Jace (Kings of Country 1)

“Easy.” She sighed again. “I know. And she is acting sorry. Like crying a lot.”

“Talk to her, then call me back. Okay?”

“Okay. I love you, Jace.”

“I love you, too.”

“Call you later. Probably tomorrow?” she added.

“Sounds good. Bye.” He hung up.

“Nothing worth a thing will come what?” Krystal asked, rearranging the various brushes and sprays and powders the makeup team used on him before the show. The damn counter was covered in things he’d never known existed before.

“Easy.” He set his phone down. “Nothing worth a thing will come easy.”

“Heather?” Her gaze met his, then fell back to the counter. “She okay?”

“She will be.” He did his best not to stare, but it was damn near impossible.

She was wearing the last costume of the evening. Black denim dress, little cutouts of stars around the bottom of the short skirt and the top. It was sleeveless, so her shoulders and an eye-catching display of the top of her breasts had him holding his breath every single time she bounced or leaned forward during a song. Her eye makeup was dark, smudged from the last three hours of exertion, bright red lips, and long curls falling down her back. She was, as always, beautiful.

She’d kissed him. He’d kissed her back, then told his manager and her father he cared about her. Which was probably why she was here. But she’d kissed him, she’d ignited this all over again. And now, what? Her ramrod posture. Avoiding his gaze. None of it meant anything good.

She drew in a deep breath and looked at him.

Damn it all, but she was gorgeous. Her breath unsteady, breasts shaking, eyes blazing—demanding his attention. He couldn’t look at her without wanting her.

One minute she was across the room, the next, she was pulling him toward her.

He should stop her, say something, anything. Instead, he backed her up against the door. His kiss wasn’t gentle—he hurt too much. His tongue invaded the warmth of her mouth and she moaned, her nails biting into the back of his head. She matched him, kiss for kiss, on and on, until he was breathless and hungry for more.

Her hands yanked his pearl-snapped shirt wide.

He tugged the top of her dress down.

The crush of skin on skin knocked the air from his lungs, his lips latching on to her neck, making her gasp.

Her fingers fell to the waist of his jeans, unbuttoning. Unzipping and reaching inside. Her fingers closed around him, stroking. He arched into her hand, pressing an open-mouthed kiss—and a damn near growl—against her neck. The salt of her sweat lingered on his lips and tongue.

He tried to pull up her tight skirt while his mouth sucked the tip of one breast, his tongue and teeth working her into a frenzy before he did the same to the other.

She was moaning, wriggling, releasing him, and pressing her hands over her head, against the dressing room door.

With a less-than-gentle tug and the faint sound of fabric splitting, her skirt was up and around her waist, and her panties were gone. He grabbed her hips and lifted her, her thighs silk around his waist.

Reason found him before they made a mistake they’d regret. “I don’t have a condom.”

“I’m clean,” she said. “I get shots. Birth control.” Her ankles pressed against his hips, the only encouragement he needed, but her whispered “Please, Jace” made him frantic.

One thrust. “Dammit,” he ground out, pressing her against the door, squeezing her hips.

She was holding on to him, her green eyes fluttering open.

He thrust again, savoring her heat, tight around him. Then he was moving, powering into her, harder and faster.

Her lips parted, panting and gasping and clinging to him. Her eyes closing.

“Look at me,” he ground out.