Can't Let Her Go

by Sandy James

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Sandy James

  Preview of Can’t Fight the Feeling copyright © 2018 by Sandy James

  Cover design by Brian Lemus

  Cover images © Shutterstock

  Cover copyright © 2018 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  Hachette Book Group supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact permissions@hbgusa.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Forever Yours

  Hachette Book Group

  1290 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10104

  forever-romance.com

  twitter.com/foreverromance

  First published as an ebook and as a print on demand: January 2018

  Forever Yours is an imprint of Grand Central Publishing. The Forever Yours name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  The Hachette Speakers Bureau provides a wide range of authors for speaking events. To find out more, go to www.hachettespeakersbureau.com or call (866) 376-6591.

  ISBNs: 978-1-4555-9561-7 (ebook), 978-1-4555-9560-0 (print on demand)

  E3-20171117-DANF

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  A Preview of Can't Fight the Feeling

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Sandy James

  You Might Also Like…

  Newsletters

  This one is for Madalyn Grace.

  For you, the future is so bright you’ve

  got to wear shades.

  Love you!

  Chapter One

  Holy shit. It’s her. It’s really her!”

  Ethan Walker glanced up from the bar in response to his business partner Russell Green’s words of awe. “What are you talking about?”

  “Not what. Who. Chelsea Harris, that’s who,” Russ said. “She’s here.”

  “Who’s that?” Already annoyed at having to cover a Saturday night shift for one of the bartenders, Ethan didn’t have the patience for Russ going gaga over some woman. The older he got, the more Ethan hated crowds, and Words & Music was packed tonight.

  “Chelsea Harris.” Russ leaned against the bar and frowned. “Have you been living under a rock?”

  “On a farm,” Ethan grumbled as he set two drafts on a waitress’s tray, wishing he’d been a little less sloppy with the foam. He wiped his wet fingers on a bar towel and moved on to the next order.

  “Thanks, Ethan,” the waitress said with a saucy wink before whisking the booze away.

  “Welcome,” he mumbled in return. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was flirt with his staff. Sure, most of his waitresses were pretty damn cute. But, as his daddy always cautioned him, he kept work and fun separate. He shifted his focus to Russ. “Okay. You’ve got my attention now. So what’s with this chick?”

  “Chick?” Russ let out a snort. “You’re really clueless. The last thing I’d ever call someone like Chelsea Harris is ‘chick.’”

  Well aware of Chelsea Harris’s fame—and that she’d breezed in with her entourage about fifteen minutes ago—Ethan had some fun by jerking Russ’s chain a little more. He shrugged. “Then tell me why I should know her.”

  “She’s only the hottest thing to hit country music in the past five years.” Russ’s disgruntled tone and emphatic gestures made Ethan fight a grin. “Look over to high-top table eight, dipshit. You can’t miss her. Hell, the woman can’t seem to get a moment of peace.”

  Eyes already on the subject of their conversation, Ethan only shrugged again, despite the fact that nonchalant was the last thing he felt.

  Chelsea Harris was gorgeous. A mane of long wavy red hair. A curvy figure, the kind he preferred. She seemed entirely unfazed by the way the people around her buzzed with excitement and took her picture with their cells. She was chatting with the two other women sitting at her table, both of whom appeared to be friendly rather than celebrity suck-ups. A rather beefy security guard kept a close eye on her, even though he wore dark clothes and was trying to blend in.

  The woman clearly knew her own appeal, and she exuded confidence. From the way she laughed and gave slight nods to anyone who was able to find the courage to make eye contact, she relished her celebrity status.

  A queen on her bar stool throne.

  Not all stars were that comfortable in their own skin. Many tried their best to hide from press and fans until they chose the time or place to make contact. A concert. An award show. A fund-raiser. In all other aspects of their lives, they usually demanded privacy.

  Not the eminent Ms. Harris. One of the reasons Ethan knew so much about her was because the woman lived her life in the open. His famous parents had been of that breed—acting as if every fan should be a best friend.

  A person wanted to know where she was, what she thought, who she was with? All he had to do was pull up any social media account. Bam. Chelsea Harris was there. Hell, she was playing on her phone at that very moment, probably doing one of those tweet things.

  Hopefully she was telling everyone to get their asses down to Words & Music. The business would always be welcome. If word got out that she’d stopped by, fans would be there waiting in hopes of seeing her the next night. And the next.

  As though reading his thoughts, Russ said, “She’s great for business. Hope social media is eating this up.” He let out a low whistle. “She sure is a looker.”

  Understatement of the year. Her thick hair caught the lights exactly right, making it appear like waves of fire rippling down her back. Her gaze swept the room, settling on the bar. When her eyes caught his, he sucked in a breath, unable to stop a physical reaction to the woman.

  With a shake of his head at his own weakness, Ethan turned away and drew another draft.

  “Heard she’s unattached again,” Russ commented. “Kicked that pretty boy actor to the curb from what I saw.” He let out a chuckle. “Probably wrote a song about it. She has every other time she broke up with a guy, and they’re always hits.”

  “Saw? Saw it where?”

  Russ rubbed the back of his neck and glanced away. “O
n Nashville Chat.”

  “You watch that garbage?” The show was nothing but gossip pretending to be news. Ethan knew it as Nashville Shat since that’s what he and his other partner, Brad Maxwell, called it.

  “Sometimes…”

  With a snort, Ethan turned his back and sliced an orange to garnish one of the foo-foo drinks. He was so preoccupied thinking about Chelsea Harris and that gorgeous hair that he nicked his finger when a feminine voice broke into his reverie.

  “Ethan Walker?”

  “Shit.” He grabbed the bar towel again to hold against his sliced index finger. A quick check showed it wasn’t serious.

  “You okay?”

  The melodious voice made him glance up to find himself face-to-face with the object of his new fixation. She leaned down, resting her forearms on the bar, giving him a nice view of her cleavage. Most of the patrons seated at the bar were gawking at her.

  He was dumbstruck. Her eyes were to blame. Such a sparkling green, but it wasn’t the color that had him transfixed. It was the intensity he found in those depths, an intensity that put him immediately on his guard.

  Despite all the people staring at her, this woman was on a mission.

  “You’re Ethan Walker,” she said. “You own this place.”

  Since she hadn’t asked a question, he saw no need to reply.

  “I’m Chelsea Harris.”

  Several people laughed in response to the statement, as though she had stated something so obvious it was comical. He had to resist the urge to do the same.

  “I know.” Those were the only words he would spare until he figured out her angle.

  Her gaze wandered slowly around the cavernous Words & Music. “This place is amazing. I never saw it before—you know, when your parents ran it. But…wow. You’ve really done well.”

  “Thanks.” Better to let her lead so he could figure out exactly why she was chatting him up and plying him with compliments. While she seemed genuine, he didn’t trust someone with her fame.

  She gestured to the two women who waited at her high-top table. “We were all talking about how great sound carries in here. And you’ve got that fantastic dance floor…”

  He took a quick look at the people learning a new line dance from one of the club’s dance instructors. “Thanks,” he repeated.

  Her lips drew into an annoyed line, but she quickly obliged a patron who’d worked up the guts to slide a pen and napkin in her direction for an autograph. She even murmured her thanks for the way the lady was gushing over her songs.

  The security guard took a few steps forward, but Chelsea stopped him with a quick flip of her hand and a shake of her head. Then she turned her attention back to Ethan. “You really should be proud of this place.”

  “I am.” He pulled a new drink order up on the point-of-sale screen and went about filling it. His partners—his friends—often told him he had a way of irritating just about anyone he came across. At that moment, he couldn’t help himself. Her increasingly exasperated reactions at his clipped answers were far too entertaining.

  Chelsea put her elegant hand on the bar and began to drum her bright red nails against the wood. “Do you tend bar here a lot? Or is this just a one-night stand?”

  He snorted. “Definitely not a one-night stand.”

  “So you’re here a lot? Tell me this…do you hire the talent, or is that the Hitman’s job?” she asked.

  “Brad hates it when people call him that,” Ethan cautioned.

  “Everyone in the business calls him that.”

  “Not to his face.”

  Her fingers quickened their pace.

  So there was a temper to go with that red hair.

  Time to end the baiting game.

  After setting a glass of white wine and a beer on an empty tray, he finally directed his full attention to her. “I’d really like to know something.”

  “And what is that?”

  “What exactly do you want from me?”

  * * *

  The man couldn’t be any ruder if he tried, and something in Chelsea told her that was exactly what Ethan Walker was doing. Trying to aggravate her.

  Well, he’d succeeded. Problem was she couldn’t show him what she truly felt. Not if she was going to get her way. No, she needed Ethan’s cooperation. From what she’d been told, that cooperation would be a hard-earned prize.

  She’d tried to learn as much as she could before setting out to tackle her plan for her newest project. Although her assistant was supportive of her plans, she’d told Chelsea that she was crazy to even try to recruit Ethan Walker. His aversion to ever being a part of the country music world again was legendary.

  From the moment she’d heard the duet he’d sung with Savannah Wolf, Chelsea had known that he needed to sing with her. God, the man had the most amazing voice. Besides, she didn’t understand why he should be different than any of the other people she was enlisting. So far, most of the offspring of former stars had been on board and rather enthusiastic about her plans.

  Of course, none of them had Ethan’s reputation—a reputation that was twofold. First, he hated being reminded that his parents were Nashville stars. Second, after walking away from a budding singing career years ago, he hated anything to do with performing or recording. Period.

  And yet…he was friendly with Brad Maxwell’s fiancée Savannah. She’d gotten her start at Words & Music, and Chelsea had been so mesmerized by the video of Ethan singing with Savannah that she’d watched it too many times to count.

  So he would perform.

  But on what terms? Did he only pick up a guitar for a friend, or would a good cause—a great cause—be enough motivation?

  He threw her a fierce frown. “Are you going to answer my question, or can I get back to work?”

  The ill-mannered man didn’t even wait for her reply and started tapping at the computer screen, all but dismissing her.

  No one dismissed Chelsea Harris.

  Sidling around the bar, she savored the surprised expressions of the people sitting close enough to watch her. She glanced at the drink order he’d been reading and then plucked two margarita glasses from the freezer under the counter. As Ethan stared at her, she went about preparing the drinks, much to the amusement of the crowd. Muscle memory kicked in as she found the margarita mix and ice, blended the mixture, and then salted the rims of the glasses. After pouring the drinks, she garnished them with lime wedges and set them on an empty serving tray, earning herself a round of applause.

  With a smug smile, she touched the screen to pull up the next order. While she wanted to see his startled expression—to savor it—she focused on the libations she needed to make.

  “What in the hell are you doing?” Ethan demanded. Thankfully, his tone was more amused than irritated despite his choice of vocabulary.

  “I would think it was obvious.” She flashed a smile at a few people who laughed in response.

  “I mean, why are you pretending to be a bartender?”

  Chelsea let out an indignant huff. “Pretending?” She nodded toward the drinks the waiter was carrying away, wondering if pictures of her acting as the bartender at Words & Music would’ve hit social media yet. “Those are damn good margaritas, if I do say so myself. You know what? Name a drink.”

  “What?”

  “Name a drink. Any drink. I can mix it.”

  As he continued to stare silently, she pulled three draft beers, poured two glasses of wine, and whipped up a screaming orgasm. After passing them off to a waitress, she folded her arms under her breasts and grinned at Ethan.

  He grinned back, and damn if her stomach didn’t plummet to her feet. The man was too appealing for her peace of mind. Her preference went toward long hair on guys, and his dark brown hair was pulled back. If it were loose, it would probably brush his shoulders.

  Sublime.

  The first thing she’d noticed when she’d approached him were his eyes. Not only were they a warm mahogany, but they sparkled with intel
ligence. Even better than his obvious physical appeal, she had no doubt that should the two of them match wits, she’d find herself with an adversary who rose to her level.

  “Where’d you learn to bartend?” he asked.

  “It’s how I survived after college until I got my break in the business.”

  “You’ve still got the touch. You can work here if you ever need a job.” He gave her another stomach-flipping smile.

  “Thanks.” She poured two more glasses of wine and then whipped up a whiskey sour.

  “Hey, Chelsea!” a guy shouted. “Hold up the tray with the drinks so I can take your picture.”

  With one of her practiced smiles, she obliged the man. “Be sure and say where I’m at! Words and Music, one of Nashville’s best hot spots.”

  “Thanks for the plug,” Ethan said, although his voice was devoid of true appreciation. A shame since the man had a smooth, seductive voice.

  Always one to possess a wild and far too active imagination, Chelsea had to smile at the thought of how Nashville would react should she and Ethan ever hook up. The son of “Crawfish” and Dottie Walker—Nashville royalty—and the hottest female star in country music?

  Reporters would be tripping over one another to get to them the same way people were now crowding around the bar to watch their exchange.

  And the charity album would go platinum.

  A chuckle slipped out.

  Ethan’s mouth fell to a frown. “Are you laughing at me?”

  “Not at all,” she assured him, absentmindedly turning toward the crowd and signing a few more autographs. The action had become so perfunctory, she hardly thought about what she was doing anymore.

  “Then what’s so funny?”

  He’d never understand how happy she was at the thought of her new album being a huge success, so she shook her head.

  The frown became a scowl. “Why are you here?”

  Knowing Ethan was in no frame of mind for her to even broach the topic of his recording a song with her, she scrambled for something to say. She wished they had a bit of privacy, but that was in short supply whenever she was in public. “I…um…” She nibbled on her bottom lip, flustered that his gorgeous eyes and handsome face had erased every bit of information she’d gathered on the man; information she’d hoped would help her in this important quest. “Let’s see…I—”