Temptation

by Robin Covington

  All I knew was that I’d been overcome with the overwhelming feeling that staying with Max would hurt him.

  His face outside the police station had been cold, hard, and devoid of any emotion toward me, except indifference. He probably hated me and I didn’t blame him. I hated the cowardice I’d let control me, but it was too late to change it. My chance with Max was over and I had no one to blame but myself.

  I popped one eye open when Bridget signed off her call, ready to ask about the details of our flight, when a phone rang—the “Stand By Your Man” ringtone signaling that it was mine.

  Bridget scooped it up off the dressing table and flipped it open with a cheerful greeting. Her smile slipped as she listened briefly, murmured for the person to hang on, and held the phone out to me. Her voice was grim.

  “It’s Dean. It’s about Max.”

  My hand stilled in mid–air. It was bad news. I knew it. Maybe the worst news. With icy fingers, I took the phone from Bridget and brought it up to my ear.

  “This is Kit.”

  “I thought you might want to know.” Dean’s usually jovial voice was tense and anxious. “Max is hurt. We’re on shift and he was in a building when it collapsed.”

  I found it hard to speak around the band that was constricting around my heart. “Is… is he okay?”

  Dean paused as people shouted around him. I could hear him cup the phone closer to his mouth. “I don’t know the extent of his injuries. We got him out of the building and he’s on the bus headed to NashGen. He was unconscious. Hold on a second.” Dean answered a series of rapid questions and came back to the phone. “Look, I gotta go. I’ll see you at the hospital.”

  I sat there, unable to move, as the dial tone sounded in my ear. Only two thoughts swirled in my mind: one, I had to get to Max, and two, that if I got the chance, I would make him love me again.

  I jumped off the couch, my focus on getting to Max.

  Bridget was right behind me, scooping up purses and keys.

  “I’m going with you.”

  I hit the backstage hallway and broke into a run. People moved out of my way while casting puzzled looks in my direction. Paul came jogging up and stopped my momentum with a hand on my shoulder.

  “Kit, where are you going? We have a show in,” he looked at his watch, “ten minutes.”

  I leaned on his arm, scared shitless and close to losing the battle to keep it together. “Max is hurt. He could be—” I bit my lip, unable to voice to my greatest fear. “I have to go to him.”

  “You know, if you walk out of the Opry, the label will tank your new contract.” His voice was firm; matter–of–fact. No judgment there.

  “I don’t care.” I would give up my whole career for Max to be alright. I’d figure out the career part once I knew he was okay.

  Nodding, Paul kissed my forehead quickly and pushed me towards the door. “Good girl. I’ll fix it here. Go!”

  Bridget and I bolted out of the artists’ entrance of the Opry and headed straight for her car. I was silent as we careened through traffic, praying for Max to be alright. Could you be okay if a building fell on you? Would they let me see him? The fifteen–minute ride was torture and I barely let the car come to a stop outside the ER before I jumped out and bolted for the entrance.

  The waiting area smelled like antiseptic and burnt coffee and was filled with firefighting personnel, EMTs, and policemen. Ignoring the pointing fingers of those who recognized me, I scanned the crowd for Dean. Giving up, I approached a nurse to ask about Max, when I heard my name shouted above the noise. Turning, Dean waved me over.

  He grasped my arm and led me to a room filled with firemen. “He’s still unconscious and they moved him upstairs.”

  “Can I see him?”

  Dean pushed me through the door. “We’ll see. I’ll take you up.”

  We emerged from the elevator on the third floor and immediately stepped into a waiting room full of people. Several nodded to Dean, and I ignored the whispers that erupted in my wake. It seemed like an eternity until I turned a corner and entered a hospital room where John and Olivia Butler sat, next a hospital bed.

  I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the low light in the room and the hushed hospital sounds of machines whirring and soft–soled shoes squeaking on tile floors.

  My heart fell to my feet. I forgot how to breathe.

  Max sat on the edge of the bed, shirtless with a pair of scrub pants. His face and body were covered with scrapes and cuts. It was the bandage on his head, tinted red with blood just over his left temple that made me weak.

  I wanted to run to him and make sure he was all right but his hostile demeanor stopped me. His amber eyes grew dark when he saw me, suspicion and hurt tightening his jaw.

  “What are you doing here?” He asked, not an ounce of welcome in his tone. I’d made a mistake. I was too late.

  “Dean called me,” I stumbled over my tongue, suddenly realizing how far out on the ledge I was with no safety net. “I wanted to see that you were okay.”

  “I look better than I feel,” he answered, his tone flat and emotionless.

  “Oh.”

  “You’ve done your duty. You can go.”

  “Max!” His mother scolded him from her perch by the bed. I blushed with embarrassment. I had not right to be here.

  I moved to leave but a hand on my arm stopped me.

  “Are you a friend of my grandson?”

  I turned. A much older man, who possessed Max’s strong jaw and large build, was watching me closely. Startled, I looked around. Their faces were worried, frantic. I had no right to be here.

  “I’m sorry.” I offered an apology towards Olivia Butler. “I should go. I’m intruding.”

  I turned to go, but gentle pressure on my arm stopped my leaving. Max’s grandpa held me back, his face kind and full of understanding.

  “Young lady, the important thing to remember is that you came.” His curious gaze examined me and I remembered that I still wore my costume from the Opry. “I can presume from your lovely outfit that you were at quite a fancy shindig and left in quite a hurry.”

  “I was at the Opry. I have a show tonight.”

  “I see.” His eyes were gentle as he squeezed my hand in encouragement. “You don’t walk out of the Opry for just anyone. My grandson must be very important to you.”

  “Grandpa,” Max said in warning from across the room.

  I blinked back the tears gathering in my eyes, my voice barely above a whisper. “Very important.” I swallowed back the fear and told the absolute truth making eye contact with Max as I spoke. “He means everything to me. I love him.” I started to back out of the room. “But I was scared and I have no right to be here. Not now. I’m sorry.”

  I really did turn to go this time. I wasn’t welcome. Too late to salvage what we’d had. I’d get on my tour bus and back on the road. Sooner or later, I’d forget him. In the meantime, I’d get a shitload of good song material.

  I was two steps out of the door when I heard his voice.

  “Wait.”

  I froze, not really sure if I’d heard him or imagined it like I had in so many dreams the last few weeks.

  “Kit. I can’t get off this bed without falling down. Get back in here.” His mom whispered something that sounded like “you’re being rude” and he added, “Please.”

  I eased back into the room, staring at him from the spot just inside the door. Max just stared at me and I had no idea whether he wanted me to stay in place or go to him. The air in the room crackled with everything between us, the uncertainty and longing I saw in his gaze.

  “Can you give us a minute?” Max asked his parents and Grandpa and they all hustled to beat feet out the door.

  A soft chuckle escaped the lips of Grandpa Butler as he walked past me. He stopped and whispered his two cents. “Trust me, darlin’; I’ve seen him mope around these last few weeks. That hurt will be forgotten once Max hears you tell him you love him. Tell the boy what he’s been dy
in’ to hear.”

  “Grandpa,” Max barked and the older man scurried through the door with a big wink.

  I liked him. Very much.

  Max and I stared at each other, the seconds measuring like hours in my twisted gut. I had no idea where to start.

  “You left the Opry,” Max stated but every words was drenched in a question.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s not going to make Liam happy.”

  “No, it won’t.” I agreed. “But I wasn’t thinking about making him happy when I left.”

  “What were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking that you might be gone and I’d never get to ask you.”

  “Ask me what?” His gaze was hot and leveled at my own. I couldn't look away, I wanted him to see just how real this all was. To believe me.

  “Ask you to take me back. To say I’m sorry for giving into my panic and fear and hurting you.” He didn’t respond but he didn’t look away, so I walked towards him, my voice cracking with all the emotion just trying to break out of me. “I wanted to ask you to love me again like in that movie star film. To tell you that I’m just a girl who screwed up and wants your love even if I don't deserve it. For today. For forever.”

  I was standing in front of him now. So close my body brushed up against his knees. He smelled like smoke and antiseptic and Max and I just wanted to latch onto him and inhale.

  “What about your job?” He asked, his voice so low I had to lean in to catch it. The movement brought me within kissing distance of him and I fought the urge to lay one on him and seal all my words that way.

  “I don't know. I might not have a label. I may start my own. I don't know.” I shook my head. “I know I’m stronger with you. I’m better with you.”

  “And if your career is over?”

  “Then, it’s over. I’ll figure something out. I can play anwhere. I’ve got options.”

  “Uh oh. Super Kit is in the house.”

  I shook my head. “I don't need her when I’ve got you.”

  “Stupid jackasses. They don't know what they've got.”

  I laughed. “Is that right?”

  “Yes.” He reached out and grabbed my hands, lifting them up and around his neck as he opened his legs. I slid in there, tightening my hold on him and hanging on for dear life. I know my heart was pounding like a drumbeat in one of my songs but I didn't care. Max didn't either. “I am not a stupid jackass. I know what I’ve got.”

  “And what is that?

  “I’ve got you.”

  “Yes, You’ve got me.”

  He tugged me down and our lips met in a soft sweet kiss. His voice was low but I heard every precious word.

  “Don't leave me again,” he pleaded. “You’ll always be enough for me. The only one for me. I love you, Kit.”

  I wrapped my arms around him and held on tightly, as our mouths gently caressed each other.

  I broke off the kiss as the room spontaneously erupted in applause, hoots, and catcalls. I looked over my shoulder to see the doorway filled with his family and friends offering smiles, teary eyes, and congratulations.

  “Now about the whole ‘Super Kit’ thing.” His gravelly voice brought my attention back to his handsome face. “I kind of like the idea of you in a cape—and nothing else.”

  “On one condition.”

  He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Anything.”

  I leaned in closer, my lips only a breath away from his. “You need to change the locks on your front door.”

  “Deal.”

  EPILOGUE

  Three months later

  The sign read, “Lively, Tennessee. The place folks love to call home.”

  I squirmed in my seat in the back of the chauffer-driven car, excited by the marker that told me that I was five miles from the place I had wanted to be all summer — home. I had a number-one single, “Angel”, on the charts and a new album due out in the Fall. I was on top of the world.

  I’d decided not to renew my contract with Liam Connor and was exploring starting my own label while entertaining offers from a couple of big name recording companies. I had time to decide and was in no hurry. My life was full and my own.

  The tour had been unbelievably successful with every show sold out and extra dates added and filled to capacity, as well. I’d loved every minute on stage with the fans, and the band was closer than ever. With Ron gone from the scene, the fun and camaraderie had returned in full force.

  It felt like it was when I first started—before I let business become more important than the music. Before I’d let image be more important than the truth.

  It had been an amazing summer.

  But, each passing day I’d counted down the time to when I could return to Tennessee and to the man who held my heart. Max. I had missed him terribly. I’d flown home frequently and he’d come to see me when he got time away from the station. He’d even spent his week–long vacation on the road with me, witnessing the craziness of my life on the road first–hand. To my relief and delight, Max fit in like he was born for the road. The band loved him, the crew loved him, and the fans loved him.

  Especially the female fans.

  I giggled as I remembered the first time he’d attended a “meet and greet” and been bombarded with requests for photos from my female fans. At first he’d been surprised and then embarrassed as the ladies had shoved pieces of paper with their phone numbers into his hands. Once the fans had posted those pics on the Internet, it started a pattern that would continue the rest of the tour—requests for Max, photos with Max, and a pile of homemade gifts for Max.

  While Max was a good sport about suddenly being thrust into the spotlight, I was careful to keep the intimate details of our relationship between the two of us and I shielded him from exposure as much as I possibly could. But, even when he wasn’t with me, he was photographed by the press, as he lived and worked in Nashville. I’d worried silently that it bothered him more than he let on. When I apologized for the press intruding on a private lunch with his parents, he kissed me softly and told me to never apologize again; it was a small price to pay to be with me.

  I’d shown him many times that night just how much his support meant to me.

  So, when, three weeks after the night at the hospital he’d asked me to move into the farmhouse with him, I’d agreed with one stipulation—that he’d let me install the security gates currently blocking the car at the top of the driveway.

  I used my remote control to open them and gathered my things together as the car drove the last mile to the house I now called home. My heart pounded like the drum solo on “Angel” at my first glimpse of the large, white house surrounded by the old–growth oaks and dogwoods planted by Max’s grandparents. I blinked back tears as I thought of the love that had been made and would be made in this house.

  This is home.

  I’d wanted this for so long that I had the urge to pinch myself and get three independent confirmations that this wasn’t a dream. If it was, then I was never going to wake up—ever.

  The car pulled to a stop at the base of the wrap–around porch, and I hopped out without waiting for the driver to open the door. I’d told Max not to meet me at the airport and I was now anxious to have the reunion I didn’t want witnessed by cameras and curious fans.

  I scanned the yard as I thanked the driver and signed the invoice for the bill. I heard hammering coming from just beyond the rose garden and I headed around the house to find Max. The garden was in full–bloom, the flowers coaxed to life by Grandpa Butler, and the scent was strong and sweet where it mingled with the smell of fresh cut grass.

  My breathing literally skipped when my eyes landed on the best thing I’d seen in two weeks—Max in khaki cargo shorts and a tight, white t–shirt that caressed his muscles.

  Will I ever see him and not want him?

  He was hammering a shutter next to one of the windows on the front of my new rehearsal space and recording studio, located in the sweet little cotta
ge that had been Grandmother Butler’s private retreat. Tears came to my eyes as I remembered the day that Max had walked me down the back path to this little house and handed me the keys, explaining that he wanted to renovate it into a space where I could work from home. He’d brushed away my tears as he teased, “As long as I can visit and try my damnedest to distract you from your work.”

  And then he’d pulled me into the cottage and demonstrated just how distracting he could be.

  Heat pooled in my belly at the memory, and I must have made a sound because Max looked up, his amber eyes widened in surprise and then crinkling up at the edges when he smiled. One minute I was riveted to the spot and the next I was crushed against his chest with his mouth devouring mine in a desperate tangle of lips and tongues. God, he was an addiction for me and I didn’t plan on ever kicking this one.

  Max lifted me off my feet and I wrapped my legs around his waist as he turned and walked to the few steps necessary to press my back against the side of the cottage. I briefly worried about his injury but he’d assured me that he had a doctors’ note that said he was fully recovered and I needed to stop worrying about him. The note really said that—an inside joke between Max and his doctor and a way to stop my constant “fussing over him”—his words, not mine.

  With my weight supported by the wall, his hands were free to roam my body, teasing under the edge of my t–shirt until his hands moved over my stomach and my ribs to cover my breasts, plucking my nipples through the lace of my bra. I sighed and rolled my head back as Max took advantage of my invitation and pressed hot, wet kisses along the exposed skin of my neck.

  Max lifted his head and looked down at me, his eyes blazing with desire, heat, and love. He was so unbelievably gorgeous that he still took my breath away. His mouth widened in his trademark “just for me” sexy smile and his voice was rough with emotion. “Hey.”

  I smiled back. I’m sure I looked like a goof but I didn’t care. This was my man and I loved him more than I ever thought I’d be able to love anyone. “Hey.”