Girl on Tour (Kylie Ryans)

by Caisey Quinn

  “Lots of numbers in there,” she said softly, handing his phone back. He heard what she didn’t say. Lots of women’s numbers in there.

  “Kylie.” He shifted into her line of vision as she tried to look away. Once her gaze was firmly locked on his, he continued. “You could throw that phone right out the window and I swear to God I wouldn’t blink. There isn’t a number in there I give a damn about more than you. And I know your number by heart.” He watched her eyes darken, knowing she was deciding whether or not to trust him.

  “Oh my God, do you have a girl in there?” Gretchen shrieked before Kylie had a chance to say anything. “Jesus, Corbin. Feel free to bring your whores on the bus. Guess I can bring whoever I want on here too from now on.”

  “Go sleep it off, Gretchen,” he hollered back.

  His girlfriend gaped at him in horror. Welcome to my life.

  KYLIE pulled the sheet up to cover her naked body. Trace’s expression was annoyed, but he didn’t seem concerned that Gretchen was about to barge in on them or anything. She relaxed a little, but still grabbed his shirt and buttoned it over herself.

  “Do you have any idea what seeing you in my shirt does to me?”

  She smirked at him after she’d finished with the last button. “Brings back fond memories of me kicking your ass in that mud fight?”

  He snorted. “Something like that. What do I have to do to get a rematch?” He leaned in to kiss her but she stiffened. The press of his lips softened her, but just barely. Gretchen’s very presence on the bus with them made her tense. The pictures she’d seen of the woman pawing her boyfriend were promo shots. She got that. She knew it was true. But it didn’t take away the wounds from the sharp, stabbing knife of betrayal that had carved through her when she saw them the first time. The website had plastered them on its home page with headlines screaming that he and Gretchen Gibson were an item, that they were out on the town, and that he didn’t give two shits about his little fling with what’s-her-face.

  Just knowing someone had the power to hurt her like that twisted her up inside. Made her wonder why in the world she thought she could hold on to a man who had women like Gretchen around. Women who’d get drunk and have a good time with him instead of pouring out his entire liquor cabinet. Women who knew their way around a bedroom and probably a few other places. One thing she knew for sure. It was important to size up your competition.

  “I want to meet her,” she informed Trace as she stood up to pull her jeans back on.

  He looked at her as if she’d just told him she wanted to give up music and take up space exploration. “You want to what?”

  She rolled her eyes. Pulling her just-fucked hair into a ponytail, she turned and got in one last look at his naked body. “Get dressed. I want you to introduce me.”

  “That is literally the worst idea you’ve ever had. No.”

  She frowned. “Yeah, I wasn’t asking. Either you can introduce me or I can walk out there and introduce myself.” She reached for the handle on his door.

  He muttered something unintelligible under his breath. “Give me a sec.”

  She admired his back muscles as they strained against each other while he got dressed. For a moment she considered saying to hell with meeting Gretchen Gibson and just crawling right back into bed with him. But they were still a few hours away from Atlanta. There’d be time for that.

  Trace stood and took her hand, which she appreciated. She gave it a gentle squeeze. No matter what she’d said, she had a feeling he knew Gretchen still bothered her. Well, not Gretchen herself exactly. Just the idea of her.

  They stepped out into the common area of the bus but the woman was nowhere to be seen.

  “Gretch,” Trace called out. Oh for the love. That hurt to hear. Not that he said it with any kind of emotion behind it or anything, but just the fact that he’d called the woman by anything other than her complete name stung a bit.

  “What?” a harsh voice called back from the direction of the room where Kylie had slept when she was on tour with him. Salt in the wound. Lots of it. The kind from the giant container with the pour spout and the chick with the umbrella on it.

  “Can you come out here a sec?” Trace sounded exactly as excited about this little impromptu meeting as he looked. Which was not at all.

  When the woman appeared, in nothing but an oversized black Lynyrd Skynyrd T-shirt no less, Kylie sucked in a breath. Gretchen Gibson was all curves and long, thick ink-black hair swinging down her back. She had that rough look about her, like she’d been rode hard and put up wet, her daddy used to say. She looked like she could probably hogtie a steer in the time it took Kylie to put on lip gloss. But she was beautiful at the same time. Her bright, crystal clear gray eyes against her dark features made her striking, and her swagger made it clear she knew she was gorgeous. Well that’s not intimidating at all.

  “Gretchen Gibson, this is Kylie Ryans. She wanted to meet you,” Trace said with no emotion in his voice. She didn’t miss that he didn’t call her his girlfriend. But he still held her hand, so she took that as a good sign.

  “Pleasure to meet you,” Kylie said, sticking out the hand Trace wasn’t holding. The other woman eyed it with disinterest all over her face. Kylie dropped her hand and ran it through her hair. “My daddy was a big fan of yours.”

  Gretchen raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Was? He’s not anymore?”

  Kylie swallowed hard. It was time to stop breaking apart inside every time this came up. “He passed away last year. Right before Christmas.”

  “Sorry to hear that.” But the woman didn’t look sorry. She didn’t look…anything. Except maybe bored with the entire hassle of existing. As if being alive was somehow putting her out.

  Kylie shrugged. “Anyways, I just wanted to meet you. Wanted to wish you luck on the tour.” She forced a smile. Which Gretchen didn’t return.

  The woman sneered and glanced up at Trace. “Sure you did. More like you wanted to see if I was planning to fuck your man. Am I right?”

  Trace stepped between them. “That’s enough. Don’t be a bitch, Gretchen. Or are you even able to switch that off?”

  Kylie appreciated his gesture, but she could take care of herself. She was from the trashy side of town. She’d dealt with the worst of them in high school. Gretchen was obviously the damaged, pretend-I-don’t-give-a-shit-and-lash-out-at-you-first variety of female. “It’s okay. I saw all I needed to. Pleasure meeting you, Ms. Gibson.” Kylie smiled as widely as possible. If anything was going on, she’d bet her ass Gretchen would’ve been sweet as Grandma’s apple pie to her. But the woman was obviously pissed off and annoyed by her presence. Likely because Trace wasn’t paying her the attention she wanted. Thank God.

  She pulled at Trace’s hand, ready to go back in the bedroom and enjoy their last few hours together, but Gretchen’s feathers were ruffled. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Again, Trace stepped closer, putting a hand up to stop Gretchen from advancing on them. “It means she wanted to meet you and she did. So goodnight.”

  Kylie scoffed out loud. Surely he knew she wasn’t going to let him start speaking for her, regardless of what they did to each other behind closed doors. “No, actually I meant you’re nothing like I thought you’d be and I doubt Trace would even be interested in you. Obviously the tabloids got it wrong. So I can sleep easy from now on.”

  “Well, actually, Trace was plenty inter—”

  “Shut the hell up, Gretchen. Or I swear to God, I’ll call Noel Davies right this second and call this whole thing off. This isn’t just my last chance, sweetheart. It’s yours too.” The acid in Trace’s voice kept Kylie from caring that he’d called Gretchen sweetheart. He very clearly meant it in the meanest way possible. But what the hell had Gretchen been about to say?

  “You know what? I’m going to bed. Kylie, you might want to check with the driver to see if there’s a car seat on the bus you could use.”

  Wow, that was original. This woman wasn’
t nearly as sharp as she looked. And screw her for not knowing the driver’s name. Kylie liked him. Missed him. Juanita, the woman driving her bus, barely even spoke to anyone. “Thanks for your concern. While I’m at it, I’ll see if Carl can locate your dignity. Or that last ounce of class you must’ve dropped on your way in. Lovely perfume you’re wearing, by the way.” Kylie inhaled. “Smells like drunken bartender and piss-drenched back alley. Bet your evening was super special.”

  Gretchen launched herself towards her, but she didn’t flinch. Trace braced his arms around Gretchen before she reached her and walked her backwards.

  “Night night, Gretch,” Kylie called out from over his shoulder.

  After Trace had practically shoved Gretchen into her room, he returned to Kylie. She was a smidge embarrassed about her behavior, but at the same time, she was who she was. He knew that. He could take it or leave it. But she hoped he wouldn’t leave it. So she hopped up on the counter in the kitchenette and leaned back to watch him approach.

  Once he was situated between her legs, in the same position he’d been in once before in that very same spot, he quirked a brow. “Was that fun for you?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “No. I didn’t know she was going to be so hateful to me. But I give what I get. You know that. Why? Was it fun for you?”

  He pressed himself tighter in between her legs. She shivered as his breath tickled her jawline. “Mm, maybe. A little. I like seeing you all worked up. But I like it better when you work all that aggression out on me.”

  “Me too.” She grinned up at him from under her lashes.

  He made a low growling sound in her ear. “Let’s go back to my room.”

  Yes, please. “Wait.” She put a hand on his chest and looked into his hooded hazel eyes. “Tell me something.”

  “Anything, as long as you promise we can go back to bed.” He brushed his face against hers. Damn, she loved how his stubbled jaw felt on her smooth skin.

  “Why’d you stop? That night, here, when we were—” She interrupted herself to wave a hand between them.

  Trace exhaled loudly. He leaned back and ran a hand through his hair. “Jesus, Kylie. We barely knew each other and I was…and you were…” He shook his head.

  “Well, that clears that up.”

  He grunted. “You know what I mean. I told you that night. You deserved better.” He leaned closer, letting her pull him in with her legs, which she’d wrapped around his waist when he started to step back. “You still do.”

  She rolled her eyes. There was no one better for her as far as she was concerned. She lifted her hips to get him against her like she needed. “And yet, you’re not stopping this time.”

  Trace smiled, his one-of-a-kind panty-dropping smile as he pressed against her. “I’m trying to be better.”

  She couldn’t help but smile back. “How’s that working for you?”

  “You tell me, Kylie Lou,” he said just before he placed his lips gently against hers. She whimpered when he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth.

  “I think you’re pretty damn good just the way you are.”

  She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, losing herself in his kiss completely as he carried her back to his room.

  THE sexy breathy little moans his girlfriend let out threatened to end him every time. Those noises haunted his dreams when they were apart. He sank into her slick tightness, groaning as he did. She was made for him. That was the only explanation he could come up with.

  “Trace,” she pleaded in a deep husky tone that killed him a little bit. “I want it harder this time.”

  Christ. He rammed into her, roughly jolting her body in a way that made him want to growl like a crazed animal, letting everyone in the tri-state area know she was his and his alone, dammit. He bit down on her mouth as they kissed. She whimpered again, so he raked his teeth against her bottom lip hard enough to hurt. She was channeling her frustration from that night months ago when he’d left her hanging on the countertop. He’d bet his farm on it.

  But he wasn’t ready for it to be over, not by a long shot. Not when he had one more day before they went back to living separate lives. Lives where he couldn’t see her smiling face, kiss her smart, sassy mouth, and bury himself inside of her. So he pulled as far out of her as he could, staring straight down into her eyes as he went. When he sank back into her, she closed her eyes and arched her back. His gaze trailed down the smooth column of her throat. His mouth licked, kissed, and sucked every inch of skin within his reach.

  “Tell me something,” he rasped into her ear.

  “Anything.” The whisper of her voice combined with the inferno raging around his dick was almost too much. He pressed as deeply into her as he could go.

  “Before…when we were—oh fuck.” He bit off another swear word as her walls clenched around him.

  “You were saying?” she asked sweetly. She kissed his neck this time, and he was surprised how much he enjoyed it. No one had ever kissed him there before. At least, not when he was sober enough to remember it.

  “When was the first time, the first time you realized you would be with me if I wanted?” It was a cocky prick of a question to ask but he’d been going insane reminiscing about their all too brief time together. Wondering why she would’ve fallen for him when he was such a mess.

  She clenched around him again. And again. He pressed harder, the tip of his dick hitting farther than it ever had in an attempt to hold her still. But her walls were full on pulsating around him now. “Jesus. Is that you doing that? I mean, on purpose?”

  She grinned, an impish little smirk that said yes she damn sure was doing that on purpose.

  “You keep that up and I’m going to come before you do.” He used every ounce of strength he had to pull himself out of her clenching depths. “Answer the question, please.”

  She let out a throaty noise of disapproval. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking exactly.” She was panting slightly and her hot breath on him was almost more than he could take.

  “When would you have fucked me, Kylie Lou? At what point would you have let me pick you up, press you against the wall, and make you scream my name?” He forced his dick back into her throbbing walls, sinking heavily into her welcoming heat.

  She pulsed faster and he couldn’t hold out any longer. He resumed moving inside of her, matching the intense rhythm her body set for them. Sweet noises escaped her throat, pleasure and pain and need mingling together in the space between them.

  “Tell me.” He thrust hard into her, once, twice. Her back bowed, forcing her bare breasts into his chest. He reached a hand up to cup one. Leaning down he pulled each of her sweet, tight nipples into his mouth. “Tell me when,” he demanded against her breast.

  She didn’t answer, but judging from her moans, she was close. Despite his own intense need, he withdrew until she cried out. “Please, Trace. Please don’t stop.”

  “I won’t. I promise. Just tell me when, pretty girl.”

  Her panting became frantic. He looked down into her eyes. They were wide, like a frightened animal’s. Desperate. “That first night,” she whispered.

  “On the bus?” Well that was a surprise. He’d been a complete asshole because she’d intimidated the hell out of him on stage. He rammed hard into her, filling her completely and then pulling out once more.

  She shook her head as she writhed beneath him. “No. In the Rum Room. After we sang.” Her words blurred together as she rushed them out of her mouth. She closed her eyes but he needed them open. This was one hell of a shock to his system.

  “Look at me. The first night we met, when you didn’t know me from Adam?”

  She opened her eyes and nodded before closing them again. Pain stabbed him down low in his stomach. Was this all about who she thought he was? What he was instead of who he really was? He’d thought it was so much more than that. He didn’t think he was wrong. “Why?”

  He watched as she swallowed hard and opened her beautiful blue
s. He slid in and rocked gently inside of her, drowning in her gaze as she licked her lips. “I was broken. Dead inside,” she whispered. “You made me feel alive.”

  That was it. The last nudge he needed to jump off the cliff into the abyss that was loving Kylie Ryans. She pulsed once more around him and he released himself inside of her with everything he had.

  “EVERYTHING will be different now,” she said softly into the darkness.

  “Hmm?” Trace was drifting into that murky area between sleep and consciousness.

  “Everyone knows. That we’re together. Or they will soon.”

  “That okay?” The concern in Kylie’s voice dragged him back to the surface. He pulled her closer and met her sleepy stare.

  She nodded, wiggling closer to him. “Just…I don’t want to do anything that’s going to mess things up for you. I tend to feel first and think second. I don’t know if you’ve noticed…” She smiled and he couldn’t resist kissing her luscious mouth. God, she always tasted so damn good. Sweet and savory, like vanilla and honey.

  “Babe, I’m the one who’d mess things up for you. I wanted to keep us quiet so people wouldn’t make any judgments about you based on my sorry ass. You’re new to this business and you deserve to make a name for yourself without mine tainting that.”

  She snorted. “I’ve never been one to care what people think, Trace.”

  “I know. Believe me, I love that about you. But this business is…”

  “Is what?” she asked, tilting her chin up at him.

  “Is all about what people think. Whether they like you, your sound, your latest single, your album, your look, your—”

  She cut him off with a deep kiss. When she was done, she brushed her nose against his. “I’m with you, Trace. My music is my music. I give it everything I have. If people don’t like me, either because of you or because of my music, well…they can change the damn channel. Or station. Or whatever.”