“You are a classic country girl.” Chance nodded slowly, water spraying him through the open door. He didn’t acknowledge the tiny splatters on his arms, his chest.
“And you’re country royalty. The prince of pickers.” Jolene dunked her hair back under the warm water and let it pour over her face. She scrubbed at her eyes and slicked her hair back.
She didn’t mean anything by it other than a reference to his father and grandfather. But when Chance didn’t answer, she realized it might have been misinterpreted. She popped her eyes open.
He said, “I can’t do this, Jolene. Something isn’t right about it.” His expression was tortured, pained.
“What? Why? Because of your family?”
“What? No, of course not. I just think we’re going to regret it. Or at least I will.” For a second she thought he was going to say something else. His mouth opened and he shook his head. But he didn’t.
He just shut the shower door, leaving her alone in the steam.
It stung like hell. Maybe it had been impulsive for her to let him join her, but if she had been certain of anything, it was that Chance was attracted to her. Now she wasn’t even sure about that.
She hated the feeling. Being vulnerable was an emotion she had left behind when she’d packed a bag and stomped out of her childhood home, her father screaming at her back that she was never going to amount to anything.
She had. She was something.
She had presence, a big laugh, and enthusiasm in bed. If Chance didn’t see that, well then he could kiss her burgeoning butt.
That conviction didn’t make the shower feel any less lonely.
—
Chance backed away from the shower, needing to put some distance between them. His cock was hard as steel, and he wanted her so bad it set his teeth on edge, but the way she looked at him, her blue eyes wide, vulnerable. Like she trusted him but was afraid of what he might say or do. God, it destroyed him. He didn’t know what game they were playing at here, but it was dangerous.
Jolene wasn’t stupid. She was a businesswoman. There had been a time when she had looked at him like she thought he was the sun and the stars and the moon, but she didn’t need him to make her career, not really, and she wasn’t in awe of him. He wasn’t the prince of anything, let alone the prince of pickers. The balance of power between them had shifted, and he had realized that with total clarity, maybe for the first time.
It was unsettling, but hell, it was for the best. He’d never deserved her doe-eyed devotion or the crush she’d thought was love. He was just a hack trying to ride on his father’s and grandfather’s coattails. He was the guy who hated the cameras and the interviews and the crowds. He had just wanted to sit on a porch with her and make music. It was naive and it wasn’t the world they lived in. It wasn’t Jolene’s reality, and by proxy it was no longer his. He hadn’t realized how fast her star would rise and how little he’d be able to cope with it, so he needed to keep himself in check despite his blustery bullshit about spending all week in bed.
Being here with her was like indulging in a good old-fashioned drunk. You knew you’d pay for it the next day, but you did it anyway. And you did it up good, throwing back shots.
Going down on Jolene was like doing shots. She would taste sweet and tangy and her cries would go straight to his head. He’d lose control, he knew he would, and that worried him. He wanted to do dirty, nasty things to her. Kinky, possessive, pornographic things. What was more, he was pretty sure she’d let him.
Then they would be lost in each other all over again, and this time they’d crash even harder.
He almost hadn’t survived the first time. He wasn’t sure he could do it a second time.
They were writing songs together. And he had tasted her again for the first time in months, seen her beautiful body. There was really no way to keep this cool and casual, but maybe if they were going to indulge in each other, which they both clearly wanted to do, they needed to clear the proverbial air first. They had already crossed a line, but not to the point of no return.
“What was our last fight about?” he asked, wrapping a towel around his waist. Some questions were better asked without his dick waggling.
Jolene blinked at him as she opened the door and stepped out of the shower. She gripped the faucet and shut the water off. “What? Are you kidding me right now?”
“No. I honestly can’t remember. It seemed like one minute you were mixing up some sangria and I was firing up the grill because it was finally warm after a cold-ass winter, then we were screaming and I was packing my clothes.” He had either blocked out the details or they had been unimportant. Fuel and flames. That was the two of them. It was important to remember that. “It wasn’t really about that picture, was it?”
She looked around for a towel, and when she didn’t see one within reach, she yanked his towel off his waist and wrapped it around herself. Well, if that didn’t beat the Dutch. What was his was hers, apparently.