Country Music Cowboy

by Sasha Summers

  “My manager. Luke Samuels,” Jace said.

  A weasel—like Steve. He had hair and was dressed better, but there was no denying the similarities: too eager to please and dewy with anxious sweat. “Miss King, it’s an honor, a real honor—”

  “Sure. But since you’re here and all, might as well come meet some fans. Since our fans will be your fans soon enough.” She beamed up at Jace again, but this time around, he looked downright suspicious. So he was smart, too?

  “If you want—” Luke began.

  “I do,” she said, tugging Jace along. “Besides, you should meet Emmy, maybe get a few pics of the two of you.” She didn’t know why she was torturing herself. Seeing her sister and Jace together, paired up to sing her creation, wasn’t going to improve her mood. But there was no going back now.

  Smile in place, she walked into the hall to the sound of those fans that paid extra money for the backstage passes and meet and greet. “You know how to work the crowd, Jake?” she asked, emphasizing the name. His delicious grin told her he hadn’t missed it. “Now’s a good time to get some practice.”

  Now that she’d led him into the lion’s den, he could fend for himself. With a wink, she let him go—but he followed closely—his scent still teasing her nostrils. Best to ignore him and focus on doing her job.

  She enjoyed this part of it. This was what it was about—these people loved their music, loved them. Their enthusiasm was contagious and reassuring. As much as she’d like to deny it, she wanted to be liked, maybe even a little bit adored, the way her sister and brother were.

  And Jace Black? Apparently, people knew who he was and, from the way they screamed his name, liked him.

  If he wasn’t stealing her song, she’d have considered being a fan, too. But he was, so she wasn’t. Still, from that wicked grin to those beautiful eyes, there was a whole lot about Jace Black to like.

  ***

  Don’t screw this up. Jace tore his gaze from Krystal King.

  If he was smart, he’d hang back and watch the Kings work the room. He could only hope to handle a crowd like this with half their composure. When someone recognized him from Next Top American Voice, he got red-faced and tongue-tied. He wasn’t sure why he’d gone along with Krystal—he just had. And now? He sure as hell hadn’t expected to be recognized. Women were screaming his name, waving their cameras at him—some of them were crying. Crying?

  It made him uncomfortable as hell. Here he was, blushing and stumbling over what to say, and these people knew his name, thought he was talented, wanted to touch him and get his autograph.

  “Smile and wave,” his little sister, Heather, had told him. “Pretend like you’re having fun. Like you’re going fishing.” He wished she were here, poking fun at him, keeping him grounded. Since she wasn’t, he’d follow her advice. He leaned into the crowd and smiled at the dozens of phones snapping pictures.

  He didn’t know if he’d ever get used to this. To him, it was overwhelming. Crazy. And “part of the job”—the Wheelhouse Records PR department had assured him.

  Krystal’s husky laughter set the hair on the back of his neck upright. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her hugging a fan. The tenderness on her face was unexpected—and oh so real. He’d been warned about Krystal King. She was guarded. Check. Had a bit of a temper. Check. The spark in her green eyes confirmed that, too. No one had to tell him she was sexy as hell—he’d always known that. But nothing, nothing, had prepared him for how fiercely he’d respond to her.

  To say he was attracted to the rebel King was an understatement.

  But there was more to Krystal King than what the media, Wheelhouse Records, and his manager had to say. Anyone who could write the lyrics she did or create music that made him ache was more than cold and angry. Her music was her voice—weighted with real passion. The sort of emotion that had him wearing out Three Kings CDs in his old truck and singing along whenever one of their songs was on the radio. His favorite songs? The ones she wrote. Not only did he admire her music, but he admired how she handled the bad-girl persona and public character-bashing she was regularly subjected to. He never believed the tabloid headlines or talk show gossip, but if she was angry and guarded, she had plenty of reasons.

  Was he one of them now?

  The way she’d looked at him…he hadn’t been prepared for that. He couldn’t tell if she was all angry fire or sizzling from of a different kind of flame. Wishful thinking. There was no way someone like Krystal King was interested in him. All he knew was looking at her too long had him burning in a way that set warning flares off in his brain. Watching her now, blond hair hanging down her back and the fringes of her black minidress swinging around a pair of long, toned golden legs, had him wishing. Hard.

  Bad idea. Don’t screw this up.

  “Jace.” A woman grabbed his hand. “I love you. Your voice is perfect.” Her cheeks were flushed. “You’re perfect. I voted for you every night.”

  “I appreciate that. But I’m not perfect,” he said, smiling. “I can promise you that.”

  “You are. You are. And I love you,” the woman insisted, her grip tightening.

  “And he loves you, too. You have to share him with the rest of us,” Travis King, the only male member of the Three Kings, gently pried the woman’s hand loose. “But he’s real glad you came out to meet him. Got something for him to sign?”

  The woman nodded and offered him a poster of the Three Kings. He glanced at Travis and signed the corner, feeling like a fraud. He handed it back, smiled, and moved on. “Thanks,” he murmured to Travis.

  “Clingers are hard,” Travis said, signing and talking and not missing a step. “One woman jumped over the tape and into my arms. She was no lightweight, either. Pulled a muscle in my back and had to get one of them to help her back onto the other side of the tape.”

  Jace looked in the direction of Travis’s nod. Three men and one woman wearing “King’s Guard” shirts. Clever. “Security?” he asked, smiling in spite of himself.

  “Always,” he said. “I hear my sister roped you into sticking around?”

  “Not sure how it happened,” Jace confessed.

  “Krystal has a way of getting what she wants.” Travis laughed. “Come on, take a break in the greenroom. Then it’s time for group pics and hanging with the money.” He led Jace down the hall, all the while smiling and waving.

  Krystal joined them, no sign of her earlier tension present. She sort of…glowed, happy and excited. “You two stand together too long and we might have a riot on our hands.”

  Was that a compliment? It sure as hell sounded like one.

  “Just own it, man. Own it and enjoy every minute.” Travis grinned. “You’ll never have to sleep alone again.”

  “Travis, there are times I’m ashamed to call you my brother.” Clearly, she didn’t appreciate her brother’s attitude. By the time they entered what resembled a small conference room, Krystal was back to being tense and quiet.

  One wall was lined with mirrors and floor-to-ceiling folding screens. Jace was blindsided by the photographs hanging on the wall just inside. He wandered, reading autographs and shaking his head at the impressive display of talent that had visited the Chesapeake Energy Arena before him. Willie Nelson. John Connelly. Loretta Lynn. And a smiling, younger Hank King. Here he was, a west Texas roughneck, surrounded by reminders of everything he wasn’t. Sooner or later, the rest of the world would snap out of it and he’d be back on the grasshoppers, drilling for oil from dawn till dusk.

  Might as well enjoy it.

  On the opposite wall, a long table was covered with trays of pastries, fruit, and cheese. He almost took pictures for Heather—almost. She’d love to see this—the fancy sparkling water bottles in large glass bowls full of ice. Above that, three large televisions played, muted. The room and its occupants seemed to be on fast-forward, while he was stuck in slow motio
n.

  He shook his hands out and did his best not to stand out.

  His manager, Luke, was waiting with Mr. Zamora, looking almost as nervous as he felt. Jace had taken a gamble hiring him, but Luke had grown up in the business and knew all the right people. Like CiCi King. He had no idea Luke’s mother and Hank King’s wife played bunco together, but he suspected that was how he’d ended up here. His voice was only part of it—having the right connections sealed the deal. Still, standing against the wall as the room filled with the chart-breaking, award-winning King family and the entourage that cared for them had his insecurities kicking in. Sure he sang some, for himself—or at the bar in town. But he had nothing, nothing, like the talent in this room.

  Sure, they talked and laughed just like normal folk—but there was nothing normal about these people. He didn’t belong here. This was not his life. This wasn’t real; it couldn’t be.

  It didn’t help that Krystal kept glancing his way. Even standing there, talking to her brother, she radiated a sort of defiance that was hard to ignore. Hell, if he was honest with himself, he didn’t want to ignore her. He’d prop himself up right here, against the wall, and look his fill if he could. No woman should look this beautiful in real life. But she was.

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  Acknowledgments

  This series has been an emotional roller coaster. In order to challenge the Kings with real-life issues, I had to dig deep into some difficult topics—some more difficult than others. It helped having my Romance Besties there with me every step of the way. Allison Collins, Teri Wilson, Jolene Navarro, Julia London, Patricia W. Fisher, Frances Trilone, Molly Mirren, Makenna Less, K.L White, and Storm Navarro—you guys are the best cheerleaders and friends anyone could want.

  Thank you to Susie Benton for being so sweet and supportive when I needed it most. Pets are family too—you totally got that.

  To my family, I know it can’t be easy living with me, but you have to admit it’s never boring.

  And thank you to the readers for letting me share my stories with you.

  About the Author

  USA Today bestselling author Sasha Summers grew up surrounded by books. Her passions have always been storytelling, romance, and travel—passions she uses when writing. Now a bestselling and award-winning author, Sasha continues to fall a little in love with each hero she writes. From easy-on-the-eyes cowboys, to sexy alpha-male werewolves, to heroes of truly mythic proportions, she believes that everyone should have their happy ending—in fiction and real life.

  Sasha lives in the suburbs of the Texas Hill Country with her amazing and supportive family and her beloved grumpy cat, Gerard, The Feline Overlord. She looks forward to hearing from fans and hopes you’ll visit her online. Facebook: Sasha Summers Author, Twitter: @sashawrites, or her website: sashasummers.com.

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