Chapter 90
“ Y ou are mine, Peace Jinkins.” Bo plants the soles of his Dr. Martens boots on the floor. Holding his guitar to the side with one strong arm, he reaches for me with the other. “But I need you, baby, and you should know I’m not a patient man.” Framing one side of my face, he brings my mouth toward his. My lips tingle. I yearn. I want him, desperately. I want more than only a kiss, but I told him I needed to be certain this time. I love him. It’s a permanent, irreversible condition. But I need to know he won’t disappear in the morning, that there won’t be any restrictions. Once I give him my lips, my heart, and my soul, I need to know he’ll keep them safe this time.
“Not yet.” I turn my head to the side, and his mouth skims my cheekbone. Warmth ripples throughout my entire body. “I want you. I need you. But?—”
“You’re scared. I get it. I have some work to do, but I don’t mind. You’re worth it. I’ll get you there.” His handsome features are firm, resolute.
It’s not me alone, not wholly. Doesn’t he get it? He needs to believe in himself, needs to believe that he’s the best and the only choice for me.
“That was fantastic,” a familiar voice declares, and we both break apart.
Turning my head, I see Melinda behind the glass. She has her hand on the recording booth switch that opens two-way communication between the rooms. “I’ll have Dalton Jr. mix it properly.” She shakes her head. “But he won’t need to do much. With a voice like yours, you belong center stage, Peace. Every bit as much as your father. And you and Bo are pure magic together.”
“Thanks.” I blush.
“This is what I want you to focus on this summer. Write and record songs that you and Bo believe in. Jinkins and Jackson has a nice ring to it. I want an album’s worth of beautiful songs like the one you just sang.”
“I don’t know.” I look at Bo for assurance. “I’m not Avery Jones.”
“You’re better,” Bo says.
“No way,” I start to protest, but Melinda has more to say.
“I agree with Bo.” She nods once at him. “You have something like her, Peace. There’s sincerity when you sing. An earnestness that’s compelling. A unique quality that makes even the simple concepts in that song seem profound.”
“We’ll do it.” Bo places his hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “We’ll get you that album.”
“Your words are music to my ears.” Her blue gaze narrows. “But you have your work cut out for you. You and your band still need to deliver a Shooting Star follow-up album.”
“I’ll do my best. My bandmates and I are up to the task.” He cranks up his chin. The movement stretches his plain white T-shirt tighter across his chiseled chest. My yearning heart flutters.
“I expect nothing less.” Melinda stands. “It’s good to have you back in Vancouver, Peace.”
“Thanks. I’m glad to be back. With Bo this time.” Looking at him, the heat in my cheeks spreads everywhere. The guy makes me hot without even trying.
“Your focus will be different this summer.” Melinda unfolds her wand. “But your salary will remain the same.”
“Sounds good,” I agree.
“But,” she continues, “if you turn in quality material, the kind I think you’re capable of, I’ll write you a check for a two-hundred-thousand-dollar advance on the spot.”
“Whoa.” My eyes grow large. “I mean, thank you for the opportunity.”
“Thank you , Peace.” Her head bobs. “I’m totally stoked about you joining the label as a new recording artist.”
There’s a click as she turns off the switch. Stunned and excited, I watch her exit the sound booth, then turn to Bo. I’m about to ask him what he wants to do next when his cell rings.
“Oops.” He unclips his guitar strap and sets down the shiny acoustic on a nearby stand. “Forgot to turn my ringer off.” After withdrawing his cell from the front pocket of his jeans, he glances at the display. “It’s my mom.”
“Hey,” he answers his phone while holding my gaze. “Yeah, I’m here with Peace now.” He tilts his head. A swath of his brown hair falls forward, shadowing his gorgeous gray-green eyes. My fingers buzz with the urge to comb through the unkempt strands.
“I’ll ask her.” He steps close and skims his knuckles along the underside of my jawline. My skin warms and my nipples tingle. “Do you want to eat lunch at my mom’s new place?”
“Sure.”
“’Kay, Mom. She’s in.” He nods at whatever she tells him. “I haven’t told her yet, but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind going to your place instead of a restaurant…Okay, I’ll tell her…Yes, we’ll see you soon.”
“What was that all about?” I ask after he ends the call.
“I invited someone to have lunch with us today. Someone my mom’s not all that fond of, but she wants all of us to eat lunch together at her place.”
“Who is she not fond of?” I ask.
“Avery Jones,” he replies.
“Oh my God!” I scream. “Avery Jones is eating lunch with me? With us?”
“Yes.” He laughs. “I thought that would be your reaction.”
“I haven’t seen her since we were kids.” And then I didn’t really understand how big of a star she really is.
“I know.” He nods, looking proud of himself.
“She’s won two more Grammys since then.” I swallow hard and admit. “I’m a big fan, Bo.”
“I’m aware.” He grins.
I throw my arms around him. “This means so much to me.” I ease back and search his eyes that sparkle more temptingly than any platinum record plaque. “Thank you.”
His gaze dips to my lips. “Can I have that kiss now?” His voice edges me with need.
I shake my head, but I’m sorely tempted.
“Am I getting you closer?” he asks low, and I shiver.
“Yes, so close.” I touch his face and trace his sculpted lips with my fingers.
“How close?” He kisses my fingertips, and I feel those kisses everywhere.
“You know me better than anyone in the world,” I remind him. “You know what I need. I trust that you know exactly what to do to turn my not quite yet into a resounding yes.”
“I have the key, you mean?” He arches an inquiring brow.
“You are the key,” I reply. He only needs to fit it in the lock.