by Caisey Quinn
The jumble of letters looked nothing like what Kylie had meant to send. “I told Pauly I didn’t need a new phone.” Even though she kind of did since her refurbished hand-me-down from Lulu barely held a charge. The man had insisted, saying they would take it out of her tour pay. She suspected he was lying.
Trace smirked at her. “Uh huh, ‘cause the phone made you drink or what?”
“You know, I’m starting to think you should’ve been a comedian.”
“Maybe in my next life,” Trace said with a sad smile that she couldn’t understand. “Is that what you came to tell me?”
“Not exactly.”
Trace cleared his throat and Kylie wondered how many girls he’d had in that huge bed. At least one that she knew of—the American Idol chick. Kylie had Googled her. Mia Montgomery. She was pretty. Okay, gorgeous. The official release said she had left the tour for personal reasons. Well, Pauly seemed to know exactly what had happened, so it wasn’t that personal after all.
“It’s late, sorry. I should get back to my room.” Kylie reached back for the door handle.
“Kylie?” Trace’s deep voice sent a spasm vibrating up her spine. She froze with her fingers on the handle.
“Yeah?”
“You’re welcome, and don’t sweat it. We’ve all been there.”
It took her a few seconds to figure out if Trace was being genuinely sweet or irritatingly condescending. His eyes were warm but his mouth twitched. Hmm.
She was just about to say goodnight when he took a step and lessened the distance between them. She thought he’d stop when he got within arm’s reach, but he kept coming. He didn’t stop until she was backed against his door and they were practically touching.
His handsome face merely inches from hers, a faint hint of his trademark bourbon scent teased her. Despite her previous resolution to never touch alcohol again, she was overwhelmed by the desire to taste the liquor on his lips. “Kylie, if I ever again see you in a place like The Player’s Club, or alone in a bedroom with a musician who wants nothing more than to fuck you, then I can’t be held responsible for what I might do.”
She swallowed hard, resisting the urge to shrink away from the intensity of his stare. “Does right now count as being alone in a bedroom with a musician who wants to fuck me?”
Her words surprised them both. Trace leaned back just slightly. She watched as his eyes widened and then narrowed. “Yes, it does. Which is why you should run back to your room as fast as those pretty little legs can carry you. And lock the goddamned door.”
Adrenaline surged hot and powerful through her entire body. Heat flooded between her thighs, weakening her knees. Biting back a surprised whimper, she refused to break eye contact first. Trace gave in, letting his eyes lower to take in the way her tank top hugged her breasts.
Oh, God, she wanted him so bad it hurt. Wanted him—no, needed him—to touch her like she could tell he wanted to. But he motioned for her to move aside, so she did. She watched helplessly as he opened the door and nodded her dismissal.
Fine, she wasn’t going to beg. “Goodnight, Trace,” she said softly.
A dark warning flashed in his eyes as she realized it was the first time she’d called him by his first name out loud. He held the door open for her. Her body screamed at her to wait him out, to ask him to give her what she needed. But her pride wouldn’t allow that. So she slunk back to her room and collapsed onto her bed. She didn’t lock the door, and that throbbing ache was pulsing for her attention. Why did he have to be so damn hot? The man exuded raw barely controlled power and overwhelming heat. His skin would probably sear hers on impact, but damn she wanted to touch him.
Since watching Darla parade men in and out of her bedroom, treating her like the trash that she was, Kylie had sworn off the opposite sex. She focused on working her ass off to keep the bills paid, and working on her music took up all of her time anyways. She didn’t know what it would feel like for a man to please her, but she damn sure knew how to please herself. She was a virgin, not a nun.
Slipping under the covers she closed her eyes and pictured him. Him sitting in the Player’s Club VIP room, his eyes only sparking to life amidst all that sex when he saw her. Him bursting into that bathroom to rescue her in his own way. Him pinning her to the door with his stare and telling her he wanted her.
Her hands weren’t masculine and strong like his would be, but that’s what her imagination was for. Sliding her fingers down to herself, she groaned and whimpered as she grazed her sensitive flesh. Her body rocked hard off the bed as she dipped into her wetness and slicked it around her folds.
Sex with Trace would be rough, she knew from the way he grabbed her in The Player’s Club, but she’d bet he could be gentle too. He sat her down outside the Phi Kap house like she was made of glass. His scent lingered on her, that sharp, clean cologne and something else woodsy and warm that was just him.
She overheated as her orgasm ramped up. She was losing control, wishing she had thrown herself at him moments ago when she had the chance. God, he would feel so good inside her. She was going to come fast, something she’d never been able to manage, often leading her to just give up or avoid this altogether. But this time it felt wonderful to let go. Tortured moans escaped her throat without her permission. She was so damn wound up all the time. For once she just wanted to let go.
So she did. And oh, dear Lord. Amidst her raging cries, she called out his name. Once, twice, and a third time on a sigh as she came back down to Earth with a shudder. The white hot blanket of shame at the realization of what she’d just done covered her.
Burying her face in her pillow she begged the universe to be kind to her for once. Please, please tell me he didn’t hear that. Something thrown hard against a wall—a chair maybe?—jolted her entire body almost as hard as her orgasm had. He’d heard all right. And he was pissed.
SHE WAS making coffee in the small kitchenette when he emerged from his room the next morning. Her entire body flushed so deep it was painful. Before she could think of something to say that might ease the tension between them, Trace stepped in close behind her. Bracing his muscular arms on either side of her, effectively trapping her between him and the counter, he leaned in and let his breath tickle her neck.
“Sleep well?” The rumble of his voice sent a tremor through Kylie’s shoulders.
“So well it should be a sin,” she drawled, using her heaviest accent while turning in his arms to face him.
A low growl escaped his throat and the heat in his eyes neared lethal. “Did you lock the door like I told you to?”
Kylie bit her lip and shook her head. She’d disobeyed a direct order. She sincerely hoped there would be a punishment in her near future. Preferably something involving spanking.
“You’re really testing me here. I don’t recommend it, darlin’.” The bourbon lingering on his breath pulled her from her lust-filled haze. The scent was more potent than it had been the night before. Alarms rang out at the realization that he was already drinking this early in the morning.
Once he turned and headed towards Pauly’s room, Kylie nearly crumpled to the floor. The breath she’d been holding rushed out of her as she tried to regain some sense of composure. Shaking her head, like that would actually clear it, she wondered what she had been thinking. She wanted a career, a chance to make a name for herself. Not to be another random girl Trace Corbin bagged in the sack and tossed out on her ass.
As much as she didn’t want to concern herself about him, she was still feeling pretty grateful that he’d cared enough to punch a guy out on her behalf. Even if it was totally unnecessary. The way his eyes had flashed and his fists had clenched, it was like he was worried about her. Why, she had no idea. But it felt nice since the only other person who’d ever really cared that much was buried in Oklahoma. As she searched the cabinets for tea and honey, she opened one that she hadn’t even noticed before.
Bottles of liquor, the good stuff that probably cost more than she’d ma
ke on this tour, or maybe ever, filled the bottom shelf. Jesus. The man could open a package store. A half empty pint of Johnnie Walker Blue Label caught her eye and she lifted it. There was a tag still attached to the neck.
Trace, Great show! Can’t wait to have you back in the Blue Grass State! Your friends at the Brass Bull. Another, a single malt scotch Kylie had never heard of, sat behind Johnnie with a tag attached as well. Looking forward to working with you again! E & C Recording. Half a dozen bottles of Heaven Hill bourbon sat behind the fancier bottles, a few with cards and tags on them like the others. Did these people not think about what they were doing? For love of all that was holy, the man was known for getting drunk, getting in trouble, and damn near tanking his recording deal. Nothing says ‘thank you’ to an alcoholic like a big ass bottle of expensive liquor. Nice.
Anger surged violent and hot, and an impulse Kylie couldn’t control struck her. She grabbed the bottles and began pouring them down the sink one by one. So he doesn’t screw up this tour and ruin it for me, she tried to tell herself. But the real motivation behind her actions? Something she didn’t want to think about. Or admit. Tears began to stream down her face as quickly as the liquor was going down the drain. Did no one care enough about him to realize what was going on? At the very least, they should’ve cared about his music and tried to stop him from spiraling out of control.
When she was finished, she stared at the empty bottles on the counter. All twenty-seven of them. Her hand rose to her mouth as she took in the aftermath of her temporary insanity. What had she done? More importantly, why had she done it?
“RELAX, PAULY. It’s one damn drink.”
Kylie was sitting in the booth on the bus attempting to write when she heard him coming. She’d thrown the evidence of her psychotic break in a black garbage bag and tossed it in a dumpster behind the bar in Jackson they were performing at in less than an hour.
The voices got louder as they stomped onto the bus. “Trace, you heard what Noel said. If you’re so much as—”
“Back the fuck off, Pauly. I’m having a drink on the bus so no one runs their mouth to Noel. Then I will go in there and blow the damn audience away like I always do. Your paycheck is safe.” The snide tone wasn’t one she was used to hearing him use with his manager.
Forcing herself not to look up when he came towards her and yanked the cabinet doors open, she fought hard to overcome the nauseating waves of dread rolling over her.
“What the hell?” Trace didn’t acknowledge her, but he whirled on Pauly like a man possessed. “I swear to God, if you emptied my liquor cabinet, your ass is fired.”
Kylie’s head snapped up and she watched as Pauly held up his hands in a gesture of innocence. Trace was closing the distance between them. She recognized the beginning of a physical confrontation when she saw one. Apparently so did Trace’s manager, who began backing up as quickly as Trace was approaching.
She couldn’t let Trace fire his manager. Pauly was most likely the only reason he still had a career at all. Sliding out of the booth, she steeled herself for the full force of the fiery rage about to be heading her way. “Pauly didn’t empty your cabinet. I did.” Her voice sounded a whole lot stronger than she felt.
Confusion contorted Trace’s features as he turned to face her. “That’s real cute, Ryans. Where’d you hide it?”
Biting her lip, she realized he and Pauly were blocking the only exit. Her heart sped and a cold clammy sheen of sweat covered her. “I didn’t hide it. I poured it down the sink.”
Trace’s eyes went wide. And then anger darkened his entire presence. She didn’t know what Pauly was doing because she couldn’t see past the man advancing on her. “Tell me you’re joking. Tell me now.” Trace’s low growl was enough to break her resolve.
“I would say I’m sorry,” she whispered. “But I’m not.”
Rage radiated off him. Nostrils flaring and chest heaving in and out, he backed her against the booth. “Is this because I didn’t fuck you?”
Kylie’s face began tingling and she lost all feeling in her legs. This must be what it feels like to go into shock. “No. It’s not. And you’re an asshole for bringing that up and you know it.” Kylie lifted her chin and bit the hell out of her bottom lip so it wouldn’t quiver. “I did it because you have a drinking problem. And because no one else would.”
“Listen to me.” Trace punctuated each word with a heavy breath. “You and me, we’re nothing.” He waved a finger between the two of them. “Whatever you’ve built this up to be in your pretty blond head, that’s all it is. In your head.”
The truth hurt, even though she’d known it all along, but she swallowed the pain and squared her shoulders. “Okay. Now you listen to me,” she began, taking a step forward and forcing him to back up out of her personal space. “I thought I’d made myself clear. I don’t want a single thing from you. Hell, I don’t even like you. But for right now, and for the next few weeks, I need you to be sober and not ruin the rest of this tour like you seem to be dead set on doing. If I so much as get a whiff of liquor on your breath on the day of a show, I will go straight crazy-ex-girlfriend-psycho-bitch on your ass. And I will dump any and all liquor I find on this bus.”
“The hell you will,” he threatened, pressing back into her space. Kylie glanced around him for some assistance, but Pauly was nowhere to be seen. Great.
“And what are you going to do about it? Have me kicked off the tour? I’m sure the label would side with me since they’re not interested in paying for any more of your no-shows. When this tour ends, you can drink yourself right out of your career for all I care.”
“Who the fuck do you think—”
“Trace, that’s enough. She has to be on stage in five minutes.” A soothing male voice broke through the tension and cut him off. Pauly and a guy named Danny from Trace’s band stood at the front of the bus. Kylie breathed a sigh of relief. She leaned to the right and darted around him but his hand struck out and gripped her arm, pulling her back in his direction.
“Trace,” she whimpered, both angry and a little afraid as their eyes met. “You’re hurting me.”
Shocked remorse flashed in his eyes and she almost wanted to comfort the bastard. But he released her so roughly she stumbled in her attempt to get as far away from him as she possibly could. Pauly met her halfway down the aisle and rushed her off the bus while Danny stayed behind to deal with the fallout of her actions. Her traitorous body trembled as they walked to the bar, but she was glad for what had happened. It had served to destroy any hopes she had of getting to know Trace Corbin in any capacity.
DESPITE THE drama in Mississippi, the show actually went well. Afterward, Kylie had to sit down with Cora Loughlin, Trace’s publicist, who was in town specifically to meet with her. Now there was a woman she didn’t envy.
Cora’s suffocating floral perfume filled the tiny space of the media room on the bus as she helped Kylie set up artist Facebook and Twitter accounts. They also posted some videos on YouTube and linked them to Trace’s Back to My Roots tour website.
“Not to be dense, but what exactly am I supposed to say on these things?” Kylie asked. She already felt like a slug next to Cora with her sleek suit and perfect hair. Kylie had her writing jeans on with an old t-shirt that was a size too small and featured Hank Williams Jr’s face. It was her favorite. She put on a scarf, arranging it just so to try and hide the stains. Not that the elegant woman seemed to notice or care.
“Oh, you know. Just how excited you are to be touring with Trace, how great the crowd is at each show. Stuff like that.”
“Um, okay. Why?” Kylie couldn’t figure for the life of her who in the world would want to “follow” what she had to say online. She’d had a personal Facebook back home but she only had like a dozen friends on there from high school and she never really updated it with anything other than pictures of her and Lulu goofing around.
“Post some photos of you and Trace being silly on the bus, whatever you’re eating,
teasers about songs you’re working on…Just light fun stuff, okay?” Cora waited for Kylie to nod in agreement and then went back to looking at something on her iPhone. She didn’t want to tell the woman that all she and Trace had been doing together on the bus was avoiding one another since their screaming match.
“Not sure she does light and fun, but I’m sure she could fake it. Right, Kylie?” Trace leaned in the doorway of the media room polishing something against his shirt. Fake it? Did he think she’d just been faking him out the other night? Maybe that was better than him knowing the truth about her little fantasy. Or was he making fun of her because he was still pissed about the alcohol? Whatever. Trying to figure him out was not on her list of things to do at the moment.
“Look,” Cora began, glancing at Trace and then back to Kylie. “This is the way people connect with you and it’s how we build some chick from Oklahoma that no one’s ever heard of a fan base. If you don’t feel like you can do it, let me know and I can get one of our tech guys to keep up your account. Okay?”
“I can do it,” Kylie mumbled, feeling like Trace had just called her an uptight reject, and Cora, who’d known her for all of an hour, concurred.
“Great.” The publicist beamed and smiled, blasting her pearly whites out from behind her bright red lipstick. “You have my info. Call me if you need anything.”
“Trace,” Cora nodded to him on the way out.
“Cora,” he said curtly as she passed.
Kylie wasn’t stupid. She saw the tension that passed between them. Apparently Cora was more than Trace’s PR lady. Geez, did this guy hook up with everybody? Well, not everybody. He hadn’t so much as joked about anything remotely like hooking up with her since the night she had to tear him from the VIP room at The Texas Player’s Club. But after seeing American Idol girl and Cora, it wasn’t like she could compete with his type anyways. Oh, wonderful…the last thing Kylie needed to be thinking about was competing with his women. Gross.
