Made in Nashville: HarperImpulse Contemporary Romance (7 page)

Over enchiladas she’d told him almost everything. She was Baby Blue Bonnet. Left on the porch of the Mayor of Glenville’s home in the dead of night. No one had seen anything. No one had heard anything. But they all knew what to do. She would be looked after by the state. She would have a score of foster homes, share a life with hundreds of other kids and get beaten up in high school because she talked a lot like Miley Cyrus. She had no clue where she came from or who she’d belonged to. She was just Case Number 872405.

‘I apologize,’ she said, wiping her mouth with a napkin and looking over to him.

‘What for?’

‘I’ve completely wasted your entire day. I’ve ruined a recording session, I made you walk around Target …  what was I thinking? And now I’ve told you all this and … ’

‘That mirror is gonna look great over the fireplace,’ he interrupted.

She shook her head, smiling.

‘How do you do that?’

‘Do what?’

‘Deal with everything like it’s nothing?’

He laughed, took a sip of his Coke. ‘You mean I don’t analyze the crap out of everything? Well, that’d be because I’m not a girl.’

‘Whoa, mister, that’s low.’

‘But true.’

She smiled. He did have a point. She spent quite a lot of time talking herself out of things, then talking herself back into them.

‘I just take life as it comes at me. It ain’t gonna change, so you need to face it head on and deal with it.’

She didn’t know whether he’d intended the statement to sound as loaded as it had, but it touched a nerve.

‘Like a session at a recording studio,’ she said.

She was weak. She knew that. But she didn’t want to be. It was the very last thing she wanted to be. She knew Simeon Stewart had ruined her career but she was also to blame because she had just sat back and let it happen.

He could see her mind working. Just from their few encounters he knew when she was thinking hard. Her brow furrowed and the corners of her mouth drooped slightly. He wondered what was riding through her thoughts. He knew how he dealt with stuff was completely alien to some people. His straight-talking, black and white attitude scared the shit out of most people. But his momma had always told him it was all down to jealousy. He said and did all the things they longed to say and do but they were too damn scared to try.

‘Can’t go back or stick that hair back on,’ he stated.

Her eyes flashed at him then and her chin jutted out a little in challenge.

‘So what freaked you out back there? Makin’ music again? Or makin’ music being gawped at by Stetson guy and the band?’ Jared asked.

She let out a breath. ‘I haven’t quite worked that out yet.’

The studio in Jared’s home was state-of-the-art. It had everything you needed to perform, produce and edit. It was only slightly smaller than the set-up at Black Monkey but equally impressive. There were a collection of guitars lined up on display, including a limited edition Vince Gill original.

‘What d’you think?’

She knew her expression of wonder had all but given her away the moment she’d stepped in. His pride in the area was evident.

‘I guess it’s OK,’ she remarked.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, shaking his head at her. ‘You hurt me.’

‘It’s amazing.’ She turned towards him. ‘But you know that.’

He nodded, letting out a laugh. ‘I’ve made over fifty songs here in the last year and Gear don’t know about any of them.’

She widened her eyes, waiting for an explanation.

‘D’you ever get that feelin’ about something …  a feelin’ that it’s not the right time to share something?’ he asked.

‘You’re asking someone who hides songs in a drawer. Sure.’

He nodded, pressed a couple of buttons on the mixing desk and got up out of the chair.

‘Want to help me finish one?’

He didn’t wait for her response but headed out of the door towards the other section of the studio.

Her talent was incredible. Within thirty minutes she had learnt the track, suggested some alterations to the verse section and improved the song ten-fold. Now all he had to do was get her to sing.

She had hummed the track, run through short sections of it to demonstrate something to him but she hadn’t let go.

As he played the last few chords and brought the number to an end he saw she’d closed her eyes. Her fingers drummed out a rhythm on her jean-covered thighs and her pure beauty jabbed at him. He faltered with the guitar and her eyes snapped open, breaking the moment.

‘Sorry, I kinda messed up there. I’ll take it from the top,’ he stated, moving his hands up the neck of the instrument.

‘Actually …  I ought to go. When I dare to look at my cell I’m going to have missed calls from everybody,’ she stated.

‘Sure, I understand.’

He didn’t. Just when he thought he was getting somewhere. He wanted to make her realize what music meant to her, let her see how much talent she had and how wrong it was to keep that in.

He knew she was running away again and he didn’t like it.

He didn’t sound like he understood. He sounded pissed. And she didn’t blame him. He’d rescued her from Black Monkey, he’d bought a mirror he didn’t need and he’d spent his afternoon making her face up to the fact that she missed country music more than she’d ever really let herself recognize. It was as much a part of her as her internal organs. She needed it as much as he kept saying it needed her.

‘I wish I had half the talent you do,’ he told her.

The truth was she’d spent the afternoon learning so much from him and it had affected her deeply. The way he composed was so similar to the way she worked. He was thoughtful and thorough in his composition. There weren’t any missing elements. Although the music he wrote had a harder edge from what she was used to, it was nothing short of brilliant.

‘You do, and you have the confidence and your own take on things and … ’

Being in a tight room with him for hours, listening to the rock-edged vocals with that Southern accent - her body had been reacting to it the whole time. She knew the curve of his shoulders as he played the guitar, the way his strong fingers gripped the strings, how taut his jeans became when he sat on the stool.

‘I should really go,’ she repeated, taking a step towards the door.

‘Yeah, why not. Run away.’ It was a curt response.

‘What did you say?’ There was deliberate fury in her tone. She hadn’t asked for this, any of it. She’d wanted to be left alone but no one could do that. They kept prodding and poking and goading.

‘I’m not gonna let you do this. You have more talent in one digit than any of those other singers out there.’ He threw his hands up. ‘You can’t live your life without music so why are you tryin’ to persecute yourself?’

‘I’m not ready …  I’m just not ready. I thought I was but I’m not. There, I’ve said it.’ Her voice wobbled and gave away everything she felt and feared.

‘That’s bullshit.’

The tears were threatening but she wasn’t going to give into them. ‘You know this reverse psychology has already been tried by several different medical professionals in the state.’

‘I don’t do psychology, reverse, up-front or any other which way.’

‘I won’t be bullied.’ She folded her arms across her chest and attempted to look defiant.

He shook his head at her. ‘Fine. I’ll take you home.’

Inside she was shaking as she watched him take his guitar off his body, his vest riding up his back a little as he bent to put it down. She swallowed and closed her eyes. What was she doing? She’d been rude and stupid and he’d done so much for her. And he’d listened. He’d listened to her talk about her life as an unwanted child in care.

‘Jared.’

The tone of her voice made him turn around. What he saw across the room had his stomach coiling up. Her lips were trembling and she was rubbing her palms up and down each denim-covered hip. Her curls were hanging down over her face and she just looked so lost. Had he been too harsh? He hadn’t meant to be. He just wanted to help her, guide her through this …  protect her.

‘I want to do it but … ’ she began.

He kept his lips together, afraid to interrupt.

She didn’t elaborate further, she just stood there, looking to him.

He didn’t know what to do. He was torn. He knew the obvious thing to do would be to bridge the gap, put his arms around her and tell her everything was going to be OK. But that wasn’t him. Cuddling up and hand-holding wasn’t his style. He had tried it once and had his heart trampled on so hard he’d learnt his lesson. Since then it had only ever been about sex. Good, wild sex with women he didn’t have to make small talk with afterwards. He had no shortage on that front. But there was something so unique about Honor, something that moved him, something that left him weak. Something that made him want to behave differently.

He swallowed and made a move, spanning the distance between them in a couple of strides.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered as he reached her.

The words seemed to catch on her lips, falling into the divide and catching him unawares.

‘Hey, what are you sorry for?’ He cleared his throat as he gazed at her. Those clear, bright eyes were dewy with unspent tears.

She looked up at him and he saw it all written on her face. All her suffering, all the hard times she was still working through, everything she’d had to face since that maniac had attacked her. His heart was thumping so hard he could almost hear it outside of his body. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to put his hands on her and just hold her against him. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t do it.

Her whole body was shaking. It was like she’d swallowed a whole family of moths and they were taking flight, bumping off her insides, making her quiver and setting off a whole chain reaction of emotions.

Jared was stood so close she only had to move a centimeter towards him and they’d be touching. She could smell the heat from him, almost taste the adrenaline. His gray eyes were on fire but with what she wasn’t quite sure. Was that desire she could see there? Or was it pity? A look of consolation for all that she was and all that she had been. She wanted to know as much as she
didn’t
want to know.

She moved one hand from her hip and lifted it slowly, afraid if she moved too quickly the tension would break. She wanted to touch him. That’s all she knew. She wanted to feel his skin under her fingers.

The soft cotton of his vest melded with her fingers as inch by inch she traced a path from his abdomen up to his chest. The solid frame of his body was unmoved, apart from the slow and even rise and fall of his breath.

‘Honor.’

The gravel in his voice made her raise her head to meet his gaze, her fingers continuing upwards, lingering over every defined muscle they encountered.

She was too scared to reply. If she opened her mouth to speak, if she engaged with the situation she would withdraw. Right now she was caught someplace new, in the middle of a feeling she hadn’t experienced for so long. She didn’t understand it but she didn’t want it to stop.

She brought her hand up to his face, touching her fingers to his lips. Her index finger whispered over his bottom lip before moving to graze the thin layer of stubble of his cheek.

He balled his hands into fists and squeezed his fingertips into his palms. This was torture. He was the smallest fraction away from losing control and disrespecting her. Her touch was burning into him, igniting desire, forcing him to feel. She put a hand on the belt of his jeans, drawing her body towards him. His eyes locked with hers. She was an angel. Beautiful, pure – wounded, yes - but with an inner strength that had seen her through.

He could see in her eyes that she wanted him and here he was, unable to react. His body was flaming with lust but his heart was on lock down and his head was telling him he would do nothing but hurt her. The very last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.

He could feel her breath; see the longing written in her expression. Any other man would have kissed her by now, put their hands in her hair and worked her out of that shirt. Should he? Could he?

Her heart was pacing so fast she could hear it in her head. She was just lost in his eyes, those deep, gray irises that seemed as if they were looking right inside her. He hadn’t moved. Not one inch. They were body to body, as close as two people could be and she was almost melting with need. This was Jed Marshall, just a name on a CD up until a week ago and now …  now he almost knew her better than anyone ever had.

He raised his hand and she shifted, expectant, wanting to feel his skin on hers.

Her fingers found the edge of his top, wound their way under the fabric until he caught her hand, holding it firm.

‘I really should take you home,’ he stated.

The drive was a little over thirty minutes but every second was ticking by so slowly. She was tight to the passenger door of his truck, her head out the window, letting the breeze blow her hair off her face. She was pissed. And he didn’t blame her. It had been obvious what she wanted to happen and he’d rejected it, thrown the offer back at her by not reacting. The worst of it was, from what he knew of her, she wasn’t the type of girl to put herself out there. She’d shown him that sentiment and he’d panned it. Even though he’d wanted it …  real bad.

He pulled down the peak of his cap and shook his head. He was a fucking idiot. He was letting this girl get under his skin when really it should be just business. Why did he want her on tour so badly? Because she was good? Or because the way she looked in tight jeans hollowed him out? Maybe he should just call Buzz and get Raintown signed up. If he left things too long he might end up with Dan Steele. Hell, what an almighty fucking mess that would be.

He was driving way too fast but she didn’t care. The wind whipping at her face was what she needed. She’d just made a first class ass of herself. She’d offered herself on a plate to Jed Marshall, the hot property of Nashville, the platinum artist Mia kept telling her was one of the world’s most eligible bachelors if you liked them a little rough and ready. Given a little encouragement, she’d have been up for anything just because he’d been a little nice to her when she’d been a hell of a lot crazy. She’d behaved like a hyped-up, panting Cougar and he’d done the decent thing. The only appropriate thing. Because that’s what her behavior had been …  completely inappropriate. Her only saving grace was she hadn’t tried to seduce him in public. At least this way they could hopefully keep it between them and not share it with the local news station.

Why had she done that? Was it because he’d listened when she poured her heart out about her foster homes? She hadn’t given him much choice about listening. Full sugar Coke and Mexican food had loosened her tongue and dropped her guard.

Her street was coming up and she was glad. She just wanted to get home, clap the lights down low, pour a little wine and immerse herself in a scalding hot bath. Larry and whatever other cell phone messages she had would have to wait a little longer. The fact was, she didn’t have an answer to any of the questions they were bound to ask.

He pulled the truck to the curb and she was opening the door before he hit the brakes.

‘Thank you for coming to the studio and Target. I’m sorry about the mirror and …  I’ll see you around.’

She rushed the words out as she climbed down from the cab, flipped her hair over her shoulder and turned toward the path.

‘Hey, wait up!’

Why couldn’t he just let her leave? She needed to go and rid herself of her idiocy with bubble bath and chardonnay. She scuffed the pavement with her sneakers, not raising her head.

‘So when am I gonna see you again?’

He was coming around the front of the truck towards her and right away her insides were churning up. It wasn’t the enchiladas either. It was him. The heat was at her cheeks before she could keep it in check.

‘What?’ She furrowed her brow.

‘We just made a record together this afternoon. I want to do something about that. I want you to sing on it. We should pitch it to Gear.’

What was he talking about? They’d fooled around with something he’d written, something good, warranted, but it was his song - she’d just tightened it up a little. It wasn’t a
record
.

‘I’m signed to Micro and I don’t do duets,’ she stated.

‘You did one with Vince Gill in 2003.’

She swallowed.

‘Micro is old school and you haven’t sung a thing for them in years. They’re throwin’ you off with this “greatest hits” bullshit.’

Damn he hadn’t meant to be so blunt. And what was he thinking anyway? He didn’t do duets. In fact when Buzz had suggested a duet one time, he’d told him Hell would turn into a Ben & Jerry’s parlor before he ever sang with someone else on a record.

‘I didn’t mean that,’ he backtracked. He stepped towards her, onto the verge.

‘Yes you did and you’re probably right. But it isn’t your issue.’

She was looking at him now, her head held up. How could someone so vulnerable be so feisty?

‘Listen, what happened back there at my place … ’ He had to say something. If they were going to work together, which was what he wanted, if he was going to have a chance of getting her on his tour then there couldn’t be any awkwardness.

‘Nothing happened.’ Her reply was instant and he felt it hard.

‘Sure. I know.’ He didn’t know what else to say. He could still sense the imprint of her fingers on his chest.

‘I’m going to go and work out what I’m going to do and stuff so …  you can go,’ she said, nodding towards his truck.

He was a pace away from her and she was taking baby steps back to get further away from him.

‘Sure. Well, I have a mirror to hang and everything so, like you, I’m real busy.’ The sentiment came out angrier than he’d really meant it. There was nothing left to say.

He was walking back to the driver’s side of his flatbed now, leaving. Was that what she wanted? Forgetting how his presence made her feel, he was offering her a golden ticket back into the game if she wanted it. Perhaps a duet would be a new start. Only half the focus on her, less pressure. It was an opportunity most singers would jump at. Jed Marshall was at the top of his industry, he didn’t just sell records, he shifted them by the truckload.

She stood there, kicking up tufts of grass, torn. He got into the truck and waved a hand at her. That was her signal. He was going and she’d made a big mistake. There was only one thing she could do.

Turning away she started off up the path.

There were twelve missed calls on her cell and the red dot told her she had voicemail. The light on the answer phone was flashing like a beacon too. She didn’t blame Larry – the messages had to be Larry. He had set this up and had probably taken a lot of time to get Micro interested in collaborating new material onto a hits album. He had her best interests on the top of his agenda, he always had. Yes, maybe for his own financial gain too, but she knew he cared for her in a surrogate father kind of way. He was a staple in her life and perhaps she didn’t respect that enough. She’d messed him around today, left him to make excuses for her when the record company representative showed up.

She stretched her arms out over the island in the kitchen and pressed her cheek to the marble, closing her eyes. Staying here in Nashville, she should have known this was going to happen at some point. There was only so much hiding you could do in Music Central.

Her eyes snapped open in response to a loud knocking on the door. Raising herself up she hurried from kitchen and down the hall as the rapping continued. That wasn’t Larry’s style. He rang the bell and if she didn’t answer he waited. Was it Mia? The last time she’d beat on her door she’d been drunk and puked on the carpet.

She put her eye to the security hole. It was Jared. His fist thumping on the wood made her step back, putting a hand to her chest. She’d thought he’d gone.

‘Come on, Honor, open up!’

She put her hand to the latch and pulled it open. He didn’t wait for an invitation to step over the threshold and into the house. She bowled back as he frisked past, startling her.

‘Now I’ve been sat in the truck for twenty minutes mulling this all over and I just …  I just want you to know something.’

She widened her eyes, taking in his furious stance, the tension in his torso, the look on his face. He was mad and wild and she was frozen to the spot.

‘Back there at my place … ’ He took a breath. ‘I wanted to rip off that dumb-ass shirt you’re wearing.’

She couldn’t speak. Her lips had shriveled and the inside of her mouth had turned parched.

‘But I wouldn’t have stopped there.’ He set his eyes on her. ‘I wouldn’t have been able to stop there.’

His breathing was ragged. His gaze was on her and it almost felt like the dumb-ass shirt was being removed by his eyes alone. On instinct she put a hand to the top button and held it in between her fingers.

‘I’m a jerk. There. That’s it.’

He gave her a determined nod, then pulled the peak of his cap down lower on his forehead. ‘I’ll see you.’

He stepped out as quickly as he had entered and closed the door behind him.