Taming the Country Star: A Hometown Heroes Novella (Entangled Bliss) Page 3

  “No way,” Kylie said. “I said I’m going, so I’m going.”

  “Good,” LeeAnn said, nodding firmly. “The only way past something is through it.” She paused. “Anyway, I want to see you when those other women start throwing their panties up on the stage.” She snickered.

  Kylie closed her eyes.

  This night couldn’t end soon enough.

  …

  From where he stood backstage, Cole could see the opening act. They weren’t bad—a local band that played the venue often. He liked the bluegrass influence he heard in their last song, though he wasn’t really sure it meshed well with his own. Still, their enthusiasm was doing a good job of warming up the crowd.

  He shook his arms out and smiled at one of the backup singers as she passed by him. Julie? Jodie? Something with a J. He ought to remember—she had been hitting on him for a solid month. But he wasn’t interested.

  He hadn’t been interested in much of anyone since his vacation last year.

  Since Kylie.

  What was the name of that store of hers? Rhinestone Cowgirl? Cowgirl Glitz? Cowgirl Kitsch? He shook his head. He was off his game—if he wasn’t careful, he’d get up on stage and forget the lyrics he’d created when he got home from Mexico.

  The warm-up band finished out their final song to tremendous applause and cleared the stage. A stagehand spoke into a headset, then gave Cole a thumbs-up. Cole took a deep breath, bowed his head for a second to gather himself, then jogged out onto the stage.

  The lights blinded him for a moment, and all he could see was their glare. But he could hear the crowd out beyond the lights. They were shouting his name, clapping and whistling. He’d been right—the small arena had warmed up once it was packed with bodies. Squinting past the lights, he tried for a moment to make out faces, but it was no good.

  Not that Kylie would have shown up, anyway.

  He opened with one of his older hits—the first one to make the country charts a few years ago. It had a quick tempo, and it usually got the crowd up and moving.

  He lost himself in the performance. He used his usual patter, thanking the crowd, the city, the whole state. “It’s good to be back in my home state,” he said. “Texas rocks.” The crowd roared with him.

  He’d moved the playlist around a bit, trying for something new. “Call Me Tomorrow” had been at the end—it was his most popular song right now, so he had been saving it. But at the last minute, he had decided to sing it twice, once in the middle of the set, and then again as an encore.

  The lights went down as he strummed the opening chords, and Cole leaned into the microphone, ready to sing.

  He turned on a practiced smile and his eyes swept across the front row—eye contact made for a better show.

  And then he froze.

  In the front row stood Kylie, her light brown hair pushed back over one shoulder. A blond woman was leaning over and saying something to her, but Kylie didn’t respond. She remained absolutely still, meeting Cole’s gaze. She was exactly as he remembered—light-green eyes fringed with long, black lashes, sandy-brown hair, pale skin with a slight dusting of freckles across her nose.

  She was beautiful.

  “Kylie?” Cole hadn’t meant to say her name out loud, but the microphone picked up his voice. The whisper cut across the music and echoed out through the room.

  Kylie started, her lips parting slightly as she stared at him, wide-eyed. The music went on for a few seconds without Cole, then faltered a bit—but Freddy, the bass guitarist, kept the song going.

  Some part of Cole’s brain took note of the fact that most of the audience probably hadn’t even noticed the hitch. A faint buzz ran through him as he met Kylie’s unblinking gaze.

  Still onstage. Right. The show must go on, and all that. A lightning-flash of a grin flickered across his face.

  She was right there in the front row.

  Grabbing his microphone off the stand, Cole thrust his guitar toward Freddy without ever taking his gaze off his target. He waved at the band to keep going, then moved to the edge of the stage and vaulted off.

  The two security guards manning the barricade separating the row of seats from the stage glanced at each other, startled.

  “Hey, man,” one of them yelled over the shouts of the audience. “You okay?”

  Cole nodded and kept moving. Bringing the microphone up to his mouth, he started singing again, picking up at the chorus.

  “I know you gotta catch a flight

  So walk on out the door

  Go ahead and leave tonight

  Just call me tomorrow.”

  Women leaned in over the barricade, yelling and reaching toward him. He brushed past them, then bent over far enough to take Kylie’s hand. Heat sparked from her palm to his and he smiled, more slowly this time.

  Kylie blinked and panic flashed across her face, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he tugged her toward him and curled her fingers in his, pulling them up to his chest, holding them there, and gazing into her eyes. The tempo of the music slowed as he sang the final verse.

  “I know you have to leave tonight

  I know you have to go

  But don’t call me your yesterday

  Please call me your tomorrow.”

  As the last notes died out, Cole felt a shudder run through Kylie’s arm, and holding the microphone loosely between his thumb and forefinger, he stretched out to cup her cheek. She pressed up against the opposite side of the barricade and he tilted his head down toward hers. The heat of her breath fanned across his mouth. He could almost taste her.

  A camera flashed, dazzling his eyes.

  Reality crashed in, and suddenly Kylie was pushing against his chest and moving back from him. She blinked those wide green eyes of hers, then stepped out of his reach, glancing around wildly. The look she darted toward him was pure venom.

  Then she turned and shoved her way past the blond woman beside her and out of the row.

  “Wait,” Cole shouted, but his voice was lost in the roar of the crowd around him. He shoved against the barricade, but it held tight. He stood up on his toes and shaded his eyes, trying to see over the audience.

  She was gone.

  Cole cursed and turned back to the front row. The woman who had been talking to Kylie was staring at him, her mouth hanging open. The security guard stepped in closer, reaching out as if to touch his shoulder. Cole pushed past the uniformed man until he stood directly across from Kylie’s friend.

  “Where is she going?” he demanded, leaning over the flimsy railing and grabbing the blonde’s sleeve.

  She stammered for a moment before finally getting out, “I don’t know.”

  Another camera flashed in his eyes and Cole, finally remembering precisely where he was, dropped the woman’s arm. Brushing her shirtsleeve back into place, she backed away, then followed her friend.

  This would be all over the tabloids in the morning. Maybe it would be dismissed as a publicity stunt. Not that it mattered—Kylie already hated him. No matter how he might have tried to deny it in the past, there was no getting around it now. It was a clear, irrefutable fact.

  But she had come to his show. And damn, she looked good.

  He grabbed the edge of the stage and pulled himself back up. Retrieving his guitar from Freddy, he strummed the opening chords to his older hit “Down, But Not Out.” It was a change from the set list, but it suited his mood, and the band followed his lead.

  He had a set to finish.

  And then he was going to get Kylie Andrews back.

  Chapter Four

  Kylie staggered down a nearby hallway. Jimmy’s was something of a maze, but she had practically grown up in it. By ducking into the corridor that led to the indoor rodeo arena, she had been able to lose the one photographer who had actually pursued her.

  The music had started back up a moment ago and she could almost make out the words and tune, but not quite—especially since the indistinct sound of a rodeo announcer’s voice blended
with the thump of the bass from Cole’s concert.

  Generally, she avoided the arena. The familiar aroma of dust and cows with a faint overlay of horse manure wafted over her. Combined as it was now with the afterimage from the camera flashes, the smell of horses, bulls, and sweat was almost overpowering.

  It reminded her too much of her father.

  It was like being snapped back to her childhood, and her stomach heaved as a wave of loss crashed over her. She shook with it, and with the aftereffects of Cole’s touch. Her skin burned where he had made contact, while the rest of her shivered.

  Goose bumps popped up on her arms and wave after wave of dizziness brought her stumbling to a halt. Bracing her back against the wall, she slid down until she was sitting on the floor and could drop her head down between her knees.

  “Dammit,” she whispered, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the cold white cinderblock wall.

  She should have known better than to come tonight.

  A single tear slipped out of the corner of her eye and she dashed it away.

  She couldn’t believe LeeAnn had won front-row tickets, that Cole had seen her, had sung a song to her. Touched her. Her fingers still burned where he had clasped them, sending tingles straight up the back of her neck and shivers throughout the rest of her body. She couldn’t believe she still reacted to him so instantaneously.

  Scratch that. She couldn’t believe she had ever agreed to come to this concert.

  When Cole had bounded out on stage, her stomach had clenched. He looked almost exactly like she remembered, all cocksure charm and charisma. His dark-blond hair had grown a little longer, and seeing it made her want to brush it back behind his ears again.

  His grin had been as infectious as ever, the leftover mischievous ten-year-old boy he had probably been peeking out through it. And the sound of his voice, deeper than it seemed like it ought to be, made her head swim a little.

  But the lights were full on Cole’s face, and she doubted he could see much past them. He had talked out to the audience, staring past her and back into the seats behind her.

  By the end of the first song, she had felt safe watching him. LeeAnn was singing along. Kylie had spent far too much time avoiding Cole’s music to really be able to join in, but she clapped when the song ended.

  Two songs later, she was almost enjoying herself, as long as she didn’t think too carefully about the fact that it was Cole up on the stage.

  LeeAnn leaned in and half shouted into Kylie’s ear, “See? It’s not so bad.”

  And at that moment, he saw her.

  He had been smiling out at the audience, but when his gaze met hers, the smile froze, then faded.

  And Kylie’s stomach had lurched again.

  But not half as much as when he stopped singing and headed toward her. And then he had touched her.

  She ran one finger across her cheek absently. She could still feel his touch against her face, hot and tingling. In that moment, she had forgotten everything—forgotten that he had lied, that he was a disruption to her safe, calm life, that he was everything she wanted to avoid.

  His life in the spotlight meant that he would leave her someday.

  She wasn’t about to give him that chance.

  And yet when he touched her, she had leaned toward him without thinking.

  But then the cameras started flashing. Certain she was about to be sick, she had pushed her way past LeeAnn and out into the aisle, scanning for the nearest exit. By the time she reached the back of the concert hall, she was practically running.

  Now she took a deep breath. If she dodged any other photographers still lurking about, she could wait for LeeAnn at the bar, have a drink, and calm down. Maybe find a convenient shadow to hide in while she waited for the show to end.

  She pulled out her phone to let LeeAnn know what she was doing and found a text from her friend waiting for her.

  He tried to follow you.

  Kylie stared at it for a long moment, then erased it.

  So he had come after her.

  So what?

  It didn’t matter.

  It didn’t change the fact that he hadn’t been honest with her before. Everything she thought she had known about him had been a lie. And even if she could get past those initial lies, there was still the basic fact that he lived the kind of life she wanted no part of.

  With a deep breath, she pulled herself up until she was standing again and headed toward the exit, pausing only long enough to send a return text to LeeAnn:

  Take me home now?

  …

  It had taken everything Cole had to finish his planned set once he’d gotten back up on stage, and even then, only half his mind had been on the show. Seeing Kylie had brought everything back—even as she walked away, he could remember every curve, every plane of her body.

  He had to find her.

  Billie held out a towel for him as he left the stage after the final encore. “What was that?” she asked. “You trying to get yourself killed? Those women will tear you apart.”

  Cole shook his head. “I need your help.”

  “Seriously, Cole. Getting too close to the fans will get you hurt. Were you really trying to follow that woman out the door?” Billie asked.

  Cole grinned. “Apparently.”

  Billie blinked. “Oh. Well, then. Okay.” She drew the last word out.

  “I need you to find her for me. Her name is Kylie Andrews. She’s got some shop here in town—she described it as ‘cowgirl glitz,’ but I can’t remember the name.”

  “Oh, hell. It’s her, isn’t it? Mexico girl? The one that dumped your ass when she found out who you really were?”

  Cole laughed out loud. “It’s her,” he said. “She’s the one.” He blinked at his own word choice, but didn’t correct himself.

  “You know this is a bad idea, right?” She ticked off items on her fingers. “You’ve got a tour to finish, at least ten more songs to write, an album to record, a whole big round of publicity appearances to do. You don’t have time for this.”

  “I’ll make time, Billie.” His smile widened. “And so will you.”

  “Crap. I know that look. You’re not going to stop until you get your way, are you?” She shook her head. “Fine. I’ll figure out where to find her. But only because you insist. For the record, I think it’s a terrible plan. She dumped you once, she’ll do it again. So when it happens, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “You’re the best,” Cole said, leaning over and dropping a kiss on her cheek.

  She pushed him away with a laugh. “And you’re a pain in my ass. Go on. Get cleaned up, call it a night. I’ll text you the address as soon as I have it.”

  …

  Kylie opened the door to Cowbelles early the next morning. Her headache was no better than it had been the night before when LeeAnn dropped her off at her house.

  At the back of the store, she pushed open the door to the stockroom, then rinsed out the coffeepot and filled it up. She was going to need a lot of caffeine today, she suspected.

  But not even the coffee helped, even though she drank several cups of it. She blew across the top of the latest one, staring at the display of bejeweled crosses at the back of the store.

  “Kylie.” LeeAnn’s voice echoing over the jingle of the door opening startled Kylie out of her reverie. “You here?” Her voice was hesitant.

  “In the back,” Kylie said, stepping out.

  “So. You okay?” LeeAnn asked.

  “Fine,” Kylie answered shortly.

  “Um. Have you seen this yet?” LeeAnn held a paper out to Kylie—a tabloid with a bright-red headline. Kylie winced. She hadn’t seen it, but she could guess what it was.

  “No.” She took the tabloid, then spread the paper out over the counter. This was weirdly reminiscent of her friend’s visit yesterday. But at least this time LeeAnn wasn’t doing handstands in the back.

  “Let me see the other one again?” LeeAnn asked. Kylie sig
hed and pulled out the older tabloid, already open to the page with her pictures. LeeAnn smoothed it down next to the new one.

  The new pictures of Cole showed the two of them leaning in toward each other across the barricade—there were images from several angles, highlighting Kylie’s wide-eyed gaze and Cole’s slightly parted lips.

  There was also one of Cole reaching over the concert barricade, arms outstretched, eyes pleading as she pulled away.

  There was a clear one of her, too, this time—taken as she walked by someone in the audience, Kylie guessed. Lines bracketed her pinched mouth. Had she really been radiating that much misery when she left?

  “So,” LeeAnn said. Kylie waited, but her friend didn’t continue.

  “Yeah?” Kylie finally said

  “Want me to show you some breathing techniques?” LeeAnn closed her eyes and began chanting. “Ommmm.”

  “No,” Kylie said through clenched teeth. “I don’t want to learn any breathing techniques.”

  LeeAnn opened one eye. “It might help you relax,” she said. “Ommmm.” When Kylie didn’t respond, she opened her other eye, too, and said in a normal tone, “So what are you going to do?”

  “Do?”

  LeeAnn flicked her fingernail against the tabloid headline. “Cole’s Long-Lost Love?” it asked in a hysterical font. “You’ve got to talk to him. See that face? That’s the face of a man who wants to see you again. He could barely finish the show last night.”

  Kylie rubbed her eyes. “I can’t, LeeAnn.”

  “Why not? It’s clear that you really like him.”

  “Well, yeah. When I thought he was Cole no-last-name, businessman and random rebound hookup guy. But Cole Grayson, famous singer? I don’t know if I can deal with that.”

  “Why not?” LeeAnn asked. “Why does it matter if he’s famous or not?”

  Kylie’s eyes flickered up to the image of her father on the wall, but instead of answering directly, she glanced back down at the paper in front of her. “I hate these things,” she said, her lip curling. “And I don’t want to be just another pickup for him. Do you have any idea how many tabloid pictures there are of him with different women?”