Jace, page 9
“Right, exactly. Get along.” Travis was all smiles. “And you two seem to be. You’re crushing on him. I even have a picture here of you two, getting along.” He held up his phone.
“You do not.” Krystal sighed. At least, he better not.
Her brother lived to get a rise out of her. This was what he did. After hours of traveling and rehearsing, Travis got restless. Why he thought picking on her about Jace was a good way to pass the time, she didn’t know. Teasing, as a whole, was his preshow process.
“Something tells me I’ll have a whole album full of you and Jace getting along.” He shrugged, staring at his phone. “Might even post it online. Can’t hurt launching this song.”
She shot him a look. Whether he meant to or not, he’d struck a nerve. The last thing she’d ever do was exploit her personal life for work. “Not funny.”
“I wasn’t exactly joking.” His eyebrows rose.
“Are you kidding me?” After everything she’d been through with Mickey, there was no way she and Jace—if that was even a thing—would become part of their marketing plan. People ended up getting hurt. Meaning she’d wind up getting hurt. Again.
“Hold on a minute.” Travis shifted the guitar strap on his neck. “You want this solo thing, I know you do. Use what you’ve got, Krystal. A good song. An interested guy fans approve of. And obvious attraction.” He shrugged. “Before you go there, you have to know Jace is nothing like Mickey. Jace is a seriously nice guy.”
All she could do was stare at her brother.
“The song is enough.” Emmy Lou spoke up. “More than enough.”
“Thank you.” Krystal hugged her sister.
“It is.” He nodded. “We know that. Sometimes record labels and charts and sales need a little push, though. I’m not saying it’s a good idea one way or the other, I’m just saying.”
“You’re starting to sound a little too much like Momma for my liking, Trav.”
“I’m not the one who posted a picture of him holding Clementine, now am I?” he asked. “You didn’t think that’d cause a reaction? Because it did. Might as well use it.”
She frowned. “That was for Heather. His sister.”
“And a few million of your closest Instagram and Twitter followers,” he murmured.
Even Emmy nodded at that. “The post got serious attention and reposts and all sorts of fan love. Not just for Clementine, either.”
She wasn’t the social media guru her sister was. When Krystal posted, she tended to throw whatever caught her fancy out there. Like Jace. And Clementine. Together. Adorable. For the whole world to see and jump to conclusions.
“You three ready for makeup?” Misumi, her and Emmy’s assistant, asked. “The label wanted to do a few shots of you three and Jace when they announce Jace is joining the tour.”
Krystal didn’t miss the look her brother sent her. All smug.
Curling irons, hairspray, and false eyelashes were her immediate future. Travis teasingly called their makeup regime “battle gear.” The last few years, her look had gone darker—smoky eyes and bold lips—while Emmy Lou stayed pink and soft and innocent. As if anyone could confuse the two of them?
Her colors were dark—black, navy, the occasional splash of red. From fringed suede, her favorite, to sparkle-heavy sequin-covered dresses, her costumes fit like a glove but allowed her to move. When someone came to a Three Kings concert, they were blown away by the energy and production values of their show.
Last, but definitely not least, came the jewelry. Bling was important to her image. Crystal chandelier earrings, a crystal collar necklace, and crystal-covered bangles on both wrists. Not to mention her boots—even the boots sparkled. After she was deemed photo ready, she attempted damage control by shoving Clementine into the arms of everyone on her crew. The pics were posted instantly, witty comments and obnoxious photo stickers, too. Maybe now her post with Jace wouldn’t matter so much?
With Clem in the arms of Misumi, she endured a final makeup touch-up and followed her siblings into a staged room for the photo shoot. Bright lights beat down on the pristine white backdrop, their electric hum audible over the handful of conversations taking place as props were brought in, removed, rearranged.
Jace was there, doing his best to make her trip all over herself by standing there looking good enough to eat. That’s all he was doing, standing there, but it was enough. She smoothed her hands over one of her favorite curve-hugging, black suede dresses, the jangle of nerves in the pit of her belly unfamiliar.
If he thought she was going to let him get to her, he was wrong. She knew better. Dammit. She did.
“Channeling your inner Johnny Cash?” Travis asked, giving Jace a head-to-toe sweep.
“Black.” He shrugged. “Jace Black.”
Black was his color. Black Stetson. Black boots. Skin-tight black T-shirt to match the tattoos, and faded black jeans that should be downright illegal for the things they were doing to the man’s ass… She swallowed, fiddling with the fringes of her skirt.
“Clever,” Travis chuckled, glancing her way. “Now you two match.” He was enjoying this way too much.
Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. Don’t look at him. Do. Not. Look. At. Him.
She did, of course. How could she not? He had some sort of internal magnetic thing that zapped her into full-on stare mode—whether she liked it or not. And what did he do? Smiled at her. And tipped his hat like a real cowboy gentleman. Before heading her way.
“Think this was planned?” Jace asked, dodging a lighting assistant and stepping that much closer to her in the process.
Not looking at him would help—if she could manage it. But that wouldn’t stop her from inhaling his delicious denim-leather-sandalwood-aftershave scent. Especially this close. Her gaze darted to his chest. Right at her eye level. There was no denying there were some heavy-duty muscles underneath that cotton shirt. She didn’t need to look to know that since she’d used him as her personal pillow. And enjoyed it.
Dammit.
If her clueless brother had picked up on the combustible pulse between them, others would, too. If they hadn’t already. This was bad—for both of them.
Add on the imminent arrival of the surprise she’d arranged for Jace and she knew she’d messed up. Big-time. What had she been thinking? It was too late now. Damn it all.
“You know what they say, imitation is the best form of flattery.” She injected as much hard-ass venom into her words as possible. With a toss of her perfectly tousled curls, she put as much space between them as possible—without sparing him or his angled, stubbled jaw or perfectly cut bod a single look.
The fan was turned on, the lights were angled, and the posing began.
Performing onstage was one thing. It was in the moment. Constant movement. The crowd and music stirred her in a way that made things natural. Posing for pictures? Turning her chin another eighth of an inch to the right and down. Not smiling, smiling more, smiling but no teeth. Tossing her hair. A fake laugh. The fake laugh thing was the worst… Definitely outside her comfort zone.
Still, she did her best. At least she had Emmy and Travis to interact with. He was great at cracking them up and Emmy always seemed to know when she needed an encouraging smile or nudge. All the while, the photographer offered up suggestions, the camera shutter clicking away.
“Watch the shine on Emmy’s nose,” the photographer called, waiting until Emmy’s nose had been dusted before he took a few more shots. “Jace. Come on up.”
That’s when she risked a quick look. And regretted it. Poor Jace. He looked downright nervous.
“Let’s have Jace, Emmy, Travis, and Krystal.” The photographer nodded. “Squeeze in. Smiles.” A few dozen clicks. “Good. Now Jace and Krystal.”
Whatever sympathy she’d been feeling for Jace evaporated at the sound of her brother’s laugh. It wasn’t completely unexpected. They were singing a song together. A duet. These pictures were marketing for the song. Her song. Nothing else.
“Face each other,” the photographer said.
She blinked, the weight of the photographer’s stare growing. Really? Fine. Dammit. She spun on her booted heel, took a deep breath, and glared up at Jace.
Jace burst out laughing. Full-bodied, dimple-inducing, from-the-toes laughter. Adorable and real and impossible to resist.
It had been a long time since she’d laughed like that. For a split second, she could forget the lights and cameras and people milling about. A second. And then Jace Black did something he shouldn’t have. Still smiling and breathless, he reached up and smoothed a curl from her forehead.
“Good,” the photographer said. “Let’s get the guitar in the shot.”
Just like that, the lights and cameras and people were there again. No doubt watching and analyzing every reaction or expression.
It had been an accident. One of those unexplained impulses. Nothing calculated. Or planned. Jace wasn’t the sort to do something like that. Was he?
“Here.” Jace handed her the guitar. “You okay?” It was a whisper.
No. Hell no. Nothing like getting blindsided by dimples and a nice ass to shake your confidence all over again. If she didn’t keep it together, she’d be swallowed up by a panic attack. Right now, that would only add to this mess. She strummed the strings, wincing at the sound the instrument made.
He chuckled. “Needs a little tuning.”
She nodded, staring at the guitar. Keeping her emotions in check and her face blank wasn’t going to be easy, but it was necessary. Jace might not understand the sort of fallout a simple look could trigger, but she did. Since she’d already unintentionally opened the door to speculation about their relationship…well, chances were he was about to find out how one picture, one look, could change everything.
“Hold on,” the photographer said, stepping back to review the proofs on screen.
“Are you breathing?” Jace whispered.
She glanced at him, searching his brown eyes for any telltale cause for alarm. The problem was, everything about Jace Black was alarming. Her reaction to him was visceral. One look from him had her insides melting. Like now. Right here, with cameras at the ready.
There was also that misguided little voice in her head wanting her to give him the benefit of the doubt. She didn’t know much about Jace Black, that was true. But what she did know was he was nothing like Mickey Graham; Travis got that part right.
It was important he stay that way.
Having their personal lives linked might be a good thing for her but not for him. For her, he’d be damage control. For him, she’d be the powder keg that invariably blew his career to shreds. Didn’t he get that? Didn’t he know that she was the wrong King sister to get involved with?
The longer she stared at him, the more his smile faded.
“You two want to come look at these?” her father called out. “I’d say we’re good, but I’d rather get your approval before we send any of these out with the press release.”
“Sure.” She tore her gaze from his, shoved the prop guitar into his hands, and hurried to her father’s side.
“Gonna be a hell of a challenge to pick the right one.” Her father crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze fixed on the monitor.
“Right?” the photographer nodded. “Solid gold, if I do say so myself. Every shot.”
She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but not this.
Oh no. No. No. No.
The photographer had picked up on everything. Every tiny, infinitesimal detail. How she looked downright tiny next to him. His jeans—those jeans and that ass. Jace was…well, it was understandable that he already had fans. Now that she’d heard him sing, she knew it wasn’t just because of his smile. Or his laugh. Or those dimples. Or his incredible, work-hardened body. Hell, the overall gorgeousness of everything about him.
That part was good—for Jace.
But the rest was not.
That thing, that chemical reaction between them, was there. Recorded forever. For all the world to see.
The look on his face when he touched her. Her heart felt heavy, compressed inside her chest.
The look on her face when their eyes met. Her smile. No. Her lungs emptied and the anxiety she’d been grappling with came crashing in. No.
“These won’t work,” she whispered, the words getting stuck in her throat. Not that anyone was listening to her. Even if they had, they wouldn’t have taken her seriously. No, every one else seemed thrilled by the shoot.
“This one.” Her father tapped on the monitor, enlarging one shot of the four of them. They were all smiling and excited. “And this one.” Another click, this one of her and Jace. They were smiling, caught up in one another, leaning close, one of Jace’s heavily muscled tattoo-covered upper arms extended forward as his fingers brushed her temple.
It was too intimate.
“Maybe this one too?” her father asked, looking her way.
* * *
Jace didn’t know much about photo shoots, but he was pretty sure it had gone well. At least, everyone in the room seemed happy. Everyone except Krystal. He wasn’t sure what he’d done, but he’d sure as hell done something.
“Jace.” Hank waved him over. “I can’t guarantee your opinion will influence the outcome here, but I’d like to hear it all the same.” He chuckled.
Jace handed off the guitar to the prop master and stood beside Emmy Lou. Emmy Lou, who was shifting from foot to foot, shooting worried looks at her twin. So he wasn’t the only one to notice Krystal’s agitation.
The pictures were awesome. Every single one of them. He looked like a starstruck idiot, but that’s because he was. The pictures were honest—too honest. He was beyond starstruck. If there’d been any doubts about his interest in Krystal King, they were gone now.
“You look good.” Travis clapped him on the shoulder. “No one would know this was your first rodeo.”
“People are going to freak out.” Luke was smiling from ear to ear, like a kid in a candy shop. “Freak.”
He shook his head, doing his best not to stare at the picture Hank King wanted to use of him and Krystal. But, damn, she looked beautiful. And, together, they made one hell of a team.
“Daddy.” Emmy Lou tugged his arm. “Are you sure about this?” She lowered her voice. “It’s a great shot, but—”
“It’s a picture.” Travis shook his head. “And they look—well, look at them. It’s a damn good picture. And they are singing a ballad. It’s good marketing.”
“You don’t think it implies…something else?” Emmy asked.
It was there, staring them all in the face. Jace saw it—felt it. The live-wire spark between them.
“A platinum single?” Luke was teasing, his enthusiasm unaffected by Emmy Lou’s concern.
Hank shot him a look, one brow arched. “Jace?” Arms crossed, eyes narrowed, Hank King was sizing up Jace, waiting for his reaction.
“I’m with Emmy on this one.” He shook his head. “The song will stand on its own.”
Travis moaned, running a hand over his face. “Are you looking at the same picture I am?”
Luke jumped in. “Jace, Hank knows what he’s doing—”
“I know.” Jace cut him off. “You asked. Use a different picture. There’s plenty to choose from.”
Hank shook his head. “I respect your opinion, son. And that you speak your mind. But I’ve been doing this a hell of a long time. See this?” Hank asked, tapping on the picture. “That’s something you can’t stage. The song is good and I believe in it. But you have to use every angle to set it apart.” He glanced at Krystal. “Okay?”
Krystal was motionless, the color drained from her face and her hands pressed flat against her upper thighs.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Hank grinned, then looked his way.
Luke nodded. “This will get people talking—and buying the single.”
Jace was pretty sure it wasn’t a yes. They might be comfortable moving on without her weighing in, but he wasn’t. “Krystal? Are you comfortable with this?”
The room fell quiet and all eyes shifted to Krystal.
She spared him a glance, shrugging. “It’s just business. That’s all. You want to sell records, don’t you?” There was an edge to the question. “That’s what this is about.”
While Hank picked out a few more pics, Luke was talking his ear off about a late-night show spot he was trying to book and a possible endorsement deal from a boot maker. Jace only half listened. Between the photo shoot and the show tonight, his adrenaline was pumping.
The show. Krystal’s song. Their duet. It was a big deal. And she was counting on him not to blow it.
No pressure.
“You look green, man.” Travis nudged him. “Nervous?”
He nodded.
“Nerves are good. Keep you on edge. Give you energy.” He grinned. “Keep moving, keep singing.” He nudged him. “Own your talent, man. You can sing. You wouldn’t be up there tonight if my dad didn’t think so.”
Travis’s attempt at a pep talk wasn’t doing much to settle Jace’s nerves.
“Besides, it’s not like you’ll be doing this alone.” His gaze settled on Krystal. “Follow her lead. She knows what she’s doing.”
Krystal was still staring at the computer monitor covered in photos from the shoot. “I think you just gave me a compliment.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.” Travis chuckled.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Krystal spun away from the monitor and stared, hard, at him. What she was looking for was the mystery. Was it the song? His performance? Did she still resent him like hell? Did he blame her? Whatever it was, it weighed on her. There was a slight crease between her brows. And a tightening around those full, bright red lips. The only way to know what she was thinking was outright asking her. Right now didn’t seem like the right time. For one thing, he wasn’t sure he was up for dealing with the fallout from the answers she’d give him. Not and still manage to do what he needed to do tonight.
