Chapter 5

When Addilyn went out to get her mail, she was surprised to see a pickup truck kicking up dust along the private dirt road leading to her house. Annoyed that yet another reporter had found their way to her hideaway, she considered heading back inside and pulling the blinds, but that rarely worked out in her favor. No, it was best to give them a dazzling smile, answer their questions, and let them snap a few pictures. Instead of her normal dresses, she wore a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, but she wasn't worried. The press loved the down-to-earth look.

When the truck stopped, and the door opened, her breath caught in her throat. It wasn't a reporter stepping out but Kade Hardy. Pleased at the reversed roles, she couldn't help but smile smugly at him. What was it that he said to her when she showed up at his doorstep? "They don’t usually send me something so rough looking, but I’m sure I’ll find something useful about you beneath that flannel?"

"Sweetheart, I'll be more than happy to show you what's under my flannel. All you've got to do is ask." He swung a duffel bag over his shoulder and grabbed a guitar case.

"What are you doing here, Kade?"

"Oh, I think you know. You threw so much of a temper tantrum last week that I was given an ultimatum. Work with you or kiss the contract goodbye, and while I was very tempted to tell them where they can shove their contract, I have people that are counting on me."

"How noble of you," she said dryly. "Who gave you this address?"

"Peter Homes."

Damn him. He knew that this was her sanctuary. She rarely had people over here. Short of her family and close friends, only Gia was allowed. "I'd prefer to work at your place," she said shortly. "Or at my condo."

"I can't think in the middle of the city, and I didn't fly all the way up here just to turn around and fly all the way back. Besides, I have a child at home. I don’t want to put her out with any unwelcome houseguests. What's wrong, sugar? You don't think your small mansion here is big enough for the both of us?"

Addilyn hesitated. She didn't really want to tell him how special this place was to her. She didn't want to give him any kind of leverage to hold over her later in life. Instead, she just spun on her heels and headed back to the house. Looking over her shoulder, she gave him her most dazzling smile. "Are you coming?"

Was that a glimmer of a genuine smile on his face? It was hard to be sure because as soon as she saw it, it was gone. Closing the door behind him, she tried not to stare at the way his thighs and ass fitted in those jeans. "I've got a couple of guestrooms for you to choose from. They might be a little dusty, and you should probably check for spiders."

"What a gracious hostess," he pointed out dryly.

Shrugging she just pointed up the stairs. "I was about to make some lunch. Hungry?"

Peering past her shoulder into the kitchen, he raised his eyebrow. "The great America Holden makes her own lunch? No personal chef?"

"Don't worry. I can probably handle a sandwich, and I'll try not to poison you until I can see proof of your talents."

He muttered something about showing her his talent as he walked up the stairs, and she remembered the way his body felt pressed up against hers. Biting her tongue, she tried to push the feeling away as she headed back to the kitchen.

The kitchen had a large and heavy wooden farm table that could seat up to ten people. It would feel too strange dining on that table with just Kade, so she instead brought the sandwiches and a couple of beers into the living room. Like she used to do as a kid, she sat on the floor and leaned against the couch.

He returned with his guitar in his hand. With a raised eyebrow, he stopped in the doorway and stared at her. "Is this some ritual of yours?"

"What? No." Embarrassment burned her cheeks. She hadn't thought about how it might look. "Just a habit, I guess. The only time my grandmother let me watch television was during mealtime, and that was just because she wanted to watch her game shows. Even as a teenager, I used to sit on the floor and face the television."

"This is your grandmother's place?" Kade slowly folded himself between the table and sofa. "Lucky."

"When she passed, my mother had no interest in it, so I sort of took it over. I need to get away from the city, and this place has always been special to me. I don't usually have visitors. I don't even think the press know about this place."

"You also haven't done much remodeling. My room has this awful wallpaper with faded pink flowers all over it. I gather the room with the gorgeous four-poster bed is yours?" He bit into the sandwich and studied her.

"You were in my bedroom?" she asked crossly. At least he chose the room the furthest from hers, but it made her uncomfortable to think of him in her space. The trust was that she'd never had a man here, let alone one in her bedroom.

Kade shrugged. "You told me to pick a room. You didn't specify which one was yours, but you quit looking so terrified. I'm here to work, not to seduce you."

"You have a reputation," she pointed out.

A wicked smile crossed his face. "Yeah? Any of your friends talking about me?"

Irritated, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I just mean that you have a reputation of sleeping with the artists that you write for."

"And thanks to the little shit storm that you kicked up, you're not just a singer. You apparently fancy yourself a songwriter, and I don't sleep with people that I work with. I don't get it. You've got a great career as a pop singer. Why are you trying to throw all that away?"

Addilyn sighed and pushed the plate aside. "It's not my idea. I think Peter is afraid that I'm getting too old in the business. He didn't give me a choice, but in the end, it worked out for me. I've been trying for years to write my own songs, and he's not stupid. It wouldn't be that hard for me to find another producer, so this way we both get what we want. I get to write songs, and he gets to try his hand at country music."

"Country music…"

She immediately put up her hand to stop him. "Before you attempt to insult me yet again by insinuating that I don't have much emotional depth, I'd like to remind you that you know nothing about me."

"There's not much difference between pop stars," he said easily as he polished off his sandwich. "Although you're the first to make me a sandwich. A few have poured me cereal the morning after and tried to call it breakfast."

"And once again we're back to talking about your conquests," she muttered as she rolled her eyes. Getting up, she cleared the table and dumped the plates in the dishwasher. When she went back to the living room, he'd already pulled his guitar out.

Without glancing up, he playfully strummed the strings. "I listened to a few of your songs on the way over here, but there's so much autotune that it's hard to get a real sense of what you sound like. I wanted to hear your voice first."

He didn't think she could do it. He didn't think she had the talent to write music, he didn't think she had the talent to sing country music, and now he was insinuating that she couldn't sing at all. Narrowing her eyes, she ignored the soft music coming from his guitar. Taking a deep breath, she belted out the few lines that had spun around in her head for the past few days. "They say it's your smile. They say it's your touch. You could melt my heart, it wouldn’t take much, but I'm begging you to let me be the one who got away."

His back stiffened, and he didn't turn around. For a moment, silence hung between them. Finally, he started to play. "Sing it again." His command jarred her, but his tone was softer. Slowly, she walked around and sat on the couch. As he watched her intently, she sang the lyrics again, and when a slow smile crossed his face, her heart skipped a beat.

"Maybe you'll do after all," he muttered to himself. "Don't think this means anything. We still have a lot of work ahead of us."

"That's all right. I've never stepped down from a challenge."

Something burned in his eyes as he started strumming the guitar again, and she felt a small thrill of satisfaction. She felt like she'd won a battle, but she wasn't so certain that she knew what the war was about.

****

He tossed and turned in her prissy room, the one with the damned faded pink flower wallpaper. The tension between them was so thick all day that he could have cut it with a knife, but then again, he supposed she liked it that way.

She’d smoldered when she told him she liked a challenge and he really hoped she meant it.

He rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. His hair was still damp from the shower, and the house was so warm he’d have sworn the air conditioning was out. A light beading of sweat coated his chest and forehead, and he kicked his legs against the covers. It wasn’t so much the heat as it was his erection making him uncomfortable. He didn’t suppose it would be very couth to stroke one off a room away from Addilyn, but he supposed it beat walking over and seducing her.

What was it about that woman that got under his skin? Sure she was attractive, dammit she was, but that attitude. He really wanted to put her in her place. On her knees. A voice inside him said. Preferably with his cock shoved deep in her throat.

That was it. He couldn’t stand it anymore. He glanced to the nightstand and found a box of tissues. Yeah, he was really going to do it. He took a deep breath, cursing his aching balls and gripped himself.

He pumped it a few times, trying hard to think about other women he’d been with. He didn’t want to let himself think about her, but that didn’t work out for him. Not when he could smell her perfume in the air.

Dammit.

He thought of her long legs and how she looked in those heels the other day at Peter’s office. He liked that most of her had been left to the imagination, and imagined undressing her, kissing her perfect mouth as he did. He bit his lip and stroked closer to this base, reaching down with his other hand to tug on his balls, massaging and kneading them until he glistened at the tip. He worked his thumb around and spread the pearly dew across his broad head.

As her perfume hit his nose, he thought of how she’d taste and imagined himself going down on her, licking her soft lips and into her channel. He imagined her beautiful voice breaking around her pleasure, choking out his name.

As much as he hated to admit it, she was turning him on with that smart mouth of hers, and he knew just what to do with it. He imagined putting her on her knees in front of him where she’d smile and then open her mouth nice and wide. He’d seen her do it many times when she sang and he could imagine it there before him, wide open and waiting for him.

He’d step up and place his cock on her tongue, and she’d close her mouth pulling him inside. He wanted her to worship it with her mouth and throat, and as he imagined himself about to bust one off in her throat, he realized his own orgasm was on the horizon.

He pulled the covers back out of the way and pumped himself through his release, all the while imagining her hazel eyes fixed on his.

As he wiped up, he knew it wouldn’t happen if he could help it. It was a harmless fantasy, so what could it hurt?

He got up and went to the room’s adjoining bathroom where he flushed the tissues, and on his way back to the bed he noticed the small tube of lotion that had been beside the bed all along.

He got a sinking feeling that she’d put it there on purpose, knowing exactly what he’d be doing.

Dammit.

She was in his head.