by Caisey Quinn
“Yeah, you were a lot of help back there. ‘Preciate it.”
The elevator dinged and the two girls stepped on as soon as the doors were open. “Looked like you had it under control.”
THE TEMPORARY ceasefire on Mia’s hatred of her ended later that afternoon. She sat on her bed, jotting down a few lyrics about what a wonderful man her father had been. She was trying to wrap a few of the sayings he was always reminding her of into a chorus when the door flew open so hard it nearly popped off the track.
She looked up from her notebook. Mia stood there, eyes blazing—red, as if she’d been crying. Her chest heaved and she clutched her phone in her hand. Kylie wondered if she should grab a pillow since Mia looked damn near ready to chuck it at her head.
“Mia?”
“He said my name today. Did you notice that?” Mia took a step inside the room.
She was practically vibrating with rage. Jesus. “Who said your name? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Donovan Taite. Donovan Taite knew my name even though you didn’t give me two seconds to introduce myself. Care to know why that was?”
Kylie took a deep breath to calm the nerves Mia was riling up. “Um, because I told him who you were?”
“He knew before that. My agent just called. He was going to sign me. I was on his list of potential artists. He was planning to offer me a recording contract if everything went well on this tour. Guess who he just marked right off his list?”
Oh shit. Kylie blew out the breath she’d been holding. “Mia, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I never would’ve asked you to go with me if I’d—”
“If you’d what? Actually thought for a fucking minute before shooting your mouth off at the first person you felt like chewing out? Maybe you should start blowing up on that perfect boyfriend of yours instead of trashing other people’s careers.”
It wasn’t like that. She’d been trying to do something for Lily. No good deed goes unpunished. She could add that to her list of things her daddy used to say. “Mia, I can call—”
“No. Do not do me any fucking favors. I mean it. Just leave me the hell alone.” With that, Mia left, sliding the door shut behind her so hard it banged on the frame. Kylie flinched at the sound before dropping her head into her hands. She couldn’t even call Trace to vent because he’d told her not to go there in the first place.
Why do I never listen?
HE WAS late. Naturally. Because when it was time to leave, no one could find Gretchen. Why they couldn’t just leave her ass in Louisville was beyond him. He should’ve been walking into the CMA Festival in downtown Nashville three hours ago when Kylie’s show began. Instead, since Gretchen had decided to screw a bouncer in the bathroom of a bar, he was damn near sprinting through the crowd, sweating his ass off, and shoving people left and right. Danny, his fiddle player, had gone ahead of him.
Thankfully he’d been able to get a new phone as soon as they got into town. His very first text was from Kylie asking if she could borrow Danny and his banjo for one song. The old man had waggled his eyebrows at Trace, saying that pretty little thing could borrow him anytime she wanted. If it had been anyone else, Trace would’ve made him spit teeth. But Danny was the closest thing he had to a dad, and he knew he was just messing with him. He was pretty curious about the song Kylie needed him for though, and he damn sure wasn’t going to miss it.
She’d forgiven him about the pictures once he’d proven to her they were promos. But things had still been strained between them. She’d sounded distant and cut calls short. He didn’t like it. Missing the first show of hers he was supposed to be at probably wasn’t going to help things any.
He needed to touch her, taste her, bury himself inside her until she remembered what they had and why it mattered.
When he got to the Vitamin Water stage where she was performing, he had to restrain himself to keep from climbing up onto it and wrapping her in his arms. It had been six long and shitty weeks without her. His dick had been keeping track of the minutes. It twitched at the sight of her.
“Hi y’all,” her sweet voice drawled. “Usually the three of us close the show together but Lily had some…family issues to handle and Mia’s helping her out. So I guess you’re stuck with me tonight.”
A few low whistles pierced the air as Trace made his way up front. Danny was up there with her, and she was sitting on a stool. He watched as she nodded at him to signal she was ready. Something was off. He could feel it, could see it. She usually looked like a damned superstar on stage, but tonight she seemed subdued. Sad even. His arms ached to wrap around her. No. They were keeping things as quiet as possible. Keeping the media out of it as much as they could manage. No need to taint his angel with his hellish reputation.
Danny strummed his banjo and Kylie’s clear voice danced into the air. “My daddy used to say, never let ‘em see you sweat. Never let ‘em see you cry. Girl you know better than that.”
Shit. The raw emotion in her voice broke over him. He didn’t even know she’d been working on a song about her dad. Why didn’t he know that? Oh yeah, because they hadn’t seen each other in six damned weeks. For a moment he was back in Macon, watching the pain cross her face as she told him about her daddy. He shook his head and focused on his beautiful girl up on stage.
“My daddy used to say, never look down on a man. You look everyone in the eye, and you always shake hands.” Danny strummed a bit and sped up the tempo. “Cause you ain’t no better and you ain’t no worse. We all end up in the same ol’ hearse.”
He watched as barely restrained ripples of hurt threatened to roll across her face. Jesus. Watching her fight off her own pain stabbed him hard and deep in the chest.
“He said there’d come a time to stand my ground, said there’d be a day when I didn’t back down. Loved to remind me that what goes around always comes around. These are just the things my daddy used to say.”
Danny stopped strumming altogether and Trace could see the moisture shining in her eyes. If he didn’t know better, he’d think there was some in his too.
Deafening silence surrounded him in the seconds before she finished. Her voice was clear and strong when it pierced the air between them. “When we laid him down in the cold hard ground, I knew it was time to walk away. But I’ll never forget…the things my daddy used to say.”
The second the applause hit, he was in motion. She was standing up there, forcing a smile for a bunch of strangers when she was dying inside. To hell with the media. He barely had time to register the look of surprise on her face when he jumped up on the stage and wrapped his arms around her. Her perfect mouth dropped open slightly so he covered it with his. And what began as a gesture of comfort soon turned to one of need. Desperate need. He didn’t care who was watching or how many people had whipped out their damned cell phones to record it.
Kylie returned his kiss with the same heated ache that had been building up inside of him for six excruciating weeks. He felt her hands pull at his neck and he lifted her off the ground. When the cheers and whistles became painfully loud, he lowered her back down. She stepped back and grinned up at him through her thick, dark lashes. She was pink in the face, whether from the heat or the embarrassment of being mauled by her boyfriend on stage, he didn’t know. Either way, she was the most beautiful sight he’d ever laid eyes on.
“I guess we’re telling people now,” she said softly, her breathy voice making him rock hard. They had to get the hell out of here. Now.
“Kylie Ryans, everybody!” he shouted into the mic as the cheers continued. He grinned, the grin that usually earned him several pairs of panties being thrown on stage. But there was only one set of panties he was concerned about at the moment. He glanced over at his fiddle player, who was putting away the banjo he rarely used. “Danny, make sure everyone stays off the bus for…” He looked over at Kylie, who was wide-eyed and staring up at him. “At least an hour. No, shit, make it two.” And with that, he picked his girlfriend up off her f
eet and carried her off stage.
“HAVE YOU lost your mind?” Kylie couldn’t help but laugh at the crazy man practically running with her in his arms towards his bus.
“Yeah, I have.” He licked his lips. “I think I left it with you because it’s been missing since the last time I saw you.”
“Trace Corbin, was that a line you just fed me?”
“Maybe. Did it work?” He raised a brow and glanced at her. The fierce determination in his eyes didn’t waver even though Kylie was teasing him.
“Hmm. We’ll see.” She smirked, but inside she was a hot mess of want. She hadn’t been ready for that song, but Lily was nearly hysterical when her dad didn’t show, and Mia was still filled with rage and refusing to speak to her, much less close the show with her. It was the only thing Kylie could think to do. She knew Trace was coming and that his fiddle player also played the banjo. So she went for it. But when she’d taken the stage, she didn’t see Trace anywhere. And the song about her daddy damn near killed her. Until he appeared out of nowhere and gave her exactly what she needed. Comfort. Affection. Was it love? Maybe. She didn’t know for sure. She kind of hoped it was.
“I missed you, Kylie Lou,” he said quietly. He placed a kiss on her forehead as he set her down just outside of his bus.
“I missed you, too,” she told him. She took his hand, startled that his touch still sent her skin into a tingling frenzy. He did a quick scan of the bus and made sure it was empty. Kylie’s stomach twisted both in nervousness at the thought of running into Gretchen Gibson, who she damn sure did not want to see—not right now anyways—and in anticipation of what she and Trace were about to do to each other. God. She’d missed him so much it was physically painful.
By the time they made it into Trace’s room, she was practically trembling. She hoped he’d close the door, press her up against it, and show her just how much he’d missed her. He didn’t. He closed the door and led her to the bed where they both sat. He reached out and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. She was slightly sweaty from performing out in the heat. She hoped she was about to get a whole lot sweatier.
“How have you been, Kylie Lou?” he asked, barely loud enough for her to hear. But she could hear what he wasn’t saying. His eyes said he was just trying to be polite. That he really wanted to tear her clothes off and make the most of the two hours of alone time he’d secured for them. She was still raw and hurting from the tension she’d been living with for six weeks plus the pain of baring her soul and singing about her daddy. She wanted physical comfort. Wanted him inside of her. There’d be plenty of time for talking later.
“I’ve been…things are…there’s been a lot going on and I do want to talk about it with you, but right now I just want…” How to phrase this particular request? She wasn’t exactly sure.
“What do you want, pretty girl? Say the word and it’s yours.” Trace’s eyes scanned her face for answers. Instead of speaking, she reached down and pulled her tank top over her head. His eyes widened but she wasn’t stopping. She climbed onto his lap. Straddling him, she pulled his hat off and sat it next to them so she could run her fingers through his hair.
“That was my lucky hat,” he mumbled against her lips.
“Oh, I think you’re about to get plenty lucky without it.” She deepened their kiss, pulling at his bottom lip with her teeth. She couldn’t get enough of his tongue. His mouth was minty, as if he’d just brushed his teeth. For a split second she thought she tasted the faint hint of bourbon underneath. Now isn’t the time to grill him. She lashed her tongue in and out of his mouth, pausing to run it over his teeth and lips. She felt his hardness beneath her so she ground her hips down against him.
Trace groaned and pulled her farther onto the bed. She’d never been on top before, but she was pretty damned excited about it.
She stood long enough to rid herself of her jeans. She was just about to climb back onto her boyfriend when he sat up abruptly.
“What are you doing?” she pouted.
“What are you doing?” He looked up at her, grinning as he grabbed her hips to pull her closer. “You think this is just going to be a quickie, then so long, see you in Atlanta tomorrow night?”
She smiled, remembering that he’d made sure their tours crossed paths a few times. Tomorrow after both of their shows in Georgia, they were spending the night at his house in Macon. She missed that place almost as much as she missed him.
“What are you grinning about, crazy girl?”
She winked. “Oh I have plans for tomorrow night.”
He arched a brow. “What kind of plans?”
She cocked her head down towards him and whispered when she spoke. “Plans involving you finishing what you started in that shower. Plans involving me and you and that pond you dropped me into. Only, no clothes this time.”
“My, haven’t we been busy plotting.”
“You have no idea.” She couldn’t take the sexy banter anymore so she lowered her head to place her mouth on his. His warm lips caressed hers perfectly. Kissing him was always like getting that exact thing she’d been craving. No disappointment or awkwardness—just pure pleasure. She loved kissing him, loved making love to him, loved writing music with him. Damn. She just flat out loved everything they did together. She was pretty sure this meant she loved him. Every time she thought about telling him, she remembered dancing with him at his birthday party. I don’t do relationships, he’d said. But that was exactly what they were doing. Wasn’t it?
Luckily, Trace was able to distract her from her concerns about unrequited love. She was still standing in her bra and panties. From his sitting position on the bed, he was at the perfect vantage point for placing his mouth on her. Which he did. Her head fell back as he looped a finger through her panties and pulled. Once they were down her legs, she kicked them to the side.
He licked her stomach and trailed his tongue to the top of her closely trimmed strip of hair. He pressed his mouth against her. “Damn, I’ve missed you,” he growled against her tender flesh. Before she could respond, he grabbed her and pinned her down on the mattress. “Better,” he mumbled as his mouth made its way down her throat, past her breasts, and over her stomach. His arms hooked her knees and pulled until she was spread open and exposed.
“Trace,” she said barely loud enough to get his attention.
“Mmhm,” he answered as his mouth continued traveling southbound.
“I want you so bad. It-it hurts.” She throbbed so hard it was a struggle not to put her hand between her legs and press to relieve the pressure.
His head snapped up and his lust-filled gaze met hers. “I’m going to take care of you, baby. I promise.”
She lifted her head over her black lacy bra-covered breasts and watched as he began placing gentle kisses on her. Surely he could feel how hard she was pulsating. It felt like that one spot was controlling her entire body. She squirmed, lifting her hips for more. Trace’s breath tickled her and she whimpered.
“Please, Trace. Please.” She grabbed and tugged the comforter below her as tightly as she could.
“Please what, pretty girl?”
She groaned and lifted her hips once more.
“Say it, Kylie. Tell me what you want.” His eyes were darker than usual. The way they got when he wanted a drink and she’d denied him. Now he was craving her and she wanted him to give in to that craving. Immediately.
“I want you to, t-to…make me come. Please.”
“My pleasure, darlin’.”
Oh hell. That was almost enough to send her into oblivion right there. She tensed as he finally placed one wet stroke of his tongue between her legs. She pulsed and ached for more. He licked her once more and she cried out. One more hard stroke of his tongue and she’d be gone. But he pulled back. “You want me here?” He trailed a finger through her slick folds before pressing it inside of her.
She couldn’t answer so she nodded and her body convulsed beneath him.
He dipped his head but
this time instead of a good hard lashing of his tongue, he swirled the tip around her clit. It was so intense she didn’t know if what she felt was pleasure or pain.
“I-I want you. Oh God. Trace. I need you inside of me. Now.”
“First things first, darlin’.” He pressed another finger slowly into her. Her body resisted the additional pressure. But then his tongue swiped her once more and she opened completely. The rush of him pressing so thick and full inside of her sent the room into a tailspin. He went in deep. Then he withdrew before going in more quickly this time. Before she realized what was happening, she was screaming. Actually screaming. His name. And a few obscenities she didn’t make a habit of saying out loud. And the one word she’d probably always say when he wanted something from her. Yes.
She was still calling out in ecstasy when he eased on top of her and began removing his pants. She fumbled to help him. She was more than ready to have him inside of her.
“Trace.” He didn’t stop. Just yanked his shirt off and kicked his jeans onto the floor. Good God a’mighty. She was momentarily paralyzed by desire at the sight of him. Somehow she’d forgotten how muscular and perfect his body was. Her tongue danced behind her lips, aching to reach out and lick his smooth skin.
When his hard length sprang free from his boxer briefs, her mouth watered. Actually watered. The juncture between her thighs heated, aching so intensely it felt as if her entire body was clenching.
Lauryn McCray popped into her head at that exact moment. Shit. She spoke in a frantic rush. “Um, Trace. I was thinking maybe we should use something. I haven’t exactly been on a strict routine with my pill and with everything with—”
That stopped him cold. He looked as if she’d snapped him out of a trance, and she almost cried out in fear that she’d ruined the moment.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s not about that at—”
“Shh, it’s okay, baby. I’ve got something.” He smiled and shook his head as he leaned to the left and opened the top drawer of the nightstand. She watched hungrily as he opened the foil packet and slid the latex over himself. He didn’t sink into her right away like she’d expected. He dipped into her, just the head of him, and then pulled out and swirled her own slickness around her. Sweet mother of orgasms. Whoever said condoms didn’t feel as good was doing it wrong.