Jace (Kings of Country 1)

“King’s Coach?” he asked, put the truck in park, and opened his door. He jumped down and came around to get her.

She slid out of the truck cab and into his arms. “Yeah, we get a lot of mileage out of the whole King thing. Never gets old.” She smiled up at him, her hands resting on his chest.

Every breath she took pressed her curves more tightly against him, kicking his pulse into overdrive. The slow smile on her lips was all it took to make him rock hard and aching. Did she know how bad he wanted her? Having her in his arms was a sweet sort of hell.

Her eyes narrowed, just a bit, setting off warning bells. Was this some sort of test? For all he knew she was toying with him—and loving every minute of it. Either way, this had to stop. Now.

It took effort to ease his hold, to lift his hands from the warmth of her bare flesh. But he did it. Damn it all. “Night,” he whispered, stepping back and giving her space.

With a nod of her head, she walked the short distance to her bus—fringes swinging in time to the sway of her hips. He bit off a groan, leaned against the truck hood, and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets.

But when she reached the bus, she paused and looked back, studying him. “I guess this is goodbye, Jace Michael Black. Thanks for the ride.” She wavered, as if she had more to say, then thought better of it. With a flounce of fringe and sparkling boots, she disappeared inside her bus, the thud of the doors closing echoing in the parking lot.

“Well, hell,” he ground out, resting his head on the hood of the truck until he could think straight again.

Chapter 3

The black windows of their SUV were heavily tinted, but the bright Texas sun filtered through—not helping the pounding in Krystal’s head. She’d already asked their driver to slow down a little, the world flying by making her stress-headache nausea that much worse. She didn’t need to be here. Nope, she needed to be barricaded in her nice dark bedroom between crisp, clean sheets with her dog, Clementine, at her side, pretending that the best thing she’d ever written wasn’t being recorded without her. But Daddy put his foot down, insisting she come along as “creative consultant.” Maybe he thought keeping her involved in the creative process would make this hurt less.

He was wrong. She’d had two days to accept she wasn’t singing her song, but making her watch Emmy Lou and Jace do it was mean.

It didn’t help that her nightmares had been worse since her run-in with Mickey. Not that Mickey had ever hurt her, but still. Being alone with him. Having him invade her space. He dragged her back to a time and place she didn’t want to go to—trapped, in the dark, knowing there was no one to hear her. Or stop what was happening. She’d pushed and fought only to jerk awake, crying and drenched in sweat.

Jace’s timing had been perfect. Jace—who her sister had been chattering about since they left the ranch and made the drive into town.

“He is gorgeous,” Emmy Lou said. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”

Krystal sipped her skinny vanilla latte. She’d noticed, all right. Since meeting him, Jace Black had starred in far too many daydreams. But it was purely physical—because he was hot. So hot she wished he’d followed her onto her bus. She’d waited inside, hoping against hope, holding her breath until the lights of his truck and the roar of his engine told her he’d driven off. He was, apparently, a

real gentleman. It was surprising in a good way. And disappointing. Sleeping with him would have been a colossal mistake. But she was pretty sure it would have been worth it.

“I thought we were off men together?” she asked, leaning against her sister. Even though it had been years since Emmy’s breakup with football player Brock Watson, her sister hadn’t moved on. Emmy rarely mentioned her ex. Partly because it still hurt to talk about him and partly because talking about him brought out Krystal’s super-protective side.

Brock had been the one. Well, everyone had thought he was, anyway—especially Emmy Lou. He was a too-cute, all-American, Mom-and-Dad-approved, apple-pie-loving, high school sweetheart and soon-to-be professional football star. Emmy had given one hundred percent of her heart to him, and he’d shredded it into a million tiny pieces before chasing after his dream—a dream Emmy Lou had always supported.

Things went from bad to worse when her sister had learned about his engagement and subsequent over-the-top wedding to a lingerie model. Emmy had cried and cried and Krystal had vowed never to let anyone hurt her sister like that ever again.

“Not all men are like…Brock.” Emmy drew in a deep breath. “Anyway, Jace seems nice.” Emmy glanced at her sister. “What did you think?”

So far, yes. He seemed nice. But she wasn’t ready to buy the whole gentlemanly, nice hot-guy thing. He seemed a little too good to be true. “My head hurts. It’s seven thirty and I’m having my first cup of coffee, Emmy.” She dodged. “I’m not thinking about anything. Except my coffee.” Which was a lie. Thanks to her sister, she was definitely thinking about Jace. His smile. His laugh. The crinkles at the corner of his eyes. That smooth-as-velvet voice. The touch of his fingers against the skin on her back. And the way his faded jeans hugged an ass worthy of notice. She’d definitely noticed him.

Emmy laughed. “Well, he seemed to like you.”

Krystal almost choked on her coffee. If he’d really been interested, she wouldn’t have slept alone. “You have an overactive imagination, Emmy. He was in shock, like a deer in headlights.”

To be fair, he’d handled himself pretty well, all things considered. No matter what he was feeling on the inside, he stayed cool and collected, barely tripping over his words when he talked to her father. And after, with Mickey. If he hadn’t shown up, what would have happened? She owed him a thank-you. She could think of a dozen or so ways she could repay him. One or two of them might be clothing optional. She smiled as she sipped her coffee. “But he’s nice. Maybe.”

He was still an ass for stealing her song.

“I’m sorry your head hurts.” Emmy looked pointedly at her choice of attire. Her sister looked perfect, as always. She didn’t leave the house unless she was ready for a photo shoot. Hair, makeup, actual pants versus yoga pants or leggings, and some cute, ruffled blouse.

“Don’t get all judgy on me.” Krystal stared down at her cheetah print leggings, black Converse, and oversized black T-shirt. She adjusted her black cap and pushed her sunglasses up her nose. “It does hurt. I’m upright, wearing clean underwear and a bra. I’m not trying to impress anyone. Besides, I’m only here as a technical adviser.” Something she’d tried to get out of. The song was done. Since she wasn’t singing it, they could do what they damn well wanted with it. A point that had already been made perfectly clear to her since she wasn’t singing it.

“What do you mean?” Emmy turned to look at her.

Krystal peered over the edge of her sunglasses. “Um, you and Jace.”

“Me and Jace what?” Emmy Lou froze. “You mean… Wait. But I thought you were singing—”