“I will.”
Chasin didn’t move but his eyes were actively roaming my face before he found what he was looking for and let me go.
I folded out of the Charger and Bobby met me. “This place is beautiful.”
It was beautiful, and not just the old farmhouse—which incidentally, looked like a dollhouse, though I doubted very much Nixon would appreciate it being described as such, considering he was a man’s man and he’d grown up in the house. All that was missing was the gingerbread trim and the house would straight up be out of a magazine or an episode of an HGTV show on Queen Anne architecture.
The large front porch featured four complicated pillars, painted yellow to match the rest of the trim. The siding was gray, and in any other setting, the color combination would look silly. But it absolutely didn’t look silly on this old farmhouse—it was inspired. The siding looked new and I wondered if McKenna had picked the colors or if they’d hired a designer.
All that was missing were a couple of rocking chairs and hanging ferns. But even missing the chairs and ferns, it was perfect.
It was also private.
Back in Tennessee, I had a big house with a tall brick wall that surrounded my property, yet I could still see my neighbor’s house and they, too, had a good bit of property around their house. I glanced around the yard, then to a field beyond the lawn, and I couldn’t see another house.
Nice.
I’d give up my big house and my big wall for this any day of the week. This looked like heaven.
“I could totally see you living in a place like this,” she said, voicing my thoughts.
“Yeah, until some asshole reporter found me. Then I’d have to build a wall to keep them out and it’d ruin everything,” I replied.
“Jeez, Viv. Such a buzzkill.” She laughed. She was right, so when she nudged my shoulder, I couldn’t help but laugh with her.
“What’s with the cars?” she whispered.
“Chasin says it’s the welcome wagon.”
Bobby looked at me and her eyes bulged.
“Did he say, welcome wagon?”
“I think he called it the welcome committee. Why?”
“I was trying to picture big, muscly Chasin using the words, ‘welcome wagon.’”
This time, I bumped her shoulder as we made our way to Chasin, who was waiting for us.
“Thank you for forgiving me,” I told her.
“Thank you for being you again,” she returned.
God, God, God, it was great having my Bobby back.
“Missed you, Roberta.”
“Missed you, Genevieve.”
Without further delay, Chasin walked us to the door Jameson had left open. When we entered, I came to an abrupt stop just inside the doorway, causing Bobby to hit my back, which made me stumble forward. Chasin’s hand shot out and caught me as I tripped, bringing me to his side.
Ohmigod, someone kill me.
How embarrassing.
“You okay?” he muttered.
“Um, yeah. Sorry I tripped,” I semi-lied.
I hadn’t tripped, not really. I’d stopped dead in my tracks because the room was filled with people. Not just women, but men and kids, and all eyes were on me.
Chasin slowly turned me so we were facing each other. Then his hand went behind my neck, and with a gentle tug, he pulled me close. So close, our hips touched, and the only reason my chest wasn’t pressed against his was because he was leaning slightly back and staring down at me.
“You okay?”
Thankfully I’d already decided to forgive him, because if I hadn’t, the concern in his eyes would’ve made me melt.
“Yeah. I was just surprised. But I’m fine.”
Once again, he studied me. Something I was finding he did a lot when he wanted to gauge the sincerity of my answer. Yesterday, that pissed me off, this morning it unnerved me, and now it just felt good. He cared what I was feeling, didn’t try to hide that from me, and wanted to make sure I was okay.
Who could be mad at that?
“Come on. Let me introduce you.”
I nodded my agreement and sucked in a breath. I was preparing to put my Vivi Rush face on when Chasin leaned in closer.
“Drop the act, honey. You are not Vivi here. You’re just you. You don’t have to pretend.”
It was a good thing I’d sucked in a breath because now I wasn’t breathing at all and I wasn’t sure if the lights had been dimmed or if my vision was tunneling. What I did know was, no one other than Bobby recognized when I was getting ready to put on a show. And no one, including Bobby, had ever called me on it. Bobby didn’t do it because when I was with her, Vivi only came out when necessary. But no one else had ever noticed there was a very big difference between just me and Vivi.
“How’d you know?” I whispered.
“Babe. You’re not hard to read.”
He was wrong.
“Yes, I am. No one but Bobby can tell the difference.”
“Then either everyone else in your life is blind, plain stupid, or you’ve never given them the real you. Because there is no missing the change.”
Holy shit.
The real you.
He saw the change.
“Just you, yeah?” he prompted.
“Yeah, just me.”
Chasin’s eyes warmed, and I swear, he was looking at me like he was proud of me.
What was that about?
But that’s what it looked like, and when he bent down and kissed my forehead, it sure as shit felt that way, too.
Maybe giving Chasin a second chance wasn’t a good idea.
I was already half in love with him again. Another maneuver like that, and I’d fall ass over tea kettle and be in big, big trouble.
15
Jesus fuck.
Chasin couldn’t get the way Genevieve had looked at him out of his mind. How good she’d felt pressed up against him. Whether she wanted to or not, the two of them were having another conversation. One that would end with her in his bed this time.
Bobby’s laugh drew his gaze to the women sitting around the table but his eyes settled on Genevieve. She was smiling at Lola Lane, Kennedy’s mom. The old biddy was a riot, her caretaker just as hilarious.
“Mom!” Kennedy snapped.
“What? Maryland is south of the Mason-Dixon, darlin’, we are Southerners. And any good Southern woman knows you never have company over without a pitcher of sweet tea. Lemonade at the very least. Maybe some deviled eggs or fried okra. How will Genevieve and Bobby know they’re welcome with cheese and crackers and cans of soda?” Lola huffed.
“I’m canceling her subscription to Southern Living,” Kennedy murmured.
“Miss Lola,” Genevieve started, and Chasin didn’t miss the Tennessee accent was thicker. “Just to let you know, I’m not keen on fried okra. I have to choke it down, just so I don’t get kicked out of Tennessee. Me and Bobby feel welcome just with y’all being here. We don’t need anyone to go through any trouble. And if I’m here long enough, I’ll have you back and make you some of my tea, if we’re lucky I’ll talk Bobby into cookin’ something special.”
“Christ,” Holden mumbled next to Chasin, and he turned to look at his friend to find him staring at Genevieve.
“What?”
“The woman is fine, great singer, but when she talks, that slow, sexy Tennessee drawl…that’s where it’s at.”
“Brother, you might want to divert your eyes from Chasin’s woman. He’s not looking real magnanimous. Maybe even keep your comments to yourself.” Nix chuckled.
Chasin wasn’t sure he saw the humor in Nixon’s suggestion. There was no doubt Chasin wasn’t feeling charitable about Holden eying his woman. But he also knew Holden was so wrapped up in the pretty widow, Charleigh, he would look—even make comments—however, Holden would not go there.
There’d been a recent shift in Holden, a big one. None of the guys had seen Holden with a woman in months, and not just a few months, but several
. Holden wasn’t talking, even after numerous attempts to get him to do so. Whatever was going on, he wasn’t ready to share, and all of them knew why.
Charleigh’s dead husband had been their close friend, a teammate. But Charleigh had been Holden’s first, before she hooked up with Paul. And the only reason Paul got in there was because Holden stupidly let her go for reasons he also didn’t share. Everyone knew he’d loved her, even Paul. Yet Paul took his shot and landed Charleigh in his bed, then put his ring on her finger. Holden hadn’t been right since.
So Chasin was not worried his friend was going to make a move on his woman, but he was surprised he knew her music.
“Am I the only one who had no idea who Vivi Rush is?” Chasin asked.
Seven men muttered, “Yep.”
“Even you?” Chasin looked to Jonny’s friend, Vaughn. The man didn’t look like he’d listen to country music. As a matter of fact, he looked like he listened to death metal and ate babies for breakfast.
“Yep,” he confirmed. “Hard to miss Vivi Rush. Her music plays on every station pretty much on repeat. Nothing against her pipes, because the woman can sing, but she’s the whole package. Her face sells her music just as much as her voice does. But just to say, the chick sitting next to her, don’t know if that bitch can sing, but she’d sell records, too.”
Chasin didn’t stop the smile when he warned Vaughn, “Brother, you look like you can handle yourself, but advice—do not let Bobby hear you call her a bitch. That girl might be tiny but she’s a Rottweiler.”
“More like an ankle biter,” he returned.
“Can’t say I didn’t warn you. Besides, I get the feeling she’s into Jonny.”
Chasin’s comment was meant in jest, but Jonny’s face turned to stone, reminding Chasin he needed to have a word with his friend when this was over.
“Micky finish running the detective?” Weston changed the subject.
“Yeah, he’s clean and she dug deep,” Nixon answered.
“Lazy,” Alec muttered.
“Yeah, lazy and an asshole,” Nix confirmed. “I talked to his captain. He’s reassigning the case, but now that Genevieve’s out of his jurisdiction, he’s not sure what he can do unless something is sent to her house. But anything that happens here, Jonny’s gonna handle personally.”
That made Chasin feel better, but only slightly. They had nothing until this guy made another move. And none of them liked being on the defense.
“What about Chad?” Chasin inquired.
“He was with her the whole tour. Had access to her dressing room. Had access to her hotel rooms, tour bus, everything. Right now, he’s all we got. But other than the arrest, his sheet’s clean. McKenna’s tracking down old girlfriends and friends to see if there’s something that wasn’t reported.”
Most domestic abuse victims didn’t file complaints, they also didn’t talk to strangers about what happened to them. Especially if that abuse was years ago and they were afraid bringing it up would blow back on them and make it start again. Not to mention some wounds shouldn’t be re-opened.
“Not sure asking women to relive that shit is a good play,” Chasin threw out.
“McKenna will go easy. She knows what she’s doing.”
Chasin figured Nixon was right but he still didn’t like the possibility of dredging up old shit for women who should be free to move on with their lives. And he knew Genevieve wouldn’t want that, either. Unfortunately, they didn’t have much of a choice.
A peal of laughter came from the women and Alec chuckled as well.
“She fits right in. I was worried because of who she is…” Alec let that hang and Chasin’s chest got tight.
“Who she is?” Chasin asked with a little more fire than he’d meant to.
“Not throwing shade, Chasin, but she’s got two platinum records and right now she’s got a number one song on the charts. You might not have known her but the rest of the world does. Vivi’s a big deal.”
“She’s also got three CMAs, two Grammys, an AMA, and is BBMA’s top country artist and the top female country artist,” Chasin said. “Yet there Genevieve sits, laughing and joking.”
“That was my point,” Alec defended.
“You’re missing my point. Vivi Rush might be a lot of things to her fans. But that woman sitting over there is Genevieve. She gives us the real her and in turn, we make it safe for her to continue to do so. She’s not a country music superstar when she is in this house.”
“Not sure there’s a difference,” Alec muttered.
“There is, and when you get to know her, you’ll see it. She doesn’t hide it, though she thinks she does. That day you met her in the office, that was Vivi Rush, full armor—sass and attitude. That woman over there talking with Macy, Kennedy, Lola, Micky, and Silver, bouncing Jossy on her lap, that’s Genevieve. She’s forced to live two lives, but while she’s here, she won’t be.”
Chasin didn’t miss Bobby’s approach, he just didn’t stop himself from saying what he needed to say. Genevieve had enough going on with some dimwit fucker terrorizing her life; she didn’t need anyone treating her like she was out of place.
“You get it,” Bobby whispered.
“Yeah, I get it,” Chasin confirmed.
“Good.”
That one soft word from Bobby held a fuckload of meaning. She didn’t mean ‘good’ in the sense that Chasin got it. What she meant was she was pleased as fuck someone saw Genevieve Ellison for the beautiful, funny, smart woman she was, and not dollar signs and fame.
Chasin had no interest in either. He had his own money, not as much as her but he was comfortable and would be that way even if he retired today and never worked another day. He also didn’t want any part of Vivi’s music career. He just wanted Genevieve. But considering Alec was partially correct, she was one woman with two personas. He’d have to accept who she was to the world.
He figured if he had his Genevieve at his side and in his bed, he could easily stand by Vivi when she gave herself to the world.
“That wasn’t that bad, was it?” Chasin asked after Nixon and Micky, the last two to leave, drove away.
“You were right. They’re totally nosy, didn’t hide they were prying, and did it unabashedly. But they’re awesome. Kennedy’s coming over tomorrow.”
Chasin had watched Genevieve carefully throughout the day. He knew she’d smiled a lot, laughed a lot, was gentle with Aurora and Jocelyn. She’d talked with Caleb, who at twelve knew who she was and couldn’t hide how cool it was to be in her presence, but it didn’t seem to bother her. She’d even drawn him a picture and signed it. At which time he announced the picture would be framed and hung in his room. Genevieve had laughed, kissed the kid on the cheek, and told him he was sweet. Chasin figured Alec and Macy were going to have one hell of a time getting him to shower—he’d looked like he wanted to keep that kiss on his cheek forever.
But through all of that, Chasin was still worried she was overwhelmed and putting on a front, though he hadn’t seen even a hint of Vivi come out.
Kennedy coming back over didn’t surprise him—the woman was pathologically friendly—but he still asked, “Kennedy?”
“Yeah. She’s bringing us over some homemade honey and stewed tomatoes. I cannot wait. She also told me she’d teach me how to make jam. I guess there’s mulberries on the farm and they should be ripe, she said they make good preserves. But we’ll have to wait until September for the dewberries. She said those are the best.”
Chasin wasn’t sure what to process first: the fact that she was talking about making jam, which, unbeknownst to him, was a goddamn turn-on; the use of the word ‘us’ that he hoped like fuck included him and not just Bobby; or that she’d said she’d have to wait until September, which was months away, to pick dewberries—whatever the hell those were. Chasin didn’t give two shits about the berries, but he cared greatly about her still being there in September.
He decided not to bring that up and freak her out. What he did do wa
s file it away for later.
“I’ve had her stewed tomatoes and they’re good.” Chasin glanced around the living room and asked, “Where’s Bobby?”
“She went to take her makeup off so she probably won’t come back down.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s taking her makeup off,” Genevieve repeated like he was a halfwit.
“And?”
“And Bobby doesn’t do naked.”
“Come again?”
“What part aren’t you getting?” Genevieve teased.
“The part where she won’t come downstairs without makeup on. And I’m unclear what naked has to do with anything because I’d sure as shit hope the woman wouldn’t parade around the house without clothes on.”
Chasin’s gaze stayed glued on Genevieve as she bit her lip. Then losing the battle, her face split in a bright smile.
Sweet Christ.
Beautiful.
“Not naked, naked.” She laughed. “Free-of-makeup naked.”
Yeah, Chasin wasn’t getting it, decided he didn’t care he didn’t get it, and figured she could explain it like he was a two-year-old and he still wouldn’t.
So he moved the conversation along.
“You want another beer or are you going to bed?”
“I…um…” she stammered but didn’t finish.
Chasin was staring right at her so he didn’t miss the pink tinging her cheeks, which reminded him of all the ways he’d made her flush and the ways he was going to again.
“You want, honey?”
“Thought I’d play my guitar a bit and unwind. But if it’s gonna bother you, I don’t have to.”
Well, fuck him. Not what he thought was the cause of the blush, but listening to her play would be a treat.
“You wanna beer while you do that?” he semi-repeated his earlier question.
“Yeah.”
“You takin’ requests?”
The sweetest smile tugged at her lips and those gorgeous golden eyes danced.
“Thought y’all weren’t a country fan,” she drawled, her words slow and sultry.
Good God, how could a simple question make his cock twitch in his pants? Though it wasn’t the question, it was the voice. One that he knew got huskier and took on more of a Southern drawl when she was close to climaxing.
Chasin's Surrender (Gemini Group Book 5) Page 12
