Jace, page 7
CiCi carefully laid her silverware on her plate, her gaze locked with her husband. “I’m so glad everything went so smoothly. I’d hate for Jace or his agent to be upset, since we agreed he’d sing with Emmy Lou.”
Jace opened his mouth, but Krystal landed another solid kick to the shins under the table. A warning. That much he got. Clearly, there was some tension between the mother and daughter. Or maybe CiCi was used to getting her way. But the idea of letting CiCi King chip away at Krystal’s high—his high—was just plain wrong. “I guarantee you Luke will be happy. If I’m happy, he’s happy.” He sliced the biscuit open and spread on the butter, ignoring the narrow-eyed look the older woman shot his way.
“You should have heard them, Momma.” Emmy Lou smiled. “They had me in tears.”
CiCi shoved her plate away. “I hope our fans aren’t too disappointed. Hard to sing along to a song if you’re crying. And you know how our fans love to sing along.” Her smile was strained.
Jace considered himself a pretty easygoing guy. He wasn’t quick to make assumptions or judgments because it bothered the shit out of him when people did it to him. But sitting here, watching CiCi King at work, was a challenge. He didn’t know what to make of her. This woman was Krystal’s mother, wasn’t she? She should be proud of her daughter—both her daughters—and support them. He didn’t know what the hell she was doing, but he didn’t like it.
“I’m a fan,” Jace said, smiling. “I have every CD. Listened to them all so many times I’ve got them all memorized.” He shrugged. “As a fan, I’ll say this song? The one I—and I can’t believe I’m saying this—I got to sing with Krystal King? The fans will love it.” He kept staring at Krystal, willing her to look at him. She didn’t.
“Damn right.” Travis held up his green-cut glass. “Cheers to Krystal and Jace and their new song.”
CiCi was the last to toast, but she did it—reluctant or not. Once that was done, conversation turned back to neutral topics like football, the latest top-ten chart, and the possibility of bringing on a new costume designer. Jace did his best to engage, but he couldn’t shake off the bitter taste in his mouth. His mother had been gone so long she was more a faded angel than anything else. But he treasured what he remembered: her soft voice and gentle smile. To have her slight Heather like that was beyond imagining.
He was offended on Krystal’s behalf—so much so that he ended up eating five of her biscuits. They weren’t the least bit dry. They were delicious. If there’d been any more in the basket, he’d have probably eaten those, too.
“What time is our flight in the morning?” Krystal asked, standing to clear dishes.
“Travis, get up and help.” Hank pointed at his son. “You better not start breaking dishes to get out of it, either.”
Travis shrugged and started to stand, but Jace cut in. “Let me. It’s the least I can do after your hospitality.”
“He’s right.” Travis smiled and leaned back in his chair.
“Everyone want pie?” Krystal asked.
“You made pie, too?” Her father patted his stomach. “You know I do.”
“A small piece for him,” CiCi said. “None for me.”
Because you’re hard-hearted.
Jace kept his smile in place, balancing plates and his temper all the way to the kitchen. But once the door swung shut behind them, all bets were off. Still, this was her family and, after that, the last thing he wanted to do was upset her. “It’s been a while since I’ve done the whole family-dinner thing, but I don’t remember it being so…”
Krystal put her plates on the counter and faced him, brows high and arms crossed. “Warm? Supportive? Full of love and laughter? Welcome to my world.”
He wasn’t sure what to say, but after that, he had a whole new respect for her.
A ball of wispy white hair hobble-ran through the dog door, emitting a few yipping barks and whines, weaving between Krystal’s legs until she crouched to give the animal her full attention. “Hey, baby. I’m sorry I have to keep you locked up in here.” She knelt, cradling the dog’s head in her hands. “Don’t want you upsetting Gramma CiCi any more than usual.”
The dog looked at Krystal with pure adoration.
“This must be Clementine.” He smiled. He’d seen dozens of photos of Clementine on Instagram. One of the ugliest damn animals he’d ever seen. So ugly, she was cute. Mostly furless, she had a pom-pom on the top of her head and the tip of her tail, giving her an eighties-rock-star vibe. With her unsteady walk, she was an eighties rock star recovering from an all-nighter. Heather was a big fan of the three-legged Chinese crested. And Krystal.
Krystal looked up at him. “The one and only.” She stood. “Clem, this is Jace. Let me know what you think of him.”
Clementine sat, looking back and forth between the two of them. She seemed undecided so Jace squatted, holding out his hand toward the little dog. Clementine continued to sit, staring at his outstretched hand without interest.
“Come on, Clementine,” he coaxed. “Don’t leave me hanging here. You’re making me look bad.”
Krystal made an odd choking sound.
“Come on,” he tried again.
Clementine yawned, stood, and trotted his way. Her dainty nose sniffed up and down each finger and all along his hand and forearm before she whimpered and lay on her back, exposing her tummy.
“You hussy.” Krystal was outraged. “I can’t believe you.”
Jace chuckled, obliging the dog with a thorough tummy rub. “Heather is going to be jealous. She’s one of your biggest fans.”
“She is?” Krystal asked.
He nodded, standing.
“Here.” Krystal scooped up Clementine, thrust the dog into his arms, and pulled out her phone. “Hold her up and give me a smolder. Chicks dig that, big-time. Hot guy with cute dog? Oh yeah.” She held her phone up. “Come on, Clementine. Smile for Mommy.”
The baby voice she used on her dog had him grinning, too. Of course, the hot guy reference helped.
“Nice. Good one.” She held the phone out for his inspection. “I’ll post it.”
He shook his head; things like Internet fame and social media were things he was hoping to avoid. Krystal was the pro here. If she wanted to do it, he wasn’t going to stop her. “Whatever.”
“Uh-huh.” She typed away on her phone, then shoved it back in her pocket.
“You have a right to be happy. About today.” He cleared his throat, her green eyes meeting his. “I don’t know about the rest of it, it’s none of my business. But I do know that much.”
She stared up at him, arms crossed over her chest, blond hair over one shoulder, green eyes blazing.
What was she thinking? Did he want to know?
“You should leave the stubble.” Her voice was husky, her gaze traveling along his jaw to his mouth. It was pretty damn easy to figure out what she was thinking then. Her lips parted just enough to make him start thinking about all the things he shouldn’t be thinking when it came to her.
Dammit.
“Where’s the pie?” Hank King’s voice carried, only slightly muffled by the swinging kitchen door. Clementine barked in answer, planting two serious doggy kisses on Jace’s chin.
“Coming, Daddy,” Krystal called back. “He has a weakness for pie. Especially my pie.” She shook her head, nodding at Clementine. “She likes you.” She spun on her heel to pull a stack of small plates from a cabinet.
He rubbed Clementine’s head, doing his best to rein in the still-rapid beat of his heart. “She strikes me as a pretty friendly dog.”
The sugar-crusted flaky crust she placed on the counter made him wish he’d stopped at three biscuits instead of five. When she slid the piece from pie dish to plate, the apple cinnamon sweetness temptation was undeniable. “You made that?” he asked, stepping closer to inhale deeply. He groaned. “I’m beginning to see why your dad might be partial to your pie.”
She pointed at his mouth. “There might be a little drool, right there.”
“Very funny.” This close, it was a toss-up between what was sweeter: the pie or Krystal.
She moved to the other side of the island. “Clementine is a good dog, for the most part. But she’d let you know if she didn’t like you.” She plated another piece of pie and glanced his way, smiling. “She peed on Mickey. All over his jeans and boots.”
Jace rubbed Clementine’s head and ears. “You and I are going to get along just fine, Clementine.”
Chapter 5
“That tag was a bad idea,” Krystal whispered to Clementine.
With every step, her little dog’s metal tag bounced off the clasp of her collar, the merry jinglejangle echoing in the quiet, sleeping house.
Clementine smiled up at her, tongue lolling, knowing full well she’d get a treat once they arrived at their location. When Krystal had the odd night home during a tour, the two of them had turned midnight snacking into part of their routine.
Tonight, she wanted pie. Warmed up, with ice cream. Without the heaping side order of guilt and disappointment her mother was always so eager to serve up.
She pushed through the kitchen door, flipped on the light over the stove, and opened the refrigerator. Can of whipped cream. Gallon of milk. Pie. She turned, depositing her load on the massive marble-topped island in the middle of the kitchen.
“You beat us.” Travis stood there, hair mussed and smiling.
“Shit,” she hissed, her heart slamming into her chest. “I didn’t hear you.”
“Us” meant Travis. And Jace. Because her daddy had insisted he sleep over since their flight was at four a.m. and it made more sense for him to stay here than waste time driving back and forth. Which did make sense. Until she was face-to-face with him, his black hair falling onto his forehead and his heavy-lidded eyes weighted with sleep. Jace, yawning? Adorable.
Really, Krystal? Get a grip. He’s yawning. She placed the cake server on the marble top with a little more force than necessary, causing both Jace and Travis to startle.
“I thought we were being quiet?” Travis yawned.
She was being quiet. It was his fault. And Jace’s. Jace with his sleepy grin. And his…his presence. Who slept in a skin-tight white undershirt anyway? His tattoos all look-at-my-big-manly-arms. And pajama pants resting low on lean hips… At least they were an improvement over his jeans. He didn’t seem to own any that didn’t showcase his ass. And thighs. And ass. Way to get it together.
“You snuck up on me,” she whispered—more a hiss than anything. He was right. The kitchen was crowded enough. Still, he was her brother—she couldn’t let him have the last word. “It’s a dick move.”
“Language.” Travis tsk-tsked. “And why would you hear me? I mastered the art of stealthy sneak-outs in high school.” He reached for the pie.
“Nope.” She snatched it away. “Mine.”
“Sharing is caring,” Travis replied, coming around the island.
“Stop.” She cradled the pie close, her whisper as forceful as she could make it. “I mean it. I didn’t get any—”
“Your fault, not mine.” Travis reached around her, grabbing for the pie.
“I will stab you with a fork.” She snapped, glaring up at him. “Since you’re invading, why don’t you make yourself useful and get the ice cream? Then, maybe, I’ll give you some pie.”
“Fine.” Travis held his hands up in mock defeat. “Fine.”
“And be quiet,” she added, glancing at the door.
Travis made a show of pretending to lock his lips.
“What are you? Five?” But she was laughing.
Jace was watching her. And dammit all, she was staring right back, cradling a sticky apple pie against her chest like a moron.
“Your dog wants something.” Travis nudged her, pressing the gallon of ice cream against her arm.
“Travis,” she jumped, the shock of the cold sending her a good two feet in the air.
“You’re jumpy.” He laughed.
“You’re an ass.” She put the pie on the counter, smacked his arm, and turned away, cooing down to Clementine. “What is it, baby? I didn’t forget you. You want a treat too?”
Clementine did a little dance, her back end and tufted tail wagging with excitement.
“I can get it,” Jace volunteered. “If you’re worried he’ll steal the pie.”
She spun to find Travis about to do just that. “Dammit, Travis.”
He laughed.
“Thanks, Jace. You’ll get an extra big slice.” She glared at her brother. “The treats are in the pantry.”
“On it.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw him walk across the kitchen floor. Bare feet. And pajama pants sliding even lower on his hips. Low enough to make her hold her breath as he bent to get Clem’s treat jar.
Really? Was she really that hard up? Had it been so long that one look at a well-muscled back and sculpted ass turned her into a pile of quivering goo? Apparently.
She sliced into the pie, cutting two large pieces and placing them on plates. The last piece was small. Like sliver small. She held the plate out for her brother.
“Krystal,” he moaned. “Come on, now.”
“Why are you here?” she asked.
“He wanted pie.” Travis pointed at Jace. “Hospitality and all that.”
Her gaze bounced to Mr. Temptation, looking even more damn adorable crouching down to give Clementine her treat. Clearly, she wasn’t the only one suffering from this bizarre Jace Black fascination. Clem seemed downright smitten. “And?” There was more to it; she knew her brother too well to believe this was purely about pie.
“Emmy Lou said something about you humming?” Travis said, serving himself a bigger slice and putting the plate in the microwave.
She and Emmy might be twins, but the three of them rarely kept things from each other. Growing up on the road and in the spotlight had strengthened their connection, siblings and best friends. But there were times, like now, when that was inconvenient. “I do that. Hum, I mean.”
“When you’ve got a new song rolling around up there.” He poked her head, pulling his plate from the microwave. A scoop of ice cream and mound of whipped cream was added to the pie. “Here.” He held it out for Jace. “And you were baking. Baking? Humming? New song.”
Jace stood, listening with interest. “Thanks.” He took the plate and sat on a nearby stool.
“Look at you, using your manners,” Krystal teased.
“Look at you, dodging the question,” Travis said, putting another plate in the microwave. “Since you’re not talking, it must be something good.”
“Maybe she’s not ready to talk about it?” Jace eyed his pie, fork hovering. “Sometimes, things need to…roll around a bit? Before they come together.”
Exactly. Wait. “You write songs?” This was news to her.
He winced, then shrugged. “Hard to say I write anything when I’m sitting here with you. But I try.” He took a massive bite, moaning with appreciation. “This is the best pie I’ve ever had. Ever. My grandma’s probably rolling over in her grave to hear me say it, but it’s true.”
“I told you it was even better the second time around,” Travis said around a mouthful.
She was still mulling over the latest pro on the Jace Black pros and cons list. It was getting to be a little too pro-heavy for her. That in itself triggered warning bells. Life had shown her time and again that, when it came to people, the only thing to count on was disappointment. Anytime now, Jace Black was going to let his true colors come shining through. And when that happened, she’d be ready. “Will you be singing your songs when you open for us?”
He nodded, swallowing. “A couple. The record label has set me up with a few, too.” He shrugged. “That takes some getting used to—singing what you’re told to sing versus what you want to sing.”
Travis paused. “Hell, I’m always singing what I’m told to sing. Singing what I want to sing? What’s that?” He winked at her.
She stuck her tongue out before turning back to Jace. “I get the impression Wheelhouse is willing to invest a lot of time and money into your career. Meaning they’re going to give you songs that will put you on the charts.” With her fork, she speared some cinnamon-covered apple. “Once you get on the charts a few times, you’ll have more say-so in your song choices.”
He stood, carrying his plate around the island and rinsing it in the sink. “People keep talking about careers and charts and tours. I’m still waking up at four for work. In the oilfields.” He put his plate in the dishwasher and leaned back against the counter, his tight shirt and bedhead hair on display.
“You miss it?” Travis asked, shoveling in a last, massive bite.
Jace chuckled, running a hand along the back of his neck. He grinned, almost embarrassed as their eyes met. “Miss it? Hell no. But knowing I could go from this back to that—”
“That’s not going to happen.” She hadn’t meant to say it out loud. For one thing, she didn’t want Jace to know how talented she thought he was. She didn’t want him to know she thought about him at all. For another, she didn’t want her brother to get all wide-eyed and suspicious—like he was now. “Between Wheelhouse and my daddy, you’ve got everything you need to make it in this industry.”
“And you,” he added, his voice thick. He cleared his throat, his gaze falling from hers. “Your song, I mean. I’m not sure what I did to wind up here, but I’m grateful.”
Either he meant it, or he was really good at lying. After Mickey, she wasn’t sure she was the most reliable judge of character. He did look like he meant it, that he was thankful and aware of how damn lucky he was. The thing was, she was thankful, too. And when he’d sung her words, they’d come to life. A person couldn’t fake that, could they? The look in his eyes. The yearning in his voice. It had been real. And whatever he’d suffered transformed her melody into something beautiful and haunting.
