“Kylie,” he said, gazing deeply into her eyes. “I’m sorry. I should have done a better job last time of keeping you safe—I didn’t know how much the photographers would bother you. But now that I do, I promise that I will protect you from them. Can you trust me?”
“Yes,” she breathed, and he tightened his arms around her possessively.
If they could make it through this first night in public as a couple, as themselves, even with the press around, he could figure the rest of it out—and then he could keep Kylie with him. Forever.
Chapter Nine
The reception was lovely, even if Kylie didn’t know anyone. The longer they were there, the more her anxiety faded, allowing her to finally luxuriate in simply being with Cole. He smiled, and spoke, and introduced Kylie to people who streamed by, but she would never remember all their names. She recognized a couple of faces—other musicians, maybe? People she should probably know—but it all blurred together in a haze of happiness.
“Want a drink?” Cole asked, leaning in close.
“More champagne?”
His smile was blinding. “Absolutely.” He leaned over to speak to the server behind the temporary bar. Kylie surreptitiously admired his ass as he bent forward. He was certainly hot in formal wear, but she preferred the jeans he’d had on that afternoon.
Cole caught the direction of her gaze as he passed her the flute. “Keep looking at me like that and we’ll leave early.”
Her whole body tightened at the heat in his voice. “Okay,” she said simply.
“I have one thing to do first. I’ll be right back.” Cole’s ragged breath whispered against her ear and she shivered, then trembled again when the heat of his touch disappeared from the small of her back. She instantly missed the comfort of the contact.
Bubbles tickled Kylie’s nose as she sipped her champagne. Turning from the bar, she scanned the small crowd for Cole, but he had already disappeared. She moved along the wall, watching the interactions around her.
Other people glanced at her out of the corner of their eye and she wished she had thought to insist that LeeAnn join them, if only so she would have someone to talk to.
Just then a short, balding man stepped around the group closest to Kylie and headed straight in her direction. He wore a soft-sided bag slung across his chest bandolier-style, and despite its dark color, his suit looked rumpled and worn.
Then again, at this point, she welcomed conversation with almost anyone.
“Miss Andrews?” he asked as he drew near.
“Call me Kylie.” She gave him her best, customer-friendly smile.
The toothy smile that flashed across his face in response made her take a half step back until her calves bumped against one of the chairs that edged the room. “Kylie, then. I have a question.”
“A question? Um. Okay.”
He swung the bag around and reached into it. Curious despite herself, Kylie leaned forward.
“Could you give me a reaction to all the other women in Cole Grayson’s life?” He pulled a digital camera out of the bag and held it out so she could see the screen, his thumb already on the button to scroll through the images.
Images of Cole, with woman after woman—many of them the same photos she had found in her online search months before.
Some of them were fairly intimate, with Cole kissing the women, though none were as clearly sexual as the ones of him with Kylie on the beach. Those photos were there, too, along with several of the two of them from the concert.
“Tell me for my readers, Kylie,” the reporter said. “Do you really think Cole Grayson has it in him to settle down?”
She straightened her back. “Cole’s life before me is none of my business. I trust him to tell me about anyone important.”
The man leaned closer, still scrolling through photos. “What about this woman?” he asked. “Has he told you about her?”
Even as she pulled away from him, Kylie glanced down, despite herself. In the image on the screen in front of her, Cole sat in one of the concert-hall seats at Jimmy’s, head tilted back. He was smiling as a beautiful blond woman leaned down over him and kissed him on the temple.
They looked happy.
The camera superimposed a date over the picture.
It was taken the day of the concert.
That couldn’t be right.
“No. No comment,” she said, remembering all the times she had heard her mother say the same thing.
She should have recognized this guy’s type when she saw him.
Or was it Cole’s type she should have recognized?
Had trusting him—trusting herself—been a mistake?
Her heart twisted inside her chest, but she drew a deep breath anyway, determined not to give the reporter any more ammunition to use against her. She smoothed her skirt and set the champagne glass on the seat of the nearest chair.
“Please leave me alone now,” she said. She turned away, blinking rapidly to keep tears from falling. She had to find Cole. Maybe he could explain.
“Sure you won’t comment?” the reporter asked from behind her.
“Get away from me.” Without looking back, she walked away, surprised to realize that no one had noticed their conversation. Then again, the whole exchange had probably lasted less than a minute.
Cole was still nowhere in sight, so Kylie headed down the nearest hallway. Voices drifted out from an office door standing ajar about halfway down.
“You know I only do these things because I love you,” she heard a woman’s voice say.
“I know. I love you, too.” Cole’s voice seemed to echo a bit as her vision swam in front of her.
This couldn’t be happening.
As quietly as she could, she stepped up to the opening between the door and frame and peered in.
The blond woman from the photo she had just seen stood on her tiptoes, her arms wrapped around Cole. Shock hit Kylie like a physical blow, and she reeled backward as the couple in the small office moved apart enough to look into each other’s eyes.
She had seen enough.
Fingers pressed over her mouth, she stumbled toward the reception. At the last minute, she pulled herself up straight, preparing to walk through all those people with her head held high.
She was not her mother.
This would not break her—no matter how much it hurt.
She swallowed a sob and pushed blindly toward the door, determined not to start crying until she was alone again.
…
Cole pulled away from Billie’s embrace. “Thank you so much,” he said. “This is going to be perfect. I know it took a lot of work to get it all together on such short notice.”
His manager smiled. “I’m happy for you, sweetie,” she said. “You have been back to your old self this week—you really hadn’t been the same since last year.”
“Come meet Kylie.” He tugged her toward the door. “You’re going to love her.”
“Like you do?” Billie’s eyes twinkled.
“I refuse to answer that,” Cole replied. “Not until I’ve had the chance to tell Kylie first.”
Laughing out loud, Billie let him pull her down the hall and out into the reception room. “Okay, okay. Slow down.”
Cole’s gaze moved around the room for a long moment and he frowned. “Where did she go?”
“Oh, hell,” Billie said. “Cole? It’s Stuart Jeffries.”
“Where?” He scanned the room, his gaze landing on the sleazy little son of a bitch who had made his life hell for the last three years. Everywhere he went, the photographer had followed, making a living catching Cole—and other celebrities, Cole had to admit—in as many compromising positions as possible.
Fists clenched at his sides, he took a step toward the tabloid reporter. A movement at the front of the room captured his attention, though, and he looked up in time to see Kylie marching out the front door. Pausing, she glanced back at the room. Their gazes met and held for a moment, and then she was g
one.
What the hell?
“I know you had something to do with this,” he said, catching up with Jeffries. “How did you get in? What did you do?”
“Me? Just having a drink, man.” The self-satisfied glint in the reporter’s eye didn’t match up with his calm demeanor, though.
Every protective instinct he’d ever had welled up inside Cole’s chest. Dammit. He had promised Kylie he would keep her safe.
“Billie,” Cole ground out between his teeth. “Call security. Get this asshole out of here.”
“Not going to do it yourself?” Jeffries taunted.
Cole’s nostrils flared, but Billie touched his arm. “Don’t. Remember last time.”
His broad shoulders loomed over Jeffries, and the smaller man shrank back a bit. “If I see you anywhere near Kylie ever again,” Cole hissed, eyes narrowed as he stepped into Jeffries’s space, “you won’t be able to take any more pictures. Ever. You stay away from her. Got it?” He didn’t wait for a response, but moved toward the front door.
There was no way he was going to let Kylie walk away again.
…
She heard his boots scuffing against the bricks behind her. She didn’t turn around, but she didn’t try to move any more quickly, either.
“Hey,” he said softly, coming up beside her and touching her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ignore you back there.”
Kylie wrapped her arms around her stomach and curled into herself. “That’s not it,” she said.
“Then what? Kylie, talk to me.” He stopped, gently forcing her to pause as well. “You’re shivering,” he said, and pulled her closer to him. “Please tell me what’s going on. What did Jeffries say to you?”
“It’s not what he said. He had pictures, Cole.”
He frowned at her. “Pictures?”
“Of you, with women. With the blonde.” Her voice dropped to a bare whisper. “I heard you say you loved her.”
The rumble of laughter from Cole’s chest snapped her gaze to his face.
“It’s not funny,” she said.
“Kylie, that’s my manager, Billie. I was thanking her for getting the ribbon-cutting ceremony ready for tomorrow. And yes, I said I love her. I do. Like a sister.”
“Her? A sister? Wait. Billie’s a woman?”
“Yes. A happily married woman. One who would sooner gouge her eyes out with a fork than do anything to hurt her husband.” He reached out to wipe away a single tear that had fallen to her cheek.
She almost leaned into him, but stopped herself.
One reporter. That was all it had taken for her to fall apart. In between one heartbeat and the next, she traced out the entire trajectory of their relationship. Every time a tabloid mentioned his name, her heart would stop. She would shrivel, spending her life chasing down rumors and worrying if this time, maybe they were true.
She might not be her mother now. But she would end up exactly like her, bitter and angry and unhappy.
Even if Cole didn’t leave on his own, she would eventually drive him away.
“No. I can’t, Cole. I can’t do this.” She stepped back.
He followed her, speaking quietly. “I’m not going to go away, Kylie,” he said. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you who I was when we first met, that I let Jeffries get photos of us. I shouldn’t have. I should have protected you. I should have insisted on telling you who I was. But I want to make things right between us.”
Tears welled up in her eyes, spilling over again. “I’m sorry, Cole,” she said. “But I can’t take it. You will always be surrounded by other people—taking pictures, asking for autographs, following you around and”—she inhaled one deep, shaky breath, her voice quavering as she finished—“and using you up until there’s nothing left over for anyone else.”
Cole shook his head. “It’s not like that, Kylie. I’m a performer. It’s a show. They don’t get the real parts of me.” He paused. “But you can,” he added quietly. He bent his head toward her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her in close.
Kylie stifled a sob and blinked away tears. Maybe he’s right. Maybe this could work.
But as she tilted her head up to meet his descending lips, a camera flashed in her eyes, jarring her out of the momentary belief that she and Cole might be able to be together.
She dropped back down to her heels—she hadn’t even realized that she had stood up on her toes to meet Cole’s kiss. Behind him stood a small group of gawkers. They had clearly followed him from the party. She heard Cole’s name, saw his manager moving toward them. Close on her heels was the tabloid reporter, grinning as he snapped more pictures.
Cole cursed as he turned to stare at them, and Kylie moved from the shelter of his arms, not stopping to look back as she ran toward the safety—and anonymity—of her store. Breathless, she pushed her way into the cool interior, locking the door behind her.
…
“Dammit, Kylie, let me in.” Cole pounded on the door, but it stayed stubbornly closed and locked. With the lights out, he couldn’t even see through the window into the interior, and he was only dimly aware of Jeffries’s camera continuing to flash. He didn’t even look back until he heard Billie’s voice raised in anger.
“Give it to me,” she shouted. Cole turned to see that she had grabbed Jeffries’s camera and was tugging it away from him.
“Let go, you stupid bitch,” the reporter yelled, rearing back as if to strike her. Before he could land a blow, however, Cole tackled him from behind. Jeffries fell to the brick paving with a thump, and Cole leaned over his shoulder, speaking into the man’s ear. “Don’t you ever threaten her again,” he snarled. Jeffries lay still, breathing heavily, and Cole stood up.
“I’ll have you arrested for assault,” Jeffries wheezed, coming up onto his knees.
“And everyone here will testify that I was protecting Billie,” Cole said. “You’ll lose.” He brushed dust off his pants leg and bent over to pick up the camera from several feet away, where it had been tossed in the scuffle. Pressing a button, Cole flipped through the images.
“This is what you showed Kylie?” he asked. Jeffries glared at him. Cole nodded, then smashed the camera against the bricks. He glanced around at the small crowd of people who had followed him from the party, all standing a slight distance back.
“You okay, Billie?” he asked. She nodded, her eyes huge.
“Good. Pay the man for his camera, would you?” Running his hand through his hair, he took one long last look at Cowbelles before he headed back to his hotel.
Looked like it was time for plan B.
Chapter Ten
Kylie stared at the front entrance to Cowbelles. The door was still locked, keeping out the photographers who were now scattered along the street, waiting for her to come back out. A couple of them had tried coming into the store, but she had threatened to call the police.
Now they were all standing back far enough that Kylie couldn’t claim they were harassing her—and moving around enough that they couldn’t be accused of loitering.
She should have realized what was likely to happen when she saw the tabloid at the gas station that morning. Tears prickled the back of her throat and the corners of her eyes.
Damn Cole Grayson, anyway. What right did he have to make a scene outside her store? And damn the photographer who had made sure the store’s sign was in the picture of Cole as he banged on the door last night.
She’d seen Cole knock the man down, smash the camera, and walk off—but then she’d seen Jeffries gather the scattered remains, presumably including a memory card. She clenched her teeth. If she ever saw the photographer again, she’d have a thing or two to say to him.
So much for a quiet, private life. And maybe so much for her store. There was no way she was going to be able to unlock Cowbelles’ doors today.
It might be a good, long while before she could open again, if the press didn’t go away soon. And the store’s phone had been ringing all morning—sh
e had finally turned it off to avoid having to say “no comment” again.
A tear trickled down her face and she wiped it away angrily.
She would not cry. Even if she couldn’t be with Cole, she would not turn into her mother, mooning over every picture she could find of the man she had once loved.
She glared at Cole’s image smiling down at her from the Talk of Texas display.
Time to redecorate. Who cared how well it sold? It was time to get rid of Cole Grayson entirely. And as much as it might break her heart to do that, she was pretty sure it would hurt even worse to see his face every day.
By the time the knock came at the door an hour later, Kylie had packed away all of the mugs, the CDs, the key chains, the T-shirts. Everything with Cole Grayson’s name, face, or logo on it was boxed up.
With a sigh, she unlocked the entrance long enough for LeeAnn to slip inside, then turned the bolt again. Her friend surveyed the empty spaces in the formerly full Talk of Texas display.
“So,” LeeAnn said. “I take it things didn’t go so well?”
Kylie shook her head but didn’t respond, instead walking back to the stockroom.
LeeAnn followed, her tone cautious. “Have you seen the tabloids this morning?”
“Yes.” Kylie sighed and collapsed onto the chair she kept by the desk, then dropped her head onto her arms. “I think maybe he’s gone for good,” she said, her voice muffled by her forearm.
At the sound of her friend’s laugh, Kylie jerked her head up. “What?” she demanded.
“I don’t think he’s going to go away that easily. Nothing about anything either of y’all has done screams we’re all finished now to me.”
Kylie covered her eyes.
“Have you eaten yet?” LeeAnn asked. When Kylie shook her head, she continued, “Okay. I’m going to go order something for lunch.”
“Nothing vegan this time, okay?”
“No promises.” The glint in LeeAnn’s eyes suggested that Kylie would be eating something tofu-based.
While she waited, Kylie tried to distract herself by flipping through the pages of a catalog’s brightly colored pictures of jewelry, wallets, key chains, and other knickknacks, but she wasn’t seeing them. She couldn’t stop thinking about the night before, and the catalog’s “Cole Grayson” section wasn’t helping. She slammed the book closed.
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