“Pyper, wait. Please…wait.”
He kept his voice low, but followed at a brisk clip. Long, fast strides brought him even with her in seconds, and he nabbed her forearm and pulled her through the first doorway he could find. They ended up in a tiny, squared off powder room. He jammed the door closed. Pyper yanked free of his hold and twisted the knob violently, shoving him away.
“No!” He banged the door closed all over again and blocked her exit. “You’re going to stand right here and listen to me. It wasn’t what it looked like.”
“Of course not. It never is.”
“If you had stuck around, you’d realize I never touched the drink she brought me.”
Could she feel and hear his sincerity?
“Whatever. She was wrapped around you like a mink coat. It was sickening.”
So that was the issue. In an instant he lost his breath; his heart jack-hammered. “Her choice, not mine.” Emboldened by her revelation, he pushed. “And I think you need to make a decision, Pyper. Can you ever really trust me? Will you find a way to believe in me? If not, this…venture…we’re starting is dead where it stands.”
Venture. So innocuous a word that had popped into his head like a donut shaped life preserver he could toss into the ocean of her rage. Venture didn’t even scratch the surface of what swam between the two of them and expanded like the movement of waves every time they met. Tonight’s proceedings—good and bad—proved that fact clearly.
So he continued to press. What’d he have to lose? “You need to figure out if this reaction of yours is about alcohol or Emily. Is it about my bad-boy past, or might it be about jealousy?”
As good an ending point as any. Chase opened the door. “Think it over, crash. Then, come to terms.”
He took his leave at a good clip, never once looking back.
During his stride through the house, he came to the conclusion there must have been something circulating through the atmosphere of Alex Monroe’s mini-mansion tonight. On his way to the great room, where he could just barely see Tyler and Phil conversing near a wall-length fieldstone fireplace, Chase happened to glance through an open doorway and came upon a scene that slowed his forward progress.
In a dimly lit room that seemed to be an office, or a den, he saw Zach tucked against the rounded side of a large, brown leather couch, and he was body-to-body with Kimberly Monroe, Alex’s only girl and youngest child. She pressed against him, fingers roving through his hair, her white lace dress riding high against her thighs. Zach’s hand was splayed against her hip, his lips danced against her neck, her lips…they murmured quietly. Chase heard her encouraging giggle, noted the way her free hand slipped downward against Zach’s chest.
Fighting a groan, Chase realized there was nothing he could do to interrupt the moment, not in the middle of a party, not when he’d be calling out the behavior of a pair of teenagers he barely even knew. Nonetheless, danger sounded through his head. Maybe he could bring a close to this necking session by prompting Tyler to seek out his son after this impromptu meeting with Imperion’s chief officer.
Head pounding, Chase couldn’t wait for the night to end. What was going on? This world felt as foreign to him as outer space.
Brimming with rage, Pyper escaped to the food table and got in line to fill a plate. Thoroughly distracted, she worked hard to focus and shine bright. She tried to keep her head in the game, acknowledging acquaintances, colleagues, the smattering of friends who passed by. Pasting on a smile, forcing herself to breathe steady and slow, she navigated the party. At the same time, she wished like crazy this night was already relegated to the history books.
Into that maelstrom glided Emily Nelson. She nudged past Pyper, cutting in front to assemble a plate of hors d’oeuvres.
“Pyper.”
The bare-bones acknowledgement was meant to slight, but Pyper ignored the jibe.
That only prompted Emily to continue. “Quite the vision you made striding in on the arm of a fallen angel. He’s all kinds of sexy. Take it from someone who knows firsthand. He is delicious.”
Pyper fought a gag at the indelicate provocation. Could this evening get any worse? Tossing a few fruit pieces onto her plate, some cheese and crackers, she made to flee.
Emily executed a smooth spin that blocked Pyper’s progress. Deliberately. “Question. Do you honestly believe a man like Chase Bradington will embrace and maintain your kind of puritan lifestyle?”
Condescension dripped from the last two words. Pyper bit back a flood of temper and chomped her jaw tight, opting not to dignify that barb with a response. When she tried to leave, she found herself stonewalled once again.
“Do you honestly believe he’ll rebuke the bottle, the parties, the women, forever? Frankly, I’m shocked to see you anywhere near him. I suppose you’re sweet and no doubt an intoxicating diversion, but I’m awful afraid he’ll get bored and move on. Men like him do, you know? My advice? Make sure you’re not living in a dream world, child.”
That did it. Pyper’s control snapped. “First off, you’re only a year older than I am, so you might want to be careful about how you refer to me. Second, what impresses me far more than your worthless attempts to act as a piece of kindling within a forest where you most certainly don’t belong, is that none of the character flaws you listed seem to bother you. Why might that be? Are you that misguided? That desperate?” Pyper lifted her shoulder into a dismissive shrug. “You were all over him. If he’s as bad as you say, then what does that tell me about you, child?”
The observation seemed to conclude their tête–à–tête, but Pyper’s stomach rolled. She had stuck up for Chase—lost her temper over his sullied honor—despite every instinct to chop him at the knees for what she had witnessed just moments ago. Who said God wasn’t in the miracle business?
“Smart-mouth me all you’d like.” Emily re-found her voice, and her anger. “That man will move right past you, Pyper. Mark my words.”
Pyper slowly turned back around, a smile of pure sweetness pasted into place. “No, you mark mine. This Chase is a different man than the one you used to know. Besides, I’m not his to move past. I’m with him tonight because we’re going to be working together. Professionally.”
OK, God, please let those words be true. Please don’t make a liar of my heart. I don’t want to get hurt.
“Well, you go on and have fun, but remember what I said. Chase Bradington is trouble with a whiskey chaser. Literally.”
“No, he’s not.”
Pyper froze at the sound of Chase’s voice coming from behind, smooth and calm. When he moved to her side, the scowl on his face, paired with those dark, snapping eyes was enough to make her blood run cold.
“Not anymore, or haven’t you read the most current headlines from the gossip rags? Drunken Chase Bradington was so last year. I thought I made that clear when you tried to tangle with me on the veranda.”
The princess of pop had the good grace to flinch before spinning away and beating a nose-in-the-air retreat.
Chase started to turn as well. “The meeting with Phil was positive and a great boon to an otherwise miserable evening. You might want to check in on Zach, though. He’s been MIA for a bit and I think I saw him lounging a little too comfortably in the den with Kim Monroe.”
Pyper barely had time to register agitation at that development and deliver a nod of acknowledgement before Chase walked off, leaving her alone and more confused than ever.
A short time later, as the party wound down, he caught up with her in the great room as she and her family bid farewell to their host. Zach had rejoined the festivities before Pyper could launch a search party—thank goodness—but the evening had run long, and Pyper couldn’t wait to get home to the farmhouse in Franklin that soothed her soul like no other place in the world.
Her family followed Chase to the entryway where they stood in line and waited for the car to be summoned.
“Chase, it was good to see you again.”
Obviously unaware of the evening’s drama, Pyper’s dad clapped his hand against Chase’s shoulder. “I hear you might be stopping by soon to do some brainstorming and creating together. That sounds good.”
“I’m looking forward to it, sir.”
“Me, too.”
Her mother gave him a warm smile. “Chicken stew is my specialty, and a favorite of the house. Let us know when you’re available.”
“I’ll do that, ma’am. Thank you.”
Tyler tucked an arm around her mother’s waist. Pyper stood to the side, continuing to stare at Chase, to gauge. Would she ever be able to stop watching him as though expecting hell itself to suddenly break loose? Probably not—that was the problem. And after the events of the evening, she stubbornly owned that fact. All the same, she couldn’t quite pull away, no matter how hard she tried.
Just when she was ready to surrender the battle and disappear into the night, Chase edged her to a private spot in a long, empty hallway that stretched beyond the foyer. Very softly, but very deliberately, he settled his fingertips against the raging pulse point at her throat. He swept his lips against her cheeks. All was softer than soft, but powerful—and enticing. Reason and logic melted to nothing. What was happening…?
“I want you to take one thing away from tonight, Pyper.” Gently he lifted her chin, directing her gaze to his. His voice was a deep, quiet whisper. “Forget all the theatrics. Forget all the crap that took place. Once the dust settles and you have time to rest, to go still and pray, I want you to ask yourself one question.”
“Which is?” Her chest rose and fell on her attempts at a deep breath. She aimed for aloof and cool—failed miserably; on the inside she quaked.
“When Darren looks into your eyes, what happens? Does he make your heart react like I feel right now? When he touches you, what happens? When he shares his dreams, his truest deepest self, warts and all, when he shares his soul with you, what do you feel?” He leaned in, and she melted against the wall at her back. Her knees weakened at the joints. When the front door opened, when her father was called forward to claim their car, Chase slid his fingertips against her arms in a final caress. He backed away and a brush of floral-kissed air streamed in from the outside, moving around her, through her.
“This isn’t about physicality or passion, Pyper. For better or worse, we’re pushing our way toward each other. We’re searching. We need each other. That’s the call. That’s the vibration that keeps stirring us, and that’s the truth. Think about it.”
Following a gentle but emphasizing tug against her waist, he broke contact and left her be. All Pyper wanted to do was dissolve into a puddle against the cool, dark tile at her feet.
And figure out how someone so wrong could be so perfectly right.
9
What a mess.
Pyper’s first thought the next morning was pretty much an echo of her last thought before dropping off into a turbulent, disquieted sleep.
In dreams, now even in waking, the goading image of Petra Goode came alive. Something about her set Pyper’s teeth on edge. The woman was obviously fishing hard for gossip, but what Pyper couldn’t figure was why. Next Pyper battled the memory of Emily Nelson and Chase. Ever the unrepentant diva, Emily’s behavior was about par for the course, but she had provoked Pyper into a public display of anger that didn’t sit well. Then there were those emotional fireworks at the end—the confrontation with Chase, which overrode all else, including Pyper’s logic. Sticky cobwebs still spun through the tapestry of her overly-tired mind. The only solution she could come up with to combat the disquiet was music.
She retrieved her guitar from a stand in the corner of her room and trotted back to bed where she sat cross-legged. Stretching, she yanked a wire-bound journal from the headboard and pulled a pen from its resting spot against the coils. She clicked the pen to readiness, glancing outside. Beyond the acres of land she loved to call home, golden light bathed the dips and curves of the Smoky Mountains. Shepherd and Briar—Daddy’s stallion and her filly—could be seen in the distance, feeding on dew-kissed long grass that glistened beneath the sun in a hue of green so rich and fertile she went still at once and offered God a huge nod of gratitude.
Fleetingly inspired, she scribbled a few words against the lines of the paper. On re-read, they were no good. Frustrated, she crossed them out. She leaned against the familiar, glossy curve of the guitar and stared, thinking about...
The Spirit melt that makes one out of two…
She inked the words that had come to mind while she had watched her parents interact at the Opry, and Pyper smiled. That particular image would come in handy. After that, inspiration pulled to a stop, most likely because she couldn’t work past the idea, the emotion, of a dark angel on the rise, working hard at redemption, a man who had tantalized her thoughts from the moment they met.
She rubbed a fingertip against her lower lip then groaned, giving up lyrics in favor of the slow-building strum she created on the strings of her guitar. Closing her eyes, she let the melody wash over her. It was slow and evocative, governed by a poignant harmony. Awesome. Still, she agonized, in the clutches of a fitful message pushing to be born. Words. She needed words.
Stilling restless fingertips, she studied the journal spread open against plush, white satin down. She took in a pair of lined pages which were rapidly filling with the chords, key shifts and notes of the melody she had begun to craft.
The complexity was there…the layers and wistfulness…but there was more…more battling to burst free. For now, though, the deeper emotions she thirsted for remained elusive.
Her cellphone rested next to her knee and an incoming alert sent it into a skitter along the comforter. Once the ringtone kicked in, her concentration vanished. Sighing, she temporarily surrendered creation and unstrapped her guitar, setting it aside so she could review the incoming text from Kellen Rossiter.
Green light. Looks like you and Chase are performing at The Stage. Coming up quick, too. Call me. Let’s discuss. KR
She nearly whooped. Leave it to Kellen. Expectation danced against her skin; a smile bloomed.
“Pyper, where’s the blow dryer?”
Distracted by Anne Lucerne’s summons, Pyper gathered her hair into a loose ponytail. She secured thick curls with a holder and left her bed behind. The idea of claiming the wooden dais of The Stage next to Chase, singing with him, followed close on her heels, unavoidable and in a strange way, welcome. “Don’t blow dry your hair, Annie. It’ll frizz.”
A Jack-and-Jill bathroom split the space between Pyper’s room and the spare room occupied by Anne who would soon conclude her vacation in Tennessee. When Pyper crossed the threshold, Anne issued a scowl. “I am not walking around Nashville with wet hair. Fork over the dryer, babe.”
Well, if this wasn’t like old times, Pyper thought, regarding her friend with a flourish of affection. Anne wore a terrycloth robe and the blue fuzzy slippers she had swiped from Pyper’s closet on day one of her visit. With shower-damp hair and rosy, fresh-scrubbed skin, Anne was adorable, and the closest thing Pyper knew to a sister.
Pyper opened a nearby cabinet door and pulled a hand-held dryer from the shelf. “I just heard from my agent.”
“Girl, you are so big time.” Anne gave her a saucy wink and snagged the styling equipment.
“No, I’m not. I’m just me. Want to see me perform a live set at The Stage before you leave town?”
Eyes wide, Anne stopped pulling a brush through water-dampened locks. “No, you’re not big time. Nope. Not at all.” They fell into a brief fit of laughter before Anne returned to styling her hair. “Actually, that’d be fantastic. It isn’t often I’ve been able to cheer for you live and in person. When does it happen?”
“Not sure yet. I need to call Kellen and get the details.” Pyper handed her friend a bottle of finishing spray. “I’ll be performing with Chase Bradington. No big deal, really, just some good PR for him and a good momentum builder for me. I think you’ll have a go
od time and—”
“And you’re rushing to explain that development in an overly businesslike way because why exactly?”
OK, in fairness, she hadn’t been quite as casual and devil-may-care as she hoped. Pyper’s heart thumped out a crazy beat. Because I can’t wait to take the stage with him! Attempting nonchalance once more, she leaned against the door jamb. “I think I’ll plead the fifth on that one.”
“I bet you will.”
High time for a new point of discussion; Pyper didn’t need Anne catching the scent of her growing disquiet about—and attraction to—Chase. “Tell me all about last night, and Darren. Did you enjoy The Bluebird?”
“Oh. Yeah. It was great. Fun. Great.”
A branding of hot pink crested against Anne’s cheeks. She stared into the mirror, overly fixated on the fall of her hair. Just like that, the tables turned; Pyper’s dilemma about Chase Bradington took a backseat to this most unexpected reaction from her friend.
“Annie?”
“I mean, Darren is…fun…great.”
Another giveaway? Anne fumbled, and didn’t establish eye contact. Instead, she toyed with the tassels that dangled from the waist tie of her robe. An epiphany occurred, dancing through Pyper’s mind—freeing a small piece of her spirit she had been holding in check. “Annie—you like him, don’t you?”
Anne caught her breath, stared at Pyper askance. Her eyes went wide—pooled by uncertainty, even as she recovered and delivered a wry, teasing grin. “Yeah. I like him. I’m all over your boyfriend, Pyp. That’s how I roll.”
With that quip, Pyper realized she had uncovered a heart-secret—her friend’s attraction to Darren.
And as far as Pyper was concerned, that realization formed the oddest reaction. There was no jealousy whatsoever. Rather, something deep within her melted into relief.
“He’s not exactly my boyfriend, Annie. He’s easy to be with. He’s convenient, and considering the idea of romance just made sense. I mean, intense work schedules and constant contact tend to elevate things between a man and a woman, but I’ll be straight up with you, I never really thought he was ‘the one.’”
Forgiveness Page 8