Bethany Michaels
Nashville Heat
A Ravenous Romance™ Red Carpet Romance™ Original Publication
A Ravenous Romance™ Red Carpet Romance™ Original Publication
www.ravenousromance.com
Nashville Heat
Copyright © 2009 by B. M. Cole
Ravenous Romance™
100 Cummings Center
Suite 125G
Beverly, MA 01915
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review.
ISBN-13: 978-1-60777-144-9
This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Chapter One
The first time I saw Dex Wilder, I was wearing a bed sheet and body glitter and serving hors d’oeuvres on the lawn in front of the world’s only full-scale replica of the Parthenon.
The party was hosted by one of Nashville’s numerous record labels. I, along with the rest of wait staff, was supposed to resemble a Greek goddess, serving record company executives, music publishers, promoters, country music radio station VIPs, retail music buyers, established artists with the label, selected newcomers and assorted hangers-on. Mostly bimbos with fake boobs and short skirts.
What I actually looked like was a toga-party call girl. My honey-blond hair had been coaxed into cascading ringlets. My skin, mostly bare above the top of the toga that showed more cleavage than I was comfortable with, was spattered in gold glitter. My make-up had been applied with a heavy hand by my new roommate. Dark eyeliner ringed my light blue eyes and thick mascara caked my already black lashes. I’d drawn the line at the lipstick Becca had tried to slather over my lips, though. I hated the stuff and had gone with cherry Chapstick instead.
I found it hard to believe Greeks ever looked like I did, oozing cheap sex and hairspray, given the fact they used public baths and propane curling irons hadn’t been invented yet, but whatever. It was a paying job and since I’d been in Nashville only a couple of weeks, I needed the cash. Badly.
Being a new arrival to Nashville, I was on the lookout for some of the country music stars I’d idolized all through my teen years, stars who had inspired me to leave my small Indiana hometown and venture south in the first place. Everywhere I went, from seedy bars where I’d played one gig so far with a couple of so-so guitar players, to the Wal-Mart on the south side, I kept my eyes open.
The catering gig was no star-making venture, but it afforded me the chance to rub elbows with Nashville’s music community, even if I was mostly cleaning up half-eaten food and tepid glasses of champagne. As menial as it seemed, it was still Nashville. And that was good enough for me.
The Parthenon soiree had netted a few notable sightings, and I had fantasies of a chance meeting leading to a record deal and instant stardom. That was the way it happened in all the E! True Hollywood Stories. So I was serving my crab cakes and indulging in a little fan-girl surveillance on that warm summer night when a man I didn’t recognize touched my arm.
“Ma’am?”
It was just one word, but in his fluid tenor and down home sexy Southern drawl, that was all it took.
I turned and looked up at him.
I’m tall, about five feet, ten inches, and this guy was a good five inches taller. He had deep blue eyes that were very slightly crinkled at the corners, straight white teeth and a pair of soft-looking lips that were formed into a slightly crooked smile. With the black cowboy hat and hint of black beard stubble, he was every cowboy fantasy I’d ever entertained come to life. Only hotter.
“Ma’am?” he said again, still grinning at me.
The silver tray I was balancing on one hand tilted to the side, and I caught it just before half-eaten hors d’oeuvres, dirty cocktail napkins and a jumble of glassware crashed to the ground at the pointed tips of his shiny black boots.
“Yes?” I finally managed.
“Do you think I could get a beer?” He held up his flute of Korbel. “I can’t stand this sweet stuff.”
He was still smiling.
I was still staring.
“Um, I can check with Ricky. He’s the owner. I’ll, um, check.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said. His straight white teeth gleamed in the soft light cast by the strings of white lights crisscrossing the outdoor shindig. He set his untouched glass of champagne on my tray. “I’ll wait right here.”
Sometimes you meet someone for the first time and the attraction is so swift and undeniable that it takes your breath away. There’s a sort of immediate awareness, an invisible but unequivocal pull, and your whole world shifts slightly on its axis. Your heart beats a desperate staccato and the blood rushes fiercely through your veins. You can’t speak. You can’t think. You can’t breathe.
That’s the way it was when I met Dex.
I don’t know if love at first sight exists, but lust at first sight, instant infatuation, sure as hell does.
I smiled up at him, or tried to, and made my way through the crowd to the building’s north side, where my boss had set up his command post. Turning to look over my shoulder before I disappeared around the corner of the building, I found the cowboy still staring after me with that crooked grin on his face. I could feel his gaze almost like a caress and my body temperature went up a few degrees.
“Oh my God,” my new roommate, Becca, gushed as soon as I set my tray down on the folding table at command central. “Did you see that guy?”
I didn’t have to ask which guy. There was only one, now.
I managed a quick nod. “He wants a beer.”
I tightened my toga, which had begun to wilt in the humid June air, and wiped a bead of sweat from between my braless breasts. The breeze felt good. It was a warm night but I wasn’t all that sure my burning skin had anything to do with ambient temperature.
“Goddamn rednecks,” grumbled my boss, Ricky Moon. “Always with the beer.” He pulled out a metal washtub of ice filled with longnecks. “It took some doin’ to get my hands on enough Korbel for these assholes and now all they want is goddamn Bud Light.”
Ricky had been a struggling musician back in the day and had found catering a way to supplement his meager music income. Now he did it full time, his dreams of music stardom replaced with dreams of a successful business and a steady living. Despite his balding pate, the belly that had seen just a few too many beers, and despite his complaints and a constant stream of profanity that would do any sailor proud, Ricky was a good guy with a soft spot for young struggling musical types. He let people off without too much complaint if a sudden opportunity to gig at a local club presented itself and always had a gruff but encouraging word for all of us.
I plucked two beers out of the ice and put them on my tray with a couple of clean pilsner glasses. Ricky handed me a fancy silver bottle opener with another comment under his breath about those “goddamn rednecks” while Becca reloaded her platter with Greek-themed hors d’oeuvres from warming trays and we headed back out to the party.
Becca was dark, with beautiful shiny hair the color of dark chocolate, luminous dark brown eyes that tilted up just slightly at the corners and a full mouth always tinted with her favorite fire-engine red lipstick. She was calm, confident, and exuded sensuality with every gesture.
“Hey, there’s your cowboy,” she whispered when we rounded the side of the building. “I heard he just signed with Red Wolf Records. He’s their new golden boy.” Becca tugged the neck of her toga lower to show even more of her plump breasts and cleavage.
“If they put his picture on the cover of his album, it’ll go platinum inside of a week.” I tucked
a loose curl behind my ear and made my carefully down the steep Parthenon steps in my rented goddess gold sandals. “What’s his name?”
Becca smiled. “Dex Wilder.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Yummy, huh?” We parted ways at the bottom of the steps. “See if you can get his phone number. We can share.” Becca winked and headed towards a group of suits seated at a small round table in the conspicuous center of the gathering.
I took a deep breath, straightened my shoulders and headed towards where I’d left the hot cowboy. Dex.
The alcohol was flowing and the crowd was enjoying the party. People were up and about, mingling, schmoozing and kissing ass whenever possible. It was crowded and I was jostled a bit, but I knew where I’d left Dex and headed that direction.
All of a sudden, the proverbial crowd parted and there he was. He should have had a spotlight on him and some soaring instrumental theme playing in the background; he was that good looking. I stumbled slightly but made my way to him, drawn like a magnet to a big hunk of metal. A really big hunk.
He was holding a plate of hors d’oeuvres in one hand. “You found one,” he said, taking one of the longnecks from my tray. He popped the cap with his thumb and took a long draw from the bottle, ignoring the glasses I’d also brought. I watched his throat move as he swallowed and wondered what he would do if I went up on my tiptoes and pressed a kiss or two right on that Adam’s apple.
His eyes never left mine as he drank and when he lowered the bottle, he ran the back of his hand over his lips and grinned down at me.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” I started to move on through the crowd, hoping my feet would obey my will, when he put his hand on my arm again.
“I was hoping maybe you could tell me what these are.” He held up his plate. “I don’t know my way around all this frou-frou stuff. Like this. Looks like toast to me.”
“Shrimp bruschetta.”
He flashed that sexy grin and my knees went weak. “I knew you were the woman for the job. How about this lettuce thing?”
“That’s dolma. Rice, lamb and onion with olive oil and lemon, wrapped in a grape leaf. And the green balls are feta cheese truffles coated in parsley.”
“And I’m guessing these ain’t onion rings?”
I shook my head. “Fried calamari.”
“Cala-what?”
“Calamari. Squid.”
“Ugh. No thanks. What ever happened to buffalo wings and crab cakes?”
“It’s really good, actually. Tastes like chicken. Try it.”
“No way. I don’t eat anything with tentacles.”
“Coward.”
He narrowed his eyes on me, but was still smiling. “You first.”
“Can’t. I’m on duty.”
“I won’t tell anybody. Here.” Dex plucked a golden ring from his plate and held it to my lips.
It was a dare, and looking into his deep blue eyes and teasing grin, I couldn’t resist. I stuck my tongue through the hole and pulled the fried ring into my mouth. The calamari wasn’t as hot as it could be, but it wasn’t bad for catering.
“See? Delicious.” I grabbed a napkin from my tray and patted my mouth. “As long as you don’t get a head.”
Dex eyed the platter suspiciously. “I don’t think so.”
“Come on. You promised.” I chose a smaller ring and held it to his lips as he had done to me.
Leaning in, Dex held my gaze and sucked the whole ring and the tips of my fingers into his warm, wet mouth.
I shivered, despite the heat.
Dex pulled back slowly, chewing the fish.
“Not bad,” he said. “Kind of spongy.” He took a swig of beer. “But I’m still partial to a good batch of burn-your-tongue-off buffalo wings.”
“Don’t let my boss hear you say that. He’ll pop something.”
“It’ll be our secret, then.” He traded his empty bottle for the full one on my tray. “So. Do you come here often?”
I laughed at that. “Don’t you have any better lines than that?” As if he would need them.
He took another pull on the bottle. “No, ma’am. I don’t.”
“Well, I’m am expert,” I said. “How about ‘I lost my phone number. Can I have yours?’”
He nodded. “Not half bad. Think that will work?”
“Maybe. It’s all in the delivery.”
“Hey, I remember one that worked in college: ‘Hi. I’m Mr. Right. I hear you’ve been looking for me.’”
I groaned. “No.”
“Hmm. Didn’t like that one, huh?” He drained his beer and put the bottle on my tray.
I shook my head. “You need to work on that.”
“So what are you doing later?”
“Ugh, that’s the worst,” I said, laughing now.
He didn’t return my laugh. Instead he stepped closer. “No, I mean, what are you doing later? After the party.” He looked down into my eyes and the heat that had sparked between us ignited into a full-blown blaze.
His chest brushed my breasts and I could feel the heat of him, the scent of his subtle aftershave, and warmth instantly began to pool in my belly. I could so imagine bringing this cowboy home.
It was tempting, but…
“I’m going home,” I said. “Alone.” I smiled. “Sorry.”
He looked a little disappointed. I imagined he didn’t get turned down very much. “Can I get your number, at least?”
“Sure.” I smiled and turned over a cocktail napkin to write on. “Give me your pen.”
“I didn’t bring one.”
“You were never a Boy Scout, were you?” I teased.
“Well, I wasn’t expecting to meet a goddess tonight.” He grinned and stroked my bare arm. “How about I hunt down something to write with and find you later?”
“Okay,” I said, biting my lip. He was hot and just the thought of his calling me, hearing that voice saying naughty things to me in the sexy Southern drawl had me squeezing my thighs together and hoping he didn’t notice the way my nipples had hardened beneath the thin cotton of the toga.
Despite my body’s reaction to Dex, I knew he was a distraction I couldn’t afford. I had moved to Nashville against my family’s wishes and their assurance that I’d be back when the money ran out. I was determined to prove them wrong. I needed to focus on my career, not a boyfriend. I was nuts to take this, whatever it was, anywhere beyond flirtation. But damn, he was persuasive, especially when he looked down at me like he wanted to eat me up. Okay, so I was weak. At least where Dex Wilder was concerned.
“Later, then,” I said.
Someone called his name, and a man in an expensive suit threw a semi-drunk arm around his shoulders, or tried to. The man was good foot shorter than Dex.
“Later.” Dex winked at me and let the man lead him through the crowd.
I spent the next three hours serving champagne and hors d’oeuvres, fending off the occasional ass-squeeze and pick-up line with a smile and a clever line, and before I knew it, the crowd had thinned and it was time to start packing up.
I looked around but didn’t see Dex. I was sure he’d already left, probably with one of the record execs and their entourage of bimbos in one of the white stretch limos parked along the lighted drive.
Oh, well. It was better this way. Flirting with Dex had been fun and I was sure it was his smile, his eyes, his scent that would be fueling quality time with my favorite vibrator later. But that was as far as it would go.
The tips had been good, the company relatively tame. No fist fights or food poisoning. It was a good night in the catering business and I was ready to head home.
I helped Ricky and the others stack the dirty dishes in tubs and load them into the white catering van emblazoned with Blue Moon Catering.
“So did you get his number?” Becca asked, handing Ricky the final load of dirty glasses.
“No.”
“Bummer. He’s a hottie. Maybe he’ll be at the F
rist party next week, though.”
“I pay you to serve the drinks, not pick up the guests,” Ricky grumbled, wiping his hands on a dish towel.
“Sure, Ricky,” Becca said, a perfectly innocent look painted across her face. “That would be against the rules.”
Ricky grunted and closed the doors to the van.
“Be at the museum at seven o’ clock sharp. And don’t forget to return those,” he said gesturing at the togas. “It’s that place down on Church Street. Don’t forget the deposit.”
“Will do, boss,” Becca said giving him a mock salute.
Ricky rolled his eyes. “You girls need a ride or anything?”
No matter how tough he acted, Ricky still watched out for us in true Southern gentleman style.
“No, thanks,” I said. “I have my car.”
“Okay. See you Tuesday, then.” Ricky climbed in the van and pulled away.
“I’m beat. Let’s get going,” I said to Becca.
“Thanks, but I’ve got a ride.” Becca glanced at a good-looking blond cowboy who had appeared around the side of the building as soon as Ricky left. He wore the look of a guy about to get lucky. “Don’t wait up.”
She patted her hair and walked with an exaggerated sway in her hips over to the guy. He put his arm around her and they went off together into the shadows.
I rolled my eyes and started towards my car.
Becca. She was great roommate so far in that she’d paid the first month’s rent and didn’t drink all my Diet Coke. And she was out more nights than not, so I basically had our tiny two-bedroom apartment overlooking Broadway all to myself.
She had a great voice and could play any tune on the piano by ear, but I worried that her pursuits of the carnal variety might start to affect her career goals.
I sat down on the stairs of the Parthenon and slipped off the cheap, ill-fitting sandals. My feet were sore and it felt good to stretch my toes. I didn’t make a habit of hanging out in the park at night, but it was a nice night, now that the sweltering heat and humidity of the summer day had faded with the sunset. Spotlights on all sides of the Parthenon lit up the building like it was midday and the Park Police were wandering around somewhere, so I figured I was safe enough for a few minutes.
Nashville Heat Page 1