“You put on the brakes.” He ran his thumb up and down the soft skin of her arm. “What do you want? Really?”
“I want to keep being successful. I want to grow as an artist. I want to be around this business, to stay. And I want you.” She reached up and brushed his lips with hers. “I want this to stick, Rivers.”
His chest felt tight. “I want it to stick, too.” He pulled her closer. “I want to whisk you away to a private island and play my guitar while you swim in a coconut bra. Is that so much to ask?” It was. He knew it was. He was asking her to change in a way that wasn’t fair.
“The thing you’ve never figured out, Chance, is that we are on a private island. Yes, we’re in the spotlight, but don’t you understand what money affords us? We’re immune to the day-to-day bullshit that destroys most couples. Financial stress, boredom, the mundane tasks of bill paying and repairing the broken-down car. We’re on an island, built on our success.”
He got what she was saying. But there was another element. It was called fame. “Yet you spent days reading comments online from people calling you all kinds of terrible names.”
“It’s part of the territory, plain and simple. Does it bother me sometimes? Of course. Do I feel like I need to be strategic about what I do and say in response? Absolutely. But the world is seriously our oyster. Let’s just enjoy it, honey. Can you do that?”
She made it sound like he was purposefully being difficult. That wasn’t the case. He just didn’t have her ability to let it go. But he did want to enjoy his success. He wanted to enjoy her. “I can try to do that. I want you happy.”
“I want you happy. See how easy that is?”
He tipped her chin up so he could reach her enticing lips. “We’re easy. This time we’re going to be easy.”
He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her or himself, but either way, for a second there he believed it.
“Let’s go to bed,” she said. “I’m beat.”
There was no place in the world he’d rather be. He stood up and held out his hand.
—
Jolene slept like a log and woke up in the same position she had fallen asleep in—in Chance’s arms. She was damn proud of the two of them for talking through their feelings the night before. She wasn’t sure they had concluded much, but they weren’t angry, and that was a solid achievement for them. Not even after a day of picking at every scab they owned had they lost it on each other.
“Hey, sexy,” he said, his voice sleepy and husky. He pressed a kiss on her temple.
“Hey,” she said softly. For a minute she felt overwhelmed by the reality of how they had thrown this away once before. How close they had come to never getting it back. In his arms, none of the outside world seemed to matter.
She decided she didn’t want today to be a repeat of yesterday, both literally and metaphorically. “How much do you think Tennyson could be bought off for? I don’t want her here today.”
“I don’t, either. But you have to admit, we got results yesterday. Even if it felt like we were being dragged naked across hot coals while hog-tied.”
“That sounds more pleasant than what I went through.”
He laughed. “Okay, then, how about we text her and snag a day off. She can come back tomorrow.”
“Or maybe we should barrel through and be done with it. You’re right. We got results, and why stretch this process out?”
“I hate the idea that I couldn’t write an album for us.”
She had been wondering when that was going to bruise his ego. He had seemed to appreciate Tennyson’s talent, yet she knew he was territorial about his songs. They were his pride, his identity. Tennyson had stomped on a lot of toes by doing the job she’d been hired to do.
The bed was warm and so was Chance’s flesh. The morning sun was blasting through the blinds in his bedroom, and the air-conditioning didn’t seem to be earning its keep. Jolene didn’t care that she was overheated. She didn’t want to scoot away from him. There was something so peaceful about the moment—lying there together. Connected.
“It was us,” she reminded him. “We gave Tennyson everything she needed to write. I’m sure if we sat down today, we could do it on our own. We just wanted to be together the last few days, not working. We were playing hooky, and after eighteen straight months of working, I don’t think we should feel bad about that. I know I don’t.”
“I do. I can’t help it.” He shifted, turning on his side and propping his head on his hand so he was staring down at her. “I felt like that was the one thing I could give you, you know? Hit records. What am I if I can’t give you that?”
Jolene wasn’t sure what to make of that. She knew only that there was pain on his face, and that made her hurt. “I didn’t fall in love with you because you could push me up the charts, Chance. I fell in love with you because you’re incredibly talented and sexy and intelligent and funny. We’re going to write together again. I’m one hundred percent sure we would have gotten there on our own if Ginny hadn’t hit the panic button.”