Why had he looked at her like that? Was he going to say no if she objected? She should. Really. Nice or not, he made her nervous. Not about him, but about the way she reacted to him. “If he said no, we’d be stuck with Mickey?” she asked. Surely there were other options—less complicated options.
“Of course not.” Emmy Lou cleared her throat. “Daddy would never do that to you. To us.”
She smiled a hard smile at her sister. “Daddy might not.”
“But you are interested?” her daddy asked Jace again.
“Yes, sir. Without a doubt.”
“We’re good.” Her daddy stood. “Luke said you have enough songs to start putting together a few singles? Let Krystal take a look at them, tweak things up.” He glanced at her. “Okay?”
She nodded. Sure, why not? What she really needed was more time with Jace. That way they could really torment each other. She sighed. Maybe Jace was working with her mother. His job was to drive her to distraction. Because if he was their opening act, she’d get to see him all the time and want to stay with the Three Kings versus exploring a solo career. Not CiCi’s best plan—but not her worst.
“Daddy.” Emmy Lou spoke up, making a big production out of coughing. “My throat is hurting something fierce.”
Hank King frowned. “Need to rest your voice then. Krystal, you up to running through the song with him a few times? Let him get the feel for it?”
Her headache melted away. She pulled off her sunglasses and shot her sister a heartfelt thank-you smile. “I’m up for it.” There was nothing wrong with Emmy Lou, and they both knew it. Her sister was giving her the chance no one else would.
“Then you two start warming up,” her daddy said, disappearing into the sound booth, Emmy Lou following, sending her a good-luck wink.
“You ready?” Krystal asked, climbing onto the stool. Five seconds ago, she had wanted to lock herself in the bathroom and cry. Now, she was here, about to sing her song—with Jace. And she’d know if he could sing.
He nodded, clearing his throat. “Nervous as hell.”
“Just pretend you’re singing in the shower,” she said, the imagery immediately amping up the aching throb deep in her belly.
“Pretend I’m in the shower? With you?” His cheeks turned dark red.
“You’re blushing, Jace Michael Black.” Her smile grew. “What in the world are you thinking? And here I thought you were a gentleman.” She’d be okay with him being a little less of a gentleman.
His gaze swept over her face. “I’m a gentleman. But I’m a still a man.”
She knew that all too well. Her daydreams had carried out what would have happened if he’d followed her into her bus. It—they—would be incredible. All she had to do was look at him to remember—and ache.
His dimple was just too much. “You started it.”
“No one ever said I was a good girl,” she managed. What would being a bad girl with Jace Black be like?
They sat there, staring at each other, the air growing charged. If she could go back, she’d drag him into her bus and get him out of her system. Maybe that’s all they needed. She was fairly certain that’s what she needed. She wasn’t going to kid herself. His fascination with her would wear off as soon as they hit the road. A man was hard pressed to stay faithful when there were willing women every time he got off the bus. Travis would be more than happy to tell him all about that.
Jace Black was no different than any other man.
She might take a man to her bed, on her terms, but she’d never ever let one near her heart again.
She frowned, turning her attention to the sheets of music before her. Her lyrics. Her music. Her pain and humiliation. This was going to be harder than she’d thought. Baring her soul didn’t come easily. But, for this song, she’d let go and sing. From that place inside.
* * *
Jace stared at the words on the page. He’d read it a hundred times, knew it by heart, and now it was showtime. It was bad enough that Hank King was in the sound box, bad enough he’d have to sing with Emmy Lou. But now it was Krystal—and that changed everything. She’d written this. The look in her eyes when they’d met, the anger and resentment, was for this song. She wanted to protect what it was, what it meant to her. It meant a hell of a lot.
He couldn’t screw this up.
“Stop it.” Krystal’s voice threw him.
He looked at her. “Stop what?”
“You’re getting in your head.” Her brows rose. “Am I right?”