Jace, page 14
“I broke a table. I—we—fell into one.” Travis glanced at Jace. “Sorry, man.”
Jace nodded.
Of course Travis would be the one to take Jace out partying. Drinking. Breaking shit. Picking up women. Maybe the whole “Gentleman Jace” moniker wasn’t going to stick after all.
“You were the one yelling at Jace in the middle of the night,” Travis continued.
Yelled. Slammed the door. Loud enough for everyone to hear. She’d acted like a fool. For what? She looked at Jace then.
His light brown gaze was waiting.
All the hurt and anger and frustration she’d been drowning in since three forty-five this morning threatened to rear its ugly head again. Since she didn’t relish the idea of getting upset—worse, crying—she decided retreat was the best option. “I’m not really a hundred percent, so y’all work out the details and let me know, okay?” She stood, pressing a kiss to her father’s cheek. “This is super exciting, Daddy. Really. Thank you.”
He hugged her close and whispered, “Whatever this is, I need you to work it out. The only way to do that is to talk to each other.”
“Talking won’t fix this, Daddy. But I’ll try. I promise, I’ll try to let it go.”
* * *
Jace shook hands with Guy James and sat in the chair opposite the iconic desk for the late-night talk show. He had never felt more out of his element—hopefully it wouldn’t be too obvious.
“Good to have you here, Jace.” Guy smiled. “Once it was announced that you’d be joining us, we sold out. I’m pretty sure we have an all-female audience tonight.”
The screams from the audience made Jace shift uneasily in his chair, but he chuckled anyway.
Guy shielded his eyes. “Wait, there’s one man, way up there. Hello, sir.”
Jace looked out over the audience. There were plenty of men, but he let it go. Guy James was about the laughs.
“Congratulations on the single,” Guy said, glancing at one of the cards before him on his desk. “First song and it’s expected to climb the charts when it releases officially.”
“Thank you.” He nodded at the applause from the audience. “I’m not sure any of this is real. Not a day goes by that I don’t wake up expecting to be back in the oilfields.”
Guy nodded. “Big change?”
Jace laughed. “Yes, sir. But I’m not complaining.”
“No, I imagine not.” He paused. “Your duet, with Krystal King. Tell us about that.”
Jace took a sip from the coffee mug on the desk. He’d expected questions about her. She was far more interesting than he was. If anything, this was his chance to set the record straight on a few things—like who Krystal King really was.
“You’re getting to spend a lot of time with her?” Guy pushed.
He nodded. “I am. I always loved their music—I own every album. Working with her?” He shook his head. “She’s a good partner, we sync well, I think. I hope. I’m pretty sure there’s not a better songwriter out there. She has a way of layering in the emotion, lyrics and music working together. And her voice, well, you’ve all heard her. I’m blessed.”
“We have a picture.” Guy turned, looking at the screen behind them. “You two look like you get along.”
Jace studied the picture. The day of the photo shoot. Him smoothing her hair. Her smiling up at him. Seeing it now still made his heart rate pick up. She was beautiful. No doubt about it.
“You want to tell us about this picture?” Guy asked.
Jace grinned. “What’s to tell? Damn good picture.”
The audience laughed.
“And this one?” Guy pointed at the screen again. A different picture. “That’s Clementine, isn’t it?”
Jace stared at the Instagram post. “Yes. Krystal took that for my sister, Heather.” He waved at the camera. “You better be studying for your finals, Heather.” He looked back at Guy. “Krystal found out my sister was a fan and took the picture. She does things like that.”
“Interesting.” Guy nodded. “What about this one?”
Jace wasn’t prepared for the picture that popped up. Krystal was asleep on him in the bowling alley, his arm around her and her head resting on his shoulder. He’d turned a little, his nose resting against her temple. The look on his face. “That’s a new one.”
The audience reaction was a flutter of squeals, some light applause, and a few gasps.
“I know, right?” Guy asked. “This is some development. You’ve become friends?”
Jace nodded, tearing his gaze from the picture that painted a picture all on its own. “We have. I respect her—and I like her. A lot.”
“We can see that. But we had Mickey Graham on the show a few weeks back.” Guy leaned back in his chair. “He doesn’t seem to share your…generous opinion of Miss King.”
“He wouldn’t. And I have a few choice words for Mickey Graham.” He smiled. “But I’m pretty sure I can’t say them on network television.”
Guy sat forward. “You don’t say? Maybe you could paraphrase?”
Jace shrugged. “No man likes rejection. But twisting the truth to get his songs on the chart and his picture on a magazine cover? To me, that makes the man a real rat bastard.”
“Probably best if I stop you there.” Guy was smiling. “Let me play devil’s advocate here, Jace. Some people might think you’re doing the same. Or that this relationship with Krystal King is some sort of damage control for her? Pictures like that circulating—looks awful convenient. People love you. After the show, they feel like they know you and want the best for you. I’m sure I speak for most of the audience when I say I’m sincerely sorry for your loss.”
“I appreciate that.” He nodded. He hated this part of it. Hated the constant reminder of that truly awful day. How would people react if they knew how angry he was? Not at the truck driver but at Nikki? She’d been drinking and she’d still gone. She’d taken his son away. Forever. He cleared his throat. “It means a lot.”
“People want you to be happy. They see you with Krystal King, and they worry.”
Jace nodded. “I am happy. I can’t predict what the future holds, but I’m blessed that she and her family are a part of mine. It’s important to say that Krystal doesn’t need damage control—the real Krystal, that is, not the one the media has created. I’d ask people to listen to her songs, read her lyrics, you’ll see what I’m saying. She has a huge heart and a good soul. But if being damage control means I get to spend time with her, sign me up.”
“You can’t fake that kind of chemistry.” Guy pointed at the picture on display. Jace and Krystal, leaning in to sing their song together during a concert.
“No, sir, you can’t.”
“It was a real pleasure to meet you, Jace. I wish you nothing but success.”
He shook Guy’s hand. “Thank you.”
“I hear you’re going to sing something for us?” He stood, leading Jace to a stool on the far side of the studio’s stage.
Jace nodded, sat, and picked up the guitar. He’d been working on the song for a while, played it through with his band, but he’d never performed it for an audience. “I’m going to play something new for you. I hope you like it. It’s called ‘One Boot at a Time.’”
He ran his fingers over the strings, smiled out over the crowd, and began to play.
I put my boots on one foot at a time
Work the daylight hours
And earn every damn dime
Life’s not easy, but I figure it’s fair
And it’s all more than worth it
’Cause now she’s waiting there
She sings in our kitchen but can’t cook a thing
Builds our kids up and believes in their dreams
She likes tractors and my dog and long starry nights
And coming home to her makes everything right
The guys who I work with don’t have a clue
They party and hell-raise
Like I used to do
But life took a turn when I met her
And I can’t say I miss what came before
’Cause now she’s waiting there
She sings in our kitchen but can’t cook a thing
Builds our kids up and believes in our dreams
She likes tractors and my dog and long starry nights
And coming home to her makes everything right
When I’m tired or weary or feeling beat down
It’s her laugh that lifts me
And turns me around
I’m one lucky man
One smile from her and I’m home
’Cause now she’s waiting there
She sings in the kitchen but can’t cook a thing
Builds me up and believes in my dreams
Nothing is better than those long starry nights
And, she swears, being mine makes everything all right
“Jace Black, everyone.” Guy James shook his hand again and a woman escorted him offstage.
“That was awesome, man, awesome.” Luke was pumped up. “Love the new song. Drinks?”
“I’m beat, Luke.” He shook his head. “I’m calling it.”
“I’ll get you a car.” Luke pulled out his ever-handy phone.
In five minutes, Jace was headed for the hotel, dozing against the car door. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been up all night. He was bone-tired and determined to avoid Travis King once he got to the hotel. He didn’t have the energy to deal with that sort of trouble. Or the hurt Krystal’s accusations had caused him.
He stared out the window at the palm trees, fighting to keep his eyes open. He propped himself in the corner of the elevator up to his room and started kicking off clothes as soon as his hotel room door clicked shut behind him.
A hot shower later and he was on his way to bed.
Until the banging on his door started.
“Hold up.” He wrapped the towel around his waist. “Travis, man—”
But it was Krystal, wearing the same gigantic black sweatshirt she’d had on this morning—no makeup and a tangled mess of curls on the top of her head.
“Hi.” He stared at her, stunned. “You wanna come in?”
She hesitated. “For a minute.” She slipped past him and into his room, rocking from foot to foot, her hands shoved into the pocket of her sweatshirt. “I saw you on Guy James tonight.” And she wasn’t happy.
He closed the door and stood, barefoot and wet-headed. “Yeah.” She had more to say, he could tell. After last night, he braced himself.
“What was that? What was with the knight-in-shining-armor crap?” She wrapped her arms around her waist. “I don’t need you being all…noble. You can say, ‘Hey, Guy, I’m here to talk about me tonight.’ Or just tell him to mind his own business. It’s not your job to champion me. And those pictures are just pictures. That’s all.”
“Hold on.” He ran a hand over his face, wishing he had a large cup of coffee. And that he was wearing clothes. “We need to back up a little.”
Her brows shot up. “No. We do not.”
He held a hand up. “I don’t know what you thought was going on last night—”
“I know exactly what was going on last night.” She rolled her eyes, refusing to look at him. “You can screw whoever you want. I don’t care about that.”
It had been a long time since anger damn near choked him. But her easy dismissal tipped the scale. “I carried your drunk-ass brother to his hotel room last night. Got knocked into a table hard enough to break the damn thing.” He pointed at the purple-green ridge down his side. “It gets better. He waits to pass out just long just enough to throw up on my shirt.”
Krystal eyed the bruise. “And?”
“That’s what I was doing last night. That was his room I was leaving, Krystal. His—Travis’s. Travis threw the pillow.” He paused, watching her. “I leave him, sore and covered in vomit and whiskey, to see you leaning out of your room. And I’m happy all of a sudden because I get to see you before I go to bed. Make sure you’re okay. That your headache was better.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it. He didn’t miss the slight tremor in her hands or how unsteady her breathing was. But she tilted her head, thrust out her chin, unwilling to bend.
He ran a hand through his wet hair. “And then you jump down my throat for hooking up with someone who doesn’t exist. It’s easier to believe the worst. Is that it? Hell, I think you want to believe I’m that guy. But I’m not. If that’s your reason for acting like this thing between us doesn’t exist, then you’re out of luck. I will never be that guy. And now you know.”
Chapter 10
She could breathe again. Last night had been…devastating. Wrong. Why she’d let him get to her, she didn’t know. It was like she wanted to set herself up for disappointment over and over. And now…she was disappointed, all right. In herself.
She’d jumped to all the wrong conclusions—because she needed Jace Black to be an asshole. She needed a reason to keep her distance. He was dangerous.
After his interview, she had no choice. She’d been prepared to tell him off, convinced he’d been all doe-eyed and protective to come off looking good. But, no, he was just being Jace. A gentleman. Noble. Honor bound to come to her defense. Dammit. He was too good a guy to go down in flames defending her.
“I’m happy for you. Being virtuous and honorable and all that.” She swallowed, using her best bitch voice and eye roll. “Why do I care?” Don’t look at him.
“You don’t?” The question was low, gruff, and hard. “Or you won’t admit the truth?”
“The truth?” She shrugged. Fine, she’d tell him the truth. Part of the truth. “I’ve thought a lot about you. You and me. In bed. Hot and sweaty. It turns me on. How’s that for truth? It sounds really good.” Don’t look at him. “But more than that? No thank you.”
“Sex?” He sighed.
It was getting harder to breathe. “What else? Come on, Jace. Wake up. You’re right, there is an attraction, but it wouldn’t take much to get you out of my system.” It would take so much more than that. Jace was…more. He deserves better. She had to say it—and make him believe it. “Honestly, I sort of hoped you were banging some fangirl. You’re getting a little too fixated on me.” It was hateful; she was hateful. That’s who she was. It was best for everyone that way.
Silence.
“Why are you here?” The words were brittle.
“To make things clear.” She stared straight ahead. At his chest. His beautiful, sculpted, tattoo-adorned, all-muscles chest. The thorn-covered vine inked around his upper right arm seemed a safe enough focal point.
More silence.
“Then let’s do this.”
The tattoo blurred and she was staring up into his face. His beautiful, rigid, angry face. This was not expected. He should be disappointed, a little disgusted even, but keep his cool. That whole gentleman thing he did so well. A gentleman would show her to the door and that would be the end of it.
This Jace looked nothing like a gentleman.
Did she want him? More than anything. Ached for him. So much. “Now?”
He nodded, the muscle in his jaw rolling.
She’d hurt him. Good. He needed to believe her. If he hated her, she’d done her job. There was only one way to make sure he believed her. “Fine.” In the seconds it took to pull her sweatshirt off, she tried to shut off the part of her brain protesting her stupid, stupid plan.
The other part of her brain? Oh so excited. Craving this. Craving him. That was the part of the brain she was going to listen to. She dropped her sweatshirt on the floor and kicked it aside.
His nostrils flared, his gaze going molten as his attention fell to her bright fuchsia bra. Hands fisted at his sides, he seemed to be fighting her. Why? This was his idea—an idea she was going to enjoy to the fullest.
Was he waiting for her to chicken out?
No going back. She didn’t want to. Tomorrow she might regret this, but she’d worry about that then. Tonight, he was all hers. She was going to make every second count.
Impatience kicked in as she toed off her shoes and shimmied out of her leggings. His knuckles whitened at the sight of her tiny black thong, but the rest of him remained frozen. Her heart was tripping over itself, but he couldn’t know that. When she closed the distance between them, she ran her hands up his arms…slowly. She took a deep breath and met his gaze.
He was breathing hard, his nostrils flared, muscles strung tight. The blazing hunger in his eyes burned through any hesitation. She pressed herself against him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and brushed her lips to his.
The contact, skin on skin and mouth to mouth, flipped a switch.
She threaded her hands through his still-wet hair, pulling him closer and tracing the seam of his lips with her tongue. His arms were around her, all muscles and warmth, wrapping her up in Jace. Spicy soap and minty shampoo. The coarse stubble on his jaw. His calloused fingers trailed along her spine. The brush of his lips against the corner of her mouth, teasing. When his lips covered hers again, she was lost, arching into him, her curves crushed against the wall of his chest.
His broken groan shook them both. Lips parted, his tongue slid deep, his hand bracing her head so his kiss could go on and on. She was sucking his lower lip, nipping the soft skin, gripping his shoulders to stay on her feet. Breath and tongues, teeth and lips, they came together with unexpected ferocity.
Years of playing guitar and hard work had left his hands strong and his fingertips calloused. And every rough caress was more potent than the last. His touch slid between her shoulders and down her back, coming to rest on the curve of her hip. She pressed tightly against him, wanting more—needing more. She was so close, but not close enough. Not yet. She reached behind her, frantic to unhook her bra but his hands were already there.
