by Cari Quinn
He didn’t reply for so long that she turned away, already knowing the answer. Obviously her quirky country-folk-soul hybrid didn’t work for him. No big deal. She’d heard the scattered boos in the crowd. Yes, it was her first big venue in the city, and like so many other firsts in her life, perhaps she’d built it up too big in her mind. Bad enough that when she closed her eyes, she knew she’d hear those few disparaging remarks much louder than the scattered whoops and cheers.
It was only her dream they were making fun of. Just one of many that probably wouldn’t pan out. She shouldn’t make it into such a big deal. Even if adrenaline was still buzzing under her skin and even if she couldn’t quite keep still due to the leftover excitement slamming around inside her, she could chalk up those sensations to the cold. To the snow clinging to her cheeks and coating her bare arms.
She didn’t have her coat—or her purse. Crap, she had to go get her stuff.
She’d taken two steps when Chase snatched her wrist and whirled her around to face him, his strong fingers biting into her flesh. She gasped at the bruise coloring one of his rock-edged cheekbones, reaching up to touch it before she remembered she was mad at him for carrying her out and making a scene. And for not liking her music.
And for saving her…for knowing that she’d needed it.
He flinched away from her touch and she dropped her hand, feeling even more idiotic. “Don’t tell Cass,” she whispered. “Please.”
His jaw worked while he focused on her face, so intently that she wondered if the effort pained him. She reached up to smooth her wind-whipped hair and fought not to fill the silence. Anything was better than this void.
“She doesn’t know you do this, does she?”
“This?” She let out a hysterical laugh and gripped her bare upper arms. “You’re making it sound like I do porn or something.”
He narrowed his eyes. “From the way those guys in there were eyefucking you, you might as well have been.” He dropped his gaze to her sheer blouse and long, slinky skirt. “In that outfit, no wonder.”
Indignation bloomed, hot and welcome. At least if she got angry enough, she wouldn’t freeze to death from the chill of his disapproval. “Wow, two whole sentences. I feel honored.” She cocked a hip and noted with pleasure that his gaze tracked the move. “What happened to the wild, up-for-anything Deuce I used to know, huh? I didn’t even realize it was you at first at Cass’s party, and compared to now, you were a chatterbox.”
Sullen, moody, introverted…in the past, she never would’ve painted outgoing, life-of-the-party Deuce Dixon with those descriptions. Now she didn’t know any others that would fit. Except possibly brute, protector and sexy as all hell.
She bit her lip. Heck, not hell. Apparently you could take the girl out of church, but not the church out of the girl. And she wasn’t even out of church. She still went regularly, minus the occasional missed service due to Saturday night shenanigans.
During which she was thinking very chaste thoughts, naturally. As she always did. Like right now. Hey, window shopping with an option to buy didn’t hurt anything, right?
She tried to glance away from her current preoccupation with Chase’s super snug pants. Either Chase was packing a baseball bat in there or her tendency of looking on the bright side had reached critical mass. Literally.
“Since when do you call me Deuce?”
She shrugged. “It’s your name, isn’t it? Don’t you have the tat to prove it?”
“I was drunk when we…” He trailed off, apparently as unwilling to finish his statement as he was to respond to her tat question. She knew the answer anyway. She’d ogled that spread of cards on his muscled back enough to be able to recreate it from memory using chocolate body paint. “Which you well know,” he gritted out.
“Yeah, I do. I also know I kissed you, and you liked it.” She stepped into his personal space and slapped a hand on his wide chest. It was like trying to cover the land mass of China with a pocket ruler. “So why’d you run like a scared little girl?”
“I didn’t run. And look who’s talking about little girls.” He smirked down at her from his lofty height. Being short blew chunks. “Isn’t that in your job description?”
“I’m of age,” she said, hating the haughty edge to her tone. Couldn’t be helped. Her older and wiser bestie cautioned her frequently about being careful, but that wasn’t because Summer was inexperienced. Cass had walked the straight and narrow for so long that it was second nature for her to caution Summer to always keep an umbrella in the trunk of her car and to never forget to hide a spare twenty at the back of her wallet just in case.
As for the spare condom Cass instructed she store in her purse, Summer had done her one better and carried two. Emergency sex with multiple orgasms? Yes, please. She didn’t partake in pleasures of the flesh that often—despite her liberal view toward her religious upbringing, she usually only made love when in a committed relationship—but lightning struck now and then. Just in case, she brought a rubber umbrella. And sometimes attended confession twice a week.
Chase sneered down at her, though oddly she didn’t feel like the expression held any weight. What was his deal? So she was a little younger than him. From the pictures she’d seen in the gossip rags, he didn’t limit himself in any way. “You need to stick to your side of the playground and stop reaching for things you’re not ready for,” he said, his voice hard and tight.
She nodded pleasantly. As if she needed a lecture from a guy who regularly had threesomes, if the tabloids were to be believed. And she did. Believe them that is, not have threesomes. “Thanks so much for that piece of advice. Now you’ve schooled me.” She’d just get her stuff and get the hell out of there.
Darting around him, she made a run for the door. He grasped her waist in one of his forklift arms, hauling her off her feet and stealing her breath. Caught in mid-air, her arms flailing like a demented bird, she heard him laugh and her indignation increased tenfold.
“Knock it off, slugger.” He set her on the ground, his meaty hands still clamped around her upper arms. “You’re not going in there alone, not after that scene. We’ll go in, get your banjo dude and speak to the management about rescheduling your set. How many songs did you have left?”
Oh God, her set. She’d been so flustered by the fight and Chase’s appearance that she hadn’t even considered she’d essentially taken off in the middle of her gig. Her first major-ish—and now likely only—chance, and what did she do? Fight and flee.
“Three,” she whispered, deflating in his hold.
Everyone was right. Obviously she didn’t have it together. She wasn’t ready for the big time. Maybe she wouldn’t ever be.
“So we’ll get you another night. From the posters I saw and the crowd that couldn’t get enough of you, I’m guessing this wasn’t your first show. Or your last.”
That still remained to be seen, but she mutely shook her head.
“You clearly don’t have a personal team.” He gave her a tight-lipped smile and ushered her toward the door. “That needs to change.”
She stumbled on another icy spot and he righted her seamlessly, practically from the force of his steel will alone. His brusque touch somehow became gentle by the time it reached her flesh. “A personal…team?” She almost asked what he meant, then bit down on her lip and hoped he’d explain.
“Security that goes with you, not provided by the establishment. You need someone, especially since you are—”
“Female?” she snapped.
“I was going to say petite. Plus I saw you and Cass get into a fight once. She whipped your ass.”
“Cass doesn’t count. She’s my best friend. Do you really think we’d be out for blood?” Especially considering Cass’s heart condition, which could be adversely affected by stress.
He lifted a brow. “How do you feel about a deal?”
Suddenly cold all over again, she rubbed her arms and took another sideways glance at the door. She’d never make
it before he tackled her again.
Though that didn’t sound altogether bad, assuming they could lose their clothes…
“What kind of deal?” she asked, trying to keep her teeth from chattering.
“You manage to keep me from picking you up and hauling you over my shoulder again and I’ll acknowledge your superior self-defense skills. Any tactic’s fair game.”
Summer tilted her head and blew away the hair that tumbled over her eyes. “Any tactic?” She narrowed her gaze below his waist. “Even low blows?”
He only smirked at her. Clearly, he didn’t consider her any kind of threat. “Anything.”
“What do I get if I win, besides your praise?”
“I’ll back off on demanding you get private security, at least as long as you’re appearing in clubs like this. You want to go to some little honky-tonk up north, be my guest. In the city? I want you protected.” He scowled. “Even if I have to risk my baby to do it.”
Her stomach clenched. “You have a baby?”
“My truck.”
She nearly smiled before a wave of shivers rolled over her already frosty skin. This time they burrowed beneath, right to her bones. “And if I can’t take you down?”
“Who said anything about taking me down? You only need to keep your own feet on the ground. Simple enough.” He flicked her frozen nose like she was a cute twelve-year-old and made her growl. “If you can’t, then you’ve bought yourself a bodyguard at your shows.”
“Bought?” Summer’s voice wobbled. “I don’t have a budget for that.”
All right, so that was a lie, but she wasn’t about to have some big, hulking guy preventing her from getting close to her fans. Most of them were normal, even nice. In the business she was in, she needed to be able to make connections. Having a wall of muscle between her and the people who were buying her tickets was not a recipe for success.
“We’ll negotiate the fee later.” He made a come-and-get-me gesture. “Now get ready. I’m going to try to pick you up, and you’re going to stop me, by any means possible. Got it?”
As a devious plan formed in her mind, she grinned. “Sure. Say when.”
Chase lunged, causing her to squeal as his powerful hands locked around her ribcage. She beat on his shoulders, losing precious moments, then remembered her plan. She wriggled in his hold, bearing down as she felt her feet leave the ground, pushing with all her weight while she grabbed a hank of his hair with one hand and ripped down her top with the other.
Like a stone sinking to the bottom of the river, he dropped her heavily back onto her feet. He stared for a long moment, and she belatedly realized she hadn’t only shown him her lacy demi-cup bra, but had also torn her favorite peasant blouse in two.
“You flashed me?” His voice was low, gritty. “You fucking flashed me?”
She fought to hold her blouse together, squealing again when he wrapped a hand around her waist and hauled her right out of her shoes. At that moment, the door burst open to the sounds of male shouts, and they both glanced toward the source of the commotion.
A cop yelled for Chase to let her go. Chase started to explain the situation while Summer gaped, wide-eyed, then gasped as the cop’s laser gaze landed on her shredded top.
“This isn’t what it looks like—” she began.
She was too late, obviously, since the cop had already strode forward and snapped cuffs on Chase’s wrists. Oh God, this wasn’t good.
“Oh really?” The sandy-haired cop nodded at the shirt she gripped in both hands. “I heard an argument, then a woman’s scream, and came out here to find you being manhandled by this thug. And your blouse is ripped. Care to explain that?”
“Yes, do explain that, Summer,” Chase rasped.
It had seemed like such a smart move at the time. She’d even seen a version of it on that old sitcom Friends. Phoebe flashed the guys during a football game and the girls won. Cue laugh track.
No cops, no cuffs, no glowering ball players. Why couldn’t she ever get anything right?
When she hesitated a second too long, the officer shook his head and jerked his chin in the direction of the club. “We’ll discuss it down at the station. Go on.”
“Oh no, honestly, he wasn’t hurting me. He’s one of my oldest friends. He actually saved me in there, from that witch who grabbed my hair.” Summer knew she was babbling and couldn’t seem to stop. “We were only playing around, I swear.”
“I’ve already heard about ten variations of this story from other patrons. Seems like the whole bunch of you are wired tonight.” The officer nodded at the club again. “It’ll all be sorted out at the station. Now let’s go.”
“But I’m the talent. I already ran off stage. If I just leave I won’t get another gig here, ever.”
“You’re worried about your ‘gig’ when I’m cuffed?” Chase questioned, clenching his jaw. “I’m probably fucking going to jail for assault and you’re worried you won’t get to warble for peanuts?”
“What? Oh, pal, you’ve officially pissed me off.” Summer stepped forward and poked Chase in the chest, only to earn a sharp noise from the cop.
“Enough, lady. We’re going downtown. Save the editorializing for when we get there.”
“Don’t you mean across town?” Chase rolled his eyes before the cop pushed him toward the doors, then looked over his shoulder at Summer, mouthing two unmistakable words. “You lost.”
“Look, this is ridiculous,” she called to the cop. “We’re fine. No problems here. He’s actually an employee of this club, if you’d do your due diligence and stop harassing innocent people—”
“Summer, shut it,” Chase warned.
The cop gave her a hard stare. “Listen, lady. Either you come with us of your own volition, or I’ll come over there and get you. I guarantee you don’t want that.”
“I’m just saying, maybe if you boys in blue had shown up a little sooner, you could’ve gotten the real troublemakers, not Chase and me.” She gritted her teeth and planted her feet. Chase might think she was crossing the line, but if he only knew what she really wanted to say, he’d applaud her restraint. “We’re not exactly the criminal element, ya know?”
“You’re on my last nerve, ma’am.” Ma’am? Freaking ma’am? She’d gone from a playground attendee to a matron in under five minutes. “Start walking on your own steam or you’ll take a ride down to the station in cuffs like your friend here.”
The back door opened and Chris, one of the owners of the club, stepped out. Catching sight of Chase’s cuffs, he quickly started talking to the officer, which lowered the heat on her long enough to get her temper under control. Almost.
She did not have a good history with the police. Still, she didn’t need to be locked up or to screw up things worse for Chase. What she needed to do was shut up and go down to the station to sort everything out.
The cop pulled open the door of the club and jerked his thumb at her. Message received. Time to move.
Summer pursed her mouth and clasped the front of her shirt to keep it from flapping in the breeze. A trip to her locker for her jacket was a necessity now. She inhaled the icy air and strode forward, head held high.
It looked like she’d gotten herself a bodyguard.
And maybe an arrest record, depending how the rest of the night went.
Chapter Two
In the scheme of things, facing down a long, plush couch at two a.m. was not the worst thing she’d encountered that night. A fight breaking out in the middle of her concert? Bad. Being carried out like a screaming baby from said concert by a man you’d tongue-fucked—she might as well call a spade a spade—a few months ago? Equally crappy. Riding down to the police station to explain to the cops that you were “roughhousing” with the guy who’d somehow re-inserted his size thirteen boot in your life without any warning? Absolute suckitude.
But it was the sofa that broke her.
“I am not sleeping here,” Summer announced, clasping her arms over her fully zippe
d jacket.
“Let me get you some sheets.” Chase tossed his car keys onto the coffee table and walked down the dark hallway that led away from his spacious living room before she could complain some more.
Apparently he’d decided to break his vow of silence.
He’d been doing his best impression of a mute ever since he’d herded her into his super macho SUV outside the club and insisted she was staying at his place tonight. Actually, insisted was a nice way of putting it. Commanded was more accurate.
She stared at his keys in the weak glow from the light he’d flipped on by the door, wondering if she’d be able to get down to his truck before he could catch up.
He’s a professional athlete, dumbass. That means he’d catch you before you disarmed that pricey alarm system by the front door.
Since the flight plan had been mentally vetoed by her rarely heard common sense, she followed him down the hallway, noting the doors that branched off either side. Two appeared to be bedrooms. Guest bedrooms even, since she was almost positive he lived alone.
And he was sticking her on the damn couch? What next? Would breakfast be stale crackers and warm water?
“Why can’t I sleep in a real bedroom?” she demanded, coming to a stop in the doorway to Chase’s master bedroom. The space held one dominating focal point—the lake-sized, black-sheeted bed. No comforter, no pillows. Just a giant mattress made with silky sheets and held high off the floor on a cherry pedestal bedframe that required steps to mount.
Mount. She swallowed over the dryness in her throat. Wrong word for her current state of mind.
Silently, he walked over to the dresser and withdrew a set of crisp navy-and-white striped sheets, then gathered a plastic-wrapped pillow from a stack of them atop the chest at the foot of the bed. What was he stockpiling them for if he didn’t even use them on his own bed?
When he approached her without even giving a token answer to her question, she propped her hands on her hips and stared him down. “I asked you a question, Dixon. Why are you exiling me in the living room when you have perfectly good guest rooms?”