Heart of Steele (27 page)

“Justice.”

“Uh huh.” Sweat rolled into his eyes and he
pulled off his T-shirt and wiped his face with it. He tossed it
into a basket in the corner. “Let’s say I give you what you want.
Then what?” He advanced on her, his shaft filling, his groin hot
and ready for release.

Her eyes dropped to his chest. Even with his
dark hair, he had very few chest hairs, but he worked out, so he
flexed a bit.

She opened her mouth but nothing came out.
After a moment, her gaze met his again. “Stop.”

He took a few more steps before he obeyed and
planted his feet just a yard in front of her. She was one sexy
little thing, and he had a whole night and most of the next day to
spend some good quality fucking time with her.

“That song you played. I wrote it.” She
pointed one delicate finger to her chest, making her round breasts
jiggle.

“Uh huh. Just that one song, Cutie? Not every
song I played tonight?” His mouth watered for a taste of her.
Peaches and cream skin, her cheeks flushed with color, and her
hazel eyes boring in to his. He liked how she kept her bullshit
story going.

“You call me cutie just one more time, and
I’m going to...” She stomped her foot, the running shoe making no
noise on the thick carpet. “Ugh!” She grit her teeth and her whole
body shook.

“Okay, what’s your name, then?” He needed to
calm her down if he was going to get any enjoyment out of this
encounter.

“I’m Brooke Davidson. I’m a songwriter. And I
don’t know how you got your hands on it, but you’re going to
confess to stealing that song from me.”

“Like hell I am. I wrote it. I had help, but
I wrote it.”

She tipped her head and lifted a brow. “This
mysterious man who just wrote the song with you and didn’t want any
of the credit for it.” She snorted. “Please.”

“Okay, you’re starting to get on my nerves,
lady.” He pointed a finger at her. “No one tells me I’m a
liar.”

She turned and stormed over to where a
messenger bag sat open.

Good man, that Schmiddy. He’d have gone
through it looking for weapons, drugs, and roofies.

She pulled out a notebook and flipped to a
page marked with a sticky note. “Here.” She held it out to him.

He took it. Sure enough, the handwritten
words were close to what he’d sung tonight. “This only proves that
you can’t even copy song lyrics correctly from the internet.”

“No.” She moved next to him, pointing to the
top right corner. “See the date? That’s when I wrote this
song.”

He closed the notebook. “Cutie...Brooke, do
you see how this doesn’t prove anything?” He put his hand on her
shoulder. “Sit down with me a minute. Let’s talk this out.” Then
they’d both get naked and have a little fun together.

She shook her head and stepped out of his
reach. “You’re not taking me seriously.”

Dropping the notebook on the couch, he
crossed his arms over his chest. “Put yourself in my position.” He
hoped she was non-crazy enough to follow his logic. “I write a song
with
a guy
who’d heard about my mother’s death and wanted to
help me do something important in her memory.”

“For free? And without taking any credit for
it?” She planted her fists on her hips.

When she said it like that, it did sound a
little off. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no. For a set
price, he waived his rights to all royalties so one hundred percent
of the proceeds could go to charity.”

“Okay, let’s just say that there really was a
guy who helped you write the song. Because for some reason, I
almost believe you when you say you didn’t steal the song.”

He pulled a face. “How generous of you.”

If looks could kill, her glare would have
sent him six feet under. “How the hell would he have access to my
notebook?”

Ryder let out a hoot. “How the fuck would I
know?”

“I keep it locked in a file cabinet in my
apartment.” Her eyes shifted. “What’s his name?”

He shook his head. “Can’t reveal that.” He
stepped closer to her. “But let’s go back to my hotel room, and we
can talk about this over a nice steak and lobster dinner.” He
breathed deep. Damned if she didn’t smell like ginger. Ginger and
peaches. His mouth watered again.

“Just give me his initials. Or one name. Just
his first name” She leaned in to him, her brows lifting and her
eyes going all puppy-dog innocent. “Please?”

He couldn’t resist any more. Grabbing her
arms, he pulled her in and pressed his lips on hers.

She gasped and flattened her hands on his
chest, pushing away.

He took the opportunity and licked the inside
of her lip. Sweet and spicy, her taste against his tongue shot a
dozen rounds of lust into his groin.

Her arms went slack, and she moved closer,
her tongue flicked at his as he explored her mouth.

He groaned, grabbed her ass, and pulled her
up off her feet, her jeans zipper against the bulge behind his.

Brooke’s hands slid up to his shoulders and
grabbed hold as she pushed her tongue into his mouth, tangling it
with his, taking her own taste.

The lust invading his body made thinking
clearly near impossible. He had to have her. The wall wasn’t far
away. He’d back her against it, strip those tight bluejeans off
her, pull out his cock and shove into her. Fuck, she’d be wet and
so goddamn tight. He’d pound into her, she’d buck right back,
taking everything he’d give her. He’d come in her too fast, but
she’d be right there with him.

She froze, pulled back, and looked at him
with such horror in her eyes, he thought he’d turned into a
zombie.

“Put me down.” She looked away, seeming more
embarrassed than angry.

“God, I don’t want to. Not ever.” He could
hold her like this for the rest of his life.

Her gaze shot back to his. Her hazel eyes
looked so sexy and warm, her breath panted from her full lips. “I
didn’t come here looking for this.”

“I know.” While sex hadn’t been on her agenda
for the evening, it was now at the top of the list. For both of
them. “But this ain’t no normal attraction, cutie. This is
white-hot and about to turn us both into flamethrowers.”

“I know. But I need to know who did this to
me, first. Who stole my song. Please.”

The little mercenary. He set her down and
took a step back. He had a choice here. Kick her sweet, tight
little ass out and take an ice cold shower, or pay her ransom and
have the hottest twenty-four hours of sex he’d ever had.

“Finch.” Fuck him for a weak, pathetic,
oversexed, cum-filled bastard.

“What?” She looked up at him.

“The guy’s name. Finch.” It was technically
true. That was the guy’s middle name. Ryder had seen it when they’d
signed the contract, and the strange name stuck with him.

“Finch?” She shook her head. “I can’t think
of any...” Her eyes opened wide, and all the color drained from her
face.

“Oh, God. McCrae Finch Hutchinson.”

His mouth dropped open and he snapped it
shut. Holy shit, she knew him?

She lifted her fists and looked at the
ceiling. “That son of a bitch!”

####

Chase and Reno have their own story, too!
It’s the first book in the Hot Country Series, Chase and Seduction.
Find out how these two met, fell in love, fell into difficult
times, and...well, you can guess the ending. Chase and Seduction is
available now. Click
HERE
to read the book blurb and find out where you can get your copy.
Here’s a sneak peek:

Chase Tanner called her name from the stage.
“Reno, c’mon up here, doll.” The speakers amplified his low
baritone through the sound stage as his percussionist started a
drum-roll. The other seventy-five partiers clapped and
woo-hooed
her.

She had no choice. Reno Linden took a
fortifying breath and carried her red plastic beer cup with her to
the stairs. As she climbed, she found herself looking directly at
Chase’s well-aged cowboy boots. Then slowly up his long, jean-clad
legs until her gaze caught on his zipper, the worn denim molding
around his impressive bulge. She swallowed hard.

He held out his hand.

With only a second of hesitation, she laid
her hand in his and felt that instant jolt of electricity she’d
gotten every time she touched him over the last four months of
filming.

She looked up into his eyes. Despite being
shaded by his cowboy hat, they shone a murky blue that made her
want to dive in headfirst. Damn, he was good looking. Not too tall,
slightly crooked nose, and full lips. Oh great, now his smile broke
through. A thousand watts of sexy that zapped through her while
body.

“Come and say something to the folks. You’re
the reason we’re all here.” His trademark Southern drawl was less
pronounced when he wasn’t talking into a microphone.

She nodded and let him help her up the last
steps. Five years ago, speaking in front of a group would have
scared her spitless. Since becoming a published author and learning
to face an audience by sheer force of will at book signings and
conventions, it had become as easy as falling off a stage.

With her hand in that of the man she’d been
fantasizing about for two years, Reno walked up to the microphone,
sliding her fingers out of his grip on the pretext of needing to
tip the mic down to her level. “Can you believe it’s in the
can?”

The crowd cheered.

Filming ended yesterday. She looked out at
the faces of the people she’d come to consider friends. Actors,
producers, set designers, directors. She would miss them, and a
little nip of sadness stung her. “I began writing
Prairie
Fire
when I was just eight. It was a game we’d play, running
through the wheat fields of South Dakota. Someone would yell
‘prairie fire’ and we’d all head for the root cellar.”

Chase came to stand just off to her right,
and the piney scent of his cologne snuck into her nose. Her entire
right side tingled with desire as his magnetism raised goosebumps
on her flesh. She rubbed her palm on her floral shorts, her
technique for relaxing herself. Tonight’s wrap party was tropical
themed, and she wore a pink T-shirt and matching flip-flops. Chase
had traded his usual black muscle shirt for a bright Hawaiian
shirt. She glanced back at him and her train of thought switched to
a much more sensual track.

His smile lifted just one side of his mouth
while his eyes locked on her, smoldering, half-lidded,
seductive.

“Um…” Taking a deep breath, she pulled her
thoughts together and moved closer to the mic. “When I finished the
book three years ago, I had no idea that one day I’d be privileged
to witness its transformation into next year’s…” She grinned.
“Oscar winner!”

The group broke loose shouting and
hooting.

Chase stepped closer and rested his hand on
her lower back.

He may have meant it to be reassuring, but it
lit a sexual flare that spread through her body, centering low in
her pussy. She didn’t dare look at him or she might just go up in
flames. She needed to wrap this up and get the hell away from
him.

“I can’t seem to say it enough, but thanks to
each of you. You made this experience unforgettable.”

Someone called, “We love you, Reno!”

Chase’s hand rubbed a circle across her
spine. “Uh huh, we do.” His deep voice vibrated as his warm breath
caressed her neck.

She stepped to her left, away from him,
swiveling the mic with her. “I’ll turn it back to our Country Music
Male Vocalist of the Year-turned-actor, and the best bouncer the
Prairie Fire Bar and Grill ever had, Chase Tanner.”

The crowd went wild as she took a step toward
the stairs.

Chase grabbed her around the waist and pulled
her back against his side. He took the mic. “Reno Linden,
everybody!” As the crowd cheered, his hand rode her hip then eased
up her ribs and brushed the side of her breast.

Her smile froze as his touch shot quivers
from her nipples straight to her clit. She pulled away and made the
mistake of glancing up into his face.

He winked at her. “Later.” The look in his
eyes was utterly wicked, and she turned and scampered down the
stairs. Her heart thudded, and her face felt hot. Oh God, she knew
exactly what he meant by “later.” Now that filming was over, he
wanted her. Heaven help her, she didn’t know if she could find the
willpower to resist him.

The crowd quieted and Chase’s voice rumbled
over the sound system, low and intimate. “Miss Reno, this is
dedicated to you, our favorite author.” The band started a slow
song.

Reno walked on jittery legs to where her
friends stood chatting, deep in discussion. She took a good-sized
gulp of lukewarm beer, seeking the calming buzz of alcohol. She
glanced back toward the stage where Chase pulled an acoustic guitar
strap around his shoulder, his biceps flexing, his forearms
bulging. Damn, that man made her hot. She looked away.

It wasn’t just his body and his looks that
sideswiped her, but his personality. A world-famous performer with
an aw-shucks attitude and the smarts to guide his own career. He
had a major thing for her, too. He’d been trying to get her alone
for months, and she’d industriously found ways to avoid it.

Beatrix, the crew’s gaffer, nudged Reno’s arm
with her elbow. “Great speech. I bet it was tough to put words
together with that sexy stud breathing in your ear.”

Reno shrugged but her breasts tightened at
the memory of his warm breath on her neck. “He’s not my type.”

Tracy Hartman, one of the supporting
actresses and Reno’s new best friend, laughed and pointed at her.
“He’s exactly your type. He’s gorgeous, single, and can’t leave you
alone for a minute. Why aren’t you going for it?”

She’d been hearing the same thing from these
two for months.
Just have a quick, hot fling, get him out of
your system. He’s supposed to be a fantastic lover. One night with
him, and if you don’t have the big ‘O,’ just tell him you’re
through.