.

  “To go down on you.” I wanted to hear her tell me to do it. I leaned forward and whispered, “Will you let me?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “Do it.” She was already arching her hips in anticipation. “You were always so good at it.”

  “I still am.” Or I sure as hell intended to be. I worked my way down, breathing against her skin. I paused purposely at her navel, teasing her, making her wait.

  She pushed her hands into my hair. “You’re probably going to haunt my dreams.”

  “Just the erotic ones, I hope.”

  “Definitely.” She arched her hips again, her hands still tunneled into my hair.

  I put my face between her legs. She was smooth, fully waxed, and I parted her with my thumbs. I used my tongue, swirling, licking, making her half-mad.

  I could feel her excitement, her honey-slick moisture, her sensual shivers. She kept moving closer to my mouth, making me aroused, too.

  When she came, her entire body quavered, and I continued my foray, absorbing every last shudder.

  I raised my head and kissed her, slipping my tongue past her lips. She pressed against me, and I got even harder.

  She was already naked, and I was nearly there. I removed my boxers, tore open a condom and put it on as quickly as I could.

  I positioned her on top, and she arched her glorious body. Cloudy light spilled in from the French doors, bathing her in a hazy glow.

  I circled her waist with my hands, and she impaled herself, riding me into the kingdom of heaven—or the depths of hell—in furious pursuit of whatever this hungry sensation was. She moved slowly, taking me inch by inch. I groaned my approval, watching her hips rise and fall. She increased the tempo, taking us both to new heights.

  Was her heart beating at a runaway pace? Mine was, in every pulse point of my body. I missed this feeling. I missed having sex. And she was making it so damned good. She adjusted herself on my lap, creating deeper friction.

  My vision blurred; my muscles tensed; my mind slipped into caveman mode. I wanted to hang on, to let the thrill last. But I was too far gone. I gave up the fight and let myself fall, coming strong and fast.

  * * *

  I went into the bathroom, came back, put my boxers on and cleaned up the pizza off the floor. Alice offered to help, but I told to her stay put. I liked how cozy she looked in my bed.

  I rejoined her, getting under the covers. I took her in my arms, doing the romantic thing, or trying to. It was still new to me.

  She made a dreamy sound and put her head against my chest, so I figured I must be doing it right.

  I wasn’t sure what to expect from this affair. Was it going to be sex-only again? Or would we go on some actual dates? I was scheduled for a business trip next week, and now I was thinking of asking her to join me. But this didn’t seem like the time to broach the subject, so I just held her instead.

  To keep myself occupied, I played with the spiky tips of her hair. I’d seen it brushed flat before, but mostly it was stiff and pointy.

  “What color is it for real?” I asked.

  She stirred in my arms. “What?”

  “Your hair.”

  “It’s blond, but I bleach it to make it whiter.”

  “I’m glad you’re still wearing it this way. I always liked how retro it seemed, like Billy Idol or something.”

  She moved onto her side. “Didn’t I ever tell you that ‘Rebel Yell’ was my karaoke song?”

  I chuckled at her expression; she was shooting me an Idol-type snarl. “No, I don’t recall you ever saying that. But I remember that you used to listen to early punk.”

  “It was the fashions that first caught my attention, pictures of people in the seventies and eighties, with their tough and trashed clothes. I was especially interested in cowpunk. Mama raised us on country, and I thought the combination of country and punk was cool.”

  “And you had the right attitude to pull it off, with how rebellious you were.” I thought about the troubled kid I used to be. “In the beginning, I did everything my aunt and uncle told me to do. But later, I copped plenty of attitude, too.”

  “Yes, of course, you pounding away on the piano.”

  “I still play that way when I’m all alone, letting my frustrations out.”

  She softly asked, “Did you cry when your mom died?”

  “I bawled like a baby. But that’s the last time I cried. What about you?”

  “I cried when my mama passed. But I’ve cried a lot since then. Not just when I’m sad, but when I’m mad, too.”

  “You never cried around me.” I’d never seen that side of her. “But we barely knew each other.”

  “We’re making up for that now.”

  That was for damned sure. I’d never shared my feelings with a woman before. But maybe it was part of being sober, of learning how to be someone’s lover without being wasted. I was different now. Alice was, too, with her thirst for a husband.

  I popped off with a smile, teasing her, poking at her hair again. “I’m surprised ‘White Wedding’ isn’t your karaoke song.”

  She kicked me under the sheet. “That’s not funny. Have you seen how goth that old video is? The nails in the coffin and all that.”

  “Says the girl who already knows what kind of engagement ring she wants. A black diamond. That actually sounds kind of goth.”

&
nbsp; She snorted. “Maybe you should write a song about it.”

  “Maybe I will.” I’d already decided that she could be my muse. “Alice in Spencerland. Who wouldn’t want to write about you?”

  “It’d better be a good song.”

  “It’ll be my best.” Or I hoped it would. But I couldn’t just rush something out. It had to come naturally. “Do you want to watch TV?” I asked. “As long as we’re lying around, we might as well stream something.”

  “That sounds nice. But I’m going to put my bra and panties back on first.”

  “That’s fine.” I’d already climbed into my boxers earlier. I watched her get out of bed and slip into her underwear.

  “What should we watch?” she asked, returning to my side and propping up a pillow for herself.

  “I don’t know. Let’s look and see what our choices are.”

  After scrolling through tons of movies and shows, we picked Sons of Anarchy, even though we’d both seen the entire series before.

  “This is one of my favorite shows,” she said.

  “Mine, too. It’s pretty twisted, though.”

  “That’s why I like it.”

  “Same here.” Which made us twisted people, I supposed. But that was part of why we’d hooked up to begin with. Alice and I weren’t normal. We’d had problems from the start.

  Turning silent, we binged on the show.

  We watched the first three episodes of the first season, before she decided it was time to go. By now, it was long past dusk. We’d spent the entire day together.

  I offered her a sweatshirt to cover her torn blouse. She accepted it, and I got the feeling she liked wearing my clothes. I wondered when I was going to see her again. Last time, we just texted each other when we wanted sex. But this time, we hadn’t discussed the specifics.

  We hadn’t talked about working together again, either. Maybe I would benefit from having her as my regular stylist. Then again, did I even need a regular stylist? It wasn’t as if I was attending fancy events or doing photo shoots every day. Mostly, I was just a songwriter, working from home.

  While she finished getting dressed, I mentioned my upcoming trip. “Did I tell you that I was going to Los Angeles next week?”

  “No, you didn’t. Is it for business?”

  I nodded. “I’ll be meeting with the music director of a film who wants me to compose the score.”

  She cocked her head. “How long will you be gone?”

  “About three days. I reserved a bungalow at the Chateau Marmont.” I shrugged, smiled a little. “I chartered a private plane, too.” I forged ahead with the invitation. “You should come with me.”

  “Really?” She sounded surprised. “Are you sure I won’t be in the way?”

  “I’m positive.” It would solve the issue of when I was going to see her again. “It would be nice to have the company and since we agreed to keep hanging out for a while, I figured why not travel together.”

  She furrowed her brow. “We didn’t agree to hang out, Spencer. We agreed to keep sleeping together.”

  “I know.” I hesitated, hoping I wasn’t biting off more than I could chew by whisking her off on a trip. “But it’s just for fun.” I wasn’t suggesting anything more. “Besides, have you ever been to LA?”

  “Yes, but I spent all of my time in the fashion district. I’ve never really seen the sights.” She paused, as if she was debating the fun we were supposed to have. “If I go with you, will you give me a tour?” she asked.

  “Absolutely.” I moved closer to where she stood. “I’ll rent a fast car and take you wherever you want to go.”

  “Now how can I say no to that?” She smiled, the idea of traveling with me obviously growing on her. “I like fast cars.”

  “What about fast men?” As quick as could be, I kissed her, cementing our deal. But I didn’t tell her that this would be the first time that I would be returning to LA since I’d left home. I would tackle that anxiety later. For now, I just wanted to kiss her a few more times.

  * * *

  After Alice left, I got the dogs from the rescue and brought them home. They crawled straight into their beds and slept. My cell phone rang, and I checked the screen. It was Kirby.

  “Hey,” I answered. “What’s up?”

  “I was wondering if I could come by and talk to you,” he replied.

  “Today?” I glanced at my piano. I planned on working for the rest of the evening, keeping myself from obsessing about the LA trip. I was glad that Alice would be joining me, but I was still nervous about returning to the place where I’d been immersed in so much pain.

  “Is this a bad time for you?” He sounded upset.

  “No, it’s fine.” I couldn’t turn him away, not after everything he’d done for me. “Are you okay?”

  “I’ll explain when I get there. I’m in my car, so it won’t be long.”

  “All right. I’ll see you soon.” I hoped he wasn’t having the urge to drink or use. He’d been clean and sober for a lot longer than me. He was my rock, the person I relied on. If he faltered, was I strong enough to get him through it?

  He arrived looking like he was headed to a funeral, shrouded in black, but without his usual silver jewelry or Western bling. We went into my living room, and he plopped onto a chair. His leg was jittery.

  “Did somebody die?” I asked.

  “Yeah, me,” he said.

  I asked the next question, dreading his response. “What happened? Did you get high? Did you drink?”

  He scowled at me. “No.”

  I sighed in relief. But he was still scowling. I watched him run his hand across his beard. I’d never seen him so agitated.

  “Did you have a fight with one of your kids?” I was playing twenty questions, trying to drag it out of him. He’d come over to tell me his problem, but now he seemed reluctant to say it.

  He blew out a windy breath. “Everything is fine with my sons.”

  “Your lady then?” Kirby was dating a woman who worked for the Country Music Hall of Fame. In the past, he hadn’t been faithful to anyone. But as far as I knew, he was loyal to her.

  “Debra is fine, too.” He snared my gaze. “This is about Alice.”

  My heart knocked against my rib cage. Did he suspect that I was involved with her? Had he figured it out?

  Did it matter if he did? I asked myself. She and I were both consenting adults. It wasn’t Kirby’s place to reprimand me. I could sleep with whoever I wanted.

  “I lied to you,” he said.

  My pulse jumped. “About Alice?”

  “And her mom.” He scooted forward in the leather chair he was occupying. “I knew Cathy before Alice was ever born. About nine months before,” he added.

  Holy crap, I thought.

  He got up and went over to the bar, pouring himself a soda. I watched him, making sure that he didn’t spike it.

  “Is Alice your daughter?” I asked, point-blank.

  He winced. “I can’t say for sure, but there’s a darned good possibility.”

  “Why in the hell didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “Because you caught me off guard last time, and I panicked. I haven’t told anyone else, but no one has suspected it except for you.”

  I considered how this news was going to impact Alice. Would she explode in a devastating rage? Would she sink to the floor and cry? Would she come after Kirby with a knife? I imagined all sorts of horrible reactions.

  I tried to clear those awful things from my mind but I couldn’t shake them completely. “How long have you known that she might be yours?”

  He returned to his chair. “I suspected it when I met Alice for the first time.”

  I gaped at him. “She was only nineteen then.” They’d met for the first time in his son’s law office, when they’d negotiated th
e terms of the settlement related to her mom’s songs and signed the papers. “I can’t believe you suspected it all this time.”

  “I wasn’t sure. I mean, it was just a feeling I had. But I couldn’t remember exactly when I was with Cathy. As stoned as I used to be, I wasn’t keeping track of who and when.” He gulped his soda. “But then, a few months ago, I was going through some old stuff I had in storage, and I came across a letter that Cathy had written to me during our first affair. When I saw the date on it, I realized that the timeline could absolutely make me Alice’s dad.”

  I studied him from where I stood. “So, let me get this straight. You had two affairs with Cathy? The first one when Alice might’ve been conceived, and then another one years later?”

  “Yes, but Cathy approached me the second time with the sole purpose of trying to sell her songs. She was struggling to raise her daughters and was hoping to make a better life for them. She hadn’t intended to sleep with me again, but I lured her back into bed without buying the songs.”

  “And she never told you that Alice might be yours?”

  “No. She didn’t say a word about that. She kept contacting me about the songs. But she didn’t mention Alice.”

  “Don’t you find that odd? If she was struggling to raise her kids, then why didn’t she request a paternity test and try to get child support from you? You’re a rich man. The payout could have been substantial.”

  “I know, but maybe she didn’t want to stir up something that would make her look bad in her children’s eyes. Maybe she couldn’t bear to admit that she’d cheated on Joel when she was with me the first time or that her daughters might have two different fathers.”

  “That could be it. But are you sure the timeline of that letter is accurate? You could be confused about being Alice’s dad.”