“I don’t want a slice of that hell.”
“But I do.”
“Once you get controlling interest and in the chairperson’s seat, what are you going to do about Shatter? Is Devil’s Music going to absorb it the way it did South Sounds?”
“I only want what’s mine. So do this for me. It was Granddaddy’s company. Daddy’s. Yours. Mine. Those deceitful assholes who called themselves my friends stole it and are driving it into the ground. Get Chelsea’s stake, for me. Even if you’re not sorry about leaving when Daddy died, you do owe me.”
His sister continued to plead her case, to argue and rationalize, until he promised to consider. Only then did Delilah back down, take her victory, and journey home.
Not even a week later Chelsea Coin called his phone, and he found himself agreeing to meet with her in Atlanta.
He could blame the melody of her voice and the memories it called to mind, but it was no one’s fault but his that he was thankful for an excuse to see her again.
“A car will pick you up from the airport,” Chelsea said, sounding so far away that he crazily wanted to reach through the line and stroke the silk of her hair as he brought her to him. “And will you be bringing a…uh…a guest? We’ll require the bulk of your attention, a lot of your time. This might compromise your social life.”
“No,” he said roughly, the finality of his severed relationship with Rosalind fresh. “There’s nobody to bring. I’m doing this alone.”
She was quiet for a moment. “Okay.”
“I’ll let you know when I set up the flight.”
“Okay,” she said again, and it reminded him of when they’d been younger and he’d slid a hand into her jeans, sinking into her heat for the first time.
“I’m going to touch you right here…like this, Chelsea. That all right with you?”
“Okay.”
“Damn, you feel so wet. So fucking tight for me. I’m going to do it again, and lick you while I touch you. Get these jeans off and let me make it good for you.”
“Okay.”
It’d been insanely incredible to be the one to introduce her to sex, to show her what a man’s hands and mouth and body could do to her.
“Call you then,” he said, and disconnected the call before she could say anything else and twist him up tighter than he already was.
But the damage was already done. He roamed his house and confronted his notebook. When he’d almost begun ripping out the pages, he shut it, threw it in his suitcase, and finished packing for Atlanta.
—
Home. Chelsea. The thoughts alternated in the front of his mind, battling for primary importance, as a connecting flight carried him from Tennessee to Georgia late the following day.
Haggard from a restless night, he collected his lone suitcase from baggage claim at Hartsfield, slung it over his shoulder, and through his sunglasses scanned the individuals gathered to receive passengers at the terminal.
A man in a pressed black suit held a sign with Bishop scrawled across it. Dante greeted the chauffeur, and the man immediately began listing the car’s amenities. He’d be one lying son of a bitch if he said leather massage seats and a bar stocked with everything from energy drinks to champagne didn’t sound welcoming.
“Before we go to headquarters, I need to swing by my hotel for checkin,” Dante said as they strode to the parking lot where a tinted-windowed Mercedes limousine waited. Too much fanfare for Dante’s liking, but he wasn’t going to complain about a free ride that would allow him to close his eyes and rest in peace, quiet, and privacy.
“Our travel itinerary says you’ll be lodging at headquarters,” the chauffeur contradicted.
“Your itinerary’s wrong. I booked a room at the Grand Hyatt in Buckhead.” No way in hell was he going to be made to stay holed up in the Devil’s Music offices 24/7. He didn’t want to spend time at the Bishop family home, but even that would be preferable to the former plantation.
Chelsea had told him about her family’s history with that house, those grounds, and he’d sworn that if she ever wanted to petition to have the place bulldozed, he’d be at her side.
He’d still petition to flatten that place of misery. Hell, he’d demolish the goddamn house himself, but he wouldn’t stand by her side. They were done, and even eternity wasn’t enough time to cool the rush of anger that lived inside him.
“I’ll get your door, sir,” the chauffeur offered, but Dante shook his head. For years he’d driven his truck along the cracked rural Washington roads and hauled soil and equipment to and fro with nobody around to lend aid. He’d grown up having everything handed to him, and in turn had worn the expectation that he’d never fuck up and misuse the privilege he’d been born into. The farm, which hadn’t seen its first profitable harvest until his second year of ownership, had been his responsibility. The guitar calluses he’d developed before he was old enough to read or write were nothing compared to the harsh reward of the scraped and scarred skin that made up the rough surface of his hands now. It was frustrating work, hard on a man’s body, but on clear days when he could look out over the land and see what he’d built, he knew the pride of reaping what he sowed, and fuck him if he wasn’t grateful for that.
Flinging his suitcase inside, he climbed into the limo—and every damn thing stopped.
Chelsea Coin sat on the opposite bench holding a champagne flute. The interior lights and soft electric blue of the mahogany bar illuminated the black silk of her hair and the honey-brown satin of her skin. She was relaxing against the black leather wearing a pair of fancy-looking high heels…and underwear.
“Where are your clothes?”
“In my bag.” She pointed a cobalt-blue-tipped finger to a silver blob across the bench. “The driver’s taking us to headquarters first. You’ll meet with the others, then get settled in at the guesthouse.”
“I’m not staying on that goddamn property. I booked a room at the Hyatt.”
“You’ll need to cancel it. My colleagues and I deliberated and we’ve decided it’ll be more convenient for you to be on-site and within reach.”
“Convenient for you.”
She shrugged. “Quality control.”
It was control, plain as that. “You don’t trust me?”
“We’d rather not take unnecessary risks. You understand, don’t you? It’s only business. So, how was your flight?”
“Are you crazy?” Or was he? Was he imagining Chelsea’s guarded voice and long, slim legs?
“I was only making polite conversation. Trying for civility.”
The scent of leather and the naughty sweetness of her perfume were more intoxicating than any of the bar’s offerings.
“What are you wearing?”
“Diamond sandals. A cami. A pair of panties.” She set down the flute. “I didn’t wear undies much when you and I were together.”
The top—cami, she called it—was snug and sheer with thin straps that he could snap with his teeth. Her pert tits were on full, lush display for him.
And…sweet God. She uncrossed her legs, revealing a strip of lace that was no wider than a ribbon and didn’t disguise a damn thing.
“That lingerie wouldn’t last two heartbeats under my hands,” he told her bluntly. “How far you want to push me, Chelsea?”
“I’m pushing you?”
“You’re ambushing me. It’s a fucking hot ambush, and hell yeah, I like what you’re showing me.” He leaned across and, looking through the darkened lenses of his sunglasses, searched her face for a reaction as he skimmed a hand down her belly and settled it between her legs. “But I remember what your pussy cost me the last time. It’s not worth the price.”
“You insulting me, Dante?” A smile teased her plump lips, but it splintered when he stroked her with a finger against her clit. Her underwear kept them from being flesh to flesh, kept this from feeling irreversibly real. Still, he glided his finger forward and back and watched her features tense.
“Would you
give a damn if I was?” He felt her rock against his hand, and blood stirred in his dick. There wasn’t much in life as amazing as watching Chelsea Coin get off. He slowed his pace, deliberately stroking her seam from top to bottom. She wanted him to concentrate on her clit, to make her come hard, fast, coldly. He denied her that. “What the fuck does it matter what I think, so long as you’ve got a top-floor office and my family’s company piping money into your bank account?”
Dante took his hand away and sat back against his seat. Both of them wanted a fuck, neither would get it, but he was satisfied to see her stunned.
She folded one taut leg over the other, and her diamond-dressed foot bobbed precariously between his knees. “A gentleman shouldn’t touch a lady like that without so much as a decent hello.”
He chuckled. “That kind of etiquette doesn’t apply to you and me. Not in this car while you’re sitting there damn near naked and I’m sitting here hard as iron.”
“I’m making a point.”
“Which is what?”
“This is what you abandoned and what you won’t have again.”
“Who’s getting it now?”
“No one you know. Let’s be clear. We’re commissioning you to write an album for a new talent we intend to launch. You’re expected to conduct yourself professionally once you sign the agreements.” She paused, staring at him until he finally quit protecting himself and removed his glasses. “That last night, at your place, I wore an outfit like this.”
Before they’d tumbled into his bed, fucked, and he extracted her from his life. “It was black.”
She blinked so quickly, her eyelashes seemed to shiver. “Then you do remember.”
“Yeah.” She’d struck first, lying to him, deceiving him, using him to double-cross his father. He’d retaliated, hurting her with words that slashed deep. “Won’t ever forget why we’re poison to each other.”
“Do you regret how you handled me?” she asked.
She wanted remorse, an apology years in the making. He would deny her that, too. “No. I’m here to write some songs, not to give you closure.”
“A farm did this to you? Turned you into a hard bastard?”
He silently shook his head and clasped her foot, holding it still. “No,” he said again. “You did.”
Chelsea rapped on the privacy partition, and two things happened at once.
The limousine began its departure from the lot.
And Dante decided to introduce her to the hard bastard she’d created.
You can’t beat the devil unless you play his game.
Chapter 5
Chelsea looked from Dante to the foot he held in his hands. The polish on her toenails and the brilliance of the diamond-strapped shoe didn’t matter. She was somehow breathtakingly small, delicate in his grasp, and she hated being reminded that despite her will to put up a strong, no-mistakes front, she was fragile. Breakable. Exposed.
She had calculated, as one did when she was determined to dole out a little punishment to a man who’d hurt her. She’d tipped the driver, Grayson, handsomely for his discretion before she’d slipped into the Mercedes limo, wiggled out of her designer romper, and stuffed it into her purse the way Grandma Coin jammed tearstained Kleenexes into hers as she sat in a front pew listening to the pastor’s sermon during Sunday services.
Chelsea had meant to find out if Dante could see her tonight, remember her as she’d been seven years ago when she’d run from the Bishop mansion with her face wearing tears that were hot with humiliation, and feel a degree of the guilt she felt. What Delilah had said at headquarters haunted her.
When y’all broke up, I think the only one who ended up broken was you.
Using him to unwittingly betray his father’s authority had been wrong—of course she knew that—but in cold retaliation he’d mishandled her, mistreated her…
Broken her.
She was in an excellent position to kick him in the testicles while he sat across from her in a man-sprawl that was as sexy as it was arrogant.
Years on a farm had put wear on him—adding faint frown and squint lines, reinforcing his already resilient frame with muscles that hadn’t been there when she’d known him before. Under his T-shirt and jeans he was taut and hard. A body like his was necessary to shield a ruthless heart.
His sister held the reputation as the unpredictable, dangerous Bishop offspring, but the world didn’t know him the way Chelsea did.
Had his fiancée had the displeasure of meeting the side of him he’d hidden behind music and a cavalier demeanor? “Someone told me you were engaged,” she said. “Now you’re not. Did she cross you?”
“Matter of fact, yeah.” He lowered her foot, maneuvering her so that her legs were no longer crossed and the point of her gemstone-encrusted shoe no longer poised to wedge into his balls. “No, we weren’t really engaged. Yeah, she crossed me. Do you think I’d put my hands on you if I had a fiancée up in Washington waiting for me?”
Weeks ago she wouldn’t have supposed that Joshua and Delilah would play under-the-table games while the man’s wife was in the room, but it’d happened. If cheating could penetrate a marriage bound by the law and the Lord, then it could do the same to an engagement. “I don’t know what to think. I thought I knew you before and I was wrong.”
“Guess we have something in common.” Dante scooted off the bench, dropping to his knees in front of her. Bowing his head, he parted her legs and kissed a thigh. The scratch of his beard teased her, but the abrasion of his callused fingertips sliding up to her hips was a warning. Turning his brown eyes to hers, he said, “Let me tell you what I think. I think, even if I did have somebody, you’d let me touch you like this. What does that say about you?”
“I’m not going to respond to that.”
“As pretty as you are, the truth about you is ugly as fuck.”
She wasn’t desperate anymore. She wasn’t a hypocrite. She’d changed since losing him and gaining a COO position. “Fuck you, Dante.”
“Oh, well, now, since you asked so nicely…” He reached out a hand, fastened it to the back of her neck and drew her forward. Pretenses and plans shot to hell, they met in a collision of soft to hard.
She hadn’t asked for this, but she wanted it. He could read her as naturally as he could spin words into resonating lyrics.
Dante’s lips sampled hers before his tongue breached them. While he had her good and preoccupied with keeping up with his demanding mouth, he found the hem of her cami and yanked it up with a sureness and impatience that made her tingle.
“This needs to come off. The panties, too,” he said, easing back to pull the top over her head. “You want to handle that, or do you want me to?”
Thrilled at the thought of him pushing her back against the leather and tearing away her undies, she almost shucked the task off to him. But she’d already arrived at headquarters sex-disheveled once this month and didn’t want to show up tonight in just her romper.
“I got it,” she said, and it registered. She was doing this, taking off her camisole and tossing it out of the way, peeling down her underwear…She was going to have sex with Dante Bishop in a company limousine.
This opportunity wouldn’t come again. Once he agreed to terms with Devil’s Music, he’d belong to the company and would only do his job, then he’d return to a blueberry farm in Washington.
They had twenty minutes to themselves, maybe double that if traffic was clogged. A fierce half-hour fuck might not fully satisfy, but she didn’t care.
The last time they’d had sex, it had started out amazing but ended tragically. This limo ride would replace that night in his bed.
He said he hadn’t come back to give her closure. Well, she’d just have to take it.
Chelsea pulled at the collar of his T-shirt. “I’ve never fucked a farmer. I mean, I could make a joke about plowing, but I’d rather just have you naked.”
He didn’t smile. She’d thought he might, that there might be more than basic
lust forcing them together like this. The Dante she’d loved had a smile that could brighten a crappy day.
She’d stopped loving him the night she’d run crying from his family home. How had either of them survived the fight that had ended them seven years ago? What they’d said…the rage…
He took off his shirt and the ripple of muscles gave her pause. Oh, hell, yes, he was beautiful. But he was different. Almost unfamiliar.
“Did you change because we broke up?” she asked, unable to keep the thought trapped inside. “Or did we break up because you changed?”
Dante unfastened his belt and opened his jeans but didn’t strip himself just yet. Instead he flattened a hand on her sternum, pushing her back to the seat, then he threw a switch that activated the massage feature.
“Oh,” she whispered. “Oh…Oh, shit.”
Moans scattered from her lips. She couldn’t help it. There was something naughty about sitting spread-legged in a limo with back massagers having their way with you, but she couldn’t be bothered to give a damn.
“This, right here, it’s not about making sense of what happened before. It’s not going to erase all the ways we fucked up. It’s not going to turn me around into thinking I can trust you again.”
He was resisting, protecting himself. “Then what is this?”
“C’mon, Chelsea. You played innocent to the letter, but you can’t play dumb. You know what this is. Or you will, once I get my cock nice and deep in you.”
The sharpness in his tone startled her. As unfamiliar as he was to her now, the sensation of facing his wrath while nude and vulnerable was horrifically familiar. “It’s just sex.”
“See? Smart as ever.” The derision in his voice contradicted the almost careful way he cupped her breasts and moved in to kiss her. “I got a condom in my wallet, but we’re going to wait on that.”
His lips captured each of her nipples, leaving her flesh dark and wet. Then he trailed kisses down her ribs.
She drove her fingers through his dark hair, sighing as the strands tickled her skin. But he took her hands away, tucking them behind her.
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