Jace, page 5
“Daddy.” Emmy Lou spoke up, making a big production out of coughing. “My throat is hurting something fierce.”
Hank King frowned. “Need to rest your voice then. Krystal, you up to running through the song with him a few times? Let him get the feel for it?”
Her headache melted away. She pulled off her sunglasses and shot her sister a heartfelt thank-you smile. “I’m up for it.” There was nothing wrong with Emmy Lou, and they both knew it. Her sister was giving her the chance no one else would.
“Then you two start warming up,” her daddy said, disappearing into the sound booth, Emmy Lou following, sending her a good-luck wink.
“You ready?” Krystal asked, climbing onto the stool. Five seconds ago, she had wanted to lock herself in the bathroom and cry. Now, she was here, about to sing her song—with Jace. And she’d know if he could sing.
He nodded, clearing his throat. “Nervous as hell.”
“Just pretend you’re singing in the shower,” she said, the imagery immediately amping up the aching throb deep in her belly.
“Pretend I’m in the shower? With you?” His cheeks turned dark red.
“You’re blushing, Jace Michael Black.” Her smile grew. “What in the world are you thinking? And here I thought you were a gentleman.” She’d be okay with him being a little less of a gentleman.
His gaze swept over her face. “I’m a gentleman. But I’m a still a man.”
She knew that all too well. Her daydreams had carried out what would have happened if he’d followed her into her bus. It—they—would be incredible. All she had to do was look at him to remember—and ache.
His dimple was just too much. “You started it.”
“No one ever said I was a good girl,” she managed. What would being a bad girl with Jace Black be like?
They sat there, staring at each other, the air growing charged. If she could go back, she’d drag him into her bus and get him out of her system. Maybe that’s all they needed. She was fairly certain that’s what she needed. She wasn’t going to kid herself. His fascination with her would wear off as soon as they hit the road. A man was hard pressed to stay faithful when there were willing women every time he got off the bus. Travis would be more than happy to tell him all about that.
Jace Black was no different than any other man.
She might take a man to her bed, on her terms, but she’d never ever let one near her heart again.
She frowned, turning her attention to the sheets of music before her. Her lyrics. Her music. Her pain and humiliation. This was going to be harder than she’d thought. Baring her soul didn’t come easily. But, for this song, she’d let go and sing. From that place inside.
* * *
Jace stared at the words on the page. He’d read it a hundred times, knew it by heart, and now it was showtime. It was bad enough that Hank King was in the sound box, bad enough he’d have to sing with Emmy Lou. But now it was Krystal—and that changed everything. She’d written this. The look in her eyes when they’d met, the anger and resentment, was for this song. She wanted to protect what it was, what it meant to her. It meant a hell of a lot.
He couldn’t screw this up.
“Stop it.” Krystal’s voice threw him.
He looked at her. “Stop what?”
“You’re getting in your head.” Her brows rose. “Am I right?”
He shrugged. “There’s a little pressure here.” This was nothing big for her; her family owned the recording studio he was sitting in for crying out loud. But for him, this was huge.
She laughed. “Why? Because you’re hoping to prove that you’re worthy of being on a record with my sister?”
This recording contract was important, but the Three Kings had never been part of the original deal. Singing with Emmy Lou guaranteed him instant fame—but he’d rather sing with Krystal. Not that he’d say so. Hell, he was just happy to be here. But there was so much riding on this. A future for Heather, for one. Financial security. And, if he was lucky, a career that wouldn’t age him before his time. “It’s more than that.”
She put her headset on the music stand and sat back. “What then? You need to have a clear head so you can focus on the music.”
“And them?” he asked, pointing at the sound booth. To her, they were family. To him, they were country music stars. Chart-toppers with the kind of power and connections he couldn’t begin to imagine.
“They’ll wait.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Talk.”
She was sexy as hell when she was bossy. Sexier. Was it possible for her to be sexier? He laughed. Right or wrong, he’d spent far too much time wishing he’d knocked on her bus door. “I’m supposed to make Hank King wait on me?”
“Yep.” She nodded. “Tell me what you’d be doing now. If you weren’t here.”
He sucked in a deep breath, imagining his daily routine. “Six months ago, I was working in the oil fields of Odessa, Texas. Money’s good—or it’s not. Leave there, bone-tired, and head to Bail Bonds. Late nights, lots of drunks and stupid people wanting a ‘get out of jail free’ card. And, occasionally, I’d sing at the local honky-tonk.”
“How’d you get here?” she asked, a smile on her face.
“My sister. She entered me in that reality show and everything changed.” He shook his head. “All this”—he pointed around the studio—“is still a shock to my system. Your dad in there. Your sister. Being opposite you. Singing with you?” His voice deepened. “I am in my head a little.”
Her expression shifted, from curious to…concerned. “I’m guessing there’s a reason you’re working so hard?” She cleared her throat. “Wife? Kids?”
“No.” Not anymore. Thinking about what he’d lost still tore him up inside. Talking about it here, now? No way. “Little sister. A lot of medical bills to pay off.” He didn’t elaborate. “She’s a freshman in college now.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “She’s a kid. A good kid. Deserves having her chance.”
“What about you?” she asked. “Ever stop to think this is your chance?”
This was definitely his chance. But he’d been putting Heather first for so long, putting her first now just made sense. “A chance I can’t afford to screw up,” he replied.
She grinned. “Jace Michael Black. My daddy thinks you can sing. And if my daddy thinks you can sing, you can’t be all that bad.”
He laughed. Was it wrong that hearing her say his name felt good? And her grin. Damn but she was a pretty thing. Even without all the makeup and fancy clothes she’d been wearing the other night. If anything, he preferred her like this—young, natural, casual. And then he realized, she was relaxed, all the defensive tension and anger gone. She loved this, loved music. They had that in common.
“What’s your sister’s name?”
“Heather,” he said.
“She’s named Heather and you get stuck with Jace?” She shook her head.
“Still not over the name yet?” he asked, his gaze falling to her long neck.
“Told you, I’m not sure what I think yet,” she said.
“I’m fine. I mean, I’m ready now.” He rolled his head. He could do this.
“You sure?” she asked, picking up her headphones. “We could go once, no music. If you want?”
He shook his head and put on his headphones.
Krystal gave the sound booth the thumbs-up and a slight hum flooded his ears. The yearning strains of the guitar flipped a switch inside. The melody was sweeter than he’d expected. And when the lead-in notes rolled over him, he closed his eyes and sang, “I remember you, standing in the sun, smiling at me, and suddenly the world caught fire. Blinding, beautiful fire.”
The music kept going, but Krystal was silent.
He opened his eyes to find her staring at him, her lips parted and her eyes wide. He’d screwed up? His gaze bounced from the pages to Krystal. She just kept right on staring. Shit. What had he done? He glanced at her, skimmed the lyrics, then turned to the sound booth. “Aw, was my timing off?” As far as he could tell, he’d been spot on.
Hank King chuckled. “No. You were great. You just blew her socks off, son.” He was still chuckling. “How about we start again? Will that work for you, Krystal?”
Jace looked at Krystal then, really looked at her. There weren’t many musicians he admired like Krystal. She was the real deal, what singers and songwriters should strive to be. And he’d impressed her. He’d impressed her? “Did I?” he asked, disbelieving. “Knock your socks off?”
She shook her head but didn’t say a word.
“I did.” He sat a little straighter, more than a little pleased.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” Krystal teased. “Besides, I’m not wearing socks.” She smiled at him. “You keep singing like that and you’re going to do just fine.” She blew out her breath. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
One minute, he was feeling pretty damn proud of himself. The next, he was drowning in the heat of those green, green eyes.
“Let’s go,” Hank said.
He slid his earphones back on, the swell of the music flooding his ears. She liked what she heard. And this time, he didn’t close his eyes. He watched her. “I remember you, standing in the sun, smiling at me, and suddenly my world caught fire. Blinding, beautiful fire.”
She blinked, green eyes flashing before she closed her eyes to sing, “I remember you, taking my hand, holding me close, and suddenly my world caught fire. Blinding, beautiful fire.” Her voice—damn, her voice. It reached inside and grabbed hold of him.
“You were everything. My breath, my home, my night, my day. Didn’t care what people said. Didn’t need a thing but you,” he paused a beat. “Till the flames inside burned too hot, and you tried to run from the heat.”
“You were everything. My hope, my fear, my night, my day. Didn’t know my heart was gone. Didn’t know you took it all.” The words gutted him. “And your words, your lies, your promises were the sweetest pain of all.”
The chorus was together. Her gaze met his then, locked together as the words hung in the air between them.
“Love isn’t love when the flames burn it down. There’s no hiding or forgiveness from the damage that it’s done. When the smoke clears away, you’ll still find me searching here. Searching for the ashes of my heart.”
He was lost in her green-eyed gaze by the time they’d finished the second verse. And the chorus, together… Singing with her was more than he could ever have anticipated.
Her lyrics were powerful and real. He knew what it was to love someone and suffer betrayal. The anger and pain took some of the joy out of life. If he thought about Nikki and Ben too long, the pain made it hard to breathe. How many times had he replayed that night, over and over, wishing he could go back and change it? Not that he could bring back his wife or baby boy. They were gone and it was his fault.
The crackle in his headphones brought him back to the here and now. Now, opposite Krystal, studying him closely. There was a new respect on her face. An appreciation for him. Not him, his voice. But it was a start.
“That was incredible,” Emmy Lou said from the booth, and sniffled.
“Are you crying?” Krystal asked, all smiles.
“She is,” Hank King answered. “A lot.”
Emmy Lou sniffed. “You two were—”
“Perfect,” her daddy said. “Damn it all. You two are gonna make things hard.” He sighed. “We’re gonna make a copy of it and send it to Wheelhouse. Baby girl, this is your song. The two of you, together, were meant to sing this song. Any fool listening would recognize that.”
Jace watched Krystal’s expression as her father was talking. She lit up from the inside, so damn happy he couldn’t help but smile, too. A few things were certain. Krystal loved and respected her father. She was damn talented and damn gorgeous. And Jace was going to have to be real careful about keeping his feelings in check. If Krystal King knew what he thought about her, she’d either slap his face or, worse, invite him to bed.
Chapter 4
“You’re good.” Krystal hugged her sister close. “So good I almost believed the whole sore throat thing.”
Emmy Lou hugged her back, hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Uh-huh. Sister-girl, you still can’t lie to save your life.” She pressed a kiss against her cheek. “And I love you for it.” She stared into emerald eyes that matched her own. “Thank you.” Her voice wobbled just enough to tell her twin all the things she’d never be able to put into words. She prided herself on powerful lyrics, but speaking from the heart—one-on-one emoting—was way outside her comfort zone. Even with her twin.
“It’s your song.” Emmy’s long, perfectly curled locks bounced with the slight shake of her head. “No one could do it justice.” Her gaze darted to Jace. “But he sure came close. Guess Daddy knew what he was doing when he picked him, huh?”
Krystal nodded, doing her best not to ogle the impressive specimen of a man with the voice of an angel. If an angel was big and ripped and sexy as hell. The thick tattoos covering the inside of his left arm and snaking up under his sleeve only added to the bad-boy thing. “He usually does.” Which was one of the reasons he was who he was. Between his talent, never-fail instincts, and business savvy, her daddy knew a good thing when he saw one.
The only exception to that? Her momma. If her daddy had one weakness, it was his unfailing loyalty. In most people, that would be considered a good thing. But she knew better. Her daddy stayed married because he took every vow and promise he made as gospel. Her daddy always said a man was only as good as his word. He lived by that—whether it made sense or not.
“No point,” her daddy was saying now. “It’s something CiCi and I started when the kids were young and I was on the road. If we’re under the same roof, we sit down for a meal. A home-cooked meal at that. We always have more than we need.”
Her daddy also believed in having an open door—meaning he’d just invited Jace back to their place for dinner.
“Momma’s got her charity planning luncheon,” Emmy Lou added. “So Krystal and I are in charge. Travis said he’d help but—”
“That boy isn’t allowed in the kitchen,” their father cut her off. “Took months to get the smoke smell out of the house.”
Her brother was a genius. He’d been volunteered to make dinner once—once—and he’d burned the lasagna to a crisp. The smoke had rolled out so thick and black, neighbors had called the fire department. Of course her mother had turned it into a photo shoot. Nothing like a little kitchen fire to get some press-worthy pictures of her daughters serving the cute firemen slices of Krystal’s special lime sour cream cake. Two things had come out of that day: Travis’s permanent ban from cooking and a potential cookbook deal for a Fit for a King Cookbook—a project her momma had shelved, much to Krystal’s disappointment, because she felt it didn’t fit their brand.
“If I’d known all it took was a little smoke to get me booted out of the kitchen, I’d have put tinfoil in the microwave years ago,” she teased.
Jace laughed. Damn it all. If only he’d snorted. Or had a horselaugh. Or did something to make him less…less.
“Don’t let her fool you.” Her father had his hands on his hips, giving her his long-suffering-daddy look. “That girl knows her way around a kitchen. Spends more time cooking than anyone else in the house—and we have a cook. I’d be round as a hay bale if we didn’t spend so much time on the road.”
Cooking cleared her mind. When she was elbows deep in bread dough, some of her best songs took shape. The smell of cinnamon and nutmeg had helped her write a couple of the Three Kings original Christmas carols. Not that anyone knew that. The last thing she wanted was someone tampering with her creative process.
“That’s right, Daddy.” She hooked arms with him, teasing. “And someday I’ll make some big, strong man a good little wife. Imagine it. Me, barefoot and pregnant, tending an organic vegetable garden and making all our food from scratch. While I sing happy songs and have help from my talking animal friends.”
Her father chuckled. “Whoever marries you better have a hell of a thick skin. Or your razor-sharp tongue will end him in no time.”
Krystal nodded. “If he really loves me, he’ll love all of me.” Because her razor-sharp tongue was the only way she could cut through the crap. She had yet to meet a man who wanted her. No, they all wanted what she came with: travel, fame, and money. “Besides, you know how jealous Clementine can get.”
Clementine had been an impulse adoption at a pet rescue event. The near-starved, furless Chinese crested puppy had been pulled from an overcrowded puppy mill. The runt of the litter, she’d been tiny and pathetic and recovering from her leg amputation. One look in her big chocolate brown eyes had Krystal snatching her up and taking her home. She’d never regretted it. Not only did her baby make her laugh out loud but Clem loved her unconditionally. And the pup was a pretty good judge of character. The one time she’d run into Mickey with Clem, the dog had peed all over his feet.
The memory always made her smile. Something about Mickey’s red face and stunned horror as his boots were soaked.
“I’ll bring Jace along in a bit. I figure I’ll hear a few of his songs, since we’re here.” Her father looked Jace’s way. “If that works for you?”
The look of pure surprise and, likely, nerves on Jace’s face would have been near impossible to fabricate. Maybe he wasn’t faking. Maybe he really was a good ol’ boy who’d won his big break. Maybe he was starstruck by everything. Or maybe his good looks and her body’s well-hello-there response were clouding her judgment.
“Yes, sir,” Jace mumbled, cleared his throat, and tried again. “Yes, sir, that works for me.”
