Nashville SEAL: Jameson: Nashville SEALs (28 page)

“Missed you last night, darlin’.” It was the right thing to say.

She examined the toe of her right boot and smiled down upon it. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder. You must have needed your beauty sleep.”

Sleep was the last thing he’d needed. Right now, he needed to be inside her, but he would wait,
needed
to wait,
and loved
the waiting.

“I agree. So you’re Karen?”

“I am.”

He stood, holding out his hand for a proper shake. “I’m Jameson. Glad to know you. Hope to know you better later on,” he said as they shook hands. He leaned into her frame, still leaning against the door, and gave her a long, languid kiss. She wasn’t all over him, which he appreciated. Her lips and tongue and breathing told him what she had in mind, and it was perfect.

“Not gonna let you get me all hot and bothered like last night,” she whispered to his ear and then kissed him there. “That was not fair. Not fair at all.”

“No, it wasn’t. I’m a wicked man.” He did believe that statement. Standing her up last night just added to the intensity he was feeling now for the encounter they would have tonight.

“I’m counting on it.”

He watched her eyes smile before her lips did. His dick was granite. He widened his stance to give himself room, but she cupped him, with a little squeeze.

“You’re still room four-oh-two?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Thought maybe I had the wrong room. I’ll be quicker this time.”

A part of him didn’t like that comment. Did she know he’d chosen someone else who’d gotten there first? He didn’t like being that kind of a man. His ego had made him jump for the first person in line. It worked out this time, but a shadow fell over that decision. He was staring into a mirror and asking a tough question.

“You can take all the time you want, sweetheart. Nice to wait for things, sometimes. Last night, I was just tired.” He hated lying. There was shadow number two. What the hell was going on? Bad timing for a sense of conscience.

“Glad you’re rested then, cowboy.”

She threw her arms up over his shoulders, her soft tits pressing against him so tight he could feel her knotted nipples. She allowed him to move her ass into his groin and nibble at her neck. She smelled delicious. Her flawless white skin tasted as if it was dusted in sugar. He wondered if she tasted that good all over and guessed she did.

Back out on
stage, Jameson watched two suited men standing at the back of the crowd. His opening song was the new ballad he’d written recently and hoped to record, and he directed his attention to them as he sang.

Never knew how much you loved me,

Now it’s all gone away…

He threw his heart into the lyrics, with the soft accompaniment of the band behind him. They knew that these were the guys he’d invited to hear him and this was the song he was pitching. Their careful accompaniment didn’t interfere with his timing, and like good dancers on a dance floor, they held back some of their own talent to showcase
his
voice and
his
guitar picking, enhancing it without covering it up. They made him sound smooth and practiced, not like the dull pounding ache he felt in his chest or the thick pulsations in his jeans. He was grateful for the end of the song because he was beginning to feel light-headed.

The crowd erupted into raucous applause, but all Jameson saw was the backs of these two men, as they tipped their hats to Karen and a couple of other little ladies at the back, disappearing into the midnight blue smoky air outside of the club. He knew it wasn’t their style to run up and give him an enthusiastic handshake and tell him how much they enjoyed the song. They might be on their way to go listen to some other up-and-coming country star, after all. If a week went by and they didn’t call, then it wasn’t something they wanted. But his gut told him this one could make his break-out. He just didn’t care that they’d been so casual about it.

Now that the tryout was over, he threw himself into firing up the band and the audience.

Near the end of his last set, a fight broke out. He watched Arlen get tossed aside and land on his butt, sliding into a table full of young men wearing baseball caps. Arlen stood up, addressed the asshole who’d shoved him, and was once again sent back to the floor like a rag doll. This time, when his bodyguard attempted to stand, the men in caps held him down and backed out of the fray. Two tall guys turned their caps backward and stood up to the troublemaker with their chests extended. The guy was hoisted up by his shirt by one of the men; the other had the back of his pants at the beltline, and together, they ushered him outside with a slight toss at the end.

A woman was ready to go outside and join him, but one of the tall sandy-haired men grabbed her arm and said something in her ear. The group appeared as one unit, a well-oiled cadre of buddies. Jameson thought his bodyguard had shriveled in size, and he was glancing up on stage to see if his boss had noticed.

And I’m gonna love you until the end of time.

The song ended as he added a riff and a “Love you all. Thanks for coming tonight. Let’s hear it for Jameson’s Band of Brothers. We got Albert Lopez, Little Jimmy here, Virtuoso Kid here who’s new tonight, and Cuz Daniels. Thank you, Halfway to Heaven. Y’all have a great evening!”

He wanted to step off the stage and go see the boys who’d helped him out before they left, but did the right thing and exited stage right, leaving the band to tinker, finding out if they were going to be requested for an encore. He always was. Tonight was no exception.

The clapping and cheering subsided and morphed into cheers and whistles as Jameson returned to the stage. He took a long drink of his rum and coke and began the two swan songs. He was tired. What he really wanted to do was go find out what had happened at the back of the club. And then relax with Karen.

He only had about eight minutes to do the first thing and all night to do the second.

‡

L
izzie Reeder was
almost toppled by the gentleman being shoved out the door. One of the bulky guys who she knew must be military added his heartfelt apology,

“So sorry, ma’am. Are you hurt?”

She couldn’t believe the size of his arms, the tats that were everywhere, the round face with a couple of days of stubble that stubbornly had curled and matched his long hair framing his ears and the back of his shirt. The ends were lighter and curled up, like a swimmer’s hair. Then she laid eyes on his startling blue eyes and nearly sent herself backwards, forgetting this evening’s mission.

She’d come to see Jameson perform, but seeing this tight package poured into oversized jeans and rolled up sleeves that could barely hold his biceps, almost made her forget herself. Almost, but not really.

“Ma’am?” he asked again, his brows coming together, covering his worry lines.

“No. Sorry. No. He just stepped on my foot, is all.” She glanced down and saw her heel had come out.

“Here, let me take a peek at that. You sit on over here,” the tatted Adonis insisted.

In thirty seconds, she was the object of their attention, the whole table of them. She counted six, and another two lingering by the doorway, with three more at a table nearby. They had a collection of a couple dozen empty beers in the center of the two tables. Someone at the bar wasn’t doing his job, she thought.

With her foot and ankle stretched, draped over the guy’s thigh, he unlaced her shoes and then carefully took out her foot. She almost heard a collective sigh from the group.

“Who are you guys?” she asked. None of the men were paying any attention to Jameson, who had come back on stage for his encore.

“Concerned citizens,” someone in a Puerto Rican accent added. “Coop here is a medic, and he’s examining your ankle to make sure you don’t sue the bar.”

“Oh.” She was surprised at that comment. “So you guys are security then?”

That made the whole group of them chuckle. Someone uttered something and was punched in the arm for his comment. She wished she could have heard it.

“In a manner of speakin’, ma’am,” answered a handsome African-American man, who had the same baseball cap the others had, reversed. He flashed her a grin with too many teeth. “Name’s Jones, Malcolm Jones. This here is Armando, Jake, Tyler, Luke, T.J., and we got others over there.”

“Well, thank you for watching out for me.” She angled her head to catch a glimpse at the doorway. “You expecting that guy to come back?”

One of the men was chatting up the woman who had wanted to leave, engaging her in a conversation that made her blush.

“Oh, that’s just Alex doing his lady thing. I guess he figures he’s got a ghost of a chance since she has such bad taste,” Jones continued.

“Bad taste?” Lizzie wasn’t sure what he meant.

“Well, we think she came with the dude who’s ass…sorry, ma’am…got tossed out of the bar.”

As if he’d heard Jones, the man he’d pointed out as Alex raised his beer and offered to bring the dark-haired lady over for a chat. She stiffened and declined, attempting to leave again, and was gently restrained by Alex.

Jones turned around to watch them. “I guess he doesn’t think it’s a good idea that she follow after that scumbag. Or are they friends of yours?”

“No. I don’t know either one of them. But she’s wearing a wedding band.”

Jones turned around to verify the comment. “That’s a fact.” He focused back on Lizzie. “Good eyes there, sugar.”

She blushed in spite of herself.

“Notice you don’t wear one.” He raised one eyebrow and leaned back to hear her answer while Coop started to insert her foot back into her running shoes.

“You’re fine, I think. Does it hurt at all?” Coop asked her.

“No.” She jumped as his delicate fingers cinched up her laces, and he patted her ankle. No one had ever touched her ankle that way before.

Who were these guys?

The music had stopped, so when she heard Jameson’s deep buttery voice, the back of her neck became sensitive, the sound of his gentle timbre and cadence sending a delicious electric current down her spine, something she remembered from before.

“You guys show up to my gig to give foot massages now? Did Charlie over there send you guys here to warm up the crowd?” Jameson asked.

Lizzie removed her leg from Coop’s thigh and sat up, holding down her hair as if she was wearing a wig. She was still getting used to the new bright red color.

“Just checking her out,” said Coop.

“That’s what I’m sayin’. You okay, darlin’?” Jameson kneeled down and looked right into her eyes and didn’t register any recognition whatsoever. The closeness of his face, the smell of the sweat from his performance, and the beads of moisture on his upper lip were all familiar things. Even the mint on his breath was the same. She’d tasted those mints, had a whole drawer full of them at home, and every time she had one, she remembered how he tasted when he bent to kiss her.

It usually left her vacant and wanting. Tonight, seeing him in the flesh, was no exception.

“I’m fine. Thanks for asking,” she answered him. Her voice was a little high and creaky, not her real voice. Her nerves were jumbling her insides.

She’d thought about it every day for the three years plus since she’d last seen Jameson. It had haunted her, how it would be to see him again. To see if he remembered that wonderful week together in North Carolina.

The answer was, painfully, no. He didn’t remember her.

A blonde girl she’d met before somewhere came up behind him, placing her palms on his shoulders, and laid claim to him, giving her a smile short on patience.

Jameson rose, adjusted his belt, and slipped his arm around the blonde’s waist.

“So you guys wanna tell me what all happened here, since you weren’t giving foot massages?” Jameson asked.

“Heard a little domestic squabble,” Coop answered. His eyes searched back and forth between Jameson and the blonde. “Maybe he had reason to distrust his wife coming here to see you?” Coop nodded toward the dark-haired beauty at the doorway with Ryan.

Jameson cleared his throat and gave the woman a nod. The lady was smiling devilishly back at him.

“I see what you mean,” he answered. But most important to Lizzie was that he didn’t deny anything. Jameson began to crane his neck. “Where’s my Marine guy?”

Coop and several of the others chuckled.

“What? Did I say something wrong?” he asked, as he pulled the blonde closer to him, massaging the top of her neck while she draped over him like a warm blanket.

“I’m sorry,” the handsome Puerto Rican man answered. “That’s no Marine or even Marine-in-training.”

“Four tours overseas,” insisted Jameson.

“I’d say he’s had no military training, Mr. Jameson, sir. No offense, but I think you hired what we call a poser.” The accented man gave him a lethal wink and then directed it right at Lizzie.

Arlen appeared as if he’d been summoned, introducing himself. A couple of the men asked him questions the bodyguard struggled to answer and was failing miserably. Even Lizzie could see that. The boys didn’t call him on it, just let the conversation dangle. Several started to to leave.