Can't Let Her Go

by Sandy James

  Why here? Why now?

  Had seeing her this morning been enough to change his mind? What possessed him to turn up at a sold-out concert to propose when he hated any kind of performing and publicity with a white-hot passion?

  “Ethan… I…I…”

  Chelsea wanted to scream that she’d marry him. She wanted to throw herself in his arms and kiss him senseless. She wanted to let every single person gaping at them know that she loved him and that she would be thrilled to be his wife.

  But the words wouldn’t come.

  You’re afraid, aren’t you? You’re afraid he’ll hurt you again.

  A tear spilled over her lashes. “Ethan…”

  He stood, taking the last step to her until he could stare down into her eyes. “Marry me, Chelsea. Please. I’m sorry. About everything. I need you, and I want you to be my wife.” He kissed her once, a quick brush of his lips against hers. “Let me spend the rest of my life making things up to you.”

  All her fear vanished, and she nodded, no longer fighting the tears that soon wet her cheeks.

  Ethan dropped her hand and cupped her face in his rough palm. “Say it, baby. Say you’ll marry me.”

  “Yes! I’ll marry you.”

  Before she could catch her breath, she found herself wrapped in his arms and lifted off her feet. He spun her around in a circle and laughed. The moment he let her feet touch the stage again, he kissed her the way she’d been longing for him to.

  The crowd, the band, and the whole damn world disappeared as she lost herself in his kiss.

  “Um…Chelsea? Ethan?” the stage manager’s voice buzzed in her ear. “Maybe you two wanna do another song? I mean, this is a concert after all.”

  The band took that cue and started in on “Can’t Let You Go,” the duet the two of them had sung that pissed off Chuck Austin so much.

  She grinned at Ethan and took the first verse. By the time she reached the chorus, he was right there with her. As they held the last note, he pulled the ring from the box and slid it on her third finger.

  * * *

  The ride to the farm seemed to last forever, and Ethan’s patience was at an end. He was still proud of himself for dealing with the multitude of people who’d wanted to get a piece of him and Chelsea after the concert. Thankfully, he got some time to relax and wind down after doing a third song with her. Addie had taken him to Chelsea’s dressing room, shown him where the food and drinks were, and headed back out to keep an eye on Chelsea.

  He had to give Chelsea credit. She was a pro. No matter how emotional things had been from the moment he’d joined her on the stage, she’d kept right on performing. How she did it was beyond him. His knees were still shaking from dealing with everyone offering their best wishes.

  By the time Ethan was able to get Chelsea in his truck, they’d gone after each other like a couple of horny teenagers. Only by strength of will had he been able to stop kissing her long enough to start the engine and point the truck toward the farm. All he wanted to do was rip off her clothes and make love to her as though some primitive drive needed to be satisfied. He wanted to possess her, to bury himself deep in her body and never, ever lose her again.

  After throwing the car in park, he hurried around to open her door, but she was already crawling out. He pulled her into his embrace while she draped her arms around his neck. Their mouths met in a frenzy of rediscovery, and knowing he was close to losing control, he lifted her by the hips. She responded by wrapping her legs around his waist. Smiling against her lips, he carried her inside his home.

  They didn’t even make it to the bedroom before the clothes began to fall on the floor. Unwilling to wait even long enough to get to the bedroom, he sat on the couch, pulling her between his knees so he could pop the clasp on her bra. Her gorgeous breasts were at eye level, and he took advantage, drawing one rosy nipple between his lips as she laced her fingers through his hair.

  Chelsea pushed him down onto the couch and straddled his hips, guiding his cock inside her as she let out a hum of pleasure. Leaning closer, she stared into his eyes as a seductive smile blossomed. “Fuck me, Ethan. Fuck me now.” She gave his shoulder a stinging love bite.

  “I love it when you talk dirty,” he said. Gripping her hips, he did exactly as she’d ordered.

  * * *

  Chelsea was in no mood for restrained lovemaking. She wanted Ethan to be as rough and wild as she felt. There was no finesse, no seduction. This was raw passion, and she reveled in the way he lost control—the same way she surrendered everything to him.

  The tension quickly rose to a crescendo, and when her orgasm raced through her, she let out a shout of pure joy. Wave after wave crashed over her until tears formed in her eyes.

  Ethan thrust into her a few more times before he let out a loud gasp. The heat of his release deep inside her set off a small aftershock that drew a surprised gasp of her own.

  She collapsed against his chest, gulping for breath, pleased to note that he was doing the same. When she finally gathered her wits, she rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “That was…wow.”

  A chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Oh yeah. Definitely a wow.”

  Normally, she wanted to get dressed right after sex. Being naked always made her feel too vulnerable. But after all he’d done for her, the way he’d opened himself up in front of everyone, Chelsea was secure in his love. She didn’t care if he saw a pinch of fat or a bunch of freckles.

  He touched a kiss to her forehead. “Do you like the ring?”

  Holding up her left hand, she finally took a moment to look at the ring he’d slipped on her finger. In typical Ethan style, it was flashy and simple at the same time—a large pear-shaped diamond mounted on a platinum band. “It’s gorgeous. Exactly what I would’ve chosen for myself.”

  “I’m glad.” He gave her rump a pat. “It wasn’t so bad, you know.”

  The change in topic threw her. “What wasn’t so bad?”

  “The concert. It was kinda fun singing with you. None of my concerts back in the day were like that.”

  Having seen several videos of him performing in his teens, Chelsea couldn’t help but chuckle. The poor guy had appeared as uncomfortable as a kitten in a room full of growling German shepherds. “That’s because you got to be yourself tonight. You’ve got a great voice. Of course it’s fun to show it off. But I won’t ask you to do anything like that again. I know singing isn’t your thing.”

  “You know what, baby?” he asked, laughter in his voice. “After tonight, I’ve decided that I love singing.”

  “Well, won’t that make our lives easier? You ready to sing with me at every concert?”

  “Not every concert. But maybe I can pop on stage with you from time to time,” he suggested.

  She pushed herself up so she could look into his eyes. “I was teasing, Ethan. I wouldn’t ask you to put yourself out there like that. I don’t expect you to change. All I want is for you not to hate that I have to do interviews and stuff from time to time. Addie and I already talked about cutting back. You were right. My fans are wonderful, but they’re not the most important thing in my life. You are.”

  “Just like you’re the most important thing to me,” Ethan said, patting her butt again. “I’m glad you figured things out for yourself. I thought a few things through, and I’m doing some changing, too.”

  “What did you think through?”

  “I’ve always been so sure that the press was out to get me, that they were the reasons my parents died. But Savannah and Brad opened my eyes a little. They made me think about the whole thing differently.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I’m not gonna talk to every reporter in the world, but a story here or there about us wouldn’t be so terrible. Better to have us control the info rather than having them make shit up.”

  It seemed as if they’d finally found some common ground, and Chelsea couldn’t have been happier. “Would you believe it if I told you that I actually canceled everything
on my calendar for next week?”

  His eyes widened before a grin bowed his lips. “We’re really going to make this work, aren’t we?”

  “I sure as hell hope so. Know what I’m doing in the morning?”

  “Tell me,” he coaxed.

  “I’m going to our island. Care to go with me?” she asked.

  He smiled and nodded. “You know what?”

  “No, what?”

  “I love you, Chelsea Harris.”

  “I love you too, Ethan Walker.”

  * * *

  Chelsea leaned against Ethan as they walked along the beach, his arm draped over her shoulders. “I never want to leave. God, I love it here.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “I know how you feel. But…you’ve got a charity album to get out there. Then you’ve got that Chicago concert and—”

  She stopped and stared up at him. “Aren’t you supposed to tell me to forget all that stuff?”

  A warm chuckled rumbled from him. “I’m getting married to a genuine country music star. I won’t let myself forget that again.”

  With a contented smile, she laid her head against him. “And I won’t forget that we have a private life that we’ll keep to ourselves.”

  “I suppose the next feud will be about where we live,” he teased. “The farm or your condo.”

  “No feud,” she replied. “We’ll just keep both and skip the fight.”

  His chuckle made her smile. “Sounds like a plan, baby.”

  Satisfied to let the world remain at bay, Chelsea strolled by his side, loving how the wet sand squished between her toes. The sound of the lapping waves was like music, rolling in and out and reminding her that this place was always going to be their own private paradise—a haven to which they could escape when the rest of the world interfered.

  “Our friend is back,” Ethan said, causing her head to pop up.

  A frantic glance to the horizon found the same boat and photographer intruding on their sanctuary.

  “Maybe we’ll have to find another island,” she grumbled.

  “Nah,” he said. “This place is too perfect. We’re just gonna have to give him a few pictures so he’ll go away.”

  To Chelsea’s surprise, Ethan raised his arm and waved at the photographer. And this time, he used all his fingers.

  A girl couldn’t ask for more than that.

  Don’t miss the next book in Sandy James’s Nashville

  Dreams series!

  Read on for a preview of

  Can’t Fight the Feeling...

  Available in spring 2018.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The last thing in the world Russell Green wanted was to find himself at this miserable place.

  He hated the smell of hospitals. Disinfectant and misery. It didn’t help that there was nobody there for him to bitch at about his dilemma. Ellie Foster had made sure he was checked in at the emergency room before she’d hightailed it out of there to get back to Words & Music. Since she was the evening shift manager, she hadn’t waited for Russ to see a doctor.

  Since his bleeding had all but stopped, he had no desire to wait around a minute longer. Unfortunately, a nurse had already taken his vitals, had a good look at the gash on his forehead, and led him back to a treatment room. He might as well see it through, because the hospital was going to charge him now anyway.

  He dutifully sat on the gurney despite the nearly overwhelming desire to flee. Before the nurse had left, she’d taken his dirty wad of tissues and handed him gauze to keep pressure on the wound. At least the tissues he’d surrendered hadn’t been saturated like the last few.

  “I’m fine now. Really,” Russ insisted when the nurse peeled off her gloves, tossed them in the trash, and headed back to the sliding door.

  She frowned at him. “You’re definitely gonna need stitches, Mr. Green. You want that wound to heal well, don’t you?” Instead of waiting for her answer, she said, “Be sure and keep a little pressure on that until the doctor gets in here.”

  “I could just superglue it,” he insisted. God knew that he’d done that before. More than once.

  “The wound’s too large for that to work.” A knowing smile blossomed on her face. “The doctor will give you lidocaine, so you don’t have to be afraid of stitches.”

  Russ had to resist the urge to growl at her incorrect assumption. “I just need to get back to work.” A lie. Jorge, the head bouncer who was on duty, could handle the Saturday night Words & Music crowd without him, and he sure didn’t want the nurse to think he was some kind of coward.

  “We’re busy tonight,” the blonde assured him. “But it won’t be much longer.” She looked deeply into his eyes. “Still no dizziness?”

  “I don’t have a concussion,” he insisted. “I barely got winged by that bottle.”

  “You had a blow to the head. I’d expect a concussion screening at the very least. Better to be on the safe side.”

  “It wasn’t a blow. Just grazed me.”

  The phone in her pocket started ringing insistently. A quick check of the screen brought a frown to the nurse’s face as she answered, “Francie. ER.” After a litany of yes responses, she ended the call and shoved the phone back into her pocket. “Hang tight. Someone will be in shortly.” She pointed to a white remote resting on the patient table. “You can watch TV if you’d like.” Then she skirted around the curtain, opened the sliding door, and pulled it closed behind her.

  Russ scowled at the empty room, resigned to wasting the rest of the evening in the boring little cubicle.

  His head throbbed, but pain never fazed him much. A couple of aspirin would’ve taken care of that, maybe with an added shot of Jack Daniel’s. If his blood hadn’t been pouring so freely from the wound, he wouldn’t have bothered to come to the hospital. Ellie had taken one look at his bloody face and freaked. The only way he’d been able to get her to stop being a fussy mother hen was to agree to let her bring him to the ER.

  The emergency room? For a small gash on his forehead?

  He was made of tougher stuff than that. Shit, he’d broken his nose on the football field. Twice. And both times, a trainer only popped it back into place and let Russ get right back in the game.

  The door opened, and when the curtain was swept aside, he was surprised to find a familiar and very pretty face.

  He grinned. “Well, well. How you doin’, Josie?”

  * * *

  Joslynn Wright took one look at Russell Green and frowned. This man was a partner in Words & Music with her best friend’s husband, Brad Maxwell.

  She’d only spent time with Russ twice—at Savannah and Brad’s wedding rehearsal and at the wedding itself. Well, three times if she counted that he’d seen her finishing a swim workout the day of the rehearsal. When Savannah had introduced them, he’d immediately given her the nickname Josie, something she found a bit endearing. Most people called her Jos or stuck with Joslynn.

  “I’m doing well, Mr. Green.” She pulled two purple gloves from the box on the wall and snapped them on. Then she gently took the soiled gauze to see what brought him to her that evening. She’d read Francie’s notes and knew he’d been hit in the head with a beer bottle. No surprise to find that the man had a rather nasty gash running along his hairline. “It would seem you’re not quite as well.”

  Russ shrugged before he grinned. “It’s only a flesh wound.”

  In all her years as first a nurse and now a nurse practitioner, she’d heard that Monty Python quote more times than she could count. It normally irritated her.

  So why did she find it so cute coming from him?

  The dimple. That was the difference. The man had the most delectable dimple on his left cheek. In fact, the whole package was rather attractive, something she’d noticed the first time she’d seen him. His body was no stranger to a gym, judging from the definition in his arms, the lean hips, and the firm thighs. She loved that he wore his blond hair in a short buzz cut. It suited him—and it would, of course, make closi
ng the wound easier.

  That thought made Joslynn stop gawking at Russ like some girl looking for a date to the prom. She had a job to do. He’d come to her for help, and she needed to remember that she was a professional. “Since we’re acquainted, I could get another person to treat you.”

  He just smiled at her. “Why would you do that?”

  “Some people find it uncomfortable to be treated by a person they know.”

  Russ scoffed. “Savannah said you’re the best nurse she knows. Why would I want someone else?”

  “Nurse practitioner,” she couldn’t help but say.

  “Not the same thing?”

  She shook her head, resisting the urge to set him straight on how hard she’d had to work to become an NP. The guy didn’t deserve a lecture simply because he’d pushed one of her buttons.

  “What’s the difference?”

  Since he’d asked with a tone of curiosity rather than condescension, she answered. “I’m not a doctor, but I do have a lot of the same privileges. I can see patients pretty much the same way, and I can write ’scripts.” She opened a fresh gauze, gently pressed it against his wound, and offered him a smile. “And I can stitch up wounds.”

  He took over holding the gauze in place. “I’d be happy if you’d take care of this, Josie.”

  With a nod, she said, “Then let me get a few supplies and we’ll get you patched up.” She peeled off her gloves and dropped them in the trash. Then she pumped a bit of hand sanitizer from the wall dispenser and rubbed her hands together. “I’ll be right back.”

  Sweeping aside the curtain, she left through the sliding door.

  * * *

  Russ let out a sigh of relief. After all of Savannah’s lush praise, Josie was sure to do a good job patching him up.

  The door slid open with a whispered swish, and she strode back in, arms full of packages. She set them on a silver table-tray and slid it closer to his bed. Then she handed him a folded light blue garment. “Instead of having you change to a gown, I figured you might like a scrub shirt.”