Risky Replay (Country Stars Forever #1)

Chapter 19

Nineteen

EMILY

I regret sleeping in. The temperature outside is already ridiculously high by eight in the morning. I should have woken up earlier for my run. I took two steps outside the hotel lobby – there were no lurking Rileys – thank goodness, and turned around and found the hotel gym. The air conditioner is on full blast, and I have my ear buds in as I pound the treadmill.

It’s like I have a ball of energy I have to expend after last night. The dinner was fun, and I’m still giddy over meeting Bailey and Jaxson, outside of their weird competition. That’s not where the energy comes from. I’m wired from the heat still thrumming between my legs and my limbs. When Derek had me against the wall, my body screamed for one more time. Even with a few hours’ sleep, I am wired.

As I start mile six, my phone rings. I punch down the speed of the treadmill and answer. “Hey.”

“Morning. You okay? You sound out of breath.” Derek’s voice cracks like he’s nervous.

“Getting a workout in. Are you heading to the studio soon?” Derek’s scheduled for a morning recording session and after, he wants to sightsee before the festival.

“Bailey changed her mind. She wants to meet this afternoon, and we have the morning open. Thought I’d invite you for breakfast.”

“My stomach likes the sound of that.” I turn off the treadmill and wipe down the machine. “Let me go shower and get ready.”

“Text me when you’re done, and I’ll send a car for you.”

“Oh.” Comes out of me. Maybe he has other meetings?

“Left the hotel early. No worries, take your time, and no need to dress up. It’s only us.”

Before I shower, I video call home to ask James about the party. He answers my grandmother’s phone.

“Mom, it was so cool. They had a mini horse, a duck, and oh, chickens. A llama, too. It spit on Jared when he said my shirt was a girl’s shirt. Maddox laughed and said he bet llamas were the smartest animals in the world. They had chocolate cupcakes, and we got to take a bunch home. I brought one for you and Victoria. And Nana says Mark is coming later and we’re going to watch the fireworks.”

I make a note to ask Nana. Mark was a backup, and before I left, they assured me they didn’t need to call him. They said they wanted a quiet fourth at home.

“Sounds like you had a good time.” What a relief.

“His mom said she’d ask you for time to play for me and Maddox.”

There isn’t much time left before we move. Maybe we can squeeze one more play date in. “I’ll call her when I get back.”

After I talk to Victoria, I get the truth from my grandmother. They’ve planned a drive to my tía’s in Tijuana for the fourth, and they will celebrate there, which makes no sense because Mexico’s Independence Day is September sixteenth. I remind her to take her passport. And although I mention my preference for them to spend the holiday with their great grandkids, she asks if Patrick Anderson could take them for the day. No, that would be more confusing for them. They know Mark as a friend. Which reminds me, James never once had a negative reaction to Mark like he has to Derek .

I should be there. They should be spending the holiday with me instead of strangers. The thought loops in my head as I ride in the car Derek sent. I scroll for flights home. The cost is ridiculous because it’s a holiday, and it’s last minute. I can’t afford it, and I’m forced to wait this out.

The driver announces our arrival. He parks in front of a brick three-story building. It’s on the corner of the block, and there’s a coffee shop across the street, next to a park. Few cars drive by, and it’s quiet. There’s no traffic, no sirens, no crowds walking by talking loudly. When I step out of the car, a woman pushing a stroller and walking her dog wishes me a good morning with a bright smile.

“Oh. Hi,” I say not expecting the greeting. “I mean, good morning to you, too.”

My phone chimes with a text.

Derek

Stairs on the left, third floor, number 305. It’s open.

Is this your place?

Derek

Come upstairs and find out.

I walk up the two flights of outdoor stairs, and reach the top alcove with three numbered doors. Derek’s has a straw-colored welcome mat and a potted fern.

I turn the door knob, and it’s unlocked. The smoky and sweet scent of bacon greets me as well as the deep bass of Russel Dickerson’s “She Likes It”. He must have a whole home sound system. Past the open entry way, I walk into the living room. Against the wall on my right is a sleek modern couch facing the television. A hallway to my left leads to what I assume are his room and the bathroom. The dining room, with a round, modern, glass table, is next to the living room, and the kitchen is around the corner. On the other side of a massive island, Derek shimmies his hips to the chorus with his back to me.

His blond hair is damp, and he’s in a light gray tee and shorts.

He tucks his elbows in and pivots on his foot. When he turns and sees me, he stops dancing. “Hey.”

“This place is incredible.” I peek behind him at the stovetop. He has pans full of eggs, bacon, and, “Is that French toast?”

“Your favorite. There’s fruit in the fridge if you want to grab it.”

“I can’t believe you woke up and thought of all this.”

He returns to the stovetop. “I wasn’t in the mood for another restaurant.”

“What if I had told you I’d already grabbed breakfast?” I hold back my smile.

“Then I would have bragged my meal was better than yours.”

I can’t help but match the grin he sends me. “It would have ruined my day.”

“We can’t have that.” He moves over to the fancy coffee contraption. “Had caffeine yet?”

“Not enough.” I offer to help. After he walks me through the instructions, I make us each a latte. “I talked to James this morning.”

A special smile brightens Derek’s face. Not the smile for his fans, not the one even for me. This one is joy and sunshine, like it’s his special bond with his son. And he’s right. They both burn brighter than the sun. “Is he still going on about the llama?”

My ears perk up. “How did you know?”

“Your nana sent me a text this morning.” He faces the stove turning off everything.

I run a finger over the vein of the marble island. “What else did she tell you?”

“She asked if it was okay to have Mark take the kids. He’s spending the holiday with friends. I didn’t agree to anything. I only get to make half the decisions about James. Victoria is all you.” He piles two plates with everything .

Is the oven on too? Because my ears and internal temperature spike. “Did she tell you they’re going to TJ to spend the day there when they promised they would spend the holiday with their great grandchildren? And instead, they’ll be among kids they don’t know, and who knows how they will treat them?” I sit on the white leather barstool. Everything in his house is so white. So sterile. “You realize kids make a mess and accidentally color things?”

The crease between his brows disappears and then his smile returns. “You’re picturing James and Victoria here.”

I don’t answer that because I do. And that’s too much for him to know. “What’s going to happen today when James is around a bunch of new kids and I’m not there?”

“Wasn’t he around new kids yesterday? Besides, Mark will be there. I’m sure Mark’s friends have much more accepting kids.”

I would hope so.

Derek takes out his phone and his thumbs move over the screen. “You think Mark can’t handle it?”

“He’s still in his twenties and doesn’t have kids. He’s watched them at my house. What will he do when James gets bored or Victoria cries?” I grab my phone and start searching for flights. Did they double in price in the last hour?

“Ouch,” a voice says from Derek’s phone. “Thought you had a little more faith in me.”

I want to murder Derek Anderson. And I try with my glare, but he’s still standing, a smug look on his face. When I narrow my eyes to make my point, he raises a palm in the air. “Mark, tell Emily you’re not offended.”

“Kind of am,” he says.

“I’m sorry.” I deflate.

“Tell us more about what you’re thinking of doing with the littles.” Derek watches the phone to concentrate on Mark’s words.

Mark generously shares all the details. A friend invited him to their house with a view of fireworks from their yard. He highlights the yard has a fence and no pool. He answers all my questions and reminds me he has siblings close in age to James and Victoria. When I approve, Derek ends the call, and runs a palm over my back, soothing my nerves.

“They’re in the best hands possible.” Derek slides over a plate full of yumminess. “I want you to enjoy this without worrying.”

When he passes me the utensils, our fingers brush together and I look up at him. His brown eyes shift to black ink. I indulge in the quick feel of his rougher touch. The years of guitar-playing textured his skin, and my mind invokes memories of his masculine hands on the inside of my thigh. And inside me.

Said thighs squeeze together and deliver the pressure and pleasure I crave. I moan, not only because of my wild thoughts, but because the eggs are fluffy and savory, the French toast is sweet, crispy on the outside and moist on the inside. The man can cook.

Derek smirks.

“You were right,” I say to distract myself.

He squeezes my thigh. “I trust Mark.”

I sigh. “Fine. I was making assumptions.”

There’s no bite to my admission. He’s right, Mark would be conscious of who he brings around James and Victoria.

On the next bite, I look upward ready to praise the heavens for the delicious food. Hanging from the ceiling is a beautiful abstract wood and glass chandelier with vibes of a guitar with glass notes coming out of it.

“Wow. That must have been pricey.”

“It was a gift from the crew when I bought this place.” His face brightens when he looks up.

“They love you, don’t they?”

Derek shifts his weight on the stool and watches his fork move a piece of bacon aside. “They’re pretty great.”

“They think the same about you.” I rest my hand on his forearm. The corded muscles flex under my touch.

“You haven’t met them,” he says.

I point my fork above us. “I don’t have to. They didn’t do it out of obligation, and finding a fixture like that takes time. I bet it’s one of a kind created by an artist they went searching for. It didn’t land in their lap.”

Derek tilts his head to the side. “How did you know?”

I shrug a shoulder. “It’s what I would have done if I were them.”

Derek’s intense gaze doesn’t stray from mine.

The longer we stay like this, the faster my breathing becomes. My skin heats, and my cheeks burn. The need to be physically closer consumes me. With some strength drawn from my pride or dignity, or both, I stay in my seat.

“Emily.” He stares at my lips like they were more delicious than the meal in front of us.

“Yes?” My voice is wobbly.

His hand lands between my legs, grips the stool and hauls it to him. I’m confined to the space between his knees. There’s a distinct bulge in his shorts.

“I’ve been thinking of kissing you for weeks.”

“Weeks?” I’m all breathy. And his beautiful, talented mouth is right there.

“Last night, you said?—”

“That was last night. This is now.”

He cups my hand in his and presses it to his left pec where I feel the thump of his heart.

Will he let me go when the time comes?

In one swift move, he sets me on the island between our forgotten dishes. I open my legs and let him stand inches from me. Like this, I’m still shorter, and I bend my head back. He leaves a hand on my hip, while the other pushes my hair off my shoulder exposing my neck to him. My hips roll back, seeking friction from the counter between my legs. It fails. I scoot closer to the edge and don’t care his cock is inches from my pussy.

“Tell me you want this.” Derek’s voice is like tires on gravel. His thumb sneaks under the hem of my top and rubs circles on my skin while his gaze remains on my lips.

I’m not strong enough to fight this. I’m not weak enough to not know what I’m doing. Our bodies moving any closer guarantee an explosion. I move my hand from his chest and bring it to mine, letting his palm cup my breast. I release him and scrape my nails over his abs, under his shirt, and above the waist of his shorts. He sucks in a breath.

“Emily?” he growls.

Oh, he’s waiting for permission.

I bite my bottom lip to stop myself from asking him if he has condoms. I can’t. Who am I kidding? If we kiss, it won’t be the only thing we do. This is dangerous, and none of my training can save me.