Chapter Eight
I wake up.
For a second I wonder if I’m dead. If I’ve died and gone to heaven or some goddamn thing. I feel so fucking peaceful. Comfortable. Wildly ... content . It’s not an emotion I’m used to.
I’m fully wrapped around the person lying in my bed with me, our arms and legs tangled and my fingers weaved through her soft hair.
Softer than Carmen’s.
Everything about her is softer than Carmen.
This isn’t Carmen.
I never felt this good next to Carmen.
And I was never wrapped this tightly around her, because I didn’t want to be.
I slept hard, and deeper than I have in a long time. But my subconscious was clearly on a die-hard mission to keep this girl close. My bear hug is as resolute as an iron cage of safety.
I drink in the details of her, getting my bearings. I’m in my city house, not the warehouse. I broke up with Carmen yesterday, I remember—finally, thank fuck—and I played a gig at Gus’s, which got mobbed.
After running into her on the rainy street.
Stella Juliet Bell .
Her seraphic face is angelic as she sleeps.
She’s so damn young . So dazzlingly beautiful.
If the pumping thud of my heart, the steel-strong grip of my arms or the ten inches of serious morning wood I’m sporting are any judge, the lion’s share of my psyche—and other parts of me—think I’m already in love with her.
She was a virgin.
Fuck.
Did I hurt her?
I could feel that she came many times. I tried to make sure the pain would at least be consumed by pleasure, but I was so overcome by my own lust, it was impossible not to completely lose myself in her. She felt better than anything ever has.
My unicorn girl. Completely untouched.
As if she wasn’t already perfect. Not that it would have mattered.
But it does.
She’s mine.
And only mine.
Mine.
I came inside her. With no barriers. Three times.
There was simply no way I could have disengaged myself from that tight little heaven on earth.
What I realize now is that I don’t care if I knock her up. In the back of my mind I think I want to.
Which is seriously crazy.
I’ve never even considered going bareback before.
Ever.
Not even when they beg.
For better or worse, every woman I meet wants my baby. I’m hot, famous, built, 6’3”, and I’m steady. I’m rough in all the ways they want me to be, but I also have an ingrained integrity that’s like crack to women, fuck knows why. My eyes are honest, they tell me. They trust me. They know I’ll take them to the edge of every experience, but also that I’ll protect them along the way. I have a moral compass and I’m a natural leader, which they can detect with their baby-o-meters, you can read it in their expressions from a mile away. I’m a guy who stands out from the crowd for all the right reasons, I’m loaded as fuck so I can provide whatever they need on steroids, and odds are I’ll give them good-looking little alpha babies with talent and blue eyes and a sweet life on offer. No guarantees, of course, but it’s what every woman’s basest urges crave. Even if they’re not actively thinking about those details, their bodies are seeking them out. It’s a simple case of Biology 101 rearing its ugly head.
I’m also hung like a porn star, which doesn’t hurt.
I’m the kind of guy women want to get impregnated by, and get attached to in profound and life-changing ways, it’s just one of those things.
So I’ve been very careful. I always provide the condoms, to make sure they haven’t been tampered with. I don’t care if they tell me they’re on the pill or have taken care of things. I’d rather double up than be caught by surprise later on.
Not anymore.
With this girl, I’m already all in .
I’m a little concerned about my own throw-all-caution-to-the-wind attitude.
I’m not sure why I’m so damn sure about her.
It was so instant. So fucking total.
Why?
Because she’s the unicorn girl.
Hell.
What if she isn’t ?
What if she turns out to be as crazy as all the others?
She won’t.
She’s the one.
As if to confirm, my gigantic hard-on, fully-loaded, which is pressed up against the smooth skin of her thigh, throbs hotly, gushing pre-cum like it’s seeking her out. Like it wants to slide back inside all that snug, squeezing ecstasy.
The scent of her is heady. Lemons. Sunshine. Hothouse flowers and summertime daydreams. She smells like happiness.
She tastes like fucking nectar.
The caveman in me wants to keep her and make her mine in the most profound kind of way.
By putting a baby in her. Is that what I’m trying to do?
I don’t know.
Not actively , but on some level my body and soul have already chosen her.
I’m not only already willing to bond myself to her for the rest of time, I’m trying to.
It’s intense.
I watch her as she sleeps, trying not to be over the top about it, but she’s in my bed, fully entwined with me, full of my seed , so I figure I’m allowed.
I drink in every mind-blowing detail of this seriously stunning girl, fully captivated. She might as well have been made for me, all her features not only ideal but taken to some higher level of what I might have wished for if I’d thought to. Her lush lips are full and soft, lightly parted as she sleeps, her nose is cute and dotted with that little golden C chord of freckles. The long, sweeping arcs of her eyelashes are gold-tipped, just like her colorful hair with all its naturally-bright shades of chestnut and dark red, which lightens to a pale gold at its coiled ends.
She’s deeply asleep.
I could wake her again. Feed on my new addiction. I could feast on that luscious little candy-pink pussy all day and all night and never have enough of her.
But she needs rest.
We stayed up most of the night, taking each other over edge after edge with our ravenous need for each other. She’s tired. She drove all the way from New Jersey yesterday and the day before, after an emotional week.
Of getting proposed to.
The thought sends a jolt of red-hot possessiveness through my veins. Another gush of pre-cum throbs and spills onto her soft skin.
My cock is so hot and hard it’s painful.
I decide to let it happen. I couldn’t hold it even if I wanted to. The look of her and her scent and the feel of her skin. I grip my rigid cock in my fist, being careful not to wake her.
It doesn’t take much.
Heat sizzles along my raging shaft as I slide myself against her soft skin. Each smooth touch paints my cock with red-hot ecstasy. I really don’t want to be over the top about this but I fucking need her. The release billows through me, spilling in hot bursts all over her stomach. I grit my teeth as my orgasm throbs and bursts.
Fuck.
What am I doing?
I’ve never come as hard as I do with this little almost-stranger. I’ve never felt so goddamn feral.
Gently, I rub my warm cum over her skin, smoothing it over her stomach and her breasts, cupping the creamy mounds, coating her nipples with my sticky claim.
Mine. The certainty is unwavering and it fucking worries me. She’s already got me so tightly wrapped around her little finger I can’t see straight. I’ve known her for less than a day and I would already kill for her.
One blink of those long, tear-and-rain-wet eyelashes and one starry glance from those gem-green eyes and I was hooked. Hard. And it’s messing with my state of mind.
What I’m realizing is that all the sadness and loneliness that has plagued me for years is ... gone. All that angst because in my heart I knew the woman I was with wasn’t the one , gone. Because here she is.
Love at first sight is real.
It is possible to know , just like that.
Hell.
All I can do is hope like hell she doesn’t break my jaded heart.
She sighs then settles, as though she likes what I’m doing, claiming her as my own. It’s soothing her.
“That’s my girl,” I hear myself murmur. I tuck her in carefully, smoothing back a playful curl. I can’t help myself: I kiss her lips, softly, so I don’t wake her. The fiery craving to slide my tongue inside and taste more of her almost overwhelms me. But I want her to feel good, and rested. I want to ease away every shred of difficulty in her life. I’m going to give her everything she needs. And right now what she needs is rest. “Sleep as long as you want, sweet darlin’. I’ll be right here. I’ll watch over you.”
Satisfied that she’s as comfortable as she can be, I pull on a pair of sweat pants and go out into the kitchen.
A strange and resolute contentedness settles into me. As crazy as it sounds, I’ve found my purpose . Her. Giving her everything she needs and wants.
It’s a cataclysmic shift, like a cloud has moved away from the sun and you can suddenly feel the full effect of its warmth and its light.
My phone is sitting on the counter. I text Gage. Looking for a PI. Can you send me your guy’s number?
Then I go over to the far corner of the great room, where my vintage Martin D-18 is sitting on its stand. This old dreadnought was one of my first purchases once I started making real money. It dates back to 1937 and was once played by Elvis. The thing’s a goddamn work of art.
And it reminds me of the day I bought it. I’d broken up with another past girlfriend, for the same reason I’ve broken up with every girlfriend.
Because they weren’t her.
I know I’m reacting to Stella in a way that’s over the top.
Am I grasping for something I’ve wanted so badly all along but never got? Am I creating something in my mind that isn’t actually there?
No. Because I’ve never actually felt as sure about anything.
I know it’s her.
I pick up the guitar and tune it, strumming a few chords.
The song spools through my fingers fully formed. I find some paper and write down the lyrics. About a charmed, rainy night in Nashville. The notes and the words come so easily, I’m sort of amazed by the easy gush of inspiration.
Because I’ve found her.
I force myself to at least try to chill the fuck out.
I can’t, though. The fever burns into the music, inspiring it. Lifting it into one of those rare, out-of-the-blue kind of tunes you can feel in your bones is one of the best things you’ll ever write. I know it’s a hit already.
My love song to the girl of my dreams.
An hour or so later, it’s done.
I hear a soft noise and I look up. She’s standing there, wrapped in a short pale-green silk robe that’s belted at the waist. Her long, bare legs are lightly tanned. Just the sight of her makes me instantly hard and I don’t even know what to do with that. I almost wish I could appreciate her without getting a raging hard-on, but it’s impossible. She’s too damn sexy. Her colorful hair is a glorious mess. Even from a distance, her stolen-emerald eyes are a bright, vibrant shade of green.
“Mornin’, beautiful.”
She smiles shyly. “Hi.”
As she does this, my chest tightens with an overblown tenderness that digs in and makes my heart beat hotly in my chest.
Holy hell. I am so fucked.
I stand up and sort of instantly regret it because I’m much more than half-cocked. But there’s nothing I can do about it so I walk over to her and I smile sort of sheepishly—or maybe wolfishly—because there’s nothing subtle about how goddamn into her I am.
She laughs at how obvious I am, and it’s the cutest fucking thing. What I love the most is that she’s fun . I’m not used to it.
I stand close to her, looming over her since I’m a good six or seven inches taller than she is. Carefully, I lift her, setting her down so she’s sitting on the island. I open her legs and stand between them. I tuck one of her curls carefully behind her ear. We’ve taken this attraction from zero to sixty without so much as a glance in the rearview mirror. I have half an urge to slow it down, to savor it and roll around in every detail of her, taking my time. “You sleep okay, darlin’?”
“So deeply.” She smiles at me and I can’t help smiling back. Because she’s beaming hundred-proof sunshine into my life. “I can’t remember ever sleeping that well.”
It’s funny, because neither can I. “You all right?” It’s a big deal to lose your virginity—and so ... thoroughly. I don’t want her to regret anything.
Maybe she can read this in me because her expression softens into a gentle smile, like it makes her happy that I would ask this, and care. “I’m very all right. Thank you for enlightening me.” Light flags of pink warm her cheeks. “There’s only one small problem.”
“What problem?” I brace myself. Whatever it is, I’ll change her mind. I’ll spend every second of my goddamn wretched life making sure she has everything, that she’s not in pain or scared or lonely.
Stella says it shyly but as she blinks at me there’s a playfulness that’s blowing my mind. “Now I think I might be sort of ... addicted. To you and your enlightenment.”
I’m wildly relieved but I say it slowly, more like a comment than a question. “Is that right.”
She barely nods.
“Well, that makes two of us.”
She glances down and comments softly. “Wow.”
I grin, because it’s a major situation, no doubt about it. My cock is doing its best to escape the waistband of my sweatpants, leaking pre-cum. “Your fault,” I accuse gently.
We’re quiet for a few seconds but it’s not awkward. More ... curious. It’s the first time we’ve seen each other in the light of day. We’re taking in new details, locked in the connection of whatever the hell is happening here.
She’s even more spectacular this morning than she was last night, if such a thing is possible. The golden hues of morning illuminate her hair, her skin and her eyes like she’s lit from within.
I have the urge to get onto my knees and propose to her right now.
Don’t be a fucking maniac.
I won’t. I’m not going to scare her or overwhelm her.
I’ll learn what she likes. I’ll give her everything she needs. I’ll love her so hard and in all the right ways she’ll never want to let me go. I know how to do that. It’s what I was put here to do. And now that I’ve found my little unicorn, I can finally do love justice.
I pull gently on the silk belt that holds her robe together. The fabric falls open, revealing her creamy breasts, her sweet nipples pink and beaded. Her stomach is smooth and so amazingly feminine. I can still see the thin milky film of my caveman claim, dried onto her flawless skin. Mine. This is where my babies are going to grow.
Hell. Would you listen to yourself?
“Those gray sweatpants should be illegal.” Her soft sassiness is making my cock thicken and throb even more.
I’m trying to deal with this overblown and sudden addiction. But it’s no use. I’m a goner. I’m so whipped I can’t control it. “This kind of perfection should be illegal. It’s a crime for you to wear clothes, baby girl.”
Her bare pussy is lightly glistening, like candy.
I angle my head just slightly to kiss her, but I don’t. I take a few seconds to wait for her, to let her come to me. Because I’m about to go full caveman again and I want to make sure she’s ready and a hundred percent willing. She touches her soft lips to mine and I lick her, almost dizzy with lust. “You’re wet for me.” My voice sounds growly and deep.
“Your fault.” She blinks those crazy eyelashes at me. “I think it’s those sweatpants.”
I lean down because there’s no way in hell I can resist. I slide her hips forward and push her legs open wider, licking a line up her thigh before taking in her scent and sliding my tongue over her wet, luscious pussy. “How do you feel about orgasms before breakfast?” I murmur against her soft, honeyed folds as I slide my tongue into paradise.
She gasps. “I wouldn’t know.”
I suckle gently on her clit. “Want to find out?”
“ Oh ,” she coos, her hands lightly gripping my shoulders.
I eat her out like a starving man feasting on a juicy peach, bringing her to the brink, getting her nice and messy and ready for me, but I don’t let her come yet. I want her orgasm to draw my cum deep into her body.
I stand to my full height, positioning myself. I grip my almost-bursting beast of an erection in my fist, rubbing the head against her saturated pussy, opening her. “Let me hear you say it. You want me to fuck you nice and deep and make you come hard, sugar pie?”
Her green eyes are lust-drowsed and awed.
I kiss her lips. “Say it to me, baby girl. I want to hear you say it. Tell me what you want.”
Her cheeks get pink but her soft hands are on me. “I want you to fuck me with that big, perfect cock.”
Goddamn it, I’m almost coming already, just hearing her say the words. I grip her ass in my hands, lifting her onto me as I slide my gigantic shaft inside her, easing out before driving deeper. Oh, fuck, she’s tight. “Let me in, baby. You’re so fucking gorgeous. You feel too good.” Out, then in, trying like hell to be careful with her. Deeper. And deeper, until my engorged shaft is buried to the hilt.
“ Kade ,” she moans, and I watch her eyes to make sure she’s moaning with pleasure more than pain.
My hands knead her sweet ass and I glide the moisture over the tight cove, caressing her there as I fuck her pussy hard and deep, thrusting relentlessly. “You’re close, aren’t you, sweetheart? You want to come hard and milk all the hot cum out of my big cock with your tight, sweet little pussy. You want it so fucking bad. Come on, baby. Come for me. You want me to fill you up with my sticky seed and get you all nice and juicy with it, I know you do.”
“ Yes. Yes. Oh my God. Kade .”
Her pussy clamps strongly around me, pulling on the full length of my cock with silky, squeezing tugs.
I can’t hold on to it. Raging bursts of pleasure explode out of me as my cock bucks hard inside her, flooding hot ropes of liquid heat deep inside her.
It goes on for a long time and I work it, taking her over another rise, until she’s moaning again and her inner muscles flutter tenderly, over and over, in long, lush ripples.
I kiss her sweet mouth for a long time, sliding my tongue over hers with a hungry, almost-perverse need. To taste her. To fuck her. To keep her.
Staying deep inside until the final pulses of my cum throb and spill, I give my seed time to fully flood her. To saturate and swim.
I can’t fucking analyze it but she already owns me.
When I’m satisfied that she’s had enough, I slowly slide myself from her body. The overflow spills from her pussy. Using my fingers, I push some of the spilling liquid back inside.
“I told you I’m on the pill,” she says softly, still riding the lingering effects of her rush.
“I know.” Doesn’t mean it can’t happen.
I love the way she looks right now. Her eyes are dreamy and her color is high. Her nipples are rosy from the abrasion of my chest, her skin lightly bruised from my grip, her pink pussy flushed and overflowing with my milky seed.
“I want you just like this, all the time,” I tell her. A thread of visceral tenderness passes between us that’s heady and more profound than I know what to do with. I don’t want to get too heavy but I let myself admit it to her. “I think you might be stuck with me, Stella Bell.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe I wouldn’t mind that.” Her smile slays me even more. “Kade?”
“Yeah?”
“What are you doing today?”
I arrange her robe so it frames her unbelievably beautiful breasts. I don’t want it closed. I want to look at her while I feed her. “Well, first I’m going to cook you breakfast.” I go over to where the paper towel roll is and tear off some. I turn on the faucet and warm the water for a few seconds, wetting the paper towel. I carefully wash some of my cum from her thighs. “Then we’re going to go sit in the hot tub for a while and you’re going to tell me about your life and your hopes and dreams.” I gently clean her, but not too carefully. I take care of the overflow but leave her glistening. She lets me do this, watching me, and I’m basically a puddle of mush for this little goddess. After so much doubt in my life about whether or not I was capable of feeling this fucking besotted, it feels more than good. It feels like I’ve finally found my reason to live. Which is a fairly major shift in the entire trajectory of my life, but there it is. “I’m obsessed with everything about you so I figure it might be a good idea to get to know you a little.” I feel the slightest pang of panic at my own question before I ask it. “Why? You didn’t have other plans, did you?” I don’t say it but what I’m thinking is, I’ll follow you wherever you go.
“No other plans. That sounds perfect.”
“You want to start with some coffee?” I don’t know how she takes her coffee or even if she likes coffee. I don’t know what her favorite color is or what songs are on her playlists. It’s crazy that I don’t know the first thing about the love of my life.
Slow down, tiger. What if her favorite color is black and she only listens to death metal?
I wouldn’t care. I’d buy her a black Lambo and expand my genres.
“Coffee sounds fantastic,” she says.
“You’re a coffee drinker, then.”
“My brain doesn’t start fully functioning until I have two cups. But two’s my limit. And I can’t drink it later than around one in the afternoon, otherwise I can’t get to sleep at night.”
“I don’t plan on letting you sleep much tonight anyway,” I wink at her, and what I’m finding is that the vibe between us is hot but also playful. Which is refreshing. After all the constant melodrama and the you’ve-wronged-me-you-bastard accusations that surrounded Carmen like a black cloud of doom, this is wildly different. Stella’s aura is golden and infectious. Sexy and fun. I’m in love with that detail as much as the sweet lips, the green eyes, the heavenly haven of her body. The whole package is blowing my mind.
I put the coffee on and put some water on the stove to boil. “I hope you’re hungry.” I get some of the ingredients out of the fridge and set them on the counter. Jared, the guy who looks after the place for me, keeps the fridge stocked with basics in case I decide to bunk here out of the blue, which happens from time to time. Roxie sometimes uses it too.
“Kade Tucker cooks?” Like she finds this funny.
“It’s my third-best skill.”
She laughs. “I wouldn’t have guessed that.”
“I cook whenever I get the chance, which isn’t that often, because we’re on the road so much. But I think if I wasn’t a musician I might have opened a restaurant.”
There’s a hint of amusement in her beguiled smile. “I love that.”
The coffee’s ready so I pour two mugs full, adding some cream and half a teaspoon of cane sugar to each one. I hand her a cup.
She takes a sip, then closes her eyes for a second. “Oh, this is so good.”
“There’s a place around the corner that fresh-roasts their own coffee beans. Best in town.”
The pot of water I put on the stove is boiling, so I pour some stone-ground grits into it, stirring before putting the lid on it and taking it off the heat. I put some rashers of bacon onto the broiler pan and put them under the broiler. And I start cracking some eggs into a bowl.
“What are you making?”
“Grits. With a side of bacon and my special omelets.”
“What are grits?”
I give her a look. “You’ve never had grits?”
“No. I don’t even know what they are.”
“Well, you’re in for a treat.”
My phone rings from where it’s sitting on the counter.
Gage lights up the screen. “It’s my cousin. The one who knows the private investigator. You want me to answer it? Or I can call him back later.”
I can tell by the way her eyes are shimmery with emotion—it’s the way they get when anything touches on the topic of her adoption, and I love that I know this and I can read this—that she does want me to answer it.
So I swipe my finger across the answer button and put him on speaker phone. “Gage.”
“I just saw a headline about you,” he says. “Sounds like you’re enjoying your reboun—”
“You’re, uh, on speaker. And I’ve got a friend here with me. Her name is Stella. Stella, meet my cousin Gage.”
“Hi, Gage.” She thinks it’s funny that he’s commenting on my rebound, which could have been awkward. Something like that would have pissed off Carmen to no end. Everything pissed Carmen off to no end.
There’s a hint of a surprised pause from Gage. “Hi, Stella.” He’s probably guessing Stella is the same girl I was photographed leaving the club with last night. Gage calls me a serial monogamist, which he’s always found hilarious. He never used to sleep with any woman more than once, never invited any woman to his apartment and was always gone before morning, according to him. Until Luna, that is. For her, he’s not only reformed beyond recognition, he also bought half of Key West for her. He couldn’t get the rock of an engagement ring on her finger fast enough. “You’re going to have a lot of fans in our family, just so you’re warned ahead of time,” he tells her. “For rescuing him.”
Stella blinks her long lashes at me. “I’m not sure I’ve rescued him.”
“She has,” I confirm. “Listen, Gage, can you give us the number of your investigator? Stella’s searching for someone. She doesn’t have a lot of details, so we’re going to need some help. You said your guy is the best is in the business.”
“He is. He’s insanely good. He’s in hot demand, but he owes me a couple of favors. I’ll get him to give you a call.”
“Thanks, man.”
“Are we still on for Tuesday night?” Gage asks. “I just talked to Vaughn and he said he might join us.”
“I’ve hardly seen him lately.” Then I explain to Stella, so she doesn’t feel left out of the conversation, “My brother Vaughn has fallen hopelessly in love with the girl who lives next door to my other brother Travis’s new house. Her name is Gigi and she happens to be Travis’s fiancée’s sister.” Vaughn hasn’t wasted any time getting as fast and furious as possible with Gigi—which, because it’s Vaughn, is pretty damn fast and furious. He’s already asked her to move in with him, he’s proposed to her and last I heard they weren’t going to wait long to get married. After years of being as loose and carefree on every level as a guy can be, we can all admit that Gigi’s good for him. She’s got a calming effect on him, which is something Vaughn desperately needed. Since he’s met Gigi, he’s been more steady than I’ve seen him in years.
“Will Gigi be coming to dinner too?” Stella asks.
“I don’t think so,” Gage says. “Apparently she has book club at her mother’s that night. Vaughn said he doesn’t want twenty women fangirling over him all night, so he’s going to come out and meet up with us for a few hours. How about this: I’ll see if I can get Pete Clancy—he’s the PI—to stop in too. He’s based in Nashville, so I can see if he can make some time for us. Then you can talk to him in person and take it from there.”
Gage is an investment guru who runs his own hedge fund, among other lucrative businesses. He also owns a ton of real estate. So if he asks someone to make time, they always do. Partly because he pays top dollar and also because whatever he touches tends to turn to gold. I know this firsthand because he handles both my accounts and the band’s accounts and he’s basically quadrupled our money.
“That would be amazing,” Stella says.
“Is Luna coming with you?” I ask him.
“Our new designer is here so she wants to stay here in Key West and go through some plans with him for the spa we’re opening. I’ll fly back on Tuesday night after we have dinner.”
“Luna owns a waterfront bar and restaurant,” I tell Stella. “They’re expanding.”
“Wow, that’s so exciting.”
“You’ll have to come check it out when it’s done,” Gage says to her, like he knows I’m already hooked. Maybe he can detect this because he’s just been through it himself. Everyone in my family tends to fall fast and extremely hard when it finally happens. It’s all I can do not to fall to my knees and fucking thank whoever’s in charge of fate for finally bringing ... mine. I feel sort of overwhelmed with gratitude. She doesn’t even know she’s my soulmate yet. But I do. And it’s a realization that’s hitting me like a runaway freight train.
“I’ll look forward to meeting you on Tuesday night then, Stella,” Gage says.
“Me too, Gage. See you then. And thanks for arranging a meeting with the investigator. I really appreciate it.”
“My pleasure,” says Gage. “Have fun, you two. See you Tuesday.”
I press the end button and as soon as I do, Stella’s stomach growls.
I sling a dishtowel over my shoulder. “Right. Time for breakfast. My girl needs food.”
“That smells so good. I’m starving.”
It’s so nice to be with a woman who eats . It reminds me again how my life has done a total 180 in the past twenty-four hours. “You’re about to get the chef’s special, darlin’.” I make her another cup of coffee—because now I know she likes two. I flip the rashers of bacon, then chop up some mushrooms and start sautéing them with butter. She watches me with that light smirk playing at the corner of her mouth.
“What?”
She laughs. “I’m just ... impressed. He hands out orgasms at the drop of a hat and he can cook. I can’t believe my luck.”
“You and me both, honey pie.” Her mischievous streak is getting me hot. “Careful, or I’ll have to postpone option two for more of option one.”
Her sweet-and-sassy smile lights up my world. “Can I help you do anything?”
“Nope. You can sit right there and drink your coffee and the mimosa I’m about to make for you. And you can start telling me about what makes Stella Bell tick. I want to know everything.”
“Everything?” She takes a sip of her coffee, her green eyes spangling. “Where should I start?”
“What’s your favorite color? Wait, let me guess.” I contemplate her for a second. “Green.”
Her eyebrows lift. “It is green! No one ever guesses green.”
“It has to be. With eyes that color, there’s no other choice.”
“Everyone I’ve ever met has always commented on the color of my eyes, so I guess it just felt like a color that was sort of linked to my identity. And I just like it. When I was little, all the other girls wore pink and purple but I always wanted to wear green.”
“I bet you were the cutest.”
“What’s the Magic Man’s favorite color? Let me guess.” She studies me. “Blue.”
“Blue used to be my favorite color. Until last night.”
“Why?” Another sweet grin that— fuck —gets me even harder. “What is it now?”
I step closer, leaning down as I open her untied robe, and I take her nipple lightly between my lips. “This pink right here.”
A light laugh bubbles out of her and she pushes my head away. I return to the stove but cooking with a gigantic hard-on in sweatpants is a new challenge. I’m being careful not to burn the fucking thing.
“Okay, what’s your favorite movie?” I ask her.
“Anything rom-com. The fun, romantic ones where they always get their happily ever afters.”
“Like what?”
“Sweet Home Alabama, Bridget Jones, Sleepless in Seattle. You know, the classics.”
“Sleepless in Seattle. I think I’ve seen it. Isn’t that the one where, at the end, they meet each other at the top of the Empire State Building?”
“Yes, and they almost miss each other.” The topic animates her. “But it was meant to be and they find each other and they both know it’s the real thing. I’m a complete sucker for those kinds of love stories. I just think it’s so romantic, that they both have this feeling that the love of their life was within reach, but then they came so close to missing each other. It must happen all the time.”
“What must happen?”
“People miss each other. What if it turns out there’s only one star-crossed lover for each person in the world, and what if you happen to walk past your person randomly one day and you miss them and you don’t even know it? And that’s it, they’re gone and you’ll never find them and you’ll never even know you missed them. It’s just so tragic to even think about.”
“Good thing I stopped, then.” I watch her eyes and I’m just so fucking happy . She radiates a whole-souled beauty that’s fun and quirky and everything I never knew I needed in my life. I try to tone down my own intensity. “How are we going to get the Empire State Building into our love story?”
She likes this idea, I can tell. But she’s hesitant, maybe, at my mention of “our” love story, if we have one that will last beyond one night. “I don’t know. Maybe we can go there together one day.”
“We can go there anytime you want. I have an apartment there.”
“You do?”
“It’s a loft. In SoHo.”
Stella shakes her head slowly. There’s a soulful look on her face, like a part of her is pulling back from me.
“What’s wrong?”
“Lofts in SoHo. Screaming fans. Platinum records. Grammys. Your life is ... unreal.” I can almost hear her thoughts: Your life is so different to my life. Will the two be able to mesh?
So I answer her. “Yes. Because none of those things are the best part.”
She’s quiet for a few seconds, like she knows what I’m going to say. “What’s the best part?”
“A rainy night in Nashville. And the little unicorn girl who’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
A soft smile touches her lips. Even though my hands are holding a fork and a spatula, I move closer and I slowly, slowly kiss her lips.
“I think I like you, Kade Tucker,” she says softly.
“I think I like you too, Stella Bell.”
But then we’re distracted by a smoking pan.
“Shit.” I go over to the stove and turn the heat down. “The unbelievably cute nymph in my kitchen is distracting the cook.”
Her soft laughter is my new favorite sound.
Once the pan is the right temperature, I add some more oil and pour the omelet mixture in, tipping the sauteed mushrooms in and grating some sharp cheddar into the mix. Now that the grits have been off the heat for around twenty minutes, I warm them up again, adding cream and a sprinkling more of the grated cheese. The bacon’s ready, so I take it out and start plating up. Popping a bottle of champagne, I pour us two mimosas.
I serve up the grits and the omelets, adding two grinds of sea salt and freshly ground pepper. “Come on, gorgeous. Grub’s up.” I carry the plates over to the table. Then I lift her down off the island. Taking her empty coffee cup, I hand her a mimosa.
“Champagne for breakfast?”
“Every now and then it’s good for the soul, especially when you’ve got something to celebrate, like we do.” I clink my glass against hers. “To not missing the one you’re supposed to run into.”
Her eyes are bright as we both take a sip.
I take her by the hand to the table and pull out a chair for her.
We sit down and start eating. “Oh, this is amazing .”
“Told you. I’m good.”
She laughs. “And humble.” Her gaze follows the view of the expansive balcony and the city. “This place is really beautiful. You must love it.”
“I came to a party here two or three years ago. It was for sale at the time so I bought the building. I like it but I don’t spend a lot of time here.”
“Because you tour so much?”
“We’ve just finished three back-to-back tours. It’s good to have a break. Although it’s not much of a break since I have a shorter solo tour coming up.”
She takes another sip of her mimosa. “I think you came to New Jersey a while back. Some people were talking about it on the radio.”
“We did. We played at Meadowlands a few months ago.”
“Meadowlands holds eighty thousand people.”
I guess it does. “You get used to the numbers after a while.”
“I’ve seen Bruce Springsteen play there twice.”
“That must be a requirement of every Jersey girl.”
“Of course.” She gives me the rock ‘n roll salute. “I’ve seen him eight times.”
“Eight? You are a fan. ”
“I love him. He’s old school but still my all-time favorite.”
“He’s a cool guy.”
“You’ve met him?”
Her expression makes me laugh. She’s just so fucking adorable. And here’s another thing I can do for her. Introduce her. “We recorded with him, for a charity album. We hit it off. I let him stay in my house in Franklin sometimes when he’s in Nashville.”
“Now you’re just showing off.”
I laugh again and it’s something I notice, because I can’t remember ever laughing this much. I love being with her. I’m not used to the glittery contentment she inspires. “I’ll see if I can arrange a meeting.”
“Sure.” Like she doesn’t believe me. “I’d love to see your band play sometime. I’ve heard you guys are amazing in concert.”
“I thought you hadn’t heard of us.” We’re sitting close and I lightly bump my shoulder against hers.
“What do you mean? I told you I’ve heard of you.”
“You didn’t recognize me, though.”
She sits back, her impish little smile measured. My question amuses her. “I’d heard of you, of course I had. I just wasn’t expecting Kade Tucker to step out of the darkness and guide me out of the pouring rain. I had a lot on my mind and I didn’t make the connection at first. I don’t usually get rescued by world-famous rock stars.”
“And you won’t be again. Because I’m keeping you.”
Stella narrows her eyes at me, entertained by my vanity, maybe, and now my possessiveness. “Keeping me?”
I smile off-handedly but I don’t answer her question, because it might be too much. I don’t want her to feel overwhelmed and there’s nothing half-assed or uncertain about the way I feel. But it’s too soon to lay it all out with the intensity that has already settled into my bones—and other parts of me. Yes, baby, I’m not letting you out of my sight because I’m addicted and obsessed. You’re mine now . “All right,” I say, “We’ve covered colors, movies, now I want you to start telling me more about what you dream about. What do you want to do most of all?”
She picks up her mimosa and takes a sip. “I want to write a novel.”
I love this, and I wasn’t expecting it. “What kind of novel?”
“A romance novel.” She finishes off her drink, even though it was a quarter full. “I’ve never said that out loud before.”
I’m watching her expression and there’s a lot going on there. “Why not?”
“My parents and everyone I know would think it was ... I don’t know, lame.”
“Lame?” I grab the bottle of champagne out of the ice bucket and top up our glasses, not bothering with the orange juice. “How could someone who’s talented and beautiful inside and out with the most romantic soul I’ve ever come across write a lame book? That would be impossible.”
She smiles. “Because it’s romance, is the answer to that question. Genre fiction. It doesn’t matter that it comprises almost half the fiction market or that it keeps most of the big publishers’ lights on. It’s still not considered ‘literature.’”
“Does that matter?”
“To some people, maybe.”
“Isn’t Jane Austen romance? And aren’t those books considered some of the major influencers of twentieth century literature?”
She tilts her head, like I’ve surprised her, or impressed her. “Yes, they are. Still, romance is considered frivolous, according to the mainstream critics. Cheesy. Formulaic. Partly, I think, because it’s mainly by women, for women.”
“Then prove them wrong.”
“A lot of people already have. There are plenty of good romance novels. It doesn’t seem to change their minds, though.”
“Who cares about them? Write it for yourself. And for the romantics like you and me.”
“I guess, because my world consists of university professors and literary critics that I ... well, it’s just not something anyone I know would be able to relate to.”
“Then expand your circle to include people who can relate to it. Stop trying to please everyone because you never will. Please yourself. When you start being true to yourself, it’s a lot easier to achieve the things you want to achieve, and to be comfortable in your own skin. It also tends to lead to more success. Because when you’re genuinely into whatever it is you’re doing, you usually end up at the top of your game. I say go for it, sugar pie.”
Her gaze is soft but sure. “That might be the best advice anyone has ever given me.”
“Of course it is.”
She laughs. “You’re cocky as hell, Kade Tucker. But you’re also right. And it helps. Thank you.”
“There are plenty of people who don’t like our music, but that doesn’t stop us from writing it or performing it. Fuck the haters. We do it for the people who appreciate it. And most of all, we do it for ourselves.”
She nods. “You’re right. I need to break free of the shackles of other people’s expectations.”
“Is it your parents’ approval you’re worried about?”
She shrugs, but there’s a lot of emotion going on behind her expression.
“Even if you spend your life trying your hardest to fulfill every expectation they have of you,” I tell her, “you probably won’t. So you might as well tune in to your own expectations, and follow those instead. I know it’s not always easy. I get that. Especially when it’s your family. That shit digs deep. But you’re twenty-one now. And you’re in Nashville. You get to make your own decisions.”
“I know. You’re right. You’re absolutely right.”
“Just do what you love, darlin’. It’s that easy.” There’s a sadness to her I can’t entirely read. Or handle. So I decide to make it my mission to banish it and make sure she gets everything she wants.
“I wish it was that easy.”
“It can be, with a little practice. And you’ve got me now, to help you do that.” It’s a fairly heavy thing to say, but it’s how I feel and there’s no point pretending otherwise. I’m good at pep talks. I’ve been giving them to my three younger siblings—sometimes during some pretty rough times—my entire life. “I’ll be right here the whole time.” I take her hand, weaving my fingers through hers.
“You might be the nicest person I’ve ever met, Magic Man.”
“I’m only nice to you.”
There’s the smile I want. “I doubt that’s true.”
“There’s nothing to be scared of. Do what you were born to do. Follow your dreams all the way home. I’m here now. I’ll catch you if you fall.”
Her eyes are bright, maybe with the brim of tears, but she squares her shoulders, like her decision has clicked into place. “Okay, then. I’m going to write a romance novel.”
“Good girl. What’s it going to be about?”
“It’s about two people who almost miss each other.”
A current of quiet, deep-reaching electricity sparks through the space between us. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Tell me more.”
“I’ve got the story mapped out in my mind but I haven’t started writing it yet. It’s about these two people—she’s an artist from New York and he’s an architect from Denver. But they’re both really successful in what they’re doing and their lives are going really well except for one thing.”
“What thing?”
“They’re sad. They’re incomplete. They feel like there’s someone out there for them but they just can’t find them. No one they meet feels like a good fit at all and they date people but they never really connect and they’re both starting to wonder if maybe they’ll never find the person they’re meant for.”
“I think I know that feeling.”
“I do too.” She bites softly on her lip for a second and stares at me with soulful eyes. I’m so damn besotted with this girl. “And then one day he goes to New York for a conference and he sees this painting in a gallery window and he stops and stares at it for a long time. He loves it and something about it just clicks with him. So he goes in and buys it.”
“Is it one of her paintings?”
“Yes. But he doesn’t know that yet. He just sort of falls in love with it. So he has it shipped back to where he lives in Denver and he puts it in his house. It becomes his favorite thing.”
“Then what happens?”
“Well, it turns out that he dropped one of his drawings as he was walking down the street in New York City. Out of his briefcase. It’s one of the building designs he’s working on. It’s a house. He dropped it on the street right in front of the art gallery where he bought the painting and, even though they miss each other by a couple of minutes, she finds the drawing. She picks it up and she’s kind of fascinated by it. The design is exactly what she would want, if she was designing a house. She’s even thought about some of its exact details before. And so they begin to connect but they don’t even know it yet. And then they start to look for each other.”
“And they find each other?”
“Yes, but first they miss each other two more times. Both times they’re within a few minutes of running into each other and they can sense that, but they don’t know why or how to find each other.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah.”
“But they end up together?”
“Yes. Once they do find each other they know instantly that they’re meant to be together. It ends with them getting married at the top of the Empire State Building.”
“No way.”
“I know that’s kind of derivative of Sleepless in Seattle but I still like it. He’s never been up there before but she tells him it’s her favorite place because she used to go there with her parents when she was little and it always felt like the top of the world to her. And sometimes she would go there when she was sad and look out and wonder where he was. And she tells him this. So one night he says he wants to go up there together and when they get there all her closest friends and family are there and there’s music and he proposes on one knee and they say their vows and dance right there at the top of the world.”
“I love this story.”
“It’s cheesy, maybe.”
“Not cheesy, baby. Romantic .”
She smiles and now I know what I’m going to do.
“I’ll tell you what, little unicorn girl. I want you to stay with me. I’m going to cook for you and make love to you whenever you want me to, which is going to be all the time—for inspiration, and because it would be a crime not to when the chemistry is this damn off the charts. I’m going to make sure you get all the time and space you need to write your book. I’ll talk through your ideas with you if you want someone to bounce plotlines off of or whatever. And I’ll read your pages and tell you what I think, when you’re ready. Because I’m a romantic too and know what it feels like to want to fall in love so bad you think you might die from lack of oxygen. I know how it feels to spend half your life heartbroken because you think there’s some glitch in your own personal universe because you can’t find the one , no matter how hard you search . I also know what it feels like to run into someone you can’t believe is real, in the most out-of-the-blue kind of way, that you were never expecting. The thing is, Stella Bell, I get you. Or I will, in time, because I want to.”
Stella’s staring at me with this little furrow between her eyebrows, like I’m some kind of apparition she can’t believe.
“What do you say, baby?”
“I say I think you’d make a terrible romance hero.”
I’m borderline offended by this. “Bullshit. I’d make an awesome hero.”
“You’re too perfect. You’re kind. You’re hot. You’re honest. You’re real. You say all the right things. Where’s the inherent conflict when the hero is too good to be true?”
“The conflict comes later.”
“What do you mean? When?”
I watch her eyes for a long moment. “The conflict comes when anything threatens the love of my life or if she’s sad or mad or if something happens to her or she leaves me for some reason. Because I’ll love so hard it’ll destroy me.”
A note of deep gravity touches her expression. “Is that right?” she whispers.
“Yes. That’s right.” I narrow my eyes just slightly because what I’ve said is intense and she’s feeling it. But not as much as I am. “So what do you say, darlin’?”
“I say ... okay. I’ll stay for a little while. We’ll have to figure the rest of it out. Thank you, Kade.”
A little while.
Or forever, if I get my way. Which I fully intend on doing.
I don’t push it. Maybe I have my work cut out for me. But I’ll convince her, with hot sex, good food and the kind of luxurious care and genuine attention every romantic soul craves. I’ll learn what she loves and I’ll give her all of it. I’m not letting this little golden angel out of my sight or my bed until she’s in love with me. It’s too new for her to feel any kind of certainty, but I’ll change that. With total dedication and careful, heartfelt persuasion, I’m going to show her that she’s mine. From here on in. Which is heavy as fuck and something I’ll probably have to pitch just a little less intensely.
“How about that hot tub?” I ask her. “Bring your glass.”
I stand up and I pull her deeper into the living room. We get to the far end by the fold out cedar doors, where the L-shaped room opens out to a large entertainment space to the right.
She stares. “You have a bucking bronco?”
I love this. She’s so obviously not from Nashville. “It’s called a mechanical bull, but yes.”
“In your living room?”
“Yeah, well, it was Vaughn’s idea.”
Her eyes are vividly, dazzlingly green. “Can I ride it?”
There are thick pads on the floor around it but I don’t want her to hurt herself. “I’m not sure if—”
“Please?” The word sounds ten times more persuasive than it ever has, in that sassy-sweet Yankee accent. “I’ve always wanted to ride one of those.”
I don’t have it in me to refuse her a goddamn thing. “I’ll ride it with you. I don’t want you falling off.”
She walks over to it. “How do you get on?”
“I’ll lift you.”
I do, and I climb up behind her, pulling her against me, her back pressed to my front. My cock hasn’t deflated since I met her, and it’s been an hour or so since I came inside her. My now-gigantic erection stands rigid between us and as soon as it touches her it becomes a beast of pulsing agony. Her robe falls open and I ease the silk over her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.
“ Kade ,” she scolds me, but this is too fucking hot not to go with it. I lift her, pushing the waistband of my sweatpants low so I can nestle my cock against her ass. I use the remote to turn the mechanical bull on, to its lowest speed. Even though the speed starts low, it’s still a ride and I grip her closer against me. Her ludicrously sweet body is pliant and accepting. I hold her and reach to touch my fingers to her pussy, where she’s slick with honey.
“You’re wet for me, my dirty girl. You can’t get enough of my big cock. You want me inside your tight pink pussy again, don’t you, darlin’?”
She arches against me, answering me with her lithe, supple movement.
She’s new at this and I know she must be sore but she’s also hot as fuck for me. I’m not the only one who’s overcome with this wild, out-of-control attraction. I open her with my fingers and position the head of my cock, forcing my way inside her insanely snug, writhing little body. With each buck of the bull, she arches and I slide deeper, until she’s riding my big cock as the bull twirls us slowly. I work her slippery clit as I fuck her in time with the ride. She takes each drive, squeezing me with her impossibly tight pussy, like a wet, gripping, magical fist.
Stella moans and I groan along with her. “You feel so fucking good, baby.”
“ Oh, God .” Her body is tensing, her pleasure rising as her inner muscles quiver and tighten around me.
“That’s my girl. You’re so beautiful.” I can’t get over her.
But then, without warning, the mechanical bull changes direction. And I’m distracted.
We lose our balance, toppling off the damn thing.
She squeaks with shocked laughter and as we’re falling I shift our weight so she lands on top of me.
The cushioned pads on the floor soften the impact.
“Kade,” she gasps. She’s laughing. Real laughter. She’s lying on top of me, her hair framing her face in a multi-colored halo that catches sunlight from the windows behind her. “Are you okay?”
“Almost.” Her laughter is infectious and sweet and I kick off my sweatpants because if I don’t get back inside I’m going to lose my goddamn mind. I grip her hips, pulling her closer, and she guides my cock to paradise with her soft hands.
She straddles me, still smiling, but her eyes are full of heat now. Determination.
I finger her nipples, twirling and pulling them into tight little peaks. She’s holding my cock in her hands, using the head of my shaft to caress her clit in pressing, rhythmic glides.
“That’s it, baby. Ride me. Use me. Fuck me, darlin’.” She does, lowering herself onto me by star-studded degrees. I’m trying to hold onto this. My chest rises and falls with heavy breaths as she sits onto me, impaling herself inch by inch, using her own wetness to take more of me. And more. “Fuck, yes,” I groan. “I’m yours, baby girl. I’m so yours. All of me. Ride my big cock hard, just like you like it.”
She’s feeling it, working it. And so am I, gripping her with brutal fingers as I thrust in tune with her bouncing rhythm. She slides along my rigid length, torturing me with wiggling teases, her pussy squeezing me and pulling my cock deeper.
A realization has taken hold deep inside my heart and it’s as profound as the orgasm that’s cresting as she starts coming around me, milking my cock with the lush spasms of her body.
I think I’ve known it all along but it’s only gaining exponential momentum. It’s bigger than me, and I want it to be. It’s who I am now.
I’m madly in love with her.
Hard and fast and irrevocably.
I want her.
I want everything.
I fucking love her.