He was right. It wasn’t the Ritz-Carlton, but it wasn’t a bare-bones cabin, either. It had a dishwasher in the white kitchen, black granite countertops, attractive furniture in the living room, and a big old flat-screen TV. Jolene said, “Ginny booked it. She told me it was small and not to expect anything too nice. Guess she was downplaying it.”
Chance jogged up the stairs and immediately returned. “Kids’ room. It has four bunk beds.”
She shrugged. Putting the groceries on the kitchen counter, she suddenly wished she’d packed beer. She wanted a cold one. It felt right. Then again, it was ten in the morning. Maybe a little early. She wandered over to what was clearly the master bedroom. There was a colorful quilt on the bed and an en suite bath. This room was definitely hers. “I claim this bed. You can sleep upstairs,” she called back over her shoulder.
“Not a chance.” His low voice was right behind her.
Jolene jumped. “Jesus. What are you doing on top of me?” And why were her nipples hardening? Traitorous little things that they were.
“I’m not sleeping upstairs. I told you. It’s like a bunk room for kids. I’m sleeping in here with you. This bed is big enough for both of us.” His expression was suggestive, teasing, a smirk on his face.
She swallowed hard, determined not to let him see the reaction she had to that sexy-as-hell smile of his. “Over my dead body. What part of ‘keep your damn hands off me’ do you not understand?”
“You don’t think I can sleep in the same bed without wanting to touch you?”
She certainly hoped he couldn’t. Her ego had taken enough hits recently. “I don’t care to hear your snoring.”
“I don’t snore.”
“How do you know? You’re asleep!” He snored like a freight train rumbling through a mountain tunnel. The man drove her crazy. Insane. She wanted to shake him hard, then fall on him like a dog with a soup bone. Which made her the girl in every country song—the one who should know better but fell for the emotionally unavailable boy anyway.
“Besides, sharing a bed is part of our agreement,” he added.
She was about done with that damn agreement. “How do you figure? I never signed anything. I said no. You didn’t agree to my terms, so I’m serious, Chance. No fooling around.”
When she turned and saw his smile, she knew that he knew she was bluffing. She was going to crumble like brown sugar if he so much as made one move on her.
“So when do you want to start?” he asked.
Jolene glanced at the bed. For some reason, the first time they’d made love popped into her head. They had been on a shoot for a promo spot. They’d been booked in separate rooms because they naively believed they’d managed to keep their budding interest a secret. But Chance had never even opened the door to his suite. He’d spent two days holed up with her while they had explored every inch of each other. He had been sweet and tender and romantic and he’d made her feel alive from head to toe. It was then that he first called her JoJo, while encouraging her to orgasm.
Her cheeks heated at the memory. “Start what?” Her expression must have given her thoughts away because Chance laughed.
“Writing, I mean,” he said with a grin.
Right. The album. “I want to put the groceries up. But I’m ready whenever you are. Maybe we can go for a walk.”
“Sounds like a plan. Then later we should make a run for supplies. I need some whiskey. I can build us a fire outside tonight if you want.”
“That sounds good.” A fire. Whiskey. The stars. Chance. Yep. There was zero possibility that her panties would stay on. “Any ideas on what we should be writing about? What story do we want to tell?”
Chance’s expression changed from amused to serious. He slowly reached up and played with the ends of her hair. Jolene’s breath caught and her heart suddenly ached.
“I think the story we need to tell is about lost chances. About endings. Moving on.” His voice was low.
Her lost Chance. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes briefly. That was perfect. Absolutely and utterly painful but perfect. This was emotion she could convey. “I think you’re onto something. We can move from anger and hurt to distance, separation. Acceptance. Finding peace.”
Not that she had reached that point, but she was hoping she would eventually. Someday. The fact that he had gotten there already made her feel, well, sad.
He nodded. “That gives me a fine base to work with.”
Work with. Their relationship was going to be fodder for an album. The thought made her heart clench. She knew it was smart from a business standpoint. Their fans would love to hear their story. But this was dangerous territory. It was one thing for them to write separately about what had happened to them. It was another thing altogether to be doing it collaboratively. She didn’t know about Chance, but bravado about agreements and naked songwriting aside, she was fairly certain she was too raw to be detached or objective about this particular subject.