Jace, page 28
He felt Krystal stiffen, waiting for some backlash from her impending televised interview. Her accusations would have a ripple effect over the entire industry. There was no guarantee how tonight would go.
But the audience was clapping. A few fans screamed. Maybe not thunderous applause but a whole hell of a lot better than nothing.
She smiled.
“You ready?” He took her hand, squeezed it.
Travis and Emmy came back.
“It’s all you two.” Emmy smiled.
Jace nodded and led Krystal onto the stage, to the two stools set up mid-spotlight.
He gave her a hand up and onto the stool, earning a few whistles and cheers, then sat beside her. He waited for her slight smile and started to play, his gaze never leaving her face.
He sang, the words pouring out of him without thought. Her words. Her heart. Her story. Love, for Krystal, had never been free from suffering. “I remember you, standing in the sun, smiling at me, and suddenly my world caught fire. Blinding, beautiful fire.”
Her green eyes were deep emerald, shining in the light, the light showing the whole world the damage Tig Whitman had done to her face. Her voice wavered as she sang the first words. With a slight shake of her head, she kept on, stronger. “Blinding, beautiful fire.” The rasp of her voice rolled over him, mesmerizing him. She did that every time.
The fans sang along to the chorus so he held the microphone out and sang, Krystal smiling and clapping along to the beat. He glanced back and her eyes locked with his as she sang, “And your words, your lies, your promises were the sweetest pain of all.”
He kept playing, kept singing, but stepped closer, needing to touch her. She reached up, resting one hand on his shoulder. Like she knew. Like she needed it, too.
“Love isn’t love when the flames burn it down. There’s no hiding or forgiveness from the damage that it’s done.” They sang the chorus together. “When the smoke clears away, you’ll still find me searching here. Searching for the ashes of my heart.”
By the time the song finished, the spark he loved—the energy performing gave her—was shining back at him. When the last note faded, the audience erupted. He pointed at her, more clapping. She shook her head and pointed his way. Another bow and he took her hand, leading her off the stage.
“Y’all were amazing,” Emmy said as she and Travis hurried back onstage.
But Krystal was tugging him away from the stage, down the hall, and out the side door. Sawyer, practically glued to Krystal, didn’t flinch, just followed a few steps behind.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
She glanced back at him, eyes blazing with hunger.
He stopped walking, staring down at her. He wanted her. He’d always want her—but his heart was invested in more.
Her gaze fell to his lips. “I need you.” She blinked. “Need to feel good.”
“Me?” he asked.
She swallowed, her gaze falling from his.
Later, it would hurt. Right now? He scooped her up, picking up the pace as they headed for the bus.
They were breathless when they stumbled inside. Impatient, she pushed him against the wall of the stairwell, her kiss desperate for more. With a tug, the snaps popped wide. With a sigh, she stared at his chest. “I can’t tell you how satisfying that is.”
She had his shirt off before they made it up the steps—her boots, one of his, and his belt forming a path to her bedroom door.
He kicked the door shut, his hands spinning her around. “Not tearing it this time.” He pulled the zipper down, his hands slipping inside. Her skin. Soft and smooth. He moaned, pressing his nose against her soft hair and nuzzling the base of her neck. His hands slid up, across the plane of her stomach, to cradle the full weight of her breasts.
She arched into his hands, the peaks hardening against his fingertips.
She wiggled free, shimmying out of her dress and turning to face him.
He leaned against the door, aching for her. But, dammit, aching for more.
She saw, the panic on her face tearing at him. Just before her green eyes fluttered closed, he saw what he needed. Hunger for him. More than that, tenderness. So deep and real it reached inside his chest and gave him hope. As long as there was hope, he’d never give up. She stood on tiptoe, breathless and nervous and hungry for his kiss. He welcomed it.
Light. Featherlight. A mix of breath. And instant heat.
“Don’t let go,” she whispered.
“I won’t.” One hand cradled the back of her neck, while the other arm pulled her in close. Ever.
His lips found hers, sealing them together. She arched into him, her fingers tightening in his thick hair as the tip of her tongue tasted the seam of his mouth. Her soft moan sent a frisson of heat along each and every nerve. He teased her, the tip of his tongue, the cling of his lips, bearing her back on her bed to explore every curve. The spot behind her knee. The bend of her elbow. The skin of her side. Her hip. He lingered over her breasts, until each tip was pebble-hard for his mouth. Her bra and panties joined everything else on the floor, and still he took his time. His unhurried exploration had her breathing hard and hanging on to his waist.
He shivered as her fingers traced—the lightest of touches—the pattern of ink across his chest and arms. His lips parted hers, and she gasped at the thrust of his tongue and the fervor of his kiss. He was barely holding on, the press of her knees against his hips a clear invitation. When she was gasping for air, his lips traveled to the spot behind her ear, down the length of her neck, to press hot, wet kisses at the juncture of her neck and shoulder.
He stared down at her as they came together, hissing as the tight heat of her body opened for him.
“Jace,” she whispered, her nails scraping his upper arms.
If this was what she needed, being in his arms, he’d give it to her. She might not be ready to admit that there was a hell of a lot more than animal attraction going on here. But she would. When she was ready. Until then, he’d be here. Giving her what she needed. Loving her as best he could.
Chapter 18
“This one says I’m a soulless millennial exploiting real issues for a profit.” Krystal skimmed the rest of the article. “All about how spoiled and entitled I am. Blah blah blah. Should be thankful for the people who’ve put me where I am—Tig Whitman included.” She set the magazine aside and poked at her grapefruit half. “I am thankful. Not for Tig, but for how lucky I am.”
“Um, luck might have something to do with it. But you know, there’s that whole hard work and real talent thing that helps, Krys. Stop reading them.” Travis pushed the magazine off the table and onto the floor.
She shrugged.
It had been a week since her interview. In that time, Tig had located two kids from the Wellness Ranch—people she had no recollection of—talking about how mean and dismissive she was of everyone else there.
One backup singer—whom her mother had fired—shared an episode confirming Krystal’s “temper tantrum mentality” when she ripped off a costume backstage and screamed at her manager. That one was true. But Steve had insisted she wear a dress that didn’t let her move. She’d almost fallen twice during her performance, so when she’d finished her set without actual bodily harm, she had taken it off and thrown it at him.
Even Misumi’s mother had been sucked into it all, her comments edited to sound as if Misumi was overworked and underpaid. But that was only partly true. Krystal and Emmy had just given her a substantial raise and her hours were self-imposed. The girl didn’t have an off switch.
Not all of these newly unearthed “close connections” were bad. The woman she’d volunteered with at the animal shelter had only nice things to say about Krystal. “I trust an animal’s instinct over a human’s any day. All the animals loved Krystal. I think what’s happening to her is shameful.”
Her choreographer praised how methodical and dedicated she was to her overall health and performance—not in the least bit relevant for this situation, but still nice to hear. Her daddy had always enforced how important being in shape was to a performer. Eating right, with the occasional splurge, and working out were a part of daily routine. A habit, not a chore or hardship.
Mrs. Charles, her favorite school tutor, had blasted the bad press. “That girl is tough because she’s had to be. It’s easy to twist things around when you have no idea what they’ve been through. She tells everyone what she’s been through and people are still twisting things around.” She had sent Mrs. Charles a thank-you note and some daisies, her favorite. Few people outside her family would dare to defend her so vehemently at this point.
She and her siblings’ entire education had been conducted through tutors and online programs. Until now, she’d hated missing out on going to school, having friends, a lunch period, recess… Now, she was relieved. Who knew what sort of backlash Jimmy from second grade could use against her? As it was, there was no Jimmy from second grade.
“You need to focus on other things right now. Good things. The single drops tomorrow,” Travis reminded her, pushing the grapefruit closer. “Eat something. You’re getting all pokey looking.”
She frowned.
Emmy appeared, sliding into the red vinyl booth beside her. “You should have ordered the waffles. With the strawberries and cream.”
She nodded.
“Why is my magazine on the floor?” Emmy stooped.
“She was reading the article.” Travis shot their sister a look. “It wasn’t kind. Imagine that, considering the title and all.”
“A Tragedy or a Tragic Liar?” It was Emmy Lou’s turn to frown. “I didn’t buy it for the articles.” She flipped the pages and held it up. “There’s a whole section on Halloween treats.” She turned the page. “Look at these marshmallow ghosts. Aren’t they adorable? And these cookie and pretzel spiders. We need to have a Halloween party so I can make all this.”
Emmy’s favorite holiday was Halloween. It was true, they had only the best memories of the holiday. Costumes made it okay for the family to go out together, without all the hubbub that would normally accompany a King family outing. As a child, having your daddy to yourself like other kids—even for one night—had made the night special.
“Halloween is a ways off.” Travis stared down at the recipe. “Why would you combine a chocolate crème cookie with pretzel sticks and licorice?”
“Don’t knock Red Vines.” Krystal pointed at him with her spoon. “They are never a bad choice.”
The bell over the diner door rang and she turned, like she had the last four times it rang, to see who had come in. Not that she was looking for someone in particular.
“He’s not coming. Said he didn’t sleep well. Or feel well. One of them.” Travis sighed, leaning back. “You need to make up your mind, Krystal. You keep stringing him along, you’re going to lose him. Guys don’t like that shit.”
“I’m not stringing him along. My mind is made up and he knows that.” Not that she or her siblings believed a word she said. Her heart definitely didn’t. With a sigh, she set down her spoon. “What’s wrong? Is he sick? Or just tired?”
Travis shrugged. “He didn’t want breakfast. I asked what’s up. He said he ‘feels like hell.’”
Checking on this would be bad. Denial or not, some of her behavior could possibly, probably, fall in to the stringing-him-along category. But it wasn’t intentional. She tried to keep her distance, she did. But one look from him, one crooked smile, or the brush of his hand, and she was kissing him—then running away.
She stared out the front windows, the buses lined up along the outside of the parking lot. “I should check on him.”
“No. You shouldn’t.” Emmy Lou shook her head. “You told me to keep you away from him, remember? You can’t get mad at me.”
“You told her to remind you of what?” Travis asked. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
When it came to Jace, she had the best of intentions but zero willpower. Krystal slipped out of the booth. “Page seventy-eight will give you a laundry list to pick from.” She went to the counter, ordered three bear claws and two black coffees, smiled at the starstruck waitress, and hurried to the boys’ bus.
Hardy, the driver, opened the door and thanked her for the bear claw and coffee she’d brought.
“Breakfast?” she called out softly.
She walked to the back of the bus. Unlike her and Emmy’s top-of-the-line model, this one was more basic. She and Emmy had their own rooms, snug but private. There was one sleeping compartment at the back of this one, but it was reserved for her father. Jace and Travis had the not-so-private sleeping bunks built into either side of the bus. When they weren’t in use, the bunk folded up and out of the way. Efficient, her father called it. Uncomfortable, Travis countered, pointing out the inequality in the buses whenever he had the chance.
Jace was sleeping, hard. His face was turned away, sheet rumpled across his chest. She swallowed, marveling at that chest. Jace was…well, his body was impressive. Not just the muscles, all of him. She sighed, hating how much she ached for this man.
One arm was draped out, his hand hanging off the edge of his bunk. A pencil lay on the ground, dropped, on top of sheet music. Sheet music she had no right to read. A glimpse down the hall told her there was no one around to know if she’d read it. And she and Jace had worked on several songs together, so there was a chance he’d share this one, too.
And she really, really wanted to read it.
She kicked off her shoes and sat on the other bunk, picking up the sheet music with care.
“Let Me Love You.” She stared over the edge of the page at him, sound asleep. Her heart thumped so hard and heavy against her chest. What would she do if he ever said something like that to her? Stop with the daydreaming. Her eyes skimmed over the words, paused, then read them again—slowly—the music playing out in her head. “You say your heart is hard and there’s no hope. Your world split wide and you can’t cope. Words are empty and nothing more. Finding strength, a daily chore. I say, stop fighting to stand alone. Words can heal, hear my song. Don’t let the world defeat you. Don’t lock your heart away. See me standing here and let me love you.” The words were blurring. “Through the dark of night and the light of day, I will love your troubles away. When you’re cold and you’ve lost your way, I will love you home to stay. See me standing here and let me love you. Because I do. I love you.”
She wiped the tears from her face and finished reading the song. His writing was loopier at the end, almost too small to read. It was brilliant. He was brilliant.
She stared at him, sound asleep, his cheeks red. I love you.
She put the page back and knelt, resting a hand on his forehead. He was flushed. Maybe he was sick?
He jolted awake, sleep-filled eyes blinking as he turned to look at her. “Krystal?” He sat up, running a hand over his face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She held up the bag and coffee. “Travis said you weren’t feeling well. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Didn’t sleep much last night,” he explained, yawning. “New song…” He looked around his bed, then over the edge. “Here.” He picked it up and placed it on the bed beside him, facedown.
Interesting. Not sharing then. Guilt kicked in. “I read it. It was there and I couldn’t not read it.”
He grinned. “And?”
“And it’s amazing.” She nibbled on her lip. “A perfect duet.”
“Sort of what I was thinking.” He stared at the pages. “This bit right here. It needs something.”
“Maybe we can look at it later? If you want?”
His gaze met hers. “I do.”
The longer he looked at her, the tighter her lungs felt. It was downright unnerving. “I just wanted to make sure you were feeling okay.” She stood. “We’ve got all those press things tomorrow.”
“That’s why you’re checking in?” He shook his head. “Thanks. I’ll be ready for tomorrow.”
Which wasn’t what she meant at all. “No.” She set the bag on his bed.
“No?” He stared up at her, stubble-covered jaw and wild dark hair. Shirtless. Gorgeous.
He truly took her breath away. “No.” She repeated. His gaze locked with hers and an instant surge of heat caught deep in her belly, burning outward.
He grinned, one brow shooting high. “You’re here for sex?”
“What?” Laughter erupted, startled and breathless. “No.” She shook her head. “No.”
“That’s the fourth time you’ve said that.” He pushed the blankets back and stood, his boxers hanging low on his hips. “At the risk of losing my man card, I’m not in the mood.” His gaze swept over her face.
He shouldn’t look at her like that then. Shouldn’t look at her like she was something to eat. Shouldn’t make her shake with longing. There was no bite in her words as she attempted to argue with him. “I’m not—wasn’t here for se—”
He kissed her then, hands sliding through her hair and pulling her close. His warmth wrapped around her, melting whatever trace of resistance she had and setting her on fire. His teeth nipped her lower lip until her moan gave him access to her mouth. His tongue slid deep.
She wanted this, wanted him. Her hands wandered over the carved expanse of his chest. A delicious and hard chest she shouldn’t be stroking. “Jace.” She pushed away. “That’s not… I didn’t come here for this.”
“You said that.” He was breathing hard. “And you’re not here because you were worried I couldn’t do all the promotional stuff tomorrow?”
When he said it that way, she sounded like a horrible person. It wasn’t about him being up for their promo spots tomorrow. Not at all. “Travis said you weren’t feeling well.” She was flustered now.
“And?” he waited, half-naked, flushed, and staring at her mouth. If he expected a coherent answer, he needed to stop acting like he was ready and willing to finish what he—she—they’d started.
