Jace (Kings of Country 1)

She smiled.

“You ready?” He took her hand, squeezed it.

Travis and Emmy came back.

“It’s all you two.” Emmy smiled.

Jace nodded and led Krystal onto the stage, to the two stools set up mid-spotlight.

He gave her a hand up and onto the stool, earning a few whistles and cheers, then sat beside her. He waited for her slight smile and started to play, his gaze never leaving her face.

He sang, the words pouring out of him without thought. Her words. Her heart. Her story. Love, for Krystal, had never been free from suffering. “I remember you, standing in the sun, smiling at me, and suddenly my world caught fire. Blinding, beautiful fire.”

Her green eyes were deep emerald, shining in the light, the light showing the whole world the damage Tig Whitman had done to her face. Her voice wavered as she sang the first words. With a slight shake of her head, she kept on, stronger. “Blinding, beautiful fire.” The rasp of her voice rolled over him, mesmerizing him. She did that every time.

The fans sang along to the chorus so he held the microphone out and sang, Krystal smiling and clapping along to the beat. He glanced back and her eyes locked with his as she sang, “And your words, your lies, your promises were the sweetest pain of all.”

He kept playing, kept singing, but stepped closer, needing to touch her. She reached up, resting one hand on his shoulder. Like she knew. Like she needed it, too.

“Love isn’t love when the flames burn it down. There’s no hiding or forgiveness from the damage that it’s done.” They sang the chorus together. “When the smoke clears away, you’ll still find me searching here. Searching for the ashes of my heart.”

By the time the song finished, the spark he loved—the energy performing gave her—was shining back at him. When the last note faded, the audience erupted. He pointed at her, more clapping. She shook her head and pointed his way. Another bow and he took her hand, leading her off the stage.

“Y’all were amazing,” Emmy said as she and Travis hurried back onstage.

But Krystal was tugging him away from the stage, down the hall, and out the side door. Sawyer, practically glued to Krystal, didn’t flinch, just followed a few steps behind.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

She glanced back at him, eyes blazing with hunger.

He stopped walking, staring down at her. He wanted her. He’d always want her—but his heart was invested in more.

Her gaze fell to his lips. “I need you.” She blinked. “Need to feel good.”

“Me?” he asked.

She swallowed, her gaze falling from his.

Later, it would hurt. Right now? He scooped her up, picking up the pace as they headed for the bus.

They were breathless when they stumbled inside. Impatient, she pushed him against the wall of the stairwell, her kiss desperate for more. With a tug, the snaps popped wide. With a sigh, she stared at his chest. “I can’t tell you how satisfying that is.”

She had his shirt off before they made it up the steps—her boots, one of his, and his belt forming a path to her bedroom door.

He kicked the door shut, his hands spinning her around. “Not tearing it this time.” He pulled the zipper down, his hands slipping inside. Her skin. Soft and smooth. He moaned, pressing his nose against her soft hair and nuzzling the base of her neck. His hands slid up, across the plane of her stomach, to cradle the full weight of her breasts.

She arched into his hands, the peaks hardening against his fingertips.

She wiggled free, shimmying out of her dress and turning to face him.

He leaned against the door, aching for her. But, dammit, aching for more.

She saw, the panic on her face tearing at him. Just before her green eyes fluttered closed, he saw what he needed. Hunger for him. More than that, tenderness. So deep and real it reached inside his chest and gave him hope. As long as there was hope, he’d never give up. She stood on tiptoe, breathless and nervous and hungry for his kiss. He welcomed it.

Light. Featherlight. A mix of breath. And instant heat.

“Don’t let go,” she whispered.