Nashville Heat

by Bethany Michaels

  Almost. I liked this version of Dex. And that was a dangerous thing.

  “Come on in.”

  He led me inside, never letting go of my hand, and I knew I was about to be wined and dined and God knew what else. But for now, Dex was on his best behavior.

  The interior of the house was even more spectacular than the outside. It was almost like being in a grown-up’s version of a tree house. All around us, natural materials made it feel like were still outside. The transition from outside to inside was nearly seamless. Everywhere I looked, it was stone or wood or glass.

  The floor in the entry was gray limestone, and heavy dark wood accents in the tall, narrow door frames and the rustic table and chair gave it almost a medieval castle feel. That opened up into a great room that took my breath away.

  The cathedral ceilings and stone fireplaces, furniture upholstered in red-brown leather, Native American print rugs on the wood and stone floors all provided a feeling of casual, welcoming warmth. The floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the setting sun through the grove of trees on top of Dex’s own little mountain and the room was flooded with soft, natural lighting. I felt a little like I had stepped into the pages of Architectural Digest. But in a strange way, it felt homey and comfortable.

  “So this is the living room,” Dex said, finally dropping my hand.

  I looked around and nodded. “It’s gorgeous. You do the decorating yourself?”

  He chuckled. “No. It came decorated, actually. The guy who had the house built only lived here a short time. All the furnishings stayed.” Dex walked deeper into the room and I followed. “My only addition was a sixty-five-inch flat-screen and a sound system.”

  He picked up a remote off the top of an armoire and hit a button. A soft jazzy tune filled the room, echoing off all the stone and wood so that it felt like there was a live band right there in the room with us. “You gotta have a good stereo.”

  I smiled. “Of course. What’s upstairs?” I nodded towards a curving iron staircase set against the wall near the entryway.

  “Come on. I’ll show you.” There was a glint in his eyes as he approached me. The innuendo was clear and fluttery warmth shot though my abdomen. God, he was dangerous.

  “Okay.”

  He smiled and led the way up the stairs. At the top, there was a railing that overlooked the living area we’d just left and a hallway. We went down the hallway, passing several closed doors before Dex opened one near the end of the room and went inside.

  “This is where I spend most of my time when I’m not on the road.”

  I was expecting a huge, decadently appointed bed. Maybe a brass headboard. A sex swing hanging from the exposed rafters in one corner. Assorted kinky items. Or maybe a collection of groupie underwear nailed to the ceiling like a frat-house wall of fame. Instead I found about a half- dozen guitars on stands, a computer desk and PC, a comfortable-looking sofa, a coffee table filled with tapes and all along one whole wall, built-in shelves packed to overflowing with CDs and DVDs and books.

  “This is my library.”

  I walked over to his CD collection. “Wow. You have a lot of music.”

  “You should see my iPod. Best invention ever.”

  I perused the titles. You could tell a lot about a person by what music he listened to and what books were on his shelf. If this eclectic mix was any indication, Dex was a very complex individual. He had everything from big band to The Who to ’80s hair bands, and basically the entire history of country music, from Patsy Cline to Taylor Swift, all on one wall.

  And the books. He had a lot of books on history, and an equal amount of fiction and biographies, mostly of musicians and presidents. Scattered among all the volumes were framed pictures, many of kids.

  “Who are they?”

  “Nieces and nephews, mostly. That’s my sister, Rachael, and her husband.” He pointed to large framed portrait of a happy-looking couple and three small children.

  “Do they live near here?”

  A shadow passed over Dex’s face. “Rachael passed away almost five years ago. Her husband, too. Car accident.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. Those poor kids.”

  He swallowed. “Yeah. I would love to bring them here to live. They love the ranch and I’ve always been involved in their lives. But I’m on the road so much right now…they live with my folks, but they’re getting older.” He looked vaguely ashamed. “My lifestyle isn’t the ideal environment for kids.”

  “I guess not.”

  I ran my hands over the spines of the books lining his shelves. “This really is amazing.”

  “Bet you didn’t even think I could read.”

  I shrugged. “It’s not that. I just wasn’t expecting this when you offered to show me upstairs.”

  He stepped closer to me and his scent washed over me, the ultimate aphrodisiac. His melancholy was gone. “Did you think I’d take you straight to my bedroom, Miss Stratton?”

  He tucked a tendril of hair behind my ear.

  I was mesmerized by his dark gaze and sexy half smile and swallowed a lump in my throat before I could answer. “Well, given our last two encounters –”

  “Three.” Dex traced the line of my jaw. “I know. You’re just too damn beautiful. Whenever I’m around you, that’s all I can think about.” The way he was he was looking at my lips, I was sure he was going to kiss me and since my hormones were already ratcheted up, expecting to go into overdrive at any second, that would have been okay.

  But instead, he stepped back. “That’s why I’m on my best behavior tonight.” He took my hand again. “I want to get to know you better. Outside the bedroom.” He grinned. “Or the shower.”

  Before I could answer the intercom crackled, making me jump a little. “Dinner is ready, Mr. Wilder.”

  Dex walked over and hit the button on the intercom speaker near the door. “Thanks, Marcy. We’ll be right down.”

  Dex turned to me. “Are you hungry?”

  * * * *

  Dinner was served on the stone terrace overlooking a small lake. It was fully dark now and moonlight reflected on the tiny waves made by the light breeze. Boats bobbed lightly, moored to docks jutting out into the water. The air had cooled a bit, which was a good thing. Summer here was hot, and even at night, it wasn’t uncommon for the temperature to be in the nineties, with enough humidity to choke a Northern girl like me.

  Dex had gone all out with the romance. We sat at a small round table covered with a white tablecloth and lit with candles. Expensive wine chilled in a silver ice bucket on a small folding stand next to us. The stereo system had speakers on the terrace, so the music he’d turned on inside filtered softly through night breeze.

  He helped me to my chair, then took his own as a slender middle-aged woman brought out our dinner.

  “This is Marcy. She cooks for me when I’m home and keeps the place in one piece when I’m not.”

  “Nice to meet you, Marcy,” I said as she set a plate of chicken, corn on the cob and green beans in front of me.

  “Nice to meet you, too, Miss. I’ve heard a few things about you.” She glanced at Dex and smiled maternally. “First time Dex has had a date out to the house.”

  I was a little surprised. “Really? I figured this place was party central when Dex was home.”

  Dex shook his head. “I like it quiet. I have friends over now and then, but even then, it’s not really what you’d call a party.”

  Marcy set a basket of fresh-baked rolls in front of me. “You two save room for dessert, now. I made Dex’s favorite apple pie.”

  Dex groaned. “You’re going to kill me, Marcy.”

  She patted him on the shoulder with a smile. “Do you want me to close the gate?”

  “No, I’ll get it when Sydney leaves. Thanks.”

  Marcy went back into the house and Dex grabbed a glass carafe out of the ice bucket on the stand next to the table. “Sweet tea?”

  I nodded and he filled my glass. “What, no champagne?” I teased,
remembering the first time we’d met. “Or maybe you’re still a beer guy?”

  “I don’t drink much these days.”

  “Really? Seems like every picture I see of you, you have a beer in your hand.”

  “Don’t believe everything you see,” he said, filling his own glass. “I decided the beer was becoming too big a habit, so I stopped.” He put the carafe back into the ice. “But the tour is sponsored by a beer company, so there’s always plenty around for photo ops.”

  “Bet the boys at the brewery didn’t like it that their party boy had gone dry.”

  “They don’t know.” Dex put his napkin in his lap and smiled across the table at me. “It’s our secret.”

  I smiled back. This Dex was so unlike the one I’d seen in all the tabloids that it was hard to remember they were the same guy.

  We ate and talked about everything and nothing at all. We talked about his family a lot and mine a little. We talked about our mutual passion for music, the thing that really tied us together. Of course, he was talking about people he played with regularly on the road and hung out with at various parties and charity events. I was talking about the same people, but I’d only seen them on their album covers and heard them on the radio.

  After we finished eating I went to the railing of the terrace. The steps leading down to the lake were lit by little lanterns snaking all the way down.

  “Want to take a walk?” Dex asked me, nodding towards the lake.

  “Sure.”

  “Bring your glass.” He grabbed his guitar. “And you might want to take those off, unless you want a broken neck,” he said, nodding to my four-inch heels.

  I happily kicked off my shoes and we made our way down the stone steps to the water’s edge. Lights from the neighboring homes reflected in shimmery golden splashes on the water’s surface. It was even cooler down here and I shivered a little.

  Dex led the way to a swing at the end of his dock.

  “This is nice,” I said as I sat down on the plush cushions covering the wooden swing’s seat.

  Dex sat next to me. His thigh was warm against mine and I sipped my tea and looked out over the lake. The sky was black, with only a sliver of moon and a handful of stars to punctuate the darkness. I was incredibly aware of the body next to mine.

  “Yeah. Wish I was home more.”

  “It must be hard to be on the road so much. I’ve always kind of been a homebody.”

  He nodded. “Me, too. Well, until this whole music thing sort of exploded.”

  “Still, it must be fun to go to all those new places. Stay in fancy hotels. See the sights.”

  Dex smiled. “The only thing I really get to see is the venue we’re playing and the inside of the bus. And I can tell you, that gets old fast. Backstage looks the same whether you’re in Atlanta or Denver or San Francisco.”

  “Good thing you have lots of company to liven things up.”

  I heard the frown in his voice. “Company?”

  “Come on. That bus has a revolving door for groupies that flock to your show.”

  “I told you, you shouldn’t believe everything you read.”

  “Oh, there’s no reading involved. Pictures are worth a thousand words.”

  Dex shook off his frown and brought my hand to his lips. “Jealous?”

  I gave him a look but it was hard to concentrate when his warm breath skimmed my knuckles. “No. Why would I be?”

  Okay, so maybe I was. A little. But it wasn’t as if I had any right to be. I mean, so we’d had sex. Big deal. I wasn’t his girlfriend and he definitely was not my boyfriend. He was Dex Wilder, for cryin’ out loud.

  “Wishful thinking, I guess,” he said, and pressed a kiss to the back of my hand.

  “You want me to be jealous?”

  He looked at me with that crooked grin and instantly the chemistry between us that was always at a low boil heated up a notch. Or two.

  “Maybe. A little.”

  “Why?”

  He turned my hand over and kissed my palm. A spark ran up my arm.

  “Maybe it wouldn’t seem so one-sided.”

  It was hard to follow his line of thinking because he was now kissing my wrist. His tongue darted out to taste the hot pulse points and I wondered if he could tell how fast the blood was rushing just beneath the skin there.

  “What’s one-sided?”

  He stopped kissing my hand and locked gazes with me. The lights lining the walkway and the dock glinted in his dark eyes and he leaned close.

  “I like you, Sydney. I think about you. A lot.”

  I swallowed and shifted on the seat. I decided to play it cool. “I think about you, too.” I ran put my hand on the front of his shirt and back down. I gave him a wicked grin so that there was no mistaking exactly what I meant. My hand drifted lower.

  He caught my wrist before it reached his waistband. “It’s more than that, though, Sydney. At least for me.” He dropped my hand and looked out over the lake. “You’re a beautiful woman. At first it was just that physical attraction that drew me to you.”

  He looked over at me. “But there’s more. When I’m with you, I feel relaxed. Calm. More like myself than I have in a long time.”

  “Well, that’s good.”

  He smiled. “Not even going to throw me a bone, here?”

  I shook my head. I wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted me to say. That I thought about him a lot too? That when it was us, like this, I liked him too? That the whole thing scared the hell out of me? “Not a chance.”

  “Well, I’ll just have to try harder, then, won’t I?”

  He reached down and grabbed his guitar. “This baby has never failed me.”

  I laughed lightly. “I’ll bet. Girls always go for a guy with a guitar.”

  Moving to the edge of the swing, he strummed softly at first. Then his deep, smooth voice merged with the tinkling notes and he hummed a melody low and deep. With just his voice and his music and the night, it wasn’t long before I stopped laughing and fell completely under his spell.

  It wasn’t a song I’d heard before. The tune was soft and kind of bittersweet, even without the words. Not his style at all. But it was moving and beautiful and felt like it really came from the heart.

  When he finished, he looked up at me and for the first time, I saw something other than utter confidence in the tilt of his mouth and the expression in his eyes.

  “What did you think?” He fiddled with the shoulder strap.

  CMA’s entertainer of the year, double-platinum, new artist award winner and fan favorite was nervous. It blew my mind.

  “Did you write it?”

  He shrugged. “It’s something I’ve been playing with. I haven’t played it for anyone else yet.”

  “Well,” I said, trying to determine the significance of that statement, “it’s not your style.”

  “No.”

  “I like it.”

  He set his guitar down against the swing’s frame. “You don’t have to say –”

  “No. I mean, I really like it.”

  “Really?”

  I turned to face him, folding one leg up on the swing. “It’s got a great melody. It’s not a ballad, exactly, but sweet. Still full of energy, too. Are there words?”

  He smiled then. “Not yet. Actually, I had an ulterior motive for asking you here tonight. And not the one your naughty little mind is picturing. Well, not only that one,” he said, grinning now. “I listened to your tape. You have a real talent for lyrics, Syd. I was hoping…you might help me out on this new piece.”

  A little thrill shot through me. “I don’t know if I can,” I said. “I mean, I’m not a professional or anything. Any songwriter in Nashville would jump at the chance to work with Dex Wilder.”

  “I don’t want a professional. I want you. You’re good, Sydney. And we have a connection. I feel comfortable with you.”

  He looked out over the lake. “I’ve never told anyone here about my sister. But you, you make me feel so
at ease, like I’ve known you forever. It’s…easier to open up to you.”

  In a flash, I realized why every song Dex Wilder ever sang was about beer or parties or his favorite pair of boots. As much as a bad boy and a risk-taker and a successful artist as he was, he was afraid to show what was on the inside. It all made sense now. And suddenly I did feel close to him.

  “Okay.”

  He turned back to me. “You’ll do it?”

  “I’ll try. Just don’t expect too much.”

  He leaned in then and kissed me. Given what we’d shared in that public park two years earlier, in his dressing room and even over the phone, it was a really innocent kiss. Tame and almost chaste. But it was far more intimate than any of the things we’d shared without our clothes.

  He pulled back and smiled at me. “Thank you.” He held my gaze for a minute, than grabbed his guitar again. “I was thinking about something like this for the bridge.”

  * * * *

  Six hours and an apple pie later, we had two verses and a chorus of Dex Wilder’s first non-party song. We had moved inside around midnight and were sitting in his library. I had moved to sit on the floor with my back against the couch. He sat on the couch with his guitar next to me, his knee bumping my shoulder every now and then.

  It turned out to be a song about a summer love, sweet and bittersweet too, but still upbeat and hopeful, just like his music. He came up with some fabulous lines and really, I just added to and expanded the images he’d created, once I saw where he was going with it.

  It was easy once I closed my eyes and pictured one particular summer night when the excitement and passion of a summer fling came flooding back. I didn’t ask what Dex was thinking of when he wrote the music. I probably didn’t want to know. I was sure it wasn’t the same image of a cowboy and a girl in a toga that I was thinking of.

  Even though I could never be in a room and not be aware of Dex as a man, the creative energy had sapped the desire to jump his bones for once, and the words came more easily than I thought they would. We were a good team. He played, I wrote, and we tried different words, different keys and combinations until everything sort of came together as a whole and I knew we’d nailed it. Dex did, too.