Jace (Kings of Country 1)

His gaze narrowed—confused. Maybe even a little nervous.

“We weren’t staying—” a man in the corner said.

“Well, that doesn’t make any sense.” She hooked her arm through Jace’s. A warm, very thickly muscled arm. Not that muscles mattered. “And who are you, anyway?”

“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.