The Price of Mason (Forbidden Men 10)

He hugged me again, only to pull away and arch an eyebrow. “So…you thought the cowboy should win, huh? You got a crush on him or something? Your mom would call him a cutie.”

Blushing, I ducked my face and went to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, only to remember I didn’t have hair long enough to tuck, anymore. “Well…” I admitted. “He needed the prize money more than I did.”

Dad nodded, his eyes watching me steadily. “You scared me there for a minute. I knew you never choked. I’ve seen you run on stage with your mother and me when you were only five and belt out a perfectly flawless performance. I was beginning to think you were sick or something until I saw the look y

ou two gave each other at the end, and then it finally clicked into place.”

“Dad,” I groaned, wincing. “We did not give each other a look.”

“You totally did,” he argued on a laugh. “That boy likes you. And I think you like him back.”

Rolling my eyes, I bumped my arm into his before saying, “He hates Non-Castrato.”

As easygoing as my father was, he merely shrugged and kept smiling. “Hey, we’re not for everyone. He clearly prefers a different genre, which is fine. He was good, though. And I could tell he really loves what he does. You think he’d be interested in making a record? If we clean up his sound a little, I think Hart Productions might just have our next top country singer.”

“Really?” I asked, my eyebrows perking. “You think he has that much promise?”

“Hell, yeah,” Dad answered. He started to say more, only to shift his gaze over my shoulder. Something glinted in his gaze before he murmured, “Well…speak of the devil.”

I turned, only to back into my dad when I saw Tucker hesitantly approaching us. Tearing his gaze from mine, Tucker eyed my dad, as if not sure what to say to him.

So Dad reached past me, sticking out his hand. “Hey there. I’m Rory’s father. Congratulations on your win tonight, son. You did awesome.”

Tucker nodded respectfully and shook with Dad. “Thank you, sir.” His gaze moved to me, and his voice softened as he said, “Hey, can I talk to you for a second?”

My brow furrowed with question as I gave an uncertain, “Uh...”

I glanced up at my dad.

“Oh!” he said as if catching on. “Okay. I, uh…I’ll just be over here.” Dad pointed to the side and moved away to give me and Tucker a bit of privacy. We watched him find a chair about thirty feet away, where he sat and pulled his phone from his pocket to occupy himself.

Not sure what Tucker wanted to say, I turned back to him nervously. He wasn’t throwing out any insults, so it made me think he had something serious on his mind.

“So, what’s up?” I asked before motioning vaguely toward his guitar. “Oh, and hey, congratulations.”

My compliment threw him. He glanced suspiciously at his guitar before returning his attention to me and blurted, “Did you throw the competition on purpose?”

“What?” I backed away from him, my heart pounding over the question because I definitely didn’t want him to learn the truth. “Why in the world would I throw the competition? I wanted that win. More than you’ll ever know.”

“Then what the hell happened out there?” he demanded, frowning as if irritated that I hadn’t performed better. “That was the absolute worst I’ve ever seen you play.”

My mouth dropped open at the bald statement. “Wow, thanks. And it’s called stage fright, asshole. Sometimes people lock up in front of crowds, and that’s what happened. But you know, your sensitivity warms my heart. I so appreciate it.”

“Yeah, but…” He shook a finger at me, his head moving back and forth as his eyes seemed to look straight inside me. “I know you, Hartley. You don’t choke under pressure. In fact, I’d say pressure spurs you on. Every time you’ve ever gotten up in front during class, you dominate the room. You don’t get stage fright.”

I opened my mouth to argue that point, but he lifted a finger to stop me.

“And it was like every wrong chord you played, every off note you sang was on purpose. You never once lost your place. And whenever you were done botching things up, you just returned right back to where you were in the song, never disoriented or flustered. Every mistake you made was fucking calculated.”

My eyebrows lifted and a feeling of disoriented fluster filled me as I realized how closely he’d watched me, how well he knew me. My mouth opened once but words didn’t take on the first try. So I blinked and shook my head before licking my lips and murmuring, “Am I supposed to be insulted by such a ridiculous accusation or feel flattered that you’re obviously so obsessed with me you watch me enough to think you know me that well?”

Without giving him a chance to answer, I turned and started to walk off, but he caught my arm.

Ticked off that he dared to touch me—especially when his touch made me feel tingles of excitement—I whirled to him scowling, ready to read him the riot act for getting so handsy.

But the jerk leaned down and kissed me. He freaking kissed me. And it was...everything.

It was so not what I was expecting, though, that I just stood there in stunned shock as his soft lips caressed mine. He did it with such intensity and purpose it seemed like it should’ve been hard and brutal, but the gentleness and utter sweetness of it caught me totally off guard until I leaned into him and kissed him back.