“I don’t care how good you are with melons or peaches. You, Hunter Kane, are not charming your way into my kitchen. Or anywhere else, for that matter,” Mackenzie said sternly—to her closed bathroom door.
It was the only quiet place she could find to think, since after their impromptu shopping excursion Hunter had set up shop in the kitchen—where he was currently cooking up a cozy supper for two.
Muttley gave a little whimper, and Mackenzie stroked his head. “I smell it too, buddy.”
The tempting scent of Hunter’s aunt’s famous corn bread baking in the oven wafted under the door. Mackenzie’s mouth watered at the thought of a home-cooked meal. Her stomach fluttered with nerves, and a few irritating butterflies, at the idea of Hunter doing something so domestic in her space.
“That is what you should have said to him when he strolled into your house as if he owned the place.” With a frustrated huff, she slipped off her jeans, still damp from the rain, and pulled on a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt. “Stop being a pushover and start taking charge of your life.”
Attitude thoroughly readjusted, Mackenzie stepped into her fuzzy pink house boots and opened the door. But when she bent down to pick up her dirty clothes, she noticed one of her tennis shoes was missing.
“Muttley,” she groaned, but she could already hear him jingling his thieving little butt across the bedroom. “Give,” she said and marched over to his doggy bed. It took less than a second before she felt a wet nose and shoelaces nudge her hand.
“Good boy. Now lie down.” She gave Muttley the sign to sit in his bed and think about what he’d done. He gave an argumentative little huff but curled up as told.
That wasn’t so hard, she thought as she leaned down to give him a good-boy ruffle of the ears. Except instead of his soft fur, her hand met leather. Drool-coated leather.
While she’d been giving herself a pep talk, it seemed Muttley had made short order of a cowboy boot, turning it into his own personal chew toy. An expensive, leather, Kane-size cowboy boot. Which Hunter had left by the front door when they’d arrived back at her house.
She gave a disapproving tsk at the canine-size holes in the buttery leather, but this time Muttley didn’t back down.
Nope, he barked, proud protector pride strong in his tone.
“No steak bone for you tonight,” she chided while searching for the other boot—which stubbornly stood at the foot of her bed, next to a duffel bag. A big, manly duffel bag that had no business being in her bedroom.
Sitting pretty, as if it belonged.
“Oh hell no.” She threw her hair in a ponytail, snatched the boots and duffel, and headed down the hallway—his crap in tow.
One overbearing male dealt with, one to go.
Feeling all kinds of confident, she entered the kitchen and tossed his duffel across the floor. It skidded to a stop. “I found that in my room.”
“I am sensing a pattern here,” Hunter said casually. “Next time you’re going to throw something at me, could it be silk or lace?”
“You’re lucky I didn’t throw these.” She held up the offensive boots.
“What did those boots ever do to you?” he asked, taking them from her, injury in his voice as, she assumed, he inspected the bite marks.
“They crawled under my bed.”
“They didn’t crawl,” he explained. “Everything around here seems to have its own place, and I wasn’t sure where you wanted my stuff, so I set it in your room to make sure it was out of the way until I could ask.”
That had her pausing, long and hard.
“Wow, uh, that was incredibly”—thoughtful—“observant.” A complete one-eighty from the guy who used to simply leave his things wherever they landed.
“You don’t need to sound so surprised. I may have gotten a bit caught up with all the hype back then, but I wasn’t a complete asshat.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Yes, you did, and it was probably warranted.” He didn’t sound hurt, more accepting of the statement. “But I’ll have you know, when I traded in my bachelor status for something more domestic, it was because I was done with life in the fast lane. In fact, when we’re on tour, I usually opt for a condo over a hotel suite, so I can spend my downtime someplace grounding. Like a kitchen.”
“I’m glad you found your big-boy pants, but I’m not sure your staying here is going to work.” He hadn’t even been there an hour and already her carefully crafted schedule had been abandoned.
“All I’m asking is for you to give this a chance,” he said.
“This is my sanctuary, Hunter.” She pressed her palm to her chest, noticing how fast her heart was racing. “The only place I have where I don’t need Muttley to guide me, where I don’t have to worry about tripping over someone’s bag, and where I don’t have to wonder if I remembered my pants.”
“I understand how important your space is, Trouble.” He took her hand between his much larger ones. “Just like I understand how much you are giving up by letting me stay here, which is why I will mind my p’s and q’s.” He pressed her hand to his chest, and she could feel the steady beat of his heart when he whispered, “Scout’s honor.”
“You were never a scout.” Mackenzie slipped her hand from between his, because it was impossible to think clearly while he was touching her. Reason enough to back out of this entire deal. “And minding your p’s and q’s means you sleep on the couch, your things sleep in the office closet, and your boots never sleep under my bed.”
“Trouble, when we’re not working, I’m going to be so stealth you won’t even know I’m here.” She could hear his victorious smile.
Hunter didn’t have a stealthy bone in his body. In fact, the guy was so potent he could charm an entire stadium full of people with a single grin. There was no way she was getting through this unaffected.
Her disbelief must have been visible, because he chuckled. “I see I’m going to have to prove it to you.”
Hunter led her to the table, and something about the strong, confident way he took her hand made her smile. A genuine smile that came from somewhere long forgotten and warmed her from the inside out.
“I’d like to be proven wrong.”
This time he all-out laughed. “Trouble, if you were ever to get a tattoo, it would say, ‘Told you so’ in big bold letters. Right across your backside.”
He had her there. As much as Mackenzie hated to admit it, she could come off as a know-it-all. But going blind had a way of changing one’s perspective—on everything. Now it didn’t matter so much if she was in the right . . . It was the consequences of being wrong that kept her awake at night.
Every situation, every encounter, was an exhausting game of sink or swim. And after three years of treading water, Mackenzie was too damn tired to argue about which direction land was.
“Maybe I’ve changed too,” she offered quietly.
Hunter squatted beside her chair as if he was quietly studying her—something that usually caused her to shy away, but this moment called for honesty, so she let him look his fill. Let him see the discomfort his presence in her house caused, the embarrassment over the potato disaster, even allowed him a glimpse of just how incredibly lost she felt in her new world.
He’d come to her in search of that adventurous, take-no-prisoners spitfire from his past and found a struggling but determined songwriter whose inspiration came from long-ago memories.
“Then how about we start from the beginning,” he said gently, taking her hand between his once again—and her heart pounded at the simple contact. Although a good part of the thump-thumps came from the thrill of what his offer would entail. “Hi, ma’am. I couldn’t help but notice you sitting here all by your lonesome. I’m Hunter, and as fate would have it, I’ve got a batch of my aunt’s famous corn bread in the oven and two of the best steaks you’ll ever eat grilling outside.”
“Those are some mighty big words.”
“Only big if you don’t have the goods to back it up,” he said and—oh boy, did he just turn up the broiler? Suddenly she was feeling a little flushed.
“I also have some potatoes cooking in there as well.”
“Potatoes and I aren’t really getting along these days.”
“Which is why they will be smashed, the way all unruly potatoes should be treated, with roasted garlic and a lot of butter,” he teased, and just like that the embarrassment from the day evaporated. “And it would be a shame for even a bite of them to go to waste. So I was wondering if you would do me the honor of having dinner with me.”
A shy smile made its way across her face, but Mackenzie let him see that too. “Is there honey butter to go with that corn bread?”
“Does Georgia grow the prettiest peaches?” His words were laced with a warm humor that brought her right back to how things used to be between them. Fun, easy, so incredibly right a lump formed in her throat.
“Well then, I’m Mackenzie,” she said, that lump growing in size and intensity. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“The pleasure’s mine.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, which she felt all the way to her toes. “Now can I get you a beer to go with those steaks?”
“I tried that the other night and it didn’t work out so well for me,” she informed him. “I got a little tipsy, shared a few too many secrets, then passed out.”
“Sweet tea, then,” he said and stood, releasing her hand, and walked to the fridge. “What kind of assholes have you been hanging around? Plying a woman with liquor?” He gave a teasing whistle. “I hope the guy at least made sure you got home safely.”
“Oh, he did.” She pulled her feet up and hugged her arms around her knees. “But when I woke up the next morning, he was still here. Making himself right at home.”
“Of all the dick moves!” Hunter sounded completely outraged, and she could almost picture him standing with his hands on his hips, shaking his head like he was all piss and vinegar, but his eyes would be full of laughter. “I mean, what kind of jerk makes sure the girl gets to bed safely, then sleeps on the couch with an attack dog eyeing his jewels all night?”
“Even worse, he didn’t leave.” Even though it was all a part of his game, flirting with Hunter felt good. “Then he tried to sneak his boots under my bed.”
“Well, you won’t have that problem with me, Miss Mackenzie. No, ma’am, I am a gentleman to the core.”
“Good to know.”
As if to prove the point, Hunter walked over and set a glass of sweet tea on the table, then placed his hands on her shoulders, pulling her back against his big, strong, I-can-shoulder-the-world chest. And when he spoke, the only contact they had was when his breath skated along her neck. “Because, Trouble, when my boots end up under your bed, there won’t be any sneaking involved. It will be your call, your timing, and one hundred percent your decision. And that’s a promise.”
“No, too Johnny Cash. I want more of a ‘Jack and Diane’ feel.”
“The great Hunter Kane wants to record a ditty?” Mackenzie asked, stifling a yawn.
“A pretty lady once told me that just because the music is simple, it doesn’t mean that the song can’t be powerful,” he said. “That song became my first number one.”
It was also the first song they’d written together. Oh, they’d written several since that time, including a few over the past week, but none of them meant as much as the first.
Mackenzie laid the guitar down and rested her head against the sofa. Her fingers were sore from playing, her mind nearing creative meltdown, and her body ached from being locked in such close proximity for a week with a man who made her motor hum.
And her more delicate parts tingle.
True to his word, Hunter hadn’t kissed her again. That didn’t mean that he hadn’t done his fair share of flirting and touching. And touching and flirting. Sometimes together, sometimes individually, but always potent enough to make her toes curl.
Today had been the worst. Hunter had started with breakfast in bed. Meaning he’d picked up chocolate doughnuts—her favorite—and eaten them while lying against her headboard. He’d just lounged there, sipping his fancy coffee, while Mackenzie figured out how to decently get to the bathroom without anything on but an old T-shirt and red undies.
He’d offered to help her get dressed, even volunteered to assist with lathering her up. Mackenzie had ignored him, shoving him off the bed and taking all the sheets with her. Hunter had chuckled, and her body had sizzled.
They’d worked through lunch and had supper in the studio, Hunter scooting in closer beside her as they worked on a song titled “Tangled Up.” He grazed her thigh with his, his breath tickling her shoulder as the song grew—along with the tension—until she was certain she’d implode with a single touch.
“I think we should take a break,” she said. And by “take a break” she specifically meant “get some space that doesn’t smell of sexual frustration.”
Not that Hunter got the memo.
Nope. Instead of backing down, he amped things up, taking her right hand in his. “And break the momentum?”
Yes. And maybe break the magnetic force that is drawing me to you.
“We can pick it up later.” Only when Mackenzie went to stand, Hunter’s fingers started a slow and delicious path up her arm to her shoulders to her neck, continuing to work his way back down. Her brain turned off and her body went tingly at the sensation of his ever-so-talented fingers strumming all the right chords until every girlie part she owned gave a breathy oh my.
She was entering dangerous territory. Her warning bells were blaring, Get out before it’s too late! Her body was saying, Enjoy the connection, what’s the worst that can happen?
And her heart? She didn’t even want to acknowledge what it was saying, only that she was afraid it was already too late.
“We should call it a night,” she said. Which was exactly what she was going to do—as soon as Hunter finished tinkering with the song’s verse.
After all, his fingers were moving along her shoulders in rhythm to the song, and it would be rude to interrupt his creative process. So Mackenzie closed her eyes and listened to the sound of his voice in her studio as he worked with the lyrics.
The melody led her mind to summers as a teenager. Inspired emotions and images, not from her own life but from the ones she had stored while watching other kids her age lift their wings. Cruising with your girlfriends, the windows low, Tim McGraw on high. Summers at the lake. Bonfires. First kisses on the tailgate of a green ’55 Chevy. A feeling of floating freely through time.
She closed her eyes and a grin formed on her lips. “Like living every moment with no sense of time.”
“Exactly,” he said excitedly, his thumb tapping a steady beat against her palm. He hummed a few chords, then absently tapped, and the next line came to Mackenzie. The perfect words to match his melody, as if they’d been created simultaneously.
Man, was she ever in trouble. Mackenzie was in the fast lane to heartbreak ridge.
With Hunter, everything moved at a lightning speed. They’d written four songs in six days, and every moment together added to the sexual tension until it was electric. One spark and she was going to go up in flames.
Not ready to get burned, Mackenzie straightened and reached for her guitar. Placing the instrument and as much space as she could get between them without falling off the couch, she started playing the song from the beginning.
She worked her way to the chorus, and away from the fire, when something strong and heated moved closer.
“Hang on, go back and play that again,” Hunter said. Without another word, he moved in behind her, eating up all that space she’d created. His hands slowly slid around her to rest on the guitar.
A little too close for comfort. Mackenzie tried to hand him the guitar. Instead of taking it, he scooted closer, not bothering to stop until he was completely up in her space. His body curled around hers until all she could smell was the smooth scent of leather and testosterone. Feel the heat of his body seeping through the cotton of her shirt.
“This feels right,” Hunter whispered.
Sweet baby Jesus. It felt too right.
“Um, Hunter—”
“Don’t move.” Without even breaking his stride, Hunter moved so he cradled her body fully and rested the guitar on her hip. “I almost have it.”
His fingers picked up pace—in perfect sync with her heart—and the song poured out of him.
Almost turned into a minute, then three, and then—oh God—the next thing Mackenzie knew, Hunter was fiddling to get it perfect, and she realized she didn’t want to move.
Surrounded by a confident, yummy man was tempting. Being surrounded by Hunter while he was in the zone was a religious experience, one that she was sure would take her to the promised land. Every note pulled her further into his vortex of sexy, which made her feel sexy and feminine—and connected. Three things she’d never thought to feel again.
He’d found the heart of the song, raw and nostalgic and tender.
A few lines in and already a hit—she could tell.
Yup, Hunter Kane, the big badass musician, was back. His confidence and swagger were so mouthwateringly male she let herself imagine, for just a moment, what it would be like to have more than just his hands on her.
Suddenly, the music stopped, and Mackenzie felt the energy in the room shift—become more intimate and personal.
“You got it,” she said, sounding ridiculously breathless.
“I think I finally did,” he said. “In fact, if I got it any more right, you’re going to have to amend your first rule.”
“First rule?” she said through the sexual haze.
“No kissing, because I’m pretty sure we’re one breath from contact,” he said, and she was pretty sure he was smiling. “And even though we did share breakfast in bed this morning, I’m more of a second-date-kiss kind of guy.”
Mackenzie straightened and pulled back. “This is work, not a date.”
“Seems like you’re working hard not to kiss me.” He set the guitar down and leaned back on the sofa. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered, but that almost-kiss will have to wait until we’re standing under the porch light and I’m walking you to the door.”
“There was no almost-kiss.”
“Sure there was, but don’t worry, next time that almost will be a slam dunk, you have my word. In fact, I was thinking tomorrow night, you and me. I even know the perfect front porch.”
“I know you’re used to women who swoon when you wink, but you’re going to have to try harder than that,” she lied.
“To clarify, you’re saying no to the date but yes to the kiss,” he mused.
“Yes. I mean no.”
“No need to get flustered. It’s a simple question.”
Simple, my ass. Hunter was the most complicated straightforward person she’d ever encountered. And this was the most complicated situation she’d been in since his rehearsal dinner.
“We’re coworkers, and coworkers don’t date,” she rushed out, more for herself than him. “Last time I let it become about more than the music for me. I can’t do that again. Not when I need to learn to stand on my own two feet.”
“I’m not down on one knee.” He sounded so sincere her heart pounded as if he were. “I’m just asking you to give this a chance to see where it goes.”
“We both know exactly where this would lead.” Mackenzie had been there, bought and buried the T-shirt.
“Why don’t you explain it to me, just to make sure you and I are on the same page? I want a clear image,” he said, suddenly in front of her. This time she was certain he was smiling. And it was his charming smile. The one with the double dimples she could never resist.
“See where it goes implies there’s room for this to go somewhere,” she said primly. “And there’s not.”
“Why is that?”
“My life is in these few square blocks. Yours is on the road.” And if she wasn’t careful, he’d take her heart with him when he left.
“Yet we always manage to find each other,” he said.
She snorted. “Because we’ve never let it go too far. If we did, it would be over, just like that.”
“Trouble, with me it goes on and on. And that’s a promise.”
Her nipples believed him. “When it comes to women, you burn hot and fast. And while I’m sure it would be an incredible night, it’s not worth getting burned.”
“Oh, I’m worth it,” he whispered. “And let’s be real, sex between us wouldn’t just be hot, it would be a slow, scorching heat that would light you up from the inside out and last long into the next day.”
She was afraid it would last forever.
“It’s a work night, and we are on a tight timeline,” she said, and as far as excuses went, it was about as lame as washing her hair, but she was desperate for an out.
“How about this weekend?” he asked, and she was tempted to say yes. How many times had she dreamed of the perfect date with the perfect man? “Wait, scratch that, I have plans.”
“Is this the weekend you have to go to LA to meet with the label?” she asked.
“No. That’s next weekend,” he corrected. “And I thought you were going with me. They want to know how the album is progressing, and what better way than to bring along the talent behind the music.”
“I’m sure your talent will be enough to fill the room,” Mackenzie teased. “Plus, Muttley isn’t air-travel confident yet.” And neither was she.
“Which makes it the perfect trip to practice. I’ll be there, so if anything—”
She rested a gentle hand on his cheek. “We’re not there yet.”
His jaw tensed beneath her touch, as if he had more to say on the subject but was holding back. His chest rose and fell, then a smile tugged at his mouth. “Well then, this is your lucky weekend. As I am spending two nights and three days in the countryside outside Nashville and am in need of a travel companion.”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course you are.”
“No planes or trains required. Just a simple yes, Trouble.” He rested his hand over hers and her nipples perked up, giving her the A-OK to accept.
She laughed. “The yes might be simple, but the aftermath, I’m not so sure.”
“Oh, did I forget to mention that this weekend comes with a two-foot-tall, live-in chaperone?” I promised to babysit Caroline so Brody and Savannah can have a little adult fun.” He linked their fingers and slid her hand to his lips, pressing an openmouthed kiss to her palm. “And after the rugrat goes to bed, we can have our own adult fun.”
She could hear the smile in his words; hers was ready to shatter. While three days of adult fun with Hunter away from the security of work was beyond tempting, it was also a colossally bad idea. Spending it with an adorable but unpredictable toddler was a disaster in the making.
She closed her eyes and reminded herself to breathe.
Hunter with his niece would absolutely melt her heart in so many ways she couldn’t even comprehend. Hunter with his niece would also be an aching reminder of just how far apart their worlds actually were. Something that was easy to ignore when cocooned in the security of her house.
There was no doubt that Hunter was born to be a father. And she was equally as confident that parenthood was not in her future.
“Muttley and I meet with our sponsor on Saturdays.” She pulled her hand back. “Plus, I need to get some things done around the house this weekend.”
He was silent for a long while, and she could feel his scrutiny, as if trying to figure out if she was telling the truth. “Well, if you change your mind I can come get you.”
“I won’t.” She untangled herself from his lap and stood. “How long will you be gone?”
“Why, Trouble? Are you going to miss me?” His tone was teasing, but she could feel his disappointment.
“I was just thinking through my weekend plans.” And how, if she was going to fulfill her goal of hitting the market every day, she’d have to go it alone.
At least peaches are in season, she assured herself.
“It’s a short trip.” He stood too. “They leave Friday and get back Sunday night.”
Three days seemed like an eternity to her—and that had her warning bells ringing. She’d made it three years without his help. So why did three days make the pit of her stomach churn?
Because you’ve gotten comfortable having him around.
And comfort was one step closer to dependence. Maybe this weekend would help her regain some much-needed perspective.
“Have fun,” she said lightly. “As for the date, you’re going to have to try harder than co-babysitting to sweet-talk your way into my bedroom.”
“No sweet-talking necessary when it’s the real deal. And this . . .” he said, reaching for her hand when she was about to walk away, “this is the real deal.”
Oh, he was the real deal all right. So impressive that the air whooshed out of her lungs on first contact. Mackenzie had to cling to those biceps to remain upright, getting a hands-on inspection of each and every ripple and curve. The man redefined chiseled, and all that swagger somehow redefined where the line was. Moving it right past no-kissing and dangerously into sharing more than just personal space, making it easy for Mackenzie to get that much closer without actually crossing it.
“I’m going to prove it to you,” he said, sculpting his hands around her sides, his fingers splaying low on her backside. “And, Trouble, when it comes to creative, I’m world-class, so be careful what you ask for.”